#her first husband left her after about 20 years because he wanted a younger woman

[cultivating-wildflowers]

Tonight’s anecdote from the knitting circle:

When one of the ladies, Ruth, was a girl, mid-Michigan had a really bad tornado season. One day a raven turned up on her family's back porch and, as a joke, her mother opened the door and said, “Well, Jimmy, are you coming in or what?”

And the raven came inside.

He proceeded to make himself at home. He had a favorite perch on one of the armchairs and would clean his claws on the fabric. They fed him outside in an old enclosed dog kennel. He was evidently well-mannered and didn't disrupt the household at all. He simply strutted around like he owned the place and that was that.

Near as they could guess, the storms had disoriented him and he'd made himself welcome at the first friendly house he found.

But word eventually got around about the family who'd been adopted by a raven. A few months later, while Ruth and Jimmy were chilling outside, a car pulled up in front of the house. A man opened the door and called, "Hey, Pete! Come on, let's go home!"

Jimmy (or Pete) hopped on into the car and it drove away.

[jiminjamms]

sex therapy :: 30. breaking news

chapter tags/warnings: manipulative! naoya. physical aggression. verbal abuse (not to reader). infidelity/adultery. extremely strong language. corruption. family drama.

word count: 3.4k

notes: thank you again for your patience with the chapter! life update: i resigned from my company (on good terms, even though the work had sucked my mental and physical health), and i am soon doing a trip to japan and southeast asia as part of my recovery. still, i will be actively writing and responding since this community is so important to me! also, has anyone been keeping up with jujutsu kaisen's manga?! likes, comments, and reblogs are much appreciated. xoxo

fic masterlist | 01. 02. 03. 04. 05. 06. 07. 08. 09. 10. 11. 12. 13. 14. 15. 16. 17. 18. 19. 20. 21. 22. 23. 24. 25. 26. 27. 28. 29. 30. 31. 32. 33.

Life without a sugar daddy was rough.

As Toji Fushiguro's ex-wife and Naoya Zenin's ex-mistress, Mari faced this harsh reality since no one threw their money in her direction anymore. She slept little this past week, overwhelmed by financial stressors. While she still subsisted on the younger executive's credit card (with his fortune, Naoya hardly noticed the charges on his bill), she realized that she actually had to work for an income.

Such was the case as Mari walked home one evening after interviewing for jobs, her body and mind exhausted from fielding mundane questions about her previous professional experiences (which she had little of).

Upon unlocking her apartment door, she was immediately greeted by the sight of her illuminated living room.

That struck her as odd.

She always switched the lights off before she left.

However, when she spotted a familiar face down the hall, she found the answer.

"Tsumiki." Mari dropped her purse by the door. "What are you doing here?”

The woman had not seen her one and only blood-related child in months. While she knew that her daughter—who was, without doubt, a fantastically accomplished and intelligent young lady—just completed her second year at Oxford University, she thought the girl had chosen to remain in England for her summer break. Didn't Toji mention that she did not want to return to Tokyo?

Not that Mari complained. She was just...confused.

Admittedly, Mari should know the answer to her question, but she had been too ‘occupied’ to contact Tsumiki as much as a good mother should. As a result, Mari found herself in the dark about the girl's life in the United Kingdom, her plans for the university holiday, and her recent classes in…what was her field of study again?

Surely, Toji and his twerp son Megumi would know all the answers since Tsumiki had always been closer to her Fushiguro stepfamily. Quite a shame, since Mari would have considered her daughter as the most perfect angel otherwise.

She toed her shoes off.

“When did you arrive in Tokyo?” Mari continued with a plastered smile and approached the girl sitting with crossed arms in the living room.

Genetics ran deep between mother and daughter. Uninformed observers might even mistake the pair as sisters, the physical resemblance uncanny in how Tsumiki presented a more youthful version of the older woman by sharing the same warm chocolate-colored eyes, long dark hair, and flawless porcelain skin.

Yet, physical similarities meant nothing when Mari could not fully decipher her own flesh and blood.

“I came back to Japan earlier this week,” Tsumiki responded a terse edge in her tone.

“But I haven’t seen you until now.”

“Because I’ve been staying with Dad.”

“Oh.” So, she meant with Toji. “You mean your stepdad.”

“No,” she corrected sternly. “He's my dad.”

Theoretically, Mari could go into a whole tangent on how Tsumiki’s actual father was some middle-class nobody whom she hadn’t seen or spoken to since her first divorce (and that was many years ago). Or how the Fushiguros technically were Tsumiki’s ex-stepfamily since Mari had divorced her second husband Toji earlier this year.

But she spared her daughter from the reminders.

“Well, I’m glad to see you back, honey.” With a bottle of unfinished cabernet sauvignon in the fridge, Mari meandered to the kitchen to pour herself a full glass. She returned to living room and joined her daughter on the sofa. “How have you been? I’m guessing England has been treating you well? I have never been, so I wouldn’t know. Heard that the fish and chips are good there."

No response.

Am I being ignored? Mari commented inwardly and swirled the red wine in her chalice.

She took her first sip amid the long and awkward pause before switching the topic to encourage conversation. "Anyway, whenever you would like, you’re always welcome to stay a few nights here. Wouldn't hurt to spend some more time with your mother."

Only for Tsumiki to quip, “We’ve talked about this before. I don’t want to live with you.”

Now, this—Mari believed—was certainly uncalled for. "Watch your tone with me, young lady."

"For what? I am not here because I miss you," her daughter resumed. "If I had a better option, I would not bring myself to show up here and be in front of you."

The older woman placed her glass down and tried to appear calm. Hearing Tsumiki speak with such contempt twisted a deep knife into Mari's heart. Once upon a time, her daughter had been the sweetest girl—warm, full of life, and eager to express her innocent thoughts with anyone she encountered. Now, however, that same person had been tainted into someone cold, guarded, and withdrawn, demonstrated by her disrespect to the very woman who had given her life.

"That is no manner to talk to your mother," Mari cautioned.

"Well, maybe because I have my reasons."

"Which are?"

"Do you want to know why I did not bother to text or call you these past several months?" and Tsumiki did not wait for an answer before she angrily added, "Because I am so upset that you filed a divorce with Dad!"

While Mari had hoped to not bring up the topic before, she had no choice but to do so now.

"That big, burly, bulky man is not your father," she snapped. "He and his emo Harvard-bound son are not your family! In the eyes of the law, there is no longer any relation between you and them. But, I am your mother. I had given you life, and this is what you think of me?"

"Because I love them!" Tsumiki opposed through a hardened glare. "Dad and Megumi treat me more like their blood-related family than you do!”

Mari could not believe the preposterous words her daughter spewed. She always presumed that the Fushiguros had been corrupting her child, and to see her suspicions confirmed had Mari standing up promptly from the couch.

"How dare you say after all I have done for you, Tsumiki?" Mari interrogated angrily. "Did you think that I left your biological father and then divorced your stepfather for what...for fun?! These choices were difficult for me, too! But I made those judgments because I wanted to give you a better life in which we didn't have to worry about where our next meal, our next piece of clothing, or our next rent payment would come from! Your biological father is a no-name nothing. He could’ve never supported the lavish lifestyle you had experienced during your adolescent years. In fact, if I hadn’t married Toji Fushiguro, you probably wouldn't be studying at the University of Oxford right now! I, alone, could never have afforded all your years of expensive tutors or private school tuition. Please, think before you speak. I know I did not raise an ungrateful brat.”

Tsumiki furrowed her brows from the comments.

“You're the ungrateful one, Mom!” she insisted, and the said woman visibly reeled back when the girl continued to seethe with antipathy. “All the money that you had spent while married to Dad, he never asked for a single cent back. Never. In fact, he still pays for my university. In his eyes and mine, I’m as good as any blood-related child to him. He hadn't asked you to chip in because he knows you wouldn't have the money to. Divorcing the man you've been leeching off of isn't a sign of appreciation, Mom."

To hear her child defend another family, Mari wasn’t sure if she was going to laugh or cry at how ridiculous this scene was, the only thing she could process being the pain and betrayal that slammed her with one bitter blow.

"Well, did you want to become a laughingstock?" the woman rationalized. "Given our ties to the Zenin name when Toji left the company, those nasty journalists would've clung onto any scrap to label you a buffoon. You know what those tabloid writers are like! I had the foresight to divorce that man. I did not want the disgrace if we remained attached to the Fushiguros."

After that response, Tsumiki turned quiet with one sharp exhale as her eyes snapped shut, and Mari, whose entire body had undulated from heavy and irate breaths, thought that finally—finally—she had won this godforsaken argument.

Until she heard the younger girl speak again.

"Yet, you have humiliated me more than anyone," and noticing how her mother quirked a brow, Tsumiki went on. "Who are you really trying to protect, Mom? Are you truly making these decisions for my benefit? Or is it...for yourself?"

Despite hiding a gulp, the older woman noticed her heart race. "What do you mean?"

"How can you explain this?"

As though that was her cue, Tsumiki reached for her phone. She tapped onto the front page of the Yomiuri Shimbun, the most highly circulated newspaper in Japan. Before Mari could read the bold title labeled as 'Breaking News,' Tsumiki provided her with a verbal summary:

"The world knows you're a homewrecker, Mom."

Naoya found no surprise when Naobito Zenin burst into his executive suite as an angry bull would charge toward a provoking cape.

Plenty of times, his father barged into his private office completely unannounced, slamming the door open with enough force to rattle the wooden bookshelves behind him. Usually, the dramatic entrance would be followed by a slew of harsh admonitions, and this encounter—Naoya could tell—would be no different.

The astringency cast on his father's countenance gave the executive no other choice than to rise from his seat, his office chair sliding back so he could pose tall and confident as the heir to Japan's largest conglomerate should be.

"Father," he greeted, curt.

Taking hurried steps around his mahogany desk, Naoya aimed to meet the older man halfway until he instead came into contact with one harsh blow that sent his face flogging to the side.

Naoya froze, his gaze lowered.

Instinctively, he reached for his throbbing cheek with one hand as the other wiped briefly over his busted upper lip. To have his father approach him physically like this didn't even register as a surprise. Despite his title as the Zenin CEO, Naoya continued to be scolded, lectured, and outright ignored because, in his father's words, he 'never seemed to get anything right.'

Even now, the older man found no hesitation in cursing out his only child.

"You fucking son of a whore! Want to explain why your affair with Toji's ex-wife is all over Japanese media?!"

Slowly, Naoya lifted his eyes from the floor. He had suspected that this would be the topic of discussion. In the last hour, Naoya saw his name plastered over tabloid pages, news websites, and social media feeds as an anonymous whistleblower tipped publishers in regards to his scandalous affair with Mari—and the millions Naoya spent to hide it. Evidence ranging from supposedly long-gone paparazzi photos to screenshots of money transfers circulated quickly with the internet.

Naturally, Naoya had seen the headlines too...

'Zenin Corporation CEO Exposed for Concealing Affair with Predecessor's Ex-Wife' 'Everything to Know About the Zenin Household's Uncovered Drama in Family, Business, and Love' 'Billionaire Naoya Zenin Entangled in Cheating Scandal, Accused of Bribing Press to Silence Coverage'

...and the comments:

'That’s why you can’t trust rich people. They never have any shame.' 'His wife and company deserve better.' 'Disappointed that this is the scumbag leading our country's largest company.' 'The Board should fire him.’

Now, that last comment struck a very particular chord, especially since the Chairman of that very Board stood before him.

Naoya clenched his hands, yet he stood mute. With every wrong move certain to cost him far too much in return, he was completely powerless in front of the family patriarch and, as a result, his first logical reaction was to defend himself.

"I do not have the evidence yet, but I am certain Toji had planned this, Father. Him, and also Sukuna, Geto, and Choso. All four leaked these details because they didn’t want to see your son succeed. I will resolve this. I am going to call Toji immediately and—“

"You're right," Naobito interrupted coldly. "If Toji had still been CEO today, he would've made sure that none of this bullshit would’ve happened.”

Naoya widened his eyes in bewilderment, not anticipating his father to twist his logic like that. He already received a literal slap across his face, but to realize that Naobito still compared him to his older cousin all these months later drove him insane!

"No, Father. What I meant was—"

"Oh, there is no need to correct me. I know what you meant," Naobito tested in a low voice. "What I gathered from this conversation is that I have given you a million chances in life, and you know what? You blew every single one of them. You're an asshole, you're a cheater, and you're a complete humiliation. I can always count on you to paint me as a failed father."

Outrageous.

With the bitter staring contest between father and son, the latter boiled internally listening to the insults from the man who sired him. For the ruthless Naobito Zenin, Naoya meant no value as an heir without the ability to achieve his high standards. 

"Some twisted brain you have for sleeping with your cousin's ex-spouse,” Naobito then chided, yet amusement remained absent in his tone. “Was that the low-class tramp I saw in the photos with you on the private jet the other day?"

The blonde kept his mouth shut.

But his father wanted an answer. "Well?!"

Suck it in, Naoya. That's all you can do now. "Yes."

What a sight, to see how someone blazing as a furious flame then erupt into a violent volcano. Naobito grabbed his son's collar, pulling him forward and shoving him against the wall. His fists shook as he sought the other's gaze.

"You're fucking married, you realize that?!" he snarled.

"I do! Which is why I have cut Mari from my life! I don't talk to that woman anymore."

Unimpressed, Naobito tugged forcefully at Naoya's shirt again. "I am truly astonished by what an idiot you are. Your answer doesn't change shit." He tightened his grip and did not care that his son wrapped both hands around his wrist to prevent himself from choking. "Let me tell you something, boy. I did everything—everything—to convince our Chief Operating Officer to let his treasured daughter marry you, you despicable bastard. He didn't want to hand the girl over because he knew—oh, that man is wise!—he knew that the union mainly served as a tactic to improve your public image and that there was little obvious benefit for his child. Power and money did not interest him when compared to his daughter, so the one promise I made is that you would love her," and he roared, "so, what the hell have you done?!"

Naoya had heard his father’s warnings countless times, yet he previously brushed each one aside with an ambivalence he now acknowledged as foolish. Unlike before, the threat to his hard-earned position suddenly became very, verypalpable. He grappled with a strange fear, unable to pinpoint what precisely unsettled him the most. The scorn from a world that no longer saw him as an honest businessman? The sneers from relatives with an undeniable reason to mock him? Or perhaps the fury from his draconian father, whose disappointment cut deeper than any public disgrace?

"I—" Naoya's choked voice resembled a croak. He could hardly breathe. "I apologize. This entire situation...this got out of my control."

Alongside his callous disregard for his son’s feelings, the Zenin patriarch even scoffed.

"This isn’t about getting out of your control, boy. This is about your complete lack of judgment. In fact, Daisuke called me when he saw the headlines, and you know what he told me?" and he had to refrain from flinging his son onto the ground before he continued, "That Y/N's been staying in her family residence again because she is going to leave you!"

Naoya held his next breath. Fuck, he knows. Naoya intended to keep his recent arguments with you a secret, hoping to resolve the situation first. However, since your father snitched...lying would be a dangerous move.

"I have not seen Y/N in a week because we've had a few fights." Naoya did not dare admit the details about how you two became arguing spectacles, first in his cousins' presence and later on at the café. "Just...marriage quarrels. We will get over—"

“She would be a moron to stay married to you,” Naobito cut off. "Y/N and your unborn child deserve more than to have a public disgrace like you in the household."

Right. Had he not been reminded, Naoya would've forgotten that he had lied to his father about your pregnancy, too. His hands grew clammy where they still seized his father’s wrist.

“There"—a cough—"there is no child,” Naoya blurted out, determining to rip all bandaids off in one go.

Naturally, his father became perplexed.

“Excuse me?” His hold loosened just enough for Naoya to gasp properly for his next breath.

“Y/N is not pregnant,” Naoya repeated, his voice hollow with resignation. “During our last family dinner, I only said that because I wanted to please you.”

The older Zenin became still, appalled by the younger one's bravery to say those words. For a moment, Naoya braced himself for another physical blow before his father released him, shoving Naoya backward such that he stumbled.

“If you weren’t so disappointing, there would be no need for you to lie to me,” Naobito pointed out coldly. "Not only to me, but also your wife, your colleagues, and your shareholders on matters about your family, your marriage, or your commitment to the company. If Toji had not brought this to the media's attention, how much longer would you have manipulated the truth for your benefit?"

There he went again.

"I don't understand," Naoya protested, unable to contain his frustration any longer. "Toji doesn't belong in this family anymore! Why do you keep talking about him? Father, you forced him to leave earlier this year, citing his threat to our family and company's reputation."

"You're the one to talk!" Naobito shot back. "At least Toji has the brain that you utterly lack." Before the younger man could react, the Chairman had already turned on his heel. "I have made my decision."

His decision?

A confused Naoya watched his father head for the exit.

"Wait, Father...!"

"Enough!" The infuriated man raised a hand right as he neared the door, a warning for him to not speak further. "Our discussion has concluded. Effective immediately, Toji Fushiguro has been re-instated as the Zenin Heir and CEO."

Instantly, Naoya slumped forward in disbelief.

Even as the older man disappeared, the room appeared to spin dangerously. Toji Fushiguro...re-instated? As the heir and CEO?

Naobito Zenin could never make up his mind, now could he? In Naoya's head, this must be some cruel joke.

Ever since he comprehended his ability to bend fate to his will, he had promised himself to fight tooth and nail to defend the (very rightful!) position that he worked hard to earn. He had disposed of his cousin through slander, he had to put up with shitty corporate politics, and, hell, he had to even marry you!

Some may label Naoya's current negative publicity as irredeemable, but he held hope the situation would normalize once the steam blew over.

With these thoughts in mind, Naoya regained his balance and rushed out as well. "Father!"

However, by the time he reached beyond the doors, Naobito Zenin was no longer there. Even his secretary could not be found as, instead, two imposing figures stood by the desk where his assistant should be. Naoya didn't recognize them. The men were tall and well-built, their muscled arms and thighs visible despite the fabric that covered their tattooed skin.

"Nice to meet you," one started after the long silence. "I am Eso and this is my younger brother Kechizu."

A stumped Naoya frowned.

"May...I help you?"

"No," the other answered nonchalantly, "because we are here to knock you out."

"Wha—"

And Naoya's vision went dark.

last chapter || next chapter

end notes: Note that Eso and Kechizu are Choso's younger brothers in JJK. (Both are not completely human in canonverse, but we shall suspend beliefs.) Also, I cannot explain the satisfaction as I wrote about Naoya and his mistress finally getting wrecked! Talk about justice being served! There were many ways these scenes could have played out, but I strategically chose Tsumiki and Naobito as the agents in the discussions. Freed from corporate America handcuffs, I plan to post again soon. Love you all!

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[dubb0-g0ldfe11]

I'm going to be cringe. So here's a family tree of my OC's with some of my favorite pokemon characters

LORE TIME!

First up, Andromeda!

Andromeda is the submas twins older half sister from they're father's side

Ingo and Emmets father and Andromeda's mother where a couple in highschool, and when her mother suddenly got pregnant with her. they were still in highschool, so they decided keep it a secret from there parents and put her up for adoption when she was born, but they went they're separate ways once they graduated from high school

Andromeda had a hard life but not a difficult one, she had problems with bullying but she always managed to scare them off

She is a MASSIVE NERD she is always burying herself in books not caring for people

She found an abandoned Pokemon egg when she was 7 and took care of it until it hatched into a shiny Ralts! Which evolve into a gardevoir in later years

She was adopted by a lovely woman at the age of 8 years old, the woman so happened to happened to be a Pokemon professor, Andromeda was fascinated by all this new information and knowledge about mythical Pokemon and their power and so eager to learn

She became a Pokemon professor but she also writes books about dark fantasy and mythical adventures in her free time

Then she met her ex-husband Cerberus, a young, extremely handsome, and charming guy,

They dated for around 3 years and where married for 10 years

Cerberus seems like a nice and charming person on the outside but in reality he is a horrible person

Cerberus soon showed his true colors after they got married, he was a narcissistic piece of shit I believe he can do no wrong in his life

But Andromeda was so helplessly in love and so desperate to provide a father for her children that she was blind to the signs

But one day she finally had enough and left Cerberus for good, when she found out that he was beating her children behind her back

Her children are too scared of say anything in fear that Cerberus might harm their mother

But when her daughter Selene went missing without a Trace, after the four of them left him 8 years ago, she went haywire, immediately diving into her research to bring her daughter back no matter what

Soon she found out about her half sibling Emmett, who was looking for his brother Ingo

Both of them soon met up and realized that her daughter and his brother's disappearance were connected

And with each other's help along with her sons she managed to bring both her daughter Selene and Emmett's brother Ingo home

Next up to Polaris!

Polaris is Selene's older brother he was 20 years old before Selene went missing

Polaris is a very casual and calm dude, he rarely ever gets angry but when he does, he becomes an unstoppable force

He is married to Natori and got married to her when they were both 18, Natori is Alder's granddaughter

Polaris took most of Cerberus's abuse, back when his family still live with him

And back in his younger years Polaris was a MASSIVE dick, he didn't know how to regulate his emotions so he took out on everyone

But luckily he soon found error his ways and became a nice huggable, lovable, and beautiful person that is always ready to lend a hand when needed/when he wants to lol

When his sister Selene went missing, he went through a brief period of isolation.

He become really depressed and blamed himself for her disappearance

But luckily he decided to do something about it and helped his mother Andromeda and uncle Emmet they brought her and Ingo home

Next Zeke

Zeke is Selene's young brother he was 17 years old when Selene went missing

Zeke is a very quiet person prefers to keep to himself

Zeke is a Pokemon professor taking interest in his mother Andromeda's work

He took the lease to of Cerberus's abuse, mostly because he just kept quiet and did what he was told, didn't tell anyone this but that's the main reason why he keeps himself and why he is so quiet

He absolutely LOVES video games and spends lots of his free time on his computer playing all sorts of different games

But when his sister Selene went missing... He panicked, it was the biggest and worst time of his life

Constantly checking constantly looking for a sister having little to no leads

After the second year he began to slowly give up

But with the help of his family he managed to push through and bring his sister back home

Next Selene

(this picture is of her after she came back from the Hisui)

Selene is a very loud person who isn't afraid to share her opinion

She was a very troubled kid, getting into fights, stealing, ECT due to her father's abuse

But through lots of therapy she managed to pull through and become a better person for herself

Selene was 18 when she was transported into hisui and takes place as the MC in the pla storyline

Selene was VERY PISSED when this happened

But when she met volo the first time, two of them immediately clicked

The two of them would walk and talk and just laugh all the time whenever they were together throughout Selene's adventures

Soon they became a couple but then the Red sky happened

Volo tried his best to be there for Selene bringing her gifts, talking to her about myths, he tried everything to make her smile

But then volo tried to we create the world, he bagged and pleaded for Selene to join him

But when she refused Volo could only see red

The final battle was more vicious than anything either of them have I ever seen but in the end. Selene came out victorious

And without thinking volo just yelled at her

He just berating her telling her how much he hated her, and how much she wanted her dead, every single awful thing you can ever think of he said it to her

Both of them cried as Volo yelled at her and ran off never to be seen again

But little did volo know, Selene given birth to his child a few weeks back

Selene kept it a secret because she knew something was wrong with Volo, and that he was plotting something

Selene gave birth to her son Gesshoku right before the end of her exile and the battle with Palkia and Dialga

Only the people of Pearl Clan knew about her pregnancy and her son, after being sworn secrecy by irida, and was placed under Calaba's care and after she got better in recovered was placed under Ingo's care

Selene lost a lot of blood when she gave birth to Gesshoku and actually nearly died but was luckily saved by Calaba

After the battle of Volo, she just started sobbing uncontrollably, and when Ingo and the other wardens asked what's wrong she just explained everything through pained tears

By then Volo had already fled Hisui, but when Selene finish explaining EVERYONE was out for his blood

Selene stayed in Hisui with Ingo

Last but not least Gesshoku!

Gesshoku is a very happy and optimistic child

He gets his blonde hair from his father Volo, and his white streaks from Selene, the reason why he has blue in his hair is because he asked his mother to die at Blue to match her.

The reason why his eyes are blue is because he gets it from Selene's brother Polaris

People commonly mistake him as a girl because of his long hair, he just calmly corrects them that he is a boy not that he cares he just thinks it's funny

Gesshoku did ask once why he didn't have a father, and Selene was honest and tried to explain the best she could

She basically told him that he didn't love her and he didn't know about him and that's why he doesn't have a dad

Gesshoku seem to accept it just fine, as he was just curious, but he had to admit he was a bit mad at his father...who could do such a thing?

Gesshoku was 3 years old when he left Hisui and to the present day with his mother Selene and Ingo, who he lovingly refer to as Grandpa or Pop-Pop

It was a hard adjustment for him he was so used to the calmness and quietness of hisui

He would only sleep whenever his mother was around because he was so unsure and scared of everything around him

Although it was a hard adjustment for him and even though he missed everything and everyone it back in Hisui he ended up loving everything about the present

How did everyone react to Gesshoku?

Andromeda was very surprised/shocked when she first saw Gesshoku, but even more heartbroken but most importantly absolutely furious when she found out the story of what happened between Selene and Volo. But besides that she absolutely adores her grandson, spoiling him rotten every time she sees him. It wasn't easy getting his trust however as it took time. But when she did Gesshoku would always want to go to her house, and hang out with his grandmother anytime he could

Polaris was also very surprised when he first saw Gesshoku, he made a joke about beating teen pregnancy and then immediately got sucker punched in the jaw by Ingo, no one did anything about it because he absolutely deserved it Polaris would also agree with that statement, but with all jokes aside he absolutely loves his nephew, teaching him how to pokémon battle teaching him about different types of video games and even introducing him to his wife Natori! His favorite thing to do with Gesshoku is to tell funny stories about his and his siblings childhood to Gesshoku. And even letting him in on family lore when he is older.

Zeke had more of a quiet type of shock reaction, he had to leave the room because he was getting over stimulated that the fact that his sister had a child while she was missing, he felt that he ripped her away from her new family even if it hurted him deeply inside, but after some reassurance from Selene and feeling him in on the story of what happened between her and Volo, all he did was hug her tightly, in whispered that he was sorry that happened to her. Even though he has mixed feelings about Gesshoku, he still loves him and cares for him very deeply even if he has a quiet way of showing it. His favorite things to do with his nephew Gesshoku is to tell in about all sorts of pokémon how they work down to the very last detail, Gesshoku it's always happy to learn something new from his uncle

Cerberus, what's the last to find out about Gesshoku he was doing time for crimes that he committed when he was working for team plasma, when he finally got out Gesshoku was 6 years old, to say he was shocked with being understatement. He desperately wants to try to have a relationship with his children again, but Polaris, Selene, and Zeke want nothing to do with him especially after all he's done, Cerberus really wants to and desperately wants to have a relationship with his grandson, Selene told him once Gesshoku was 18 only then can he see his grandson, Cerberus knows that he has a lot of work to do if he ever wants to have a relationship with his children again, but he's willing to put in the work, even if it takes him his whole life.

Emmet, he was the most shocked to relieved and had the most mixed emotions about everything, first find out that he had a half sister, second finding out that he is technically an uncle, thirdly but finally being able to hug his brother after the many years of searching for him, so did say that it was a lot for him would be an understatement. When he saw Gesshoku he didn't know what to feel, but overall he still cares deeply about him, and upon building a closer relationship with his half sister Andromeda he finally and truly feels like he's part of the family now.

[lindyloosims]

Chapter Two, Part One:

Lainie Robertson and Roxy Harmon are now happily settled into their flat above the old bistro. Having met their neighbours, all there is left to do now is get to work on Lainie's dream diner! But unfortunately, making friends with your neighbours is not easy as Lainie is about to find out...

Charlotte Kennedy was thrilled to have some females living in the building, she was also excited about them coming to visit! Lainie had said she and Roxy would pop over sometime! It had been a week now and every day Charlotte got up, fed her cats and baked some cakes in anticipation of the girls visiting. "So today I'll bake a sponge, lemon drizzle cake perhaps! What do you say to that Mr Fuzzickles???"

"I wonder if Lainie likes toffees. I always eat the strawberry creams and leave the toffees, it's all I have left...who doesn't like toffees eh? Well...except me!" Charlotte giggled to herself, it was Saturday, surely Lainie and Roxy would come today?

"I can always take the biscuits round to the boys, waste not want not! But I'm sure Lainie will come..." Although Charlotte seemed like the crazy cat lady, behind the kookiness lay a very sad and broken young woman. When she was 18, she met a boy named Lewis at university who swept her off of her feet. By 19 she was married and hopelessly in love! By 23 he had left her for a younger woman, got her pregnant and demanded a divorce. Charlotte had always wanted a baby of her own, and a husband to share the joy with. But when Lewis told her he'd only married her for her father's money, Charlotte was never the same again! Feeling worthless and used, she retreated into the flat her father and brother Rob had bought for her, and hardly came out. One day Rob arrived with a little female kitten, a stray he'd found in the bins around the back, and Charlotte finally got her baby! Over the years she'd adopted and cared for over 20 cats but now she only had Mr Fuzzickles and Mrs Ubercutes and worked at the sanctuary three days a week. She'd found her purpose, once a helpless and broken young woman, she now helped helpless and broken animals!

But to have girls in the building...she waited a little longer, maybe Lainie and Roxy were busy and were coming along later..."We'll give them half an hour Mrs Ubercutes, then I'll go give the boys some cakes!"

Roxy and Lainie were indeed very busy, snubbing Charlotte was not deliberate! After adorning their walls with photos of their first day in the flat, the girls had made a start on the diner...

Having stripped the walls completely of any stray wallpaper and taking up the scratched and dirty linoleum to show the beautiful wooden floor beneath, the girls were exhausted! A whole week's work done and now they were ready to make their own mark on the place! "Well, empty canvas Lain!"

"Yes, yes it is! I can hardly believe it!" Lainie struggled to keep her eyes open she was so tired. It had been a very long day!

"I'm going for a good long soak in the tub! You coming?" Roxy stretched and yawned,

"I'll be right behind you, just going to call Mickey and tell him we're ready for the wallpaper and tiles tomorrow!"

"Well don't be long, we've done all we can for today Lain!"

After finally getting hold of Mickey White, the decorator, Lainie dragged her tired legs up the stairs to the flat and was met with a rather ugly sight, "Oh hell no!"

"Lain? I can explain!" Roxy looked over at Lainie apologetically.

"He's not staying here Roxanne! And I mean it!!! Not after last time! When are you going to learn???"

As the topic of their conversation lay fast asleep on their couch in his underwear, Roxy crept over towards Lainie to explain why her ex-boyfriend Kevin Larson was in their flat!

"He's got nowhere else to go Lain! He's lost his job and..."

"ANOTHER job! Roxanne you're a door mat and you're stupid!"

"Lain..."

"No I'm sorry I'm not going to sugar coat it for you because I love you! He cannot stay here Roxanne and that's final!!!"

As the girls' heated conversation continued, Kevin woke up and chuckled to himself, "Let me guess, you're fighting over me again huh? Ladies there's more than enough of me to go around!"

"Shut up Kev!" Lainie spat as Roxy tried to hush them both.

"Please Kev, just let me deal with this! Lainie..."

"...just for one night and then he's gone okay? Please! I know this is just another favour and they're piling up! But I still care about him Lain!"

"One night Roxanne! You hear that Kev? ONE night!!!"

"Thank you Lainie, you're a doll!" Kev winked at her and let out an enormous burp.

"Yes, thank you! You're the best Lain, you really are!" Roxy's eyes were tearing up, what was this all about???

Lainie was so exhausted after all the hard work they'd done and the argument with Roxy over Kev, she just fell into bed after her bath. But her sleep was short lived as a constant pounding disturbed her from the pleasant dream she was having...

Her legs were heavy and her arms ached but she managed to swing out of bed and stand up as the pounding continued...

...checking the clock on her bedside table, it read 1:23am. "What the heck..." as the noise grew louder, she could hear a voice...was that singing???

"Whoa whoa whoa! No! This isn't working I...wait!"

The boys had been practising Dexter's new song for hours and he still couldn't get the melody right! As he sat down at his keyboard, he knew he'd finally got it...

"There was a hole in my soul, but you filled it with love. A beautiful angel, sent from above. My heart took a beating, so cold, black and blue. But all of that ended when I first saw you..." having finally decided upon his tune, all the boys played their hearts out, all happy with the final touches...

...but they were startled to hear a very forceful and angry knock at the door, it wasn't Charlotte...she just walked in! "I'll go!" Dexter sighed and stood up from his keyboard to answer the door.

His voice caught in his throat as he was about to speak, it was Lainie, and she was in her pyjamas! She looked really annoyed! "Can I have a word please?" she gave Dexter an irritated look!

"Um..." Dexter's tongue was stuck to the roof of his mouth and his palms began to sweat. This was awkward, she looked adorable in her little shorts and kitty slippers, and her hair...her freckles! He shook his head clear and tried to concentrate as Lainie began to talk...rather quickly and loudly...

"You have to keep it down!"

"Huh?"

"Do you know what time it is Declan???"

"Dexter!!!"

"Whatever, I'm so very tired and I've got to get up early tomorrow and your constant racket is rattling through my brain as I try and sleep and..."

"I...chill out!"

"CHILL OUT??? It's nearly 2 in the morning and you're asking me to CHILL...OUT???"

"2...I didn't realise it was so...nearly 2 you say?"

"Why on earth are you playing your instruments at this hour anyway???"

"We lost track of time!"

"You're out of your minds! You have no respect for your neighbours, you don't seem to realise that some people have lives and they need some SLEEP!!!"

"Yes I do! But you're being mean!"

End of Part One.

⏮️Previous/Next⏭️

[kalembasinpoland]

Day 7: Zasów, Frysztak, Tarnów

This morning began with coffee and croissant at the kawarania Sofa up the street here in Tarnów. We then headed out of the city and took the autostrada towards Zasów, ancestral village of the Kalembas. On the way we drove through the village of Głowaczowa, the birthplace of my friend Katie’s Dad. We took a picture of the sign and headed the 10 minutes to Zasów. We were meeting friends Nick Palmer and Jarek Kozal. I have known Nick for almost 20 years, as an editor of his music at WLP/GIA. Jarek and I share ancestors from the parish of Zasów and an ancestral name. We are still trying to get the connecting confirmed through parish records. Jarek wanted to see if he could get the parish priest to get to the records. I wanted to get more photos of the graves at the parish cemetery. Rose and I arrived early and started to capture graves of different Kalemba descendants that I didn’t know about 10 years ago.

We also went to the location of the house where my great-great grandfather Jan Kalemba was born.

Nick and Jarek arrived and after chatting, we headed over the church. No one at the parish office and as usual in these rural churches the outside doors were opened, but the inside glass doors were locked. So you could see in the church-just like it was 10 years ago. We poked around and eventually decided to go get lunch.

We drove to the next biggest city, Dębica and ate a Italian restaurant. We came up with the game plan for the day. Rose and I were going to visit other towns, mainly the Malecki town of Frysztak. Nick and Jarek were going to investigate the other villages around Zasów. We would then meet up in Tarnów for dinner.

Rose and I made it to Frysztak and went to the cemetery. Last time I was here, Dad and I did fast search and could not find any Malecki or Wesolowski graves. This time Rose and I spent more time looking. Rose found three Malecki graves at the top of the hill amongst older graves. Two individual Malecki’s and one family grave with a larger statue of the Virgin Mary. The grave was marked Family Malecki, so I’m not sure who and how many are in there. The grave was more overgrown than others. We did look for other surnames of descendants and photographed those as well.

We then headed over to the town Rynek, because I know that my Malecki ancestors lived in an typical kamienice (multi-story apartment) over looking the Rynek.

After that we headed the hour back to Tarnów. Jarek texted and said they were talking to a woman in the cemetery in Zasów, who informed them that the priest should be back around 5pm. She said you have to find the older priest, because the young one doesn’t know much about the parish yet. So we detoured back to Zasów-passing through Głowaczowa again.

The younger priest, who is new to the parish and has no knowledge of the records or ancestral families of the parish, was the one to open the church. We did get to walk in and look around as the priest was setting up for Exposition and Benediction.

Nick and Jarek managed to talk to the town drunk in the main square, who also said the young priest doesn’t know anything; that we would have to talk to the older priest-confirming what the woman said in the cemetery. Again we went over to the parish office with no luck. We then left. On the way I stopped off at a village north of Zasów to see if I could find my great-grandfather’s sister’s grave. Family history has her owning land in that village and buried either there or the next town over. We found her husband. She might be buried there as well, but the cemetery is newer and the way the name plaque was placed on the stone made us believe her name was there and they put his on top of hers. They tended to bury the spouse on top of the previous grave. She might have been one of the first buried in that cemetery, I just don’t know for sure.

Then a 40 min drive back to Tarnów for dinner with Nick and Jarek. We ate at the restaurant Dad and I ate at 10 years ago. After our meal I showed them around the town, including the Jewish historical places. We were able to pop in the cathedral as a contemporary Catholic concert was going on right outside next to the cathedral. We parted ways and they headed back to Krakow.

Back in the apartment to write the blog, pack for tomorrow and rest. We pick up Maciej Orzechowski, ‘famed’ genealogy researcher and translator at the Rzeszow train station and head to visit cousin Maria Furtak and family.

Dobranoc.

[becca-e-barnes]

Omg becs! We need something about son's best friend Bucky because i can't even begin to explain how much it turns me on to think about geting him hard under the table while having dinner all together (and by that I mean my husband, my son and Bucky) and then offering to give gim a lift and driving him home and fucking in the car i just need it

Okay, the THOTS I have about this, I fucking love it 🥵 Like maybe your son tells you his college roommate has really far to travel to go home on weekends so maybe he spends the weekends alone, living off frozen pizzas and instant noodles (and I imagine he looks like precious lil TJ 🥺)

So instead, your husband offers to invite him over for Sunday dinner. It's not a bother, you always make way too much food anyway and it saves this nice boy from having to eat anymore junk. He'd at least get a good, home cooked dinner and something sweet afterwards and it makes you feel a little better knowing he has some company too.

But the first time the poor boy sees you he's clearly smitten, no matter how hard he tries to hide it. He hadn't been warned that you're nothing short of a milf, wearing a cute little apron and God, he wishes that's all you were wearing. And as much as this boy has fallen for you, he's fallen for your cooking just as hard. He thinks he's died and gone to Heaven when you lean over, offering him a second serving of potatoes because you noticed how quickly he ate what you put on his plate. He doesn't want to think about it but his dick is stirring pleasantly in his trousers, feeling you brush against him, the smell of your perfume overwhelming him in the best kind of way, never mind the sight of your cleavage as you lean over him.

It's not long before Bucky finds himself living for a Sunday. He feels so welcome in your home and he always leaves with cheeks that hurt from smiling, a fully belly and a half hard cock.

Over the weeks, he begins to pick up on the little things, like how you and your husband hardly break breath to each other, how you're left with the dishes every week and how your husband and son often don't even stick around long enough for dessert. Bucky pretends not to notice the heartbreaking look on your face as week after week your husband leaves you feeling unappreciated.

So Bucky does his best to make up for it, complimenting you every single chance he gets. "God, it smells so good in here." he groans one particular Sunday, making his way through the door and straight to the kitchen to greet you as he enters the house, leaving your son to sit in the living room with his father.

"Making your favourite today, Buck. Roast beef, mashed potatoes, peas, carrots and gravy." You smile, knowing already that his response is going to make you feel more appreciated than your husband has all week.

"God, I love you, you know that? I keep telling Ollie's friends that you're my dream wife. Tell them all that someday I'm gonna find myself a woman like you. Gonna give her a couple of cute little babies and make sure she's the happiest damn woman on earth." Your stomach tightens at his words because you wish you were about 20 years younger. You'd give him that life in a heartbeat.

"She'll be a lucky lady, sweetheart. You're a lovely boy, you'll make a great husband for someone some day" You smile warmly, noticing that little cocky smile on his face.

"You think so? Cause I mean, if things don't work out with you and your husband, I'd love to show you how well I'd treat a woman like you. Would make sure you know your worth." You've never heard him be so openly suggestive, usually he never goes further than a little harmless compliment while he's helping you with the dishes but today, he's so much more brazen.

But you laugh it off, telling him that you and your husband have been married too long to call it quits now, hoping that'll be the end of the discussion.

At dinner though, your husband hardly takes the time to look at you while Bucky sits beside you, showering you in compliments. "Fuck, I'll never understand how you get those carrots to taste so good." He groans, helping himself to a few more from the dish in the centre of the table.

"They're just roasted with butter, honey and brown sugar, Buck. Nothing special." You smile, watching as he happily clears the serving he just put on his plate.

"Guess it must just be you that makes them special." He smirks and you can't take anymore. Your son isn't paying attention and your husband certainly isn't so you take the chance, placing your hand on Bucky's knee under the table.

Bucky looks up at you but doesn't react, hoping this is going where he thinks it's going.

And of course it does, your hand eventually creeping higher as he tries to keep his cool, stifling a groan as you work your hand over the growing bulge in his jeans. He's always at least half hard when you're around. You just seem to have that affect on him but the feeling of your hand rubbing just where he needs to feel you most has him throbbing, trying to contain himself.

He registers that your husband has asked you something and he registers that you answered but he doesn't pick up any more than that because your hand is torturing him. He so desperately wants to fuck you right then and there, it's all he can think of. He wants to bend you over the dining room table and make your husband watch how a real man would treat you but he holds himself back.

You barely breathe a word to each other as you wash the dishes and he dries them, all of your usual flirtatious banter has dissolved into an unbearable tension. It hangs in the air, neither of you daring to so much as look at the other for fear of the band snapping, making you give in to the temptation.

But when the band does snap, boy does it snap. Your eyes lock on his accidentally and you both move at once. It's needy and passionate and far too desperate, his hands gripping your waist like you're a figment of his imagination. His mouth is so hungry on yours, his lips sliding over your own, barely leaving room for your breathy gasps. He can't get enough of you and you can't get enough of him as he presses you against the kitchen counter, his hard cock pressed against you as his lips begin to trail down your neck.

But God, you can't do this here. Your husband and son are in the next room but it's so long overdue, you can't stop now that you've started. So it's not long until you're driving him to the store, beyond thankful that he has some excuse prepared about needing to go grocery shopping. Your husband doesn't even listen when you tell him you're going out because if he did, he'd realise the store you told him you were going to is closed on Sundays.

Instead, you find yourself in an empty parking lot, in the back seat of your car, underneath this sweet boy who can't tear your clothes off fast enough. His mouth is on yours, his tongue firm and insistent against your own, his bulge grinding against your core in the cramped back seat.

"You know how fuckin' hard it is to watch you play wife for him? That asshole doesn't deserve you." Bucky's lost in thought, panting against your neck as he tears your blouse off.

"Bucky please, don't wanna think of him. Wanna think of you." You gasp, feeling his mouth latch onto one of your nipples, tugging it with his teeth.

"God, your body. You're fucking beautiful and I bet you don't even know it. Jerked off to you more times than I can count." He admits and it sends want throbbing through you.

"Please baby, just fuck me. C-can't take it. Need feel you fill me up." You sound so needy, shamelessly begging to be fucked that he can't help but groan.

"Oh babe, you can't say shit like that. I'm gonna send you back home with that cute little cunt stuffed full of my cum." His voice is strained as you lift your skirt up, exposing your bare, dripping cunt to his hungry gaze while he pulls his jeans down just enough to free his cock.

"You're so perfect. Know that fuckin' pussy tastes so good but I- I can't. Needa feel you cummin' around me. Been dreaming about it for far too long." He groans, giving himself a few firm strokes before pressing his tip to your eager hole, pressing inside in a way that leaves you both moaning.

"S-so tight and wet oh my God. Gonna treat you right. Want you to cum so hard, you forget everything but my name, you got that? This pretty pussy is mine now isn't it? Tell me I own your cunt." He's growling against your skin as he starts to thrust into you and you can only whimper out a response, overwhelmed by how good he feels and how filthy this sweet boy truly is.

[anotheronechicagobog]

I love your sister!reader fics! Do you have anymore planned?

I have a few that I've been writing on the backburner, but I don't know when I'll finish or post them. But the ones that I have are;

Atwater!sister - Kevin Atwater's sister who's only a few years younger than him left with their younger siblings for their protection. She ends up moving with Vinessa (Jordan has skipped out and onto Chicago at this point) to North Carolina for work and runs into Peter Mills and starts dating him. They eventually move back to Chicago and Mills re-opens his family's diner and returns to the firehouse, he also finally meets Kevin who isn't all that happy about her sister's choice of romantic partner cause of the whole 'runs into danger' thing, but accepts it when he sees how much Peter loves her.

Choi!sister - this sister is the middle child between Ethan and Emily, and is a firefighter, the first female to ever be on squad. You and Ethan have a strained relationship because he thinks it's too dangerous for you to be a firefighter and one day you get hurt on a call and he shoves it in your face. This causes an argument and you stop speaking to him until Emily convinces you two to talk for the sake of your unborn nephew.

Rhodes!sister - to absolutely no one's surprise, Cornelius Rhodes has a few affair children lying around, you happen to be one of them, and the only one in Chicago. Claire is a dadddy's girl and is devastated and has made it crystal clear that she hates you. Connor on the other hand is much more welcoming, hangs out with you, brings you to family events, defends you from Claire, and assures you that your father was a scumbag and you didn't miss out on anything from him not being present in your life.

Casey!sister - turns out that Nancy Casey was pregnant when she shot her ex-husband and gave birth to you whiloe in prison (you got teased a lot about that). You were in the foster system cause no one wanted to deal with you until Matt was finally able to get guardianship of you when he was 20.

Zidan!sister - OA actually isnt in this one much, just a couple phone calls. Basically, you're going to Chicago for university. OA takes a couple days off to help you move there, and introduces you to Jay Halstead, an old friend from his time in the Rangers, and they tell you that he's a cop and if you ever need help to call him cause he's a lot closer than OA is. You're in your third year, living with your long term boyfriend when he starts cheating on you and turns aggressive. He gets very possessive and controlling, he hasn't hit you but you're scared he's going to. You need help, so you call Jay.

Burgess!sister - When Kim brings Adam home for the first time, you like the rest of your family, love him and are so happy for your sister... Until you check out his facebook and find out he's engaged to someone who is not Kim. You go to tell her, you're so sorry that he's made her the other woman unknowingly, until she reveals that she knows he's engaged, doesn't care, and is waiting for him to dump her. You let the rest of your family know what went down and everyone is disappointed, your family in her, and her in you because you 'don't understand' and 'betrayed her'. Your relationship is strained after this. Throughout all of this, the reader is dating, and then gets engaged to, Sean Roman. You have to see her more often when he moves to the 21st and he becomes her partner, but you're civil for Sean's sake. Everything's fine until Kim breaks off her engagement with Ruzek and you catch her and Sean cheating. "What is it with you and engaged men, Kim?" Very angsty. There isn't really a happy ending.

Upton!sister - Hailey hasn't spoken to her father since she turned 18 and her mother since she was 20. She finds out during a case that she has a younger sister she didn't know about, an 'oops' baby that was born after she cut contact. She figures out pretty quick that your dad is still abusive and her mom is still enabling him, and fights for guardianship of you with Jay's help.

Zvonecek!sister - you move to Chicago a year after Otis dies to work as a medical lawyer, and firehouse 51 basically adopts you, and when the person you're dating (haven't decided who yet) cheats on you, the firefighters and paramedics take the phrase 'hell hath no fury' a little too seriously.

Manning!sister - Helen runs into you while dropping off the cupcakes for Nat's baby shower to Maggie (cause you're a doc, too) and she gives you the stink eye the whole time and is super short with you until she leaves in a huff, while you're nothing but smiles and you're forced to recount to Maggie why Helen hates you so much. Which, in short, is that she showed up to your sister's wedding in a full on wedding gown so you... Took care of it.

Halstead Bros - I might add a sister!reader to this, might not, idk, but basically after Papa Halstead dies Jay is going through his dad's email and tying up loose ends, when he comes accross evidence that his dad had numerous affairs while his mom was still alive, and being the angry mama's boy that he is, Jay figures out who everyone is to try and figure out what to do about the situation (while a little drunk on whiskey and cursing his dad). He is able to figure out that around 40 years ago one of his dad's affairs, with one Nancy Casey, produced a child. So basically it would be a mini series of Jay and Will adjusting to having Matt as their brother, and Matt adjusting to knowing exactly why his dad was killed by his mom and actually having some family. Involves lots of awkward nods, wordless eye converstaions, drinking, and buffering from their significant others.

[natache]

Ita Rina

First and Forgotten Yugoslav Film Star who provocated Gestapo

Ita Rina was born on 7 July 1907 in the small town of Divača (then Austro-Hungarian Empire, later Yugoslavia, now Slovenia) as Italina Lida Kravanja. She was called Ida Kravanja for short. She was named after a journalist Finzi Haydée, Jewish family friend from Trieste. The first daughter of Jožef a railroad worker and Marija Kravanja, Rina had a younger sister Danica. Shortly after the outbreak of the World War I, the family moved to Ljubljana, where Rina matriculated in 1923. She was not a good student; she repeated the third grade of elementary school. However, her dream was to be an actress.

In October 1926, Slovenski narod (Slovenian People) magazine organized a beauty pageant, and Rina entered the competition. She was crowned Miss Slovenia and was to travel to the final event for Miss Yugoslavia, which was supposed to be held on 20 December 1926 in Zagreb. However, her mother did not want to let her go to Zagreb. After a group visit from the Slovenian delegation, Marija Kravanja relented. Unfortunately, when Rina arrived in Zagreb, the jury was already choosing the most beautiful of three finalists. She was, however, noticed by Adolf Müller, the owner of Balkan Palace cinema in Zagreb. He immediately sent her photographs to German film producer Peter Ostermayer. As her mother did not want to let her go to Berlin, Rina ran away from home.

Her escape was enabled by a family friend, a painter Alojz Malota and his wife Hedvig Šarc. They invited her to come with them on a trip to Austria, and instead she went to Berlin. She has said that she felt very lonely and scared during the train ride and thought about returning home.

“That was my longest and hardest journey. I huddled myself in a corner of a coupe and looked around myself in fear. I only knew few words in German...”

Rina arrived in Berlin in 1927. Shortly after she had her first audition, following which she had classes in acting, diction, dancing.

"They would shine a spotlight on me" she later said "cameras would buzz. There were cables everywhere. Some complete strangers would stare at me, whispering amongst themselves. They told me to scream, to laugh, wave and cry. I think I looked most natural in scenes where I was crying. All I had to do was remember how far away from home I've gone and how I've deceived my mother."

"You don't know how to walk!" a director was yelling. I've dedicated all my strength on walking as gracefully as possible, and I thought to myself "how's it possible that I, who have climbed Triglav thrice, all of sudden am incapable of walking." I must admit, first few steps on film were harder than any danger definitely mountaineering.

After several small film roles in 1927 and 1928, the critics finally noticed her in the 1928 film The Last Supper. The same year, Rina met at a Yugoslav embassy party, her future husband Miodrag Đorđević, a shy engineering student from Belgrade, son of a general director of the Royal Post Office.

He asked her out to dinner in a little more upscale restaurant. What he would find out later is that his students account was not enough to pay for the meal. He went to the phone in an attempted to call a friend who could lend him money. Ita figured out what was going on, and since she was already rich, secretly passed him a few bank notes, to spare him the embarrassment. She always liked him, and they understood each other well.

 

Around that time newspapers in Yugoslavia started to sensationalize her love life, as a counter she published an open letter.

Cenjeni g. urednik!

Vsikdar sem bila ljubeznjiva napram g. dopisniku Vašega lista. Želela sem na ta način izražati simpatije, ki sem jih gojila do “Vremena”. Toda nežentlementski dopis Vašega dopisnika od 15. t. m. je zlorabil to mojo ljubeznivost in me prisilil, da Vas naprošam zaradi istine za uvrstitev naslednjih vrstic: Prišla sem domov na oddih, da se pripravim za bodoče delo, ne pa da se zaljubljam kakor goska. Zaradi tega ne potrebujem nikakih senzacij, zlasti pa ne senzacij, ki gredo preko meja dopustnega. Čudim se prostosti, ki si jo jemlje g. Ambrož, da izmišlja kar imena mojih idealov. Prava senzacija bi bila šele, ko bi g. Ambrož nekoliko srečneje uganil moje ideale. Kar pa piše g. Ambrož, je bilo doslej meni in vsem mojim znancem docela neznano. Odpotovala bom tedaj, ko me pokliče novo delo. Senzacijonalni odhod avtomobilov itd. je prosta glupost. 

Da končam. Žal mi je, da se je edini g. O. Ambrož smatral za najpametnejšega od vseh tukajšnjih novinarjev in da je segel po tako nehvaležnem poslu. Naši javnosti je treba servirati resnico o mojem delu in moji osebi, ne pa glupih izmišljotin. Prejmite g. urednik izraze itd.

Ita Rina.

Her breakthrough into European stardom came after taking a role in a controversial film Erotikon by a Czechoslovakian director Gustav Mahaty. As soon as she read the script about a seduced and then abandoned daughter of a guard of a railroad station, she understood it as her big chance, and she was right.

Erotikon premiered in Prague. Czechoslovakian censors cut out the scene of her giving birth to a child, but the movie garnered great success with film critics and audiences across Europe. At the premiere in Paris in Moulin Rouge and the film goers carried her out of the theatre on their hands.

The films success angered the puritans. Especially the french catholic theologian, abbot Betteleme who wrote: "... First, they lie next to each other, and then one to another ... It is true that the cover hides their figures, but it certainly does not hide their movements... The protagonists are shown in particularly long shots, especially Ita... A viewer can recognize her excitement, then her expression of anxiety mixed with longing, then the pain and at the end... I blush while describing the scenes". He went though streets of Paris tearing down the posters that were plastered all over. That only raised the popularity of the film.

In 1930, Rina acted in three films, most notable being the first talking Czechoslovakian film Tonka of the Gallows, which is often named her best role. Meanwhile, she married Miodrag Đorđević in 1931. Although she had announced her retirement from her film career, but she actually continued her acting until the outbreak of World War II. Her last prewar film was crime drama Zentrale Rio.

The situation in Germany was getting tense, especially for anybody who was considered undesirable which included actors who were foreign. She left Germany on the insistence of the then ambassador of Yugoslavia Ivo Andrić. In 1939, very close to the start of WW2 every time she went to work or went home, there was a man who sat in the car. In the beginning he was very quiet and she thought he was an assistant of the producer and that he might represent some new custume, a way of saying thanks to the actors. And then he spoke. At first there were talks of the superiority of the German race, but later his changes because more apparent. "I argued with him in that car" she told to the operator in the studio and retold him the whole conversation. "How could you have dared, that man is from Gestapo." said the operator. The story was retold to Ivo Andrić, and he ordered her and her husband to urgently leave Germany. The taping of the film was mostly done. That night they packed all of their belongs. In the morning she taped a few leftover scenes and absconded for Belgrade that same day.

"Only on the road I understood what's going on. Tanks everywhere, soldiers."

They went to live in Belgrade. She didn't act as the war was starting to rage and had her first child Milan in 1940 and thee years later a daughter Tijana. Her in-laws disagreed with the marriage to a controversial actress at first. And they had a permanent table for themselves and their friends at the local tavern.

After the bombing of Belgrade they moved to Vrnjačka Banja. Life during wartime was hard and she laboured and sold all of her possessions to keep family fed. She even rescued her husband from jail where he landed after he, in a tavern proclaimed that Hitler will have the same fate Napoleon did in Russia.

They moved back to Belgrade after the end of World War II in 1945. Although she was promised several roles in Yugoslav films, all projects were cancelled and she was treated unfavorably. After receipt of a letter she had written to President Tito, Rina began working as a co–production advisor in Avala Film. But she soon left Avala Film and moved to Lovćen Film.

She returned to the silver screen once, in the 1960 film War, about nuclear war fallout, directed by Veljko Bulajić. This was her last role. She got her role not though a studio, but through her husband asking nicely.

“Before the shooting of the film War began, I was approached by a very likable gentleman, that was the husband of Mrs. Ita Rine Miodrag, and in a very discreet, shy way, asked if we can talk and during that conversation, suggested to cast Ita. Honestly speaking, I have already completely forgotten about her. There was war, and they she didn't work for a very long time. She wasn't listed anywhere in cinematography as an active actress. I remembered her from her films. I suggested we meet. So we met, I don't know where in Zagreb or Belgrade, I cannot remember, but she impressed me. She made a strong impression, of a smart woman, an actress who didn't want to be in a film for no other reason, but to be filmed. She wanted to know about her role. I really liked that, so we made a deal.” 

As she suffered from asthma, Rina and her husband moved to Budva (then Yugoslavia, now Montenegro) in 1967. There, she took care of her husband, who was ill with sclerosis. Rina died on 10 May 1979 from an asthmatic attack during the great earthquake that leveled the capital of Montenegro. She was buried a few days later in Belgrade, in the presence of numerous film artists, admirers, friends and family. Her husband died next year.

Best source is in Slovene here:

[passionforfiction]

Young Lady and Gentleman

I decided to watch this series because it has a really good cast. I've seen most of the actors in other series and I was looking forward to watching them, specially Ji Hyun Woo, who is one of my favorite actors. The first couple of episodes held my interest even though they were filled with cliché: the misunderstanding at the hiking site, Dan Dan winning Jae Ni over by fighting against her bullies, and Dan Dan's stepmother and her family's lack of sense when it came to money, to name a few things. There were a lot of characters that annoyed me to no end, but what really killed it for me was the amnesia plot (acting like a 22 years old man and then remembering he was 40 and forgetting what he did when thinking he was back in his 20s). I skipped half the episodes and then saw the rest of the episodes skipping scenes.

This series disappointed me. It could have explored the issues in believable ways, instead of brushing them with cliché plot twists and simplifying the issues and resolutions. They could have explored the stigma to age difference in relationships since Young Gook and Se Ryeon both fell in love with people that were younger than them. They could have explored the issue of abandonment and adoptive family with Sa Ra, Anna, Young Gook and Dan Dan's father and stepmother. The decisions men and women make and how the woman is the worse off - with Dae Ran, who was too ignorant to believe a married man's words and become his mistress and remain in a household where she wasn't respected or loved. Because, let's face it, Young Gook's father was no model to follow.

The characters didn't help either. Of the adult characters the only ones that were less annoying were Mi Rim and Joon Oh because they went after what they wanted, they worked around the hardship together and were equals in their relationship.

I had a lot of trouble stomaching the female characters (except for Mi Rim). Dan Dan was too immature, clingy and had no self-respect. The same could be said about Se Ryeon and her mother. Sa Ra and her mother were schemers, but I also think they got the worse end of the rope. Dae Ran was the one to propose Sa Ra pretend to have been in a relationship with Young Gook when he lost his memory and as soon as the plan went sour, she left Sa Ra with all the weight of the scheme. Sa Ra's desperation to be near her son made her do many unspeakable things but I believed she could have had a second chance with Cha Gun; but he also disappointed because he said he loved her and was willing to stay with her while she was pregnant with his child, but as soon as she lost it, he was willing to part ways. He walked away, leaving her all broken. . . A similar thing happened to Lee Ki Ja. Yes, she had to pay for her crime, but her supposed friends - who were no angels - brushed her every time she wasn't a convenience to them. In the end, even Sa Ra left her mother to find her own path.

Anna Kim was no saint either and she could have dealt with the situation in another way, but why use the "cancer" card? Why use the "let's pity her" route and then dispose of her through death? I just think this was too easy.

And Yeon Shil wasn't the best stepmother, or wife for that matter, but I think her husband used her and didn't respect her. He turned her into the evil stepmother for years and then had the face to tell her he wanted to stay with his ex-wife while she was sick. And here is where the male characters also annoyed me. Soo Cheol and Young Gook were good people but acted all mighty and didn't think about the people they were hurting with their actions or words. Cha Gun was a character I liked but the way he let Sa Ra go was really disappointing. Dae Beom was hard to stomach at the beginning but he grew as a character towards the end, just like Se Ryeon did.

I guess these are not black and white characters. They are all human - I'll give them that. They had their good things and those that were not good. And it would have been okay if the writer and director hadn't tried so hard to turn this into a comedy. It should have been a drama. I think it would have worked better that way, the female characters would not have been portrayed as ignorant, clingy and foolish simpletons and those over used plot cliché would have been out of the equation.

Poster from Wikipedia - https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Young_Lady_and_Gentleman

[wistcriax]

Empress' Lady Ch. 05

y/n left away from the room quickly. ‘Should I inform his majesty? Why would her majesty be with him after he tried to kill her!’ y/n thought. She had gotten away from her majesty’s room, but was once again lost.

‘First, it’s a run-in with Barbatos and now hearing a conversation between the empress and Emperor Diavolo… How can I not tell his majesty after this?’ y/n thought as she walked down the hallway.

“They were talking about me, afterall they didn’t say my name, but they mentioned my brother.” she muttered quietly. ‘I need to tell his majesty, if I don’t it’ll make me feel like I’m covering up a crime and possibly another murder of the imperial family.’ y/n thought.

She walked until she stopped, noticing she once again lost. “Lady y/n?” A voice asked from behind her, it startled her and she turned around quickly. It was the white-haired guard from before. “Ah, hello-” “Oh, I never introduced myself back then. ‘M Lucifer’s brother. Mammon Morningstar.” he said.

“Hello Lord Mammon.” y/n greeted. “I finally found ya, Lucifer is looking for you, he saw you dash past his study.” Mammon said. ‘I walked right past it without even realizing it…’ y/n thought. “Can you take me to him? I’m a bit lost.” y/n asked. “He said ya probably would have been, that’s why he asked me later ta show ya around.” Mammon shrugged.

y/n nodded. “You’re a quiet one, aren’t ya?” Mammon asked. “That’s a way to put it, I never really have much volunteer interactions with others. Well, not since I was with Duchess Thirteen.” y/n answered. “Duchess Thirteen? She still around?” Mammon asked.

“She moved away, I stayed behind.” y/n shook her head. “Well that sucks, I actually liked her.” Mammon said. y/n noticed it now, Mammon had a different way of speaking than other nobles, or his older brother. “You speak a little differently despite being a prince don’t you?” y/n asked. “I ain’t a prince.” Mammon said.

“But, you’re the younger brother of the Emperor aren’t you?” y/n asked. “I stepped down, I didn’t want it. I wanted ta become a royal guard ta protect my brothers instead.” Mammon smiled. “I see.” y/n nodded. “After about 20 years of training Luce finally let me be his personal guard. Oh, ya! I wasn’t the only one to step down!” Mammon said.

“One of our younger brothers, Beelzebub, stepped down too. He became a part of my squad in the royal guards.” Mammon boasted. “You two must be very strong and want to protect your brothers a lot.” y/n said. “We do, that’s why we did it. We had better luck being royal guards than being princes. After all, Luce wasn’t gonna step down and we didn’t want him to. He’s the best ruler this place ever had.” Mammon said.

“Do you look up to your brother a lot?” y/n asked. “Hell yeah!” Mammon said with a bright smile. “He’s the best anyone could have ever asked for.”. y/n smiled seeing that Mammon had a good relationship with his brother and he looked up to him.

y/n wished she could have said the same, but she doesn’t look up to her brother much, he’s more annoying to her in the least, and she knows he can be insensitive to things. But, recently… He’s been more cold and distant than anything ever since y/n became the Empress’ lady-in-waiting.

She only saw it at its most a few days ago, ever since then the two haven’t been talking;

“Solomon, what do you think of the Empress?” y/n asked. “She’s a good woman, a good friend.” Solomon answered.

“A good woman? Are you sure?” y/n asked, with the past few days she highly doubts that. “What do you think about her?” Solomon asked, his voice a bit cold. “I think she’s power hungry. She is cold and rude. She’s so horrible that her husband refuses to sit with her at dinner.” y/n said.

Solomon froze, “It’s his majesty’s fault, he’s rude to her just because it was a marriage of convenience. He just takes mistress after mistress and rubs them in her majesty’s face.” He said, his voice cold and harsh.

“If that’s so then why does the Empress have such a horrible personality to her own ladies? She berates us and treats us like other servants-” “That’s because you are servants.” Solomon said coldly. His blue-brown gradient eyes were filled with hatred as he looked at y/n. “I see.” y/n said, she placed her fork down on the table.

“This conversation is over, it seems if we continue on it will only end in an argument.” y/n said, leaving from the table. She felt Solomon’s eyes on her and heard him heavily sigh.

[sweeethinny]

Decisions

@raypotter asked me for a story where Harry got hurt and Ginny and the kids were relieved that he was alive.

It got very sentimental, a lot more than I expected, it has some descriptions of blood, so be warned

AO3 or bellow the cut :)

There was a lot of blood. On his hands, on his face, on his neck, near his ear.

Ginny took a deep breath when she saw it, as the healer ran to the closet looking for something she didn't know what it was, while another seemed to do something to keep Harry breathing.

She wanted to vomit.

It was a normal day like any other, the kids sent their letters, James was fine and had done well on the Transfiguration exam, Albus was recovering from a knee injury caused by some animal in Hagrid's class, and Lily was glad that she was going to start taking Divination classes. It was a normal day.

Teddy stopped by Ginny's office for them to talk, as they did almost every week, and he told her he was planning to travel to Spain to study about some rare animal that had appeared there, and Ginny made him leave only after her promotion party, because she wanted him there.

Harry had gone out on a field mission last night in order to pick up Jonas, who had been injured, and Ginny was having lunch with Luna at a muggle mall they liked.

It was a normal day, until Ginny received an owl with an urgent call to St. Mungo's.

First she thought of the children, Teddy could have been poisoned by some animal, or one of the children could have been seriously injured at Hogwarts and it had been preferable to send them to St. Mungo's. Then, she thought of her parents, Molly had been complaining of a pain in her hip, and Arthur didn't look so good on the last visit, did he? Or it could be her brothers.

Ginny didn't expect to see Harry there. It had been so long since he'd last needed to visit the hospital, maybe since James was born, which was when he'd been twice as careful, always afraid something bad would happen and he'd die. And after he had become Chief Auror, Harry had gone on to do far fewer field missions, so hospital visits were rare.

Her heart sped up, that dread that came whenever she saw someone in her family hurt, a gift the war had given her.

The healer opened the door for her when he saw her standing there, a gentle smile on her face. "He'll be fine, it's a deep bruise, but we've got everything under control."

Control? Ginny didn't think that could exist when there was that much blood coming out of a person.

"Is he breathing?" Ginny muttered, terrified.

'Yes, with a little difficulty, but it's just because of the pain, we'll stabilize him.' She smiled at her. “I'll ask you to wait outside until we've got everything settled.” The woman didn't wait for an answer, closing the door and running to do as some other healer asked.

What was she supposed to do? Should she call the kids? Should she call her mother? She couldn't stand there alone, because if something happened… No, nothing would, Ginny thought, Harry will be fine, he'll get out of this one, it's probably more dirt than actually hurt.

They will laugh about it later.

[...]

"Ginny!" Teddy called, startled, barely seeming to blink when he found her in the waiting room. He didn't look like that smiling boy from earlier now, his brown eyes glaring at her as if he expected to hear the worst news at any moment, his shoulders stiff. ‘Where is he? He is fine?'

'I'm waiting, the healers said they need another half an hour, apparently the spell was stronger than they thought, and-' Her eyes filled with tears, her hands trembling desperately again, the image of a bloodied Harry kept flashing in her mind, along with his being buried. 'The kids are coming, I know he'll be fine, but…'

"I know, I know, you did it right." Teddy hugged her, but as much as he looked like he wanted to keep her calm, he looked even more nervous. ��Do you already know what hit him?

'They don't want to say until they're sure, but one of the Aurors who was with him said it's dark magic.' Ginny sniffled, running her hands through her hair as if to keep from starting to cry again, her heart pounding desperately in her chest. . 'I said he's starting to get too old to take that risk, Teddy, I said before he can save the world he needs to be a father, be a husband, but he doesn't listen!' .

'Nothing will happen to him, Gin, nothing, he'll be fine, you'll see, he hasn't even started to get into trouble with Albus yet!' Teddy pulled his own hair, pacing the empty room they had arranged for her to wait.

It was bad enough in that situation without a bunch of onlookers on top.

"I mean, he hasn't even seen me marry yet, he—" Teddy clapped a hand over his mouth, trembling as if just the thought of it destroyed him. It destroyed Ginny too. ‘Will the kids be long?‘

'Probably not, I spoke to McGonagall and informed her how serious the situation was and that I wanted the kids here with me, and she told me she would send them as soon as possible… Lily was doing some work with Hagrid, I don't know, but they shouldn't be long.” Ginny took a deep breath, trying to focus on the situation now and not the memories of war, the dead bodies, the destruction.

They weren't in a war anymore, everything would be fine.

‘Have you warned anyone else?

'No, I didn't want to make a big fuss, if not, we wouldn't have peace in the next few hours of so many journalists who would come here to find out what happened to Harry, and I'm not exposing him like that.'

"Not at all." Teddy nodded, looking out the window that faced a square, seeming to calm down after watching the people walking around below. It had soothed her, at least. "He told me he was thinking about retiring."

"He told me too." Ginny sat back in that uncomfortable chair, looking at the door and wanting someone to come over and say it was okay. 'He's getting tired, he's not 20 anymore, he's already 40… I mean, he's still in shape, Harry probably still lifts more weight than me, but the stress with the younger Aurors isn't paying off . They probably stress him out more than the kids themselves.'

"These days I went to lunch with him, and it was like he was running a daycare center." Teddy chuckled, taking a seat next to Ginny, and she was glad he was there with her. "And he gets along well with kids, but I don't think it can be easy to manage more than 20 of them."

‘And he’s having problems with some laws, and with all the bureaucracy, and I think that this is making him completely unhappy. A few days ago I thought he was going to have a heart attack after having to solve the same problem a third time.” She sighed.

Before Teddy could say anything, the fireplace glowed and three loud, fluttering voices filled the room, one Lily jumped out first, looking desperate, her glasses askew on her face and her jacket smeared with dust, running towards Ginny. 'Mum! What happened? Where is Daddy?'

Albus, who didn't look at all like that calm boy he always did, pushed James off the fireplace and jumped too, barely giving Ginny time to think. He had rosy cheeks, green eyes staring at her and Teddy, as if he was trying to read the expressions on their faces to hear the news. 'Is he going to die?'

"Don't be an idiot!" James interjected, stepping closer and keeping his eyes steady on Ginny, as if he wanted to make sure his dad would be okay. If she knew her son well, James was the one who was holding back the most to keep from showing that he was scared. 'He is fine?'

"He's fine, and he'll be fine," Ginny assured, hugging Lily sideways, because she didn't seem to want to leave her side. ‘I called you because…’ Because if he dies and you're not here I'll never forgive myself. Because Harry will enjoy seeing his kids one last time if he can't get the strength to survive. Because I need you here to keep me strong and not think about all those years of war, and not think about all those dead bodies. On Fred's dead body… 'Because it's the best thing to do, and your father will be very happy to see you when he wakes up. ‘

"Have you two been here long?" Albus asked, pulling out one of the chairs to sit next to Teddy, while James continued to stand by the window. Ginny didn't miss that Albus was shaking his leg nonstop, not even seeming to notice.

"No, I just arrived," Teddy assured him.

"I've been here for over an hour." Her lips trembled. "Jamie, sit down, there's no need to stand up."

"I don't want to." He tousled his hair. ‘How was he injured?

"I don't know, they didn't want to tell me." Ginny omitted, because she didn't think she should give that kind of detail to her kids. She continued to stare at him, watching as her son turned quickly to the window, as if he wanted to avoid being seen.

"Why don't you go buy us something to eat with me, Jamie?" Teddy stood up, looking like he noticed too. 'Are you hungry?'

"I've already eaten," Albus said, jumping into the chair beside his mother as the other stood up, letting Ginny hug him too.

"I want anything," she said, just because she knew the last meal had been breakfast, and she couldn't survive on just that in her stomach, especially if she wanted to support her kids. "Lils?" She looked at the girl still hugging her, sitting in the chair with her eyes downcast, her head resting on her mother.

"No thanks," Lily muttered, her voice lower than normal. Ginny had to swallow the cry that threatened to break her.

"Come on, mate?" Teddy pulled James close, his arm going over his shoulders like the big brother he was. "I hear there's a great cafeteria in here." The two of them left the room, James still looked sheepish and crestfallen, but Ginny blindly trusted Teddy to take care of him so she turned back to Lily.

"He'll be fine, it's just part of the job," she assured her, kissing her head.

"Have you seen him?" Albus asked, his voice shaking like his leg, which seemed to have accelerated now.

"I saw him when I arrived, the healers were cleaning him up and making sure everything was done as good as possible." Ginny chose the best words. She was grateful that Albus didn't ask her to detail how he was

But none of them asked, they kept quiet holding her, every time looking at the door when footsteps were heard, and she wondered how much longer they would wait to see Harry, to hear from him. When James arrived with Teddy, they brought chocolates, five salads, and some fried things that she assumed were fish and potatoes. They had taken longer than she thought it required, but James had red eyes and Teddy had wet spots on his dark blue shirt.

They started to eat, and even Albus, who had said he wasn't hungry, accepted the salad Teddy handed him, and some of James' fries. No one said anything else, the noise of the city outside and the birds being the only thing that rang in Ginny's ears, along with her heightened attention to any conversation and noise of people in the hallway.

She thought of the times she had told Harry that saving the world was no more important than being a father to his children, that surely those four would prefer him alive, than being a dead hero. Harry would never cease to be their hero, no matter what he did or didn't do, Ginny knew that.

They hadn't even been grandparents yet, Harry couldn't die.

And he wouldn't, Ginny scolded herself for thinking that. Harry would be fine, and they would grow old together, enjoying life, remembering what idiots they were as teenagers, watching their kids grow up and leave their house… Harry would be fine.

He had already gone through so much, so much tragedy, it would not be now that the trajectory would end.

"Do you guys remember when Harry said he could build that tree house all by himself?" Teddy recalled, a smile on his face, seeming to be carried away by the memory. 'He said he could do it and he didn't need help, but the hammer fell on his foot and he couldn't walk properly for almost a week.'

"Oh, and when did he say he was going to make pizza and the first one took almost an hour because he switched the time and temperature button?" Albus chuckled, shaking his head and filling his mouth with potato chips. "He looked so frustrated, and then the next one he burned because he set the temperature too high."

"Or when we convinced him to take Sir to the beach with us, and when we got there Sir threw up in the car seat," Teddy said.

"And he even pissed on the couch!" Lily said, looking more excited now that the memory of that vacation hit her. "He surfed with us that time."

"Wow, daddy surfing was the most shameful thing," James said, looking down at the salad in his lap and then shaking his head, a smirk on his face. "Will he want to surf with us again this year?" He looked at Ginny, as if he expected her to falter in her answer and admit that something bad could happen.

She smiled, an image of Harry trying to balance on the surfboard popping into her mind. ‘I'm sure he will. We can try to convince you to rappel with us, Al.'

'Oh yeah! I think he'll like the feeling of going down beside that waterfall.” Albus ran a hand through his hair, as if he too was trying to imagine his father tied to a rope as he descended a cliff. 'Can we go there on this vacation?'

"But Dad promised we were going to Egypt!" Lily cried, taking the chocolate from Teddy's hands and dividing it so everyone could get a piece.

"It's an amazing trip, we really should take it." Ginny remembered the one she'd taken years ago, not being able to not remember how happy Fred was with the trip, and how happy he'd been when they saw the pyramids. A ball of tears formed in her throat. ‘I'm sure there's some rappelling there, Al.’

"Dad told me he really wanted to visit Iceland one day and see an Aurora Borealis." James shrugged, stirring his salad uninterestedly. ‘They are rare and hard to find. He said that the times he was around, he never saw anything.’

"I think it would be a great experience too, but maybe Christmas is more attractive than summer there." Teddy ruffled James' hair, as if to cheer him up. ‘We should go to Amsterdam, because I've been asking for it for years now, and we never do. When Harry leaves here I will convince him that our next trip will be there.' He spoke, optimistic as ever, and suddenly the children seemed to remember where they were and why, and Ginny noticed when Albus' shoulders slumped a little, or when Lily cleared her throat and went back to looking at her chocolate.

"He said he's going to teach me how to cast a Patronus," Albus said, looking at Ginny. She smiled.

"I'm sure you can do it, Al." She ran a hand through his hair, thinking of all the promises Harry had made to the kids.

Traveling, skiing, horseback riding, learning spells, building things, going to shows… The list was huge, and it never stopped growing, as Harry was such a huge supporter of all the ideas the kids had.

Teddy wants to learn to play guitar? Harry will put him in a class, even if it takes their peace away. James wants to learn to ride a horse? Okay, he'd find a way to make that happen, no matter how much James fell in first class and twisted his fist. Albus wants a treehouse? Harry will build it, even if he doesn't know how. Lily wants to go to a muggle pop band concert but she can't go alone? Harry will take them and still arrange for them to stay very close to the stage, even if it means six hours in a queue, with several other hysterical teenagers in colorful shirts and posters declaring their love for one of the girls in the band.

Harry spoiled them sometimes, Ginny knew that, but it wasn't ruining them. They became creative people, they had a lot of skills to explore, as well as a lot of fun memories of those moments. They trusted them, in her and Harry's opinion, they talked to them about everything, or at least almost everything, and she knew this was much more than she, and obviously Harry, had.

‘Do you remember Teddy, when we went to Disney?' Ginny asked because she didn't want them to be sad, she wanted them to remember the good times and want them to live more of it, she wanted them to understand that the good times weren't over.

Harry would be fine. Then they would go to Amsterdam, ride horses, learn to ski, go looking for the Aurora, and even to Egypt. They still had many years to fill with activities.

‘It was fun, I remember! You let me eat at McDonald's.' He laughed. ‘We have to go there again. Do you remember Lils when we went with you? Gin-Gin can't go to some attractions because you were too scared and you were too small.”

"I think I'm tall enough now!" She smoothed her glasses back on her face, her chin lifting as if she challenged Teddy to deny it.

"Absolutely." He nodded, not thinking twice.

"But she's still a crybaby," Albus snapped, just to tease his sister, as usual. "She almost cried when-"

"I didn't cry!" Lily cut him off, her cheeks as red as her hair. ‘And I'm not scared. Mom!'

"Al, enough," Ginny warned, even though she was smiling. She was missing a bit of all this mess, their house was pretty quiet with just her and Harry there. "Should we-" She was interrupted by a healer who opened the door to the room, he had a gentle smile on his face but he looked tired. Ginny braced herself to hear the news, good or not.

‘He's fine, we took care of his injuries and he's already awake. He's asking to see his family, I informed him you were here.' The man had barely finished speaking when Albus jumped out of his chair and started to leave the room, as did James and Lily, looking eager to see Harry. ‘Sorry for the delay, it was a big injury.’

"It's okay," Ginny and Teddy stood, and she smiled at the man. 'Leaving my husband alive, you could take your time.' She walked out of the room, already seeing the children opening a door almost at the end of the hall, and the three voices saying 'Dad!' much higher than would be advisable in a hospital.

When she entered the room, the three of them were sitting on the bed with Harry, who looked tired but happy to see them there. His head was bandaged, as was a shoulder and ribs on his right side, his left eye was a little swollen, but she thought it was just because he had injured his head.

"I'm glad to see you here." His voice was low, husky, and Ginny thought he should be resting instead of straining like that, but she knew Harry wouldn't rest until he saw his family. "Daddy is fine, just the occasional wound."

"You scared the shit out of us!" Teddy walked over, sitting next to James, who was wide-eyed and looking a little scared. Lily nodded, sitting next to his knee.

"When Professor Johann called me, I thought I was in trouble," Albus said, moving his hands anxiously as he spoke. ‘I would prefer it to be that, I must say.

"Don't ever do that Mr Potter, my heart isn't so young anymore." Ginny sat down in the chair beside his bed, swallowing the sob of relief that wanted to break her chest when Harry looked at her and smiled. She ran a hand over his face, as if she just wanted to get reassurance that he was okay.

"I guess I'm not that young anymore either." He sighed. "Won't you talk to me, James?" Didn't you miss your old man?” Harry looked at the boy, sitting at the far end of the bed, who seemed to be making as much effort as Ginny not to cry.

'You scared me. I was the first one called, and… It was horrible, don't ever do that again.” James shook his head vehemently, as if he wanted to put some image out of his mind. 'If you died, I would never forgive you.' Ginny didn't think that was the kindest way to say he was afraid of losing his father, but it seemed to hit Harry in the right way, who smiled sadly and nodded slightly, before sighing.

[...]

"I think it's time to retire," he said, after the kids had left to sleep in the Burrow, Ginny stayed behind to spend the night with Harry.

"I think so too." She squeezed his hand, letting the tears finally flow. ‘What would these children do without their father? What was I going to do without you? I'm too young to be a widow.” Ginny tried to make a joke, but it only made her cry harder. ‘You already saved the world once, now enough.’

"Yeah, I realized that when I felt Noel carry me and start screaming for help." Harry looked sad too, wiping Ginny's tears away. ‘I still don't know what I'm going to do, where to go, but… I can't take it anymore Gin, I'm getting tired, they're stressing me out, it's not as cool as it was when I was 19 and I had nothing to lose. Now I do, and now I understand why Robards left too. Every time I go out into the field, I think about you guys, and when I'm at the office, I think about how tired I am… I don't know what to be but a savior, though.”

“You can start making pottery.” She laughed, making him laugh too. "You'll find something to do, I'm sure you have other skills besides being a hero," Ginny said, kissing him carefully, wanting him to understand that she was there with him, and that she was glad he was there. "We'll find something together, I promise."

[cblgblog]

So my issues with Irondad are well documented at this point, starting from their very first scenes. Specifically the utter tone deafness of Peter’s recruitment, by both Tony and the writers. Tony starts the movie being blamed for the death of a 20-year-old kid who was in the wrong place, wrong time in Sokovia. That accidental death that can be put down to negligence on his part, is pivotal to what happens next. So pivotal he uses it in his pitch for why the other Avengers need to sign the Accords.

Tony, midway through the movie, deliberately brings a 15-year-old child into this conflict. A child he blackmails into going with him, because if you don’t, I will tell your aunt.

Charles Spencer was an innocent civilian, wrong place, wrong time in Sokovia. He died. That tears Tony up, as it rightfully should. And yet, in the midst of his crusade about following laws and accountability, he lies to May Parker about taking her 15-year-old nephew out of the country and into a warzone. Ignoring some well-established laws about child soldiers.

Tony blackmailing a child who’s had his powers for 6 months into participating in this conflict makes no sense. Ever. It especially makes no sense in the context of Charles Spencer and his mother. Yet neither Tony nor the writers seem to comprehend this. Which is why Irondad has been bullshit from the start. Blackmail and kidnapping are not sweet, father-son moments, even if you ignore the fact, as the MCU wants to, that Peter had a father already, in Ben Parker. He has a loving adult parental figure in May Parker. Both of whom cared about him before he had spider powers that might be helpful to them.

All of this, I’ve said before, so have others. And then I realized that I actually hate Irondad more than I thought. That Feige and co. mishandled it even more than I thought, and why? Because of this.

We know the story. Peter was, supposedly, this kid Tony saved at the Stark Expo in Iron Man 2. Started out as a fan theory, and then was confirmed that yes, this is true, this is exactly what we intended.

Now, we know Civil War had different writers/directors than Homecoming or FFH did. We also know that, for all the lip service of, ‘It’s all connected,’ we know that the creatives in these different franchises do not always talk to each other, and that they often blatantly contradict each other.

Taking all that into account, acknowledging that…the dumbasses at Marvel did not think up the idea of Peter being the Iron Man 2 kid. They heard the theory, thought it was cool, then took credit for having meant that the entire time, yes, that was totally us.

We know this because it is never mentioned in canon. All those Tony and Peter interactions, all those times of yes, Mr. Stark, I just want to be like you, Mr. Stark, and Peter never mentions that? When Tony takes he suit from him in Homecoming and Peter says that he just wants another chance, wants to be like Tony, would he not mention that hey, you saved my life, Mr. Stark. You saved my life and I just wanted to be like you, and now I can be, now I can save lives like you, just please give me another chance.

If the Iron Man 2 theory were true, would he not say that? In FFH, when he’s all guilt-ridden, I didn’t save him, would he not mention that hey, he saved my life before I was Spider-man, before I was special, before I was anyone?

Now I know what you’re thinking. The Iron Man 2 thing isn’t that big a deal. It’s not a crucial thing. And you know what, you’re right. It isn’t, it’s just always annoyed me, in an eyeroll way, that the same people who couldn’t count properly between 2012 and 2017 (8 years later flashing in giant letters across our screens means that Homecoming was meant to take place in 2020), that these same people who let something so blatantly timeline breaking get through then took credit for a kind of cool, kind of clever fan theory. It’s annoying.

I’ve now realized, however, that it is far more than annoying to me. Because TPTB at Marvel did not think of that idea for themselves, but if they had, and if they’d run with that idea? If they had, it would’ve made Peter’s recruitment in Civil War so much more fucked up than it already is, but so much more interesting. So, so, so much more interesting.

I’ve talked about why Spidey’s own movies (as much as you can call them that given the level of Tony infiltration) prove that the theory isn’t true. Now let’s go to Civil War. Different writers, yes, but let’s talk anyway about why we can tell from CW that Peter was not that kid.

He gets home. May is like, look who it is, Tony Stark. Not, look who it is, the hero who literally saved your life. When Tony locks himself in Peter’s room with him (still fucking gross, Jesus Christ), Peter is just, nope, I got no idea what you’re talking about. That’s—no, I’m not a superhero, no. He’s defensive. He’s apprehensive. He’s trying to figure out what fresh hell this is. He’s trying to hide stuff from Tony. If this is the guy who saved him at the Stark Expo, why this reaction? Why not, oh my god, you saved my life, I thought I’d never see you again, not, not up close I mean. When Tony asks him to do a thing, why is it not, well yeah, duh , you saved my life, where do we start? Or even, okay, I don’t really wanna do this, but, you saved my life, I owe you?

So, nobody wrote a fucking word of any of Peter and Tony’s interactions under the theory that he was the Stark Expo kid.

But what if they had?

Tony shows up at May’s place. He does not know who Peter is, in relation to their “meeting” before. He’s expecting to have to do some level of smooth talk to get in here but, nope. May’s just, oh my god, you saved my boy’s life, come in, come in!

We don’t know for sure that Peter was orphaned by the time of the Expo, but if we base it on comics and prior films, he likely was. Most versions seem to have him fall under Ben and May’s care between 2 and 6.  O1’ birthday means he would’ve been around 9 at the Expo. So, more than likely, Ben or May or both were the ones there with him. They may credit Tony with saving their lives as well.

So, Tony starts the movie being called out by a grieving mother. Going down this route, we’re at the midpoint…and here’s a different mother telling him how great he is. How he saved the most important thing in her life. How if Ben were here (May’s wearing her wedding ring around her neck btw, you can see it in the scene), Ben would say the same thing. Shake his hand. Hug him.

Now, Tony’s got a sharp ass mind, when it’s not clouded with booze or drugs or the like. Since he wasn’t wasted at the Expo, there’s a good chance that, given some details, he remembers saving this kid. He remembers how small this little boy actually was. He remembers how light this kid was when he grabbed him. It was a few seconds in a long ass night, that he hasn’t thought about in years, but to May Parker, it’s everything.

So maybe at this point Tony’s rethinking this. He’s remembering that little boy, realizing how young he still is. He pulled that boy from danger. And now here’s this woman who invited him into her house, told him how her husband just passed recently, things have been hard, especially for Peter but God, he’ll love to see you. Maybe Tony’s rethinking this, coming up with a way out, when Peter shows up. And then, aw hell. The kid’s just a mess of excitement and shock, possibly tears…okay now it’s just gotten harder to make an exit.

Let’s pause here to say that May Parker is not fucking dumb (“Cut the bullshit. I know you left detention. I know you left the hotel room in Washington. I know you sneak out of this house every night.”).

May is not dumb. Letting the 50-year-old dude go into her nephew’s room with him, alone? Arguably dumb, even if it is Iron Man. Letting him grab the kid for some Stark…thing, and take him wherever Tony said he was taking him on 12 seconds notice? Even more arguably dumb.  CW as it’s written dumbs down May’s character for the sake of an already questionable plot point. Especially since she literally says she’s not a fan of Tony in Homecoming. Yes, her comment there comes after the “internship,” her noting Peter’s distraction and stress because of it. But still, it’s fucking weird that she’d let this man take her kid out of the country, alone, in CW. It makes her dumb for the sake of plot.

But if Stark saved Peter’s life not so long ago? It at least makes a bit more sense. He’s a hero. Peter literally wouldn’t be here without him. Why would Tony hurt him now?

So, back to the scene. Peter’s probably less paranoid about showing his stuff to Tony. Probably not spilling everything himself, but when Tony notices things, Peter’s probably less panicked over it, more willing to confirm. Yes, he’s got these powers, okay? And he hasn’t had them for long, but he’s trying to do good, like Tony. He’s trying to do the right thing, like Tony.

Now, this kid has such literal hero worship going, and he’s so damn inexperienced, he admits that. And Tony’s still got Charles Spencer’s mom in his head. He’s dead, Stark. And I blame you.

Can Tony really take this kid—actual minor kid younger than Charles was—take him and put him on the field against the goddamn Avengers? That woman out there with the dead husband and the ring around her neck, what’s he going to say if Peter gets hurt, or worse? Sure the kid obviously has skills but, can he risk another grieving mom?

So, maybe Tony’s rethinking this. Maybe he can still get out of this, improvise a Plan B. But then there’s a text from Nat or Ross. Where are you? We’ve only got a few hours, what’s the play?

Special circumstances, nobody in that group is really gonna fight to kill…it’s special circumstances, and he can keep the kid mostly sidelined.

This time, he doesn’t have to blackmail Peter. He doesn’t have to threaten to expose his secret. Peter’s willing, either because he genuinely wants to, or he feels he owes Tony a debt. So there goes the dick factor of Tony literally blackmailing a child. And the lack of questions Peter seems to ask about what he’s fighting for, the acceptance of vague answers, that’d also make more sense in this context.

In this version, Tony is both more and less of a dick. He’s doing less active threatening and manipulation…but he’s also being doubly manipulative. His genuinely good deed gives him an easy in with the Parkers. He’s playing on the credibility of an earlier, at least somewhat better version of himself. One who saved Peter Parker and hadn’t yet ended Charles Spencer.

Look, I won’t lie, I legit don’t know what I’m saying anymore, except that Marvel sucks for taking credit for a thing that they definitely do not have credit for. Which isn’t particularly new for them, and wouldn’t particularly matter if the thing they took credit for (and didn’t do anything with) could’ve offered some interesting story possibilities.

[conradscrime]

The Keddie Cabin Murders

April 30, 2021

In July 1979 a woman named Glenna Susan Sharp (known to everyone as “Sue”) left her Connecticut home with her 5 children after separating from her abusive husband, James Sharp. Sue and her children decided to move to California, where Sue’s brother Don was living. 

Sue first began renting a small trailer but then moved to house #28 in the community of Keddie. The previous occupant was a Plumas County sheriff, Sylvester Douglas Thomas, but when he moved out Sue and her 5 children, John age 15, Sheila age 14, Tina age 12, Rick age 10 and Greg age 5, moved in. 

Sue was a single mother of 5, struggling to make ends meet. She got $250 from her abusive ex, was on welfare and used food stamps. She also enrolled in a federal education program that allowed her to take business classes. Her classmates said she was a good student who got excellent grades, however they described her as a loner. 

A lot of people in the community didn’t like Sue. They gossiped about her being on welfare and they claimed she dated a lot of men. There was rumours that she slept with men for money or was dealing drugs. Most of the gossip about Sue was the fact that she kept to herself and didn’t have many friends, though Sue didn’t mind this. She didn’t care what people thought of her and she was only looking to improve her life, with dreams of opening her own business to be able to provide for her children. 

On April 11, 1981 at 11:30 am Sue and her children Sheila and Greg drove from their friends’ house to pick up her other son Rick who was at baseball tryouts at Gansner Field. On their drive Sue came across her eldest son John and his friend, Dana Wingate, who were hitchhiking from Quincy, California to Keddie. Sue picked the boys up and around 3:30 pm John and Dana hitchhiked back to Quincy where some believe that had plans to visit some of their friends. 

The evening of April 11, 1981 Sheila, Sue’s eldest daughter had plans to spend the night at her friends house, at the Seabolt family home, who happened to live adjacent to the Sharp’s home. Sheila left the home after 8pm and Sue was left with Rick, Greg and their friend Justin Eason (some sources call him Smartt) who was staying the night. Tina, Sue’s other daughter, was already at the Seabolt’s watching tv, but she returned home around 9:30 pm. 

Greg went to bed around 8:30 pm that night, and Tina at 9:30. Rick and Justin joined Sue to watch tv before they also went to bed around 10 pm. Sue stayed on the couch and was dozing off, but it was believed she didn’t want to fully go to bed until John and Dana returned. Allegedly people noticed some “odd” things that night. People heard a dog barking by Cabin #28 as well as noticing the back porch light was on at 4 am. 

At 7 or 8 am on the morning of April 12, 1981 Sheila arrived home from her sleepover at the Seabolt’s to change her clothes as she was planning to go to church with them, when she discovered the dead bodies of her mother Sue, her brother John, and John’s friend, Dana Wingate in the living room. All three had been bound with tape and wire. Tina was not found to be anywhere in the house, and the three younger children, Rick, Greg and their friend Justin were still alive, unharmed in a bedroom. Numerous sources say that the three boys must of slept through the murders though this claim has been contradicted. 

When Sheila discovered what had happened she ran back to the Seabolt’s home where Jamie Seabolt got Rick, Greg and Justin out of the house through the window. Jamie admitted he did enter the house through the backdoor at one point, to see if he could find anyone else alive, thus possibly contaminating the crime scene.

Two bloodied knives and one hammer were found at the scene, and one of the knives which was a steak knife had been bent at 30 degrees, clearly showing the brutality of the attack. The blood spatter evidence indicated that Sue, John and Dana had all been murdered in the living room where they were found.

Sue was found laying on her side near the sofa and nude from the waist down. She had been gagged with a blue bandana and her own panties which had been secured with tape. She had been stabbed in the chest and her throat was stabbed horizontally, the wound went through her larynx and nicking her spine. On the side of her head was an imprint matching the butt of a Daisy 880 Powerline BB/pellet rifle. Sheila claimed that the Sharp’s did not have any medical tape in the house so it was believed one of the killers brought it with them.

John’s throat had also been slashed and Dana had multiple head injuries and had been strangled to death. Both John and Dana had suffered blunt-force trauma to their heads caused by a hammer. The autopsies determined that Sue and John both died from knife wounds and blunt-force trauma but Dana had died from asphyxiation. 

Sheila and the Seabolt family both claimed they had not heard any commotion during the night however, a couple who lived nearby in house #16 were awakened at 1:15 am by what sounded like muffled screaming. Keddie cabin #28 showed no signs of forced entry but the telephone had been taken off the hook with the cord cut from the outlet and all the drapes were closed.

Tina, her shoes, jacket and a tool box were missing from the house. A man named Martin Smartt, who was a neighbour to the Sharp family and the step-father of Justin Eason, one of the boys found alive from the attack claimed that a claw hammer had gone missing from his home. The police interviewed Martin Smartt and determined that he gave “endless clues” in the case and seemed to want to throw suspicion away from himself. 

The police interviewed the Smartt family along with other locals and neighbours, including the Seabolt family who recalled seeing a green van parked at the Sharp’s house around 9pm.

A composite sketch of two suspects was drawn up based off testimony from Justin, who claims he witnessed the crimes. Justin gave lots of conflicting stories though, saying he had dreamt details of the murders but later claiming that he actually did witness them. Under hypnosis, Justin stated that he woke up to sounds coming from the living room while he was asleep in the bedroom with Rick and Greg. He went to see what the sounds were and saw Sue with two men, one with a moustache and short hair and the other was clean shaven with long hair. Both men were wearing gold framed glasses. 

Justin said John and Dana then entered the house and began to argue with the men. A fight broke out and Tina then entered the room and was taken out the cabin’s back door by one of the men. Because Justin’s story changed numerous times and his stepfather, Martin, was one of the main suspects, many believe Justin was threatened somehow, and that’s why his story changed a few times, to cover up for his stepfather. It also explains why Justin and the two younger boys were unharmed during the attack -- if Martin was involved why would he kill his stepson? Martin would of had to leave the two younger Sharp boys, Greg and Rick alone because they were sleeping in the same room as Justin. 

These composite sketches were drawn by a man named Harlan Embry who had no artistic abilities and was not trained in forensic sketching. There has never been an explanation as to why the police did not hire an actual forensic sketcher. The suspects were described as being in their late 20′s or early 30′s, one was between 5′11 to 6′2 tall with dark blonde hair and the other was between 5′6 to 5′10 with black greased hair.

Rumours began to start and some believed the murders had been ritualistic or had a drug trafficking motive. The Plumas County Sheriff, Doug Thomas, dismissed all of these stating that there was no drug paraphernalia or illegal drugs found in the home. A family acquaintance claimed that Dana Wingate had recently stolen LSD from local drug dealers but there was no proof of this. 

The police spent a lot of time trying to figure out what happened at Keddie Cabin #28 that night and the case was described as “frustrating.” In December 1983 detectives ruled out serial killers Henry Lee Lucas and Ottis Toole has suspects. 

The FBI thought Tina’s disappearance was a possible abduction. A grid pattern search of the area was done around the house with police canines but they found nothing.

On April 22, 1984, 3 years after the murders, a bottle collector found a portion of a human skull at Camp Eighteen near Feather Falls in Butte County, around 100 miles from Keddie. Shortly after the discovery, the Butte County Sheriff’s Office received an anonymous phone call with the person on the other end claiming those remains were Tina Sharp’s. This call was not documented in the case and a recording of it wasn’t found until 2013, at the bottom of an evidence box. The remains were positively identified as that of Tina Sharp in June 1984. Near Tina’s remains they found a blue nylon jacket, a blanket, a pair of Levi Strauss jeans with a missing back pocket and an empty surgical tape dispenser.

Keddie Cabin #28 was demolished in 2004 and in 2008 a documentary on the murders came out, with Marilyn Smartt, mother of Justin and wife of Martin Smartt, claiming that her husband and his friend John “Bo” Boubede who was living with the Smartt’s at the time, were responsible for the murders of the Sharp’s and Dana. Martin Smartt allegedly met John “Bo” a few weeks earlier in a Veteran’s hospital where he was being treated for PTSD after serving in the Vietnam war. Supposedly Martin was angry at Sue Sharp, claiming that she was interfering with his marriage as she allegedly would give Marilyn advice on how to leave his abuse. Martin was known to cheat on his wife, have violent outbursts and was even accused of selling drugs. Martin was working as a cook but had been fired a few weeks before the murders.

Marilyn Smartt claimed that on the night of the murders she left Martin and John “Bo” at a local bar around 11 pm and went home to go to sleep herself. Other sources say Marilyn went to the bar with the men herself and invited Sue to join them, but she declined. Supposedly all three came back home and when Marilyn went to bed at 11 the two men went back out to the bar. Around 2am she woke up to find the two men burning an unknown item in the wood stove. Marilyn also claimed that her husband Martin hated John Sharp with a passion. Other sources claim it was actually John “Bo” that didn’t like John Sharp and referred to him as a “punk.” 

However in the documentary, Sheriff Doug Thomas said he had interviewed Martin Smartt himself and that he had passed a polygraph test. Martin Smartt died of cancer in June 2000 (other sources say 2006). John “Bo” Boubede died in 1988 and apparently had ties to organized crime in Chicago. 

On March 24, 2016, almost 35 years after the murders, a hammer that was matching the description of the hammer Martin Smartt claimed had gone missing was found in a local pond and taken into evidence. Sheriff Hagwood who knew the Sharp family personally believes that this hammer was intentionally placed there. 

In a 2016 article published in the Sacramento Bee, it was stated that Martin Smartt left Keddie and drove to Reno, Nevada and while there sent Marilyn a letter that said, “I’ve paid the price of your love and now I’ve bought it with four people’s lives.” Marilyn, who has since been remarried, says she doesn’t recall ever receiving that letter but she did recognize the writing as being Martin’s. 

Plumas County Special Investigator Mike Gamberg stated that this letter was never taken into evidence and that the initial investigation of the murder’s in the 1980′s was done poorly. 

Martin Smartt’s counsellor also admitted that Martin told him about the murders of Sue and Tina, but claimed he didn’t have anything to do with the murders of John and Dana. He told the counsellor that Tina had to die because she had witnessed the whole thing and would be able to identify him. 

In April 2018, 37 years after the murders Mike Gamberg stated that there was DNA evidence found from a piece of tape at the crime scene and it was a match to a known living suspect. The investigation is still opened, with a $5000 reward for any information that leads to an arrest and prosecution in the case. 

The police say they know some of the living suspects who were involved in this case and are convinced that they are closer than ever to solving the Keddie Cabin murders. 

[foolgobi65]

varshadhara

one.

Sita has been married a year when there is news of a drought, cloudless skies that refuse to darken and dust that does not become soil. 20 villages chose a single representative to beg for aid from the Emperor himself, and Sita’s husband is drawn when he finally enters their bedroom that night.

“They are dying,” he says quietly, a confession that even later Sita is never sure he meant for her to hear. His eyes close as he begins to remove the ornaments that mark him the eldest, the favorite son, heir to all his father has conquered. Sita, seated on the bed, watches as her husband looks down at the ruby necklace whose clasp he has just undone and calculates how many meals he could buy with what lies so easily in his palms.

“Years,” she confirms, hands playing with the edge of her cotton upper cloth for want of something to do. Her voice startles them both, somehow too loud and too soft for the strange hush that has fallen on the palace so many hours after sunset. “But only because the jewelry you wear is more precious in this city for having been yours.”

He looks up, curiosity a glint in his eye and hands at the heavy earrings the Emperor insists on for court. He seems glad to see her. “Would it help?”

“Yes,” she says, ignoring the way her heart clenches to hear the hope in his voice, “for now. But what about in a year, should the drought continue?”

Her husband glances at the chest which keeps his gold, the fruit of a generation’s worth of tribute from kingdoms that span the earth.

“What a tragedy,” he drawls, fingers slowly teasing out the crown from the wonderful tangles of his hair, “to lose all these heavy jewels in pursuit of my duty as king.”

Sita startles into laughter and reaches out to take her husband’s burden, ignoring the surprise that flickers briefly across his features. He is always so surprised and then so grateful for what to Sita are the smallest morsels of tolerance. She does not think about why this might upset her. “And as my Lord’s faithful wife,” she says cheerfully in response, “I suppose it would be my duty to donate my ornaments as well.”

Both of them linger on Sita’s wrists, the ones she keeps nearly bare save the one golden bangle around each that at least proves her a wife. They smile: tragic indeed.

“My father has proclaimed that the drought stricken will not pay tribute,” Sita hears hours later, low in the moments before she finally closes her eyes, “but there must be something more we can do to help.”

She could live like this, she thinks, at the moment she slips over the edge between the worlds of life and dreams. Sita is content. This could be enough.

----

two.

By now all of Ayodhya must know that Janaki, foundling daughter of the Videhan king, was not expected to marry -- the year that she has spent in the blessed state so far has been tumultuous, to say the least. She grew up a goddess, but more than that she grew up sheltered from palace politics and finds herself embroiled in more than one controversy due to her own ineptitude.

Her sisters, each of them younger than Sita, were married to her husband’s three brothers before they became women true and so are kept as maidens in the palaces of their individual mother in laws: far from their eldest sister who lives, as is traditional, in the rooms of her husband.

What would they say, Sita wonders, if they knew their sister to be equally virginal only weeks before the first anniversary of her wedding?

Sita sets the ceremonial platter on top of a stool and kneels, gently picking up the woolen blanket covering her husband as he sleeps on the floor. The difference in temperature, they have both realized, is usually enough for him to wake and so it is today when his eyes open. Together they fold not only the blanket that covered him but the two others that make what serves as his mattress on the ground, one of her husband’s many concessions to his ungrateful, accidental wife.

“I was never supposed to be married,” she had whispered the night of their consummation, tears streaming down her face and tone as possibly close to a shriek while knowing that servants listened at the door. “I know nothing of how to manage a royal household, much less satisfy a husband!”

The black rimming her eyes must have mixed with her tears, leaving Sita a fright. The combined talents of Ayodhya’s finest ladies-in-waiting ruined by the anxieties of a girl utterly unsuited to serve as their canvas. Sita’s husband, a man who wielded enough power at 16 to force each of Sita’s baying, blood-lusting suitors -- some of them thrice her husband’s age -- to their knees in supplication, had barely walked into the room when confronted with the sight.

“I did not need the protection of a husband,” Sita had said then, back turned. “I would have died before any of those lechers disguised as failed suitors tried to touch me.” She choked back a sob. “It would have been better for us all if I had.” Years later her husband confesses that sometimes he still hears her like this in the moments before he falls asleep, even when they have spent more years than not tangled as one in bed. Sita never tells him how close it all was in the end, how tightly she was gripping the knife when someone heard that a young anchorite had not only lifted, but broken the Great God’s bow. But on her wedding night, when Sita opened her eyes it was to the sight of her husband, his own blade drawn. She flinched, but he only raised his own palm and ran the edge against skin to draw blood.

“A woman,” he said in answer to her unvoiced question, “is supposed to bleed on her first night. The washerwoman will be paid handsomely for her knowledge in the morning.”

Sita flushed, shoulders straightening of their own accord at the implication.

“And as a virgin bride myself, I will bleed as any other” she said, hands fisted at her side in brief, overwhelming rage. “My reputation does not need you to shed blood on my behalf.”

Her husband had only nodded, moving towards the side of the bed opposite to where Sita sat in order to smear his palm once, twice, thrice until he seemed satisfied with his handiwork.

A million questions ran through Sita’s mind. “I hope your sleep is restful,” was all her husband said in response, grabbing a blanket from the foot of what was to be their marital bed and arranging himself on the floor.

Nearly a year since, Sita’s knowledge as to the running of households has not increased, nor, she suspects, has her knowledge regarding the satisfaction of her husband. He keeps long hours, spending as much time away from his wife as possible. The people of Ayodhya, used to the years that might have passed between visits from their woman-drunk sovereign, are enthralled by the near constant access to their Crown Prince, and this during the years when it is acceptable, nay even appropriate to be devoted to naught but one’s own pleasure.

The women of the palace, caught between their desire to honor their collective son and their need to denigrate his strange, uncouth wife, stay silent.

----

three.

“In Mithila,” Sita’s husband begins, breaking their easy silence that has fallen over this morning meal, “what would you do in times of drought?”

Sita startles, the palm frond she was using to keep away insects as her husband ate, slipping to the ground. Though they can now speak of many things, they have never spoken of Mithila -- it is encouraged for new brides to sink themselves fully into the environs of their new, forever home. In this, at least, she is like every wife before her: the ways of her past can have no place in her present. Every day she must attempt to forget who she once was.

“I am only a girl,” Sita answers carefully, eyes lowered as she was told women do. “Such a question may be better answered by my Father, or one of the preceptors versed in these matters.”

There is a silence, but Sita, unable to lift her eyes to her husband’s face, cannot tell if he has accepted her falsehood. The Raghuvanshis, she has been told time and time again, are a line of honor. They do not lie.

“Did you think--” she hears, and then a sigh. “I know who you are, my lady. Are we not friends, at the very least?”

Sita clenches her jaw, picking up the palm fronds once more. She is no longer afraid of her husband, at least not as she was at first. But he cannot want the answers he seeks, not truly. “I am a princess of Ayodhya,” she says, as she has to herself every morning since she woke up next to her husband’s blood on the bed and his body on their floor. “I am your wife, sanctified by the Lord’s Bow and the sacrament of the Holy Fire.”

“Yes,” her husband agrees. Sita cannot help but note that his tone is gentle. “And in Videha, you are considered a Goddess too.”

He says it so easily, as if Sita does not live balanced on the sword-edge between damned and divine. For a moment, she lets herself imagine what it would be like to be known.

There is a story known in Videha, of a drought so ferocious that a King long without child was forced to seed his own lands with the merit of his good deeds. Of the four days of labor that resulted in a baby girl, delivered from the womb of the Eternal Mother Earth. A child covered in an afterbirth of soil where there had only ever been useless dirt.

And yet this too is known: children are the only dead who are buried, their bodies believed too beloved to be consecrated to the fire and burned beyond reckoning. Instead they are covered in wool and laid to rest in the lap of Mother Earth alongside a plea for Death to be gentle.

Sometimes these children are wanted. Many times, the bodies buried are the ones who are not.

This is all that is known: when the King knelt to deliver the child, what had previously been blue sky broke into the first of that year’s monsoon, nearly a decade since the last.

Foundlings left to die do not wear the garb of royalty. Goddesses do not wed.

What would you call me, Crown Prince?

“I am a princess of Ayodhya,” she says, the words suddenly heavy, like stones in her mouth. Her silence protects her sisters from the taint of Sita’s own uncertainty, and Ayodhya has no need for Gods not its own. She waves away an insect that attempts to rest atop her husband’s left ear and resigns herself to her fate: “I am your wedded wife.”

“They are dying,” he says softly, but he speaks to himself. Sita thinks of the easy way they can speak now sometimes; at nights before they retire, or over a morning meal. Her husband is right -- they are friends, if nothing else, and she owes him more than this. Viciously Sita tamps down on the guilt she feels roiling her stomach, rebelling against a stance that suddenly feels like betrayal.

----

Four.

“It is strange,” Mother Kaushalya remarks, as always, “that you were never taught the ways of Royal Women. Is this how girls are raised in Videha?”

Mother Kaushalya, who has only known the Kosala for which she is named, has latched onto the strangeness of Sita’s far-off homeland as a possible explanation for the ways in which Sita grates mountain-rough against the silk of the Imperial Palace. It is useless of course, since a slight against Videha must inherently touch Sita’s sisters, who in the last year have already developed a reputation for grace, gentility, and an overflowing well of kindness towards all blessed with their presence.

Mother Kaushalya, according to the servant-slaves Sita eavesdrops on, has been heard quarreling with Mother Sumitra, begging for “at least one of your darling girls, my Lady, for you know that it can only be selfishness to keep them both when your elder sister has none!”

Sita, tugging awkwardly at the overwrought necklaces she must wear when in Mother Kaushalya’s presence, can only agree. She, more than anyone, knows what she lacks. There have been rumors recently that all three of Dasharatha’s Chief Queens have made a petition to the Emperor to find a new princess worthy of the Crown Prince’s hand.

Sita can only hope that when the time comes, her husband will allow her access to the Imperial Library, or at least will deem it proper to have one wife devoted to the worship of the Gods: philosophy and piety are so easily confused, after all. The best life she can now demand is one where she recedes into the background of the Imperial Palace, unneeded and unknown by all. Never will Sita oversee the workings of a kingdom in the manner she was raised, nor will she sit atop an altar and listen to those petitioners who make pilgrimage to weep at her feet.

Some days, Sita does not even know if she is a woman at all, if these mothers and wives are capable of knowing and carrying the grief of a nation inside their fragile bodies. Every night she dreams of the drought ravaging the villages near the outskirts of Kosala, of how once a year Sita was carried by 50 men to the fields of Videha so that she might press her feet into the soil that made her womb and call forth the rains that heralded her birth.

But then she too dreams of this: a mother weeping, swollen with child like other mothers who have knelt in front of Sita. A mother who delivers a daughter in the ordinary way and buries her alive.

“Goddesses,” the Sage Parashurama had said the year after Sita was installed in the palace of Mithila, “are not meant for marriage. Videha is fortunate that after the reign of Janaka it will be guided by the light of the Divine.”

He paused then, as they all do. “And if the Lady were not a goddess, well --”

They never finish the sentence. The threat is implied.

Sita cannot be meant for love, not in the way of women who are meant for marriage. How can she, when she was meant to sit atop a dais as the physical embodiment of a force of nature, just as easily as inside the hearts of believers? How can she, when she lives her life in the fear that she will be caught out and banished, back into the grave she was meant to die in?

Women are meant for friendship. Women are meant for love.

“My apologies Mother Kaushalya,” Sita says, shaking her head and trying to convince herself that she does not rage against the fate that stretches fallow before her, “I was not raised to be much of a girl at all.”

The real trouble, Sita thinks later, is that despite everything she has somehow found herself liking her husband anyway.

---

five.

“My Lady,” a servant twitters three weeks after the Emperor promises debt relief to the drought-stricken. “My Lady, your Lord husband has need of you!”

Sita looks up from the flowers she is carelessly attempting to string together in a garland, perhaps to festoon a doorway, perhaps to drape around one of the many idols of Surya, the progenitor of her husband’s race. They have not spoken in the week since he asked her about Videha and she refused to answer. “He does?”

“He does,” the servant responds with some relish, ready Sita is sure to reap the rewards of being the bearer of such premium gossip the moment Sita’s back is turned. Sita’s husband has never before indicated such a preference for her company. “He asked that I bring you to him, and not in the garb of royalty.”

“And you are sure that this is my husband?” It is not altogether seemly for Sita to be expressing such doubt that her husband might be asking for her, especially when such a request -- even to appear in plainclothes -- is not unusual for those young and in love, seeking respite from the rhythms of the palace by traveling outside its gates. But really, her husband?

The servant, a girl perhaps only a few years older than Sita’s 16, only raises an eyebrow and widens her grin. “Should I call for one of your maids to help you dress?”

“No,” Sita responds absently, lost in the contemplation of what game her husband could possibly be playing. “Did he say if he had any preference as to what I wear?”

“He did not, my Lady, but if I may I think you had better choose something blue if you have it. The color sets nicely against your skin. Silver jewelry instead of gold, if you have that too. ”

Sita does, buried at the bottom of a trunk of clothes she had carried with her from home. But before that --

“Here,” Sita undoes the clasp of the pearl necklace sent to her by some princeling attempting to curry favor with the crown. There is no true harm in people knowing she has left the palace in her husband’s company, but she is off-center enough to want this a secret as long as she can buy it so. “For your silence, until we return.”

In the time it takes Sita to strip out of silk and re-knot her old lower cloth of coarse blue cotton she has thought of a hundred different potential scenarios. Had she been alone, she might have had to slouch out of her own rooms with her head down so that she might prevent recognition -- in the company of a servant, Sita is passed over as one as well and strolls quite comfortably into the sunshine, following a path she has never taken until they find her husband leaning against the wall of one of the palace’s more minor stables.

“My lady,” he says, seeming to shake himself out of some sort of stupor and leveraging himself fully upright. “Antara,” he says then, turning to face the servant he had charged with fetching Sita, “you have my gratitude.” He leans down to pick up something wrapped in cloth before walking to Antara with a winning smile while pressing the package into her arms.

Sita knows something of her husband, but not like this. She is charmed.

“I came across the mangoes your sister likes when I was making my way back from one of the border kingdoms,” her husband says to Antara. “Tell her that I look forward to hearing more about her adventures when she is feeling well enough to take visitors.”

Antara’s eyes gleam and grow misty. “Oh,” she says, lips trembling as she folds her hands around the parcel and takes her leave, “and we have only just gotten her head to shrink back to its usual size after the last time!”

Alone at last, Sita’s husband’s earlier flash of ease vanish into the ether. Sita tries not to take offense at being more a stranger to him than the woman he sent to fetch his wife. “My lady,” he says again, but cannot seem to say anything more. Sita, feeling the awkwardness of the last week’s silence and her own slight guilt besides, takes pity.

“The girl?”

Sita is rewarded with a smile of her own, small but sincere. “Bedridden, but wonderfully vivacious still. There are bouts of illness where she is worse off than usual, but she believes me nothing more than a particular playmate and I try to see her when I can. The parcel has medicine a far-off physician swore had done a similar patient some good, but Antara would never accept unless I passed it to her like this.”

Sita blinks. “But you are her sovereign!”

Her husband shrugs. “I am her sister’s friend, and I find that everyone is entitled to some amount of pride. It is difficult to accept that you cannot help the one you love best alone.”

She nods, satisfied as she has been in the past with the knowledge that at least she is not married to a stupid man, And, she supposes, not a cruel one either. “How old is the girl?”

His smile widens slightly in apparent reminiscence. “She will be seven in two months' time.”

“Does she have a doll?”

“One,” Sita’s husband says slowly, brow slightly furrowed, “but bedraggled.”

Sita may not know how to comport herself as wife nor princess, but once she was a Goddess who heard the entreaties of those who cared for their beloved ill. Still, she remains a sister. This, Sita knows how to do. “If you approve, I will make her a new one that you can take with you. I used to make dolls for my sisters out of dried grass and cloth when we were children.”

For a moment, her husband looks stunned before he manages to school his features into something like equanimity once more. Still, he slips and there is something helpless about the way he is suddenly looking at her. “You are kind,” he says, but low in a tone that makes it clear that he is not truly speaking to Sita so much as about her to himself. “I am always glad for that.”

Sita blushes, unsure about how to respond to a compliment not exactly meant for her ears. It is not something she ever expected to hear from anyone in Ayodhya, much less the husband she condemns to spend his days wandering the countryside and his nights at rest alone on his own stone floor. “Why did you call me?” she decides to ask instead.

Again, her husband shakes his head as if rising from a reverie. His usual self-confidence suddenly melts into trepidation. What could he possibly want that discomfits him so?

“At the Kosalan border,” he says slowly, eyes focused on some point behind Sita’s shoulders, “there are a few villages that, at some point in the last few years, welcomed some families from afar.”

There is something about the way he speaks that begins to knot Sita’s stomach. She has the beginnings of an inkling, but nothing so concrete that she can speak it aloud. She nods for him to continue.

“Neighbors share stories in times of plenty as well as times of scarcity. These last few months there have been stories about former droughts, experienced by foreign kingdoms.”

Ah. Of course.

“This is not Videha,” Sita says, but she speaks almost as if she is in a dream. She cannot deny her divinity, not without inviting further scrutiny of her orphanhood. But neither has she ever truly believed that it is her feet that coaxed the rains to Mithila. Her father sowed the fields with the merit of his good deeds. Her father found a babe in the trough. Coincidence does not imply correlation.

What would happen if the stories were wrong? If Sita walked the lands but the sky remained a bright, barren blue? In some faint corner of her heart, she feels resentment towards her husband for having made her think of this at all.

“Yes,” her husband agrees, “I told them so. But they insist I bring you to meet them if only to speak as their princess.” He winces slightly, eyes shifting desolate to the dirt. “Hope sometimes means the difference between death or life in these instances, and at this moment I have nothing else to offer.”

Helpless, Sita thinks again. Her husband, Crown Prince of Dasaratha’s empire that extends further and exacts more in tribute than any before, stands helpless before his wife. They are friends, he had said, and even before that, he is the one who has always been kind. She opens her mouth to say something, anything, but no words find themselves on the tip of her tongue.

Her husband, eyes still averted, nods as if he has understood. “It was foolish to ask, I know, and perhaps you even think me cruel. You do not speak of who you were in Videha, and I should not ask this of you as my wife.” His jaw sets. “I will take you back to the palace.”

What would happen if the stories were true? If, as in her dreams, Sita walked the lands here in Kosala and the skies still split?

“How will we go?” she asks quietly, unable to force her voice firm. The words leave her mouth unbidden, but she knows they are right nonetheless. “How long will it take?”

She can almost hear her husband’s neck snap as his eyes rise from their study of the ground to gaze at her with all the intensity of the vicious sun. If before he was stunned, now he can only be described as pole-axed. His face is suddenly host to so many overwrought emotions at once that it is rendered as illegible as the times when he forces it blank. She has never seen him so, but that is not unusual. She had not seen him even wearing the smile he gave Antara.

This, she wonders, if anyone anywhere has witnessed ever before. She wonders, even as in her heart she knows the truth: they haven’t. None but Sita.

“Will you really come?” His voice is almost plaintive, like a child asking something he already knows he cannot have. But what does the most powerful man in the world know of want?

“I will,” Sita says, head spinning with a thousand questions, a thousand fears, a thousand hopes. She bites her lip, suddenly overwhelmed by her own uncertainty. “I cannot promise --” again, she loses her voice before she can finish the sentence that would throw her status into such uncertainty.

“I know,” her husband says, answering her unasked question. “I always knew. It would not matter to me either way.” He too seems to break off, struggling to find the proper words. He takes a step forward, and then another, and then one more until he stands in front of Sita, close enough that if he reached out he could clutch at her wrists. “Janaki,” he says, voice dripping with an honest earnesty that suddenly reminds Sita that if she feels herself a girl in Ayodhya then her husband too is a young boy, aged artificially by the weight he is always carrying on his shoulders.

“Janaki,” her husband says again, and Sita takes a breath. He is very handsome up close this friend of hers, the man who is her husband. “You will always be safe with me.” He smiles slightly, and Sita feels the corners of her own lips curling in sympathetic response. “As you say, you are now my wedded wife. There is nothing anyone could say about you that will change that. You can be more, but from now on you will never be less.”

For years Sita was old as well. More than anything else, she was lonely. She is lonely still.

What would you call me, Crown Prince?

My wife.

“I will try,” she vows, refusing to think about what it will do to the villagers for whom the drought continues after she walks the distance of their land. For once, she knows what will happen: she will remain her husband’s wife. In many ways, this is more the moment of her marriage than the one in which he tied the sacred thread around her neck than the one in which he broke the bow of the Great God.

“I will,” she says again, and Sita is unsure if she is promising to be wife, princess, or Goddess. All three, perhaps. “For them,” she swallows and throws all caution to the wind. “For you, I promise I will at least try.”

---

+1

Sita walks for hours, hair falling out of the twist she had pulled it into after dismounting from the saddle she had shared with her husband traveling by horseback to the place that still believed there lived a goddess that could quench dry land.

She walks and walks, walks and walks and walks until her feet begin to crack and then bleed after such long exposure to the harshness of dead earth. Then, she walks some more. Thirst left her an hour ago, but now she struggles against exhaustion. Every step threatens to pull her down into the dust, and she knows, knew, that this would happen. She knew that she would prove their faith false, and leave them worse for having met her. She knew, and yet --

She had hoped, still.

There are no living goddesses who walk the land like Sita to call forth the rain. It is a ritual that has its roots in her father Janaka’s sacrifice, seeding the earth with the merit of his good deeds. Once, she had asked him what he felt when he had been plowing alone in the moments before he manifested a miracle.

“I suppose I should tell you that I prayed,” he had said thoughtfully, hand coming up to stroke absently at his beard, “but I did not. My people were suffering, and there is nothing even an intelligent man can do to mitigate the effects of a decade of drought. I was supposed to be thinking of all the good I had done, so as to imbue the ground with that goodness. But more than anything, every moment I was there I wanted it to rain -- more than anything I had ever wanted before. I felt like I would have done anything then, given anything, if only it would rain. By the end, I knew it would. It had to.”

In Videha, Sita had walked as ritual. She had lived in times of plenty.

In Kosala, there is a drought. She has seen with her own eyes the shrunken bodies of villagers who have no food. Whose voices are raspy with thirst. Together they had collected all the water they had left and had Sita sit, cross-legged before them as they washed away the dust of the road. Sita’s husband has promised that she will be his wife even if she proves a woman after all, but suddenly she knows why the rain fell. Her father too had known; in his own way, he had even tried to tell her.

In Kosala, Sita wants. She is a woman, and in this moment she wants as she never has before. She wants it to rain, more than anyone ever has wanted anything anywhere. More even than her father must have wanted because she wants not only for herself and her people but for her husband as well. Perhaps for him most of all, whom she has seen wrack his mind for weeks. Who has defied what convention or good sense would tell him and instead placed his faith in his wild wife, bringing her to the outskirts of his kingdom in hope of a miracle. Far from the palace, Sita knows herself. She knows what she wants. She knows now, with blinding certainty, what will be.

She wants to be loved, and she wants to love in turn. She wants it to rain, and so it will.

She walks until her body fails, certain in her knowledge that the rain will come. It has to. She trips, and suddenly she hears the gasps of the crowd that has kept vigil at the sides as they did in the time of her father before her. She trips, she falls, and just as she loses consciousness she hears the impossible roll of thunder on a cloudless day.

Sita hits the ground, and it begins to rain in Kosala.

---

coda. (2, 3, 4)

It is late when Sita wakes, eyes opening to the ceiling of a small hut as the raindrops patter against the roof. Outside she can hear shouts of glee, the beat of drums, the exultant songs of villagers who know that they can soothe their hoarse throats with water.

“Was it always like that?” Sita looks down to the foot of her bed where her husband kneels, hands gently rubbing ointment into her wounds before wrapping them with strips of his upper cloth. She hums in question, uncertain of what he means. “When you would walk in Videha,” her husband clarifies, eyes never leaving his self-appointed task, “was it like it was today?”

She could say yes, and imply that this is what goddesses do. Raghuvanshis do not lie. “No,” she says, and marvels at what a struggle it is to even speak. “Never.”

He nods, as if this was the only answer he expected. “Then it really was you,” he says softly, and suddenly Sita notices his hands are shaking as he winds the last of the cloth around her left foot. “You walked, and the gods answered your call.”

“Yes,” Sita says in a whisper. It is a thought too large to bear. He must have questions, she knows, and she owes her husband an explanation. She wants to tell him everything she remembers, everything she now understands, but in this moment there is nothing she can bring herself to say.

Finally, he looks away from her feet, shifting so that it is easier for Sita to look and see his red eyes.

“You cried,” Sita says inanely, stupid again but now in shock.

Her husband laughs, the sound just on the verge of being a sob. “It rained.”

He looks away.

“Before I found your pulse, I thought you had died.”

---

They leave in the morning once more on horseback, Sita clutching her husband’s waist and content to expose her aching, bandaged feet to the elements having long lost her shoes. The villagers offer breakfast, but Sita and her husband communicate wordlessly like she has seen other married couples do, and say together that they must respectfully decline. It will take another cycle for the crops to truly flourish, and there is more food than anyone can eat at home.

For a moment, Sita is jarred at the realization that Ayodhya is what she means when she thinks now of “home.” Mithila, of course, is home always -- but it is different now. Sita’s father called down the rain in Videha, but it was Sita alone who split the sky for her home last night.

After about an hour her husband brings the horse to a halt and jumps down, walking until they reach a lush orchard. Sita swings her right leg around and falls into his arms. For a moment she feels him lower her before he remembers that she cannot walk and shifts his grip, left arm grasping under her knees as Sita wraps her arms around his neck.

“You like jamun fruits, no? You keep them in our bedroom sometimes.”

Yes, Sita does. “Do you?”

Her husband shrugs. “I like these jamun fruits.”

“And where are we?”

“The crown plants orchards at places along the main roads so that travelers might find some respite.” He smiles, looking up at one of the trees. “This is the one with the best jamun fruits in Kosala. And this,” he lowers Sita to the ground underneath the tree and she lets go obligingly, “is the best tree of the orchard.”

It is a romantic claim to make, that there is a single tree that produces the best fruit in the land, but Sita’s husband does not say it as one might when repeating a fancy. Intrigued despite herself, she asks: “How do you know?”

He palms the bark, fingers searching for something that he finds in a particular divot. “A few years ago a squadron of warriors tested the fruit of every tree. This was the one they liked best.”

Sita is skeptical. “And you believe them?”

“Well,” her husband amends, that same mischief he had shown Antara in his eyes, “this is certainly the one I liked best, and the rest agreed as well. It might not be to your taste, given that you are a woman of refined taste in this sphere and I merely a man who prefers mangos.”

“We shall see,” Sita laughs, bedraggled and thirsty and tired. Still, she feels like she has never laughed like this before. In her past she has certainly felt joy and found laughter, but in her happiness now she floats. She had always felt so heavy before. “Let me have my breakfast, and I will be the judge of that.”

Her husband is graceful in victory -- it is not perfectly the season, but Sita swears she has never tasted so sweet a fruit.

---

“Her feet are bandaged,” Kaikeyi observes when the cacophony that accompanies their return to the palace dies down to a dull roar. It is an easy thing to notice when Sita is being carried in her husband’s arms. Kaikeyi was always the quickest of Dasaratha’s queens and proves herself to be the one best informed when her beautiful face twists in withering disgust. “You cannot possibly think that your wife ended the drought by walking.”

Sita cannot tell if the emphasis is on the words “your wife” or “walking.” Both, she thinks, offend the very marrow of an Ayodhyan sensibility that has spent half a year shoving gold at pandits to fund a sacrifice that will finally please Indra.

This is what Sita, married into a family that does not lie, plans to say: “We are glad to see the rain.”

This is what her husband, whose words at 18 already carry more weight in this family than those of his father, says instead: “She did. I saw it with my own eyes.”

[dwellordream]

“...While on his travels Augustus would have continued to be preoccupied with the old issue of what would happen after his death. He had clearly demonstrated at the time of his departure that he could not manage without Marcus Agrippa, married at the time to Marcella, Octavia’s daughter. Agrippa now divorced her (her compensation was to be married to Iullus Antonius, the son of Antony and Fulvia), so as to be free in 21 to marry the widowed Julia. Plutarch says that this marriage came about through Octavia’s machinations and that she prevailed upon Augustus to accept the idea. It is not clear what her motives would have been.

If we are to believe Seneca we might see pure spite. He claimed that Octavia hated Livia after the death of Marcellus because the hopes of the imperial house passed now to Livia’s sons. This could well be no more than speculation, and Seneca does not even hint at any specific action by Octavia against her supposed rival. The whole story sounds typically Senecan in its denigration of dead individuals who are easy targets. Once again, we are told nothing about Livia’s reaction to the marriage. She might not have been able to object to the earlier marriage between Julia and Augustus’ nephew Marcellus, but in 21 the situation was different. Her older son, Tiberius, who was not yet married, had been passed over in favour of an outsider to the family. 

But whatever his sense of obligation to his wife, Augustus probably felt that he had little choice in the matter. Agrippa’s earlier reaction to having to take second place to Marcellus, a blood relative of Augustus, would have provided a good hint to Augustus of how his friend would have taken to playing second string to Tiberius. Agrippa was now a key figure in the governing of Rome. He was not a man to be provoked. If Livia had been entertaining hopes that this early stage of a preeminent role for either of her sons (and such a suggestion, while reasonable, is totally speculative), such hopes would have faded with the birth of two sons to Julia and Agrippa.

Gaius Caesar was born in 20 bc, and, as if to confirm the line, a second son, Lucius Caesar, arrived in 17. Augustus was delighted, and soon after Lucius’ birth signalled his ultimate intentions by adopting both boys. He thus might envisage himself as being ‘‘succeeded’’ by Agrippa, who would in turn be succeeded by either Gaius and Lucius, who were, in a sense, sons of both men. In late 16 bc Augustus set out on an extended trip to Gaul and Spain, where he established a number of veteran settlements. Livia may have accompanied him. Dio does report speculation that the emperor went away so as to be able to conduct his affair with Terentia, the wife of his close confidant Maecenas, in a place where it would not attract gossip. 

Even if the rumours were well founded, the implication need not necessarily follow that he had left Livia behind. Livia had a reputation as a femme complaisante, and Augustus may simply have wanted to get away from the prying eyes of the capital. Certainly at one stage Livia intervened with Augustus to argue for the grant of citizenship to a Gaul, and this trip provides the best context. Moreover, Seneca dates a famous incident to this trip, Livia’s plea on behalf of the accused Gaius Cornelius Cinna. It could well be that Seneca misdated the Cinna episode, but he at any rate clearly believed that Livia had been in Gaul with her husband at the relevant time.

…Agrippa lived to see the birth of two other children, his daughters Julia and Agrippina. The first (born about 19 bc) is the namesake of her mother, and, in the historical tradition, cut from the same cloth; the second was to be somewhat eclipsed in the same tradition by her own daughter and namesake, the mother of the last Julio-Claudian emperor, Nero. Agrippa thus became the natural father of four of Augustus’ grandchildren during his lifetime (a fifth would be born posthumously), and his stock rose higher with each event. He had served his princeps well, and could now take his final exit. In 13 he campaigned in the Balkans. At the end of the season he returned to Italy, where he fell ill, and in mid-March, 12 bc, he died. 

His body was brought to Rome, where it was given a magnificent burial, and the remains were deposited in the Mausoleum of Augustus, even though Agrippa had earlier booked himself another site in the Campus Martius. In the following year Octavia died. She is celebrated by the sources as a paragon of every human virtue, whose only possible failings had been the forgivable ones of excessive loyalty to an undeserving husband and excessive grief over the death of a possibly only marginally more deserving son. As noted earlier, we should be cautious about Seneca’s claim that Octavia nursed a hatred for Livia after the death of Marcellus. But there can be no doubt that her death was in a sense advantageous to Livia, for it removed one of the main contenders for the role of the premier woman in the state. Only Augustus’ daughter Julia might now lay claim to a precedence of sorts, but she in fact became an agent in furthering Livia’s ambitions, rather than an obstacle. Once her formal period of mourning was over, Julia would need another husband. Suetonius says that her father carefully considered several options, even from among the equestrians. 

Tiberius later claimed that Augustus pondered the idea of marrying her off to a political nonentity, someone noted for leading a retiring life and not involved in a political career. Among others he supposedly considered Gaius Proculeius, a close friend of the emperor and best known for the manner of his death rather than of his life: he committed suicide by what must have been a painful technique—swallowing gypsum. This drastic action was apparently not in response to the prospect of marriage to Julia but in despair over the unbearable pains in his stomach.

In 11 bc, the year of Octavia’s death, Augustus made his decision. He could hardly pass over one of Livia’s sons again. They were the only real choices, given the practical options open to him. Both were married, and Drusus’ wife was the daughter of Octavia, someone able already to produce offspring linked, at least indirectly, by blood to the princeps. Divorce in this case would not have been desirable. Augustus had already demonstrated his faith in Livia’s other son, Tiberius, by appointing him to replace Agrippa in the Balkans. He was the inevitable candidate for Julia’s next husband. In perhaps 20 or 19 Tiberius had married Agrippa’s daughter Vipsania, to whom he had long been betrothed. Their son Drusus was born in perhaps 14. In 11 Vipsania was pregnant for a second time, but Tiberius was obliged to divorce her, although he seems to have been genuinely attached to her. Reputedly when they met after the divorce he followed her with such a forlorn and tearful gaze that precautions were taken that their paths would never cross again. 

He was now free to marry Julia. This marriage marks a milestone in Tiberius’ career and in the ambitions that Livia would naturally have nursed for her son. Augustus was clearly prepared to place him in an advantageous position, and the process could be revoked only with difficulty. It is inevitable that there should be speculation among modern scholars that Livia might have played a role in arranging the marriage. Gardthausen claimed that she brought it off in the teeth of vigorous opposition. Perhaps, but the suggestion belongs totally to the realm of speculation. If Livia did play some part in winning over Augustus, she did it so skilfully and unobtrusively that she has left no traces, and the sources are silent about any specific interference on this occasion.

Nor can it be assumed that Augustus would have needed a great deal of persuading. No serious store should be placed in the claims in the sources that he held Tiberius in general contempt and was reduced to turning to him faut de mieux. Suetonius quotes passages from Augustus’ correspondence that provide concrete evidence that the emperor in fact held his adopted son in high regard. Suetonius chose the extracts to show his appreciation of Tiberius’ military and administrative skills, but his words clearly suggest a high degree of affection that seems to go beyond the merely formulaic. 

He addresses Tiberius as iucundissime, probably the equivalent in modern correspondence of ‘‘my very dear Tiberius.’’ He reveals that when he has a challenging problem or is feeling particularly annoyed at something, he yearns for his Tiberius (Tiberium meum desidero), and he notes that both he and Livia are tortured by the thought that her son might be overtaxing himself. Livia’s other son, Drusus, although arguably his brother’s match in military reputation and ability, seems to have been quite different from him in temperament. Where Tiberius was private, inhibited, uninterested in courting popularity, Drusus was affable, engaging, and well-liked, and there was a popular belief, probably naive, that he was committed to an eventual restoration of the republic. He had found a perfectly compatible wife in Antonia the Younger, a woman who commanded universal esteem and respect to the very end.

They produced two sons, both of whom would loom large on the stage of human events: Germanicus, who became the most loved man in the Roman empire and whose early death threatened to erode Livia’s popularity, and Claudius, whose physical limitations were an embarrassment to Livia and to other members of the imperial family, but who confounded them all by becoming an emperor of considerable acumen and ability. They also had a daughter, Livilla, who attained disrepute through her affair with the most loathed man in the early Roman empire, the notorious praetorian prefect Sejanus.

Drusus dominated the landscape in 9 bc. The year seemed to start auspiciously for Livia. In 13 bc the Senate had voted to consecrate the Ara Pacis, one of the great monuments of Augustus’ regime, as a memorial to his safe return from Spain and the pacification of Gaul. The dedication waited four years and finally took place in 9, on January 30, Livia’s birthday, perhaps her fiftieth. The honour was a profound one, but indirect and thus low-key, in keeping with Livia’s public persona. Her sons continued to achieve distinction on the battlefield. A decorated sword sheath of provincial workmanship has survived from this period.

It represents a frontal Livia with the nodus hairstyle, and shoulder locks carefully designed so as to flow along her shoulders above the drapery. She appears between two heads, almost certainly her sons, and the piece pictorially symbolises Livia at what must have been one of the most satisfying periods of her life. To cap her sense of well-being, Tiberius, after signal victories over the Dalmatians and Pannonians, returned to Rome to celebrate an ovation. Following the usual practice after a triumph or ovation, a dinner was given for the Senate in the Capitoline temple, and tables were set out for the people in front of private houses. 

A separate banquet was arranged for the women. Its sponsors were Livia and Julia. Private tensions may already have arisen between Tiberius and Julia, but at least at the public level they were sedulously maintaining an outward image of marital harmony, and Livia was making her own contribution towards promoting that image. Similar festivities were planned to celebrate Drusus’ victories. Presumably in his case Livia would have joined Antonia, Drusus’ wife, in preparing the banquet, as she had joined Tiberius’ wife on the earlier occasion.

While Tiberius had been engaged in operations in Pannonia, Drusus had conducted a highly acclaimed campaign in Germany. By 9 bc he had succeeded in taking Roman arms as far as the river Elbe. So awesome were his achievements that greater powers felt the need to intervene. He was visited by the apparition of a giant barbarian woman, who told him—she conveniently spoke Latin—not to push his successes further. Something was clearly amiss in the divine timing. Suetonius implies that Drusus heeded the warning, but calamity befell him anyhow. In a riding accident Drusus’ horse toppled over onto him and broke his thigh. He fell gravely ill. 

His deteriorating condition caused consternation throughout the Roman world, and it is even claimed that the enemy respected him so much that they declared a truce pending his recovery. (Similar claims were later made about his son Germanicus.) Tiberius had been campaigning in the Balkans at the time but had returned to Italy and was passing through Ticinum after the campaign when he heard that Drusus was sinking fast. Travelling the 290 km in a day and a night, a rate that Pliny thought impressive enough to record, he rushed to be with his brother. He reached him just before he died in September, 9 bc. Drusus was universally liked, and his death at the age of twenty-nine could not seriously be seen as benefitting anyone.

Nevertheless, it still managed to attract gossip and rumours. The death of a young prince of the imperial house would usually drag in the name of Livia as the prime suspect. In this instance such a scenario would have been totally implausible, and Augustus became the target of the innuendo instead. Tacitus reports that the tragedy evoked the same jaundiced reactions as would that of Germanicus, three decades later in the reign of Tiberius, that sons with ‘‘democratic’’ temperaments—civilia ingenia—did not please ruling fathers (Germanicus had been adopted by Tiberius). 

Suetonius has preserved a tradition that Augustus, suspecting Drusus of republicanism, recalled him from his province and, when he declined to obey, had him poisoned. Suetonius thought the suggestion nonsensical, and he is surely correct. Augustus had shown great affection for the young man and in the Senate had named him joint heir with Gaius and Lucius. He also delivered a warm eulogy after his death. Even Tiberius’ grief was portrayed as twofaced. To illustrate Tiberius’ hatred for the members of his own family, Suetonius claims that he had earlier produced a letter in which his younger brother discussed with him the possibility of compelling Augustus to restore the republic.

But events seem to belie completely the notion of any serious fraternal strife. Tiberius’ anguish was clearly genuine. His general deportment is of special interest, because of the light that it might throw on his and Livia’s conduct later, at the funeral of Germanicus. According to Seneca, the troops were deeply distressed over the death and demanded Drusus’ body. Tiberius maintained that discipline had to be observed in grieving as well as fighting, and that the funeral was to be conducted with the dignity demanded by the Roman tradition. He repressed his own tears and was able to dampen the enthusiasm for a vulgar show of public grief.

Tiberius now set out with the body for Rome. Augustus went to Ticinum (Pavia) to meet the cortege, and because Seneca says that Livia accompanied the procession to Rome, it is probably safe to assume that she went with her husband. As she travelled, she was struck by the pyres that burned throughout  the country and the crowds that came out to escort the funeral train. The event provides one of the few glimpses of Livia’s private emotions. She was crushed by the death and sought comfort from the philosopher Areus. On his advice, she uncharacteristically opened herself up to others. She put pictures of Drusus in public and private places and encouraged her acquaintances to talk about him.

But she maintained a respectable level of grief, which elicited the admiration of Seneca. Tiberius may well have learned from his mother the appropriateness of self-restraint in the face of private anguish. It was an attitude that was later to arouse considerable resentment against both of them. During the funeral in Rome, Tiberius delivered a eulogy in the Forum and Augustus another in the Circus Maximus, where the emperor expressed the hope that Gaius and Lucius would emulate Drusus. 

The body was taken to the Campus Martius for cremation by the equestrians, and the funeral bier was surrounded by images of the Julian and the Claudian families. The ashes were deposited in Augustus’ mausoleum. The title of Germanicus was posthumously bestowed on Drusus and his descendants, and he was given the further honour of statues, an arch, and a cenotaph on the banks of the Rhine. Augustus composed the verses that appeared on his tomb and also wrote a prose account of his life. No doubt less distinguished Romans, of varied literary talent, would have written their own contributions.

The anonymous Consolatio ad Liviam represents itself as just such a composition, intended to offer comfort to Livia on this very occasion, although it was probably composed somewhat later. Livia was indeed devastated, but as some form of compensation for her terrible private loss, she now, after some thirty years in the shadows, came into greater public prominence. The final chapter of Drusus’ life seems to have opened up a new one in his mother’s.”

- Anthony A. Barrett, “In the Shadows.” in Livia: First Lady of Imperial Rome

[ofhouseadama]

could I dm you this? yes. but also asks are fun even though this question is mean so. how do Ed and Lorraine react to the Vietnam war?

Okay so my Ed and Lorraine are absolutely Kennedy Democrats, are both very excited and enthusiastic about the first Catholic president, but both are against the Vietnam War and US military intervention from the start. Ed's already fought in one imperialist proxy war, he's got the PTSD to prove it, and Lorraine just is truly repulsed by violence of any kind.

And also like, to go completely left field for a minute -- I've been thinking a lot about how teenage Lored were effectively trapped at 17-19 years old. Mostly financially, and in different ways. in 1951, Lorraine wouldn't have been able to have her own bank account. Women wouldn't have the right to open their own bank account until the 60s or have a credit card until the 70s -- her money would have been her father's, effectively. and while probably not maliciously, since she was a young woman she likely wouldn't have had much access to her pay checks unless she was cashing them directly. Ed, meanwhile, while trying to survive a negligent/abusive household, absolutely would have been spending money on things most teens wouldn't have to in order to survive... and that's before getting the draft notice from the Selective Service, which took away even more control of his own life.

So I see Ed and Lorraine getting married young (even for the 50s, they're a few years younger than the median, though the war was actively driving that age down) mostly out of making the most out of what they could together. Ed putting Lorraine on his bank accounts and asking her actively to manage them while he's away, and her depositing her paychecks into his account would give her more financial control in her life than most women of the era. Lorraine's engagement ring (the size of that goddamn rock) is even an insurance policy most women her age and demographic didn't have -- often when women fled marriages, it was only with their jewelry to sell. It's half about Ed's possessive streak, half him showing he's not afraid to give her the money to run, if she needed to.

Anyway -- the trauma of their late teens and early twenties is entirely rooted in the rising Cold War anxieties and the locus of harm done to women in the 50s and I fully see their pursuit of demonology and the supernatural as something Lorraine initially started while working as a secretary for the Diocese, something she did to stay late at work and help people she could physically reach while Ed was away at war. She initially started staying late on the days she knew Father Gordon would be bringing in a scared family or terrified couple or frightened soul in through the back door hours after everyone had left, staying to pray and keep herself nearby, to be an observer to a fight she could be party to. Father Gordon figures her out quickly, of course, asking what interest she has in demons and exorcisms, and figures out she's clever with records and archives, almost to an uncanny degree.

And then figures out to exactly what uncanny degree.

After Ed came home and became the husband instead of the boyfriend, it turned into something Ed could throw all his metaphorical demons onto and a healthy way to exercise his control issues and fear and anxiety that doesn't (generally) affect Lorraine because she's fighting with him side by side in this, when before they were separated by thousands of miles -- the beginning everyone's favorite Catholic battle couple very much rooted in Ed and Lorraine parsing out who brought home metaphorical demons from the war, and who brought home literal ones, and bringing them to Father Gordon when necessary. Rooted in Ed needing to be useful, to dusting off his Catholic school Latin and reading everything he could get his hands on so that he could continue to help, continue to fight.

Lorraine would have been pregnant with Judy during the heightening tensions with Cuba and as Kennedy is sending more and more military "advisors" to Vietnam and Cold War tensions flared the hottest they'd get in the 1960s and I can just see both of their control issues revving up, especially with a few-months-old baby in the mix. Just the two of them laying bed, looking down at their three month old baby girl, wondering if they'd all get nuked tomorrow. If war would be declared tomorrow. If they'd all be dead, if they brought her into the world just to die violently. It's like taking guns off the street. They can't control the White House, or the Soviets, or Cuba or China or or or -- but they know about demons, they know about spirits, they know about taking these bombs off the battlefield, in the war of good against evil, and this is a war they can be foot soldiers in together.

Lorraine would get a bit of relief in the March of '63 when Kennedy dropped married men with children to the bottom of the draft pool, and then dropped the age of the draft pool to 26, aging Ed out of the Selective Service entirely. And then in November, JFK would be assassinated, and the photo of Jackie Kennedy covered in blood, leaving the hospital hand-in-hand with RFK, would be on the front page of every newspaper in the country. It would be a jolt for both of them -- but it wouldn't fully hit Lorraine until seven years later, when she'd have her first vision of Ed's death and fully understand Jackie Kennedy's weary, "I want them to see what they have done to Jack."

After the Gulf of Tonkin Resolution in August of 1964, they fully throw themselves into taking cases almost full time. As the war heats up, Ed pulls back from teaching art classes at the VA. If he spends too much time there, he has to face how pointless the violence has been. If he spends too much time there, now, he has to face that he still doesn't know why he survived. Why he lived, and everyone else on board the ship with him died. Because he still doesn't know, he still is fighting to make his life matter in a way that makes sense to him. All he has is his sense of duty, a couple of college credits, and his hands. On good days, he knows that he's loved -- that Lorraine loves him so much it makes it hurt to breathe, that he's a good father to his daughter, who will never be afraid of him.

Ed has a complete PTSD relapse in 1966, with the beginning of the ground war and the full-throated resurgence of the American propaganda machine and military recruitment. He's back in the guilt spiral, the "I never had it that bad, I was only in the Navy for two years, I never had it that bad," just feeding into "why did I live when everyone else I fought with died," back and forth until he can't sleep, can only sleep when Judy sleeps, accidentally ends up adapting himself to her nap schedule and has to sleep with his hand on her chest, feeling her breathe.

Lorraine calls in Chief, after Ed can't get out of bed for 72 hours and misses mass for the first time in his life. Chief, who comes up from Brooklyn to remind Ed of the time their entire ship exploded and Ed treaded water for eight hours and everyone else died. How they spent the next six months getting drunk whenever they weren't on duty and picking fights they couldn't get out of, and that one time they got thrown in the brig because Chief struck a superior asshole and Ed just followed him into the fight. (No, Lorraine does not know about that time Ed and Chief ended up in the brig. She will never know about that time. Judy will at some point in her early 20s learn about that time, when she needs to learn about how her parents are people, who have absolutely made mistakes in their lives.) "You and I spent six months drunk," Chief says, bouncing Judy on his knee in the kitchen over a cup of coffee, Ed refusing to look at him as he deep cleans the stove. "And then your dad died, and your sainted wife handled everything for you, and we realized we couldn't send you home to her like that."

"I still don't know why I lived."

Chief shrugs. "It doesn't matter why, son. The same reason any of us live, and any of us die. It doesn't matter. You have a little girl now who depends on you. She matters more than any goddamn reason -- you live for her, and your saint of a wife, and for all the people that you help. So that you can look them in the face, say you've been down in the hole that they're in now, and you know the way out."

Lorraine calls in Chief, because she absolutely picked a fight after mass that day without Ed, with Judy on her hip. Overheard Dorothy O'Malley running her mouth in the pew in front of her sounding like a national security ghoul and didn't even think before she opened her mouth and unloading the full force of her anxiety and anger on her. Only stops because she feels a gentle hand on her shoulder and Father Gordon murmuring in her ear, "Okay Mrs. Warren, you've made your point," while leading her away. It's the "Mrs. Warren" instead of the familiar "Lorraine" that jolts her back to herself, kissing Judy's head as she tries to shake herself out of it.

"Thank you," she tells Father Gordon, defeated.

He shrugs. "You don't come to confession until before Friday night prayer service. I didn't want you stewing on this all week." Pausing, he takes a moment to fondly tug on one of Judy's pig tails, making her laugh. "If Ed's not... feeling well, I know about that."

Lorraine bites her lip, knowing full and well that Father Gordon served as a chaplain in World War II. That seeing the violence of the Nazis firsthand is what convinced him that the Devil was more than a metaphor, that evil truly walked the Earth. Sent him on his own path, chasing darkness.

Lorraine nods.

"I could talk to him," Father Gordon says. "But it would likely come better from someone he served with."

When she gets home, she finds Chief's number in their phone book, and calls Brooklyn for the first and last time. He comes up the next day, and shoos her out of the house to do something for herself for the first time in months, telling her that he's more than equipped to look after a single three year old.

Ed goes back to teaching at the VA a few months after that, teaching art to the new round of mentally scarred children returning from war. He concedes to group therapy, and a few sessions with the VA psychiatrist to get something to take the edge off. He teaches at the VA until the troop withdrawals in 1970, reducing his class load as he and Lorraine take on more and more cases -- verging towards a hundred a year -- for the Catholic Church, and the media attention that comes along with that, the publicity engagements that help keep their bills paid, the articles and academic talks.

Even still, Ed occasionally brings home someone for dinner, just to make sure that they've only brought metaphorical demons home from war with them, not literal ones.

Sometimes it's literal ones.