#like we re all know that barb is an adult woman right?!

[galaxyspark-6e16]

[takingcourage]

Family Ties

A Miscalculations one-shot

Pairing: M!Cassian x MC

Word Count: 3,400

Summary: Having Cassian back in her life means meeting his family too.

Note: This story is set somewhere between the final chapters and the epilogue of Miscalculations. It’s dedicated to my Cassian Nonnies and the now-inactive secretsaladbouquet, who once asked to see Kellen and Owen meet Cassian’s family. 

“I can’t believe we’re doing this.”

“She’s going to love you, Kellen.”

“You don’t know that.” Rolling her lips flat, she stared past the sidewalk and up the stoop to the front door. Unassuming as it was, she couldn’t help imagining a critical woman peering through the diamond of frosted glass. A woman she had the sense that she’d already wronged despite never meeting her -- perhaps because she'd never met her.

Shifting the car into park, Cassian removed his hand from the gear and used it to cradle Kellen’s knee. “I know my Ma. She loves anything that makes me happy, and you’re at the top of the list.”

With a deep exhale, she felt a small portion of her worry melt away at his words.

“Besides,” he went on, “look who we’ve got in the backseat. You make a good impression on everyone, don’t you, Owen?”

“Uh-huh!”

Kellen giggled in spite of herself. Their son had almost-irritating tendency to agree with everything his father said, as long as it wasn’t related to vegetables or bedtime. “He’s like our secret weapon,” she agreed, punching her thumb on the seatbelt release.

“Show me your smile,” Cassian prompted, catching his son's eyes in the rearview mirror. The boy obliged, then resumed his efforts to pry apart the clip at his chest. “And yours?” Cassian continued, turning to the woman beside him.

Her lips curved instinctively at the question. Eyes dancing, he leaned into the passenger seat for a quick kiss. “Let’s go.”

Plucking up her courage, she tossed the strap off her shoulder and reached for her bag. 

Kellen knew how to exude confidence. Between her flirtatious nature and her ability to stand up for herself against the naysayers in her line of work, she was used to taking the world by storm. Yet, she was at a loss as she mounted the doorstep, waiting to meet Cassian’s mother. 

This wasn't a place to make an impression with double entendres or by bringing up her MBA. She didn’t even know how to get her own parents' attention, and they were the ones who’d raised her. What hope did she have of impressing the woman responsible for the incredible man standing next to her?

Hearing the click of the latch on the other side of the door, she shivered and held Owen’s hand a little bit tighter. The hair at her temple swayed as Cassian leaned forward to whisper in her ear. “You’ve got this.”

“Thanks,” she mouthed, focus still cemented on the door as it opened to reveal a dark-haired woman.

Though she’d seen pictures, Cassian’s mother was shorter than she’d imagined. She bit back a newfound sense of awe that this was the woman who’d brought eight children to a new country all on her own. But any threat of intimidation evaporated at the sight of the woman’s smile. Like her son and grandson, Teresa Keane had an incredibly ready grin.

“Hello, hello! Welcome.” The older woman’s thick brogue made Cassian’s accent sound weak by comparison.

“Ma, this is Kellen.”

“Hi, Mrs. Keane,” she greeted, stretching out her free hand.

“Hello, dear. Call me Teresa,” the older woman urged, pulling her in for a hug instead. Arms pressed awkwardly to her sides, Kellen tried to focus on the moment instead of berating herself. The attempt was only partially successful.

Ten seconds in, and I’ve already made a fool of myself. The thought sent a tremor of unease through her bones as Teresa pulled away.

“And this must be Owen?” She bent at the knees for a closer look. “How are you, young man? You’re very handsome, aren’t you?”

Feeding off the woman’s enthusiasm, Owen’s mouth cracked into a smile.

“He’s like a vision of the past, isn’t he?” she asked, straightening back to her full height to embrace her son.

“It’s uncanny,” he agreed.

Kellen warmed at the pride in his voice. They were fine -- this was fine. In spite of her misstep with the hug, things were still going relatively well.

“C’mon in,” Teresa beckoned. “It’s nearly winter and you’re still standing out here on my porch. It’s like you want this lovely family of yours to freeze, Cassian -- it really is. Let’s get inside.”

Gathering Owen into her arms, Kellen followed the other woman into the house, grateful when Cassian’s hand found the small of her back. Even if she and Kellen didn't get along right away, at least Teresa would see how attentive Cassian was toward them both. 

“Is that apple cake I smell?” He asked, and Kellen breathed a chuckle at the question. Between the strong fragrance as they approached the kitchen the number of times it had come up in conversation, she could practically already taste it.

“Don’t sound so surprised. You know I make it any time there’s family over.”

Family. Was that how Teresa thought of them?

She means Cassian, you idiot, she corrected. And maybe Owen. They are related, after all. Whatever Teresa meant, Kellen was fairly certain she wasn’t part of it. But maybe someday...

Hoisting Owen a little higher, she tried to focus back on Teresa's voice.  

“... told Cal not to cut into it until we got back, but I had to post Grainne in the kitchen to keep him in check. I’ve been watching him like a hawk all morning.

Kellen’s ears perked at the familiar names and tried to conjure up the images that matched them. Even with pictures to help, there were so many people to keep track of that it had taken nearly an hour for her to get the names and birth order of his siblings straight. With a flash of panic, she remembered how many members of his family she’d have left to meet after today.

Don’t get ahead of yourself, Kellen. Today is about Teresa. The fact that she was meeting two of his siblings was fairly incidental. As the youngest, Callahan was living at home while he attended university. Grainne -- Cassian’s eldest sister and the one he was closest to -- had devised an excuse to join them at her older brother’s insistence.

“I can hardly blame him. It smells delicious.” Kellen tried to gather the threads of conversation she still remembered, hoping there was still time to salvage the afternoon. “I assume you’re who I have to thank for Cassian being such a wonderful cook?”

The sound that came out of Teresa’s mouth was inarticulate, but it struck Kellen as vaguely disparaging. “I saw to it that no child of mine would ever have to rely on takeaway. They’ve all been cooking since they were old enough to reach the stove.”

Kellen bit her tongue to silence the curse that was hovering at the tip. She'd have a fit if she knew her grandson was subsisting on my repertoire of frozen bag meals and grilled cheese sandwiches. Maybe Cassian can give me some lessons before the next time we come over

“Mama, I thirsty.”

Shifting Owen’s weight to her hip, she dug into her deep leather tote for his bottle. Their eyes locked as he clicked the button to release the cap and sucked the straw. As she trailed Teresa into the kitchen, she stroked the boy’s curls fondly. Trivial as the interaction had been, she couldn’t help her sense of relief at the small reminder that her son’s needs were still being met.

Still shielding the cake as they entered, Grainne was the first to speak. “Cass! Good to see you.” If Cassian's stories hadn't left her with such a favorable impression of his sister, the woman's sparkling eyes and bubbly affect might have given cause for alarm. “And Kellen?” Abandoning her post, she slipped an arm around the other woman's shoulders.

This time, Kellen was more prepared. Though her hands were still occupied with Owen and her bag, she managed to lean into the embrace instead of standing still. "It's a pleasure to meet you. Cassian talks about you all the time,” she shared as Grainne pulled away. 

From his place at the breakfast table, Callahan lifted a hand in salute.

Once the adults had finished introductions, Grainne’s attention turned to the only child in the room. “Hey there, buddy. Can you tell me your name?”

Holding his cup close to his chest, the boy replied with serious eyes. “Owen.”

“Owen, huh? I like that name.”

He gave her a toothy smile and wriggled to be let down. Releasing him to the floor, Kellen stretched out a hand to keep him from venturing too close to the stove where Teresa was finishing up the custard.

“He’s so sweet,” Grainne crooned in Kellen’s direction. “I can’t believe how much he looks like you, Cass.” 

“Poor kid.” Cal quipped, tilting his chair to balance on the back two legs. “Pity you’re such an ugly ba--”

Spoon in hand, Teresa turned on her youngest before he could even think of adding a second syllable. “Callahan Arthur Keane! There are young ears in this room. You should be ashamed."

“Yes, Ma.” All four legs of his chair smacked the tile floor.

Kellen squatted down to retrieve Owen’s cup before it could roll under the table. Out of sight, her brows furrowed in concern. Was Cassian on such bad terms with Cal? She knew he’d asked Grainne to come in order to help temper his youngest sibling’s dubious charms, but it had never occurred to her that the two brothers might not get along.

Schooling her features before she rose, she wondered vaguely if she needed to come to Cassian’s defense.

Goodness knew she and her own brother weren’t close enough to have any kinds of disagreements. They didn’t know one another well enough to offer meaningful insults. But her parents certainly did. She considered it a miracle if the three of them made it more than five minutes without trading barbs. If the situation had somehow been reversed, would she have wanted Cassian to defend her against their criticisms?

She couldn’t say for certain, but the question was enough to make her feel sick to her stomach.

“You’re just bitter, Cal. We all know there weren’t any good genes left by the time it came to you.”

Recognizing the teasing edge in Cassian’s tone, she realized she’d been misreading the entire interaction. Blood rushed to her cheeks along with the certainty of her mistake. His family isn’t like that, Kellen. They don’t have those fights.

Noticing her distraction, Cassian raised a brow in concern. She quickly shrugged it away before he resumed the conversation.

“He’s only like me when it comes to looks. He’s already better with numbers than I am. Should we show your Uncle Cal, Owen?”

“Uh-huh!”

Still exploring the floor, Owen probably wasn’t even certain what he’d agreed to, but he always had plenty of uh-huhs for his father. Most of his nun-uhs and noes were, unfortunately, reserved for her. She smirked as her son turned his attention to Cassian. Come to think of it, she couldn’t blame him for the preferential treatment. His father had a tendency to get all of her yeses as well.

“C’mere,” Cassian prompted, and the boy who’d been squirming in her arms no more than two minutes before happily climbed up on his father’s knee. With the ease of practice, the man held out his hand, fingers stretched. Owen took them in turn, counting off in a lilting rhythm.

“One... two.... three...four....”

Of the two of them, Cassian was by far the more accommodating teacher. Kellen was always slow to provide answers when the boy faltered, intent on learning exactly how far his memorization skills had progressed. Cassian mouthed everything along with him, sometimes whispering hints with pretend secrecy. She hadn’t determined which approach was the most pedagogically sound, but there was no question which one was more fun to watch.

Teresa had turned from her place at the stove, positively beaming as she saw the two of them interact. Even Cal had slipped his phone into his pocket and adopted a courteous expression.

“Seven...eight...”

Owen’s brow furrowed, and he launched himself toward Cassian’s ear in concern. Even though Kellen didn’t catch all of the words he whispered, all signs pointed to a call of nature.

“Excuse us,” Cassian offered, pushing back his chair so that Owen could hop down from his knee. “We’ll be back shortly.”

Kellen breathed a quiet laugh as they passed into the hall, all at once aware of the tension now that the one person who connected them was gone. Feeling an uncustomary loss for words, she tried to recall what she knew about the room’s other occupants. Grainne was in sales, Cal was finishing pre-requisites and hadn’t declared a major, Teresa did administrative work for one of Cassian’s brothers-in-law... that didn’t give her a lot of ideas for sparking conversations.

“Mona?”

“Hmm?” It took a beat for Kellen to comprehend that the word was a question.

“Your lipstick,” Grainne clarified. “It’s Mona, isn’t it?”

“Oh, yeah. I’m impressed! Cassian told me you were into fashion, but...”

“My roommate is a beauty vlogger. You see enough swatches, some of it just starts to stick. It’s a great shade with that outfit, by the way.”

“Thanks.” Suddenly self conscious about the rest of her makeup, Kellen’s eyes flicked to the semi-reflective door of the microwave, but it was no use. The image was too dark to reveal anything about the application, though she was sure it had been passable when she’d left her apartment some hour before.

“It’s nice not to be the odd one out in the family anymore,” Grainne continued, leveling luminous brown eyes at Kellen. “My sisters have been refusing makeovers for years. At least Ma lets me pick her nail polish from time to time.”

Kellen’s lips crept into a smile as Teresa pshawed the statement. “Don’t speak ill of those who aren’t here to defend themselves.”

“You sound like the girls who sit in front of me in psych class,” Cal complained, phone in hand again. “They’re always carrying on about makeup and shoes. It’s moronic.”

Grainne cocked a conspiratorial brow across the table. Kellen met her grin, bracing her elbows on the table as they listened to Cal's continued complaints.

“I’m sorry you lead such a rough existence, Cal,” Grainne offered sarcastically when he paused to check a notification. “I’ll say an extra prayer for you tonight.”

“Plates?” Teresa cut in, her implied command rousing her youngest from his seat.

Kellen had to hide her giggle after the glance she shared with Cassian’s sister. No wonder he was so fond of the woman. She didn't want to get ahead of herself, but it was easy to see the two of them becoming friends. Making light conversation as Cal set the table, she hardly had opportunity to miss her boyfriend and son. 

By the time Owen and Cassian returned, the cake and been cut and was ready to serve. His needs met, Owen returned his father’s knee while Teresa passed out the slices. 

Kellen leaned over to straighten the buttons on the boy’s shirt. “Maybe you should share a piece, at least until we know he likes it? There’s a lot of cinnamon on top.” Catching herself, she glanced toward Teresa, “I can’t wait to dig in. Owen’s just a wild card when it comes to spices.”

“He’ll like custard.” Cassian poured a measure onto his cake and slipped his son a bite, beaming with glee at the boy’s enthusiastic response.

“More, please?”

With a hearty laugh, Cassian obliged. “Save some for the rest of us, a stór.”

“I’ll get him a dish,” Teresa insisted, returning to the cupboard for a toddler-sized bowl.

Like his affinity for sisters, Cassian’s taste in desserts was unassailable. The apple cake was, indeed, one of the best things Kellen had ever tasted. With the sharp tang of stewed apple, warm blend of spices, and rich, velvety cream, she was starting to feel like she never wanted to leave Teresa’s kitchen.

They finished eating some twenty minutes later, and Grainne stepped into the other room to take a phone call. Increasingly sleepy, Owen was preparing for a second attempt at counting. Exchanging a polite smile with Teresa, Kellen gathered up the dishes from their side of the table and followed the older woman to the sink.

She’s lovely and kind, and she seems to like you so far. Make conversation, her subconscious urged as she set the plates on the tile countertop. “Cassian’s told me about his nephew and nieces -- your other grandchildren?”

“I have four. Well, five now,” she adjusted, watching Owen tug on Cassian’s fingers. “Jack’s going to be so excited to finally have a boy cousin. He was so disappointed when Ciara’s last one was another girl.”

Kellen nodded with a faint smile, feeling heavy with the reminder of how extensive the Keane family was. Even with Cassian’s many assurances that they were loving and supportive, she was still an outsider. Perhaps she always would be.

“I have to tell you, Kellen, you’re not at all like I imagined.”

Panic pierced through like a knife to the gut.

Kellen expelled a shallow breath, feeling like she’d had the wind knocked out of her. For the past hour, she’d been lulling herself into a sense of security. Sure, there had been some missteps, but they'd started to find their footing -- or so she’d thought. But really, Kellen, she chastised, Cassian’s incredible. Is it any wonder you don’t measure up?

This was her worst nightmare. She could deal with their judgment, but if they didn’t accept her? She couldn’t ask Cassian to choose between her and his family.

“Oh, but I didn’t mean it in a bad way.” Teresa reached for Kellen’s arm, grasping it just above the wrist. “You know how he is: he’s got this constant need to swoop in and be a hero. I always worried he’d end up with a woman who was afraid of the world and needed rescuing all the time. That’s not what I see when I look at you, Kellen.”

For the second time that afternoon, Kellen bit back the words that came on impulse. Despite her frequent insistence to the contrary, she had been the kind of woman who’d needed rescuing. But with Cassian -- in many ways, because of Cassian -- that wasn’t the case anymore.

Lost to her thoughts, it took a few minutes to realize that Teresa had continued speaking. “You keep up with him. You challenge him.” A bony elbow prodded her side softly. “And you make him the happiest I’ve seen in ages. I’m glad he has you.”

“Thanks,” she mumbled in response, wondering how tentative that gratitude must be. For a mother, it would be all too easy to see her as the woman who’d broken her son’s heart. With a shiver, she considered how she would react when face to face with someone who’d hurt Owen in the same way.

She certainly wouldn’t be this civil.

“I’m really grateful to have him in my life again.” Glancing back to the man at the table, she couldn’t help the impulsive compliment. ”You must have been an amazing mother.”

“I did what I could," she agreed, nonchalantly. "Cassian said you don’t see your own parents very often?”

“Maybe once or twice a year. We’re hardly close.”

Turning back to the sink, Kellen expected to see judgment. She found only a genuine smile: a reflection of one she’d seen countless times before. “I’m sorry for that. I hope you know you’re always welcome here with us. Cassian knows this already, but we'll be getting together for dinner for Jack's birthday next week -- we'd love for you and Owen to join us if you'd like."

“I’d like that very much,” she assured, hardly giving the question a moment’s thought. She didn’t need time to consider; her eager anticipation was already proving that it was the right answer. Her eyes swung back to the table, imagining how much Owen was going to enjoy getting to know his cousins. 

When they’d decided to go all in, to jump headfirst into this relationship without looking back, she’d thought that the family she had with Owen and Cassian would be all she ever wanted. But this afternoon was reminding her of something she been learning time and again since Cassian came into her life: what a delight it was to be proven wrong. 

[locktobre]

In your Barbie-verse, what was it like for Rip growing up, and when he was an adult, post-getting out of fairy prison? Also, what happened to his mom? In the movies, we don't see her, and iirc, she was never mentioned, so I just assumed she died at some point, or Break was just a single dad.- That PCS Anon

Rip backstory is my favorite and I sure have a lot of it lmao

Rip’s mother was Barbra “Barb” Bloom, and she died when he was 9 (his brother Chuck was 11). But up to that point, Rip actually had a pretty good childhood. Barb also has a power, she was pretty sure, but it was so nebulous she could neither prove nor quite define it--either the ability to always find what she was looking for, or simply being in the right place at the right time, one of the two. Break didn’t believe it, and she didn’t bring it up a lot, since again, she couldn’t really explain the feelings she got, she just knew that some moments were special.

When Rip first started seeing things, she thought he was just being an imaginative kid, but then she realized it could actually be magic when she noticed that like... Rip doesn’t really have that great of an imagination. He’s more analytical, he doesn’t really color outside the lines or tell lies or get in trouble. Idk how to explain it, but sometimes ppl just seem like the type to say anything, you know? And then there’s ppl you can’t imagine ever lying or doing anything crazy or anything like that.

Anyway, so they were in it together while she was alive, and he had her there to talk about what he was seeing. But then she died, and Rip took it very hard. Everyone did, but Rip lost the one person he could really talk about magic with. And on top of that, he didn’t even know if he believed in magic anymore, bc if Barb was in the right place at the right time, she wouldn’t have been hit by that car, would she? So he doesn’t know what to believe, bc if she was wrong about her magic, then was she wrong about his? How does he know that he’s not just crazy? And he can’t talk to Break about it, bc Break does not believe. Chuck doesn’t really, either, but he’s nicer about it.

So that all leads to sort of a downward spiral as Rip grows up, bc he doesn’t always trust his perceptions. And that leads to the desperation to just jump thru a flyway when he’s 17, he was really not in a good place at the time. I touched on it in my other post, but he was gone for a couple weeks, and Break legitimately thought he was dead. And then when he tried to explain about the flyways and getting lost, of course that just pissed off Break even more bc it’s just more of Rip’s bullshit, right? So Rip eventually just says he ran away and then came back when he ran out of money (which is kinda-sorta the truth, if you strip the magic out). So Break’s furious with him (and so is Chuck), he’s grounded forever... But that’s actually a good turning point for him, bc he met Lilliana. And after the flyways, and Lilliana giving him some (begrudging) answers, he knows he’s not crazy. His friendship with Lilliana only lasts a few months, but by the time she cuts him off he’s friends with Finn, who may not believe him but also doesn’t fight him at every turn when he brings up magic, he’s more like lmao ok buddy whatever you say, which is honestly better than what Rip gets at home. And Finn does come around awhile to like wait no shit, really? For real? Which Rip can’t really believe but he’s so grateful.

Anyway so that’s up to 1989. Fast forward a couple years to 1991. Finn and Anne have been together for awhile, but Finn’s kind of like... He doesn’t want to break up with Anne, he still loves her a lot, but since their relationship has to be a secret, and it can’t really be any other way, it’s starting to wear on him. And he’s started to develop some romantic feelings for Rip that he wants to pursue, in part bc it would be much easier, honestly. But when he brings this up to Anne, she really doesn’t want to break up with him, either, so she says that he should just date Rip, too. And Finn’s like and... you’d be fine with that? And Anne’s like I will learn to be, anyway. And Finn’s not really sure if this will work or if Rip will even go for it. Rip is hesitant but he’s open to basically whatever so he’s like we can try it for awhile, I guess. Anne really makes an effort to be chill but it is hard on her and Rip’s like maybe we shouldn’t do this and Anne’s like I think the problem is that we don’t really know each other. Like Rip and Anne aren’t really friends, they’ve obviously met before but never really hung out one on one so Rip really knows her as Finn’s girlfriend, and she knows him as Finn’s weird friend. So they decide to start trying to get to know each other and be friends.

Rip doesn’t talk about any magic stuff with Anne for a couple reasons, one of which is that he doesn’t want to come off any weirder than he does when he’s trying to befriend the woman, and also bc she’s a royal and Rip does not care for royals. Not bc of anything politically, he just doesn’t think they are careful enough with magic and he doesn’t trust them with it. (He doesn’t trust anyone with magic, actually. Not humans, not fairies, not anyone.) So he has to give her the edited version of events when she’s like have you dated anyone before? And Rip’s like it wasn’t really dating but I did have a brief relationship with Lilliana Roxelle and Anne’s like. You mean the French supermodel? And Rip’s like yeah and Anne’s like how did you even meet her and he’s like I crashed her NYE party. And Anne doesn’t know what to make of him, bc it’s such a wild, specific thing to say that it could be a lie but it just feels like it’s true, bc why not say something more believable if you were going to lie? Anyway Rip’s more chill about not being believed at this point bc he has one person on his side again (Finn), so he just shrugs it off. And they just kinda move on and talk about their families and not getting along with their fathers, which are very different situations but it’s enough to commiserate over, and they just keep going like that.

And at the beginning of this, remember, Anne thinks of Rip as just Finn’s weird friend. She has no idea what he sees in Rip, romantically. (Or platonically, for that matter. Like he’s fun to hang out with but why not literally anyone else?) And Rip’s not super good looking, either. Like, he’s handsome enough, but you probably wouldn’t look at him twice. (He’s Break’s son, so that kinda limits how hot he can be lmao.) But he just has something about him. Like, when you talk to him, you get his full attention, he’s really supportive and sympathetic and he always feels like he gets what you’re going thru. So Anne starts to get it, and then she’s like wait am I catching feelings for this guy? THIS guy? And yeah, she is. So the three of them actually end up dating for awhile, which is a lot more complicated but they like each other enough to make it work.

However, meanwhile, Rip has met Calissa. And she’s a mermaid, and a queen, and she’s married, and she has a kid, but... Well. The heart wants what it wants. So Rip has to break it off with Finn and Anne. He can explain to Finn about Calissa, so they could maybe still date, but he can’t really tell Anne about a mermaid, and if he doesn’t tell her she’s a mermaid he doesn’t really have a good excuse for why they can’t ever meet this other girl and it just feels weird. And it’s already complicated, he can’t be in so many complicated relationships at once. And Anne’s really confused about why Rip would break it off, until he says that the girl he wants to see is already married, and Anne’s pissed that Rip would pursue something with a married woman. And he says he knows it’s wrong but... he’s gonna do it anyway. (He can’t exactly say that she’s not in love with her husband but can’t get a divorce bc she’s a queen and it would be a political nightmare... Which might not help, anyway, but at least it’s better than interfering in a loving marriage, right? Right?) Anyway, Anne thinks he’s not the man she thought he was and she doesn’t even want to be friends with him anymore. Finn still is, but they don’t hang out the three of them pretty much ever again.

Rip has his secret relationship with Calissa, she gets pregnant, and then they don’t really know what to do bc they don’t know if it’s Caligo’s baby and it’s fine or if it’s Rip’s baby and they need to panic. But as her pregnancy progresses, she’s pretty sure it’s Rip’s bc the baby’s movement feels different, she’s pretty sure the baby has legs and not a tail. So they really start to panic. Rip obviously wants to take the baby, but he can’t just show up at home with a random kid and say that hey btw my mermaid girlfriend gave birth. Break would think he was insane. Anyway so that’s when Rip gets the idea to fake his death, which he does. And he moves down the coast a ways and raises baby Merliah for about a year, until the Gloss Angeles guard track him down.

Cue botched execution and 17 year exile in Fairytopia, and then he returns to Earth in December 2012.

And life is actually... pretty damn good. He’s reunited with Calissa and Merliah, and his dad now knows he wasn’t lying about seeing fairies and meeting a mermaid and all of that. He has a lot to contend with, re-adjustment-wise, with how much the world has changed in the intervening time, and he also has 2 other daughters he had no idea about, and then Calissa gets pregnant with twins pretty fast so there’s a lot going on, but he’s used to chaos and having to learn about new environments so he takes it in stride, pretty much. He also reconnects with Finn (at Merliah and Kylie’s urging), so he even gets his old friend back.

And then, in 2016, a year post-RNR, Finn tells Anne that Rip’s alive. Which is in response to her telling him about keeping Sloane from him, and so he takes the opportunity to say I’ve actually been keeping something from you, too. (Idk if those two secrets are roughly equal, but for the characters I’m going to say they are.) And so Anne reconnects with Rip, too, and finally gets brought into the loop and learns about Rip’s powers and what really went down with him and Calissa and all of that. Which is a big shock but also he has some helpful advice about how to approach the situation with Sloane, having done it twice himself lmao. So honestly, everything comes up roses for Rip. He gets to live the rest of his life in quiet domesticity, which is all he ever really wanted.

The ONLY thing that kinda sucks is that due to how mermaids (and fairies) age, Calissa basically looks the same for their whole marriage. So as he gets older, she looks more and more like some young trophy wife, and he hates that anyone looking at him would think he’s some weird old man lmao. (He’s only 3 years older than her in actuality.) But that’s basically the only thing that sucks. Everything else in his life is very good, bc he deserves that goddammit.

[amazingphanisnotonfire-imagines]

Steve//this moment will just be another story someday

hi! based off this song. we have a bi reader because i wanted it soooo. and i know it’s the middle of march but i don’t care because i worked hard on this and i’m sad. ps, if that song finishes before you’ve read all of this (or if you just want to listen to something else), i suggest listening to this 

The 4th of July is supposed to be a happy holiday celebrated by most of the American population. Fireworks are enjoyed by families, barbecues are frequented by friends and carnivals come into town to be enjoyed by everyone. Everyone is happy to be celebrating their independence, even though they were awarded it years ago, and even though the majority of Americans don’t really have their independence, they just pretend they do. 

However, in the dingy bar that Steve is sat in, the 4th of July feels like a foreign holiday. The place is barely lit, the only light source coming from a few overhead lights and the occasional end of a cigarette. The few people scattered around the place look like they either did all the partying when they were about 40 years younger, or they’re too drunk to celebrate. In some cases its both. The fireworks outside sound more like gunshots to Steve as he nurses his drink that he’s been staring at for the past hour. Despite the hot July weather of San Francisco, Steve feels cold, a chill finding its way up his spine as he looks at the clock. 11:23pm...at least there’s not long left of this dreaded holiday. 

When he was younger he used to love July 4th. All his cousins would come visit him and for a day he wouldn’t feel so alone in that big house. His father would actually acknowledge his presence, showing off what little accomplishments he’d achieved over the year in order to make the other adults jealous. And his mom would always let him have a sparkler once the sun had set. Usually his dad had gone to bed by then so it would just be him and his mom in the back garden, drawing patterns and writing words into the night sky. 

However, after the events of last years 4th of July, he has a feeling he’s never going to enjoy it again. 

He sighs and downs the last of his drink, ordering another from the old man at the bar who’s watching out the only window in the whole place. He nods and gives him a re-fill before sitting back on his stool. 

Steve starts to think about what he’d be doing right now if last year had gone different. If there had never been Russians under the mall, if he hadn’t fought for his life yet again. Would he still be in Hawkins? Working with Robin? Babysitting the party despite their protests of how ‘We’re too old for a babysitter’ and ‘You can just say we’re your friends’. 

Would his father still be disappointed in him? Something he’s grown used to over the years. Or would he have gone to work for him to make him just a little prouder. Maybe if it weren’t for all this demogorgon shit, he might have actually got into a college. Wait...no he wouldn’t have. Like his father said ‘the only sad excuse you have for this mess is yourself’. 

Maybe his mother would still look at him like he was her son and not a stranger. Who knows. But he sure as hell knows he’s been a lot happier here the other 313 days he’s been finding a new life for himself in San Francisco.

313.

It hasn’t seemed that long until he’s thought about it. He lasted 52 days after the events of Starcourt before it got too much. Too much had happened in that small town. The people he cared about had been hurt. The people he didn’t, had know clue. Taking their little lives for granted. He needed to get out. So he sold the majority of his stuff, used the savings he’d been clever enough to hide (thanks to Robin), packed his bag and drove. He drove without looking back. Well, he did three times. 

First he went to see Robin. To of course say goodbye, to tell her to be safe and if she needed anything to call him. He’d managed to find a cramped apartment in a semi-decent neighborhood before he left, so he scribbled the number down on a leftover napkin she’d brought home one day after a shift at Scoops and he smiled at the irony of the situation. 

Second he went to see Dustin. His mom was not pleased about being woken up in the middle of the night but when she say the pleading in his eyes she let him in. Too nice to have refused him anyway. She liked Steve, he was a good influence of Dustin. Dustin walked out into the living room sleepily after being woken by his mom. He rubbed his eyes as he rounded the corner, although as soon as he saw Steve he was wide awake. Steve explained what he was doing and how sorry he was that he was leaving but of course he understood. Was he upset? Definitely. But did he understand? More than anyone. So Steve also scribbled his new number down and passed it to him, along with a can of Farrah Fawcett spray, and when Mrs Henderson wasn’t looking he slipped him his nailed baseball bat out of his duffel bag. 

The third place he went was a surprise to himself. He didn’t know he was going there until he found himself parked outside. Hawkins Cemetery. The gates were closed but you could always jump over the fence round the back, thats usually how the weird kids got in so they could drink and try to talk to the dead. He navigated his way through the dark and three years ago he would have been silently shitting himself, however after all the stuff he’d saw there was nothing that really scared him anymore. He walked for a few minutes before finding his destination. 

‘Barbara Holland. 

In memory of our beloved daughter. 

She will not be forgotten.’

Steve’s fingers traced over the top of the gravestone delicately. The cold stone doesn’t affect him as he seems to get lost in his thoughts. He hadn’t been the best person to her. Laughed at her behind her back. Made snide comments in front of her face. He’d been an ass to her. And then she died in his pool, when everyone else was too busy trying to keep their popularity. She’d been forgotten, taken to the upside down where she would have stayed forever. She deserved more than that. And she deserves more than this. He places a single purple Hyacinth on her grave before shoving his hands in his pockets and walking away. 

He’s almost out of the graveyard when he spots something out of the corner of his eyes. The grave is fresher than the others, and its smaller, shoved right in the corner of the yard and he already knows who it belongs to before he gets there. 

‘Billy Hargrove 

Son. Brother. Friend’

Its a stark difference to Barbs, and just the sight of it makes Steve chuckle bitterly. He remembers overhearing Max telling the rest of the party during the wake that her and Susan had to persuade Neil into putting something more on that just his name. Yeah, Billy was a dick, but he deserved better. He deserved the chance at redemption. To become a better person and to prove his father and everyone else in his life wrong. He picks a few daisies from beside the grave and places them delicately on top of the stone. “See you later Hargrove.” He mumbles and he swears he can hear him laughing somewhere in the distance before he returns to his car and starts the long drive. 

“A little lost there?” Its like he’s just been woken up from a fever dream. A minute ago he was sat alone at the bar, and now there’s a woman around his age with y/h/c and bright y/e/c, staring at him like he holds all the secrets of the universe. 

“Huh?” He blinks at her, and three years ago he would have cursed himself for such a lame openly line, especially to a girl this pretty. But right now, he could be talking to Phoebe Cates herself and he wouldn’t give a damn. He just wants to be left alone to be sad and wallow in self pity about how awfull his life has turned out. 

“You looked kinda lost in your thoughts. You okay?” The girl asks, placing a delicate hand on his arm. 

“Yeah.” He shrugs her off. “Fine.” 

“You sure?” She asks and hands him a napkin, he stares at her blankly and she pushes it further towards him. “You look like you’ve been crying.” 

“Oh.” He quickly takes it from her and dabs at his eyes before scrunching it up and shoving it in his pocket. “Thanks.” He glances at her and forces a half smile before looking back at his drink. 

“I see you’re quite the talker.” You tease and sit beside him. He huffs in annoyance, but it doesn’t really seem to dampen your mood. Instead you call for the barman and ask for a drink, as well as whatever your ‘chatty’ friend wants, which after a few seconds figures is him. “So?” You ask once your drinks have been placed in front of you. “Thanks Billy.” You smile and his head rises. “Oooo, now we’re getting somewhere!” You do a little excited wiggle as you sip your drink and he looks at you bored. “Okay, so you either are a Billy.” 

“Pfft.” He scoffs and your eyebrows raise. 

“Okay. So you know a Billy.” 

“Knew.” He corrects. “I knew a Billy.” 

“Oh.” You frown and think for a few seconds. “So, were you friends and you left? Because you don’t sound like you’re from here.” 

“We weren’t friends, but yes I did leave.” 

“Where are you from? Wait!” You shush him before he even has a chance to answer, your finger is over his lips and he’s staring at you annoyed, but you don’t seem to care. “Okay, say something.” 

“I can’t.” His voice is muffled and you smile awkwardly before removing your finger, wiping it on his shirt. 

“Now say something.” 

“I’m from Hawkins, Indiana.” 

“Well, not that. But okay.” You roll your eyes. “Hey, isn’t that were all that freaky shit went down.” 

“Yep.” He grumbles and downs the rest of his first drink. 

“Cool.” You shrug. He mumbles something under his breath that you can’t quite catch but you decide to let it go. “So about this Billy guy? Friend? Lover?” Your voice gets quieter and he stares at you shocked. “Oh come on. You can tell me, this is San Francis-” 

“He’s dead.” 

“Oh.” 

“Happy now?” 

“Well, you see no. The death of people doesn’t really make me that happy. No matter if I knew them or not.” 

“Well sorry to disappoint you.” He huffs. 

“You know you can talk to me right?” 

“Why would I want to do that? You’re a complete stranger.” 

“Because sometimes talking to a stranger is the best thing. They don’t know you so they can’t judge you. All they can do is listen and sometimes give advice.” You reply and he stares at you stunned. “Plus, I have some time to kill, and I can’t imagine you have anything better to do, otherwise you wouldn’t be sat in here alone.” 

“Okay.” He nods. “I’m gonna tell you a story.” 

“Ooooo!” You grab your drink and get comfy. “What’s it about?” 

“A boy and a girl.” 

“Awwww.” 

“Not like that.” He cuts you off, effectively shutting you down. “Its kind or short, and kind of boring.” 

“Well, you’re really selling it.” You huff. “Is the ending at least good?” 

“Oh, its a whirl.” He replies and you can sense the sarcasm dripping off his statement. 

He stops for a moment to really think about what he’s going to do. He’s going to tell a complete stranger all the reasons he decided to move. He’s obviously not going to tell you everything, but still. And why was he being so mean? He’s tried for over three years to be a nice person, to get rid of the persona he carried around with him during high school, so why has it come back tonight? And why don’t you seem to care about how he’s treating you. And more importantly, who the hell are you? 

“Dude” You wave a hand in front of his face and he blinks before looking at you. “Your story?” 

“Oh, yeah. So they were just 16-ish, when I knew them. And people were so mean to both of them. The girl was bullied by assholes in school who had nothing better to do than bring people down to try and build themselves up.” 

“I hate people like that.” You spit.

“Yeah.” He nods, but refuses to make eye contact with you. “Me too.” 

“What about the boy? Who was mean to him? Was it the same people?” You ask, your eyes are wide with fear and Steve finds it quite endearing. He’s telling you about people you’ve never met before but you seem to care so much about them despite that. For all you know he could be making this shit up, but you still seem so invested. 

“No, the people, well person that was mean to him was closer to home.” 

“Who was it?” You lean towards him a little. 

“His dad.” 

“Dickhead.” 

“Yeahhh.” He agrees. 

“Well, what happened to them?” You ask. “Are they okay?” He almost doesn’t want to tell you. Or if he does, he wants to make up some bullshit about how they’re both happy, with people who love and appreciate them. Buts thats not how the world works, and maybe telling you that will be doing you a favour. You seem too happy. 

“No.” He shakes his head sadly. “They ended up not loving themselves, and now they’re gone.” 

“Gone how?” Your voice is quiet and unsure, and you’re not even sure you want to hear the answer. He looks at the sticky floor, taking a deep breath and he doesn’t even have to properly answer for you to know what he’s about to say. 

“Headstones on a lawn.” 

“Oh.” You sigh. “Did you know them well?” 

“Not as well as I should have.” There’s something else behind that statement. A huge amount of pain and grief is swirling behind his eyes, like a storm ready to destroy everything in its path. 

“What were their names?” 

“What will that do?” 

“They can’t be forgotten if people know their name. And I never forget a name...its my thing.” 

“Thats not a very good thing.” He replies and you see the hint of a smile hiding behind his frown. 

“Ouch.” You place a hand over your heart. “Whats your thing then? Wait!” You shush him again but this time he doesn’t seem to mind as much. “I bet in high school you did kegs!” You guess and he rolls his eyes. 

“Their names were Barbara Holland and Billy Hargrove.” He changes the subject and silence falls between the two of you. You vaguely recognized the names from the news. You remember your roommate saying something about knowing a girl called Heather that lived in the same town, apparently they’d been at summer camp once. They used to talk sometimes but after a while she stopped receiving letters. 

“Well, at least someone else knows about them. And I’m bound to tell someone about them. Like I said, I’m good with names...not so much keeping secrets so if you’ve met aliens or the bogeyman, don’t tell me.” You say, trying to lighten the mood and it seems to work a little. He chuckles softly and thats good enough for you, for now. “Anyway, that can’t be the end of the story.” 

“Why not?” He questions. 

“Because it was sad.” 

“What’s that got to do with anything?” 

“All stories end happily. If not, it just means you’re not at the end yet.” 

“Sure.” He raises and eyebrow. “But, if you must know, no, I’m not at the end. But believe me, this doesn’t end happily for anyone.” 

“Well then its not over yet.” You say quickly making him roll his eyes before taking a swig of his drink. 

“Back at home I know a boy and a boy.” 

“Riiiight.” You wiggle your eyebrows and he smiles softly. He thinks Robin would like you, you’re sweet and accepting and everything he wishes he could have been back home. 

“They were best friends with each other. Still are actually, despite some difficulties. But I always thought that at least one of them wanted more. They loved each other but never knew it.” He lowers his voice, the two of you are leaning into each other, your forehead’s practically touching. “I think they were always afraid of what people would say. Or even what the other would say. And now one of them has moved to a different state.”  

Your frown deepens as you stare at the floor, your feet swinging against the stool as you play with your hands. 

”That sucks.” 

“I told you it wasn’t happy.” 

“Well, then you’re not at the end of your story. And they’re not at the end of theirs. Love always catches up with you eventually. Thats just the way of the universe.” 

“Sure it is.” He scoffs. 

“Come on. I want a sequel!” Your drum your fingers against the bar while he stares at you. “Billy! Another round please.” 

“You haven’t even finished that one.” Steve replies and you quirk your eyebrows, a smirk appearing on your face before you stare right at him and down the rest of your drink. 

“Happy now?” 

“Well, you see no not really, because I’m not carrying you home.” 

“You’d be so lucky.” You tease and he giggles a little. “Come on.” You poke his arm. 

“Fine.” He throws his hands up. “The sequel. This one is about me and my friend.” 

“Ooo, yay! I want to know more about you mystery boy.” The nickname causes Steve’s cheeks to heat up and he’s kind of glad Robin isn’t here to tease him. “Now, is this friend a girl?” You rest your chin in your hand and he sighs dramatically, already knowing where you’re going with this. 

“Yes. But not like that.” Now he’s the one shushing you making you stare at him surprised. “I’m not her type.” 

“Okay.” You hold your hands up in defeat and he lower his finger, letting it drop to the bar. 

“Both our parents were evil.” 

“How?” You ask.

“My dad says I’m his biggest disappointment and my mom looks straight through me.” 

“I’m sorry.” You place a hand on his arm but this time he doesn’t shrug it off, he lets you keep it there for a few seconds. 

“Its fine. They’re both kind of right.” 

“I’m sure thats not true.” You start to disagree but he talks over you instead. 

“And my friends parents don’t agree with her lifestyle if you know what I mean?” 

“Yeahh. I get that.” You nod, and now its his turn to try and decipher your look. He also prays he hasn’t attracted another lesbian, as much as he loves and supports Robin, he doesn’t need another factor to add into the thought that maybe he isn’t destined to be loved. “I play for both teams if you want to know.” You whisper and he nods. 

“Cool. Whats that like?” 

“Not any different to ‘normal’.” You reply and he chuckles. “So you and you’re friend? Quick question, is she cute?” 

“Yes, she’s cute. And for a time I may have liked her.” 

“Ha!” You snort loudly and a bright blush creeps up your neck. 

“Do you want to know the rest of my story?” 

“Yes.” You stifle your laughter. “Please, go on.” 

“So, both of our parents were mean, so we made a bet. And if we worked and saved we cold run away to somewhere like here and we’d have a better life.” 

“And?” You smile brightly at him. 

“And?” 

“Did that happen? Are you meeting her here?” You look around the dark bar. 

“No.” He shakes his head. “I left early and she’s still there.” 

“Oh.” You sigh. “I’m sorry. Is she going to be coming here soon though?” 

“I don’t know.” He shakes his head. “Her parents are putting a lot of pressure on her to be everything but herself and sometimes I think she’s just going to give in. She’s been through so much and she’s so stubborn, but when I call her, she seems so broken and part of me thinks its because I left her alone.” 

“No.” You grab his hand. “Its not your fault. Listen, I don’t know her, and I don’t really know you but she’s going to be okay. She’s going to come to San Francisco...meet a cute girl.” You whisper the last bit and he smiles softly. “And you’re going to have a better life.” 

“And how do you know that?” 

“Because, like I said. You’re story isn’t over yet. Its just beginning. Kind of like a movie, and eventually everyone gets their happy end. Everyone does.” 

“Again, how do you know that?” 

“I don’t, not really. But if you don’t have hope then what’s the point. Just you wait and see.” 

“You’re idea of the world and my idea of the world are very different from each other.” He sighs. “Its not funny or pretty or sweet. Its full of assholes and monsters and shitty things.” 

“Maybe.” You nod. “But I like to see the good in the world. You just have to see the good...” 

“Steve.” 

“And we finally have a name!” You cheer. “Keep looking for the good Steve. You’ll find it eventually.” 

I think I’ve already found a bit. 

“This isn’t the end of your story. For all you know it could be the beginning. Now, what time is it?” 

“11:55?” He replies and relief washes over him. He’s made it through and nothing bad has happened. Not to him at least. And when he gets home he’s going to call the party, and Robin and maybe even his parents to see if they’re okay. But right now you’re talking to him and he has to tune back into the real world. “What?” 

“Do you want a sparkler?” You repeat your previous question just as Billy hands you some change. He blinks at you and your roll your eyes playfully before saying bye and then dragging him out of the dingy bar and into the bright street. 

Its empty, everyone is either with friends or family, in back gardens or at events. It seems everyone in the entire world has someone to celebrate with, everyone except him, and then he remembers. He’s not alone. Because you’re looking at him, a soft smile on your lips as you hand him a sparkler. 

“I do this every year.” You explain and light the end of his before doing the same to your own. “I write something that has pissed me off in the past year, and then when it disappears, its like I’ve let it go. Metaphorically of course. Its kind of like a second go at New Years, because lets face it, nobody is keeping their resolutions.” 

“Has that ever worked.” 

“No completely. But there’s always time...like I said, it’s not the end of the story yet.”

And while he stares at you writing whatever in the air, with a bright smile on your face, for the first time in a long time there’s a spark of hope. 

He thinks there could actually be a day when he enjoys July 4th again.

[jq37]

The Report Card – Fantasy High Sophomore Year Ep 12

Fig And Ayda Sitting in a Spiky Infernal Nightmare Tree

Welcome back to Fantasy High, where Brennan and Emily are giving the gays everything they want but let’s not get ahead of ourselves. For now, the Bad Kids have just arrived in Arborly which is this ancient, twisty, mysterious forest town with buildings kind of built into the trees in such a way that makes it hard to tell it’s a town at first glance. Anyway, they get to Hollyhill--the family home of Fig’s gnome business-friend--Grover Tillythatch--which is basically this very dope hollowed out tree. At the edge of the forest (maybe a 30 min walk away), there is a place where the trees grow and twist together into an 80 foot high wall, barbed with razor sharp briars and super ominous looking. Très Sleeping Beauty.  

They unlock the gate but then realize they have to do something with the Hangvan. Gorgug thinks there’s a way to, with his Artificer skills, give the Van the availability to shrink, but that’ll be a whole project for later. What we have to deal with now though is the fact that Gilear is caught up in the wheel well of the Van, apple stuck in his mouth like a roast pig. Through a series of insane and very Gilear events (not a teleportation mishap like I initially thought), he ended up stuck there and has been since they woke up. He fully missed Hilariel and this is the first anyone noticed he was missing.The kids help Gilear out and give him a little makeover, courtesy of Adaine’s jacket--very needed because he 100% pissed his pants while jammed up (and way too soon after getting stuck).

Kristen knows that the temple she read about is extremely close to where they are. Adaine does a quick Locate Creature and can tell the elf from her Scry isn’t within the 1000 foot range. Plus, the forest they’re in just looks different.  

Anyway, once they’re in Ragh starts grabbing food. Sandra-Lynn gives Gilear a massage because that dude needs some TLC. Tracker is sticking with Kristen and in a weird headspace over the Galakaya info. And, turns out Ayda didn’t just stay in Leviathan. She teleported with them to see them off so she’s around too. The gang does a little investigation of the house where Riz finds out Grover is abusing his company expense account and Adaine pings a crazy amount of infernal energy from the spooky briar wall. Adaine also senses a strong but old (300 year-ish) aura of druidic magic in Arborly--from the reclamation efforts that took Arborly back from being behind the wall that separates Sylvere from the outside. It’s really the only progress that’s been made and it seems like it took a lot out of whoever did it. One more thing: There is a real gnomish energy around town (similar to the vibe at Gorgug’s place), even though Arborly is supposed to be very wood elf heavy.

Throughout all I’ve been describing, there have been rumblings of maybe throwing a party and Fig invites Ayda who enthusiastically accepts. The adults go to bed in the Van for safety (Sandra-Lynn puts the Hangman in charge while they’re gone) and the teens do what teens do when they have no adult supervision: They wild out. But not in a Golden Gardens “Let’s get tattoos and do drugs” kinda way. In a real, teenager kind of way. In an “I’m making crab nachos because my parents never let me,” kind of way. But that “they” doesn’t include Fig because she is doing the other thing teens do when they have no adult supervision: Sneaking out. Specifically to look at the briar wall. She can hear these faint whispers coming from the wall and Emily manages to get jump scared in a D&D game by Ayda who is suddenly standing next to Fig, having followed her because the party got overwhelming. 

They have a talk which I can and will describe but that needs to be seen in full to really appreciate the intimacy and tenderness but also fumbling awkwardness that’s happening. So while the rest of the Bad Kids are drinking and doing crab-stands and pretending to be shrimp (go with it) Fig tells Ayda that she sometimes does stuff like pretend to be other people and indulge in loud nonsense to cover up negative thoughts, like the ones that come from your dad being shoved in a gem and then getting kidnapped. Ayda can’t understand the disguising as a coping mechanism: “If I were you I wouldn’t want to be anyone else because you are very exceptional.” She then offers to give Fig a better look at the wall and, when Fig accepts, she turns them both invisible and flies them to it. 

Fig, upon watching Ayda do that very dope thing says that there’s no reason for Ayda to think she’s special when she can do cool stuff like that. Ayda, as we already know, thinks Fig is super dope too, both in abilities and personality. Ayda analyzes the briar wall and finds out mostly stuff we already knew--it keeps people from getting in or out, including through magical means like Dimension Door and it’s keyed to powerful devils. When she reaches for the thorns, they grow out to stab her and she flinches back before they can. When Fig does the same, the thorns don’t grow out. And, when she does a less intense Burning Hands, a charred handprint is left behind and the heat and energy travels somewhere else. The aura the wall is giving out doesn’t seem to bother her as much as it probably would someone else. Ayda finds it very cool, as she’s found everything Fig has done. They dip back into heart to heart mode and Ayda reveals something that we already knew from Brennan on the Discord: Ayda is technically about 150 years old due to her Phoenix cycling and she’s been working on building the Compass Points Library across her lifetimes, aided by notes left to herself by her previous incarnations. Fig asks why she would do that instead of just reinventing herself and Ayda says she doesn’t have a lot of self confidence and doesn’t want to make mistakes. Fig throws up in anticipation of saying something sincere, says she thinks Ayda is perfect the way she is, and then--as she is wont to do--skateboards away (successfully and 80 feet down the briar wall with a 22 acrobatics check).

Ayda flies down, compliments her on the sick trick then asks her to sign a binding contract that says she has info that she will give Fig but Fig can’t make any assumptions based on it or judge her. (The cast at this point is losing their minds and has been for the past couple of minutes.) Fig signs it and then Ayda gives her the information which is as follows: “At any waking moment outside of combat that you and I have been together, if you had tried to kiss me on the mouth, it would have been received favorably.” Fig drafts a contract (as a lawyer I’m using that term extremely loosely) that says that if Ayda makes fun of her, Fig will give her a wet willy. Ayda says that it’s more of a threat than a contract and Fig abruptly kisses her and then skateboards away and hides. Ayda doesn’t really have a good frame of reference for how this is supposed to go and Fig is throwing out all sorts of mixed signals but Fig comes out from hiding and apologizes and says that she’s having trouble being vulnerable since she hasn’t really done this as herself before. Ayda asks if they can go again because she thinks she can do better. Ally and Lou howl and cheer and bless the Union. Murph is clapping. Siobhan and Zac are full gone. Fig says that she only wanted to have a party so Ayda would stay longer. Ayda says she only stayed to hang out with Fig. Ayda says this is the best moment of her current life. Fig says she’s going for best, period--past incarnations included. They make out some more until Ayda has to go. Ayda says she needs to go so she can research the Planeshift spell for Fig (for free!). She doesn’t even care about shrinking down the library. Before she leaves, Ayda pulls out one of her feathers and says that if Fig holds it up and says her name, she’ll hear it and be able to come and help. Fig does the same with one of her ear-cuffs but it’s more of a gesture than an actual magical effect (though the cuff is bloody and mark my words, this is exactly the kind of goof that becomes plot relevant later). Fig comes back to the insanity the house has dissolved to and goes to use the hot tub.     

No comment. 

They all eventually go outside to sleep on a mattress, by the Van to get the protection of the Hallow spell. It’s a little glossed over but we learn when Fabian gives Riz Bardic Inspiration to remember to sleep outside that he’s taken a level of bard! In the morning (by which I mean afternoon), they all wake up to see Sandra-Lynn and Gilear speaking to, like, 40 wood-elf rangers. They’re mainly talking to an intense lady who seems to have a pretty high rank and this older looking fox. Fig steps up to speak for the group since they’re there on her invite and the elven woman is instantly wary of her horns, plus the Hangman is right there. She clearly doesn’t trust the infernal. With Guidance from Kristen, she gets a 27 Persuasion which tells her this lady (whose name we learn is Mira) will never like her BUT that’s OK because she’s not in charge. The fox actually outranks her. 

Fig shakes hands with the fox whose name is Nuathra and who is very charmed. The Bad Kids follow suit with the politeness and Nuathra is won over. He fends off Mira’s suspicions and is so chill that Fig decides (after consulting with Adaine) to just tell him they’re going into the nightmare forest. That gets bows pulled on them and Adaine steps in and identifies herself as the elven Oracle and says that they have to do it for prophecy reasons. The elves start whispering and Nuathra, who believes she is who she says she is, asks if she knows about any other high elves who look like her slinking around. Adaine says that yeah, she does, but she’s not working with them. Kristen tries to cut in and it makes Mira super aggro--seems like she doesn’t like beings that are devil adjacent or humans either. She also makes a dismissive comment aimed at high elves in response to Adaine’s statement about morality being complex.

Nuathra tells her to cool her jets and says that things are kinda tense because for the past few months, a high elven woman (Adaine’s mom) showed up, took a room at the Owl and Harp (a gnomish tavern), and hired a local wood elf drunkard named Killian. She kept to herself mostly but did do some business at the local gnomish Tinkerer’s Hall (possibly for spell components). Two nights ago, another high (extremely gassy) elven woman showed up and then they vanished (figuratively) with Killian.

When Tinkerer’s Hall is mentioned, Gorgug cuts in to get more info on that. Nuathra says that there is a gnomish population in Arborly because the Druid who gave their life to reclaim Arborly (Crafty Rootdrinker) was a gnome so now gnomes kind of have protected status. Nuathra starts tearing up a little and we later find out (via Gorgug’s intuition) that Nuathra was their Awakened animal companion (Awakened means you give a plant or animal average human intelligence and the ability to speak a language). Nuathra asks why they want to go into the forest and Gorgug says it’s because the Nightmare King might be coming back. After being horrified to learn that the NK’s crown wasn’t in magical Fort Knox and instead was just in some dude’s desk, Nuathra says that all the town’s resources are at their disposal. He points out the three obvious places to check out: (1) the tavern, (2) the tinkerer’s hall, and (3) a shrine which is a possible entrance to the forest of the NK (the Shrine of Thorns which is just on the edge of the forest--mostly still in the forest--and dedicated to a mysterious goddess).

Adaine asks about the dude in her vision and realizes quickly it’s not Killian. Then, following a comment Fig makes about honesty being the right move and spurred by their out of character knowledge, start poking at Fig for an answer to what’s different about her today. Riz rolls a 28 Investigate and Fig burns 2 luck points and a guidance to beat it with like a 31. Wild. Then they split up like this:

Gorgug, Ragh, and Fabian (with the Hangman) go to the tinkerer’s hall.

Adaine and Riz go to the tavern.

Kristen, Tracker and Fig go to the shrine (ferried by Sandra-Lynn who wants to then scout around on Baxter).       

Gilear makes lunch.              

But before they leave, Adaine Scrys on her mom and sees her, Aelwen, and Killian with a gem embedded in his open and bloody chest (clearly a puppet after the ritual that almost claimed RIz) traveling through a forest so twisted it looks like it’s underground. Adaine clocks some curse scarring on her mom and on a 15 arcana check wonders if the curse her mom got broken by Garthy was actually the Crown’s curse or maybe something the Falinel put on it for security (which could mean that the Curse on the crown is actually the goddess’s sanctum mentioned last ep). Almost immediately, Aelwen dispels the Scry and it ends. Adaine on a 25 Insight realizes that Aelwen didn’t actually sense the Scry. It was like someone told her it was happening and then she reacted to that. Adaine thinks Kalina might be around.         

On a nat 20 Perception check, Kristen sees Kalina’s eyes in the shadows. Riz--and the rest of the group--can’t see her, but she steps out of the shadows. Kalina starts slinging death threats--at the group and Tracker specifically--and Kristen does her classic Kristen thing of staring down a life or death situation with an insane casualness. Kalina says the only reason the gang is still alive is because they haven’t gotten directly in the way of her and what she wants yet. What does she want? Kristen asks. For them to stay out of the f-ing forest. Kalina vanishes. Kristen immediately loses all bravado and makes her friends dog pile her for comfort which they happily do.               

Kristen gives an arguably Inspiring Speech to give everyone 16 temp HP. Riz on a 28 Investigation roll notices that the grass where Kalina was standing isn’t bent. (The background music goes *BWANG* like Brennan planned it). Riz thinks Kalina wasn’t physically there. In fact, she might not have ever been physically there. He remembers that, in the photo, Pok’s sleeve isn’t bent where Kalina is touching him and people who can’t see Kalina don’t see the wrinkled sleeve they way they would if she was just invisible. And she’s not holding a glass in the photo. She’s holding up her hand and pretending she’s holding one. She might not exist physically at all. He thinks that the thing Aelwen and Arianwyn are doing is to give her corporeal form. They also put together than even if Kalina is somehow in their heads, she can’t really by *in* their heads because she keeps asking questions she would know the answers to already if she could read their minds. Kristen wants to chain up Tracker in the Van to keep her safe from Kalina but Tracker puts the kibosh on that with a quickness (revealing things we kinda already knew about their sex life in the process).

Anyway, let’s split up!

Tinkerer’s Hall

The Owlbear group and the Hangman kinda freak out the gnomes who think they’re being mugged or something but Gorgug wins them over with his gnomish last name and cool Solesian gadgets. They find out Killian needed wax to make candles and some basic spell components.

Tavern

The two Bad Kids possibly least equipped to go to the bar go there and try to get access to Adaine’s mom’s room. They pay Arianwyn’s tab (she left abruptly without paying) and bribe the bartender with an amount of money that will for sure get them put on a watchlist, sweating bullets the entire time, but eventually make it up there to the top suite.

The room is blood spattered, full of candle wax and arcane symbols, and there’s an image Adaine knows her mom drew of a robed, skeletal figure, wearing a crown, etched into the wall. Yikes. 

Shrine

Sandra-Lynn drops off the girls. Tracker casts a light spell and then has to step out. It’s like a vampire at the doorway of a church thing. Kristen sees a religious symbol on the wall and an ancient depiction of a woman in a dark robe and cape, holding a book and a broomstick, next to a small dwelling, black cat on her shoulder. 

Fig sees a charred handprint on the briars in the shrine and recognizes it as her own. She casts Burning Hands on her handprint that’s here for some reason and the fire catches and spreads. Brennan has a lot of fun making fire sound effects. A fiery doorway opens and a woman in armor, with horns and skeletal wings (plus flayed skin under the armor from what they can see--except for her face which is intact and beautiful) walks out and asks for Fig. When Fig identifies herself, the woman says she’s Vraz the Mean from the Nine Hells and Fig has been served. As in legally. As in a subpoena. 

Wild. 

Detention

Fig for Using up Two Luck Points Pre-Excursion Into a Doom Forest to Conceal a Crush 

I adore both Fig generally and Fig in this episode specifically but, truly, what a waste of Luck points at the cusp what possibly could be such a dire moment. And she won’t get those back before a long rest. This storyline is going so slowly. I’ve written (as I’m writing this sentence) 48k words worth of Report Cards and it’s been like what? A week? Less than that? She might not get those back for a while.

Now do I wish she’d made a different decision? Absolutely not. Emily, as always, is ride or die for the roleplay and I both love and respect it. 

But I can high-key see this biting her in the ass.  

Honor Roll

Kristen for Holding her Own Against Kalina

I think this marks K-girl’s first appearance on the Honor Roll and in my opinion (mine being the only one that matters I guess since I have no oversight and am Czar of this arbitrary award) she really earned it. First that clutch perception nat 20 to spot her and then having to hold the entire conversation by herself with no backup because she was the only one who could see her. I think this was actually a really good time for her to use her wild downplaying attitude and she was able to keep Kalina occupied for long enough for Riz to gather some of the most interesting pieces of info about Kalina yet. Very clutch.    

Random Thoughts

For a closer look into character/location descriptions from this episode, you can check out @jamiebluewind‘s posts here and here.

“Has your girl ever not delivered?”/”Yes.”/”Multiple times.”/”I mean, it’s always entertaining when you don’t.”

Lou and Siobhan Re the Hangan: “Can it turn into a Gundam?”/”Is it a transformer?”

Shoutout to Brennan for heading off flying Van shenanigans at the pass. That would have been an Immediate Problem. 

“I have never touched my Dad’s butt, nor do I want to.”

Brennan breaking himself during his first Gilear line of the ep. I wonder if he goes into any Gilear sentence knowing where he’s going, or if it’s all freeform improvisational jazz.

I think it’s really interesting that Fig fully loves Gilear but also still calls him Gilear and not Dad. Not deep meta point or anything. I just think it’s an interesting quirk of the character.   

Fig fully intending to eat an obvious death mushroom and every other party member at the same time slapping it out of her hands. 

I think I’ve mentioned on several occasions that I’m not really a shipper. Which isn’t to say I don’t enjoy romantic relationships in media. It’s just that it’s usually pretty clear which relationship the narrative is setting up so I really don’t get the point in basically campaigning for something that’s clearly going to happen (in which case, just enjoy the progression) or campaigning for something that’s clearly not going to happen and then being disappointed. But I gotta say, this Fig and Ayda has been a ride, I think largely because there was really no way to see this was coming when Ayda was introduced. Like, Tracker for instance was clearly introduced with Kristen in mind, down to being the Moon Cleric to her former Sun Cleric. Not only was Ayda not set up as a romanceable NPC, she very easily could have been skipped as even an option for befriending at all. She didn’t really make herself super available for it and it wasn’t even Fig who struck up a friendship with her initially. It was Adaine. And then Adaine got kidnapped which pushed the two resident Adaine stans together and, what do you know? Sparks (and not just from Ayda’s hair). The organic-ness of the relationship really added something that makes it really interesting and special. 

Also, lol that Fig finally found an age appropriate relationship but she’s also technically 150.

“I’m not gonna mend your piss pants.” 

For Adaine, the peak of luxury is access to fluffy robes which, mood.

OK, just to explicitly state my current pet theory that I alluded to last week, it seems pretty darn likely that Kalina is the familiar of the Mystery goddess. I said that cats are the most iconic witch’s familiar and, this ep, we saw the goddess depicted with a black cat. Plus, Brennan casually but very specifically noted that Kalina isn’t a big-cat. She’s like the tabaxi version of a house cat. And we learned that Kalina seems to be intangible which takes away one thing that was a little off for me--it seemed more like she was spreading a virus but the fact that she is intangible and just visible to people who are “infected” makes it seem more like she herself is the virus. AND, we were introduced to the concept of an Awakened, Sentient animal companion this episode which would be a great thing to do if you’re setting up the fact that this witch goddess turned her cat into a full sentient being and then a tabaxi and then a virus.  

Lol at Tracker giving Sandra-Lynn a Shovel Talk re: Jawbone. 

Riz, upon being questioned by Kristen where he got the photo of her for the “Casual” conspiracy wall he’s making: Look, you take pictures you hang them.

I want the Bad Kids to keep the motto of, “Spring Break!” year round. I want them to use it forever. I want them to be in their 30s--well out of school--and run into a deadly situation in the middle of Winter yelling, “I believe in you! Spring Break!” while very, very confused bystanders watch them. That’s really what friendship is about. Confusing the hell out of strangers with your in-jokes. 

Between last week of Fantasy High and this week of CritRole, I think a lot of people just learned what the Hallow spell is. 

“Just by being here we’re stealing. I’m like Robin Hood.”

Hangman: No rules!/Adaine: Some rules!

Guys I was SO concerned that Fig was gonna pull a Fabian and do something Concerning without any party support. So happy she decided to just get her kisses in instead. And then at the end of the ep when the two most chaotic party members were given a hell door that it 1000% seemed like they were gonna jump through but were ust handed legal paperwork instead.  

Figs comment about one of the best parts of friendship being getting to be a “chorus of nonsense” together without regard for what’s being said is so real.

I love the D&D gag of the party members who are not at an intense moment interjecting with whatever nonsense they’re doing. 

Everyone holding their collective breaths and then breaking as Emily succumbs to the urge to Touch a Thing. “You simply must.”

Ayda thinks “Choke on grapes, bitch,” is an excellent threat, and I agree.

Who cares for Ayda when she’s a newborn? Or is she reborn old enough to take care of herself? Also, update: Aguefort even worse dad than initially thought. 

Fig skateboarding away and dropping invisibility so Ayda can see and then later kissing her and Ayda going full visible are such cinematic moments. Well, the second one is at least. The first is just extremely funny. 

“I’m not gonna kiss the shrimp, Kristen. It’s dead, and we killed it.”

“I desperately and only want you to stay. And the only thing I want to do more than stay is do something for you” Why does Brennan keep dropping these raw ass lines casually in his high school D&D game?

“Can I get a help action from the jets of the hot tub?”

One little moment I loved from this ep was Mira being confused by the concept of a rock star and Adaine translating that she’s a bard/troubadour. I also just love the word troubadour. We shouldn’t have ever stopped using it. 

“That makes me nervous. Everything makes me nervous. Sure, why not.” Mood.

Mira also makes a comment about how diverse the group is that did *not* sound like a positive or even neutral statement and, listen, I’m getting Daybreak vibes my dudes.

Very funny every time we’re reminded that the reason the Bad Kids are doing this is because it’s a school project. 

Interesting character detail that Adaine started off talking about Aelwen and Arianwyn with distancing language but eventually slipped back into just calling them her mom and sister. 

A note in case it’s relevant later: Nuathra said that Crafty--his druid companion--was not a fan of cleric stuff, thought it was nonsense, and tried to avoid it at all costs. 

Fabian re Nuathra: What did the fox say?

Kristen asks Kalina’s name and she says, “You can call me Kalina,” which is subtly different than, “My name is Kalina,” which is probably just a turn of phrase and not plot relevant but I’ve been reading a lot of Fae stuff recently and a hyper-aware of weasel-out wording right now. 

“You good?”/”Now that I’m being pressed into the grass by all my friends? Yes.”

Adaine to Riz’s earlier encounter with Kalina: That was all you? You did all that damage to yourself?

I love Fig’s outrage at Adaine joking that she uses Detect Thoughts. The idea of, “We kill people and break into places and Catfish adult men but we DO NOT Detect Thoughts on each other that is the LINE.”

Kristen giving herself a sexy roleplay promotions from Officer up to Colonel was killing me. That whole thing was such a good bit and Ally and Brennan were on the same page immediately.  

Can’t wait to see the demonic (or is that devilish?) legal system so I can tell y’all how accurate it is and use something I learned in law school for once in my life. (Note: I am a lawyer, but you’d be surprised how unhelpful law school is to actually being a lawyer). 

Wonder what that subpoena was for. Maybe something involving Gorthalax or the wall? I’m trying to think of what they’d have jurisdiction over. She said the dude she works under is on the Sloth level of hell. 

Siobhan mentioned she has good Portent rolls right now which is comforting to hear. Lol, imagine if she had also decided to go full teenager this episode and use them to ferret out Fig’s crush.   

I need you to know that, in this same week (all within 48 hours of each other), between CritRole, Naddpod, The Good Place finale, I was really just drowning in content and emotions. 

The only crit of the ep is a nat 20 from Kristen. 

[littlemessyjessi]

“Full of Surprises”: Negan Imagine

Negan Imagine #MANCRUSHMONDAY #MCM  Negan x Reader : PS Reader, Plus Size Reader, Tattooed reader 

Imagine impressing Negan with how you handle yourself ....

I’d met Negan on a run. 

I’d been seperated from my group at the time- per my choice. 

I was tired of the drama and figured I’d be better off on my own. 

And ya know- that kinda worked for a bit. 

But fuck- sometimes there’s truth in that whole strength in numbers then. 

So there I was, catapulting myself across the cars of a junkyard. 

Thanking god, or whoever, was up there for years of doing gymnastics as a kid and young adult. 

I hadn’t done much of it in years but I guess muscle memory and all that shit. 

So there I was acting like I was up next at the fucking Olympics when I hear the most awful amount of ruckus. 

I mean, I figured I’d be walker shit in a few hours anyway but then I see this tall son of a bitch in the distance. 

Swinging a fucking baseball bat six ways from Sunday and enough man power to scare the shit out of anyone. 

You could see how I’d be a little apprehensive but considering that they’d basically just saved my ass from being walker shit....I held back the undeniable amounts of sass. 

Hell, I didn’t know this man! 

For all I knew, he’d saved me just so he could bash my brains in. 

Judging by the healthy glow to his skin and swagger in his step...he seemed well fed and doing pretty good in this shitbox of a life at the moment. 

And in the state of the world at the current moment? 

That wasn’t exactly something that was easy to come by. 

“Whooo, damn little lady!” he said with a grin that told me he could get just about anything he wanted.  “Where in the fuck did you learn to move like that? Hell, got my dick standing at attention with moves like that!” 

I lifted a brow at him, “Well, ya know.  The whole possibility of being eaten alive can tend to spark a little fire under one’s ass.” 

He smirked and his eyes just sparkled with a joke that was way too easy. 

“Before you make some kinda raunchy comment about how they’re not the only ones who’d like to eat me alive- just save it.” I said with a roll of my eyes. “You ain’t the first one to say and I’m sure you won’t be the last. But for fuck’s sake- at least if you’re gonna hit on me- get some new material. We don’t have television anymore and I am so not in the mood for lame re-runs of weak ass pick up lines.” I said. 

Admittedly, my sass got away from me before I could get a hold on it. 

“Well, damn.” he grinned. “I do believe you have peaked my interest.   You care to join me for some fine dining tonight?” 

I just lifted a brow at him again. 

“While my stomach is telling me yes- I don’t necessarily trust you.  So I guess I’d say I’ll pass.  But I get the feeling that you’re not really asking so much as you’re informing me that I’ll be joining you.” I said. 

He smirked and let loose a ludicrous kinda moan. 

“Boys!” he cheered. “I like this one!” 

“Before you get any ideas about passing me around in some kinda gang bang orgy, you might as well just kill me- because I don’t play that shit and I will not be going easily.” I said. 

He shook his head, “Come on now, sugar mama.  That’s not how this works.  I’d never force a fine woman such as yourself to do such a thing.” 

I just stared him down. 

“Look, it it makes you feel any better, I’ll let you hold Lucille.” he said and offered the bat to me. 

I still didn’t trust him and it didn’t help that his companions held a look of shock upon their features when he offered the bat to me. 

I took it in my hands and swung it up to rest on my shoulder. 

“Be gentle with her now.” he winked at me. “She likes to be touched with care.” 

“For the record.” I stated. “I’m not afraid to beat you to death with your own bat that you just foolishly gave me.  My old man was a piece of shit but he was the best hitter in all of Tennessee.  In more ways than one.” 

The man held his hands up, “I will be nothing but a gentlemen and the boys will agree. Right boys?” 

There was a collective murmur amongst them in a bid to settle me. 

In reality, I didn’t matter whether I was settled or not.  

This man aimed to have me go back with them and I’d either go with them willingly or go down swinging. 

We moved along in silence for a while before he spoke again. 

Damn him with his relaxed self and long lanky legs. 

“So, how did you learn to move like that if you don’t mind me asking, sugar?” he asked. 

“I did gymnastics for a big part of my life.” I said. “All of my childhood and through my high school years.  I haven’t done it seriously in a long time but I guess muscle memory just kinda stays in the bones.” 

His brows rose on his forehead, “Damn.  That’s impressive.” 

“Thanks, I guess.” I said, adjusting the bat from one shoulder to the other. “I do best in crazy situations.  My coach was a hardass.  He was kind of a dick a lot of the time in more ways than one and was more like a drill sergeant than anything. But he was still a good coach.  I don’t think I would’ve gotten as far as I did without his coaching.  Both in gymnastics and to be honest- out here.” 

The man chuckled and I looked over at him. 

“What’s your deal?” I asked, furrowing my brows at him.

I knew I shared too much with this egotistical mother fucker. 

“Nothing. It’s just- I used to be a coach before all the shit hit the fan.  And by the sounds of it- your old coach and I probably have a lot in common.” he said. “So from a dickhead hardass of a coach, it’s not the coach that got you this far.  It’s you.  I was hard on my team too.  The weak ones broke and quit.  That was what was best.  But the strong ones kept going- damn near challenged me on everything and refused to back down.  You didn’t survive because of the coach.  You survived because you don’t back down.”  he said. 

The silence hung between us for a moment. 

“That’s awfully deep for someone I met less than half an hour ago.” I commented. 

“Why the fuck does it not surprise me that you wouldn’t just fucking say thank you?” he laughed. 

“Not really my style, I guess.” I shrugged. “So Lucille?  Like Lucille Ball?” 

He gave somewhat of a sad smile that was a bit uncharacteristic for him and shrugged, “My late wife.” 

I just nodded, “I can respect that.  Anyone who honors their late wife by having her as a blood stained baseball wrapped in barbed wire...eh, you kinda sound like my version of crazy.” 

He came to a halt, “Darling, you are so fucking weird.  I think I might just have to keep you.” 

“It’ll cost ya.” I said swinging the bat around.  

“Oh?” he said, curiosity peaked. “And what is your price, sugar tits?” 

“Well, for started, I’ll be climbing your big ass like a tree.” I said and that seemed to perk him right up. 

“Fuck yeah!” he said. 

“Second, I’m gonna take you up on that fine dining.” I said. “Maybe we’ll start with that.  Ya know, I’ll need to carb load to prepare myself for what I’ll do to you.” 

He fell to his knees in front of me dramatically. 

“My name is Negan, you evil goddess and I am at your service.” he said. 

I wasn’t the only one to laugh at his antics but I patted him on the head and smiled anyway. 

“Nice to meet you, Negan.  You may address me as Mistress from now on because I’m about to have you wound around my finger so tightly you won’t wanna know anything else.” I cooed and strutted on by. 

“Sweet fucking mother of god.” he whispered. “I think I’m in love.” 

Love, Mama Kennysaurus If you wanna see more of my content just check out my blogs! @littlemessyjessi is the main blog full of fandom fictions, imagines, headcanons and sickeningly sweet fluff! Yeah, I know, lol. Barf.  But hey, I like it. @witchyweirdness is the magical blog full of witchy content And last but not least !   @monsterbaesbymamakennysaurus is my monster blog full of all kinds of monster related content! So I hope to see you there! Love, Kenny

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Love, Kenny

[jccamus]

Emmett Till’s Murder, and How America Remembers Its Darkest Moments

Emmett Till’s Murder, and How America Remembers Its Darkest Moments https://ift.tt/2SeMIif

We're using augmented reality, a new approach to digital storytelling. Read about how to use it on your phone or tablet here. If you want to skip it for now, you can view an alternate immersive experience instead.

MONEY, Miss. — Along the edge of Money Road, across from the railroad tracks, an old grocery store rots.

In August 1955, a 14-year-old black boy visiting from Chicago walked in to buy candy. After being accused of whistling at the white woman behind the counter, he was later kidnapped, tortured, lynched and dumped in the Tallahatchie River.

The murder of Emmett Till is remembered as one of the most hideous hate crimes of the 20th century, a brutal episode in American history that helped kindle the civil rights movement. And the place where it all began, Bryant’s Grocery & Meat Market, is still standing. Barely.

Today, the store is crumbling, roofless and covered in vines. On several occasions, preservationists, politicians and business leaders — even the State of Mississippi — have tried to save its remaining four walls. But no consensus has been reached.

Some residents in the area have looked on the store as a stain on the community that should be razed and forgotten. Others have said it should be restored as a tribute to Emmett and a reminder of the hate that took his life.

As the debate has played out over the decades, the store has continued to deteriorate and collapse, even amid frequent cultural and racial reckonings across the nation on the fate of Confederate monuments. At stake in Money and other communities across the country is the question of how Americans choose to acknowledge the country’s past.

“It’s part of this bigger story, part of a history that we can learn from,” said the Rev. Wheeler Parker, 79, a pastor in suburban Chicago and a cousin of Emmett’s who went with him to Bryant’s Grocery that day. “The store should be one of the places we share Emmett’s story.”

(The Justice Department quietly reopened the Emmett Till case last year after Carolyn Bryant Donham, the white shopkeeper, recanted parts of her story.)

In and around the Delta, the memory of Emmett’s murder lingers.

The cotton gin from which the 75-pound fan that was tethered to his neck with barbed wire was stolen is now a small museum. There are informal tours of the abandoned bridge where his body was likely tossed into the river. The barn where he was brutally beaten is unmarked, but its owner allows the occasional visitor.

Emmett Till with his mother, Mamie Till Mobley, circa 1950. Everett Collection, via Alamy

And, on a larger stage, his story is the subject of upcoming feature films and books.

But not everybody sees the memorials the same way. Several historical markers put up to commemorate Emmett have repeatedly been vandalized, shot down and replaced.

To nurture racial reconciliation in the area, the Emmett Till Memorial Commission was founded in 2006. It restored the courtroom in Sumner where Emmett’s killers — Roy Bryant, the owner of the store in the 1950s, and his half brother, J.W. Milam — were acquitted. Outside, a marker commemorating Emmett stands steps from a monument honoring Confederate soldiers.

Ray Tribble, who sat on the jury of all-white men who acquitted Mr. Bryant and Mr. Milam, purchased the building that was once Bryant’s Grocery in the 1980s. He died in 1998. The store has been in the Tribble family ever since.

The family has all but refused to restore or sell the property. And it continues to wither away.

Drag image to explore

The remnants of Bryant’s Grocery & Meat Market, in Money, Miss.

‘Tear Off the Scab’

Willie Williams and Donna Spell grew up about eight miles from each other in the Delta. They are 10 years apart in age. He learned about Emmett Till as a child. She learned about him as an adult. Mr. Williams is black. Ms. Spell is white.

Mr. Williams said his parents told him about Emmett’s story “as a way of being careful.” Ms. Spell said Emmett’s horrific death was not a story “my parents would have told their children.”

The two first met at a church event. Today, they both sit on the Emmett Till Memorial Commission, where they have since become friends.

“I did a lot of listening. And what I heard was a lot of pain,” said Ms. Spell, a longtime English teacher. “To move forward we’ve got to tell the story. We’ve got to tear off the scab and keep telling it.”

In 2006, the Emmett Till Memorial Highway was dedicated along a 32-mile stretch of U.S. 49 East. A year later, the commission presented an official apology to the Till family in the courthouse where the killers were acquitted.

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The Emmett Till Memorial Commission restored the courtroom in Sumner where Emmett’s killers were acquitted. The courtroom was segregated during the trial in 1955.

“Our community had been running from this since 1955,” said Patrick Weems, co-founder of the Emmett Till Interpretive Center, a museum across from the courthouse that was started by the group.

The commission has since placed 11 historical markers at sites related to Emmett’s murder. One of them sits on a lonely dirt road next to rows and rows of cotton fields near Glendora, Miss. It’s a purple sign marking the nearby riverbank where Emmett’s body was recovered.

The sign has had to be replaced three times because of bullet holes and vandalism. Other civil rights markers in Mississippi have also been targeted — two years ago, vandals scraped the words and text off the Bryant’s Grocery marker, and “KKK” was once scrawled across the highway sign.

Several historical markers have been erected to honor Emmett. One of them, a purple sign marking the nearby riverbank where his body was recovered, has been repeatedly vandalized.

On a recent afternoon, one of the commission’s damaged signs rested on the floor of the museum. Mr. Weems leaned over it as he ran his fingers across the jagged holes.

“It’s been a struggle to keep those signs up,“ Mr. Weems said, “but we think it’s part of the front line of this tug of war between memory and how we negotiate our past and future.”

[For more coverage of race, sign up here to have our Race/Related newsletter delivered weekly to your inbox.]

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The riverbank where Emmett’s body was recovered.

Confronting History

Susan Glisson has worked with a half-dozen Mississippi towns on racial healing, including in Sumner with the Emmett Till Memorial Commission. After she retired as director of the University of Mississippi’s William Winter Institute for Racial Reconciliation, she founded Sustainable Equity, a consulting firm focused on facilitating racial dialogue at universities, police departments, corporations and municipalities.

“When it works, we are able to get past the perspective of ‘I didn’t do it, I don’t know anybody that did it,’ and find the ways to honor the victims,” Ms. Glisson said.

When it doesn’t work, she went on, the resistance is stark: communities fracture, landmarks are neglected, significant events are lost or forgotten. These moments of tension and reckoning have buckled across America as small towns confront their racist histories.

In northwest Florida, an all-black town was wiped off the map by racial violence during the Rosewood massacre in 1923. The one house that survived — where black residents hid to escape the slaughter — is now owned by an 85-year-old Japanese widow, Fujiko Scoggins. Her daughter and son-in-law, both real estate agents, are selling the home.

A small heritage group wants to convert it into a Rosewood museum and garden, but hasn’t secured funding. Neighbors warned Ms. Scoggins’s son-in-law not to sell the house to black buyers, presumably to stop any commemoration of the massacre.

The historical marker and road sign have been repeatedly vandalized. “The message is they don’t want Rosewood or the massacre to be remembered,” said Sherry Dupree, founder of the Rosewood Heritage Foundation and a tour guide.

In Monroe, Ga., a racially violent chapter is commemorated annually. Two African-American married couples were murdered by a white mob near the Moore’s Ford Bridge, after a dispute with a farmer in 1946.

Since 2005, a group of actors and activists have gathered each year to re-enact what happened that July night. “The people in town pretty much ignore it now every year,” said Cassandra Greene, who directs the performances. “But it’s important to keep doing it as a reminder of racial injustices.”

Memorials have the power to invite meaningful race conversations, Ms. Glisson added, but the key is addressing stubborn attitudes, stereotypes and assumptions that have been hardened and passed down over generations. The difficulty is getting beyond feelings of recrimination and guilt.

‘Remembering Emmett Till: The Legacy of a Lynching’ in Virtual Reality

‘It’s Been Complicated’

The price of Bryant’s Grocery & Meat Market, according to one Mississippi newspaper, is $4 million, but it’s hard to know more because the family has largely refused to talk publicly about it. Numerous messages and emails sent to the Tribbles for this story went unreturned.

In 2011, the family was awarded a $206,000 state civil rights grant to restore a gas station next to the store. At the time, the project’s architect described the store restoration as the next phase. Since 2015, Mr. Weems has negotiated with family members, to no avail.

There’s talk in town of a replica being built on state property across the street by one of the production companies filming movies about the Emmett Till case. That may be the only solution.

“It’s been complicated working with the family,” Mr. Weems said. “We have had off and on discussions with the Tribbles for about three years and it seems as if every time we get close, they move the goal post.

“And I still don’t know what they want,” he added. “I don’t know if it’s money or they want control of the story that’s told, which has direct legacy implications for their father. I am hopeful that one day they can see a positive legacy by reclaiming the past.”

Today, fewer than 100 people live in Money and most of the property, including the old Bryant’s Grocery store, is owned by the children of Ray Tribble.

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The barn where Emmett was brutally beaten is unmarked, but the owner allows the occasional visitor.

As early as 2004, local business and civic leaders reached out to the Tribble family in hopes of turning the store into a museum dedicated to Emmett or civil rights, or both, even in its current state of disrepair.

That same year, the roof caved in. Then Hurricane Katrina rumbled through in 2005, destroying much of what remained. Back then, the Tribble family agreed to work to rebuild the store. “We want to restore it,” Mr. Tribble’s son, Harold Ray Jr., told The Clarion Ledger in 2007. “It’s a part of history and it’s about to fall down.”

Nothing has been done. And every day, the store slips closer toward oblivion.

“Here is this ruin that a storm could blow over, and yet it’s still here,” said Dave Tell, an author and professor working on a new book about the Emmett Till case.

“The store is this great analogy to the story of Emmett Till, both long neglected, but both refuse to go away.”

CREDITS

Written by Audra D.S. Burch.

Produced by Veda Shastri.

Drone Video and Photos by Tim Chaffee.

Archival Images: Everett Collection via Alamy, Ed Clark/Time & Life Pictures via Getty Images, Associated Press

Graphics and Design by Nicole Fineman, Jon Huang, and Karthik Patanjali.

Research by Susan C. Beachy

Senior Producer: Maureen Towey

Executive Producers: Lauretta Charlton, Marcelle Hopkins and Graham Roberts

A Grocery, a Barn, a Bridge: Returning to the Scenes of a Hate Crime

Emmett Till’s Murder: What Really Happened That Day in the Store?

In Texas, a Decades-Old Hate Crime, Forgiven but Never Forgotten

Talking to a Man Named Mr. Cotton About Slavery and Confederate Monuments

Veda Shastri contributed reporting, andSusan C. Beachy contributed research.

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https://ift.tt/301mY0P via The New York Times September 15, 2019 at 06:51PM

[beepbeeprobotlovesong]

Hearts of Flame, Words of Ice

@ushee02 THIS ONE’S FOR YOU BABE

A Greek soothsayer, a Roman hero. Reyna has always felt like she carried the world on her shoulders, but Rachel might be the one person who has a higher claim on the responsibility title - after all, certain watery demigods can go off and run monsters, but all the mortal redhead can do is see the worst that can happen, and feel trapped. But they’ve both lived with their burden for several years, and against all odds, have both made it into being reasonably healthy twenty-something adults, finishing out their classes and realizing that they actually haven’t spent much time together, despite mutual acquaintances...and the two of them realize how much they really might have in common. Part 1/??? as many parts as Kelso makes me write?

Athena help me, I haven’t written fanfic in years. 

When Reyna felt someone grab her elbow, her first instinct was, of course, to slam it back, followed up quickly with some sort of well aimed kick, and maybe even lingering a moment for a satisfying right hook. But she had about two bottles of microbrew slowing her murder reflexes, and just enough forethought to realize that alt-rock-indie-punk-experimental jazz night at the tiny bookshop - slash - bar was not the sort of place where someone just automatically went on a violent attack.

The mortal world was so weird.

So instead, she tensed and pulled back, ready for the offensive but holding off on the immediate slug-fest. And found herself arm-in-arm with a familiar mop of vibrant red hair, attached to a face lightly freckled and dusted with blue glitter.

“It’s been sooo long!” Rachel said in a syrupy, gooey voice - which immediately made Reyna pause and re-calibrate...again. Rachel wasn’t a syrupy, gooey voice type. At least, not with Reyna. And Reyna would remember something so fantastically awkward and embarrassing. She was good at that.

“Should I be calling you a cab right now? I’m thinking you need a cold shower and some aspirin in the morning,” Reyna said with a frown. Rachel didn’t seem like the type to get drunk on alt-rock-indie-punk-experimental jazz night - actually, Reyna could imagine Rachel with a brightly colored fizzy drink with a tiny umbrella and at least six kind of liquors, but they didn’t serve that kind of thing much at Boozey Pages. It was one of the things that Reyna liked about the bookstore. No-nonsense alcohol, and a student discount.

Far from looking offended, Rachel just threw back her head and laughed - a very fake sounding laugh, Reyna realized. She blinked, and refocused on Rachel. The redhead was acting drunk, but her eyes were darting around the small gathering, a slight hardness around the edges of her mouth. Reyna’s defense went on high alert.

“You were always sooo funny,” Rachel said, her arm in Reyna’s tightening just the slightest bit. Reyna gave the tiniest of nods - a single motion to show she understood - and began to scan the small room. The band on the tiny fifteen-foot stage, Lost Soles and Found Laces, was just wrapping up, and the assembled twenty or thirty college-age folks gathered to listen were all jamming to the final chords of ‘Something That I Can’t Keep in my Pockets (Because You Filled Them With Your Heart)’ (a song that Reyna had, unfortunately, heard enough times to memorize). That is, except for very out of place old woman on the edge of the crowd, her eyes focused intently on the redhead now hanging off of Reyna’s arm. 

“Someone meeting you here?” Reyna asked, keeping her voice low. Rachel’s beaming smile was still smacked onto her face, but she squeezed Reyna’s arm again. 

“Got stood up by the stupid jerk,” She chirped. Reyna twisted her mouth slightly. Jackson probably had a good, life-saving-hero’s-duty reason for being a no-show, but Annabeth at least was usually good about doing the responsible thing and finding a way to call ahead. Especially now that she’d developed the monster-safe cell phone. And now there was this old woman hanging out at an alcohol-serving bookstore, who was beginning to look distinctly more and more...well, to put it lightly, the glowing red eyes were not exactly putting Reyna’s fears at ease.

“Didn’t think you could take on the biddy by yourself?” Reyna asked, lightly teasing. The look in Rachel’s eyes told Reyna that the redhead was just as surprised at the almost flirtatious tone. 

“I like to think I’m a little bit less impetuous than you brawns over brain types,” Rachel replied, a hint of a real, warm smile on her lips to ease the barb. 

“You had better not be lumping me in with that particular group,” Reyna said, without any real venom. She turned to walk toward the exit, keeping Rachel’s arm firmly tucked in her own. Rachel matched her, stride for stride - impressive despite their height difference. A glance at the window’s reflection told Reyna that the old woman was following, seeming to grow...what was that, wings? What, was she one of those bird-women from the Greek underworld...a harpy? 

“I forgot my celestial bronze bazooka at home, cut me a break,” Rachel said, pressing up slightly against Reyna’s side. Reyna’s heart had started to race - in anticipating of the coming fight, she was sure.

“Rachel Elizabeth Dare!” the harpy screeched, barely waiting until the two of them had cleared the door. She burst out of the plate glass window, causing several mortals inside to yell excitedly, like it was all part of the show.

Rachel cringed, and pulled away from Reyna. Reyna was about to protest - how could she protect Rachel, if the girl was going to run away now? - but she realized that the oracle was just trying to give Reyna space to fight properly.

All she had was her ‘on the town’ weaponry, but her dagger alone was plenty for this ridiculous bird-woman. 

“I’ll give you one chance,” Reyna said in a low, threatening voice. The harpy turned to sneer at the Praetor.

Reyna flicked the dagger in her hand, and hurled it at the harpy’s heart with effortless grace. Taken by surprise at the sudden attack - and, Reyna knew, without the usual pre-attack banter - the harpy screeched once before dissolving into golden sand. 

“That wasn’t much of a chance. Kinda rude to just kill her like that,” Rachel said, Reyna just shrugged, strolling over to pick up her dagger from the pile of sand that was already dissolving. The owner of Boozey Pages was standing in the broken window, gawping at them. Great. Reyna really didn’t want to have to find a new place to de-stress between classes.

“She was rude first,” Reyna said. “She didn’t even say hello to me.”

Rachel raised an eyebrow at her. “Was that...a joke?”

“Why does everyone always ask me that?” Reyna grumbled, but she was already looking Rachel over. Aside from her normal mass of curly red hair, barely contained by a single hairtie, Rachel was wearing a tight short-sleeved shirt, bright blue and with several green splotches that Rachel wasn’t sure if they were deliberate or just leftover from Rachel’s art class. She was wearing a knee-length skirt, white with bright red polka dots, A casual but extremely cute look. Rachel looked unharmed, but Reyna could tell from glancing (not staring! Not. Staring.) at her chest that she was out of breath - fear? 

“You’ve been tailed for a while,” Reyna said, frowning slightly. “Harpies are chasing you?”

“Everything’s chasing someone,” Rachel said distantly, her eyes sliding away from Reyna’s. “I was just lucky enough to have a big, tough Praetor to save me.”

“Lucky is right,” Reyna said, one eyebrow raising slightly. Back inside the bookstore, the next band had taken the stage. It sounded like another regular group - Horizontal Stripes and Vertical Challenges. The lead singer was barely five feet tall. The mortals didn’t seem particularly concerned about the window breaking, and based on the lack of an angry bookstore owner yelling at her, she didn’t think she was going to get stuck with the blame. “Why don’t we go back inside, maybe? These guys put on a pretty decent show, and I could always stick close to you. You know. In case of more...chasers.” She felt her heart begin to race again. Rachel was looking up at her - by the Gods, how could blue glitter on her cheeks suit her so well? They really brought out how tight her shirt was - and Reyna’s arm was still tingling ever so slightly where Rachel had been holding on to her - 

“Seems a shame to miss the whole show,” Rachel said, a slow smile - a real smile - spreading, her eyes lighting up. Reyna began to smile in kind -

but Rachel’s eyes had suddenly jumped, and were focused on a point behind Reyna.

Reyna’s heart lurched - another attack? She spun around, coming face to face with an unfamiliar boy, with a mess of sloppy brownish hair and an apologetic smile.

“I’m so sorry,” he said, moving past Reyna to pull Rachel into a hug. “My car broke down, and it took me forever to get an Uber. Why didn’t you pick up when I called?”

Oh.

“Reyna, sorry,” Rachel said, disentangling herself from the hug to glance up at the Praetor. “This is Kyle, he-”

“Oh, no,” Reyna said, taking an uneven step back. Stupid. So stupid. Every time - every time, her heart would begin to quicken, a warmth would begin to spread in her chest at the sight of someone’s smile - and every time, there would already be someone else. “Sorry, just realized - there’s a - I have to go.”

She had turned and was already walking - definitely not running, no - Rachel called her name once, but Reyna didn’t even look once. That was the secret. Don’t look back. Not ever.

[sharonelypearson]

Two months ago I was in the midst of a pilgrimage to the Holy Land with thirty others from the Episcopal Church in Connecticut. It has taken me that long to articulate in writing my reactions and feelings about the political climate regarding Israel and Palestine. I have already posted numerous reflections on the sites we visited, both spiritually and historically. But I have skirted around writing about the reality of the Palestinian people that I experienced; it was just below the surface in all my postings about Bethlehem, Jerusalem, Samaria, and Galilee.

In the Hebrew Scriptures, Israel is called to be a light to the nations. As a people chosen by God (technically, Abraham received this promise for all his descendants/offspring) to show the way back to right relationship to God, today’s Israel has fallen short of this covenant. Power and rule have a tendency to let leaders forget their responsibilities, which ultimately leads to division and corruption. As in Old Testament times, history continues to repeat itself. Recall the role of the prophets who kept calling God’s people back.

This past Sunday’s readings (10th Sunday after Pentecost, Proper 15) spoke to me (with help from a great sermon which I will link here when it is posted) from Isaiah 5:1-7 and Luke 12:49-56. Israel continues to this day to grow (be) the wild (sour) grapes, while God gave all of us a beautiful vineyard to live in to grow sweet grapes – if we would only cease our divisions and love God as well as love our neighbor. God is angry. Jesus weeps. Yesterday and today.

The U.S. and Israel have a complicated relationship, which was exacerbated this past week with the on-again, off-again visits of two U.S. congress women desiring to visit family in the West Bank. You can read about it here (from NPR) as well as many other news sources. These two women know what it is like for the Palestinians (Muslim and Christian) to live in the occupied territories. I don’t believe most Americans really understand what is really happening in Israel, or how the U.S. government is upsetting the precarious balance. You have to see it to really understand.

For those who are not familiar with the history of Israel in modern times, here is a short video that gives a good overview with a summary of modern-day events that continue to impact the region today:

I knew the political situation was complicated with Israeli control in disputed territories. I had heard about Palestinians throwing rocks at Israeli forces, walls being built, and settlements springing up. The settlements look like Co-op City if you’ve ever been to New York City – very permanent. And they are huge “suburbs”, located at the top of hills surrounding Palestinian villages below with access to highways that the villages do not have. It’s not hard to imagine their purpose – despite U.N. resolutions – to surround (and in the future be connected to one another?) small Palestinian towns. Meeting local people and experiencing the conditions in the West Bank, as well as traveling in and out of the State of Israel through check-points, changed me more than any of the biblical sites we visited. In sharing my pilgrimage stories with others, I came to realize that our ECCT pilgrimage was different from many other church-sponsored trips; we went beyond the holy sites and met the people: Jews, Christians, and Muslims – Arabs of the three Abrahamic faiths who call (and claim) Israel their home.

  Security and Safety

It depends on who you might meet or talk to that makes you feel safe or secure in an occupied land. I should have realized things were not going to be “normal” on my Delta flight from JFK to Tel Aviv. We had to go through extra security at the gate before boarding the plane in New York: carry-on and backpacks through X-ray, water bottles (even just purchased) discarded, and personal scans (pat-downs for some in another room). As we approached Israeli airspace, we were told that all must remain seated for the duration of the flight (between 30-45 minutes). What other country demands this? Upon arrival, several fellow pilgrims were detained for three hours at Ben Gurion Airport. Welcome to Israel! (And they don’t make it easy for you to leave, either. That story’s even worse.) For many, being a “foreigner” in Israel means intimidation and humiliation. An August 17, 2019 op-ed from the Wall Street Journal describes this reality, which I also experienced when entering Israel from the United States as well as when we re-entered after visiting Petra (in Jordan) for a few days. And we didn’t have a deck of cards to idle away our hours of waiting.

Here’s what you don’t see or hear on the news. These occurrences aren’t in remote areas or terrorist neighborhoods. On one of our first mornings walking to the Old City we were held up on a sidewalk for a brief time, only to hear an explosion and learn that a “suspicious” package was blown up on the sidewalk ahead of us. Our Arab Palestinian Christian guide: “Not to worry. This happens all the time.”

Traveling by bus within Jerusalem and areas to and from the West Bank, Samaria, Galilee, and Jordan one can’t help but see the barbed wire, walls, fences, security check-points, and the proliferation of police/army (they looked the same) carrying automatic, assault rifles (the ones you see carried by those who commit mass-shootings in the U.S.). Our bus was boarded at check points several times by armed security with mirrors looking under the bus carriage while the luggage compartments were opened and examined. There is nothing as unsettling as watching a 20-something walk down the aisle of your bus to look at your passport while holding an AK-47. Armed Israelis escorting Jews (despite Israeli signage that Jews should not enter) around the Temple Mount (Al-Haram ash-Sharif) where the Dome of the Rock mosque is located. Israeli security is “in your face” at every turn.

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Bethlehem is surrounded by 25-feet walls of concrete with armed guards in towers (reminiscent of high security prisons in the U.S). Pilgrims go to visit the place of Jesus’ birth. Do they visit the surrounding neighborhood? Pictures tell it all.

Identity, Water, and Human Rights

On three evenings, different speakers came to share their perspectives with us and answer our questions. A Muslim professor from Hebrew University. Two Muslim young adults who are graduates of “Jerusalem Peacebuilders” (see more about this organization below). An Israeli professor (who was from the U.S. and had lived in a town next to mine it turns out). Our guides were Christians, living in Jerusalem with special status to travel freely. (License plates are color coded to determine who can leave any of the occupied territories. All of them spoke of their identity. “I am an Arab Palestinian Muslim.“ “I am an Arab Palestinian Christian.” I am an Israeli.” The similarities: most were Arabs who cared for their homeland; all were articulate; ethnicity and nationality came first when describing themselves. Differences: Israelis are free and have choices. Palestinians cannot have passports (with some exceptions); if they leave (for an education) outside Israel they give up the right to return if they are gone more than six years; they pay taxes but have no right to vote; they have no citizenship and are “without a country”; they must go through different check-points to travel and (for example) can only get mail at a post-office (which is not close to where they live and often beyond the check-points). The exceptions and hardships go on and on.

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But the one that stands out is water: you can tell where Palestinians live by the rooftops – they have water collectors to save what little rainwater there is; the Israeli government rations their water. Trash is everywhere – there is no waste collection, let alone recycling. Lands (and settlements) of Israelis are green in this desert land; Palestinian lands have difficulty growing crops. Remember that vineyard from the reading above in Isaiah? There is a reason why vineyards and grapes are important in the biblical stories. Wine was essential in this land in ancient times because the water was not safe to drink. In some ways, wine was life. Just as like today – water equals life. Without water, no matter where you are in the world, humans will not survive. 

When visiting an Arab Palestinian Christian brewery, one of the owners (an American-educated woman) shared that sometimes she doesn’t take a shower for two weeks in order to save water for the business. How does one make beer or wine without water? Read more about Taybeh Brewery for their remarkable story and resilience. 

The village of Taybeh (tie-bay), the only remaining Christian village in Israel, is 19 miles northeast of Jerusalem and 7.5 miles northeast of Ramallah. From its elevated site between biblical Samaria and Judea, it overlooks the desert wilderness, the Jordan Valley, Jericho and the Dead Sea. Living amidst Muslim villages, Israeli settlements, and military roadblocks, Taybeh’s inhabitants (numbering 1,300 in 2010) are intensely proud of their Christian heritage. While in the area we stopped for lunch where the Christian proprietor sold peace lamps. 

As one who has travelled to the Holy Land, I believe it’s my responsibility to share my view, as I don’t believe we hear the real story, especially with the current administration’s lopsided stand toward Israel. I commend to you this article from Sojourners that speaks to the truth so many Holy Land pilgrims never experience. I am thankful that Qumri Pilgrimages allowed us to visit (by our request) more than just the holy sites. 

With his permission, I share my husband John’s reflection that he wrote for the ECCT pilgrimage:

As we drive through the West Bank, viewing the litter and junked cars, I hear a constant buzz of conversation about things that could be done: a recycling program for all the single use plastic, sheet metal recovery, etc. Based on what I have seen, if I were a Palestinian I wouldn’t give any material effort to make things appear better. They are essentially prisoners in their own land. Israelis are taking over all the prime property in the occupied territories under the premise that God said that this was their place in the world. As I think about this I am reminded of lyrics from a song sung by Jackson Browne:

Walls and Doors Ever since the world existed There is one thing that is certain There are those that build walls And those who open doors. That’s how it’s always been And I know you know it There can be freedom only When nobody owns it. 

I feel that the risk of other countries being perceived as anti-Semitic is being used very cleverly by the State of Israel. If we speak out against the injustices being done to Palestinians by Israel’s government, we would be against the Jewish faith and people. Can it be that the Holocaust suffering is being indirectly used as a political tool? I hope not… 

Hope

Despite the despair felt in seeing the effects of the Israeli occupation, there were also glimpses of hope. The Episcopal Diocese of Jerusalem supports numerous programs, hospitals, and schools for Jews, Muslims, and Christians throughout Israel in the occupied territories. We visited the Jerusalem Princess Basma Centre in the West Bank and saw the ministry at work, serving children with disabilities in Palestine and training their parents to continue their education and training at home. A charitable, non-governmental, non-profit institution entrusted under the Anglican Episcopal church, their work is guided by the fundamental values expressed in the UN Conventions on the Rights of the Child and the Rights of Persons with Disabilities. While there we also visited a small handicrafts workshop known as “The Sheltered Workshop” that serves people suffering from physical, mental, and cognitive disabilities from Jerusalem and its surroundings

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As mentioned above, one evening we met with two young adults who are alumni of Jerusalem Peacebuilders (JPB) Along with Executive Director and founder Nicholas Porter (an Episcopal priest from Vermont (formerly Connecticut), we heard about the work and mission of this organization. From their website description, “JPB is an interfaith, non-profit organization with a mission to create a better future for humanity across religions, cultures, and nationalities. Integral to that mission is the belief that the future of Jerusalem is the future of the world. To that end, JPB promotes transformational, person-to-person encounters among the peoples of Jerusalem, the United States, and the Holy Land.” In addition to programs offered in Jerusalem, there are active summer institutes in Connecticut, Vermont, and Texas.

Each of these organizations are living out the promise given to Abraham and his descendants and the mandate given by Jesus. They are in relationship with their neighbor – Jew, Muslim, Christian – and in relationship with God, each following their own faith tradition. It is possible to share one land and be a light to the world. It is possible to plant and harvest good grapes. But it takes a village to do so that welcomes all. No walls. No barbed wire. No check-points. Free flowing water and roads open to all. 

Hope and peace will prevail in the Holy Land if we bring all faiths together to learn that we are all humans who worship the same God. We do have differences that run deep and are polarizing, but we have so much more in common. The future of our world may depend on it. A third intifada is just around the corner if all sides don’t begin to come to the table with an open mind. Hopefully, graduates of Jerusalem Peacebuilders will be among those called to new leadership in the governments of Israel as well as the Palestinian Authority and families who are raising special needs children recognized that all are God’s children. 

The peace lamps from Taybeh.

Read more reflections from the Episcopal Church in Connecticut pilgrims in Part 1 and Part 2. Learn about the work of the Episcopal Diocese of Jerusalem and American Friends of of the Episcopal Diocese of Jerusalem.

     Pilgrimage Reflections: Walls & Doors Two months ago I was in the midst of a pilgrimage to the Holy Land with thirty others from the Episcopal Church in Connecticut.

[medicalmarijuana-news]

Stoner Sex: Oral Sex, Selfish Lovers, Boob Jobs & MMJ

Dear Hyapatia, My new girlfriend is not very experienced sexually. In fact, I am only the second guy she has ever been with. Her old boyfriend and her only did it twice, so she is basically a virgin. She has never given head before, and it kinda freaked her out when I suggested it. She thought it was disgusting. When I went down on her, she didn’t understand why. She has never had an orgasm with me. When we get high, she is more relaxed with sex, but how can I help her to enjoy it? She tells me she wants to be a better lover for me, but I basically just want her to be more comfortable with her own sexuality. — Michael

Dear Michael, You could visit a few adult sites so she can get used to seeing common sexual acts and positions. This will show her how normal oral sex and other positions are. When she sees a woman orgasm from oral sex, she will understand why you went down on her and how loving that act is. Make sure she knows that if she has oral sex with you, you can control yourself and will not let loose in her mouth. That can be very scary for women, especially those who are new to oral sex. One of the best ways to make ladies who are new to sex more comfortable is to really take your time with foreplay. By that I don’t necessarily mean sexual foreplay, but taking the time to light the candles, play the mood music and give her a sensual massage. Then begin to think about the sexual activities. Foreplay begins in the mind long before it is acted on by the body.  

Dear Hyapatia, My man is great to me everywhere but in bed. He is a selfish lover. He expects me to do all the work. I don’t know how long it has been since he went down on me, but I do him every time we have sex. I have hinted and even threatened to not suck him if he did not do me first, but he can’t get it up without it. I know he works hard and is tired, but it is more the spirit behind it than anything else. I mean, I don’t need him to make me orgasm that way. Do you have any suggestions? — Barb

Dear Barb, There are two ways to go: you could either refuse to have sex with him until he puts a little more effort into it or you could accept the fact that he shows his love for you in other ways and not expect much in the bedroom. It depends on your personal needs and satisfaction. Personally, since it has been like this for so long, I would tell him that if he can’t take care of me, I won’t do it for him and if that means we can’t have sex, then so be it. My bet is that he will be going down on you in no time!

Dear Hyapatia, I have a new lover that I have only been with a few months. He is very sweet and hard-working, not like my last boyfriends, so I want to hold onto him. I have rather large breasts, 38 DD, and I am short. He has pointed out that people probably think I am fatter than I am because my boobs are so big. I have a 26 inch waist. He thinks I would look better and be happier if I got a breast reduction. I have looked into the surgery, and it is really scary. They re-position the nipple and make a bunch of cuts. I am not so sure this is what I want. Do you know anyone who has gone through this surgery? What was their experience? Were they happy? — Lenora

Dear Lenora, First of all, never let anyone talk you into elective surgery. Surgery done under general anesthesia is not without risks. It’s one thing if you yourself are uncomfortable with your breasts but quite another if it is just your boyfriend’s suggestion. I have had a friend undergo the procedure, and she was very happy with the results. Her breasts were large and pendulous, and they put a strain on her back. The surgery took a while to recover from, and there was some scarring, but none that would show in a dark-lit bedroom with a lover who was more interested in sex than examining a body for scars. If you decide that this is what you would want for yourself if you were single, because tomorrow is promised to none of us, make sure to research doctors thoroughly. Don’t shop by price but by before-and=after pictures. Your boyfriend my not be with you for the rest of your life, but your breasts will be. 

Dear Hyapatia, I have been very worried lately about recreational pot under the Trump administration. My girlfriend and I both smoke every day. It helps her with her IB, and it calms me down when I am stressing over bullshit. Not to mention the wonders it does for our sex life! I mean, our sex life is fine without it, but why not make a good thing better? We live in a state with medical, but neither of us has ever pursued getting our medical cards. Do you think it would be worth the time and money to do that? — Jack 

Dear Jack, Yes! First of all, if you had a medical card, you could buy your weed for less money. That right there makes it worthwhile. Whatever you spend on the doctor, you will quickly make back by the deep discounts offered to medical consumers. You can also sign up to have your favorite dispensary be your chosen care provider and receive another discount. Many medical dispensaries also offer discounts for purchases made before noon. Depending on where you live, you could find you are buying high-quality weed for $100 an ounce. And since they have not threatened medical patients, you could continue your lifestyle and wonderful sex life without fear. I believe they won’t be able to “trump” state’s rights on the issue, though. The horses have already left the barn and are in the next town over! It is too late to turn the clock back now with all the tax money the legal states are raking in.

Ask Hyapatia all of your questions regarding stoner sexuality. Email her at hya@hightimes.com Last Week’s Stoner Sex: Trimming Together, Experimentation, Stress & Dry Spells

from Medical Marijuana News http://ift.tt/2mmRYoF via https://www.potbox.com/

[swordarkeereon]

Guest Post: Veronica Smith #horror #reading #WiHM8

Author Interview

How would you describe yourself if you were “speed dating” your readers?  I’m kind of quiet, I don’t post much myself on Facebook or Twitter but I share other posts. I’m a bit of a loner.

What’s something fans would find fascinating about you? I sleep inWonder Woman pajama pants. That’s kind of my thing that everyone laughs about. My sleep pants are always the most hideous ugly thing. When these wear out I’ll try to find something even uglier.

What is your favorite thing about being a writer?  Being able to do anything. It doesn’t have to be realistic unless it’s my crime novel, then I want it to follow police procedures as much as possible. But my horror books and stories aren’t real. I can put anything I want it them, monsters, strange powers. The possibilities are endless and that makes it so much fun. I also like to kill off people in my writing. Hey, it’s a two way street! I enjoy when it happens to me. I’ve been killed off in three books that I know of.

What genre(s) do you write and why?  Horror and horror. Haha, I like all kinds of horror and have written several types. I also enjoy detective crime thrillers too.

Are you a plotter or a pantser? Plotter for sure. I’m so OCD on planning and organizing. I use One Note and I make a million tabs (well not really that many – but I really could!) I want everything to sync. Timelines, names, deaths, I want it all consistent. I didn’t do that to start with on my last book and I had to go back in after I finished to check all of it. Good thing I did too! I found a dead guy walking and talking two chapters after he died! It may have been a zombie book but he wasn’t a zombie! Haha. I even made a spreadsheet that matches the aisles at my grocery store that I use for my grocery list.

What do you feel your books offer readers? My husband says I have a sick mind and I like to read stuff like that too, so I hope I can offend (did I say offend – I meant create – haha) an illusion of abnormal life. Most of my stories do not have good endings and I kind of like that. Life isn’t always good so why should imaginary life?

Do you have a favorite beverage that you drink when you write? Hot tea. I buy loose leaf tea from a vendor at our local farmer’s market.

Please tell us 5 miscellaneous facts about yourself. 1. I’m an OCD list person (mentioned in the plotter/punster question. 2. I watch less TV now than I used to; DVR is my best friend. 3. Although I’m a lousy housekeeper I still want things in their places. 4. I love fried foods. 5. I like Nickleback and I’m not ashamed to admit it! Haha!

What was the most difficult part of writing your most recent book?  I’ve just started it. I’m writing a Young Adult book that is derived from a short story I wrote for an anthology. I’m “iffy” on Young Adult. There’s that fine line between what’s okay to write and what isn’t. How gory can it be? A short story is easy because, well it’s short. A whole book is another matter. I’m sure I’m either going to overdo or underdo it.

Please share with us your future projects and upcoming releases. I mentioned the Young Adult book I’ve started but I’m also working on several short stories for anthologies.

LINKS

FACEBOOK www.facebook.com/Veronica.Smith.Author

AMAZON https://www.amazon.com/author/veronicasmith

TWITTER https://twitter.com/Vee_L_Smith

BLOG https://kvzsmithwordpresscom.wordpress.com/

WATTPAD https://www.wattpad.com/user/kvzsmith

AMAZON UK  https://www.amazon.co.uk/Veronica-Smith/e/B014JCZQT4

GOODREADS https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/33407538-salvation?ac=1&from_search=true

BRIEF AUTHOR BIO:

Veronica Smith lives in Katy, Texas, a suburb west of Houston. Her first full length novel, Salvation, was just published in December 2016. She self-published a short story, Last One in the Chamber for You, My Love to Amazon. Her first novella, Chalk Outline, was originally self-published but is the process of being re-released. She also has several short stories published in anthologies and e-Zines. In addition to writing, she’s a co-editor for two anthologies. Follow her to get the latest on her works.

LATEST RELEASE: Salvation

There is more to fear than zombies in the wasteland.

18 years after the “Blistering Flu” decimated humanity and gave rise to the world of fear and sorrow that is now owned by the dead, the remnants of humanity continue to fight for their right to live.

Regrettably nothing has changed in the mentality of man. Very quickly people had separated into factions that declared war on each other. These petty wars did us no good. They detached us from what was rising in the wastelands . . .

Will humanity be able to survive what is coming or will we continue to be assistants to our own destruction?

BOOK EXCERPT:

As soon as Tamar was sure that every zombie and mutant in front of the fence was down for good, she started to go after Chuck and Antonio. She could see the backs of Rick and Zach ahead of her and was about to put on a burst of speed to catch them when she heard the alarm bells—four of them.

Again?

She skidded to a halt and turned around to come back. The dust cloud that formed in front of her and blocked her way back to the gate cleared to expose the largest mutant wolf she’d ever seen. She’d come across some of the smaller ones, and mutant dogs were huge but this one’s muzzle was even height with her head. It opened its mouth and its long and barbed, snakelike appendage lolled out like a tongue. Green pus dripped to the ground.

Shit.

That put its reach beyond her reach with any of the blades she had on her. She thought about all she knew from watching these monsters. They were very fast and never seemed to run out of energy. However, their sheer bulk made it hard for them at turning corners. She watched wild horses get away from them because they couldn’t turn quickly.

Without warning, she ran to the left of it towards the compound screaming, “Everyone inside the fence! I need spears! In the ground now! Spread them out!”

Everyone scrambled inside and spears were brought to the fence. All of the kids were experts with spears and threw them into the ground, scattering their locations. She ran to the nearest one, pulling it out of the ground as she passed it. She spun in the air and threw it at the mutant, hitting it below the shoulder. It bellowed and stumbled but kept on going. With a quick glance around, she counted six more spears waiting for her. She was hoping that would be enough. She kept running around, turning quickly and causing the wolf to skid, his ass still going straight while his front tried to turn. She took advantage of these times to pull out another spear and throw it. The mutant was slowing down from all the impaled spears and tripping over the broken spears as they bobbled under its feet. She got to the last spear, grabbing it as she swung around and threw it, this time waiting until it was closer to her. It went into its left eye and dropped to the ground, howling in pain but still wasn’t out. She continued her turn and leapt on its back as it opened its mouth. Anticipating this, she pulled out a long dagger and impaled the now slow moving appendage to the ground. She then pulled out two more blades and drove them deep into both ears. She was thrown off as it whipped its head around for a moment before dropping to the ground, finally dead. The spears were all broken but shafts could always be replaced.

That’s a lot of blades to clean.