#margaret wies

[morbidology]

The haunting question "Who put Bella in the Wych Elm?" has perplexed and fascinated the public since 1943, when the skeletal remains of an unidentified woman were discovered inside a hollow tree in Hagley Wood, Worcestershire, England.

On April 18, 1943, four young boys—Bob Farmer, Fred Payne, Thomas Willetts, and Bob Hart—were exploring Hagley Wood, part of the Hagley Hall estate owned by Lord Cobham. In the course of their exploration, the boys came across a large wych elm tree. Curiosity led one of them to peer inside the hollow trunk, where he discovered what appeared to be a human skull, complete with some strands of hair and teeth.

Frightened by their grisly find, the boys initially kept the discovery to themselves, fearing they would get into trouble for trespassing. However, the secret proved too heavy to bear, and one of the boys eventually confided in his parents, who contacted the police.

When authorities arrived at the scene, they retrieved the nearly complete skeleton of a woman, along with fragments of clothing, a shoe, and a gold wedding ring. The woman’s right hand was missing, later found buried nearby. The skeletal remains were sent to Professor James Webster, a forensic pathologist, who estimated that the woman had been dead for about 18 months, placing her death around October 1941.

Professor Webster's examination revealed that the woman was around 35 years old, 5 feet tall, with irregular teeth, including a distinctive dental feature—a missing front tooth. He suggested that she had been dead for approximately 18 months before her discovery and that she had likely been placed in the tree shortly after her death, as the small hollow would have made it difficult to fit her body after rigor mortis had set in.

The cause of death was determined to be asphyxiation, possibly due to being suffocated or strangled, although the exact circumstances remained unclear. Despite extensive investigations, the police were unable to identify the woman. Missing person reports were checked, dental records were examined, but no match was found.

The case took an strange turn in late 1943, when graffiti began appearing in the West Midlands area. The first message, written in chalk on a wall in Upper Dean Street, Birmingham, read: "Who put Luebella down the wych-elm?" Subsequent messages shortened and refined the name to "Bella," and variations of the phrase "Who put Bella in the Wych Elm?" began appearing on walls and buildings across the region.

The identity of the graffiti artist remains unknown, but the messages suggested that someone knew more about the woman’s identity or her fate than they had revealed.

Over the years, numerous theories have emerged regarding the identity of "Bella" and the circumstances of her death. Some of the most prominent theories include:

Witchcraft: One theory suggests that Bella may have been killed as part of a black magic ritual. The removal of her hand, a practice known as the "Hand of Glory" in folklore, lent some credence to this idea. The Hand of Glory was believed to possess magical powers, often associated with witchcraft and sorcery. However, there is little concrete evidence to support this theory.

Espionage: Another theory posits that Bella was a spy during World War II. This idea gained traction in the 1950s, when Margaret Murray, an anthropologist and archaeologist, suggested that Bella could have been involved in espionage, possibly as a Nazi spy. Some speculated that she might have been a German cabaret singer and spy named Clara Bauerle, who had parachuted into the area during the war and was killed after her cover was blown. However, no concrete evidence has been found to confirm this theory, and Clara Bauerle's records suggest she died in Berlin in 1942.

Romani Connections: Some researchers have suggested that Bella might have been part of a Romani group or a traveler community. This theory is based on the fact that many Romani people lived in the area during the 1940s, and some witnesses reported seeing gypsies in Hagley Wood around the time of Bella's presumed death. However, like the other theories, this remains speculative.

Local Knowledge: There are suggestions that the graffiti artist had local knowledge and possibly knew more about the case than the police were able to uncover. The use of the name "Bella" might indicate that someone in the community recognized her, but chose to remain anonymous.

Despite extensive investigations, the true identity of Bella and the circumstances surrounding her death remain unknown. The case was reopened several times, and modern forensic techniques have been suggested to re-examine the remains and the evidence, but so far, these efforts have not provided definitive answers.

[darth-mortem]

Here is the next text from my English lessons about Ghost, Soap and König.

Suddenly, a baby appears on the doorstep of König’s house. The note states that she’s his daughter, and now he has to take care of her. König doesn't know anything about children, so he calls Ghost and Soap for help. 1138 words.

Ghost and König’s relationship has a bro vibe in my headcanons. They’re brothers in arms, in love with guns, and in other sick shit.

The phone woke up Ghost half an hour before the wake-up call. He yawned, pulled out of Soap’s embrace tight even in a sleep, and picked up his cell phone. König’s photo flashed on the screen. So Simon sighed and answered the call.

“Hey, what’s up, bro?” He asked, looking at sleepy Johnny and stroking his disheveled mohawk.

“I have a problem,” the Austrian answered nervously. “A very big problem.”

König told that he was awakened by the doorbell. He was on leave now and spent his time in a small house on the outskirts of Manchester that he rented. König chose this city to meet Ghost and Soap, who were also on leave now. So, he got up from the bed, opened the door, and saw a baby carrier basket with a little child inside. There was also a note from which the Austrian learned that this baby was his. König immediately remembered a woman he had dated several times last year. One day she disappeared without warning, so the Austrian didn’t look for her. And now she found him herself and wanted him to take care of the child he had made, but about which he didn’t know until this moment. The note also said that the baby’s name was Margaret, had a short list of her allergies, and told König when her mother would be back to pick her up.

“So, you have a very small problem, not a big one," Ghost said cheerfully when König ended his story.

“It’s not funny!” The Austrian exclaimed tragically. “I have no idea what to do with it! With her!”

“Calm down, bro,” the lieutenant said, looking at Johnny, who had woken up and listened carefully to the conversation because Simon had turned on the speakerphone. “Hold on, we’re on our way.”

“Oh, Danke! Danke schön!” König shouted and hung up.

“Well,” Soap said, stretching sweetly and getting out from under the covers, “let’s go ‘n’ help yer brother, luv.”

Johnny had experience taking care of babies because he had two younger sisters, so he ordered Simon to drive to the store before going to König. He and Ghost bought baby formula, a bottle, diapers, and some toys. It didn’t take long, but when they finally got to König, he was in despair.

“She screams and cries non-stop!” The Austrian said, holding the baby. “Ich verstehe nicht what’s she wants!”

“How dae ye hold her?!” Soap was outraged, stretching out his hands. “Gimme th' baby, now!”

König fulfilled this order immediately, and then, together with Ghost, he looked at little Margaret, who stopped crying in Johnny’s gentle arms.

“She’s wet,” Soap said strictly, “and hungry. Si, go tae th’ kitchen and prepare baby formula ‘n’ a bottle. And ye, König, go wi’ me. I’ll show ye how tae change diapers.”

The Austrian looked at Ghost and saw that he nodded. So he sighed heavily and followed Johnny reluctantly. He absolutely didn’t want to mess around with diapers, but he knew he had to learn. So he promised himself to do whatever Sergeant MacTavish said.

Margaret calmed down as soon as she was washed and changed. Soap showed König how to hold a baby correctly, and she didn’t cry in her father’s arms anymore. The little girl clung to the Austrian’s finger with her tiny hands and carefully looked around with her blue eyes.

“Well, now you can give her a bottle,” Johnny said when they came to the kitchen.

A few minutes later, he and Simon watched as König carefully held his little daughter and the bottle of baby formula. Lieutenant Riley hugged the sergeant, who rested his head on Ghost’s shoulder and smiled, looking at the huge Austrian. The child was only slightly larger than his palm, which he held her in.

“What do ye think, Lt.,” Johnny said quietly, “will we ever hae th’ same little one?”

“Why not?” Simon looked at him, and the sergeant saw that his eyes squinted through the opening of his skull balaclava, as always happened when he smiled.

“Hey, guys,” König whispered, giving Soap no chance to reply, “eine kleine Blume seems to have fallen asleep.”

The three of them put Margaret to sleep in her carrier basket, and Johnny sat down and started to write a list of everything the Austrian had to buy for his baby. Then he, as the most knowledgeable person in childcare, sent Ghost and König to the store and stayed in the house with the little sleepy girl.

"So, when’ll her mother come back?” The lieutenant asked when they got into the car and smoked before leaving.

“In two weeks,” König answered, looking at him. “How do you think, bro, is it normal that I want to… I don’t know; maybe spend more time with Margaret in the future? It seems that I love her, but it’s illogical, ‘cause I see her for the first time in my life.”

“Don’t be silly." Ghost started the car and drove out onto the road. “She’s your daughter; of course you love her. I think you should get joint custody of her.”

“I’ll try!” The Austrian nodded, but then his eyes were filled with sadness. “But I’m the sick bastard; who’ll entrust me with the baby?”

“You are,” confirmed the lieutenant, “but all TF 141 will vouch for you. And your commander has to write a good recommendation for you. And maybe Hong Jin? Where is he?”

“On a mission,” König sighed. “He’ll come back in four or five days. I haven’t told him about Margaret yet.”

The Austrian started a relationship with Horangi three months ago, and the Korean didn’t know much about his previous life. Despite this, Ghost thought that everything will be all right about what he said to his friend.

When they returned from the store, the baby was still asleep, and König offered his assistants to drink a glass of peach schnapps. They settled in the living room and sat for a while, drinking and talking about their service, missions, and novelties in the arms industry.

“Well, call us if you’ll need help,” Johnny said when he and Simon said goodbye to König. He nodded, shook their hands, and they went to the car. The Austrian looked at his friends and closed the door to his house. He was still worried, but now he was confident that he’ll cope with the challenge that fate threw at him.

[gryficowa]

Boycott!

I know, I rarely donate money from Ukraine… Unfortunately, there is too much going on in the world (This is also the reason why there are mainly collections from Gaza, seriously, I'm only human, I wish I could do more, but I can't… I just take more than I can bear, I would really like to support all countries, all people, but I cannot, not enough, that I don't earn money and I don't have a bank account, and therefore I can't donate to collections, because of ASD and social phobia I can't take part in public strikes…)

Now that I have your attention:

-----------------------------------------------

The only thing I can do is try to make the collections reach people, or say directly what I don't like (Yes, I'm looking at you Harris and your fans), unfortunately, in 2020 I couldn't take part in strikes in my country either (Nagonka against LGBT+ people and the ban on abortion on a damaged fetus) precisely because of the things I mentioned, the only thing I could do was to publicize it, and this is one of the main features of activism (apart from involvement and boycott), although, as I mentioned in another post, ableism in left-wing activism is unfortunately a big problem, and people prefer not to talk about it because they consider it too little significant problem (It does not help that many people with disabilities recognize that that ableism is ok and because of this they attack other people with disabilities, which is depressing…)

Remember to collect at the top!

[samkiszkasfacialhair]

Rollin' and Tumblin' Chapter 4

Rollin’ and Tumblin’ Chapter 4

Masterpost

Pairing: Jake Kiszka and Female Reader

Summary: You’ve lived a sheltered and privileged life, only learning what it truly means to live and love after meeting Jake, a young man of unusual western sorts who was hired to work on your father’s farm.

Warnings: Injury (deep ax cut with blood), house fire, death of parents, death of siblings.

Word Count: 3.5k

Chapter 4

As the summer rolled on, your time with Jake did as well. Sundays became your sneak away days. There was no work to be done on Sundays but Jake still came to the farm. Every Sunday at noon, right after lunch, you’d meet him behind the barn and as long as you were back before dinner and relatively clean, no one would suspect a thing. 

The only person who knew was Katherine, your lady’s maid.  She had known about Jake since the very beginning and she was trustworthy. Through the years, she had kept all your secrets. After all, you’d known her since you were an infant. She was more of a friend rather than a lady’s maid. She was always prepared with a lie to be told if anyone asked for your whereabouts.

In just a few short weeks of spending time with Jake, you’d grown to truly care for him in ways you didn’t even know were possible. You did a lot of things together. He taught you how to fish, how to throw a baseball, and not to mention, he taught you how to make him feel good in certain ways, to say the least.

But despite all that, your favorite thing was reading to him. You would sit down at the base of the hillside and he would lay his head on your lap and close his eyes while you read him books and combed your fingers through his hair. He loved to be read stories. He said it reminded him of his mother who he missed a lot. 

After bidding Jake goodbye on Sunday afternoons, you’d watch him work each weekday and count down the days until you could see him again. 

This week, the day came sooner than expected.

It was a beautiful Saturday afternoon in late August. The weather was just starting to cool down and it was the perfect day for an outdoor lunch. Your mother’s friends and their daughters all came to your home for sandwiches and lemonade in the backyard. 

The daughters were all girls you grew up with, some a bit younger than you and some of them your age and married with children who stayed home with nannies.

The group of you talked and sipped lemonade on the porch while everyone around you was working. 

Housemaids served food to the tables of women in the shade while farm hands, Jake included, hauled and cut wood to build a fence over by the barn in the sun.

“What are you looking at, Claire?” you asked one of the girls at the table, as she peeked over the rim of her glass in the direction of the men.

Claire was younger, eighteen years old, and set to be married to the heir of a successful steel milling company in just a few months. She was silly and outgoing. She waved to the men and giggled, causing every girl at the table to turn their heads towards the barn to see who she was waving at.

Standing next to Jake was a man you'd never seen before. He was a taller, skinnier man, with brown hair falling down past his shoulders just like Jake’s except slightly darker and his was tied up into two messy braids. He was wearing denim head to toe and had on a dirty brown hat which he tipped at Claire in response to her wave.

“The tall one is rather cute,” Claire said dreamily.

The girls at the table giggled quietly as they continued staring at them while they worked.

“Yes, but the shorter one is handsome,” another one of your friends, Margaret, chimed in with her eyes set on Jake.

“Look at his legs in those pants,” she said as she stared at him, “I wonder what he looks like wi-”

“Margaret, be a lady! We’re having lunch!” Claire interrupted with a slight laugh in her voice. 

The girls at the table giggled and whispered at Margaret’s unfinished comment and Claire’s sudden stop of it.

You let out a few fake laughs to join in with the group. Though Margaret didn’t get to finish her sentence, you knew what the rest of it was going to be and you knew the answer to it. You knew what Jake looked like without pants on. He looked good. Better than any of them could imagine.

But you sat in silence, holding your tongue and pretending not to be interested in any of the men back there, but especially Jake.

It took all you had not to gush over them and spill your secrets to the rest of the girls at the table. Part of you wished you could but the other part of you felt satisfied knowing you had what they wanted, regardless if anyone knew about it or not. 

Eventually, the conversation transitioned onto something other than the men, which you were thankful for, and the afternoon carried on.

However it wasn’t long until the sound of Jake’s voice along with a thud of an ax hitting the ground broke through the air, causing your head to whip back around.

“Jesus! Fuck!” he called out as a pool of blood gushed out of his left hand, covered his palm, and dripped along his fingers.

The older women at the table gave him looks of disgust because of his language and continued on with their lunch, not paying him an ounce of attention- not even caring that he’d been hurt.

At the sight of him in pain, you felt your heart drop. You sat up in your chair for a better look. It took everything in you not to get up and run over to him to see if he was alright. You had to remind yourself to stay where you were and keep your thoughts in your head so as to not give yourself away.

Splatters of burgundy littered Jake’s shirt and he pressed a piece of blood soaked fabric tight over his palm.

As your father and Jake approached the back porch, you redirected your attention to your meal and tried your best not to look at Jake.

Your father snapped his fingers at Katherine and she stood up to speak to him. Katherine was a war nurse before becoming your lady’s maid. She knew everything from cleaning and healing wounds to getting blood out of clothing. If anyone could help in this situation, it was her.

He spoke quietly to her and before you knew it, she had gone into your house with Jake following behind her.

After excusing yourself from lunch, you entered your house to find Katherine in the first floor bathroom pulling a small first aid tin out of a vanity cabinet while Jake sat on the edge of the tub with his eyes on his hand.

You cleared your throat and Jake looked up at you and smiled.

“I’ll be done in just a moment, He needs-” Katherine began, not bothering to look up at you in the doorway.

“I can help him,” you said quietly, interrupting her.

At the familiar sound of your voice, she turned around from what she was doing to meet your eyes and smiled.

Quickly, she ran over to you and pulled you into the bathroom.

“Oh Miss, the sight of blood made you a bit nauseous, didn’t it?” she spoke loudly out the bathroom door, letting her voice carry down the hallway and towards the kitchen, “Please, head upstairs to get some rest,” she said, peering out into the hall to check for anyone listening or watching.

She flashed you both a smile of satisfaction before closing the bathroom door and leaving the two of you alone in your house for the first time ever.

Jake shook his head and let out a laugh through his nose, ‘That’s Katherine, isn’t it?” he asked.

Nodding wordlessly at him, you approached the spot Katherine was once standing in and opened the first aid kit. 

“You know what you’re doin’, Darlin’?” he asked cautiously.

“Mhm,” you said as you placed the kit down on the edge of the sink and grabbed it as it began teetering off the edge. 

Jake placed his right hand on top of yours. There was dried blood from his other hand on the top of it as well as in the beds of fingernails.

“My house ain’t more than a mile away. If you want to head there with me to do this properly,” he suggested.

His idea was probably best. You didn’t have any chairs to sit at or a table to work on in the bathroom and you couldn’t go to any other part of your house to do this without getting caught. Besides, extra alone time with Jake away from your house didn’t sound too bad either.

You made sure his hand was wrapped up to slow the bleeding and snuck him out the front door with ease.

He led you through a wooded area towards his home and within minutes, you approached a clearing in the woods with a small log cabin in the middle of it. It couldn’t have been more than two rooms wide. It had a brick chimney and a few steps which lead to a covered porch where you spotted a dark brown dog laying down by the door. 

“It’s not much, but it's home,” he said smiling as you stood in front of the steps. 

The dog sat up and barked at the sight of Jake. 

You stayed put in fear as Jake knelt down on his knees to pet it. 

“Hey girl,” he said softly to her as he rubbed her head with his good hand.

“This is Rose,” he explained, “She’s my brother Sammy’s. She’s sweet, she ain’t gonna hurtcha,’” he assured you.

You walked up the steps hesitantly and extended a hand to her as you stood behind Jake. She sniffed it a bit before licking it gently. You laughed as her tongue tickled your skin. 

“You like my lady, Rose?” he said softly to her as if she would answer back.

He smiled at you, “I think she likes you,” he said before looking back down at her, “Well Rose, you’re a good judge of character,” he said as he gave her a final pat and stood up again.

He opened the front door and led the way inside to the tiny cabin.

Inside there was a wooden dining table with two chairs, two beds covered with quilted blankets, and fireplace with logs set next to it.

Jake was right. It wasn’t much. But despite it not being much, it was everything at the same time. It was warm and inviting unlike your house which was stiff, cold, and uncomfortable.

You sat down at a wooden table across from him and placed the kit down as he held out his wounded hand to you. 

Slowly, you unwrapped the blood soaked fabric and he winced as you peeled it off his hand to reveal a deep slice in his palm that went from the bottom of his thumb up to his pinky finger. The bleeding had stopped for the most part but you could still see fresh blood as well as dirt and clumps of dried blood in and around the wound.

After getting a good look at it, you dug into the kit, pulling out a few bottles of solutions, scissors, and bandages.

Jake watched you as you read the labels on each bottle and set the correct ones aside.

You picked up a bottle of antiseptic and poured some out onto a clean cloth.

“It’s going to sting, okay?” you warned him as you brought the damp cloth closer to his hand.

He closed his eyes tight and nodded in anticipation.

With your free hand, you gently ran your fingertips up and down his forearm to calm him before pressing down on his wound with the wet cloth.

He hissed as the solution soaked deep into his raw, broken skin.

“Sorry,” you whispered as he breathed hard and bit down on his bottom lip.

You released the cloth from his wound and blew cool air onto it, watching his face relax and his eyes open once more as the pain faded.

After gently but thoroughly cleaning his cut, you cleaned the excess blood off his hands, applied a healing ointment and bandaged him up properly. 

“How’d you learn how to do all that?” he asked as you carefully secured the bandage.

“Katherine was a war nurse. She used to tell stories of how she helped wounded soldiers. And anytime I’d gotten hurt as a child, she helped me. So I suppose I learned from her,” you explained.

And for the first time ever, you felt accomplished. You felt like you were worth something- like you could do things that mattered. You weren’t just a trophy for a man to have on his arm at parties. In that moment, you realized there was a lot that you knew how to do and it was because of Jake that you were able to do all these things. Because of him you could ride a horse, swim, throw a baseball, fish, and play card games. All things you’d never been able to do before. You felt good about yourself for the first time in a long time.

You replayed the times you spent together in your head before asking him the question you’ve always wanted to ask. 

“Now,” you began, running your hands over the bandage on his hand gently, “I’ve told you all about me and my life. I want to hear about yours.”

Jake sighed. He had avoided talking about himself for as long as you’ve known him, only sharing a few tidbits here and there.

“Tell me,” you began, looking around the house and spotting two of everything, "It’s just you and Sammy?”

“Mhm, just me and Sammy,”

“And your parents? Certainly you have parents. You’ve told me about your mother a bit,” you said, prompting him to add to the conversation. After all, you’d only heard about his mother briefly.

He nodded, “I had a momma and a daddy. When I was little we had this house on a big plain in Texas,” he smiled to himself before his expression faded and he paused. 

He looked down for a few seconds, took a deep breath, and continued, “But, when I was ten, there, uh, there was a fire. The whole house- up in flames. We got out of it, me and Sammy. We were the only ones. Lost my brother Joshua and my sister Veronica too,” he shook his head, “Last thing I heard was my momma callin’ out for ‘em. And, then the roof fell. I remember standin’ there with Sammy, watchin’ it burn,” he spoke softly with his eyes fixated on the fire burning in the fireplace just a few feet from him. 

He closed his eyes and blinked a few times, moving his gaze back down to the table in front of him.

“Sammy cried. But I didn’t. I wanted to, but I couldn’t. I had to be strong for him. Sammy hardly remembers ‘em now he says. I guess he’s lucky in that way. I remember it all like it was yesterday.”

His voice cracked just a little as he spoke and he fought back tears before regaining his composure and continuing.

“But when it was over, and there was nothin’ left, we walked. I walked with Sam all the way from Texas to Tennessee, beggin’ for money and food along the way, hearin’ people talk about a city called Nashville. So we headed for it. Took a while. The winters were brutal and the summers were like a kiss from the Devil himself. But eventually, I got a little older, stopped begging and started picking up jobs, workin’ here and there to get a little money. Lived in Louisiana for a little, then eventually moved up to Mississippi, and then we ended up here. Learned how to tend land, take care of cattle, ya know- farm stuff. Sam would play with the rich school kids while I was workin’. They taught him how to read and write- Sammy’s smart. He’s good at buildin’ too- helped me build this here house we’re sittin’ in right now and he's helping me build that fence on your daddy's farm. Don’t know what I would’ve done if I didn’t have him. He’s the only family I got. Ya know, you say you hate your family, but, you don’t know just how good you have it.”

It was silent for a minute. Jake kept his head down. You could tell he was thinking deeply. 

“Jake, I’m sorry,” you whispered, reaching a hand out to cup his face. You didn’t know what else to say. There really was nothing you could say. You felt guilty. He had lived a hard life while you were given everything and still you were unappreciative. And even though there was pain deep in his heart, he was still the kindest, most loving person you’d ever met. 

“S’alright,” he whispered, “Got ‘em in here,” he said as he placed his good hand on top of his chest, where his heart was.

He stood up, leaving you at the table as he walked over to his bed. 

He pulled off his blood stained shirt and put on a clean one. 

“But your parents,” he began as he threw his dirty shirt in a tin bucket, “They set you up to marry somebody and you don’t even like ‘em? Is that how they met too?”

“Unfortunately, yes. That’s how the world works, Jake,” you said as you began cleaning up the first aid kit and bloody fabric. 

Now in a fresh shirt, he walked over to you and placed the bucket on the table and his good hand on the arm of the chair you were in, leaning forward and closing you in between him and the table.

“That’s not how the world works,” he said, raising his eyebrows at you. 

“Alright then, how does the world work?” you asked, looking up at him like you were presenting him with a challenge. 

“Well,” he began, “I don't know much about the whole world, but in my world, you meet somebody on your own, get to know ‘em a little, and then without realizing it, you come to find yourself…” his voice trailed off and picked up in a whisper, “falling in love with ‘em.”

He swallowed hard and you did the same. His eyes darted all over your face as he breathed softly through parted lips. 

You both knew how you felt. It was just as Jake said. You were falling in love with one another. Better yet, already had fallen in love with each other.

“You ever been in love before, Jacob?” you asked in a voice barely above a whisper. 

Jake opened his mouth to speak but the sudden sounds of Rosie barking outside and the opening of the front door made both your heads turn quickly to see the tall, skinny man with the braids standing in the doorway, looking surprised. 

Sammy.

Quickly, you both stood up and you picked up the tin bucket to hand it to Jake.

“Just, um, let it soak in cold water for a day or two and then wash it well with soap,” you instructed him, trying to cover up how flustered you were feeling.

“I will,” Jake replied shyly before introducing you to Sammy who seemed to know exactly who you were.

Sammy was sweet as could be and a lot less serious than Jake. He had the same subtle twang in his voice as Jake but his voice was a little louder, and sounded just a bit more youthful too, playful even. But just like Jake, he was a gentleman. 

They exchanged looks and Sammy quickly saw himself out the front door to give the two of you privacy. 

“I suppose I better head home,” you said quietly once Sammy closed the door behind him.

“You know your way back? I would take you but I don’t want to cause you any trouble,” Jake replied, remembering what happened the last time he took you home.

Replying with a smile and a nod, you lifted your chin to kiss him.

He placed his lips on yours and gave you a gentle kiss. There was something about this kiss that was different from all the others. It was softer and sweeter than ever. It was almost as if it had love laced in it.

“Goodnight, Darlin.’ I’ll see ya tomorrow,” Jake whispered as he kissed the top of your head and opened the front door for you.

As you walked down the steps of the front porch, the sound of Sam’s sweet voice caught your attention.

You turned to see him sitting in a wooden rocking chair with Rosie at his feet.

“Take Rose with ya. She’ll keep you safe and she knows her way back,” he said as he lit up a pipe with a match.

You looked back at Jake who was leaning on the doorframe, smiling softly and nodding approvingly.

Sam lifted his chin to Rose and said “Get!” 

Instantly, she got up and trotted down the stairs before you.

As the sun set, you walked home with Rose by your side. When you arrived back at your house, you gave her a kiss on the top of her head and sent her away and back home to Jake.

Author's Note: Again, sorry for the delay! I hope you enjoyed it and that little taste of cowboy Sammy! The next (and last) chapter will come sooner rather than later!

Taglist: @peepeepoopoopantz @sacredjake @writingcold @jakekiszkasbuttsweat @radmads-gvf @iheartjakekiszka @sadandgeek @vanfleeter @cassy-face (Cassy-face it wont let me tag you properly bff idk why) @myownparadise96

[bluecatwriter]

I do love the cultural differences that are becoming so plain in North and South, for instance Margaret forgetting her promise to visit Bessy, and though she's sorry about it, she doesn't realize quite what a big deal it is to say one thing and then forget about it. When Bessy said, “If yo’d ha’ come to our house when yo’ said yo’ would, I could maybe ha’ told you. But father says yo’re just like th’ rest on ’em; it’s out o’ sight out o’ mind wi’ you," that was such a telling moment— this isn't just Margaret being absent-minded, but a clear stereotype that the Northerners have for the Southerners.

[dailydemonspotlight]

Tam Lin - Day 114

Race: Fairy

Arcana: Lovers

Alignment: Neutral

September 26th, 2024

The mythos surrounding fairies in Celtic folklore is an incredibly fascinating rabbit hole for a number of reasons, not the least of which being in how it re-contextualizes and frames several modern stories through the lens of history. Many tropes from these stories can be seen carried over to contemporary fantasy, whether it be from Harry Potter (eugh) to Discworld (YAYYY) and even all the way back to Shakespeare and his direct influence on Tolkien. Fairy tales were, and still are, far more than just simple stories of valorous heroes slaying terrifying dragons to save damsels in distress, and one such tale we can use to discuss this is in the form of the story of a handsome young fairy, Tam Lin, today's Demon of the Day. As the focus of a Scottish folktale that had a direct influence on A Midsummar Night's Dream, a comedy play that had a direct impact on several modern stories, Tam Lin is an interesting figure in many ways, so let's explore!

Our story begins in the forest of Carterhaugh, which is a real location that, thankfully, is lacking in fairies. In that forest lives a handsome young man named Tam Lin, one who makes a living off of stealing one thing from any maiden that would pass through. It could be a possession, but more often, it would be a woman's virginity, likely due to him being a canonical prettyboy. He would demand payment from anybody who would pass through, whether it be a possession or, again, sex, and this would eventually catch the interest of a young woman, variably named Janet or Margaret in many retellings but typically named Janet. Now, Janet was granted ownership of Carterhaugh by her father, but she still called upon Tam Lin by picking up a rose and making her presence known.

It's kinda ambiguous, but it's implied that Janet went into the forest for the sole purpose of getting frisky with the fairy (which is honestly a slay) but it's unclear if the rest of Tam Lin's virgin-takings were... consensual? A lot of retellings mostly gloss over that part for the setup further into the poem, which is an honestly really fun read (especially if you read it in a haughty accent), but it's not a very fun idea, though it's also one explained further into the poem itself. Still, Tam Lin is shown as a prim and proper man, which begs into question why he was stealing from any woman who would pass through- for one such as him, it looked more like he would belong to a noble heritage, not be a bandit elf in the forest. We'll get to that, though. We still have a bit to go.

Later down the line, Janet becomes pregnant with Tam Lin's child, coming back to her father who points out that obvious fact, to which she says that it was an elf who did this to her and that they were in love. To quote the poem, though this is heavily Scottish,

"If that I gae wi child, father, Mysel maun bear the blame, There's neer a laird about your ha, Shall get the bairn's name. "If my love were an earthly knight, As he's an elfin grey, I wad na gie my ain true-love For nae lord that ye hae. "The steed that my true love rides on Is lighter than the wind, Wi siller he is shod before, Wi burning gowd behind."

In effect, she speaks of Tam Lin as a proud and fair knight that she has fallen deeply in love with, calling him her 'one true-love' and that she wouldn't mind baring his child. Her father relents, and she goes on her way, eventually finding herself back with Tam Lin yet again. Jesus Christ, and they call modern day protagonists horny... still, Tam Lin eventually explains that he was not an elf nor a fairy but rather a mortal man taken hostage by the Fairy Queen, forced to do all of this to eventually prepare to be sacrificed to the fairy tithe.

Naturally, Tam Lin doesn't want to do any of this, and so it's implied that the implied S/A he carries out wasn't done for his own pleasure and rather so he could simply survive the wrath of the fairies. Thank god, though I'm not sure that really wipes him of all the blame. Either way, though, Tam Lin comes up with a plan, as the next night is Halloween and the day afterwards will be the day he is sacrificed for the tithe- he asks that Janet pull him off his steed during the ceremony on Halloween, then hold on for dear life as he transforms into various forms. Janet, of course, goes along with it.

After she manages to pull him off of his horse as Halloween comes 'round, she eventually manages to dunk his rapidly shifting form into a well as soon as he becomes a brand of flame. Eventually, Tam Lin is saved, appearing naked and alive after the fact and spouting from the well, much to the frustration of the Queen of Fairies. After the lassie manages to save him, they live happily ever after, and as such we see the story of how an incredibly horny woman can rescue a man from a lifetime in hell as a fairy sacrifice. Love wins.

Now, the connections in this story to a Midsummer Night's Dream are rather obvious, as the Fairy Queen is essentially just Titania in a more wicked form. Celtic folklore and how it influences fantasy as a whole is an incredibly interesting topic that I'm currently working on a deep dive on right now, but overall the fascinating web of connections can be traced back all the way, even, to this story- how fairies work, the existence of a queen of fairies, their influence on humanity, etc etc. I'm no scholar, just an enthusiast, but I still find it fascinating.

Now, in SMT, Tam Lin is a different story. Trust me, I like his design fine, but for fucks sake, he's just a recolor of Cu Chulainn, which is a design I already have problems with! C'mon, ATLUS! Where did the creativity go?! Make him less of a generic knight and play more into his good looks! He's not Cu Chulainn! God, whatever- it's a fine design, I just hate recolors. Still, I don't mean to leave this on a sour note, so I'll leave on this- Janet was a girlboss, and we can all agree on that.

[cup-of-starlight-waters]

really, I’m just…crying over North and South rn

John Thornton is such a wonderfully imperfect character. He’s bad tempered and prideful and jealous. He thinks and speaks harshly of those less fortunate than them, and is the worst sort of board-room capitalist, calmly and reasonably propounding cold explanations for why giving a starving striker food makes them worse off in the end.

And yet—and yet—

Throughout the whole novel his harsh words are belied by kindness after kindness. From convincing the owner to repaper the Hales’ new home, to his hand picked fruit baskets for Mrs. Hale, to the hour of tender companionship he gave to Mr. Hale in his grief—as the narrator puts it, he “had tenderness in his heart—‘a soft place,’ as Nicholas Higgins called it; but he had some pride in concealing it; he kept it very sacred and safe, and was jealous of every circumstance that tried to gain admission.”

It’s this kindness that wins Margaret over in the end, but where he won me over was the gorgeous sequence with Higgins in the second half of the novel. Such a perfect blend of his faults and virtues. In his bad temper and his pride, he brutally rejects Higgins, only to change his mind. But what really gets me is that it’s not finding out that Margaret told Higgins to ask him that convinces him! If anything, his pride tempts him to reverse yet again.

No—“it was the five hours of waiting that struck Mr. Thornton” that convinced him to consider Higgins more thoroughly—and his character, “because it was right.”

Margaret is instrumental in her own way, as an outsider breaking down the barriers between class and wealth and privilege, but in the end, it’s Higgins and Thornton themselves who learn to respect each other:

“Yo’ve called me impudent, and a liar, and mischief-maker, and yo’ might have said wi’ some truth, as I were now and then given to drink. An’ I ha’ called you a tyrant, an’ an oud bull-dog, and a hard, cruel master; that’s where it stands. But for th’ childer. Measter, do yo’ think we can e’er get on together?”

“Well!” said Mr. Thornton, half-laughing, “it was not my proposal that we should go together. But there’s one comfort, on your own showing. We neither of us can think much worse of the other than we do now.”

[1141520851813892291920]

ENT0010

RE: Jonathan Sims, Electronic Reference Specialist (Margaret Usher Library of Discreet & Internal Research).

I am starting to realize that it was...perhaps too hasty of a decision to dismiss Jon's life before as irrelevant. As unreal as it may be - as I continue to believe that it must be - it does hold more clues to a puzzle I still can't quite get the shape of yet. He may have more useful things than computer passwords and library cards to share with me.

Much of his life was so similar to mine, I had assumed it didn't warrant careful review. We grew up in the same area, had the same distant grandmother, the same thirst for books and fascination with the darker side of the paranormal. We both got an A level in drama despite seeing no use for it, and even though he went to Cambridge instead of Oxford, our University experiences were more or less the same. He faired a bit better in the relationship department...

But instead of The Magnus Institute, this Jon caught the attention of the Usher Foundation. He was hired in a seemingly innocuous, if spontaneous, candidate selection process for a consulting research position in an academic library. The interviews were all conducted remotely, his references from the British Museum and his professors were apparently glowing, and his appointment - though perhaps too generously compensated - was not in any way...suspicious.

So far, I've regulated Jon's professional life to a temporarily necessary inconvenience, something that was worth putting up with while I oriented myself and refocused on my own investigations in this New Place [research presently ongoing. I will make a separate post with current theories]. His job was nothing too taxing - largely sitting at his computer and completing various reference requests for an academic research library. It reminded me of the Institute, in a way, in the early days. I do still quite enjoy research, and the library's resources are vast. None of the ongoing work has set off any alarms, nothing too odd - quite a few local history and genealogy requests, tracking immigration and family trees, some specialized scientific questions that were more of a challenge but not impossible, copies of old academic journals and microfiche of old newspapers. A few interesting rabbit holes that sated me enough that I bothered to finish them.

Looking back at the work log...there is more specialized research on the subjects of a more...hah- "spooky" nature: apparitions, manifestations, ESP, astral projection, irregularities in reality, etcetera. It was these topics in particular that Jon spent most of his time on. Most notably, however, these requests only come from three primary accounts: GROBI1 CUSHE1 PSHELL3 [NOTE: While this account was highly active in the beginning, requests stop entirely after 2021.

Jon was under the impression that all three of these individuals were his direct superiors in his department, though it was purely speculation as he had never, in fact, met any of his colleagues in person. His office is located in the university's library depository building, and the only other employees he ever has contact with are student workers or otherwise the depository's building supervisor.

The only one he had actually spoken to outside of emails at all with GROBI1, who sat in on his initial interview and, from what he understood, was the one who hired him. GROBI1...Gertrude Robinson, chief researcher and head of the Midwest Regional Usher Foundation office.

I am...ashamed at myself for not having realized this, or acknowledged this sooner. I have been so reluctant to accept any of Jon's memories for fear of losing my own, a fear I still hold, but how much did he...Know? I searched his apartment again, following the fake memories to hidden caches of what appears to be stolen case files...He was looking into something. I'm not sure what, other than he did NOT trust his employer...some things never change, I suppose.

I feel oddly...nostalgic with this discovery. Once again, I am sitting on the unfinished work of a paranoid archivist working secretly against the powers the be while trying to find my place in everything...or perhaps, this is just proof that things are cyclical. Will the same events unfold, just with different colors and mediums? Will I find myself walking through the remains of a destroyed world, blood drying on my paper hands?

It is a familiar fear that I feel, too, just as nostalgic as anything else. More than that fear though, I feel the rising and demanding hunger. It drives me as Beholding did, pushing driving seeking hunting each precious piece of knowledge into the thorned and venomous thickets of secrets and Things that Should Not Be. I, too, Should Not Be. I am Wrong, here. My presence in this place is a slowly spreading cancer and I have already infected so many around me. I cannot stop. I don't want to...stop.

I will not stop, until I Know what This Is.

[tea-dragonz]

Palestine Fundraiser Masterlist 1

This is a masterpost for the Palestinians who have reached out to me in my inbox, along with vetting information under the cut:

(I will have to split it into multiple parts since tumblr is failing to cooperate)

@aseelo680 (formerly aseel738) - Vetted by 90-ghost

GoFundMe Link: (~$24.1k out of $50k at the time of writing)

@shamfarhat1 | @drfarhatblog | @husamfarht- Vetted (#248 Vetted Gaza Evacuation Fundraiser List)

GoFundMe Link: (~$8.7k out of $29.5k at the time of writing)

@sarazidan - Vetted by el-shab-hussein

GoFundMe Link: (~2.3k€ out of 35k € at the time of writing)

@ahmedomer9 - Vetted by association to aya2mohammed

GoFundMe Link: (~3k€ out of 50k € at the time of writing)

@aya2mohammed | @alhabil - Vetted by 90-ghost, el-shab-hussein & nabulsi

GoFundMe Link: (~29k € out of 50k € at the time of writing)

@dinamahammed99 - Vetted by 90-ghost

GoFundMe Link: (~$5.6k out of $15k at the time of writing)

@mahmoud-1995 | @mahmoud1995 - Vetted by 90-ghost

GoFundMe Link: (~$14.9k out of $50k at the time of writing)

@ahmadresh - Vetted by 90-ghost

GoFundMe Link: (~$13.7k out of $31k at the time of writing)

@familymajed2 - Vetted (#136 Vetted Gaza Evacuation Fundraiser List)

GoFundMe Link: (~$24.7k CAD out of $90k CAD at the time of writing)

@nada55 | @farahh2003 - Vetted by apollos-olives

GoFundMe Link: (~3.3k £ out of 50k £ at the time of writing)

[heartofstanding]

What are the famous rumors about Margaret of Anjou? What's the attack on her? Is there a book that objectively describes her? As for her son Edward, is he really an arrogant and cruel person in the description?

Hello anon, I answered the first part of your question on my Lancastrian history sideblog here.

The book I always recommend on Margaret is Helen Maurer's Margaret of Anjou: Queenship and Power. This is less of a biography and more of an academic study of her queenship so that may not be what you want, but it's pretty much the standard text on her. Maurer writes in her preface that she thought Margaret was a "real bitch on wheels" before she began her research but found a much more complex and sympathetic woman throughout the course of her research so that might count as "objective" in the sense that this is where Maurer's research led her rather than a pre-conceived idea directing her research.

The other books on Margaret are:

Jacob Abbott, Margaret of Anjou. I don't recommend this because it was published in 1877 and is therefore superseded by well over a century of research.

Amy Licence, A Marriage of Unequals: Henry VI and Margaret of Anjou. Licence isn't the best with sources (often giving Victorian historians the same weight/authority as a medieval source) and from memory, she's a bit too forgiving of Margaret but it's fine.

B. M. Cron, Margaret of Anjou and the Men Around Her. I have a copy of this but haven't read it in full; Cron is sympathetic but sometimes judges Margaret harshly. I'm not fond of some of her summations but Cron is one of the leading scholars on Margaret and her stuff is always worth reading.

B. M. Cron and Helen Maurer, The Letters of Margaret of Anjou. This is collection of the surviving letters Margaret wrote, not a biography. Could be interesting for further reading, though.

Joanna Arman, Margaret of Anjou: She-Wolf of France, Twice Queen of England. I haven't read this and I don't have a copy yet so I can't comment fully on it; I believe it's a sympathetic take and I've enjoyed Arman's scholarship on Henry V so I'm cautiously hopeful.

As for Edward of Lancaster...

The truth is we know very, very little about Edward of Lancaster. He was only alive for eighteen years and spent most of his life in exile. The most famous description of him comes from Giovanni Pietro Panicharolla, a Milanese ambassador in France, who wrote:

As the king [Louis XI of France] persisted in his praise of the Earl of Warwick, the duke [of Calabria, Margaret's brother] said that as he was so fond of him he ought to try and restore his sister in that kingdom, when he would make sure of it as much as he was sure at present and even more so. The king asked what security they would give or if they would offer the queen’s son as a hostage. This boy, though only thirteen years of age, already talks of nothing but of cutting off heads or making war, as if he had everything in his hands or was the god of battle or the peaceful occupant of that throne

Panicharolla detested the Angevins (Margaret's birth family and on whom she and Edward were reliant while living in exile in France) so we should hesitate to put too much weight on his testimony. We also have to accept that Edward was living in and had lived in circumstances where this sort of attitude was entirely understandable. From a Lancastrian perspective, the Yorkists were traitors. They had deposed his father, attainted his entire family, disinherited him, and had spread rumours of his mother's adultery and declared him a bastard. They were the reason he had lived pretty much "on the run" since he was a small child and were the reason why he and his mother were living in reduced circumstances and in exile. He was also only twelve years old at the time so he does very much have the excuse of youth.

Chief Justice John Fortescue also gives us a few snapshots of Edward of Lancaster in De Laudibus Legum Angliae. This was a text that appears to be a legal treatise combined with a "mirror for princes" advice text, so whether or not the Edward Fortescue wrote about is the "real" Edward can probably be debated - he might represent an ideal Edward or a figurative Edward who plays the role of studen to Fortescue's teacher. Fortescue includes a wish that Edward would be as

devoted to the study of the laws with the same zeal as you are to that of arms, since, as battles are determined by arms, so judgements are by laws.

But it's impossible to tell if this is a real reflection of Edward's character or a construction of Edward as a student in need of Fortescue's legal knowledge. Here's another snippet:

The prince, as soon as he became grown up, gave himself over entirely to martial exercises; and, seated on fierce and half-tamed steeds urged on by his spurs, he often delighted in attacking and assaulting the young companions attending him, sometimes with a lance, sometimes with a sword, sometimes with other weapons, in a warlike manner and in accordance with the rules of military discipline.

This might sound alarming but it's important to remember that Fortescue seems to be viewing this positively - this is what Edward should be doing (note the reference to "in accordance to the rules of military discipline"). We could also look to the idea that this was something a medieval king or prince was supposed to be doing. Thomas Walsingham criticised the favourites of Richard II by saying:

they were the knights of Venus rather than knights of Bellona [Roman goddess of war], more valiant in the bedchamber than on the field, armed with words rather than weapons, prompt in speaking but slow in performing the acts of war.

We also find a similar comment about Henry V's wild youth, where the Vita Henrici Quinti records that, "although under the military service of Mars, he seethed youthfully with the flames of Venus too". In other words, if Fortescue's criticism of Edward of Lancaster was that he paying too much attention to warfare and not to his legal studies, he at least wasn't neglecting his studies and his military training to become "more valiant in the bedchamber".

Again, this is understandable from an emotional perspective. The only way Edward's family could return to the throne is through warfare so of course he's going to dedicate himself to readying himself for war.

We have very little evidence of anything else. Beyond Panicharolla's account (which, as I've said, is hardly an unbiased account), there is little to suggest that Edward was "arrogant and cruel". Yorkist efforts at denigrating him seemed to focus most on the question of birth and legitimacy. Yorkists (both contemporary and modern) have tended to want to demonise Edward as the head of the Lancastrian resistance, to undercut any support and loyalty he might claim and show him to be the inferior alternative to Yorkist rule. It's not uncommon to see a modern day Yorkist snark about how the Lancastrians were fully aware of their status as illegitimate kings and thus should have stepped down and bowed down to the Yorks. In other words, Edward's arrogance is his refusal to accept that his claim was inferior to the Yorkist claim.

The apparently obvious inferiority of the Lancastrian claim was not obvious at the time, either. There was considerable confusion around the succession throughout the late Middle Ages, no clear-cut answer as to who had the "rightful" claim. And even if there was, the simple fact is that had any Lancastrian king or prince willingly stepped down, they would still be a focal point for resistance to the new king and whether or not they were willing to play that role, they knew this would put them at serious risk. From Edward of Lancaster's perspective, he was the son of the anointed King and Queen of England, his father, grandfather and great-grandfather had all been anointed kings.

We also have to consider the impact of the Ricardian movement on Edward's reputation. Edward, after all, was Anne Neville's first husband and Richard her second. Ricardians generally accept the Yorkist image of Edward as arrogant and cruel, but react to the marriage in two ways, by downplaying the marriage or by insisting on its violence.

In the first option, it is argued that the marriage was never consummated because Margaret wanted to keep Edward free for a more advantageous marriage and intended to get the marriage annulled. Thus, the marriage was never a "true marriage" and Richard III was Anne's one and true husband (with all that entails). Usually, Edward and Margaret treat Anne like dirt - after all, she is not "worthy" of the marriage - to emphasise how horrible this marriage would be for Anne. In the second option, Edward is abusive and rapes Anne, who is generally assumed to be nothing but a tragic pawn forced to reluctantly marry her enemy and bear this abuse as best she can, allowing Richard III to soothe her trauma and show her what love, marriage and sex is really like.

There is absolutely no evidence for either option. It is possible that this is what happened but, imo, unlikely. It would be rather short-sighted, cruel and remarkably stupid to mistreat Warwick's daughter when they were still reliant on Warwick (they did not know of his death until their return to England in 1471) to gain back his throne. They could not risk antagonising him, even if they wanted to - and we don't know that they wanted to. They may have been justifiably angry at Warwick was his past wrongs but Anne was not her father, it doesn't follow that they automatically took their anger out on her as a stand-in for her father. They may have very logically understood that a 14 year old girl was not responsible for her father's actions, and endeavoured to have a positive relationship with her. Hell, they might have even liked her for herself. Edward and Anne could even have become friends or fallen in love! We just don't know because there's no evidence.

We know very little about Anne Neville herself. The fact that Edward was commemorated as her husband in the Beauchamp Pageant (probably commissioned by Anne Beauchamp, Anne Neville's mother, probably made over 10 years since Edward's death) suggests that Anne and her mother's feelings about him were more complex than historians and historical novelists have tended to allow her.

In conclusion: we have no idea but there's not a lot of evidence to support the idea that he was especially arrogant and cruel. This reputation seems to be the result of largely non-contemporary Yorkist and Ricardian narratives and is fairly unevidenced.

[haveyoureadthistransbook]

We Won't Be Here Tomorrow and Other Stories by Margaret Killjoy

goodreads

Death cults, queer love, and the end of everything. Spaceships, man-eating lesbian mermaids, swords, spears, demons, ghouls, thieves, hitchhikers, and life in the margins. Margaret Killjoy’s stories have appeared for years in the science fiction and fantasy magazines both major and indie. Here, we have collected the best previously published work along with brand new material. Ranging in theme and tone, these imaginative tales bring the reader on a wild and moving ride. They’ll encounter a hacker who programs drones to troll CEOs into quitting; a group of LARPers who decide to live as orcs in the burned forests of Oregon; queer, teen love in a death cult; the terraforming of a climate-changed Earth; polyamorous love on an anarchist tea farm during the apocalypse; and much more. Killjoy writes fearless, mind-expanding fiction that is redefining the genre.

Mod opinion: I've read and really enjoyed this collection! If you like fun and interesting horror/fantasy/sci wi with a focus on punk and transfem swag, check this out!

[thisisnotthenerd]

following up on my previous posts about d20 seating: 1 & 2

seat archetypes (all seasons)

as you can imagine, finding a throughline that exactly fits every d20 character that sits in a seat is never fully going to work. i'm not jamming them into an archetype that doesn't fit. these are big general thoughts, just like they were for the intrepid heroes seasons. anyway:

L1: pretty even mix of martial and magic--lots of partial casters. 3/4 d20 paladins. i checked. in game, there's a penchant for big swings and wild decisions. sometimes the payoff of that is insane: ricky's sacrifice in the final battle, fig making arianwen lose her magic, liam's wish, sunny & the bell, maggie giving birth, rick diggins' everything, antiope killing charity in one round, gunnie going ftl with gnosis, conrad's appeal to madam loathing, i could go on. many who sit in this chair have a penchant for party guidance/leadership. they may or may not be an official leader, but many of them are the heart of the party morally and just generally.

Characters:

Fig Faeth, Maggie, Ricky Matsui, Rick Diggins, Liam Wilhelmina, Sunny Biscotto, Gangie Green, Whitney Jammer, Antiope Jones, Terry Talbo, Gunnie Miggles-Rashbax, Dr. Aleksandr Astrovsky, Andhera, Rosamund du Prix, Thane Delissandro Katzon, Troyánn (Karkyn?), Conrad Schintz/Conscience

L2: Martial lean--only a couple of full casters. in game, these characters kick ass in high stakes scenarios (sometimes), or hit rock bottom. there is no in between. sometimes their entire arc is getting knocked down and the getting up from rock bottom in order to kick ass: leiland's whole deal, sofia's chapter 2 arc, timothy . a bunch of tanks. also, a tendency towards older men.

Characters:

Gorgug Thistlespring, Leiland, Sofia Lee, Boomer, Theobald Gumbar, Barbarella Sarsaparilla Gainglynn, Buckster $ Boyd, Katja Cleaver, Riva, Captain K.P Hob, Mother Timothy Goose, A. Tension/Attention

L3: the magic chair. lots of full casters. all 3 d20 wizards sit here. the lowkey chosen one energy persists. think about it. strong narrative investment. several characters who make the hit that takes down the BBEG. either some kind of chaotic gremlin or a parent. oftentimes both simultaneously. actually the split more reflects parent or parent issues. isolated characters who feel ignored in some way taking control of their narratives.

Characters:

Adaine Abernant, Efink Murderdeath, Kingston Brown, Agnes, Jet Rocks, Saccharina Frostwhip, Cheese, Daisy D'umpstaire, K | Dream, Penny Luckstone, Megan Mirror, Norman "Skip" Takamori, Squing, Lady Chirp Featherfowl, Pinocchio, Bishop Raphaniel Charlock, Princess Foehammer, Hunch Curio/Curiosity

R3: slight magic lean. it's the bard chair. 5 of them, to be exact. a lot of charismatic characters sit in this seat. if they're not charm-based, they go the complete opposite direction. not friendly, surprisingly violent, quite abrasive at times. learning to really understand other people and move past your perception of your own needs by contrast. this can go either direction: you can have a fully self-interested character like margaret or you can have danielle barkstock's insane selflessness.

Characters:

Fabian Seacaster, Sokhbarr, Misty Moore, TI-83, Ruby Rocks, Myrtle (the Bitch), Iga Lisowski, Rowan Berry, Vicar Ian Prescott, Sam Black, Danielle Barkstock, Tuti IV, Margaret Encino, Wetzel, Lord Squak Airavis, Puss in Boots | PIB, Karna Solara, Gertrude, Imelda Pulse/Impulse

R2: Split of martial & magic. it's high WIS or no WIS, people. trying to do better than you did before in various ways: kristen's religious crisis, kugrash's atonement, cody's whole deal, gerard's whole deal, dan fucks' revolution, rue coming out, jack's whole deal. there's a very funny split that i've found here; the ladies who sit here have a lot of power and use it to devastating effect. examples: kristen making a god and naming an old god, ostentatia's commune & divine intervention, lilith's everything, sidney taking a vercadian out in one shot. the men? they either hit rock bottom during the season or start there and work upward. the only exception i can think of is bean. and the nbs, rue and lars, are just fabulous.

Characters:

Kristen Applebees, Lilith, Kugrash, Bean, Amethar Rocks, Jack Brakkow, Cody Walsh, Lars Vandenchomp, Ostentatia Wallace, Sundry Sidney, Delloso de la Rue, Gerard of Greenleigh, Colin Provolone, Dan Fucks/Desire

R1: the rogue chair. it's more than R3's bards, with six rogues. no multiclasses. it's the rogue chair. otherwise, a bunch of rangers and sorcerers. this chair is for the plothounds. they're searching it out and making connections, or they're making big magic swings and connecting themselves to gods. they tend to put the detectives here. everyone here is going to make the dm's job easier by idk, communing with a death god (2 nickels for this seat), or going off on their own to find clues to a greater mystery.

Characters:

Riz Gukgak, Markus St. Vincent, Pete Conlan, Car-Go Jones, Lapin Cadbury, Cumulous Rocks, Marcid the Typhoon, Sylvester Cross, Evan Kelmp, Sam Nightingale, Seven, Big Barry Syx, May Wong, BINX Choppley, Ylfa Snorgelsson, Lady Amangeaux Epiceé du Peche, Twyla, The Fix/Hyperfixation

and that's all for this installment of thisisnotthenerd's d20 stats. feel free to tell me what you think, whether you agree or disagree. as always, the spreadsheet can be found here:

https://docs.google.com/spreadsheets/d/1g7skmX8WuPRsjvU1K0lAjVf4rNVnuuarW3Zb87A5hx0/edit?usp=sharing

@perksofbeingalittletwat you inspired this with your comment on the last seating chart, so thank you for that.

[bighermie]

Comedy Break With JP Sears as He Hilariously Roasts Kamala's First Interview as Democrat Nominee | The Gateway Pundit | by Margaret Flavin

[scotianostra]

On 14th December 1542, James V died at the age of 30.

When h is father, James IV was killed at Flodden, yet another royal minority ensued, for his son James V was only one year old when he became the kKing.

The Scots were reluctant to accept his English mother Margaret Tudor as Regent, and after her remarriage in 1514 they replaced her with James IV's half-French cousin, the Duke of Albany.

Queen Margaret's tempestuous private life complicated her son's childhood, and after she divorced her second husband, Archibald Douglas 6th Earl of Angus, the Earl kidnapped young James.

For two years he held him captive, showering him with gifts and introducing him to a round of unsuitable pleasures. James loathed his former stepfather, and finally managed to escape in 1528, to rule by himself.

James' personal rule began by savagely pursuing his opponents and he hounded the Earl of Angus out of Scotland. James combined suspicion of nobles with a popular touch, travelling anonymously among Scottish people as the 'Gudeman o'Ballengeich', The Gudeman of Ballengeich.

John Knox described him thus: 'he was called of some, a good poor man's king; of others he was termed a murderer of the nobility, and one that had decreed their whole destruction'.

In 1536 he decided to marry. A highly strung, intelligent man who alternated between black depression and bouts of feverish energy, he had already fathered at least nine illegitimate children by a series of mistresses.

He now chose as his wife Princess Madeleine of France, for he was eager to strengthen 'the Auld Alliance' against England. The Princess was a frail wee lassie, her father was not keen on sending her to Scotland and it’s harsher climate, she died in his arms on 7th July 1537, seven weeks after her arrival in Edinburgh, she was only 16.

In 1538 he married another French lady, the widowed Mary of Guise, tall, well-built and already the mother of two sons. She had two more sons by James but they both died in infancy within hours of each other in 1541.

James V's uncle, Henry VIII, who had by now broken with the Roman Catholic Church and dissolved the monasteries, was urging him to do the same. He refused to listen to his uncle's persuasions and in 1542 failed to go to an arranged meeting with Henry at York.

Furious, Henry launched an invasion of Scotland. Already ill, James marched south with his army, to defeat at the Battle of Solway Moss on the Scottish/English Border, on 24 November 1542.

Although he himself had not been present at the battle, James suffered a complete nervous collapse. Retiring to Falkland Palace in Fife he took to his bed with a high fever and, when a messenger came to tell him that his pregnant queen had given birth to a daughter instead of the hoped-for son, he believed that the Stewart dynasty was at an end.

'It cam wi' a lass and it will gang wi' a lass', he said, remembering how the crown had come to his family through Marjorie Bruce and fearing that no woman could ever rule his troubled nation. Six days later, he was dead.

James V King of Scots was buried at Holyrood Abbey beside his first wife Queen Madeleine. His tomb. like many other Scottish kings was destroyed during the reformation was rediscovered and reported as such by John Lauder, Lord Fountainhall, one of Scotland’s leading jurists and historians of the era, you can read an account of this event here https://marieguiselorraine2015.com/.../1683-rediscovery.../

[merv606]

Older Omega!Daniel and younger Alpha!Terry is fun. What about pious, virgin Omega Daniel who, at the age of 30, is about to give himself to the Church, but 18 year old Alpha Terry demands he marry him instead. Daniel is unhappy and angry about this, as he is deeply religious��he is even more angry when Terry gets him with pup after triggering his first ever heat. Now he HAS to marry him. It’s a huge scandal, Daniel is mortified and angry that he has to wed this brat, and Terry very happy and over the moon that he snagged such a fertile, fussy little omega.

When Terry had informed his advisors that Daniel would be his lawfully wedded omega, that he would mate and breed him, the omega bearing his heirs, it was met with disapproval, even if they knew better than to outwardly voice that.

They know the omega was planning on giving himself to the church though, so if they could keep the alpha and omega separate until then, maybe they had a chance.

Long, NSFW, and heavy on the purity aspect. Dubcon that is inherent with ABO and heat.

Terry had just turned 18, a massive gala held, filled with hopefully potential suitors, mainly omegas of good breeding. It was, however, this gala that had facilitated their chance encounter and Terry choosing his mate. Not that he was there as a suitable mate, rather Daniel had been met by happenstance when preparations were being made. Terry had gone to the church to formally meet the priest, as he did not believe in these things and had stopped attending church years ago. Unfortunately, some traditions even Terry had to follow, and that included a priest at his coming of age celebrations, necessary if he ended up choosing a suitable omega. Even if he himself did not believe in such things, and went along with it was mainly to avoid the talking to Margaret would deliver to him had he not. Now though, he is more glad than ever that he did, and Margaret will be receiving an even bigger than normal yearly raise for it had lead to him meeting the beautiful brunette, who would be his future mate and omega to his kids.

So here they are now, Terry not taking into account anything his advisors are saying.

His age. Terry snorts. “He still has plenty of pup bearing years, and believe me, I can smell how fertile he is.”

God, that smell, is forever etched in his mind. The heavenly scent of his omega. It was that smell that had made him look in the omega’s direction in the first place. It was the best thing he had even scented; nothing is even remotely comparable.

The ten year ago gap.

“Doesn’t bother me,” he responds. “Just means less time between pups,” he winks. “I hope he can keep up.”

At his age he may not be pure …

Once more he scoffs, cutting them off. “Such a pious omega? I’m willing to bet he is.”

But if he isn’t sir, it is an issue. Purity is something desired for the omega who bears the pup that continues the Silver line.

“Desired, not required. However, if it is that important to you, to keep our good name, if he isn’t, well, the doctor and the priest will be paid handsomely to attest otherwise.”

Margaret however, simply sits, starting the motions of planning the ceremony, as she listen to them try to talk reason into him, knowing it is in vain. She knows her charge.

“Gentleman,” she says, and all conversation stops. A beta she may be but when Margaret speaks, they listen. Perhaps, in part due to the respect given to the women responsible for raising Terry since his parents passed years ago. If you can withstand that, then you are not to be messed with. “The alpha has made his decision and arguing is truly pointless.”

Terry smiles. “Oh Margaret you’re going to love him.”

“Has he said yes yet, sir,” she asks as the advisors file out. She knows that even if it’s a no, Terry will see to it that it becomes, quickly, a yes.

“Not yet but he will, Margaret. Mark my words. That omega will be mine and will be heavy with my pup in short order.”

“Of course.” She knows better than to doubt Terry.

“He will be be coming for dinner, tomorrow night. More than likely staying the night.”

“Should I have one of the guest rooms prepared?”

“No, that won’t be necessary,” he smirks. “That pup will be sooner rather than later,” he winks.

Margaret knows the wedding will be happening sooner rather than later than as well. Maybe the omega, and some pups will help keep Terry line. She’s not getting any younger.

—————

The omega is only here because, well, he hadn’t been given a choice really.

The priest had insisted he accept the alpha’s offer to dine at his house to discuss their future. Even if Daniel was insistent they had no future. It’s not that he didn’t find the alpha attractive, he did, if not extremely arrogant, or that he didn’t interest him, but he had promised himself to the church and his faith, and the alpha endangered that. He made his omega place tingle alarmingly. Made his omega want to get on all fours and present.

Besides his loyalty, the greatest gift he could give to his faith was his purity; that there was no one else deemed more important to give it to.

When he expressed this, that despite the alpha’s want of him he still planned to join the church, the priest said that the invitation had already been accepted on his behalf. So now he had no choice, unable to go against the priest.

Confused though - the priest knew his vows were in a few short weeks. What did he hope would happen?! Daniel had wanted pups, and a mate, but he loved his faith too. His choice was not one taken lightly. His faith though, his faith was also familiar, his faith he knew. How to be a pious and serving omega to his church, he knew. This alpha Daniel did not know, nor did he know the first thing about being an alpha’s omega, especially an alpha like Terry. So he would go to the dinner, but nothing was going to come of it, that much he knew.

However, Daniel was none the wiser that money had crossed hands and the priest was on Terry’s side to help him land the omega.

His suppressants had already been replaced with placebos weeks ago. That should be flushed from his system by now, and given his cycle, the night of the dinner would be when it hit.

That and Terry has been scenting him and blasting him with pheromones every chance he got.

Daniel arrives promptly and one of his staff ushers him in, bringing him to the opulent dining room.

“I see you are looking well,” Terry remarks upon seeing his mate, tickled pink that the omega was dressed in the outfit he had delivered to him earlier the day. It reeked of the alpha.

The boy has been stubborn, turning down his first proposal, so he was unsure if he would even accept the gift.

The alpha discreetly scents the air, smelling the mild scent of arousal, knowing his timing is correct. By the night’s end the omega will be under him, bonded to him in a way that will tie them together forever.

Terry guides him to a chair, pumping out pheromones that he knows are only aiding in facilitating the little omega’s pending heat. He can see the way the omega’s nostrils flair and his eyes dilate. Once the omega is seated, he pushes the chair in, and then takes his own chair, finally able to look the omega over now without it being blatantly obvious.

“Are you alright, little one?” he asks, even if Daniel is at least a decade older. Experience, after all, is on Terry’s side. He knows exactly what is going to happen here tonight.

“Yes I … just a little a warm.” His face is flushed and sweat is gathering at his temples.

This may be faster than Terry was expecting. They may not even get to eat first. No matter, he’ll have something delivered to their bedroom later if that is the case.

Daniel undoes a button, the very top one. He’s been feeling off since waking than morning. The scent of the alpha on the clothes hadn’t helped, and being around the alpha now, the smell of him not diluted or second hand, has his omega place stirring and his underwear feels damp.

“Maybe … maybe some air,” Daniel says, standing suddenly. He needs to get away from this delicious scent. It’s causing his omega place to throb dangerously. The damp patch in his underwear is pressed against his pearl, feeling sinfully good.

When he does though he stumbles, but the alpha is by his side in seconds, his hands on him, steadying him; keeping him upright.

And now, slick gushes out, his underwear wet. He moans, gripping the alpha’s arm.

The alpha’s face in his neck, mouth licking over his mating gland and his knees give. The only thing keeping him up now is the alpha’s strong grip on him.

“You’re going into heat little one.”

“It can’t be,” he says, moving his neck, despite himself, so the alpha has better access to what he wants. He’s been taking his pills every day at the same time as always, he thinks.

“God, you smell god,” he growls, the omega responding to the sound. “I could eat you up.” His teeth grace his mating gland.

He doubles over as a wave of agony rolls through him and the alpha easily picks him up, carrying him off to where Daniel is not sure.

Before he knows it he’s spread out on a bed, lying on his back the aloha covering him.

“An alpha knows what their omega needs. This is why god made you an omega.”

The alpha kissing up from his knees, up his inner thighs, hands opening his legs up so his most intimate place is on display.

“You want to be bred. Your body could be no clearer on that.”

The scent of his arousal heavy in the air, his pussy dripping its slick onto the bed.

The alpha growls at the sight. Licking up the slick seam, the omega gasping, gripping the sheets.

“Going to take such good care of you and our pup. Going to take care of you tonight and every night of our lives.”

Surprisingly gentle fingers open his slit, Terry looking at the omega’s untouched hole within, and now his most intimate place is truly really on display.

He laps over it, before his mouth finds the omega’s aroused clit, flicking his tongue against it.

“Alpha,” he moans, meaning to protest. That is not proper; that feels too good to be anything but pure sin - a path straight to hell.

Fingers rubs the stiff bud and he can feel slick running down his thigh, and he tries to close his legs, to save both their souls, but the alpha growls, biting down on his inner thigh gently, a warning.

“Alpha sir, my pearl ….” They were always told to not touch themselves there. That it was a sin. That it was not theirs to touch, as it belonged to their future alpha.

Terry smiles. Oh how he adores the little pious omega’s words. Pearl, it’s fitting - it is definitely pretty as one.

A finger slips inside, and Terry can feel that his assumption was correct, his mate is indeed a virgin. Careful now, keeping the finger’s penetration shallow as his other hand rubs at that aroused bud, and the omega screams, his thighs shaking, coming almost violently, his omega place clenching and squirting, soaking the alpha.

When he comes back to himself the alpha is already lined up, head pushing against his virgin entrance.

A hand against the alpha’s chest, a moment of clarity from the heat. “Alpha, my husband ….,” he starts, trying to explain that such an act is intended only for his husband under god, but Terry grabs his hand, pining it above his head, his other hand wrapped around his cock as he guides it inside.

“Don’t worry, I will be,” but the heat is washing over him again, the head pushes inside, opening him up in such a way for the first time.

“That’s it, relax for me. This is what you need.”

It’s a lot, and the pressure is a bit uncomfortable, with each inch pressed unrelentingly inside but it helps ease the heat coursing through him, licking at his mind’s edge.

Terry licks him thumb, rubbing at the omega’s clit. That helps to relax the tight fit, the omega’s body opening more and more for him.

Licking the mating gland, he bites down as he snaps his hips in, both divesting him of his maiden head and driving his cock in the rest of the way, his body opening to accept all the alpha inside him.

The endorphins dull the pain of the bite and anything else.

The taste of the omega’s blood as he licks at the bite have his hips moving, his cock piercing him over and over.

The omega wraps his legs around the alpha before letting them fall open, obscenely wide for the alpha to get in deep.

His little mate is going to take pregnancy wonderfully, just like he’s taking to the act of being bred.

Terry wants a large family so his omega will spend the first several years of their marriage made fat by his cock with his pups.

Starting now.

Terry himself is no virgin, but he knows he’s not going to last.

Not with how good his mate feels, how good he smells.

Terry’s never had a virgin omega before.

Not that lasting long matters - he will be hard again in no time, probably won’t even need to pull out.

The point is to fill him, to claim him. To make it impossible for the little omega to accept the next proposal. He won’t either- knowing he’s with pup.

Which he will be. Terry can feel his balls draw up and his knot as it keeps bumping against the omega’s entrance, stretched so full already around his cock.

Still riding on the high of his bite though, he slams his hips into him, the knot pushed inside, opening him up even further, the omega arching up as he feels how deliciously wide his cunt is stretched for the alpha. He didn’t realize his body could be so accommodating.

Daniel feels the pulse and throb of the alpha’s cock inside him, knowing he’s being filled with his life giving seed. It seems to go on forever. His belly taut, and his cunt snug around the swollen knot, that tugs at his sensitive entrance as the alpha rocks, making sure every last drop is deep inside him.

When Terry finishes coming, the omega’s belly is boated with it, and he rolls them on their side, rubbing where they’re joined. His fingers find the omega’s pearl, rubbing out another orgasm, his cunt spasming around the intrusion as he comes, milking the alpha for another load, squeezing every last drop out of him and into his womb.

He pushes back the omega’s hair, stuck to his forehead with sweat, finally taking his lips in a kiss. Terry rubs the omega’s once flat belly, distended now from the breeding, and the loads the alpha has pumped into him already.

God, he’s going to look so good in a few months when the bump is made permanent and he starts to show.

There is no way the aloha did not successfully impregnate him.

Terry comes himself several more times before his knot abates and he finally pulls free, the little omega winces slightly.

While it’s not a good idea to take his maiden head and knot him on the same night, it was the only way.

The omega, for his part, is sore, the feeling of being thoroughly used, but in a good way. His body singing for the alpha. He sighs as the pressure in his belly abates a bit, as the alpha’s excess seed pours out of him.

He’s fucked out, limp with it, his omega hole open and leaking. Terry can smell it though, the pride and contentment wafting off him.

“Rest now,” Terry murmurs. You’ll need your energy when the next round hits.”

In a few hours it does, and this time, Terry has him present properly, on his hands and knees, fucking into him form behind, hand grasping and leaving bruises on his hips as he knots him again.

By morning though, the heat is already broken and now there is no doubt, the omega is carrying Terry’s child, as planned.

Terry is already up, his omega nestled against his side sleeping soundly, as he goes over some paperwork.

Breakfast is brought in, and the smell is what finally rouses him. He sits up gingerly.

“It’s normal to be sore the day after,” Terry explains, “but the more your body adjusts to taking me inside in such a manner, the easier it will become.”

Daniel’s head feels clear. Truly clear. While a stranger to the actual physical act, he was in no way ignorant to the ways between an alpha and omega. He knows the alpha spilled his seed inside him, multiple times.

He knows there is a good chance, especially if his heat broke already that as a result he was gifted the alpha’s child last night.

While the church doesn’t require omegas to be pure, although it is preferential, if he has been both tainted by an alpha and has a pup growing inside his belly from allowing the alpha to spill their seed in him, well that is frowned upon - heavily.

“I think I may be with you pup, alpha.” He can’t explain it but something feels different.

“I should hope so. You took my knot several times, little one, and I can still smell my seed still coming out.”

To say Terry had fucked his mate obscenely full was an understatement. That and his cunt has been freshly fucked.

Terry had checked this morning - the state of him - opening the slumbering omega’s legs to check to air sure he hadn’t been too rough. It ended up with him burying his face into the omega’s cunt, his little mate so wiped out for the prior night’s activities, he didn’t even Wm wake when Terry slipped back inside.

“No pup of mine will be born out of wedlock, and I know you don’t want that either.”

Daniel shakes his head. He places a hand on his, for now, flat tummy, knowing that it won’t be like that for long. He would not want his pup to know such a dishonor.

“You will accept my proposal now?”

A large hand covers his, rubbing where they know the child is.

“You and our pups will want for nothing. I promise you that. You will be well loved and well taken care of.”

“Pups?”

“I plan to bred you several more times.”

When he was first considering giving himself to the church he had mourned the pups he would have wanted but never would. He finds now, that path is to be fulfilled and he must mourn the loss of what he thought he would become.

Either way, he was giving up something he wanted; no matter the path he chose.

“It was meant to be. Why else would you have gone into heat if not for this very reason.”

Daniel knows nothing happens without being part of some divine plan on HIS behalf, so this must be the path he was supposed to take. This was his course being corrected, as HE designed.

Divine intervention, he supposes.

God works in mysterious ways, little does he known that so does Terry.

Not that the how matters, nor will he ever truly find out it was his alpha playing god, deciding to give him life, because Daniel does love the pup inside him already, and his omega has never know this sense of peace; of fulfilment. He also knows, deep down, that Terry is his mate. He was all along.

“We will marry quickly. Before you show, and before sickness sets in.” Rumours though, Terry is sure, are already circling.

“I wish we could have married in the church,” Daniel says, unable to keep the sadness about that from colouring his tone.

“We will.”

“But, I am with child, alpha …”

Terry will pay off whoever is needed to verify his mate is a virgin still for their wedding night. It matters not to him but he knows it does to him omega.

He would never disrespect him so.

He tells the omega as such.

“Thank you.”

Terry takes his head in his hands, Daniel’s coming up to cover them.

“I shall endeavour, for the rest of our lives, to make you happy. I serve you and our pup now.”

“How long …”

“Within the week. All is set already.”

A hand drops back down to his stomach. “But when the babe arrives ….”

“When the pup comes the timing will be so close that they won’t be able to say anything but it took on our wedding night.”

This is true he thinks.

“I was busy working it all out while you slumbered.”

His stomach grumbled then, and Terry brings a piece of fruit, generously bathed in cream, up to his lips, the omega opening his mouth to accept the offer.

The fingers dip inside, Daniel sucking them clean of the cream, and the scent of the alpha’s arousal, the bulge under the sheet, showing how affected the alpha is. Daniel is no better, he can see the alpha’s nostril flair, scenting his own arousal; his wet cunt.

“I shall allow you a few days to recuperate before taking my husbandly rights again.”

Daniel can feel his omega place clench at the words, feel the twinge there, the feel of a phantom cock and how wet he is already. He would very much like that.

“But in the meantime, there is so much more I wish to show you.”

His alpha and soon to be husband take his lips in a kiss.

The omega can’t wait.

[webntrmpt]

Excerpt:

“Rep. Glenn Grothman (R-WI) on Thursday accused “the angry feminist movement” of emasculating men and said the U.S. should “work our way back” to 1960 if former President Donald Trump wins in November.

“In a House floor speech that could have been lifted from Margaret Atwood’s dystopian novel The Handmaid’s Tale, Grothman went after supporters of government-funded childcare programs and said President Lyndon Johnson’s War on Poverty “took the purpose out of the man’s life, because now you have a basket of goodies for the mom.” He added, “They’ve taken away the purpose of the man to be part of a family. And if we want to get America back to, say, 1960, where this was almost unheard of, we have to fundamentally change these programs.”