#my poor war widow that still served looks

[alienoresimagines]

*Going to see Harding before the Münster mission briefing*

Bucky: Sorry it took me so long to arrive, I broke down on the way here.

Harding: Oh, is your jeep ok?

Bucky: Jeep?

Harding: …

Bucky: …

[theforgottenmcrmy]

live reactions to house of the dragon season 2, episode 3

this is still for my own amusement, but as always, I’m open to polite discussion🖤

spoilers below the cut

Still loving this new intro, is it just me, or is it changing with each episode? it’s definitely changing, right?

Ooooooo we’re getting right into the Bracken and Blackwoods, let’s freaking go! 👏🏻

Lmao, everyone calling Rhaenyra a kinslayer, conveniently forgetting Aemond threw the first stone with Luke

Blackwoods standing on business, as usual 💅

Wait that transition was💀 We’re not even into the thick of the war yet, and look at the cost…

Rhaenyra “I cannot fault him for keeping his oath” you’re too good for this world ma’am

Rhaenys spitting stone cold facts. And so poetically too.

This might be a hot take, but I don’t feel like Rhaenys suggesting Rhaenyra make another attempt at peace with Alicent would be a weak move. She’s right on the money with suggesting they’re both largely backed into their respective corners by the men who surround them. One last attempt at peace, woman to woman, is not a sign of weakness (in my opinion at least).

Crispy Cole having imposter syndrome already?!💀👀

this man has the balls to abandon his duty to canoodle with the dowager queen, but can’t take the position of Hand in stride with a bit more confidence?

Lmao, Aegon’s own council doubting him and Cole already😂😂😂

Daeron mentioned again, I want to see the Blue Queen let’s go 🤞🏻

Aemond holding onto that same coin, interesting…

Cole really having a chuckle at Ser Arryk’s death as though he did not single handedly sentence him to that death. And a few people are still disputing that this guy has to be one of the worst ever in Westeros?

I’m pretty sure Aemond’s trying to bait Aegon here, plant some doubt in his head about his suitability to actual fighting in the war🤔

Mysaria, the voice of the small folk

Does this mean Laenor’s dead? And it was recent? I can’t help but think Seasmoke at least would have tried to follow him years ago when he left… and if he’s just recently become restless, what changed?

I understand why Rhaenyra is asking what she is of Rhaena, and I don’t think she’s doing it to hurt Rhaena at all. But Rhaena, that poor girl🥲 she needs to have her moment, even if it’ll take a few episodes or longer. Not to prove her worth to others, but to herself.

Also, definitely getting Daemon vibes from her, in terms of wanting to prove herself

HARRENHAL, here we go! 👻

I know this is supposed to be serious and hall because Harrenhal is haunted, but Daemon sneaking around Scooby Doo style waiting for something to come at him is so unintentionally funny to me

Speaking of Scooby Doo, not the bat flyby😂

Also, Daemon’s armor is sickkk.

Wonder if Daemon ever thought, “This is where Rhaenyra’s last serious lover died. So wtf am I doing here?!👀”😂😂😂

Daemon “knock out guard first, ask questions later” Targaryen

“I’m claiming Harrenhal.” (Tywin Lannister voice): “Any man who has to say he claims a castle did not truly claim the castle at all”

It was so anticlimactic too😂 you will not convince me that the writers don’t know what they’re doing, rightfully throwing in these sort of bits to diffuse the tension

Alys Rivers, that you?!?!?!👀

Simon Strong disowning Larys😂 we love to see it.

Sin begets sin begets sin. This line has no right to go so hard-

“The throne?”

“It’s a big chair, made of swords.”

Music this season is (not surprisingly) serving as always

Do you think Ser Gwayne has his suspicions about Criston and Alicent yet?🤔

This man is so bold, I stg- if you’re that bold, Ser Crispy, why don’t you show Aemond what you just received from his mother? Or better yet, Aegon?

It’s kind of ironic, how Cole has probably deluded himself to thinking he finally has this great courtly and noble love with the widowed queen- all without seeing the hypocrisy of it all.

Rhaenyra needs to set these men straight. I cannot believe how quick they are to suggest she go into hiding. She’s already made plans to send her most vulnerable children away to safety. You cannot convince me that, were she a man, her councilors would not even dare to make this suggestion to her.

Rhaenys steadfast support of Rhaenyra is going to make the inevitable hurt that just more.

Rhaenys suggesting Rhaena become the heir to Driftmark?👀 I like the idea tbh

This is the last time we see them have a one on one conversation, isn’t it?🫥

Chillllllllllls with the dragon eggs. Morning is coming.

Joffrey😓 and Viserys and Aegon.

Helaena trying to rationalize her son’s death.😭 And still acknowledging the small folk…

Also, poor Helaena forgiving her mother🥲 she’s a better woman than me, because I could never.

Larys, the pot stirrer. I swear this man’s only motivation in life is chaos.

But I do have to wonder, is his allegiance really to Aegon, or is it some backwards attempt to keep Aegon safe to garner Alicent’s favor still?

Her name is escaping me rn, but not the poor girl who Aegon assaulted STILL being assaulted by men at her new job😭

I get the desire to make the connection with the audience that Ulf has to Targaryens, but of alll the people the writers could have chosen from, choosing Viserys and Daemon’s father doesn’t sit well with me. Not saying it is impossible, but from what we know of Baelon and Alyssa’s relationship, it just doesn’t seem super likely he’d have a lot of bastards running around out there.

Ulf, already showing his turncoat ways🫢

Oh Lordy, that’s a bit graphic

Aegon, still being a terrible bully to his younger brother. Great to see how little his truly changed over the years.

Oh Lordy, the Aemond girlies are going to go absolutely feral after this scene———

Daemon might have been the one to call him Ser Crispin, but his daughter is about to make the name become a reality 😂👏🏻

Just the foreshadowing of Rook’s Rest is already too much for me personally🥲

Here we go, more mystery solving antics from detective Daemon…

🫨🫨🫨

Now if that man didn’t truly love Rhaenyra in his own way (or at least have some guilt over what he had done) why the hell would he have had that reaction to that vision?

The Sept?👀

SEPTA RHAENYRA👏🏻

The new Kingsguard members might not have even recognized Rhaenyra if they had seen her

Alicent swearing on the memory of her mother, just like Rhaenyra had years before🫢

Literally seeing a lightbulb moment go off in Rhaenyra’s head-

Ooooooooooo god, Alicent realizing all this started because of a misunderstanding and her hearing what she wanted to hear👀

And of course, she has to double down. It’s already gone too far.

I do have to pity Alicent a little here. Just like Cersei, she has to admit that she knows her son has become a monster she cannot control.

Alicent can think she is taking the upper hand now, but the next time she sees Rhaenyra, it’s likely to be another story😏

Chillllllllls for next week’s preview

[superectojazzmage]

What are the most insane bits of comics deep lore you can think of? I remember there was a post listing a highlight of some of the crazier bits, like how the Human Torch canonically killed Hitler, but it'd be nice if you made your own.

That was my post lol. But there are some more I can think of.

To solve the problem of characters with war-based origin stories becoming dated to real history and thus walking chronology headaches, Marvel introduced a completely fictional war — the Sin-Cong War — that replaces the role of most real world conflicts in the Marvel Universe. Mr. Fantastic and Thing’s originally stated history as WWII vets, Punisher’s past as a Vietnam veteran, Iron Man’s getting his chest injury and Juggernaut his magic gem in the Korean War, Professor X serving in the same war with his step-brother Juggernaut, and much more have been reworked as occurring in the Sin-Cong War, which is best described as “what Nam would’ve looked like in a world of superheroes”. The main exceptions are Captain America, Nick Fury, Namor, and Wolverine, all of whom have various excuses that allow them to keep their WWII service as canon.

Doctor Strange is immortal. It’s almost never brought up in adaptations, but in canon, the ritual he underwent to be officially named Sorcerer Supreme involved him being granted biological immortality by the Vishanti, meaning that he no longer ages. This has had the odd effect of making Strange yet another exception to the whole “comic book time” issue; he canonically became Sorcerer Supreme in the 70s and that has never changed at any point.

Black Widow is also functionally immortal, thanks to a special anti-aging serum she receives periodically (the same that Nick Fury uses), allowing her to still be written as somebody who was a Cold War spy, even as the comics progress into the 2000s onwards.

Black Panther once got called a race traitor by an African-American man for hanging out with white superheroes, much to his bafflement.

Spider-Man and Mysterio once walked into a theater in their secret identities at the same time, failed to recognize each other, and spent the entire time having a geeky conversation about their love of old movies.

When Grant Morrison wrote Magneto as being very evil in their X-Men run, other writers went tripping over themselves to retcon it away because of what I can only describe as a deeply parasocial relationship with a fictional supervillain. The original story involved Magneto disguising himself as a made-up new superhero named Xorn to infiltrate the X-Men and destroy New York. The retconned and now canon story involves Xorn’s evil twin brother pretending to be Magneto pretending to be Xorn doing that.

There’s a minor Spider-Man villain named Facade who was supposed to be the crux of an ongoing mystery plotline but poor reception led to Marvel scrapping those plans before Facade’s identity could be revealed. The result is that the comics now have a running gag of Facade showing up randomly every few years but never getting to reveal his name.

Man-Thing is not just a swamp monster that burns people when they’re scared, he is the guardian and manager of the Nexus of All Realities, a mystical location where the borders between realms is thin and dimensional teleportation is very easy. The Nexus is located in Florida.

Jubilee is canonically one of the most powerful X-Men, as while she mentally limits herself to small pops and fireworks to fight crime, she can actually generate massive and long-lasting explosions capable of devastating entire city blocks, something proven when she accidentally obliterated the Mandarin’s castle in a moment of panic. It has been speculated that she could make a new sun if she really put her heart into it.

Similarly, the most powerful member of the Fantastic Four is Invisible Woman, because her forcefield powers are so game-breaking strong that she can use them to blow up Celestials with a thought.

Conan the Barbarian, Count Dracula, Frankenstein, Godzilla, the Micronauts, and Rom the Spaceknight are all canonically real people in the Marvel Universe. G.I. Joe and the Transformers are also real in an alternate universe.

Doctor Doom once got extremely drunk while having a portrait of himself without his mask made and went on a very long rant about his mommy issues to the famous painter he commissioned for it. After learning what he did and also deciding that the painter’s brushwork left much to be desired, Doom disintegrated the man with a death-laser, which caused his paintings to receive a sudden spike in price value.

To give perspective on how hard it can sometimes be to keep a character permanently dead in Marvel nowadays… a writer once had Wolverine finally kill Sabretooth by maiming him beyond even healing factor repair and then decapitating him with a magic sword that was explicitly stated would purge Sabretooth’s soul if it so much as even touched him, and it was repeatedly and thoroughly stated and demonstrated that this was the real Sabretooth and not a clone or robot or anything like that, and a later writer supported this by showing Sabretooth’s soul in Hell. Less then a year later, Sabretooth was back and the new writer justified it with “Wolverine killed a clone”.

Similarly, when Marvel killed off their version of Dracula (see above), they included in that issue a supposedly legally binding document proving they couldn’t bring him back from the dead. He is now back from the dead.

Hercules has to regularly fight off accusations that his sidekick/best bud Amadeus Cho is his “eromenos” — that is to say, his submissive and breedable gay lover.

Moon Knight has recently purged New York of vampires by luring them all to a dinner party, using the fact that he’s technically the priest of the moon god Khonshu to consecrate all the water in the building into holy water, then activating the sprinkler system. There were no survivors.

Doctor Doom is not actually a doctor. He flunked out of college following the accident that scarred his face and the “doctorate” he now holds is one he unilaterally gave to himself after taking over Latveria.

Mr. Fantastic and Invisible Woman’s son Franklin is destined to become the next Galactus. If something goes wrong and he can’t do it, the role will be fulfilled by Mr. Immortal, a superhero with no power except coming back to life everytime he dies.

Scarlet Witch and Vision’s children, Wiccan and Speed, are technically not their children. They were born separately to different parents, but are the reincarnated souls of twin boys that Wanda once believed she had given birth to years ago but didn’t. Confused? You should be.

The planet Earth is sentient and sapient, being known as the Machine by the Eternals, who were created by the Celestials to maintain it. The Earth is a Trekkie.

Professor X is actually much younger than how adaptations tend to portray him, being only about in his mid-forties at oldest by this point in the comics. Magneto is significantly older then him, despite the tendency of people to assume they’re the same age.

Cyclops once stole a guy’s bike to save the world.

Deadpool is romantically involved with the personification of Death and thus regularly cucks Thanos.

[brotherhoodoftheblade]

As a John/Percy fan, I'd say be grateful you haven't read Bees yet. I was looking forward to it finally coming out for so long, and now I just wish I could bleach the traumatic details from my head entirely. 😑💀

As for the book as a whole, I feel like - despite it being a whopping 900 pages long - not much of consequence actually happened in it (to me anyway). *shrug* All the same loose plot threads from previous books are still hanging about, unresolved. It seems like its main purpose was just setting the stage for the last book of the series - which, if the length of time it took DG to finish Bees is any indication, we probably won't be getting for like another decade. Rather annoying.

(And given the rotten state of my health, I don't even know if I'll be alive to read it anyway. *sigh* But, in truth, if poor Percy is really dead I won't want to read it at all. 😭)

Indeed, what even is the point of the Fergus mystery she's now dragged out for three whole long-ass books??? If it's not actually true then she'd have just wasted our time for nothing - so that's why I feel, as a writer, that it would be illogical for her to have spent so long drawing this storyline out if there wasn't truth to it. (In which case everyone owes Percy a huge apology!! 😤)

Agreed, if DG wasn't going to actually DO something meaningful with the Beauchamp plot then she shouldn't have even introduced them in the first place. And yes, you're quite right, Fergus would have to take St. Germain’s last name, not Beauchamp (theoretically, if he intended to claim the Comte's estate as his legitimate heir - though I have trouble seeing him being willing to renounce the name Fraser given the sentiment attached to it) - which means, of course, that Fergus would still be Claire's ancestor, just perhaps not by direct line of descent. (He could, instead, be a distant cousin, rather than a many-greats-removed great-grandfather.)

Yes, Percy has said he and Cecile have no children - and didn't mention her having had any children from a previous marriage either. (Nothing changed on that front in Bees.)

(It's quite possible she could've been married at least once before she wed Percy as well, because she had to have been between 42 and 48 years of age in 1776 - a supposition based on the presence of the portrait of Claude, Cecile, and Amelie as children John mentioned seeing at Trois Fléches (Echo, Ch 45). Since the three of them were painted together before Amelie disappeared and later died, then Cecile can't be any younger than 42 years old (because Fergus was born in 1735); but she's also younger than Claude who was about 49/50 in 1776 (having been said to be a few years older than John who was himself 47 when he met Claude).

So she couldn't have been any younger than than her mid to late twenties when she married Percy and, of course, this is the 18th century we're talking about, so her father most likely would've married her off to some French nobleman back when she was in her teens. I headcanon that Cecile's first husband was served as an officer in the French army during the Seven Years War (1756–1763) and died sometime during those years, leaving her widowed by the time she met Percy (and she chose to reassume her maiden name after her first husband's death). I also imagine she might be unable to have children if at least two marriages didn't produce them - and we know that she and Percy didn't have a wholly sexless marriage (even if her brother was sometimes present during their interludes *cough cough* lol). As for Percy, he'd have been married to her and a part of France's Black Chamber/Secret du Roi no later than 1764.)

As to Claude, we don't actually know for certain either way whether he has any children. We weren't told he has children, but we also weren't explicitly told that he doesn't have them either. I headcanon that he does (because a titled nobleman's first duty is basically to produce a male heir to inherit his title after all) and his wife died in childbirth or something at some point, and he never felt the need to remarry (hence why he has no wife in 1776) because he already has an heir. And given his age, his children would most likely already be young adults/adolescents - hence either married or away at university - thus explaining why none of them were present when John visited Trois Fléches. So it's quite possible that Claude at least has a son.

But regardless of whether he does or not, what we do know for certain is that some male relative does indeed carry on the family line in England after the French Revolution. Even if Claude didn't have children himself, that doesn't mean he doesn't have extended family. Maybe his father had younger brothers who had sons, and it's actually Claude and Cecile's cousins who carry on the Beauchamp name - who knows? (There's enough canonical ambiguity to leave things open to multiple possibilities.)

Though the writer in me doesn't think it's a good idea for some unknown, never mentioned, Beauchamp cousin to actually turn out to be Claire's direct ancestor. It should be a character we already know, or at least someone closely connected to them, such as a child of Claude's we just haven't heard about yet.

Of course, ideally, I'd have had Percy and Cecile be the ones Claire's descended from. (I'd initially guessed - before Bees - that maybe DG had chosen not to give Percy any children because she meant for he and John to get back together eventually. And him not having any kids would've made it easier for him to start a life somewhere else with John without him having to choose to abandon his children.) And Percy and Claire even have a superficial resemblance on paper (curly brown hair, "sherry" brown eyes, pale skin, delicate features, slender build), so it wouldn't have felt like that much of a cognitive leap for me. And it would've given Percy a connection to the main characters, which would've played out interestingly with John.

But then we got Bees instead. 😑

And I have no idea what the hell DG even thinks she's doing anymore, since Bees basically threw away everything she'd spent Books 7&8 building towards with John and Percy. 😒💀💔

Still rereading Voyager, and this description of Claire’s eyes has me thinking again what a missed opportunity it was for Percy not to have turned out to be her ancestor. *sigh*

Keep reading

[youngbugandtonystank]

what's the difference between what wanda did to those people in wandavision and what tony did with ultron?

I have so many asks about this. Hate asks, and people wondering what’s going on. This is the only one I’m answering.

Both of them are responsible for their actions. I’ve seen people try and take away either Tony’s responsibility for that or Wanda’s engagement and accountability. 

In Tony’s case, the Ultron program was supposed to be a global peacekeeping program to protect the people, acting as a suit around the world to prevent events like the Battle of New York. He was doing it in the name of peace and safety. Tony was rightfully scared because he was the only one who knew what was coming. Wanda intentionally enhanced that fear in him and this drove him to create Ultron with Bruce. He has responsibility for it. Same as Bruce. He owns up to this, he took full responsibility and agreed that they needed to be regulated. 

Tony Stark: A few years ago, I almost lost her, so I trashed all my suits. Then, we had to mop up HYDRA... and then Ultron. My fault.

--

Tony Stark: There's no decision-making process here. We need to be put in check! Whatever form that takes, I'm game. If we can't accept limitations, if we're boundary-less, we're no better than the bad guys.

--

Tony Stark: That's good. That's why I'm here. When I realized what my weapons were capable of in the wrong hands, I shut it down and stop manufacturing.

--

If people think he needs to be in jail for it, then I’m guessing the rest of the Avengers too since all of them have made mistakes and killed people too. As a matter of fact, after the events of Wandavision, I’m sure that Wanda should be in the Raft, but because she’s ‘a poor baby’ yall won’t think she deserves that. 

SPOILERS

It’s a big possibility that we don’t have all the info about what happened in Wandavision but we’re going to go with what we know so far. 

In Wanda’s case, she did it to appease her grief and pain, and I can understand why she would get to that point, she’s been through a lot and maybe she was about to lose her mind. Instead of recruiting Wanda after the Sokovia incident, they should’ve given this girl treatment for her mental health problems. She just lost her brother and passed through a very traumatic war zone, of course she needs assistance. Cap and Natasha were the ones responsible for her because they were training the ‘new’ avengers. Sam was with them and he used to be a counselor to veterans with PTSD. He could’ve helped Wanda with some of her traumas. As shown in the series, Wanda did the whole hex business before meeting Agatha, which means creating that little reality was all Wanda’s responsibility. Hayward and Agatha did exactly what Wanda did to Tony (and the avengers/other people) in AOU. They manipulated her and played with her emotional traumas. Hayward showed her Vision’s body parts and Agatha started to pull strings to know how Wanda did what she did and her real powers while orchestrating against her. 

Both of them have made mistakes. No one is better than the other. I don’t understand why some fans want to make someone responsible more than the other or blame one character for the other. While Wanda gave Tony that vision and pushed his self-destructive side to obsess over saving the world, he did create Ultron, what Tony didn’t predict was that the robot was going to corrupt itself. Same with Wanda, while Agatha and Hayward contributed to her trauma, she held hostage and isolated 3,892 people to create her perfect reality, ripping these people away from their identities and free will to fit her own fantasy. Don’t turn this into ‘omg poor her, it’s Tony fault that she’s this way'. I can’t believe I have to repeat this but you don’t see Peter Parker obsessively looking for the person who manufactured the gun instead of the criminal who actually killed Uncle Ben. Ridiculous that I have to repeat this example. 

Oh and about Vision’s body (damn yall have a gift to turn everything into Tony’s fault for some reason). I can’t believe some of you think Tony (while grieving for 5 years) would give Vision to Hayward. You’re either pulling stuff out of your asses or you didn’t pay attention to the show. Maria Rambeau founded and was the Director of S.W.O.R.D. In 2018 (when IW happened), this is where she came up with a new policy within S.W.O.R.D. to ground snapped agents in case they ever returned. Maria was diagnosed with cancer, then two years later (2020), she passed away. Then, Hayward was promoted to Director of S.W.O.R.D., in his first years (2020-2022) he refocused the organization’s work from extraterrestrial operations to robotics, nanotechnology and artificial intelligence, etc. There, that was the 5 years. Then in 2023 it’s when he started project Cataract, which revolved around rebuilding Vision as a sentient weapon. Tony was dead when this happened. How come yall don’t get this part? I don’t understand, do you really think his dead corpse signed some papers to give Vision to those people? LMAO

Instead of thinking Tony would give up Vision just like that, think (possibilities):

Maria was the head of S.W.O.R.D., she might have just been keeping his body safe without doing anything with him. Maybe she trusted Hayward and he, obviously, betrayed her because he’s turning her organization into something else after her death. 

One of the Sokovia Accords regulations states that the use of technology to bestow individuals (the term ‘enhanced individual’ in this book is defined as any person, human or otherwise, with superhuman capabilities) with innate capabilities is strictly regulated by the government, as is the use and distribution of highly advanced technology. Vision signed those accords ('I'm saying there may be a casualty. Our very strength invites challenge. Challenge incites conflict. And conflict... breeds catastrophe. Oversight...oversight is not an idea that can be dismissed out of hand’) The Avengers were no longer be a private organization and they operate under the supervision of the United Nations. This means they (UN) were the ones that referred Vision’s body to S.W.O.R.D., to a trustworthy leader, Maria. 

Vision died in Wakanda, not in New York. Tony was missing for 22 days after the snap, the rest of the avengers should’ve taken responsibility for his body.  

Why is it always Tony’s fault but never consider that other parties are also involved in this? 

I want to address some other asks with this one. I know some of you are angry because people are starting to blame Tony all over again, so a few things to remember:

Tony did not create the Accords. The Accords were the result of all the collective actions the Avengers have done in their superhero careers. All of them have made mistakes and the collateral damage of that was taken into consideration by the government and 117 countries around the world. He signed the accords because he knew that he could amend them with the support of the rest of the avengers and he knew about Thanos (something big was coming). 

Obadiah Stane (it’s so bizarre for me seeing that some people don’t know who this guy is, I’m guessing that the people who are watching Wandavision are too young to remember or didn’t watch the Iron Man movies at all which is highly probable) was the one selling weapons to the wrong people, not Tony. Obadiah was the CEO of Stark industries and became second-in-command for two decades. He grew jealous of Tony and began cooperating with the Ten Rings in Afghanistan, selling them Stark Industries weapons illegally. Imagine blaming all of it on Tony when Obadiah basically murdered thousands only because he felt a little green. If someone who you trust (he had no reasons to doubt Obadiah since he was like a second father-figure for him) does something behind your back (take into consideration that people like Pepper; who was Tony’s assistant and had knowledge of all of Tony’s activities and responsibilities, Rhodey; who was the liaison between the military in the department of acquisitions and Stark Industries, and Happy Hogan; who was his personal bodyguard and Head of Security of Stark Industries, didn’t know what Stane was doing either), how are you going to know about it? Tony trusted him. And when he realized what was going on he immediately stopped all of it. He worked hard to be better and people overlook that because they want other characters to look better. 

Don’t act like Tony was the only one assisting the military. All of the avengers assisted in one way or another. Natasha (who used to be an assassin) was in the Red Room, trained in the Black Widow Program in association with Leviathan and the Soviet Armed Forces, served for KGB, etc. Bruce Banner used to work for the United States government and was commissioned to create a super serum for them. Same goes with the rest, Sam, Clint, etc. Steve Rogers was a soldier lmaoooooooooooooo like, what happened to Tony with Obadiah happened to Steve with SHIELD/HYDRA in TWS. He trusted the people working in there (SHIELD), served for them, did missions for them and as soon as he found out what they were doing behind his back he turned against them. 

Knowing all of this, how is Tony always the villain for yall? I’m guessing because Tony’s popularity in the MCU, but still, aren’t yall tired of not understanding the plot and having people repeat it to you constantly? Watch the movies if you want to understand the franchise, people. Stop following the crowd. 

Also, Wanda is not a kid, she’s a 35 year old woman in Wandavision, she was 26 in AOU and 27 in CW. Hardly a child. Tony had almost her same age (38) when he realized Obadiah was selling illegal weaponry behind his back. The only reason people don’t fully forgive Tony is because 1. he’s a man and 2. he’s a billionaire. Even if Wanda was poor she still killed and hurt many people over the course of her life. Stop trying to make Tony the villain only to downplay Wanda’s actions. 

Both have killed people, both have made mistakes. They’re both responsible for them. 

[yourmcu]

Hell’s Kitchen

Pairings: Marvel cast x reader (Chris Evans, Scarlett Johansson, Tom Holland, Robert Downey Jr.)

Summary:

You and your co-stars get invited to dine at the famous Hell’s Kitchen restaurant as the VIP guests. All of you have a great time.

Word count: 1,257

A/n: so this is just a lame idea I came up with when I was binging the all-star season of HK. I hope this turned out ok I’m nervous sksks (I didn’t add everyone in the gif to this imagine btw, sorry!)

(italicized texts is those moments where the chefs talk to the camera, y’know what I mean right?)

Warnings: swearing

gif not mine! credits to the owner^^

“Wow.”

“I’m starving.”

“I can’t believe this place is real!”

“I know!” You laughed with Tom as you hopped out of the car and waited for Scarlett to come out after you.

You became part of the Marvel cast since Age of Ultron, needless to say they thought you were an impressive actor at your age back then. They welcomed you with open arms and made sure you were never left out.

Anyway you and Tom were acting like total fans, pointing at the portraits of the past winners of the competition and commenting on every detail as you made your way inside the restaurant. Chris and Robert tuned the both of you out and was having their own conversation. Scarlett just rolled her eyes and laughed.

You noticed felt the cameras point to the five of you despite them being hidden in corners. Robert smoothed his suit jacket and greeted his fellow actors that were dining as well. You contained your squeals as you saw the kitchen with both red and blue teams now prepping for their service.

They brought glasses, water, champagne and menus after you all settled to a table.

“It’s beautiful in here - oh, thanks,” Scarlett smiled at you when you handed her a glass of champagne.

Tom was sneaking glances at both teams stationed at the kitchen. “Look, Y/N, it’s them! Which team are you rooting for?” Then he looked at the blue plate coasters on the table. “I hope the blue team’s alright tonight.”

“I hope so.” You laughed.

“Wait what if they aren’t? Are we not getting served?” Robert questioned, handing the menus back after all of you ordered. That made Tom giggle and explain the whole show to him. Chris hid his face behind his hand and stopped himself from laughing.

Moments later Gordon himself walked up to your table and greeted everyone politely. “Good evening, thank you for coming,” which you all returned with smiles and murmurs.

Then the celebrity chef left for the kitchen to attend to the contestants. “Listen up, look who just arrived. The cast of Avengers.”

Some of the amateur chefs turned their heads away from their tasks to get a good look.

“I almost dropped my pan,” a chef from the red team laughed. “Honestly I wouldn’t hesitate to switch with the blue team just to make sure they get a good service tonight. I love the Avengers.”

“That’s Iron Man!”

“Who?”

“They have a new movie coming out, right?”

“Chris Evans is literally - sitting - right - there.” A chef from the blue team squealed. “It’s such an honor. He looks beautiful in person.”

All of you gave little waves, smiles and Tom gave a thumbs up as encouragement. Soon the attention from your table died and you were in silent conversation among yourselves.

“They’re offering us the chef’s table over there,” Robert pointed out to the vacant one over by the blue team. “Should we? What do you guys think?”

“Woah, no way, really?” Tom looked at you excitedly (as if the both of you weren’t famous actors and being at the chef’s table were your wildest dreams).

You had doubts. Sitting cramped (because as far as you knew that table seated about four people max) and listening to a British chef lose his shit meters away...

“Doesn’t he yell a lot though?” Chris said silently, referring to Ramsay. He did recall watching that lamb sauce online.

“As much as I’d love to,” you chuckled. “I’m having same thoughts. We’re better off watching from afar, Tom.”

“I agree,” Scarlett nodded and the waiter got the hint, walking away.

The service went on. You and Tom were watching them cook while still trying to look appropriate and mature for the cameras filming on the side. The sounds of trays clanking echoes the room, the amateur chefs froze like deers in headlights, looking at the man who owns the restaurant. Soon enough, Ramsay’s long string of profanity joined in.

“Oh boy,” Robert casually sipped on his drink while watching the celebrity chef throwing the raw pieces of meat in the trash.

You and Chris visibly flinched as Ramsay yelled at a poor contestant on the red team, sending them to the storage closet for a chat. You obviously knew what was coming to that chef.

“Both of you, just fuck off! Get out!”

“The risotto is burnt, look at it! It’s burnt!”

After some time it was noticeable that both teams were fucking up their dinner services. Your table had finished the first course, your plates were taken away now and the next course was taking too long.

“I am so sorry, the food still needs a few more minutes. They have to re-plate everything.” Ramsay approached your table to apologize but he sent glares when he looked back at the teams as if telling them to hurry the fuck up.

“No problem, right guys? We just need a few more of these,” Robert gestured to the bottle of champagne and Chris laughed heartily. “Oh, and,” he leaned over to whisper something to the chef.

“A bit of motivation, since all of you seem to be giving up,” the chef announced to the contestants when he got back to the kitchen. “The winning team of tonight’s service will receive a  gift card for Avengers: Infinity War.”

Some of the guests cheered, most of the amateur chefs upped their game. Few of them didn’t know what an Avengers do-hickey was but they sped up anyway.

“...and a hug from Chris Evans!” You called out loud enough for Ramsay to hear. Your co-stars burst out laughing, Chris being the loudest, he nodded his head to confirm it.

Ramsay let out a chuckle and added, “and a hug from Captain America himself.”

“Hi! I’ll be serving your desserts for tonight,” a member of the blue team strolled over with dessert ingredients prepped. She was younger than most of her team members, she was in charge of the tableside service. They were a couple more delays for the previous course, you and Scarlett’s meals were served late, but it was worth it. The food was great. “It’s an honor to meet all of you, me and siblings love the Avengers.”

Both you and Tom grinned at that.

“Got a favorite?” Robert wiggled his eyebrows making the chef giggle. He pointed to himself and made disgusted looks to Chris as if they were the only choices.

“I gotta say Black Widow, she’s so badass.” She laughed. Scarlett stuck her tongue out to both men and fist bumped the chef, then leaving her to do her job. “So what I’m going to be making for you is...”

Tom was asking questions here and there, intrigued by it.  No wonder her team was falling apart at the kitchen, she looks more composed than any of her teammates.

Ramsay yelled out the chef’s name after she served the last dessert. The rest of her team was sent back before the night ended, so she had to go as well.

“But you did great!” Tom frowned.

“Yeah, the dessert was amazing.” You smiled.

“I’m still part of their team. But thank you, I appreciate it,” she shrugged, smiling, pulling off her apron and dashing to the back kitchen.

Once the restaurant closed you all thanked Gordon for the wonderful food. He asked for a group photo before leaving.

But you still had to wait for Chris since he owed the red team a bunch of hugs (and pictures, for sure).

[madamewriterofwrongs]

Soft Eddie thought: the first time he mentions Buck in passing as 'my husband' and then all of a sudden it hits him for the first time that, holy shit, he has a *husband*! And either tears up a little or can't stop smiling.

Hey Nonny, I hope you see this, I know it’s been awhile. 

Subconsciously Drawn Together

911/Buddie

Eddie would never call what he feels a crush – after all, he’s a grown adult who hasn’t had a crush on anyone since Jenny Rodriguez broke his heart in eighth grade by picking Eugene as her lab partner instead of him. (Coincidentally, they are both married to someone named Makayla and neither of them lived outside of Texas for more than a few months).

He always thought that would be him. Not, married to Jenny or Eugene (or either Makayla for that matter), but there was a part of him that knew he was destined to live a quiet life. Marriage, children, maybe a dog and a white picket fence if they wanted to be really cliched. And he was okay with that – he really was. For Eddie, there was no other life than the one laid out for him.

Going to war didn’t change that. A poor country boy joining the military to provide for his pregnant wife back home? Even pulp fiction novelists thought it was too obvious. But, again, he never minded living an uninteresting life. Not everyone was destined for adventure and drama. Most people were made to get through the day.

Even when the nightmares came and he struggled to keep his family together, it just seemed like the next chapter in his boring novelization of a life. Everyone had marital troubles after coming home, everyone had bad dreams and phantom pains. Everyone worried where the money would come from to support their family. Everyone snuck into their son’s room to watch him sleep because they were afraid to admit that they’d forgotten what he looked like while he was away. Everyone felt guilt and shame and fear and regret. It was a part of life.

And then his wife left and his parents offered to take Christopher and for one moment, the thought crossed his mind. Could he let his son go (be with people who could stay at home and give him the care he needed)? Could he forget about Shannon and move somewhere else? Could he start over (relive his 20s in the carefree manner he’d seen others struggling to find)? Could he run away again and make it stick this time?

By the end of the week, he and Christopher were packed into his truck and headed to Los Angeles.

It didn’t feel like running away when he was mumbling his way through the Frozen soundtrack or listening to his son talk about his old school’s pet turtle that he’ll miss (and wonder what kind of pets the kids in Los Angeles got to have). It didn’t feel like running away then. It felt like they were running towards something.

Running towards a new life, of sorts, as it turned out. Sure, he still dealt with his parents’ criticism, and Shannon came back into their lives and for a moment, it felt like she’d never left him. But in LA, he had a purpose, he had freedom. For the first time in a long time, Eddie looked forward to opening his door in the mornings; for the first time in a long time, he never knew exactly what to expect, and LA was full of surprises.

The biggest surprise of all was named Evan Buckley.

Buck was a lot of things: a friend, a skilled firefighter, endearingly enthusiastic, subtle as a brick, and the first person outside of his real family that he called ‘family’ and truly meant it. He loved the men and women he served with in Afghanistan, but the moment they departed at the airport, he lost that connection. Joining the 118 had been a way to get that back and it had worked out fantastically. He had sports fanatics to cheer with, parents of blended families to vent with, people who knew his past and loved him despite it all.

Eddie never told anyone (except his therapist who never commented on it, but made a face that said they’d circle back to it at a later date), but he felt as though he’d known Buck for years. Once the man opened up to him, the trust he felt was strong, and the way he took an instant affection to Christopher made it easy to let this man into his life.

Within less than a year of joining the LA Fire Department however, his world imploded.

Or exploded, actually. First Shannon died, then Buck was injured, then his son was nearly taken by a natural disaster and he didn’t even know it. He spent so much time after that trying to put the pieces back together. For all the things he’d assumed his life would be – a wife and kid and a white picket fence �� the only thing he had left was a son now dealing with immense trauma for such a young child to handle. And he had Buck (who was so bright and eager to please that one might describe him as a puppy at times). Nothing of his life had turned out the way it was meant to.

Suddenly, a year had passed since Shannon’s death and his life was still an unrecognizable sort of decagon shape instead of the standard cookie cutter circle. But none of that mattered because he was staring into bright brown eyes and a luminescent smile that was telling him that he was doing a wonderful job of raising Christopher on his own.

Others had been trying to tell him that for years (never the ones whose opinion meant to world to him, but he was learning to let that go) but that beautiful face was so sincere that he forgot himself. He forgot that he was a widow with a grieving son. He forgot the fear and regret that went along with the phantom pains when the weather turned cold. He forgot that he had failed in his ambition to live an entirely ordinary life. For a moment he thought: ‘when she smiles at me, I feel happy’.

He wanted to feel that way again.

There were several reasons that things just wouldn’t work out with Ana. For one: she was Christopher’s teacher, and even if it wasn’t against the rules, it still felt wrong. Two: he’d seen the moment she thought differently about him after he yelled at her at school. She was too professional and kind to say anything but even if it was possible, she was definitely no longer interested. The third reason was that he was a firefighter who worked insane hours and when he wasn’t at work, he was home with his son. There wasn’t exactly a lot of time for dating. Fourth: she wasn’t Buck.

That thought had been the one that kept him up at night. It had come to him while he stood in the shower, recounting his day, wondering how long he had until it would be time to pick up Christopher from school. He wasn’t feeling overly ambitious so he figured spaghetti and meatballs would be perfect for supper. He wondered what it would be like to cook for someone who wasn’t ten years old. Someone he could cook beside without having to keep a constant eye. There were times (in the early days with Shannon) where the two of them would cook together, do laundry, clean, do all the domestic things side by side. She had been insistent that they both learn to care for the house that they shared and he was happy to stand beside her in all things.

Remember to throw Buck’s gym clothes in the laundry next time he comes over. He keeps forgetting to throw them in his basket.

A simple little thought, really. He’d thought it before. His friend would leave his gym bag by the door for work and forget to empty it out when he went to do laundry. It was unlikely that anyone other than Eddie noticed the state of Buck’s clothes, but he’d been paying closer attention to him lately. Like how after the train derailment, his smile seemed easier; his shoulders relaxed more often – especially when he was with the 118 or Christopher. Buck seemed happy now that he’d gotten his closure from Abby.

He deserves to be happy. He makes me feel happy.

Buck did make him feel happy. The way he interacted with Christopher, the way he entrusted his son to this man without a second thought. But even when Christopher wasn’t around, Eddie enjoyed Buck’s company. Going to baseball games (dragging him, more like), sitting together when the crew went out for drinks after work. With Buck, he felt…

Safe.

Which wasn’t surprising, really. Buck was a kind man. Sweet and thoughtful. He put other’s first – just like Eddie does, he could hear Frank’s voice in his mind – and cared deeply about the people in his life. Not to mention, he was physically a very strong figure. In some other life, he and Buck met on the wrestling circuit but never fought. Him: with his MMA, and Buck: with his Greco-Roman Wrestling. With those broad shoulders and firm arms, he wouldn’t mind being pulled into a stronghold once or twice.

He knew Buck was conventionally attractive from the day they met. There was no hiding the sharp blue eyes or curly blond hair and rounded jaw.

Nothing like Ana.

Another correct statement that still seemed ominous in context. Why was he comparing Buck to Ana – or Shannon, for that matter? It wasn’t fair to compare friends to lovers. Although, Buck did fit into several categories on both sides.

Buck was a loyal friend, caring and trustworthy. He made Eddie and Christopher feel safe and loved. He wanted to do Buck’s laundry. He thought he was attractive. Slowly, one side of the column began to build in size.

Perhaps Buck was a bigger part of Eddie’s life than he realized. He hadn’t thought seriously about dating anyone until Ana and that never felt right but Buck…

Buck always felt right. Like he belonged with them. Like he’d known them all his life.

Could it be that Eddie wanted something other than friendship? Had he been climbing the wrong ladder all this time only to find himself at the top with no way across? After all: Buck had never given any indication that he was romantically interested in Eddie.

Though, to be fair, Eddie had given no indication either.

But that was because he’d just figured it out. Surely Buck had some idea that best friends didn’t act the way they did. Or maybe he didn’t. Maybe he wasn’t interested, in any way, with Eddie. Could he forget it and go back to the way things were? Now that his fingers seemed to tingle with the new realization, could he take it back? Could he put those feelings in a box until someone else came along?

Would there be anyone else?

What did he want to happen with Buck?

Kissing him, for starters, might be interesting. Those plump, pink lips exploring his entire body. Having someone in his bed every night would be nice – and not just anyone, but someone who understood his work and the stressors of the day. If anyone was going to stand by his side while he freaked out about Christopher going on his first date, it should be Buck. Next to Eddie, that man was the most protective when it came to that little boy. He’d only seen it once or twice but Eddie knew that Buck looked good in a suit. Would he look even better in a tux? Years from now, when he retired from the LAFD, it would be nice to feel the weight of a ring on his finger, knowing he had someone he loved waiting at home.

Oh.

Oh damn.

Eddie’s shower ran a little bit longer than expected that day.

That simple thought had sent him on a spiral two weeks ago and every night that he struggled to fall asleep, he found himself rolling to the empty side of the bed, wondering what it would be like to wake up next to his best friend.

The conclusion he inevitably came to: it would be wonderful.

If the worlds aligned, of course. He hadn’t spoken to anyone about his sudden, escalating realization (not even Frank). There was no way to know if Buck reciprocated his feelings in any way. Though he knew with uncanny certainty that he would be safe to confess his feelings without fear of losing his relationship entirely, it still seemed safer to gather more information before making any sort of move.

I’m safe with Buck no matter what.

So, no. Eddie would not describe what he felt for Buck as a simple ‘crush’.

It was everything.

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

The accident scene was a mess. It always was. They so rarely rolled up on an event that was neatly organized – not that it would make him any less stressed or worried for the safety of his patients. It was his job to worry, to be surrounded by chaos. Perhaps that was his new normal now, and his idea of an ordinary life had shifted to one that involved heavier boots.

There was still a sense of satisfaction and ease, knowing that he got to go home to his son every night, that he was helping people, and there were people in his life who loved and supported him. Unlike his old army mates (as strong as those relationships were), he also knew that if he woke up and decided to be a baker instead of a firefighter, the 118 would still treat him as one of their own.

Perhaps ‘baker’ wasn’t the best example, baking had never been one of his favourite activities. A florist, or a construction worker, maybe. Firefighting meant a lot to him but it wasn’t his calling – the way it was for his… for Buck. How would the man react if one day, Eddie told him that they would no longer be partners in work? There was no doubt in his mind that Buck would still be over on Thursday nights with pizza and video games. And perhaps if Eddie was working more regular hours, he could go over to Buck’s on occasion and make dinner for the three of them. That would be a nice surprise. Buck would smile that impossibly bright smile and open his arms to Christopher, swinging the boy around gently because he was overly cautious about roughhousing with him – something that only made Eddie’s heart beat faster. Then, Buck would make his way over to Eddie and kiss him with a sort of reverence; like he can’t quite believe that Eddie’s real. He could rest assured that the feeling was mutual.

What a ridiculously outdated fantasy. He’d clearly grown up watching too much ‘I Love Lucy’.

The firefighter shook his head as he hopped out of the truck, turning his thoughts towards the work at hand.

That was something he’d always been good at: focus and calm under pressure. It was what had made becoming a firefighter so appealing. Sure, being a combat medic meant he was more than qualified for field rescues, but all that stoic strength he possessed was better used at work rather than at home. At home, he could be Christopher’s dad. At work, he was Firefighter Diaz.

There was no room for fantasies in Firefighter Diaz’s mind.

The chaos of the accident mostly consisted of cries of pain from passengers trapped in their vehicles as they tried in vain to free themselves before the qualified company could arrive. It wasn’t uncommon to come across a major pile up in the middle of the day, when Angelenos weren’t kept at a complete standstill, and impatient drivers were a staple of life in the LAFD.

Eddie took his orders from Bobby, clearing a path of bystanders for the heavy equipment, and assisting those who were stuck somewhere between freeing themselves and receiving a particularly crude hemicorporectomy. For all the noise, it was a relatively calm affair. Sure, some were screaming and crying – and one woman definitely threw a fit when told to climb out the passenger-side window of her shattered vehicle. But those in need of help received the assistance they required, and the worst injury they encountered was a broken rib and neck bruise from a young man who remained conscious throughout his entire extraction.

It was messy, it was chaotic, it was loud, but it was all right. There were still a few people with minor concussions and bloody wounds that could hopefully be tended to at the scene (most of them unwilling to take the ambulance ride if it wasn’t strictly necessary). He was admittedly a little hyper-focused today, his mind fighting the urge to wander away from its regular duties. Eddie chided himself for feeling so lovesick at work. He’d gone all this time loving Buck, he could handle a few more hours. It was that hyper focus which would be his undoing.

“All right, I think you’re going to be just fine. Head on over to my husband over there and he’ll get you some gauze for your arm.”

An innocent enough sentence – one that didn’t register in his mind through the haze of moving from one patient to the next – but one that only fed into that dangerous fantasy of his.

“What did you call Buck?”

And one that Chimney had apparently heard loud and clear.

Eddie blinked, as he kept his eyes trained on the man before him (some poor bystander who’d bumped his head when he’d stumbled backwards to avoid the oncoming collisions), determined to remain professional in the face of his own idiocy.

Clicking his penlight on with a little too much enthusiasm, he shook the device over his patient’s face. “Can you look up, sir?” Eddie felt his coworker’s eyes trained on him but he kept his focus on his work. As he continued his examination, Chimney crept closer, eyebrows furrowed in confusion and amusement but still, the ex-soldier remained stoic as ever. Some part of Eddie knew that ignoring his friend now would only lead to a confrontation later but right now, he had work to do. And dividing his attention between his duty and his teasing friends was not how he wanted to spend his afternoon. So, he stayed focused. After a few moments, he saw Chimney shake his head and move away, letting Eddie take a much-needed breath of relief.

He was safe from his own stupid brain. For now.

Eddie knew it was coming when Chimney let him be during the rest of their scene cleanup. It was inevitable; but knowing and experiencing were two entirely separate matters.

“So.” Chimney wore what could only be described as a ‘shit-eating grin’ as he began his sentence, pulling all eyes in the back of the truck to him. “Is there something that Buck and Eddie would like to tell us?”

Buck, innocent as ever, turned to Eddie for guidance. “No…?” Eddie could only stare out the window, sorely tempted to remove his headphones if only to prolong the inevitable conversation. Was he blushing or was his face simply burning from the inside out?

“Are you sure?” The man was unrelenting, his voice growing higher with his escalating amusement. As if giving them a chance to confess would be easier than Chimney spilling the truth.

Not that there was any truth to confess. There was just one, very, very, idiotic man who got one simple crush and couldn’t keep it in his pants.

“Chim, what’s going on?”

There were two options Eddie faced in this moment where his head filled with warning sirens (not dissimilar to the ones that normally filled the truck). He could come clean and confess his sins to the team, facing the consequences with what meager amount of dignity he had left. Or, he could lie and pretend Chimney had misheard him, and they could all go about their day. That seemed the safer option. Of course, he hated lying to his team – to his friends – but what was the alternative?

“I called Buck my husband at the scene.”

Apparently, the alternative was exclaiming his idiocy in front of his teammates and denying the flash of a smile on his partner’s face. It was a simple upturn twitch of his lip, hardly noticeable, but the only opinion that mattered to Eddie as he gave his confession was from the man sitting across from him – and he was decidedly attuned to Buck’s ever-changing expressions. On a normal day, he enjoyed the way their knees bumped as the truck bounced through the streets of Los Angeles; it was just another reminder of how connected they were. Now, it made the space between them feel too close – yet still not close enough.

Buck’s face, upon hearing the news that Eddie had tied them together in the mind of some random stranger, flickered once before falling to something neutral and curious (almost amused). As if he was studying something.

“Oh, I don’t mind.” His partner shrugged and Eddie’s heart stopped. “Were they hitting on you?”

Again, Eddie appeared at a crossroads. “No.” And chose the more embarrassingly honest answer.

“Were they hitting on me?”

“No.” So many forks in his path but he continued to veer in one direction, as Buck furrowed his brows in confusion.

“Then why did you”

“I don’t know.” Eddie tried to sound casual as he grumblingly cut him off before he could continue his innocent interrogation. Through the headset, he could hear Chimney snort in disbelief but his eyes remained solely locked on his partner.

He knew why Chimney might scoff at his dismissal – those type of slipups didn’t ‘just happen’, after all – but it was as close to the truth as he could muster. He didn’t know why he’d said what he said. His mind was still frazzled from long hours contemplating what he wanted and what he felt.

Apparently, his subconscious had taken over and now he had his answer.

An answer which was decidedly too large to attempt to unpack while he was still on duty.

He wanted Buck to be his husband. He was ready to get married again – and to his best friend, no less. All wonderful information to process at another time.

The rest of the trip back to the station was filled with noise: the roar of the engine, the shout of the horn when someone inevitably cut them off, the clank of metal against metal. Eddie’s head was silent. He stared out the window at the passing world, feeling the eyes of his partner drilling into his cheek for a time, and then return to his phone. No one spoke, but the absence of voice was deafening. Teasing or pestering would have been better than the juxtaposing silence that told him everyone knew what he’d meant.

Buck had given him every out for his little mistake and, instead, Eddie had barreled straight into his own demise. There was no other explanation as to why he’d said what he said: he’d meant it. Or wanted to mean it, rather. Sure, his dirty little secret had been outed, but Buck had yet to make a comment one way or the other.

I don’t mind.

One friend helping out another: that was what it meant to Buck. And he loved that. But there was no mistaking now what Eddie felt in his heart.

He wanted it to mean something else.

Climbing out of the truck at the end of their journey was harder than usual. The silent stares wouldn’t stop because they were back at the station, it would only be worsened by the fact that there was nothing else to focus on. Eddie never prayed for a call – and he still wouldn’t now – but if there was any mercy in the world, he could avoid all of his friends and co-workers for the rest of their shift.

Simple enough.

“Hey.” Eddie cursed at the familiar voice following him towards the cubbies. Naturally, they were alone, naturally, there was no real excuse to leave – and apparently, he’d decided to suppress his ability to tell white lies for the sake of his pride today – naturally, his heart pounded behind his eyelids as Buck stopped jogging in front of him.

“I just want to say…” and here came the inevitable turndown Eddie dreaded and secretly hoped would never come. “It’s okay, I get it.” Buck’s smile was small but sincere. That man couldn’t be anything less than sincere.

It’s one of the reasons why I lo-

“It was just a slip of the tongue,” Eddie cut off his own thoughts before they betrayed him the way his subconscious had. He needed at least some of his faculties to survive the day. “Don’t worry about it.”

He stepped to the side, intending to escape his own personal hell – was it always this hot in the station? Did they always stand so close to one another? How had he never realized his feelings before now? – but Buck blocked his path.

“No, really, it’s fine.” Was Buck blushing now? “I kind of think of you as my work-husband, too.”

Another perfect opportunity for an out. He could flounder excuses about being tired and meaning it in a work-related setting the way Buck implied.

“Right.” His words sounded weak to his own ears. Who knew what they sounded like to Buck, as the man finally let him pass. Freedom secured, Eddie quickened his pace so as to escape the curious eyes of his fellow crewmates as quickly as possible.

Or at least, that was the plan, until Buck called out: “But you know, I’m free tonight if you wanted to talk about it.”

It felt as though the world stopped spinning – but the distant sound of clanking cutlery from the loft reminded him that it had not. His stomach dropped into his shoes, and his skin burst into flames from the buzzing in his ears. Eddie pivoted on his heel slowly to face his partner, uncertain he’d even heard the words he’d said. But there was Buck, blushing as brightly as he felt, but smiling a much more lopsided grin.

“Talk about what?” He cautiously asked.

Buck moved first, filling the minimal space Eddie had put between them with his broad chest and bright, eager eyes. He smelled of smoke and pine (despite interacting with neither today) and a thin sheen of sweat made him appear more disheveled than perhaps he was. Had he always been so intoxicating? What were they talking about?

“About being husbands… outside of work.”

“What?” Now Eddie was certain that he’d misheard his friend.

Buck simply smirked in response to his question, eyes moving slowly over Eddie’s face. He was always examining, questioning, confident. He had been doomed from the start.

“Christopher’s in bed at eight, right?”

“We’re pushing it to eight-thirty.” His mouth moved on autopilot, too stunned to comprehend the sudden shift in subject.

Again, Buck’s blue eyes circled his face slowly, absorbing all Eddie’s focus as he felt himself physically affected from the mere sight of his partner with his knowing grin and wandering eye. So entranced was he, that he didn’t notice how closely the other man had leaned into his space until he felt his hot breath against his skin. Eddie swallowed the lump in his throat.

He was absolutely doomed.

When Buck spoke, his tongue danced along his teeth, an enticing show of some unfulfilled fantasy that had never occurred to Eddie in the first place.

“Then I’ll be there at eight-thirty-one.”

Buck’s flirtatious demeanor melted into a giddy smile that snapped through the tension he’d pulled between them. “I was a little- a lot worried you didn’t feel the same.” He confessed, still filling Eddie’s space with his infectious energy. One word from him, and Eddie melted.

“You…were…” No more words filled his mind beyond a string of victorious swears and the sound of panicked cheering, but Buck seemed to understand him nonetheless. Buck had always understood him.

“I’ll see you tonight.”

If he hadn’t been so preoccupied with using the truck to keep his legs underneath him, he would have turned to see Buck walk away, pumping his fist in excitement. As it was, several crewmembers looked on from the balcony, shaking their heads at the pair of idiots acting like lovesick teenagers over a single date.

Chimney shooed them all away before taking the opportunity to shout: “Buck, tell your husband that lunch is ready.” Which earned him more than a few chuckles from the firefighters upstairs, and two overexaggerated groans from the men below.

They were definitely not going to be living this down for a while.

For once, Eddie didn’t mind – and if the grin plastered on Buck’s face for the rest of the shift was any indication, neither did he.

[thecandywrites]

Monster March Day 21- Ghost My Samantha Part 4 Finalle

Ok, so here’s the hardest part of this story. Where we have character deaths. And everything comes full circle. But it has a happy ending. Hope you enjoyed reading. 

My Samantha 

Part 4- Finalle

Then the next dream you had with Jack, you were pregnant, only a month into it as your courses had not come since Charlie had visited you last. 

“Are you alright Samantha?” Jack asked you as you brought in his breakfast but you looked like you were ready to hurl. 

“No, I’m not.” You admitted. 

“What’s wrong My Love?” He asked. 

“My courses didn’t come.” You said plainly. 

“Well, I wouldn’t have expected…” 

“They haven’t come since Charles was with me last. Which means I don’t know if you’re the father or if he…” You started to say as your voice got thick with emotion before you suddenly gave way to tears. 

“Hey, hey, it’s alright. It’s alright.” He readily assured you. 

“What do I do? If Charles’ parents find out I’m pregnant, they will surely demand that I stay. Because they will see themselves as the rightful grandparents of this baby just as much as they are the grandparents of Lillybet and Eddie. This is why they have widows wait a year and a day- just for this. I wanted to be free of him, but it seems like he keeps ahold of me even beyond the grave. How can you marry me when..” You began to cry before Jack silenced you with a firm kiss. 

“I will still marry you. And if we have to put that Charles fathered the baby, when this baby comes, then so be it. But he’s dead. Charles is dead. And I swear on my life, I will love this child as if it was my own anyway. And I will happily still marry you no matter what. Do not doubt for a moment that I will not be with you through all of this. Do not doubt for a second that I will ever abandon you or your children. I will claim them as my own. I will always love them as my own. Charlie’s family can hang for all I care. They do not have any rights to you and your children. That you do not possess of your own and in just a few short months, once I can marry you, I will send you to America where it’s safe. I will adopt all of your children as my own and my parents will have no choice but to accept you. And all you need to do is wait for me to come home after that. That’s all you need to do. We just need to wait. It will be fine. At least with Charles’ coming back, none of the managers can accuse you of any wrong doing with me. And at least you are above suspicion to them. But if I have to move you into this hotel room to stay with me as my guest, I will. Or if you were to prefer to stay in the country with your other children and your parents, then that’s what we will do. All that matters is that you and our children are safe. That’s all that matters.” Jack insisted. 

“Ok.” You nodded before you tried to go about your day before you had no choice but to report to Bess as to why you didn’t have your courses. 

“I knew that Bastard would leave one last one in you. You poor thing. Will you be needing to go to your parent’s farm now?” She asked. 

“No, I want to stay. I want to stay and keep taking care of Captain Maywhether and his men. Because the wages and the tips are too good to give up now. I’ll stay and serve as long as I can. It’s my duty as an Englishwoman to do the right thing and help our allies if it means it will end this bloody war sooner than later so that no other woman will have to suffer the losses I have.” You insisted to her. 

“God bless your soul Lass. If that’s what you wish. Then so be it. You order anything you want from the room services, have it sent to any of those rooms at any time whether those lads are there or not. Who knows what you could be craving. Don’t you let anyone give you any lip or sass about it.” Bess insisted. 

“But can I ask you a personal question?” Bess asked after a beat. 

“Yes.” You nodded. 

“What does the Captain think of this?” She asked you. 

“He doesn’t care, he’ll take me as I am and take my family as they are, even with the addition.” You admitted a bit bashfully. 

“Good.” Bess nodded.

And suddenly the dream seemed to speed up- as your belly grew larger and larger as Jack got more and more doting but also more and more worried because with every day that your belly swelled, he got more anxious because he didn’t want anything to happen to you as threats of London getting bombed seemed more and more real. 

Until the worst possible thing happened. London got bombed. And you found yourself and the dogs under some debris. And you still had at least another month to go in your pregnancy. But being trapped in the debris, you started to go into labor. 

“Oh God in heaven no, not now, not now!” You yelled as you clutched your belly as the contractions started as both dogs licked at your face and your tears, trying to give you comfort as you felt in the darkness to make sure that the dogs themselves weren’t hurt as you could feel that your legs were crushed behind you, by a piece of stone, but you were otherwise ok. But that also meant that kept you in a kneeling position on your knees as you screamed as loud as you could, covering the dog’s ears so that your scream didn’t hurt their hearing before the dogs tried to dig you out. 

“Help me! Someone help me!” You screamed between coughing fits as your labor progressed before you heard Jack’s unmistakable yell. 

“Samantha!” You heard Jack scream in horror when the hotel was partially collapsed. 

“Jack!” You screamed back as the dogs barked. 

“Samantha! Samantha! Where are you?!” Jack screamed back as he followed the sounds of your screams and the dogs barking before he found the pile of rubble before he and his men tried digging you out. 

“Jack!” You screamed when you felt the rubble around you shift. 

“Samantha! Are you ok?!” Jack asked worriedly through the rubble.  

“I’m trapped! My legs, they’re trapped behind me, under the rubble!” You answered. 

“Just hang on, I’m going to dig you out!” Jack told you as he had his men focus on where you were. 

“Hurry! The baby’s coming! It’s too soon, but it’s coming anyway!” You called back before another painful contraction hit you and before you knew it, there wasn’t just blood soaking from where your legs were smashed and pinned. But in the dream, your legs simply felt numb. But the contractions, also lessoned from being in a dream- soon sped up as you couldn’t help but scream and cry as the contractions started coming faster and harder as you could tell Jack was trying to get to you as fast as he could as you had the dogs rip your dress away from the rest of your legs so that you could at least try to to sit back and try to feel for the baby as you could feel the head already starting to crown. 

“Jack! The baby is coming! I can feel the head!” You cried as his voice seemed closer. 

Jack felt like his world was falling apart as he hurled huge pieces of rubble out of the way, as the adrenaline in his body gave him almost herculean strength. 

In what felt like an eternity yet no time at all, you gave birth, the dogs never leaving your side as you clung to them, as your life line. 

But by the time, the little space opened up and light broke through, you had given birth- to a stillborn. Because in the bombing, you had fallen directly onto your belly, and that fall was enough to kill the baby as you held the baby in your weakening arms as you tried to breathe life into the baby. But the baby was gone. And soon, you felt, so tired, so incredibly tired as you laid down, trying to use what was left of your dress to wrap the baby as the dogs tried to lick the baby to wake the baby up and keep you awake too. 

Before you closed your eyes and then suddenly, you were floating above the scene, yourself a ghost, holding your son who was clearly, Jack’s son as you watched on as Jack and his men did all they could and were panicked when you stopped screaming and called to you. But you didn’t and couldn’t answer as the dogs continued to whine and bark and it was yet another small eternity yet another moment all at once before your dead body and the body of Jack’s dead baby were unearthed along with Pilot and Captain who had survived. 

You sobbed right alongside Jack to see him cradle you and your dead son to his chest as his men did all they could as Jack could clearly see his own likeness in the baby’s face. His best friend William Mayers helped wrap your body up as Jack refused to let you go until William drove Jack, who still held your mangled body and the dead baby’s body in your arms to the farmhouse. 

Your mother kept Lillybet and Eddie from seeing you like this. But your father sobbed to see you before trading off with your mother so that she could see you and the baby. 

The next scene was your funeral, dressed in the nicest dress you owned, with the baby swaddled at your chest as you were buried on your parent’s plot of land as Jack did his best not to cry for your funeral but he held Lillybet and Eddie in his arms. 

After the funeral, he talked with your parents about what was best for Lillybet and Eddie. And since you were dead, and they were officially orphans, technically your parents had the more rightful claim to them than he did. And with the war still raging, it wasn’t clear if he was going to survive the war himself.

So Jack left it up to Lillybet, if she wanted to go to America when the war was over as his daughter, or if she wanted to stay here. And because you were buried here, Lillybet chose to stay with your remains here, on the farm. Jack respected her decision, but insisted that she keep Pilot and Captain as her own dogs. To protect her when he wasn’t there to do it himself. 

You suddenly remembered from the showing- that General Maywhether tried to leave this house and his estate to a set of orphans in England. They were your children in a past life. That was why he was so drawn to you in the present. That’s why he took such good care of you in the present, even as a ghost, because he didn’t have the chance to take care of you and them then. 

Then the dream simply showed that even after the war, Jack just kept on coming back, visiting Lillybet and Eddie as they grew up, continued to pay for their schooling and even their higher education. But he had blamed himself for your death, wishing he would have made you not work for him as a maid for the hotel anymore. He should have packed you and the kids up and shipped you off to America so much sooner. You would have been safer, would have lived. You yould have survived. 

And he never forgave himself or his parents for not letting him get you to their house safely in America sooner. And while Jack did his best to remain as close as he could with Lillybet and Eddie. They still grew up, only knowing him as an estranged father figure. Because he threw himself into his military career because that’s all he had left to live for.

And only when it was the second world war, did he take two of the many great grand dogs of Pilot and Captain since Pilot and Captain served as studs on the farm with him when he was pulled into the second world war.  

And then all of a sudden, you found yourself, in France. Your husband off to fight the second world war, leaving you to leave your children at your parent’s vineyard and you to serve as a maid in a hotel. As Jack, no longer a captain, but a general now, 20 years older, 20 years grayer and 20 years of regret plaguing him later came into the hotel with his men, William Mayer still his right hand man who was now, a Captain himself. 

Until he took one look at you and froze. Because you looked like you hadn’t aged a day. You were still a maid in a hotel he was staying at. 

“Can I help you Monsieur?” You asked him as he and William looked at you like you were a ghost yourself. 

“Yes, what is your name?” He asked. 

“I am Mademoiselle Samantha Farrioughn.” You answered. 

“Do you have any children Mademoiselle?” He asked. 

“Oui, I have a daughter, her name is Elisabelle she’s four and a son, Edmond, only he is only two,” You answered as Jack clearly had a hard time believing his eyes and ears. That twenty years later- God was giving him a second chance at love. Granted there was now a twenty year age gap. But here you were, a French woman this time, similar name, similar age, but still Samantha. His Samantha. Your heart and soul still the same. 

But this series of dreams, Jack sped up for you, so that it was as if you were falling in love with him all over again. Even with the age difference, even with the language barrier. As he learned French and you learned English. Still a crappy first husband that he happily made sure he died so that nothing could get in the way of him finally getting a chance to redo what he had messed up back in England twenty years prior. 

But it had the exact same outcome. You would get seven months pregnant, fall prey to a bomb. Die in the debris and your children still chose your final resting place at your parent’s vineyard over becoming his children and heirs and him leaving his dogs with them so that they would continue to look after them. And Jack still paying for them to go to school and to college. Only this time, it was you who were the ghost who went home with him. To this house, still rather untouched by time. 

But by now, he was the only one left surviving. His younger brother died of polio, his sister, to tuberculosis and his parents to pneumonia. 

He was all alone in this house with only your ghosts to keep him company in this big empty house, full of all the tortuous ‘what if’s’. 

You laid in bed with him, trying to hold him, the baby at your breast, never aging past a newborn as it was you, who were the ghost in the mirrors and in his dreams. Sometimes taking on your English self and sometimes taking on your French self. As Jack was so heartrbroken and hurting, he just didn’t want to live anymore. He had lost you twice. He could not bear to try to find you and tempt fate by losing you a third time. So he made his friend William, swear that the house and it’s contents and every worldly possession he owned would be saved for when you really did come to this home. 

And only when he died, did he get to spend only a short time with you in the afterlife. Together with the baby before you were pulled back into the real world again, leaving him all alone with this house once more. Trying to patiently wait for you to come to him once more. And while he tolerated the others trying to “improve” and “update” the house. The moment they tried to simply turn a profit and try to sell to anyone who was not you-, he would haunt them something awful until they could only add to his Trust and then leave with their lives. Over and over again. 

Until you finally came. Still His Samantha, still in your mid twenties, still with two children, one Elizabeth and one Edward. 

And now he could finally be at peace, knowing that you were safe from your ex. And that he and this house would care for you the way he always meant to all those years ago. 

And with that, you woke up. Both saddened yet grateful that at least you had his home to call your own now. That at least even if he was a ghost. He was here with you now and that nothing was going to separate you from him ever again.

But this is where the strange dreams, showing you in a previous life stopped and while your dreams continued to show Jack, they were entirely of your own imagination. And nothing else. But the dreams explained why you had come here and why the house and it’s furnishings were yours. And it gave you and Jack a sense of closure. But that only seemed to be the beginning of Jack’s appearances, as soon your little family could see him both in the waking world and the dreaming one. And the sex with Jack’s ghost continued to blow you away. 

It wasn’t until right before you were supposed to finally be facing Casey in court that you started to feel sick. Like you ate something you weren’t supposed to and got nauseated and threw up a lot. The first couple of days you chalked it up to being stressed about court. Even though all of Casey’s other family members simply took a plea bargain so that they didn’t have to face to court, but Casey was adamant that he was going to have his day in court and that he hadn’t consciously done anything wrong. But on the third day, you took yourself to the clinic in town. 

“Well congratulations, you’re pregnant.” The doctor said as he got the results from the pregnancy test back before they ran an ultrasound to see how far along you were and to your surprise, you were only three months along, at the end of your first trimester and about to go into your second.  

“I’m what?” You asked. 

“No, that’s not possible, I haven’t had sex in…” You tried to say ‘ in over a year with Casey’ but the thought of having all of that sex both in and out of the dream with Jack, suddenly was called to your mind. 

“A... while.” You admitted. 

“Do you know who the father is?” The doctor asked. 

“Um, well, that’s hard to say.” You found yourself saying as your cheeks flushed because how in the world were you supposed to tell the doctor that ‘you had been having sex, with a ghost, in your haunted house,’ and not immediately be put into a psych ward? 

“Do you need to run a paternity test?” The doctor, Dr. Kimble asked. 

“Yeah, I do.” You agreed before they ran the test. 

And five days later, they had you run another one as you got more ultrasounds because since you were a single mom and what your “official” income was- you obviously qualified for all kinds of special programs and insurances. And now you were four months along. And it lined up perfectly with the day that Jack came out of that picture and had sex with you in the waking world for the first time, when you found your IUD in your bedding. 

And when the results of both paternity tests came back with the same result. The doctor called you in and gave you the news himself. 

“So, I don’t know exactly how to say this, but this child’s father- is actually General Maywhether.” Dr. Kimble rather shakily said. 

“H..how is that possible? What would you have that you could test that against? He’s been dead since shortly after the second world war.” You asked. 

“I don’t know. But you…you somehow are.” Dr. Kimble informed you.  

“We had to test it against some blood left behind on one of the General’s weapons that Mayer’s Law Firm and Trust had. And what’s more, is you should probably go to Mayers Law Firm and Trust for more answers. Because since this child is actually an heir. It’s entitled to the contents of the Trust.” He told you. 

“Ok…” You frowned before you got dressed and did as the doctor told you to, with the results of both paternity tests in your hand. 

“Hey, Samantha, thanks for coming in, I just got the call from the doctor. Congratulations on the pregnancy.” Bill offered with a rather cheerful smile. 

“Yeah, about that, I don’t.. I don’t understand…how…” You stuttered as you struggled to wrap your head around how Jack could have knocked you up when he was…dead. And clearly, a ghost. 

“Well the how doesn’t really matter. What does matter is that you are now carrying the rightful heir to the Maywhether Trust and since that heir is a minor and obviously still in the womb. That means that as their mother, the entire trust is now yours until they are born and can turn 21 to inherit it fully.” He insisted before he pulled you to the office and took out a key and unlocked a huge bank box from one of the older banks before he handed you the key ring that had keys to all kinds of cars and bank lock boxes on it. 

“There’s actually a lot that is a part of the trust that could ever fit into the office, all I need is your signature signing off that you are receiving the trust as the mother and legal guardian to the Maywhether Trust.” He told you before you signed the first page of the huge packet that outlined what was in the trust. With the paternity results being the only thing that was your legal claim to it. 

And once you signed it. Then you got the title to an old car that was in storage, and all kinds of jewelry and then war bonds, and stocks and accounts that the Mayers had always managed over the decades and grew Jack’s modest fortune upon his death, into a massive one. And how every couple who tried to own the house, and even flip it, had also added to the trust before they moved out of the house. They added money, they added CD’s and stocks and bonds and jewelry and all kinds of things to the trust. So that the trust was now worth millions of dollars. 

“Oh God.” You said, feeling so overwhelmed by it all as it felt like Bill’s desk was now piled high with folders, all of the folders being one of many in a series of things belonging to the trust as he had box after box of paperwork come out of the back. With the name “Maywhether Trust” written on the boxes in his office. 

“Yeah, sorry to overwhelm you. How about we just take this a little bit at a time. Not try to swallow the whole elephant in one go, just piece by piece, bite by bite.” Bill urged you when you were clearly overwhelmed by just what was in his office. Which wasn’t even all of it. 

“Yeah, yeah, that would be best.” You nodded as he helped moved what he could into your little car and moved everything else into his own car. You drove home, with Bill following you, feeling numb and overwhelmed by it all. 

Bill helped you carry it all in and took up your entire dining room table with all the paperwork and stuff as Bill organized it by what was originally in the trust and then what each person who bought the house, added to the trust since then, further down the table. 

“So what my family has done- is we just waited until the warbonds and the other stock options were at their highest before we sold them, and then restructured the money and then reinvested it on General Maywhether’s behalf- as the guardians of the trust. Since we couldn’t collect anything from the trust ourselves. But we still had to keep the trust “alive” so to speak and still grow it for it’s eventual heir.” Bill explained as he showed you what he and his predecessors had done for the last several decades. 

This was why none of the other couples who tried to “flip” the house had failed. They had borrowed against the house, getting a mortgage and a second mortgage and then used everything from that second mortgage to add to the trust and then have no choice but to declare bankruptcy as you felt that Jack had haunted them something terrible so that they had to add to the trust to leave the house with their lives. 

And now that you owned the house, and were now the legal and rightful heir of the trust, it all came full circle. You knew the why, but the how was still alluding you. 

“So…how much do I owe you for doing all of this over the years?” You asked Bill worriedly. 

“Nothing. It’s been my pleasure to do this. It’s just been something my great grandfather promised to always do for General Maywhether, free of charge. And our Law Firm has never been in danger of closing or bankrupt or anything because of this Trust has always been in our stewardship. And my great grandfather promised General Maywhether that when “His Samantha” would come, that he would know and it’s been fun waiting to finally meet you.” Bill offered easily. Happy and relieved that he could finally hand this over to you. And had a good, legal excuse to do so. 

“None of this makes sense, I’m still stuck on the how.” You admitted. 

“I know, most people will be. But all that matters is that it is. The fact is, is that because of the paternity test and because you are currently pregnant with the only known heir to the Maywhether Trust, that makes you the sole heir and owner of it until the child is born and turns 21.” Bill nodded. 

“So what do I do? What do I tell my family? What do I tell anyone? Won’t anyone want to really investigate who the father of my baby is? Won’t there be other men who try to come and claim to the be the heir of the Trust?” You asked him. 

“No. Samantha, you don’t owe anyone an explanation for anything. You just don’t. All that matters is the facts. And the facts are- that you are definitely pregnant and that your baby is the rightful heir of the Maywhether Trust. That’s it, those are the only facts that matter.” He insisted. 

“So when I give birth, who do I write down as the father of the baby on the baby’s birth certificate?” You asked him. 

“Put ‘unknown’.” Bill suggested.  

“But that doesn’t seem…” 

“I know it’s not fair or “right”. But sometimes omission is the best way to stay honest. And an omission is not a lie and you can’t get caught in a lie if you haven’t told one. Trust me, omission is the best way to go.” Bill suggested. 

“So now what?” You asked Bill.

“Well now I have a lot of work to make sure that everything in the trust is signed over to you. And then we have to face your ex-husband in court, which shouldn’t be too hard on either you or the kids. And then he should be put behind bars for a very long time. And then you can enjoy your new life as an heiress.” He insisted before he left and the moment he did. Jack reappeared. 

“How did you get me pregnant?” You asked Jack as Jack sat with you at the table. 

“A miracle.” He answered. 

“Will you and I always be like this? A woman and her ghost? Because while I’m appreciative of all of this…” 

“It’s just not the same as really having me with you, I know. I’m sorry.” Jack apologized. 

“Jack, you have already done so much, I feel so selfish wanting more.” You confessed before Jack knelt on the floor next to the chair you were sitting in and held you as you cried. Feeling so overwhelmed by all of it. 

“You’re not selfish for wanting more.” Jack reassured you. 

Within the week, everything in the trust was signed over to you as cars were dropped off and then it felt like just as all of the Trust was opened up and handed over to you- you had to face Casey in court. 

To your surprise, in the courtroom, Casey continued to act a fool and really pissed off Judge Hawthorne. To the point, that the joint custody case was thrown out. You got full custody of his children. And Casey was sentenced to life in prison without perole. Where he didn’t even last a week before he pissed off the other prisoners and got shanked to death in prison. And to your shock- his life insurance policy paid out and suddenly other members of his family fell like dominoes. His father had a heart attack, his mother had a stroke. His brothers also lost their tempers and their life insurance policies paid out to their widows since Casey and his brothers were all abusive pieces of shit. And you and your ex sisters in law were happy and grateful to be free of them all. 

And before you knew it. You brought Lizzy and Eddie back to the home you had shared with Casey, to clean it out. And put it on the market. Finally getting a chance to get the rest of your clothes and things and their other toys as you sold all the furniture and donated all of Casey’s clothes to a shelter while also getting a share of Casey’s parent’s life insurance policies, split between you and your other ex sisters in law. 

But to your horror, when you came back home with all of your things, Jack’s spirit was gone. It was like he left the house completely. 

“No, no, no, no.” You said as you took the pictures of him off the walls and tried kissing them again, calling for him to come back to you but he was simply- gone. Even Lizzy and Eddie cried because they could feel he was gone too as Lizzy cried into your chest, asking where her Daddy had gone. But you couldn’t answer her. You put your children into bed that night, both of them crying themselves to sleep and leaving you to cry alone in your room.  

“NO! You weren’t supposed to leave me Jack! I’m home! You brought me home! I was going to be happy and content to live with you like this.” You cried as you clutched your pregnant belly, worried that his spirit had somehow gone to the baby. 

The next day you went to Mallie’s house. 

“Where is Jack?” You asked her. 

“He had to go.” Mallie said with a tear in her eye. 

“Go where?!” You demanded. 

“He wouldn’t tell me. I asked and begged and pleaded for him to stay but he insisted that he needed to go.” Mallie answered. 

“So now I’m alone.” You cried. 

“You still have your children, and me and Bill and…” Mallie tried to say but even she was having a hard time giving you examples of your friends that you had made here. 

Then, one day, another month later, as you were bringing the kids to the grocery store. You were surprised when a guy who looked exactly like Jack, got out of his truck. He was in fatigues and was clearly a soldier, just getting back from deployment. And when your eyes met his, it was like you both recognized the other but couldn’t quite place where or how you knew each other. 

“Samantha!” Marybelle greeted cheerfully. 

“Hey!” You greeted her with a bright happy smile and a hug. 

“Oh good, you’re here, I wanted you to meet my son, this is Jack, he just got home from deployment. Jack, this is Samantha, who just moved to town, oh gosh, several months ago now. She moved into the Mayweather Estate, this is her daughter Lizzy and her son Eddie.” Marybelle introduced you and your family to him. 

“Hi.” You greeted as you shook his hand as his hand was nearly identical to your ghost’s Jack’s hand. 

“After you.” He offered to let you into the door first with your cart. 

“Thank you.” You thanked him, almost afraid to believe your eyes as you looked at his fatigues and wanted to start laughing. Because he was a captain, with the initials’ J. Maywhether. C.J. Maywhether. 

“So, are you guys related to General Maywhether?” You asked them as you gestured to his name on his uniform. 

“No, I wish. I just happen to have the same name, pure coincidence. But I wish I was related.” He laughed and damn him, his laugh was the same and infectious. 

“I see, well, welcome home.” You offered to him. 

“Thanks.” He smiled before you got the store’s flyer and handed one to his mother. 

“Let’s get lunch Sammy, I’m starved.” Marybelle insisted before you and your family joined Marybelle and Jack for lunch as Marybelle strategically went over the store’s flyer as you and Jack talked while Marybelle just grinned ear to ear. 

“...so yeah, there I was, I thought for sure I was a gonner, and it was like, suddenly the life in me got pushed back in and I made it out of there and got back home.” Jack finished, telling you about how he nearly died on deployment and he had felt the life start to drain out of him before it got pushed back in. 

You could feel it in your bones that your Jack had left you to come to this Jack’s rescue and return to you. He was the spitting image of him and it was like you were with your Jack again. Only this Jack, didn’t have your shared history and experience. But you were grateful for it. He didn’t seem nervous or afraid when he learned that you were living in that house and had never felt it was haunted. 

And from there, it was like you two had been childhood sweethearts or something. There was definitely chemistry between you. And this Jack was completely undeterred that you technically had three kids and two fathers. He was happy that your ex had died in prison and he was surprisingly non judgemental about you being pregnant with the heir to the Maywheather Trust. And the relationship between him and you seemed to blossom and bloom very naturally, if anything, just a bit quickly too. 

A few months later, Captain Jack Maywhether and yourself got married. Your own heavily pregnant belly barely fitting in your wedding dress. It was a small wedding. Just your family and Jack’s and a few friends. Jack happily moved in with you and your kids took to him as if he had always been their father. And the lines between the Ghost Jack and “real” Jack got so blurred, it was hard to tell where one ended and the other began. But he loved you. He had completely fallen in love with you and he treated you with the same tender loving care that Ghost Jack always had and more. He was your partner in everything. Your best friend, your confidant, your everything. 

And while a part of you had worried that he had actually fallen in love with your newfound fortune. Mallie assured you that- that wasn’t the case at all. That your Jack had left and returned to you as Jack happily and rather seamlessly slipped into your life and easily picked up where ghost Jack had left off. 

And when you finally went into labor, Jack was with you the whole way through. Also growing anxious that you were pregnant and wanting to make sure that nothing bad happened to you or to the baby and practically waited on you hand and foot. And when you got to go into labor, Jack happily signed off on being the father of your baby and had already adopted your children as his own. 

And what was more, is once he moved in, he started to have the same series of dreams you did. So that he felt he knew, he was always meant to love you, no matter the time period. To the point that you called your new son, Jack Jr. And a year later you gave birth to your second daughter, Bella. And lived happily ever after.

[artemuerto]

Shelby Household Manor

Pairing: Thomas Shelby/Male Reader

Trigger Warnings: Mention of Violence, Mention of Suicide, The Shelby Family teases Reader, Tommy is pleased and Proud of Reader

Author Notes: This wasn’t meant to happen, I was really happy with how chapter one turned out but my brain wouldn’t let me sleep until I started writing

Part One

Part Three

Part Four

Read on AO3

The Family

—3—

The mansion beamed with eager energy as people came and went up the stairs, down the corridors; there was a family gathering in the making and soon all the Shelby family would be together. It would be the first time the servants of the house will be witness of all of them together. Yes, they knew them and of course, had seen them before but never in fullness. The Shelby’s worked in teams, and pairs, in triads of relentless dedication to business and increasing power. But for one night, the fights would be forgotten, altercations left behind and confrontations moved for another day. Tonight was a night to celebrate.

It seemed like The Shelby Company was ready to go wide in America, expanding their business, opening other offices and navigating into new markets.

With a soft know on the door, the servant walked into the office. Mister Shelby sat on his chair drowning in paperwork, his never ending cigar was lighted up and resting between his fingers, but the boy felt pleased to recognize the pair of spectacles on top of the man’s nose.

Clearing his throat to make his presence known, he spoke.

“Your family will be here in half an hour, sir.” Shelby groaned in response but that was it. The young boy stood up tall and kept talking. “They are expected to have dinner, sir.” Once again mister Shelby agreed in a loose matter. “Will you be dinning with them, sir?” At last, that simple comment seemed to catch the man’s attention long enough to make him look apart from his documents.

With relentless dedication the boy fought his fears and stayed in place giving his boss a clear vision of his concerns. They had yet to convince mister Shelby to eat with Charlie, left alone with his whole family. Would there it be necessary to place a plate at the head of the table? Would the Shelby’s eat without Thomas?

Thomas sighed trying to drive away the tension on his shoulders at the memory of his family in one table but decided to wash the concern from his servants heads.

Even knowing it would be a waste of time, Thomas agree. “Yes.” The boy nodded and rushed back to finish up.

The dining room was a vision, a dream or a tale of tales like princess and royalty. The candelabrums shined in sparks of life, the table beautifully dressed in a snow white tablecloth, pristine silverware and opaline glasses refracted the light in different colours. The teasing heat of the kitchen was far from the room but the excitement for a warm meal was never down. Bottles of champagne were opened and chit-chat was all over the place.

One by one the Shelby’s made an entrance.

The food was delightful and soon the bubbly sweet beverage was forgotten for something stronger. Charlie was put to bed after playing with his cousins and saying goodbye to all his uncles and aunt; the nanny followed suit with a short reverence.

The night was young when the Shelby’s decided it was time to talk business and he stood by the door; the servant wasn’t sure he was allowed to stay, it were private matters, however, before he could voice his way out, the younger sister asked for more.

“Be a darling and serve another glass, would you?” Ada shook his empty glass in the air with a friendly smile.

“Yes, Miss Shelby.” The girl couldn’t help but show his discomfort at the name and it was all clear in her features. Being called that in business was a given, but after hours, in family company she preferred to be called by her name and her name only. So, she told him much.

“You don’t have to be formal, love.” She accepted the drink and saluted to his face. “My name is enough.” The boy, first time, looked conflicted as if he wanted to pleased the lady, it was a Shelby after all, but didn’t wanted to loose respect. He was a servant, they were rules and respect was primordial.

“I apologize, Miss.” He whispered finally conscious of how the rest of the family were watching their interaction. “I cannot do that.”

“Why is that?” Ada asked promptly, not mad but mostly curious.

“Miss— I, uhm...” staggering his voice in nervousness, the boy tried to make himself clear although was failing and massively. “I am.. most unable to... can.” Ada laughed opening and without restrictions causing the boy to sober up in flying colours that painted his cheeks and nose.

“Oh, brother—“ her accent splitting over. “Where on earth did you manage to find this one?” The rest of the family laughed wholeheartedly as he rested back on his post.

So, for the rest of the night, the Shelby’s made their mission to brake the boy’s formalities. And after a few hours, they almost succeeded.

Ada, as much to please her, passed from restrictively being name ‘Miss Shelby’ to a ‘Miss Ada’ with casual ring that let her smiling but compromise enough to the boy’s stubbornness to not drop his rightful tone.

Polly, now. After threatening to mark his pretty face —once again, they laughed at his expenses while his cheekbones blushed with a deep crimson—, felt herself in a win as the boy left to be respectful enough to keep the title but informal enough to call her by her name. And so, Mrs. Polly had another drink.

The oldest Shelby was the toughest on them so far, as the man kept asking to absolute drop all those fancy words and call him by his bare name.

“C’mon, lad. I know you can do it.” Arthur told him resting a heavy slap on his back almost making him fall. That was the time where, he couldn’t help but ask for guidance. With a fleeting glance to the man at the end of the table who watch with a heavy stare, he asked permission to fulfill Arthur’s request without being disrespectful.

Mister Shelby sat impassively on his chair, the smoke slithering from his parted lips while another cigarette filled his lungs with nicotine, the man said nothing blinking slowly.

Only then, after the boy sweat under his family’s interested eyes, Thomas lifted an eyebrow as if challenging the boy to do as he pleased.

Challenging to do what? To give in to his brother’s demands? To remain silent and being the target of their banter? To keep his formalities and hang in danger with the possibility of angering any of the family members? What was the right answer?

“Oi, Tommy!” Arthur called for his brother. “Don’t be a piss and let the poor boy speak.” The poor boy hid his eyes in shame, he never intended to insult his master. “C’mon, boy.” Arthur asked once again.

“Yes...” He consciously swallowed feeling his lips dry. “Yes, Arthur—“ the family around them cheered happily finally reaching their goal. “—, sir.” Ada huffed and crossed his arms in a mock tantrum.

“And just for that you’ll get me a new glass.” Yes, Miss Ada. The boy nodded openly smiling and rushed to change the woman’s glass that was half empty. Thomas toasted in silence lifting his glass to his sister and hid a short lived smiled that wanted to appear at the corners of his lips.

—4—

Miss Ada asked for tea after everybody went to sleep so he complaint. Gingerly placing the cup and the kettle, he was about to leave when the girl called his name.

“Yes, Miss Ada?”

“Would you stay with me for a moment?” Giving a wordless positive answer, the young one came close to the woman and stood with his hands behind his back. “Oh, boy! “Ada almost dropped his cup. “Would you sit down already!” Flustered acceptance of his permission to sit with the girl, the servant spoke a soft apology, he was not used to being treated with such familiarity. He had been working in the manor for years now and even thou everybody was polite and nice and friendly with each other, there were certain things that were never meant to happen such as sitting with their masters.

“But I’m not your master.” Ada left his concerns to be blown away as she wanted a simple and honest conversation that didn’t involved her brothers, her family or their business.

“Alright, miss.” He stated in confidence. “What would you like to talk about?” That’s how Ada learned about his family, about his childhood and the town he used to live.

The boy’s father was sent away to the Great War and for years they didn’t know any good news, all their neighbors became widows and orphans and those long sleepless night took a life from his mother.

By the time his father came back, they were all ecstatic until they realized the man had come back from war but the war hadn’t let him go.

His father may have come back but in reality he never came back. So one day, after a younger version of himself was sent to school, his father had gone out, walked to their garden and shot himself with his gun for his poor mother to find him in a pool of blood with a disfigured face.

His mother’s life was short lived after that. She couldn’t bare the thought of existing without his beloved and soon her health decayed. She died shortly of a broken heart no matter how much he cared for her. That’s why he left his home town, said goodbye to his parents and sailed for adventure knowing that they were together and happy once more; he hadn’t given religion much thought but he liked to think his parents watched over him.

He finished his story with a wobbly smiled before panic painted in his face due to Ada’s tears running down her cheeks.

“Oh, no! Miss Ada, please.” He fussed over her scared and terrified. “Please, don’t cry! I’ll do anything, just please!”

“You, silly boy.” Ada cleaned her face and tucked the boy into an awkward hug by the time he stayed half kneeling in front of her. “You suffered so much and you’re still worrying over me.”

“But, Miss—“

“Hush now, just let me.” Uncomfortable and odd feeling the servant stayed in his master sister’s arms receiving comfort like no other in such a long time. He sent silent prayers of gratitude.

Neither paying attention of the shadowy figure at the door threshold.

After guiding Ada to his room and promising to her that he was in fact living a good life under her treacherous, devilish tyranny of brother, the woman left to sleep.

The servant finally felt how truly exhausted he was, long hours of working flying away in awe, music, conversation and laughter. He only wanted to go to his room and pass out for a few hours before it was time to get on his feet once again. And so close to his goal he was until he was intercepted by Polly.

Mrs. Polly was dressed down, forgotten the beautiful outfits were to be lived in a casual sleepwear, a long satin undergarment in a pale green with details in black, her face clean of make up shine by the moonlight. She was a dream.

The woman sultry walked until she faced him and smiled luxuriously with all the power she had.

“I’m surprised to see you up, boy.” There was something in her tone that left him uncomfortable, effaced was the easy mocking tone from the evening, now Polly seemed to denigrate him with even her looks.

The woman has seen and witness the silent conversation this unknown boy had had with her nephew and only served to race her alarms after catching the pleased and satisfied air Thomas portrayed the rest of the evening. Her nephew usually had two thoughts in mind: business and mindless fucking, and even the later was used as a way to achieved what he wanted, so the woman questioned herself, and an answer she would get.

It wasn’t difficult to trap the boy into her body and one of the tables at the living room, the open space was perfect, anybody could see.

“Missus—“ The low tone reached Polly with tint of desperation, it was clear to the woman that the poor boy would fly away the moment he could, but she wasn’t letting him go until her doubts were settle. Polly smiled long and languid, caressed the servant’s scared face with her fingertips until she reached for his clothesline in top of his belt.

The servant was mortified, he could reassured he was shaking like leaves in autumn while mrs Polly had her fun; he didn’t understand what the woman was after but he honestly prayed she would stop.

“Tonight, boy...” Polly came close enough for the servant to feel her warm breath. “You will serve me.” A switch was off on his brain, did missus Polly needed something outside of the obvious attempts which he in oblivious tried to surpass.

“Mrs. Polly, if you need anything I’ll try my best to serve you.” The woman frowned not quiet pleased with the servant’s reaction; if she was in the rights then the boy wouldn’t survive working for her nephew. A pretty boy to keep his bed warm wouldn’t go far in the world, even thou, there were rare cases, such as Lizzie.

“Oh, darling...” her voice crawling down the boy’s spine send chills not quiet pleasant. “There’s much you can do.” Polly went for the boy’s trousers and the young one yelped looking to escape her advances. “You will serve me well in the sheets.” Polly could almost laugh at the boy expenses, his reactions were too pure and innocent-like to not to play with, it would be both a delight and shame if he surrendered.

“Mrs. Shelby—“ the younger one angry whispered as his voice when a pitch high, in a bold flustered move, the servant touch Polly’s wrists and smoothed his way out. “I apologize for my actions ma’am but this is something I cannot do.” The boy seemed afraid while he gather himself in a thought hug and for moments Polly felt bad for deceiving the young one. “If that is something you need, I’ll search for someone but that is some I won’t do.” The boy gather up his courage and stared down at the woman with fierce determination that made her feel proud —now she understood her nephew—. “Mrs. Shelby, I am not a whore.” The secret hatred with which the boy talked to her flailed some thoughts. But she still pushed him farther.

“You might not be, darling. But under the Peaky Blinders, if that’s what they want, that’s what you’ll be.”

“I do not serve the Peaky Blinders, ma’am.” Finally seeing a way out, the servant rushed down the hall, almost running as he thought was far enough from the woman and hid in the first door he came close. Polly saw him leave with a satisfied feeling.

The poor boy felt like crying. None in his years of service he had been put into such position. He worked hard, he served well, kept his eyes close and ears shut when business were to be discuss; he tried his best to meet mister Shelby’s necessities but never he imagine he would be ask for something in that capacity.

His hands started to tremble as the embarrassment and shame began to grow in his belly. His heart raced in his chest, loud and clear to his ears and his mind was all over the place.

Had he done something wrong? Had the family gather that impression from him? Did everybody share the same thoughts of Mrs. Shelby? Did Mister Shelby had the same thoughts? Had he embarrassed his master in front of his family? He wanted to cry in all honesty, silliness and need for comfort. He began to talk to himself out loud trying to wash away the anger and mortification, the pain and shame the whole ordeal had caused him.

The boy leaned onto the door feeling the cold touch in his forehead and started to speak.

“You are not that. You are not what they said you were. You are a good servant. You do good. You are not a whore. No matter what they say, you are not a whore.” You’re not. You’re not. You’re not a whore. Memories of past pain came to life. A friend of his had suffered from the same sorrow as the people from town started to repel her for bringing a child to this world outside of a healthy marriage. She was known as the Old Town Whore.

She left one day with her daughter and he never saw her again.

“You’re not a whore.”

“Who says you’re a whore?” The ring of mr. Shelby’s voice at the other side of the room was an unpleasant and absolute unexpected plus terrifying; in his hurry and shame he had not seen where he was heading. The servant turned surprised as if being caught doing something ilegal. Jumping out in his spot, the boy looked at his master with every inch of shame while questioning if anyone in that bloody family ever slept at regular hours. Finding each member of the Shelby’s family at late hours was not good for his nerves. “And well?” Mr. Shelby was know for his short temper regardless to patience making it obvious in his features.

The impression was such, they boy thought he would pass out in pure panic, his master could read him like an open book. Mister Shelby sat in silence waiting for his young servant to speak while they boy seemed troubled with each passing second. The young one was about to cry if his eyes weren’t tricking him, and Thomas didn’t relish on that sight at all. Who had caused the boy deep discomfort?

“Tell me, little one, what’s wrong?” As if being relief from his sorrows, the boy talked and talked non-stop by his thoughts of the evening, how he worked hard and hoped his family hadn’t taken a wrong impression of his persona. He wanted to believe he was good but after being cornered in the looming, deserted halls, the boy feared the worst.

“I swear, mr. Shelby— I didn’t mean to... I only tried to do my job." The boy started to heave. “Sir, I swear, I would never... I never intended to... I’m not—“ finally a lonely tear fell down his cheek. “Sir, please, believe me, I’m not— I’m not that.” In his own innocence, Shelby noted, the boy wasn’t even able to call himself a whore.

The servant in his share discomfort hadn’t realized mister Shelby was close. Long forgotten was his seat at his desk in the center of the room and slowly, soundlessly started to reach out to him. The boy was only conscious after feeling Thomas’ flexed index finger brushing against his wet cheek and watching how the man cleaned the salt away with his lips.

“Tell me. What did they say?” The order was clear. Thomas already had a fair idea onto who could be the perpetrator but he wanted to hear from his servant first.

“I had to serve in someone’s sheet... by order of the Peaky Blinders.” The little one’s lower lip trembled in humiliation, his cheeks fired up like a beacon in the midnight sky. Thomas was glad the boy had sheltered his gaze back down so he wouldn’t see the amused smirk his master was sporting at the time.

“And what did you say to that?” The boy stilled himself for a short while and Thomas inquired if they had finally broke the poor mind, when his boy impressed him once again with a share of honest devotion.

Meeting his master’s piercing eyes, feeling his own knees shake through the force he was using to keep it together, he spoke with conviction that characterized him.

“I do not serve the Peaky Blinders, sir.” The young one took a sharp breath before continuing his short speech. “I am a servant of the Shelby Household Manor and so, I serve the Shelby’s family, I am at service to you, sir. I serve the head of the family, Thomas Shelby.” In the heated spur of the moment he forgot to mind his words, the young one has never said his master’s voice out loud nor even in confidence, and some how that idea filled Thomas with warm delighted joy. It felt good to see his servants passion.

The shared a quiet moment, seconds before the young one came to notice what he had done. An undignified feeling washed over the servant and lower his head hiding his gaze from the man; it was obvious his guilt to the man.

“Look at me.” The mister said in a low tone an slight distortion of his strong will and demanding stance. The boy refused by shaking his head and Tommy wanted nothing but to hit him light at the back of the head. “I said... Look at me, little one.” Finding Thomas clear eyes was a shock like no other; it wasn’t new to see his master but it felt like it he was under a different light. Something closer, warmer.

“It’s alright.” Thomas peaked a ghost smile so the boy could see. “You did good, little one.” Brushing his cheek one more time, Tommy lightly touch the boy’s chin and soon the heavy atmosphere fade away. Repeating his reassuring words, Tommy let the boy go.

“You did good.”

[spartanguard]

(love will see us through these) Dark Days [CSRT; 7/7]

Summary: A century ago, the United Realms of Pomem had been a land of peace, prosperity, and magic. Until war tore the land apart, leaving behind cruel leaders and even crueler laws regarding the use of magic. And each year, the youth of each realm are subjected to a fight to the death, both for entertainment and to weed out anyone capable of wielding magic. In the 99th Magic Games, past victors Emma Nolan and Killian Jones find themselves serving as mentors, while Alice Gothel and Robyn West end up representing their realm. Everyone has secrets; everyone has something to lose. Who will win? Who will die? Just don’t forget: all magic comes with a price.

rated M | 6k words | part 1 | part 2 | part 3 | part 4 | part 5 | part 6 | AO3

A/N: OMG IT’S THE LAST CHAPTER!! Thank you so much to everyone who has commented on it; I’m so glad you’ve enjoyed it! I don’t exactly have a timeline for the next story yet, but I’ll probably start working on it when I’m done with my CSSNS commitments. And thank you again to @captainswanbigbang​ for giving a great venue to revisit this, and to @optomisticgirl​ for being an amazing beta. Title is from “Safe and Sound” by Taylor Swift and the Civil Wars. Enjoy!

CHAPTER 7—Come morning light, you and I'll be safe and sound

The trip home was...weird. That was the only way Robyn could describe it. It was the same train, and the same views of Pomem flying by outside, but in reverse—which felt poetically appropriate (or something like that; she wasn’t great at writing).

Because this trip was a complete 180 from the previous: last time, she knew there was a very decent chance she was being carried away to her death; to have escaped that—and lived through everything—definitely carried a sense of relief with it, but she also knew she wasn’t the same person she was a few weeks ago. 

Granted, it was a much better 180 than the one most of the other tributes had taken: leaving home alive and well and heading back in a coffin.

(Could there actually be that many 180s from the same point? She wasn’t great at geometry either.)

(God, she was probably going to have to go back to school, wasn’t she? Ugh, being 16 sucked.)

She knew that a whole different life was waiting for her in Sherwood, but how she was supposed to build it on the foundation of her past was what she hadn’t figured out yet. There was probably a house waiting for her and her mom in Victor's Village—whichever one they wanted, most likely, given that Eloise and Alice were the only other living Victors. She wouldn’t have to go to work in the textile factories or cotton fields like everyone else was expected to, and she didn’t even have to follow her mom’s footsteps into midwifery if she didn’t want to. She’d probably have to become a mentor, once she finished high school, but that was far from a full-time job. 

Hell, she was even nervous about seeing her mom again. As much as she’d felt a pang of jealousy at the fact that Alice had her mother—well, both parents—with her, as stilted as her relationship was with Eloise, and as much as Robyn desperately wanted to fall into her own mom’s hug and never leave, she wasn’t sure it would hold the same comfort it used to. 

She was going to be vaguely poetic again: she was standing on a precipice, but couldn’t see past the edge. 

That was semi-literal; the train was going through mountains, so there was stone on one side and a sheer cliff over forest on the other. The sun was making its slow ascent and Alice was snoring in the bed, feet away. 

Technically, they had their own cars, but neither of them really wanted to be that far from each other; they’d done that enough after the games. They'd spent the last couple days of the ride talking, cuddling, kissing, and getting to know each other in a somewhat normal manner—like people usually do when they're not caught up in a death match. She knew now that Alice's favorite color was light blue, like the spot where the sea meets the sky; that her favorite place was her father's ship; and she had this adorably ticklish spot on her hip, right at the juncture of her thigh bone. (They hadn't just kissed...they were still teenagers, after all.)

And on her end, she’d been able to tell Alice about helping her mom with births when she was growing up and how that made her never want kids; about how her favorite color was orange, like a sunrise; and about the father she’d never met, but grew up in the shadow of. 

“God, I can't imagine not having a papa,” Alice had said. “What happened?”

“He died in that big fire that knocked out Factory 21 when we were babies. He was trying to get other people out when a beam collapsed on him.”

“Oh my god; I'm so sorry. Your poor mum!”

Robyn had to shrug at that. “Well, he and my mom were never formally together, same as your parents. He was actually a widower and had another kid; you know Roland, the groundskeeper?”

“Yes! Oh my god, he has the curliest hair.”

“He's my half brother.”

“Oh, wow.”

“Yeah, he went to live with his mom's relatives after the accident; I was only a couple months old, so I was already with my mom. There was some drama with the settlement money being split between me and Roland, so he and I aren't close at all. All I've got are my mom’s stories, and what other people have said. And apparently my skill with a bow; I guess he was a great shot.”

“Hey, that's a pretty great way to honor him—using that to win the games.”

“I guess.”

The one thing they hadn't managed to talk about at all, though, was what came next—for them, as a couple. Robyn loved Alice, she knew—but she was also a teenager and so much could change. If she had all these other questions about her future, was Alice going to be a constant, or a variable?

(She did okay at science.)

Even though she’d only been around him for a tiny bit, she kind of wished she had Killian to talk to, like Alice would. He seemed like the kind to dispense good fatherly advice.

Or he’d pass judgment on the person who was dating his daughter. Hard to say.

At least she had access to the next best thing: Eloise. To be honest, Robyn was still intimidated by her, even if they were kind of on equal footing now, at least socially. There was just this...aura she gave off, or something, that set Robyn on edge. But if they were going to be part of each other's lives for the foreseeable future, one or both of them would have to get over that.

And this was the last leg of their journey home so she should probably do it sooner rather than later. 

She grabbed a robe and slipped it on over her Olympus-provided pajamas that she had definitely stolen, gave Alice a kiss on the cheek that she didn't notice (and she probably wouldn't be awake for another few hours), and quietly slipped out of the train car to the next one—the club car.

Robyn had figured it’d be a good place to get a bite to eat and wait for Eloise to wake, but to her surprise, her mentor was already there.

“Uh, hi—good morning,” she stammered, afraid to move for some reason. “You’re up early.”

“Actually, you are,” Eloise answered. “I’m kind of surprised after what you two got up to last night.”

It was still pretty dark in the car, which was good because Robyn’s cheeks were probably the color of the hibiscus tea Eloise was drinking.

“I’m not judging; just...consider your volume in the future.” She was smirking; what did that mean? God, she should just turn around now. Or better yet, throw herself off the moving train. But it would be pretty silly to come this far only to die of mortification.

“Take a seat; grab a bite. You won’t get food like this at home.” Eloise gave her a pointed look with her invitation that told Robyn she didn't really have a choice here, so she complied, taking a seat on the other side of the table and reaching for a muffin.

She picked at it while working up the nerve to ask her questions—or even remember what they were—when Eloise spoke up. 

“I get the impression this wasn't just a casual social call,” she said, eyeing Robyn and then taking a sip of tea. “Are you wondering what comes next?”

“Uh—yeah, actually; how did you know?”

“Because I’m a mother, even if I’m not particularly maternal. And because I had that same kind of nervous energy after I won my games.”

Robyn chewed her bite of muffin—was that blueberry green tea flavored? Dang—while deciding where to start. It probably made sense to start with the hardest one. “How...how did you go back to your mom?”

Eloise’s brow furrowed, and she took another long sip of tea. “To be honest, I’m still not sure. My mother was a firm believer in being one with nature, in pacifism; I sometimes wonder if she didn't want me to win at all—if she would have preferred I be killed instead of doing the killing. I could barely look her in the eyes when I got off the train.” 

She paused to take another sip, but a lump was caught in Robyn’s throat—that was exactly how she felt right now. 

“But she shocked me—she just lifted my chin, smiled at me, and pulled me into her arms. Mothers have a large capacity for forgiveness, you know.”

Robyn scoffed. “You haven’t met my mother, though.” To say Zelena West could hold a grudge was putting it lightly; they could only go to certain shops in town because of the petty fights her mom had picked.

“Oh no, I have. Who do you think delivered Alice?”

Robyn’s jaw dropped. “Seriously?”

“Mhmm. I think you were a few months old at the time, and she was pretty desperate to get back to you—but Alice was taking her sweet time.”

“I can see that,” Robyn giggled.

“But she finally made her appearance, and your mum told me that becoming a mother was the best thing that had ever happened to her. Now, personally, I’m not sure I can say the same, but I have to assume your mother still believes that, and is just going to be happy you’re home.”

“But...I'm not the same person I was then. The things I’ve done…”

“She knows, Robyn. Everyone saw it. And she’s still going to love you and be there for you.”

That made Robyn feel a bit better, but an awful question came into her head. And she couldn’t hold it back. “Is that how you feel about Alice?”

Eloise finished her tea, then set the mug down. “I’m terrible at showing it, but yes. Motherhood was never something I wanted, but it got me out of a situation I wasn't happy with. We may not be close—and we’ll never be as close as she is with her father—but I’m still proud of her.”

“Good. You should be.”

Eloise smirked at Robyns matter-of-fact statement. “Oh? And why is that?”

“Because Alice is awesome!” Robyn blurted out. “She’s sweet and funny and kind and amazing and—”

She was cut off by Eloise’s laughter. “Alright, I believe you. I had my doubts there, but you’ve convinced me.”

“What?” Hold on—doubts? “Convinced you of what?”

“That you really love her.”

Robyn was dumbstruck. “You didn't think so before?”

Eloise leveled an unamused look at her. “Robyn. You and I are more similar than you think. You can see strategy beyond your emotions; Alice...can’t. Not as well.”

“You think...I was faking?”

“I wondered.”

That muffin was threatening to come back up.

“I’m glad it’s real though; that makes the future easier.”

“Easier?”

Just then, the door swung open, and a groggy Alice stumbled in. “Oh, there you are,” she said, smiling sleepily; Robyn’s heart skipped a beat, it was so cute.

“Hey,” she said, suddenly shy.

“Good,” was all Eloise could say. “You both probably need to hear this.”

Alice flopped down on the plush seat next to Robyn. “Hear what?”

“How the rest of your lives are going to go.”

Alice had been slathering marmalade on toast, but slowed her roll, her eyes growing wide. “What do you mean?”

“You know this can't end, right?” Eloise asked, pointing a condescending finger between them. “This is who you are now: the Star-Crossed Lovers of Sherwood, defeating all odds to get their happy ending.”

Under the table, Robyn reached for Alice's thigh and squeezed. “But we’re only teenagers. I don't...I don’t think my feelings will change, but...” She made a point to not look at Alice when she said that, scared of what might  be on her face at a statement like that.

But, to her surprise, Alice was the one to reply. She sighed, saying “No, she’s right; the games are never over. Whatever happens between us, Olympus is only going to want to see one thing.”

“What, us?”

“Yeah,” Alice said, a bit sadly, breaking Robyns heart. “Why else do you think we’ve had to keep it a secret that I’m Killian Jones’ daughter? There’d be no more privacy ever for my family; and it’d break all sorts of laws.”

“They’d stop caring at some point, right?”

Eloise shook her head. “Look at the Misthaven dynasty.”

Everyone knew about the Nolan family—David and Snow, who won and fell in love; then their daughter Emma, who fell in love with another victor and had a son; god, that kid was doomed. But they were still the focus of a lot of attention during the games, and even more once Snow became the mayor there. They might as well be royalty.

Shit, was that Alice and Robyn now?

“Damn.”

“Yeah,” Alice agreed.

“But what if—what if it doesn't work out?”

Alice was quiet while Eloise answered. “It has to. Unless you want bad things to happen.” Abruptly, she stood then. “If you excuse me; I need to make sure I’m packed before we get home.” And she left an incredibly awkward silence behind her in the car. 

Alice picked up her toast and finally ate it, and Robyn finished her muffin. Alice picked up another piece of bread, and the knife for the marmalade, but that probably wasn't even sharp enough to cut the tension between them. 

She tried anyway though. “Do..do you really not think we’ll make it?” she asked quietly.

“I…” Robyn started, but she really had no idea what to say. “I...want to,” she settled on. “But I’m also only 16. I don't even know what I want to do next week.”

“That’s not the same and you know it,” Alice said through a mouthful of toast. She chewed and swallowed, then continued, “I know we’re young, and I know our lives are going to be crazy from here on out. but one thing I'm certain of is you. And I don't want pity or anything, and I don't want to find out you only feel bad for me or something, or you just did it for the games, and that’s why you like me back. And—ugh!” she yelled, throwing her toast at the table and grabbing at her cuff. 

This wasn't the first time this had happened: anytime Alice got overly emotional, something happened with her magic that caused a painful reaction with the cuff; in a calm moment, she’d explained that her magic was tied to emotion, so it seemed that whenever hers got out of control, its attempts to rein her in ended painfully. 

“Hey, I've got you,” Robyn said quietly, moving closer and pulling Alice into her arms. 

But Alice pushed back. “No; not now,” she barked, then winced. “I'm going—I need my mum. I’ll see you later.” She was up and out of the car faster than Robyn could protest.

Well, fuck. She’d made a mess of that, hadn’t she?

And out of all that, the worst part was watching Alice walk away.

Maybe they needed some space; maybe that would help. She’d try to talk to her when they got home—when things were less tense. 

But her appetite was pretty well gone, so she got up and followed the other two out. She didn't go to Alice’s car, though; she kept going to hers, little used as it was. She probably needed to pack, too, and get dressed and all that. They’d be home in just a few hours.

It was funny; barely an hour ago, she’d been scared about that, and now, all she wanted was her mom.

◇─◇──◇────◇────◇────◇────◇────◇─────◇──◇─◇

Killian always hated this part of the games. Not like he really enjoyed any of it, but escorting the bodies of two children to their waiting parents was a burden he loathed carrying.

Ariel knew to avoid him while they were traveling home; that was the only time he really let the emotional toll of the games envelop him. It typically involved him spending some quality alone time with however much of Olympus’s good rum his sticky fingers had nabbed. As a consequence, he usually didn’t remember much of the trip.

He knew they were close to home when the trees flying by his window began to thin and he saw the reflective glimmer of the ocean on the horizon. (Also, he’d finished the last of the rum.) There was still a boozy fog clouding his perception, but the disastrous state of his sleeping car told him that he’d been exceptionally violent toward the sheets and furniture this year.

Which was to be expected, honestly. Other than his own games, and maybe Liam’s, he’d never been put through the wringer as roughly. He prayed to whoever was listening that the games would never be so terrible again. Maybe he could persuade Nemo to come out of retirement for next year so he could stay home; Gold might not like that, but fuck him. 

Gods, even just the thought of the man sent a shiver down Killian’s spine that had nothing to do with the epic hangover he was nursing. When Archie mentioned that Belle had been in the company of the president, it immediately drew his memories back to Milah. She was never far from his thoughts during the games, but the thought of Gold’s attention being directed at another beautiful, unsuspecting young woman—and how it might end for the lass—brought back anger he hadn’t felt in some time. It was a blessing Emma was there and knew to remove him from the situation. 

Finally being able to release all the fear he’d felt for Alice was equally cathartic. And not just during the games: from every reaping prior, from Olympus finding out about her parentage, and all the normal parents’ fears—though some remained, obviously. Watching and helping her navigate the next step of their insane lives was going to be interesting.

And then there was Emma. His fingers drifted to his lips; he was fairly certain he could still feel them tingling from her kiss, even days later. (It might have been the rum, but he liked to imagine otherwise.) It had completely taken him by surprise, yet somehow also hadn’t—like it had been the release they both needed after the days of tension. In his stupor, his mind had taken it even farther—envisioning scenes of passion between them that made his heart (and other parts) stutter. He knew it was all sorts of impolite and improper, but knowing she wasn't actually in love with Graham seemed to give his dreams free rein.

There was definitely something there between them. He couldn’t quite place what, but she stirred something in him that hadn’t reacted in a long time. He wouldn’t dare say his heart—not romantically, at least; as far as he was concerned, that part still belonged to Milah.

But maybe, just maybe, Emma was the one who would finally help him move on from her memory. And that terrified him just as much as losing Milah all over again.

The train slowed down, and he forced himself to pull it together. Making sure he was properly dressed and looking not-too-disheveled, he gathered his things and found Ariel in the windowed caboose.

“Feel better?” she asked, with a look on her face somewhere between concern and amusement.

“Aye, I might make it another year.”

“Anything you want to talk about?” She was definitely trying to get at something. Why was there a sparkle in her eye?

“I doubt there’s much to talk about, love. You likely heard the worst of it.” He had a tendency to do a lot of shouting in the condition he’d been in.

“Yeah, you could say that,” she said with a knowing smirk. “Don’t worry; I won’t tell Emma.”

Bloody hell.

◇─◇──◇────◇────◇────◇────◇────◇─────◇──◇─◇

The sun was at its peak, but it struggled to break through the thick canopy of trees. Emma inhaled the strong pine scent; it brought her some temporary relief as she descended the steps from the train platform.

Home. She was home.

“Mom!” Henry’s voice called out to her, and she quickly scanned the small crowd gathered at the station until she found her son’s dark-haired head bobbing towards her. She couldn’t help the grin that spread across her face as she dropped her bags and scooped him into a tight hug.

“I missed you,” he said into her shoulder.

“I missed you, too, kid.” She could have stood in her son’s embrace for hours had Graham’s voice not broken through just then.

“What, I’m invisible?” he joked. Henry let go of Emma and raced toward Graham. 

“I missed you, too, Dad.” Graham responded with a warm smile and a strong hug.

Emma wished the moment wouldn’t end, but she became intensely aware of eyes on her. She hesitantly looked up, and met the gaze of Marco, August’s father; Tamara’s family wasn’t far behind him. This was the part she was dreading.

It didn’t help that she’d just had her own reunion with her son right in front of them; how cruel. She nudged Graham with her elbow and said, “Henry, can you go wait with your grandparents? Your dad and I have something to take care of before we go home.” Her son ran off to her parents, who were waiting in the street.

Graham wordlessly grabbed her hand and squeezed; she didn’t have to look at him to know he wasn’t excited about this part, either, but they owed it to the families. 

Marco, painfully, thanked them for doing all they could; he was sincere, but it was hard for Emma to hear that; she’d already spent half the trip home wondering what she could have done better. Not that anyone really stood a chance against the Sherwood girls, but she was her own harshest critic. 

Tamara’s family was thankfully a bit more reserved. Knowing they were angry about it was probably better, since Emma was. She didn't want forgiveness; she wanted to do better. (Though, in reality, she wanted to never have to do this again.)

At least they were there, though. Every time she was here after the games, she flashed back to when Neal—well, his body—came home, and she was the only one to claim it.

Dark Knights were in charge of unloading the caskets, and Emma couldn't stick around for that; that was too much. So she and Graham excused themselves to where her parents were waiting.

“You did great,” her mom said as she hugged her. It didn't make Emma feel any better, but she supposed her mom knew better than anyone how she felt right now.

“And there's always next year,” her dad added, pulling her into his arms and cradling her head like he always had. It didn't matter if she was a full-grown adult with blood on her hands; that always made her feel better. 

With the hellos done, they started the short walk back to Victor’s Village and their side-by-side houses. Just as Emma expected, her mom asked for a full run-down of everything that happened; they may be happily retired, but Snow would never be fully able to pull herself out of the gossip of the games. 

“And the new victors! What are they like?”

“They're sweet,” Graham said; Emma had to hold back a scoff that anyone who won the games could be called that, but it did seem to be the case for Alice.

“Oh, good; they seemed to be. Eloise's daughter seems so different from her—which is probably a good thing. God, I just can't believe they weren't going to let them both win; that was heartbreaking.”

A very belated realization hit Emma: that must have been what Eloise and Jefferson were planning that night in the Game Center, when she and Killian brought the burn medicine. How was she just now seeing that?

(Probably because Killian was clouding her memory. For reasons. Fairly obvious ones.)

“Oh, and Killian! What was it like working with him?” God, her mom’s timing couldn't be more annoyingly perfect, could it? 

“It was great,” Graham answered, looking at her with a sly grin. “He knows what he’s doing, and actually, he and Emma worked great together.”

She promptly elbowed Graham in the side. She’d told him about the kiss—she had to—and he was way too encouraging about the whole thing. 

“Oh really? That’s so wonderful; those relationships are so great to have.” Her mom then rambled on about the people she would ally with over the years, but Emma’s mind stopped paying attention at the word ‘relationship’. Even if it was being used platonically, something in her read more into that.

Regardless of Graham’s reaction, what she’d told Killian was true: it had to be a one-time thing. Even if she’d see him again in a year at the next games. And the ones after that, and so on until she retired. But that wasn’t sustainable—a once-a-year fling? No. There were probably people who did that, but Emma couldn’t. Her heart wasn’t that flexible. 

Unbidden, her mind imagined what it could be like, though: sneaking away for quick encounters, the feeling of that taunting chest hair against her skin...no. It wasn’t gonna happen. But, goddammit, why did he have to have a sweet side? Why did he have to understand her so well?

“Mom, you alright?” Henry asked; she jolted at his voice, and then realized they were home. 

“Yeah, kid; just thinking about stuff.”

“I get it,” he said, in a tone that was far more mature than any 11-year-old had a right to be speaking in. “You had a long couple weeks.”

“Yeah, that's one way to put it,” she agreed. “But I'm glad to be home.”

“I'm glad, too,” he said, with a grin that looked more and more like his father’s every day. 

She shook her head, either to shake away the ghosts of the past or the ones that had been following her since the train pulled out of Olympus.

The only person she needed was Henry. 

◇─◇──◇────◇────◇────◇────◇────◇─────◇──◇─◇

Twelve years ago

Neal Cassidy was handsome, charming, sweet—everything a 16-year-old girl would fall for. And Emma had fallen—hard. He was her first kiss, her first love, and he was even polite to her parents, who had initially been a bit wary of the boy who had a reputation as something of a delinquent. 

(But, honestly, that was another part of his charm; Emma had been forced to be the image of grace and class ever since she was born. With Neal, she found a bit of freedom from that imposed burden.)

They were already sweethearts when her name was pulled at 16. He left her with a deep kiss that was part of her motivation to keep going in the Games (that and, you know, not wanting to die). And the first thing she did when she arrived home after winning—at least, in private—was return that kiss with all the passion of someone who had been on death’s doorstep but survived. 

For the next year, they were hardly out of each other’s company, save for her victory tour. The night before the next reaping—before she was expected back in Olympus—she gave herself to him, with no regrets.

“I just want to make sure you won’t forget me over the next few weeks,” she���d told him, winking.

“As if I could I ever,” he assured her.

But then his name was chosen the next day. And now it was her turn to give him a passionate kiss goodbye. (And again on the train...and in Olympus...and right before he left for the games.)

As his mentors, her parents did all they could to keep him alive. They were hoping for a repeat of their own story: both victors, able to go home and have a happily ever after. Emma desperately wanted to help, but there was nothing she could do but watch. 

And there was nothing anyone could do when the knife held by the Oz tribute found Neal’s back, again and again. Emma had watched helplessly from the Tribute Castle as the love of her life was murdered.

She barely remembered what happened after that; it was a good thing she had been trained to put on an act for the cameras since before she could talk. Pomem was a blur outside the train window, realms flashing by as she recounted their last shared moments. And she cried—she cried a lot. Somehow, her parents kept her from dehydrating, but knowing that his lifeless body lay just a few cars away...well, that just got her going again.

When they got home, she retreated to the woods, where they’d spent so many days running, exploring, kissing—all that fun stuff. The one perk of being a victor was that she didn’t really have any other responsibilities, so as long as she came home before dark, people let her be.

At least, until she started to get sick.

And when she realized that certain monthly things hadn’t happened in a while.

The doctor confirmed her fears: she was pregnant. With Neal’s child. (And then spent the rest of the day sobbing into her mother’s shoulder.)

To save face, they said Graham was the father; it gave Olympus another one of the sappy love stories they ate up. But behind closed doors, he promised her he’d be there to help her every step of the way. 

“You don’t have to do that,” she told him. “Think of what you’re giving up.” He’d never be able to be seen so much as giving a friend a kiss on the cheek; actual romance was off the table. (As for Emma...well, she was pretty sure her shot at that died a bloody death in Neverland.)

He looked away, eyes cast down. “Please don’t take this the wrong way,” he started, “but after seeing what you’ve gone through, and so many others...I don’t think my heart is able to withstand that.”

She didn’t tell him that the only reason she was even still standing was because of the concrete wall that surrounded her broken heart, holding it together.

But he was amazing; he was already one of her best friends, and he ended up being the best partner—and best father—she could have had at her side. He abided all her weird pregnancy cravings, accompanied her to all her physician appointments, even withstood her crazy mood swings.

Mood swings that were often accompanied by sparks of electricity coming out from her hands, surges of power that blew out the light bulbs in their home, and her inadvertent burning of any book she tried to read.

What a way to discover she had magic, huh? It turned out being taught to be calm and collected her whole life had kept it from manifesting while she was in Neverland; but apparently it couldn’t withstand pregnancy hormones. 

It took everything in her to keep that under wraps, too—placing it somewhere under that wall around her heart. Which mostly worked. (Not like she had an option; thankfully, knowing she was doing it to keep her child safe was pretty good motivation.)

When she finally went into labor, she had Graham on one side and her mother on the other. Somehow, the pain of birth still didn’t match the hurt of losing Neal, but it came damn close. 

The lights overhead flickered on that last push (there was no holding it back), and then—then he was there: Henry. A squirming, screaming, pink thing, but when they put him in her arms, she wasn’t sure she’d seen anything more beautiful. God, she wished Neal could have been there to see him.

But she looked to one side and saw her parents (her dad having snuck in), and to the other and saw Graham. Even if Neal was missing, Henry was still surrounded by love—by people who were always going to look out for and protect him.

“I promise you, Henry,” she whispered a while later, when it was just the two of them. “I will do everything I can to give you your best chance in this crazy world.”

And that included anything in her power to keep him away from the Games.

◇─◇──◇────◇────◇────◇────◇────◇─────◇──◇─◇

Present day—Olympus

Jefferson was getting too old for this—and he wasn’t even that old. But these things had a way of weighing on a soul that not even the view from the window of his more-than-comfortable home could lift. (Neither could the glass of whiskey-laced tea he was nursing; at least the bottle was nearby.) His view of the border between Neverland and Olympus was soothing, with its varying types of trees serenely blending together, but also a constant reminder of what he did.

Another year passed, another games down. 18 more deaths on his hands. 18 more mothers having to bury their babies.

At least it’s not 19, a foreign positive voice somewhere deep inside told him as he took another sip of his drink, but that was hardly something to celebrate. It was only by the good graces of the President that both kids were able to win; part of him was worried about any repercussions, but the other part didn’t give a damn.

He was too good at his job. He was untouchable. And it drove him mad. (Which was probably why he was drinking alone and had a syringe of zolocybin at the ready; he knew better than to mix drugs and alcohol but again: he didn’t care.)

The next one is the last one, he reminded himself. It had almost become a mantra, having repeated it to himself countless times over the past few days since the end of the games. He thought of all the letters hidden here in his room, all the plans discussed, all the names on lists; as if on cue, his off-the-grid mobile phone rang, with the name Cora flashing on the screen. Their scheme would finally be put into motion over the next year. They finally had what they needed.

A symbol, something the people could rally behind: hope. Victory after impossible odds.

True love.

When Eloise came to him with her proposition to get both of her tributes out alive, he knew they finally had the last piece of the puzzle, the key to undoing everything.

His associates knew it, too, and the gears that had been slowly turning for years now kicked into high gear. The games may be over, but his job was just picking up.

There was still a long road ahead of them, though, and he needed to decompress. He tossed back the rest of his drink, put his phone on silent, and drew the blinds to his bedroom. Then he practically threw himself on his plush bed and grabbed the syringe; technically, zolocybin was a controlled substance, only to be used by medical professionals—but that didn’t mean it didn’t abound on the recreational drug market.

He popped the cap on it and methodically went over the process of injecting it into his arm, then settled back and waited for the effects to wash over him: first, sleep, then the kind of wild dreams that could only come from psychedelic hallucinogens. He could see why it was addictive, so he only allowed himself this one trip per year, to help him unwind.

Unconsciousness crept up in him quickly and he welcomed it. But even as he drifted off, one thing repeated in his mind:

The next one is the last one.

◇─◇──◇────◇────◇────◇────◇────◇─────◇──◇─◇

thanks so much!! tagging some: @kat2609​ @thesschesthair​ @xpumpkindumplingx​ @shipsxahoy​ @amortentia-on-the-rocks​ @mryddinwilt​ @cocohook38​ @annytecture​ @wingedlioness​ @word-bug​ @distant-rose​​ @let-it-raines​​ @pirateherokillian​ @its-imperator-furiosa​​​ @laschatzi​​​ @stubblesandwich​​ @phiralovesloki​​ @athenascarlet​​ @snowbellewells​​ @idristardis​​ @scientificapricot​​ @searchingwardrobes​ @donteattheappleshook​ @ohmightydevviepuu​

[fulgensun]

; about Spira - through the Fiends Tales

I said I would have done it, and here it is. While not being a very good in-game mechanic, one which can even be soft-locked in case YRP level up too fast, the Fiend Tales in FFX-2 aren’t completely silly, or useless in my opinion. They offer much to think about, mostly because they do reflect a non-idealized vision of Spira -- contrary to what Tidus’ POV may offer us, before shifting into something else, something bigger and closer to reality. The Fiend Tales are, in fact, stories of Spirans, people who died somehow and turned into monsters -- some before, some during and some other even after the events of both FFX and FFX-2.

They narrate their tales to Yuna, presumably (she has to catch them, after all), and find a way to either ascend to the Farplane or to avenge their death, if violent one. They are common folk, priests, heretics, Al-Bheds, elders, children even -- !  What I found fascinating was that their tales did offer slices of common life of all major Spiran cities, routines, dangers for certain workers and habits, even traditions... all part of a Spira we haven’t really seen in-game; for what use is a firework festival in Besaid to a future Summoner or their Guardians ready to eradicate Sin, for example hmm ?  Yet it exists, in the FFX universe. SO. I decided, for rp sake and to also make things a tad tidier, to list and explain here some of the things about these Spiran Tales that I consider cute, funny, important or worth some more thoughts. I’ll leave the specific Tales next to the info, too.  

   --  Children in Spira attend a school, the Temple School. Obviously founded by the Temple, it makes sense it provides a basic education while indoctrinating them to Yevon -- which isn’t hard to do anyway, before and during FFX; orphaned children are also taken by the Temple / Temple schools, most likely trained to either become priests or warrior monks in adulthood. Monks, specifically, are trained to what gets called ‘Yevon Academy’, which prepares them for military life; its volunteers move to this academy and don’t see their family till they graduate, but can write them letters.  [ Doggo the Coyote, Big Mama the Protochimera, Jaws II the Xiphactinus, Happy-Birb the Peregrine ]

   --  The Tale of Happy-Birb is very sad, and refers to children and temple. I feel it gives us a good example of how hard life could be, for... a rather gifted kid.        “ I always kept to myself in a tiny room in the temple, staring outside my window. I had no friends, no family to look out for me. If I were to suddenly vanish one day, would anything be different? Since I was supposedly orphaned after an attack by Sin, I was raised in the temple of Kilika. They tell me my parents were killed by Sin, but I know it’s a lie. Why would I be the only one to survive? The monks told me I had to be strong to provide hope for the future of Spira. I didn’t want to go on living in such a sad world. So I decided to take a gamble. One night, I fled the temple. [...] But when I encountered a fiend in the woods, I froze. I don’t want to die, I screamed. I truly wanted to live. ” Don’t the monks’ words sound familiar, to you? It’s speculation, but it sounds like this child exhibited the potential to become a Summoner, his family refused to let him train as one and they were disposed of -- so that the child could come into the “custody” of Yevon and ‘provide hope’. Summoner potential isn’t hereditary, mind that, but you kinda get the mentality that might have made Braska think Yuna wasn’t safe in the religious capital of Spira. The boy, here, was just ten years old.

   --  Spira has a considerable amount of criminals, for a world that should - utopically, be united by the tragedy Sin represented for everyone. Thieves considering burglary their very ‘grand career’; killers having no remorse in deceiving old people to obtain their inheritance; Al Bhed hitmen sent to kill Yevonite children in temples or wandering priests, children kidnappers, kids thieves in Luca killing one another for money, etc.  [ Bulbasaur the Purpurea, Mittens the Couerl, Brick the Bicocette, Bolt Josh ]

   --  Engagements are a quite serious thing, considering a family could not bless the union if the suitor was of a lower class (even between relatively common people), or just too poor to be deemed worthy. A refined girl from a well-to-do family in Bevelle was forbidden, for example, to love a young sailor. Engagement rings are also a thing, and the Moonflow riverbanks are lovers’ favorite dating spot.  [ Frosty the Flan Pallido, Boko the Chocobo, Venom the Gucumatz  ]

   --  So many Tales from children, it kinda gives off a very sad vibe considering they too can turn and not reach the Farplane. Many are attacked by monsters, some lost in the desert, way too many others have drowned by the Moonflow when left unsupervised. One Tale tells even of a young thief, a child, who died in jail. Being Spiran kids seems dangerous.  [ Lesser Josh, Squelch the Amorphous Gel, Scooter the Vespa, Nexus the Dark Elemental, Widow the Black Elemental ]

   --  The Tales narrate of children’s stories and legends. To make their children behave, tell them to stay put and be good, else ‘they will turn into fiends’: the more they misbehave, the uglier their monster form will look. Another old legend says spirits of people who died a violent death make their way to the Moonflow to bloom with the moonlilies. I found this last one is very similar to the old bedtime story in the FFX novel, where Old Spirans believed the souls of the dead bloomed as flowers in the Farplane. With the advent of Sin, though, and the spread of religion, this tale was forgotten.  [ Petal the Ochu, Cyanide the Assassin Bee ]

   --  The Temple of Macalania is sinking, as Shiva’s Fayth is no more and there is nothing to freeze the lake now. Many people remained trapped in their rooms inside and died during the sinking, like some wives and children of Macalania priests, for example. The few survivors performed their funeral .  [ Mayo the White Elemental ]

   --  Apparently, people living near Gagazet have a rite of passage for adulthood, which takes place as a boy reaches 20 years of age. He must climb the peak of the mountain alone in the dead of the night and bathe in the first morning lights. Needless to say, it’s quite dangerous, but the Tale is pretty funny.  [ Wuff the White Fang ]

   -- The excessive usage of machina, by the time of FFX-2, is starting to pollute the water and air. It is said fish and birds are starting to suffer because of it.  [ Daisy the Haize ]

   --  The punishment for murder, in Spira, is execution. Hissss the Kukulkan was sentenced to death, mistaken for the killer when he was a mere witness of said murder. He spent one year in the cell of Bevelle -- most likely Via Purifico ones (all monsters in Via Purifico are people who were executed nearby -- aside from Omega who was taken to the ruins), to then being sent to the gallow.

   --  Malboros have very long lifespans. Their average one is about 300 years, and a legend says the insides of a Malboro over 500 years old are linked to the divine. There’s a legend of a monk who was swallowed by a 700-years-old Malboro, survived the digestive fluids and returned to his people with his battle garb still on.  [ Vape Nation the Malboro ]

   --  In Luca, if the Goers win Blitzball matches, pubs and bars offer everyone free drinks. In Kilika, instead, barmaids also dance, which is seen as quite the spectacle. Men usually flock to those bars to drink and also bring gifts to the most beautiful dancers, even ending up in fights for their attention.  [ Jub Jub the Archaeothyris, Venom the Gucumatz ]

   --  Religious Spirans believe in reincarnation. Yuna mentions it in the Ultimania too, referring to her father, and theorizing if, one day, she’ll ever have the chance to meet his soul again, born anew somewhere in Spira. It kinda goes against the principle of souls dwelling in the Farplane, but it’s useful to remember those are mere illusions anyway. A tale says that ‘when looking into the water of an oasis after a sandstorm, you can see yourself in a past life’.  [ Venom the Gucumatz ]

   --  Footage of Zaon becoming a Fayth exist, and are stored inside long-gone and deactivated machina still found near Zanarkand Ruins, which once served to protect the couple during the Machina War. One of these footages shows Zaon embracing Yunalesca, and her promising him her love and to return safely.  [ Punt the YAU71 ]

   --  Music seems important in Spira. Yevon Maesters hire musicians, since the most popular music seems to be Yevonite one -- religious, solemn type, played with harps, horns and strings. There seems to be an annual Yevonite concert for the Maesters too. Still, Spira’s most rebellious teens have started rejecting such old-fashioned music and guitars are spreading among youth nowadays. [ Casper the Lich ]

   --  At some point in Braska’s pilgrimage, the trio arrived in Bikanel and got separated. A Cactuar and Jecht met at the oasis; the man taught the friendly fiend how to play Blitzball and signed its ball.      “ A guy with a huge sword wandered into the oasis. He had strayed from his traveling mates, and he stayed with me for three days. He taught me how to blitz! We didn’t speak the same language but I had fun. I’m clumsy, so it takes a lot of practice to get better. He used to say ‘The only thing the untalented can do is practice!’ with a big laugh. [...] I heard a rumor that said he was dead, but it’s just a rumor, right? ”  [ Needler the Cactuar ]

   --  A Besaid Festival exists, and it includes a fireworks moment. While Luca has a Eating Contest, where the competitors have to eat 200 crispy-outside, juicy inside Luca sandwiches. The local champion was poisoned before the contest started. [ Akao the Sahagin Prince, Mr Creosote the Anything Eater ]

[frumiousreads]

Hello and welcome to A Murderess Affair. My name is Gabrielle, and this seems to be the month that we’re talking about murderous healthcare workers. 

Our story today takes us to Germany, where we talk about the deadly Gesche Gottfried. 

Gottfried was born on March 6 1785 to Johann Timm and Gesche Margarethe Timme. She had a twin brother Johann Timm Jr, and her parents always preferred him to her. Now, like many other serial killers, people like to look back at Gottfried’s childhood to try and see how it affected her as an adult. 

What’s interesting about Gottfried’s case in particular is that it seems like because of how she killed people, and just the general way her parents treated her, a lot of people have begun to believe that she had Munchausen syndrome by proxy. 

Basically, Munchausen’s by proxy is where a caregiver makes up or causes an illness/injury to someone under their care. 

Gottfried’s father was a tailor, and her mother worked as a sewer/seamstress. But, surprisingly enough, despite their supposedly low or poor class status, Gottfried and her parents arranged a marriage between herself and a wealthy man who made saddles in 1806, Johann Mittenberg.

And this marriage was not a happy one. Mittenberg seemed to like drinking, prostitutes, and dance halls more than he liked spending time with his wife. 

And sadly, by 1813, this marriage would be over. Gottfried became known as the “angel of Bremen”, as this beautiful blue eyed blonde haired 28 year old who doted on her sick husband despite all of his failures, nurturing him quite literally to his death. 

Gottfried was now a widow with 3 children, but she was also very, very good friends with one of her dead husband’s friends, Michael Christoph Gottfried. 

Now, Gottfried’s parents were not too happy with this interest she took. Apparently, Michael wasn’t a big fan of kids, and her parents were very, very vocal about their disapproval. They were the only obstacle in Gottfried’s marriage to Michael. At least, until first Gottfried’s mother, 3 and 6 year old daughters, father, and 6 year old son died within the span of May, June, and September of 1815. 

Childless, with no family to support her, the town’s sympathy was only growing. While this may look suspicious to us now, this was back in a time where epidemics routinely took the lives of many families who lived in unhygienic and crowded conditions. 

Honestly I think now more than any other time is when we can understand how quickly sickness spreads through a community. 

So no suspicions were raised, and now all barriers holding Gottfried back from marrying Michael were disposed of, and their relationship would continue. 

Until 1816, when Gottfried’s twin brother returned from a war that left him injured and with destroyed faculties. He’d fought in the war against Napoleon, and now that he was discharged he wanted to claim the inheritance his parents had left him. And, since he was the favored child, he was left significantly more. 

Gottfried couldn’t have that, and on Jun 1st, 1816, she cooked him a dinner of fish and arsenic. He died not too long after. 

Arsenic used to be so easily found. It was commonly sold at drug and corner stores as a form of rat poison, and was nearly tasteless. Gottfried’s go to for incorporating her poison was to use “mouse butter”, which was a mix of fat and arsenic that created a butter like substance often used to kill rodents and other pests.  

Now, not long after her brother’s death, Gottfried found out that she was pregnant. And with this revelation, her new lover Michael decided he was done with the relationship. Gottfried wasn’t having that, and began mixing this mouse butter into his meals. He didn’t die at first, but fell completely under her whims and was considered “invalid”. They were married so that she could continue to care for him, but ultimately he died in July 1817. The baby she was carrying would also turn out to be stillborn. 

After Michael’s death, Gottfried hit a dry spell where nobody close to her died. It wasn’t until 1823, when her funds began to run out, that she started resorting to her old methods. 

She was proposed to by her neighbor, a merchant named Paul Zimmerman, who proposed spring of that year.

It wasn’t long after that she made a trip to the pharmacy, where they were advertising their “mouse butter” on sale. To test it, and see if it was “the real thing”, she made a sandwich for her fiance, who began to get sick and continued to get worse until he died on June 1st, 1823. Luckily, he’d remembered to add her in his will before he died, so she ended up getting his assets. 

After his death, it seems that Gottfried started actively looking for more and more victims. 

When she ran out of funds,  she ended up selling the house to a wheel maker, Johann Rumpff, under the condition that she was allowed to stay on as a tenant. She soon became close to the family as they moved in, helping take care of the house and being referred to by the children as their “aunt”, and caring for them when their parents were busy. 

She even helped take care of Mrs. Rumpff, when she got sick, until she died on December 22nd, 1826. Yes, that “mouse butter” was coming in handy. 

Except, Johann Rumpff was suspicious. This only increased when one day he found strange white grains in a salad that Gottfried had served him. He refused to eat the salad, and a few days later noticed the same white grains, and this time he saved some and later gave them to a doctor. This doctor confirmed it was a “considerable amount of arsenic”, and she was arrested on March 6th, 1828.

Unfortunately, at that point she had claimed the lives of 2 others, and also had dosed her latest victim, Friedrich Kleine, to the point that even though she was caught Kleine still died. 

She was jailed for 3 years in a cellar under the town hall in Bremen. The judge, Franz Friedrich Droste, was reportedly fond of her and treated her with pity. 

Gottfried was found guilty of the murders of 16 people, although her own estimate was somewhere around 30. She was given a death sentence, and on April 21st, 1831 she was sent to Domhof Square. There was a scaffold covered in black and she was directed to the podium and sat on a stool. There, she was beheaded, and her body displayed on museum in Domhof. The reason? To raise money for an orphanage. 

Gottfried’s was the last public execution in Bremen, and her skeleton was last reported to be in the Department of Pathology of Bremen in 1912. 

One way that Gottfried is remembered in Bremen is at the central city square. There, you will see a “black stone” in the roadway, where the platform that Gottfried was beheaded once stood. 

To demonstrate their disgust towards Gottfried and  her cruelty, the city placed this black stone and encourage those who see to spit on it. Nowadays, people do it even though they may not necessarily know the story behind it. 

[fymagnificentwomcn]

Leyla Feray was a perfect "Ayşe Sultan", Farah Zeynep is not that pretty plus the role of a sultana didn't suit her and of course Farya as a character sucks ! Still bitter about Tims's casting for Turhan Hatice and for how they portrayed her and she only appeared in 3 episodes Ibrahim's reign deserved its own season

I agree Anon. Harem didn’t play an important role during Murad’s reign, so to be honest I would be satisfied with having only Ayşe as a developed character. Harem during Ibrahim’s role played a HUGE role and the fact that we didn’t get all the harem dynamics of that period explored properly is my huge regret and I can bet show’s creators feel the same because they obviously planned for Season 3 devoted wholly to Ibrahim’s reign.. but such is Turkish TV market now and they still delivered a story of Kösem’s life that made sense, which is more you can tell of many TV shows nowadays, even those with huge budget and safe position like Game of Thrones that HBO would have likely prolonged as much as they could, but D&D were certain they had enough time to wrap everything up properly lol. So in those conditions,not knowing when they may get axed (and Turkish shows are filmed like two weeks in advance only), I still appreciate what they did… Now that my initial expectations about whole season of Turhan/Kösem rivalry, Ibrahim’s harem, Turhan of my dreams are more in past, I’m more able to appreciate what we got in that conditions eh.

Devoting so much time to Farya and Murya was HUGE mistake, since it didn’t save the ratings by bringing FZA’s fanbase etc., and it truly stole a lot of precious screentime later. The pacing issues are in MYK from start – back in S1 they introduced Beren earlier than planned and then rushed to end S1 with Kösem becoming regent because they weren’t sure they would get renewed. Maybe it’s crying over spilt milk now, especially since they are obviously aware that they had made a huge mistake – Farya’s screentime was clearly strongly reduced after 10 episodes and after she was removed, she was practically never mentioned again, like they pretended she had never existed lol.

Mhm I don’t think actresses’ appearance is of importance here, sultanas were normal girls, I know it is often assumed that they had to be pretty to captivate the padişah, but it was not always the case - Hürrem apparently wasn’t that conventionally pretty, but managed to charm Suleiman so much regardless. And each sultan had his own preferences. There isn’t something like “a sultana look”. I hear people talking “this actress is too pretty to play a subject, not a sultana” and I’m like ???? Royal blood doesn’t make you pretty either.

I think Leyla was absolutely fine. I liked her cutesy image in contrast to Murad’s violent nature. You can see why this girl “brought him peace” and why he ultimately destroyed her… just episode before she makes the big mistake and helps Gülbahar out, Murad threatens her to become her nightmare after Farya told him about her suspicions. She was soo scared, she was willing to do everything just not to face Mu/rat’s /spelling intentional/ wrath. And then she regretted what had done so much when she heard about people who suffered in the fire and wanted to fight Gülbahar as mother of Murad’s kids and his woman… and poor thing ultimately got exposed for wanting to fix things… #AyseDeservedBetter

I’m not satisifed with the Turhan we got, but after reading more stuff about Kösem vs Turhan conflict I’m now against the “Turhan was innocent cookie, who only jumped to her son’s defence” thing – it’s a clear example of “history being written by winners” thing. Turhan was definitely very good at propaganda – relationship between her and Ibrahim was surely tense and full of mutual dislike, and Mehmed ascending the throne and Ibrahim being dethroned surely was a good thing for her – yet in correspondence to statesmen that she wanted to bring to her side she described herself “as poor suffering widow, who just wants to punish those who killed her beloved husband”, among which she meant Kösem. There was even an occurrence when one of statesmen supporting Turhan went to Kösem to accuse her of killing Sultan Ibrahim and putting all blame on her, which reportedly shook Kösem very much. While Kösem likely did make moves to dethrone Mehmed, it’s very possible that the poisoning thing was invented by Turhan and her people to rally support. Reports put blame on “misinformation” on Suleiman Aga, who was treated as person inciting the showdown, but we know Suleiman Aga served Turhan, and it was a natural thing that servants of Imperial figures were blamed because nobody dared to accuse the actual Valide.

Turhan as Valide Sultan did not only manage harem, but was involved in state matters and the double rule often made it harder for Kösem to stabilise Empire. Turhan wasn’t deprived of being Valide Sultan; Kosem’s position was simply new & unprecedented and allowed her to be regent. While mothers began to play the role of regent recently (Kösem for Murad, Halime unofficially for Mustafa, Handan as co-regent together with Ahmed’s lala, even Mehmed III leaving the affairs in Safiye’s hands when he went on campaign to Hungary), there was no law on this and previously e.g. there was more inclination for Grand Vizier in this role.

In the end, they were both morally grey because while Kösem likely didn’t plan to poison Mehmed, of course there was always risk of him losing his life if any problems ensued following deposition, as the Ibrahim case showed.

Still, the innocent cookie defender of her son Turhan vs. evil hag Kösem narrative is not the true one.

We also must remember that:

Discretion prevented Ottoman writers from criticizing royal mothers (they did not record the hostile barbs directed by Ottoman statesmen at queen mothers and favorites which made their way into European accounts), but they did not hesitate to employ invective in he case of lesser women of the sultan’s harem. Naima, so careful to defend the young queen mother Turhan, criticized other concubines of the “mad” İbrahim with relish.

Taken from: Leslie Peirce, The Imperial Harem: Women and Sovereignty in the Otoman Empire.

I’ve found some evidence for Turhan being groomed by Kösem and Turhan’s involvement in politics even during Ibrahim’s reign (namely in connection with the Crete war), so while we don’t know much about the relationship between the two women before Mehmed’s reign, there is some evidence supporting MYK’s direction. Leslie Peirce states that Kösem groomed Turhan and Thys-Senocak mentions that Atike chose and trained her.

However, as a new slave woman in the palace, a gift of Kör Süleyman Pasha to the valide sultan Kösem, she had been trained by Atike Sultan, a sister of Murad IV, and groomed by Kösem, who presented her to her son.

Taken from: Leslie Peirce, The Imperial Harem: Women and Sovereignty in the Otoman Empire. Peirce also reiterates that Kösem groomed Turhan in her short article entitled Gender and Sexual Propriety in Ottoman Royal Women’s Patronage.

Training by Atike could be also on Kösem’s request, though we cannot say for certain Atike was Kösem’s daughter, but yet again Kösem seemed to pretty much take care of whole dynasty, not only her own children. It is interesting because the position of the mother of eldest son’s gained importance due to switch to seniority and we know for certain Turhan wasn’t Ibrahim’s favourite consort – but maybe again he was attracted to her at first and the relationship deteriorated later. Due to her being mother of eldest son, Turhan had to be aware that being Valide is in store for her, and Kösem also had to accept the fact.

The fact is that with four episodes the showrunners decided to focus more on the already established characters and Turhan got pretty much sacrificed for it – after all, it was Kösem’s story. I get what they did for abridged story purposes, but what I saw on screen did not reflect my imaginations of historical Turhan.

In the end, MYK Turhan represented an extreme version of a person brought up in Ottoman harem. She was completely cold and almost entirely devoid of human emotions, save in some scenes with her children or her sadness upon Ibrahim preferring other concubines. She was truly unscrupulous and desperate to get to the highest top aka becoming regent for her son, which meant he had to become padişah while he was still a minor. She truly wanted to have it all, even if she had a lot compared to other harem girls – she was a chief haseki with high position given to her by her mother-in-law, who truly treated her exceptionally compared to other Valides we saw – she shared her power with her, taught her political stuff and introduced her to political world, involving her in her own affairs and even taking her to secret councils with her. Kösem was undoubtedly aware that  in light of Ibrahim’s illness she had to keep the mother of eldest prince satisifed&feeling safe because padişah like Ibrahim was an easy target for deposition. Not only Turhan had safe position due to seniority succession rules – Kösem clearly supported her and wanted her to be her successor, e.g. backed her up in the Zarife conflict. Yes, Ibrahim had other favourites, but he was a weak sultan and he wasn’t interested in this stuff at all – he just wanted to have fun with other girls and ignored Turhan, but he wasn’t politically involved enough to try to prevent Turhan from becoming next Valide because he simply didn’t give a damn most of the time.

Turhan’s going against Kösem was a huge & risky gamble, also for her son.  It’s one thing to never trust anyone fully and be on your guard, and another to go on removing everyone, so whole rule is in your hands. While we know that relations between Ibrahim&Turhan were tense, there wasn’t any repeated pattern of abuse against her or their son – Ibrahim’s outburst and throwing Mehmed justifiably shook Turhan up, but it was clear it was one-time incident that stemmed more from Ibrahim’s illness than any sort of malice or sadism. He mostly simply ignored Turhan and didn’t want to spend time in her company. Perhaps Ibrahim being a weak padişah was also why Turhan looked at him with contempt because she couldn’t accept how this man stood higher in hierarchy than her, which wounded her pride additionally. Thus said, if her primary motive had been as she said fear of Ibrahim, I don’t think she would have gone against Kösem. Kösem was after all the person who defended her to Ibrahim, tried to calm him down with regards to Turhan and she obviously supported Turhan as next Valide. Additionally, when Kösem actually controlled Ibrahim and his behaviour – later Atike didn’t care, people who were trying to use him and make him crazier for their purposes achieved their goal. Turhan purposefully wanted to make him crazier and crazier to dethrone him and now she was in the palace without her biggest former supporter. Ibrahim was definitely in far worse mental condition after Kösem’s exile and Kemankeş’ removal. We got the taste of the danger when Ibrahim threatened to strangle Mehmed during the coup – and then we finally saw fear in Turhan’s eyes. But it was she who allowed the situation to boil down to this. Turhan’s backstabbing to Kösem wasn’t only a betrayal to a person who always supported her&did a lot to her (and it was something even Ibrahim highlighted after Kemankeş’ “execution” and since he also had beef with his mother at that point, it’s hard to take his words as biased), but also her sacrificing whole nation due to striving to make Ibrahim’s reign fail so much that he would be undoubtedly deposed.

Turhan’s final win isn’t so much a triumph of very well-thought-out long-term strategy, but luck, totally unscrupulous nature, not taking into account that any bystanders might be harmed, and Kösem making a fatal mistake in the end. Until the last stand, Kösem always managed to ultimately outsmart her, and Turhan’s final victory is only due to raw force, Kösem making a fatal mistake&Kuşçu’s betrayal for reasons Kösem didn’t deserve.

 In the end, Turhan and her people represented raw power which adheres to no rules or honour. Not only did they kill so many  innocent people, but also showed no rules in the final stand – Kösem is strangled on the harem floor and her body is plundered (a historical fact, sadly), and Turhan only stays on balcony with devilish smile over the slaughtered palace. Köprülü does not face the elderly Kemankeş himself, but waits until his people defeat him to slice his throat. Haci is also murdered in unnecessarily cruel way by having his neck twisted in front of Tuhan bearing her stone cold face as she usually does. Turhan was presented as pretty much extreme product of that system – someone who is always coldly calculating, showing little human emotions (maybe only towards her kids) and only focused on achieving one’s goal without any scruples, and is unable to bond with anyone other than her kids. Same with people surrounding her, there are no strong, touching & genuine relationships like in Kösem’s team, which is based on loyalty that may mean even paying with death for it. There’s strong friendship between Haci & Kösem, same with Kemankeş and Deli Hüseyin, Kösem and Kemankeş deeply and truly love each other until the end, Hüseyin also prefers to die than to support Turhan. Even Lalezar’s “betrayal” is only about not letting an innocent child die, not wanting to support Turhan or switch sides for her personal gain. In a way, Turhan functions as some symbol of end of Empire, same with the depressing final shots, which is also accentuated in Kösem’s final monologue: ‘The lights have gone out, no right, no left, no death, no back, no forward, no top, no bottom (…) ” . I can see the rationale – it was first and foremost Kösem’s story, moreover a story that needed to be abridged.

However, as I said, Turhan is a real-life historical figure that actually did good things for the Empire, continued Kösem’s legacy and had her achievements, that’s why historical Turhan can never be simply a destructive force in my mind, and it’s probably the highest divergence between historical figure and show figure I have in my mind as far as MY&MYK are concerned.

We see some glimpses of Turhan actually taking her responsibilities seriously in the final episode – she decides to spare Mehmed’s brothers (which actually serves pretty much as plot twist taking into account how her character has been portrayed) and declares she intends to take care of the state. Ironically, while Kösem paid for politically training Turhan & introducing her to political world with her life, at least even her ultimate enemy wanted to honour her legacy & obey anti-fratricide law & was prepared for ruling. It was a posthumous win for Kösem here.

Of course the way historical Turhan took power from Kösem was questionable – it was full of brutality, purges, and it’s hard to imagine it was all without knowledge of her and her closest associates. /Still we know that Turhan likely didn’t kill harem girls that served Kösem, but got them married off instead as Kumrular writes in her Kösem biography/. However, she also proved capable in taking care of state and dynasty and since Mehmed was pretty much an obedient momma’s boy, she had much easier task than Kösem to for example persuade him not to kill his brothers.. honestly, try to control someone like Murad, it was a huge success Kösem managed to save Ibrahim.

I think that the portrayal of Turhan and her people may stem from not only brutal purges that followed Kösem’s death, but also from the period after Turhan appointed Köprülü the Grand Vizier – Peirce compares some of his methods to Murad’s and this period to Murad’s reign. While it was Köprülü who used bloody methods, we can guess that Turhan would have not let him stay GV if she had not accepted it. It is curious how Turhan/Murad emerged a pretty popular crackship in MYK… I was always like “they gave us Turhan who seems like a perfect match for Murad”.. just that her ruthlessness does not stem from anger, but more from cold detachment (fire and ice LMAO). I know some like to refer to Turhan as “Iron Lady”, so I suppose it was  what MYK creators intended. /There is of course some anger in her too - when Ibrahim told her that she was just a coward hiding under his mother’s skirts… you just knew she would NEVER let it slide and prove to him & the rest of the world she didn’t need Kösem to stay on top./

The more I think the more I’d really love to see Müge Boz as Turhan, since Turhan wasdescribed as pretty unassuming and that was also why she was able to rally supporters. It would be cool to see Kösem facing a girl looking like young her, but not innocent… yet using her innocent image. And again we should have seen more of her showing care for state. I’m actually glad we didn’t get the simple Kösem turns into Safye and encounters an innocent Anastasia that we all expected. Now I think we needed something more complex, and as I mentioned it Kösem truly didn’t turn into Safiye, while many of Turhan’s actions (like mass slaughter in harem) resemble Safiye more – yet later her son is truly in danger, so there’s some rationale in that and we see some of Kösem’s legacy in her declaration to spare Mehmed’s brothers and take care of the state. 

Likely it was intentional to make Turhan so much like the opposite of innocent Nasya.

But in the end, while there are hints of Kösem legacy being preserved (Turhan clearly wants to obey anti-fratricide law), Turhan pretty much served as a symbol of future fall of Empire because the final images of slaughtered people and her smirking on balcony in her slay kween (pretty pretentious) attire, accompanied by the above mentioned monologue, pretty much give a glimpse of apocalypse. /And LBR she claimed she had started the whole conflict for her son… then why the fuck she stands shouting to “bend the knee or die” & “show no mercy” or grins on the balcony instead of sitting with her son or at least checking up on him?/

It’s kinda fitting end for Kösem story, where she was the protagonist, especially when we see how yellow filter & fairytale elements from first episodes of MYK (which gradually become less bright) to the total darkness and atmosphere of doom of final episode. Still, as I said, Turhan Sultan is a historical figure that deserves more.

In a way, we were by default robbed of a satisfying depiction of Turhan by the mere fact that Ibrahim’s regin was abridged to 4 episodes – we should have got her early days in harem, her growing up etc., but I think at this point I decided to stop crying over spilt milk, I think, even though the mere fact that some fake princess got 22 episodes and Turhan 4 is always gonna hurt.

- Joanna

[pynkhues]

You're such a good writer. Have you ever thought about writing professionally? :)

Ah! Thank you, anon! You’re so sweet!

I actually do write professionally. It’s forever a weird thing to say, haha, but I’m an award-winning short fiction writer, and have had over 15 original stories published in journals, anthologies and collections. (Also actually just found out I’m having another one published this week, which means I’ve got three stories already coming out this year, which is exciting!) I’ve also written a few novel manuscripts that have been shortlisted for prizes, but haven’t been published yet, and have a screenplay that has been optioned by a production company, but hasn’t yet been turned into a movie. 

Unfortunately, there is not a lot of money in any of those things, haha, at least not in Australia, and I grew up pretty poor, so I also work as both a gun for hire / freelance writer, writing everything from utility manuals to child safety policies and procedures, to product descriptions for various online stores, as well as at a theatre company which makes interactive works for disadvantaged children. 

But yes!

I’m actually currently working on a new novel manuscript which is set against the backdrop of Houdini’s tour of Australia in 1910, and how during that tour he became the first person to fly a plane in Australia. The novel itself though is actually a mystery novel about a woman investigating her grandfather’s (who was a magician) strange death, and how she ends up sort of accidentally teaming up with an American journalist who’s out in Australia reporting on Houdini’s tour. 

You can have a little excerpt, if you’d like!

“Mrs. Hathaway?” Joe asks, and Alma laughs, but it’s empty, even to her own ears. 

“I was, I suppose. Once.”

If Joe has any thoughts about the matter, he keeps his face carefully blank. Instead, he lifts his scotch glass, swirls the liquid like a God does a muddy river in the palm of his clean hand. Before them, the fire crackles – lit for the cool desert night, and only serving to stifle the day’s stagnant heat. There are certain customs that are hard to shake, she thinks, and she pinches the sleeves of her sweaty blouse and thinks that any real place, accustomed to this heat, would never ask this constriction of its people.

In front of the fire, moths and beetles fly, a haphazard array of insects, crashing into one another, fleeing, crashing all over again. The realisation of it is not one that Alma especially cares for, but she keeps it in her head all the same. The way the flames cast their light across the glossy shells of the insects.

“I don’t want to pry,” Joe says suddenly, and Alma tilts her head towards him. Takes in his careful, downcast expression, his careful, downturned lips.

“I rather think you do,” she says, as gently as she can manage it. “You don’t have to be so careful, really. There’s no fantastic story to tell, and no particularly extraordinary tragedy about the matter. I was married, and now I am not.”

Joe looks at her then, properly, for perhaps the first time since Mr. Wellesley called her name across the gathering all those days ago. His eyes are so green, it almost surprises her.

“See, I’m not entirely sure I believe that,” he replies, and Alma laughs, dropping her head forwards and reaching for her own conspiring cup.

“Last I checked, I was not your story.”

Joe tilts his head, back and forth, as if weighing up her statement, a shadow of that familiar smile ghosting his lips.

“Perhaps I undersold your character.”

“Perhaps you did.”

The insects are growing in volume, if not size. Their wings a light catching gauze in the throes of this deep night. Vaguely, Alma can hear patrons on the floor above them, stepping the long corridors of the hotel, their laughs and their slurs and their missteps like a play across the stage of her head. And if they are, then perhaps she is to Mr. Goddard, she supposes. She sighs.

“You are aware that I worked as a governess in one of the northern houses?”

Joe nods, quickly, briskly, leaning ever so slightly forwards in his seat.

“Mr. Hathaway was a groundsman at the same house. He’d served in the Boer War, and from the stories I’d heard, not all of him had made it back.”

She swirls the scotch around in her own glass, watching the amber liquid mouth up the sides of her cup.

“That is not uncommon,” Joe says quietly. “At least, not of the men I know who have served.”

“No, of course not,” Alma says, shaking her head. “And that’s not entirely what I meant. I suppose I never knew him before it, and so the man I met was the only man I knew. He was kind and he was quiet, tormented, but I know a lot of tormented folk, so it was not unusual to me. We did not fall in love exactly, but - - I liked him. And I rather think he liked me, and perhaps that could have become love. I don’t know.”

She pauses, lost, for a moment, in her own memories of a man who had, for a very brief time, become the most important part of her life. It’s as if a tent has been erected inside her, forcing aside her bones and her organs, allowing unwelcome feelings to sleep within her. Alma sighs.

“He shot himself. About a year after we were married.”

She finishes her scotch.

Beside her, Joe is quiet, still turning over the glass in his hands, letting the liquid roll up the sides, warm between his skin and the fire. He brings it to his nose, inhales deeply, but does not take a sip. It’s unexpected, unusual, perhaps, but she had been warned about the strange habits of Americans, and of this, this seems like one of Joe’s lesser ones.

“I rather think you’ve done what many thought impossible,” Joe muses quietly. “And rendered me speechless.”

She laughs, and Joe weighs her with a careful, considering look.

“Oh, Mr. Goddard, if only I knew the key to that was a few well-timed words of my own.”

He laughs, but his face remains shadowed, uncertain, and she puts her own glass down on the floor and reaches her hands for his free one. He gives it freely, and she turns it over in hers, running her fingers, still damp from her glass, across the palm of his freckled hand.

“You know, back when I was a part of my grandfather’s act, I would put on a shawl and read palms as the opener.”

He laughs again, a gentler one this time, scrunching up his nose in a way that reminds her that they are both so young still. So young to have felt this much. He leans back, almost embarrassed, but Alma follows him.

“Hm,” she hums, stroking a finger down his palm. A part of her knows this is improper, a young, widowed woman, without gloves, touching the skin of a young, unwedded man, but for now, there’s nothing in the world that feels more proper than this.

“This,” she says, her voice donning the vague, European accent she’d wear during her shows. “This is your lifeline.”

She taps it once, twice, three times.

“It’s long,” and it is. Very long, stretching around the heel of his hand and curling at the base. “You’ll live a long life.”

Joe sits up a little straighter, leaning forwards in his own chair.

“A good life?”

“That, unfortunately, is not something the palms can easily tell.”

He chuckles, a breathy one, spreading his fingers better in her hand, as if offering better access to the lines of him, and Alma swallows thickly.

The weight of a hand in hers is not foreign to her, but somehow Joe’s feels both too heavy and impossibly light. Feels - -

Well.

Just feels, she supposes.

She turns his hand over in her own, looking at the long, graceful lines of it, the fresh dirt beneath his nails, the cricks in his skin that tell her everything and nothing.

“Your hands are long,” she says, running her thumb across his knuckles, relishing in the warmth it spreads through her chest. “And thin. Which means you’re loyal, and that you’re kind, and you’re thumb bends out, so you’re generous too. But,” and she tuts then, amused, shaking her head. “Your fingernails. They’re short and round, which means you’re a gossip.”

He hoots at that, like she’d thought he might, and a smile paints her face as she opens his hand again in hers. She can feel him then, leaning closer, his breath on the back of her head, shifting her sweat-damp hair.

She uncurls his hand in hers, moving her thumbs from the heel of his hand up towards the tips of his long, arching fingers. She can feel the pulse in them, the flutter of it just below the veil of his thin skin.

“Your head line is short, which means you are impulsive, but it curves down slightly, which means you are gentle.”

She can feel Joe getting closer, shifting beneath her hands, moving nearer to her in his seat, until his whole body is curved towards her. Her own breath picks up, the fire before them suddenly too hot. Hotter than it has felt before. She brushes a hand back through her hair. Tries to stroke any knot from it. Free it from its bindings. She must be quiet too long, for the next question Joe asks, is: “Are there any more?”

Alma blinks, feels the sweat building at her lashes, tries to blink them free.

“Your heart line,” she says, and she can feel more than see Joe smile. “It starts before your index finger, and it’s deep. Which means you fall in love quickly, but that you love intensely.”

He hums, a small sound like an agreement, and Alma touches the rough flat of her thumb to the softness of his palm, and she remembers all the ways she wasn’t made for this man.  That Joe - - that Mr. Goddard - - that he might be a working man in the bowels of New York City, but as far as the rough, dirty middle of Queensland is, he’s an upper class boy with no idea as to the gruelling design of this land. He was built for the tamed, not the wild, and he is not Alma. He is not a desperate, writhing snake trying to find family in the desert that has loved her and abandoned her and made her whole, nor the tropics which have weathered her skin, and shed her bare beneath the tempest of its moods. He will marry a good, American girl with a good, American dowry, and a quick wit and a smart look, and the wild of this trip, and the wild of Alma, will become a story he will tell friends at bars, if it even becomes that.

She pulls away, dropping his hand, and ignoring the way he tries to chase her.

“There will be someone worthy of that hand, some day,” she says instead, rising from her seat, a quiver in her legs that surprises her. “Sadly, this is where I must leave you, Mr. Goddard. I am rather tired, all of a sudden, and know we have a rather monstrous day ahead of us, if we are to make it back down to Marigold’s before the dusk.”

She turns, moving promptly towards the stairs leading up to their rooms, and she hears the scrape of the chair across the floorboards behind her, and the calling of her name - names, Miss Rivers first, and then Mrs Hathaway and then suddenly, strikingly, Alma, and she picks up her pace away from him before she can even consider that it is the first time she has heard her name at his lips.

[automatismoateo]

Hindus should turn Atheist, to save India. via /r/atheism

Submitted June 26, 2020 at 04:56AM by Sankha_69 (Via reddit https://ift.tt/31mkUkb) Hindus should turn Atheist, to save India.

I am an Indian Bengali atheist , born in a Hindu family. I did not turn atheist , I was born an atheist.

From very childhood I was not at all attracted to the rituals, as it was huge waste of money. Whenever I questioned the rituals I was insulted , my parents said to me,” you are just a child , you know nothing about religion, you don’t know the importance of god, many great men believe in god so you must too, you have become arrogant , why are we even sending you to school. Look at your nephews and nieces they believe in god and they are better in academics than you , you will just remain a low-life farmer while they will become sucessful people, blaaah blaaah blaaaah.......” .

When the Pandits(males) arrive to start the puja(ceremony) the women of the house have to was his feet, which is very misognistic. Apart from personal pujas at home there are community pujas also , too many community pujas take place in a small area and the money have to be given by common people , if anyone dosen’t give they are harassed. They are too many pujas also , in hinduism , as there are too many gods in Hinduism. After the puja ends , the idols are immersed in holy water sources , as there are too many pujas many times blood is drawn between different groups as to who will do the immersion first. During the immersion ceremony , large processions are taken out which literally fucks up the traffic along with very loud DJ sounds in the open streets , 8 to 10 processions per day for almost 3 to 5 days in a single area , say good bye to the Old and the heart patients. Unnecessary bursting of fire crackers at an un precedented scale adding to more sound pollution and air pollution. The large cases of sexual harrasment , rapes during such processions is mind boggling. So much for imaginary super heroes who were not there to protect us from the Islamic invasion.

On every Saraswati (Hindu Godess of Education) Puja my parents would force me to give anjali( divine offering) to Saraswati , so that I can get good marks in Mathematics but every time I scored poor in Mathematics. Yes I got better in maths from class 9 , when I got a teacher who made me fall in love with maths , apart from syllabus text books I also solved many olympiads , out of syllabus text books, instead of memorizing case studies , formulas I learnt general problem solving skills. The sad part is all the credits was taken by goddess saraswati.

When I grew up ,the seeds of Atheism grew big , as I came to know about the obvious social evils of Hinduism . I will describe them elaborately but first I would like to say some thing about it.

Hinduism is very much like Islam , just polytheistic. Hindus are not more liberal than Muslims or Christians . the problem is Hinduism is not a proper religion founded by someone, so Hindus are not united and community driven ,fueled by religion to spread their religious dominance across the world .Hindus of one part do not feel for Hindus of another part , that’s why they got so easily banged by the muslims and christians .Hinduism is a collection of scriptures – veds, purans, upanishads and practices – rituals , yoga , ayurved, many of which have already been corrupted by the majority upper caste Bramhins and Kshatriyas to consolidate their social dominance over women and lower caste people , even before Judaism, Islam and Christanity were born. When the muslims invaded India they called the people of Indian Subcontinent Hindus( persian word which means – people of the Sindhu river) , at that time in Different parts of India different sects of people( Marathis, Gujaratis, Bengalis, Tamils, Shikhs, Kashmiris, Rajputs) worshipped different vedic gods in different ways , each region had a prime god of worship, these different sects did not go well along with each other , even between their own sects they were divided into many kingdoms. Now when the british planned to conquer india they were not so effective in countering the muslims , as muslims tends to be more community oriented, will do anything to save islam and they also had support of many hindu rulers. The British divised an ingenious plan , they divided the Hindus and Muslims by giving an identity to the Hindu rulers that all Hindu rulers of Indian subcontinent belong to an original, ancient, prosperous , common, vedic religion of India called Hinduism and that the muslims had looted them, destroyed their temples, thus Hinduism was born.

Now the many social evils of Hinduism-

Misogny – Hindus worship a menstruating woman – Kali, Girl childs are worshipped as Goddess but when they grow up they are not allowed to enter the main shrine of temples as they are of menstruating age. Menstruating girls are considered as impure. What hipocrisy.

Female Infanticide(banned by British) – Killing of girl childs by immersing them in milk and playing a band during the process to supress the voice of the dying child. Girls were married along with huge amount of money and gold , that’s why girls were seen as a burden on family , so they were killed . It led to one of the most serious crisis in Indian society , for every 1 girl there are 10 to 15 boys . This led to rise in rape cases , in many rural areas 4-5 brothers married 1 girl. Modern Hindus still dosen’t accept this, their excuse- it is not in the vedas , so only few people did it.

3.Sati(Banned by British ) – Buring alive of young widowed girls along with their dead husbands. Raja Ram Mohan Roy during Bengali Hindu Renassaince championed this cause and got it banned with the help of British. Ishwar Chandra Vidya Sagar another Bengali revolutionary started widow remarriage . All these were met with huge dissent from the hindus . Modern Hindus , especially of North India denies it and hates Raja Ram Mohan Roy and Ishwar Chandra Vidya Sagar and call them British dogs , their reason , well you already know what it is.

DevDasi System(Banned)- The aristrocratic temple priests used to run brothels inside the temples . The most beautiful Hindu girls chosen to dance before god and then sexually exploited by the Kshatriyas and Bramhans.

5.Breast Tax(Banned by British) – The lower caste women were not allowed to cover up their breast, the upper caste men had the right to touch their boobs any time for pleasure. This happened mostly in south India. Those who wanted to cover up would have to pay a heavy tax depending on the size and weight of their breast and it was measured by aristocratic men lifting it by hands. Things changed when a woman covered her breast and when the men came for the tax , she cut her breast and gave it to them . After that a huge revolution started and it got banned.

6.Caste System- This is the most pathetic problem in Modern Indian Hindu Society . The Bramhans and Kshatriyas had all the privileges – education , money , even drinking water and food . The shudras – dalits are seen as lower caste they didn’t have any rights. Their only duty is to serve the uppercaste . They were economically , physically, sexually exploited for thousands of years , starting from the Vedic civilization. Those who rose against the upper caste are killed in the name of god.

Honour Killing – If a Upper Caste girl marries a Lower Caste boy , the girl’s family kills both of them by hiring murderers. There are still a special type of injustice system in many rural areas called Khap court , where the girl is gangraped by the men of whole village on charges of eloping. Again don’t be surprised if Indian Redditors denies it.

8.Economic exploitation – A large amount of social welfare money are wasted by all levels of Indian goverment in organising festivals for appeasement politics , that’s why development work is so slow in India.( Same is true for Muslims and Christians), bcoz Indians put religion above development and then cry when China bangs India from the front . Earlier also Bramhins and Kshatriyas fooled people to keep money in temples , saying god will protect them and then later looted the money .

Indian War of Independence – Yes , this might come as a surprise , but it’s true. The cancer of religion is so deep rooted in India that no Cultural and Scientific Revolution took place in India like Europe , America , China. What the common people will do was decided by their masters. Now the British favoured the masters , the british protected them against people’s discontent and rivals , in return they will be under british rule and supply everything the british needs. The masters enjoyed huge luxuries till they are British puppies. Problem arised when the British started interfering with the religious beliefs of the masters . Actual freedom fighters(Gandhi , Nehru) saw this as a chance and joined hands with the treacherous masters , now they have the support of whole India to overthrow the british. So the Indian independence was never a true one , the people never fought for real development and rule of homeland rather they just wanted to stop the british from interfering in people’s religious matters , which of course were the social evils I mentioned above. Basically we traded one oppressor for another.

10.Psuedo Science – This topic is vast , there are innumerable examples. Hindus always insisting areoplanes, internet , nuclear missiles were invented during the Vedic ages. The wooden scriptures are still ok to this day but their aeroplane , missile factories dissapeared , I don’t know how ? Cow urine can cure cancer, corona .

You see why I mentioned the “Banned practices “ is bcoz it was banned by the British. The British didn’t touch the Caste System and it is still there. Had the British not banned the others , they would also have existed to this day. The cancer of religion is destroying India.

[claimingtheflame]

I had meant to give each family member a post of their own, as kind of a reflection on each, but that will have to happen as I write. All of the people in this post were key figures in my childhood and this post will serve to kind of map them out, so I don't have to explain them as I go. I have already written about D and mom, I will not include them here.

I warn you. Race may be mentioned a lot here. I grew up in an extremely racially mixed environment. The distinction between peoples is a big part of my upbringing, as I grew up among just as many hispanics, asians, and african americans as I did white folk.

My father

If there is a hero to this story, it is my father. A sad hero, yes, but a hero. You will hear me describe people and their various dualities throughout these reflections. Often, one hand would give and one hand would take. Not my father. There were times he disappeared, sometimes for over a year, but none of them was his fault. He is so important to this story because he was everything to me in those times.

My mother cheated on him and moved in D when I was 3 years old. I remember most of those events, believe it or not. I have a very early memory, and I remember when he lived with us. I also remember when he left. After that, we would go visit him every other weekend. Those visits were another world entirely to me and my sister, Nevada. So much could be said, but I will just say that without my father I would be a much more damaged person. These people destroyed him. They took his soul.

Grandfather Paul (maternal grandfather)

Another important figure. Close to my father in benevolence , save for a few infuriating and perplexing acts on his part. I know him, from my earliest memories to later teen, as a powerful and intimidating figure. He was a big-deal attorney in the area, and most of my memories are of him sitting at his desk in his high-backed leather armchair, booming at me in jolly tones. He grew up in Georgia, and you can detect the trademark accent, very different from Kentucky's, only slightly when he talks. I mostly grew up as white trash in the Kentucky valley, but on occasion I would be spirited away by Grandpa into an entirely different kind of life. We would see art, opera, or theatre. He gave gifts often and was very kind. He had 7 daughters and a son, so when that family gathered it was unreal. All beautiful, fair of hair and complexion, somewhat formal and subdued compared to what I was used to. Remember the description of "the hospitality of elves" in lord of the rings? It was something like that to me. His gatherings happened a few times a year. He lived thanksgiving the most. I get much of myself from this man, from my interest in books to my interest in law and philosophy, and even my appearance to some degree. Yet, there was always a barrier. I was always a class below these people. It was empirical, throughout my childhood.

Grandmother Betty (paternal grandmother)

When my father would take us, we often visited him at my grandmother Betty's small house in Radcliff. She was a very crabby, but gentle woman. Half italian, half german, I believe she was originally from New York. She was a widow the entire time I knew her. My father technically is a bastard, and my given name is that of her deceased husband Andrew (died in Egypt just after the Vietnam War, he was taking apart a bomb). This man adopted my father despite my grandmother's infidelities with my Grandfather Carl while he was serving his tours of duty. My father was technically born in Germany due to this. All my other cousins are of mixed race, or look way more italian since Andrew and my grandmother's first husband were Italian and Puerto Rican respectively. What's more, Betty's children(my aunts Tina and Susan, Uncle Richard) also married italian and puerto ricans, so me and my sister stick out like a sore thumb among our darker cousins, with our lighter colored skin and hair, and brighter colored eyes.

My grandmother loved Radcliff, but it was a strange town. It has a large Korean and Puerto Rican population due to it being right next to the Fort Knox base. Often you would feel the thrum of artillery fire as a normal part of life due to the testing and training of tanks on base. I think 30% of the population is also black. This was a big deal growing up. A contrast to my country life on the weekdays. I got in a lot of fights, often due to my whiteness believe it or not.  Many of my cousins ended up marrying black men, and having mixed children. My grandmother hated this, she hated blacks. She went to a korean church in order to avoid them. That said, she doted on her mixed great-grandkids and gave much to them. This would prove to undo her eventually. My cousins children ended up destroying her house and bleeding her dry to the point where she lost her beloved home. This happened much later in life. They even went as far as stealing from her.

She suffers from dementia now, and no longer recognizes me. My uncle Rick married into one of the families of her Korean friends, and they care for her now, as they shared some childhood bond with her and consider her family.

Aunt Lisa and Cousin Brittany(maternal aunt)

Also heroes and crucial to my upbringing. Aunt Lisa would take us a few weekends a year, and we would visit with her and her daughter, who was only a year younger than I. She was always living in an apartment or townhome somewhere around Louisville or Greater Clark Indiana. She wasn't poor but also wasn't exactly the picture of middle class either. I remember her as a beautiful and wholesome woman. Tall with curly blonde hair, the beakish nose that betrayed my grandather's British lineage. She was silly and always laughing, and played games with us like red rover or simon says. I will never understand why she took to us like she did, but there was no doubt we were special to her. She later married a pretty cool scottish man, they live together to this day.

Cousin Brittany looked a lot like her, just as tall, even taller now, a flat out blonde amazon towering over me and all the other cousins. Brittany was raised a bit more puritan than I, but we bonded over pokemon and Harry Potter as kids, and play video games online when we can. She lives in Maine now.

Grandfather Carl(paternal grandfather)

When my father did not take us to Betty, we went to visit Carl and his wife Margie. They lived on a property in Southeastern Kentucky somewhere.

If there was ever an image of the stereotypical Kentucky man, it would be Grandpa Carl. He was wiley, salt-of-the-earth, bearded, always covered in some kind of oil, and inexplicably strong (I've seen this man lift car engines and slam my 280lb father deep enough into a wall that his assprint was visible on the opposite side). He listened only to old rockabilly music and had skills at a pool table like something from a bygone era. We saw this man a few times a year.

He has alzheimers now and lives with my father.

Grandmother Mary(maternal grandmother)

I knew very little of her. She moved to florida when I was 5. We spoke once a month on the telephone throughout my childhood. I remember she looked very native American. She had long black hair with gray streaks in it. She died in 2015 of flu and pneumonia. She was in her mid 60s.

Her heritage is an enigma. She was born a Culpeper, a very deep-south name, but her mother and grandparents are on the native american dawes rolls. She had the same kind tinge of native to her that Grandmother Betty does of Mediterranean. The thing is, in my 23andme I do show a spot of mediterranean blood, but no native American blood shows up on the dna test.

Her father, she says, was a freemason. This is odd because when she died she left me three things, two of which I still puzzle over. She left his freemason garb to me when she died, along with her record collection and an old pair of opera specs. I only received the record collection and specs, which I treasure. Tons of CCR and other rock records. Rifling through it made me feel closer to her. The Freemason memorabilia is with my aunt Kimberly, I believe. Which brings me to...

Aunt Kimberly(maternal aunt)

I list my Aunt Kim because she becomes important in some aspects and she was indeed a role model me. Also you will see that she and her husband gifted me with my first guitar and synthesizer when I was a teenager. This when I started writing music, so I owe this whole musical venture to them.

This is the definition of a rare and strong-willed woman that likely belonged to the career she devoted herself to. She has become in reputation and stature as powerful as my grandfather, as she worked in his firm from the time she graduated law school. The only one to follow in his footsteps fully. She married at 16 and is still married to this day to the same man. All of my life she has always had short hair cut just above the ears, blond like the rest of my grandfather's children, with a much more dry sense of humor like his own. She does not speak to me much now because she has a feud with my mother. The whole family kind of broke apart a few years ago.

Cousins Kristin, Maria, Samantha, Rosita, and Sasha(paternal cousins)

These are the cousins I primarily grew up with and saw on a regular basis. I saw Brittany only a few times a year but I saw these cousins at least once a month, excluding the times where my mother and stepfather prevented me from seeing my paternal side of the family altogether. We will get into that.

Those are all the family members I will list right now. Maybe I will list separately my cousins, of which I have many and various complex relationships with. My cousin Maria was murdered in 2017 so that may come up as well.

Notice all the names on this list. These are people that I love very much. These are people who no doubt loved me and cared about me throughout my childhood. Every person on this list Sans the younger cousins knew what my stepfather was doing. They had some Inkling. Me and my sister complained at least once in private to each. Only one of these people actually did something to try and stop it. That is the man at the top of the list. That is my father. For all the love I bear these people I will never understand what did not move them about our situation. It's one of the things that this blog is meant for. Understanding those who turn a blind eye. Not evil people at all. To address abuse it takes tremendous strength. My father's tragic anguish over our abuse and his dogged attempts to get my stepfather arrested we're all in vain. They were blocked by some of the members of this list. Maybe they were well-meaning but I will never understand why. I always put it down to Ego or misunderstanding. I will tell one of these stories next and you will see what I mean.

I will try to tell the story chronologically from this point. Thank you anybody who reads this blog. I know I give some of you the link secretly and I hope that you keep what I say here from the rest of my family. I will probably be saying things that will hurt their feelings. To them perhaps I will be saying things out of context. I'm only providing my own point of view. It may seem unflattering at times to them. This isn't about them though. I'm laying these experiences out for the sole purpose of understanding them and nothing more. If anybody on this blog where to be brought to Justice I think we would all agree it would be my stepfather. Yet this whole time I've made no secret that he still walks free, and I doubt anything will ever come of it.