#we need a new sister for Levanter

[jureumified]

goddd it’s really been so long since i’ve connected to a skz tt. remember when they were about feelings and concepts or personal experiences and not just bragging with slightly nonsensical english inserts

[doudouneverte]

2nd choice, but 1st place

a/n: okay I was very inspired for that I don't know why. And it should be my last last football (soccer) fic at leat until the world cup

*not my GIF*

Pairing: VfL Wolfsburg (frauen) x Putellas!Reader; Alexia Putellas x sister!Reader; (hint of Lena Oberdorf x Reader)

Summary: You need to prove that you're notjust La Reina's little sister.

Type: Fluff

Warning: nothing

word count: 5433 (i was inspired sorry)

note:

(///////) means change POV to TV pov (I tried something very new)

----------

Dreams are made to come true, they say. Yours just started when you signed your first professional contract for Barcelona. You were nervous, but you were not alone; there was your sister, the great Alexia Putellas, and the one who will become your best friend, Ona Batlle. But your debut was not really like you expected; according to your previous coach, you were too much like your big sister, and the club decided to send you on loan to Levante.

You should be angry by their decision, but you got more play time there, and you were with Ona, at least until she joined the WSL. The defender tried to convince you to go with her and maybe play with her in Manchester, but you declined. You were really happy with your new club, and they even decided to keep you after the left back left.

But fortunately or unfortunately for you, Barcelona wanted you back after their Champions League final win against Chelsea. At first, you thought that they finally found an interest in you, but you learned late that it was more of a way for them to be sure you didn’t sign with the rival, Real Madrid.

At the end of the 2022 season, you received some calls from a lot of clubs who were ready to sign you next summer. Honestly, you didn’t know how they could recruit a bench player, but two clubs caught your attention: Manchester United and VfL Wolfsburg. When you talk about it with your sister, it’s unnecessary to say she wasn’t really happy with it.

You were with the team celebrating the three trophies won this season. You talked a little with Ingrid and Fridolina; you three grew up close because they joined the club with you. After they gave you some advice, you decided to pull your sister away from the girls to announce your decision.

"But why?" Alexia asked, and you rolled your eyes.

"Do you really need to ask?" You were not really shocked by the fact that she seemed oblivious to your situation; every time you played together, she looked as happy as when you were both children and you were trying to reach her level. But there is the problem: you were not that little kid anymore, and you definitely didn’t want to reach her level like you did in the past. "Listen, I already talked with the coach and everyone. Ingrid and Frido said that Wolfsburg is a great team to improve myself so I think I can try."

"But why? Is it because we lost in the Champions League? I’m angry too, but don’t worry; we will do it next year, I promise." She said, and you sighed.

"No, it’s not—" you groaned. "I mean, yes, I’m angry that we lost, but it’s not because of that."

"So what is it? I thought you wanted to win the Champions League together. I thought you wanted to show the world how incredible the Putellas sisters are." She said, and gave you a nudge.

"I want; I really want, but look at us. You won the freaking Ballon d'Or; you're the captain of the team and the national team. Don’t get me wrong, I’m really proud of you; nobody deserved it more than you. But look at me; I struggle to make my way on this team. Until I’m still in your shadow, I could never reach your level; it’s not your fault, but it’s just that no team needs two of the same players." You explained, and your sister stayed there, processing everything you said.

"I didn’t know," she said. You wrapped your arm around her shoulders and gave her a weak smile. "I’m sorry," she said with tears in her eyes.

"Hey, it’s okay; it’s not your fault; it’s just that you started to create your own legend here, and it’s a good thing, but if I want to improve my skill, I need to leave." You said, and she hugged you.

======

The final whistle echoed in the stadium; it's over; Spain lost against England and was out of the Euro 2022. It took you a moment to realize what that meant. The coach called you just before the first match to let you know you'd replace your sister because she got injured just before the competition, and now you were angry and disappointed because you didn't qualify your team for the next round.

You were sitting on the pitch with your head in your hands when you felt a hand on your shoulder. You turned your head to meet Ona's eyes. She was trying to restrain her tears, but you knew her better than anyone else. You didn't say anything; you just stood up and pulled her into a tight hug before your teammates came a few seconds later.

After a little while, you went to congratulate the winners with a sad smile, and you could see some English players were truly sorry for you. Leah came and hugged you while you tried not to fall apart on her shoulder. "I'm sure she's proud of you." She whispered to you, and you nodded. When you broke the hug and looked at the crowd, you saw her. Alexia was there, visibly sad, but she gave you a smile to reassure you and let you know that she's proud of your match even if Spain didn't win.

Later that night, you were with Ona, packing your things, when Alexia knocked on the door. The defender took a moment to analyze and make sure you were okay before she left you two alone.

"You did great." Alexia said, and you hummed, not really looking at her to avoid a possible deception on her face. She grabbed your hand, and you finally looked at her "I'm serious, you were the best player today."

"Yeah, but that was not enough to win." You replied, and she sighed. She knew why you were acting like that, why this defeat seemed more important to you than anyone else, and secretly she couldn't help but blame herself for something she couldn't change.

"This shot in the second half was extremely precise, and if their captain didn't touch the ball, I'm sure you would score." She added and rubbed your cheeks with her hand. You lowered your head to look at her leg and the clutches she carried with her everywhere.

"How is your knee?" You changed the subject; you were definitely not ready to talk about it right now.

"It will be hard, but I should be back before the end of the next season." She said, and sat on the bed where your suitcase was while you continued to fulfill it. There was silence until your sister spoke again. "You know, we'll miss you." She said it with a sad smile.

"I know, but it's not like I'll change continents or anything. We will stay in the same time zone, and if you're good without me, we will face each other in the Champion's League." You joked, and she gently pushed you.

You spent the rest of your summer with your family before being called to Germany. In the airport, your mom and Alexia were making sure you hadn't forgotten anything, while Alba and you just rolled your eyes at them. When they called your flight, you gave them a last group hug, cautiously avoiding touching your sister's knee.

To your surprise, everything fit perfectly; your new teammates were really happy to have a new face, and the coach seemed to really trust you. Due to your position on the field, you didn't start every match, but it was definitely enough to grow some ties with your teammates and one in particular, Lena Oberdorf.

You were used to playing behind your sister in Barcelona, so of course you didn't mind playing defensive midfielder beside her, and it was definitely a game changer to have both of you on the pitch. The Bundesliga seemed too small for you two; rare were the strikers who were able to pass you and the German.

You definitely shined during the group stage of the Champions League, when everyone was prepared to stop Poppy or Pajor; they didn't know you were able to play as N°10, and every goalkeeper was shocked to see you so close to their penalty areas.

Because of your perfect performance on the group stage, Lena started to call you Prinzessin, or princess in German, because of Alexia's nickname. You found it funny and started to call her your knight because she always cleaned up after you every time you lost a dual.

Everything couldn't be better; you were one of the best scorers in the Bundesliga and definitely the one with more assists. While you were eliminating the PSG, your best friend was becoming the best left back in the WSL, and your sister started to work out to prepare for her comeback.

======

At the press conference before your first leg at home against Arsenal, a journalist asked something funny to Tommy Stroot: "What can you say about the transformation of Y/n?"

"What?" Your coach asked back.

"I mean, it's not the end of the season, and she already beat her record from the two past seasons. She was involved in four goals in the semifinal of the DFB-Pokal against Bayern. So, I'm asking if you know something about her transformation on the pitch."

There was a little silence; the response seemed so obvious that the coach couldn't even believe he asked him that. "I don't know if it's really a transformation; when she trained with us for the first time, she beat my expectations. I don't think we did something to her; maybe she just needed some confidence and play time. She's a young player, and it's the most important thing."

"Talking about play time, she got injured in the last match; do you think she'll get back in time for the match tomorrow?" Another journalist asked.

No, definitely not, but she works hard on her side to be available for the match in London, so I'm not worried." After a few rounds of questions, the conference ended.

To your surprise, the first leg ended in a draw. You were frustrated not only because you couldn't play but also because you knew you had to win the next match. In London, things were a little different; the Gunners were favorites, of course, but the atmosphere was almost suffocating, and things didn't go better when Stina scored the first goal. You were on the bench for this match; you were ready to play, but your coach wanted to use you as a super sub, and this man rarely gets it wrong.

At the end of full time, the score was 4-4 in aggregate, so that meant overtime, and overtime meant super sub. You just need 15 minutes to install fear in your opponent's mind. You barely lost a ball, and even when it happened, Lena always had your back. And in the next fifteen minutes, you did what you did best this season: assisted Bremer eight minutes before the end and qualified Wolfsburg for another final in their history, and more than that, because it will be against Barcelona.

Until then, you win the dfb-Pokal without surprise, and you place yourself as the second-best scorer of the season in the Bundesliga. At the end of the season, everyone's eyes were locked on one thing.

The day before the final, you were in your hotel room in Eindhoven talking with some teammates who had invited themselves into your room when you received a text from Ona.

======

Ona: good luck for tomorrow, Princesa. I come with Leila and Laia

You: you come to see me or the girls? 🤔

Ona: everyone 

You: okay but I need to tell you that we will win tomorrow, so prepare the girls to comfort them

Ona: I don't come here to see my best friend lose

You: don't worry, you'll not

You: I need to go. the girls need me to annoy the older. see you tomorrow. I'll let you touch the trophy 😜 

Ona: yeah sure 🙄

On D-Day, the pressure was at its highest level; the fans were expecting a victory, and you, the players, would do anything for that. In the changing rooms, everyone was tense after the lecture from your coach. You started your little routine before any big games to focus until you saw Lena beside you, totally nervous.

"Hey Lee, are you okay?" You asked after you gently paused your hand on her tight. She looked at your hand before locking her gaze on yours.

"I don't know. I mean, it's a big game, like, THE big game of the season." She said, and you chuckled. You found her very cute when she was stressed, but she didn't need to know that, at least not yet.

"Yes, but you played a big finale last summer, remember?" You asked.

"And I lost." She replied.

"Okay, that's not what I was expecting." You admitted; you sighed and gently cupped her face with your hands, forcing her to look at you. "Listen, I know it's a big game. I know how terrifying it is to face a team like that, but you're not alone. There's all the team to help you in the first half, and I'll be there in the second, whatever happens." You said quietly, and she chuckled, leaving you confused.

"I was more stressed about making your ex-teammates cry because we would crush them, but I think your little speech helped me too." She joked, and you rolled your eyes, even if that made you laugh too.

"Okay now, enter that pitch and show them what my knight in shining armor can do." You said, and all the girls cheered you up.

///////

"Good afternoon, everyone, I'm Dave, and I'll be your commentator for this final of the Champions League. I'm not alone; I'm with Selena, our consultant for this match. Good afternoon, how are you?"

"Pretty good, thanks, Dave. And yeah, we're here today for THE most important match of the season, one of the most equilibrated matches of this Champions League journey, at least on paper."

"Yes, on paper, the match would be beautiful to see, but we need to remind ourselves that FC Barcelona start this match with a little advantage. They were declared champions a few weeks before the end of the season, so they could rotate their squad and rest their players for this final."

"Of course, it will be a great advantage, but we saw how Wolfsburg can be really dangerous when we're not ready. I don't think Alexia and her teammates will take it easy; I think the defeat of the last year is still in everyone's memories."

"Talking about Alexia and her teammates, the players should enter the pitch in an instant now." The players started to walk out of the tunnel, and everyone was focused on one thing: the victory. You were on the bench watching your first team against your provisory team.

The anthem of the Champions League was playing on the speaker of the Phillips Stadion; the supporters started to be impatient, and you were more nervous.

"I will never get used to this tension just before the kickoff."

"I totally understand you; it never misses to give me goosebumps. I was watching the composition of the two teams, and I'm a little shocked to not see Y/n in the starting eleven. What do you think about it?"

"It's a surprise, but not as big as anyone thinks. We know that Tommy Stroot likes to use her as a super sub, and it's technically those types of matches where anything could happen that you need someone like her."

"Her big sister doesn't start either, but it's not really a surprise, so I think I'm talking for everyone when I say that we are really excited to see the both of them on the pitch. And now the kickoff."

—------------

Surprisingly, after the kickoff, the advantage was clearly for the German team.

"The Spanish seem to struggle to keep the ball out of their side of the pitch."

"Yes, but we know they can reverse this; we just need to—"

"Oh no, big mistake from Bronze. Pajor can shoot, and- she didn't miss! Wolfsburg take the lead with a missile from their Polish striker."

"I was saying that they can reverse, but this didn't go well, haha."

"It's not your fault; nobody can predict that Lucy Bronze would leave a little place for Pajor to shoot. But only after fifteen minutes, the teammates of Alexandra Popp can dream to lift the prestigious trophy."

—------

"—she's doing one of her best performances today, but– but right now the Catalans recuperate the ball! Graham Hansen is alone by her side. Oh, what a great move to push the ball in front of the goals; she can shoot—no, she passes, why she—"

After only fifteen minutes, everything needed to be redone.

"It's Patri!! After only fifteen minutes, ladies and gentlemen, Patri scored the equalizer!"

"That was the best way to finish this action, Dave. What a great goal and great performance from the Spaniard since the Germans took the lead! The solution didn't come from the strikers, so she just decided to take it into her own hands. 1-1, the real game starts now."

"You said it, Selena; she had the lucidity to stay away from any defender, and the finish is just amazing."

You and the girls were gutted; you didn't plan to win this game with a big goal difference, so any goal against you is barely a synonym of defeat. The real nightmare started only five minutes before halftime.

"A corner kick for Barcelona. It's shot very well, and—it's Rolfö! The Swedish give the advantage to the Spaniard only five minutes before halftime! What a goal!"

"Like you said, Dave, what a goal from Fridolina Rolfö. She used to score beautiful headers, and that's why corner kicks are one of the most dangerous weapons on this team. She just freed her from any defender and easily put it in the back of the net."

"You can see the joy erupting from Barcelona's bench; the supporters are uncontrollable, and it's totally understandable. The Swedish player may have just secured the victory with this goal."

In the next five minutes, your teammates pushed but failed to score against a visibly blessed Paños.

"And the referee blew the whistle; it's halftime, ladies and gentlemen. We will remind you of the score for the one who just joined. There is a 2-1 lead for Barcelona. Pajor scored the first goal of the game, but only fifteen minutes later, Patri equalized, and Rolfö gave them the advantage a few minutes ago."

///////

Back in the changing room at halftime, your teammates looked defeated, and after another lecture from your coach, the room was pretty quiet. The girls seemed to be trying to focus on the second half. Lena rested her head on your shoulder, and you intertwined your fingers with hers.

"Okay girls, you heard me out." Alexandra started to speak and gained everyone's attention. She gave a pretty encouraging speech. During this time, you were rubbing your thumb on the back of Lena's hand.

After the speech, when it was time to go, you unconsciously kissed the defender's hand and made her blush, but you were totally oblivious. "I believe in you; I know you'll be better in this half." You whispered to her, and she squeezed your hand.

/////// 

"Ladies and gentlemen, welcome back. We're here for the second half of this final of the Champions League, opposing Barcelona to Wolfsburg, and the Spaniard took the lead just before halftime." The two teams were going back on the pitch with a little change in the Spaniard's side.

"We were just talking about her before during the halftime, and Jonatan seemed to have heard you." You were one of the last ones to come out of the tunnel, and you were a little surprised to hear the Barcelona fan chanting your sister’s name, but you were more surprised to see her ready to start the end of the match. "No, you’re not dreaming Alexia Putellas will play her first minutes in this campaign! Now the question is how Wolfsburg will react to this."

It was not surprising that the Spaniard took the advantage at the start of the second half, and things went worse when what everyone expected happened.

"Bonmati for a cross in the box, the defense struggles to kick the ball out. Alexia recuperates the ball; she places herself and aims, and—it's a goal! Barcelona is now leading by two goals!"

The joy erupted from the benches of the previous finalists. All the Spanish supporters were screaming; it was almost done. Almost because it was only the fiftieth minute, they had to conceive the score for forty minutes, and your coach was about to make his biggest move.

Your teammates were about to start the end of the game until the referee blew the whistle for a sub.

"Things are going to be more exciting now. The coach of Wolfsburg just made his super sub, Roord, let her place to Y/n." As a reminder of the start of this second half, all the German fans were chanting your name when you entered the field. You found your position beside your defensive midfielder, and the match started again.

"I have an interesting statistic for you, Dave. Wolfsburg only lost three games this season when they aligned their duo Lena-Y/n. And what is most incredible is that Y/n is a former offensive midfielder, but she didn't struggle to play a little lower on the pitch. She's very versatile."

Yeah, it's very incredible, but you know what is very unbelievable?" 

"No what?" 

Is it that since they became pro, the Putellas sisters have played more against each other than with each other."

"Wait what?"

"Yeah, Y/n played for Levante until the last season, but she played only four games with her big sister on the pitch in Barcelona."

"It's quite funny because when we saw them playing together, it was almost like they had done it all their lives."

"Yeah, but I see almost the same result this season between Lena and Y/n, like now."

You recovered the ball, dribbled Aitana, and passed to Lena before being stopped by Keira. The German gave it back to you just perfectly in front of the penalty, and that led to you shooting and hitting the crossbar.

"She was so close to scoring only after five minutes of her appearance in this match."

"I think Tommy Stroot made a great choice to sub her on now; like we said earlier, even if she played alongside Oberdorf, she's a former offensive midfielder, which means that she can contribute to the offensive task. But she also gives hope to the team and their supporters; I think it's important too."

A few minutes later, Lena recovered the ball pretty high on the pitch and gave it to Sveindis, who made an incredible run, followed by Rolfö, but managed to cross it in the box, where you pushed it into the net with a big header.

"Ooh, what a goal! Y/n just scored a beautiful header, reducing the gap between the two teams."

"I wanted to say that the defense was too chill, but her placement was just perfect. She was quicker than anyone on this action, and I think it's not too bad to say she's quicker than anyone since she's here. She scored a striker's goal."

After thanking the Icelander and hugging some teammates, you were ready for the rest of the game. The game was more tense. The Barcelona players pushed really hard, but you were almost suffocating all their actions with Lena. Talking about action, your team just got one after a great save from Frohms, who kicked the ball far away. You controlled it and looked around to find yourself almost alone on the right side of the pitch, which means if you want to find a way to be in a good position to shoot, you have to use your left foot.

Alexia knew that; she was the one who praised you when you became more skilled than her, and what helped you was your ability to use both feet almost perfectly. Patri otherwise seemed to forget that because she was surprised when she got nutmegged; Rolfö just behind her tried to surprise you, but she got crocheted. You were running to the box, and when Mapi came to stop you, you noticed Popp alone was not offside yet, so you just lobbed the defender, and your captain controlled it perfectly. And she didn't miss her 1v1 with Paños.

"And Alexandra Popp for the equalizer!"

"What beautiful action from Y/n. She totally danced with her ex-teammates; she reached another level in this final."

You wanted to apologize to Patri, but you were stopped by the tall body of your captain, who pulled you into a tight hug. You laughed when she let you go, but not before she messed up with your hair like she had loved to do since the start of the season.

"I think we can say that Y/n is literally the definition of a supersub. She's implied in the two goals that helped Wolfsburg come back in this match. And from her expression, we can think it's not finished yet."

The German fans were chanting your name like you had been in this club for a few seasons now. That made you blush, and you made a heart with your hand to show them your love before the next and hopefully last quarter of the match.

Your sister and her teammates were more nervous and reckless in the last minutes, maybe because of the stress that led to some ugly tackles, which almost made you feel nostalgic about your matches against Georgia Stanway.

"The fourth referee announced 5 minutes of extra time. If Wolfsburg continue like that, maybe they could win in overtime like against Arsenal."

Only five minutes of extra time, despite all the fouls, was a miracle. Barcelona's players were more aware of you, and sometimes you were almost never marked by only one player. But you found a little breach where you forced your passage, and you found yourself trying to keep the ball from your sister and Ingrid. You wanted to pass, but they blocked every angle, so you took some steps back and decided to do it quickly.

You easily erased your sister with a dribble on her wrong side, and the Norwegian received your fourth nutmeg of the match. You wanted to pass to Pajor when you felt something collide against your foot, and you fell to the ground.

"Ouch, it's a pretty bad tackle from Mapi Leon."

///////

You were on the ground with your ankle between your hands, trying to ease the pain, when you heard multiple voices arguing.

"Hey, are you crazy?" You recognized Poppi’s voice.

"I didn’t do that on purpose, okay?" Mapi replied.

Lena quickly came to you and tried to distract you while your sister tried not to let your captain hurt her best friend. "Hey, do you hear me?" she asked, and you nodded. "Okay, good. The medics should come in a few seconds. Do you think you can continue the match?"

"Yes, of course." You spoke through the pain, and she nodded. Like she said, the medics came a little after; it was not serious, but it was not a good move from your national teammate. After the approval of the medic, you prepare yourself for the free kick.

A foul in front of the box, not so far, a little on the right side. Svenja took the ball, placed it, and looked at the players in the penalty area. You were still beside her, lightly testing your foot.

///////

"It seems that Y/n and Svenja Huth are talking about who’ll shoot this free kick. It can be the last action of the match. Who should shoot it for you, Selena?"

"Oh, it’s a tough question. We know Svenja can find a teammate in this situation; she took all the free kicks like always, and she was good like always. But, even if the last time she took a free kick was in her time at Levante, Y/n have pretty good statistics on this exercise."

///////

You took two steps back and a step to the left, took a deep breath, and focused on the goal. The referee blew the whistle. Alexia met your gaze; she knew. Svenja raised her left hand to indicate the near post. She started to run but stopped herself in front of the ball. She just took a step to the right, and you made your way to shoot.

Your feet hit the ball, and you saw it fly toward the goal in the opposite upper corner.

///////

"Y/n took the free kick and—she scored! In the last minute of this final, Y/n gave the victory against her former club! It’s totally unbelievable!"

"You say it, Dave! I thought Svenja would shoot it, but she let the young Spaniard, and for her first free kick with the wolves, Y/n just scored a beautiful one! She perfectly hit the opposite corner; Sandra Paños didn’t see it coming. This final is incredible, and this player is incredible. And the referee just blew the end of the match."

"They did it! Wolfsburg are Champions again for the third time in their history!"

///////

All the bench ran to you; you couldn’t process what was happening until you felt yourself being tackled on the ground by Lena, quickly followed by the rest of the team. You did it; you won your first Champions League. The tears started to run down your cheeks, and you wrapped your arms around the defensive midfielder.

"We did it," she said to you, and you nodded. She brushed away your tears and discreetly kissed your cheek.

You wanted to celebrate more, but you noticed your national teammates’ faces. You went to console a lot of them when you spotted Fridolina and Ingrid with Mapi and Alexia. The ex-Wolfsburg players noticed you first and were the first to hug you and congratulate you.

"We told you it'd be a good team for you." The Swedish said, and some tears started to fill your eyes.

"Hey, don't cry. It's okay." The Norwegian said this time, and you just gave her a sob as a response. They broke the little group hug when Mapi came closer to you.

The defender was the next to catch you between her arms. "I'm sorry for earlier." She and you shook your head to let her know that you weren't angry about that. Congratulations, hermanita." she continued.

"Thank you," you replied shyly. The girls patted your shoulders and left to see the rest of the team. It was just you and your sister now. She was crying, of course, and that made you cry too. When she noticed your tears, she just opened her arms wide, and you filled the space.

"You did it," your sister said, and you nodded against her shoulder. "I'm proud of you." She pulled away to look at you. "I meant it; you were the best player today."

"I'm sorry." You said while you were crying, but the captain immediately shushed you and pulled you into another hug.

Hey, no, don't be sorry. It's okay; we lost, and it's frustrating, but you deserve it. Listen," she pulled away from the hug and pointing to the supporters around you. Even some of Barca’s fans were chanting your name. "You proved everyone that you’re more than my little sister; you start to create your own history." You wanted to say something, but you were required to do an interview.

After that, the final ceremony started. You were a little surprised to be the player of the match, but Lena kept saying that it couldn't be anyone except you. While you were talking with the midfielder, Alexandra was talking with your sister. Their conversation was a little interrupted when they saw you chase the German with a big smile.

"Do you think I need to say something?" the Spanish captain asked.

"Not yet," the tall captain replied, and your sister nodded.

This third June, despite what everyone thought before this final, you led the Germans to number one in Europe. Your dreams came true.

[regina-del-cielo]

Immortal Siblings AU | Four, then three, then four again

I mentioned that the bulletpoint post describing how the Guard from the Immortal Siblings AU found Joe had totally run away from me. It has, in fact, become a study on them grieving over Lykon and then finding Yusuf. 

I have, somehow, reached a sort of natural end to the amount of bullshit my mind can add to this list/fic draft. So, if you want to give it a read... grab a snack. It’s long. I’m sorry.

Warnings for Wikipedia levels of historical accuracy - I added links to the relevant pages when quoting historical events, but since I was just trying to work out a timeline (famous last words), the research wasn’t extensive. There’s a lot of hand-waving.

By the end of the 11th Century, I think Andy, Quynh and Nico haven’t been in Europe for a while, not really. They moved south, and then east, after the sack of Rome of 410 CE. Seeing the great cities fall has become hard for them, especially for Nico, who is a nomad at heart but has a soft spot for cities, together with Lykon, the true city boy in the group. He’d seen it happen to Athens, he wasn’t sure he could deal with seeing Rome wilt.

For reasons I cannot fathom, my mind is settled on them having been in India when Lykon dies (possibly sometime around the middle of the 6th century, in the mess that was the crumbling of the Gupta Empire???)

Seeing him die destroys them, and they take a break from any battlefield to grieve their friend and brother. They wander, occasionally helping but almost never raising their weapons, too leery of injuries and of losing each other.

(Quynh, who was the first to notice Lykon’s wounds, has nightmares that make her cry in her sleep. Andromache holds her so tight Nico can feel the tension on her muscles against his back. He and his sister barely sleep, scared of the open spaces of Asia as they’d never been before. Lykon was the youngest of them and he died, what if they stop healing too?)

(If Nico stands guard over his sisters and feels an ache in his chest seeing how they hold onto each other, he’s never going to say it out loud. His Mache deserves the love she shares with Quynh. But sometimes he wishes he had someone to hold him like that, one he can call his heart.)

The first time they go to battle again like in the old days it’s almost the end of the 10th century, and they’re helping Quynh’s lands gain independence from China. They have a reason and a specific side to root for, and it’s the kind of cause Lykon would have approved of. They find purpose again.

They are distantly aware of how things are holding up in the west – they know Constantinople has crowned itself capital of the Roman Empire (what is left of it anyway); they know of the new religion, Islam, and how it was brought further east with the armies conquering Persia. They met the Varangians on the Northern Plains of the Rus’, when Andy insisted on going back to their steppes for a while.

They acquire new swords, repair the old weapons, make improvements on their bows. They travel, and help, and listen. They learn new languages. They heal.

They’ve just spent the winter in Samarkand when they hear merchants newly come from Constantinople talk about the Frankish armies that took Antioch and making their way further into Palestine. 

The words ‘freeing Jerusalem from the infidels’ make Andy sigh in exasperation and twist Nico’s guts. The three of them don’t really understand the point of going to war for a god, but Jerusalem is old, and she’s been coveted by many throughout their long lives. Things like this never end well, they know it intimately.

But they’ve been away for a long time, centuries at this point. Things are very different from when the Romans had the power. They are less eager to throw themselves into the battlefield now, and there’s much they don’t know about the dynamics of Europe and the Levant. Still they’re worried, and decide that they’ll move west to see if something can be done, for the civilians at least.

At first they travel slowly, keeping an ear out for gossip spoken by the caravans coming from the west. Things radically change, however, when they dream of a new immortal (a man, with a curly black beard and shining dark eyes) dying on the walls of Jerusalem and reviving to an unprecedented slaughter – said man is, obviously, absolutely terrified and they feel it.

He’s also woken up surrounded by living enemies, with high risk of being killed or injured multiple times, and of being seen.

They are still too far away to do anything more than hope that the new guy is clever enough to keep himself alive until they can reach him, but now Nico is all for moving west at full speed to get him out.

“What the everloving FUCK is happening over there?!” is the common theme in their thoughts; nothing about this war they���re walking towards is making any sense.

Yusuf al-Kaysani is, in fact, clever enough to keep himself (and a few other civilians to boot) alive and get out of Jerusalem when it becomes clear than no matter how many Franks he kills he can do nothing to stop them alone. (It’s a fucking carnage, and he’s so tired). He walks away from the battle and tries to reach some sort of safety in the desert.

When he’d decided to stay in Jerusalem and fight instead of escaping the siege, Yusuf had considered the possibility of dying. He had not accounted for waking up from a fatal wound with no sign of having been hit in the first place.

And then there are the visions. Or dreams, he’s not sure. They don’t seem to make any sense? Who are those people?! Is his mind so addled by the war that he’s conjuring scary warrior women and a stupidly handsome man, armed to the teeth and camping in the desert?

(fantasizing about handsome men in his sleep isn’t exactly news for him, but there were never women in those. And none of his usual dreams involved weapons. Something is definitely off)

For the following days, Yusuf makes sure to stay away from human settlements while putting as much space as possible between Jerusalem and himself – the last thing he needs is to become a potential target for any invader that may cross his path.

But he’s alone, having nightmares, constantly on edge, and in a body that suddenly doesn’t feel like his own anymore, since he doesn’t even have the scars to prove that the injuries he sustained were real to begin with.

After a couple of weeks, the appearance of the strangers in his dreams starts feeling safe and comforting; they seem to operate like a little family, and God knows how much he misses his own.

(should he try to go back home? Would news of the siege reach his family before he does? Would he be able to go back to his previous life in the state he’s in? Could he keep this secret from them? Would they still love him or think him a monster?)

Despite their impressive warrior appearance, they feel... kind. And gentle. Sometimes, it feels like they’re trying to reassure him, even. Especially when he dreams from the perspective of the man.

The sensation those dreams leave on his skin is like a cape. You’re not alone, it whispers. Wait for us.

Andy, Quynh and Nico have just left Baghdad when the dreams change, and not for the better - Yusuf was passing through a village when a band of marauding Franks started harassing the locals. He moved to defend the villagers, but was overwhelmed and what’s worse, the Franks saw his wounds close too fast. Their reaction was vehement: they called him a demon, incapacitated him and then brought him back to their garrison, with every intention of ‘properly getting rid of him’.

Nico wakes up screaming and Andy has to sit on him so he doesn’t just sprint ahead without actually knowing where the fuck he’s going.

“We can’t just raid every single Frankish encampment in a twenty mile radius around Jerusalem, Nico!” “TRY ME” *Aggressive Sibling Bickering follows* *Quynh doesn’t bat an eye and just rolls out a map of the area she purchased and starts mapping out the fastest routes*

Yusuf is having a Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Week at the hands of his captors, who are getting disturbingly creative in their tortures, but whenever they let him fall unconscious he sees the people of his dreams travelling much faster than before, looking Royally Pissed Off, and the surroundings are... starting to look familiar too? 

If he tries to pay more attention to the conversations his torturers are having with each other outside of the tent he’s in and hoping the dreams go both ways, so the maybe-real trio can find him easier, now that’s nobody’s business but his own.

(spoiler: it works)

When they are in sight of Jerusalem, the immortals find a drunk “pilgrim” boasting about his band capturing a ‘pagan demon’ while coming back from their victory at Ascalon, follow him back to his camp, and as soon as it’s feasible they attack.

(Andy will later gripe that Nico didn’t leave her anything to do because he just paved his way through the Franks like he was harvesting wheat.)

seeing the Stupidly Handsome Man of his dreams standing in front of him covered head to toe in blood, with a double-bladed axe in one hand and a sword in the other, staring intensely at him as if to peer directly into his soul is... an experience for Yusuf.

(he may have composed a lot of poems about that first vision of Nico through the centuries. The words ‘avenging angel’ have been used quite profusely, too)

The protective instinct that Nico has felt for the newest immortal since the first dream clutches at his throat when he finally sees him, chained to a pole and so thin his clothes barely cling to his body, but with the softest dark eyes staring back with a glint of recognition when he comes closer.

(he could cry with relief at the knowledge that he’s not scared of him. Nico has seen the faces of the men that were keeping him captive, he knows he looks a lot like they did, and that he paints a gruesome picture.)

“Are you alright?” Nico asks first, in Greek. (He knows, from the dreams, that his captors prayed in Latin. He wants to make sure that the other knows that he’s not like them.)

“You were in my dreams. You came.” Yusuf answers back in the same language, although his sounds much newer than Nico’s.

“Of course. We’re not meant to be alone… and no one deserves to be in a cage”.

Nico uses the axe to break the chains, and by the time he’s done Andy and Quynh have reached them and his sister throws the keys at him to open the shackles.

“Couldn’t take a moment to get them yourself, little eagle? You wanted to show off your skills to the new one?” Quynh teases, just to see Nico blush. Andy stares at her brother and their new companion for a few beats, before finally asking his name.

“Yusuf ibn Ibrahim ibn Muhammad Al-Kaysani, known as al-Tayyib” he answers, letting out the first smile in weeks at the raising eyebrows of his saviours. “Just Yusuf is fine.”

“You have a sense of humour, brother. I like you!” Andy snorts, before cutting her palm with the edge of her axe, and showing him her fast healing.

“We are like you, Yusuf. That’s why you dreamt of us, and we of you” Nico adds gently, while Quynh offers her waterskin to Yusuf. They also offer their own names.

“We need to clean up this mess and move away from here” Andy says, while Nico helps Yusuf up. “One of those fuckers was boasting about an undying demon with others in a tavern, the last thing we need is to fight our way out against their whole army because someone else decided to come check if he was saying the truth.”

“It’s been a long time since we were in Kush” Quynh whispers, and Yusuf sees their faces open in a look of affectionate grief he remembers seeing on his Baba’s eyes when he talked about his own mother.

“We can talk about it more when we’re somewhere safer” Andromache suggests, before moving to set up the stage of an ‘accidental’ fire.

As they’re riding away, Yusuf turns slightly to watch the camp burn, leaving no trace of the invaders that hurt him. Jerusalem looms in the distance - lost, and wounded. If he were a little less exhausted, he could  easily work out a metaphor about his own situation.

But then he looks at the three people of his dreams – Quynh, Andromache, Nikolaos – that came for him. Who are the same as him, immortal.

His world has turned upside down, and there are so many questions to ask, and he could sleep for a month straight – but one thing is certain. 

He’s not alone anymore.

[olivish]

Continuation of the Mel & Alex origins story, told from Ben’s perspective. 

This is also a Mel & Ben friendship origin story - it pulls from the Ben hc stuff I posted earlier. A bit of Wilford in here, too. Mixed bag. LONG. 

Still not done, but the next instalment will be the last instalment, and it’s coming soon. 

1. When Melanie left for the Levant, she and Ben had been working together for 5 years. They were friendly, but still not friends. Not because he didn’t like her - he liked her more than most - but Melanie Cavill wasn’t the type of person who made friends. She was all about the work, all about the train. And, all about Joseph. 

Most people assumed they were lovers, but Ben never believed that. By then, he understood Wilford well enough to know, he viewed Melanie primarily as a business asset. Everything else - their friendship, their history, their mentor-protege bond - all of it was secondary to the fact that Melanie’s brain earned Wilford billions. 

There was a saying at the hedge fund Ben used to work at. “Never, ever fuck a golden goose. You’ll get chickens instead of eggs.”

And Ben could tell, Wilford was a guy who took good care of his investments. 

2. One morning, Ben was in the breakroom on the assembly floor, curious why everyone was gathered by the TV. “What’s that? A terrorist attack?” he asked. 

“Earthquake,” someone answered. “It happened last night. Where have you been?” 

“I dunno. Working?” 

As Ben watched horrific images of collapsed buildings and bloodied survivors  splash across the screen, his co-workers’ conversation played in the background: 

“It was the DST. Long past due.”  “There goes the neighborhood.” “Silver lining, the track isn’t down. We could have lost millions.”  “Forty-eight people confirmed dead, and you’re talking about money.”  “I’m sorry, I thought this was Wilford Industries.”  “We’ll have to re-survey the whole area. That’s months of delays.”  “Mel’s already out there. Rumor has it The Boss has been on the phone for the past hour, screaming at her.”   “Did she cause the earthquake?”  “I think it’s more like, she didn’t prevent it, somehow.”  “WILMAAA!”  [chuckles] 

3. Soon after, Ben was riding the elevator to the penthouse suite, frowning intensely. It was never a good thing when Wilford wanted to see someone in his office. Maybe the earthquake hit them harder than he thought. There was track already running through the Sinai to Cairo, and if it was damaged, they might have to execute repairs in the middle of the desert, which would be a nightmare. 

But when Ben arrived at his destination, he realized things were much, much worse than a bit of broken track. 

Wilford was in a panic like he’d never seen. Disheveled and sweating, he fumbled through desk drawers and rifled in his closet. He threw clothes into a duffle bag and opened the safe, pulling out his passport and several bricks of currency.

“I need you to finish the gimbal calibration,” he said, not looking up. “It needs to be done today, understand?”

“Yes, sir.”

“If you can't do it, tell me now."  

“I can do it.”  After a pause, Ben asked, “Is everything alright?” 

“WHAT DO YOU THINK!?”

Before he could respond, Wilford's phone rang. He snatched it up, checked the number, and sighed in frustration. He continued to pack as he spoke into the phone. “What? No, I told you, I need a Medivac, and a team of surgeons at Chicago General standing by. The best, whatever it costs. I don’t know. I don’t know! I’m on my way, have security meet me at the airport. And call the insurance company. And Lilah, over at  Finklestein & Branxom, she’ll know what to do. Oh for God’s sake! Was she doing everyone’s job, including yours? JUST GET IT DONE!”  

He hung up. Ben had a sick feeling. “Is someone hurt?” he asked. When Wilford didn't respond... “Is it Melanie?”  

Wilford laughed bitterly. “Is that concern for your fellow engineer? Or are you just worried you'll have to use your own brain for once?”  

Ben didn’t know what to say. Wilford’s eyes were like spears. 

“Melanie Cavill is a lion,” he said, hoisting his luggage over his shoulder. “And you are a monkey that I pay to push buttons. Remember that when you go back down there and start a prayer group for a woman who barely knows you exist.”

He added on his way out the door, “And fix the gimbals. Earn a penny of what I’m paying you.”

4. That night, Ben called Melanie’s phone over and over. No answer. 

Between calls, he sat awake in bed, stewing over Wilford’s parting words. He wondered why he let his boss talk to him like that, why he didn’t just quit. 

Money. The answer was money. If Snowpiercer completed on time, Ben’s stock options would be worth millions. He wasn’t leaving without his payday, not after all the work he’d put in. 

Departure was only a year away. Just one more year, and he could buy his mother a house, pay off his sister’s student loans, start a college fund for his nephew, and get his brother Colin into a proper rehab facility. And as for him? Ben was going to Hawaii, where he’d meet a gorgeous woman on the beach, someone sweet and shy but smarter than him, and he’d spend the rest of his life spoiling her rotten. Three kids. Two dogs. A minivan. 

You know. A life. 

Ben called Melanie’s phone again. This time, it went straight to voicemail. “Shit,” he murmured. Her battery was dead.  “Come on, Mel.” 

Through it all, he couldn’t help but wonder. Was he really worried about Melanie, or was he worried about the train and his payday? 

If he was honest, it was hard to separate the two. He cared about Melanie, but he needed Snowpiercer, and Snowpiercer needed her. Wilford’s panic said it all. Without Melanie, they’d never launch on time, and that meant investors would start pulling money out. They were already over-leveraged, on account of the obscene cost of laying the track. The slightest upset could mean disaster. 

I’m as bad as the rest of them, Ben thought, frowning as he scrolled through news reports about the quake. He paused, coming across a story about a guy who pulled a family out of a partially collapsed building before going back for more. Then, it all came down on him. Just like that. 

“Christ.” Ben shut the screen off. One more year, he promised himself. Then he was out. Maybe Miss Perfect would run a charity he could contribute to. Engineers without borders.

Something. Anything to color his life with some meaning.

[melias-cimitiere]

MORAL REJECTION OF ABOMINATIONS

MORAL REJECTION OF ABOMINATIONS

 I detest all types of negative discrimination (aimed to demonize and persecute minorities and other parts of the population) based on color, gender, creed, country of origin, ideology etc. I include racism, ageism, and all types of sexual and religious persecution in these categories. The reason why I detest this (which may differ to the reasons others oppose it) is that I am aware of myself as resident in bodies (shells) in different times and ages, so to condemn someone on the basis of color, gender etc is hypocritical. I’ve been all over the place concerning the spectrum, so I cannot condemn people who happen to be born in a way different to mine at this present age. There is no inferior or superior race, creed, nation, gender etc. Of course, I am still allowed to condemn any practice, viewpoint or ideology that I find offensive, dangerous or twisted enough to cause severe threat by its malice. By doing this I don’t attack the people that sometimes are born to such ideas, but instead my attack is on the ideas themselves.

 I detest all dogmas, for they assume to be true in all ways and they have no regard for personal experience and testing. But more often than not, dogmas tend to corrupt their defenders into going to a witch-hunt or pogrom to exterminate all opposition. It is inherent to their nature to hold that the truth is property of those dogmas, and not existent anywhere else outside their approved belief system. Therefore they create a climate of hostility towards non-believers and animosity towards foreign ideas and viewpoints.

 I detest puritanism and the whole idea that only marital sex is pure, the rest is up for condemnation. Sex, like food and other things natural, responds to need and often, to pleasure. When needs are condemned as impure, and pleasure is viewed as sinful or evil, problems tend to arise; psychological ones with regards to the person, and societal ones with regards to cultural groups. History has shown that such oppression leads to violent outbursts sooner or later, or to serious psychopathology. A healthy sexual life contributes to wellbeing and to a balanced lifestyle; there’s nothing evil or reprehensible happening between consenting adults. Nothing should be blamed as deviant, outlawed or viewed with contempt when it harms none but is part of one’s personal life, or between a couple or group of consenting adults.

 I detest Idealism as it is a distorted way to view reality. A pragmatist would more likely accept a form of Sinister Realism (my own term) as a way to rationalize with an irrational, often contradictory world. Also an idealist will more likely conform to dogmas that seek validation through idealistic lenses, whereas a sinister realist will choose a healthier paradigm based on some form of evidence instead of Ideas.

 I detest all types of blind faith, for two reasons: a) because it’s blind, and has no room for reason; b) because it is an inferior type of spirituality, as attested by evidence of my peers and my own personal experience; bound to a dogma, it has no room to grow and expand, and it suffocates the genuine seeker.

 I detest all religions because they serve a watered-down version of spirituality that is more easily palatable by the masses. In doing so, they promote their own dogmatic ideas as “truths” and reject anything new, fearing change and fearing to lose privileges. I detest all Abrahamist religions in particular; stemming from a tradition steeped in racial hatred (that they are elites, unique by their god making them over anyone else upon Earth), stolen ideas from various cultures and mythologies more ancient than them (look for evidence in Mesopotamia, Egypt and the Phoenician peoples, including Pythagorean and Neoplatonist ideas in Kabbalah), misogyny (numerous examples in their own scriptures) and spiritual blindness (everything that doesn’t feature in the pages of their dogmatic books is condemned as having demonic origin). Abraham was a traitor to the Mesopotamian spirituality and destroyed his father’s cult figurines, aiming to cut all bonds with the Chaldeans and start the journey to the Levant. He prostituted his own sister whom he had married, and then benefitted from her when the truth came out; his example was followed by his son Isaac. Abrahamist religions are the source of much of the world’s plight; holy wars, crusades, Inquisition, torturing and killing hundreds of thousands and terrorizing millions, they are solely responsible for the darkest times in human history. Their absolutist dogmas and totalitarian religious regimes persecuted truth and real spirituality for the last two millennia. They created the spiritual blueprint of something that perpetuates guilt and misery, and makes a person weaker than his or her natural state, simply by submitting to their ideology.  

 I detest the validity of the statement “it’s right because the majority believe it or elected it”. The multitudes never held truth or attainment in high regard, only conveniency and safety. They call brave those that defend their safety, but they condemn as fool-hardy and heretical those of the same mentality as their defenders, who seek out new paths off the beaten track. Likewise innovations are good if they serve their conveniency but dangerous when probing new scientific avenues. The masses tend to follow trends like fashion and leaders like a flock does to a shepherd; originality, uniqueness and innovation are alien concepts to them. Superstition, submission and apathy is the path they choose.

 The way I see it, a promethean Lucifer is the torchbearer of Illumination for the Spirit and Mind, a rebel Satan is the catalyst of socioeconomic, cultural and political Change, a portentous Leviathan is the instigator of Progress and Innovation in sciences and all things that Reason governs; and Set, the dynamic agent of Manifesting and Becoming. All of them are teachers through adversity, all of them mentor willpower to triumph over the odds. This is something we may believe in, a form of allegiance to take us forward to the next millennium, to the stars and into our destiny.

                                                                        Melias, 2020

[lunnanunna]

Best Store Ever

Stray Kids Extra Member AU

Summary: Ollie takes Felix and Jeongin to her favorite store and they’re met with a surprise.

A/N: This was supposed to go up at 10:30, but Tumblr wouldn’t let me. So I was finally able to post it now. Hope you enjoy!

Requests are open! Feedback is welcomed.

“Noona, please slow down. It’s busy here and I don’t want to lose you,” Felix called out to Ollie as she skipped through the mall. Stray Kids were in New York for the American leg of their tour, and were given a few hours for sightseeing and shopping.

Ollie was grouped with Felix and Jeongin, and the trio spent the first hour taking pictures at famous landmarks. Then they had gone for lunch, and now they were shopping.

“Come on! The store I want is just down here. Once we go here, I won’t ask for any more stores. I’ll just follow you two around,” Ollie smiled, looking at the boys who rushed up to her.

The boys looked at each other, then shrugged. “Sounds good to me,” Felix said. Ollie grinned, linking arms with them, and walking a bit more before they stopped in front of the Crocs store. It was massive and Ollie was vibrating with excitement.

“Not surprised,” Felix chuckled.

“You could have just told us, Noona. No need to bring us here blindly. We definitely would have come with you,” Jeongin smiled, putting an arm around her, to stop her from bouncing.

“That’s why I picked to spend the day with you two. You wouldn’t complain or talk me out of it,” Ollie said looking at the two boys.

“If Jisung had known that you’d be going here, he wouldn’t have been so mad that you chose us,” Felix chuckled, shaking his head.

The trio walked in, jaws dropping at the insane amount of styles, colors, and jibbitz. There was a good size of people from all ages trying on pairs; from kids to vsco girls to soccer moms. 

“I’m in heaven,” Ollie said in awe.

“It lowkey looks like a unicorn threw up in here,” Felix said, wincing at all the colors.

“Right? Isn’t it great?” Ollie said, beginning her quest to find the right pair of Crocs.

“Oh, Noona,” Jeongin shook his head chuckling and followed after her. Felix, slowly did too.

“Hi. How can I help you?” an employee in her early twenties asked them in English. Ollie turned to her grinning like a mad man.

“It’s her first time here,” Felix answered, knowing Ollie’s brain was probably malfunctioning with all the colors in the store. Ollie nodded her head, rainbow waves bouncing in her face (Ollie had changed her hair color once again).

The employee gawked at Felix’s accent (And most likely, deep voice), and Ollie giggled, “Isn’t his accent the best?” The employee smiled sheepishly.

“Ollie, please stop,” Felix pleaded, ears turning red. 

Ollie felt a tug on her sleeve, and saw Jeongin holding on to it. He seemed to tune out the English conversation and began to look around the store. He’d done this a few times today, and Ollie had come to realize that this is how he deals with the language barrier. She knew that he’d been studying English, but obviously one doesn't learn a new language overnight.

“Anyway, I’m just here for a new pair, and then we’ll be on our merry way,” Ollie smiled at the girl, who nodded her head. 

Felix then noticed Jeongin and turned to Ollie, “You start picking a pair. The maknae and I will follow behind you.” Jeongin looked at the two when hearing the Korean.

“Sounds good,” Ollie smiled, holding a thumbs up. She then turned to the employee, and followed her to the back wall where a majority of the Crocs were. The boys followed them, speaking in Korean.

“What language were you guys speaking?” the employee asked, then added, “If you don’t mind me asking.”

Ollie smiled, “Korean. We’re from South Korea.” 

The girl nodded her head smiling, “That’s cool. Are you guys here for vacation?”

“Nah, more like work,” Ollie shrugged, looking at all of the colors, already running through a mental list of the ones she owned; white, yellow, sky blue, peach, lavender, and black (Oh wow, she owned a lot. Oops).

The girl gave her a look, then something seemed to click, “Are you guys in a k-pop group?”

Ollie side-eyed Felix who looked just as surprised, then looked back at the girl, “Yeah?” 

“My sister is really into k-pop and she occasionally tries to get me to listen to it. It’s not really my thing, but there are a few songs that I like,” the girl said.

“Really which ones?” Ollie asked, smiling. She could hear Felix telling Jeongin what was going on.

“Let’s see. There’s a BTS one, what’s it called? I Need U?” the girl seemed unsure.

“Yep, that’s the one,” Ollie assured her.

The girl smiled then began listing a few more, “Very Nice. Is it Seventeen?”

“Yeah,” Felix answered this time.

“And there’s one more I like. They were actually on TV the other day singing it. My sister showed me. It was something that started with an L. I can’t remember the name, but the group’s name was Stray Kids.”

Ollie’s and Felix’s mouths dropped. “No way,” Ollie said in disbelief.

“Lixie, what’s going on?” Jeongin whispered. Felix quickly translated.

“Yeah. If I had to choose a favorite k-pop song, it would be-” the girl began.

“Levanter,” Ollie finished. 

“Yeah, that’s the one,” the girl smiled, then paused, “Holy shit. No way. Are you?”

Ollie nodded then laughed, “Yeah, we’re Stray Kids.”

“Or at least three out of the eight members,” Felix chuckled.

“Hi,” Jeongin said shyly, waving at the girl.

“Hi,” she waved back. “Holy shit, I can’t believe I met not just a k-pop group, but one that I actually know about.” She placed her hand on her mouth in awe. “Can I take a quick picture?”

“Of course,” Ollie nodded. They all positioned themselves for a group selfie.

“My sister is going to kill, but oh well. I told her she should have gotten a job here,” the employee shook her head smiling.

“Well this is the best store on the planet,” Ollie smiled.

“Agree to disagree,” Felix said. 

The girls laughed. “Oh, that’s right you came for a new pair of Crocs,” the girl looked at Ollie with wide eyes.

“Yeah, but this was totally cool too,” Ollie laughed, “Plus I think I already know which one I want.” The employee watched Ollie point to her very own pink ones.

“These are my favorite,” the employee gushed.

“Even more reason for me to get them,” Ollie bounced happily.

At the end, the trio walked out with a new pair of (baby pink) Crocs for Ollie and a new Stay. The Crocs store was definitely Ollie’s favorite store.

Ollie’s Masterlist

[fragmentedink-archived]

Hell to Pay: Chapter Twenty-Three

I, II, III, IV, V, VI, VII, VIII, IX, X, XI, XII, XIII, XIV, XV, XVI, IX, IX, XX, XXI, XXII

Cowritten by @lux-scriptum

A/N: trigger warning for smut, and for Excessive Levant Crying

In the few weeks that passed, they settled into a sort of rhythm. Having a schedule seemed to calm Cameron down, and Lev had to admit it made him feel better too. He knew what to expect, to an extent, though Nik and Eden found ways to insert variety into their lives along the way.

Lev shifted, adjusting his pants grumpily. He’d been perfectly happy to use Eden’s naptime to fall into bed with Cameron and Nik, but when Nik cheerfully shoved a plug in his ass after they’d both fucked him, Lev knew exactly which one he’d used. Nik hadn’t turned it on yet, but Lev knew it was only a matter of time before he did.

Lev paused outside Eden’s door. He could hear her babbling inside, so she was definitely awake, but Lev was surprised to see that there was only one sentry at the door. He thought about asking, but Eden’s volume was increasing every second he hesitated, clearly unhappy about being left to her own devices. When he looked inside, she was already sitting up, a dewinged bat stuffed animal in her clutches.

She screeched at him, waving the two halves of the toy at him.

“We really should stop giving you stuffed animals,” Lev muttered. He scooped her up, humming softly. He checked her diaper, and made quick work of changing her before replacing the tattered stuffed animal with a rattle. He got smacked on the head with it for his troubles. “Why are you so mean to your Da, hmm?” He asked, sliding out of the room. “What have I done to deserve this?”

That was apparently funny, because she giggled and tried to bite his shoulder.

“You’ve been around Cameron too long. No biting of the people. Especially your Da,” Lev scolded, heading for the kitchen. Most likely where the other two would be, anyway.

He didn’t quite make it. Amara appeared out of nowhere, spinning him around. He tucked Eden close and pulled away, huffing at her.

“What are you doing here? And be careful. She’s still little,” Lev scolded, checking Eden over. He got his finger bit for his troubles, before Amara caught Edens attention. Eden reached for her, and babbled angrily when Lev hushed her.

“I’m here to kidnap you,” Amara told him solemnly, before poking Eden’s nose. “Damn. He even makes cute kids. Think he’d spare me some DNA to knock Cin up with?”

“Amara,” Lev said, exasperated.

“Yes?” She asked innocently.

Lev sighed, and edged around her. He flicked a wall of shadows up in Amara’s face when she tried to follow. Her annoyed squawk was worth the payback he was sure would follow. She was still on his heels by the time he ducked in the kitchen.

“Amara’s kidnapping me for the day,” he said tiredly in lieu of hello.

“Damn right I am. You abandoned me for a pair of cocks and I’m insulted. Impressed, but insulted.”

“You should be,” Cameron said without hesitation, starting across the room. “You’re not taking him.”

Lev was quick to push Eden in his arms, both to stop Cameron from strangling his cousin, and because Amara had hooked a finger in Lev’s belt loop determinedly. “Yes, I am,” she said sweetly. “Promise to return him with minimal damage, but he needs a day away from this insanity.” She settled her chin on Lev’s shoulder.

“Yes, because your insanity is that much better,” Cameron replied dryly.

“Hey,” Lev tried. “I don’t mind, really.”

“Yeah, and you didn’t mind almost dying, either,” Cameron retorted.

“What, and you’re not kidnapping me too?” Nik demanded from the counter.

“Nah,” Amara said dismissively. “Not today, Saint Nikolas.”

That didn’t seem to amuse Nik, who muttered, “See if I ever feed you again.”

“Fuck you,” Amara said cheerfully. “You let my sister sleep under the same roof as him.”

“Would you rather she sleep in the street in the middle of winter?” Nik retorted.

“She has other family, you know,” Amara said. She pulled away from Lev, grabbing him by the scruff of the neck. “Come on, buddy, we’ve got things to do. Motorcycles to terrify you with. Takeout to make you order.”

Both Nik and Cameron looked disgusted with her food choices. Lev waved at them. “I’ll be back tonight,” he called as she yanked him out the door. “If I’m not please come get me.”

He barely heard Cameron’s response of, “Give her food poisoning,” before Amara marched him past some very grumpy looking sentries and out to her bike. The poor thing was old and more worse for the wear, but according to Amara it ran. She stuffed Lev in a leather jacket to keep him warm, and handed over a helmet. He almost told her off for not wearing one herself, but it’d never worked in the past, so he just sighed and pulled his on.

“Drive slow?” he asked.

Amara just laughed at him.

----

For the next five minutes, Nik watched Cameron feed Eden before he ended up saying, “So…. she just walked in here. How do you feel about that?”

“That she’s lucky she’s Lev’s cousin because I would have broken her legs otherwise,” Cameron replied, feeding a spoonful of meat to the happy babbling demon baby wiggling in her high chair. “Won’t be able to walk in if her legs cease to function.”

“You know she does it just to get a rise out of you,” Nik said.

“You make it sound like I care.”

“I mean,” Nik said, taking a drink of his black coffee, “you clearly do. Since Lev had to put the baby in your arms before you went through her. She must have gotten under that icy white skin of yours.”

Cameron flicked his cool pale blue eyes at him. “No. She just needs to learn where she can and cannot open that fat mouth of hers. And she cannot open it in my house where I will feed her to my guards.”

Nik made a face. “I do not imagine Lev would be too fond of cannibalism against his cousin,” Nik mused. “Me neither. I am rather fond of my fuck buddies.”

Cameron’s mouth twitch clearly was a figment of Nik’s imagination. “And I do believe that function is now obsolete.”

“Be as that may,” Nik said. “I am still attached.”

“Why.” But before Nik could answer that rude question, Cameron said, “Never mind. She’s just as bad as you are. Two peas in an annoying pod. My mistake.”

Nik clicked his tongue. “You charmer. Are you like this with all your boyfriends. Oh wait, I forgot, you refuse to acknowledge this not relationship. My mistake.”

Before Cameron could respond with one of his irritatingly famous quips, Eden smacked her hands down on the tray, screeching at both of them for daring to take her attention. Cameron flicked her nose. “Stop it, I’m feeding you, aren’t I?”

She babbled angrily at him around the spoonful of food Cameron shoved in her mouth. Cameron pointed at her, eyes narrowed into a glare. “I am literally right here. Stop screaming and use your damn indoor voice.”

“She’s a baby.”

“So are you and I managed to train you to not yell in my house.”

“You’re so cute. Using pet names,” Nik said, batting his eyes at him. “What else do you got for me? A darling? A sweetheart? A my love?”

“A broken neck?” Cameron offered.

Nik pouted and went to top off his coffee. “I thought babies made the heart grow fonder.”

“That’s absence,” Cameron corrected. “Open a book once in a while.”

“I read.”

“Pornography does not count.”

Nik tried kissing Eden’s cheek, but got smacked by her. He bit down on her shoulder lightly before resting his chin on Cameron's shoulder. “You both are so mean to me. I can’t believe it, I thought I was her favorite.”

He knew Cameron rolled his eyes. “Her favorite is literally anyone that gives her attention at any given moment,” he said. “A complete stranger could give her point five seconds of attention and she’d have a new parent.”

“Here I thought I brought a special something to our relationship.”

“You didn’t, don’t worry.”

Nik bit down on Cameron’s shoulder. Hard enough to break the skin. “Asshole.”

Eden was laughing at them both between bites of her food. Cameron’s only response was, “If you’re going to bite, make sure I can actually feel it.”

“See, if I did that then you’d be naked right now.”

“So confident,” Cameron said, getting another bite in before Eden refused any more. He went to pick her up and Nik followed them back to the nursery. “I’m sure you’d like to believe that.”

Before Nik could respond, he felt his pocket buzz. Nik cut Cameron a withering glare before pulling his phone out to see a text from Lev.

Lev: How’s Eden?

Nik wrinkled his nose and watched Eden wrestle and kick at Cam while getting cleaned up.

Nik: Trying to put her foot thru Cam’s stomach

Lev: Bitty girl not happy she has to get clean?

Eden screeched angrily while Cameron wiped down her face with a baby wipe. Cameron blissfully ignored her temperament and went about continuing to clean her up.

Nik: Something like that. At this rate she’s going to end up eating the baby wipes. I’m sure it’ll be fine

Lev: Try making faces at her. She thinks she’s being ignored

Nik relayed the message and Cameron rolled his eyes. “Or she’s just being a brat because there’s a baby wipe on her face and she’s being forced to get cleaned up.”

“Well,” Nik said, “I’m sure you are capable of telling Lev that.”

“So are you,” Cameron said, sitting Eden up. “You’re the one with the phone.”

Eden shoved her fist in her mouth while babbling and kicking her feet. Nik frowned when he looked back down at his phone. Amara apparently had stolen Lev’s phone.

Lev: Stop distracting Lev.

Nik: Im sorry but LEV distracted ME fiRST

Lev: 🖕

Nik: Very mature, Mar. Nik: Also Cam said he was going to feed you to his guards if you keep walking in the house like that

Lev: mmmm sexy Lev: Stop distracting me. Shutting off the phone now

Nik shoved his phone in his pocket and moved out of the way while Cameorn went to the dresser to get another black long sleeved onesie after stripping Eden down. “Amara’s holding Lev hostage. I think he wants help.”

“He’ll be fine, I’m sure,” Cameorn said, dismissively. “He’s the one that went with her. And as often as Amara claims, she can protect him if something happens.”

“I mean help from her.”

“Well that is a pickle,” Cameron said, scooping a newly clothed Eden up. “Oh well. Come on, you little monster. I think it’s playtime with some toys that don’t make any noise.”

Eden was looking at Nik over Cameron’s shoulder while they started for the living room, and clawing at Cameron’s skin contentedly. Nik hummed. “Her eyes are turning green.”

“I saw,” Cameron said. There was a faint tone in Cameron’s voice that Nik wasn’t quite able to place. “My mother has the same ones. So do my brothers. It would make sense she would too.”

“Would you rather she didn’t?”

“I don’t care either way.”

Nik knew better than to not press any further. “What toys we playing with,” he said, starting for the closet with all the toys. “I bet she wants to play with the piano.”

“I bet she doesn’t.”

----------

Lev locked the door behind himself and huffed. Amara was ten times worse than he remembered. Or maybe Lev was less in the mood to deal with her shenanigans. He settled on the bathroom counter and pulled out his phone. In less than a minute he called Nik, hoping that would calm him down before he did something like pick a fight with Amara he knew he couldn’t win.

It had been hours now, and he wanted to hear Nik’s voice.

“Hello, Levant. How are you?”

Oh. Oh he sounded too cheerful for Lev to trust that.

Lev swallowed his pride and said, “I made a mistake.”

“Oh?” Nik asked, amused. “And what’s that?”

“I should have just let Cameron snap her neck,” Lev moaned. “Come get me? Please?”

Nik’s voice got distant, as if he had pulled away from the phone, but Lev clearly heard him say, “Hey, Cam, Lev said you can snap Amara’s neck.”

“Nik,” Lev blurted. “I wasn’t serious.”

Again Nik’s voice was further away as he said, “Wait, no. He changed his mind,” before saying to Lev, “You can’t just tease him like that, Lev.”

“Nik, please,” Lev tried. “I wanna come home.”

“Okay, but you chose to abandon us for Amara. You could have just stayed with us and the baby but you decided to leave on your own accord.”

Lev felt his bottom lip tremble, even if it was a stupid reason to cry. “I was trying to keep the peace. Cameron looked like he was going to hurt her, and I- It was the quickest way to get her out of the house. I didn’t think she’d be this bad.” He sniffed hard. “Nik, please? I don’t wanna be here.”

Nik was quiet for a moment, before he said “Sure. I’ll be right there.”

“Thank you,” Lev said softly.

“No problem. But I suggest staying in there until I come or else Amara will never let you leave.”

Lev made a noncommittal sound, and just said, “Love you,” before he hung up.

After a few moments there was a knock on the door. Lev sighed and slid off the counter. When he opened the door, Amara leaned against the doorframe. “That bad, huh?”

Lev burst into tears, but she just pulled Lev into a hug and led him to the couch. He wasn’t sure how long he sat there sniffling, but he woke up to Nik leaning over to smother his face in kisses. Amara was gone, thank the stars, so Lev gave a grumble and tried to pull Nik down on top of him. Nik let him, settling on top of him so he could kiss Lev properly. After looping his arms around Nik’s neck, Lev sighed softly, kissing back sleepily.

Lev noticed Amara’s approach just seconds before she smacked the back of Nik’s head with a rolled up magazine. “Not on my couch, you bastard,” she complained.

Nik looked up at her, sticking his tongue out. “You’re just jealous.”

“Of you fucking my cousin? No. Just grossed out. I don’t wanna see that. Go home and fuck him if you want to so bad. Not like he wants to stay here anyway,” she retorted.

“I’m- I didn’t mean to offend you,” Lev started in a small voice, only to squeak as Nik shoved his hand down Lev’s pants.

“Dunno, Mar, he seems fine to me.”

Lev dug his nails in Nik’s wrist, giving a small, mortified, “Nikolas.”

That at least distracted Nik, who bit down on Lev’s throat. “Mm?”

Lev bit back whatever sound was trying to escape him and said, tightly, “I wanna go home. I’ll blow you or something, but not on my cousin’s couch while she watches.” Even Lev’s newfound exhibition kink had its limits.

“Yea, yea. Sure. Let’s go.” Nik smacked a kiss on Lev’s cheek before pulling away and standing. Lev stood more slowly, adjusting his clothes. He slid a hand in Nik’s before looking at Amara.

“Thanks for not killing me,” he said, lightly.

“Meh, maybe next time,” she teased back. “Get out of here and go get some dick, before you stink up my apartment more.”

Nik resisted Lev’s attempts to push him out the door long enough to shoot back, “Speak for yourself. You have sex just as much as me.”

Lev sighed in relief when he got Nik outside. He quickly burrowed into Nik’s side, and said, “Cam’s not annoyed with me, is he?”

“Nah. He has the baby to be annoyed by,” Nik said, leading the way to a sleek black bike. Lev pulled to a stop, eyeing it with distaste.

“You rode a motorcycle here?” He asked, more defeated than anything else.

“No. I walked here.”

Lev caught the helmet Nik tossed at him just barely, and sighed. “Of course you rode a motorcycle.”

“Only the best for you, babe,” Nik promised.

Lev huffed. “Somehow this feels like a punishment,” Lev muttered as he pulled the helmet on.

“Now why would I do something like that?” Nik asked.

Lev shook his head, and just motioned at the bike. Might as well get it over with. He climbed on behind Nik, wrapping his arms tightly around him. If Lev didn’t know better, Nik smiled at him over his shoulder.

“Hold on tight,” Nik said.

Lev shoved his face against Nik’s back, and didn’t open his eyes for the rest of the ride.

----

Nate had shown up right as soon as Nik had walked out the door. Right before he disappeared, Nik had told him that he was off to rescue Lev from Amara. If Nate hadn’t known better, he’d have thought Lev had purposefully tried wiggling his way out of training with him. But he did know better, which is why Nate now found himself sitting on Cameron’s living room floor with a six month old wiggling demon baby chewing on a pair of toy keys.

He still couldn’t believe that this little girl was created from the same DNA as Cameron of all people, but she was right here, the spitting image of him, despite the wide smile on her face and her hazel-green eyes. Nate poked her nose. “You are the cutest little shit,” he said, fondly. “I bet you make Cameron’s life hell.”

Eden babbled happily at him, waving around the keys, clearly in agreement with Nate’s assessment. Nate found himself smiling and poking her belly. “Goooood.”

“You can play with the baby without talking,” Cameron said, from the chair. “Or are you unable to be quiet like your brother.”

“I am physically incapable of doing what you want,” Nate replied, rolling onto his back to put Eden on his belly. “If that means talking nonstop, so be it.”

“What does my brother see in you?” Cameron mused. “Clearly it’s on a physical level because I cannot see otherwise.”

“That’s because you have the emotional intelligence of a rodent,” Nate said, wiggling Eden’s toes. “Isn’t that right, baby?” Eden squealed and smacked his stomach, nearly falling on her face, had Nate not been holding her in place. “Mmm. See?”

“Yes,” Cameron said, “I’m going to take the word of an infant. Great idea.”

Nate decidedly ignored whatever it was Cameron said next, and kept playing with Eden until Nik and Lev decided to grace them with their presence. Nate tilted his head back and looked at Lev who opened his mouth before instantly snapping it shut, eyes bright with apology. “Nate. You- I forgot- I am so-”

Nate said, “Nik, take the baby.” His brother was already moving before he had the whole sentence out. When he was to his feet, Nate smoothed down his shirt. “It’s okay,” he tried. “We all forget things, and honestly, who wouldn’t want to forget training?”

“Bay,” Cameron said, instantly.

Nate rolled his eyes at him. “No one asked you.”

“Well, you clearly asked someone.”

Nate ignored him and shoved his hands in his pockets. “Are you going to be able to train today?”

“Do I have a choice?” Lev winced, adding a small, “I’ll be fine.”

Nate gnawed at his lip ring. He wasn’t sure how to suggest they not do it, if only because he also wasn’t the biggest fan of training. He wasn’t exactly the best warrior, and he had no intention of being one, but he was of the right temperament to be able to help Lev, and he supposed that was why his mate had suggested it be him to do it. He was likely the one to go the easiest on him. “If… it makes you feel better, it’s not exactly my favorite hobby either. We could… skip for the day, if you want?” Lev did look like shit, but Nate wasn’t going to say that.

Lev shook his head. “No,” he said, “Bay’ll be mad at me if we don’t.”

“Bay’ll live,” Nik said. “We can protect you.”

“No,” Nate said, cutting his brother a look. “What’s going to happen if by some chance Lev is alone without either of you there to protect him? Hmm? Demons would chew him apart.” He gave Lev an apologetic look. “But we can take it easy for today. Work on magic?”

Lev nodded. “Okay.”

“Well, we already know he can make buttplugs,” Nik said, bouncing Eden.

He had never seen Lev move as fast as he had when he whipped around to look at Nik like he was insane. “No? That was Silas.”

“My mistake,” Nik said, dryly.

Lev flushed a bright gold, when he turned back to Nate. Nate forced himself to not smile at the mortified look on Lev’s face. “I’m sure you can do great things with your shadows. Why don’t we go ahead and head to the gym to find out?”

“Okay,” Lev said.

Nate gave him a small smile and led him back to the gym. It was just as pristine as the rest of the house with state of the art equipment, which clearly made sense considering both Nik and Cameron’s… extra curriculars. He went to sit in the middle of the training mat with his legs closed. “Show me what you can do,” Nate said. “I want to see how they work.”

Lev looked around a bit, before wenting to an unlit corner and just… disappeared. No.. he pulled the shadows.. Around himself. Nate’s brows shot up and he went to get up to inspect. Nate couldn’t see him- he wouldn’t be able to see anything if he hadn’t known that Lev was there. He could still smell his magic, still sense it; the same sweet angelic scent that all angel magic had.

The shadows started fading away and Lev’s golden eyes eventually reappeared. “I’m pretty good at hiding when I need to,” he said, sheepishly. “It just doesn’t do me much good in a fight.”

Nate smiled at him, pleased. “Well,” he said, “it’s been my experience that a good defense is sometimes just as good as a good offense. There’s no point of a fight when you can’t defend yourself and you just need to be able to defend yourself until you get to safety. Or in this case, to either Nik or Baylor. Or me.”

“Or Cameron,” Lev said, solemnly, clearly not realizing that Nate had left Cameron off that list intentionally.

“Okay,” Nate said, starting back for the mat. He settled back down on the floor and looked up at Lev. “So we know you can hide well. Can you make things with your shadows? Or solidify them somehow? If you can’t fight with them, then you could put up a wall and run. It’ll slow down any attackers.”

Lev was flushing a bright gold while he settled down in front of Nate. “Silas and I made a little progress with that but that was fifty years ago.”

Nate bit at his lip. “And you haven’t tried anything since?”

Lev looked down at his hands. “We… a lot of the stuff we did, I haven’t… we didn’t do it in the training room. I didn’t find anyone I could trust with that until recently, and I don’t like failing, so I haven’t tried. Sometimes when I’m annoyed with Amara, I can… throw some in her face, but it’s not.. Super substansial. It never has been.”

Training through alternative methods, or sexual methods, did seem right up Silas’ alley, Nate supposed. It was also up his, as well. But he did not think that particular training method would go well for anyone involved. Least of all him, unless he wanted castrated by his mate. But he was far too fond of his cock to even attempt it, even if he wanted to. “Well,” Nate said, biting his thumb nail. “I do not think I could help you with that kind of training. I’m sure Silas would want to, but I’m sure neither Baylor or Cameron would allow that, and I’m sure Silas would not go against my mate’s word. But I’m also sure that neither Nik nor Cameron would be against helping you, uh, train.”

Lev had gotten golder and golder with each word before nearly being as gold as his eyes by the time Nate finished, staring at him wide eyed. He gave a very faint, “I couldn’t ask that of them.”

“I’m sure it wouldn’t be too much trouble for Nik,” Nate said, dryly. “He’d be very eager to help.” Nik was almost as bad as he was, if not worse than he was when it came to finding reasons to fuck around. Nate just had more self control on the matter. Besides, his mate definitely would not do that, just because he actually enjoyed training. So abusing magic for the sake of getting laid was not in the cards. Though, he didn’t know how his particular brand of magic could be used for sex- unless Baylor felt like getting fucked by a ghost. Or straight up dying.

Though-

Knowing his mate-

Lev looked so embarrassed. “I couldn’t- I wouldn’t know how to-”

“If you want, I can ask him?” Nate said.

Lev somehow flushed even more before hiding his face in his hands. Nate winced. “Sorry. Just a suggestion.”

“Nooooo,” Lev moaned, before giving a small, “Maybe?”

“I don’t mind,” Nate tried. “If it’ll help your training….”

The poor omega was so gold. “If you think I should…”

“I’m never one to suggest no sex,” Nate confided in him. “I don’t see any cons with this. Except maybe a sore ass. Though, I can’t imagine you’d be too upset about that. Not if you’re dating Nik of all people.”

Lev shook his head, head still in his hands. “Well… if you really think I should… but… Bay?”

“We’d still be doing our part,” Nate said, keeping the mild irritation out of his voice. “You’d just… be doing extra credit.”

Lev nodded quickly. “Oh I know, I didn’t mean- I know, I just, does he have to know about- about my- my sex life?”

Nate chewed at his lip ring. “He won’t know too much,” he said. “And either way he won’t care, or tell anyone. Even Silas.”

Lev finally looked up. “I didn’t think he’d tell anyone,” he said. “I guess I thought he’d not be okay with it.” Lev paused for a moment. “It’s not very… conventional.”

“Well, neither is being a hybrid raised among humans, and bound to humanity for nineteen years, but here my mate is. I don’t think he’ll care so long as you are training.”

Lev nodded a little. “Okay.”

Nate smiled brightly. “Okay,” he agreed.

-------

Cameron sat in the living room with Eden and Nik while Nate and Lev were off training until Nate finally left; but not before Nate pulled Nik to the side and Lev beelining for the wiggling infant on the floor. When Nik came back, he looked faintly amused. “Nate’ll be back tomorrow.”

“Fantastic,” Cameron said. “I’ll be at the club.”

“Your pissing contest is getting annoying,” Nik mumbled. Lev looked up at that, confusion etched on his face. “Nate doesn’t like Cameron,” he explained.

Lev’s frown deepened. “But Cameron’s nice.”

Cameron looked at him, disgusted. He was many, many things, but in the last three hundred years, no one had the gall to call him nice to his face. “Never say that again.”

“But you… are? You’re nice to me,” Lev said.

Cameron gave Nik an icy look when Nik started wheezing. “Stars,” he said, wiping away nonexistent tears. “Imagine calling Cameron nice. You’d probably think anyone that didn’t just kill you was a nice person, wouldn’t you?”

“Bay’s not nice,” Lev said, sadly.

Bay would probably be just as disgusted with this observation as he was. When Cameron said as much, Nik said, “Lev, stop talking. There is no way you’re going to win this conversation.”

Lev’s only response was pressing his face against Eden, who decided to smack Lev in the face, babbling angrily at him. Lev’s small wounded sound had Cameron rolling his eyes. “I think it’s time for bed.”

Nik seemed to perk up at that, but Lev looked borderline devastated. “I can do it.”

“I’ll do it,” Cameron said, going to stand up. “Bring her, if you want, I guess. But I’m going to do it.” Cameron didn’t give either of them the option to argue with him and started for the nursery. He had a routine and he was not going to let Lev’s hormones get in the way of it.

He let Lev change Eden into her pajamas but ended up taking her from the angel, saying, “Go get prepped for bed while I put her down.” Nik was already walking out of the room, pulling his shirt off. Cameron said, “Your turn.”

Lev handed her over, but not before getting on his toes and rubbing his cheek against Cameron’s and kissing the top of Eden’s head. Cameron refrained from wiping his cheek on his shoulder from the feeling of goosebumps jolting through his skin. “Night, bitty girl,” Lev said, to Eden before following after Nik.

Cameron wasn’t sure what to think of that nickname, other than the fact it wasn’t all that creative. She was an infant, of course she was small. But he elected to not say anything and just lightly bounced Eden while he went to sit in the rocking chair.

Her small hands clenched at his shirt while Cameron coaxed the bottle of formula into her mouth. She latched onto it like a starving man in the desert, but started settling against his chest while sucking at the bottle.

Cameron pressed his lips to the top of her head, inhaling the pure baby smell mixed with her scent. He tried not to think about how she happened to share the same eyes as three members of his family, that apparently despite this, she was supposed to look like him, though, he couldn’t see it. But perhaps that was just wishful thinking on his part.

----

Lev took a thorough shower, less because he needed one desperately, and more because he was relieved the day was over. He finally took out the plug, now that he had the chance to, and left it on the bathroom counter while he scrubbed himself down. Knowing how long Cameron took to get Eden to sleep, Lev figured he had the time to just enjoy himself.

“You're taking too long and I want attention.”

Nik’s voice startled Lev. He jerked, almost slipping, and whipped around to find Nik watching him, having poked his head behind the curtain.

“I was- I’m almost done,” Lev promised. He slicked his hair back and blew a drop of water off his nose. “Give me a few minutes?”

Nik pouted, but sulked off to the bedroom with a petulant, “Fine,” two fingers already in his ass. Lev watched him go, eyes wide. He turned off the water despite what he’d said, and fumbled for a towel. After drying off hastily he slipped into the bedroom and bounced onto the bed beside Nik. Nik didn’t even look up from where he was presenting himself, fingers still deep in himself. Lev ran his hands up Nik’s thigh, and then said curiously, “Can I...?”

Nik gave a soft moan, and just gave a “Yes,” which was hot enough in itself.

Lev nudged Nik’s hand out of the way and settled more comfortably as he slid a couple fingers in Nik. He didn’t get very far before Nik opened his eyes and looked at him.

“Use your shadows,” Nik demanded.

Lev blinked, hand stilling. “I- are you sure? I’m not- I’m no good- It’s not gonna be good.”

“You're only going to get good if you can learn how to satisfy me.”

Lev grimaced, but pulled his fingers out, eyeing the slick that coated them.

“Lick them clean,” Nik said, catching Lev’s eye.

Even though he could feel his face heating, Lev obeyed without thinking, sucking his fingers in his mouth. He held Nik’s gaze, taking his time. Once he was done, he braced his hands on his knees and reached for his magic, tugging shadows into existence. He ran them along Nik’s side, unsure if it was even tangible yet.

“You’re doing good,” Nik said, humming softly. “But make them a little stronger, Lev.”

Lev flushed. “I- I’m- okay,” he said faintly, digging his fingers into his knees. He slid them further, winding down Nik’s thigh curiously, before nudging them up. “I- can you even feel anything?” he asked, letting them vanish.

“A little,” Nik said, nodding.

Lev took a small breath. And then another. And then another, less small breath. His nails left indents in his skin as he summoned his shadows again, running them carefully along Nik’s skin. He was just starting to push at Nik’s hole with all the caution he could muster when he realized Cameron had appeared in the doorway of the bedroom and was leaning against it with his arms crossed.

Lev went gold, his breath catching. His shadows jerked forward, more solid than they’d been all day, shoving into Nik. Nik choked on his next moan, but Lev had already let his magic vanish.

“I can’t,” he said, scrambling back. “I- I can’t.”

Nik was panting as he said, “What’s wrong? You were doing fine.”

Lev shook his head. Once again he dug his nails into his knees, trying to figure out how to explain. Before he could put his thoughts in order, Cameron was at his side, uncurling his fingers with a firm, “Stop.”

Lev pressed his palms against his thighs instead. “I don’t trust myself not to hurt you,” Lev finally said. “I’m not good enough yet. I’ve never- I don’t use them on people.”

“That’s half the fun,” Nik joked.

At the same time, Cameron said evenly, “You’re not going to hurt us.”

Lev shook his head again. “You don’t know that. I don’t have any sort of control over this. I don’t- I can’t and I won't use them on you before I know I’m not going to fuck up and do any sort of harm.”

Cameron shrugged. “That’s your choice, but you’re not going to hurt us. We’ve both been through worse.”

It wasn’t until Lev wrapped his arms around himself that he found the words he wanted to use. “I don’t like having the opportunity. I can’t. I can’t.” He didn’t think Cameron really understood why this bothered him so much, and he didn’t know how else to explain it to him. He looked over at Nik, who was sitting up by this point, and tried not to cry. “I’ll- I’ll fuck you if you want something in- if you want me in you, but- I’ll just keep working on my magic with Nate, I think. At least until I- I trust myself.”

Nik leaned over and kissed him softly. “It’s okay.”

When Lev crawled into his lap, Nik wrapped his arms around him. Lev rubbed his face in Nik’s neck, and sighed. “Do you still want sex?”

Cameron snorted from beside them.

Nik ran his hands down Lev’s back. “I always want sex.” His hands drifted lower, grabbing at Lev’s ass. “How about I ride you? That seems fair.”

Lev nosed under Nik’s jaw before nipping at his neck shyly. “Okay,” he said softly. “I can do that.”

tagging: @idreamonpaper @incandescent-creativity @livvywrites @halstudies​ @alittleyellowdinosaur

[chiseler]

TWO ALONE: A Noir Pastoral

It gets darker in the country than in the city.

Urban areas are thought to teem with crime and vice, but for city dwellers used to crowded, well-lit streets there’s a special terror about lonely rural roads at night. To the wary urbanite, the country—while it may be pretty for a Sunday outing—is a place of isolation, ignorance, backwardness and intolerance. This distrust feeds a strain of the rural gothic that trickles through Hollywood movies, always marginal and often subversive. Less common than the swampy, overripe Southern gothic, this genre of bucolic noir portrays farm life as mean, hard-bitten, joyless, and rife with exploitation—less salt-of-the-earth than salt-in-the-wounds.

F.W. Murnau’s City Girl (1929) set the template. Here Murnau inverted the pattern of Sunrise (1928), in which George O’Brien’s restless farmer is corrupted by an immoral city vixen and redeemed by a his wholesome, pure-hearted peasant wife. In City Girl, the eponymous heroine spends her days slinging hash in a Chicago lunch counter, sweating and footsore, batting away passes from endless hordes of male customers. At night she goes home to the roar of the El outside her cramped little room, blows the dust off her pitiful potted flower, listens to the chirping of a mechanical bird toy, and dreams of a better life outside the city. But when she marries a naive farm boy and goes home with him to the wheat fields, she’s briskly disillusioned. She has to contend with her harshly disapproving, bible-thumping father-in-law, who dominates her spineless husband; with a crowd of lecherous hired hands whose leering and pawing are worse than anything at the lunch counter; with thankless toil and her in-laws’ grim obsession with profit.

City Girl was caught in the changeover to sound, made as a silent but released in a mangled form with added musical and dialogue scenes. (The silent version has since been recovered and is now the only version available.) Among the changes that came with the adoption of sound was an intense urbanization of Hollywood’s output. The difficulty of location shooting and the influx of actors and writers from New York may have been the causes, but the whole tone of pre-Code movies is urban: wised-up, fast-paced, slangy.

Even when someone tried to make a film extolling the virtues of rural life, it seems they just couldn’t stop sneering and shuddering. The Purchase Price (1933), a total mis-fire by William Wellman, follows the basic trajectory of City Girl but is made with complete disregard for narrative logic or credibility. Barbara Stanwyck plays a nightclub singer so fed up with life on the Big Street, and with her seemingly amiable racketeer boyfriend, that she decides to flee to North Dakota as a mail-order bride. There she behaves like a brainwashed gulag inmate, cheerfully undergoing her re-education-through-labor: waking at dawn in a room so cold the water in her pitcher is frozen, and slogging through back-breaking toil in support of a churlish ingrate husband. (Played by the charmless George Brent, he pounces on her without preamble on their wedding night, and is so deeply offended by her rejection that he refuses ever to give her a second chance.) Of course, who would want to earn a cushy living warbling a song or two in a silver lamé gown when she could don an unflattering apron and a pair of galoshes and tote heavy pails of water along muddy paths while fending off cretinous rustics and suffering the scorn of a man with a chronic sniffle? Umm....

Somehow I imagine that the men who wrote The Purchase Price (the screenplay was by Warner Brothers regular Robert Lord, having an off day) were about as fond of clean country living as Oscar Levant, whose freak-out upon finding himself on the remote Neshobe Island is memorably recorded in Harpo Marx’s sublime autobiography, Harpo Speaks. He describes how Levant dissolved into panic when dragged off to this idyllic spot: “‘Birds!’ he wailed. ‘There are birds here! The sickest creatures on God’s earth! Trees! Even the trees are psychotic! Bugs! Don’t tell me there aren’t any insects here because I know there are!’ He grabbed my arm. ‘Harpo,’ he said, ‘What have you done to me? Take me away from here. Take me away from here!’”

Rural gothic films succeed where they avoid Purchase Price-style hypocrisy and are unapologetic in their antagonism. The completely unexpected Two Alone (1934) is such a triumph. It is unexpected both because this kind of dark, brooding, romantic, Borzagean tale was out of fashion in 1934, and because no one involved in the film had a distinguished record elsewhere. Director Elliott Nugent started as an unpreposessing actor (he’s the wimpy love interest in the talkie version of The Unholy Three, and had his best role as an emotionally damaged ex-pilot in The Last Flight) and as a director churned out mainly lightweight fare and earnest mediocrities like the 1949 Great Gatsby. The cast is headed by bland B leads—lovely Jean Parker, whose acting is rudimentary, and perennial kid-brother Tom Brown—and by a crew of usually predictable character actors. But nothing about this film is predictable.

It opens with barnyard footage that prepares you for a quaint rustic comedy (an expectation encouraged by the presence of ZaSu Pitts’s name in the credits). But the scenes of farmer Slag (Arthur Byron) rousting his family out of bed for another workday have a nasty edge: he’s a mean bastard, his wife (Beulah Bondi) is a sour-faced shrew, and their daughter is all one would expect from such a love match. The next shock is our first view of Mazie (Parker), bathing naked in a stream, her fully exposed rear ogled by Slag in a creepy Suzanna-and-the-Elders scene.

Mazie is an orphan and essentially a slave to her foster family, who exploit her powerlessness to the full. When the stingy, iron-fisted Slag growls self-righteously that “No one ever gave me anything,” one can hear the echo from today’s G.O.P. candidates. The protestant work ethic has drained this family of the last drop of humanity; they’re more miserly with compassion than with coin, and their flinty obsession with squeezing every penny from their workers and their land is related to Slag’s predatory lust and his wife’s barren prudishness. (When a hired man quits, Mrs. Slag confronts him with a shotgun and goes through his suitcase to make sure he didn’t steal any spoons; he jokes unkindly that she doesn’t need the shotgun to protect herself from him.) When Mazie falls in love with Adam (Brown), a reform school runaway who becomes another de facto slave, their romantic and sexual union is the ultimate threat to the Slags: a combined threat of rebellion, of idleness, of emotional warmth, of fertility, of freedom.

These themes are woven cleverly through the film. There is an ambiguous scene at the beginning where the middle-aged hired hand George Marshall (Willard Robertson) talks to Mazie by the well as she’s fetching water. Robertson was a character actor distinguished by his hard slitty eyes, and he usually played cops and sheriffs—the kind you know won’t believe your story. Here, he’s kind to Mazie, but his interest seems suspicious, especially when they talk about her unknown father, and Marshall opines that “no substitute has been found yet” for a biological father. It later turns out that Marshall is her father, that he has sought her ought and plans to rescue her. Hence the well, where Mazie looks at her reflection and imagines she is seeing her mother’s face, becomes a symbol of revelation—truth emerging from the well, as in the old adage. Yet it remains an ominous image too: in the end Mazie will throw herself into the well as Slag attacks Adam, who is now the father of her unborn child.

We first see Adam literally falling off the back of a truck, where he has been hitching a ride, and tumbling down a dusty slope. Tom Brown has a baby face that usually shone with gee-whiz, schoolboy cockiness under slicked-back hair. Here, with his hair tousled and a look of wary bitterness on his dirt-streaked face, he’s surprisingly attractive and forceful. Adam was sent to reform school after beating up his father, who abused his mother; Slag sees a chance to benefit by concealing Adam and blackmailing him into working for no wages.

Mazie and Adam bond first like brother and sister. Their awakening to something more comes in a dark, weirdly sexy scene that suggests anything but innocent pastoral romance. Left behind while the Slags are off at their daughter’s wedding, the young couple sits around a fire outdoors with Sandy (Charley Grapewin), a harmlessly demented dipsomaniac whose daughter (Pitts, in a very minor role) locks him in the shed to keep him out of trouble. Sandy starts telling them about the customs of Indian weddings, in which the groom has to chase down the bride. As he beats hypnotically on an upturned bowl to imitate the tom-toms, Adam and Mazie are unnerved and then possessed by the drumming; they run off into the dark woods and kiss.

Later, after they run away together, they succumb again in a field full of cloyingly sweet night flowers. But their sexual passion leads them into a love as pure and faithful as anything in Borzage. Their position as outcast waifs who find salvation in one another recalls Lucky Star—where crippled Charles Farrell and ragged farm girl Janet Gaynor develop an achingly delicate love in a bleak, slovenly rural gothic setting. The loveliest moment in Two Alone comes when Mazie, who has just realized she’s pregnant, faints and is carried into the house by Slag, who shoos Adam away. Ordered back to her chores as soon as she revives, Mazie goes to the porch for firewood. Through the window, we see Adam standing outside in the lashing rain, waiting to find out if she’s all right. It’s a beautifully framed and lit image that illustrates, without mawkishness, Adam’s devotion and the forlorn yearning of the young lovers kept apart.

Perhaps it’s unlikely that this story would end well, that the one good father would win out over all the bad fathers. George Marshall shows up in the nick of time after Adam has brawled with and been shot by Slag, and Mazie has thrown herself in the well. Adam still has to go back to reform school, but it’s a generally hopeful ending—and it comes as a great relief. It’s a tribute to the small film’s emotional power that we really don’t want to see the the luckless young lovers suffer any more.

Two Alone feels out of place at the tail end of the pre-Code era; it looks both backward to silent melodramas and forward to rural gothic noirs like Borzage’s Moonrise (1948), Jean Negulesco’s Deep Valley (1947), and Delmer Daves’ The Red House (1947). In Deep Valley, Ida Lupino is an isolated girl whose parents’ frosty, sick, mutually punishing relationship has reduced her to timid, stammering neurosis. She blossoms after meeting another wounded soul (Dane Clark), a convict escaped from a chain gang that is building a road through the remote woods; but he can’t free himself from his compulsively violent nature, and finds escape only in death. Clark had his finest hour in the gorgeous and haunting Moonrise, as a young man ostracized by his nasty Southern backwater town because his father was hanged for murder.

The past lingers longer in small towns and lonely farmsteads than in cities, where anonymity and change constantly wash around the inhabitants. This makes rural noir a more natural phenomenon than is commonly assumed, since the fatal grip of the past is a central noir theme. The Red House is a psychological haunted-house tale, and if one is not too distracted by the incongruity of Edward G. Robinson and Judith Anderson playing both siblings and farmers, it achieves a dense atmosphere of decay and blight. One-legged Pete Morgan (Robinson) relies on both spooky rumors and a hired redneck with a shotgun to keep people out of the woods around a ruined farmhouse that harbors the macabre secret of the woman he loved and killed. The woman’s daughter, ignorant of her past, is Morgan’s adopted daughter, and as his mind crumbles he begins to mistake her for his long-lost love, a disturbingly incestuous delusion. There’s a campfire-story creepiness about this film, you can almost hear the twigs snapping and see the light flickering, making the woods beyond blacker.

Bring a flashlight. It gets dark out there in the country.

by Imogen. Sara Smith

[shiaat]

Omar ibn khattab(la)'s letter to Muawiya (la)

#Omarkilledfatema

#omarkilledmuhsin [Muhsin ibn Ali(asws) unborn child of Fathima(saws)]

Omar ibn khattab(la)'s letter to Muawiya ibn Abu sufyan(la) showing their level hypocrisy :

It was narrated that when Hussain ibn Ali was killed, the news of his martyrdom reached Medina, narrating how he was beheaded, alongside 18 members of his family, 53 of his companions, the slaughter of his infant son Ali, and how his women were taken captives. The wives of the Prophet gathered at the house of Umm Salamah and proceeded to hold funeral processions there, as well as in the houses of the Muhajireen and the Ansar.

Abdullah ibn Umar ibn al-Khattab left his house weeping, hitting his forehead and ripping his clothes, yelling out: ‘O’ Banu Hashem, O’Quraysh, O’ Muhjireen O’ Ansar, is this what happens to the family of the Prophet while you are alive?! There is no need for Yazid!’

He then left Medina, and in every city he passed by, he would yell at it’s people what Yazid did and would try to encourage the people to raise up against him. Every time he passed by someone, he would curse Yazid and insult him. The people used to say: ‘This is Abdullah, the son of the Prophet’s Caliph. He is against what Yazid did to the household of the Prophet and is encouraging the people to raise up against him. And whomever doesn’t love Abdullah has no religion and is not a Muslim’.

A group of people captured him and took Abdullah to Damascus where they entered the court of Yazid and informed him of what Abdullah had done. Yazid made the order to bring Abdullah in while his hands are on top of his head, and the people were walking in front of him and behind him. Yazid said: ‘This is a normal tantrum of Abu Muhammad. Soon he’ll awaken from it’.

Yazid ordered to keep himself and Abdullah alone, so Abdullah yelled out: ‘I shall not enter O’ Amir al-Momineen after what you have done to the family of Muhammad. Even the Turks and the Romans wouldn’t have done what you did! Get off from this throne, and let the Muslims pick someone more worthy of this matter than you’.

Yazid welcomed him and hugged him, and said: ‘O’ Abu Muhammad, calm down and be wise. Look with your own eyes and hear with your own ears; what do you say about your father Umar Ibn al-Khattab? Was he a guided and a man of guidance, a successor of the Prophet, and was among his supporters and son in laws through your sister Hafsa?’

Abdullah said: ‘He is just like you described him, so what are you trying to say?’

Yazid asked: ‘Was it your father who appointed my father a governor over the Levant or did my father appoint your father a Caliph?’

Abdullah said: ‘My father gave your father the governorship of the Levant’.

Yazid said: ‘O’ Abu Muhammad, would you accept what he willed to my father or not?’

Abdullah said: ‘Yes’.

So Yazid took Abdullah’s hand and said: ‘Come with me O’ Abu Muhammad, I have something for you to read’.

Abdullah went with Yazid to one of Yazid’s storage rooms. He took out a box, unlocked it, and took out a letter. He asked Abdullah: ‘O’ Abu Muhammad, does the handwriting resemble your fathers?’

Abdullah said: ‘Yes By God!’ He took the letter and read what Umar wrote to Mouwiya. The letter said:

‘In the name of God, the Merciful, the Beneficent. He who forced us to submit to his ways forced us through the swords. We accepted although without agreement of what he claimed to preach. We only accepted due to the threat of the swords being drawn against us, and his constant invitation towards his faith, and after seeing so many people leave behind the religion of their forefathers and following him.

By Hubal I swear, that I never left worshipping the idols, gods, Allat and Uzza since I started worshipping them! And never did I ever prostrate towards the Kaaba, nor did I believe what Muhammad came with. I haven’t entered that religion but to only serve my interests through trickery and creating chaos. For he came to us using never before seen magic that outweighed the magic of Musa, Haroun, Dawoud, Suleiman and Isa. He came to us preaching what they preached, but he surpassed them in magic to the extent that if they returned, they’d bear witness that he’s the Master of Magicians.

So O’ son of Abu Sufyan, take the traditions of your people, follow your original faith and be loyal to what your forefathers were loyal to in regards to disbelieving in their nonsense such as:

Having a God who ordered them to guide us, making the Kaaba a direction to face. Making prayer and pilgrimage as a pillar of their religion, and claimed that God sent Muhammad, and among those that helped him was that Persian individual. They claimed that a revelation was sent down upon him, saying:

‘Surely, the first house appointed for men was the one in Bekka, blessed and a guidance for the worlds’ (3:96) and ‘Indeed, We see the turning of your face to heaven, so We shall surely turn you to a qiblah which you shall like; turn then your face towards the Sacred Mosque, and wherever you are, turn your face towards it’ (2:144).

Then they faced the rocks and prayed. So why did they reject us for praying to the idols, gods, Allat and Uzza when they were made from rocks, wood, copper, silver and gold? By Allat and Uzza, we didn’t find any reason to leave our religion even if they showcased their magic against us. So open your eyes, listen very carefully, and ponder in your heart and mind about those people. Thank Allat and Uzza, and give the wise fellow, Ateeq ibn Abdul Uzza, a governorship position over the nation of Muhammad and give him authority over their wealth, blood, religion and themselves.

I have taken the shining star of Banu Hashem, it’s illuminated horn and victorious knowledge, a man by the name of Haydar who was the son in law of Muhammad through his daughter that they claimed she was the Chief Mistress of Women in Paradise, whose name was Fatima. I went to the house of Ali and Fatima, their children Hassan and Hussain, their daughter Zainab and Umm Kulthum and their female servant Fidha. Khalid ibn Walid, Qunfidh, and other companions came alongside me. I knocked on their door very violently. Their female servant answered the door. I said to her:

‘Tell Ali: Enough with your nonsense. Don’t be greedy for power, for this matter doesn’t belong to you, but it belongs to whomever the Muslims unanimously agreed to’.

By Allat and Uzza, if the matter and order was depended on Abu Bakr then he would have failed to become the Caliph. But I gave him my advice and suggestions. I had enmity for the son of Abu Taleb because of how he shed blood during the conquests of Muhammad, repaying his debts, which was eighty thousand dirhams, his success in everything, and his compilation of the Quran. When I said that the Caliphate is for Quraysh, the Muhajireen and the Ansar said:

‘It is for the brave warrior Amir al-Momineen Ali ibn Abi Taleb whom the Prophet made pledging allegiance to him available for his nation, and we pledged allegiance to him in four different situations. O’ Quraysh, if you forgot about that, then we didn’t. Pledging allegiance, Imamate, Caliphate and Successorship is a matter that is obligatory, truth and concrete; not volunteered nor claimed’.

But we accused them of lying, and presented forty individuals that testified that Imamate was by choice. The Ansar then said:

“We are more worthy of this matter than Quraysh, because we were the ones who supported the Prophet, and the Muslims migrated to us. So if you try to pick a group that deserves power, it cannot be achieved without us’.

A few people said:

‘Pick a leader from among your group, and we’ll pick one from amongst us’.

We said: ‘Forty individuals testified that the leaders are from Quraysh’.

Some people agreed while others didn’t, so there was a commotion until I said to everyone:

‘Let’s pick our eldest, and our most lenient’.

They asked: ‘Who are you referring to?’

I said: ‘Abu Bakr, whom the Prophet requested that he lead prayers. He was the one who was sitting alongside him during the Battle of Badr, asking for his advice. He was his companion in the cave, and married his daughter Aisha to him, who is now referred as The Mother of the Believers’.

Banu Hashem became angry, and Zubayr drew his sword and yelled out:

‘No one will be pledged allegiance to except Ali or no head will be safe from my sword!’

I said to him: ‘Zubayr! You are just from a minor branch of Banu Hashem, as your mother is Safiyah bint Abdul-Mutalib’.

He said: ‘By God, this is nothing but honour and pride for me. What about you O’ son of Hantama and Suhak? Be Quiet! You have no mother!’

Forty men who attended the Saqifa then rushed towards him and were able to disarm him, and no one came to his rescue. So I hurried towards Abu Bakr and pledged allegiance to him, Uthman ibn Affan followed my suit, and everyone else except for Zubayr. They demanded he pledge allegiance or else they’d kill him, but I ordered to let him go, as he didn’t get mad except for his inclination towards Banu Hashem. I took Abu Bakr by his hand, he appeared to be shaking and afraid. I took him and sat him at the pulpit of the Prophet. He said to me:

‘O’ father of Hafsa, I fear Ali’.

I said: ‘Ali is busy’. Abu Obaydah al-Jarrah helped me with trying to calm Abu Bakr.

I instructed Abu Bakr to give a sermon. But he became scared, started shaking, stuttered and closed his eyes. I bit my hand in anger, and said to him:

‘Say whatever, before this matter turns against us’. But nothing came from him, and I wanted to remove him from the pulpit and take his place. However, I didn’t want people thinking I was a liar after all that I said. A group of people present asked me about Abu Bakr’s virtues. I said:

“I heard many of his virtues from the Prophet to the point that I wish I was just a hair on his chest’.

I said to Abu Bakr: ‘Either you talk or get down’. But he saw from my facial expression that if he got down, I’d take his spot. So he said in a very faint voice:

‘I have become your leader; but I am not the greatest among you when Ali is present. Know that I have a Satan who tempts me, and doesn’t want anyone but me. So if I trip, then help me get back up, may Allah forgive you and I’.

He then came down from the pulpit. I took his hands, gave him a dirty look, and sat him down, where then I instructed the people to pledge allegiance to him, or else I’d terrorize the people who won’t. Abu Bakr asked where Ali was, so I informed him that he had forsaken his claim to the Caliphate and was forced to pledge allegiance. When the allegiance was paid, we found out that Ali took Fatima, Hassan and Hussain to the houses of the Muhajireen and the Ansar to remind them about their pledge of allegiance to him that was given to him in four different occasions. They agreed to support him during the night, but all have forsaken him when daylight came. So I went to his house wanting to take him out, I said to his servant Fidha:

‘Tell Ali to come out and pledge allegiance to Abu Bakr, for the Muslims have unanimously agreed to that’

She said: ‘Amir al-Momineen is busy’.

I said: ‘Do what I tell you or else I will come inside and forcefully take him out’.

Then Fatima came and stood behind the door, and said:

‘O’ liars and deviators, what are you saying? And what do you want?!

I said: ‘Fatima!’

She said: ‘What do you want?!’

I said: ‘What is this, why did your husband send you to answer us, while he lays behind the veil?’

She said: ‘Because of your tyranny, you wretched individual, that compelled me to come here so that I may place the hujjah upon you, and upon every loudmouth deviator’.

I said: ‘Leave this womanhood nonsense aside and tell Ali to come out’.

She said: ‘You have no dignity. Do you threaten us with the Party of Satan O’ Umar? The Party of Satan is weak!’

I said: ‘If he doesn’t come out, I will bring forward the wood and light it on fire and burn everyone in your house, and drag Ali to pledge allegiance’. Then I took the whip from Qunfidh and struck Fatima with it and told Khalid ibn Walid: ‘Bring firewood’, then again I told her, ‘I will burn down the house!’

She said: ‘O’ enemy of Allah and enemy of the Prophet and enemy of Amir al-Momineen!’

Two hands came out from behind the door to stop me from entering the house, however I pushed back the hands and then pushed the door with force, while striking at her hands with the whip, so that she would let go of the door. She wailed and wept due to the intense pain of the whip and her weeping was such a heart-rendering scream that it was as if my heart was going to melt and I almost retreated. Suddenly, I recalled the envy and avarice which I had towards Ali because he was the one that had shed the blood of the eminent Quraysh apostates and thus, I kicked at the door, however she had grasped the door such that it would not open. When I kicked at the door, I heard the cry of Fatima and thought that this cry would topple the entire city of Medina. In this state Fatima called out: ‘O’ Father! O’ Prophet of Allah! How do they treat your beloved and your daughter! O’ Fidha! Hasten to my aid, for by Allah, the child in my womb has been killed’.

I presumed that Fatima had stood with her back to the wall due to the extreme pain of labour and at this point, I pushed at the door with intense force and the door opened. When I entered therein, Fatima came and stood in front of me but my intense anger had overwhelmed me as if a veil was cast before my eyes. In this state, I slapped her on her face, striking her veil, and she fell down to the ground’.

Ali then came out, and when I sensed his arrival, I ran out of the house and told Khalid, Qunfidh and whomever was with them: ‘Surely I have survived a great ordeal’.

In another narration: ‘Surely, I have survived a great ordeal that I wouldn’t have survived. There is Ali, he had come out. Neither you nor I have the capability of taking him on’.

Ali went to her, and she exposed her injuries to him, and complained to the Lord of what happened to her. Ali covered her injuries and said:

‘O’ Daughter of the Prophet, Allah has sent your father as a Mercy to Humanity. If you were to expose your injuries and asked the Lord to annihilate these people, the Lord would surely answer your prayer until not a single soul among them shall remain alive because you and your father are far greater to Allah than Nuh, whom Allah had drowned every creature on Earth at that time except those who were aboard the ark. He also destroyed the people of Hud who accused him of lying by sending the strong winds, but you and your father are far greater than Hud. He also punished the people of Thamud, whom were eighteen thousand people, for slaughtering the camel. O’ Chief of Mistress of Women, be a mercy to the creations, and don’t be a cause of wrath for them’.

Her pain intensified, she entered her room and miscarried her child that Ali had named Muhsin. I had gathered many people to outnumber Ali, we circled him and dragged him forcefully to get his allegiance. We took him to the Saqifa of Bani Saidah, and when we got there, Abu Bakr stood up alongside those with him to mock Ali. So Ali said:

‘O’ Umar, do you want me to hasten what I delayed for you?’

I said: ‘No O’ Amir al-Momineen’.

Khalid ibn Walid heard me, so he hurried towards Abu Bakr. Abu Bakr told him three times:

‘What is wrong with Umar?!’ while the people were listening.

When Ali entered the Saqifa, Abu Bakr went to him. I said:

‘Abu Hassan has pledged allegiance!’ Abu Bakr then retreated, but I testify that Ali didn’t pledge allegiance, nor did he shake his hand. I didn’t want to ask him for allegiance as I didn’t want him to hasten what he has delayed for me. Abu Bakr feared keeping Ali, as he was afraid of him. So Ali left the place. We asked where he went, they informed us that he went to the grave of the Prophet. Abu Bakr and I went to him. Along the way, Abu Bakr said:

‘O’ Umar, what have you done to Fatima? By God, this means our damnation!’

I said: ‘What’s more important now is that he didn’t pledge allegiance, and I fear that the Muslims might join him’.

He said: ‘What shall we do?’

I said: ‘Let us claim that Ali pledged allegiance to you at the grave of the Prophet’.

We went to him and found him sitting at the grave; around him were Salman, Abu Thar, Miqdad, Ammar and Huthayfah ibn al-Yaman. We sat at the opposite side, I signaled to Abu Bakr to put his hands on the grave just like Ali was doing, then to drag his hand closer to Ali’s hand. When he did that, I took Abu Bakr’s hand and wiped it on the hand of Ali. I stood up and said:

‘May God give Ali all the good, we had given you the allegiance at the grave of the Prophet’. Abu Thar rose up and yelled out:

‘By God O’ Enemy of God! Ali did not pledge allegiance to Ateeq (Abu Bakr’s real name)’.

Whenever Abu Bakr and I went to a group of people and told them Ali had pledged allegiance, Abu Thar was there falsifying our claims. By God, he hadn’t pledged allegiance during the Caliphate of Abu Bakr, nor during my reign, nor did he pledge allegiance to the one after me. With Ali, twelve individuals also didn’t pledge allegiance, not to me nor Abu Bakr.

O’ Mouwiya, who has more hatred towards Ali than me?!

As for you, your father Abu Sufyan and your brother Utbah, know that there was no one but you individuals who accused the Muhammad of lying and tried to entrap him, such as the battle whereby Muhammad said:

‘May Allah curse the passenger, the leader and the driver’. Your father was the passenger, your brother Utbah was the leader, and you were the driver.

I shall never forget your mother Hind who tasked Wahshi with killing Hamza, who was referred to as the Lion of the Merciful on His Earth. He stabbed him, cut his body up, and took his kidney that was taken to your mother where she then ate it. After which Muhammad and his companions referred to her as the Eater of Kidneys. Her women wore yellow, put makeup to beautify themselves, all the while calling upon people to fight Muhammad. You didn’t become a Muslim by choice, but became Muslims forcefully after the conquest of Mecca. He wanted to put his household as rulers over us, but his magic perished and his goals were ruined as Abu Bakr took his spot, and I took Abu Bakr’s spot after he died. Therefore, I request the tribe of Banu Umayyah to continue our prospects, for this reason I had given you a governorship position and attributed virtues upon you in contradiction to what they have said about you, as I do not care about Muhammad’s poems who he claims were revelations, where he said: ‘The accursed tree in the Quran’ (17:60) which he claimed were you Banu Umayyah. With that, he showcased his enmity when he became powerful, as the children of Hashim are the enemies of the children of Abd Shams.

O’ Mouwiya, by reminding you of this and explaining everything, I am writing this to advice you as I am compassionate towards you. I want you to hasten the destruction of the religion of Muhammad and his nation. But, don’t do it by oppression nor execution, and don’t showcase your belittling of his sayings and what he came with as that will surely make you perish, and you will ruin all what we have built. So be extremely cautious when you walk into his mosque and get up on his pulpit, reiterate what Muhammad said in everything he came with. Showcase your care to the people and be generous towards them. Let them see your religiousness by always making Dua, never missing an obligatory action, and don’t innovate in his religion. If you do that, you will cause the people to revolt against us. Therefore, be lenient towards the people and don’t kill them, but open your courts for him, honour them while they’re at your presence. By that, you will become their leaders with your love in their hearts. Always have a smiling face on, control your anger, be compassionate, so they can love you and obey you.

We aren’t able to suppress the revolt of Ali and his two cubs Hassan and Hussain, and if you have a group of individuals who’ll support you then fight them, and don’t pay too much attention to the small things.

Act according to my will, hide this fact and follow my footsteps. Be obedient to me, and the Caliphate is yours. So follow the path of your ancestors, seek revenge, destroy their heritage, as I gave you my secret”.

When Abdullah ibn Umar read the letter, he went to Yazid and kissed his forehead, and said: ‘Praise to the Lord, O’ Amir al-Momineen. You have killed the evil one, son of the evil one. By God, my father has not told me anything of what he told your father, nor has he shown me anything. Surely, his ending was good, and returned pleased’.

Abdullah then left the palace of Yaizd laughing. When the people saw him, they asked: ‘What did he say to you?’

Abdullah said: ‘Nothing but the truth. I wish I took part in what he had done’.

Abdullah went back to Medina, and every time he was asked the same question, he replied with the same answer.

It was also mentioned that Yazid showed a letter written by Uthman to Mouwiya that had even greater and worse things than what the letter of Umar contained. When Abdullah read Uthman’s letter, he stood up and kissed Yazid’s forehead and said: ‘Praise to the Lord, you killed the evil one, son of the evil one. I shall not see anyone from the family of Muhammad nor his Shia except that I wish evilness upon them’. Yazid instructed him to keep it a secret.

Ibn Abbas said: ‘They showcased faith, but hid their disbelief. When they saw they had supporters, they showcased their disbelief’.

[Bihar al-Anwar, volume 30, page 287, h 151]

[bolontiku]

"You are no longer fragile."

TW: Talk of abuse, death

The other day my older sister came over. We ended up going out & having a family meal and learned from her a cousin passed. Nothing to do but wait till the family has passed official word and wait for the funeral. Thats a discussion on its own for another day...

After my pops and lil sister took off, I offered to pay for desert. The brother and older sis wanted fried icecream and I knew a place. It took a little time and we got there, were seated and we started chatting.

She was telling me and the brother about her new found relationship and the proceedings of her divorce. She was going on about how she could see herself being okay without her new boyfriend who she dared to say she loved deeply. Yet it confused her to no end that she would be okay. Her soon-to-be exhusband made her believe she wouldnt. She would never be okay without him. The world was too hard, she couldnt handle herself, she was pathetic and useless and weak. She needed him to be able to function. SHE NEEDED HIM. There was nothing she could do without him- This is why she was confused. How could she be ok with being alone?

My words to her were: "Its because you are no longer fragile."

She was never fragile. My sister is strongwilled. Fierce. Inquisitive. Decisive. Fearless. Daring. Courageous. Soft. Empathetic. Caring. Funny. Beautiful. She sings in the car and dances. And so so so smart. There is nothing she can't figure out. This is why she has excelled in her career (she recently got promoted to Assistant Store Manager) and many other aspects of her life.

It struck me that I hadn't meant for an aha moment but we all stared at each other in silence. She got teary eyed and we sat for a second being a little uncomfortable and not looking at each other. We looked at our menu's (we all went for damned fried icecream!).

Abuse does not discriminate.

It comes in many different forms and your abuser is often not the towering villian you expect. Most times you don't even realize its happening to you.

Emotional. Mental. Sexual. Physical.

We are not people who are easily coddled. We are not people to back down. We were raised to fend for ourselves and care for our family, we think of ourselves last and will be the first to jump into a fight.

This is who we are.

We are abuse survivors.

It has taken us time to come back, we could not see her do it alone and have struggled to keep our own memories of what we went through subdued. We talked her into seeing a therapist and that... Thank god she found a good one! Its helped so much.

Funnily enough our little family has come back together. We've lost so much. A mother. A sister. Nieces and nephews. We grew apart and thought we were alone. Who knows what we will encounter in the future? Maybe we wont see eye to eye again. But she knows that no matter what she doesnt need to go through this alone.

I don't know what (if anything) I wanted to convey with this. I tend to thought-dump on here from time to time.

We have struggled so much and dealt with so much by ourselves I guess I'm just glad that she can lean on us. We need her too. I'm happy to see her get excited over things again, its been a long time. Theres still a lot to go through. But I think we'll be okay. We are a family of fighters, we just forgot a little, got lost a little.

Its okay to get a little lost.

Its okay to reach out.

I had my wife & bestie. The brother had the lil sister and when he reached out to me we found ourselves again. Now, our pops is more open with us. My older sister reached out to me and we brought her home. Its funny looking back at the chain reaction that happens sometimes.

Life is hard & funny.

But my ma always said, "levantate, y haslo de nuevo!" "Get up and do it again!"

[lastchancevillagegreen]

The Top Ten Best Novels Read in 2021:

The year of 2021 was a great year for reading as I read many things that impressed and I felt were some of the best things I’ve read.  That first photo you see is the stack of books making my Top Ten.  Yes, there are actually 13 books shown.  It will all be clear after you read all my folderol. 

The best book was actually six books known as The Fortunes of War series and it combines two different trilogies.  The first is The Fortunes of War: The Balkan Trilogy which is comprised of The Great Fortune (1960), The Spoilt City (1962), and Friends and Heroes (1965) and it takes place in Greece.  These books are about World War II and they are unique in that they do not feature Nazis.  We follow a married couple Harriet and Guy Pringle through the entirety of the six novels.  This couple is based on author Olivia Manning and her husband RD Smith.  One can only hope that Manning’s real life husband is not the contemptible ass that Guy Pringle is (he is one of literature’s most infuriating characters).  This couple has fled England so that Guy may teach college in Greece.  We watch in those first three novels as Greece slowly falls to the Nazis and by the end of the trilogy, the Pringles are leaving Greece for Egypt. 

The second trilogy is The Fortunes of War: The Levant Trilogy and it is comprised of he Danger Tree (1977), The Battle Lost and Won (1978), and The Sum of Things (1980).  Guy spend most of his time in Greece in this novel and we never have to put up with his self indulgent nonsense.  While the secondary characters are different in both trilogies some of them such Prince Yakimov, a swindler and gormandizer extraordinaire, appears in both novels.  The characters in these books are complicated and often contradictory just like in real life.  You won’t always love them (I never love Guy, I don’t even like him) but they feel authentic and in both trilogies, author Manning has crafted some of the greatest characterizations I’ve had the pleasure of reading.  These books are suspenseful.  I learn we do not need Nazis (they are around, but rarely are they ever even minor characters) to make World War II suspenseful and taut.  It is amazing to learn how other countries dealt with the war and how those involved even peripherally were still on edge due to the horrors everywhere that plagued the world.  I consumed all six novels over the course of May 2021 and I simply couldn’t get through them any faster.  The books consumed 1500 pages. 

My second favorite book I read was a 1400 page tome, The Mysteries of Paris (published in 1842-43).  It tells the story of the mysterious Rodolphe Durand, his sidekick Murph and the young woman Durand befriends named Songbird.  Durand spends the greater portion of the novel doing good deeds for the poor and unfortunate people and it is up to us to determine why.  The book is infused with many noteworthy villains with names such as The Owl, Schoolmaster, Gammy, Red-Arm and The Skeleton and they are without morality.  But the most heinous villain might just be Countess Sarah who masquerades as a man.  This book takes many twists and turns and is a pure joy to read.  And my God...that ending.  Perhaps the most important aspect of this novel is that it was the best selling novel in the world at the time, breaking records worldwide (it was written by French novelist Eugène Sue) despite the fact it was originally published in daily installments in the Journal des Dèats beginning 19 June 1842 and running until 15 October 1843.  It triggered knockoffs known as City Mysteries and there were books involving London, Naples, New York, Lisbon, etc (including The Mystery Marseille by Émile Zola of all people).  This novel inspired Alexandre Dumas to write his beloved The Count of Monte Cristo and Victor Hugo to pen his epic Les Miserables.  

My third favorite novel this year goes to Wilkie Collins’ 1860 novel The Woman In White. It takes a pair of sisters (half-sisters, mind you) named Laura Fairlie and Marian Holcombe and throws them in with a cad named Sir Percival Glyde and his villainous side kick the contemptable (but brilliant character) Count Fosco.  This pair of men will upend the lives of the two half sisters but fortunately for literature, it is the ‘ugly’ sister Marian, a true feminist if ever there were one who manages to fight back.  The titular character is an altogether different woman who is actually a secondary character yet she is as important to the story as anyone I have named.  The book is unique in that it is told from different points of view all meant to confound the reader and keep us alert.  Mysterious, compulsive reading (it exceeds 700 pages and I read it in four days) and I loved it so much I bought three more novels by Wilkie (virtually everyone agrees the prolific Wilkie wrote four great novels beginning with this one and ending with The Moonstone).

From there comes Frank Norris’ first installment of his proposed trilogy The Epic of The Wheat (Norris was only able to write the first two novels before he died (see the next entry above) at the painfully early age of 32).  The Octopus (1901) is a vicious novel about a group of wheat farmers who are seriously hoodwinked by the railroad that runs through their town.   Norris was a huge fan of Émile Zola’s realism literature, particularly Zola’s massive achievement, the 20 novels comprising the Rougons and Macquarts saga.  Norris is heartless with his characters and the fates that befall those farmers is shocking and intense.  The title refers to the many arms the railroad has which dip into the pockets of everyone from the farmers to the politicians and everyone in between.  This was another 700 page book and it was another one I simply could not put down.  Norris loves long chapters that run 50 to 70 pages long and they are impossible to stop in the middle of.  I sat outside on my porch this summer and read this amazing novel and it was damn near perfect. 

My fifth favorite novel is another trilogy penned by poet Tove Ditlevsen of Copenhagen, Denmark known as The Copenhagen Trilogy (1967-1971).  Told in three novels subtitled Childhood, Youth and Dependency (in Denmark the title was Gift which can translate to both marriage and poison, a perfect summing up of that third installment). these are harrowing true accounts of Ditlevsen’s terrible life as a child and then as a youth who finally is vindicated with publishing her first book of poetry in 1939 at the age of 22.  The final book tells of her first marriage which is a wild, peculiar arrangement.  She led a hard life but she was one of Denmark’s greatest authors before committing suicide in 1978 at the age of 58. 

The photo above shows you these all five of those titles in a stack.  I stole this idea of stacking from Penguin’s twitter page who always asks people to stack up their ten favorite novels--whether published by Penguin or not.  I spend much of December ogling people’s stacks and marveling at the amount of books people read during the year.  I read 168 books and this is but a pittance compared to most people who respond to Penguin.  Most claim to read 300 to 500 books a year (and they are dense, massive political tomes and philosophical tomes, all difficult things that the NYRB crowd seems to mainline.  I’m not sure how they do it, but I know they certainly never read graphic novels or children’s books like I do.  I am but a child compared to serious readers. 

The photo directly above shows you my next five favorite books read in 2021. 

My next favorite five novels which round out my Top Ten begins with the most recent novel on my Top Ten.  New York writer Katherine Lacey’s third novel is the exquisite and daring Pew (2020).   When a homeless person is found sleeping in a conservative church the town immediately runs into overdrive trying to save this poor soul.  The problem is “Pew” doesn’t want to be saved.  Pew refuses to talk and wont even cop to being either a male or a female.  This is not a transgender power story, but rather a look at the noxious behaviors of religious conservatives as well as America’s often contradictory standards.  Culminating in a vicious festival known as The Forgiveness Festival (dear God, don't give my wife any ideas) this is a savage book.  As for the final ending?  Look at goodreads and you will find most are clueless as to what happened. 

Dorothy Allison’s 1992 novel Bastard Out of Carolina was a ‘fictionalized’ account of her life growing up.  The book tells the story of Ruth Anne “Bone” Boatwright who at the age of seven, while her mother is in the hospital having a baby, is first raped by her stepfather.   The sexual assaults continue and the mother always blames poor Bone.  A harrowing and dark book I discovered this at my library where it was on display celebrating authors who were gay or lesbian.  I’d never heard of it but the title certainly grabbed my attention.  I’m thrilled my library never backs down from controversial novels no matter who writes them.  Allison is predominantly a poet and author of short stories. 

Donna Tartt’s debut novel from 1992 is The Secret History and this is the book most frequently blamed for the new sub-genre known as Dark Academia.  The novel opens with a murder committed by a group of six students who kill one of their classmates.  We know how it is committed we just don’t know why.  The book then proceeds to explain the whys and hows of this heinous act.  Dark and foreboding, I like Tartt’s work as I’ve read all three of her novels.  I know many are not fans, but I’ve no complaint.  One of the characters of this novel, Francis Abernathy, appears briefly in Tartt’s most recent novel, 2013′s The Goldfinch.  Unfortunately for this reader, I read The Goldfinch well before The Secret History so it made zero impact on me. 

Then we have the brilliant and hilarious The Brief Wondrous Life of Oscar Wao published in 2007 written by Dominican American author Junot Díaz. Oscar comes to Paterson, New Jersey by way of the Dominican Republic which he and his family escape from thanks to the dictatorial government run by Rafael Trujillo who was president from 1931 to 1961.  Oscar’s real name is Oscar de Léon but everyone calls him Oscar Wao.  That nickname is a dig at his weight as well as a dig at those from Oscar’s homeland who cannot properly pronounce Oscar Wilde from which the nickname comes because Oscar’s forever writing (his goal in life is to be the first Dominican Republic JRR Tolkien).  Yes Oscar is an overweight (at one point he clocks in at over 300 pounds) lover of science fiction, comic books and yes, a life-long virgin even though that is not by choice.  The novel is narrated by Yunior, Oscar’s college roommate and his only friend.  He became Oscar’s friend by default in an effort to climb into bed with Oscar’s sister (and to accept Oscar as a tutor).  This novel jumps back and forth through time (no, it is not a time travel book) so we can meet all of Oscar’s family and hear how their lives changed thanks to Trujillo. We learn about familial curses (fukú) and antidotes to those curses (zafa) and slowly but surely we discover that the entire de Léon  bloodline is cursed.  A grand, greatly entertaining novel that I also spent reading on my front porch this past summer.  Oscar might just be one of my favorite characters in modern literature.  I loved this kid!

And finally at #10, is JD Salinger’s classic novel The Catcher In The Rye from 1951.  I’m not summarizing this novel which I have probably read a dozen times since discovering it in high school.  When I was in college I worked for the student newspaper briefly.  One of my assignments was to interview a judge who was being tried for embezzlement.  He asked me what my hobbies were and I said I enjoy reading classic novels.  When his eyes lit up he asked me my favorite.  I told him this novel and he laughed loud and long.  “That’s not a classic, son.  You need to investigate the real classics, Moby Dick, Don Quixote,” and who knows what else he suggested.  At the time I couldn’t imagine reading those novels or those kinds of novels.  All these years later, it turns out that 19th century literature is probably my choice for reading.  Moby Dick was the first true classic I ever read (1851, 19th Century) and Don Quixote (1615, 17th Century) could easily be my very favorite book (I have the newest translation of Don Quixote by Edith Grossman from 2003 which I’d love to read again soon).  To talk to that judge today...

Below you will find a photo of all my Top Ten Favorite/ Best Books from 2021 in a stack.

[emzysimagines]

Being Altair's Twin Sister Would Include...

Warnings - Slight angst because, Altair.

=======================

• Always playfully sparring with toy swords as kids.

• You being a tomboy, yet a sweet girl, nonetheless.

• Being ridiculed and picked on by boys your age in your childhood for being a tomboy.

• Altair intervening to stand up for you.

• You stopping him before proving them wrong.

• Proving them wrong, usually included punching the poor kids or kicking them in the stomach.

• Which is why you were the problematic one.

• Only because you were ridiculed.

• Your father starting to introduce you, two to the ways of an Assassin - the fighting, the life, the beliefs, the morals, the history, etc.

• Training together.

• Him having strength in body while you had agility.

• Being pushed harder than him so, you’d get stronger.

• Then, Altair making a snide comment so, your father pushed him just as hard, too.

• You making up for your body strength with mind strength over the years.

• Him getting accepted in the brotherhood, unlike you.

• You being annoyed you weren’t accepted.

• Him trying to comfort you but, it ended up with a huge fight.

• It was practically a street fight - fists, punches, kicks and rude comments included.

• You pinning him to the ground with your arm, putting all your body weight on it, pushing it against his chest.

• “Stop pitying me!”

• Him pushing you off with his body strength and holding you in place with his arm around your neck.

• “Stop being so petty, then!”

• The fight going on until you, two get tired and end up lying on the ground beside each others.

• You starting to laugh together.

• “Forgive me, brother.”

• Him just smiling warmly at your guilty eyes before lightly giving you a small push to your cheek with his fist, affectionately.

• “They’d be stupid not to accept you.”

• Getting your acceptance letter a week later.

• Your father getting killed a week after.

• Sitting alone on the steps of the palace in your newbie robes with a blank look.

• Al Mualim coming to sit with you.

• Him comforting you with his words.

• Rushing to find your solitary brother as you finally react to your father’s death.

• Finding him sitting atop a tower, his legs dangling.

• Sparing each others a look before you sit beside him.

• Resting your head atop his shoulder and just sitting together.

• The two of you being there for each others.

• You being the strategic agile quiet twin.

• Him being the reckless strong solitary twin.

• Not being as close to Malik and his brother as Altair was.

• Training together.

• Going on missions together.

• Al Mualim only sending the two of you to invade full cities.

• Being an army of two.

• Races on rooftops.

• Races on horsebacks.

• Races between bureaus.

• Discreet races between Templar soldiers.

• Wrecking havoc in Masyaf with all your races.

• Overall, you being the wise, calm, sweet and beautiful twin.

• Him being the cocky, temper driven, cocky and really handsome twin.

• Well, in the beginning, that is.

• Being Altair’s strength.

• Altair being your rock.

• Joining him in that one mission with the Sayfs.

• Trying to prevent his cocky interventions.

• You getting a deep lethal injury from a poisoned blade.

• Falling in a coma for months.

• When you finally wake up, Altair is almost done with the nine.

• Him catching you up with his new found information.

• You trying to push that one thought out of your mind.

• Him being unsure whether to confirm the corruption of Al Mualim.

• Altair not finding you at Malik’s side when he goes to fight the old man.

• “Where are you?…”

• Finding you by Al Mualim’s side as he controls your mind.

• “No..”

• Him forcing you to fight Altair until death.

• Having always had mind strength, you manage to push Al Mualim out of your mind.

• Killing Al Mualim together.

• Being by Altair’s side as the apple opens for him.

• Snapping him out of his trance by speaking his name.

• Meeting Maria after Altair’s little.. scandal with her atop that certain tower in Jerusalem.

• You being the coolest aunt in the world.

• Being single.

• Living for your small family.

• Darim being your new Altair, due to Altair being busy with the brotherhood.

• Sef being your little boy.

• Only going to Altair’s for small visits inbetween missions.

• Informing him of the corruption of Abbas.

• Ignoring your accusations.

• Abbas discovering you know.

• Not wanting to disturb Altair or cause him trouble, you stand your ground.

• Abbas going after you first.

• Him chasing you out of Masyaf.

• Living in the shadows in Jerusalem.

• Not being able to send any pigeons to Altair.

• However, after you killing a man, whom you saw selling and abusing slaves due to your justice instinct, that attracts attention to you.

• Abbas accusing the “mysterious” killer to be a ruthless murderer, who killed a man “helping” people.

• Abbas chasing you out of the Levant area.

• Finding sanctuary in a beautiful historic city in Turkey.

• Finally finding love with a dashing Turkish man.

• Being able to contact Malik.

• Staying in Turkey with your son and husband until suddenly, you were not able to message Malik.

• Going back to Masyaf in time to witness your little boy’s death.

• Having an angry fit.

• “Tell me, (Y/N).. After leaving your brother, do you think he’ll forgive you?”

• Being put more in mental pain than physical pain.

• Altair and Maria being manipulated by Abbas, using you.

• Maria’s last word to you being,“Strength… T-Together..”

• Altair and you working together and fighting Abbas’ mind controlled men, just like you fought Templars in your youth.

• Running away with Altair and Darim.

• Hugging Darim to you once you find somewhere to stay in.

• Sitting alone atop a tower, mourning Sef’s death.

• “It’s not your fault.”

• Altair joining you.

• “I wasn’t there, was I?”

• Him just pushing your head to rest on his shoulder as you mourn the death of the beautiful boy together.

• Telling you that there are other pieces besides the apple.

• “I think I heard some merchants going to Constantine’s castle, talking of a strange artifact found in a mine.”

• Altair telling you that he was only a messenger to a man named Desmond.

• Travelling around the world with Altair to find pieces.

• Listening to the voices, telling Altair of his grandchildren.

• Him being annoyed at first at the players.

• “That.. Is my legacy?”

• “Well, at least they inherited some of your traits.”

• Sharing some of your playful jokes and sometimes Darim joins in.

• “You have a son?!”

• “You have a husband?!”

• Forty year old Darim being the jealous nephew as an almost seventy year old Altair becomes a protective mess.

• “I’d like to think of my son as a miracle, I had in an old age.”

• Sibling artifact hunts.

• At the last piece, the voices turn to speak to you.

• “Your grandchildren seem as they will always be there to help save the day.”

• Them showing you your grandchildren.

• Your grandchildren crossing paths with Altair’s.

• Leonardo da Vinci, Yusuf Tazim, Aveline de Grandpre and the list goes on until a certain smart girl named Rebecca.

• After hiding the codex, you start discussing where to go next.

• “We go home.”

• Shortly, after getting back Masyaf, you catch the plague.

• Altair’s sorrowful eyes.

• “Why don’t you go back home? To your family, sister?”

• “I am home. I am with my family.”

• “You should not stay here, only because of Maria’s-”

• “I am not. I am here because, I want to.. Brother, the thirty years, I was away, were the hardest. My place is by your side.”

• “Then, send for them to come.”

• You sitting in your room in the castle, trying to think of what to write.

• “My son, I cannot apologize enough for having not been there.. I cannot apologize enough for missing out on so much. But, I need you. I need to see you and your family. Please.”

• A party filled with kids and a woman greets your nephew, three months later.

• Your family staying in Masyaf with you.

• Not telling any of your grandchildren or your son about your sickness.

• Making your own codex pages and hiding them as you disappear for four months.

• Coming back with nearly two weeks left to live.

• Working with Altair as hard as you can.

• Coughing up so much blood, two weeks later as you stand in Altair’s office alone, thinking of everything.

• Him coming in, in time to see you crumbling to the ground, weakly.

• “Sister..”

• Shushing him as he kneels beside you.

• “Just.. Hold me.. Brother.”

• Calling him brother with more affection than you ever have.

• “I love you.. I’m here.”

• Reminding him of Maria’s will.

• “Strength..” being your last word.

• Using your last bit of strength to raise your fist to push Altair’s cheek affectionately before your eyes glaze over.

• Dying in his arms as his silent tears drop on your smiling face.

[lauramalchowblog]

Presenting Complaint: Social Injustice

By ANISH KOKA, MD

Bobby

It took some doing, but I had finally made it to Bobby’s home.

It was a rowhome tucked into one of those little side streets in the city that non-city folks wouldn’t dream of driving down. As I step in, I’m met by the usual set up – wooden steps that hug the right side of the wall leading up to the second floor.  Bobby certainly hasn’t made it up to the second floor in some time. At the moment she is sitting in her hospital bed in the living room. The bed is the focal point to a room stuffed to the gills with all manners of stuff. At least three quarters of the stuff seems to be food. Cinnamon buns, Doritos, donut holes, chocolate frosted Donuts, crackers, Twinkies. The junk food aisle at Wawa would be embarrassed by the riches on display here.

Bobby weighs in at four hundred pounds, 5 foot 5 inches. She has a tracheostomy from multiple prior episodes of respiratory failure that have required ventilatory support. I’m here at the request of a devoted primary care physician that still makes home calls. I’ve looked through the last number of hospital stays. The last few discharge summaries are carbon copies of each other. Hypoxemic respiratory failure related to pulmonary edema complicated further by morbid obesity. Time on the vent. Antibiotics. Diuretics. Home. Return to the hospital 2 weeks later. The last echocardiogram done was 3 admissions ago. A poor study. Not much could be seen due to ‘body habitus’.

I sit on the side of the bed trying to acquire my own images of her heart. I talk to her as I struggle. Bobby is 58, the youngest of three sisters, and the only surviving member of the family. Her elder sisters died of respiratory complications as well. They both died with tracheostomies. The conversation is circular. The problem according to Bobby is the tracheostomy. Everything was fine before that. I explain that a prolonged period of time on the ventilator on a prior admission prompted the tracheostomy, and that the multiple recent admissions to the hospital that required a ventilator seemed to validate that decision. She doesn’t waver. Both her sisters died shortly after they got tracheostomies. Bobby thinks the physicians taking care of her sisters had a hand in their demise. “They didn’t care”. “We told them they were sick.”

Perhaps.

The picture on the nightstand suggests Bobby was the smallest of the three sisters.

It doesn’t take much to get Bobby talking. Her favorite holiday is July 4th because she makes the family favorite tuna casserole, and her favorite niece, April, helps her with the casserole every year.

Meanwhile, the echocardiogram shows a large right side of the heart. Her pulmonary pressures are elevated, and she seems to be fluid overloaded. Review of her bloodwork from the hospital also strongly suggests her weight may be hampering her ability to expel carbon dioxide. She really needs to be on a ventilator nightly. In other more normal contexts there are additional diagnostic steps to take, but trust won’t be built in a day. She’s heard variations of these recommendations before. She is adamantly opposed to any other invasive tests.

But a small victory. She agrees on the higher diuretic dose.

Bobby is black. I’m brown. We hail from very different zipcodes.  She clearly harbors a deep mistrust of the medical system. But I’m hopeful to make some inroads. It doesn’t seem to  matter to Bobby that I’m brown, or that I was born in Delhi, or that I reside in a much different zipcode than her.  At the moment, I’m just another caregiver in her living room.

I sense a thaw.  As I pack up, she asks me when I’ll see her again.

Hopefully soon, Bobby.

Mr. Chalhoubi

Hussain Chalhoubi is in the office with one of his three devoted daughters. It’s a different daughter every week and I can never keep their names straight. I met him after he had suffered a stroke that leaves him frustratingly aphasic. He enjoys food and drink, and like clockwork would appear in my office in the early years frequently with swollen hands and feet days after a dietary indiscretion. He always had a sheepish look on his face as his exasperated daughters would tattle on him.

At some point I learned there was little point to piling on. Scolding only gets you so far. Instead, I asked him about Syria. Boy do those eyes light up. His family had fled shortly after Syria had been plunged into civil war.

I’m curious who he blames for the mess. Assad, the dictator who the US has held responsible? He vigorously shakes his head. His daughter chimes in.

“We are Christians.”

Not much more needs to be said. Assad may be the boogie-man to many, but he is an Alawite, a minority sect of Islam in a sea of Sunni Muslims that makes up the Levant in the Middle East. The rebellion against the Alawite Assad is of the  behead-first-ask-questions-later extremist Sunni kind that scares the Syrian Christian minority much more than the ruling dictator accused of his own share of atrocities.

As the conversation comes back to the medical, he forwards through his daughter that he has been trying to flush out his kidneys by drinking copious amounts of water.  I try to explain to him that his kidneys and his heart don’t function normally, so they can get overwhelmed. 

No flushing.

Over time, he’s started to listen more.  He doesn’t skip his medications, avoids drinking too much.  He used to be in the office monthly, but now every 3-4 months for routine visits. 

Serving patients, or populations ?

It is now a rather quaint idea that outcomes for patients are best improved one doctor-patient relationship at a time.  I understand the sentiment.  For most patients the outcome is decided well before their encounter with me.  Your zipcode seems to be a lot more important to your outcome than your doctor, and unsurprisingly a movement to address matters that have traditionally lived outside of the health care system has gained steam

In an earlier era the doctor’s mission was to recognize and manage diseases.   Medical students were taught to hear the severe aortic regurgitation that was causing the progressive shortness of breath.  The advances in the management of disease over the last half century have been nothing short of magical.  Crack open a chest, arrest the heart, replace an aortic valve, bring the heart back to life.  The power of medicine realized was to change the natural history of disease for the ill patient that arrived in distress seeking help.

And here the very reasonable human desire to address systemic inequities in society found synergy with a darker current of thought within medicine that felt the resources expended to care for the very ill are resources poorly spent.  The focus, the theory goes, should be on preventing illness in the much larger healthy population.  The scope of keeping the healthy well, of course, extends well beyond the medical, and puts everything in play.  Sanitation, transportation, air quality, climate change, access to the means to pay for healthcare are just the start of a long list of priorities for those in charge.  These programs need scarce budgetary dollars, and so it was only a matter of time after the government started paying for healthcare that politicians and the public health gurus they empowered to manage the health of the population began to voice their disdain for the care of those deemed “too ill”.

The tension here is that medicine’s greatest strides in the last half century have come in those with afflictions that brought them to death’s door.   The inroads in this group of unfortunates have come by way of super-specialists far removed from the concerns of the worried well.  Richard Lamm, the former governor of Colorado famously derided the work of Thomas Starzl, the father of organ transplantation, questioning the great surgeons use of public health resources to attempt to save individual patients at death’s door.  These were the early days of transplantation, when successes were a far cry from the results enjoyed today.  As the passage of time made transplantation success rates north of 90% and the public watched children destined for death skipping down hallways, Lamm’s cold calculus came to easily be rejected. 

Yet in 2000, writing for Health Affairs, Lamm doubled down.

“Colorado’s doctors were constantly reminding me that in medicine, ‘cost was never a consideration.’ But health care was the fastest-growing segment of my budget, demanding increasing amounts of public funds for the medical school, for new equipment at the hospital, and for Medicaid. Daily, if not hourly, hospitals in my state would effectively appropriate state funds for a high-risk, low-benefit procedure, while I knew that those funds could easily save more lives elsewhere in the health care system or outside of it, say, by buying three new teachers, fixing a broken sewer main, or adding two police officers to a high-crime area for a year. How could cost not be a consideration in making a public budget?”

“How can patient advocates feel so good about the system they work in when I, as public advocate, feel so guilty for having so many people without even basic health care?”

It never strikes Lamm that the citizens he is so desperate to ‘cover’ with health insurance may want to choose not to die and opt to receive an organ transplant.  What good is a health insurance plan that doesn’t pay for life saving therapy when you actually need it?  This would be akin to paying for a fire suppressing sprinkler system, but not paying to have firefighters come to battle a structure threatening blaze. 

The kinder, gentler, smarter society the ideology Lamm represents is a society that turns its back on the tangible, acute needs of the sick for hypothetical needs of the well.  In a perfect world, perhaps one could do both.  Unfortunately, when it comes to interventions for the worried well, controversy abounds for how exactly one accomplishes this.  Does one advocate for zoning and tax policy to allow fresh produce and groceries to be sold in poor zip codes to address ‘food deserts’ so Bobby has more healthy options?  Should we advocate for sin taxes on alcohol, tobacco and sugar containing products that by their very nature are meant to be regressive taxes that affect the behavior of patients like Bobby?  Does caring for Mr. Chahloubi mean taking a position on US foreign policy interventions in that country, or perhaps advocacy for immigration for asylum seekers?

In an age not so long ago, it was easily recognized that the answers to these questions were to be wrestled with well outside the purview of the medical field.  That a growing number in the medical community think medical training gives us special expertise to solve these problems speaks to a self-important medical echo chamber that believes society’s values should mirror its values.

We would be wise to heed the words of C.S. Lewis – “Of all tyrannies, a tyranny sincerely exercised for the good of its victims may be the most oppressive.  It would be better to live under robber barons than under omnipotent moral busybodies… those who torment us for our own good will torment us without end for they do so with the approval of their own conscience.. This very kindness stings with intolerable insult.  To be “cured” against one’s will and cured of states which we may not regard a disease is to be put on a level of those who have not yet reached the age of reason or those who never will; to be classed with infants, imbeciles, and domestic animals.”

Bobby and Mr. Chalhoubi aren’t particularly interested in my views on sugar taxes or my feelings about Bashar al-Assad.   They want someone invested in them, not in some abstract population.  Advocacy by physicians has its place.  Its just not in the exam room.

Anish Koka is a physician in private practice in Philadelphia.

The post Presenting Complaint: Social Injustice appeared first on The Health Care Blog.

Presenting Complaint: Social Injustice published first on https://venabeahan.tumblr.com

[kristinsimmons]

Presenting Complaint: Social Injustice

By ANISH KOKA, MD

Bobby

It took some doing, but I had finally made it to Bobby’s home.

It was a rowhome tucked into one of those little side streets in the city that non-city folks wouldn’t dream of driving down. As I step in, I’m met by the usual set up – wooden steps that hug the right side of the wall leading up to the second floor.  Bobby certainly hasn’t made it up to the second floor in some time. At the moment she is sitting in her hospital bed in the living room. The bed is the focal point to a room stuffed to the gills with all manners of stuff. At least three quarters of the stuff seems to be food. Cinnamon buns, Doritos, donut holes, chocolate frosted Donuts, crackers, Twinkies. The junk food aisle at Wawa would be embarrassed by the riches on display here.

Bobby weighs in at four hundred pounds, 5 foot 5 inches. She has a tracheostomy from multiple prior episodes of respiratory failure that have required ventilatory support. I’m here at the request of a devoted primary care physician that still makes home calls. I’ve looked through the last number of hospital stays. The last few discharge summaries are carbon copies of each other. Hypoxemic respiratory failure related to pulmonary edema complicated further by morbid obesity. Time on the vent. Antibiotics. Diuretics. Home. Return to the hospital 2 weeks later. The last echocardiogram done was 3 admissions ago. A poor study. Not much could be seen due to ‘body habitus’.

I sit on the side of the bed trying to acquire my own images of her heart. I talk to her as I struggle. Bobby is 58, the youngest of three sisters, and the only surviving member of the family. Her elder sisters died of respiratory complications as well. They both died with tracheostomies. The conversation is circular. The problem according to Bobby is the tracheostomy. Everything was fine before that. I explain that a prolonged period of time on the ventilator on a prior admission prompted the tracheostomy, and that the multiple recent admissions to the hospital that required a ventilator seemed to validate that decision. She doesn’t waver. Both her sisters died shortly after they got tracheostomies. Bobby thinks the physicians taking care of her sisters had a hand in their demise. “They didn’t care”. “We told them they were sick.”

Perhaps.

The picture on the nightstand suggests Bobby was the smallest of the three sisters.

It doesn’t take much to get Bobby talking. Her favorite holiday is July 4th because she makes the family favorite tuna casserole, and her favorite niece, April, helps her with the casserole every year.

Meanwhile, the echocardiogram shows a large right side of the heart. Her pulmonary pressures are elevated, and she seems to be fluid overloaded. Review of her bloodwork from the hospital also strongly suggests her weight may be hampering her ability to expel carbon dioxide. She really needs to be on a ventilator nightly. In other more normal contexts there are additional diagnostic steps to take, but trust won’t be built in a day. She’s heard variations of these recommendations before. She is adamantly opposed to any other invasive tests.

But a small victory. She agrees on the higher diuretic dose.

Bobby is black. I’m brown. We hail from very different zipcodes.  She clearly harbors a deep mistrust of the medical system. But I’m hopeful to make some inroads. It doesn’t seem to  matter to Bobby that I’m brown, or that I was born in Delhi, or that I reside in a much different zipcode than her.  At the moment, I’m just another caregiver in her living room.

I sense a thaw.  As I pack up, she asks me when I’ll see her again.

Hopefully soon, Bobby.

Mr. Chalhoubi

Hussain Chalhoubi is in the office with one of his three devoted daughters. It’s a different daughter every week and I can never keep their names straight. I met him after he had suffered a stroke that leaves him frustratingly aphasic. He enjoys food and drink, and like clockwork would appear in my office in the early years frequently with swollen hands and feet days after a dietary indiscretion. He always had a sheepish look on his face as his exasperated daughters would tattle on him.

At some point I learned there was little point to piling on. Scolding only gets you so far. Instead, I asked him about Syria. Boy do those eyes light up. His family had fled shortly after Syria had been plunged into civil war.

I’m curious who he blames for the mess. Assad, the dictator who the US has held responsible? He vigorously shakes his head. His daughter chimes in.

“We are Christians.”

Not much more needs to be said. Assad may be the boogie-man to many, but he is an Alawite, a minority sect of Islam in a sea of Sunni Muslims that makes up the Levant in the Middle East. The rebellion against the Alawite Assad is of the  behead-first-ask-questions-later extremist Sunni kind that scares the Syrian Christian minority much more than the ruling dictator accused of his own share of atrocities.

As the conversation comes back to the medical, he forwards through his daughter that he has been trying to flush out his kidneys by drinking copious amounts of water.  I try to explain to him that his kidneys and his heart don’t function normally, so they can get overwhelmed. 

No flushing.

Over time, he’s started to listen more.  He doesn’t skip his medications, avoids drinking too much.  He used to be in the office monthly, but now every 3-4 months for routine visits. 

Serving patients, or populations ?

It is now a rather quaint idea that outcomes for patients are best improved one doctor-patient relationship at a time.  I understand the sentiment.  For most patients the outcome is decided well before their encounter with me.  Your zipcode seems to be a lot more important to your outcome than your doctor, and unsurprisingly a movement to address matters that have traditionally lived outside of the health care system has gained steam

In an earlier era the doctor’s mission was to recognize and manage diseases.   Medical students were taught to hear the severe aortic regurgitation that was causing the progressive shortness of breath.  The advances in the management of disease over the last half century have been nothing short of magical.  Crack open a chest, arrest the heart, replace an aortic valve, bring the heart back to life.  The power of medicine realized was to change the natural history of disease for the ill patient that arrived in distress seeking help.

And here the very reasonable human desire to address systemic inequities in society found synergy with a darker current of thought within medicine that felt the resources expended to care for the very ill are resources poorly spent.  The focus, the theory goes, should be on preventing illness in the much larger healthy population.  The scope of keeping the healthy well, of course, extends well beyond the medical, and puts everything in play.  Sanitation, transportation, air quality, climate change, access to the means to pay for healthcare are just the start of a long list of priorities for those in charge.  These programs need scarce budgetary dollars, and so it was only a matter of time after the government started paying for healthcare that politicians and the public health gurus they empowered to manage the health of the population began to voice their disdain for the care of those deemed “too ill”.

The tension here is that medicine’s greatest strides in the last half century have come in those with afflictions that brought them to death’s door.   The inroads in this group of unfortunates have come by way of super-specialists far removed from the concerns of the worried well.  Richard Lamm, the former governor of Colorado famously derided the work of Thomas Starzl, the father of organ transplantation, questioning the great surgeons use of public health resources to attempt to save individual patients at death’s door.  These were the early days of transplantation, when successes were a far cry from the results enjoyed today.  As the passage of time made transplantation success rates north of 90% and the public watched children destined for death skipping down hallways, Lamm’s cold calculus came to easily be rejected. 

Yet in 2000, writing for Health Affairs, Lamm doubled down.

“Colorado’s doctors were constantly reminding me that in medicine, ‘cost was never a consideration.’ But health care was the fastest-growing segment of my budget, demanding increasing amounts of public funds for the medical school, for new equipment at the hospital, and for Medicaid. Daily, if not hourly, hospitals in my state would effectively appropriate state funds for a high-risk, low-benefit procedure, while I knew that those funds could easily save more lives elsewhere in the health care system or outside of it, say, by buying three new teachers, fixing a broken sewer main, or adding two police officers to a high-crime area for a year. How could cost not be a consideration in making a public budget?”

“How can patient advocates feel so good about the system they work in when I, as public advocate, feel so guilty for having so many people without even basic health care?”

It never strikes Lamm that the citizens he is so desperate to ‘cover’ with health insurance may want to choose not to die and opt to receive an organ transplant.  What good is a health insurance plan that doesn’t pay for life saving therapy when you actually need it?  This would be akin to paying for a fire suppressing sprinkler system, but not paying to have firefighters come to battle a structure threatening blaze. 

The kinder, gentler, smarter society the ideology Lamm represents is a society that turns its back on the tangible, acute needs of the sick for hypothetical needs of the well.  In a perfect world, perhaps one could do both.  Unfortunately, when it comes to interventions for the worried well, controversy abounds for how exactly one accomplishes this.  Does one advocate for zoning and tax policy to allow fresh produce and groceries to be sold in poor zip codes to address ‘food deserts’ so Bobby has more healthy options?  Should we advocate for sin taxes on alcohol, tobacco and sugar containing products that by their very nature are meant to be regressive taxes that affect the behavior of patients like Bobby?  Does caring for Mr. Chahloubi mean taking a position on US foreign policy interventions in that country, or perhaps advocacy for immigration for asylum seekers?

In an age not so long ago, it was easily recognized that the answers to these questions were to be wrestled with well outside the purview of the medical field.  That a growing number in the medical community think medical training gives us special expertise to solve these problems speaks to a self-important medical echo chamber that believes society’s values should mirror its values.

We would be wise to heed the words of C.S. Lewis – “Of all tyrannies, a tyranny sincerely exercised for the good of its victims may be the most oppressive.  It would be better to live under robber barons than under omnipotent moral busybodies… those who torment us for our own good will torment us without end for they do so with the approval of their own conscience.. This very kindness stings with intolerable insult.  To be “cured” against one’s will and cured of states which we may not regard a disease is to be put on a level of those who have not yet reached the age of reason or those who never will; to be classed with infants, imbeciles, and domestic animals.”

Bobby and Mr. Chalhoubi aren’t particularly interested in my views on sugar taxes or my feelings about Bashar al-Assad.   They want someone invested in them, not in some abstract population.  Advocacy by physicians has its place.  Its just not in the exam room.

Anish Koka is a physician in private practice in Philadelphia.

The post Presenting Complaint: Social Injustice appeared first on The Health Care Blog.

Presenting Complaint: Social Injustice published first on https://wittooth.tumblr.com/

[spicynbachili1]

Korean Lovers in Baghdad | Women’s Rights

Heba is a younger Iraqi lady with a very good job as engineer and the prospect of a good future.

At 28, she owns a contemporary flat within the newly-built Bismayah New Metropolis within the Iraqi capital, Baghdad, the place she lives together with her mom and youthful sister. It is a huge growth of neat, white and beige condo blocks, vast, well-lit walkways and loads of inexperienced areas, the place youngsters can play and trip their bikes.

Heba says dwelling there makes her really feel secure and safe.

“This place has given us freedom and peace of thoughts,” she says of the advanced that’s certainly one of many joint ventures between the governments of Iraq and South Korea.

However this is not Heba’s solely South Korean connection.

In actual fact, she’s obsessive about all issues South Korean. She makes use of Korean cosmetics, listens to Korean music, watches Korean dramas on tv, cooks Korean meals and has studied Korean Hangul with assistance from YouTube tutorials.

“Korea did not form who I’m, nevertheless it did deliver out the true me,” she displays.

Heba with Madeeha, an Arabic-speaking consultant of YallaKOREA, a Korean tourism firm for Arabs who might wrestle with the tradition when visiting South Korea [Al Jazeera]

However Heba is not glad with pursuing her love for South Korea from afar. She goals of sooner or later having the ability to transfer there. And she or he is not alone.

Heba represents a brand new and rising development amongst younger Iraqis who discover in South Korea a imaginative and prescient for the long run. Whereas life in Iraq appears chaotic and unpredictable, South Korea provides them an attractive instance of order and stability.

However transferring to South Korea is a big endeavor. Heba dangers dropping her job and, together with it, her household’s primary supply of revenue. Not all of her household are supportive of it.

Korean Lovers in Baghdad follows Heba on an emotional journey as she pursues her dream and goes in quest of her place on this planet, encountering seemingly insurmountable obstacles alongside the best way.

FILMMAKER’S VIEW

By Arij al-Soltan

Iraq is usually within the information: for struggle, bombs, violence, corruption and the Islamic State of Iraq and the Levant (ISIL, also called ISIS).

However after I go to Iraq, I see one thing completely different. I see resilience, dedication and alter. I see Iraqis carrying on with their lives, it doesn’t matter what. I see that when every part falls round them, they keep standing.

Throughout one latest go to to Baghdad, I met a bunch of conservatively dressed younger ladies who have been imitating Korean pop teams. I used to be intrigued by this uncommon mixture of cultures. The ladies weren’t simply followers of Ok-pop; they’d discovered the Korean language and have been capable of converse in it, they watched Korean movies and TV dramas, that they had their very own social media circles. Korea was part of their day by day lives.

Heba, the central character in my movie, Korean Lovers in Baghdad, instantly stood out. Her ardour for all issues Korean had compelled her to maneuver together with her household from an previous neighbourhood of Baghdad to a brand new advanced that had been constructed by a Korean agency. There, she can be a step nearer to attaining her dream of dwelling the Korean life-style and finally transferring to South Korea.

Heba is obsessive about all issues Korean [Al Jazeera]

The extra I scratched beneath the floor, the extra fascinated I turned by this eclectic cultural combine. It was clear that this wasn’t only a fad or a teenage obsession. Younger Iraqis have been hungry for change, and needed an area that provided acceptance and peace and pushed them to attain one thing throughout in any other case bleak occasions.

The individuals I spoke to, each younger and previous, discovered Korean tradition to be that house. It impressed them to pursue their goals. Iraq, they stated, may be taught loads from the Korean mannequin.

Extra surprisingly, younger ladies usually cited Korean relationships as one thing to aspire to. This was uncommon as the 2 cultures could not be extra completely different.

The material of Iraqi society has modified after three wars, and most of the younger ladies I spoke to stated that honesty and belief between the sexes have been rapidly disappearing. Iraqi males had turn into extra patriarchal, controlling and violent, they instructed me, providing examples from the marriages of mates and family members.

Ladies’s freedoms have regressed in Iraq and their motion has turn into extra restricted in a normal environment of struggle and violence. Consecutive governments have made issues worse by diminishing ladies’s rights.

Overlooking the town of Seoul, South Korea [Al Jazeera]

Nonetheless, I used to be stunned that Iraqi ladies would look so far as South Korea for a mannequin of a contemporary relationship. They recognized care, compassion and equality as a basis of male-female relationships there, and expressed a powerful need to be in relationships that may give them house to develop and keep a level of independence. They rejected the Iraqi mannequin, the place all types of duties and expectations have been, by default, positioned on the lady.

The story within the movie of the person holding the umbrella completely embodies this. Iraqi ladies, like everybody else within the nation, are craving for compassion, and a few really feel they’ve discovered it within the Korean lifestyle. This was an fascinating layer that I hadn’t anticipated and wasn’t capable of totally discover within the movie.

It’s refreshing to listen to Iraqi ladies clearly categorical what they need from a relationship. However it’s also an terrible indicator of what issues have come to for ladies’s rights in Iraq.

However there may be hope. These younger ladies are beginning to make a change by dreaming of one thing completely different for themselves. Whether or not their love for Korea will present a short lived escape or one thing extra long-lasting stays to be seen.

Within the course of of constructing this movie, I discovered that change is gradual and painful and that non-public progress comes at a price. However the story of Heba and tons of like her assures me that change is feasible. In the future, we might look again at this period in Iraqi historical past and see the Korean affect as a defining function of this time. In occasions of struggle and desperation, essentially the most extraordinary issues can occur.

Supply: Al Jazeera

from SpicyNBAChili.com http://spicymoviechili.spicynbachili.com/korean-lovers-in-baghdad-womens-rights/

[fridaythe13ththeseries]

Vanity’s Mirror

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Episode Recap #15: Vanity's Mirror

Original Airdate: March 5, 1988

Starring:

John D. LeMay as Ryan Dallion Louise Robey as Micki Foster Chris Wiggins as Jack Marshak

Guest cast:

Ingrid Veninger as Helen Mackie David Orth as Scott Thomas Gwendoline Pacey as Joanne Mackie Zack Ward as Greg Mazzey Gayle Cherian as Sylvia Ungar James Loxley as Charles Meniger Simon Reynolds as Russel Weigan

Written by Roy Sallows, Ira Levant Directed by William Fruet

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

We start at night, with a not-so-attractive street flower vendor, Sylvia, selling a carnation to a businessman she likes. She gets too stalker-ish, so he tries to get away. But when Sylvia demands he look at her, he ends up gazing at the glaring reflection from the compact mirror she holds. Instantly, he sees her in a new light. She is beautiful and he falls for her. Sylvia leads him down an alley where he professes his love. She asks if he will love her til the day he dies and he says he will. Sylvia tells him to stand still then proceeds to pull the crank on a fire escape, sending the iron stairs into his head, killing him. She runs off and into the street, straight into the path of a truck. Sylvia is stuck and killed, as well. The crowd that gathers doesn't notice the teenage girl pick up and pocket the dead woman's compact.

At Curious Goods, Micki is reading the manifest as Jack and Ryan come up from the vault. Jack says they have collected and locked up 23 cursed antiques so far. Micki says they aren't getting them back fast enough, since 23 is less than 10% of the items listed in the manifest. Ryan kids that they could hire more staff, but Jack warns that they cannot trust others with the items. Ryan then picks out a random antique from the manifest to be their next mission for recovery. His finger lands on the gold compact sold to Sylvia Unger.

At the local high school, Helen, the girl who picked up the compact in the street, is snapping at her sister, Joanne, and her sister's boyfriend, Scott, for poking fun at her. Other kids then mock Helen, saying it is weird how Helen and Joanne can be sisters, since Joanne is so pretty and Helen is ... not. Scott then comes to Helen's defense to the group of guys, but only because Joanne doesn't like people being mean to her sister. They guys apologize, insincerely. Scott and Joanne make plans to meet that night as Helen watches, envious of her sister's happiness.

Returning to the store, Ryan and Micki tell Jack about Sylvia's death. Jack studies the picture in the newspaper article about Sylvia's death and notices Helen in the background, picking something up off the street. From her jacket, they deduce she is a high school student.

Back at school, Helen is sitting outside, checking out the compact, when the boys again poke fun. One of them, Greg, comes over to her and asks if she is going to the prom. She says she has better things to do. Greg then asks her to the prom, jokingly. Helen tells him she would never go with him and he says the only way he would take her would be on a leash. Greg heads back to his friends as Helen opens the compact. Angry, she yells at Greg, who turns to look at her and ends up gazing into the glare of light reflecting off the compact. He is instantly smitten with Helen and wants to be with her, offering to carry her bags. Helen thinks this is another prank and tells him off, but Greg keeps trying to prove his devotion to her, saying he loves her. Helen is convinced and leads Greg off as his friends watch, stunned.

In school, Helen and Greg walk hand-in-hand, Greg wanting to spend every second with her. Helen likes the attention and the looks from other kids, but soon Greg's complete infatuation beings to annoy her. Helen tries to get Scott to notice her new boyfriend, but he barely acknowledges her. Outside, Helen has had almost enough of Greg when he says he will love her until the day he dies. This gives Helen an idea and she leads the boy to the trash compactor. She drops her handkerchief inside and he jumps in to retrieve it, eager to please her. She turns the machine on and Greg, unable to disappoint Helen due to the curse, stays inside until he is able to hand her the handkerchief. But by then it is too late and he is trapped. Helen happily walks away as Greg is crushed to death, still professing his love for her. Later, the students are all shocked by Greg's death, but his friends have a feeling Helen had something to do with it.

Jack finds a picture of the girl from the newspaper in a yearbook and identifies her as Helen Mackie. Ryan comments on how bad her photograph is. Micki finds an address in the phone book and comes up with a ruse to see if the girl has the compact and Jack tells Ryan to go to the high school and see what he can find there. Jack says he will stay behind to figure out how the curse on the compact works, mentioning he may contact his friend, Rashid.

At home, Helen is eating and watching television as Joanne and Scott mourn Greg's death. They are both aghast at Helen's cavalier attitude towards the boy's death, seeing as how he had recently become so devoted to her. She shrugs it off. A knock at the door and Helen meets Micki, who says she is looking for a gold compact to purchase. Helen says she never saw anything like that and slams the door in Micki's face. Inside, the girl avoids Joanne's questions runs up to her room. Once there, she pulls out the compact and wonders just what it is all about. Then she takes out a picture of Scott.

Micki and Jack meet up with Ryan at the high school and he fills them in on Greg's "accidental" death. Since Helen already saw Micki, Jack suggests Ryan go undercover at the school to get close to Helen and see what she really knows.

The next day, as the kids set up the gym for the prom, Greg's friend Russell has words with Helen, telling her he knows she did something to Greg and he will find out what it is. Helen quickly pulls the compact and gets Russell to stare at it. He is cursed and falls for her. She leads him out of the gym.

Ryan is wandering the school looking for Helen and he finds her leading Russell off into the basement, so he follows. Helen takes her newest admirer into the utility area, looking for a way to dispose of him. Russell is oblivious, only seeing her as the love of his life. Helen leads him to a workshop area and demands the boy say he'll love her until he dies. When he does, she pushes his head onto a table saw. Russell is killed instantly. Ryan hears the boy's screams but arrives too late. Helen pulls out the compact, hoping to use it to stop Ryan, but he evades its shiny reflection and tries to escape. Helen chases after him and keeps flashing the cursed antique. Ryan ends up tumbling over a landing and falling down to the floor below. Believing him dead, Helen takes off.

At home, Helen is attempting to do her own makeup when Joanne comes in. She is happy to think her sister is going to the dance, but Helen is still harsh with her. Joanne keeps being nice, asking who Helen is going to the prom with and offering her help getting ready. Helen turns down any help. Joanne admires the compact and Helen is nervous as her sister holds it, opening and closing it. But Joanne leaves, giving the compact back to her sister.

At the school, Ryan comes to, briefly, before passing out again.

Scott waits impatiently for Joanne to dress for the prom. She comes down and he admires how beautiful she looks.

Outside the school, Micki tells Jack she can't find Ryan or Helen anywhere. They go off together to search.

Helen comes down the stairs, in her dress, with her hair and makeup done in an almost comical way. She asks Scott if he thinks she is pretty. He tries to be diplomatic, but she asks if she is as pretty as Joanne. He says yes, but in a different way. Joanne offers to help Helen fix up her makeup, but Helen takes it as an insult and snaps at her sister. Scott tries to make peace between the sisters. Joanne wants to leave, but Helen begs them to wait for her date to arrive. Scott convinces Joanne a few minutes won't hurt.

Micki and Jack continue to search the school, having no luck finding Ryan. In the basement, rats begin to crawl towards the unconscious man.

Joanne and Scott tell Helen they have to leave and offer to give her money for a cab. Helen again asks if she is prettier than Joanne and then flashes the compact at him. Scott is caught in the curse and leans in to kiss Helen. Joanne doesn't like this joke and pulls them apart, slapping her sister in the face. Scott grabs Joanne and throws her into the wall, stunning her. He is angry that she hurt Helen, who goads him into slapping her hard across the face. Helen then says they need to fix it so Joanne can't hurt her ever again. Later, Helen and Scott leave for the prom as a couple, having left Joanne tied up with a noose around her neck, and a wobbly stool beneath her feet.

At the prom, Helen and Scott arrive together, shocking everyone who seems them. Scott is oblivious, telling Helen how lovely she looks. Helen takes all the attention, not caring that it is how she gets it.

In the basement, Jack and Micki find Russell's body and at first think it is Ryan. Relieved, they continue to search for him, unaware how close by he actually is.

Scott and Helen mingle as everyone stares. At home, Joanne is barely able to keep her footing on the stool. At the school, Micki searches the basement and eventually comes across Ryan, tossing rats away and getting him to his feet. She leads him away to safety. Ryan remembers the prom and they head there to find Helen.

Jack arrives at the Mackie home, searching for Helen or the compact. He quietly heads upstairs and finds Joanne just as she is about to fall and be strangled. He holds her and cuts the rope, freeing her.

In the gym, Ryan and Micki confront Helen, Ryan screaming at her that she didn't expect to see him again. Helen is shocked and tells Scott they need to go. He punches Ryan before they take off. Micki gets Ryan to his feet again and they go after the teens.

At home, Jack comforts a crying and confused Joanne.

Helen leads Scott across the campus, Ryan and Micki in pursuit. Helen doesn't know what to do. Scott says he loves her and she gets an idea. She leads the boy to a place they can be alone. Soon enough, they are on the rooftop of the school. Scott again professes his love and they kiss. Helen gets up on the ledge, Scott following. They slowly dance, mere inches from the edge of the roof. She tells him how special he is to her and he repeats the sentiment. A crowd gathers below and Micki and Ryan spot the couple just as Jack and Joanne arrive. They all rush inside to get to the roof.

Helen says she doesn't want to kill Scott, she doesn't want to lose him. They embrace as the others rush up the staircase. Helen realizes the only way to keep Scott is in death. As the group arrives and pleads with her to stop, she tells Scott she loves him then pulls him with her off the roof. Joanne screams as the pair falls to their deaths. Jack picks up Helen's discarded purse but is disappointed to find the compact missing.

Later, the police question the students and Joanne. Jack asks why getting this item back is so hard. He tells Ryan and Micki he didn't find the compact. They take Ryan away to get medical attention.

At Curious Goods, Micki tells Jack the compact is out there, somewhere. He agrees, but tells her that no one ever guaranteed them that each attempt to get an item back will be successful. She says all the deaths were for nothing, then. Jack reminds her that they have been very lucky in getting the items back, so far. He says they will get another chance, since the compact can't be destroyed. It will turn up again. Micki wonders about all the people who will die because they weren't able to get this one locked up in the vault. Jack has no answer.

Back at the high school, an unknown woman finds the compact under a bush and picks it up.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

My thoughts:

A classic episode of the show! The compact is a great cursed antique and the twist of having it be female-centric is interesting. Sort of like a female version of the Cupid statue.

Helen is playing up for near-comic effect with her looks and inability to fit in with others, especially when she makes herself up for the prom. She really thought she looked good? Oh man.

Love the mention at the beginning about how many cursed items they have retrieved to date. This is the 15th episode, but Jack says they have gotten 23 items into the vault. Like how there are other items and adventures we don't see. Would have made a great premise for a book series based on the show!

Also love how Micki is so frustrated at the end, not being used to losing a cursed item and it still being out there, somewhere. Jack has to remind her that this is no guarantee and that they should consider themselves lucky they aren't dead and that they do in fact have some things locked away. Great point of view, and one we see again in the show.

The ending is a twist, as well, with Helen happy to have gotten what she always wanted and, instead of fulfilling the curse, deciding to just end her own life with the man she loves, no matter how she got him. She is a selfish girl, but I always wonder how much influence the cursed items have over the people who use them. To me, it seems that the curse amplifies the negative qualities in those who use the items.

Great episode with a dark message. Our heroes can do everything in their power, even risking death as Ryan did, and still come up with nothing to show for it. Makes their mission even more dangerous and their willingness to keep at it even more courageous.

Also, we get our first (I think) mention of Jack's friend, Rashid! And it is fun seeing Zack Ward in a role here. You might remember him best as Scut Farkus from "A Christmas Story" or any of the other dozens of roles he has had as a prolific character actor.

Next week: "Tattoo"