#yes I know people are suffering. yes I know they need help. but the ten people a day who see my posts don't have money either

[loumauve]

I know I'm probably gonna end up on someone's 'kill it with fire' list for this, but I am so tired of each and every ask lately being someone's desperate plea for help.

I have neither the money to help, nor the energy to go through the vetting process of figuring out which request is legit and which isn't, so I can't just post them either, because I refuse to aid in someone's attempt to use other people's goodwill against them. scams are still a thing, and sadly enough people will use any opportunity to benefit from someone else's misery.

so please stop sending me these. I get at least three a day and if this doesn't stop I'm gonna have to turn off asks which sucks because I like talking to people. I just.. I can't anymore. I am exhausted, mentally and more importantly emotionally, and I just don't have the bandwidth to deal with this right now.

[river-of-wine]

I know I’ve mentioned this plenty of times before but I’m still kind of annoyed by how the fanbase just kind of completely declawed the four lords and placed the entirety of the responsibility for their wrongdoings on Mother Miranda.

The Baker family are great, I love them, they’re an incredible unit of antagonists who are intended to be very sympathetic, at least for the most part. Jack and Marguerite in particular have lost all control over their minds and their bodies, turning into extremely violent murderers and cannibals who threaten and attack their own family, kill anyone unfortunate enough to come across them and, especially in Marguerite’s case, lose complete autonomy over their own bodies. Marguerite turns into a walking bug hive who’s only purpose is to feed her family and birth her new children. Jack is an unstoppable murderous force of patriarchal violence who has so much fun chasing down and harming his victims, which in the Daughters DLC includes even his own daughter. The exception to this is obviously Lucas, who has been cured of his infection and his acting of his own free will. All of this is caused by Eveline, everything Jack and Marguerite do controlled by her, and yet Eveline is just as sympathetic as the rest of them. She’s a ten year old girl. Even Jack, who has watched his family and their victims suffer because of her infection, doesn’t seem to hold any of it against her. She just wants a family of her own, after all. It’s a complex and tragic situation.

The four lords, while I suppose being similar in structure, are not the Baker family. Not in dynamic, not in character, not in the kind of tragedy that they embody. I could talk for a while about just how completely different they are, but I don’t know if I really need to.

The Baker family are so tragic because they were just innocent bystanders trying to help a woman and a little girl they found in a shipwreck out in a storm. That’s the only reason they ended up in the situation that they were in. While the lords have similar origins, being victims of Mother Miranda’s experiments to bring her daughter Eva back, an important distinction between them is that in the case of the lords, all four of them are still acting of their own free will. Yes, Mother Miranda has undeniable power over them. She leads the cult they are part of, she has control over the village, she is their superior. However, I really dislike when every negative action by the lords is pushed onto her, as if the lords are not all grown adults who are for the most part acting independently of her.

With Alcina, she is the head of her own extremely brutal crimes. I think a lot of people have forgotten quite how horrifying the situations of the maidens are, possibly due to the prevalence shipping between Alcina and the maidens, and though we have minimal information what we do know is very frightening. Alcina uses her work force like livestock, draining them for their blood in a cellar full of horrific torture devices, and leaves their corpses to shamble around, armed and ready to attack any unwanted guests that have slipped out of the daughter’s clutches so that Alcina still doesn’t have to do her own dirty work, given how highly above everyone but Mother Miranda she appears to view herself as. While yes, Alcina does need human blood to survive, her methods are brutal, and none of this has been enforced upon her by Mother Miranda. Similarly to Jack on occasion, she takes a great deal of pleasure in hurting and attacking Ethan as he runs from her. Additionally, everything she does to Ethan is against Mother Miranda’s request. While yes, it is retaliation after he killed Bela, the part I often see people leave out is that Alcina is equally as upset that he entered her property and was attempting to steal from her, and she isn’t just after him to kill him.

Alcina has also been an active participant in aiding Mother Miranda with at least one experiment, considering that I’d how she got her daughters. While I’m sure her strong admiration for Mother Miranda and Mother Miranda’s power over her has absolutely had an affect in this, that’s not something I’ll deny, Alcina is still a grown woman and in her written entries about this shows no qualms about her participation in this. Her general attitude towards others, using young women as a good source and turning men into scarecrows, also leads me to believe that she does not exactly care who gets hurt or taken advantage of when it comes to her and Mother Miranda’s personal endeavours.

Donna and Moreau are the two more sympathetic people within the four lords, but they are not innocent. To start with Moreau, he’s desperate for Mother Miranda’s approval, as well as the other lords. He’s insecure and lonely, and he’s doing what he has been instructed by Mother Miranda when it comes to protecting the flask. However, he does also take quite a bit of joy in trapping Ethan in the reservoir and swimming after him with the intention to eat and kill him. Moreau though, given his conditions and circumstances, is the one I think is the least to blame for what he does.

Donna is hard to discuss because we know so little about her. Her parents are dead, as well as whoever Claudia was to her, she communicates through Angie and she can cause those who enter her house to hallucinate. According to Mother Miranda, Donna is severely mentally ill and that is what has made her an unfit vessel. I think a lot of people took this to mean that Donna is unaware of what she is doing, that the hallucinations she is showing Ethan are frightening, but after having been a fan of this game for years I just can’t agree with that anymore. Donna intentionally lures Ethan into her house with visions of his supposedly dead wife. Donna is going after fears she likely knows Ethan has, making him relive Mia’s death, take apart a mannequin of her, listen to her voice panic over something being horribly wrong with Rose, all building towards the horrifying baby that chases him through the house. There is no way Donna doesn’t understand how what she is showing Ethan is distressing, especially when you consider that, given how she can make herself appear and disappear at will within Ethan’s vision and that Angie is sitting in the hallways stationary and unspeaking, Donna was likely close by Ethan at all times and could see and hear his frightened reactions to what she was intentionally showing him.

Donna’s death is upsetting, but Ethan was not just chasing her down and killing her. Donna was attacking him, or at least she was controlling her dolls to do so. It’s still a hallucination, but Ethan doesn’t know that. When faced with a threat that is keeping you trapped and trying to end your life, you will likely try to get away or try to fight back, as Donna is doing to Ethan after he starts to attack her and Ethan is doing to Donna when he thinks his life is still in danger. I would also like to remind everybody that Donna communicates through Angie. What Angie is saying, that’s Donna. Angie doesn’t talk or move once she’s dead, it is Donna who controls her.

Lastly, Heisenberg. I think Heisenberg is the one of the four most entrenched in headcanons. Headcanons are fine, I am never in this post trying to suggest they aren’t, but my issue comes in when people use them to try and change the canon of the game. For example, it’s fine to believe that Heisenberg was experimented on by Mother Miranda as a child, but that isn’t canon. It’s fine to believe that Heisenberg mourned the deaths of his siblings, but that isn’t canon. The opposite is, with Heisenberg not viewing the cult as an actual family and being very openly mean to all three other lords, even Donna and Moreau who seemingly haven’t done anything to slight him. While his goal of killing another Miranda is a very understandable and sympathetic one given what she has done to him, using a six month old baby as a weapon and trying to bring her father into the mix only to try to get him killed when he denies him is not. I cannot overstate quite how little Heisenberg actually cared for Ethan and Rose’s safety when it came to his goal, and given that we are playing as Ethan, Rose is the priority.

Heisenberg has built an army of corpses he has presumably stolen and desecrated. This is kind of fucked up actually, and done completely independently of Mother Miranda. He also puts Ethan through a very dangerous lycan gauntlet before he even reaches the factory, which makes it even stranger to me that people seem to interpret Heisenberg’s deal as something that would have benefitted both him and Ethan and as if he ever had Ethan’s safety in mind.

All four of the lords have tragic aspects to them and there are definitely reasons to sympathise with all four. They’re victims of Mother Miranda, who knows they will all be killed. She wants them to be, giving her less to deal with by the time she has Eva back. They never meant anything to her. Not Alcina or Moreau, who were desperate for her attention. Not Donna, suffering from her unspecified but apparently severe mental illness. Not Heisenberg, who was seemingly her favourite creation. However, all of them are grown adults who do their own bad things independently of her.

And it’s fine to still like them. It’s fine for them to be your favourite character. It’s fine to have happy or nice headcanons about them or want to kiss them or be their friend or to want them to have survived. It’s fine to like characters who do shitty things. It’s to be expected in a game series like Resident Evil. It’s a horror game series. People are going to do bad things.

I just find it so boring when people take away all their bite. What makes a character like Lady Dimitrescu so fun it’s that she’s completely over the top. She’s campy and ridiculous, her castle layout makes no sense, she’s got three kids made of swarms of flies dressed like a set of goth triplets, she’s a lesbian who’s castle is full of naked statues of women, she turns into a big dragon and laughs maniacally while flying around and trying to eat you. She’s evil and it’s fun. It’s the same with Heisenberg. He’s a campy show off with a fun voice and a massive hammer he never actually uses. He can control metal. He looks like a cowboy. He pronounced Miranda in a funny way. He talks to you over an intercom while trying to get you killed. They’re fun and evil and they fight over who gets to kill Ethan like they’re two little kids. It’s absurd.

What makes a character like Donna so scary is that she’s silently working in the shadows, unassuming at a first glance and unseen for most of the time in her house. She is the least threatening of the four upon first glance, and yet she has undeniably the most frightening part of the game. Pretending as if Donna is completely unaware of what she is doing and babying her like she is an incapable child waters her down completely and takes away from the effectiveness of her character.

Villain characters are great! They’re very often the highlight of the story they are in, and they aren’t real! The four lords especially are often so completely exaggerated in what they do as well. It’s fine to like villains! It doesn’t make you bad! Characters can be bad people and you can still like them!

It’s just frustrating seeing a group of very fun and exciting villains, all designed with different aspects of horror, all over the top and campy and stupid and fun, all doing their own set of fucked up things, watered down to a set of poor innocent victims who have never done any wrong ever. If you want Jack and Marguerite, take Jack and Marguerite. Lady Dimitrescu loves killing and eating women and Karl Heisenberg turns corpses into soldiers. They’re bad people and they do comically exaggerated bad things. If you can’t stomach liking a character like that, horror is probably not the genre for you. Unless it’s Resident Evil 7, I suppose, but apparently tall women aren’t hot when it’s Marguerite Baker crawling on the walls.

[imfinereallyy]

Bedside Manner

for @acasualcrossfade request for "the infection has spread"

"Some birdie told me that you have been causing a fuss, Wayne, is that true?"

Wayne huffs from his hospital bed, glasses sliding down his nose. He places the newspaper he was reading on the table beside him. "You tell that Robbie of yours to stop exaggerating. It was only a small request."

Steve raises his eyebrows at his favorite patient (Dustin tells him he isn't supposed to have favorites, but he also used to cry anytime he picked up Max before him when they were younger, so what does he know) and gives him a knowing look. "Robin listens to no man, Wayne, you know this. You're better off sending that message through her wife. Besides, small? She was telling me you refused to have any other nurse help you because I wasn't here last night. Which surprised me since you are always pushing me on about taking a vacation. "

Wayne opens his mouth, but Steve presses on. "And the fact Robin was even in the room means they called a psych consult, so I can only imagine how bad it was."

Wayne grumbles like a little kid being scolded for getting his hands caught in the cookie jar. "Yea, well, it was a bad night, kid."

Steve feels his shoulders sag, he takes off his glasses and rubs a hand down his face before placing them back on. "Sorry, Wayne, I had a bad migraine last night. Nance and Robs wouldn't even let me pass the entrance. Bad news?"

"Kid, don't stress yourself out over me. I'm just your patient, and more so, I am just a cranky old man." Wayne patted Steve's knee as he sat down next to him.

"C'mon, Wayne. You're more than that. I'd like to think seeing you in and out of here the last year has made us friends. Although I gotta say, you're the only friend I have that I'll be glad if I don't get to see again, given the circumstances. So, what's the news?"

"The infection has spread."

Steve takes in a deep breath, he tries not to panic, but any infection in a hospital can be deadly, especially for a cancer patient like Wayne. "Incision site?"

Steve must not be as good at hiding his emotions as he used to be because Wayne jumps to ease his worry. "No, kid, don't worry. The surgery was a success. Just got that hospital fever, the good old bronchitis. But it just means I'm here longer than I have to. It also means my nephew is on edge, and I don't know if I can take a second longer of his hovering."

Steve laughed wetly, thankful for the topic change. "Ah yes, the mysterious nephew of yours that I've never met. The way you talk about him almost tempts me into switching to the day shift, sounds like he might be entertaining. But only almost."

"Always wondered why you were always working the nights, most of the others seem to switch. Not a big fan of the day?"

Steve shakes his head gently, "No, I like the quiet here at night. Like getting to know the patients without having to worry about fixing ten million things. Don't get me wrong, it has its downfalls. Like the doctors can be horrible at night, never tell Dr. Wheeler that or Robbie will kill me, and the food is awful. But there is something special about it here at night. So sorry, your ridiculous nephew isn't enough to tempt me."

Wayne smirked, "What if I told you he was a looker and single?"

Steve blushes slightly. He is used to patients trying to pawn him off to their relatives, it came with being a young male nurse, but typically it didn't phase him. But Steve has become close with Wayne, so hearing him suggest he get together with his nephew has him flustered. "I'm good, Wayne, thanks. Gave up on the dating scene a while ago. Not many people can keep up with a guy who works nights and suffers from severe head trauma."

"Shame, Eddie likes the nights too. I'd reckon yal would get along."

"I'm pretty sure we would need more than that, Wayne."

Wayne smiles fondly at Steve. "You don't need a whole lot to build a connection, son. Me and Linda, god rest her soul, only started dating for our mutual love of mugs. And we may not have had long together, but our love was strong. Besides, there is more yal would have in common than just the night shift."

Steve huffs a laugh, "Oh yea, like what?" The least he can do is humor the man.

"Well, you both care about me deeply."

Steve blushes again, "C'mon, Wayne. I'm your nurse. I'm kinda paid to care."

Wayne won't hear any of it, "No, son, it's more than that. You take your break in here every night. You make sure to record the game at home for me because they only have the news here. And last night, you tried to come in with a migraine, even though we both know I am the only patient you can stand right now."

Steve doesn't know what to say back. Wayne is right, of course. Steve has been spending all of his time with the man, giving him extra care. Steve isn't bad with his other patients, he goes above and beyond most of his coworkers, but there is something special about Wayne.

"You got nothing, kid, you know I'm right. Remind me a lot of my nephew. Before visiting hours ended is when I got the news of having to stay longer. Kid almost threw a fit when they kicked him out. Swore he was gonna break in to stay the night with me. I told him not to worry since you would be there, I brag about you too, ya know. When he found out today you weren't here, that boy threw a fit again. Swear he gets his tantrums from his father. Said he was gonna sneak back in tonight. Make sure I had company. That 'the man' couldn't stop him. That if he ran into you, he was gonna have a word with you."

Steve can't help the snort that shakes his body, "I'd like to see him get passed Hop first."

Wayne starts to chuckle, too, "Eds may have had his fair share of escaping the law, but no man moves as fast as Jim in a security uniform."

Steve is fully laughing now, "I know, right? It's like those pants make him aerodynamic or something. No way your nephew is getting by."

It is almost as if Steve's words summon what happens next. There in the doorway is the most gorgeous man he's ever seen, even though he is bent over and out of breath.

"Eds?" Wayne questions, clearly surprised. Steve has to mask his face and quickly before Wayne catches him ogling his nephew. Steve is finding it difficult, though. The man, Eddie, despite his out-of-breath appearance, is stunning. His long curly hair is thrown up in a bun, showing off the piercings up his ears. His clothes are simple but suiting, ripped jeans and a black band tee. Tattoos cover his entire body, and Steve wants to ask about every single one of them.

The most surprising thing about him isn't that he got by Hop (although he has questions for that later), no the most surprising thing to Steve is that Wayne somehow knew his exact type, which most people assume wrong in that department.

Eddie awakens an old craving inside Steve that he thought he had buried long ago.

"Wayne, you would not believe what I just went to get up here. The story I have for you, oh boy. You're gonna love it. Who knew security guards could move that fast. Anyway, I hope that nurse boy of yours is here tonight because I am ready to—" Eddie stops mid-rant when his eyes land on Steve, a lovely blush blossoming across his pale cheeks.

"I believe what you are trying to say is, what was it, Wayne? Oh yea, 'have a word with me,'" Steve laughs softly.

Eddie sputters, "Wayne!?!" His blushing becomes deeper as the seconds pass by.

Wayne just chuckles as Steve stands. "Don't be mad at your Uncle, I think he was just trying to make me feel better. I am sorry I wasn't here last night for the news. Got my head knocked around too much as a kid—" Steve taps his head with his knuckles, "—so I suffer from migraines sometimes. I really did try to come in, but well—you met Jim. He's pretty fast." Steve worries his lip. Eddie's eyes follow.

"Well, I can't be too mad now, can I?" Eddie swallows nervously before a smirk spreads across his face, switching from shy to confident in two seconds flat. Steve shouldn't be turned on by that. "The pretty face helps too. I'm pretty sure you could convince me to give you my kidney right about now. I'm Eddie, which I know you know by now, and you are...?"

Steve puts his hand out for a shake, "Nurse Harrington. But most people call me Steve."

Eddie grabs his hand gently and brings the back of it to his lips. "Stevie, a pleasure, really." A light kiss is placed on Steve's knuckles. Stevie, he thinks. That's a new one. And he isn't mad about it, at all. In fact, the butterflies in his stomach want him to get Eddie to say it again.

Steve catches Wayne's smug face in the corner of his eye as Steve begins to blush again.

"I'm just gonna—I'll be right back." Steve stutters.

"Leaving so soon?" Eddie says disappointed.

Steve has the sudden urge to fix the frown on his face. "No, no! Just, uh, gonna call Jim and tell him not to send out a search party. That it's okay if you stay. I'll keep an eye on you."

Eddie's face breaks out into a brilliant smile, "Really, Stevie? You gonna keep me around?"

Steve's heart skips a beat, "If I can help it."

***

[drchucktingle]

Mr Chuck, wizard of gay romance, I consult ye. Without knowing a damn thing about the plot of the book I'm writing other than it is gay and has themes of hunger, consumption, joy in spite of suffering, and the fleeting nature of life, how should my story end?

well to create we need to consume, this is how we produce energy and multiply and build. since beginning of time from frothing volcanos to tiny microbes CREATION and CONSUMPTION are linked. in addition an act of creation is an act of love, it is filling the empty void with SOMETHING and that is as powerful and important as it gets

i think what confuses MANY buckaroos is they get caught up by the consumption part. they see this equation i have laid out and say 'well if consuming leads to creation and creation is to point then we must consume everything as a moral imperative.' i mean HECK that is capitalism in a dang nutshell right there. if you trot this path it says the bigger fish should eat the little one, and that war and power are sort of innate. you see a lot of goofball conservative philosophers with melted brains stop here and set up shop to peddle their sad wares

THE PROBLEM IS consuming everything that you can DOES NOT ACTUALLY LEAD TO MORE CREATION IN PRACTICE. maybe sometimes in the very short term, but at the end of the dang trot it leads to destruction on a massive scale. if the biggest fish eats ALL the little fish then it is not just the little fish who dies it is BOTH of them. if you seek power through TAKING AND CONSUMING all that you can you will do more harm than good. you may puff up your chest for a little while but eventually you will go beyond your means and crumble.

consuming yields the best results when you do it in sustainable way, when you share with your neighbor, when you build a community. this is because LOVE is the best fuel and love thrives when buds work together to create a greater whole than themselves. even if you use example of TAKING through violence, ten little cave buckaroos as a team will always take down one big cave buckaroo. COMMUNITY PROVES LOVE. TEAMWORK PROVES LOVE. CONNECTION PROVES LOVE.

fortunately, as much as scoundrels want to convince us that fighting and violence and TAKING is the best way to grow as a dang species, it is not. humans thrived not because of some primal hierarchy (as goofball conservatives say) but because we started villages and societies and systems of working together. the buds who put their chips behind the BIGGEST FISH are only seeing one part of the picture. YES sometimes in the animal kingdom the biggest beast will win the fight, but that is why THEY ARE BEASTS AND WE ARE PEOPLE. we evolved to greater heights as we grew bigger brains for sharing and empathy and love and complexity. WE STARTED COMMUNITIES, BECAUSE WITHIN COMMUNITY CREATION AND LOVE THRIVE. THE 'REAL' BIGGEST FISH IS KINDNESS.

so hunger and consuming are ACTUALLY an important part of creation. they are part of bringing joy to this timeline, so long as you are not endlessly hungry even after you are full, and so long as you are not consuming what could be better shared with a bud.

hope that helps with your story buckaroo

[inthedayswhenlandswerefew]

1968 [Chapter 1: Ares, God Of War]

Series Summary: Aemond is embroiled in a fierce battle to secure the Democratic Party nomination and defeat his archnemesis, Richard Nixon, in the presidential election. You are his wife of two years and wholeheartedly indoctrinated into the Targaryen political dynasty. But you have an archnemesis of your own: Aemond’s chronically delinquent brother Aegon.

Series Warnings: Language, sexual content (18+ readers only), violence, bodily injury, character deaths, New Jersey, age-gap relationships, drinking, smoking, drugs, pregnancy and childbirth, kids with weird Greek names, historical topics including war and discrimination, math.

Word Count: 5.7k

Let me know if you'd like to be added to the taglist! 🥰💜

💜 All of my writing can be found HERE! 💜

Let’s begin with a definition.

Disaster is a noun derived from Ancient Greek: dus, a prefix meaning “bad,” and aster, or “star.” In the time when humans worshipped Zeus and Hera, Hephaestus and Aphrodite, it was believed that tragedies resulted from the inauspicious positioning of celestial bodies: a volcano erupts because of Jupiter, a returning comet brings with it a flood. There is a certain helplessness inherent in this mythology. There is predestined suffering that lies in wait until all the jewels of the sky have malignantly aligned.

Have you ever met someone who made you ache to change the stars?

~~~~~~~~~~

Gunshots explode through the lobby of the Breakers Hotel in Palm Beach, Florida; you feel the wind of the bullets as they clip by, fragmented metallic rage. Aemond is on the marble floor, blood pouring down his face, blood all over the white shirt beneath his navy blue suit jacket when you rip it open, tearing a button loose. He’s reaching for you through the jostling and the screams, leaving crimson handprints on your mint green dress. And you think: He just won the Florida primary. He’s not supposed to die. He’s supposed to be the president.

“What happened?” Aemond murmurs, his right eye dazed and only half-open; the left has vanished beneath a cloudburst of gore. Perhaps ten yards away, people have caught the assailant and pinned him against one of the vast Venetian windows until the police arrive. They’re roaring at him in red-faced fury, their closed fists strike his ribs and his cheekbones, their knuckles paint him scarlet and indigo.

“You’re alright, you’re alright.” You brace both palms over the maroon stain spreading rapidly across Aemond’s chest and press down as hard as you can. Your fingers are drenched in seconds, warm fading life. He’s bleeding to death. You shriek through the turmoil: “Criston?!”

“Is he okay?” Aemond asks faintly. He means the baby; you’re six months pregnant with his first child, his greatest treasure, his Atlantis, his Holy Grail. Aemond has already decided that it’s a boy. Sometimes you fear what will happen if he’s wrong.

“Yes, honey, the baby’s fine, don’t worry. Criston!”

Aegon is here instead, sweating out rum and ruin like he always is, hair too long, veins full of pills, colliding with you and pawing at his dying brother with untrustworthy hands. “Aemond?!”

You shove Aegon away, splattering him with blood. “Get back, he needs air!”

“Where’s he shot?! Let me see—”

“I told you to get back!”

“Goddammit, you don’t own him! He’s mine too!”

Criston has battled his way to you and is yanking Aegon back by the collar of his frayed olive green army jacket, stolen from Daeron when he visited home after basic training, a uniform of embittered revolution worn by a man who’s never fought for anything. “Aegon, make sure someone’s called for an ambulance, then meet the paramedics at the door and help them find us.”

“But—”

“Go!” Criston yells, and Aegon scrambles to his feet and is lost within the crowd. You can hear Otto bellowing at journalists and hotel employees to make space for the fallen senator; there are flashes of cameras and prayers shouted aloud. Above your head are crystal chandeliers and a vaulted ceiling hand-painted by 75 Italian artists in the 1920s; swimming in your skull are visions of Jackie Kennedy in the pink suit filthy with her husband’s brains. It’s just before midnight on Tuesday, May 28th. Upstairs in their oceanfront Imperial Suites, nannies will be shaking awake the absent adults of the Targaryen dynasty, who retired with the children before Aemond made his victory speech in the hotel ballroom: Alicent, Helaena, Fosco, Mimi.

Criston’s hands—larger, stronger—replace yours over the gushing wound in Aemond’s chest. What did the bullet hit? His lung, his heart? He’s not speaking anymore, his right eye is closed. His bloodied hands rest open and empty on the floor. “Criston, he’s dying,” you sob.

“No he’s not. We’re not going to let him.”

“What’s the closest hospital?”

“Good Samaritan is just across the bridge on the mainland.” It’s Criston’s job to know these things, though he had been thinking of you when he plotted his meticulous notes in his day planner: in case you eat a bad cheeseburger, or trip on the stairs, or catch the flu and start burning up with fever. Aemond worries about the baby. Aegon has five children, Helaena has three, and Aemond will feel that he has been robbed of something if he does not swiftly procure a family of his own. He needs you on the campaign trail, but still, he worries.

Across the lobby, the police have arrived to arrest the aspiring assassin. He puts up a fight when they try to handcuff him and earns a nightstick to the gut, an elbow to the nose. He is choking on his own blood. Perhaps he is drowning in it. Good, you think.

“Don’t kill him!” Otto booms at the officers. “I want him alive for trial! I want him to ride the lighting up in Raiford, you keep that son of a bitch alive!”

“Aemond?” You thread your fingers through his blood-soaked hair. What happened to his left eye? Is it somewhere underneath all that carnage, or is it gone? “Please wake up. Please stay with me. We need you. The baby and I need you.”

“He’s going to live,” Criston promises, both hands still clamped over the bullet wound to slow the hemorrhaging.

“Aemond, please…” How can he be the president with only one eye?

An old woman in a yellow striped skirt suit is lumbering close with a homemade prayer rope clenched in her fist. “A komboskini for the senator!” For his last rites. For his soul.

“He doesn’t need it!” Criston says. “He’s not dying! No one is dying tonight!”

Still, you take the komboskini from the lady, each of the 100 knots a prayer unspoken. She is a devotee of Aemond, and you must show her gratitude. “Efcharistó, aderfí. O Theós na se evlogeí.” They are some of the few Greek words you’ve mastered; you’ve used them often since Aemond announced that he was running for president. Thank you, sister. God bless you.

The paramedics arrive, splitting the crowd like a laceration, white uniforms and a stretcher to ferry Aemond away. People are wailing, cursing, swearing vengeance. Aegon has returned and is peering down at Aemond with those large, glassy, muddled eyes, afraid to ask. “Is he…is he still…?”

“He has a pulse,” Criston replies. He helps the paramedics drag Aemond onto the stretcher and strap him to it. Your husband’s shirt is now drenched in red like garnet, like cinnabar, like the poppies that commemorate the boys butchered in World War I, like the wasted blood being spilled in Vietnam, men reduced to memory. “Good Samaritan?” Criston confirms with the paramedics.

“Yes sir,” the most senior one agrees. And then to you, with great deference, with compassion that transcends what somebody can harbor for strangers: “Ma’am, there’s a place for you if you want it.”

“I do,” you say, tear-streaked face, hands bathed in blood. “Thank you. Thank you so much.”

The ambulance is idling outside the main entranceway of the hotel. Criston grasps your hand to steady you as you step up into the back, and you take a seat on the red leather bench beside the stretcher. The paramedics are placing IVs, holding an oxygen mask to Aemond’s face, muttering urgently into their radio, abbreviations and code words you can’t understand, a secret language of organic calamities. High above the stars are crystalline and radiant in a clear sky. In your own chest—unshredded by metal, unpierced by rage—your intact heart is pounding.

The lead paramedic turns to you again and says: “We can fit one more person.”

It’s your decision. You are the senator’s wife; you were supposed to be the next first lady of the United States. You look through the ambulance’s open doors. Aegon stares back expectantly, his hair falling in his face, his arms thrown wide, petulant, combative, useless, drunk. “Criston.”

“Bitch!” Aegon hisses at you as Criston climbs into the vehicle. The doors slam shut, the engine rumbles, the siren squeals as the ambulance races westbound on Breakers Row towards County Road, which connects with Flagler Memorial Bridge and the mainland.

Through the rear window you watch Aegon as he stands in the white-gold hotel luminescence, becoming smaller and smaller until he vanishes, and all you can see are streetlights, and all you can smell is blood.

~~~~~~~~~~

Every story needs its cast of characters. Here are the major players in the summer of 1968.

President Lyndon Baines Johnson is in the White House watching the clocks tick towards November 5th, when his successor will be ordained. He has chosen not to seek reelection. Since his ascension upon Kennedy’s assassination in 1963, Johnson’s domestic focus has been unprecedented civil rights legislation and his War On Poverty, yet what has infected the media like blood poisoning is the war in Vietnam. On the television are napalm bombs incinerating Vietnamese peasants, caskets draped with American flags, riots being beaten down by police, college students torching draft cards and chanting “Hey, hey, LBJ, how many kids did you kill today?” Now the president is sick in body, in spirit, in heart, and this is not a metaphor: he suffered a near-fatal cardiac arrest in 1955 and another shortly after John F. Kennedy was murdered in Dallas, Texas. He will die almost exactly four years after leaving office. Had he sought another term, he would have been unlikely to survive it. The public eye is something like a snake bite; it sinks its fangs in and you hope the venom burns clean before it can curse you with clots or hemorrhages or paralysis, before it can drown you in the dark waters of infamy.

In the void left by President Johnson’s surrender, four factions have emerged within the Democratic Party. The old guard—the same labor unions, congressmen, and local political machines who have steered the platform since the days of Franklin D. Roosvelt’s New Deal—has flocked to current Vice President Hubert Humphrey. Humphrey is competent yet uninspiring, a mid-fifties Midwesterner who flinches at the unpolished fury of antiwar protests and sedately lectures Black Power activists on the dangers of “reverse racism.” He is not a threat. He is a sheep in sheep’s clothing, and this is the time for wolves.

Senator Eugene McCarthy of Minnesota is unapologetically opposed to the Vietnam War, a moral crusader, a reluctant warrior, a man who wears his lack of taste for the presidency like a badge of honor. He feels compelled to run, but he does not crave it. He thinks this makes him a saint; but Joan of Arc was burned at the stake and Saint Lawrence was roasted alive. Like Halloween candy plunked into a child’s neon orange plastic pumpkin, McCarthy has collected his own coalition, college students and posh urbanites who believe themselves to be the future of the Democratic Party. In 2016, people will conjure McCarthy’s ghost when drawing comparisons to a controversial left-wing senator from Vermont named Bernie Sanders.

If McCarthy is the future and Humphrey is the past, then former governor of Alabama George Wallace is downright archaic. He is the candidate of choice for Southern white supremacists, averse to Republicans since Lincoln and still reverent of Depression-era New Deal programs that kept them from starving to death. Wallace is best known for his promise of “segregation now, segregation tomorrow, segregation forever,” and pledges to end the chaos that has besieged America through strict law and order. Provided he loses the Democratic primary, Wallace plans to run in the general election as an Independent, hoping to peel away enough support from the major party candidates to force the House of Representatives to declare the winner and then leverage his votes to negotiate an end to federal desegregation efforts in the South. His devoted wife Lurleen just died of uterine cancer, a diagnosis which Wallace kept hidden from her for years; doctors are in the habit of informing husbands of their wives’ ailments and giving them carte blanche control over the treatment plan, which unfortunately in Lurleen’s case was nothing. She was 41 years old.

In his short-lived castle of red corridors like the marrow rivers of bones, President Johnson hides from the hippies who jeer and spit; Humphrey frowns at them, McCarthy tries to appease them, Wallace says the only four-letter words they don’t know are “w-o-r-k” and “s-o-a-p.” But Aemond climbs down from podiums to meet them like old friends. He is young, only 36. He has a brother serving in the swamps of Vietnam. He is focused, determined, insatiable; he devours every scrap of news that is printed about him and writes his speeches by hand. As the self-admitted runt of the Targaryen family, Aemond knows what it is like to be underestimated. He wants a better America, and he wants to be the president, and he wants these things in equal, relentless measure, each fueling the other until these ambitions become inseparable. He has grown up hearing slurs against Greeks and consequently has no tolerance for discrimination, which he contends is antithetical to the American Dream. He attends civil rights marches in labyrinthian cities, antiwar protests on college campuses, union meetings in coal mining towns of West Virginia and Kentucky and Wyoming, music festivals crowded with long unwashed hair and braless women, fundraisers flush with the deep pockets of the Northeastern elite. Aemond’s coalition grows each day, bleeding away strength from his rivals like a Medieval surgeon. Their flesh turns cold and anemic, while Aemond’s heart pumps scalding torrents of blood.

If Aemond wins the Democratic primary at the convention in August, his opponent will almost certainly be the Republican frontrunner Richard Nixon of California. Nixon wants the White House just as badly, and he’s much smarter than he looks. He was Eisenhower’s vice president for eight years in the 1950s and lost to the ill-fated John F. Kennedy in 1960 by a whisker; some say he did not lose at all, but instead was cheated out of 100,000 votes by Kennedy’s mafia connections in Chicago. But with the Democrats divided and their incumbent president floundering, Nixon’s timing has never been better. He was once a poor boy with two dead brothers who earned a scholarship to Duke Law. Now he will become whoever he needs to be to win the presidency of the United States.

1968 is the year of wolves. The fangs are sharp, and the bellies ache with hunger.

~~~~~~~~~~

A local deli has opened early and sent sandwiches to Good Samaritan Medical Center for the family and friends of the senator from New Jersey: ham and Swiss, cucumber and cream cheese, tuna salad, egg salad, pimento cheese, BLTs, Cubans. The lobby is filling up with bouquets of flowers and handwritten notes. You pace and count the knots of the komboskini over and over again as you wait; Aemond has been in surgery for hours. The nurses periodically bring you Styrofoam cups of hot chocolate, scalding watered-down sweetness to distract you from the fact that some surgeon is currently rooting around inside your husband’s ribcage.

Alicent—a convert to the Greek Orthodox faith just as you are, though far more zealous, far more sincere if you dared to admit it—is pleading for God to save her son as she clasps her own prayer rope. Helaena is seated beside her, eerily calm. Helaena’s husband Fosco is wandering around boredly and inflicting small talk upon the nurses, ogling out the third-story windows, playing with his red Duncan yo-yo. Otto is making a series of calls using one of the phones at the nurses’ station. Criston is there too, leaning over the countertop and speaking with Otto in low conspiratorial whispers.

Aegon is sitting alone and glaring at you. He takes a rattling bottle of pills—prescriptions that doctors are too afraid not to write for him when he asks—out of a pocket on the front of his green army jacket, spotted like a leopard with your bloody handprints. He opens the amber-colored, cylindrical container and pours two, no, three tiny white tablets into his palm. He tosses them into his mouth and washes them down with a swallow of his own mediocre hot chocolate, still glaring. You ignore him.

“How could this have happened?” Mimi says again from where she’s slumped in her chair. Aegon’s wife has a Snow White sort of beauty, but with a perpetual ruddiness in her nose and cheeks from the gin she sips constantly. You suppose it would make anyone a drunk, being married to a man like that. Her maiden name was Marina Marceline Leroux, but everyone has always called her Mimi, even the press on the rare occasions when she makes an appearance. Her children—Orion, Spiro, Violeta, Thaddeus, and little Cosmo, only five years old—are all back at the Breakers Hotel with the nannies, the same as Helaena’s. Mimi blubbers to nobody in particular: “How…? Who…? Who would want to hurt Aemond…?”

Someone needs to sober her up. You fetch a BLT off the platter of sandwiches and offer it to her. “Here. Eat.”

“I’m not hungry. Who on earth could be hungry at a time like this? I’m absolutely nauseated, I’ll never want food again—”

“Mimi, eat the sandwich.”

“Fine, fine,” she slurs morosely, then takes an unenthusiastic bite. She listens to you, all the women do. They listen to you, and you listen to Aemond, and the circle is closed and complete.

Criston is walking over now. You turn to him, needing good news, bad news, any news. “It was a Wallace supporter,” Criston says. From his seat, Aegon is watching Criston with his slow drugged gaze, listening intently. “Some bell pepper farmer from up by Jacksonville.”

“He’s been taken to the local jail for holding?” you ask, and then add: “Alive?”

“Yeah, and he already has a record. Assault and battery. His brother-in-law is apparently a Grand Dragon in the Klan.”

“What the hell is a Grand Dragon?”

“Well, it’s higher than a Goblin, but not as illustrious as an Imperial Wizard, does that answer your question?”

“Perfectly.” You smile at Criston, a pained, wry smile. He returns it and places a palm over your belly. You are still wearing the mint green dress Aemond picked out for you this morning, before he won the Florida primary, before he was shot twice by the disciple of a political adversary and laid at death’s doorstep. You are still covered in your husband’s blood.

“You’re feeling alright?” Then Criston smirks, knowing how ridiculous he must sound. “You know. All things considered.”

“We’re both fine. The baby’s moving around, I can feel it.”

“You can feel him, you mean,” Criston teases, knowing Aemond’s preoccupation with his unborn son; but you can’t bring yourself to appreciate the joke.

Aegon says to you suddenly: “How the fuck did you let this happen?”

“What?” you answer, stunned.

Aegon stands and approaches, lurching, raging. “You always have to be right beside him, in the photographs, in the headlines, in the soundbites, but you let some psychopath run up and shoot him? Twice?!”

“I thought he just wanted to shake Aemond’s hand, or maybe get a quote for an article—”

“You didn’t notice the gun?!”

“Aegon, sit down,” Criston orders.

“It happened in seconds,” you say. “You think you would have done better? You and your Valium, and your Librium, and your Percodan? You think your reaction time would have been so superior to mine?”

“Please,” Alicent moans, mopping tears from her pink cheeks with a handkerchief. “Please, don’t fight, not now…”

“We are all friends here,” Fosco adds in his thick Italian accent, yo-yoing by a window.

“You want to be the first lady so bad but you can’t handle it!” Aegon shouts, his voice echoing through the lobby. “You’re not some prodigy, you don’t have all the answers, you’re just a girl who stitched yourself to Aemond and then you let him get shot, he’s being operated on right now, maybe he’s even dying, and you still act like you’re so fucking perfect—”

“You’re mad because you know that everybody here is thinking the same thing,” you tell Aegon, cold and cruel. “That if someone had to get killed tonight it should have been you.”

Aegon’s mouth drops open; he stares at you with that slippery, opaque, stoned woundedness, pathetic, infuriating, illogically childish. Everyone else pretends they haven’t heard you. Alicent sniffles into her handkerchief. Fosco begins humming I Want To Hold Your Hand. Mimi chews sluggishly on her BLT. From the nurses’ station, Otto says, holding the phone to his chest: “It’s George Wallace. He’s calling for Aemond’s wife.” Then he waits to see if you’ll agree to take it.

Of course you will. You have to. You are acting in your husband’s stead. You go to the nurses’ station and grab the handset when Otto passes it to you. “This is Mrs. Targaryen.”

“Ma’am, I just wanted to offer you my sincerest condolences.” He has a pronounced drawl, born and raised in what he has praised as the Great Anglo-Saxon Southland. You animal, you think. You braindead bigot. “I do hope the senator makes a hasty recovery. I sure would like to beat him at the ballot box, but I have no stomach for anarchy. An act like this is repugnant to me, as it should be to any red-blooded American.”

“It was one of yours, do you know that?” you say, dripping venom. “One of your hateful ghouls.”

“I have no such knowledge. But if the shooter does turn out to be a supporter of my campaign, I disavow him utterly. He deserves a nice long sit in Old Sparky and then to meet his maker.”

“You inspire men to commit violence, and then you renounce them when they spill blood. I’m still wearing my husband’s. It’s on my hands, it’s on my dress, and I will not absolve you of blame. You are a gardener of discord. You grow it like roses or wheat. You tend to it until it blooms.” Otto is studying you, bushy eyebrows raised. “If you’d truly like to repent, perhaps dropping out of the Democratic primary would be a good start. And then you could find something useful to do, like drowning yourself.”

From whatever office he’s currently lounging comfortably in, his shoes kicked up on the desk, Wallace chuckles. “Aemond is very fortunate to have as ardent a defender as you, my dear.”

“Yes, a devoted wife is such a treasure. It’s a shame you killed yours.”

“Ma’am, once again, I just wanted to express how terribly sorry I am for your family’s hardship. I would never wish for an incident like this—”

“Maybe you shouldn’t be emboldening white supremacists then!” You slam the phone as you hang up.

Otto looks at you. He says: “Did it go well?”

The heavy double doors leading to the operating theater swing open, and a surgeon steps through them, still drying his hands with a dark blue towel. He has changed his scrubs and washed his skin, but you notice a spot he missed: a fleck of half-dried blood up by his temple. That’s Aemond, you think. That’s a piece of him.

Everyone rushes to gather around the doctor, even Mimi; she lists like a ship taking on water as she walks, gnawing at all that remains of her BLT, just a sliver of white toast crust.

“The senator is alive,” the doctor says, and Alicent cries out in relief. Criston rests a palm on her shoulder. “But we could not save the eye.”

“He’s half-blind?” you ask. There’s never been a half-blind president. There’s never been a Greek one either. And the only reason this is stuck in your mind is because you know it will consume Aemond’s.

The doctor nods. “We had to remove it. The bullet that struck Senator Targaryen in the head, fortunately, was more of a graze. It ricocheted off his skull and didn’t cause any trauma to the brain, but his eye was…” He hesitates, trying to find a more polite word than shredded, macerated, pulverized. “Destroyed.”

“You stopped the bleeding?” Aegon says, astonished. “He’s okay? He’s really okay?”

“The second bullet pierced the thoracic cavity and was lodged less than an inch from his heart. He was very lucky. We repaired the damage to the best of our ability, and I am optimistic that the senator will make a full recovery. He’s resting comfortably now, but he should be awake soon.”

“Oh, thank God,” Alicent says, glistening dark eyes raised to heaven. The salient points gathered, Fosco wanders off again, his yo-yo dangling from its string.

Otto asks: “When can he resume campaigning?”

The doctor is caught off-guard; it takes him a moment to answer. “That will depend on the senator’s stamina as he regains his strength. If he chooses to stay in the race at all.”

Otto scoffs. “Of course he’ll stay in. This is what he lives for. You really can’t give me a ballpark figure?”

The doctor is determinately impassive. “I would estimate a month or two before he can withstand the rigors of the campaign trail again.”

“California is June 4th,” Otto recalls, counting off dates on his fingers. “Illinois is the 11th, New York is the 18th…”

“Look, there are people outside!” Fosco announces excitedly as he peers through one of the windows. “Hello! Hello everybody!”

“Fosco, you idiot, stop waving,” Otto snaps. “Go sit down.”

“But they are cheering.”

“Not for you.”

Fosco, somewhat deflated, grabs an egg salad sandwich off the platter and plops into a chair to eat it. He’s dressed in a green plaid sport coat and tight white trousers, very chic, very European. You’ve never been able to imagine Fosco and Helaena being passionately romantic with each other. They’re both a bit too doll-like for that, closer to Barbie and Ken than flesh and blood, blank stares and vague ambitions.

“Someone should talk to them,” Alicent says softly. She means the crowd that is forming in front of the hospital: journalists, cops, local politicians, mutilated veterans, college kids, farmers, fishermen, women and children, the future and the past. Everyone turns to look at you.

“I’ll do it,” you volunteer. You will, you must. Aemond could have chosen a hundred similarly suited women to be his wife, but he chose you, and when he did your vows became a blood oath.

Criston accompanies you downstairs to where the crowd has gathered just outside the front entrance of Good Samaritan Medical Center. The night air is warm and humid, the stars bright. You had thought of so many things to tell these people as you’d stood in the elevator as it descended, but now your mind is empty, fearful. There are photographers with blinding camera flashes and apostles waiting with famished eyes. From the depths of injustice and poverty and war, they have come to pay their respects to the man they believe is destined to save not just themselves but their world. What should I say? What would Aemond want me to say?

“I am very pleased to share with you all that Senator Targaryen is out of surgery and regaining his strength.”

There are cheers and applause and prayers; you are still clutching the komboskini that the old woman gave you in the lobby of the Breakers Hotel. You see more prayer ropes in this flock, and rosaries too, Bibles and dog tags, copies of The Autobiography of Malcolm X and Joanne Didion’s Slouching Towards Bethlehem.

“We would like to thank you for your heartfelt support. Aemond and I are so very grateful, and he is looking forward to being back on the campaign trail soon.”

More clapping and whistling, and then the crowd waits. You aren’t sure what they want to hear as you stand in the glow of the hospital luminance; your hands are trembling wildly, so you clasp them together as you hold the komboskini. Criston glances over at you, concerned. You settle on the truth.

“The man who tried to kill my husband tonight is a supporter of former Alabama governor George Wallace and an avowed white supremacist. Any ideology that advocates for violence and prejudice is a threat to our bodies, our nation, and our souls. We will not surrender to it, not even when our lives are in jeopardy. We will not concede that hope for a better world is lost. We will press ever onward with the knowledge that God is on our side, and that the future of this country is worth fighting for.”

You are bathed in flashbulb lightning; your ears ring with the thunder of the applause. You are shaking hands now, nodding, beaming, Criston following you like a shadow as you move through the congregation. You stop to listen to a middle-aged woman in a floral dress who wants to give you marriage advice: never get bossy, don’t become selfish, remember that you are his safe harbor in the storms of life. It is your job to gift her your momentary veneration. You have beauty, but she has wisdom; or at least, that is the bargain that has been struck, that is the presumption everyone agrees upon. She must have some advantage over you, otherwise the decades she has spent in service of her parents and husband and children have been wasted, she has carved away pieces of herself to feed hungry mouths until she vanished like the doomed nymph Echo. In return, she tries not to envy you too much, not to dismiss you as foolish or frivolous or lustful. Sometimes you think that women are filled with such vicious, relentless self-loathing that it feels good to direct it at someone else for a while, to pick apart another body, to tally up the deficits of her spirit.

“Aemond is so lucky to have you,” the woman says. You can barely hear her over the roar of the crowd.

And you smile as you dutifully reply: “I think it’s the other way around.”

~~~~~~~~~~

There is a television mounted on the wall in Aemond’s room. The news coverage, the volume turned way down low, oscillates between his own near-assassination and the stalled peace talks in Paris. Representatives of the United States and North Vietnam cannot agree, and so each day more body bags are flown home to return the bones of the nation’s sons and fathers to Missouri, Alabama, Idaho, Maine, Wisconsin, Maryland, Arizona, California, New Jersey, everywhere else. Someone has to end it. Aemond will end it.

“I dreamed I won Florida,” your husband mumbles, and that’s how you know he’s awake, here in a hospital bed and wearing IVs like strings of Christmas lights around a pine tree.

“You did,” you tell him, gently smoothing back his hair from his forehead. His left eye—where his left eye used to be—is bandaged; his words are soft and labored. “Humphrey was second. Wallace got third. But you won. And you’re going to be okay.”

“McCarthy?”

“It seems you’re devouring his coalition.”

Aemond’s lips slowly curl into a grin, triumphant. “It is God’s will.” And this is what he always says. It is God’s will that he survives, it is God’s will that he wins the presidency, it is God’s will that you give him sons.

“Yes,” you agree, lifting his right hand to kiss his knuckles. Then you press the komboskini you’re still carrying into his weak grasp. It means more to Aemond than it does to you. “Yes it is.”

Aemond sinks into unconsciousness again, morphine and dreams that blur with reality. There will be pain soon, and plenty of it, but he is free from that impending truth for now. You rise from your chair to tell the rest of the family that Aemond is beginning to wake up. Alicent and Criston will want to speak with him.

When you open the door, Aegon is standing there: an eavesdropper, a trespasser. He glares at you with his large wet ocean-blue eyes, hazy with pills, glinting with resentment. Reluctantly, you step aside to let him in. Aegon wobbles as he passes you and has to grab onto the doorframe to steady himself, scrabbling like a trapped animal.

“You’re a disaster,” you say, caustic like acid, biting, repulsed.

Aegon whirls and jabs his index finger against your chest, bloodstained mint green wool bouclé by Chanel. “You’re a vessel. You’re a cow. And one day he’ll be done with you.”

You feel something hitting you like a bullet, cracking ribs, piercing lungs, tearing muscles and ligaments. Your lips have parted, but you can’t fathom words. Aegon has said many things to you—bitter things, belittling things, things in mixed company, things when you’re alone—but never this. For the first time since you met him two years ago, he has won one of your sparring matches. He has the upper hand. He has wounded you.

Aegon can see this, certainly. But he doesn’t seem pleased with himself. He looks a little shellshocked, like he can’t quite believe he said the words, like maybe if given the chance again he wouldn’t take it. But the moment is over now, and you can’t get time back, it is a thread that unspools until every inch is gone, spent, tangled in a thousand webs.

Aegon staggers into the hospital room. You flee from it. Out in the lobby the phone at the nurses’ station is ringing again. They’ll all be calling now to give their requisite sympathies. Humphrey counsels prudence, McCarthy prays for peace, LBJ offers the empathy of someone who has felt the cold gaze of Death in his own doorway, Nixon praises Aemond’s resilience and quotes the ancient philosopher Seneca: “There is no easy way from the earth to the stars.”

[starysky1289]

Alpha!Vanessa X Omega!Reader. Walking home.

This is my first time writing omegaverse, I hope it’s alright <:

Also shout out @707bot1 happy birthday man I hope u enjoy this.

The rain fell heavy on your umbrella, making it harder for you to trudge down the street. You didn’t have a ride home sense your S/O has dropped you. They was a delta, although they had the ego of an alpha times ten. You weren’t good enough for them, they’d yell at you, not obedient enough, not good enough for you to be called there’s.

It didn’t help you were stuck in a heat, nothing you did could even suppress it. You didn’t have the money for the suppression tablets that you used to take, your job was going through a crash and you were suffering from it. You were practically bait just waiting to be taken by an Alpha.

The whine of a police siren stopped you, looking over you watched the black and white car pull besides you. You stepped towards it hesitantly, and the window opened. Your nose filled with the scent of alpha, almost sickly sweet and heavy with sweat. You were expecting a big guy, but instead it was a petite blonde, who gave you a soft smile, waving towards you.

“ hey, what’s got you walking out here all alone? It’s a stormy mess. “

“…I missed the bus, I’ll be fine. “

“ you scared of the scent? I ain’t gonna do nothing to you dear, I’m an officer. Can I give you a ride, I’d hate to see you out here any longer.”

You were hesitant to answer. She was clearly official, the badge, the gun, the car obviously. But you were still weary. Her blue eyes shown with only kindness, it wouldn’t hurt, and you were a while from home.

“ alright maam…thank you officer…”

She unlocked the door, and you quickly got in, closing your umbrella and keeping it between your feet.

“ just call me Vanessa. What’s you name hun. “

“ Y/N. “

“ well Y/N, Where’s your home, I’m sure someone’s worried about ya. “

“ 146 WestWood avenue, I live in the apartment building there….and no..no one’s waiting for me. Not anymore atleast…“

Vanessa pulled back onto the road, she clicked her tounge, adjusting her radio on her hip and glancing over at you.

“ awfully sorry to hear that dear. You wanna talk about it..? “

She obviously wasn’t trying to get in Your legs, maybe she just hadn’t noticed your heat yet. You where ways told how tough and intimidating alphas where, but she was sweet, gentle, the complete opposite of what you where taught to respect.

“ my former spouse…they where a delta..said I wasn’t good enough for them..I wasn’t obedient enough. So they left me for some skimpy little omega. It’s why I was walking home…I don’t have a car, and any money I get right now is going towards bills “

“ oh dear. How awful is that…some people just don’t know how to treat a girl these days. Always expecting there omega to be perfect little things for them. Shame you’ve never had a real alpha..treat you good is what they’d do. “

You blushed, gripping you pants. Was that, attraction? Nonsense, she was just beings nice, she wouldn’t make a move on you that fast would she?

“ h-hehe…s-shame I might never know…”

“ nonsense…”

As she pulled up to the stop light, she turned to you, holding you chin. Your heat in you made you want to lunge into her and make out with her right here, but you were self trained enough to know better.

“ you just need to find the right one~ “

You never had this feeling,even from your ex spouse. Vanessa chuckled, and turned back to the road. You were confused, but warm, was this attraction? It couldn’t be, why would you be.

Vanessa pulled up to your apartment building, it was anything pretty. A worn down old building with rotting architecture. You gripped your umbrella as you slowly got out of the car, looking back at Vanessa.

“ you sure you good sweetheart? “

“ y-yeah…I’ll be ok..thank you officer. “

“ what’d I tell ya, you can just call me me Vanessa. I’m of shift anyway. Have a good night “

“ yes…well..I have some homemade soup cooking right now…would you wanna join me..? “

Vanessa smiled, hoping out of the car and locking it. She waked up to you and help your hand that was holding your umbrella.

“ I thought you’d never ask. “

*~*

You both had an Italian wedding soup with garlic bread for dinner, followed by a gentle conversation about eachother over wine. Something about her made you melt, it could just be the police uniform she was still in, maybe it was just how her eyes looked like little pools of water, or maybe it was just because this heat was so bad you’d take anything you could get.

“ so, Y/n. Have you got a nest built? “

“ Huh-?? “

“ well, that heat seems like it’s not going away anytime soon. I atleast hope you have somewhere comfy your curling up. “

Your face grew red at the question, she knew about the heat, you were stupid to think she didn’t. You gripped your pants and glanced off.

“ my beds all made up..pushed against the wall so I can curl up in it…”

“ good.”

“ why do you ask, Vanessa…”

Vanessa swirled her wine, before throwing back the last bit. Her eyes glanced across the room, before back at you, smiling softly.

“ just curious. if you needed some help finishing it I wouldn’t mind at all. “

“ o-oh uhm…I..I did get this big new comforter I can’t seem to..get over my bed..would you wanna help with that~? “

You both stood up, looking up at her with your big doe eyes.

“ I wouldn’t love anything more beautiful~ “

This was wrong. A random girl, a random alpha in your home, and now you were leading her to your nest, your little spot in this world. Your bedroom was the nicest room in the apartment, your bed all covered in multiple blankets and pillows to keep you comfy. You grabbed the new comforter, opening it from its packaging. Vanessa was silent behind you, before you felt her big hands grab your waist. You didn’t pull away, letting her feel up and down your delicate waist.

“ that feel good baby? “

“ mhm…such a strong grip on me…”

She pushed her head onto your shoulder, grinding on you gently.

“ well, I can’t let you get away now. You let me into your nest…”

“ and maybe i don’t want you to go away Vanessa~ “

You gridded back against her, whimpering softly. You could feel her bulge forming from under her tight uniform. She helped you throw the comforter over the nest before humping your ass.

“ you see what you do to me princess~? Fuck…I’m gonna have to fill you with my pups now~ “

“ o-officer~….”

You turned around, and she pulled you into a deep kiss, her lips practically eating your mouth. You held onto her waist, fiddling with her belt.

“ V-Vanessa….”

“ shh…poor little mutt…all pent up with that poor heat…let me take care of it…”

Vanessa slipped her fingers around your waistband, quickly pulling them down. You wore a pair of panties that were soaked through, slick coating your folds and upper thighs.

“ look at you…all this for me baby~? “

“ y-yeah….i-i cant help it…”

“ yeah? All dirty for me baby? “

Vanessa quietly unbuckled her belt, stripping off her pants to be let with a pair of navy blue boxer briefs on. Her bulge was big through it, and the tip just poked out the top.

“ big isn’t it baby? Bigger than that ex of yours? “

“ yes Vanessa…m-much..much bigger…”

She finally dropped her boxers, letting the full thing throb against your ass. It had to off been at least 9 inches, and it was thick. You could see the knot beginning to form at its base.

“ you gonna take this baby? Gonna let me stuff you good…? “

You let yourself fall backwards into the bed, keeping your legs spread open for her to gawk at.

“ I-I’m all your Vanessa. P-please officer…m-mate me…”

Vanessa let out a low growl, pinning you down in the bed. Her breath was warm against your neck, and she kissed down your face, leaving small bites on your cheeks and earlobes. She stripped your panties off and tossed them to the side, grinding against your soft folds.

“ s-stop teasing…please just fuck m-me…”

“ your little delta may of used you up quickly…but i…I savor my meal…what i do to you..”

You whined as she continued to thrust against your folds, before letting it finally slip in. You moaned out in a pleasured relief, your head going back against the soft blankets.

“ s-so…so tight..fuck..”

Vanessa got to a steady pace, holding you down tighter every time you squirmed from its size. Your moans would grow louder every time she’d thrust in deeper, panting into your chest. She stripped off your shirt and bra, gawking down at your tits.

“ V-Vanessa…nessa please it’s s-so big!! S’to big!! “

“ Quiet baby…I-I’m having fun here…Ima…Ima make you feel good soon gorgeous…”

She bent down and burried her face between your tits, thrusting in harder. Her dick was practically ripping you in half, making sure that your hole would only take her. You’d cry out, and she’d shut you up by thrusting in deeper, making you want to whine and moan louder.

“ who’s pretty pussy is this huh? Who’s it belong too y/n. “

“ Y-you!! I-it belongs to you Vanessa!! “

“ absolutely it does..f-fuck feels..feels s’good….”

With a quick movement, Vanessa grabbed your arms and held them above your head, leaning down into your neck. You were about to complain, before feeling her night down on your neck. And she bit hard. She was marking you, marking you as hers and hers only.

“ V-Vanessa!! “

She only groaned in response, throwing herself back and picking you up, sitting you ontop of her cock. She held your hips and thrusted into you deeper.

“ F-fuck!! N-nessy its t-to much!! I-I’m gonna cum! P-please please I-i can’t!! “

“ My…my girl…m-mine…my pretty girl…f-fuck..take it..take every last drop I give you “

And with that she slammed into you, you practically screamed out in a mix of pleasure and pain. You felt her knot locked in you, and you struggled to regain your breath. You felt her cum filling you, and you could only lay into her as you could feel yourself cumming with her.

“ A-h…ah…v-va…Vanessa…”

“ shh..so good y/n…so good…gentle, get some sleep…I’ll hold you..”

You didn’t argue, you held her tightly and met your eyes close, kissing her nose gently.

“ I l-love you vaness….”

“ i love you too y/n…”

*~*

You woke up surrounded by the comfort of your nest, but your legs twitched with pain. Vanessa must of got loose in the middle of the night, and gone home. You groaned, trying to cling to her scent, before hearing a knock on the door, Vanessa slowly made her way in.

“ I’m so sorry I was gone y/n. I ran to the bathroom. Do you need anything? Money, water, food? Let me look at your mark real quick too. “

Vanessa was quick to tend to whatever you needed. She delicately looked at the mark on your neck, before giving it a gentle kiss.

“ d-does this mean I’m your m-mate now nessy…? “

“ only if you want. But let me take you to dinner first, then you can choose. I’m sorry about it..I was stuck in the moment, and I just need you closer…so my instincts took over and I..marked you…I’m sorry hun..”

You kissed her gently, holding her hands and laying on her.

“ you did nothing wrong…w-will you make me breakfast..? “

“ of course hun. You stay here, soak up my scent. I love you y/n. “

“ I love you t-to Vanessa…”

Vanessa chuckled, slowly getting up and heading out of the room. You nuzzled into the pillows and sniffed each one. Her scent was everywhere, the sickly sweet scent mixed with sweat. But you could also smell fresh cucumber, mandarin, and eucalyptus. You smiled, hugging a pillow tightly and you began to drift off again.

You finally had the alpha you were always told you’d have. But yours was different, she was tought, but gentle. She was possesive, but kind and loving. And you wouldn’t have your Vanessa any other way.

[silverflameataraxia]

The IC - and this fandom - want to hate on Nesta for being "mean" or for "letting" Feyre hunt. People want to say that she's this selfish monster, but when you look at all her accomplishments throughout the series, it paints an entirely different picture. Nesta's traumatized, hurt, and depressed, yes, but she's also a fighter and she cares, deeply, about everyone.

I compiled a list of all Nesta's achievements throughout the books. (Let me know if I forgot anything!)

• Survived being physically and emotionally abused for years by her grandmamma and mother

• Stole a Duke out of spite because an heiress was cruel to Elain

• Begged family members to help them when they fell into poverty

• Chopped wood so her family could keep warm

• Resisted a High Lord's glamour

• Fought off Tomas

• Tried to rescue Feyre from Prythian

• Urged Feyre to go back to Tamlin, where she was loved and happy, which led Feyre to go UTM, which led to her freeing the Fae in Prythian

• Feyre wondered if Rhysand would even be able to use his Daemati tricks against Nesta's mind

• Agreed to let the IC meet with the human queens in her home, which would thus label her a Fae sympathizer, which could get her killed if found out

• Mailed correspondence between the human queens and the IC

• Urged the human queens to assist the humans beneath the wall

• Calculated how many ships would be needed to evacuate all the humans beneath the wall

• Urged the human queens to give their Book of Breathings to the IC

• Stole power from the Cauldron itself while it was boiling her alive and violating her

• Pushed aside her own trauma to watch over, and take care of, Elain after they were turned High Fae against their will

• Knew Feyre went into Lucien's mind

• Worked with Amren to try and repair the Wall

• Went to the High Lord's meetings to try and convince them to fight for the humans

• Went with the IC to each and every war camp to serve as a warning bell for when the Cauldron was being used

• Scried, and found, the Cauldron in the middle of Hybern's war camp

• Tended to the wounded during the war

• Was the only one to notice that Cassian was injured after a battle, and tended to his sprained wrist

• Was loyal to Feyre and never told the IC that she left the battle to find the Suriel

• Saved Cassian's life

• Used herself as bait for the King of Hybern - knowing she would die - so Feyre could reach the Cauldron

• Placed her body on top of Cassian's so she would take the brunt of the King of Hybern's power as he killed them

• Beheaded the King of Hybern

• Overcame her fear of bathtubs on her own

• Supported local businesses while suffering from depression

• Got multiple priestesses out of the library - some for the first time in decades - to come to training, and convinced Emerie to come

• Saved Gwyn from a terrible tongue lashing by swapping out books underneath Merrill's nose

• Is the only person to stand up to Merrill

• Made the House of Wind

• Almost beat Rhysand - and resisted his inherent dominant voice - while sleeping

• Scried successfully for the Mask

• Found the Mask in the Bog of Oorid and used it to summon the dead to kill - and behead - the kelpie

• Made the first magical weapons in 15,000 years

• Was the only one to tell Feyre the truth

• Was able to find the chamber with the eight-pointed star in the Prison when no one else knew it existed

• Scried and found the Harp

• Resisted Lanthys' seduction and quest for power and control

• Used Ataraxia to bind Lanthys into physical form before beheading him

• Saved Cassian's life

• Seduced Eris

• Made the charm bracelets for her, Gwyn, and Emerie

• Overcame her fear of fire on her own

• Cut the ribbon, thus becoming Valkyrie

• Passed the Blood Rite Qualifer

• Ran down the ten thousand steps of the House multiple times

• Served as a courtier

• Threatened Tamlin to not reveal the Night Court's alliance with Eris, and he never did

• Fought the Illyrian males who dragged her into the Blood Rite

• Saved Emerie's life

• Saved Gwyn's life

• Carried Gwyn as far as she could up Ramiel

• Was willing to sacrifice her life to stay behind and fight off Bellius and his friends so Emerie and Gwyn could win the Blood Rite

• Held the Pass of Enalius

• Refused to give Queen Briallyn the Dread Trove, even if it meant her death

• Saved Cassian's life

• Unmade Briallyn

• Possesses the Crown

• Saved Feyre, Nyx, and Rhysand's lives by using the Dread Trove and sacrificing her power

• Is the sole person who can contain the power of all three objects of the Dread Trove

• Is one of a few people who can wear the Mask and live

• Can summon the Dread Trove from anywhere, no wards can keep her from them

• Has a connection with the Mother

• Was able to tell that Bryce's tattoo was Made and that it was the Horn

• Used the Mask to help her kill the Middengard Wyrm

• Beheaded Vesperus

• Gave Bryce the Mask to help her defeat the Asteri

• Worthy opponent to Rhysand, the most powerful High Lord in Prythian history

• Helped to end the enslavement of Midgard

• Ended the threat to Prythian, and all worlds, that the Asteri presented

• Befriended a whole other world

• Got Truth-Teller back for Az

• Was gifted Gwydion

And to think Nesta has only been the MC of one book. Since we know her story's not over yet, I cannot wait to see what else she accomplishes by the end!

[celiastjamesoscar]

Masterlist

A/N: collection of stuff I’ve written. I also don’t know what a word count is, so heads up!

Requests: Open

Current request list: 11

Fluff: 🍦

Angst: 🗡️

Personal favorite: 🛼

Smut: 🎃

REQUESTING

I will write smut, it just depends on what it is and if I’m comfortable with writing it

I will write romantic or platonic

I write for fem and gender neutral readers

I won’t write for male readers

——————————————————————————

Wednesday Addams

Luminous Waters 🍦

You drag your girlfriend Wednesday to a beautiful pond that you discovered and enjoy the stars together. (3.1K words)

Exile 🗡️🗡️🛼

you and Wednesday were best friends when you were kids, but after Nero’s death, she became cold and distant, and your former friendship turned into a rivalry. Ten years after your friendship ended, unusual circumstances force you two back together. (12.3K words)

Like Real People Do 🍦

Wednesday has been running through your mind, plaguing your every thought. So when you go out one night to get a grasp on these thoughts, you run into the Addams, who was suffering from thoughts about you. (2.3K words)

To Be Alone

Being alone was something special to Wednesday, but being alone with you was sacred. And she refused to share you with anyone else, even if that meant owning up to her feelings (2.7K words)

Tara Carpenter

Devil in the Details 🗡️🗡️🛼

Tara accidentally runs into on campus, and she’s immediately enchanted by you and asks you for help. You give her the wrong advice and she holds it against you. (12K words)

Himbo Next Door 🍦

you met Tara in the elevator your apartment and you two awkwardly hit it off. You begin to form a situationship with her, but Sam disapproves of you. (5.5K words)

Jenna Ortega

Drafting it up…

Sam Carpenter

No Hard Feelings 🗡️🍦🛼 pt 2 🍦🗡️ pt 3 🍦

Tara makes plans with you to go to dinner and watch a movie, but she forgets and can’t go. So she sends Sam in her place (17.1K total words)

Umbrella Paradox 🍦 Pt 2 🍦🍦

When visiting a local cafe shop late one night, you meet the most beautiful woman you’ve ever seen, but you get off on the wrong foot. (12.9K total words)

Sweat and Serendipity 🍦

While working out at your local gym, you run into someone you haven’t seen before. (4.9K words)

Wildest Dreams 🗡️🍦🛼

you are helplessly head over heels for Sam, even though she despises you. But your relationship with her changes when you get in a lightly physical altercation with her.(6.3K words)

Would that I 🗡️

You accidentally ran into someone at a frat party, and she quickly became your best friend. But you fell for her sister, who wouldn’t even give you the time of the day (this is a shitty description) (6.8K words)

Talk 🎃🍦

Sam was never used to being treated with tenderness, but she loved the way you treated her like she was the most fragile thing you ever held. She craved your soft kisses, and she needed you (1.38K words)

Say Yes to Heaven 🗡️🗡️🍦🛼

It was never Sam’s intention to fall in love with you, but after countless nights tangled up in sheets together, she fell for you. But her love came with consequences, and she knew she could never provide you with the life you needed. So she broke up her arrangement with you, breaking your heart in the process as well. (11.8K words)

Happiness is a Butterfly 🗡️🍦

the plan was to tell you at some point, but Sam didn’t know how. Only when you find out by accident about your girlfriend’s activities, does Sam realize the consequences of continuing her father’s legacy. (9.9K words)

Cinnamon Girl 🍦🛼

Getting a dog wasn’t the best idea, but Sam grew to love the fur ball when she found out you were the dog’s vet. (8.6K words)

Jeans 🎃🍦

It had been too long since you had Sam, and you desperately needed her. (1.3K words)

We fell in love in October 🍦

Late night talks with Sam were always your favorite, especially on the roof while you two admired the sky together. (3.0K words)

Comfort Holds 🍦

A long day at work leads the best kind of de-stressing at home: Sam holding you. (1.7k words)

Wish I Knew You 🍦

Unofficial meant many things to people, but to college students it meant one thing: party. But unofficial takes a turn when you get into a fight, and Sam has to walk you home. (3.5K words)

Night Shift 🗡️🍦

Sam blamed you for the 2022 attacks, she blamed you for everything. But guilt drives people into blindness, and Sam eventually finds herself seeking your comfort. (18.0 words)

Smut Headcanons

Natasha Romanoff

Clean 🍦🍦

when Natasha comes back hurt from a mission, she lets you clean her wounds. (3.6K words)

Wanda Maximoff

Champagne Problems 🗡️🍦

You were going to propose to Wanda, but a stupid argument ruined your night, and maybe even your relationship. Can you fix it before it’s too late? (3.8K words)

[codenamesazanka]

It's so striking cuz like. we have UA celebrating in their large pretty campus that's administered by extremely influential, well-connected, world-famous Nedzu who's also a billionaire, and these kids are speaking of a bright future where there is humor because they believe it in—

(and there's Aoyama too, who was Villain/Villain-associated, and now has to leave UA, but it's his choice, and he's still going to be a Hero, he can start over)

—and ten pages later, seemingly another world away but it's in the same country, is someone in visible pain and misery, walking out of a crumbling building into a ruined street, barefoot and utterly alone. Does this person have a bright future they believe in?

And like, obviously this person can... if the Heroes are there to find them and help. If the Heroes can show up and bless them with a helping hand. And I know that's a good thing, but it just feels so cruel, that they can only receive their bright future if a Hero is there. Specifically, a student from this elite national school.

That's saving, yes, I guess, but also not really. That's fucked up.

The students acknowledge this too - there's chaos out there, and now it's their job to help rebuild and main public order. But it's like they're separate from all that. They go out to help. They travel to go prevent the deterioration. They speak of aftermaths and 'confusion' via textbooks. Again, I know that's not quite the intention, probably, and they're just kids and learning and they're doing their best, and they shouldn't be starving in the streets either or living through deterioration, and some of them know first-hand the sufferings too, before, but it feels like they aren't part of the chaos. They're there to contain the chaos. They're above the chaos, and they descend down to help.

Heroes and Villains have always had this insane disparity, whether it's the League being a bunch of middle school dropouts and runaways, or AFO being a trash river rat orphan baby while All Might came from a lovingly warm home, even if he later loses it.

The Heroes are good guys, the Heroes are good people, they're kind and they truly want to help. And they will help, if they know. But knowing doesn't feel like it's good enough.

Anyway. I hope this person gets saved. I wished they didn't need saving in the first place.

[lightofraye]

Ten years ago, I saw the awful news of Robin Williams taking his life. I actually, literally wept when I heard the news. I clutched my phone close to me and cried. He was gone. Our Genie was gone.

In the days and weeks after, we learned he was tragically depressed. Not only that, but he suffered from Lewy Body Dementia, something no one knew until after he passed--but it inflicted a great deal of pain upon him.

A great comedian, he hid his pain with laughter. Time to time, in dramatic roles, we would notice a hint of deep pain underneath that smile.

He has done terrific roles. Mrs. Doubtfire, Genie in Aladdin, Good Will Hunting, Dead Poets Society, Hook, so many others.

Mork & Mindy: ‘In Mork We Trust’ (#1.21) (1979)

Orson: The report, Mork.

Mork: This week I discovered a terrible disease called loneliness.

Orson: Do many people on Earth suffer from this disease?

Mork: Oh yes sir, and how they suffer. One man I know suffers so much he has to take a medication called bourbon. Even that doesn’t help very much because then he can hear paint dry.

Orson: Does bedrest help?

Mork: No because I’ve heard that sleeping alone is part of the problem. You see, Orson, loneliness is a disease of the spirit. People who have it think that no one cares about them.

Orson: Do you have any idea why?

Mork: Yes sir, you can count on me. You see, when children are young, they’re told not to talk to strangers. When they go to school, they’re told not to talk to the person next to them. Finally when they’re very old, they’re told not to talk to themselves, who’s left?

Orson: Are you saying Earthlings make each other lonely?

Mork: No sir, I’m saying just the opposite. They make themselves lonely – they’re so busy looking out for number one that there’s not enough room for two.

Orson: It’s too bad everybody down there can’t get together and find a cure.

Mork: Here’s the paradox, sir, because if they did get together, they wouldn’t need one.

[featheredclover]

Carmine Veils

Chapter Nine

Read from the beginning

Also on Wattpad

Chapter Eight > < Chapter Ten

The sapphire blue brooch shone against her hair. 

Her eyes shone with the kohl lining them.

“Payal, that’s enough rose on my cheeks”

“Nonsense, Rajkumari! You are meeting your warrior china-man after days! You need to look your best.”

Khushi bit her tongue. Payal didn’t need to know her china-man hadn’t let her sleep all night. She definitely didn’t need to know how he made her muffle her screams just before dawn arose.

She blushed helplessly and fervently hoped they didn’t notice.

“ Everyone knows “

Khushi looked up, completely bewildered.

“ About Aravind and Ratna Raizada. Apparently they were legends in our court. They were the voice of the common man. The army flourished under him! Ratna ji ensured that the widows of the soldiers are well provided for, till this day!” Lavanya spoke, while donning on a pair of pearl earrings.

“Really?”

“ Yes! People are very happy that their son is finally here. And Ratna ji might finally be back with them. “

“ The kingdom missed them.” Khushi said softly.

“The brave ones of the Gupta kingdom are never forgotten. They flourish in our hearts forever.” Manorama joined them with a smile.

The girls stood up, surprise clouding their eyes.

“ I am happy today! The man I had so much doubts about, has proved himself to be the diamond of our kingdom.” Here, her eyes settled on Khushi with an all knowing gaze.

Payal excitedly began asking about the mysterious Raizadas.

Khushi looked beyond her chamber’s windows. 

How greatly did the Raizadas suffer for this land and its people? 

Her heart painfully sank in her chest as she thought of how Arnav’s childhood in the motherland was snatched away.

“Rajkumari , the victory banquet is on its way. We must make an entrance before the Maharaj “

————

Trumpets blared. Colours emerged. Rows of decked up elephants and horses lined the pathway to the banquet hall.

She could hear the roar of laughter from afar. Her pace quickened at the anticipation of seeing Arnav. 

Khushi felt different today. She knew all about the art of lovemaking. But when it finally happened, she couldn’t help but be overwhelmed. He is to be blamed, she thought impishly. Who gave him the right to be so…so smug?

“Rajkumari “

She looked up into Payal’s eyes, which were filled with amusement.

“We have arrived “

“ I know “Khushi replied haughtily in an attempt to cover up her day dreaming.

Payal let out a mocking scoff.

Just then, Chandragupta arrived with his ever present genial smile. Without a moment wasted, he ushered them towards their seats.

———-

A regal woman sat up on the marble stage, her wrinkles adorning her twinkling eyes, beside her father. 

She had an uneasy feeling that she was being scrutinised by the two. Sipping her glass of sherbet, she averted her eyes to the soldiers. She hadn’t even had a glimpse of him today. Her spirit dropped with such misery , only a lover’s heart could tolerate it .

Payal nudged her sharply.

“ See him?”

She looked in the direction of a tall man, who sat quite awkwardly as he laughed with his fellow soldiers.

“ I am going to marry him”

Khushi spluttered in shock. Keeping her goblet down, she whispered angrily,

“ How could you not tell me you had fallen in love?”

“ What rubbish! I saw him just now”

“ You haven’t even talked to him once and your heart is set on marrying him?”

“ Sometimes you just know Khushi, “ Payal sighed .

“Look at him, he is so shy. I will suit him perfectly!”

Shaking her head, Khushi went back to attending her meal.

“ Rajkumari?” Chandragupta had arrived at their table.

“ Maharaj wishes for your presence “

“Chandragupta ji! “ Payal piped in. 

“ Who is that man?”

“Akash. A fine soldier. And please, no scandal before the evening ends, Payal bitiya.” He said with a wink.

“ No promises ! “ she quipped back.

Khushi laughed.

Poor Akash! 

She arranged her elaborate lehenga and headed towards the steps leading to the stage. 

She had just reached it when she saw the man, whose thoughts had been haunting her. His brown eyes glittered as it skimmed over her. Suddenly she was glad Payal had painstakingly beautified her.

Arnav stood tall and proud beside the woman Khushi saw earlier.

Ratna Raizada 

Clutching her skirt, Khushi attempted to keep her nerves at bay. 

Folding her hands in a greeting , she smiled nervously at the woman.

“Khushi” her father’s booming voice startled her. 

“ This is our dearest Ratna ji I have told you about. Well, no matter how little you know about her. She knows much about you.” Shashidhar laughed.

Confused, Khushi turned towards Arnav, who avoided her eyes and had a curious flush up his neck.

“ I…I don’t understand “

Warm hands clasped her own, as she met Ratna’s kind eyes.

“ Well we have an eternity for that Khushi! You are just as beautiful as Garima! Shashi told me so much about your skills at war, but left out your beauty in his letters “

Khushi smiled. There were so many questions swarming her mind. But for now the moment of meeting someone who talked of her mother, without the usual pity, was too magical to let go.

“ Come on now. The evening must go on” Shashi laughed.

Her father stood looking over the merriment.

The drum gongs . Once, twice, thrice.

A palpable silence filled the air.

“ My brave soldiers and their courageous families who have gathered here. I am so proud and humbled by your feats in the field. The rebellion which began with the death of innocents has ended with the forgiving of prisoners. The people are celebrating their safety and freedom. And it is all owed to you. You, my brave soldiers!”

A deafening cheer followed.

“ I cannot mention our victory while overlooking this young man, who had risked his life to ensure the win was certain. Many of you young ones wouldn’t know the name Aravind Raizada. But he is the one who wrote the rules and lessons you follow by heart. The first man in the Gupta kingdom who organised our armed forces. And a dearest friend of mine.”

Khushi sneaked a glance at Arnav. The solemn look in his eyes and Ratna ji’s wistful smile moved her to tears.

“ I present to you, his son Arnav Raizada! Arnav is trained in the 14 vidyas and 64 kalas from the famed land of China. I am sure his views and skills will bring forth change in our defence strategies.”

Whistles and hooting boomed through the hall.

“And it pleases me beyond measure to announce today the betrothal of my daughter, Rajkumari Khushi Gupta to Arnav Raizada”

Khushi froze. Blood rushed through her ears, as the applause dimmed. Her shocked eyes met Arnav’s. His assuring smile calmed her racing heart.

Before she knew it, her father clasped her and Arnav’s hand together.

She saw the glee on everyone’s face. Payal winked at her. Lavanya smiled. Manorama ji clapped vigorously.

Still numb at the pace of the events, Khushi found her anchor in the long,sturdy fingers which entwined themselves around her own, lending her strength.

————-

Engulfed by the crowd, she smiled at the congratulations, the warm wishes and the love she received. Her mind was still buzzing. And she knew the one who could answer her questions was going to be occupied for hours now.

Engaged. To Arnav.

She pinched herself discreetly as she sat beside a smirking Payal.

“Don’t worry. It is real. No one will steal your warrior from you now.”

“ What just happened, Payal?”

“ Your wish came true, “ she said with a broad grin.

Payal was right. She wanted to be with Arnav for the rest of her life.

And yet, the unknown wasn’t letting her rest her tired heart.

She found herself catching her breath the next moment as Arnav slipped into the seat beside her. 

Determined, she leaned sideways, and whispered into his ear,

“ The corridor behind the third door. Five minutes “

————

Strong footsteps echoed in the dingy corridor while the merriment continued on inside.

“Rajkumari “ Arnav called out with an unholy smirk.

“Wha-?”

His arm snaked around her waist before she was slammed against him. Their breaths met, and their lips parted.

“I want to know s-something”

“Ask me”

“You knew about the betrothal?”

“No. My ma was writing to Maharaj. And she did speak about you to me. But I had dismissed it back then. I never wanted to get married. And today both of them sprung it upon us. I am sorry Khushi, they should have-”

“What made you change your mind?” She interrupted.

Arnav looked at her for a moment as if he was thinking about it just now.

“ I realised I could kill any other man, who dares to get close to you, with my bare hands. That’s reason enough, don’t you think?”

He silenced her laughter with a clumsy kiss.

The goblets clinked, the plates chimed and the music strummed as they celebrated the union of lovers of the land.

Tagging: @arshifiesta

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[jessilynallendilla]

BEN 10 FIC REC

TITLE/LINK RATING COMPLETED-WORD-COUNT SERIES

let me know if the links aren't working and feel free to suggest any

Cold  G 2,161 

Just because Ben isn't an Anodite like Gwen doesn't mean that he doesn't have anything in common with his grandmother. 

Back To The Future?  T 

It should have been a routine in-and-out mission. So when things go wrong (as per usual) and Ben thinks he's dead for sure, he's a bit surprised to find himself waking up in the Rustbucket with a ten-year-old Gwen sleeping on the bunk below him, and the calendar on the RV fridge indicating that it was the middle of June in 2006. 

Arguably, The Second Worst Thing To Happen To Rook Blonko  T 3,849 

Ben and Rook meet as kids, during the same summer Ben got the Omnitrix. When Rook can't be returned to his home planet, he ends up in Max Tennyson's care, and he and Ben become best friends. 

Ben 10 Writing Prompts  G 5,471 

A series of Ben 10 writing prompts on tumblr that people, and I, wanted to be saved onto AO3. Here ya go. 

Black Stripes  M 

With the Omnitrix around his wrist Ben's mission in life is to solely help in creating a better universe, however on a mission with his Grandfather Max he never expected to see just how ugly the universe could really be. With a submissive feline type alien bound to his side in servitude Ben's finding out once again just how ugly the universe is, and just how small he is compared to those who wish to tear him and everyone he loves down. 

Benmommy  G 2,124 

Kenny and Gwendolyn (and Devlin) find out that they have older brothers. Ben attempts to be a parent to his other kids. 

14 Of 10  G 

Set After Vengeance of Vilgax. Ben soon gets word of a Poacher kidnapping fourteen Necrofriggians and leaps into action. After his team rescues his babies, Ben decides it’s better for them to return to Earth and be raised there due to them having more humanity in them, causing other Necrofriggians to isolate them from others of their species. How will the Tennyson’s react with the latest members of their family coming? 

Cross Your Heart (And Hope To Die)  T 150,756 SERIES 

By some cruel twist of fate, it was a freak accident that killed Ben Tennyson. When Rook received a cosmic second chance at undoing the disaster that he blamed himself for, he first thought of it as a blessing. Until the same day repeated again. And again and again and again. 

Metamorphosis  T 

Suddenly, and without explanation, the Omnitrix becomes more. Ben, himself, becomes More. And maybe a little less human along the way. Or, Yes, Rook, Ben’s Eyes Have Always Been This Green, Giving Electric Shocks by Accident is Helpful Actually, How Many Eyes Do Humans Have Anyways, Ben Can Hear Every Equation, The Terrifying Ordeal of One the Most Powerful Tools in The Universe Attached To Your Body, Hey Attaching Alien Technology To Your Body Hurts Actually, The Watch Is Sentient, Ignore Ben's Left Arm It Has Always Been This Black and Green! 

Soccer Moms Drive Minivans  T 3,001 

PTA meetings get infinitely more interesting when one of the parents is barely twenty and also the father of fourteen alien babies. 

Keep the Charm But Don't Break My Heart  T 

There's one thing about Big Chill's Offspring that needs to be said: They'll do anything to find one another but also they're children that still need a bit of help. Luckily, Ben is willing to step in and help them. Or: A series of one-shots centred around each of the children as they find their way back home again. 

CROSSOVERS 

Who Are You?  T 92,750 

Danny was on patrol when he felt a prick on his side. Later on, he wakes up in a cell where a boy is thrown in by mysterious men in black and white uniforms. The two of them becomes friends when another boy their age enters their cell to do his job. The results was unsatisfactory for everyone. What will happen to the three boys? 

Space Hockey And Mothbabies  T 2,941 SERIES 

Danny takes an unexpected trip to the omniverse, Kevin owes Danny a favor, and Ben suffers for his crimes against ghost kind. 

Omni-Justice  NR 1,483 

The Justice League is luckily in a meeting when an alien conqueror issues a challenge to Earth. They began planning almost immediately but Green Lantern put a stop to it instantly. It’s not their challenge to answer so they can not interfere. 

What Is A Kryptonian And Why Is He In My Omnitrix  T 

Ben 10 finds his way into the DC universe. Shenanigans ensue. 

Ben, You're A Mother!?  G 

While in a fight with Captain Cold, Flash discovers a small blue little moth alien that has strayed too far from home. This leads the Justice League down a path of finding out a whole lot of new things about their new teammate and recruit, Ben Tennyson. One of those things being the fact that he is apparently a mother to fourteen little ice moth babies! Hilarity, chaos, and family shenanigans ensue 

[autism-connoisseur]

i keep watching the penguin episodes almost a week late cause im watching w my dad okay but. i liked ep 7. i have a lot of thoughts about it. way too many, perhaps, so they're under the cut.

the explosion sofia sets off underground obviously damages crownpoint —an already heavily damaged neighborhood. in her haste to get to oswald she doesn't care that she's hurting the everyday folk, or maybe it didn't even cross her mind; just like when, in her haste to get revenge on the falcones, she didn't even think of what she would do to gia: orphaned, spared by some miracle... the same miracle that seemed to have taken her family away.

but back to sophia & crownpoint. crownpoint & this side of the city, in general, was the first thing vic and oswald talked about; the first foundation of the bridge upon which they stand (continuing the metaphor, one might argue that vic's stutter and the feeling of fellow disability it may have sparked in oswald was the reason the bridge was approved for building in the first place). but it's been also source of conflict between francis and oswald: she needed to escape it, so he took her away somewhere better, now he needs to escape that better place and they're back at where they started. i believe that francis is having these regressions in time as a combination of her illness and being back in the bad part of town, likely triggering the possible pstd from burying her two sons. then victor had to come back home & finally face squid: now he can never truly go back. cause sure he's dealing drugs and helping oswald and doing his part, but those make him someone. killing squid, that he'll never shake off. even if it does not get easier. vic is back where he was a mere months ago but irrevocably changed; this place has seen him born and then reborn.

so we have these three characters, on one side, intrinsically linked to crownpoint and what it stands for: poverty, helplessness, misery (even if life can be happy there: vic was happy, francis & oswald were happy) that they desperately try to live behind. they want a good life, the better life, and no one will give it to them, so they'll take it. even if it means standing against the families, who don't even know their names.

and that's why sofia does what she does. brings harm to harmless people, innocent people who (as we've seen in previous episodes) have already lost it all. and eva was right. sofia was born privileged. she will never understand the streets life. yes, that privilege didn't save her, didn't soothe her suffering one bit, but her mansion wasn't flooded, she doesn't know how it feels like to walk into a room and to know no one knows your name —this is both a blessing and a curse. the last ten years of sofia's life were torture in every sense of the word; but before then she didn't know what it was to truly fight for your life, your dignity, to stand your ground. and sofia, for all her rightful demands that people understand and see what was done to her —the injustice, the betrayal, the horror, the belittling, the pain, the loss of everything she ever had or held dear— has no qualms or worries about hurting others. because for her there is only revenge.

and last thing, i don't know if it was intentional, but the way oswald emerges from the explosion, sees all the damage, with his ears blocked and then suddenly unblocked, hearing all the confusion and chaos and suffering of people who have little to none to lose (because it already was), really reminded me of the moment in batman 2022 when the bombs go off and the flood begins. but i haven't seen the move in a while so i could be wrong. even so, it's the same. the struggle between the powerful, these two forces of nature almost, never ends well for the common folk. the blows they deal hit each other, sure, but it's always the defenseless who end up soaked in the aftermath.

[crucifiedbymypriestess]

So while researching some things to start writing a fanfic, I found some things about Charles that I feel were not exploited enough. I also leave you some headcanons. Things written on "()" are just opinions. If something is wrong or you have any opinions, please comment, I need all the help possible before start writing sht.

•His mother was about to have twins, but apparently Charles was forced to kill her, so she was born, but died shortly after. (Which may lead Sharon to hate and blame her own son for her baby's death, but rather a distancing of Charles as her son. She may also have suffered postpartum depression. Honestly, we can exploit this more when writing fanfics. Like, I don't know, Sharon seemed unconvinced but tied to Raven because of it.)

•The mutants were not publicly known until the incident in Cuba in the 1960s, when Charles is 30s in the movie, but he manifest as a child of ten depending where you found the info. (Which may put Charles whose mutation is not physical at risk of being taken as a mentally challenged child, especially in the 1940s. I'm surprised it hasn't happened yet, this is something I plan to do in my own fanfic. So Charles may have been treated with experimental or insulin therapy. He easily could be diagnosed with schizophrenia or smt.)

He may have mental health problems, depression and tendency to addictions.

Cain bullied Charles and Kurt may have not only indulged it, but I think he participated in it. Kurt was also abusive to Sharon.

•Charles was part of powerful groups due to his position as a millionaire.

Low level of telekinesis. YES, HE HAS IT OMFG.

Military training and fighting expert.

His dark side is one of the most curious things I've ever read, as he was not only capable (but didn't, I think. I didn't read enough) of it for his personal gain.

•Charles has other abilities, so I will list them all, and I will put the description of the most interesting ones.

•Telepathic Illusions, Telepathic Cloak, Mind Link (He has the ability to develop a mental link with any person which remains as a connection to that individual.), Telepathic Camouflage, Mind Blast, Mind Control (This power could allow him to completely shut down several people's minds, making it appear as if time has stopped.), Mind Possession: Xavier can possess the mind of another and use that being's body as his own.), Mind Alteration, Mental Amnesia, Psychic Wave Manipulation, Mental Shield, Psionic Blasts (Xavier can project psionic force bolts which had no physical effects but can affect a victim's mind so as to cause the victim pain or unconsciousness and could even kill an adversary.), Mental Detection, Mind Transferal (Xavier possesses the ability to transfer both his mind and powers into other host bodies if his own physical body was somehow killed☠️‼️‼️‼️‼️), Absorb Information, Telepathic Learning, Omnilingual, Astral Projection (Charles can use astral travel and communicate with others astrally through his own will, or through contact with the thoughts and memories of others and more.)

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

*Najma and Jamil passing by Queen Maleficia in the corridor*

Najma: Look, Jamil! She has the same strange horn headwear as your friend back in Al’ab Nariya. She must be his parents or something!

I live for Jamil's suffering 🥰 P.S. @ TWST devs, please release official chibis of Najma and the other non-NRC NPCs that I can use for my banner!!

Family means Nobody is Left Behind or Forgotten.

Panic set into Jamil’s eyes.

Grabbing his sister by the wrist, he hurriedly maneuvered her to the far right of the hallway—as far away from the woman approaching in the opposite direction as he could manage. Horned and draped in black robes, she glided toward them like a ghoul straight out of a nightmare. Her face was a stony pale mask, as austere as it was lethally beautiful.

Najma’s mouth flew open to protest. “Hey, what’s your deal?”

“Not so loud,” Jamil hissed, shushing her. “You can’t just point and say whatever you want about people you see walking about campus. It’s extremely rude—and, in case you’ve forgotten, Malleus-senpai’s status far exceeds our own.”

Besides, the last thing I need on my plate is smoothing over an international incident sparked by my own little sister!! I’ve seen the storms that whip up when Malleus is mad. I don’t even want to think about what happens when a fairy queen is offended…!!

“Eh, is he really that important? I didn’t realize.”

“More than you know.”

You have no idea who you’re dealing with at all!!

“Well… okay, but I still think you’re way overreacting.”

Najma jabbed a thumb in the direction of the courtyard. A number of students, family members, and staff were mingling there, drinking in the balmy afternoon.

“What’s wrong with saying hi to your classmates’ parents? That’s what this whole event’s for. I’d rather be doing that than hang out with you all day.”

“It’s smarter to avoid some people entirely,” he insisted snappily, “especially when it comes to Malleus-senpai and matters of family.”

His parents are already…

A page from a Magic History textbook came to Jamil’s mind. The story of the great Draconian line—and how mightily they fell, consumed by the flames of war. All that remained among the ashes were the yet unborn crown prince and the queen of the previous generation.

Maleficia.

“You there.”

Jamil and Najma jumped, the two of them almost smacking right into a wall.

The horned woman had materialized a few feet away, her petrifying stare fixed on the duo. Her gaze seemed to swallow all light and color, peering at the children from an unnamed abyss.

A shiver raced down Jamil’s spine.

He instinctively placed himself in front of his sister, adopting his “business professional” voice. “Yes, ma’am? How may I help you?”

Najma rolled her eyes. She stepped out from behind Jamil and flashed a sweet smile. “Hello! I’m Najma Viper, and this worrywart here’s my big bro, Jamil.”

He shot her a glare.

Maleficia inclined her head. After a thoughtful pause, she said, “Might you two be acquainted with my grandson? I’m meant to meet him at his dormitory. However, I’m afraid that the flow of time has eluded me, and I’ve yet to locate our designated meeting place. I must have passed by this corridor no less than ten times now.”

Her lips pulled back, forming a wry expression—as if she knew something they didn’t. “I’ve approached others to inquire about this matter, but they’re all in such a hurry to retreat when I draw near.

“But here I come upon fearless children of man like yourselves, so bold as to whisper of my grandson in my presence. Such audacious youths.”

She made no further moves, but Jamil felt the space between him and the wall shrink with each passing millisecond.

Stay calm. You can deal with this. Just divert her attention by giving her the directions she wants. Crisis averted.

Jamil cleared his throat. “If you’re looking for the Mirror Chamber, it’s…”

“You mean Malleus, right?” Najma interrupted, her dark eyes sparkling. “Yes, I’ve met him once! He’s one of Jamil’s friends that visited Silk City for our annual fireworks festival. We shopped around in the local bazaars and had so much fun together! Right, Jamil?”

“I wouldn’t call us friends per se,” he countered, the tight leash he kept on his annoyance momentarily slipping.

“Oh, don’t be so modest. They know each other sooo well, miss!” Najma continued. “In fact, Jamil could totally escort you to Malleus himself.”

“Najma,” he warned through gritted teeth, “that’s enough.”

"You, boy. Does she speak the truth?"

"Please forgive her!! She has a bad habit of overembellishing her stories."

"Wow," Najma said flatly. "Are you calling your cute baby sister a liar?"

You traitorous SNAKE!! It took every ounce of energy in him to choke the words down. Jamil scrambled to save face, to prevent the situation from further spiraling out of his control.

"It's true that I'm familiar with this campus, but I cannot say that I'm familiar with Malleus-senpai. He is a well-respected upperclassman that I have had few opportunities to engage with on a personal level."

Maleficia regarded the Viper siblings carefully. She raised a hand and pointing a dagger-like nail at the two.

"You shall both show me to him," Maleficia boomed. Outside, the sky flickered and momentarily darkened.

His resistance crumbled, and he gave in. "Y-Yes, ma'am!!"

"And furthermore..." The fairy's fingers curled into her palm. Her entire hand ignited with a hauntingly emerald fire. Green light spilled over Maleficia's stern features and painted the hallway.

Najma's jaw went slack.

Jamil flinched, bracing himself for a devastating display of magic. Punishment for stepping out of line.

Suddenly, the flames went out and Maleficia unfurled her fingers. Now in her hand was a thick stack of small but detailed paintings. The topmost one featured what appeared to be a large egg.

Najma and Jamil exchanged confused looks.

"It is unfortunate that you've not had the chance to intimately engage with Malleus," Maleficia lamented, plucking up the image of the egg. Beneath it was a painting of a green-eyed infant with raven hair and horns not unlike her own.

"Th-That's..." Jamil stammered, struggling to keep his words steady.

Maleficia smiled mischievously with her teeth. "It falls to me as his guardian to educate you on my grandson's charms. Come, I will enlighten you on our stroll to his dormitory."

"Oh... Um, okay?" Najma glanced at her brother, eyebrows raised.

"I... I suppose that's fine," Jamil replied defeatedly.

He so desperately wished to let his shoulders slump, and to hang his head--but no, not in the presence of fairy royalty. Expressing his frustrations would have to come another time.

How... How did I even end up in this mess?!

[girlactionfigure]

3 questions for the global far left:

1/14 

Here’s the 1st question: How many Jews need to die before you stop blaming us for everything that happens? Because on that dark Saturday 2 weeks ago, 1,400 were murdered. How many more do you need? Ten thousand? 6 million? 

2/14 Yes, I went there. I referenced the Holocaust. Tactless, I know. The Jews always do that, don’t they – bring up the Holocaust so they can claim to be the victims. It doesn’t work. Six million is just a number to you. Like 1,400. 

3/14 Maybe the number shields you. That way you don’t need to think about the people behind the number. About the grandmother who was murdered with her autistic granddaughter who loved Harry Potter. 

4/14 You won’t need to think about Abigail. She’s three. Hamas abducted her into Gaza. Who abducts a 3-year-old girl? What will they do with her? How can it be that there are people demonstrating against Abigail and in support of the people who abducted her? 

5/14 The second question is this: Do your feelings exempt you from knowing the facts? I understand that you feel the Palestinians are suffering, you really feel it, it’s a strong feeling, but do you really have no interest whatsoever in actual facts? 

6/14 Do you know, for example, that Hamas doesn’t support a two-state solution? They don’t even want to free Palestine. That’s not the kind of movement they are. Hamas isn’t a Palestinian national movement, you’re confusing them with the Palestinian Authority. 

7/14 The two organizations are bitter rivals. Hamas is a radical Islamist organization, like ISIS. Their goal is an Islamic caliphate across the Middle East without Jews, without LGBT people, without Christians, even without moderate Muslims 

8/14 And what about LGBT people? Do you really not care that the people you’re supporting hang gay people? Don’t “Queers for Palestine” care about Ahmed Abu Marakhia, a young gay Palestinian who managed to escape to Israel but was abducted by Hamas, murdered, his body mutilated? 

9/14 By my calculations, this is the point where you stop reading, because it won’t help. You feel differently, and so there must be something wrong with what you’re reading rather than what you’re feeling. 

10/14 As far as you’re concerned, my words are an annoying manipulation that’s best ignored.

I promise you’ll be able to find other facts that will better suit your feelings. There will only be one problem with them – they’ll be wrong 

11/14 The reason they’re so available on your social media feed is that Hamas and the Iranians fund a huge network of disinformation, which directs itself to the algorithms of the ultra-liberal left 

12/14 If you’re the kind of person who Googles “trans rights” or “climate protest,” you’ll soon find their propaganda appearing in your scroll. It will make you feel good, but I’d still recommend that you check why there aren’t trans people in Gaza, not even one. 

13/14 And the third question is this: Do you know that there is a simple answer to the first two questions? There is a reason that you’re protesting against us these days and, like everything else, it comes from feelings. 

14/14 Because as opposed to everything you think about yourselves, 

everything you say about being color blind, humane, champions of human rights and all the rest, you have one other personality trait – you are antisemites.

I know you think you’re not, but you are. 

• • •