#you could tell me that they used to throw racial slurs around that set and I'd believe you

[elizabethjenningz]

I didn't want to add to the discourse, and this is not about policing others on what they can or can't feel offended about, but I saw people on Twitter saying Misha made up the fact that the crew used to refer to him as the ''retarded angel'', and I don't get the disbelief because of, among other things, this thing my mind immediately went to:

[chuplayswithfire]

this thought just hit me but it's got me in my chest, its really got me here, but i don't think edward is actually a violent person at all. violence is a tool of the trade and a means to an end and he's absolutely aggressive as a front, but we don't really actually see ed being physically violent when its not for a job until the very end of the season, and i don't think that's a mistake.

ed's primary response to feeling humiliated or threatened is to threaten others, but he doesn't actually attack them. think about the french captain - when that man uses a slur against him, he gets up, he yells, he raises his voice, but the man is on the ground in front of him in a heap, perfectly vulnerable, and ed never once touches him when he's screaming and yelling, even when it might be easy and expected for him to kick him around.

he orders fang to kill the man, and in an exceedingly horrible fashion, absolutely, and its an expression of his anger, but its also about setting an example and reputation. you use racial slurs against blackbeard? you insult blackbeard? you die screaming horribly.

and ed doesn't watch. ed doesn't have it happen in front of him. ed doesn't even seem to enjoy it so much as he's fucking furious and setting an example, but he never gets his own hands dirty with it.

in the same way, when he threatens someone for the loot - its the clearest example of him turning aggression on like a switch, stabbing a knife, threatening violence, but never actually USING violence.

on the party boat, in that horrible moment at the party? his response is to get up and make himself bigger and louder and threaten but again, he doesn't try to hurt anyone. we see that he HAD his weapon, and there were plenty of knives at that table, and blackbeard could absolutely take down a bunch of snobby, snotty, rich punks. but he DOESN'T. he flees, and only thinks about actually engaging in violence when he's too far away to do it. and he lets himself be talked down in seconds.

when we actually see ed commit some physical violence for the first time, its against his abusive father, in what appears to be at least a slightly premeditated kill to remove his father from his and his mother's life. we see that ed's father smacked his mother around, that he threw plates, that he was a drunk and expressed his frustrations with violence - and killing him would appear to be the last time ed struck out at a PERSON in violence that wasn't about the job

(person because he did kill that snake viciously and with prejudice, though i think thats reasonable tbh. reminds me of myself with the broom every time i see a bug in my house -)

even with calico jack, ed's violence is all games and fun - shooting bottles, shooting drawers, getting whipped, staging a turtle vs crab fight, throwing coconuts at each other - and the only time he gets physical otherwise is when he snaps jack's oar over his leg and dives off the boat. even though finding out your friends have been sold out by one of your oldest buddies is absolutely the time most people would throw a punch, ed doesn't.

the first time we see him be violent towards a person in the present is with izzy when he punches him in the face directly after being released into his care and being told stede's going to die now, because of izzy. stede, who ed loves and who izzy KNOWS ed loves and who ed knows izzy knows ed loves, just to make that sentence more confusing. it's the first time we see ed react with violence and its equal parts to get away and defend stede as it is because of the emotional upheaval.

the next time we see ed lash out with violence is after he endures a truly terrible amount of homophobic aggression from izzy. it's emotional and verbal abuse, but its also just, such utter homophobic aggression, and this might be controversial but i think its perfectly RIGHT that ed strike izzy in that moment. when someone tells a queer person that their affection, their love, their mourning, their grief and loss for their partner makes them a THING that should have been killed, that doesn't deserve to live, that they would be better off dead than being openly affectionately mourningly queer? that person actually does deserve to face some physical violence!

fuck that shit!

izzy absolutely deserved to get the shit KICKED out of him in that moment, but its not about what izzy deserves, its about what ed needs, and what ed did not need was to be kicked at his lowest with every sore spot to goad him into violence (reasonable, understandable, VALID violence) that absolutely seemed to take him right back to his father, to that abuse. there's a reason ed didn't just become blackbeard again, but the kraken, who was born in ed's survival instinct but also his need to escape an abusive situation. ed becomes the kraken again because he is horrified at himself and terrified of himself and what he's become, if he can be like his father and lash out with violence when he's angry, and because izzy *validates* that and tells him that this thing he hates is all he can be.

but ed isn't naturally inclined to violence, its not his natural state, its a defense mechanism that kicks in when all else is lost. we KNOW its not just because of disrespect because izzy?

izzy is utterly disrespectful to edward at various points in the show. izzy calls him a twat to his face. izzy questions him. izzy insults him and yells at him and edward laughs it off and shrugs it away and changes the conversation and leaves the conversation. izzy initiates violence at every turn with so many characters, and ed doesn't step up to the plate to dish any out until the very end, when he's hurt and vulnerable and doesn't think he can get away from this. i DON'T think that ed has been violent with izzy this whole time, in their history. it doesn't fit with ed's behavior. it doesn't fit with izzys - izzy would have called ed out on it, if ed normally punched or slapped or choked izzy for insubordination, because its clearly part of their regular routine.

this is why it means so much that ed shoves lucius over, barely seeming to be present, fully emotionally distanced, that he cuts izzy's toe off in the dark and makes him eat it in a show of calculated violence without much emotion at all, has the crew marooned with utter calm, and then has a sobbing breakdown the second he's behind closed doors. violence has been part of his life as part of the job, not as an emotional outlet, and its killing him to make it one.

[v-world]

My 2 cents on Blackswan’s Leia : Pt.2

My opinion:

Yeah, no. Leia that sh1t was really messy of you.

 Let’s talk about when she made a twitter post telling people to not make fun of others’ Portuguese. I wasn’t feeling that, at all. I mean, sure you can say that. But not when allegations are going around regarding you and Fatou and people are deciding whether or not to believe these posts that’re in portuguese!

It’s almost as if you wanted that to happen. You knew that fans were going to believe the allegations were true if you made that tweet and you sent it out anyways. But that fact is not what disgusted me most. It’s the fact that you sent that out first, rather than rushing to your bandmates aid, who is being bullied by (majority) your fans, who’re using racial slurs to hurt her. That’s what disgusted me the most. You’re telling me that you’re willing to watch your friend get bullied and hated on, getting her image and self-esteem cut down because of racial slurs that you could stop with one tweet or instagram post because of your pride? Because you have to win this argument? You’re willing to tear down the image of the rest of the Blackswan members, Blackswan as a group and it’s fanbase as a whole because of your pride? That amazes me, honestly. I’m beyond baffled. I’m just disgusted.

Now I know that not ALL the people who were hating on Fatou were Leia stans. I know that they could be Luminas in general or kpop stans or members of the public who’re Portuguese and feel the need to defend a fellow Portuguese or just a member of the public who cannot stand for bullying but has not gotten the facts straight. I know this. However, majority of the haters were Leia stans.

What also disgusts me, which isn’t Leia’s fault in particular, is how quick people were to use Fatou’s race and racial slurs to hurt Fatou. They didn’t hesitate or wait even a moment to have the facts cleared before they jumped in her instagram comments with the n-word and other harmful words. That not only disgusts me, but saddens me because it means that the reality I thought of in the back of my head that I thought was paranoia, was actually brought to light and confirmed to be real and true because of the situation. The initially thought-to-be unrealistic thought that people aren’t that terrible. That people aren’t that terrible to throw out the n-word the first 5 seconds upon laying their eyes on a black female k-pop idol. That people aren’t that terrible to throw out the n-word the first chance they get when that idol makes a tiny little mistake, which in this case, she isn’t even at fault for, even though if she were any of their faves, they would’ve forgiven her. But people didn’t care. Even before the facts were checked and confirmed people had already made up their minds about sweet Fatou. 

Give her a f*cking break, y’all. She’s probably already struggling as it is. Being somewhere all alone without someone of her own race to relate to. Adjusting to the new setting she’s in where the culture, language and treatment is different. She has to be the most careful because people have already made up their minds that she is just an aggressive ticking time-bomb waiting to happen. When really, y’all don’t like it when a black person speaks their mind, so you’re quick to put a negative label on it to shut them up.From her wigs to her face to her skin color, y’all would hate her no matter what she’d do. And I know that she chose to be a k-pop idol, but that doesn’t give people the right to be racist and slander her with no real reason.

I also want to talk about one specific line in DR Music’s statement where they described Fatou and Leia’s explosive argument as a,”constructive dispute”. This somewhat confirms Fatou’s allegations regarding Leia’s behaviour. This only showed me that Leia is an unnecessarily over-protected, conceited girl who has never had anyone putting her in her place and knocking her off her high-a*s horse. She showed me that she’s used to getting her way, which does nothing but pi*s me off because she expected Fatou and everyone else to bend over backwards for her. And Fatou was made out to be the bad guy for calling Leia out on her bad behaviour, when really, it was Leia. 

Fatou was seen as aggressive and unreasonable for bravely stepping out and expressing not only her dislike toward Leia’s behaviour, but also defending herself against these terrible allegations made by Leia’s mother, who saw Fatou’s reasonable frustrations as aggressiveness and bullying. By her mother making Fatou out to be this character,that has also commonly been pinned on black people and have been so harmful to black people for so many years, it only leads to more people supporting negative black-people-stereotypes, acting in certain ways (negatively) around black people which could, in the long run, affect not only Fatou’s, but more black people’s mental health that has been neglected for so long. These character sketches that’re pinned onto black people has also lead to the loss of lives of black people/ putting the lives of black people in danger. 

All of these effects mentioned above could happen/be happening to Fatou. But people do not care. They only care about protecting their fave even if they’re wrong. It’s appalling, to say the least. Repulsive.

It’s also disgusting that she would use her mental health complications to make Fatou out to be an even bigger and worse perpetrator. Especially in South Korea where people take it very seriously and are very strict and sometimes, unforgiving about it. Something that serious will only make people believe these allegations even more and, again, you knew that. I’m very sorry that you experience these issues and have to take medication for it but that is no reason to act the way you do and jeopardise the image of your group, your whole fanbase and your company. That is no reason to risk Fatou’s safety and mental health. 

To Fatou: You’re a beautiful dark-skinned melanin queen repping and runnin’ it. Keep shinin’.

That’s all from me, I’m done.

Be sure to leave a like/heart if you liked or agreed <3

~Thanks for reading~

[anjalis-ennui]

emeralds and steel. (pt. 1)

                                       ─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

a/n: hi! this is my bucky barnes x reader series! reader is afab and uses she/her pronouns in this! she is also born indian as i myself am indian and i don’t see enough indian representation, especially in fics. however, she knows many languages, so feel free to interpret her ethnicity as you see fit. i’m sorry for not posting anything over the past couple of days, as i was working on this! i hope you enjoy!

warnings: canon-typical violence, sexism, racism, implied racial slurs

tags: none so far, but if you would like to join the taglist, please fill out the taglist form!

summary: reader is a sorceress who was prophesized to be the host of the time stone. she has been alive since ancient greece and has been wandering the earth since. she cannot age nor die since she is now the body of an infinity stone. she was in the british royal military during the second world war, but didn’t see her strengths used well, so she signs up for the ssr: being shipped out to project rebirth with peggy carter.

                                      ─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

“Rejected.”

“With all due respect, sir, I have been part of the British Royal Military far longer than you have had a job. I wish to join the Strategic Scientific Reserve, for which my resume is--to be honest--overqualified.”

“What would an Indian woman have to do with the British Royal Military? I find your story ineffably false.” The snooty man pushed his glasses up his nose and narrowed his eyes at her. Her tie was askew, her hair was all over the place, and her papers were in a bunch: only held together by her hands.

Just then, another woman walked by the desk, raising her eyebrows at the pair. “Don’t tell me you don’t recognize Lieutenant (l/n), Mr. Lowe. She’s got not one, but two doctorates in the sciences. I’d think she’s rather qualified for the SSR, regardless of her gender or race.” The man huffed and got up, storming off to who knows where. The woman smiled and held her hand out. “Agent Peggy Carter from the SSR. It’s a pleasure to finally meet you, Lieutenant.” 

(Y/n) smiled, furrowing her brows, and shook Peggy’s hand. “I’m surprised you know who I am.”

“Nonsense, I’ve followed your career since I joined the military. You’re somewhat of a legend around these parts. Now, the head of the SSR heard of your application and is assigning you to Project Rebirth as a supervisor alongside myself. Your doctorates in chemistry and neuroscience will help us quite a lot.” She started walking towards a side door, motioning for (y/n) to follow. “There’s a plane waiting to take us to Camp Lehigh. Do you have luggage with you?”

She shook her head as she followed the woman. “I’m a light traveler. When you’re a lieutenant with no family you tend to have no roots in society.” (Y/n) gave Peggy a half-smile, waving away her concerned look. “I’m fine, Agent Carter. I’ve survived this long, haven’t I?”

“Indeed you have,” she said pensively. How could someone so strong have no one to rely on? The lieutenant was the first woman to hold such a high rank in the military and have so many degrees for her age. She was young, beautiful, and smart: everything a man could want. She would be expected to have a husband and kids, and yet she had no family. The woman had seemed to hold a sense of sadness as she said this, but she seemed empathetic and lively. Peggy intended to be her friend, whether (y/n) wanted her to or not. Maybe then she could find out what made her tick...

                                               ∘₊✧──────✧₊∘

(Y/n) stepped into place beside Peggy as they observed the candidates. The men looked buff and ready to charge into battle, that is, all but one. The scrawny man, sorry, boy that trailed after the others seemed like he belonged in a toy wagon playing with the other children rather than Camp Lehigh. “Ready to scare them, Agent Carter?”

“Always, Lieutenant.” Peggy walked forward, revealing herself to the men. “Recruits, attention! Gentlemen, I’m Agent Carter. I supervise all operations for this division.” (Y/n) smiled serenely at them as she walked forward and stood next to the agent. “For those of you who may not know me, I am Lieutenant (l/n), the assistant supervisor for this division.”

“What’s with the accent, Queen Victoria? Thought I was signing up for the U.S. Army.” The soldier internally rolled her eyes at the remark. Men, the bane of her existence. “And what’s with this...lieutenant? Didn’t know we were letting ni-”

(Y/n) shot forward and put him into a chokehold. “I dare you to finish that sentence, soldier. I am not to be discriminated against just because my skin is darker than yours, and if such foul words are going to come from your mouth, I daresay that we should wash it out and string it up on a clothesline.” She let him go and turned to Peggy, giving her a closed-eyed smile. “Would you like to do the honors, Agent Carter?”

“Certainly, though I think you’ve scared him enough.” The agent punched him, sending him straight to the ground. “That’ll teach you to respect women and especially women of color.”

                                             ∘₊✧──────✧₊∘

"Faster, ladies! Come on. My grandmother has more life in her, God rest her soul. Move it!”

“You’re not really thinking about picking Rogers, are you?” Colonel Phillips walked beside Dr. Erskine and the lieutenant, frowning at them. They couldn’t possibly be thinking of picking the runt of the group for the experiment of the decade, could they?

“I am more than just thinking about it. He is the clear choice.”

“When you brought a ninety-pound asthmatic onto my army base, I let it slide. I thought, what the hell? Maybe he’ll be useful to you, like a gerbil. I never thought you’d pick him.”

“Steven has character, Colonel, something that most of our recruits don’t,” (Y/n) cut in. “Dr. Erskine is right. He is the clear choice.”

The colonel sighed as he watched Steve fail to catch up with the rest. “Look at that. He’s making me cry.”

Erskine’s thick German accent was tinged with fatigue, as if he had run a marathon. “We are looking for qualities beyond the physical.”

“Do you know how long it took to set up this project?”

“Yes, we know, Colonel--”

“All the groveling I had to do in front of Senator What’s-His-Name’s committees?”

“Brandt. And yes, we know.”

“Then throw me a bone. Hodge passed every test we gave him. He’s big, he’s fast, he obeys orders. He’s a soldier.”

“Let me stop you there,” the lieutenant held out a hand, effectively stopping him in his tracks. “Not only is Hodge racist and sexist, he is also arrogant and rude. He is a bully.”

“You don’t win wars with niceness.” He fished a grenade out of a box, holding it out so they could see. “You win them with guts.” Phillips threw the grenade at the recruits, yelling, “Grenade!” and standing by to watch.

To the trio’s amazement, Steve jumped onto the grenade, willing to sacrifice himself to save others. The two doctors looked at the colonel, each hiding a smile. “It was a dummy grenade,” he informed. “All clear. Back in formation.”

“Is this a test?”

Colonel Phillips ignored the soldier, and grumbled, “He’s still skinny.” To his chagrin, the two doctors were proven right. Steve would become the new super soldier, even though he was far too weak.

                                      ─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

a/n: this was a lot of fun to write! expect a part 2 come up in a couple days to a week! oh, and if you’d like me to create a playlist for this series, i’d love to! in the meantime, i have another special surprise~

© jades-tea-shop 2021. please do not modify, edit, copy or reproduce any of the works published.

[incorrectzutaraquotes]

i’m sure you’re tired of me posting non incorrect quote or non zutara things, but there are things i want to talk about. it started, i guess, as a trend on tiktok where people would share their stories and experiences with racism as people of color in the united states(or anywhere really, but everyone i’ve seen has been from the us). as a woman of color, i felt compelled to participate, but wasn’t sure how to. i didnt want my face showing up globally because i knew that with posting that, not only could people i know in real life find it, but so could the wrong side of tiktok, thus leading some nice so not comments being left under the post. with tumblr i like the anonymity. i can talk about this in as much detail as i want without anyone being able to put a face to my name. despite being here for almost 19 years, i’m still not completely comfortable talking about these experiences when people know what i look like.

i’m going to put this under a cut so it doesn’t take up too much room, and so you can skip if you want.

for starters, my name’s holly. i’m asian american. i was born in china, but shortly after i was born i was stuck in an overcrowded orphanage. this resulted in being adopted by white parents when i was about one and a half to two years old. i lost fluency with my native language and that eventually lead to losing the language completely, and i lost touch with my culture.

i was in second grade, that’s how far back i can remember my first real encounter with racism. i was seven in a classroom full of white kids. there was this boy with blonde hair and blue eyes who sat next to me for a good portion of the year. i remember walking into class everyday, and every day he would ask me the same questions. “why is your nose so flat?” and “why do you eyes look like that”. i was seven. and whether or not he intended to hurt my feelings, it stuck with me for a long time. at first i was confused, because i didn’t think i looked different. i didn’t view myself as looking different until then. until i was constantly reminded everyday that my facial features were “weird” and “odd”. that my face was undesirable. it lead to years and years of insecurity and self hatred.

i wanted so bad to look like the other white girls in my school. i wanted a cute upturned nose with a perfect bridge shape. i wanted blue eyes. i wanted eyelids that didn’t connect in the corners and eyelashes that were naturally curled and turned up unlike mine, that just rested straight forward. i wished that i had lighter skin and blonde hair. i didn’t want to be different and undesirable. i thought i was ugly, and i would look at myself in the mirror for long periods of time, picking out everything that set me apart from the other white kids at my school.

that same year i found out that i needed glasses, and i’m pretty sure i cried. i didn’t want another reason for myself to stand out. i refused to wear them for an entire year and a half, before i realized that i had to wear them if i wanted to see. i was seven, eight. i wasn’t even in the double digits yet but i had this idea in my head that i was ugly because i wasn’t white. whether that kid had meant to hurt me like that didn’t matter, because the damage had already been done. and the worst part was that i had no one i could tell, but none of my friends and none of my family would understand what i was going through. so i suffered in silence and dealt with it the best a child could.

when i was in middle school, i can vividly remember kids mocking asians for laughs. they thought it was funny. funny to be racist. i remember this one time i was out walking the track with a group of kids during gym class. i was walking just behind them and i overheard their conversation. they were making fun of asian’s eye shape, and pulling their eyes back to make them smaller. and it hurt. and they knew i was walking behind them. they knew i was there and that i could hear their whole conversation, but they didn’t care. and i was too scared to speak up for myself, so i had to sit back, listening to and watching them mock people who looked like me because they thought it was funny. i was in seventh grade.

that next year, i was in eighth grade. i had a class with a boy. (i was convinced i liked him, but i’ve come to realize that was not the case at all. i was just forced into thinking he liked me, and i felt obligated to like him back. i realize now that that is just how society (and a get normative society) has conditioned women to feel, but that these feelings were nothing more than platonic. this will make more sense as i continue to tell the story.)

as i was saying, i had a class with a boy, and we began talking and becoming friends. or, i thought we were friends. i realize now those feelings were one sided, and that he only used me to pick on me. he and his friends would take my things and hide them. they sat behind me and would move my desk during class while i was trying to work. they’d throw things at me, whatever they had available. sometimes it was paper, sometimes it was coins, i remember a few times it was a stick they’d found on the track. and now, it doesn’t seem like a racially motivated thing, and maybe it wasn’t and i’m just overreacting. but i saw how he treated other girls. i saw how he treated his girl friends. i saw how he treated my friends. i was with them all the time, and yet i was the only one who was ever on the receiving end of this treatment. and that, that sucked. but i didn’t tell anyone again, because i knew they would just tell me “that means he likes you”. but his actions went further then a playful slap in the arm, and became almost dangerous. i was only fourteen.

in high school i tried my best to stay away from those toxic people. instead, i could remember the racism i faced in those four years coming from my own family, rather than my peers at school. i cant possibly name every time my family has been racist, but i can specifically remember times when i was constantly told by them that my eyes “didn’t look asian”. that my sister looked “more asian” than i did simply because her eyes were smaller than mine. as if i didn’t already have an identity crisis because i wasn’t white enough to fit in with my predominantly white neighborhood, but i wasn’t asian enough to fit in with the few asian kids at my school. it was my dad who continually pushed me to be an engineer(which im not doing, to clarify). don’t get me wrong, he wanted all of us to be in a field where job demand was high, and he did want my sister to be an engineer, but he didn’t bring it up at the rate that he did with me. he still does it. and this plays into the stereotype that all asians are smart and that because we’re smart i have to go into a field that requires high intellect. he didn’t put that immense amount of pressure on any of my other white siblings. just me.

there’s a chinese restaurant down the street from us. we order from there a lot, and usually they’re really good with getting our orders right. in fact, this was the only time i can remember them getting our order wrong. and immediately they began to make fun of their understanding of english and their broken english. immediately they jumped on that opportunity to mock their language, using words like “ching chong” to describe their words. and the saddest part is, i wasn’t even surprised. and yet i couldn’t say anything because i didn’t want to start a fight, and i knew if i did i would be told that “it was just a joke” or that “you’re being too sensitive”. i often wonder if they’d mock me if i didn’t have perfect english. if i spoke with a “chinese accent”. it makes me wonder if i’m only really accepted because i’ve been so assimilated into whiteness that you can’t even tell i’m asian unless you look at my face. this happened mere weeks ago.

last week i went to get my hair done. because of covid everyone is required to wear masks, but there were at least 10 people in there. i was sat down in front of the mirror while my hairdresser cut my hair. in the reflection of the mirror i could see this older white women getting her hair one behind me. she wasn’t wearing her mask properly. it resting under her nose, eventually her chin, and at one point it came off completely and her hairdresser had to tell her to put it back on. the entire time i was sat in that chair, where i could only look straight ahead in that mirror, she was watching me like a hawk. giving me side eye glances and even turning her head completely towards me at times. let me remind you that there were other customers in there. it wasn’t just me and her. i could feel myself starting to get anxious, my heart starting to speed up and my fingers under the apron they put around you, tapping the side of my phone in my hands nervously. i was genuinely afraid that she would start throwing racist slurs and start blaming me for the coronavirus the entire time. i was scared. and it was literally just last week. im tired.

[grimreich666]

So, this my part two of everything and as far as I’m concerned if you want to know the rest of my feelings on the matter, check my earlier posts because I’m about done with this right now. This one is a large one to unpack because it’s at the expense of having to go through everything. Now the first time I didn’t include screenshots in my other rants because I was trying to at least be a tad bit decent. Yet after the FAKE STORY weaved by Kwhateverspace who by the way knew that I was going to be angry and take this to my own platform; I would like to address the elephant in the room which is Dandybear aka Betty. Now I’m using her Government Name as she clearly used mine when I commented on her latest and racist chapter of Leave it to the Davenports; and that was disrespectful, and I take that personally as we were not on a first name basis.  Now mind you this is not a simple oh she’s mad because she’s more popular theme like Kwhateverspace said as I’ve said this isn’t about me but the detrimental shit Dandy and other put out. Also, her popularity doesn’t affect me because I don’t write on AO3 as I mainly write on Fan Fiction and even then, I don’t do that because I write novels. Also, too I’ve supported Betty’s Fan Fic in the past and I even encouraged her to keep writing when she was feeling mentally drained before, and I asked her if I could use the character’s name Thea which she agreed to so my respect was there. At first, I did admire Dandy’s work, but like the Admins on that channel she does not know how to handle power or popularity.  

So, there was no ill intent on my end until Betty disrespectfully brought up my REAL NAME in the comments section of her own story because I was agreeing with a person who saw her fic as racist. This bully but victim mentality was completely unnecessary and nor did my name had to be used, as I had the right to comment on the work she put out. It was clearly set in her mind that I was a villain even though me and her had no intention of clashing before in the past. Now I’ve had hundreds of reviews under on Fan Fiction. Net and I’m too old for that petty old let’s play the victim mess. Also like I’ve said on my video I’ve moved on as a Fan Fic writer and sometimes I do dabble in Chrisby, but that’s neither here nor there as I am a professional novelist first and foremost. My issue with Dandybear is simple she is a racist simple as that, now she changed her racist dialog on the latest chapter because people were starting to drop it and she was salvaging what was left. However, I have no room for sympathy for a racist and people who harbor racist views, now everyone does not have the range to write for a racist period and she is those people.

Yet its not just the fic that had been racist, but about her comments in the Christina + Ruby Server ran by Kwhateverspace and Hernameisjaye that are most alarming as well. As they are clearly racist and the Admins had not done anything but support her mess, even Hernameisjaye tries to lazily question Betty comments but quickly drops it. At the rate in which they kicked me and other members who have done lesser offenses, Dandy’s comment should’ve been an automatic kick. The issue that I have with this is how someone whose an Admin’s causally allows a member to drop a comment that compares Black people to animals; that is something that HISTORY has done to Black people many times as they have called us animals and lesser creatures, even H.P Lovecraft himself called Black people beasts of unknown orgin. Also, it was not said in a not-so-joking-manner so there was ill-intent with it and fatphobia, as women who are heavyset are often compared to Whales, Elephants, Hippos and other large-bodied creatures. This is not something that is decent, and I won’t stand for it and the gross part about it is that the Admins allowed that energy into their room. Yet they kept so much hateful energy for me other members who have done nothing but bring positive and constructive energy into the group; so much so that they lied about the complaints that they received.

Another issue I have with Betty is the issue that she did throw shade at me, as I offered my idea for a Chrisby Fan Fic; and while no one supported the idea like I supported all their ideas I was cool with it as I was mature enough support peoples right to not support my head cannon. Yet the issue I have with Betty is that she tried to critique a story that hadn’t been even written;  saying that Christina wouldn’t act that way as a character and that you don’t want to “poke or prod” anyone’s creative process was a clear lie. Like why even comment on a head cannon at all if you don’t want to “stifle” anything, and I haven’t even written it yet. Now I’ve been around business and people before and I do know when off handed comments are dished out; but it was clear that she wanted to stomp out any head cannon I had to make herself look decent as the only one, if so tell me why she takes the comments about her racist fic so seriously. She is one of those people who does not write for herself as she writes for clout, and her ego is centered in that. Personally, I wouldn’t have said anything when she made that comment and I didn’t for the longest, but you could see the reason why I got on You Tube to express my opinion about certain Fan Fic Writers.

Now this is my next one which is a big one the Aunt Jemimah with Tits scandal, I don’t know what Hernameisjaye or Kwhatverspace deems as racist and disrespectful but their priorities are clearly not in the right and they are not on the right side of history. However ,we need to get to the fact that this part of Betty’s story should not be defended or celebrated, and Kwhateverspace defending it on her blog clearly makes her and the discord she is representing complicit in racism. Here’s a little history on the subject. The name of Aunt Jemimah in history and present day is not so much as a respected name when you describe Black folks. Often it is a slur as whites have used against Black people in the later years post-racism and it was a Mammy Stereotype as well in the Racism Era. It even has been used in Hollywood Media as well, to affirm slavery or insult a black person’s character. If you don’t believe me Watch Bringing Down the House with Queen Latifah and Gone with the Wind as the old Mammy Aunt Jemimah issue is used as a racial joke and insult.  And while the connection to the brand of Aunt Jemimah and its imagery was made to serve Black Mammy Propaganda that hurts Black Women there is no denial it was used in pre- and post-racism eras. And it’s clear to see that Betty made no connection to it on purpose as the passage in the chapter did not even serve the true plot of the story. Not to mention on a historical level that the woman who was Aunt Jemimah never got paid for her services and she was slave; yet was seen on every box in every home for more than half a century. And even though they changed the woman in later years, it’s not until this year in 2021 that the company is going to remove all black offensive imagery from their boxes. So, the disenfranchisement of Black People would be erased from history like it never happened which adds more insult than comfort; and it was the same with Dandy trying to edit her racist passage within her chapter. These and other facts that I brought to the attention of Hernameisjaye when we had our debate and she threw a hissy-fit and kicked me, because I beat her with facts; but its sick how someone who doesn’t need to know their Black History praised a racist story.

So, for Dandybear aka Betty not to know that something like this would deem as racist is a complete lie; and for her to sum it up in her authors note and say that its no big deal because Christina is racist towards fish people is damn near sick, as you cannot connect the two. Now I the issue I had on the comments section with her, was me letting everything out as I was completely shocked how they could keep a racist in their group and kick out serval educated and positive Black Women who had a civilized conversation with them. Now I did tell her to not respond back to me when things got heated; and yet Betty files a report nearly two weeks later saying I harassed her. Clearly, she kept up mess and I know she did it to make me seem as the bully so she could get away from the heat she caused with her racist mess. And you can see on the email and the time stamp when we got on into it on Ao3, that it was weeks away from each other so what was the point. The part I’m sick of with Kwhateverspace, Hernameishjaye, Danybear, Agentsyerl and others is they start issues and bully up on people and then act like victims when someone stands up to them; its clear that these sad sick women have never dealt with high positions in life or in business. They are the kind of people who look for any kind of victim mentality to seem themselves as competent people and leaders when clearly, they aren’t; and they hide behind “liberalism” and “freedom” and yet they can’t kick out a racist who puts out racist harmful mess in her Fics. And I wouldn’t have an issue with it as it is a time-piece, but there was no solution to any of it; Betty just used a mindless and sneaky way to say something racist and thing she could get away with it under the guise of it being a time piece.

In conclusion currently she says she’s not going to write anymore, I’m happy she’s not because she couldn’t use her words carefully or considerately when it came to race and she offended serval Black Women. There are other white-writers that do time pieces the same and they handle race so well; and I want to name the names and give respect to these wonderful people. However, I don’t want to tie their great work tied to this drama I’m writing, but I will be making a video of my favorite Chrisby-AO3-Fics in the next two videos or so. However as for Betty even if she said something racist and wrote it out, so long as Betty kept it to herself but to POST IT that was a different matter all-together that made me, and others lose respect for her. So that’s why I had to say something because it was talked about heavily in my circle of people and in parts of Tumblr as well; so, I addressed it and called it for what it was, and I won’t stop with any racist fic or person I cross. So, this isn’t about whatever LIE Kwhateverspace is putting out, because its my feelings on the matter and I felt like it was something as a Black Woman that I needed to address; but I refuse to have my feelings marked as some angry black woman troupe, delusional mindless mess, the proof is in the pudding on my responses to their mess. I was classy with my responses to Hernameisjaye and Agentsheryl; and they got pissy and threw a hissy-fit. And I wasn’t going to into it more until Betty decided to put my real name out there, and I’m not for that disrespectful mess. Seriously after this matter this something that is best left in 2020 and I will leave it there and those who show sympathy to their mess you’re getting blocked simple as that. I DO NOT WISH THIS PART OF THE FANDOM WELL FOR 2021, AS THEY NEED TO GO BACK AND DO HISTORY AND RE-VALUATE THEIR OWN SOULS. YET THE MATTER IS DONE AS IT IS LITTERALLY SOMETHING FROM LAST YEAR AND I HAVE PEOPLE IN MY OWN DISCORD TO FOCUS ON. FOR THOSE WHO READ AND SUPPORT ME THANK YOU FOR LISTENING AND SPREADING THE WORD AND MY INVITES ARE OPEN STILL TO THOSE WHO WANT TO CELETEBATE THIS FANDOM. Happy New Year’s everyone.

[imhisknife]

FANCY DATE (pt. 1/?) JAVIER x READER

AN RDR2 ONESHOT 

-   FANCY DATE (pt. 1/?) (Javier x Fem Reader)

WC: 2,800

SUMMARY: 

You and Javier have a fancy date planned, but unlike him, you haven’t always been the best dresser. He takes you to the Saint Denis tailor to “help” you out. (BASICALLY... SHOPPING WITH YOUR BF JAVIER)

CONTENT:

- fLUFF!!! - but ummm... a bit more hOT AND STEAMY THAN MY OTHER STORIES WILL BE 

NOTE:  some parts of this is lowkey inspired by the AO3 story HorseFeathers... (sorry, but I loved that shit, js)

　··　　　°　　　　　　.　•　　　　.　　　.　　　　　 　　　　.　°　　✸*　.　　　✶　　　　　　　　　°　°° 　　　        "What's wrong with what I'm wearing, huh?" You rested a hand at your hip, while your other hand held a silver pail. You were in the middle of chores when Javier pulled you aside to discuss his weekend plans with you. You were touched that he thought of it all, but you were suspicious about needing ‘fancier attire’.

        "Oh, nothing, nothing—but um..." He tilted his head, talking carefully as if he didn't want to offend. You had a grey shirt on with the sleeves rolled at your forearms. It had a simple design embroidered into it — but that was all it was — simple. You wore a long, silk skirt along with it. It had been a pretty thing... once. It was red, hemmed up to your knees to show a bit of your black leather boots beneath; but now it was faded by the sun, worn by the work, and in some areas there were small tears and rips. 

        "I can get these stitched in no time," You say, following his eyes and feeling a little embarrassed. "There's really no need to—,"

        Before you could object, he was scooping at your waist and pulling you close to him. You dropped your pail and it rolled away on the floor. You were about to complain, when Javier suddenly held your face so you couldn’t look away. His touch was gentle though, just like his tone. "Although you'd look beautiful wearing old rags, mi amor, what man would I be, to not spoil you? Hmm? And you can't say no to me this time,"

        Lost in his brown eyes, you knew you really couldn't say no. Besides, you remembered all the different occasions he had offered to buy you things. To take you places. To dote upon you. You were just so difficult. 

        "Well, Javi...” You still tried to protest, “I do have other dresses, you know—?”

        He spoke over you, as if he didn't hear. "Hmm, you would be so stunning with a new ensemble. So stunning with pearls at your neck. Matching earrings... a shawl over your shoulders. I could you get in a white dress too someday—,"

        "Alright, alright," You say, flushing a deep red. "Let's just get it over with...”

        Javier smiled wide. "Vamanos, mi hermosa,”

*        *        *

        When you and Javier get to Saint Denis, your heart ached for him. You noticed all the staring, heard all the racial slurs being whispered as you and him passed. You glare back at them, grinding your teeth in your mouth. You want to do more, however. You want to turn back and throw up a-not-so subtle gesture but it's almost like Javier could read your mind, sense your distress, because he grabbed your hand and squeezed it tight. You felt comforted, and paid a lot less attention to it everyone else. Though it might've worked for a little while... you had just about reached your limit when you two walked into the tailor.

        "Are you lost, sir?" A voice said, colored with disgust.

        You hardly looked at the guy who said it, before you spoke up, loud and curt. "No," You answered, before Javier could. You pulled him close to you. "We're not,"

        The man was old with a bald spot at the top of his head. He looked shocked by your words. He studied the both of you, still doubtful. "Well... a lot of what we have in stock here is quite expensive, are you sure that—?"

        Having dealt with these kinds of things all his life, Javier might have known how to keep his cool. But you didn't. You pulled a revolver from your satchel and held it in front of the man's face.

        "Just close the shop and give us fifteen minutes,"

        When you did it, Javier sighed. He couldn't help but grin a little though, seeing you so stoic and resolute. A part of you wished you were like him in more ways that one... sure, at the end of the day you may come out dressed significantly better but there was no changing your ill-temper and boldness. He knew it himself.

        "Knowing us, mi amor," He chuckled lightly, "I'd say we need a little longer than that," He didn't try to stop you as he passed, instead he was already scanning the place.

        You agreed with a shrug and looked at the cashier. The man had his arms thrown up in the air and was staring at you with wide eyes. You smiled fleetingly. "Just keep quiet until we're done, please?" You looked to his side and saw a door. It must have been a closet. 

        While gesturing with your gun, you told him to get in there. The man nodded more than once, gulping as he obeyed you, twisting open the door and vanishing inside.

        "Alright..." You say, stuffing your gun away. “What’s this expensive stock?”

        Your eyes glossed over the mannequins. Ridiculous hats stood on display and you flicked your fingers at a long feather sewed onto one of them. You rarely ever went shopping much — and never in a fancy place like this. Seeing the options, though, a part of you felt like you weren't missing out too much. 

         “Javier,” You groaned in annoyance. “I don't know about this...” 

        "Ah, be quiet,” He said over his shoulder. “This’ll be fine,”

        You went on for a few minutes struggling to find something you liked. It didn’t take long for Javier, though. 

        He had something in his hand and he was waving you over to him. “C’mere and try this for me,”

        “Me?” 

        “No, the tailor... yes, you!”

        You walk over and look at what he was holding with a grimace. When you made no move to take it, he cocked his head.

        “Do you need me to put it on for you, or—?”

        Half-annoyed by his teasing, you snatched the dress and set it beside you as you began to undress.

        You had to crane your neck to the floor every time you undid the ties of your corset. But once it was off and your blouse dropped loosely at your shoulders, you felt yourself being pulled away. Without warning, your back was against the wall and Javier had his arms at your sides, keeping you there.

        “Or...” He said, smiling at the sight of you trapped by him. 

         “Do you need me to undress you...?” His voice trailed. And so did his hands. He went from kissing your open mouth, to grazing your bare shoulders.

       “Javier,” You said, stiffening behind his touch. Although you didn’t want him to stop, you couldn’t bring yourself to match his building aggression. “I pulled a gun on the tailor to be in here... I think we should be quick, don’t you?”

        He laughed against your neck. “Oh, I can be quick—,”

        “That’s not what I meant—,”

        “No?” Your blouse fell lower and he started kissing your collarbone. 

        ”Javier!” You hissed.

        ”Ay, I’m just toying with you,” He withdrew, turning on his heels. He was chuckling to himself while you rolled your eyes, flushing with heat. You held the dress close to your chest as you watched him look through the store, whistling.

        He threw two more dresses your way and you sighed, taking them into you arms as you went to head into the changing room. 

        "Why don't you just change in here?" You heard him say. 

        "It would be too much excitement for you, it seems,"

         He made a tsk sound but let you go. 

        You went to the other room. You had no trouble... until you slipped inside the new dress and found that you couldn't tie up the laces at your back on your own. With pursed lips you shuffled out to get his help. He smirked devilishly when you did. And boy, did he take his time with it. He was humming, his fingers brushing the bare skin of you back. It sent tingles down your spine, but you tried not to show it. You knew what he was doing. Knew he was stalling. After a few seconds you folded your arms across your chest impatiently. 

        "Having trouble?" You huff, your voice thick was sass. Just as you said it, he took the strings and gave them a tug - one so sudden and forceful it made you yelp.

         "Fun—actually," He corrected, tying a knot and speaking close to your ear.  "Now turn around,"

        You did as he said with a deep scowl. When you turned, Javier had a hand at his chin and his eyes moved over you lazily. 

        "Mi amor,” He drawled after some time of silence. “You’re so sexy when you're angry—,”

        "Oh, save it. Is it good enough or what?"

        "Sure, it’s beautiful... but all I want to do is take the dress right off you again—,"

        Before he could touch you, you stormed back into the changing room to see for yourself. In there, you realized the dress looked a lot better than it did when handed to you. Javier had an eye for this kind of stuff, and you couldn’t deny it. But the longer you looked, you found that you didn't feel comfortable in it. It seemed to much. Too cluttered. It just wasn't you.

        You told him that — and he was more than happy to help you out of the dress and keep looking. Every now and then, though, you’d feel him from behind you, pulling you back against his own body. Sure, he was a lot more helpful you could’ve hoped — but he also had a habit of getting carried away, too. You had to cut him some slack though. It wasn’t every day you two could be alone. You yourself wanted something more than the simple pecks you would give each other at camp, but still you knew that someone had to have an ounce of restraint. You had to remember... your goal was to tease him just like he was teasing you... and this date tomorrow? You wanted it to be special. You couldn’t spoil all the fun now.

        The next time he made a move on you, he had taken you in by the waist and slumped into a chair, bringing you down with him. He had you in his lap, your legs hanging over the arm rest. He kissed you long enough to leave you breathless and when you felt his hands moving over you, you heart was racing wildly. Before he could get too far, however, you stopped them.

        “Javi,” You whispered into him, drawing back.

        “What is it? Am I hurting you?”

         Far from it. But you didn’t tell him that. Instead, you sighed, turning away from a kiss — knowing fully well how that drove him crazy — and tapped your fingers lightly against his chest.

         “Javi, if we were to... you know...”

         “Yes...?” He asked, the slight impatience in his voice making you crack a smile.

         “Well... I...”

         “Yes, Y/N...?"

         “Well, I wouldn’t want to in place where an older man is an earshot away,” You slipped off his lap and stood in front of him, shaking your head like you were talking to a child. "Can you control yourself, please?"

        Javier lolled back into the seat, looking upset, but huffing in agreement. "Fine,"

        Though he finally stopped trying to grab at you, it didn’t lessen that lusty look he had in his eyes whenever you put something new on and went to show him.

         You tried on a few more dresses, skirts and blouses, some you picked, some he picked — but you still felt yourself getting more and more annoyed.

        “You can’t just say you like them all,” You chided Javier, yanking at the skirt of your dress so it laid straight against your legs as you stood before him.

        He looked confused. “But I do,”

        “Oh, please, that last dress had pink ruffles—,” You grimaced incredulously, but he cut you off. 

         “On anyone else I’d say no. But you — you can pull it off," Javier gave a shake of his head. "Y’know... I don't think you're aware of your own beauty, mi amor. You’re always trying to hide it, but there's just too much. And dressing modestly like you usually do... it isn’t gonna stop people from looking... it never stopped me,"

         You start to argue, but stammer and shut your mouth. You found it hard to believe him when he said things like that. You never thought of yourself as beautiful, let alone all that attractive. You knew, however, that if Javier caught you doubting his compliments or being critical of yourself and your looks, he’d go on an even longer rant of flattery and praise, with sadistic threats in between. Then he'd end it off with saying he ‘was only trying to make you love yourself just as much as he loved you’. Your heart fluttered and not wanting him to have to go off again — you sighed.

         “Alright, fine... but eventually you’ll have to make up your mind up and help me pick just one. I—I don’t want to go back to camp with 10 pounds of clothes.”

         “Fair enough,” He said. “But you be honest with yourself, alright? You’re saying no to these dresses because it’s not what you’re used to. But if you know you like it, then hermosa... it’s all yours,”

         A few more minutes passed until you had finally pulled into something that made you stop and stare at your reflection. It might’ve been the one... but a part of you was still unsure. 

         When you came out, Javier was sitting down at the table, rocking back in the chair. Once he turned to you, he stopped rocking and let the chair fall hard against the floor. 

         “That’s it. That’s the one,” He said, pointing at you. 

         “Oh, c’mon," You started to blush. "You’re just saying that because you want to get out of here...”

         He snorted. “You’re kidding, right? You’re over here strutting around half-naked and you think I want this to be over with?” He stood up and dragged you over to the mirror again. 

        "Look. You know it, too. I see it in your eyes. You like this one... admit it,” He was beside you, brushing his fingers through your hair as you looked at yourself again. You started to smile with him.

        “Aha! Eres una preciosa mujer, lo sabes también,”

        You tried to force the smile down as he planted kisses all over it. “But vanity is a sin, Mr. Escuella—!” (You knew bringing that up always drove him crazy too).

        “Oh, shut up. Killing's a sin too, but it’s just part of our lives, ain’t it?”

         He gave you another kiss. Then you went out picking the smaller things, shoes and accessories, to complete your new ensemble. When you were done — you found that Javier was still browsing as well. 

        “Wait—why are you looking for more clothes?”

        He almost looked offended. “We have to match,” He said to you, before continued. Soon Javier had found a black suit, with a tie and vest that went beautifully with the colors of your own outfit

        And finally; the two of you were done. A part of you was against the idea of bothering to wake up the tailor at the front of the store, but the better of you had you doing it anyways. You knocked on the door with your revolver and let the man out. You had found him in the fetal position and you almost felt bad. 

        “Sorry,” You tell him, "but we’re ready to pay now,”

        The man looked baffled, walking back to the register as you smiled sweetly.

        Javier pulled a wad of cash out of his vest pocket and slapped it onto the counter. You weren’t sure of how much it was, but you did know it was enough to get the owner drooling and Javier grinning as smug as a peacock. 

        He hit the guy's shoulder. Although it was nothing more than a teasing hit, the man looked like he had jumped out of his skin. Javier smirked even bigger. “Why don't you keep the change?"

        You kept your gun on the man as he collected the money. "Oh, and... this never happened, understood? You never saw us,"

        The man only nodded.

        Then Javier hooked you by the arm and hauled you out of there. His smile grew bigger as you both hit the streets. 

        “Look at that... they’re already staring,” He whispered close to your ear.

        “I know. Thanks a lot — it’s all ‘cause of your skin color,” You said sarcastically.

        He clicked his tongue against the roof of his mouth and snatched up your hand. Your fingers interwove with his and he planted a kiss on them.

        “Te amo, mi amor, even though you are difficult,” 

        “I know I am,” You smirked. “Por eso te amo, Javier..."

⤹⋆⸙͎۪۫｡˚۰˚☽˚⁀➷｡˚⸙͎۪۫⋆ ༄ 

  AN: if my Spanish is wRONG, I AM SO SORRY & please correct me.  but anyways, thanks for reading! Please let me know if I should write about the date ;)

​​​​​​​ ⤹⋆⸙͎۪۫｡˚۰˚☽˚⁀➷｡˚⸙͎۪۫⋆ ༄

ig / wattpad: @imhisknife 

[howaminotinthestrokesyet]

Where Have They Gone Now: Axl Rose

Born William Bailey originally in Lafayette, Indiana in 1962. His mother was still in high school when she had him, while his juvenile delinquent father was 20 years old. They would divorce when he was two years old, which led his father William Rose abducting him and reportedly molesting the young boy. His mother remarried to a man named Steven Bailey, who was not much better than his birth father. Axl and his siblings were beaten on a regular basis and once again reportedly molested as well. Led by his stepfather, the Rose household was very strict religiously growing up in the Pentecostal faith. He was required to attend church 7 to 8 times a week, and even taught Sunday school on occasion. This seems to be in stark contrast to the Axl Rose we will see later. Axl would comment on his upbringing. “We'd have televisions one week, then my stepdad would throw them out because they were Satanic. I wasn't allowed to listen to music. Women were evil. Everything was evil." Music became a source of solace from an early age as he began singing in the church choir at the age of five. Rose began as a natural baritone, but decided to change his pitch consistently during practice just to anger the teacher. The future Guns N�� Roses lead singer also began to study piano at Jefferson High School, as well as participating in high school musicals. At the age of 17, Axl was going through some insurance papers when he discovered the existence of his biological father. At that time, he unofficially adopted his real father‘s last name of Rose, but told everyone he would not share a first name with him only referring to himself as W. Rose. After this discovery, the young man began to completely act out leading to at least 20 misdemeanor arrests from public intoxication to assault. Lafayette police were trying to charge him as a habitual criminal when he moved to LA in 1982 at the age of 20.

Almost immediately upon arrival, Rose joined the band Rapidfire with guitarist Kevin Lawrence. He had met him just outside the Troubadour in West Hollywood. They recorded a five song demo, but due to legal actions was not released until 2014. The EP was entitled Ready To Rumble. His next band included childhood friend and guitarist Izzy Stradlin, which they named Hollywood Rose. They recorded a demo featuring songs like “Shadow of Your Love,” “Anything Goes,” and “Reckless Life.” These songs would appear on various releases throughout the years including 2004’s, The Roots of Guns N’ Roses. The band would break up just after the hiring of Slash and Steven Adler. The biggest reason for this was that Rose decided to join LA Guns led by guitarist Tracii Guns. As he struggled for musical success, the young Axl continued to work to make any sort of money including night manager of Tower Records and even smoking cigarettes for a scientific study at UCLA with Izzy Stradlin. By 1985, Rose had restarted Hollywood Rose, so this band and LA Guns could merge their members. Guns N’ Roses was finally born, but almost immediately Tracii Guns and two other members left the band. Essentially, Guns N’ Roses became an expanded version of Hollywood Rose rather than any connection to LA Guns. They simply liked the name, so they kept it. Yet, there is absolutely no Guns in the band.

One thing to understand about Rose and his prima donna behavior that eventually led to the disintegration of the band was that every band in Los Angeles wanted him to be their lead singer in the mid-1980s. Axl had a certain buzz about the energy and intensity he brought every night on stage that could not be replicated. He represented the shining star of the Sunset Strip at that time; he could pick any group that was not signed to a record contract. The band would sign with Geffen Records in 1986, but one thing to note was that right before he changed his name officially to W. Axl Rose. The name originated when he was playing in a band called the Axls, so one of his bandmates suggested that he change his name to Axl. Rose thought it was a cool idea and never changed it. As the band began their sudden rise to the top of the music world, people began to realize that Rose was much different than any other singer before him. He began to single people out in the crowd, who were causing problems after two people died at the Monsters of Rock Festival in 1988. Most times previously singers would tell roadies to take care of it without publicly calling out anyone in the crowd. If you listen to their live compilation album, there are a couple of tracks where you can hear him actually doing this. Axl would say this in a 1992 interview. “Most performers would go to a security person in their organization, and it would just be done very quietly. I'll confront the person, stop the song: 'Guess what: You wasted your money, you get to leave.'" Upon the release of their EP Lies, Rose ran into quite a bit of controversy for his use of racial and homophobic slurs in the song, “One in a Million.” His explanation and defense of the use of the terms at the time was he meant it to be a joke about people that are a pain in your ass in your life. If that had occurred in our present times, he would have been canceled immediately. In 1992, the singer tried to explain the use of the lyrics once again relating some personal experiences he had with blacks and gays that had formed this negative connotation in his mind. For all the controversy, the group was dropped from a 1992 AIDS benefit show. By 1989, most rock writers had begun to see him as one of the top frontmen in rock and roll at the time. Rolling Stone had such respect for him as a singer that they allowed him to use his personal photographer for their story on him, instead of someone on their staff. During the recording of Use Your Illusion, Rose began to impose his will upon the band in a variety of ways. He forced the band to accept his friend Dizzy Reed as a keyboardist. Axl then wanted to fire their longtime manager Alan Nevin, which the band had to go along with because the singer threatened to not perform on the album if he was allowed to stay.

The Use Your Illusion tour began in May 1991 highlighted by concerts that started hours late, rants of his on stage, and even a riot in St. Louis. He tried to jump into the crowd during that show to take away a fan’s video camera, so after he got back on stage Rose quit the concert. Upon seeing an empty stage, the 25,000 people there started a riot. The damage bill came out to be just around $200,000. The friendships between the band members and Rose were gradually imploding throughout the tour. At one point, Axl demanded and received legal ownership of the Guns N’ Roses brand name. He had supposedly issued an ultimatum either give me legal ownership or I will not perform. Axl would later deny these reports saying the contract would not have been legally binding if he had done such a thing. Who knows what the truth is when it comes to this band sometimes? The singer helped to start another riot in Montreal at a concert co-headlined by Metallica. The heavy metal band had their concert cut short because pyrotechnics severely burned lead singer James Hetfield. Once again, Rose was nowhere near the venue to go on early coming on stage very late. The group needed to do an extensive set to make up for the short one by Metallica, but Rose cut his set short claiming voice problems. Once again, the fans rioted leading to some extensive fines directed towards the singer by Canadian authorities.

In 1994, the band released the covers album The Spaghetti Incident, which included a hidden track originally written by Charles Manson. Axl had intended the song to be a message to his ex-girlfriend Stephanie Seymour. The controversy that followed this song meant that the band needed to donate money for the son of one of the victims of those murders. In 1994, Rose also decided to terminate guitarist Gilby Clarke as a member of the band without consulting any of the other members. This decision was made so that Axl could bring in the controversial guitar replacement, Paul Tobias, which eventually led to Slash leaving the band. By 1997, the only original member of Guns N’ Roses was one Axl Rose. He had started to fade from any public view becoming essentially a rock and roll hermit. The media had dubbed him either Rock and Roll’s Greatest Recluse or the Howard Hughes of Rock and Roll. By the late 1990’s, rumors began to spread that Rose was forming a new lineup of Guns N’ Roses for an album entitled Chinese Democracy.

The absolute insanity that was Chinese Democracy took place from 2001 to 2011. The album would be officially released in 2008, but not after several starts and stops over and over again. A tour of the new album had been scheduled from 2001 to 2002, but almost all of the shows were either cut short or canceled because Rose was either a no-show or would quit very quickly. Finally, in 2006 and 2007, he actually toured as Guns N’ Roses promising new music. The concert offered very little in Chinese Democracy, but only concentrated on their hit songs. Around this time, he had changed his hair into cornrows, which got a laugh from music fans everywhere. One should note that Izzy Stradlin actually made a few guest appearances during that tour. Fans had hoped that a reunion collaboration might occur, but there was no such luck. Upon the release of Chinese Democracy, the singer did everything he could to sabotage any possible success the album might have overall. He refused to promote the album, would not return phone calls, or give interviews for three months after the release of the album. By the time he actually did say something about the album, the reclusive Rose complained that Interscope Records did not help them very much in promoting the album. In 2009, Axl and GNR went on a 2 1/2 year long tour, which included a headlining appearance at Rock in Rio 4. Around that time, he was sued by former band manager Irving Azhoff for $1.87 million. Of course, Axl countersued him claiming that he was forced to do a reunion tour because Azhoff had completely mismanaged the release, promotion, and tour of Chinese Democracy. In 2010, he sued Activision for their game Guitar Hero. Axl claimed that he had an oral agreement with the company that if “Welcome to the Jungle” was allowed on the game, then Slash nor any Velvet Revolver would not be included in any release of it. Not only was Slash’s music included in the game, but he ended up on the cover. A judge threw out the lawsuit in 2013 saying that Rose could not prove the oral agreement and the statute of limitations had run out anyway. In 2012, the Guns N’ Roses singer was inducted into the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame, but he declined to appear. In an open letter published on the Internet, Rose stated that due to the tensions between his former bandmates, he did not want to be where he was not wanted or respected. Yet, slowly but surely Guns N’ Roses began to tour with some of the original members culminating with the inclusion of Slash in 2016.

[xxisxxisxxis]

Gateway Drug | Part Forty

Table of Content or Part Thirty-Nine

Read here on wattpad

Word count: 3.1k

Warning(s): Explicit language, domestic abuse, violence, racial slurring

Tag List: @unknownoblivion @sinningsixx @edwardtriggerhandzz @lemmyjelly @haileynicoleseavey17 @cierrasixx19 @oskea93 @mgkobsessed @vamprlestat @sharon6713 @itsametaphorbriansblog @miriampraez @allie-mcginn @rebeccaphillips14 @nicholeh7 @fandomshit6000 @lilmou5ie @tamedhearts @divaanya @kingbouji3 @evrsncnewyork @6ixx6ixx @ratedrkohardychick91 @floregrohlssard @oldschoolimagineblog @thanks2pete @abaldboi @swoopygorl @justjodeye @liith-ium @caos18blog @ytwahsog @shamlessobsessions @scarecrowmax @toadspleen @random-internet-user-4471 @solohqrry @loveofmyloif @sparxx27 @kaitieskidmore1 @xpoisonousrosesx @cruecifymesixx @ijustwanttokiss70srogertaylor @emmaelizabeth2014 @meetthesixxter @sixxsixxsexx @sublimeprincesswasteland @arianareirg @girlnight-terror @mcnibberachi

LET ME KNOW IF YOU WANNA BE TAGGED

By January the band was gearing up for Europe, Tommy and Heather Locklear were working out a schedule their wedding planned for May, and everything else was...well...

The Cathouse is lively as always, Duff and Slash only adding to it's noise and liveliness as they throw back shot after shot.

"So," Slash starts to me, brushing his curly hair out of his face just enough to see me. "I've been thinking about Tans and Axl, right?"

"Okay." I nod, raising my brows a little.

"If they were to get together, not that it's gonna happen because he's a fuckin' pussy but if it does happen I have the perfect name for them." He tells me. "Xanax."

Duff and I furrow our brows a little and exchange looks.

"'An' as in Tansy, 'Ax' for Axl." He explains.

"What about the first 'X' at the beginning?" Duff asks, chuckling a little.

It's as if Duff has pissed all over Slash's dream.

"Oh, damnit." Slash realizes the blonde has a point. "Nevermind."

I give him a reassuring pat on the shoulder and Duff laughs.

"Speaking of Tansy, you guys wouldn't happen to know where she's been the past week, would you?" I ask them and they look at each other.

"She's been hanging around Stevie and Izzy a lot, lately." Duff tells me. "Because Steven has weed and Izzy has junk."

"Izzy's been hanging out at my house with Nikki, lately." I tell him.

"We know, he said he saw you naked." Slash blurts and Duff lightly hits his shoulder.

"Well, he's like a ninja. I didn't know he was in the livingroom, Nikki didn't mention we had company over, I got out the shower and had to get my laundry out of the basket I left by the couch and there's Izzy. Just chilling there." I explain. "And I panicked a little and hit the freaking ground like I was being shot at and hid behind the couch until he agreed not to look so I could get my clothes basket."

I swear, getting to see me naked was like an unspoken right of passage. If you hung around Mötley Crüe, you were bound to see me naked at least once.

In Mobile, Alabama, after eating special brownies that—I had no idea were special until Steven spoke the words, "she ate like five of them, we're so fucked, Nikki's going to kill us" to Duff—I over did it apparently and couldn't get my legs to stop shaking so decided I would frolic around the hotel to get the jitters out...naked...with GN'R following after me like an episode of Scoobie-Doo.

They saw every bit of me that day. But I've always thought it made us closer.

"Hey!" The sound of a drunk guy slurring my way interrupts our conversation and I raise my brows.

"Yes?" I reply.

"You up for some fun tonight?!" He asks.

"No, thanks, I'm married." I politely respond, motioning to my ring.

"I didn't ask if you were fucking married. I asked if you wanna have some fun tonight." He argues.

"Look, man, she said she's married." Slash repeats what I said.

"If I wanted the opinion of a ape I would've asked!" He barks at him.

It takes me a moment to register what he meant by it, then it hits me.

Apparently it hits Duff at the same time, because he's lunging at the guy.

The stranger doesn't have time to react before Duff's punching him in the face so hard he falls down, but that isn't the last of it.

He grabs him by his collar, a completely different persona taking over him as he keeps his knuckles in a ball and gives blow after blow to the bastard until I intervene by the fifth hit.

"Duff!" I exclaim, grabbing his arm that's rearing his hand into the air, after trying to get his attention for the past ten seconds.

He takes heavy breaths, his victim's face busted and bleeding, before stumbling back, dropping the guy.

I feel like the entire club's eyes are on us.

Duff and Slash feel it, too, and Duff's grabbing at my hand as the three of us quickly make our way to the nearest exit.

Duff is one of the most level headed people I've ever met. It takes a lot to set him off, but when he is set off, it takes a while to get him calmed back down.

"Motherfucker!" Duff shouts, slamming the door of their apartment after he and I step inside.

Slash went to meet up with Steven and Tansy, leaving Duff and I alone...which is kind of the last thing I want at the moment.

"Who the fuck does that prick think he is?!" He snaps, slamming his keys on the counter.

"Duff." I say calmly as he rubs his face, trying to get control of himself. "Hey." My hand gently grasps at the hand that isn't bruising, and he let's out a deep breath. "It's just stupid bull shit, alright? People like that aren't worth losing yourself over. They'll get what's coming to them, okay?" I remind him and he sighs, his thumb beginning to rub at my hand, causing me to think about the thing that has yet to be addressed.

I find myself pulling away after the shock wears out, jolting back as if to avoid electrocution, looking at Duff with wide eyes.

"I--why did you do that?" I ask him, slightly panicked as if Nikki knows already.

He doesn't reply, just as startled by his actions as I am.

I don't give him time to reply.

"Goodnight, Duff." I say calmly, getting out of there as fast as I can.

I dart to my room and lock the door behind me, my mind and heart racing one thousand miles per hour.

Did he kiss me because I was the only girl there with him? Or because he's drunk and isn't thinking? Has he been wanting to kiss me but didn't want to disrespect me or Nikki by actually trying to do it?

Ding ding ding, we had a winner.

I let out a breath and rub my forehead, trying to get it out of my head.

He tastes like cigarettes and vodka which is a disgusting mixture but it's so Duff. It's a comforting taste.

It was a comforting kiss that, despite being so sudden and surprising, gave me a subconcious sense of peace and comfort, because it came from someone that had only ever given me peace and comfort.

A noise sounds from the closet, interrupting my thoughts, and I open the door and see Nikki slumped over, syringes, smack, and coke residue scattered about.

I clear a path through the drugs and discarded clothes, grabbing at his ankles and pulling him with all my might, out of the closet to attempt to get him to the bed.

When I get to the realization that I can't, I give up, grab a blanket from the bed and curl up next to him.

My hand carefully squeezes at his for a second before I pull it away.

I'm not even sure he remembers kissing me, he hasn't acted like it.

"Didn't you have plans with Nikki tonight?" He asks and I snap out of my thoughts, glancing at the clock to see it's 11:00pm.

"Are you good now?"

"Yeah." He replies. "I'm about to go find Steven and Slash."

"I'm gonna head home, then." I tell him, grabbing my car keys from the couch. "I'll see you later." I assure him. "Stay out of trouble." I add, stepping to the door, skipping on the hug I usually give him before we say "bye."

"No promises." He scoffs and I roll my eyes sarcastically.

"Love you." I say, opening the door.

"Love you, too." He calls back.

Alcohol changes how you go about things, it doesn't plant new intentions. And the way he kissed me let me know he'd thought about doing it for a long time...but I never would've known that had he not done it.

I light the last candle, our house looking like the meeting area for a seance once I turn all the lights off.

A romantic seance.

Nikki's suppose to be home any moment now, if he sticks to his schedule he's had the past couple weeks: wake up at 4:00pm, snort some blow to get his mind going, shower, get ready, leave for the night, get back in around 3:00am mumbling incoherently, babbling nonsense from having so much shit in his system, then pass out. And repeat.

But tonight is different, because he's been cutting back on heroin the past few days.

He hasn't told me he's cut back, but I can tell he has. He's probably preparing to kick it completely for Europe...I just hope he can stick to it.

Not that me waiting to give him a blowjob and have my back broken at three in the morning is much motivation for him to completely quit his problem, but I'm hoping it's an encouraging pat on the back.

I slip my robe off when I hear his Harley pull in, rushing to comb my hair out with my fingers.

The keys are in the door in another moment, fumbling to unlock it.

My heart pounds as my nerves tense up when he comes in, stumbling slightly, slamming the door behind him.

"H-Hey, babe." I say cautiously, testing the water of his mood.

"The fuck is that smell?" He asks me, tossing his keys on to the counter, causing me to jump slightly from the loud noise it makes.

"Uhh, th-the candles." I tell him.

"I can't fucking see." He complains harshly, taking his jacket off, kicking my heels out of his way on the way to our room.

I pull my robe back on, accepting that I showered and shaved earlier for nothing, before turning the lights on and blowing out every scented candle I lit around the house.

Following Nikki to our room, he's digging around in his drawer, glancing at me when I come in.

"I was waiting for you to come home." I tell him, twiddling my fingers.

"Yeah, I saw." He replies, not even looking at me.

"Did you?" I ask, doubt laced in my tone. "Really?"

"Yep." He states, pulling two packed up syringes out, making me feel a little sick at the sight. "I'm about to head back out." He informs me.

"What? Baby, you just got home. I wanted to spend some time together." I try to tell him, walking right behind him as he steps to the door, grabbing his jacket and keys.

"Just fuck yourself, Viv. It's not my job to screw the life out of you anytime you fucking snap your fingers, alright?" He says before shutting the front door and I'm in shock from what he said.

I decide not to let him leave without getting an earful of it.

When I get outside, I'm stepping in front of Nikki's bike just before he starts to leave, and he groans out in frustration.

"I've been up since 8:00 in the morning, Nikki. I'm tired, too, you know? I don't necessarily feel like it either, but I shaved and showered and made myself look sexy and even burnt my nipple lighting all those freaking candles so I could surprise you and we could have a good time and what the hell do you do?! Come in with your pissy, asshole, unappreciative attitude. Do you know how many guys would kill to have their girlfriend or wife waiting naked for them when they get home, ready to do whatever the hell they want?" It's obvious my scolding has him feeling guilty, but he doesn't say a word. "But I guess that's not a big deal to you because you're use to naked girls throwing themselves at you all the time so..." I scoff out, shaking my head a little, keeping myself from crying. "I'll see you when you get back." I give up, waving my hand.

"It's one night, Viv. I don't know why you are so bent outta shape over it." He comments and I turn back around, glaring at him.

"It's not just one night. It's been two years of trying to do nice things for you and you can't even appreciate it because you're so taken over by the need to find your next fix as soon as you can." I explain to him.

"Like I don't do nice things for you?!" He gets defensive, getting off his bike, walking to me. "This fucking house you love so much?! That fucking car you drive?!"

"I never said you don't do nice things for me, I just--"

"What about the fucking ring on your finger?! You know how many girls would love to be married to Nikki Sixx and have the expensive house and luxury car?!"

I roll my jaw, raising a brow.

"I didn't ask for the fucking car, I didn't ask for the fucking house and I sure as hell never asked to be married to you!" I throw my ring somewhere in the driveway, storming back into the house to pack my shit up with him trailing behind me.

I start snatching my clothes out of the closet and onto the bed as he just stares at me.

"The fuck are you doing, Vivian?!" He barks.

"Leaving. You can get one of those other girls that would love to be married to Nikki Sixx--or at least think they fucking do--and they can have the expensive house and the luxury car." I snap, opening my top drawer, getting the clothes out of there, too.

He's suddenly grabbing my clothes and throwing them in the floor in an attempt to stop me, but it just pisses me off even more.

"Get the fuck out!" I demand, shaking, tears toppling over my lashes, my finger pointing at the door.

"No!" He argues. "You're not going anywhere and neither am I until you quit pitching your fucking fit!"

"God, I can't even leave without you ruining it, Nikki, you ruin every thing!" I scream out in aggravation.

"Then why the fuck are you still with me?!" He shouts back, coming closer to me. "If I'm so fucking bad then why the fuck aren't you gone?!"

"Because I love you" is what I want to say, and I can tell he wants me to say it, too.

But I don't.

"Because I don't have anywhere else to go and I don't have any money!" I lie to hurt him, and I can tell it makes a impact.

He looks like he could cry right now...but he gains what's left of his composure, reaching into his back pocket to pull out a wad of cash, throwing it across the room angrily, causing the bills to fly in different directions.

"Fetch." He orders, motioning to the money he threw, and I blackout for a few seconds, coming to after shooting pain rocks up my knuckles, my hand, and my arm, causing me to cry out.

Nikki's got blood coming from his nose, his eyes squeezing close, I'm assuming it's because he's trying to talk himself out of beating the shit out of me.

I broke my hand, and his nose.

Nikki and I sit in silence as Doc yells at us, pacing back and forth in our living room.

"You're grown adults, acting like fucking toddlers! When the hell is this gonna stop, huh?!" He throws his hands up, motioning to us.

"She fucking punched me!" Nikki outbursts, wincing as he holds his nose with an ice pack.

"Because you told me to 'fetch' like some cheap hooker!"

"I threw 4k at you, Vivian! I don't know if you can count but four-thousand dollars isn't fucking cheap!" He shouts at me.

"Neither were all those fucking candles I lit!"

"Alright, hey! Hey!" Doc claps loudly, screaming over us to break up our argument.

We both shut up, scowling straight ahead, refusing to admit either of us is wrong.

"I-I am at a loss at this point, guys." Doc goes on, sitting on the coffee table in front of us. "You're kids. You've been together five years. You're kids." He states lightly, raising his brows. "And you're fighting like you've been married for forty years and just want out. And I hate to say that because I know neither of you want out but you just don't know how to talk to each other when you get angry." He points out. "Nikki, you don't know how the fuck to treat her when you're on junk. Plain and simple. If you're on junk, you're a fucking asshole, especially to Vivian. I'm not saying get help, but you might wanna learn how to balance being fucked up but being respectful especially since you don't have a problem, right?" Doc sarcastically adds. "And, Vivian. Your first response to shit that rubs you the wrong way, is to just start swinging at people and blow things out of proportion and that's not right, either." He gets at me next, and my anger is immediately replaced with guilt. "I mean, look at each other." He tells us and we glance at each other, looking defeated by Doc's good points. "If the cops could see how you two treat each other sometimes, you'd both have cases of spousal abuse." He rubs his forehead. "Press is gonna talk, fans are gonna talk, we'll say it was a bike accident, you two ran into a fucking bush or something and that'll be that. But you two need some fucking help or something because I'm not going to Europe with you two acting like this, got it?"

"Yeah." I agree.

"Nikki?" Doc asks, looking at him pointedly.

"Got it." Nikki replies quietly.

"I mean I want you two to act like you did when you first got together because when I met you guys, you couldn't get enough of each other. Now she's having to babysit your sorry ass most of the time, and you're beating him like an ugly stepchild." Doc tells us.

We don't say a word.

"Now, let's get to the hospital so his nose doesn't heal like the fucking ugly duckling and your fingers don't look like busted carrots. His face is a quarter of our revenue, and your fingers need to be pretty so they can showcase that nice ring that needs to be sitting back on your finger as soon as possible."

Yes. Because God forbid Vivian and Nikki, or Tommy and Heather, or Vince and Sharise, or whoever the fuck, have an obviously imperfect marriage to the outside world.

Smile, pretend you're on your honeymoon and can't get enough of each other, and whatever you do: keep the wedding rings on.

Even at the times when you want to throw it in with the towel.

Don't fuck up an already fucked up thing because that's not what we do.

[canumoveurseatup-no]

Behind Closed Doors

Summary: It’s the 40s and you find yourself falling for a certain Sergeant. You know it’s hard for you in a time like this but the love you two have for one another in insurmountable.

Requested by: @latreace-monae-love

WC: 2.7K

Pairing: 40s!Bucky x 40s!Black!Reader

Warnings: racial divide, use of the word “negro”, mentions of harassment, TW: one mention of rape, little angsty, fluffy, slight smut

A/N: Probably messed up some things with things with Steve and Peggy but that doesn’t matter. Enjoy and comment and reblog please!!!

—————

“You’re gonna get yourselves killed, Buck,” Steve has kept warning you and Bucky. He supported the relationship but he didn’t want you or Bucky to get yourselves caught up.

He hated having to watch Bucky sulk when you had to sit on the other side of the diner for colored people. There’s been times when he almost got pummeled to death just for crossing the line to talk to you.

Bucky would have to sneak to your side of town to see you as that was the only way to actually love you... behind closed doors. You hated it, you lived alone and no one knew other than your brother and he would always chew your ear off about it.

You two lived in a world where it was banned to be in an interracial relationship, but you two didn’t care. You were able to love who you wanted.

“Mama and pop are gonna kill you if they find out you’re messing with a white man, Y/N,” your older brother scolded.

“Well good thing you’re gonna keep your mouth shut,”

On either side of the scale you’d be screwed if anyone found out. But you and Bucky were willing to beat the odds.

Your mama always told you that if a white man wants you it’s to fetishize you and you believed it for a while until you met Bucky.

———

“What’s a pretty little lady doing out here all alone?,” there was a drunken group of white men on the corner as you were walking home by yourself.

“Now I don’t want any trouble, I just wanna get home safe,” you tried walking past the men but they formed a wall in front of you. You knew it was a bad idea to take that job way across town but it was better than what the others were offering.

You began to look for a way out, you didn’t want your mama and pop to be told that their little girl had been a victim to white drunkards on the corner.

“Give us a lil somethin’ and we’ll all be on our way,” one of them slurred.

“Never been with a negro woman before. How about you give us a taste,”

“Please, I’m just trying to go home!,” you tightened your jacket around yourself.

They grabbed you and you fought until a gun shot rang through the air.

“Now I suggest you all back away from the little lady,”

You jerk out of their grasps and see a man in a uniform. Good looking white man, well put together.

“Mind ya business, boy,”

The man in uniform huffed before knocking each and everyone of them out.

You stood in fear clutching your purse, “Don’t hurt me, please. I-I’ll give you all the money I have, I’m just tryna get home before it gets too dark,”

Bucky lifted up his hand to silence you, “Not gonna hurt ya ma’am,” he walks slowly to show you he’s not a threat, “I’m Sergeant Barnes and I’m just here to protect ya. Gonna walk you home so you get back to your family safe okay?,”

You swallowed the lump in your throat nodded quickly.

“Thank you,”

————

Everyday for months Bucky walked you home. Everyday you and Bucky got to know each other and you’ve grown quite fond of him. Sure his people were bad but he wasn’t. He was a genuine man and you soon fell for him. You two would go to little underground hideouts with other interracial couples to be able to get that sense of being open about your love.

His best bud Steve would come along and he was a pure soul. Steve was a small man who became a big man. Bucky was a little self conscious when Steve came back with the serum, thinking you’d leave him for Steve but you promised that would never happen.

Bucky was your man.

———

“Pass me the pepper please, doll,”

You two sat at dinner with Steve and a sweet little dame named Peggy. She was very sweet and all about building women up and fighting for their rights.

You pass Bucky the smile as Peggy speaks about another project coming up. You silently watch Bucky listen and laugh with Steve. You adored that man, you just wish things weren’t the way they were. Where he’d have to crawl up the fire escape just to see you and stay the night with you.

But the nights of slow dancing in your home, cooking together and watching TV. Mornings of him making breakfast for you or you making it for him while he was reading the paper. Oh!

The love making. Could never forget how he made you feel while making love to you. You knew your mother’s words weren’t true when it came to Bucky. Bucky didn’t pull that “I don’t see color” crap, he saw you exactly as you were, a black woman, a black woman who was tender hearted and hardworking and deserving of everything, the rights, the respect, that he got as a white man. He understood your fight and fought it with you.

You knew he was the one.

———

“I love you, doll,”

Bucky held your hands by your head as he rolled his hips into you. He never stopped to tell you that he loved you.

Hips lips were pressed against yours in a bruising kiss as your breath hitched in a moan. You two always had to be quiet so your neighbors didn’t hear. Everyone knew who Sergeant Bucky Barnes was.

“I love you more,” if that was even possible. You didn’t know you could love someone so much after only a year of dating but here you were.

His lips attached themselves to your collarbones and went to work with sucking and biting, knowing he can’t leave marks any higher.

“Cum for me, doll,”

Bucky let go of one of your hands to let his roam your body. He knew you loved it when he touched you in such a sensual manner. You were so sensitive to his touch it was almost overwhelming. A simple motion of his hands touching all over you was enough to push you over the edge.

You bite your bottom lip while Bucky’s lips wrapped around your pert nipples, knowing that always helped intensify your orgasm. With his hands all over you and mouth paying some much needed attention to your breasts, your pussy was clenching around him so hard Bucky couldn’t help but cum hard into his condom. You wish you could just feel him.

“Bucky,” you let out an airy whisper. Body still trembling as he peppered kisses all over your skin that was glowing with a slight sheen of sweat.

“I just want a family with you,” his nose nudged your neck.

You and Bucky had had this conversation a few times but the thought of having a family scared you. Not even just because he was a white man but the thought of having kids scared you anyway. Let alone the idea of them being by a white man, who granted you loved, but in this world you didn’t want to risk it.

You tried my wrap your arms around his neck and kiss along his five o’clock shadow, “I know b-but maybe in a few years things will look up where we’re finally accepted,”

He rested his head against your shoulder trying to keep in a sigh of disappointment, “But we’re in our prime Y/N. I- I know we... I know it’s not gonna be easy but maybe we can be the face of this battle. Be a face for others to come out of hiding as well and w-we rebel! We fight, we can prove that a white man can love a brown woman and vice versa,”

You heard, you really did. But the whites were brutal and would stop at nothing to let their displeasure be known.

“They could kill us, James,”

That was your fear. You already risked your life everyday enough with just being a colored woman. With being a part of the protests and now you’d have another fight on your hands which for some reason put a pit in your stomach that just gave you an inkling of know that this could be the fight to take you out.

“We could move away. Live on the countryside away from everyone. Our kids could grow up there,”

“You’re a Sergeant, my love. You’d be needed so much,”

For every point made, Bucky had a rebuttal.

“We’re gonna make this work, sweets. I know it. You can keep this argument up as much as you want but I just know we’re gonna find a way,”

———

“Mama you can’t just go setting me up with Tommy’s boy at the corner store!,” you were fuming.

Your mother went meddling in your love life and stirred the pot

“I want grandchildren, Y/N. Ya brotha is already working on some but I would like my daughter to have some as well,”

“Mama, I don’t want children right now. I wanna focus on myself,” you sighed. You knew Bucky would not like this, “I hate lil’ Tommy. I’m not going on that date so you can tell him I’m not gonna show up. I’m not stepping in the same room as that creep!,”

“What’s all the yelling for?,” your brother stepped in the room

“Mama set me up with lil’ Tommy!,” you whined. You graduated with Tommy, he was a rude ass young man and you despised him. You wondered how such a nasty boy could come from such a wonderful man and lovely woman. It confused you.

“Ew, Mama really?,” your brother frowned, “That youngin’ is disturbed in the head,”

“Oh I’m sure he ain’t that bad,” she waved you two off

“I’m not going on that date with him. I’ll date whoever I want on my own accords,”

“As long as it ain’t no white boy, ya hear?,” she points at you while you set the table up for family dinner. You felt your stomach drop and you looked over to your brother who wouldn’t even make eye contact with you. Your brother had come to terms with you being with Bucky and has grown quite fond of the gentleman.

“What’s wrong with a white man if he likes me?,” you tried your best to act nonchalant but you knew your mama would not change her mind

“Y/N ain’t no white man gonna like you,” she chuckled, “Dem men want one thing and one thing only. Remember dey raped our ancestors and killed us when others found out. We only good to lay in bed wit den dey throw us away,”

“Mama... I know that’s true but I don’t think all white people are like their ancestors. Like the ones that protest with us. They believe in us and what we fight for. I think some are good,”

“Child,” your mother put her hand up to shut you up, “Ain’t no white person messing with a black strictly for love,”

“You’re wrong, Mama,” you felt tears welling in your eyes

“Y/N,” your brother scolded before you said something that you couldn’t take back.

Bucky loved you no matter what his side or your side said. Love was so much more than color.

“What’d you say to me?,” you mother wipes her hands on her apron and stood squinting at you. That look was never good.

“I said you’re wrong,” you swallow. Bucky loves you and you’ll be damned if someone told you otherwise.

“And you know that how? What experience do you have Y/N?,”

Your brother stood in the middle of you two to try and diffuse any tension, “Let’s not argue, pop is on his way back from work,”

“A white man loves me, Mama and no matter what you say, I know he’s not like everyone else,”

Her laughed filled the entire house as if you told the world’s best joke for the next century. Your mama hated white people, for valid reasons but being with Bucky gave you the mindset that not all of them are alike.

“You a damn fool and I didn’t raise to you to be one,” we picked up her knife and began chopping away at carrots.

“We’re gonna have a family one day. We’re gonna move away to be happy. You don’t have to believe me mama but I’m sick of hiding my love for him from the world, I shouldn’t have to hide it from you too,”

“Because there isn’t any love to hide, dammit,” she stabs the knife into the cutting board making you and your brother flinch, “Dem people aren’t capable of any kind of love for us, Y/N and I’ve taught you better than what you’ve got yourself caught up in, in becoming some white man’s whore!,”

You didn’t believe her. You couldn’t bear to listen to this, you grabbed your coat and ran out the door ignoring the calls of your brother.

“Let’eh go!,” your mother shrugged. Your brother knew how her words hurt you. You and you mama had a close relationship but this one thing could have severed it.

You went home hoping Bucky was there waiting for you. You burst through the front doors to find Bucky and Steve. Bucky noticed how you had tears running down your face and how you were hiccuping to catch your breath.

“Doll, what the hell happened? Though you were at dinner with ya parents,”

“M-mama knows about us and she doesn’t believe you could l-love me,” was all you could get out. Your shoulder shook in sobs as he wrapped his arms around you.

“Of course I love you, Y/N. Don’t tell me you believe her,” he did his best to wipe your tears away although they kept falling, “I could never stop loving you,”

“I told her th-that but she said your kind is incapable of loving us past wanting to lay in bed with us,”

You and Bucky know that was bullshit. You two didn’t even start having sex until after you hit the one year mark.

“I just wanna go to a time where our love is believable and accepted,”

Bucky hated to hear you cry. He hated that you were hurt by someone you held so close to your heart.

“Well... that was something me and Steve were just discussing,”

———

“So we’re gonna wake up and still be like this?,” you ask as Peggy helps set you up in the big tube like contraption.

“Exactly the same. You’ll wake up and you’ll still be in your prime,”

“You sure this is what you want, Y/N?,” Bucky looked over to you from his own tube.

You already told your brother your goodbyes. He supported your decision and while it was a hard decision to make... he believed you deserved a chance at being in love with who you wanted.

“I’m positive,” you nodded.

Peggy nodded to her assistant and they pushed a button for the tubes to close.

“Gonna miss you, punk,”

“Maybe we’ll see each other in the future, jerk,”

Bucky and Steve exchanged words before the tubes began to fill with mist.

Your eyes closed with the hopes of waking to a world where things have changed.

———

*Present Day*

You felt stiff as ever like you had been frozen. Maybe because you were... wait.. you were frozen. Were, meaning, you’re awake!

You look around and see Bucky’s space is empty. You confusingly looked around and saw Bucky pacing, waiting for you to wake up.

You groan as you try to open the casing and Bucky’s head jerks in your direction to see you awake and well. He rushed to help you out and cradle you close to his body.

“You took so long to wake up!,” he sighed.

“It didn’t even seem like we were sleep for that lo-,” you look around at the building and see how it’s structure is different, how there’s so much more technological advanced things around you.

“Steve woke me up,”

“He’s here?! What year is it?,”

“2019,” you looked behind you and see Steve in modern clothes. Nice bit of facial hair and a clean hair cut. He didn’t look to bad in the modern light.

“We’ve been asleep for about 80 years? Bucky we’re old!,”

He laughed at you and kissed your forehead, “Apparently were in for a ride of learning new things,”

“Have things changed? C-can we go outside? No more hiding?,”

Bucky held your face secure in his hands, finally getting the chance to kiss you after 80 years.

“No more hiding,”

——————

I hope this was good enough! I hope y’all enjoyed it. It made me sad writing some of it but I loved it all together!

Please comment and reblog!

Tags- @blackreaders-assemble @vozit @babybubastis @crawlingnightmares @yournonlocalpoc @spideys-wife @mokacoconut @mbaku-babygirl @warmchick @valentinevirgo @here-for-your-bullshit @sexysamsungl @curlyhairclub @thelostallycat @fromlia-withlove

[twistedrunes]

George - Chapter 24

A Peaky Blinders Fanfiction

This is a series. If you’re new here welcome! I would recommend you start at  the beginning:   Chapter One More chapters of George are available on the Masterlist Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. All characters, settings etc. are the property of their respective owners. All original work is my own.

Hello Friends!

Well, it’s finally done! Chapter 24. Thank you all for the encouragement, support and love and sorry it has taken so long. With a particular shout out to @prettieparker86, @pure-bastard-extract and @blinder-secrets who put up with my incessant moaning and for their feedback and help with story development. 

This chapter contains events from Season 4, but do not occur as per canon (i.e. out of order). 

Until next time - Twistedrunes xox

Chapter Twenty-four: The End is Nigh

Warnings: language, angst, smut, violence, discussion regarding canon character death, racial slurs.

“You ready to head back?” Johnny Dogs asks as he closes the door on the gun vault in the cellars of Alea House.

You turn the key, and tug the handle to make sure the door is secure, then drop the key in your pocket. Your heart leaps as it clunks against the jewellery box still there from earlier. “No thanks, Johnny. I’m staying here during all of this.” You reply, working hard to keep your voice even and level.

“An’ Tommy knows ya staying ‘ere does ‘e?” Johnny asks cautiously.

“Yes Johnny, he knows.” You assure him with a smile and a pat on the shoulder “I’m not a Shelby or even related to a Shelby, I’m safe. Those Mafia boys aren’t interested in me.”

Johnny regards you sceptically, but gives a small nod in acknowledgement “Right then, as long as ‘e knows.”

You smile and walk Johnny to the back door, waving him goodbye before heading back inside. Making your way slowly through each floor and room of Alea House. Checking in with each of the staff, telling them where you will be if there are any problems. Finally, you make your way towards your office.

Isaiah and Peggy are at reception when you arrive. Peggy’s eyes are puffy and red. She runs towards you and throws her arms around you, quickly breaking down into tears again. You share a drink with her and Isaiah exchanging news before you are alone in your office. You pour another drink and sit at your desk, pulling the jewellery box, ticket and key from your pocket. You set them on the desk and close your eyes. In the quiet your brain immediately travels back over the past two days, spending the night at Tommy’s, the attack on Michael and John, Alfie, Changretta. All swirling in your head. You’d known as soon as you heard of the shooting that the current plan for New Year’s Eve could no longer go ahead. You pour another large drink and pick up the phone.

“Good afternoon, The Barbican Hotel” A bright voice answers.

You shake your head, it was afternoon already. “Good afternoon. I’d like to speak to one of your guests.”

“Of course ma’am who would you like to speak to?”

“Monsieur Pas.”

“And your name?”

“Hunter. Miss Hunter.”  You drum your nails on the desk while you wait for the call to connect.

“I’m sorry Miss Hunter, it seems Monsieur Pas isn’t available at the moment. May I take a message?”

“Um,” you pause, trying to word a message he would understand. “Yes, please. Could you please tell him that Miss Hunter called from Alea House. Unfortunately, due to a bereavement, we are cancelling the fireworks at our New Year’s celebrations, and I was calling to see if he would like me to organise some other form of entertainment for his guests. Thank you.”

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

It’s late, Peggy and Isaiah long gone, when there is a light knock at your door. You’re fatigued and looking forward to a few hours’ sleep tonight before the funeral tomorrow. You curse internally, no-one would knock if there wasn’t a problem. “Abraham?” You call. Alfie’s men’s had assumed all security positions at Alea House after the shooting when all the Blinders were called back to Small Heath. Alfie had assigned Abraham to you personally. Abraham had been one of Goliath’s sparring partners and close friend, and while it pained you to see him, he was kind and good at his job and was smart enough to let you do yours un-hindered. He wasn’t quite as big as Goliath but was still a formidable presence.

“There’s a Monsieur Pas here to see you,” Abraham says.

Fuck.

“Yeah, bring him up, please.” You say trying to keep your voice even. Heart pounding, mind suddenly intensely focused and muscles primed you stand. You move quickly to the coat rack, pulling on your holster and a jacket to cover it. You check the gun is loaded before checking your appearance and refreshing your lipstick.

There is another single knock on the door. You open it with a fake smile frozen on your face. “Monsieur Pas, what a pleasant surprise.” You say holding out your hand to Changretta. He takes your hand in his and turns it so he can kiss the back of it.

“A pleasure.” He drawls.

Repressing the desire to shudder, you look over his head. Abraham meets your gaze waiting for your instruction spoken or otherwise, you give a small shake of your head and look from one of Changretta’s goons to the other. Abraham nods in understanding, assuming an ‘at ease’ stance with his arms folded over his chest. Changretta straightens, and you stand aside and motion him into the room. Changretta steps forwards and his two guards go to follow. “Sorry boys, only room for two. Pop down to the bar, and the girls will look after you. Abraham will show you.” You say nodding your head in the direction of the bar.

The goons look past you to Changretta. He nods and gives them instruction in Italian. The men remain where they are but turn their backs to the door. Abraham stands facing them, staring through them as if they were part of the wallpaper. Satisfied you close the door and return to your side of the desk. “Drink?” You ask holding up a decanter of gin.

“Anything but that shit,” Changretta says. You set the decanter down with a shrug. “Compliments of the season. I see you received my gift.”

You set the glass of whiskey in front of Changretta. “Fortunately, it was me that found it and not the houseful of Blinders I had this morning.” You say evenly, pushing them across the table. “I can’t accept.”

“No, I insist,” Changretta says pushing the items back towards you. “You would do well in New York, you should consider it. And, of course, you would be well looked after.” He adds tipping his glass towards you before taking a sip.

Folding your hands in front of you, you ignore the gifts. “I don’t need looking after Mr Changretta. Now I’m sure you didn’t come here just to check on your gifts, what can I do to help you this evening?”

“I got your message. I have to say I’m disappointed.” Luca’s drawls.

“Disappointed? What did you expect?” You exclaim, unable to hold your tongue.

“I expected that I would have the pleasure of killing the Shelby’s myself,” Luca replies coldly.

“Then you should have gone to John’s yourself instead of sending your goons.” You shoot back.

“It wasn’t you?” Changretta asks, forehead furrowing as he lets the surprise show.

“If it were me they’d both be dead.” You respond icily. “Michael was very clear, Italians.” You jab your finger into the blotter for emphasis.

“Cazzo!” Changretta spits as he leaps to his feet. You bring your hand to your gun. He turns on his heel and opens the door. Rapid instructions fire from his tongue. One of the guards replies before he nods once and leaves his post.

Changretta returns to his seat, and you regard him with an arched brow. “You assured Mr Solomons’ and myself professionalism Mr Changretta. You told us you belong to an organisation of a different dimension. Now I see, perhaps, you mislead us.” You mimic his pattern of speech.

“The order did not come from me,” Changretta says leaning back in his chair with an air of confidence.

“That doesn’t reassure me.” You reply flatly. “A lack of discipline on the part of your men endangers me. I am deep in the hornets’ nest if there is even a whisper of my disloyalty I will be dead. No warning, no black hand, just the honour of a bullet in the back of my head.”

“They were not my men,” Changretta says removing the toothpick from his mouth and pointing it at you.

“They were Italians.” You shrug, “I suggest you find out who’s actually giving the orders here Mr Changretta before it ruins our plans.” You stand. “You need to resolve the issue and come up with a new plan.”

Changretta stands, gaze icy, “I would be cautious if I were you. A woman, such as yourself, in a business such as this, times like these, accidents happen.” He traces a line down from his eye to his cheek, “Who would cry for you?”

You smirk, tracing your finger along the scar on your cheek. “No one Mr Changretta. I have no one to avenge me. But I warn you, that means I have to avenge myself. Something I’ve been doing for a while now, my father, the men who took me as payment for my father’s debts, Sabini. All of them, what is it your people say? Sleeping with the fishes?”

Changretta sucks his teeth and tilts his head at you “Maybe the Jew is correct,”

“Speaking of the Jew.” you cut off whatever insult he was brewing up, “Next time you come through him,” Changretta mutters under his breath and rolls his toothpick across his lips again before turning and opening the door. “Mr Changretta.” You say lowly. Changretta turns to face you. “The Shelby’s, they have eye’s everywhere. Fucking come here again, and I will shoot you on sight. So go back to London, sort out your shit and have Alfie call me with the new plan.” You conclude.

Changretta mutters again and spits in your general direction. In a heartbeat, Abraham has knocked Changretta’s remaining guard out and has his gun pressed to Changretta’s temple. You hold your hand up, and Abraham removes the gun but doesn’t re-holster it. “It’s alright Abraham, Monsieur Pas is just leaving, would you be as kind as to help his men to their car?” Abraham spreads an enormous hand over Changretta’s man’s back fisting his clothing and lifts his head from the floor and before dragging him towards the stairs. He waves his gun towards Changretta indicating he should follow.

“I’ll be seeing you soon doll,” Changretta says pressing a kiss into the tips of his index and middle fingers.

“I look forward to it.” You say after him. You watch until a group of Alfie’s men join Abraham at the top of the stairs. Back in the office, you sit heavily in your chair, snatching your drink from where it lay untouched you knock it back in one mouthful. Standing again your eyes fall on the gifts Changretta had left. You snatch them up and throw them in your top drawer.

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

Running as hard as you can you try to maintain the distance between you and the Thing behind you. Black and formless and emitting a high pitched squeal, all you know is you need to get away. There had been a clear path moments ago, now there was nothing, just a wall of dead and dying vegetation. The screeching gets louder, rattling in your brain and confusing your senses. You plunge forwards, headlong into the branches that tear at your clothes and scratch your skin. Lifting your arms to protect your face you stumble onwards.

Suddenly you are free. Dropping your arms you look around trying to orientate yourself, a barren field lays before you. The ground has been farrowed and crows circle overhead. You can feel the Thing behind you, again you run. The noise reaching deep into your guts and twisting them.  Looking over your shoulder to gauge the distance between you, you trip. Flying forward before ploughing your face into the friable earth. Your mouth fills with it, choking you push yourself up.

All around you, the earth is moving, like a pot of simmering water, seething just below the surface. You watch with growing horror as hands push-up through the soil. Stained red and black they emerge grasping around them for something to latch onto. You scream as fingers scrabble against your legs, clawing at your flesh and pulling you down.

 “Fuck!” you gasp as you sit bolt upright in bed. On your side table, both the alarm and phone are ringing. It’s almost deafening. You lift the receiver from the phone as you bash the alarm. You take a deep breath in the following moment of silence before lifting the receiver to your ear and speaking into the mouthpiece. “Hello?”

“Anna!!” Alfie’s voice booms down the line. “I thought I must have missed you.”

“No, I just woke up. What time is it?” You ask, still trying to get your brain to function.

“Ten thirty. You ‘right love?” All the verbosity is gone from Alfie’s voice, and you can almost feel his warm hand on your back.

“Fuck.” You choke, fighting back the tears.

“Anna?”

“I’m fine Alfie, I just overslept.” You attempt to placate him.

“Yeah, don’t fuckin’ bullshit me ‘right.”

You sigh “I’m just tired, I had a late night and then a nightmare. Plus I need to get ready for the funeral.”

“It’ll be over soon sweetie. How about you come up to London for a day or two yeah?” Alfie offers. You are about to decline when Alfie continues. “You can stay at the house, see your niece, catch-up with old friends.” Suddenly it’s clear, he’s spoken to Changretta, and you need to meet.

“That sounds good Alfie. I’ve got the funeral today and then a meeting in Small Heath tomorrow. I should be up there tomorrow evening sometime. I’ll call from the station before I get on the train.”

“Perfect. See you then.” Alfie agrees.

You hesitate before you ring off, “Alfie?”

“Mm?”

“Hannah’s not my niece, you don’t have to do that.”

“Fuck off. She is if I say she is, right, plus Selene agrees. You’ll not get away from us that easily love. Part of the family aren’t ya?”

Your throat tightens, and you close your eyes. “See you soon Alfie.”

“Ta-ra Aunty Anna. Keep your head down love, stay safe ‘ey.”

“Bye.” You say before you hang up. You lay back in bed for a moment, blinking the tears away. It will be over soon you remind yourself as your feet hit the floor.

 “Good morning Anna.” Peggy greets you as you enter the reception area, she has a brave smile fixed in place, but it does little to hide the red-rims of her eyes.

“Morning Peggy.” You say your gaze falling on the floral wreath on the counter.

“It just arrived,” Peggy says noticing the direction of your gaze. “It must be for John’s funeral, but it was delivered here. The boy insisted he was told to deliver it here, to you, and not Small Heath.”

“What did the card say?” You ask.

“What card?” Peggy replies.

You pluck the small envelope from amongst the white roses and open it. ‘St Marks. 11:30 am.’ There is nothing else. You resist the temptation to swear. “I’ll take it with me.” You tell Peggy lightly. “I’ll be in Small Heath today and tomorrow, and then I’m going to London overnight. Abraham will stay here with you, not safe for a stranger like him in Small Heath at the moment, he’ll look after you.”

Peggy opens her mouth to argue, but seeing the look on your face, she thinks better of it. “See you soon.”

“Call the betting shop or Alfie’s if you need me. They’ll be able to reach me.” You say picking up the wreath and turning to leave.

Peggy’s hand grasps as your arm preventing you from leaving. You turn back to face her. “Everything’s going to be okay, isn’t it?” Peggy implores you, her face is simultaneously filled with fear and hope.

Placing your hand over hers, you squeeze it gently. “It will all be over soon.” You assure her.

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

The church is quiet and still. Christmas decorations, holly and candles, are still present throughout the hall. However, there is not a soul to be seen. As you entered the church, you had caught sight of a flurry of robes disappearing out the back door. You check your watch and finger the handgun in your pocket, your eyes sweeping the room. Taking a deep breath, you remind yourself to stay calm. You glance at your watch, eleven-thirty on the dot. The sound of footsteps come from the back of the church.

A large man, in a double-breasted suit and a trilby hat, walks towards you. You can’t help but smirk as you recognise him. The handsie oaf from your meeting with Alfie and Changretta, you drop your eyes to his neck and curl your lip into a cruel smile at the pink raised flesh where you had cut him during your last encounter.

“Hey, doll! Miss me?” You greet him cheerfully, your voice sounding far too loud in the reverent silence. The oaf says nothing, settling on glaring menacingly. You hold your arm out in front of you, index finger raised. “That’s close enough, you won’t be touching me today.” The goon continues towards you. “Uh-uh, Mr Solomons’ is not here to protect you today.” You say. He grunts, stops and unconsciously rubs his neck. “I’m armed, and I’m not giving it up.” You say clearly, removing your hand from your pocket and showing him the gun.

He shakes his head with another grunt and steps closer. You lift your arm and aim the gun at the middle of his forehead. He pulls his gun on you. You glare at each other silently until another set of footsteps echo through the church. Fast and light the steps are definitely female.

A small woman, with a dark lace scarf over her head, pauses at the altar, genuflects and crosses herself. She hisses at the goon, and he lowers his gun. “Let the whore keep her gun.”

The woman meets your gaze with an arched eyebrow, you lower your gun, but don’t put it away. “And who are you to call me a whore?” You challenge.

“I am Mrs Changretta, Luca’s mother.” She says haughtily, “and you are the Shelby whore.” She concludes with venom.

You smirk and shrug “Your son is the only one paying me for services rendered Mrs Changretta.”

Mrs Changretta’s eyes blaze “Best you keep that in mind, you are nothing more than hired help. No matter what trinkets he dazzles you with.”

“Mrs Changretta, I can assure you I’m not easily dazzled.” you cut her off bluntly. “I have a busy day, as I’m sure you are aware, so would appreciate you being brief and to the point. What do you want?”

She pauses, eyes roving over you seemingly sizing you up. “When this is done, and my son leaves for New York, lose your ticket.” She says coldly.

You look at the goon over the top of Mrs Changretta’s head wondering to which Changretta his loyalty lay. He was from New York, so you suspected Luca, but you couldn’t be sure. Dropping your eyes back to Mrs Changretta’s you lick your lips before replying. “And what if I feel like a trip to New York?”

“These nighttime visit’s he makes to you, leaving once the deed is done, you are a fool to think you will ever be anything but a whore to him. I have organised a bride for him upon his return. She is a good Italian girl, from the old country. I will bless the union, the Don will bless the union. It is done.”

You laugh coldly, wondering if it is worth correcting her or if her mistake can be used to your advantage.

Mrs Changretta scowls at you before opening her purse and removing a large envelope. “Ten thousand pounds to stay away from my son. We have important work to do when we return to New York.”

Taking the envelope from her hand, you place it in your coat pocket before ducking your head and whispering so the goon cannot hear. “Just between you and me, I never have nor do I intend to fuck your son. Our arrangement is simple, the Shelby’s die and I get Alea House. I will not be going to New York.” You straighten grinning and patting the pocket with the envelope in it.

A begrudging smile forms on Mrs Changretta’s lips. “You know, the men, they call you Ira di Dio. The wrath of God.”

“So I’m told.” You reply disinterestedly.

Mrs Changretta fixes you with her steely gaze. “Funny isn’t it how men mistake the traits they admire in other men as supernatural when they see them in a woman.” She pauses, and you shrug again. She steps closer. “But really women are more suited to wrath, to vengeance. Men tend to be more, sentimental.”

As you watch her, a coldness grips your stomach. Whispering again so the goon can’t hear you, you move your mouth next to her ear. You can smell her perfume. “It was you. You ordered the hit on John.” You pull back to look at her face to gauge her reaction. She shrugs the hint of a smile tugging at the corner of her mouth as she steps closer again and you lift your gun to her side, pressing it against her ribs. “Because you thought Luca would hesitate? That he might spare John like John spared you?” You hold her eye, not looking up when you hear the click of the goon’s gun being cocked behind her.

She smiles and runs her gloved finger along your jaw, her face twisted in a cruel smile. “It’s why we have you. You will do what needs to be done to avenge your love, and Thomas will pause. Not for long I’m sure, but long enough.”

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

You walk as quickly as you can in heels across the field to the caravan, noting the firewood and branches packed around it. You glance at it for only a moment as you reach the edge of the group of mourners. You duck your head in silent greeting as you pass Tommy, Arthur and Reverend Jesus. You notice Arthur’s hands are stained red, his eyes slightly wild. You look to Tommy to try and work out what has happened. Tommy’s tongue slides between his lips, pulling the bottom one between his teeth as his eyes meet yours. Your stomach jolts under his gaze as he searches your face. His hand moves slightly from his side, reaching towards you.

“Tommy, can I have a word?” Johnny Dogs says from behind you.

Tommy’s fist clenches for a moment as he kisses his teeth. Looking past you to Johnny he dismisses him. “Later Johnny, ‘ey?” Then turns his back on both of you and tells the Reverend to begin.

You find a place between Finn and Polly, Daisy and the baby aren’t there. Finn notices you looking around “Better they stay home, too cold for the baby.” He says simply. You nod and squeeze his hand gently. Finn holds onto your hand and turns slightly to face you. “It’s going to be alright, isn’t it? Tommy has a plan?” He asks quietly, his face a mirror for Peggy’s.

“It will all be over soon.” You tell him.

“Brothers and sisters,” The Reverend says, bringing silence to the congregation.

Finn nods, smiles weakly and retakes his place beside you. He doesn’t release your hand.

The Reverend begins a hymn, his deep rich tone joined quickly with Polly’s clear voice, Linda and Arthur join soon after, Finn too. Not knowing the hymn or the words you remain mute. As the song concludes and the melody is snatched away by the wind, the Reverend begins the service in earnest.   

Shamefully you aren’t able to concentrate on the proceedings, fatigue testing your resolve and apprehension tensing your muscles. As Tommy begins to speak, you feel a new wave of tension. He tells of a day in France, the day they were meant to die, talking about all that had come since. The second life. As he speaks, Johnny, Charlie and Curly touch torches to the kindling surrounding the caravan, as the blaze grows and the flames begin to catch on the caravan you close your eyes, trying not to think about John, wondering where Esme was now and how the children were adjusting.

The second life, is that what you were on now? Or was it your third, fourth? How many times had you slipped through death’s clutches since you’d woken on the floor of your childhood home, dragged yourself through the gutters and alleys, and scraped an existence in the ditches? How many times since you joined the Shelby’s? How many lives had you had? How many were left?

The sound of gunfire rips you back to the present, you duck down, dragging Polly and Finn down with you. Hissing at them to stay down, you draw your gun and begin crawling towards the gunfire. Tommy hasn’t moved or even ducked his head.

He takes a few steps towards you “It’s alright everyone, everything is under control.” He places his hand under your arm. “Just some local Italians chancing their luck. We knew they were coming, we have men handling it. Everyone is safe.” He concludes drawing you up to your feet. He doesn’t even glance at you before turning away.  

The gathering disintegrates, Linda storms off and Ada chases after her. Tommy and Arthur are in huddled conversation. Polly spits curses at Tommy for dishonouring his brother’s funeral. Amongst the commotion you leave. You have a shipment of guns to look over before the meeting tomorrow. When you reach the car, you look back. You see Johnny Dogs approaching Tommy and being sent away again with a shake of Tommy’s head.

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

“Miss Hunter.” The Blinder whose name you can’t remember opens the door to the factory for you.

“Thank you. Do you have the key?” You ask.

The Blinder holds out a key. “Do you want me to come with you? Carry that?” He nods to the small suitcase you were carrying which contained your tools and some work clothes.

You shake your head, “No. You stay here. I need to change, I’ll use Tommy’s office. ”

“Miss.” The man nods.

 --------

“Anna? You in here?” Curly’s gentle tone calls out across the room.

“I’m here, down the back.” You call back sticking your hand up over your head and waving it. It’s the first time you’ve looked up since you entered the workshop. The peace and quiet of the empty factory combined with the familiar rhythm of cleaning and checking the guns giving you a few hours peace.

“’Allo Anna.” Curly says as he picks his way through the crates. As you come into view, he pauses for a moment, looking you over from head to toe, jacket, shirt, pants and work boots. “George?”

“Either is fine Curly, but I’ll be George tomorrow for the meeting with the Golds, yeah?” You say kindly.

Curly simply nods.  

“George.” Charlie greets you as he too comes into view. “What do you think?” He says nodding at the crates.

“Yeah, they seem fine. All clean, mechanisms are smooth.” You reply, and Charlie nods. “You taking these to the shop?”

“Hmm.” Charlie grunts affirmatively. “Got boys here to load the truck when you’re ready.”

“Yeah, just this box to go.” You say motioning to the crate on your workbench.

Charlie sticks his head out the door and shouts “Right boys! Come on now, get the lead out. Don’t want to be here all fuckin’ day!”

You return to your work, quickly finishing off the crate in time for it to be loaded with the last of the boxes. As the men load it, you lean back against the wall, exhaling slowly and allowing your eyes to close for a moment.

“You want me to take you somewhere?” Curly offers kindly.

“No, thank you. I have my car.” You reply.

“Right we’ll be off then. See you tomorrow, George.” Charlie says, ushering Curly from the room.

You wave goodbye from the factory door, before trudging upstairs.

 Closing the door to Tommy’s office, you rub your hands over your face and cross the room to the desk to help yourself to a cigarette. Dragging deeply you pour yourself a whiskey and collapse onto the lounge, carefully avoiding your dress which was hanging over the arm. You hang your head back, eyes closing as you breathe deeply. The room smells of Tommy.

Feeling safe and surprisingly warm, the fire had been lit at sometime today and only required the addition of one piece of timber before the flames came to life again. You toy with the idea of just curling up for a nap. Mocking yourself for your weakness, you push the thought from your mind. Busying it instead with mentally checking and rechecking the plans for tomorrow. But fatigue has you firmly in her grasp, you seem unable to hold a thought for more than a moment at a time. Your mind begins to wander, back to the funeral. What would happen when you died? A funeral with friends and loved ones like Goliath or John? Not likely. A pauper’s grave with no mourners? Perhaps. A bullet in the back of your head and an unmarked grave? Probably.

Unexpectedly your eyes fill with tears, one escapes and races towards your hairline, you catch it with your index finger. With a shake of your head, you stand, crushing out the cigarette and placing the empty glass on the side table. You curse yourself for being sentimental. This was not the time nor the place. You wipe your face crossly before tossing your jacket on the table, adding the armbands on top and pushing your boots off with your toes. You hang your holster over the back of a chair, rolling your shoulders enjoying the relief from its weight before you make quick work of the buttons on your shirt.

The sound of heavy footsteps on the stairs make you freeze. No-one should be here, other than the Blinders on guard. With the blinds closed for privacy, you can’t see who it is. Heart in your throat you realise you didn’t lock the door. Recognising it’s too late, you pull your gun from your holster and step around the table positioning yourself and raising the gun at head height. The footsteps pause outside the door, the handle twisting slowly. The barrel of a gun pushes the door open. Your index finger moves from the guard to the trigger of your gun. The brim of a cap casts the face below it in shadow, your finger begins to flex. The brim lifts, the light from the office immediately revealing sharp cheekbones and sharp blue eyes.  

“Fuck!” You huff in unison, both lowering your guns.

“What are you doing here?” Tommy asks, re-holstering his gun before he closes the door.

“The guns for tomorrow.” You say putting your gun on the table and self-consciously gripping the edges of the shirt together between your breasts.

“They finished?” Tommy says putting his cap on the hat rack by the door.

“Yeah. Curly and Charlie and some of the boys are taking them back to the betting shop for the morning.”

As you speak Tommy moves closer, until you’re standing toe to toe, Tommy’s finger stroking over an exposed patch of skin on your abdomen. “Why are you in here?” He asks quietly.

Your breath catches, “I needed to change. No ladies toilets.”

The corner of Tommy’s mouth twitches in amusement. You meet his gaze as his palm slides under the shirt and onto your waist. “Do you make a habit of greeting men with a gun and your shirt open, or just me?” He brings his other hand to your neck, running his fingers down the edge of the fabric, his hand closing over yours where it grips the fabric tightly. He pulls you closer, eyes searching your face. “You’ve been crying.” He says cupping your cheeks in his hands and brushing his thumbs over your cheekbones.

“Not really.” You reply.

“What’s wrong?” Tommy asks quietly as his hands glide down your neck to your shoulders.

“Just sentimental I guess.” You smile weakly.

“You sure that’s all?” He asks before he presses his lips to yours. The kiss is tender but brief. “Everything alright at Alea House? You only just made it to the funeral.” Tommy’s question is asked evenly and the comment made without rebuke. “I was worried,” Tommy concludes pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead.

You lift your face to watch his. “Why? What’s happened?”

Tommy sighs and lets you go, walking to his desk he removes his jacket and hangs on the back of the chair, he drops his collar and tie on the work surface as he lights a cigarette and takes the first few drags. While Tommy undresses, you do up the buttons on your shirt. He plucks a piece of tobacco from his lip and drops it in the ashtray before he speaks again. “Early this morning the Birmingham branch of the wire cutters union called a strike to protest the pay disparity between male workers here and female workers in one of our other factories.” Tommy pauses, as he pours a glass of whiskey and takes a sip before continuing. “While the factory was being emptied someone unlocked the back door.” Tommy takes another mouthful of his drink before taking his glass and the decanter to the lounge. “Entering through that door, two men employed by Mr Changretta, entered the factory and attempted to kill Arthur.” Tommy refills your glass as he speaks handing it to you and nodding towards the lounge indicating you should sit next to him. You move your dress to the table before you sit, Tommy carries on with the story. “While those men were attempting to kill Arthur a third party entered my office and removed all the bullets from my gun.”

“What? Why?” You manage to splutter.

“At 11:30 this morning I had a meeting with a Monsieur Pas from France.” Tommy says hanging his head back and looking at the ceiling. “Who is, in fact, a Mr Luca Changretta from New York.” Tommy finishes the sentence with a slight growl as he empties his lungs of smoke.

“Fuck,” You whisper your heart pounding.

Tommy’s head snaps up and turns to face you. “What?” He demands.

You take a sip of your drink and steal the cigarette from between Tommy’s fingers, taking a deep drag before handing it back. “Last night Luca Changretta came to Alea House to confront me about cancelling the plan for New Year’s Eve.” You pause, and Tommy nods for you to continue. “He accused me of organising the hit on John. I convinced him that it wasn’t me and told him that Michael had said it was Italians. He denies any knowledge.”

“And?” Tommy prompts when you pause.

“And, this morning before I left, a funeral wreath was delivered to Alea House, for me.” You feel Tommy stiffen next to you. “Attached was a card instructing me to be at St. Marks’ Church at eleven-thirty.”

“Tell me you didn’t go,” Tommy says quietly.

“I did.”

“Alone?”

“Yes.”

“What the fuck were you thinking?” Tommy explodes slamming his hand down on the arm of the lounge. He turns on you, and you find your voice is stuck in your throat. You shake your head desperately and slide away from him. Tommy’s eyes close for a moment before he speaks again, “Who did you meet?”

“Mrs Changretta.” You say quietly, your gaze fixed firmly on the glass you were resting on your knee.

“What did she want?” Tommy asks clearly trying to hold his temper.

“Well, now I would say she wanted to make sure I was nowhere near you or this factory. But at the she said she wanted me to refuse Changretta’s offer to take me to New York.”

Tommy tosses back the rest of his drink, standing and turning away from you to refill his glass. “New York?” He barely manages to get the word out.

“On Boxing Day when I went home to collect my weapons and clothes, there was a gift for me on my kitchen table. No card or note. Just a jewellery box with a tennis bracelet and a first class ticket to New York.”

Tommy turns and looks down on you, blue eyes clear and bright. “He wants you to be with him?” He asks simply.

You stand up and place your hand on Tommy’s chest “I don’t know.” You admit. “He wants to ruin you, to take everything you have.”

“I know, he told me,” Tommy says quietly.

“Maybe he thinks I’m part of that.” You offer. “I haven’t given him any reason to think I’m interested in him, I mean I haven’t,” You can’t say the words and can feel tears filling your eyes again.

Tommy’s eyes close as he meets yours, instantly reaching out and wrapping his arms around you. “Shush,” He assures you bringing his hand to the back of your head guiding your cheek to his chest before sliding his hand down your neck caressing it with his fingertips.

As you press against him, your fingers gripping tightly to the sides of his waistcoat, you whisper “He could have killed you, Tommy.”

Tommy kisses the top of your head. “No, you’re right, he wants me to suffer. We agreed, no children, no civilians. So Finn and Charlie and you are safe.”

“Safe?” You challenge, as you pull back and meet his eye unable to help a half smile. “I'm not a civilian. There's no such thing as safe for people like us Tommy. Ever. There’s only not in danger right now.” Tommy’s eye’s flash and he looks up at the ceiling, his jaw setting. You bring your hand to his cheek, bringing his eyes back to yours.

Tommy holds your gaze, arms wrapping around you tighter. You can see he wants to argue the point with you, to tell you, you’ll be safe. But he knows it’s a lie and can’t bring himself to do it.

“It was her.” You whisper into Tommy’s chest.

“What?” Tommy asks ducking his head to hear you.

“It was Mrs Changretta that ordered the hit on John on Christmas day. She thought Luca might spare him because he spared her. She said men tend to get sentimental. She said that’s why they have me because I’ll make you pause.”

You feel Tommy’s chest expand as he takes a deep breath, “I would.” He sighs into your hair. You clutch at him tighter, lifting yourself up to press your lips to his. “Stay with me tonight,” Tommy says as he breaks the kiss.

You shake your head, already pulling away slightly “I can’t Tommy. I need to be at the shop to look after the guns. It’s the easiest way for me to blend into the other Blinders in the morning. Leaving with all of them. Plus there’s no room for me, with Mary and Charlie it’s already full.”

“There’s room in my bed,” Tommy suggests, resting his forehead against yours.

“How would you know?” You ask taking his face in your hands, your thumbs brushing along his cheekbones, the pads caressing the dark circles under his eyes. “Have you slept?”

Tommy shrugs and shakes his head, as a soft, guilty smile forms on his lips “You?”

“Here and there. A few hours last night.” You assure him as you place your hands over his and unwrap his arms from you “You should rest now, here, I’ll keep watch.” You offer, guiding him back to the couch. As he sits you pour a glass of whiskey and light another cigarette, handing both to Tommy. Tommy attempts to catch your hand as you turn away, but you pull it free easily, looking back over your shoulder. “I need to change.”

Plucking your dress from the arm of the lounge you cross the room and hang it over the back of one of the chairs surrounding the table with your jacket on it. You undo your shirt buttons and the buttons on your pants and go to lower them, but pause looking back at Tommy again. Tommy nods and sinks down further in the chair taking a mouthful of whiskey. “Go on then.” He says huskily.

“Tommy.” You say in exasperation. “Can you close your eyes?”

A smirk forms around his cigarette as Tommy’s eyes close incredibly slowly. You roll your eyes at his games. But, assured he’s not watching you turn away and slide the pants off your hips. They crumple around your ankles, and you pause for a moment adjusting the garter belt, suspenders and stockings that you hadn’t bothered to remove when you changed before. Satisfied everything was correct you duck down to collect the pants. Looking behind you Tommy meets your eye. “Will you please stop looking?” You cry, using one hand to ensure the tail of your shirt is covering your behind and snatching the pants off the floor with the other. You toss the pants on the table before looking back towards Tommy crossly.

He’s no longer on the lounge but standing behind you. His hand sliding over your hip and pressing against your stomach before he pulls you against him. “I can, but I won’t.” His voice is deep and hungry, the growl reverberating through his chest into your back. You can feel his need pressing against your ass. His free hand lifts your chin and holds you in place while he lays claim to your mouth. Not loosening his grip until you relax against him. He presses kisses along your jaw, his breath is hot on your ear. “We can’t waste a moment.” He insists, kissing your neck as his hand slides from your stomach down over your underwear.

The warmth of his hand makes you shudder. His name falls from your lips, and he grinds against you. Your teeth press into your lower lip as you rock your hips. Tommy’s fingers glide against the gusset of your panties, the satin adding a delicacy to his demanding touch. You dig your fingers into his thigh as you try desperately to stay on your feet. “Tommy,” you gasp, managing, just barely, to step away, turning to face him. Tommy grabs your hips in his hands, fingers digging deeply into your ass, pulling you back against him harshly. You fall against him, unable to stay steady on your feet.

“Careful,” Tommy says softly guiding you back towards the lounge. As the backs of your legs press against the coolness of the leather, you push his holster from his shoulders. Tommy catches it as it falls down his arms and drops it on the side table. It is followed by a flurry of clothing, you sit on the lounge as Tommy slides the suspenders off his shoulders, and you quickly unbutton his trousers. Eagerly pushing both trousers and boxers to the floor while Tommy removes this shirt, undershirt, shoes and socks.

Before you can touch him, Tommy is lifting your feet onto the lounge and laying you back against the arm.  You sit up slightly to remove your shirt. “Leave it on.” Tommy groans. Again you reach out for him desperate for contact. Tommy’s head drops back as your hand wraps around his shaft, cursing under his breath as you glide your hand along his length. After a moment, Tommy’s eyes open, surveying your body closely before he brushes his fingertips down your chest. You arch your back wantonly and feel a thrill as Tommy’s eyes dilate. His hand travels lower, your stomach twitching under the touch. “Remove your panties.” He instructs his voice deceptively calm. Releasing him you quickly undo the clips on your stockings and slip your fingers under the silk to roll them down. “No,” Tommy says, cupping you with his hand, “just the panties.” Your hips lift as if of their own accord desperate for more. Before you have the chance to do anything else Tommy grabs your panties and rips them down your legs, dropping them on top of the pile of clothing. His hand returning to cup you again before you fully realise what’s going on.

Squirming you take hold of his free hand, pulling him towards you. “Tommy,” you sigh.

Tommy hesitates; he wants this, needs it as badly as he once needed opium. For the same reason, to block out the pain of the world and to leave him warm, fuzzy and disconnected. But he also wants more, he wants the comfort of you with him, unlike the hangover of opium which drew him further into himself, made him believe there was no hope or reason to go on, you give him those things and more, peace, understanding and acceptance. "Mm," he hums.

“Tommy, please.” You whimper needing him close to you, wondering where he has gone in his head.  Tommy places his hand above your head on the arm of the chair, growling approvingly as you open your legs to him. He positions himself between your thighs. You press back, whimpering as you feel his heat pressed against you. Tommy’s arms wrap around you as he kisses you again. His tongue breaches your mouth, and you moan with the feeling of him. “Tommy,” You mumble against his lips, fingers clutching at his ass and pulling him against you.

Tommy adjusts himself slightly, gliding into you, like a hand into a silk glove. Your foreheads come together, and your breath merges as your bodies do. Tommy’s mouth falls to your neck as your hands glide over his back. His hips roll slowly, the wave of pleasure driving your fingers into his hair, tugging on it as the sensations threaten to overwhelm you. “Is this what you needed?” Tommy’s voice is tight and airy against your ear, causing your body to clench around him. Tommy moans in response and increases his thrusts slightly.

The two of you melt into each other, breathing and moving as one. Both losing yourselves in the warm embrace of the other.

“Tommy!!” Arthur’s bark follows immediately after the sound of the door crashing open violently.

You reach up and pull the blanket down off the back of the lounge in a desperate attempt to try to cover you both.

“Fuck off Arthur!” Tommy yells back, looking over his shoulder at his brother.

“This is more important than you fucking some whore.” Arthur spits.

Tommy’s face darkens, and he stands, pausing to ensure the blanket is covering you. “She’s not a fucking whore,” Tommy says coldly.

Seeing your face, Arthur’s face crumples “No, no, no. Fucking no!” He moans turning away from you, as he turns back, he pulls his gun from its holster and points it at you. “No,” he repeats, his attention turning to Tommy “Fuckin’ why her? Of all the fuckin’ women you had to fuck her!”

“Arthur put the gun down,” Tommy says calmly taking a step towards him, either unaware or uncaring about the fact he is naked.

“Just fuckin’ listen to me, brother. For once just fuckin' listen.” Arthur begs, plunging his free hand into his coat pocket.

“Arthur,” Tommy says as calmly as he can, moving closer to Arthur and reaching for his arm carefully. “Arthur, look at me. Put the gun down and let’s talk about it.” Tommy nearly manages to take the gun, but Arthur snatches his arm away violently.

“No! Tommy! She’s fuckin’ betrayed us. She’s fucking sold us out to the Mafia! To Changretta!”

“No,” Tommy begins glancing over his shoulder at you.

“Johnny saw, Tommy.” Arthur continues “Fucking saw her meet Mrs Changretta at St Mark's before the funeral. Fucking found this,” He pulls a jewellers box and crumpled piece of paper from his pocket tossing them in your directions, “fucking ticket to New York Tommy. Fucking jewellery Tommy.”

Tommy reaches again for Arthur’s gun, and Arthur lashes out at him, sending Tommy stumbling backwards and landing heavily on his ass on the floor.

Arthur turns his full attention and the gun on you again. “Why?” He demands as tears begin to flow. “Why? Fuckin’ loved you like a sister, like a brother. A fuckin’ brother in arms, you were. Would have fuckin’ died for you. Why?” He wails, contorting himself as he tries to contain his agony.

He looks from his brother to you, pointing the gun at your head and straightening. His jaw set as he cocks the weapon. 

“Arthur.” You begin finally being able to form a thought. You sit up slightly. “It’s not,”  

Arthur cocks the gun, he hesitates for a moment. “No!” Arthur screams. The word is obliterated by the bang of the gun.

The ringing in your ears and the acrid smell of charred paper helps you realise you are not dead. The room is silent for a moment as you turn your head and look up at the smoking hole in the wall.

The sound of flesh striking flesh violently draws your attention back. You open your eyes and find Arthur on his back on the floor with Tommy straddling him. Punching him again and again and yelling incoherently. Arthur’s gun lays under the table, apparently lost in the initial onslaught. Arthur is trying his best to shield himself from the blows while sobbing, that he had to do it. 

“Stop!” You yell at Tommy. He shows no sign he’s heard you or of stopping his onslaught of his brother. Wrapping the blanket around yourself, you hurry to where the men are on the floor. “Stop!” You cry again, but Tommy continues. Arthur’s bleeding from his nose and mouth, and he’s already getting a black eye. You launch yourself at Tommy, knocking him off Arthur and onto his back with you on top of him. “Tommy Stop!” Tommy quickly flips you on your back straddling you with his arm raised. You brace yourself for the strike, turning your head and closing your eyes.

The strike doesn’t come. Instead, Tommy begins clawing at the blanket checking you over. “Tommy stop.” You cry again. “I’m fine he missed.” Tommy sits back, looking at you for a moment before collapsing against you.

“No, Tommy.” Arthur sobs quietly.

Tommy’s face is buried in your chest, so you physically feel the force of his cry “She’s with us, you fucking idiot. She’s working for us, against Changretta.”

Arthur rolls onto his side, his arms wrapped around his head as he begins sobbing in earnest. Tommy's eyes close, and he presses his forehead against yours before sliding off you and reaching for his pants. He puts them on and stands, plucking yours from the table and handing them to you. You’re decent in seconds. As soon as you are you crawl towards Arthur and wrap your arms around him. “It’s going to be okay Arthur.” You assure him gently. “It will all be over soon.”

Chapter twenty-five - Before Dawn > > >

As always I look forward to your thoughts, comments, questions and suggestions. I’ll see you all again for the next chapter.

More chapters of George are available on the George Masterlist

Interested in my other work? Find them on my MASTERLIST

Want to be tagged in future chapters? GO HERE

@hismissharley13

@justiceforjohn

@mafaldaz

@badbitsh13

@collecting-stories

@hardygal69

@unicorn-glitter-princess

@smitten-may

@whyskeysour

@weeo

[cyb-by-lang]

it must be a thursday (3/?)

Kei has more friends than just Isobu, and it’s high time she ran into one.

Chapter Three: Path of the Seeker

Gustav surprised me with a gift on the morning we got to the first big stop I’d be around to see.

“You can’t make it anywhere in the Empire without papers,” Gustav said with a grin. In his ink-stained hands, he held a sheaf of papers and dropped them in her hands. “I didn’t know if you’d want a last name, so I just picked something that sort of sounded right. Just make sure to memorize it so the Crownsguard don’t catch you in a lie, all right?”

Given that I was not, in fact, named “Caretta Schiavoni” and probably didn’t look the part, I had to wonder where Gustav had gotten the idea. Aside from Molly, Desmond, and Gustav, I hadn’t exactly heard anybody else make much use of last names.

Ah, well. I’d been lying since I got here.

“Thank you very much, Gustav.” I bowed deeply over the glorified passport. “You’ve been very kind to me.”

“It’s all right. One good turn deserves another, and you’ve been a model guest.”

“Can you two please hurry that up? The station’s just around the bend,” said Desmond, and Gustav took his place at the head of the caravan with a spring in his spindly step.

Is that like your ninja registration number?

A little. As I checked on Isobu to make sure he was still locked in a costume trunk in the back of my wagon—driven by Ornna—I replied, In hindsight, I probably should have asked about official documentation before. I’ve just never been in a contiguous empire long enough to think about it.

We have been skating laws with wild abandon. Doing so is more fun. Isobu sent me the image of the inside view of the trunk to confirm he was still there, then added, Have you told any of them your plans?

Not yet. Once we get safely into town.

Isobu hummed a sad little note. Then, I hate this.

I didn’t have to ask what he meant.

Even putting aside how much freedom Isobu won for himself over the years, being slammed back down into a shape he didn’t ask for had to be a major setback. The freedom to move in the world didn’t feel complete when he couldn’t be sure he’d keep it. I didn’t know enough about this world to be sure if Isobu’s appearance would let him really wander freely, like he had when we were out in the Grand Line. Every day he had to spend like this, he was kicked in the face with reminders of his relative powerlessness. Worse yet, I’d heard him calling for his siblings late at night on my watch. There was never any response.

We’ll make it back to them, I assured him. Maybe not today, or tomorrow, but we’ll go home.

Isobu grunted something indecipherable and ignored me. Fair enough.

Honestly, letting that conversation lie was as much for his benefit as it was mine. I didn’t really want to talk homesickness.

I did, however, want to talk about my job with the circus. Gustav’s passport thing said my work specialty was “sword juggling.” Being asked to prove that sounded like a terrible idea for everybody.

“Ornna,” I began quietly, “once we reach town and Molly and Yasha start their rounds, can I spend a little time on my own instead?”

Ornna snorted. “Do whatever you want. You’re a grown woman.”

No snide comment about how I’m not a member of the circus anyway? She must like me. “Thank you, Ornna. I’ll make sure tell Gustav.”

And to be honest, well, I might’ve just wandered around street corners and explored the town. New places with German names were definitely outside of my experience as either a jōnin or an adopted pirate, and I’d heard weird things about Oktoberfest in a lifetime or two. Even if this was just any fishing town, I at least wanted a chance to take a damn bath. I’d been listening intently to the carnival crew for any indication of what civilized life was like compared to the life of a roadie, though, since I hadn’t asked questions, I only knew that Molly was magnetically attracted to bathhouses. Road dust and road sweat and no internal plumbing made for a very grumpy Kei, gotta say.

But I started picking out little flickers of something as we entered Trostenwald.

I’d known for years that people with chakra suppression skills could slip by me if they were good enough, especially because my range was a fifty kilometer radius. The best of the best, like Orochimaru, tended to be the types who could waltz right up to me and do jazz hands behind my head without me noticing. ANBU weren’t quite as good, and most shinobi far less stealthy than that.

Rin wasn’t even trying.

I stuck around long enough to help set up the big top tent and the performers’ common areas. Yasha ended up not needing my help at all, so all I had to do after that was make sure no one else wanted an extra pair of hands in the mix. But after Ornna and Toya both shrugged off any assistance with makeup, because they’d done shows without my amateur ass before and intended to continue, I let Gustav know I’d be taking a day off and disappeared into the city.

I probably didn’t read half the signs, honestly. I skipped checking out breweries and apothecaries, didn’t get anywhere near Crownsguard strongholds or the seat of any government, and doubled down on my earlier resolution to avoid people.

This somehow put me on the opposite side of the entire city from the circus, still chasing the sensation of an autumn afternoon. Subtly, of course. (Or under a transformation technique to make myself look human again.) Even if I hadn’t seen anyone spit at Molly or Bo while on the road, I knew enough to guess a country with established racial slurs for my current appearance probably had an attitude behind it. The power to punch people out on a whim was more useful in lawless backcountry when the only people around wanted to use your bones as soup stock. In an established city? Hah, no.

The chakra jumped from one alleyway to the next in my mind’s eye. While perhaps not my best plan, I sent a pulse of my chakra outward as I passed in front of the second row of buildings. Rin wasn’t much of a sensor unless in the middle of an exam, but hopefully she’d pick up something about me she recognized.

It didn’t take that long.

As soon as I spotted a familiar figure, I was already heading right for her. “Is that really you?”

Rin, though short and slight compared to a lot of the local humans, probably would have stood out for other reasons. I hadn’t seen a single Asian-adjacent person in the week I’d been hanging with the circus. Logically, I knew small towns didn’t tend to be the most diverse places, but I’d met or seen at least twenty nonhumans. The only one with Asian features had been my reflection. Rin’s long, dark hair was bound up in a braid and she wasn’t wearing skirt and blouses she preferred in Konoha—due to transformation chicanery—but she was still recognizable.  

Not exactly the same as my situation.

“It’d be hard for me to be anyone else.” Rin ducked her head a little and looked up at me through her bangs. “So. How was your week?”

Her normally-dark eyes were entirely different, reflecting light like a cat’s and her irises were streaked with blue, green, and purple. Her smile wobbled uncertainly. Rin’s hair caught the light strangely, reflecting red and violet in turn. Her chakra felt different, with an edge I couldn’t fully identify. Most of the chakra signatures I was used to were half-sensory data generally incongruous with people. I could compare them to shadows, or cheerful little fires, or lightning strikes.

I’d never run into a variation that felt like singing.

It felt like the damned mission objective from before this clusterfuck started.

Ugh, thought for later. I replied instead, “Not even a week. It’s…been interesting. Sorry I didn’t come find you sooner.”

“I mean, it wasn’t so bad. Not the worst survival training I’ve had!” Then she hugged me hard enough to make me think of crying uncle, if I hadn’t been doing the same right back. Dammit, I’d missed Rin. “But we’re both safe. That’s something. ”

“I went straight into survival mode,” I admitted after we pulled apart a bit. She still had one of my hands in hers, and was performing a medical scan even as I spoke. “There were some travelers who dragged me out of a river. I came in with them just this morning.”

“That’s…a little more adventurous than what I’ve been doing,” Rin said. She peered up at me, curiosity alight in her eyes. “Kei, you’re not using Isobu’s chakra, are you? It doesn’t quite feel like that, but your biology is very different right now. What happened?”

“Well…” I dropped the pretense of still looking human. “I got a makeover.”

Rin paused with her mouth dropping open in shock. Now that she knew where my horns were, she hesitated for a second with a fingertip a little above the central one. Even as she touched it, her expression was briefly unreadable even as her chakra started to jump up and down in excitement.

“Been thinking of filing that one down,” I mumbled.

“You look a little like an oni,” Rin breathed, a smile slowly spreading across her face. There was no way I was getting away from her now, and I’d never been happier to be on the recieving end of Rin’s fantastic gush sessions. “This is why your scan was so strange! Do those horns weigh you down? And the tail—that’s Isobu-san’s tail with fewer plates, isn’t it? Did someone modify pants for you? Are you feeling strange any other way?

“Um… So about...” I made a sweeping motion to encompass everything that had changed about my body.

“So I’m glad you’re here. You’re still Kei, even if you’re different-looking now.” Rin nodded firmly. “Aside from the obvious, nothing really changed! So, what else is different? You were vague about the week.”

“I… I’m pretty sure I joined a circus.”

Rin said nothing for a second.

I raised an eyebrow. “That’s what throws you off?”

“I really can’t imagine you wearing makeup and performing for the public.” Rin was obviously biting down a laugh. “You don’t even put on foundation during ceremonies back home!”

I rolled my eyes. “With one exception. And when you’re doing all the work for me.”

“Exactly!”

Still, we were making our way out of the alleyways and back toward the rest of town. I didn’t particularly care about being seen as a tiefling once I wasn’t alone. Some things invited a fight. A pair of foreign tourists would probably invite scams first, provided no one decided to ask for papers I was sure Rini didn’t have. It was Rin’s first time in a world where she wasn’t aligned with the legal authority anywhere. Konoha backed us. Nobody here would.

“I’m going to need to get Isobu to translate for you when I can’t,” I said while we walked. “The main language here is the same one those star people spoke. Sorry.”

To answer me, Rin sighed, “That explains a lot.” Rin’s focus stayed mostly on me as we walked through town, though I could see her glancing around at the various buildings that didn’t look at all like home. Hadn’t seen any steeple roofs yet, though.

I am about as happy with this as she is. The circus does not know I can talk.

Rin was adaptable, though. She got along well with Isobu in at least a theoretical sense, because to my knowledge they almost never directly interacted. Rin’s focus was on medicine, so she had a fantastic time quizzing me and other experts about how Tailed Beasts lived and could function as chakra given form. I’d never met a Tailed Beast I didn’t think Rin would gush over, because her fascination overrode what most people could consider healthy fear.

It was kind of the opposite of how Isobu interacted with most of the circus. Isobu had a lot more fun messing with them that he ever would with Rin.

“How’s this town been to you?” I asked instead.

“Not super great.” Rin put a finger to her lips as she thought. “I mean, I didn’t get anything like the negative reaction I’ve seen directed at other people, but I can’t talk to anyone here. I’ve been stealing a lot.” She paused for a second as we ducked past a pair of halflings hawking fish, sizing them up before continuing her thought. “Things feel tense here. It’s not just about me. You can feel it too, right?”

The humans are mobilizing.

I repeated this remark for Rin’s benefit, and her brow furrowed.

While maps were in short supply in the era before printing presses—which was a fact I hated for several reasons—I knew enough about the local geography to figure rural Trostenwald and the villages I’d passed were in the southern end of a massive empire. I couldn’t recall offhand what the other towns were called without a way to check my spelling, but I’d been listening to town criers. Such as there were, in such tiny communities.

Somebody up to the north and east was trying to start shit.

“That said,” I added once I’d explained my limited information, “I wanted to mention the whole ‘human’ thing we keep using as shorthand.”

“I know neither of us are fully human anymore, but I don’t want to call anyone ‘yōkai’ when it doesn’t fit.” Rin eyed the street again, and between the two of us we picked out at least half a dozen different races without a problem. A fifth of the town’s population seemed to be halflings, while humans made up a decent chunk of the other eighty percent. That said, there were also half-orcs besides Bo, a single humanoid white dragon without wings, and half-elves here and there. “It’s disrespectful even if no one else understands me. But do you know what everyone would be called?”

“I’d have to ask a few specific questions, but yes. Mostly.” I pointed at my face, at my flat yellow eyes and otherwise quite eye-catching palette. “I’m a tiefling, for example.” Or I looked the part, at least. “There’s another one in the circus, but he looks different. Ten to one Isobu’s influence is the reason I look specifically like this.”

I heard that.

“Interesting. That must mean there’s an established population, right? Or more than one. The horns are probably…genetic?” Rin looked thoughtful again. “Hm… Outside of Curse Seal transformations, I’ve never seen humans with tails or horns. That said, transformations outside of surface-level techniques are definitely possible. I’d only have to look at the Inuzuka clan know that.” She thought that over. “Any idea how this happened?”

“Not a damn clue,” I admitted. “I just—maybe that mission…” If only I could remember clearly what the hell had happened.

“Could be,” Rin agreed softly.

But the rest of that conversation was put on hold by a quick hand signal as I spotted a familiar duo winding their way through the streets. They hadn’t seen us yet, but frankly? If anybody could miss a pair like Molly, the walking kaleidoscope, and Yasha, death metal incarnate, as they passed out fliers with smarmy charm and a solid dash of silent intimidation, I hadn’t met them yet.

Rin followed my gaze in the brief second I gave myself away. “Circus?”

“Circus,” I confirmed. As we changed our path from aimless wandering to an intercept course, I added, “And they think my name’s ‘Caretta’ right now. In case it comes up.”

“I don’t speak their language, remember?” Rin reminded me mildly. When I looked, she had her hands clasped demurely and amusement sparked faintly through her. “I’m sure they’ll be looking to you first.”

Bleh. “We really need to get Isobu on this translating thing.”

Ugh.

Rin fell entirely silent as we sized up the Nestled Nook Inn, which was two stories tall and probably only large enough to have half a dozen rooms. Not impressive, but my standards were fucked and the circus probably had an established circuit even in these small towns.

Molly and Yasha wouldn’t stay long, because the shock of a walking rainbow headbutting his way into an unrelated conversation only worked so many times with witnesses. Which was why Yasha was there. Molly might’ve been taller than either Rin or Kei were, but Yasha could pick up two grown men and bash them together until they stopped causing trouble. Being a bouncer must’ve been interesting. No one would cause trouble this early in the morning, right?

With that middle finger firmly directed toward whatever patron of luck I’d already pissed off by existing, I headed inside anyway.

Rin followed, though she stayed back to keep any eye on the entire room from a spot beside the door. She was enthusiastic and bright when everyone around could understand her comments, but she wasn’t nearly as imposing as anybody in this roughneck place. She was happier keeping in the background unless she had to watch over genin. Or the civilians that genin inevitably ran roughshod over while trying to help.

Funny how Yasha was doing the same thing, just on the opposite side of the doorway. I didn’t make it past either of them.

“—It’s just five copper. A steal. At five silver, it would be a steal, at five gold?” Molly rattled off, his spiel landing two table’s worth of fish. I picked out two humans, a blue tiefling—who looked a lot more like Molly than she did like me—a half-orc and a tiny figure who might’ve been a halfling. There was a tiny part of my brain that said “adventurers!” before it went quiet under Isobu’s laughter. “Worth every penny. But if you’ve got the five copper to spend, we would happily have you all.”

The blue tiefling was starry-eyed already. ���Do you perform?”

Molly hardly missed a beat. He did look like a sword-juggler or something, after all. I sure didn’t. “Ah. I’m less of a performer and more of an intermediary for these parts. I do on occasion perform. I can read fortunes—”

“I was going to ask if you read fortunes! Can you do one now?” the blue tiefling asked, almost bouncing in her seat.

Molly grinned. Hook, line, sinker. “I knew you were going to ask that.”

“Oh my gosh, you’re so smart. Look at this guy, he knows everything!” And with that, she made a space for him at her group’s table without a second’s pause.

“Yasha,” I said in an undertone, because there was no way I was throwing Molly off a roll like that.

Yasha did fix both odd-colored eyes on me, just for a bit, and Rin stood tall as she realized I’d called someone out by name. Especially a name she’d easily be able to pronounce. Yasha’s gaze flicked to Rin, widened a bit, but there was a nervous edge there. She wouldn’t want to talk about it.

“Is everything going well?” I asked.

“I think so,” Yasha said, already turning her attention back to Molly’s audience with an air of trying really hard to avoid a conversation. I didn’t know what that was about. “Um, excuse me.”

“Yasha’s quiet,” I told Rin once she was embroiled in that little scene. “You’ll like her.”

“Have we seen what we need to?” Rini asked, though she couldn’t quite hide the tiny spark of curiosity. It wasn’t as though this town was swimming in doctors or biological standouts other than the obvious. Her interests were pretty well self-contained.

“Yeah, mainly. I could try to catch them on the way out, but it seems like they’re busy.” A thought occurred to me. “You know, we kind of match?”

“Hm?”

“Brightly colored tiefling and someone with slightly less obvious nonhuman features. It’s kind of neat.”

Rin smiled, her long braid waving behind her as she swayed from side to side. “To Isobu?”

“Sure.”

In a town where the only famous export seemed to be three kinds of beer, ale, or whatever it was this week, people drinking in the streets probably wouldn’t have put most people off. But since Rin disliked the smell and taste of alcohol, we cut past the crowds wherever possible. In no time at all, we were in the circus staging area well ahead of the impending night crowd.

I managed to make introductions to the group without stumbling too badly over myself, or maybe Ornna was just taking pity on me for once. The line was pretty thin with her, and despite the language barrier Rin busted out the mission diplomat skill-set like it’d never gathered dust in the first place. It mostly consisted of bowing with perfect poise and prompting me with observations to translate when I couldn’t think of anything worth saying, but overall I think we made a decent impression. Rin even got to keep her real name, because Rin didn’t give a shit about nicknames.

Which she would get, and in spades, once the rest of the group got back. Probably.

Rin went to retrieve Isobu—who was apparently stalking Kylre to a degree that was genuinely worrying poor Toya—Gustav pulled me aside for a second.

“How can I help?” I asked automatically.

“I hate to ask,” Gustav said as I wrung my hands, “but do you mind just sticking around for the show tonight?”

“I—huh? I mean…” I blinked. It wasn’t like I was that familiar with this town. And even if I was, comfort zones were a thing. I was, by however narrow a margin, much more inclined to follow the circus around than I was to rent a room in Trostenwald with the money I didn’t have. “I mean, I don’t…”

I’d just introduced Rin to them., so I kind of wanted the afternoon off. And the evening. An afternoon of catching up was not making up for the week I’d avoided thinking about my situation for fear of triggering my homesickness like a rising tide. And Rin needed help getting around, too. I wanted to sit her down with a local encyclopedia so we could pool our ignorance and start figuring out how to get out of here.

“Not as an attendee,” Gustav clarified quickly, and suddenly his hesitance made more sense. Slightly. “Could you help out around the grounds for a few hours? I know we haven’t paid you, but it seems like Molly and Yasha are going to be drawing quite a crowd. We could use just a little help.”

Because I was a pushover, I said, “Just let me know where you need me.”

“And your…” Gustav paused, grasping at a word before settling in, “Partner? Well, she can hang around. And you can both attend the show for free if you like. I know Ornna will complain, but you’ve earned a ticket for anyone you can name. Just one, though, or Ornna actually will have me by the ears this time.”

I couldn’t decide if Isobu was going to be offended more over not being invited or not counting as a person.

Both.

You’ll be a closed-captioning device. It gives you an excuse to talk the entire time!

I thought you said people who talked in the theater went to hell.

Like that’s a deterrent for you.

True.

“I’ll be there, Gustav,” I said, and that was about the point when Rin and Isobu came back. I did my best to surreptitiously point them out to Gustav. “But I’ll be in the city instead of attending if I can have the evening off. I hope you understand.”

Gustav’s eyebrows rose. “Oh, I think I do.”

Isobu had wrapped both of his outside tails around Rin’s waist, with his hands gripping the shoulder pads of what only looked like a plain, long coat. His little spiked head poked out from behind Rin’s thick braid of faintly iridescent hair, and his eye glared balefully at me for having asked him to submit to such an indignity. As though he didn’t like riding on people’s shoulders and ordering them around.

Pff.

“Oh, hey Gustav?” I said, before the ringmaster could amble away.

“Hm?”

“Watch this.” I cleared my throat and, with a wicked little smile hidden deep down, I said, “Isobu, speak.”

Isobu glared at me harder. “I am not some pet performing tricks! I demand compensation for this flagrant abuse of my talents.” Silently, while Gustav looked between the demonic turtle and Rin—who was looking as innocent as a possible ventriloquist could—Isobu added, Did I do that right?

Perfectly.

Even with her charming smile I had to admit Rin was a likely culprit, and Gustav zeroed in on her immediately. “Nice trick.”

Rin shrugged, once she’d heard Isobu’s quiet translation. “I can’t tell him what to do.”

“Damn right.”

Isobu and Rin ended up spending most of the afternoon trailing me around. While they did get to have lunch with me and the circus crew—though Isobu didn’t eat—most of their day consisted of training. I worked to help set up the evening’s show, as biddable as any roadie, though sometimes Ornna would pop by and tell me to tie knots differently or else something would tip over. Sometimes I’d overhear Isobu and Rin’s bursts of Japanese as the pair talked, with Isobu acting sort of as a guide where I couldn’t.

“That is Kylre, who smells as much like sulfur as fish. Kei told me he is a lizardfolk, and he is very close with Toya.” Isobu said while they walked past the “dressing room,” which Kylre was about a half a meter too large on each side to fit into. Luckily, his Devil Toad act didn’t really require anything.

Rin didn’t hold her as they passed, but it was clearly a close thing. “You can smell that too?”

“No, but Kei did.” Isobu swung so his weight was mostly on Rin’s right shoulder, allowing him to peer over the left better. “Toya is their singer, and she sings almost as well as me.”

“I find that hard to believe,” Rin told him, clearly humoring my anti-conscience.

“Caretta, I need you over by the stage to help Bo!” Gustav called.

“Got it!” I responded, and left them to their work.

(“Not to make a judgement, but doesn’t Kylre feel…strange somehow? He reminds me of you, but only now that I can see him properly.”

“I noticed that, too. No one else seems to want to make a fuss. Or they are oblivious.”

“I see.”)

Eventually, the sun started setting. On my chore route, I’d passed Molly’s fortune-telling station and waved to him, though he’d been busy with a pretty clueless customer and I’d been carrying ten kilos of rope and another coil of safety lines. He winked back, and I was already on my way to the tent to help sort out whatever needed sorting. I wouldn’t get to see the show, but there’d be other nights. I liked Gustav’s crew well enough, but I’d been to the Ringling Brothers show once. I had some idea what everyone was in for.

Only there wouldn’t be any motorcycles.

“Time to go,” I said, once I had passed my last coil of rope off to Bo. The half-orc waved me off, wishing me a peaceful evening, and I joined Rin and Isobu before we all disappeared into the night.

See, my only real plan was to find a used bookstore and introduce Rin to local literature, solely because she had to be dying of boredom in a country where she couldn’t speak the primary language. Maybe we could have sparred a bit to make sure neither of us had lost our edge despite the changes my body had gone through. Hell, we could have watched moonrise just to enjoy having someone else around who understood our situation.

I heard, the next morning, that the carnival’s show that night turned into a horror movie.

So did mine.

[trialtribandtestimony]

His Mercy

A lot of the time we find ourselves asking, "is there really hope for that person?". Usually not thought aloud, but we can see someone so deep in despair it's almost impossible to imagine them any other way. When I look back on my life, that's how I view where I was at.

What was my life like before Christ? Well defining what that means is difficult. Honestly my story starts even before my birth. I was conceived out of wedlock and I was born to my mother when both of my parents were 19. A wedding was set in place before my birth but was canceled at the last second by the grace of God. My mother had been made aware of how disgusting a man my father, Michael, really was and didn't even want him in the room when I was born quite understandably.

Of course when I was born many a court case took place. My last name, custody rights, and etc. My mother was genuinely scared for my safety, along with my grandparents, because my father already was a drug user. The judge decided that, and he stated, my father would "grow out of it", and granted him visitation. The judge was wrong, and this decision has affected my life ever since. But I believe that this decision was not an accident, I don't believe God's plan is an accident at all. He works all things for good.

Despite the chaos of events when I was a baby, my early childhood years were not anything particularly bad. All of my special talents started emerging, I loved to act, sing, and paint. I had a vast inner world which still exists. I was quite outrageous and special to my family, out of a difficult situation I felt like a blessing. I would sing to strangers in the grocery store and capture the heart of everyone I met. I was saved at four years old, my grandmother genuinely believing I knew what I was asking for and I believe she was right. That's why my testimony really isn't about my life "before" Christ. He died on the sins for all of the world, my name was written in the book of life before the earth was set in motion, Jesus was always there because according to Calvinism (a philosophy I heavily agree with) he knew the decision I would make to follow him. Unfortunately tragic events would make me question that decision in a few years to come.

When I became about 8 years old it seemed like everything started hitting me at once from every possible angle. My mother would get divorced from her husband whom was the father of my sister. My third grade teacher noted to my mother that every-time id come home from Michael's house I would become extremely pale. I physically started to become extremely thin. At this age my father's controlling tendencies consumed him and increasingly became worse. He would force me to watch demonic horror movies, I'd cry because of how traumatizing it would be and tell my mom, but unfortunately she didn't have much control over those things which terrified me. My mom was always my superhero, and realizing that not even my mom could protect me rocked my world. I believe this is the time period he started using heavier drugs, but many memories are fuzzy and still blocked out to this day. This is when his behavior became worse, but the true intentions and twisted behavior started to appear. He pawned all of my Christmas presents, begged people for money on the street, stole children's bikes for drug money

How did I cope with feeling utterly powerless? I became obsessed with weather. I would check the weather on my computer every day before school. I recall writing a goodbye letter to my mother during a storm in third grade one day because I genuinely thought I was going to die. I was consumed in fear and weather was the only way my child brain could rationalize it.

Another difficulty at this age was that I had undiagnosed ADHD. I have type two, which is inattentive, which means I'm not hyperactive, just deeply consumed in my own world at all times. I have always felt I was on autopilot about 75% of my life. A combination of both adhd and anxiety meant I failed to thrive at school. I had to sit out during recess every day because I couldn't do my homework. That's when I remember first feeling depression in my life. So because I had to sit out, and visitation every other weekend with my father, I was not socialized at all. In fact, when I was at my father's house I wasn't allowed to even play with my cousins. I remember looking out the window crying and crying because I was not allowed to go into the backyard on the trampoline. Ever. I still suffer with social integration, I've always wanted many friends and to talk to people, and I know what to say but it always comes out odd to me. I missed out on fun adventures and bonding with kids my age, and that lead to me never really having any friendships, honestly to this day I'm still not sure how to make friends which is horribly embarrassing to me and always was. The one time I was allowed to have a birthday party at Michael's house, a few friends from my elementary school came to a pool party I had. We jumped on the trampoline in our bathing suits, as Michael pulled out a random camera to take pictures. My step mom told him it was odd but he wouldn't stop taking pictures of me and my friends.

This would continue into middle school, when the abuse also started to happen. At first in my elementary years it was psychological. "Always make sure to lock your doors, someone will break in and kill you", I can still hear my father say over and over. Forcing me to watch the lovely bones, a movie about a girl getting kidnapped and molested as I panicked watching it as a young child in absolute fear. Now he became physically and sexually abusive as well as psychological. What went along with this was people being invited to friend's sleepovers which I was NEVER allowed to attend, and watching other kids my age form groups as I sat alone for lunch every day.

Around this time I recall starting to self harm, I didn't even really know what it meant at that point. I would get a comb and scrape my arms with it just to relieve intense fear I experienced. I had frequent stomach aches, not knowing what the concept of anxiety even was. I was skinny, pale, and always felt sick. I barely ever ate. My two younger siblings were born and he threatened to throw them down the stairs, and often neglected them. When my stepmom would leave for work I had to change their diapers and feed them. If I didn't, Michael would let them sit in their filth all day. One of my brothers developed selective mutism from the abuse and fear caused by Michael. I tried to care for them as much as a 10 year old could.

In this time period, about 6-7th grade I remember Michael using drugs and alcohol clearly. He would talk to himself while intoxicated and make absolutely no sense. He would claim to see demons, which may have actually been considering his involvement with psychics and satanic movies and music and necrophilia he watched. This is when the actual event of molestation happened but I will save the gory details on that. He would often tell my stepmother at the time odd and inappropriate remarks about my appearance as I grew older, and that I would grow up to be a prostitute. One time I wore skinny jeans and he talked to me for hours about how inappropriate that was and what boys at school would think. I was not allowed to wear shorts that were above my knees or any colorful clothing.

At this point I found a youth group I loved. I was supposed to see Michael on Wednesday nights, but I told him I just wouldn't go. He'd have to move it. So he demanded I see him Tuesday AND Thursday instead. I said fine, because this feeling I got from God is something I'd never had before in my life. I remember listening to "How He Loves" and bawling my eyes out as my father sent threatening texts to my mom. I brought a friend that night, and somehow he found her parent's phone number and called them saying that my mother took us to church on his visitation time. Because of his psychotic actions she was no longer allowed to hang out with me. But just in that chaotic moment and listening to the song "How He Loves", That became God's love song to me, and he has played it during significant times in my life ever since. God gave me this comfort that I could cling to, a comfort of hymns and nursery rhymes and bible stories like I had as a child. I experienced His absolute precious love which is just inexplicable.

During this time the abuse increasingly became worse with the drug use. He would drive me and my siblings around drunk in the middle of the night. He would stalk me as I slept and never really leave me alone. He would walk into the bathroom and stay in there while I showered. At this point I had developed severe depression and anxiety. All I could think about was escape. I escaped with boyfriends and art and music. I had one boyfriend who my father found out was African American, and called his number leaving a message of racial slurs on my phone to his number. A phone my mother bought me that he stole from me when I tried to bring it with me to his house.

My mom called CPS (again) when I told her I'd kill myself, (at age 11), if I ever had to see Michael again. There was not enough evidence to support a case so it was dropped. I prayed and prayed, and mentors in my life had prayed for me as well. This may sound odd but I could feel certain times where they currently prayed for me. And then, a miracle happened. Michael signed over his rights.

My family on his side no longer talked to me. During this time my ex stepmom divorced Michael and took my two brothers and had a restraining order filed. My family on that side didn't support her, and I was not in contact with her yet, she was forced to live in a shelter for a while because of the absolute neglect on my father's side of the family. Luckily now we got back in contact and she is my absolute best friend and I get to see my brothers whenever I please. But back to the fact that they divorced- Michael had an arrest record made public online of his drug use. It was getting worse. He became homeless, voluntarily living on the streets, but still using payphones to harass my mother and ex stepmom. He would steal pictures from my mother's Facebook of me and say, "she has my eyes" and post them online, which still haunts me. He would threaten to break in or harm us, and he threatened to kill his own parent's dog. His mother tried to get in contact with me, she told my mom that he got into an accident, looking for sympathy or something. The accident was that he overdosed on drugs. They claimed he fell off a bridge, but later confirmed to me it was drug related

The one friend I did have was my cousin, who to this day has no communication with me. She was my only friend when I had none. Even after my mom trying to make contact, and seeing them at my grandfather's funeral, no one believed my story of abuse.

I thought my pain was over. I was FREE. I could forever live with my mom and go to church and have friends. Unfortunately it just didn't turn out that ideally.

I still had depression and anxiety. It didn't go away. I still didn't know how to make friends, I started to become bullied and changed schools frequently. Now the suicidal ideation would come to play at age 13-14. I still believed in God but I just felt so hopeless. I believe the only reason I never fully attempted suicide was because the Holy Spirit left this lingering light in my heart. It was inexplicable, but it was there. Something just told me to look up to the heavens, no matter how dim and dreary the sky may be.

Despite this hope my mind was broken. I started my 9th grade year in an outpatient school, where I met my therapist who has been a gift from God. This school was for high risk suicidal adolescents, no phones were allowed and we were patted down on the daily. It was quite dreary but here I learned about coping skills and boundaries which were crucial for me to learn, I still didn't get the concept for a few years and honestly I'm still improving on these things. I was quite codependent on boyfriends I had and didn't know how to talk myself down from panic attacks that produced frequent vomiting and dizziness almost daily.

After outpatient I went to high school, but not much changed. I felt so alone, even with the few friends I did have. I felt like no one really still understood me, I felt suicidal again and went to inpatient. This honestly didn't change much for me, and I had to go to inpatient again not long after. It's basically just 24 hour supervision for high risk patients.

I just couldn't cope with feelings of isolation and not receiving the love I would find in Christ. I hopped from relationships which made me feel even worse, although I regret nothing and I learned quite a lot, some of which as a teen produced lifelong friends. I started to hurt other people, something I NEVER wanted to do in my wildest dreams. I didn't even know who I was anymore.

I started experimenting with different things and engaging in risky behavior. I just kept trying to fill the hole in the pit of my stomach. On a bad trip I had with a drug I tried, I had to go to the hospital. I never was addicted to drugs but recreationally tried things at parties which I shouldn't have dabbled with, but God used it to bring me back to him. All I remember with this trip is feeling so far from God and so so scared. No thoughts went through my head and I thought I would have a seizure. My mind was completely blank. When the ambulance arrived I sobbed as I called my grandfather and family to meet me. Their disappointment was the worst thing I would ever face in my life. The still loved me, but they were heartbroken. In the ride to the hospital I cried out to the EMT, "is God going to forgive me?" It's all I could ask as I sobbed and violently shook. He told me God will always love me in response, and I will always be grateful for the sensitive nature of that man, I could almost start bawling while even writing this. The sedative they gave me was supposed to make me forget but I never forgot that man's kindness.

You would think this would revert me right back to God but not entirely. I faced YEARS of abuse, and it would take years to know who I even really was, being allowed to be myself. I never tried anything like that and will never again, but then codependency reared it's ugly face into my life. Luckily in this time period though I still searched for God and prayed to Him. I read a book called The Shack which forever changed my view on Him, (highly recommend it.). I felt the Holy Spirit in my life but I couldn't let go of the control I needed. So what did I do? I ran.

First I ran to a new school. It was an alternative school but you could go at your own pace. For once I could do work in the way my brain functioned and I made A's, and graduated at 16 years old. I then went to cosmetology school, swicthed schools again, and finished it out even though the environment there was extremely toxic and self-indulgent in an appareance and narcissistic way that I started to loathe. During this time my paternal grandfather passed away. I attended the funeral along with my stepmother and brothers, mother and sister. We weren't allowed to sit with the family during the funeral. My paternal grandfather was extremely racist and homophobic, and also a Baptist Sunday school teacher. The whole funeral they bragged about how godly he was. I just wanted to shout "if only you knew the vile disgusting secrets of this family!" But God gave me the grace to be respectful during this time, so I was silent. When my father was notified of his father's passing, he stated "I'm hungry. I want Arby's." Shortly after the funeral my paternal grandmother took me out for my 18th birthday to Chili's. I thought this was a time to reconcile, so I accepted trying to give her the benefit of the doubt. During the dinner she tried to claim it was my fault Michael turned out this way, and it was horrible of me to not speak to them before my grandfather's passing and not to see Michael after the "accident". She said a phrase I've heard all throughout my life. "You need to forgive and move on." How could I possibly move on from a thorn that grew with me as I aged? This pain had become who I was. But I told her the honest truth. "I did forgive him long ago. I wish no harm upon him. It's just unsafe for me to speak to him." She couldn't grasp the concept of forgiving at a distance, which is something very important to learn, and it helped me move on in a sense, but some tragedies cannot just be forgotten. After that she has tried to make contact with me, but I have not spoken to her. This decision was not because I have any ill intentions towards her, I really hope she gets help. I just can't be the one to help her learn about boundaries, and she shows no remorse for her involvement and defense of Michael. I don't need an apology but I feel that would be necessary to move on in a relationship with her, just so I know she wouldn't be toxic for my health and well-being.

I moved out of Texas to Colorado with my parents. I felt alone, so I ran to Chicago at age 18 with a man I barely knew. Then something just clicked. I will never get this love and attention I seek from a human being, it's just not possible. I moved back to Texas and jumped into another relationship even with knowing this information. I wanted to date around but on the first date I fell absolutely in love.

This person often ignored me and abandoned me for days, yet all I could do was try to make him love me for so long. I would sit in my room and sob. Who could help me? Not a hospital, not a drug, not even my own family or myself. After he broke up with ME, (thank God because I wouldn't have broken up with him at the time), I started going back to church and I found a job. I became a hard worker and just started to seek God and pray everyday. What's to lose? My skepticism and cynical heart started to burn off like deadwood.

This job became extremely stressful, so I sought God even more (along with returning to see my therapist who I saw for years). One night after a particularly stressful Wednesday afternoon a call was made to the altar, and something just told me to go. I asked my grandma to go with me though because I was too scared to go alone, which she did. I started sobbing because once again, God spoke to me. "Why don't you trust me like you did when you were a child? Don't you know I will hold you? Just lean on me, I won't disappoint you.". I figured hey I had nothing to lose, and decided to take that risk.

I met a pastor at my church named Dr.Marti, and started many amazing friendships as I was prayed over after a service of other's testimonies. Dr.Marti stayed many prophetic things about me that night and wanted me to take part in Bethesda School Of Ministry, which I desperately wanted to do, but was unable to because of my job. Then came a blessing in disguise- I was let go from the job. When I was let go I asked God "what am I supposed to do?, I know you work all things for good and this has some kind of meaning but what do I take from this?" , and I heard a clear voice state "remain in me". Odd. Not a way I'd word something in my head, quite frankly I didn't understand. The next day on my Bible app a scripture I didn't recall every reading was John 15:4 "Remain in me, and I will remain in you. No branch can bear fruit by itself; it must remain in the vine. Neither can you bear fruit unless you remain in me." Needless to say I was shocked. I see now I lost this job in order to take part in ministry school at Bethesda while I could. I learned not only how to minister to others, but these codependent tendencies were restored into learning about healthy boundaries and how to be happy AND alone with God. (Also confirmed by Dr.Marti who stated she had a feeling God wanted me to be like a nun for a while. I laughed because if only she knew how true I knew that was.) So many behaviors in my life started to change, along with perspectives. I became patient, enduring, developed a sound mind, and fruits of the spirit. I learned not how to be normal, but how to find my unique identity in Jesus. The raw, blunt yet sensitive, fighting-for-the-underdog, intellectual, philosopher, artistic yet gentle and kind person I was designed to be.

In the school of ministry one night I remember asking God to heal me, to make me who I was meant to truly be at last. I love God's sense of humor. Dr.Marti after giving a message on healing that Sunday night called all of the students to pray over anyone who needed it. I was shaking in my flats. I'd NEVER done that before. As soon as she called us, I heard a voice from God which made me laugh in awe. He said "You will be healed not by being anointed with oil, but by anointing others with oil." This symbolism showed that when I take the first step to seek God He will reward me and I will be made available to find His presence even more, which heals and delivers. I prayed for an elderly man, spilled a little too much oil on his face as it almost dripped in his eye, and smudged it in with my thumb sheepishly and cracked up about it later, but it was such a sweet moment.

So through God healing me, what's changed? Well, I still have depression and anxiety, and adhd. Could God deliver me from it? Yes. Will He? Maybe. But if it's in His will I carry these things so I serve others and am reminded to think about myself less and others more, than these things will remain until I'm given my new body and these illnesses did with my old body. However, my daily vomiting panic attacks turned into at most bi-monthly anxiety attacks, and suicidal ideations turned into bouts of random melancholy. After being told I functioned at a rate of 15% out of 100% at a mental hospital, and being told be a psychologist he's surprised I still function in society and haven't lost my sanity is pretty astonishing. When I told the psychologist my backstory he was amazed I was still standing, and quite frankly so am I. I believe with my whole heart it's only by the grace of God, and the help of my unconditional loving and supporting friends and family. I have a new job at the church daycare which I love, and I would like to pay off cosmetology school debt and start college soon to continue healing other's through Jesus's name and prayer like He called me to do in more abstract means like psychology, reaching every kind of person there is, innocent children or addicts and thieves.

I was promised life more abundantly and that promise was fulfilled more than I could ever imagine. God gave me impossible endurance, yet didn't make my heart cold and cynical despite all of life's circumstances, I give all glory to Him for always keeping me close and loving me no matter what. I don't know where we'll go together in the future, but as long as God is with me I will march on, praising Him for his one million "second" chances and grace. I feel that my "rebirth" was more of a process. It didn't happen overnight, but over a long stretch of time. I feel I have the freedom to actually chose who to be and what I want to do, and I am so grateful for this new chapter in my life.

[therebelwrites]

A longtime Madison Metropolitan School District educator has been placed on leave and is under both school district and police investigation after allegedly pushing, punching and pulling hair out of the head of an African American 11-year-old girl at Whitehorse Middle School last week, Madison365 has learned.

The girl’s mother, Mikiea Price, said she has seen security video of the February 13 incident, which she said shows Rob Mueller-Owens, 52, throwing her daughter to the ground and punching her before another teacher covers the girl with her own body to protect her.

“As a District we take any situation of this nature very seriously,” MMSD Representative Rachel Strauch-Nelson said in a statement. “All of our students need to be safe and supported in school, and we have a thorough investigation process and protocol that we follow. While we cannot talk about the details of a specific student or personnel situation, it is our responsibility to consider all of the facts of the situation and determine the right next steps.

“The staff person was put on leave while the situation was investigated. Based on that investigation, the staff person will not return to Whitehorse Middle School, and we are determining next steps. In addition, our team is coming together to create a full support plan to ensure that students are safe and fully supported at school.”

Mueller-Owens is the seventh educator to be caught up in racial incidents at Madison schools since November 1. Four teachers and two substitutes have been terminated or forced to resign after using racial slurs in class over the last three and a half months. Additionally, in Middleton, a school bus driver was terminated last fall for striking a black child and a high school teacher resigned after using a racial slur in class.

Price, herself a substitute teacher in the district for the past five years, told Madison365 in an exclusive interview that her daughter, a sixth-grader at Whitehorse Middle School, called her last Wednesday and was clearly upset.

“She was just like … crying and extremely upset,” Price said. “I could tell, like by the way she was crying and talking, that something traumatic had just happened.” She said her daughter told her, “Mr. Rob hurt me,” referring to Mueller-Owens.

Price said she immediately went to the school where three adults were speaking with her daughter about what had happened.

“She was crying and her lip was cracked, bleeding, and she handed me three of her braids that were pulled out from her scalp,” Price said.

Price said a classroom teacher had called on Mueller-Owens, who is dean of students and was acting principal that day, because Price’s daughter and another student had sprayed too much perfume or body spray on themselves and each other. When Mueller-Owens asked the girl to leave the room, she initially refused, and things apparently escalated.

“When he came in, he asked (my daughter) to step out and she didn’t listen, and didn’t step out and as he walked toward her, she said she went toward the window and just wasn’t following direction, and he told her in front of the whole class, to the teacher, ‘Take the class somewhere else,’” Price said. “And (my daughter) said, ‘No, that’s fine. They can stay, I’ll go.’ And as she was heading out, she said he pushed (her) with two hands trying to push her out the classroom, and she turned around and said, ‘Don’t put your hands on me.’ And he pushed her again … and she said he started punching her.”

She said the video, which she reviewed on Friday along with her mother, as well as Pastor Marcus Allen of Mt. Zion Baptist Church and Urban League of Greater Madison CEO Ruben Anthony, did not capture what happened in the classroom but does show what happened in the hallway.

“I didn’t see the punching but on the actual video that I was able to review on Friday from the school district, I did see him throwing her down,” Price said. “And you see another teacher that I also spoke with that said that she had to lay on top of (my daughter) to prevent her from getting hit or punched.”

Strauch-Nelson said the school district intends to release the video later this week, after police conclude their investigation. Madison365 has not viewed the video but has requested to do so. Allen corroborated Price’s account of the video to Madison365. Allen also said the man in the video resembles a photo of Mueller-Owens, and that in meetings, school district staff had referred to the man as “Rob.”

Price said she called police on Wednesday, and followed up on Friday after viewing the video to ask why Mueller-Owens had not been arrested.

“The police told me that I said that I didn’t want to press charges, and that’s not true. I never said that. That’s the whole point of me calling the police,” Price said. “I told (the police officer) I wanted to press charges, and when I told him that he turned around and told me (Monday), if I press charges on the teacher than my daughter is facing charges as well for disorderly conduct.”

Madison Police Department spokesman Joel Despain declined to comment because the investigation is ongoing.

“I know those investigating want to talk with more school staff members before reaching conclusions,” Despain said in an email to Madison365 Tuesday morning, and Wednesday said officers were still looking to interview more witnesses.

Mueller-Owens’ public persona is that of an educator committed to positive behavior reinforcement and restorative justice, and he seems to have positive connections with many community leaders.

On his Facebook page, which has now been deleted or hidden, Mueller-Owens listed his title as “Director of Culture and Climate” at Madison Metropolitan School District. His LinkedIn profile lists his current position as Positive Behavior Support Coach and Coordinator of Academic and Career Planning. Online records indicate he started as a teacher at Malcolm Shabazz City High School in 2000 and a Teacher/Coordinator at the Transition Learning Center from 2008-2014. He then moved to East High School, where from August 2014 until June 2015 he was Positive Behavioral Specialist and held “community-building circles regularly,” as part of his approach “in which participants are guided in candid, confidential discussion,” to help strengthen student-teacher relationships according to an MMSD article where his work on restorative circles was amplified. He was later Interim Assistant Principal at Madison West before moving to Whitehorse in November 2017. Most recent public State records indicate he earned $93,303 per year in that role.

The Capital Times reported that he attended a conference on “Rethinking School Discipline” with MMSD Superintendent Jennifer Cheatham and Elementary Schools Chief Nancy Hanks in 2015. In a 2016 Q&A with Madison Magazine, he touted the virtues of restorative justice as a means of school discipline.

“Healing happens in a relationship, and that is what we often miss,” he said in that interview. “There are incredible demands placed on teachers, and most non-teachers do not understand the emotionally grueling work that every teacher experiences on a daily basis. The real power of restorative practices (which include circles, restorative dialogues and mediation) is that they are all predicated upon restoring meaningful relationships so that common goals can be accomplished. In our setting, that common goal happens to be education.”

Just last November, he told online news site Madison Commons that greater understanding of cultural differences is required when it comes to school discipline.

“The dominant culture lacks an understanding of how other cultures interact with each other,” Mueller-Owens said in that article. “Sometimes there are different ways of working together. And those differences allow for those disparities to exist. We need to work together more often. There is a lot of misunderstanding in Madison about diverse cultural ways of being.”

Price said Mueller-Owens’ background just means he should have known better.

“If he has all that training, why would you approach that and why, when a kid told you don’t touch me, why did you come and meet them with more force?” she said.

“It’s very frustrating, you know,” Price said. “Even as a mom, like I can’t protect her. This is an educator. This is not a kid that jumped on her. And you’ve got to be patient and talk to the parents. This is an educator.” 

Whitehorse Middle School, near Olbrich Park on Madison’s east side, has a student body that is 46 percent white and 21 percent Black. Overall, MMSD is about 42 percent white and 17 percent Black.

[reddzion-hi-hello]

PS4 Overwatch Competitive- help meh plz

Up until season 9 i was average mid-high plat. But come season 10 to now the end of season 13, i just kept dropping and now in flimsy high silver. How? Some loss due to toxic people, some due to throwers, most due to my squad mates (who are friends) playing with the wrong mind set. They're now in low and high gold but play as if they're still in high diamond, not caring about my rank.  In every match i'm always doing the call outs, if someone has ult, where someone else, whos low, whos discorded, whos behind, strats, important stuff like that. As the seasons passed i discovered my mates listened to me less and would rather do their own thing, but then wonder why their big plan fucked up or wonder why they died. After me pointing out the errors they go 'oh yeah you're right, i shouldnt of have done that'.  Side note- the random team mates we match with do their best to work with us, but the team struggles to play as a 6 man team.  I admit im not the best but i try my hardest, but admittedly my confidence with Dva has dropped because no one follows through with my plans, my friends only want to do the overwatch-league strats... in a silver/gold match. Honestly i don't know what to do, i can't be more 'dominate/leader' i guess you could call it without my mate turning around to tell me to stop being mean (even though i gotta be firm to one of them who gets easily triggered by death and throws out insults/racial slurs at the enemy) I used to wish to be back in mid plat, but now am just wishing to be back in mid-high gold at this point. ~i would stream the comp matches so i can try to show my mates how we can improve, but in doing so my viewers have voiced their thoughts on how they don’t really like how my squad mates treat me in regards to ignoring plan ideas and call outs, my mates sometimes sadly respond to them in a harsh/smart ass way~  i want to stream again but i am afraid that my one mate who gets triggered is going to say something thats going to get my channel reported. Because he doesnt know how to calm himself down 

[ayellowbirds]

Keshet Rewatches All of Scooby-Doo, Pt. 11: "A Gaggle of Galloping Ghosts"

("Scooby-Doo, Where Are You", Season 1 Episode 11)

AKA "This Episode Contains No Ghosts Whatsoever, Except The Looming Spectre of Anti-Romani Racism"

As a wolfman watches from atop a castle tower, the gang drive up. In terms of establishing shots, it’s basically just Episode 2 all over again, but this time on dry land, with a growling werewolf instead of a telescope-carrying ghost.

Gee, i wonder which part of this background will be animated.

Fred identifies it as "Franken Castle. It's the only castle ever imported stone by stone from Transylvania." Leaving aside the mixing of obvious references to both Frankenstein and Dracula with a visible werewolf, this kind of castle-importing actually isn’t as outlandish as it might seem (unless you grew up watching Disney’s Gargoyles, in which case it seems perfectly normal and you probably also think it could go on top of a skyscraper).

In fact, during the early twentieth century, there was something of a trend for wealthy Americans to import medieval European architecture stone-by-stone, to be reassembled in the states. There’s some prominent examples of this not too far from my own home, at the Cloisters in Manhattan—they even have a “medieval faire” there. It's an under-utilized plot element, and if you’re doing a story involving things like haunted medieval castles or monasteries, i absolutely encourage you to set them wherever the fuck in America or Canada.

Although the rest of the gang is excited about the visit, Daphne is being superstitious.

The gang catch sight of a roadside fortuneteller, which they identify with the G-slur, though i seriously doubt the red-eyed woman in the little cabin on the back of a pickup truck is Romni, even dressed up as a horrible stereotype. In spite of Velma’s doubts, Daphne buys into it along with fearing lycanthropes, serving as a kind of middle ground between Shaggy and Scooby’s outright cowardice, and Velma and Fred’s stoicism. 

The racially insensitive gang ignore the old woman’s warnings that the castle’s caretaker ran away in fear, and continue onward, witnessing lightning striking the castle in spite of a cloudless sky, and receiving a warning from a vampire at the gates.

If you’ve been on this hell site long enough, you know how Velma reacts.

The Dracula turns into a “vampire bat”, and as the gang is scared back, the drawbridge rises—but Daphne’s caught on top of it, and slides to the castle side of the moat. Now, a Frankenstein’s monster appears to menace her, wordlessly moaning and shambling forward.

Dracula, Frankenstein, and the Wolfman. I hope Universal doesn’t sue.

Scooby and Shaggy swing across the moat on a rope slung over a gargoyle, and narrowly dodge a zoinking alligator that leaps out of the moat to snap at them, which is never seen again and receives no explanation as part of the villain’s scheme. I guess moats just got to have gators. Shaggy tells Scooby to stand guard while he figures out the drawbridge controls, but the dog bolts as soon as the wolfman appears.

He hasn’t gone far, however, because as the wolfman chases Shaggy, a suit of armor against the wall sticks out its foot to trip the monster, and pulls off its helmet to reveal a triumphant Scooby.

So did Scooby just, like, pour himself into that armor? I can’t imagine his body comfortably fitting in there, nor how he got it on in the first place, but we’ve already established that he himself is some kind of unknowable horror.

During the ensuing chase scene, Shaggy abuses his powers of voice-throwing, and the infuriated wolfman throws a heavily-armed suit of armor (i’ll note that none of the castle’s interior decor looks Transylvanian—neither from when it was Hungarian nor the later Romanian dominion) and its axe demolishes the grand piano Scooby was hiding inside of. Peeking from the wreckage, Scooby notes with astonishment that the piano keys are real ivory, and instead of bemoaning the plight of endangered elephants, attempts his own scare.

A scene from The Beast That Destroyed the Refrigerator. The wolfman cautiously backs away, and Shaggy manages to restrain  him by dropping a chandelier. Rather than trying to ensure the monster is held tight, Shaggy and Scooby book it.

Meanwhile, Velma and Freddy find a dining hall with a roaring fire, and encounter the Dracula once more, attacked by its bat form. Velma loses her glasses in the second bat-related incident this season, and fumbles her way into a secret passage that opens up behind the fireplace as the whole assembly rises up just far enough to let her crawl in. 

Maybe it’s just me, but that seems like a really bad place to put a secret door. You’re going to get ash everywhere, and if there’s an active fire, you might wind up with chunks of burning wood tumbling out onto that nice and flammable wood floor, never mind the costly complexity of ventilation with a setup like that.

Meanwhile, the requisite once-per-episode food antics are taking place as Shaggy and Scooby raid the castle kitchen. For once, they find themselves disgusted by the food options, showing that the villain of the episode is either really dedicated to his presentation, or is just a big damn goth.

Looking kind of like a Heinz product with the label style, there. Is this the legendary fifty-seventh variety?

It’s the added note of Chunky Style that really makes this.

What, no Frankensteinfurters? For some reason we get two wolfman-themed food items, but nothing for the reanimated. It might be because he’s raiding the pantry, which is exactly where Scooby finds him hiding behind the door, leading to another chase sequence involving some sort of wheeled hook on a ceiling-mounted track, ending at a helpfully labeled dumbwaiter. I guess it’s meant to be a system for conveying large quantities of food to the dumbwaiter?

Elsewhere, Velma has wandered into a “torture chamber”, that she mistakes for a “playroom” because of the “interesting toys”. Shaggy and Scooby slide in, watched by the moving eyes of an iron maiden—not eyes visible through holes in its steel face, but the metal eyes of the mask itself—and solve a mystery for the viewers by bringing Velma a pair of emergency replacement glasses. I wonder how many they keep with them? Velma seems to go through frames like the boys go through Scooby Snacks.

Rescuing Daphne from an oubliette, the trio are menaced by the Dracula, who Scooby attacks with the end of the rope not being used to raise Daphne out of the dungeon, binding and dragging the vampire into the very same pit. He swears they haven’t escaped, and the foursome flee into a secret tunnel hidden inside the iron maiden.

Although Daphne and Velma find Fred at the end of the tunnel, they’ve lost sight of Scooby and Shaggy in the darkness. They don’t seem too concerned, as Daphne prioritizes a clue—a message she found written on the dungeon wall, dated to 1668.

There’s a few problems with this. It can’t have been written when the castle was in the Americas, there simply weren’t the resources to transport that much stone across the ocean at the time. If it’s from the castle’s days in Transylvania, why is it in English? And the biggest problem of all...

Tutankhamun's tomb wasn’t rediscovered until 1922. Egyptology was an obscure field in the 1600s, and Tut wasn’t a historically notable pharaoh. There’s no way a 17th century European would have had knowledge of the boy pharaoh, much less his wealth.

Shaggy and Scooby have wandered into a mad scientist’s laboratory in the meanwhile, and after mistaking a dummy on the table for "old square-head”, they start goofing around with unlabeled chemicals. Scooby plays at “Igor” to Shaggy’s "Mad Scientist”—neither noticing the wolfman creeping up behind even as they casually discard an explosive chemical without looking back, sending him back into his hiding place.

No sense of lab safety, whatsoever. As Scooby switches to playing at “monster” and gets strapped down to a table, the actual (fake) Frankenstein’s Monster reappears, and another chase scene ensues. The gang reunite, and Velma suggests that they investigate the Franken family crypt.

That is a heck of a scene, zoinks. Completely bonkers architecture, but wow.

Finding that one of the sarcophagi has the same 1668 date as Daphne’s clue, they push back its lid... and find the Dracula. An attempt to capture it in a tapestry reveals that the Franken family jewels (not that kind of family jewels, you children) were sewn into the back of the wall-hanging. The vampire flees with it, leaving behind a clue that brings the gang back to the fortune teller, who is revealed to be the culprit behind all the monsters: “Big” Bob Oakley, AKA “The Actor”, a master of disguise wanted in seven states. 

You know, as with the Great Bluestone, it’s kind of ambiguous what The Actor is wanted for, exactly. Burglary? Impersonation? Escaping prison?  It doesn’t matter, because we finally get something like the “meddling kids” line! The gang explain Oakley’s plan, and he says, “Yes...”

So close, and yet, so far.

(like what i’m doing here? It’s not what pays the bills, so i’d really appreciate it if you could send me a bit at my paypal.me or via my ko-fi. Click here to see more entries in this series of posts, or here to go in chronological order)