#john: when i was a child my stepfather beat me

[monstressmasc]

Why is literally every goats song about child abuse such a banger. Dance music. Hast thou considered the tetrapod. This year. From tg&y. Banger after banger

#john: when i was a child my stepfather beat me #me every time without fail: YESS TURN THAT SHIT UP ‼️‼️

[365days365movies]

January 16, 2021: Kingsman: The Secret Service (2014)

I am a massive comic book nerd. Not unusual these days, to be fair. But I’m definitely up there, as far as my obsession with Marvel and DC go. And, yeah, I stick mostly to those two houses, and their various imprints.

Why do I bring this up? Well...remember this movie?

Kick-Ass was a pretty big deal when it came out in 2010, as it was a Marvel Comics movie that was completely unrelated to the relatively new Marvel Cinematic Universe. Based of a 2008 comic book written by Mark Millar and drawn by John Romita Jr., the film was directed by Matthew Vaughn, and featured a more realistic take on how real-world superheroes would actually work.

Vaughn and Millar by this point at least, were friends. Around 2012, they’re getting drunk at a pub together, and talking movies. The topic of spy movies come up, and how there hasn’t really been a good, non-parody, fun spy movie, and that there should be. And that was the bulk of their conversation.

Enter Dave Gibbons, a legendary comic book artist, whom you may know from drawing the comic book that was turned into this:

Oh yeah, he’s a big deal. Gibbons and Millar end up getting together to write a fun spy comic book based on this idea. Vaughn, meanwhile, is getting ready to direct X-Men: Days of Future Past, the sequel to X-Men: First Class, which Vaughn directed. That’s a good movie, by the way, even if I have...issues...with the treatment of the X-Men in film. Maybe one day I’ll get into that, we’ll see what happens. Ask me about it if you’re curious.

Anyway, Millar goes to Vaughn with this script, and Vaughan looks at it and realizes that he needs to direct this movie before somebody else makes it. So he leaves Days of Future Past, and he signs on to...

I feel like it’s an obligation, as a comic book dude, to watch this film. I should also read the book, but I didn’t do that with Kick-Ass, so to hell with it! Let’s get this recap started! SPOILERS AHEAD!!!

Recap

Starting off with some Money for Nothing, and somewhere in the Middle East, 1997! We go into a stone temple, where some kind of mission is taking place. A surprise grenade causes the loss of one of the agents. The surviving agents are Merlin (Mark Strong), Lancelot AKA James Spencer (Jack Davenport), and Galahad, AKA Harry Hart (Colin Firth).

Hart, feeling guilty over the death of this agent, tells his wife, Michelle (Samantha Womack) and child Eggsy (yes, Eggsy) of his sacrifice, and gives Eggsy a medal.

From there, we jump forward 17 years, to Argentina where...Mark Hamill?

Holy shit, it’s Mark Hamill! Apparently, he’s playing Professor James Arnold, and being held hostage by a group of mysterious men. Just then, he’s rescued by Lancelot, showing up with some classic James Bond-style swagger and asking for a cup of sugar, sardonically.

He kicks the asses of these guys, but is SLICED IN HALF BY A MAN WITH SWORD LEGS WHAT THE FUCK????

I’m sorry, I didn’t realize I was watching the best thing I’ve ever goddamn seen. And as if that weren’t enough, she’s working for Samuel L. “Motherfucker” Jackson, playing Richmond Valentine. I am...I am so pleased.

We go to the Kingsmen headquarters, where Lancelot is being mourned by the Kingmen and their leader MICHAEL CAINE, REALLY, HOLY SHIT

Ahem. Sorry, uh...the star-studded cast has basically caused me to have a minor aneurysm. Caine plays Arthur, the leader of the Kingsmen. Get it? I can dig it, I’m a sucker for a good Arthurian reference. Anyway, now that Lancelot’s dead, it’s time to find a new candidate. Apparently, the man that died 17 years ago was part of an “experiment” by Hart, which Arthur says has failed. Galahad calls Arthur a snob, and says that they need to evolve with the times. \

Speaking of that former candidate, how’s his son doing?

Not stellar, it seems. His mom is dating a very unsavory gentleman, and not really taking good care of her youngest daughter. Eggsy (Taron Egerton), on the other hand, is a carefree delinquent. After engaging in an entertaining backwards car chase with the police (it’s cool), he gets arrested. He refuses to give up his friends, and he instead asks for a phone call.He looks at the medallion around his neck, and remembers that he can use the number of the back to contact someone for help. He uses a specific code phrase, but it appears not to have worked. But then, Eggsy is turned loose with little more than a phone call. That’s when Eggsy meets Hart.

We find out that Eggsy has a high IQ and Olympic-level athletics, but has dropped out of the Marines, and has been arrested for drugs and other illegal activities. After being read out by Hart, Eggsy goes on an anger-filled diatribe about the differences in privilege between the two of them. Although it’s short, it’s a powerful speech.

But that speech is interrupted by the owner of the car that Eggsy stole the previous night, as well as his gang. They’re yearning for a fight with Eggsy, and they threaten Hart. He doesn’t take that well, as he shuts the doors and windoes to the pub. Time to teach a lesson.

Yup, I’m giving this fight the posted video award. It might be short, but it’s also one of the best and coolest sequences I’ve ever seen in a spy movie. And OH, it’s giving me that gadget shit I was missing from the Bond movies.

After one of the most enjoyable fight sequences I’ve seen in a while, Eggsy’s understandably stunned. So is his stepfather Dean (Geoff Bell), the leader of the gang that Hart beat up in the pub. He’s not happy, and he beats Eggsy in their apartment, and that scene is...WHOOF. Much to their surprise, however, Hart’s left a device on Eggsy’s back. He threatens Dean through the device, and tells Eggsy to meet him at a tailor that he’d mentioned.

Once Eggsy escapes from Dean and the gang via nest parkour tricks, he makes his way to the tailor, where Hart officially brings him into the fold, giving him the opportunity to become a Kingsman. He exposits the history of the agency as a private group of spies, meant to protect the world while not bowing to the bureaucracy that plagues government-affiliated spy institutions.

We get to go to Kingsman Headquarters proper, and yeah...yeah, it’s cool. As compared to the other recruits, Eggsy’s pretty obviously out of place. This, of course, is part of the point, as Hart believes the Kingsmen could use someone with different life experiences and background. That would be the experiment mentioned earlier.

Eggsy’s competitors include Roxy (Sophie Cookson), who appears to actually be polite to him, unlike most of the potentials. They settle in for the night...but not for long. Their quarters fills with water, as the entirety of the Kingsmen head towards the showerheads and toilets for air. While they all succeed, Eggsy is the one who actually gets everyone out, by literally punching the window.

Unfortunately, for one of the candidates...it’s too late. These candidates could die in the hiring process. Rough.

Sadly, Mark Hamill also doesn’t quite make it, as Hart finds him, surprisingly freed from Valentine’s capture. As he’s questioned, Valentine is forced to kill him via Suicide Squad implant, and barely escaped from his men. Valentine and his henchwoman, Gazelle (Sofia Boutella) are trying to figure out who the Kingsmen are, to no avail at the moment.

Back with Merlin, who’s training the Kingsman candidates! They’re all told to get a puppy! Aw. Eggsy chooses J.B. a pug, under the mistaken impression that it’s a bulldog. And I’m not a pug person...but that puppy is cute as shit.

Time marches on, and the Kingsmen continue their training. Eggsy’s colleagues continue to discriminate against him, especially Charlie (Edward Holcroft). Hart, who was knocked out by the explosion, eventually wakes up. Valentine goes around to political leaders and proposes his plan to “save the world,” whatever that’s about to mean. Apparently, that includes giving the King of Sweden a surgical implant of some kind. Huh.

This, of course includes some, uh...conflict with Gazelle.

Awesome.

Eggsy’s in the final 6! As Hart congratulates him over this, we finally get some exposition on Richmond Valentine’s plan. See, that implant is the Suicide Squad bomb that killed Hamill, and Gazelle also has one. Additionally, he’s released a plan to the world that will provide free internet and phone data...forever. Not ominous at all, that.

After a cool skydiving training sequence, only three candidates are left. Hart, meanwhile, poses as a wealthy philanthropist, donating to Valentine’s cause. As a result, he’s treated to an extravagant dinner...of McDonald’s. Yes, it is the best product placement I’ve seen in a while, in case you were wondering. That reveal was hilarious.

Anyway, their conversation turns from talking about climate change studies and concerns, to their opinion of James Bond movies, in a lovely little piece of meta flavor. At this point, they would appear to understand each other’s role in the play, as it were. Forgot to mention, Valentine’s been kidnapping anyone who disagrees with his goals, while also distributing his free internet cards. So, there’s that. But he’s also trying to figure out what exactly the “Kingsmen” are. Speaking of...

Our three remaining Kingsman candidates are assigned a mission to seduce a young dignitary. However, all three of them make a mistake, and allow themselves to get drugged at a party, by someone wanting to know who Hart and Kingsmen are. When Eggsy wakes up, he’s been strapped to train tracks. Uh oh.

Despite an oncoming train, Eggsy doesn’t give the man any formation. Which, of course, was the point. It’s Hart, helping to give the Kingsman candidates a little loyalty test, which both Eggsy and Roxy pass with flying colors. But Charlie...Charlie’s a coward who immediately gives everything up, including Arthur himself.

Eggsy gets to spend 24 hours with Hart, before being thrown headfirst into a mission. Hart explains that being a Kingsman means being a gentleman, which Eggsy isn’t. Hart, of course, plans to fix that.

They head to the tailor, and check out some spy gadgets. And much to their surprise, Valentine is also there, under the guise of getting a suit. Hart takes the opportunity to recommend a hatter, who gives him a top hat with built in listening devices. I love it.

Eggsy, meanwhile, speaks with Arthur at Kingsman HQ. He’s commanded to perform one final test: kill his pug, J.B. Which...yeah, damn, that sucks. He doesn’t do it, understandably. Unfortunately...Roxy does kill her dog. She succeeds...and Eggsy’s kicked out of the Kingsman candidacy. Which feels like a bullshit play, if I’m honest.

Eggsy steals Arthur’s car, then goes back home. As he’s about to confront his stepfather, Hart brings back the car via remote access, then explains to Eggsy that the gun was filled with blanks, and that Eggsy ended up giving up his shot. He also reveals that the first candidate to die...didn’t actually die! It’s been a ruse all along, meant to test the candidates under the strictest of conditions. Which sucks, obviously, because Eggsy’s out of the program.

And at that point, Valentine says something of note, revealing that he plans to go to a hate church in Kentucky to begin his master plan. Hart heads there, and tells Eggsy to stay put.

We get treated to just...just the loveliest of sermons. Disgusting. But then...

...that’s the point, isn’t it?

Because Valentine uses the SIM cards to create a signal that drives the parishioners crazy. Hart’s also in the church, however, and he also starts going crazy. Which leaves the question: what happens when a highly trained spy goes up against untrained civilians, has a bunch of gadgets...and has absolutely no restraint whatsoever?

A MASSACRE, THAT’S WHAT HAPPENS. And most surprisingly, it’s a massacre that we actually SEE. Hart basically kills almost EVERYBODY in the church. I’ll put the video up, but...y’know, be warned here. It ain’t pretty.

Hart comes to, and realizes exactly what he’s done. He leaves, only to be confronted by Valentine and his men. The Bond metaphor finally comes full-circle, explained directly by Valentine. But instead of explaining his whole plan and devising some complicated way to kill Hart that he’ll inevitably escape from...

He just shoots Hart in the head. Holy shit. And this is while Merlin, Arthur, and yes, Eggsy watch on through Hart’s home feed. Looks like a new Kingsman is needed.

Arthur tells Merlin to assemble the Kingsmen. But Eggsy...Eggsy has other plans. Thinking on Hart’s words about wanting to do something good with his life. He goes to Arthur to talk to him about Hart’s death. Arthur invites him in for brandy. And that’s...when my mind exploded.

HE’S FUCKING IN ON IT?!? Michael Caine, NOOOO! Turns out that Valentine’s convinced Arthur of his true plan: a culling. He believes that the Earth’s temperature because there’s simply too much humanity, like a body trying to kill a virus. And so...he’s going to make the virus exterminate itself. And that argument’s enough to win Caine over.

Turns out that the implant is meant to protect those individuals against a neurological signal emitted by the SIM cards, the same one that went off in the church. Arthur, realizing that Eggsy understands exactly what’s going on, poisons him, then asks if he would like to join them. Eggsy refuses...and Arthur sets off the remote poison to kill him.

But NOPE! EGGSY SWITCHED THE FUCKIN’ GLASSES! I love this movie. Arthur dies, and Eggsy uses the opportunity to dig the implant from his neck. He takes that and Arthur’s phone to Merlin and Lancelot, who realize that they can’t trust anyone at this point. And so, the three of them - yes, the three of them - go to stop Valentine.

And, yeah...I can dig it. OH HOW I CAN DIG it.

Roxy goes up in an experimental vehicle to bring down the satellite, Merlin is flying the plane, and Eggsy...Eggsy’s the one going in disguised as Arthur, in order to infiltrate the mountain lair of Valentine. Here, he and the other beneficiaries wait it out, while the world literally tears itself apart. Now wearing a bespoke suit and playing the role of a gentleman, Eggsy enters the lion’s den.

But as expected, it’s time to hit some snags. Roxy waits juuuuuust a little too long, and one of the balloons in her craft pops. As for Eggsy, he meets an old “friend” of his in the form of Charlie, who’s now working for Valentine.

The missile’s fired just in time, as Charlie’s taken out and Eggsy runs for the plane. AWESOME climax here as Eggsy escapes. I mean it; it is VERY cool. They succeed JUST in time, and the satellite is destroyed. However, Valentine’s still managed to partially start the process, and they can’t do anything about that.

Eggsy’s gotta go BACK in, before Valentine gets another satellite to trigger the signal worldwide. Now armed with Hart’s AWESOME umbrella, he makes his way there under heavy gunshot. They’re also teaming up against Merlin in the plane, so he’s not doing great. And that when Eggsy has the idea...to turn the implants on. ALL of them.

It’s amazing. Violence in fireworks. So, it’s too bad that it doesn’t stop the signal. It works, and people start to tear each other apart all across the world. But only for was long as Valentine has his hands on the desk. Eggsy manages to stop that by laying down some suppressive fire.

That provokes a response.

..This movie is, for lack of a better term, fucking rad.

Gazelle and Eggsy have an awesome fight, worthy of any James Bond movie, seriously. I really want to give it the video post honor, but I’ve done that too much already. For god’s sake, I literally JUST did that.

Gazelle dies (it’s kinda goofy how she dies, if I’m honest), and Eggsy kills Valentine with her prosthetic leg. It’s over, as the signal ends, and Eggsy even gets the girl. Not Roxy, the Princess of Sweden. Not going into it, but it’s funny.

And that’s Kingsman: The Secret Service! Honestly, I gotta say, that was a rad-as-shit movie, and...

Ooh, a mid-credits scene! Eggsy goes back home, to the pub, where his stepfather and mom are hanging out with the gang. And let’s just say...Dean’s gonna get a little comeuppance. Manners, after all, maketh man.

OK, THAT’S Kingsman: The Secret Service! And that, again, was pretty rad. See you in the Epilogue in a few!

#kingsman the secret service #kingsman #kingsman tss #kingsman: the secret service #kingsman: tss #matthew vaughn #mark millar #dave gibbons #taron edgerton #eggsy #eggsy unwin #colin firth #harry hart #galahad #michael caine #arthur #chester king #samuel l jackson #richmond valentine #mark strong #merlin #sofia boutella #gazelle #365 movie challenge #365 movies 365 days #365 Days 365 Movies #365 movies a year #user365 #action january

[ms-rampage]

New Dawn: New Horizons Chapter 3 - With A Little Help From The Devil

Warnings: Language, and slight angst.

Word Count: 2.5k

Summary: Lucifer confronts Gabriel seeking his help to find the other angels that were cast out of Heaven.

Guest OCs: The usuals

Guest Characters: Lucifer (Supernatural), John and Jacob Seed (mentioned), Wheaty (mentioned).

Written by @athenalillystar and myself. Hope ya'll enjoy!! 💗💗

Taglist: @wargames94 @rabbitsoldier @vicki-the-sinner @mrsladydiana

Note: This is a Far Cry New Dawn and Supernatural crossover with my OCs

*********

Lucifer has his hand over Cristina’s mouth to muffle her screams, stopping her from alerting the family. 

He clicks his tongue a few times, and says. “I thought we came to an understanding. I told you, you’ll see me again. Guess I should’ve been more specific”.

“What do you want?!” she asks, her voice muffled by his hand. 

“You promise not to scream?” he asks, his voice deepens, almost in a whisper.

She nods her head in response. He moves his hand away from her mouth. 

“What do I want?!” he asks, his index finger on his chin, walking towards her bedroom window. 

“Well first off, I would like to know what is so special about your cousin?!. The small one with the cotton candy hair”.

“Daenerys?” she asks, in slight confusion. 

“Yeah, for some reason she happens to be the most important thing in the world to Gabriel” he says, bitterness in his voice. 

“That’s his daughter, that's why she’s so important to him” she responds, in a somewhat sarcastic tone. 

He chuckles, “Ehh not quiet”.

She looks at him in confusion, furrowed her eyebrows at him. “What is that supposed to mean?!” she asks, getting slightly irritated. 

“Well you see. Gabriel is no-”.

He gets cut off when her bedroom door opens, and Gabriel appears in the doorway. 

“Uncle Gabe I-” she says before getting cut off, and going unconscious by Lucifer snapping his fingers. 

Gabriel steps into the room, closing the door behind him, “I told you to leave them alone” he tells him, his voice deep, and angry. 

Lucifer shrugs, “You know I never listen”.

“What do you want?!” he asks.

“You know what I want” Lucifer tells him, “I want you to come with me, and we can find all the others that fell.”

“But why do you care if the others fell?. No one did when you fell” Gabe asks.

Lucifer rolls his eyes, “Yeah, I know. That’s why I want to rub it in dad’s face when we confront him”.

“Do you even know where the others fell??!” he asks, crossing his arms.

“Samandriel, Uriel, Castiel, Michael, Gadreel, Raphael and you are the only ones that I know of that fell. I'm not sure where, but they're most likely scattered".

Gabriel goes silent for a moment, looking down at the floor.

“Okay. I’ll go with you” he says. 

A smile appears on Lucifer’s face, “Good, we should get-”. He gets cut off by his younger brother “But, it’ll have to wait until the morning”.

Lucifer rolls eyes, throwing his head back in annoyance, “Are you serious?!”. 

He nods his head, “Yes, I want to give them an explanation. I’ll tell Daenerys that I’m gonna go help out some survivors with the Highwaymen, or something like that”.

Lucifer shoves his hands into his jacket pockets, and says.

“So you’re gonna keep lying to your “daughter” huh?!”.

Gabriel sighs, “As much as I don’t want to. I have to. How long will this search be?”.

“A week, maybe 2. See you tomorrow little bro”. 

Lucifer disappears from the room, and Cristina is still unconscious.

With the very little powers he has, Gabriel wipes her memory from the last 2-5 minutes.

He goes back to his and Kate’s room, laying next to her in bed. 

********

The next morning at around 7:30am, Gabriel is packing some of his gear that he’ll most likely not need, but has to make it look like he’s going out on a week-long hunting trip, or at least a few days. 

“So how long are you gonna be gone?!” Daenerys asks, sitting at the kitchen table, looking up at him.

He sighs, “A week. Maybe 2. Depending on how long they're gonna need me”.

Kate leans against the doorway of the kitchen, who knows the real reason why he’s leaving.

“So who is that you’re gonna be searching for?!” she asks, playing along with this situation. 

He looks up at her, “It’s a group of hunters that were ambushed by the Highwaymen. Mickey and Lou wanted them captured, and they escaped. Fled into the nearby forests, not far from the radiation zone in the Henbane”. 

He finishes packing up, and he heads outside to his truck.

All of the adults Paige, Kenneth, Mandy, Barbara, Adrian, Mark, Nate, Cody, and Martin all know the real reason why Gabriel is leaving. Trying to keep the kids from knowing the real truth. To help out Lucifer and find the angels that were cast out of Heaven, and were now wandering the Earth, either human, or half human, with little to no powers, or angelic grace. 

The kids don’t know the real reason why he’s leaving. He hugs every single one of them, he holds Kate and Daenerys longer, placing a kiss on Daenerys head. 

“Please come back whole” she says, hugging him tighter. 

He laughs softly, “I will”. Placing another kiss on her head.

He kisses Kate goodbye, gets into a truck, and leaves the property. Meeting Lucifer at the meeting point. 

They all go inside, back to what they were doing, letting Gabe go to find these “hunters”. 

*******

After a half an hour drive later, Gabriel arrives at the meeting point Lucifer had sent him via angel radio. Surprised he was able to get through, even with the very little powers he has. 

A few miles away from the radiation zone of what was once the Henbane River.

“Great. You showed up!” Lucifer says, enthusiastically. 

“Okay. So where are we going?!” Gabriel asks. 

“That way” Lucifer says, pointing into the direction of the radiated part of the Henbane. 

“Into the radiation zone?!?” he asks, eyes wide. Not sure if he’ll actually survive going into that death zone, even with the amount of powers he has. He’s pretty much a human at this point. 

“Yeah. So lets goooo” he says singfully. Walking towards the dead zone.

“I don't even know if I can go through there!” the half angel protests.

Lucifer stops walking, “You’ll be fine. I went through there, and I’m still alive”.

Gabe rolls his eyes, groaning “Yeah because you still have your powers. I don’t. I barely have my powers”.

Lucifer groans back, “Okay. You’ll be fine. Raphael, Uriel, Gadreel and all the others are there, and they most likely don’t have any of their powers. They’re basically human with very little angel powers. So let's go!!” he says singfully again, and walks towards the radiated part of Hope County. 

The youngest Archangel groans, and follows his older brother into the radiation zone. As much as he doesn’t want to, he still does. 

****

Back in Holland Valley, everyone is working, doing their own thing around the compound. 

Jeffrey and Thomas are helping the guys, and a few others put up guard towers around the wall. 

The whole thing is basically a second Prosperity. Open to those seeking shelter from the Highwaymen. 

Paige, Kate and their mother Mandy are supplying guns to some of the residents and all those living on the compound. The three teenage girls are putting up cameras, and motion sensor spotlights with the help of a few others from Prosperity. Even from 40 feet away, and with her back to her. Kate can detect that Daenerys is worried about her father. 

“I can tell she’s worried” Kate mutters to her mother and sister. 

“Wouldn’t you?” Paige responds. Kate looks over at her, and nods her head. 

Paige sighs softly, “I get that you never really got to know dad, but still. I still worried whenever he left. I was just a child. I was afraid of everything”.

Sighing, “Yeah, I know but this is different. I just don’t want her, or anyone to know that we have an Archangel living with us” Kate tells her. 

Mandy doesn’t speak up in this conversation, or put in her two cents, she just listens in on their conversation. 

“Or that you’re married to an Archangel” Paige adds, “What about John?!”. 

Kate scoffs in annoyance, “What about him? He's dead”. She never thought about John Seed in several years, she kept his name and the thought of his existence out of her mind. 

“Yeah, I know. You and Wheaty killed him, or maybe it was Nick Rye. I don't know, I was too busy killing Jacob Seed” Paige tells her. 

“Yeah” Kate whispers remembering all the great times she had with Wheaty, “I don’t want her to know about John. Bad enough she has his eyes. It's a constant reminder that she’s his kid”.

“She also has his small hands. Have you noticed that?!” Paige tells her, while doing jazz hands like movement with her hands. 

Kate laughs softly, and says “Yeah. I could’ve saved him”. Paige looks over at her, “Who?. John?”. 

She scoffs, and shakes her head, “No Wheaty. I could’ve saved him. I’d rather have him be Daenerys’ father than John. I can’t imagine how she would’ve turned out if John were to live. A sadistic little shit. Yelling out “Say yes!. The Power of Yes!. Confess your sins sinners!”.

Paige laughs at this, “I would’ve had Cristina, or Bianca beat her up”.

Kate takes a deep breath, trying to hold back her tears, “I could’ve saved him, I could've gone back, and got him. I still think about it every night” she tells her, voice trembling, "I miss that Native guy so much". Light tears start to run down her cheeks. 

Trying to reassure her younger sister, “You gotta stop beating yourself up about that. I understand you, and Wheaty had something special. I definitely prefer you and him, over you and John, but I’m sure he would’ve wanted you to move on. I know if I would've let you gone back, and get him. You would've died as well". 

Kate nods, agreeing with her “Yeah I know, I know. I thought I would’ve ended up being a single parent. I still remember the day after we killed John and Jacob. Wheaty said to me that he wouldn’t mind being a stepfather to our child, then hopefully had kids of our own".

She stops for a moment, and Paige continues to reassure her sister.

"We lost a lot of people that day. A lot of friends Eli, Tammy, Wheaty, Jess, Mary, Pratt, Hudson and Whitehorse. Do you know if Morgan, Ryan, Sarah and all the others made it? ". 

Kate nods, and continues, "Yeah, we did but then Gabriel came into the picture. Him, and I grew closer, he helped me raise Daenerys, he took care of me throughout my pregnancy. I know he’s not used to the human lifestyle, and it was all new to him. But he adjusted very well, and I’m glad he’s here. I don’t know if they made it, I haven’t seen, or heard from them, but I’m sure they’re all dead”.

********

Lucifer and Gabriel walk through the Henbane River, and to Gabriel’s surprise he’s not coughing up his lungs, and dropping dead. 

“Eessh this is depressing” Lucifer mumbles, clenching his teeth.

“How much further?!” Gabriel asks, getting tired of walking. Lucifer looks around the dry, dead and gray scenery “It’s not far”. He’s not even sure if they’re going the right way, it’s all a dead zone. 

"What are we even looking for?!. How are we even gonna find the others?!" he asks. 

"Static. From angel radio" he mumbles, still unsure where to go. 

They continue walking through the radiation zone. After a few minutes Lucifer senses something, he stops dead in his tracks as does Gabe.

“What is it?!” he asks. He shushes him, and listens closely. “This way!" he tells him. 

He follows him further into the dead region. 

“What is it?!?” Gabriel asks, annoyed that his brother isn't answering him. 

“It’s one of them” he answers. “Raphael?!?” he adds before walking towards the sound that only he can hear. Gabriel follows behind him. 

******

Back at the compound, Cristina, Bianca and Daenerys are setting the motion sensor lights.

The youngest of the Winchester kids, Daenerys can’t concentrate due her father not being around. 

“He’ll be back Dae” Cristina comforts her younger cousin.

“Yeah I know. I just worry whenever he’s not here” she tells them, “Especially with those douchebags running around and capturing people”.  

“He’ll be back. He said he will, and he’s gone to help others several times before” Bianca tells her. 

She tries to keep her mind away from her dad, reassuring herself that he’ll be home within a week or 2, or even a couple of days. Cristina’s mind keeps wandering as well, remembering what her mom, and aunt had said to her the night before. 

She wants to tell Daenerys and Bianca but promised her mom and aunt that she wouldn't. 

Lucifer keeps coming to mind, and that scares her. She had a dream that he appeared in her room, and he was about to say something about her uncle Gabriel and Daenerys but was woken up by her alarm. 

After a couple of hours they finished setting up the lights and cameras.

The guard towers are all complete, the Winchester-Smith compound is complete. 

They have all of their workshops setup. The training yard, infirmary, cartography, garage and the garden are all set. 

Their bunker had been made into an infirmary, storage facility and an armory. As an underground shooting range. 

Later that night at dinner. Everyone that is living at the compound is seated at the main dining room in the main house.

Mark, Nate, their wives and kids. Martin, his wife, and kids. Adrian, his wife and kids. Cody and his wife. Kenny, Kate, Daenerys, Bianca, Jeffrey, Thomas, Barbara, Cristina, Mandy and Paige.

Paige stands up, clears her throat and gives a speech. 

“Okay, everyone if I can have your attention. First off I just wanna say thank you to all of you for your help. I know it’s been a huge adjustment. With the Highwaymen running around Hope County, it’s not really easy. We just need to stick together, and fight against them. I know Gabriel will be back within a week or two with those missing hunters maybe sooner, and we can recruit them to fight against the Twins and their followers. We have everything we need. We just have to keep on our feet. Watch over, and protect our home. Don’t let our guard down because we don’t know when they’ll strike. But if we fight, and push back, they’ll get the message that we’re not to be fucked with. So with that being said. Thank you, and I know we can win this fight”. 

Everyone applauds Paige’s speech, and they all eat their dinner. 

#far cry new dawn #far cry new dawn ocs #new dawn: new horizons #oc: paige winchester #oc: kate winchester #oc: cristina winchester smith #oc: bianca winchester-smith #oc: thomas winchester-smith #oc: jeffrey winchester-smith #oc: daenerys winchester #supernatural lucifer #supernatural gabriel #supernatural x far cry new dawn #mickey and lou #my crossovers #my crossover shit #writers on tumblr #far cry new dawn series #supernatural references #my oc stuff #my writings #my series #john seed #jacob seed #fcnd ocs #my ocs

[heartofsnark]

This is Love (Chapter Eight): Whispers of Wolves

Notes: Heyo, since A) I took a break and B) it’s friday the thirteenth, as it was when I posted the first chapter of this is love back in January, I decided to go ahead and post chapter 8 today. Chapter 9 is already done and I’ll be beginning work on chapter 10 soon, as this is my current hyper fixation. I hope you all enjoy. 

Word Count: 8671

Chapter Warnings: Oh boy we got some shit today my dudes! Stories/Reference of Past Child Abuse, Animal Death In the Context of Hunting, Homphobic Slurs/Homphobia towards lesbians, and referenced past anti-Semitism. Less important but there’s a pov change and like three different quotes in this chapter, from the Book of Joseph, and two different songs, which is probably a lot but I ain’t editing this shit anymore

For chapter one and the warnings about this fic’s overarching themes, please click here!

For the previous chapter; click here

Pain cracks through Joseph’s skull late that night, shooting across from each temple, seeming to split his head apart. He sits on the edge of his small bed, a modest bedroom in the back of his church. He knows what it means, he’s grown accustomed to the sharp ringing pain, visions always come with it. They’ve started to come more frequently since The Lamb arrived.

He grabs at his head, as if he could press hard enough to keep his skull together as pain racks him, an instinctual reaction. Pain strikes through and breaks the reality of the world around him, closed eyes starting to see visions of what could be, images of what may await him.

A world anew surrounds him; one changed by the Collapse and washed of sins. Lush and natural, even more beautiful than the world that came before it. Vibrant pink flowers decorate the earth, thick green moss covering trees. A soft pink flowered apple tree stands at the center of the compound, white buildings replaced with hand made little houses.

Men and women are all around, working around New Eden. Parents playing with their children, carrying their babies; loyal followers allowed to pass through the gates and grow their family. Some members bring back hunted animals to be prepared for meals and others tending to gardens.

And then he sees his brothers and sister.

A fact that changes time and time again as his visions come to him in waves. He’s seen New Eden with and without them. He’s seen each of his siblings die time and time again, old and young, premonitions of what will be or what could be.

In this version, this vision, he’s been allowed his siblings. Faith, Jacob, and John talk at a distance where Joseph can’t quite hear the words, only taken in the moment. Jacob and John’s ages showing more clearly in the gray just starting to pepper their hair.

A voice rises above all others, cutting through the mumbled conversation through the compound, and Joseph knows it’s calling towards him. The soft voice calls him a name similar in meaning to his title, but it cuts to his heart so differently.

“Papa!”

Through the eyes of his older self, he can only watch and take in what happens, no control as he turns to see the source.  A young boy of about five comes running towards Joseph, bright blue eyes and an even brighter smile. Joseph’s body moves of it’s own volition reaching out to hug his son, his son, but before he can feel the embrace of his child the world cracks apart again.

Pain splinters through the world and rips him from the moment, when he opens his eyes again he’s back in his room. And his hands itch to hold his son who’s yet to exist, instead he rubs at his temples, fingers knotting in his own hair as he attempts to soothe the agony within his own head. The only respite being what he hopes is a new promise from his creator. A chance for his family to not only walk with him to New Eden, but the chance to expand it.

He’ll have a son. The very idea soothes his pain and is like a salve to frayed nerves. Becoming an internal mantra as he eases himself back to sleep that night.

 Sweat coats Dahlia’s skin as she does another push up, her muscles aching at the workout. She shifts to lay on her back on the living room floor, t-shirt riding up her sweaty stomach. Her second day of no work has turned into an impromptu work out, push up and using doorways for chin-ups. She uses her shirt to wipe sweat off her forehead before grabbing her phone to check the time. Dahlia must have gotten her way through the day, it has to be late by now.

“Fucking hell.”

It’s noon, it’s only fucking noon.

“Ahhhhhhhhhh!” She screams into a pillow, how the fuck is it only noon? Dahlia looks at the mess of her coffee table, trying to consider what to do just to eat at her time, she could draw again. But her hand is still cramping. She read somewhere you’re suppose to do warm up for drawing, she’ll have to start doing that.

Then she sees the Book of Joseph, her drawing still sticking out of it. She’s burned through her backlog of manga on her phone and fuck, it’s something to do. Joseph seemed like a genuinely sweet man, maybe he has something interesting to say.  Music still blasting, because everything in her life requires a soundtrack, she opens the book.

 “Bless the name of those who have dealt you blows.

Be grateful to those who have caused you harm.

For it is these sufferings that have led you to me.”

 The first sermon in the book, she chews her lip, it’s not that much different from things Joseph told her yesterday, that he’s thankful her past led her to him. But, something rubs her wrong about the idea of being grateful for her abuse. Not for her, she plans on dying mad about it. She reads onward, an illustration of a flaming capital building surrounded by waves with someone drowning in the foreground. That’s…dramatic.

“If a person had been walking down the poorly maintained road out front of the Seed’s house on that afternoon in June and felt the strange urge to glance over, they would have witnessed a bizarre sight.

They would have seen a man dress in black pants and a white undershirt, frothing with anger, brandishing a comic book in one hand and a bible in the other at his son, a child of about ten. But no one had been down this in the poor suburb of Rome, Georgia, in a long time. Not ice cream trucks, not social service cars, not even police patrols.”

Dahlia stops almost three pages in as Joseph begins to write about a dying widow who once gave him and Jacob cakes before she grew sick. The picture he’s painted is far too clear and hits too close to home for her to continue, at least for the moment. A belligerent bible thumping drunk of a father who derided Joseph for loving Spiderman comics and beat Jacob’s back for the younger brother’s supposed misgivings.

Father Monroe, her stepfather, wasn’t quite the ruddy faced sloppy drunk that Old Man Seed was. But when Joseph describes Jacob offering his back up for a beating, she nearly feels the bite of leather against her own. Stripes for the backs of fools, is all she hears.

She wants to talk to Joseph, she realizes, thinking of both the beginning sermon passage and how their own pasts match up. Does he really bless the man who hurt him? Is he grateful for Old Man Seed? Maybe that kind of forgiveness and peace with it comes with age or is it just him? Ruth has a similar story as well, a little older than Dahlia, and she holds on to the same anger Dahlia does. Has Joseph managed to let it go? Does he still like Spiderman? Did his father beat the passion for comic books out of him or does he still enjoy them? Its hard to imagine, the intense Joseph Seed casually reading a comic book.

Less than three pages is a pathetic excuse for reading and didn’t pass much time, but it’s intense for her. So, she’d rather just…stare at the wall for a bit until she’s ready to tackle it again.

It’s Saturday night, Pratt and Hudson won’t be going to The Spread Eagle tonight, because no work. Meaning a rather mundane day with no interruptions. Other than a short walk, Dahlia spends the rest of it fucking around on her phone and watching shitty tv; passing out after downing an unevenly heated microwave meal.

Sunday morning rolls around, spent much like the last, Dahlia using her down time and excess energy to work out. It’s important to stay on top of exercising and staying in shape, given her profession, she makes a mental note to order some weights online. There’s not really a proper gym in the county and she doesn’t want to lose muscle.

She’s in the middle of another round of pushups when there’s a knock at her door; she jumps up from her position, skin still slick with sweat as she rushes towards the door. Finally, something to disrupt the monotony.

It’s Pratt standing on her porch, hazel eyes looking her over. She’s expecting a shitty comment on her appearance, dressed in shorts and a baggy shirt, hair mussed with sweat.

“You need something?” She asks him, slightly out of breath. Dahlia lifts the bottom of her shirt, using it to wipe sweat from her face, breeze skimming the bare skin of her stomach.

“What the hell has you sweating, Rook?” The older deputy chews his lip, avoiding eye contact for a moment.

“I was working out.”

“With a head injury? Seriously?”

“The fuck else am I suppose to do?”

“Figured you’d be bored out of your mind, reason I’m here,” he grins, “throw some clothes on and we can head out.”

“You mind if I shower first?” She asks, while she’s not sure where he plans on dragging her but she’d rather not stink like sweat while she’s there.

“Uh, yeah, sure that’s fine.”

“You wanna wait in here?”

He nods and Dahlia steps aside to let Pratt into her trailer, it’s not the most tidy of place because, well, she’s not the most tidy of people. She can feel the judgement starting to build up as Pratt looks around her messy living room. A pillow and blanket haphazardly on the couch; her duffle bag on the ground with clothes falling out of it. Her table has her sketchbook, thankfully closed, and the Book of Joseph is tucked under it. It’s a messy little nest, but it’s hers.

“Are you sleeping on your couch?”

“Uh, yeah, it’s just, I prefer it,” she explains with a shrug, not really sure how to elaborate on her weird feeling about sleeping in a bed.

“You have a bed, right?”

“Yes, I have a bed, I just, shut up. I don’t barge into your house and start judging how you live,” she pinches the bridge of her nose, “just sit down, I’ll be back in a minute.”

Dahlia grabs a change of clothes, hearing the couch springs creak as Pratt sits down. It’s weird seeing someone in her trailer. The closest she’s had to visitors have stayed on her porch. Pratt is the first person to be in her actual trailer, he looks immensely out of place and judging by his eyes glancing around, he seems to feel that way too. She tries not to think too hard about it, making a beeline to her bathroom.

She tries to keep her shower short, not wanting to make Pratt wait too long and not wanting him to snoop while he’s left alone. That doesn’t stop her from playing music as she showers, just limiting herself to two songs before she jumps out. A quick dry off and she tugs on her clothes, towel still on her damp hair as she walks back out to her living room.

Pratt, sure enough, has found something to snoop through. Dahlia grimaces at the sight of him picking through her little jewelry box of photos. Was he rifling through her dufflebag? She clears her throat, smirking when he jumps up.

“I was just-”

“Snooping,” she cuts him off, ruffling the towel over her hair.

“It fell out of your bag.”

“No it didn’t.”

“It did...after I kicked it a little, but it did fall out.”

“You’re ridiculous,” she snatches the little wooden box off the table, Lloyd and Caroline’s photo booklet was on top, so at least she probably avoided him seeing baby photos.

“You, uh, don’t look much like your parents. You adopted or something?”

She can’t help but chuckle as she puts it away; she can’t blame him for thinking Lloyd and Caroline must be her parents. The pair are both about Whitehorse’s age and why else would she have so many photos with a couple that age. But, the couple absolutely look nothing like her. Both fairer skinned and blue eyed; Lloyd with dark strawberry blonde hair and Caroline with light honey blonde locks. Short of some shenanigans the chance of them producing an olive skinned, brown eyed brunette is slim. And while the couple have their share of adopted children; Dahlia isn’t one of them.

“No.”

“Oh, uh…” She can nearly see the gears turning in Pratt’s head,  her usual one word style of answering has put Caroline’s devotion in question and Dahlia won’t have that.

“They’re not my parents; legally or biologically.”

“Oh, you just hang out with old couples?”

“Maybe, maybe not, ain’t really any of your business,” she shrugs, “more importantly, where the hell are we supposed to be going?”

“It’s a surprise.”

“I don’t trust your surprises.”

“Would you rather sit here and twiddle your thumbs all day?”

“Fuck  no.”

“That’s what I thought, you ready to go then?”

“Yeah, yeah,” she throws the damp towel onto her laundry chair before shoving her feet into her boots, “lets get going.”

She locks up behind Pratt then follows him out to his car. Compared to the last time she was in his car, this is infinitely more relaxing. She hums along to the radio, resisting the urge to sing along. He probably already heard her yelling along to her music in the shower, she doesn’t need to blast his eardrums at close range. After one song ends and another shittier one begins she starts to fiddle with the radio setting.

“The driver is supposed to pick the music,” Pratt tells her as she flips through stations, trying to find a station playing something other than country.

“The driver needs to worry about the road, while I find something worth listening to.”

“Yeah, ‘cause your taste in music is so good.”

“I have excellent taste in music,” she turns to one station and it sounds like a choir.

Help me, Faith

Help me, Faith

Shield me from sorrow

From fear of tomorrow

“Turn that crap off, right now.”

“The hell is that?” It’s not a bad song like technically speaking, but it’s definitely a bit much.

“Peggie station, it's all crap, Eden’s Gate runs it. It’s all their choir music and sermons.”

“Gross, but the song ain’t that bad.”

“You might wanna have your head checked again.”

“Piss off.”

She finds something better, even if she doesn’t necessarily mind Eden’s Gate music, she’d rather listen to something without fear of a sermon coming up after. At the very least, Pratt doesn’t complain about her choice, a few more songs playing before they cross into Holland Valley.

“How’s your impromptu vacation been going?”

“Boring.”

“That’s what I thought,” he laughs, “figured you’d be going stir crazy by now.”

“So, you decided to come end my boredom?”

“No need to sound so excited,” Pratt rolls his eyes, not appreciating her lackluster response.

“Sorry, I, uh, do appreciate it,” she admits, looking out the windows, cheeks warming at it. It’s embarrassing to say that she is genuinely thankful. Hell she nearly jumped up and ran to the door like a dog when he knocked. Boredom is hell.

“Oh, it’s fine, I was bored too.”

They pull into the police station parking lot and she raises an eyebrow at him as he parks. He’s taken her to work? What on earth is he planning?

“Don’t look at me like that, you’re gonna enjoy this, c’mon.”

She follows him out and around the building to the helipad she noticed before, a black police grade helicopter on it.  He doesn’t hesitate to climb into the pilot's seat, telling her to get in. She listens, climbing into the seat next to him. It looks like a mess of buttons and controls to her, none of them making sense. But Pratt confidently starts turning switches, lights coming to life in front of her.  They’re going for a helicopter ride, holy shit.

“Pffft,” Pratt huffs out a laugh, “we’re not even in the air yet and you’re already grinning.”

“This is okay, right? Like, no one will mind.”

“I’m the only person at the station who can fly, so if they needed it, they’d be calling me anyway. Don’t worry.”

“I’m fine, I just wanted to know I can enjoy this guilt free.”

“And lift off,” Pratt says as he brings the chopper up off of the ground. The station grows smaller and smaller as they ascend up into the air.

“Wow…” Is all as can seem to say at first as the chopper kisses the sky.

They’re surrounded by a bright blue sky and puffy white clouds as Pratt flies across the county. Lush green forests and farms beneath them, mountains along the edges of the county. A top down view of animals running through, specks in their vision. She oohs and awes, unable to help acting like an excited child over the view. They fly along the county, Pratt is kind enough to answer her stupid questions about flying, what buttons and switches mean. She’s certain to a seasoned pilot her naïve question must be frustrating, but he grins with every answer. Before she knows it the sky around them has shifted to an awash of pinks and purples, the sun setting, before a midnight sky takes it place. Brilliant stars twinkling around them, feeling so close, like she could reach out and touch Andromeda.

Once it gets too late, Pratt lands back at the station, her cheeks ache from all the time smiling. He drives her back to the trailer park, the pair in comfortable silence as she hums along to the radio.  Her thoughts drifting off as they are so quick to do. Pratt and her butted heads a bit when they first met, but he’s quickly become her closest friend in the county. Their light-hearted bickering and shenanigans have become her favorite part of her days in Hope County.

He walks with her to her trailer, shoulders brushing occasionally as they move. She turns to look at him when they reach her door. Dahlia clenches and unclenches her hands searching for what she wants to say.

“Thanks, a lot, really.”

“You like flying that much?”

“Not just for that, not to be all mushy and crap, but coming out here, keeping me from going nuts, being my friend. It, uh, means a lot, seriously.”

“Eh,” he scratches at the back of his neck, avoiding her eyes, “just watching out for you, probie.”

“Well, I appreciate it, I, uh, know I’m not the easiest person to get along with.”

“No one in this county is.”

“Good to know I fit in, I guess.”

“Uhh, you’re getting there, once you start stinking like beer all day and have a house full of deer heads, we’ll call it good.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” she grins, “night.”

“Night.” She waves Pratt off before going back to her trailer to settle in for the night.

Monday is spent showing up to the station just to play with Petunia behind the building; just laying on the ground while the fluffy opossum crawls on her. She scratches along the marsupial’s back as they nuzzle into her neck.

“Aren’t you supposed to be home relaxing or something?” Beau asks and Dahlia shifts her head back to look at him.

“I am relaxing, what are you doing?”

“Well, everyone asked me to go see what that weirdo deputy was doing, so here I am.”

“Oh no, you hear that Petunia,” she looks at her opossum friend, “people think I’m weird.”

“Yeah, talk to the ‘possum, that’ll really show ‘em.”

She sticks her tongue out at him and he just rolls his eyes, leaving her alone for the moment. Pratt and Hudson invite her out to The Spread Eagle once the sun starts to set, but a steady throbbing ache has built in her head, she skipped pain meds. And the idea of the jukebox booming in her skull makes her turn it down for the night, once she’s back to work she’ll treat them to a meal there, she decides on the quiet ride home.

Dahlia wakes up the next day and decides to finally take that hike, wanting to explore some of the mountains and woods that surround the county. The brunt of the trails seem to be within the Whitetail Mountain area up north, the mountains in the Henbane are mostly around that statue and as much as she likes Joseph more than before; the statue is still creepy.

She tucks her sketchpad, pencils, water, and her pain meds in the storage under her motorcycle seat before she drives up to the mountains; the north section of the county is colder, a chill from the air as she rides up. She stops in at an Old Sun Outfitters, buying a little black backpack to carry her stuff in when she hikes.

The woods around her get thicker and thicker as rides further into the mountains, land growing steeper with every minute, civilization sparser and sparser; buildings harder to find, just peeks of wood or cement through trees. The trees clear on her right as a turn of the road leads her to a large parking lot with little hutch and a sign that says, ‘rest area’. The hutch says Valley View Overlook. It’s built at the top of a plateaued piece of land, not as towering as the mountains in the distance, but higher than the meager hills of the valley or river. She parks her motorcycle and packs the bag before taking in the view.

A small navel high fence, she imagines waist high for others, keep animals or children from just running off the side of the mountain. It’s a beautiful sight; she can see why the lot is named after it. She takes a deep breath of fresh mountain air looking out at the soft blue sky that meets the mountains in the horizon; the deep green forests further down. Air so clean and refreshing, but for some reason she finds herself pulling out a cigarette, to fill her lungs with smoke. Too much good needs a bad, she supposes. She watches the white clouds and birds flying through, as she lets smoke settle heavy in her lungs, only parting from the sight when her cigarette threatens to burn her fingers.

She follows along a little beaten trail through the woods, kicking up rocks and crushing grass underfoot as she lets the trees surround her. Grass rustles around where animals sneak through; deer running through, other hikers crossing her path, and hunters packing bucks back home with dogs sniffing along after them.

It doesn’t take long for her to go off the path, just walking in any direction that catches her interest. Deeper and deeper into the woods, following divots and drop offs, walking along the occasional stream of water that passes through the area.  Her feet and head start to ache as hours pass, the cool air no longer able to chill her body as exertion coats her skin in sweat.

A hunting stand, one of many, is within the woods. Gray metal built around a tree with a ladder leading up. It’s empty, but if a hunter really needs it, she’ll move along. She climbs up curling her legs under her on the stand as she pulls off her back pack and red flannel, the sleeves now sweaty after her walk. Dahlia ties it around her waist, feeling the cool air on her skin as she takes a deep breath.

She takes a deep swig of water and one of the pain killers. There’s a crush of grass and she looks up to see a group of deer a short distance from the stand. A fawn and what may be younger deer, with a buck among them. The buck’s fur grayer in color than the richer warmer brown of the others. Dahlia gets out her sketchpad and pencils, balancing them on her knee as she takes the drawing the creatures. A calm energy and flow falls over her as she draws, the only sound the animals rustling within the woods. She’s better at drawing people than animals, she realizes, when she can’t quite get the right slope of the buck’s muzzle, but she doesn’t stress herself over it. No one will ever see her wonky deer. She looks up; the buck has gotten much closer, shuffling near the stand.

Dahlia puts her sketchbook aside, half finished wonky deer abandoned, as she moves to lay on her belly over the edge of the hunter’s stand. She stretches her hand out, his antlers high enough for her fingers to just brush the velvety texture. But that’s not what she’s after, wanting to pet the stags head. Dahlia shifts to a knee and a foot, she forces the fingers of one hand into the grating to keep a solid grip on the stand. She leverages herself to lean further and further out, stretching a hand out and nearly hanging completely off the stand. Her fingers just centimeters away from touching the stag’s head.

The fuzz of fur brushes across her fingers and the soft brown eyes looking up at her go blank; blood spraying from the side of the buck’s head as it’s body goes limp to the ground. She can’t help but jump back and fall on her ass; gasping at the now dead deer in front of the stand, the rest of them have scattered at the sight.

Maybe she should have expected it, being in hunter territory, but the closeness of it still startles her. There’s a heavy thud of boots, steady consistent footfalls crushing branches and grass beneath them. Ginger hair with shaved down sides and an army jacket; Jacob Seed.

This is likely the only time she’ll ever be taller than him, watching him from the stand as he shifts a bright red rifle from his hands to on his back. It seems so vivid and ostentatious compared to his utilitarian style of dress.  There’s a childish urge to jump on his back and scare him. But, they don’t know each other well and he’s a veteran, so she can’t know how he’d react to the sort of thing. Maybe a boo would be okay, just something small?

“You enjoying the show, honey?”

Dahlia jolts, taken aback by the sudden acknowledgment. She tucks a strand of hair back behind her ear and chews her lip watching as he starts to gather up the slain deer; then he looks up at her, blue eyes sharp and harsh. All the masculine Seeds have blue eyes and intense stares; but Jacob’s gaze is colder than Joseph’s and more steady than John’s. Something almost predatory to it. 

“I was drawing him,” she says after a moment, looking down at the stag. 

“And I was hunting him.” 

“Still would have appreciated another minute or two,” she says as she grabs her bag, throwing the sketchbook back inside before she jumps off the stand. 

“So, you could flail around and try to pet him for another five minutes.” 

“Hey,” she pouts, she was caught hanging from a hunting stand like the child she is, but, “wait, you saw me?”

He gives a vague grumble of agreeance, more preoccupied with tying up the hooves of his latest hunt to make it easier to carry. 

“And you still shot? You could have shot my hand off.” Has this man never taken a gun safety course, she catches a glimpse of the scope on his rifle, there’s no way he didn’t see how close his shot was to her hand. He chuckles, dry and deep, mocking her. 

“Relax, if I wanted to shoot you, you’d be dead by now.” 

“Wow, that’s not comforting.” 

“Wasn’t trying to be,” he says, standing up and packing the giant deer over his shoulder, like it’s nothing.  

Dahlia reaches out to touch it, fingers brushing through soft fur, no warmth beneath it. She might as well be petting a rug. Jacob starts to walk off and she doesn’t know why, but she follows him. Hands clasped behind her back and walking heel to toe after him. Maybe it’s just because she’s curious about him. He’s the only one of the Seeds not to take a strange interest in her for whatever reason. 

He doesn’t say anything at first, allowing her to follow along after him. Leaves and grass crush under foot as she follows along behind him, curious as to where he’s going or doing. She’s not sure what she expects, but it’s something to do if nothing else. 

“You got somewhere to be?” 

“Not really, no.” She tries to crane her head around, trying to get a better look at his face to gauge his reaction, but their height difference is too big to truly do so. The man has to be around a foot and a half taller than her; he seems even taller than the sheriff.

“Well, I do, so get out of here.” Her smirk drops, she was hoping to see him get more agitated like the youngest Seed brother, but his voice doesn’t rise. Staying the same steady deep timbre.

“Where are you going?” 

“Nowhere you need to be, sweetheart.”

“The nicknames aren’t really necessary.” She can’t help but say, wrinkling her nose in annoyance, the condescending way he calls her sweetheart and honey make her nauseous.

 “Neither is following me like a lost puppy dog; but here you are.” 

“I’m bored.”

“Not my problem.”

“You killed my only entertainment, so it is now.”

He comes to a sudden stop and Dahlia has to stop herself from running into his back; she doesn’t particularly want deer corpse on her face. He turns to face her; expression still the same stern look he usually carries, and she misses his grin when he was talking to kids at the barbecue.

“Look here, deputy, sticking your nose where it doesn’t belong and irritating me isn’t a habit you want to form. Get out of here.”

“Oh no,” she rolls her eyes, “I’m really scared.”

“Keep pushing, sweetheart, won’t get you anywhere.”

“God, you’re no fun.”

“Wasn’t trying to be.”

“Jacob is something wrong,” a voice cuts through their conversation, rough and masculine. And Dahlia see the long-haired man and short haired girl from the barbecue; the ones who shot her dirty looks when she talked back to Jacob.

“Nothing you need to concern yourselves with.”

“What are you doing here?” The woman asks Dahlia directly.

“Standing.”

“Fallon,” Jacob says the woman’s name, stern tone making her posture snap straighter, “I said it’s none of your concern. Let’s go.”

The three of them start to leave down a path; Fallon and the long-haired man have heavy bucks they pack as well. A hunting trip for Jacob and his…friends? Are they friends? That didn’t seem like friendship, but Dahlia is far from an expert on the matter. She offers a goodbye wave; but Fallon just rolls her eyes. Their steady footfalls leaving the deputy behind.

Well, it staved off the boredom for a while she supposes.

Dahlia lets out a huffy sigh, blowing loose strands of hair from her face as she begins back down the path she came. The sun is setting by the time she’s back to the parking lot and climbing on top of her bike.

Her stomach is growling by the time she’s driving down a main road, she sees the sign for The Grill Steak as she reaches the intersection. Dahlia pulls in, letting her stomach guide her actions, as she’s one to do.

It’s a small restaurant packed with groups of people from friends to families; she can feel the heat of the grill radiating through, the smell of her making her stomach growl. She settles into a booth by herself, when she reads through it the menu is full of gamey meat burgers and steaks. No signs of beef or pork; it’s all bison and deer. She wonders if the cook hunts everything himself, it wouldn’t surprise her, given what she’s seen of the county. He can hear the cook yelling something she can’t understand from the kitchen. Dahlia settles on ordering a cola and a deer burger; thinking about the hunted stag she saw Jacob kill.  

As she waits on her food, the chatter of a group catches her ear. They’re not from Hope County; the different cadences of how they speak mingled with fancy latin technical terms tells her as much. Trying to be discreet; she glances at them over her shoulder. A group of four; two women and two men all around the same age. Dahlia’s not the brightest bulb in the pack by her own admission, but when she hears the words corvids and lupine, she realizes they’re talking about animals. It doesn’t shock her, given the abundance of wildlife in the county, certainly people would come to research them. 

The door to the restaurant swings open and a man comes walking in, shoulders back and footfalls confident. It reminds her clearly of Jacob, the walk of a soldier, though this man isn’t quite as intimidating a figure. Older than Dahlia, though most people are, with a full dark beard and long scraggly dark hair. He doesn’t bother to take a seat at a booth or look at a menu, only giving a single wave to the cook in the back as he makes a beeline to the group. Dahlia shifts a little further down into her booth, not that anyone could truly tell she’s eavesdropping, but it gives a little more secrecy to it. 

 “You the conservationists?” 

 “Yeah, we’re studying the wildlife here… And you are?” 

“Eli, not here to ‘cause trouble or anything like that, just wanted to give some friendly advice.” 

“Friendly advice?” 

“You need to watch yourselves out in those woods.”

“Pffft.” 

“We’re well aware of how dangerous the wildlife out here can be. You-” 

“No, you aren’t. There’s wolves-”

“And bears and mountain lions, oh my,” one of them jokes, “look, we know what we’re doing.” 

“You’re not listening, they’re not regular wolves. They’ve been trained to kill and hunt people down on sight. Even if you avoid ‘em, you get on the cult’s bad side and they’ll send ‘em after you. You gotta be careful out here.” 

“Okay, sure,” the eyeroll is nearly audible, “we’ll keep an eye out for killer cult wolves, don’t worry.” 

“Don’t say I didn’t warn you, alright.” 

The man, Eli walks away, and Dahlia considers stopping him. Admitting her nosiness and ask him some of the million questions going through her mind. Surely by cult, he means Eden’s Gate, right? Dahlia can’t imagine who else he could mean. They’re small and close knit, but they’re not a cult, right? Cults imply something more out there or intense; they’re just a little Christian church. Joseph may have his own book, but they still follow Christian ideas of sins and scripture.

And wolves? How could they possibly be training wolves? It’s all so ridiculous and asinine, making gears spin and churn in her head until they overheat, but it was said with such conviction. By the time she brings herself to make a noise, Eli has already left, and it’s probably for the best. It’s too crazy to be true. Maybe he’s a tinfoil hat wearing type of guy, a conspiracy theorist like the Zip guy who leaves a newsletter in every damn corner of the county, screaming about chemtrails and baby farms.

She fills her stomach, deciding to leave that as it is, finally returning to her trailer late that night. A restless night of sleep with images of wolves and deer creeping around through her brain, nothing concrete enough to latch onto, but enough to unsettle.

A boring morning leads into a boring afternoon, time blurring before the sun has set and Dahlia’s finding herself pulling up to The Spread Eagle to catch her coworkers after their shift. She’s popped enough pain killers that the throb of music and noise is welcomed instead of irritating. A smile already gracing her lips when she catches Pratt and Hudson shooting the shit in the bar’s lowlight. As she sneaks up closer to them, their conversation starts to be audible over the tunes playing through the bar.

“I bet you break before then,” Hudson says, a teasing grin directed at Pratt.

“Hey, it’s only six months.”

“Please, you’re weak and you know it.”

“How much you wanna bet?”

Dahlia strikes, throwing her arms over Pratt’s shoulders, effectively hugging him from behind and leaning her weight into him. He’s warm and Dahlia can’t fight the impulse to squeeze him a little tighter. She breathes in the faint smell of coffee and cologne that still cling to him; comforting after so much time spent around him.

“Jesus fuck, when’d you get here?” Pratt blusters and at this close of a range Dahlia can see his cheeks pinkening under the scruff of his beard. Does this bother him?

“Right now.”

“You decided to come hang out again?” Hudson asks, grinning at the flustered Pratt.

“Mmhmm,” Dahlia hums into Pratt’s shoulder, pressing her face into him, “bored.”

“Get off me,” he grumbles and reaches back to swat at her hip.

“Ugh, buzzkill,” she bitches as she detaches from Pratt and climbs onto a bar stool, “so what the hell are you guys making bets about?”

Pratt coughs, trying to dislodge something from his throat, and Hudson laughs, “yeah, Pratt why don’t you tell her about our bet?”

“Don’t worry about it, Rook.”

“We still need to set an amount.”

“Fifty,” Pratt suggests and Dahlia wants to know even more what the hell they’re making bets about.

“Mmm, hundred.”

“Fine, if you’re comfortable losing that much.”

“Anyone gonna tell me what’s going on?”

“Nope.”

“Well, that’s gonna drive me crazy now, thanks.”

“You’re welcome.”

She sticks her tongue out at him and orders food, stuffing her face as she listens to her coworkers fill her in on anything of interest she’s missed during her off time. It’s not much, as usual, the workload in Hope County is pretty low stakes. Hunting violations, speeding tickets, and the like. Seems like her assault is about the most interesting case in a while. Dahlia’s tempted to ask if they know anything about wolf attacks but bites her tongue before she does. Hope County is filled with wildlife, wolf attacks have no doubt occurred to some degree and if she mentions the idea of trained cult wolves, they might start to think she’s buying into the conspiracy shit.

“Stop,” Pratt says suddenly, putting hand on Dahlia’s knee, “you’re shaking the whole damn bar.”

Her leg she realizes has been bouncing the whole time, the hike helped, workouts help, but she’s still breaming with pent up energy. There’s a rustle of movement and Dahlia is drawn to the open floor near the jukebox, she’s seen a few people dance here and there, a couple now and again swaying to softer tunes while she’s been here. But, it’s more crowded tonight, people laughing and dancing together.

“People are dancing,” she states the obvious.

“It’s ladies’ night, women drink free, so everyone’s extra, uh, energetic tonight,” Hudson tells her.

An upbeat song starts and Dahlia’s up in the next breath, she needs to move, burn off excess energy. And while her favorite club in Lake Charles isn’t exactly available to her anymore, she’ll jump at the chance to lose herself in a song.

You should be wilder, you're no fun at all.

Dahlia’s singing along as she sways and shifts through the crowd, body moving instinctually to the beat. There’s a woman about Dahlia’s age, long blonde hair and brown eyes, dancing as well and the deputy finds herself gravitating towards her.

Yeah, thanks for the input.

Thanks for the call.

She asks low into the woman’s ear, so she can be heard over the music, if she can dance with her. The response is a smile, lighting up the girl’s face, a nod of her head and then she’s pulling Dahlia in by the hips.

With dull knives and white hands

The blood of a stone

Cold to the touch, right

Right down to the bone

And then she loses herself in it. In the music that fills the bar, the feeling of a stranger touching her, the slide of her feet as she moves,  the way hips knock together, the scratch in her throat as she sings lyrics in the woman’s ear, their grins as they laugh and bump noses together. It’s fun and it’s silly, a reason to move and forget life for a moment.

Cause you give me the electric twist and it kicks and it kicks like a pony.

And true, you might run away with it, it's a risk it's a risk yeah.

Because it kicks yeah.

It really kicks yeah.

Dahlia spins the woman with a laugh, before pulling the woman close against her again, wide smiles and bright eyes as their foreheads touch. There’s sweat sticking to their skin as the song winds down. Panted breaths ghosting over each other’s faces as they come down from exertion.

And the touch of your lips it's a shock not a kiss

It's electric twist, it's electric twist

“How much I gotta pay to see you kiss?!” A loud voice booms out, making Dahlia and her dance partner of the night separate. There’s a man, couldn’t be older than his mid twenties, sitting at the bar with his legs sprawled open drinking a beer at the table between the bar and the dance area. His eyes linger and look over both women’s bodies

“Can I help you?” Dahlia asks and furrows her brows, glowering at the man as she draws closer.

“Oh just enjoying the show, sweetheart.”

“Not your sweetheart and I’m not a damn show.”

“Pfff, don’t get your panties in a twist,” he turns back to his table and rolls his eyes, as if Dahlia’s the problem, “fucking dykes.”

The junior deputy grits her teeth and she sees from her peripheral the woman rubbing the back of her neck, letting her bangs fall into her face looking like she’d rather disappear.

“The fuck did you call us?” She can’t stop herself from speaking, barely managing to reign her anger in enough not do something worse.

“You heard me.”

“Fuck you!”

“Hey, hey, hey!” Pratt’s voice cuts through as the man starts to turn to retort, the warmth of her coworker’s hand wraps around the clenched fist she didn’t realize she had raised.

“Is something wrong?” Mary May calls out, starting to walk out from behind the bar.

“Everything’s fine,” Pratt responds before Dahlia can say anything and when she starts to speak, he looks at her to whisper, “you’re barely three weeks into your job, you really wanna be getting into bar fights?”

“He ca-”

“I heard what he said, Rook, but it ain’t worth your job.”

“You’re right,” she gnaws on her lip and looks down on the ground, “I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine, I get it, I just don’t want you doing anything stupid.”

“I need some fresh air.”

Dahlia leaves The Spread Eagle, noticing the woman she danced with has already vanished, unwilling to deal with the bullshit. A cool breezes ghosts over her sweaty skin as she sits down on the porch steps at the front of the bar; running her hands through her hair as she fights to ease her nerves. She digs a pack of cigarettes out of her jacket pocket

There’s a crush of footsteps as she lights one, bringing it to her lips, shiny black leather boots entering her vision.

“Dep-yoo-tee.”

“You Seeds can just smell when I’m sad, can’t you?” She teases looking up to see John, the neon bar sign setting his face aglow in the night as he chuckles at her.

“Not my intention, but if you’re in need of a talk, I’d be happy to oblige.”

“You weren’t coming out here to harass Mary May again, were you?”

“Deputy,” he puts his hand to his chest cartoonishly dramatic in his hurt, “h-harassment? That’s ridiculous. am I not allowed to visit with Ms. Fairgrave and just discuss our difference of opinions.”

His voice is ramping up in pitch as he defends himself and Dahlia can’t help but smile, appreciating the distraction from her own troubles.

“Yeah, I’m pretty sure Mary May would have a different of opinion about that one. We still gotta talk about members stealing booze.”

“Our members would do no such thing; and I assure you, if there’s any harassment here, we’re the victims. We’ve been insulted, had our sermons interrupted, our practices mocked, Mary May herself once showed up our church simply to cause trouble.”

“Okay, okay, it’s a two-way street, I get it. Sit, we can chat for a bit,” she pats the section of porch step beside her and reluctantly after a beat of silence, he sits down, “so, Mary May caused trouble for you guys?”

“Yes, yes, she has and she’s not the only one; the people of this county have persecuted me and my family since we’ve been here.”

“I’m sorry to hear that, no one should mistreat you that way,” she looks him in the eye as she speaks, “and if it ever happens again, I want you to call down to the station, ask for me, and I’ll do whatever I can to help.”

“Well, it’s certainly nice to know you’re on our side.”

“Ah, ah, I’m on everyone’s side. Mary May is owed the same respect as you and your family; and if you cause issues for her, I won’t hesitate to intervene for her sake as well. I’m here to keep everyone safe. Got to treat everyone like you wanna be treated, the whole spiel.”

“I know you’re not preaching biblical principles to me, dep-yoo-tee.”

“Not biblical, just a little maturity.”

“Are you implying I’m immature.“

“You’re a grown man spatting with a woman ten or more years younger than you; throwing a tantrum and pointing fingers when you’re told to behave.”

“First of all, I’m not that old,” Dahlia raises an eyebrow at him, “don’t look at me like that, I’m 32. Secondly, I am not a child. Mary May has-“

“And if she does something again, now that I’m here, let me know and I will help. But her actions don’t justify yours.”

“Fine, I’ll be sure to hold you to that promise, then.”

“I mean it’s less a promise and more so doing my job, but alright.”

She breathes out a plume of smoke, making sure to aim away from John’s face, his blue eyes track the movement and the nicotine fumes that escape into the air. An ex-smoker, she deems as she watches him staring at her lips and the cigarette between her fingers.

“You want a smoke?” She asks, offering her pack of cigarettes.

“Smoking is forbidden in Eden’s Gate.”

“That’s not what I asked.”

Tattooed fingers pick out a cigarette and she lights it for him with a grin, watching him take a deep inhale and blowing out the smoke that fills his lungs. The soft rise of his chest and the gray clouds that billow out from parted lips. She notices for the first time the freckles on his neck and chest, shirt unbuttoned low enough to expose them. There’s thin fresh scratches along his hands and forearms, too superficial and fresh to match the deeper worn in scars, they look like cat scratches. And yeah, he seems like a cat guy.

“So, now that you’ve berated and tempted me, deputy,” he speaks after an exhale of smoke, “why were you out here pouting?”

“BREH!” She plops her back down on the porch with a vague animal long groan and throws her arms over her eyes, cigarette still between two fingers, must he remind of her own issues.

“Well that certainly wasn’t immature or dramatic.”

And she laughs, because he’s right, she can preach maturity all she wants to him. But, she’s still a brat herself. She’d justify herself with their massive age difference, because no way he’s thirty-two, but that feels flimsy at best. They’re both just two temper tantrum throwing children, hell they’re even both fibbing about their ages. Though, she suspects his own much more severe than the few months she adds to her own.

“Don’t wanna talk about it.”

“You know,” he lays back on the porch, matching her position, “I take the confessions for our church, if there’s anything you need to get off your chest, I’m the man to talk to.”

“Not much to say; guy called me a slur, I nearly throttled him.”

“Someone else’s actions don’t justify your own,” he parrots her words back to her.

“Yeah, someday I’ll follow my own advice.”

“Has that happened before?”

The gears in her brain churn, she’s been called many a thing, but her sexuality has been one of the less insulted facets of who she is.

Her stepfather, as religious as he was, was adamant on his hatred of gay people. But her own disinterest in exploring her sexuality or romance saved her from his scorn in that area, his focus more on the other various things he found deplorable about her.

Her mother’s side is Ashkenazi Jewish, and Dahlia remembers the few people of her stepfather’s church who despite her mother converting were disgusted their preacher would marry a Jewish woman. A handful leaving the church, a few sticking by just to call Dahlia and her mother slurs when their backs were turned.

The nightclub she favored in Louisiana was considered a gay bar, though not exclusive to LGBT folks. Women dancing with women, men dancing with men, men and women dancing; and a healthy amount of people who didn’t quite fit either label. Only one-night sticks out, a car speeding past the line outside the bar just to scream a slur out the window.  

Maybe what bothered her most was the boldness. This wasn’t someone whispering when they thought Dahlia couldn’t hear, and this wasn’t a man just screaming out at the public as he speeds away. Just a man emboldened and willing to hurt her in front of a bar filled with people.

“We’re blocking the door.”Everything else died on her lips; unable to spill her guts.

“And we weren’t while you were lecturing me?”

Her phone buzzes in her jacket as she brings her cigarette back into her mouth, unwilling to justify her evasiveness to a man she barely knows, she answers a number she doesn’t know at all.

“Hello?” She says around her smoke.

“H-hello, is this a deputy?” A soft broken voice, she remembers from the diner,  asks her and Dahlia sits up, tension pricking at the back of her neck.

“That’s me, Cassie?”

“You remember me…”

“What’s going on, are you okay?”

“Yeah, uh, I…” a beat of silence and a choked sob comes next, “no, I’m sorry, I’m, I’m not okay, I-“

“Where are you?” Dahlia’s on her feet, heartbeat in her throat as she waves off John’s furrowed brows and concern, running to her bike.

“I’m at the diner. I didn’t know where else to go…”

“I’m headed your way now, Cassie, are you safe?”

“I…I don’t know…I…”

Her voice breaks out into sobs again as Dahlia starts her engine, slams on her helmet, and switches her phone to the speaker in her helmet. The girl’s cries echoing around her as her wheels kick gravel across the parking lot, speeding out of Falls End.

#far cry 5 #fc5 #john seed #jacob seed #this is love #dahlia hale #joseph seed #if you ever think im like smart or competent i want you to know that everytime i post a chapter i doubt my ability to count #like i know last chapter was chapter 7 but am I reeeeallly on chapter 8 is that reaaaaalllly how numbers work

[80s-roger]

Not On My Watch - pt2

Pairing: Dad!Roger and Mum!Reader

note: part two is here and embrace yourselves for the next one! Reminding that R/N means random name and also if you find my syntax or my voc messy and poor, that's because english is not my first language and I don't remember that many proficiency-level words :) enjoy

summary: you’re divorced with queen’s roger taylor due to constant cheating and irrational behaviour towards you. but u have one person in common: your daughter, Laura aka your favourite human on earth. Your marriage with roger had its ups and downs but laura was the happiness in it. Now that she’s 8 and starts to realise how your terms with roger are, you finally tell her that you’re seeing another man except her father and she took it really warmly. She seemed excited to meet the new man unlikely your ex-husband who accidentally learns about it by Laura, the weekend you would leave her at his place: on weekends you had some cute getaways with R/N because the court decided that Laura could stay or visit her dad on weekends and stay with him for five days each Christmas and Easter vacations. On summers he has the right to be with her for two weeks.

masterlist // part one // dialogue prompts

warnings: ehm nothing I guess

words: 2,458

taglist: @madeinheavxn @stacymaytaylor (if u want to be tagged just dm me :) )

Roger couldn't sleep after finding out you were living your life. He believed you would stay focused on Laura instead of fixing your love life. But jokes on him. You aren't committing any crime, don't feel guilty about it. He didn't even know how jealous he can be of you. Laura was with him, they spent a very productive weekend together. Freddie visited them and now he knows too. Roger opened up to his friend.

"She sleeps with that asshole, how can she do that?" He was furious. Laura was playing at the grass while the two friends were sitting at the garden's saloon.

"Pardon me Rog, but she does that with her will. She probably likes that man. Let her." Freddie got your back and that's what he is supposed to do because in this situation Roger is wrong.

"But Laura is too young to meet another man as a stepfather." He attempted to defend himself with his daughter.

"Laura also didn't have to listen to your daily fights before the divorce. Remind me, who was responsible?" Fred mocked him.

"Yes, I know. I'm not bragging for cheating on her, you know how tour life and being a rock star is." Roger explained but Freddie stopped him.

"John's also touring and he lives the rock star life but he's a family man and his heart is always home. Why aren't you like him?" Freddie was right. But Roger wouldn't accept it. He's arrogant.

"I'm not John. Okay?" He looked at Laura while she was playing. "But I love Laura with my entire heart. I don't like it when I can't see her more often..." His face was sad now.

"You could talk to Y/N about it," Freddie suggested.

"She would probably forbid me to see my kid after telling her." He giggled but deep down he believed it.

"Ah don't be ridiculous, she doesn't have the right as long as you give financial support every month for Laura." Freddie laughed but then they stopped talking because they heard your car. "Is s-she here? So early? It's not ten yet." Freddie asked and checked his watch.

"This bitch is really doing it on purpose. I will be right back." Roger got furious and stood up, to go inside his house and invite you in. Laura didn't notice a thing.

Roger opened the front door and what he saw wasn't the best thing in the world. You had the nerve to come with your new partner. Just to make him more jealous than he was all weekend. He turned red. He couldn't talk.

"Is Laura ready?" You asked ignoring his state of mind.

"No, she has no idea you're here. You were supposed to pick her up four hours later.". Roger crossed his arms and stared at the man next to you. A brunette tall man with nice muscles and a nice smile. But he is not Roger.

"Indeed, we just arrived earlier than we expected. Now call Laura, we have to go." You had to be really cold towards him or else you would break down and you didn't want that. You love him so much but you can't be with him. It doesn't work.

"Stop doing this. Fucking stop." Roger was going crazy. He destroyed you but you destroy him more.

"Stop what? I want my child." You arrogantly moved your shoulders.

"You can't keep me away from her as much as you want it. I have four hours left with her, you have to let me spend them with her. I'll bring her to your home." He tried to sound calm but his voice was trembling.

"Are you sure?" You asked confused.

"Yes, you don't have to shove your boyfriend right into my face. He's nice, but not your type." He laughed and that made you uncomfortable.

"Yo, stop disrespecting her or I'll beat you. She has told me stories about you. You're a high-quality rock star but a low-quality husband. Too pity." The brunette man said, trying to defend you but that made things worse. Roger and R/N would beat each other in front of you and the high-class neighbourhood.

"What the hell, stop you two right now. R/N get in the car. I'm coming." You got in the middle trying to stop the tension between these two. The man heard your order and waited for you at the car. "You are such a wanker." Your face was too close to his. There was eye contact again.

"Oh I won't be tonight." He winked and looked at R/N who wasn't looking at you two.

"What do you mean?" You asked confused. "You're supposed to bring Laura home."

"Of course I will. But not without getting what I want." He quickly checked on R/N and without hesitation, he stole a fast kiss from you.

"Fuck off, Roger!" You said and left without saying any other word. Neither Roger nor R/N. He's such a player. You like it.

Roger walked at the garden again, Freddie was showing the flowers to Laura and she looked curious trying to understand each name of a flower. Now that Freddie noticed Roger's figure he walked at him.

"What happened?" He asked.

"She literally brought that asshole to my door." Roger was shaken.

"Wow, did she? What about Laura?"

"I'll drive her at Y/N's." He seemed thoughtful and Fred noticed it.

"What are you thinking?" He asked. "Oh dear, don't tell me you're thinking of-" Fred couldn't believe Roger would invade that way.

"Why not? She just gave me a reason to do it. She still loves me and I know it. Her words mean nothing to me." He looked at his friend, searching for any advice.

"Make sure she'll accept it, or if she resists and tries to stop you, fucking stop, apologise and leave." He had a point. Fred knows about how you two met and how it ended.

Later

"I want to stay a little more daddy..." Laura whined as Roger helped her tie her shoes.

"So do I, but your mommy wants you to go home." He looked her into her same coloured eyes.

"This is my home too, isn't it?" She was sad.

"Of course it is, baby. But you have to grow up a little to decide in whose place you want to stay." Roger explained.

"I love my mum but I want to be with you, we don't spend much time together and I feel sad about it." She leaned towards his shoulder, hugging him tightly. The same thing happens every Sunday night. Roger was emotional after what his girl just said.

"I know but we do call each other every day, I'm not that far." He tried to comfort her as they got in his car.

"You are daddy, you're not with mum. I mean, I'm happy she found R/N but I prefer my family. In one house." Her voice lowered a bit. Roger didn't answer regardless of how much he wanted to.

"Here we are baby." Roger broke the silence after the drive. He carried the bags for her and they took the lift to reach your flat, on the third floor. "Do you know if R/N is at your home now?" He asked his daughter.

"I didn't saw his car, I don't know..." she negatively shook her head.

"It's okay." He smiled at her and here he was. In front of your door. Scared.

"Mum! I'm home!" Laura knocked on the door and Roger heard your footsteps and your laugh. He melted at the sound of it.

"Welcome home baby! Give me a hug!" You opened your arms to hold her tight. "I missed you." You looked at her being safe and sound.

Roger was constantly looking inside the living room and the kitchen, searching for the other man's figure. Until Laura spoke.

"Mum, is R/N here?" She asked.

"No, he left earlier, but he got you a present!" you smiled at her but she didn't look excited about. "What's wrong?" You asked her.

"Can daddy come inside? Please, mommy?" She begged you to bring your ex-husband in the house. You and Roger looked at each other with your blood freezing. That was fully unexpected.

"Honey, he is busy tonight... He is making music with uncle Fred, Deaky and Bri." You tried to kick him out of your house with the kindest way possible.

"Please mum, as a family..." she was sad when she said the word family. Poor her, she's only eight and has to go through this. You put your ego aside and listened to your daughter's wish.

"Baby, you don't have to press your mum if she doesn't want me inside." No, you do want him inside the house or in you.

"No, it's okay, you can come in..." you stood up again and made way for Roger to come in. He gave you a sweet kiss on your cheek before closing the door and leaving his jacket next to it.

"Yey!" Laura shouted fully excited.

"But baby, you have to get to sleep in a little. You have school tomorrow!" You walked with her at the bathroom trying to help her with her night routine.

"I know mum, but I will sleep happily tonight knowing you and dad will keep me company." She smiled at you. She's so happy.

"I'm happy you feel this way." You kissed her cheek.

Meanwhile, Roger was in the kitchen fixing drinks for the two of you. He was silent, supervising the room. There was nothing related to him. Or at least he thought. He was sitting at the balcony now, enjoying the view. West London looks so good by night. He was waiting for you.

"Goodnight baby I love you." You said to Laura before closing her room's door. You passed the kitchen, searching for Roger's figure but not any luck. You felt a warm breeze coming from the living room and you saw him outside the balcony.

"Oh, there you are." He smiled, offering your drink.

"Oh, thanks, guess I need it." You nodded as you were staring at the glass.

"I fixed us some drinks just for a chilling situation. How come needing a drink? I mean, you barely touched them." You both sat at the bamboo chairs your balcony has. Roger was into a conversation with you. And so did you, you really wanted to exchange dialogue. You felt so lonely.

"I don't really think you're the ideal person to talk to right now but I'll settle." You raised your shoulders as your eyes focused at the city's lights.

"I'm all ears, are you okay?" He asked after drinking.

"I bet you're wondering why R/N is not here right?" You turned your body at his side, now facing each other. Just a table beside you.

"To be honest, I am. Is this why you're not okay?" He was confused. But also curious to find out.

"Not that it's your business but I don't let him stay here. Not when Laura is here." You started.

"So? That's what you have to do. Neither do I bring women at my house when she's around." He kind of interrupted you, but you weren't in the mood.

"Not this time Roger, please. If you want to argue with me, just leave." You slightly closed your eyes, showing how tired you felt.

"Okay, I'm sorry. Did R/N do anything? Shall I intervene?" He asked as his hand tried to reach yours.

"No. He was so furious after visiting your place. I guess it's my fault. He felt I was taking advantage of him all this time so you'd be jealous b-but I date him a long time without you knowing." You briefly explained the issue.

"So what happened?" Roger asked looking thoughtful.

"He insisted on staying at my place tonight but I obviously refused. I've explained to him that I can't present him to Laura yet. Not until that diner." You exclaimed.

"So he kinda left forever?"

"No, I reckon it was a disagreement and he'll call tomorrow. But I think he insisted on staying here so you wouldn't appear tonight." You figured out why you guys fought before Roger came at your place with your child.

"Whether I'm here or not, he has to respect your decision. Probably he's jealous." He giggled at the last sentence as he finished his drink. His fingers tried to reach yours, trying to play with them or caress them.

"Jealous of what?" You questioned in confusion. "I'm a divorced mother." The title got you into your feelings. You never wanted to be divorced. Let alone with a child.

"Whose husband tries to reach her." He smiled and oh god, you had to be looking him that moment.

"Why? We ended it in bad terms. We even fight after ending it." You stated.

"I don't care. I can't stay away from you and Laura." His hand covered yours. Your eyes were focusing on his action.

Feeling this kind of pressure, you walked inside trying to calm down. Your heart was pounding fast. You went inside your bathroom, covering your face with some cold water. "Stop overthinking about it Y/N... Relax. He's your man. You love him, he's not a stranger, right?" You whispered to yourself as you tried to catch a breath.

Meanwhile, Roger went into your bedroom, checking out the place if there's anything that belongs to him. Kinda. At your nightstand, there was a frame of him, you and Laura. The day she was born. Roger seemed to be emotional at the sight of the family photo. At the parlour, there was a photo album, recently touched and seen. Photos of him and you when you were dating awakens his huge desire to make love to you. "There's still hope in this mess." He whispered to himself and rushed to the bathroom waiting for you to come out.

You came out looking fresh and calm. There was intense eye contact, a long-lasting one. His hand tried to reach yours but instead, it caught your buttcheeks because you climbed on him with your legs around his waist and your lips against his.

"I fucking missed you." You moaned between your passionate kiss.

"So did I." He said back and walked through your bedroom and gently closed the door with his feet. "I want to make love to you so bad. Please let me." He begged when he gently placed you on bed's pillows.

"Make me love." Your voice was smooth and passionate. You were ready to feel him again, you were craving for it.

TO BE CONTINUED!1!1

#roger taylor #roger taylor x you #roger taylor x female reader #roger taylor x oc #roger taylor x y/n #queen #queen band #freddie mercury #john deacon #brian may

[beyondthecosmicvoid]

~Henry VII: The Red Dragon’s Unlikely Triumph~

Henry’s victory to success is simply amazing due to how far down he was in the line of succession -if he was at all! Of all the Tudors, and don’t get me wrong I love them all! He had the most adventurous life! His life is the stuff of movies and you’ll see why. Henry was born to Edmund Tudor, Earl of Richmond and Margaret Beaufort, heiress of Lancaster in Philippa Gregory’s words. But she was far removed from the line of succession! The Beauforts derived their name from a castle John of Gaunt had in his possession in English occupied French territory. John of Gaunt married three times, the last to his mistress Katherine Swybford. When they married their children were already grown up but by no means less ambitious. In an effort to ingratiate himself with the shifty king Richard II, John betrayed many of his comrades and persecuted anyone who stood against the king, his nephew. In return for his good services, Richard II legitimized all the Beauforts but that’s it. No say if they were inthe succession or not. Later after John died, his firstborn, Henry Bolingbroke ascended to the throne after he deposed Richard. He didn’t overturn Richard’s legislation but added a new restriction: The Beauforts were legitimate in the eyes of the law of men but due to their revious bastard status they were excluded from the line of succession. So bye-bye ambitions. By the time Henry IV’s grandson had issue, this changed altogether. Their descendants were still seen as progeny of a bastard branch (albeit legitimized) of the House of Lancaster but their status had changed overnight as support build around the Duke of York and his Neville relations (who also descended from the Beaufort line, but through the female line). Henry VI betrothed his young relation, Margaret Beaufort to his half brother Edmund Tudor. He was thirteen years her senior and while it was common for women to be married at a young age, people still found it disturbing because the groom didn’t wait for her to grow up. As soon as she was 12, he married her and the next year she was pregnant.Edmund and his brother Jasper had supported the Duke of York on various occasions but when the conflict escalated to war, the Tudor brothers sided with their kin. Edmund was captured during battle in late 1456 and died in attenpts to escape, possibly of sickness. Margaret , thirteen at a time, was already a young widow and expectant mother. She feared for her safety and the safety of her unborn child so she started a dangerous sojourn to Wales, to Pembroke castle where her brother in law resided. There, she gave birth to her only child, a boy she named Henry.Henry did not have a lonely childhood like some Ricardians and fiction writerss love to depict, nor was his mother a crazy fanatic. She was the same as the rest of the women. Religion was not separate, it was part of women’s lives, especially the adoration of female saints and the virgin Mary from whom women kept relics and images to pray to so they could be safely delivered or to protect their young. Of this latter cult, Henry became a firm follower, worshipping the image of the blessed mother with the same fervor as his mother. Likely, the little boy had childhood companions like David Owen, the illegitimate son of his grandfather by an unknown mistress. In spite of her second marriage, Margaret was allowed to visit her little boy and spend hours teaching him, but then her fortunes changed when Edward Earl of March forced the Lancastrians to flee and was declared king by popular acclaim in March 4 1461. Margaret and her new husband now had to curry favor with the new regime and to prove their loyalty, they had to let her son go. Edward saw Henry Tudor as a potential threat and to neutralize this threat he gave his custody to a loyal Yorkist, William Herbert and his wife Anne. They raised Henry as if he was one of their own, and he had the company of the new Earl’s other wards. But Henry knew that a prison made of gold was still a prison. One mistake from his mother, his guadians or worse, his runaway uncle and he would be dealt with.After the Lancastrian Readeption which only lasted a year, Jasper Tudor was forced to flee yet again. This time he took his nephew with him. The deaths of every Lancaster made Henry a potential threat. Every male Beaufort was also gone. Margaret had to let him go once more, this time she would not see him for another fourteen years.Bad weather brought them to the court of Francis II, Duke of Brittany. There he continued his education, by the time of Richard III’s accession, he enjoyed the company of many English exiles, among them the formidable and staunch Lancastrian loyalist -Earl of Oxford. It was in Brittanny, that December of 1483 after it was clear that the princes were gone for good, that he made a promise to marry Elizabeth of York and become King of England, thus uniting both bloodlines, the Houses of York and Lancaster into one.The next year and a half he spent his time planning, borrowing money and now in the court of France, currying favor with the French king. He had tried to invade England but failed. What made Henry think, the French king and others told him, he could succeed? But they didn’t know Henry. He was by now an educated, cosmopolitan young man who was also confident that god was on his side. On July 29 1485, Richard III gave the seal to Barrow, one of his officials to carry out his orders in the counties nearby and prepare for war.To be fair, Richard III was the most experienced soldier here. He had known the horrors of war since he was very little and his life parallels Henry’s but unlike the latter he had been participant in many military campaigns and had the entire North at his disposal. Henry had mercenaries, disatisfied English exiles, Edwardian Yorkists and most of Wales with him, but that was not enough to beat Richard’s armies. On August 7, Henry’s ships docked on Milford Haven. According to Fabyan when he disembarked he knelt and thanked god, reciting the Psalm 43: ‘Judica me deus & discern causam mean’. -Judge me, Oh god, and distinguish my cause. The following days he spent recruiting, some of Richard’s most staunch supporters defected to Henry, others refused to fight and just stood by as the two armies clashed on August 22. Others like his stepfather, chose to intervene in his favor only when the tide turned against him. After William Brandon, his standard bearer was struck down, Stanley and his brother with his armies charged down, and with their combined forced Richard’s was cut down. Richard, according to various sources screamed 'traitors’ and refused to go, instead seeking to confront Henry, but he never got to. The enemy got to him and he was forced down from his horse and minutes later, killed. It was a glorious day for Henry Tudor, now Henry VII. He had won against all odds, but the war was from over. Henry would face many pretenders and plots against him, his mother knew and she cried tears of fear, likely anticipating all her son would have to endure. He died in 1509 after twenty four years of reign.

In relation to Paul Atreides from DUNE MESSIAH onwards …

While DUNE, the first published novel of Frank Herbert set in the Dune universe is the book every reader should start with; DUNE MESSIAH is the most crucial one of ALL Dune novels because rather than reading like a science fiction novel or another inclusion into this space opera, it reads like a narrative tale that is chronicling events that already happened. For a history buff, this novel is the deciding book in the series that sets the tone for the rest of the saga. Additionally, aside from being a deconstruction of the hero mythos, it is also a critique of history. From the onset, the book starts with one of many historians being killed simply because he wanted to tell the truth. But obviously, Muad’Dib, the grand emperor Paul Atreides with his ongoing Jihad spread across the Known Universe can’t have that. So … what does he do? He starts rewriting the past, allowing only a few historians (who in reality are propagandists and religious zealots) to tell his version of history. Irulan is (thankfully) exempt from this. Despite being made fun of by the ‘I do not need to read books because thanks to the spice melange and the superior breeding program of the Bene-Gesserit I am a product of, I can access all the knowledge stored in my super evolved brain to keep feeding my ego’ crowd, she stays a true historian until the very end. She doesn’t agree with Paul Atreides or his other crazy fam, but slowly comes to realize that what they are doing (while terrible) needs to be done to free humanity of pre-destination and oblivion. And due to being understimated by the pretentious Lady Jessica, her husband’s concubine and true love, the Fremen Chani, and of course, Paul and his whole band of Jihadists, she gets to write down history as it truly transpires. But she does it in a way that makes him look less of a tyrant and more of a reluctant hero.

This historical treatment is the same kind of treatment that was given to the Tudor Dynasty starting from its very first monarch, HENRY VII. 

I long for the day that Henry VII is correctly portrayed on screen because the way that the Tudors have gone down in history is how the Atreides clan did in the Dune universe. For every history buff that has enjoyed Dune, I urge that likewise, Dune readers do a deep dive into Tudor history to further appreciate both fandoms and see how the two can be studied together and dissected. Currently, revisionist historians who want to restore Richard III’s reputation have not ended up doing that. Instead, they have swung the pendulum the other way. As DUNE MESSIAH teaches us (through Irulan’s writings and Alia’s observations), the best way to understand saviors and deified leaders is not by extolling or vilifying them. Rather, see them as individuals trapped within their time period who feel as though they are ahead of it, and have to do what they must because otherwise darkness will reign.

Paul and Henry Tudor started off as exiles. Their foes never expected them to beat the odds but they did. But part of the reason why they did is because of the element of prophecy. And I am not just talking about the whole Henry Tudor claimed to be the long lost descendant of Arthur Pendragon and what not. Edward IV and Richard III did that too (though it worked less for Richard). I am talking about the issue with the whole Welsh prophecies that supposedly predicted the rise of Henry Tudor, Earl of Richmond. Before he was born, a prophecy was sung that from his father’s line, the savior that the Welsh were hoping for would come. This prophecy in itself was a call back to a much older one which said that eventually one of the Welsh royal houses would rise to claim the English throne and unite all of the Isles. Well … Henry didn’t unite all of the British Isles but he did start the process when he married his eldest daughter Margaret to the King of Scots, James IV. Their descendants, from James VI of Scotland and I of England and Ireland, ruled all the British Isles.

In an interview, Frank Herbert said that he chose to take the direction of Paul Atreides and (especially) his son, Leto II’s stories in the way he did to caution about the danger of charismatic leaders who reach messiah or (in the case of Leto II) divine status. It’s not so much the power they possess or how evolved thy are that makes the Atreides so revered, it is their genius at how they present themselves and understand that the power of propaganda (be it religious, political or both) is the stronger force in the universe and what shapes human events. In studying the Tudors and Dune we learn that history is a collection of accepted events that are part factual, part propaganda, and part a reflection of the time period when they were written.

#Tudors #History #Relation to Dune #Dune Messiah #Science Fiction #propaganda is thy name of history #dailytudors

[minervacasterly]

The Unlikely Rise of Henry VII

Henry's victory to success is simply amazing due to how far he was in the line of succession -if he was at all!

Of all the Tudors, and don't get me wrong I love them all! He had the most adventurous life! His life is the stuff of movies and you'll see why. Henry was born to Edmund Tudor, Earl of Richmond and Margaret Beaufort, heiress of Lancaster in Philipa Gregory's words. But she was far removed from the line of succession! The Beauforts derived their name from a castle John of Gaunt had in his possession in English occupied French territory. John of Gaunt married three times, the last to his mistress Katherine Swybford. When they married their children were already grown up but by no means less ambitious. In an effort to ingratiate himself with the shifty king Richard II, John betrayed many of his comrades and persecuted anyone who stood against the king, his nephew. In return for his good services, Richard II legitimized all the Beauforts but that's it. No say if they were inthe succession or not. Later after John died, his firstborn, Henry Bolingbroke ascended to the throne after he deposed Richard. He didn't overturn Richard's legislation but added a new restriction: The Beauforts were legitimate in the eyes of the law of men but due to their revious bastard status they were excluded from the line of succession. So bye-bye ambitions. By the time Henry IV's grandson had issue, this changed altogether. Their descendants were still seen as progeny of a bastard branch (albeit legitimized) of the House of Lancaster but their status had changed overnight as support build around the Duke of York and his Neville relations (who also descended from the Beaufort line, but through the female line). Henry VI betrothed his young relation, Margaret Beaufort to his half brother Edmund Tudor. He was thirteen years her senior and while it was common for women to be married at a young age, people still found it disturbing because the groom didn't wait for her to grow up. As soon as she was 12, he married her and the next year she was pregnant.

Edmund and his brother Jasper had supported the Duke of York on various occasions but when the conflict escalated to war, the Tudor brothers sided with their kin. Edmund was captured during battle in late 1456 and died in attenpts to escape, possibly of sickness. Margaret , thirteen at a time, was already a young widow and expectant mother. She feared for her safety and the safety of her unborn child so she started a dangerous sojourn to Wales, to Pembroke castle where her brother in law resided. There, she gave birth to her only child, a boy she named Henry.

Henry did not have a lonely childhood like some Ricardians and fiction writerss love to depict, nor was his mother a crazy fanatic. She was the same as the rest of the women. Religion was not separate, it was part of women's lives, especially the adoration of female saints and the virgin Mary from whom women kept relics and images to pray to so they could be safely delivered or to protect their young. Of this latter cult, Henry became a firm follower, worshipping the image of the blessed mother with the same fervor as his mother.

Likely, the little boy had childhood companions like David Owen, the illegitimate son of his grandfather by an unknown mistress. In spite of her second marriage, Margaret was allowed to visit her little boy and spend hours teaching him, but then her fortunes changed when Edward Earl of March forced the Lancastrians to flee and was declared king by popular acclaim in March 4 1461. Margaret and her new husband now had to curry favor with the new regime and to prove their loyalty, they had to let her son go. Edward saw Henry Tudor as a potential threat and to neutralize this threat he gave his custody to a loyal Yorkist, William Herbert and his wife Anne. They raised Henry as if he was one of their own, and he had the company of the new Earl's other wards. But Henry knew that a prison made of gold was still a prison. One mistake from his mother, his guadians or worse, his runaway uncle and he would be dealt with.

After the Lancastrian Readeption which only lasted a year, Jasper Tudor was forced to flee yet again. This time he took his nephew with him. The deaths of every Lancaster made Henry a potential threat. Every male Beaufort was also gone. Margaret had to let him go once more, this time she would not see him for another fourteen years.

Bad weather brought them to the court of Francis II, Duke of Brittany. There he continued his education, by the time of Richard III's accession, he enjoyed the company of many English exiles, among them the formidable and staunch Lancastrian loyalist -Earl of Oxford. It was in Brittanny, that December of 1483 after it was clear that the princes were gone for good, that he made a promise to marry Elizabeth of York and become King of England, thus uniting both bloodlines, the Houses of York and Lancaster into one.

The next year and a half he spent his time planning, borrowing money and now in the court of France, currying favor with the French king. He had tried to invade England but failed. What made Henry think, the French king and others told him, he could succeed? But they didn't know Henry. He was by now an educated, cosmopolitan young man who was also confident that god was on his side.

On July 29 1485, Richard III gave the seal to Barrow, one of his officials to carry out his orders in the counties nearby and prepare for war.

To be fair, Richard III was the most experienced soldier here. He had known the horrors of war since he was very little and his life parallels Henry's but unlike the latter he had been participant in many military campaigns and had the entire North at his disposal. Henry had mercenaries, disatisfied English exiles, Edwardian Yorkists and most of Wales with him, but that was not enough to beat Richard's armies.

On August 7, Henry's ships docked on Milford Haven. According to Fabyan when he disembarked he knelt and thanked god, reciting the Psalm 43: 'Judica me deus & discern causam mean'. -Judge me, Oh god, and distinguish my cause.

The following days he spent recruiting, some of Richard's most staunch supporters defected to Henry, others refused to fight and just stood by as the two armies clashed on August 22. Others like his stepfather, chose to intervene in his favor only when the tide turned against him. After William Brandon, his standard bearer was struck down, Stanley and his brother with his armies charged down, and with their combined forced Richard's was cut down. Richard, according to various sources screamed 'traitors' and refused to go, instead seeking to confront Henry, but he never got to. The enemy got to him and he was forced down from his horse and minutes later, killed. It was a glorious day for Henry Tudor, now Henry VII. He had won against all odds, but the war was from over. Henry would face many pretenders and plots against him, his mother knew and she cried tears of fear, likely anticipating all her son would have to endure. He died in 1509 after twenty four years of reign.

#tudor history #henry vii #wars of the roses #york #lancaster #early english renaissance

[freddiesaysalright]

My Man - Bonus Blurb

Ben!Roger Taylor x Reader

Word Count: 1.5K

Tag List:  @bohemian-war, @kittygirlno, @rebelrebelyourefaceisamess, @rockyroadthepastryarchy, @goodoldfashionedloverboyy, @jennyggggrrr, @discodeacygotmorerhythm, @x1975sos, @slytherinxval, @cyndagoaway, @doingalrightt, @lovvliies, @hopefully-aesthetically-pleasing, @capsparrowtara, @they-call-me-peaches, @hyosong, @riddikuluslypotter, @orchideax, @shishterfackisback Sorry if you miss it, so many people have new URLs lol 

A/N: I’ve had this idea kicking around for a while, so while requests are closed, I wanted to go ahead and write it. I hope y’all enjoy!

With a quiet click of the lighter, Roger lit his cigarette. The girls were inside and occupied, and you had Daniel with you to do your shopping. This meant Roger had one blissful moment to enjoy a cigarette on the back porch. He’d taken one drag when he heard the back door open. He almost groaned but he heard  a little sniffle. He whipped around expecting to see blood or some other carnage, but Darcy stood in the doorway, just holding a picture frame.

“Daddy?” she questioned. “Who is this?”

Roger set his cigarette in the ashtray and beckoned his daughter over to him.

“First things first, where’s Ophelia?” he asked.

“Still napping,” she answered.

“Alright,” he said. “C’mere, lovie. Who are you asking about?”

She walked out to him and held out the frame. It was George’s military portrait. His eyes went wide and he wondered how she found it. You kept it in the bottom drawer of your nightstand. Roger knew that one day your children would have questions when they would inevitably come across photos of your previous marriage. He just never expected it to be so soon. And he certainly didn’t expect to be alone.

“Do you know him?” Darcy pressed as she crawled into his lap.

“Somewhat,” he replied. “I never met him. He actually knew your mother.”

“How?”

“He was married to her.”

She shot him a horrified look. He almost laughed, but held back. Instead, he wrapped his arms around her and gave her a gentle squeeze.

“Don’t worry, darling,” he said. “Your mother and I are married now.”

“What happened to him?” she wondered. “Why aren’t they married anymore?”

“Well, he died,” he told her. “You see the uniform he’s got on? That means he was a soldier.”

“He died?!” she cried. “Is Mum okay? Doesn’t she miss him terribly?”

Roger chuckled. “Yes, Mum’s okay. And she does miss him. In fact, when I met her, she still missed him so much, she was sad about him all the time. She carried around a smaller version of this very photo in her pocket.”

“So she loved him?”

“Very much.”

“As much as she loves you?”

He paused. It was such a complex thing to explain to a child and he wasn’t sure if he could make her understand.

“I think so,” he said. “She loves me differently because I’m a different man. But she married me and had kids with me, so I hope it’s at least as much.”

“They never had kids?” she asked.

He shook his head. “No. They didn’t have much time. After they married, he joined the Army and he was away a lot.”

“That’s sort of like you,” she said.

Roger swallowed the sting of that. “It’s different with me. I’m not in much danger where I go. He put his life on the line to help other people.”

“And that’s why he died?”

“I’m afraid so.”

“So which of you is Mum’s true love?” she asked. 

He sighed and inwardly cursed Disney for perpetuating the idea of a single “true love.” 

“We both are,” he said. “They loved each other when they needed each other. I love her now. Just because you lose someone, doesn’t mean you can’t fall in love - true love - again.”

“Oh…” she trailed off. “Mummy is very lucky, isn’t she?”

“I think I’m the lucky one,” he said.

“You are?”

“I am. You see, your mum didn’t have to let me love her. She didn’t have to let herself love me. She made a choice. She liked me, but she chose to let go of her grief and take a chance with me. It worked out for both of us, I think.”

She sat on this a moment, her little face scrunching with thought.

“I can’t picture Mummy with anyone else,” she said. 

“Well, I wouldn’t want you to,” he returned. “Because now it’s gonna be me and her forever.”

“One more thing,” she said.

“What is it?”

“What was his name?”

“George,” he told her. “His name was George.”

She handed him the frame and he set it on the table.

“What were you doing looking through the nightstand, lovie?” he wondered.

“I was looking for glue,” she said.

“Glue? What for?”

“My school project,” she explained. “Making a family tree.”

“Ah, I see,” he said. “Just to be sure, you didn’t look in my nightstand, did you?”

“No,” she said, furrowing her brow.

“Good,” he said, clearing his throat. “Don’t. There’s - uh - no glue in there. Try the kitchen first.”

“Okay,” she chirped.

A beat passed.

“Hey, Dad?”

“Yes, love?”

“Does Mum still speak to George’s mum and dad? Like she talks to Nan?”

“No,” he said. “George’s mum and dad passed away shortly after he married your mum.”

Her mouth fell open. “Whaaat? So - Mum’s the only one around to remember him?”

“She’s the only one,” he told her.

“That’s no good,” she said. “Can I add him to the family tree? He’s Mum’s family.”

Roger’s eyes welled up at the sentiment. Just when he didn’t think he could love his little girl any more, she said something like that. How he fathered a child with such a pure heart, he would never understand.

“Of course, lovie,” he said. “Your mum would love it if you did.”

“And Uncle Jack too?”

“Yes, of course.”

“What about Uncle Fred, Uncle Bri, and Uncle John?”

“No, no, they’re ridiculous, you don’t need them on there,” he said with a laugh.

“But I love them!” she insisted.

“But you haven’t got room for their partners and children,” he reminded her. 

“With enough paper and glue, I have,” she retorted.

“Alright then, Darcy, you do what you want,” he complied. 

“Besides, Uncle Fred and Uncle Jim don’t have children.”

“Now, they will be very cross with you if you leave out the cats.”

They went back and forth another moment and brainstormed, but ultimately decided it would be too much to have the band on her family tree. Roger assured her she could include them somehow in her next project about family. Once she was satisfied, she scrambled off his lap and disappeared inside to work on the project. Roger looked at the now burned up cigarette. He glanced at George’s photo.

“That one’s yours, mate,” he said.

He lit up another and took a long drag. Then the door opened again. He turned to see you standing there with your sleeping son in your arms.

“Hello, love,” he greeted warmly as you walked out to place a kiss on his cheek.

“Hey,” you returned.

You wiped away the lipstick that had transferred onto his skin with your thumb. 

“Rog.”

“Yeah?”

“Why is George’s photo out here?”

He chuckled and explained what happened. He told you what Darcy asked and exactly how he answered her. You looked thoughtfully at him.

“Was I wrong?” he asked.

“No,” you said, shaking your head. “I’m just a little surprised, that’s all.”

“She handled it well,” he assured you.

“I’m sorry I wasn’t there to help,” you said.

“No worries, darling,” he replied. “I think it’s not nearly as big of a deal as we thought it would be.”

You smiled and hummed. With another swift peck to his cheek, you got up and went inside to start dinner.

After your meal with your family, Darcy insisted on showing off the family tree she had made. Roger waited to see your face. He left out the bit about her including George, and he was eager to see your reaction.

You read over the names, beginning with Roger’s mother and father. She included Roger’s stepfather as well. A nervous twinge went through you, since you’d never told your kids about your parents. She had left that area blank, but out beside your spot there were three lines. One for Jack, one for Roger (beneath which were the children), and then one for George. Your heart constricted at the sight.

“Oh, Darcy,” you choked out. “You are the sweetest girl.”

“I thought...y’know, we could be his family,” she said. “Because his parents are gone. But he should be remembered, right?”

“Yes, that’s right,” you told her. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome?” she returned, a little confused.

She ran off to put it beside her school things so she wouldn’t forget it in the morning. You turned watery eyes on Roger.

“How did we get her?” you whined. “How did we get to lucky? Is she even ours?”

He laughed. “I thought the same thing.”

You took his hand and brought him out of his chair to embrace you. You held him close, grabbing fistfuls of his shirt.

“You’ve given me everything,” you breathed. “A home, love, three beautiful children. Roger, you’re the greatest man. I can’t believe you’re mine.”

“Darling,” he said. “You’ve given me those things as well. We did them together.”

You pulled away and he wiped your cheeks. 

“Come on,” he said. “We’ve got to put them to bed.”

“You want to tuck them in while I start on the dishes?” you offered.

He shook his head. “No, love. Together.”

Hand in hand, you went upstairs to kiss your children goodnight. 

The next morning, you came downstairs to see Roger and Darcy placing George’s photo on the mantle. You smiled. What a gift it was to have your first family be a part of your second.

#roger taylor #roger taylor imagine #roger taylor x reader #ben!roger x reader #roger taylor x you #Queen #queen imagine #bohemian rhapsody #BoRhap #BoRhap cast #ben hardy #ben hardy imagine #ben hardy x reader #ben hardy x you #bohemian rhapsody imagine #borhap boys #borhap imagine #borhap boys imagine #my man series

[theartificialdane]

Andromeda: Requiem

Violet recieves a letter. Her stepfather is dead. This is what happens when a mothers love forces her to face her worst fears. Galactica and Paris AU tie in.

/ Thank you to @veronicasanders for her eternal patience, great guidance and insistence on pushing me beyond my comfort zone. This would not have been made without you.  Dedicated to @imanationalphenomenon - I’m sorry I made you wait this long, but here it finally is!

“Make a right.”

Sutan nodded, Violet guiding him through a tiny suburb outside Atlanta, the city sign saying Lilburn. Violet had gotten the message a little over a week ago that her stepdad had died, his wife barely reacting as she read the letter that had arrived to their New York address from someone who had called himself Dax. Sutan had never seen Violet’s childhood home, had never met anyone from the family that had his wife for the first 13 years of her life. He didn’t know what he was expecting. He turned down the road, it all looking strangely normal. Where Violet had grown up just a normal neighborhood filled with small suburban homes with front lawns, trampolines and garages.

They had attended the service after circling for what felt like hours looking for the right church, the town feeling like it was 80% churches compared to Manhattan. The service was surprisingly full from what little Sutan had heard from Violet about the kind of person her stepdad had been. They had slipped in and sat at the very back, Sutan holding Violet’s hand through the entire thing. Sutan hadn’t even realised he had never seen a photo of Violet’s stepdad, until he was faced with the picture of him next to the casket, a large brunette man looking back at him. Sutan knew that his name was John, and how Violet’s expression darkened when she was forced to talk about him. What was the most bizarre of all though, was when he spotted a short plump woman at the very front of the church. She had to be Abigail Dardo. She was saying hello to everyone, a handkerchief clutched in her hand, her blonde hair in big curls, her blue eyes so unlike his wife, the only thing they had in common the set of their mouth and, as Sutan looked closely, the shape of theirs hands. He had wanted to get a better look at the woman who had attempted to raise the woman he loved, curiosity nearly killing the cat, but Violet had left the church in a hurry after the service, almost like she had spotted something.

”Here…”

Sutan stopped the car outside a completely normal two story house with a porch and a garage. They had circled around town, Violet clearly trying to kill time, though Sutan had no idea what she was waiting for, pointing him in different directions. They had passed a small run down dance studio, Violet gently touching his arm to make him slow down, though she hadn’t asked him to stop. The house had been the first place she had actually talked to him. Another car was parked there as well, Violet jumping when she spotted it, but she hadn’t said anything.

“So.. This is where you grew up?”

Violet nodded, his wife twisting the wedding ring on her finger again and again, the thin gold band rubbing back and forth. Violet hadn’t told him what they were doing here, but he knew she wouldn’t have insisted on going if there wasn’t something truly important she had to do, something she had to get.

“Are you sure you want to go in?”

Sutan looked over at Violet, the woman still quiet, just as she had been on the entire trip to Georgia. “Alright.” It was something he had learned to accept, even if he didn’t like it, but after almost two decades of marriage, Violet’s silence when it all became too much was as expected as how she always curled up in his arms to find enough peace to sleep after a day just like this. “Let’s go.”

Sutan moved to open his door, but Violet reached out, catching his wrist in her hand, stopping him.

“I…”

“Yes?”

“Thank you for coming with me.”

Sutan smiled, his heart filled with tender affection, Violet’s voice so very small. “I’d never let you go alone.” Sutan kissed her gently, before opening his door and stepped out on the cold winter road.

///

Violet took a deep breath, her hand shaking as she reached for the doorbell. Walking up to the house had felt like walking in a dream, everything so surreal. She knew she had fallen into silence, that Sutan was worried about her, but how could she not when everything around was just like when she was small, the road one she remembered so vividly, walking home in her beat up trainers, her heels now clacking on the same pavement that had tormented her.

She didn’t want to do this, but she knew exactly who she had to do it for.

Violet pressed the bell, a riiing sounding from inside the house, a dog started yapping, and Violet could hear footsteps, more footsteps than she expected, and then, the door opened.

“Oh..” This was yet another person Sutan had never seen before. She was shorter than Violet, a few years younger too. “So it was actually you.” She had clearly been crying, her mascara smudged. A toddler was on her hip, a little boy staring at them. “Just when I thought today couldn’t get any worse.”

“Hello Becky...”

“What do you want?”

Sutan could feel Violet’s fingers tighten on his arm, his wife’s nails digging into his jacket. The tension was so thick you could have cut it with a knife, Violet and the woman who Violet had called Becky staring at each other, both looking like they expected war to break out. Becky’s blonde hair was in a half bun, her black dress still on, the child also dressed up.

“Hi there.” Sutan held his hand out. “I’m Suta-”

“I know who you are. I watch TV.”

“Ah.” Sutan put his hand back in his pocket.

“Is...” Sutan could see Violet was visually struggling, his wife looking like she was about to vomit. “Abigail here?”

“She didn’t want to leave the cemetery just yet.”

“Can we come in?” Sutan looked at the stranger.

“Not until /she/-” Becky looked at Violet. “-tells me why you’re here.”

“I…” Violet’s nails dug even further, Sutan swearing he could feel them pierce his skin even through his layers of clothes. “I’m here... I’m here to pick up- It’s-”

“I forgot for a second that you were legally retarded.”

“I’m not-”

“You never could take a joke,” Becky rolled her eyes. “Come inside before Joshie freezes.” The woman stepped aside, bumping the toddler up.

They stepped in, Sutan closing the door behind them. {Who is she?} Sutan whispered as he took Violet’s coat, the French easily falling from his lips.

{My sister}

{You have a sister?} Violet had never mentioned a sister.

{Half-sister.}

Meanwhile Becky had put the toddler down who quickly disappeared, the voices of several kids being drowned out by the television in the next room.  

“Is… is that your son?” Violet swallowed, the woman clearly uncomfortable.

“As if you care.”

“Beck-”

“His name is Joshua, he’s 2. Youngest of three.” Becky turned to them, looking Sutan up and down. “Where’s your kid?”

Violet looked at Becky with surprise. “My kid?”

“I read too. Amazing that I learned how in Lilburn, huh Blair?” Becky huffed. “You didn’t leave her in the car, did you?”

Sutan took a slight step forward, Becky’s tone like every model who had ever thrown her drink; Snide and filled with venom. “Our daughter is at school. We didn’t think it necessary to bring her here.” Neither of them had even told Melati that John had died. Their daughter knew very little of Violet’s family, their child actually fully believing her mother was French until they had relocated to America in her early teens. Melati had never met Violet’s parents, had never even heard their name. Melati had asked, just once, but Violet had told her she already her a grandma, that her Nenek was there and that had been the end.

“Of course. Because nothing here has ever been good enough for you.”

“Good enough?” Violet felt a flicker of anger in her belly, the flame the first emotion besides nausea she had felt since she and Sutan had stepped on the plane in New York. “Good enough for me?”

“Yes. you heard me. You show up now that my dad is dead, show up in your fucking.. Designer clothes, and you want to play family? You want to pretend everything is fine?”

“I’d rather die than ever pretend anything that happened in this house was fine.” Violet knew that Becky had never been on her side, but to hear it from an adult instead of a little girl hurt more than a slap to the face. Their parents had always favored Becky, John calling her his little princess. Becky could do no wrong, the girl always praised by their parents, Violet forced to sit and watch TV whenever Becky wanted to, forced to eat food she didn’t like because Becky wanted it, forced to go to every school event because Becky wanted to with her friends from her grade while Violet did her best to be invisible. She had spent a childhood of being invisible, of having nothing, and even though Sutan hadn’t said anything, she knew she wasn’t alone. She had a life now, an actual life she build for herself. She had a company and a career, a husband she loved, she had friends and her dogs and most importantly she had the daughter she was doing this for.

“You’ve always been so dramatic.”

“I was tortured Becky, tortured for, for years, and the man who did it is finally in the groun-”

“Don’t you DARE say stuff like that about my dad! He was a good man.”

Violet couldn’t do anything but stare, the room going completely silent, the TV still running in the other room. “Is that what you truly believe?”

“You have no idea how hard it was for them. You got into that, that ballet school and then you suddenly disappeared. You stopped coming home for Thanksgiving or Christmas. Not even a single birthday card and then you show up in the magazines under a completely different name dating… dating him?” She gestured at Sutan. “And you didn’t even tell us? Mama found out from someone at church, at church Blair! You throw away the only number we have for you and you’re gone, except your face keeps showing up throwing your success in our faces! My dad was a good man who did everything for you, and you never appreciated any of it.”

“Can I use the restroom?”

///

“Close the door.”

Sutan closed the door behind him, quickly locking it as he still balanced their jackets. Becky’s words ringing in his ears. He took a deep breath through his nose, his fists still clenching and unclenching. Sutan prided himself on not being a man who was angered easily. He couldn’t, not in his profession, not with the way he lived his life, but his chest was burning hot. He couldn’t believe what he had heard. How the person who was apparently his wife’s sister defended a man who had done so much damage to the woman he loved. Siblings were suppose to look out for each other, were suppose to protect each other. He couldn’t even imagine how he would have attempted to survive growing up without Raja, a world truly without his sister one he didn’t even want to think of, and here he was, witnessing parts of why his wife was exactly the way she was. Her pride, her walls, the sometimes frightening stoicism that could overtake her when she was pushed to her breaking point.

“Darling-” Sutan wanted to reach out, to touch and soothe and understand. To make sure that Violet was still there and that she was okay, but Violet hiked her skirt up and got on her knees, Sutan freezing in place. “Lovely eyes, what are you-”

“Hush. Please.” Violet tapped her knuckles on one of the tiles next to the sink. “I can’t stay in this house another minute.” Violet tapped another tile, and Sutan got down on his knees as well.

“What’s going-”

Violet tapped a third tile. “There.” Sutan watched as his wife put her nails against the wall, popping the tile out, revealing a small empty tunnel in the wall. Violet reached inside, a whisper of “Oh thank god.” falling from her lips as she pulled a tin box into the light. The box was old, the flower pattern on it clearly painted with a child's hand, a fine layer of dust covering it.

“Is that why we’re here?”

It seemed strange, but also so very very like the woman that he had married; that she would willingly walk through fire for something as absurd as a tin box not even a surprise. Violet nodded, shaking it gently, the sound of several small items rustling inside.

“I don’t want to explain this house, this.. Any of this..” Violet looked at Sutan, her brown eyes blank with unshed tears, her cheeks a pale rose, her lip thick from how Sutan knew she had bitten it. “I don’t want this to be the story my daughter knows, for it.. For it to be her story..” Sutan nodded. Even though Violet was in her 40s, even though they had gone through so much together, she was still trying to escape something, still trying to run away from a piece of herself, and after seeing the scene in the hallway, Sutan felt like he understood it all slightly better.

“She’s so much more than this, so much more than me.. She’s.. She’s so much more than us.” Violet was whispering again. “I have never had words and I’ve never been good at explaining. I mean.. You know that..”

Sutan smiled slightly, his hand finding Violet’s neck, his palms holding her and grounding her. “I do.”

“But I’ll have this now..” Violet gave the box to Sutan. “And that has to be enough..”

“I’m sure it will be.” Sutan kissed Violet, their lips meeting in a gentle, closed mouthed peck, years of comfort and trust in that single movement. “Do you want to go home?”

“More than anything else.”

///

Sutan was sure Violet was seconds from just toeing off her Louboutins and running out the door like Cinderella, but all things considered she was surprisingly calm, her entire body clamping up again the moment he had opened the door to the bathroom.

They made their way down the stairs, just as the front door opened and the worst possible thing that could happen walked through it. Abigail Dardo.

Abigail stopped dead in her tracks, her eyes meeting Violet. “You’ve actually come.”

Violet froze. Pure terror radiating off her, her breath stopping. Abigail looked like a perfectly normal human being. Sutan knew she was two years younger than him and he had nearly choked on his drink when Violet had shared the fact with him. Abigail might actually have looked sweet, like a grandma who tried to stay young, but by Violets reaction, all Sutan could see was someone who had hurt the woman he loved so much that she would forever be damaged by it.

“John would be so happy you’re here, oh I knew you would regret all that nonsense from your youth Blair.”

“Excuse me ma’am, but we were just leaving.” Sutan put a hand in the small of Violet’s back, pushing her forwards as he tried to move in front of her, casually shielding her body like he had done so many times before from interviewers or photographers.

“But you just got here-”

“Flight to catch, can’t wait.” Sutan smiled, taking another few steps towards the door. “We’re very sorry for your loss, may he rest in peace.” Sutan didn’t want John to rest in peace, not even a little, actually he would be quite content if John Dardo spent the rest of eternity in christian hell being spitroasted by the devil.

“Let me see you. You’re so tall.” Abigail blocked their exit, staring at Violet. “You look so different from the last time I saw you..” If the little girl in the photo was anything to go by, Sutan couldn’t agree more. Violet had grown into an adult, a woman who was confident and competent, who carried herself with pride so unlike the few pictures Sutan had seen from her early college days and what little video he had found from the ballet.

“Come here Blair bear.” Abigail reached out, clearly trying to hug Violet, and then it happened.

“NO!”

Violet’s shout was loud and clear, her hands in front of her as she had just pushed her mother away, her eyes large, like she couldn’t believe what she had just done. “No.”

“Blair, what are you-”

“My husband and I are leaving. Right now.”

///

Violet slammed the car door behind her, her pulse racing. She hadn’t seen her mother in the flesh since she was 16, hadn’t seen the woman who had caused her so much pain since she had gotten injured and had dropped out of the Ballet Academy. Violet felt dirty, her skin almost itching where her mother had touched her, light sweat covering her body.

“Can we go?! Please-”

Violet knew she was being hysterical, knew she wasn’t fair, but everything in her told her to chose fight or flight and she had no intention of fighting.

“We can go to the airport right away” Sutan started the car, pulling away from the driveaway and out into the big road.

“No.” Violet couldn’t handle the idea of an airport, couldn’t stand the idea of so many strangers around her, people looking at her, wondering about her. “Just. I can’t fly, I need- Can we just- drive- I- please?”

“It’s a 12 hour drive my love.”

Violet knew she was asking a lot of her husband, knew she was being terribly unfair, knew what she was requesting wasn’t okay, but she couldn’t go to the airport. Her mind was racing at the risk of being followed, and the only thing she could think of that would help was an open highway, driving as fast as they could. “Please.”

Sutan looked at her, and Violet couldn’t help but worry he would say no, that he would tell her she was overreacting and that she was being dramatic.

“Of course darling. Of course.”

////

Melati was typing away on her computer, her art history essay unfortunately not writing itself. Next to her she had the thick dictionary she had gotten as a gift from her aunt Fame. Most of her classmates didn’t understand why Melati prefered a physical dictionary whenever she could, but it just wasn’t the same with an online one, her brain that was heavily anchored in french not truly understanding a new word unless she did the physical act of looking up a word. It was most likely something she had picked up in Paris, her private school there so focused on papers and actual books that even after she had fully transferred into the american school system, there was still something about it.

Melati heard a knock on the door, her mother standing there with a steaming cup of tea in hand.

{How’s the exam going?}

{Okay.} Melati smiled, moving the piece she was working on away so Violet could put the cup down next to her computer, the scent of peach tea filling her nose. {Thank you Mama.} Melati turned her attention back on her computer, but a small cough made her look back up.

{I.. Umh..} Violet sat down. {I have something for you.}

{You do?}

Melati didn’t often get presents from her mom, gifts so much more something her dad excelled at and found delight in.

Violet placed a tin box on the desk. {Here.}

{What is it?}

{Something I had long ago..} Violet smiled, her eyes sad. {I know.. I know I haven’t always been.. Good.. at answering your questions.}

Melati felt a brief stab in her heart. To say that her mother wasn’t good at answering questions would be the understatement of the century, if not the millennium. She had never thought about how little she knew as a child. She knew her father's family, summers in Indonesia with her toes in the sand and she had thought she knew her mother, Autumn in Paris with the leaves falling and slow weekends spend in the country home eating grapes and playing with Frida. Melati Lavender Amrull had known who she was, what she came from, until she had found out that France wasn’t her mother's blood after all, and that there was so much she had no idea about.

{I didn’t.. The reason I haven’t told you much- I… Melati, I want you to understand.. I wasn’t a very happy child.. And that’s.. I want so much more for you, puppet.} Violet gently stroked Melati’s cheek, her cool thumb gliding over brown skin. {I can’t give you everything you ask for, but I can give you this..} Violet pushed the box forwards.

Melati looked at her mother, confusion without a doubt clear on her face as she gently opened the box, the thing creaking slightly.

{These are.. Things, I hid as a child. Things that were important to me. Treasures that brought me comfort and joy.}

Inside there was a picture of a little girl with a backpack that looked almost twice the size she was, a timid smile on the child's lips. Melati instantly recognizing the nose and she realized it was the first photo she had ever seen of her mother as a child. There was a smooth white rock, a piece of thick white ribbon, three light blue marbles, a piece of rosa soap shaped like a flower, a single dangling earring with a red stone and three cents.

Melati held up the photo, studying it.

{That’s from my first day of school. The backpack was my favorite.} Violet smiled. I never really.. I never liked going to school.}

{Why?}

{I might tell you another time.}

Melati nodded. Normally a response like that from her mother would make annoyance rush through her, but as she looked at the things, she realised that this was more than she had ever been told before. Even though the things that had been saved might have looked jumbled to a stranger, Melati felt like she recognised it all from her mother's designs. The childhood treasures all carrying the sense of gravity and wistfulness that so many praised the Chachki universe for. A somber longing for something else. A childish hope that something could change. A promise that the future could somehow be better.

{Thank you Mama. Thank you for these.} Melati reached out, taking her mother’s hand in hers, Violet holding it tight. Violet nodded, the grip of her fingers trying to express everything she couldn’t say with words.

#galactica #andromeda #paris au #my fics #really freaking proud of this!!!

[maddie-grove]

The Top Twenty Books I Read in 2018

My main takeaways from the past year’s reading:

Growing up is hard, whether you’re a working-class college sophomore trying to adjust to an Ivy League college, a chronically ill medieval kid trying to beat witchcraft charges, or A GHOST THE WHOLE TIME.

You can go to Kansas City or the Congo or SPACE, but you can never escape the past. 

Maybe I should be more worried about getting murdered?

Anyway:

20. East by Edith Pattou (2003)

Rose, a sixteenth-century Norwegian farm girl, loves her large family, but sometimes feels at odds with their rather staid personalities. So, when a talking polar bear offers to end her family’s poverty and her sister’s illness if she’ll stay with him for a year, she accepts not only out of desperation, but also wanderlust. This expansive retelling of “East of the Sun, West of the Moon” (already a winner because of its determined, flawed heroine) shines because of its vivid use of multiple settings and its well-developed minor characters. I initially thought it was a little slow, but I really came to appreciate Pattou’s skill over time.

19. Joe College by Tom Perrotta (2000)

Danny, a working-class Yale sophomore in 1982, thinks he has a lot to worry about. His rich friends are clueless, his townie coworkers at the dining hall resent him, and his crush is dating a professor. Then he goes home for spring break, where he’s confronted with a pregnant ex and a bunch of mobsters who try to interfere with his father’s lunch-truck business. I mostly read this book for completism--I love Perrotta, but The Wishbones made me wary of his earlier work--yet this seemingly lighthearted story contains some fascinating moral and ethical dilemmas, plus a hero who is sympathetic despite his callowness. 

18. Monsters of Men by Patrick Ness (2010)

In the explosive conclusion of Ness’s Chaos Walking trilogy, the protagonists find themselves in the middle of a war with an enemy they don’t understand, forcing them to wrestle with questions of right versus wrong, forgiveness versus revenge, and the possibility of redemption. This was an intense read, but there was a lot of genuine joy and love mixed in with the death and war.

17. Ashes to Ashes by Jenny Han and Siobhan Vivian (2014)

In the less literally but just as emotionally explosive conclusion of Han and Vivian’s Burn for Burn trilogy, former revenge-partners Lillia and Kat try to move on in the wake of a tragedy, as well as the abrupt departure of Mary, the other member of their retribution-themed trio. The future is looking bright, but then it becomes clear that Mary is neither gone nor happy with their life choices. I read the first book of this trilogy way back in 2014 and, while I enjoyed it well enough, I wasn’t blown away. This spring, though, I had the sudden urge to read the next two books, and they were both a wonderful mix of affecting human drama and ludicrously soapy plot twists.

16. The Charm School by Susan Wiggs (1999)

Isadora Peabody, the awkward scion of an otherwise graceful old Bostonian family in the 1850s, decides to take her fate in her own hands and become a translator on a merchant ship bound for Brazil. The captain, freewheeling Ryan Calhoun, isn’t too happy with this unusual arrangement, but he comes to admire and sympathize with the independent-minded and painfully self-conscious Isadora. At the same time, Isadora realizes that Ryan’s untidiness and occasional bouts of drunkenness disguise a heart and principles and a talent for making out in lush Brazilian gardens. I was absolutely delighted by this romance novel, which is an absolute romp with some terrific character development. 

15. The Ask and the Answer by Patrick Ness (2009)

In the middle book of the Chaos Walking trilogy, the protagonists reach the end of a long journey, only to find themselves separated and caught between two warring factions. This installment does a great job of elaborating upon the world introduced in the first book, offering new perspectives on old characters, and introducing compelling new conflicts. 

14. Fire with Fire by Jenny Han and Siobhan Vivian (2013)

In the middle book of the Burn for Burn trilogy, classmates Kat, Lillia, and Mary deal with the fallout of their semi-successful Strangers on a Train-lite revenge scheme. Kat and Lillia want to call it quits, but their sympathy for Mary causes them to agree to one last score, so to speak. Unfortunately, FEELINGS and PAST TRAUMA and DANGEROUS PSYCHIC POWERS complicate matters. Despite my love for Ashes to Ashes, Fire with Fire has a special place in my heart because it’s the first book to explore the characters’ emotions in depth, as well as the first one to go way over the fucking top.

13. I’ll Be Gone in the Dark by Michelle McNamara (2018)

In the late 1970s and early 1980s, a rash of horrifying home invasion rapes, seemingly meticulously planned, plagued the bedroom communities of Sacramento. Then a series of uncannily similar home invasion murders broke out in the Southern California. In this book published after her death in 2016, McNamara makes the case that this was the work of one person, dubbed the Golden State Killer. McNamara has a clear, humane way of describing grisly and/or convoluted events, and her portrait of the dark side of California suburbia is enthralling. 

12. The Poisonwood Bible by Barbara Kingsolver (1998)

In 1960, a dangerously determined and self-righteous reverend from the American South travels to the Belgian Congo, even though his own church begged him not to go. He makes the questionable decision to take his exhausted wife and four daughters--vain Rachel, suck-up Leah, nearly mute Adah, and baby Ruth May--along with him. Their new home is a shock to all of them in various ways, and that’s before a personal tragedy and the Congo Crisis enter the picture. Kingsolver makes excellent use of her five viewpoint characters, all of whom have distinctive voices and enjoyably unpredictable (yet entirely appropriate) character arcs.

11. Lighter than My Shadow by Katie Green (2013)

As a young child, Katie has seemingly minor issues around food, but during adolescence she develops a serious eating disorder and almost starves herself to death. A diagnosis and the ensuing support of her parents seem to signal hope, but recovery is more complicated that one might expect. This graphic memoir offers a nuanced portrait of the sheer range of stuff that gets wrapped up in an eating disorder: religion, gender, sex, control, trauma, the desire for independence, and so much more. Green’s “cute” art style enhances the story, both because it makes an interesting contrast to the upsetting material and because it grounds the reader in the humanity of the characters. 

10. Mindhunter by John Douglas and Mark Olshaker (1995)

Throughout the 1970s, FBI agent John Douglas, along with the rest of the Investigative Support Unit, compiled information about an increasingly common type of criminal: the serial killer. Gradually, they developed the practice of criminal profiling. As gruesome as it might sound to call this an excellent beach read, that’s essentially how I experienced it (not that I went anywhere this summer, but still). The pace is fast, the style is engaging, and the authors are frank but not overly lurid in their presentation of the nasty details.

9. The Beggar Maid by Alice Munro (1977)

In this collection of connected short stories, Rose, a bright Canadian girl, grows up in a rough, deprived neighborhood with her sick, stern father and prickly but not unloving stepmother. Life in the wider world brings her mingled pride and shame at her background, a largely disastrous early marriage, and eventually a satisfying but decidedly unglamorous acting career. Munro is a master of description, and she has a sense of fun that puts her head and shoulders above most short story writers. And the title story is just the most perfectly painful exploration of why someone would stay with a partner who is deeply wrong for them.

8. Dark Places by Gillian Flynn (2009)

In 1985, seven-year-old Libby Day narrowly escaped death at the hands of her teenage brother, but her mother and two older sisters weren’t so lucky. Except that Libby doesn’t feel so lucky, either, because she’s thirty-one years old with massive trauma, dwindling funds, and few adult life skills. Then a true-crime enthusiast contacts her with an offer: cash in return for investigating whether her brother was actually the murderer. Dark Places may be the awkward middle child of Flynn’s novels, but that reputation is undeserved; it has a thrilling plot, a perversely lovable heroine, and a sly critique of the “Morning in America” view of the 1980s.

7. The Hostage by Susan Wiggs (2000)

In the confusion of the Great Chicago Fire, frontiersman Tom Silver kidnaps heiress Deborah Sinclair, hoping to force her industrialist father into compensating the victims of his negligence. He’s not prepared, though, for her dogged escape attempts, her hard-earned resilience, or the hints that something was horribly wrong in her life even before the kidnapping. I had my doubts about reading a kidnapping romance, but Susan Wiggs proved me wrong. (It helps that Tom’s motives are both understandable AND not presented as an excuse for dragging Deborah into his revenge plan.) The super-slow-burn romance pairs wonderfully with the action-packed plot, and I love Deborah so much.

6. Sharp Objects by Gillian Flynn (2006)

Troubled reporter Camille Preaker returns to her small Missouri hometown to investigate the grisly murder of one tween girl and the ominous disappearance of another. As upsetting as the case is, it doesn’t hold a candle to what waits for her at home: a softly cruel mother, a barely there stepfather, and a teenage half-sister who alternates between adoring Camille and tormenting her. Sharp Objects entirely deserves its reputation as the best (if not most popular) Flynn novel; it has a beautifully constructed plot, descriptions so lush that you feel like you can reach out and touch Wind Gap (not that you’d want to), and a deeply flawed yet admirable heroine.

5. The Knife of Never Letting Go by Patrick Ness (2008)

At nearly thirteen, Todd Hewitt is the youngest resident of Prentisstown, and nobody is ever going to take that distinction away from him. Just after his birth, a plague killed most of the humans on New World, including every woman and girl. What’s more, the same plague made it so the thoughts of men (and most other living creatures) are audible to all. And the mayor of Prentisstown is a religious fanatic who won’t let anyone watch videos or teach kids to read. It’s...not awesome. Then Todd makes a shocking discovery that forces him to flee his community and question everything he knows. This book is a fascinating sci-fi take on the frontier horror story (ala The Scarlet Letter, The Crucible, and, more recently, The Witch) with a read-hundreds-of-pages-a-night plot and astonishing moment of wonder.

4. After the Wedding by Courtney Milan (2018)

Lady Camilla Worth, daughter of an earl who committed suicide to avoid treason charges, has passed from home to unwelcoming home ever since, finally ending up as an unknown housemaid. Adrian Hunter, a mixed-race ceramics heir on a desperate mission to make his family happy, happens to visit the house where she’s employed. Under some very strange circumstances, they’re forced to wed at literal gunpoint. Working together to unravel the mystery and get an annulment, they grow to like each other, which complicates things. This is one of my favorite romance novels ever, with wonderful characters (especially Camilla!), an explosive plot, and masterfully explored themes of healing and being true to oneself.

3. Wild Things: The Joy of Reading Children's Literature as an Adult by Bruce Handy (2017)

A famous magazine writer and father of two young children, Handy expounds upon the classics of children’s literature (The Cat in the Hat, Goodnight Moon, the Little House series, Narnia, the Ramona books, etc.). As someone who frequently rereads the favorites of my youth to de-stress (House of Stairs 5eva), the subject was tailor-made for me, and Handy’s execution is impressive. He covers an amazing amount of ground, switches deftly from one mode of analysis to another, and shares plenty of funny anecdotes and moving reflections on parenthood.

2. Blankets by Craig Thompson (2003)

In this autobiographical graphic novel, Craig, a creative, devout, and deeply lonely teenager in rural Wisconsin, meets his first love, Raina, at a church retreat that otherwise would’ve been miserable. They become pen pals and are finally able to arrange for him to spend a few complicated, wonderful weeks with her and her family. Their relationship and its subsequent fallout drive him to confront his conflicted feelings about his faith, his art, and his family. This is an absolutely beautiful story, complemented perfectly by the wintry landscapes and expressive human figures.

1. Breath by Donna Jo Napoli (2003)

Salz, a twelve-year-old boy in medieval Saxony, is dismissed and sometimes even reviled by most of his community, including his own father and brothers, for the unnamed illness that stunts his growth and makes it difficult to breathe. Still, he’s got a lot going on; he helps his beloved grandmother around the house, studies for the priesthood, and belongs to a secret coven. When an abnormally wet spring drives the rats indoors and causes a strange disease to spread among the locals, Salz’s sharp intellect and thirst for knowledge are more needed than ever. This novel is a historically grounded retelling of “The Pied Piper of Hamelin” where the protagonist has cystic fibrosis, and did I ever think I would type that combination of words? No, I did not, but I am so glad things worked out that way. Napoli’s treatment of disability is unusually gratifying, because she illustrates the essential things that a society loses when it dismisses the sick and disabled (as well as some other marginalized groups, such as women). At the same time, Salz’s family and neighbors aren’t cruel for the sake of cruelty; they’re just uninformed, scared, and/or bad at managing their own problems without lashing out at others, which does not absolve them but makes for a more thoughtful story than if they were just bad seeds. The portrayal of Salz’s struggles to reconcile the different sources of wisdom in his life--Church orthodoxy, pagan folk practices, and the knowledge slowly filtering in from the Arabic world--is also fascinating, plus the pathological mystery makes for a tight, exciting plot. All this in less than 300 pages! And do not get me started on how much I love Großmutter.

#books #reading #top twenty

[blissaster]

Heroes

Day 5

I was born and raised in Gotham. My family was rich enough that I could finish my college and realized my dream to be a teacher and poor enough that I had never gotten out of the city, even if I wanted to.

I taught literature. Every year, I would ask my students to write about their heroes. It could be anyone, their parents, their siblings, their neighbors. Anyone could be heroes, at least in my opinion. Having a hero, someone you looked up to, could give you hope. When you lived in a hell hole like Gotham, you’d need all the hope you could get.

It saddened me when almost none of my students took this assignment seriously. And some who did seemed to not know who they should look up to.

Then Batman came.

I downright hated him, at first.

He is just another lunatic prancing in silly costume, trying to scare us, I scoffed. He'll go awry sooner or later, I thought. But he never did. He beat the criminals, true, but he never killed. I noticed that. Still, I was skeptical, as a true Gothamite would.

In the end, it was not the Batman's actions that changed my mind. But the writing of my students. There were more students that took the Hero Assignment seriously. Most of them wrote about Batman. I still did not believed the Batman was what this city needed. But I supposed, if he could give hope to the children, who was I to stop him?

Being a teacher as long as I had, I had seen many heroes my students wrote about. Mostly, they wrote about the Batman. Once in a blue moon, I'd find a writing that stood out. This year, I found it in the assignment of one Richard Grayson, ward of Bruce Wayne.

The kid was flashy and he could be too cocky for his own good, but he was a good kid. With his circumstance, I had expected him to write about the Batman. I was wrong. And I was glad I was wrong.

Richard's hero was not the Batman, though, I quoted, "He has his good qualities too". It was Bruce Wayne.

"The Batman reminds me that I can still fly, that I don't have to be afraid," Richard wrote. "But Bruce Wayne saved me. He took me in when no one would. He gave me home. He cares." At the end, he wrote, "If the Batman keeps me safe from bad guys, then Bruce keeps me safe from being a criminal myself, from being homeless. Most importantly, from being lonely."

I did not have obligation to inform parents about their little hero assignment. I gave Mr. Wayne Richard's writing in the parent-teacher meeting anyway. "You've a good son," I told him.

Bruce seemed stunned for a short moment, before he regained his composure and his smile was back once again. "Dick's my ward, not my son."

I snorted. This was not the first time I saw this kind of denial. "Of course," I said, knowing fully well how condescending I sounded as I stood on my tiptoe and patted his shoulder.

From the first time Damian Wayne entered my class, he had caught my interest. At first glance, I could tell he was different from kids his age. He acted too mature for one. Another reason he caught my intention was because he now was under the guardianship of one Richard John Grayson-Wayne.

The boy -- though he was no longer a boy now -- rarely used his stepfather's last name. I could not help but use the name in my head, though. After all, even before the great Bruce Wayne realized it, I already knew that the relationship between them was more than merely a guardian and a ward. They were a father and son. (My theory was proven right when a few years later, Bruce legally adopted Richard.)

And now, Richard had grown into a man, he had taken Damian -- Bruce's flesh-and-blood child -- in after Bruce’s death. Karma at its best.

I expected much from Damian. So I was a little disappointed when I saw the kid's writing about his hero. It was the Batman. Then again, remembering how violent the kid could get, I supposed I should not be surprised.

My eyes went to the doodle of Batman on the back of his essay. I knew Damian was a good artist. Since I never forbade any of my students to add photos, pictures or even videos to their assignment, I did not think too much about it.

I traced the picture of Batman. He looked different from all those blurry photos of Batman I had seen over the years (which, admittedly, not many. I was never his biggest fan.) Damian’s Batman seemed shorter, less bulky to the Batman I knew.

My eyes widened as I caught one little detail in the picture.

The Batman was smiling.

So, the kid likes the new Batman, I thought. That WAS a pleasant surprise. I thought the kid would idolized the Old Batman with his gruffness and dark persona. The new Batman was... different, to say the least. He was... nicer. Some people said he was ruining the Batman's image. Personally, as long as he kept the criminals behind the bar, I could not careless if he growled at them or smiled at them.

I skimmed the kid’s essay. One sentence caught my eyes: “He teaches me how to be a hero.”

I smiled at that. So, Damian liked a kind vigilante, huh? Who would've guessed?

A/N: For @rosevered who wants a drabble about Bruce and one of his boys. Damian’s part was just a bonus. :D

#dc #batman #bruce wayne #nightwing #dick grayson #robin #damian wayne #pov outsider #Big D Little D #like son like father #my drabble

[sweetdreamsjeff]

OOR, Holland, by Bertvan der Kamp, August 1994

Subhead: A new, huge musical talent has come forward and his name is Jeff Buckley. Questionmarks (appear) on various faces. The music-scene once knew a gifted singer-songwriter who died way too soon. Yes, Jeff is Tim’s son, but he doesn’t like to be compared with him. He is very right to do so, because even without the special family-tie, Grace is one of the best CD’s from this year. After having spoken with both John Lennon’s and Bob Dylan’s son, I’m talking to the son of a third favorite “popstar” of mine. What to do in such a situation? First you try deliberately not to talk about the “old man”, but eventually you’ll wind up doing so. Jeff’s situation is somewhat different from the other sons of famous fathers, because his parents split up when he was barely 6 months old. When he was 8, he spent the Easter holidays with his father who, 2 months later, died of the consequence of a fatal combination of alcohol and drugs. Jeff has always been much closer to his stepfather, who also had a great influence on the development of his musical taste. However, the genes play a role as well and although Jeff sounds different, there definitely is some resemblance in the composition of his songs and in the intense, passionate performance. Grace surely isn’t easy-listening. Just as on the previously released mini-CD Live at Sin-é he doesn’t keep the songs within the 3 minute “limit”, But that surely isn’t disturbing. Jeff has produced the album together with Andy Wallace and he plays with his own, new accompanying band, consisting of Michael Tighe (guitar), Mick Grondahl (bass) and Matt Johnson (not the guy from The The, drums). JB: We played together for the first time 5 weeks prior to recording the album. We did a few gigs as a trio, before Michael joined us. Thereafter we went into the studio and recorded the 10 songs relatively fast. BK: Buckley works with various, digressing styles, from almost whispered, sweet ballads to firm rock songs, in which he seems to be challenging Robert Plant, a childhood hero (of Jeff’s). JB: I have been a fan of Led Zeppelin ever since I was five years of age. My stepfather had all their albums. My mother and stepfather shaped me musically, as a child. They loved The Beatles, and so did I, but the sound of Led Zeppelin sounde much more “anarchist” to my ears. The range of that music was impressive and it “opened me up”. After that I grew to love other music as well, but those earliest influences remain to be very determining. BK: His “glowing” way of singing not only reminds of his father, but occasionally of someone like Morrissey, with his emotional and almost “shameless” performance. At the mention of that name, Jeff reacts immediately: JB: His work with The Smiths hasn’t been equalled up ‘til now. That goes for the composition of the songs, the lyrics and the performance. What Johnny Marr and he did was fabulous, nobody can beat that. If I’d ever start a rockband, I’d want to approximate that level. BK: To my question about whether he was looking for a musical partner like Johnny Marr, he responded: JB: I prefer working solo. Although my songs are created in many different ways, I am the constant factor. Morrissey needs a partner because he can’t play the guitar himself, but I can sing and play guitar. BK: Grace contains 10 songs, from which 3 are remarkable “covers”, Leonard Cohen’s “Hallelujah”, Nina Simone’s “Lilac Wine”, and “Corpus Christi Carol”, written by the classical com[poser Benjamin Britten. Although 2 of these songs suggest some religious association, Jeff denies there is a “reli-hang-up”. JB: Whoever listens carefully to “Hallelujah” will discover that it is a song about sex, about love, about life on earth. The hallelujah is not a homage to a worshipped person, idol or god, but the hallelujah of the orgasm. It’s an ode to life and love. The “Carol” is a fairytale about a falcon who takes the beloved of the singer to an orchard. The singer goes looking for her and arrives at a chamber where his beloved lies next to a bleeding knight and a tomb with Christ’s body in it. My friend Roy introduced me to the song when I was still in high-school and now I’m singing it for him. BK: How important are the lyrics anyway? JB: You can listen to my songs solely for the sound or you can go deeper into them. Both are okay. To me it’s important what I’m saying. If a lyric doesn’t mean a thing to me, I can’t sing it. Music, lyrics, voice and rhythm are equally as important. BK: There are remarkably many love songs on the album. JB: I’m a rather romantic type. BK: Especially with the longlasting “Lover, You Should’ve Come Over” he reaches great heights as a troubadour of love. It is also a song about ageing, I fancy to derive. Jeff agrees with me on this: JB: It’s not about aging as a chronological fact, but more in the sense of gaining experience. You can sometimes gain experience in a very short time and age fast in that way as well. Sometimes I feel very old. I already felt like that at high-school. I sometimes felt like an outsider, too old for my age. Leaving things behind and accepting you’re somewhere else, thats what growing up means, according to me. The advantages are enormous because you can let go of things that are of no use to you. Someone’s age forms a shield towards his youth. In that way someone can get older and yet still stay young. Picasso always tried to keep in touch with his inner child. If you don’t do that, you’ll eventually lose hold on yourself and slowly pine away. Or you can get completely deranged and kill yourself. It’s very important to understand this. (deep sigh) BK: This seems like the right time to talk about his biological father. As soon as I mention his name, I’m being interrupted: JB: He was one of those who didn’t make it. BK: Right… “He was one hell of a guy,” I continue. “I’ve met him twice and spoke to him briefly.” Jeff listens silently to my story and when I tell him that, in my opinion, he has succeeded his father(’s work), if only for the great intensity of his performance, he reacts reservedly: JB: Those are your words, not mine. BK: “The lyrics on 'Dream Brother’ intrigue me,” I continue imperturbably. “It could be a song about him (Tim).” JB: It’s a song about a friend of mine, who led a rather excessive life, due to which he has lost the “callosity on his soul” (couldn’t find a proper translation here). He is in trouble. This song is for him. I know what self-destruction can lead to and I try to warn him. But even I am one big hypocrite because when I called him up and told him about the song I’d written, that same night I took an overdose of “hash” and woke up the next day feeling terrible. It is very hard not to give in to one’s negative feelings. Life’s a total chaos. BK: Buckley doesn’t shun (from) exposing serious themes, which makes his music less accessible to the masses. Some further explanation wouldn’t harm. I just have to mention a song-title such as “Eternal Life” and it’s hard to stop him (talking). JB: What I want to say with a song like “Eternal Life” is: If you’re one of those people who thinks he has to spend energy in putting down and discriminating others or passing on racist ideas to children or playing games with everyone, just to cover up your own lack of self-respect, then you’re lost forever. There are so many other goals in life. There is so much to learn about life itself. Why waste your time with all that bullshit? Try to see people as people and don’t fixate on the color of their skin, status or sexual preference. I get very upset about that because I see it as one of the biggest threats nowadays. There is a giant desintegration going on, but that offers unknown possibilities of growth as well. From the ashes of chaos, you can “arise” bigger and stronger. JB: All that talk about the independent music-scene and the so-called Generation X is a symptom of the confusion. Everything is being labelled, but nobody knows what it means. There is fear of the unknown and that’s the reason for labelling everything. Even I don’t know what Generation X means, but to me it could mean: get out or get de-x-ed. BK: If you hear Jeff talking like that, you’d conclude it’s tough to be young in these chaotic nineties. What does he hope to change about it with his songs? How does he see his role as an artist? JB: I can’t do anything more than writing songs and whether people want to hear them is up to them and not to me. I realize that, as a listener, you have to invest something to get out out of my songs what’s in them and I don’t know how many people are prepared to do that. I don’t think I can save the world. I look at the world and conclude it doesn’t want to be saved. People want to be bossed around. At my concerts you can do whatever you want. You don’t have to listen, you can drink a beer if you’ve had enough (of the music). I don’t have the intention to be crucified.

#jeff buckley #oor holland by bertvan der kamp august 1994 #article #magazine article

[transstudiesarchive]

Voices (content warning)

I was so angry, and I tried to figure out why

I could not stand who I was, I made lists about who I wanted to be

When I was a child I wanted to die

“If I had not been raised to give my life away, would I have made such and effective, self-sacrificing revolutionary?“ (p.31)

Feeling safe is really sexy

“There was no place as a safe haven for a gay kid. The only option you had was a bar or to pick up a john to find a place to stay for the night” (7:29)

“Feminist and radical lesbian organizer” (p.17)

“I lived in terror that I might suddenly be seen again as what I knew myself to be” (p. 21)

“I stopped [wearing dresses] for a long time because the boys next door used to try and get fresh with me, you know, try and have sex“ (4:22)

I tried so hard to change

“Having learned the habit of hiding, I found I had also learned to hide from myself” (p. 13/14)

“I started wearing dresses at five years old” (4:20)

“I know that suffering does not ennoble. It destroys.” (p. 36)

“‘Just use that smile’” (p. 26)

“Resist destruction, self-hatred, or lifelong hopelessness” (p. 36)

“The reality of self-hatred and violence” (p.17)

“I could not see all the stuff they could use me for less than a book of matches” (45:58)

I often had to fight off my brother as they tried to touch me. They towered over me and they were laughing

“Those who cannot change their own lives have every reason to be ashamed of that fact and to hide it.” (32)

“But I think I liked the thought that someone would want to pay me, that’s what kept me in the business for such a long time” (45:48)

“[Jesus] listens to all my problems and never laughs at me” (6:05)

“I found out that boys do that when I was raped by this boy who was about, he was about 13 years old” (4:34)

If there was a god I would want him dead

“I had so much trouble, it’s a miracle I am still here I mean, honey, people used to come and bring guns . . .” (33:10)

I will not have sex unless I really want to and  at any moment

“Throw off conditioning of being despised” (p. 36)

“[Claim] the embattled sexuality I had fashioned on a base of violence and abuse“ (p.34)

“I have never been able to make clear the degree of my fear” (p. 14)

“My first mental breakdown started in 1970. It started falling down hill and it’s been falling up and down hill ever since” (20:09)

I will not be used

“I may be crazy but that don’t make me wrong“ (0:16)

“[Jesus] takes me very seriously” (6:05)

“Never expected to live forever” (p. 37)

“They want to give you nothing. Nothing. Not even a cigarette or a cup of coffee nothing whatsoever” (46:04)

“I believed completely that by remaking myself I was helping to remake the world” (p. 22)

“I have come closer to knowing myself as real” (p.14)

I had a sexual relationship with my psychology teacher in high school for a year while at the same time going out with my piano teacher. I was still afraid of boys.

“I could not believe that my body would ever be worth anything to anyone” (45:55)

“I did not think people had sex – period” (5:17)

Marsha was harassed and thrown into the river (Hudson River)

I was the strong one

I am demanding and uncompromising

I was my dad’s favorite, they said

“My mother said being homosexual, she thought I was lower than the dog” (46:52)

“He shot all of this sticky stuff all my over my legs” (4: 51)

“I hated the rule makers” (33)

“Claim my families pride and tragedy” (p. 34)

“I tried to become one with the lesbian feminist community so as to feel real and valuable” (p. 16)

“When I was five, Mama married” (p.18)

“I have loved my family so stubbornly” (p. 15)

“He [Jesus] is like a spirit to follow me around and he likes to help me out in my hour of need” (6:01)

“I never had to have to have sex with anybody for money ever. I just did it because I wanted to see if I could get away with it and I pretty much succeeded” (44:30)

“The prettier you looked as a little boy made up as a girl that’s the most money you’re gonna make” (17:46)

“I stopped talking for a while” (p. 18)

Marsha talking about having been shot “I’m dying, dying, dying but I ain’t dead yet” (45:24)

To save the world from self-destruction I need to understand my own

Degrading sexual phantasies was my body going to what it knew in a situation that did not fulfil my safety requirements

I have been fighting for my life ever since I remember

“Being a hooker is no easy business for no one, it’s one of the most dangerous businesses that you can be in. but if that’s the only thing you know how to do I’d say it’s a pretty sad story for anyone, you know, including myself” (45:27)

“The rage was a good feeling, stronger and purer than the shame that followed it” (p.13)

Making money “with just a little bit of makeup and have little hormone tits” (18:10)

I had to dissociate and make up stories in my head in order to have sex with a real person

“I have not married anybody in church since then cause I think he [Jesus] is the only man I could really trust” (5:53)

“I have known I was a lesbian since I was a teenager, and I have spent a good 20 years making peace with the effects of incest and physical abuse” (p.14/15)

“Butch/femme and leather fetishism is widely viewed with distaste or outright hatred. . . presumed to be misguided, damaged by incest and childhood physical abuse” (p. 24)

“I got married to Jesus Christ in church when I was 16 years old” (5:48)

“We had generations before us to teach us that nothing ever changed, and that those who did try to escape failed.” (p. 18)

My dad wanted a girl, my mom was relieved when it finally happened

I liked being in love and I went along

I wanted to be a woman, but I felt like a sex-less thing

“Victim of physical, emotional and sexual violence” (p. 36)

“I don’t think like that, but I know they would” (5:33)

I give and receive nothing that my body, my mind and my heart do not love all at once

“I would tell them I was a boy in drag” (34:18)

In kindergarten I was hiding in corners

“My sexual promiscuity” (p. 34)

Any indication of sexual entitlement is an immediate turn-off

“I am not only a lesbian but a transgressive lesbian—femme, masochistic” (p. 23)

“My sexual identity is intimately constructed by my class and regional background, and much of the hatred directed at my sexual preferences is class hatred“ (p. 23)

I regret having sexually pressured a partner during a hard time. I am sorry

“Her whole life she [my mother] never wanted to know” (47:19)

I was not safe at home. Thank you Frau Wieser for letting me sit at your kitchen table for hours

“The geographic solution. Change your name, leave town, disappear, make yourself over” (p. 19)

I was married three times and I refused sex over long periods because the love was not right, and I did not know the nature of my sexuality

I never got over my abuse but that’s because I get reinjured by the world

“[Police] always treated me like I am the worlds murderer” (36:07)

“After my stepfather beat me so badly it caused a family scandal” (p. 18)

“I began to suspect that we shared no common language to speak those bitter truths” (32)

“Mama miscarried, and while we waited out in the hospital parking lot, my stepfather molested me for the first time” (p. 18)

“The fundamental me had almost disappeared” (p. 16)

He molested me when my mom was in the mental hospital because of a nervous breakdown

I have a body now that belongs to me

“you should not have sex until after you’re married” (4:30)

I don’t hate my family at least not at the moment

A lot of space, no guilt trips and unconditional positive regard is really sexy

“Mama told me she really had no choice” (p. 18)

I love my mother when I can afford to, I feel pain about my father’s nightmare of a life

I had sex for the first time because I wanted to get it over with

“I had separated my activist life from the passionate secret life in which I acted on my sexual desires” (p. 16)

“Honey, I don’t believe you should have sex until after you are married” (5:45)

I might have been a pretty little girl, but I thought I was ugly

“Nobody promised you tomorrow” (0:18)

I want to walk around with no shirt on and be seen as a person

“I have been arrested about a million times for prostitution” (35:24)

I will not be used

I take myself very seriously and fuck you if that is a problem

“I was young and naïve” (4:17)

“I found out the prettier you look as a little boy or a pretty little transvestite, you can make a couple of little dollars“ (17:38)

“Some people could not believe I was not a real woman” (34:34)

I was afraid they would think I was frigid

Feminist and angry woman

They were 5 and 10 years older than me

“I don’t have to do the streets any more. Because I decided, darling, that it was not worth it” (44:24)

My father beat my brothers with a steel spring rod

“I found out that my body was worth some money those days” (17:33)

“Something he continued to do until I was past thirteen” (p. 18)

I love to live

They “pulled guns on me ‘I can’t believe you are a boy’” (34:13)

 References

 Allison, D. (1994). Skin : Talking about sex, class & literature. (pp 13-36) Ithaca, N.Y.:

Firebrand Books.

Kasino, M. (2012, October 15). Pay It No Mind - The Life and Times of Marsha P. Johnson.

Retrieved from https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rjN9W2KstqE

  Voices of three women: Dorothy Allison (page numbers), Marsha P. Johnson (minutes and seconds) and I (none)

(cited in this way to keep it simple, my color coding did not transfer to Tumblr)

           My goal was to create access to the experience of child sex abuse through the creative voices of Marsha P Johnson, Dorothy Allison and my own. I prefer to have the words speak for themselves and I do not encourage readers to bother reading beyond this point. That said, I will give some explanation about my motivations to collect these words and let them speak together by presenting them in randomized order. My partner who understands computers and loves math, especially Bayesian Inference has randomized the lines for me based on the random number seed 56 (maybe you know what that means) which was the third lucky number of a fortune cookie I received today at a Chinese Restaurant.

           What I wanted to get at was something Marsha, Dorothy and I have in common: a specific form of socializing feminine bodies which is childhood sexual abuse. Although I do hold my father accountable for what he did I see his actions and the actions of his male ancestors as deeply socially conditioned and part of his own curse. The effort of making childhood sex abuse into an individual problem rather than a societal way of disciplining bodies is a convenient smoke screen. All around us we receive messages in words, pictures, sounds that tell us that it is ok to objectify women. The fact that increasingly other than female bodies are objectified is not a consolation.

           Why is this important in a trans archive? I belief that we are all trying to understand how we can escape the trajectory we are on and I hope that people who have genders outside of the norm might have a heads up in understanding the alienation that happens when femininity is disciplined to erase itself, to hate itself, to have no needs, and to be deeply confused about its own purpose. I belief that all feminine bodies are subjected to a measure of the same disciplinary action and that we are flailing to grasp who we are underneath all that. I am appealing to you because I feel deeply alienated outside of the circle of safe people who work hard to create a safe place.

[reluctanthunterjohn-blog]

A New John || Self Para

“Hey, John,” Annie came into the kitchen and clapped her son in the back. Within an instant he crumbled into a heap of fear and terror swept across his mother’s face. “John?” He kept his head down and his hands laced together over his head. Annie didn’t know what to do. She’d never seen her son like that. Ever since he came home, he’d been jumpy with sudden noises and contact. She remembered talking to one of the volunteers at the prison. She said that PTSD was common and to expect it. She also said that if Annie thought John had any signs of PTSD that she should get him help right away. John was her only child. She needed to make sure he was okay. John was left alone to gather himself while his mother did what she did best, helped her son.

John walked through the house looking for his mother to explain what had happened. He really didn’t have answers but he knew she needed something. “Gio, I can’t ignore this. He’s my son! He needs help,” Annie hissed.

“I know what he needs,” John stood against the wall and listened to the conversation between his mother and stepfather. “I’ll take him on a trip to clear his mind. When he gets back, he’ll be fine.”

“Over my dead body. He got locked up because of something in that truck of his. No one will tell me what it was but I know it has something to do with those trips. What are you doing with my son?” Annie had stayed quiet for a long time but she had enough. She wanted answers and she wanted them now.

“We do what guys do. Hunt. Bike. Other manly things,” Gio sounded agitated as he gave Annie his usual answer.

“Gio, I swear to God if you’re putting my son in harms way you won’t have to worry about a divorce because I will kill you,” she followed her threat with a poke to the chest and she stormed out of the bedroom.

John tried to stay alert while at the house. He also tried to stay out as much as possible. If he could avoid his mother and Gio then he didn’t have to stir up any drama. But he could only avoid either of them for so long.

“John!” Gio shouted as he entered the garage where John was working. “We are going to Tennessee this weekend. We found another town of witches. We could use your expertise on this one.”

John rolled out from underneath the car after regaining his composure. Gio startled him and made John freeze for a minute.

“Uh, I don’t think I’m ready,” John said as he wiped the grease from his hands. “I don’t think I’ll ever be ready.”

“Come on,” Gio leaned against the workbench on the far side of the garage. “Hunt a few witches. You’ll be back to normal in no time.”

“Normal?” A trigger in John’s mind was set off, “I was in jail because of hunting tools I carried in my car. Tools that you gave me to keep there. Forgive me if I don’t want to jump back on the witch hunting bandwagon.”

“You were in jail for a minute. You’ve been hunting for longer than that. Now, we know to play it safer. John, this is what you do and do well, might I add.” Gio had a way of reassuring people about their decisions. John hated it. He didn’t want to be manipulated any more.

“Do you know what it was like for me? Do you even care? They thought I killed one of the golden boys of this town. They made my life a living hell! I went days without eating. They would let other inmates beat me up. When they felt the inmates didn’t do a good enough job, they made sure to do it. So, fuck you, Gio. I’m not going on that hunting trip,” John’s hand released as he took a deep breath. Gio was about to rebut what John just said but John didn’t give him a chance. He left the garage and went into the house.

“Mark, he’s your son,” Annie was on the phone in the kitchen. “I don’t care if he told you otherwise. He needs you to step up for the first time in his life.” She was silent as she listened to what he ex-husband had to say. “Just make it happen, Mark.” And she angrily hung up the phone. John could imagine what she would say if she knew he was listening. She would comment about how smartphones took away the release of hanging up on someone to deflect what was really going on in her mind. Annie was like that. She didn’t like to show when she was struggling. John knew it though. He could sense it. She was his mother. There wasn’t much she could keep from him.

“Hey, sweetie,” she said softly when John decided to walk into the kitchen.

“Hey, Mom,” John grabbed one of the muffins she had made earlier. He sat at the kitchen table and picked the edges around the top.

“What’s wrong sweetie?” Annie leaned against the kitchen counter and rested her palms on the edge.

“Why are you talking to Mark?” He looked up at her as she started to formulate a lie. “I don’t want to see him. I don’t want anything to do with him.”

“But John,” Annie sighed. “It might be good for you to go and see him for a little while. He’s grown up.”

“I don’t care,” John said sternly. “He didn’t want to be a father. You can call him back and tell him not to worry.” John pushed up from his seat and grabbed the muffin he’d been nibbling on. “I’ll take this to go.”

“John! We need to talk about this!” Annie shouted.

“No, we don’t!” He replied back as he headed out to the car. John needed to get his mind off everything. However, when he looked at his phone everyone he wanted to see, didn’t want to see him.

Instead, John took his Jeep to a clearing near the river and just say there listening to the sound of the water pouring through the small dam. “Hey,” a familiar voice startled him. “Sorry. I should’ve texted you but I went by your house but you weren’t there. Your mom said I should look up here.” Tiffany stood at the passenger side door as John glared at her. “Are you going to say anything?”

“Do you still think I killed Malcolm?” He asked coldly.

“No, but,” he quirked a brow, “can you blame me when I did? Did you hear the rumors that went around town?”

“Yeah,” he answered coldly.

“Well, I’m sorry,” she folded her arms and rested her chin upon them. “Can I get in?”

“Sure,” he didn’t want her in the car with him but his mother would be mad with him if he didn’t let her. Despite how mad he was at his mother and at Tiffany, he was raised right.

“So,” Tiffany climbed into the car and got comfortable in the passenger seat. “That girl in town the other day. Who was she?”

“Babette?” Tiffany replied to his question with a nod. “Oh, she’s a friend.” Well, something like that.

“Do you usually kiss friends like that?” Her brow raised.

“She’s Canadian?” John didn’t understand the line of questioning. Tiffany and John had a brief history. He drove her home and was going to go out on a date. But it never got anywhere since he was arrested.

“Oh, is that it?” She gave a chuckle.

“Why? I mean, we aren’t anything. Up until you showed up here, I was pretty sure you hated me.” John shrugged laying his head back against the driver’s seat.

“I-I,” Tiffany looked up at John but he wasn’t looking. She heaved a sigh and bit her bottom lip. “I guess I’m just, I don’t know.”

“Okay?” John peered down at her and rolled his eyes. “Is Babette why you came out here?”

“Maybe,” she answered coyly. John couldn’t help but laugh. Sometimes girls were so predictable. “If you and that girl are just friends, then we can go out and do something.”

“No,” John answered with a straight face. “You can get out of my car and go out with someone else,” John reached over to open the passenger side door while her jaw dropped into her lap. “Bye, Tiffany.”

“But,” John lowered his gaze and shook his head, “Whatever, John.” Tiffany slammed the door and John watched her through the rear view mirror. Not many would understand why he turned down the redhead knockout. Many would call him crazy. John was about loyalty. She didn’t want to believe in his innocence until her jealousy took over. Plus, he had bigger problems than a jealous teenage girl. He had his mother trying to get his father involved, Gio was trying to drag him back into hunter life, Anna wouldn’t talk to him and the guy they had for the murder wasn’t the likely culprit. All of which trumped Tiffany and whatever drama she brought to the table.

#selfie selfpara

[minervacasterly]

Henry VII: The Red Dragon’s Unlikely Triumph

Henry's victory to success is simply amazing due to how far down he was in the line of succession -if he was at all! Of all the Tudors, and don't get me wrong I love them all! He had the most adventurous life! His life is the stuff of movies and you'll see why. Henry was born to Edmund Tudor, Earl of Richmond and Margaret Beaufort, heiress of Lancaster in Philippa Gregory's words. But she was far removed from the line of succession! The Beauforts derived their name from a castle John of Gaunt had in his possession in English occupied French territory. John of Gaunt married three times, the last to his mistress Katherine Swybford. When they married their children were already grown up but by no means less ambitious. In an effort to ingratiate himself with the shifty king Richard II, John betrayed many of his comrades and persecuted anyone who stood against the king, his nephew. In return for his good services, Richard II legitimized all the Beauforts but that's it. No say if they were inthe succession or not. Later after John died, his firstborn, Henry Bolingbroke ascended to the throne after he deposed Richard. He didn't overturn Richard's legislation but added a new restriction: The Beauforts were legitimate in the eyes of the law of men but due to their revious bastard status they were excluded from the line of succession. So bye-bye ambitions. By the time Henry IV's grandson had issue, this changed altogether. Their descendants were still seen as progeny of a bastard branch (albeit legitimized) of the House of Lancaster but their status had changed overnight as support build around the Duke of York and his Neville relations (who also descended from the Beaufort line, but through the female line). Henry VI betrothed his young relation, Margaret Beaufort to his half brother Edmund Tudor. He was thirteen years her senior and while it was common for women to be married at a young age, people still found it disturbing because the groom didn't wait for her to grow up. As soon as she was 12, he married her and the next year she was pregnant. Edmund and his brother Jasper had supported the Duke of York on various occasions but when the conflict escalated to war, the Tudor brothers sided with their kin. Edmund was captured during battle in late 1456 and died in attenpts to escape, possibly of sickness. Margaret , thirteen at a time, was already a young widow and expectant mother. She feared for her safety and the safety of her unborn child so she started a dangerous sojourn to Wales, to Pembroke castle where her brother in law resided. There, she gave birth to her only child, a boy she named Henry. Henry did not have a lonely childhood like some Ricardians and fiction writerss love to depict, nor was his mother a crazy fanatic. She was the same as the rest of the women. Religion was not separate, it was part of women's lives, especially the adoration of female saints and the virgin Mary from whom women kept relics and images to pray to so they could be safely delivered or to protect their young. Of this latter cult, Henry became a firm follower, worshipping the image of the blessed mother with the same fervor as his mother. Likely, the little boy had childhood companions like David Owen, the illegitimate son of his grandfather by an unknown mistress. In spite of her second marriage, Margaret was allowed to visit her little boy and spend hours teaching him, but then her fortunes changed when Edward Earl of March forced the Lancastrians to flee and was declared king by popular acclaim in March 4 1461. Margaret and her new husband now had to curry favor with the new regime and to prove their loyalty, they had to let her son go. Edward saw Henry Tudor as a potential threat and to neutralize this threat he gave his custody to a loyal Yorkist, William Herbert and his wife Anne. They raised Henry as if he was one of their own, and he had the company of the new Earl's other wards. But Henry knew that a prison made of gold was still a prison. One mistake from his mother, his guadians or worse, his runaway uncle and he would be dealt with. After the Lancastrian Readeption which only lasted a year, Jasper Tudor was forced to flee yet again. This time he took his nephew with him. The deaths of every Lancaster made Henry a potential threat. Every male Beaufort was also gone. Margaret had to let him go once more, this time she would not see him for another fourteen years. Bad weather brought them to the court of Francis II, Duke of Brittany. There he continued his education, by the time of Richard III's accession, he enjoyed the company of many English exiles, among them the formidable and staunch Lancastrian loyalist -Earl of Oxford. It was in Brittanny, that December of 1483 after it was clear that the princes were gone for good, that he made a promise to marry Elizabeth of York and become King of England, thus uniting both bloodlines, the Houses of York and Lancaster into one. The next year and a half he spent his time planning, borrowing money and now in the court of France, currying favor with the French king. He had tried to invade England but failed. What made Henry think, the French king and others told him, he could succeed? But they didn't know Henry. He was by now an educated, cosmopolitan young man who was also confident that god was on his side. On July 29 1485, Richard III gave the seal to Barrow, one of his officials to carry out his orders in the counties nearby and prepare for war. To be fair, Richard III was the most experienced soldier here. He had known the horrors of war since he was very little and his life parallels Henry's but unlike the latter he had been participant in many military campaigns and had the entire North at his disposal. Henry had mercenaries, disatisfied English exiles, Edwardian Yorkists and most of Wales with him, but that was not enough to beat Richard's armies. On August 7, Henry's ships docked on Milford Haven. According to Fabyan when he disembarked he knelt and thanked god, reciting the Psalm 43: 'Judica me deus & discern causam mean'. -Judge me, Oh god, and distinguish my cause. The following days he spent recruiting, some of Richard's most staunch supporters defected to Henry, others refused to fight and just stood by as the two armies clashed on August 22. Others like his stepfather, chose to intervene in his favor only when the tide turned against him. After William Brandon, his standard bearer was struck down, Stanley and his brother with his armies charged down, and with their combined forced Richard's was cut down. Richard, according to various sources screamed 'traitors' and refused to go, instead seeking to confront Henry, but he never got to. The enemy got to him and he was forced down from his horse and minutes later, killed. It was a glorious day for Henry Tudor, now Henry VII. He had won against all odds, but the war was from over. Henry would face many pretenders and plots against him, his mother knew and she cried tears of fear, likely anticipating all her son would have to endure. He died in 1509 after twenty four years of reign.

#Henry VII #Tudor Dynasty #Tudors #History #wars of the roses #late medieval period #early renaissance #england #Henry Tudor

[minervacasterly]

~Henry VII: The Red Dragon’s Unlikely Triumph~

Henry's victory to success is simply amazing due to how far he was in the line of succession -if he was at all! Of all the Tudors, and don't get me wrong I love them all! He had the most adventurous life! His life is the stuff of movies and you'll see why. Henry was born to Edmund Tudor, Earl of Richmond and Margaret Beaufort, heiress of Lancaster in Philippa Gregory's words. But she was far removed from the line of succession! The Beauforts derived their name from a castle John of Gaunt had in his possession in English occupied French territory. John of Gaunt married three times, the last to his mistress Katherine Swybford. When they married their children were already grown up but by no means less ambitious. In an effort to ingratiate himself with the shifty king Richard II, John betrayed many of his comrades and persecuted anyone who stood against the king, his nephew. In return for his good services, Richard II legitimized all the Beauforts but that's it. No say if they were inthe succession or not. Later after John died, his firstborn, Henry Bolingbroke ascended to the throne after he deposed Richard. He didn't overturn Richard's legislation but added a new restriction: The Beauforts were legitimate in the eyes of the law of men but due to their revious bastard status they were excluded from the line of succession. So bye-bye ambitions. By the time Henry IV's grandson had issue, this changed altogether. Their descendants were still seen as progeny of a bastard branch (albeit legitimized) of the House of Lancaster but their status had changed overnight as support build around the Duke of York and his Neville relations (who also descended from the Beaufort line, but through the female line). Henry VI betrothed his young relation, Margaret Beaufort to his half brother Edmund Tudor. He was thirteen years her senior and while it was common for women to be married at a young age, people still found it disturbing because the groom didn't wait for her to grow up. As soon as she was 12, he married her and the next year she was pregnant. Edmund and his brother Jasper had supported the Duke of York on various occasions but when the conflict escalated to war, the Tudor brothers sided with their kin. Edmund was captured during battle in late 1456 and died in attenpts to escape, possibly of sickness. Margaret , thirteen at a time, was already a young widow and expectant mother. She feared for her safety and the safety of her unborn child so she started a dangerous sojourn to Wales, to Pembroke castle where her brother in law resided. There, she gave birth to her only child, a boy she named Henry. Henry did not have a lonely childhood like some Ricardians and fiction writerss love to depict, nor was his mother a crazy fanatic. She was the same as the rest of the women. Religion was not separate, it was part of women's lives, especially the adoration of female saints and the virgin Mary from whom women kept relics and images to pray to so they could be safely delivered or to protect their young. Of this latter cult, Henry became a firm follower, worshipping the image of the blessed mother with the same fervor as his mother. Likely, the little boy had childhood companions like David Owen, the illegitimate son of his grandfather by an unknown mistress. In spite of her second marriage, Margaret was allowed to visit her little boy and spend hours teaching him, but then her fortunes changed when Edward Earl of March forced the Lancastrians to flee and was declared king by popular acclaim in March 4 1461. Margaret and her new husband now had to curry favor with the new regime and to prove their loyalty, they had to let her son go. Edward saw Henry Tudor as a potential threat and to neutralize this threat he gave his custody to a loyal Yorkist, William Herbert and his wife Anne. They raised Henry as if he was one of their own, and he had the company of the new Earl's other wards. But Henry knew that a prison made of gold was still a prison. One mistake from his mother, his guadians or worse, his runaway uncle and he would be dealt with. After the Lancastrian Readeption which only lasted a year, Jasper Tudor was forced to flee yet again. This time he took his nephew with him. The deaths of every Lancaster made Henry a potential threat. Every male Beaufort was also gone. Margaret had to let him go once more, this time she would not see him for another fourteen years. Bad weather brought them to the court of Francis II, Duke of Brittany. There he continued his education, by the time of Richard III's accession, he enjoyed the company of many English exiles, among them the formidable and staunch Lancastrian loyalist -Earl of Oxford. It was in Brittanny, that December of 1483 after it was clear that the princes were gone for good, that he made a promise to marry Elizabeth of York and become King of England, thus uniting both bloodlines, the Houses of York and Lancaster into one. The next year and a half he spent his time planning, borrowing money and now in the court of France, currying favor with the French king. He had tried to invade England but failed. What made Henry think, the French king and others told him, he could succeed? But they didn't know Henry. He was by now an educated, cosmopolitan young man who was also confident that god was on his side. On July 29 1485, Richard III gave the seal to Barrow, one of his officials to carry out his orders in the counties nearby and prepare for war. To be fair, Richard III was the most experienced soldier here. He had known the horrors of war since he was very little and his life parallels Henry's but unlike the latter he had been participant in many military campaigns and had the entire North at his disposal. Henry had mercenaries, disatisfied English exiles, Edwardian Yorkists and most of Wales with him, but that was not enough to beat Richard's armies. On August 7, Henry's ships docked on Milford Haven. According to Fabyan when he disembarked he knelt and thanked god, reciting the Psalm 43: 'Judica me deus & discern causam mean'. -Judge me, Oh god, and distinguish my cause. The following days he spent recruiting, some of Richard's most staunch supporters defected to Henry, others refused to fight and just stood by as the two armies clashed on August 22. Others like his stepfather, chose to intervene in his favor only when the tide turned against him. After William Brandon, his standard bearer was struck down, Stanley and his brother with his armies charged down, and with their combined forced Richard's was cut down. Richard, according to various sources screamed 'traitors' and refused to go, instead seeking to confront Henry, but he never got to. The enemy got to him and he was forced down from his horse and minutes later, killed. It was a glorious day for Henry Tudor, now Henry VII. He had won against all odds, but the war was from over. Henry would face many pretenders and plots against him, his mother knew and she cried tears of fear, likely anticipating all her son would have to endure. He died in 1509 after twenty four years of reign.

#Tudor #History #Henry Tudor Earl of Richmond to King of one of England's greatest dynasties #History maker #King of England Lord of Ireland #wars of the roses