#i likely thing that even in a more traditional father son relationship House is conditional and would force Benny to confrom more to his

[dykedvonte]

thinking abt what you said with house viewing Benny as a son and I’m obsessed. Like. The man spent most of his life before the war presumably alone, and then after the bombs fell he was alone again, save for AI he himself devised. Then he decides to pull in some Tribes, and one kid shows promise! So sure, treat him well, train him, groom him to be his protege, then next thing you know UH OH he’s got developing paternal feelings towards this guy. Wanting some semblance of a family when the time has long since passed, yet fostering that feeling all the same seems so accurate for him. Benny meanwhile only views him as a boss, and not a particularly good one at that. makes me wonder how House must’ve felt when he found out about Bennys plans

I view it as House blames only himself for this, cause he kind of does in canon (strap in this is a long one).

When reflecting on the issue of Benny, House chastises himself first and foremost for not acting quickly enough when it comes to priming Benny. He describes Benny as being ambitious, ruthless and capable; compliments coming from a man like House. House has an ego and while he is logical enough to understand there was never any evidence Benny saw him as a father-figure, he lacks the humility to admit he let his own views on his relationship with Benny blind him to the activities happening behind the scenes.

I doubt that House was as aware as he makes out about what Benny was doing, he knew early on but certainly not early enough to stop Benny from hacking and obtaining a securitron along with getting the chip in the first place. I take it he was distracted by all the possibilities he was calculating of Vegas' success and growth with him steering and Benny as the new figure head, not because of any normal affection for Benny but the admiration of his capabilities. It's to be noted that House believed menial incentives (likely caps, booze, basic needs, etc..) were enough to keep Benny tame like the other Chairmen but, as evidenced by the Omertas and Mortimer in the WGS, this is not enough when it comes to more driven Vegas citizens. This implies he still undervalued Benny and created a space in which Benny felt the need to rebel.

House in my eyes is not sentimental in the traditional sense. I can imagine his pride was severely scorned as someone he certainly deemed dumber than him was, albeit only for a little, able to out-gambit him. It would definitely hit home seeing how his brother also betrayed him but I feel like that's why he's so apathetic when he tells the Courier to do as they see fit with Benny. I doubt the way he terrorized his brother brought him any emotional satisfaction other than a "Now who's in charge!" ego boost. Putting that same emotional intensity towards Benny isn't worth it because who does it benefit? Wasted time, wasted planning, and most importantly wasted potential are all he gets from continuing to be hands-on with Benny. I say the closest example is not being able to throw out old toys due to the memories attached but knowing it's necessary as they are broken or just taking up space for new ones, and then asking someone else to do it so you don't need to get caught up in the feelings of throwing something you put so much effort into. It's not Benny House cares about in my mind, not in a way that sounds healthy to any non-emotionally constipated individual, but what he could've represented for him, which is why he so quickly offers the same position to the Courier.

As for Benny's view on all of this, it was a long time coming. Benny didn't and doesn't believe House is a completely shitty boss. He admires what he's been shown and admits House knows how to run the strip, but disagrees with the directions. Ideologically, House is an anarcho-capitalist while Benny is just an anarchist. House wants to run the strip to profit, though money is not what he's concerned with being rich with anymore. Benny wants a free state that he wishes to become a place for the people, except for the Chairmen who would be on top (I like to remind people that Benny's motives were selfish but not for personal gain/power as was it for the people he actually saw as family). Benny was never looking for a father but a future. He was not interested in being adopted, or having the chairmen adopted, as bigger names still overshadowed in House's legacy.

Truly, it's easiest to summarize as House feeling strongly and thinking positively enough of Benny to start incorporating him into the future of Vegas (a huge honor actually) while Benny was so disillusioned by House's ego and indifference that he thought the only way Vegas could be the future is with House gone.

#tdlr House saw Benny as the perfect face of his Legacy while Benny saw his legacy as a stagnant mosquito infested pond #its more complex as house certainly would of been irate if he hadn't known and the courier came to kick benny's ass #but more someone being mad youre fucking with their things #i likely thing that even in a more traditional father son relationship House is conditional and would force Benny to confrom more to his #standards as I also believe the Chairmen are more tightly monitered due to bennys unique relation to house and being the first tribe #so itd be smothering and oppressive for someone like Benny even though imposing his beliefs and standards would be how House shows affectio #and fatherly praise which would result in Benny probably wanting to act out even more. like the only way a father son dynamic is healthy an #works is if house would relent some control and show he sees benny as an equal which would never happen cause its house but its still tragi #to me cause house has that longing for something more personal to him than Vegas and tries to fill it with progress cause its rather hard #to create those bonds in the state he is in and benny was the closest thing to that and even that he inadvertently ruined #but on benny house kinda ruined him cause the chairmen for all intents and purposes liked and trusted benny as a leader after bingo who #benny really only killed because of the illusions of grandeur house put into a young impressionable mind and how bingo refused to hear him #not to absolve him of his wrongdoings and being a dick but benny didnt just attack bingo he challenged him and won and in the end while #nostalgic none of the chairmen choose to leave and go back to the old way which says something cause they can leave #this is long and honestly should a seperate post on benny cause i have thoughts on him and how more people need to add his all roads traits #to get a cohesive picture of how hed really act #benny gecko #benny fnv #fallout #fallout new vegas #robert edwin house #mr house fnv #mr house #ask #anon #sorry if this is confusing I have very indepth thoughts on all aspects and possibilites on how unhealthy and power inbalancey anything #with house would be but this is so interesting cause its oddly vulnerable for house of all people to disclose this to the courier

[ladysansa]

do you really think that Rhaenyra and Daemon are in love? /gen

Why would you ask me (an idiot) this?

Just kidding! This is a good question, though there are people far better equipped to answer it than I am.

Do I think that victim can love the person that groomed them for years? Do I think that the groomer can ever actually love their victim? (My answer is no, but there’s a lot that goes into their relationship.) Putting that aside because it’s a whole conversation in and of itself, let’s talk about the Targaryen idea of love.

Daemon may have some genuine affection for her as his niece, as a member of his family, but he also views her as a potential spouse. To Daemon, the only women who seem worthy of respect are women in his family—that is, Targaryen women, though even then that isn’t always a guarantee that he won’t see you as ‘other’. To him, Rhaenyra is the closest female relative he has that he could really marry, especially since none of his female cousins are mentioned excluding Rhaenys, who’s already married. He views her as potential wife and as his niece, as happens when your family is as inbred and fucked up as theirs is.

I think there is love there. It’s a monstrous, horrifying, toxic, and awful thing, but it’s there. Rhaenyra was groomed by Daemon, and he has power over her, but she is still able to exert some power over him, especially when she realizes Daemon was never meant to be heir and Viserys never trusted him with the prophecy. There are just so many layers to this family and to this relationship that it’s hard to say. is it really love or is it a connection that they feel as dragons, as Targaryens?

@benjicotblackwood calls it “Targaryen Gothic” and I really like that. it’s dark and fucked up and horrifying. It’s Romantic in a horrific way, and they love each other in that same way. When Daemon demands Rhaenyra’s hand in episode 4 (“Wed her to me. When I offered up my crown, you said I could have anything. I want Rhaenyra. I will take her as she is, and wed her in the tradition of our house.”) there’s the underlying thing in this line that Daemon believes that he is owed Rhaenyra. This is completely natural in their family, why should he be deprived of the closest female relative he has? Deprived of the ability to create more heirs for House Targaryen that are of pure Valyrian blood? (He does, after all, later marry Laena Velaryon, who is of Valyrian blood and also happens to be younger than Rhaenyra so…there’s that.) Rhaenyra kind of buys into this same idea of Targaryens needing each other. (“You and I are made of fire. We have always been meant to burn together.” and “I need you, Uncle.”)

Both feel disconnected from Viserys, which draws them together in some way, I’m sure. Daemon with his brother’s refusal to trust him—he’s not named Hand of the King or, officially, as his heir, and Rhaenyra watching for years and years her father desperately wishing for a son, and, when he finally gets that son (after marrying Rhaenyra’s best friend, who she loves very, very much), he almost completely ignores Rhaenyra for three years. Both of them reach for Viserys, but are met with walls—though they both seem to reconcile with him, Daemon later than Rhaenyra.

“A Targaryen alone in the world is a terrible thing,” is something that Maester Aemon says in GoT and we’re shown that it’s true with the Targaryen relationships we see in the show. The Targaryens are such a fucked up, codependent group of people as an entire family that they need each other and I think they’re drawn to each other (it’s what, I think, will eventually draw Dany and Jon together.) it’s interesting that we’re shown Viserys’s condition deteriorating even more in the six years that both Rhaenyra and Daemon are gone from court—though I’m not sure if the writers had that in mind.

TL;DR: Do I think they love each other? No, not in the way we think of love, I think. They love each other in the Targaryen way. In the codependent, fucked up way that means that you cannot live without each other. It’s ownership and connection, an alienation from others because of what you are to your very marrow. (Like Daenerys thinks in ADWD, “who would ever dare to love a dragon?” The answer is obvious: another dragon, another Targaryen.)

#daemyra #daemon targaryen #rhaenyra targaryen #hotd #hotd meta #answered asks #post*

[mysticalrambling]

Hey there hope you are doing well🥰🥰🥰Saw you were open to blurb request...can you please write a fluff related to my second steve rogers x reader story...where the reader forgives steve after his tiresome efforts to win back his family..Like can you write about how a domestic sunday willl be in their lives Steve's, reader's and Ollie's? how they will enjoy breakfasta and Steve enjoys the day with his wife and son❤❤❤

A/N: This is basically an alternative ending to Regretting his Decisions. The original one basically ended in all angst so I hope you guys like this as well. It is totally different from the first one. Just something new :)

Regretting His Decisions (S.R)

Steve Rogers AU (Fan fiction Masterlist)

Summary: Steve and reader come together after she forgives him for all the things that he had done in the past. Now, they are spending a Sunday together with their son, Oliver. It is all fluff.

Warning: None. Fluff all the way.

._._._._._.

There were times when you thought that you shouldn’t have forgiven Steve because society thought that you were in a toxic relationship. They thought that he shouldn’t have come back into your life as he chose Peggy. But Tony told you the real reason. Peggy had hijacked the time machine and Steve had to spend his whole life in the past to rebuild that time machine. That’s why he didn’t come back to you.

However, Steve came back to you like he promised he would. He got Scott to help him reverse the past and become his old self. He was going to choose you and that’s what mattered the most. Your husband knew that the things he did in the start of your marriage were cruel and he didn’t deserve you. But he had suffered a lot and he was truly in love with you. That’s why you gave him a chance. You deserved to be happy as well and your family needed a proper chance.

At first, your interaction was just limited to Oliver and you lived separately even though you knew the truth. It was hard to forgive him for the things he had actually done like belittling you or abandoning you. But as time progressed, you saw how he was with your son and how he treated you with nothing but respect.

Steve gave you as much space as you needed and he was there for you when you needed him. He was there when your library burnt down during a fire hazard. He was there to console you when your parents suddenly died in a car crash. He was there when Ollie broke his arm while playing football. He was always there and that’s what got you to eventually open up to him. You finally asked to try again and for him to move into the house. Your family was happy and that’s what mattered. Other people can go to hell.

“Stevie, mommy needs pancakes.” Your three year old was sitting on the counter with his legs swinging back and forth. He was currently arguing with his father about your breakfast preference because apparently he knew you better than your husband.

“No, Mommy loves waffles. You want pancakes so you’re telling me to make them.” The little boy had been up for the past two hours because he had a nightmare. He always wanted to cuddle with his father afterwards and now, he was angry. “I’m your dad, buddy. Not Stevie.”

“But Mommy calls you Stevie.” He whined as he jumped in his place. Steve was quick to hold him in his place before he could fall. Oliver was never afraid to get hurt because he healed too quickly. The serum running through his veins always made him feel like a super hero. In a way, he was but Steve was always worried about him.

“She can do that. Not you.” At this point, he was just messing with his son.

“I can, Stevie.” Oliver asserted his point.

“Okay, buddy. Can I call you Ollie then?” This was going to get interesting, really fast.

“No! Mommy calls me that name only.” Giving him a pointed look, Steve laughed out loud. “Okay, daddy. I get it now.”

“Good boy. Now, let’s start making the breakfast.” Tying an apron around himself, he started taking out all the ingredients.

It was Sunday so you didn’t have work today. You always slept in late on Sundays and Steve always made sure that you got your much needed rest. A twelve hour job and a hyper three year old sucked out most of your energy so he didn’t like to disturb you for anything. Morning breakfast was your family’s tradition.

Steve didn’t know how to cook properly but you never complained. His burnt french toasts are better than any five star chicken steal and that was saying a lot. You loved him too much to ever say that you didn’t want to eat the breakfast made by him. It was such a sweet gesture that you teared up whenever you saw them entering the room with a tray in their hands.

“Baby, you have to hold on to the vase tightly.” Your husband’s hushed voice filtered through the door and woke you up from your deep slumber. Footsteps echoed through the wooden floor and soon the door opened.

“Mommy!!! Look I made you breakfast.” Jumping on the bed, he completely forgot about the vase of pink flowers and dropped them on the bed.

“Oh, thank you, baby.” Oliver’s knee accidentally hit you in the stomach and knocked the breath out of your lung. Gasping, you slightly cradled your child, “Be careful, bubs.”

“Sorry, mommy.”

Laughing, Steve corrected his son, “Oliver, we both made the breakfast and I did most of the work.”

“I beat waffle mixture.”

“You dropped it all on the kitchen counter. Not the same thing, baby.” He got up on the bed but still was not a match for his father’s height.

“I made it. I’m better than you.”

Interrupting them before Oliver truly got angry, “My baby is better than everyone. Stevie, don’t tease him.”

“’kay, darling.” He raised his hands in surrender and joined you both on the bed.

Steve was thankful for his little family and he tried to spend every waking moment with them. He didn’t want to miss the special moments so he made sure to take time off from missions. Nothing was more important than his family. There was still regret in his heart for treating you like crap in the early years of marriage. He would never forgive himself for the heinous acts that he committed. He will spend every moment making it up to you.

Finishing the breakfast with a lot of teasing and jokes, you went to get ready for the day. Meanwhile, your husband took Oliver to his room and gave him a shower. Oliver was a total boy in the sense that he ran away from the idea of shower. Only Steve could make him sit in a tub long enough to actually bathe him and by the end of it, no one knew who actually showered. Steve would emerge out of the washroom with water dripping down his hair and drenched clothes.

Today was no different. ”Help this little devil with his clothes while I go change.”

“Aw. Thank you, babe.” You tried to hold in your laughter when you saw his condition but you couldn’t help it.

“Next time, you’re doing it.”

“Sure sure.” Pecking him on the lips, you went into Ollie’s closet. He always said this but he was there to take your son before you could even think about taking him to shower. He would never admit it but he liked this chore. It was a bonding time for him and Oliver.

For today you all agreed that it would be best to just relax around the house. With the upcoming Hydra missions, the media had been loitering around your house to have an interview with Steve. You both decided that the best way to attain some privacy would be to stay home.

“Incredible, please!” The little boy sitting on your lap looked at you with puppy dog eyes that you didn’t have the heart to refuse.

“But we have watched that movie a hundred times.” Steve whined from his place on the couch.

“Not a hundred times, daddy. Just seven times.” Counting on his fingers, he showed you both eight fingers instead of seven.

“That’s eight fingers, baby.” You put one of his fingers down and squished his cheeks. He was too cute for his own good. “And we can watch it one more time but that’s it.”

Steve knew that he would be outnumbered in this match so he just gave up. At this point, he knew the dialogues by heart. But he preferred this over being lonely. He stocked up on all the snacks a day before so you were all set for a movie marathon. It was going to be really fun.

In between the movie, Oliver made you sing all the songs and you all cried when Mufasa died. Even Steve had slight tears in his eyes. Fate was cruel to the Lion King and he could never think of leaving his family alone. It was too much but then the happy ending always brought him joy. This movie truly was a true roller coaster.

“I wanna watch Boss Baby now.” The little boy demanded as soon as credits rolled in.

“Okay, boss.”

“He truly is the boss, isn’t he?” You looked down at the snuggled up child on the couch.

“Yes, he is.” Ruffling his hair, Steve gave his son an adoring smile.

The whole day, you kept going through movies that were demanded by Oliver and around five, you all fell asleep on the couch. It was a really good nap and you woke up before both your boys. You made them dinner because you wanted to eat proper food. Steaks and broccoli was the best option so you went with it.

“You made dinner?” The two hands snaking around your waist startled for you a second but you relaxed when you heard his voice.

“Yeah. Got up before you guys so just thought to start working on dinner.” You kept your hands on the side of his face while he nuzzled his face in your neck. He was extra clingy today and you loved that about him.

“Okay, I loved spending time with you both today.”

“We both did as well. I love you.”

“I love you too.” You were interrupted before you could kiss your husband.

“I’m hungry!” Oliver came waltzing into the kitchen and Steve picked him up.

Both of you looked at each other before saying it together, “We love you, Ollie.”

“Family hug!” Your son was demanding and you both would never deny his wishes. Your family was too cute and you loved them too much.

Hope you guys enjoyed it!!

._._._._._.

A/N: Tell me if you guys enjoyed it. I am open to blurbs and requests so feel free to send in asks. Love you guys!! And tell me if you want to be added to my tag list.

Tag list: @peculiarpenman, @kalopsia-flaneur, @justile, @agnesk, @caanyoonmoon, @nostxlgia18

Like, comment and reblog.

._._._._._.

#rachelleblodgettwrites #my writing #books & libraries #actors #chris evans x reader #steve rogers x y/n #dad steve rogers #steve rodgers x reader #steve rogers blurb #steve rogers fluff #steve rogers angst #steve rogers #chris evans x female reader #chris evans fluff #dad chris evans #chris evans fanfiction #marvel #mcu #avengers #my imagination

[didanawisgi]

This article was published online on February 10, 2021.

“Massachusetts abolished enslavement before the Treaty of Paris brought an end to the American Revolution, in 1783. The state constitution, adopted in 1780 and drafted by John Adams, follows the Declaration of Independence in proclaiming that all “men are born free and equal.” In this statement Adams followed not only the Declaration but also a 1764 pamphlet by the Boston lawyer James Otis, who theorized about and popularized the familiar idea of “no taxation without representation” and also unequivocally asserted human equality. “The Colonists,” he wrote, “are by the law of nature free born, as indeed all men are, white or black.” In 1783, on the basis of the “free and equal” clause in the 1780 Massachusetts Constitution, the state’s chief justice, William Cushing, ruled enslavement unconstitutional in a case that one Quock Walker had brought against his enslaver, Nathaniel Jennison.

Many of us who live in Massachusetts know the basic outlines of this story and the early role the state played in standing against enslavement. But told in this traditional way, the story leaves out another transformative figure: Prince Hall, a free African American and a contemporary of John Adams. From his formal acquisition of freedom, in 1770, until his death, in 1807, Hall helped forge an activist Black community in Boston while elevating the cause of abolition to new prominence. Hall was the first American to publicly use the language of the Declaration of Independence for a political purpose other than justifying war against Britain. In January 1777, just six months after the promulgation of the Declaration and nearly three years before Adams drafted the state constitution, Hall submitted a petition to the Massachusetts legislature (or General Court, as it is styled) requesting emancipation, invoking the resonant phrases and founding truths of the Declaration itself.

Here is what he wrote (I’ve put the echoes of the Declaration of Independence in italics):

The petition of A Great Number of Blackes detained in a State of Slavery in the Bowels of a free & christian Country Humbly shuwith that your Petitioners Apprehend that Thay have in Common with all other men a Natural and Unaliable Right to that freedom which the Grat — Parent of the Unavese hath Bestowed equalley on all menkind and which they have Never forfuted by Any Compact or Agreement whatever — but thay wher Unjustly Dragged by the hand of cruel Power from their Derest frinds and sum of them Even torn from the Embraces of their tender Parents — from A popolous Plasant And plentiful cuntry And in Violation of Laws of Nature and off NationsAnd in defiance of all the tender feelings of humanity Brough hear Either to Be sold Like Beast of Burthen & Like them Condemnd to Slavery for Life.

In this passage, Hall invokes the core concepts of social-contract theory, which grounded the American Revolution, to argue for an extension of the claim to equal rights to those who were enslaved. He acknowledged and adopted the intellectual framework of the new political arrangements, but also pointedly called out the original sin of enslavement itself.

Hall’s memory was vigorously kept alive by members and archivists of the Masonic lodge he founded, and his name can be found in historical references. But his life has attracted fresh attention in recent years from scholars and community leaders, both because he deserves to be widely known and celebrated and because inserting his story into the tale of the country’s founding exemplifies the promise of an integrated way of studying and teaching history. It’s hard enough to shine new light on an African American figure who has been long in the shadows, one who in important ways should be considered an American Founder. It can prove far more difficult to trace an individual’s “relationship tree” and come to understand that person, in a granular and even cinematic way, in the full context of his or her own society: family, school, church, civic organizations, commerce, government. Doing so—especially for figures and communities that have been overlooked—gives us a chance to tell a whole story, to weave together multiple perspectives on the events of our political founding into a single, joined tale. It also provides an opportunity to draw out and emphasize the agency of people who experienced oppression and domination. In the case of Prince Hall, the process of historical reconstruction is still under way.

When I was a girl, I used to ask what there was to know about the experience of being enslaved—and was told by kind and well-meaning teachers that, sadly, the lack of records made the question impossible to answer. In fact, the records were there; we just hadn’t found them yet. Historical evidence often turns up only when one starts to look for it. And history won’t answer questions until one thinks to ask them.

John Adams and Prince Hall would have passed each other on the streets of Boston. They almost certainly were aware of each other. Hall was no minor figure, though his early days and family life are shrouded in some mystery. Probably he was born in Boston in 1735 (not in England or Barbados, as some have suggested). It is possible that he lived for a period as a freeman before he was formally emancipated. He may have been one of the thousands of African Americans who fought in the Continental Army; his son, Primus, certainly was. As a freeman, Hall became for a time a leatherworker, passed through a period of poverty, and then ultimately ran a shop, from which he sold, among other things, his own writings advocating for African American causes. Probably he was not married to every one of the five women in Boston who were married to someone named Prince Hall in the years between 1763 and 1804, but he may have been. Whether he was married to Primus’s mother, a woman named Delia, is also unclear. Between 1780 and 1801, the city’s tax collectors found their way to some 1,184 different Black taxpayers. Prince Hall and his son appear in those tax records for 15 of those 21 years, giving them the longest period of recorded residence in the city of any Black person we know about in that era. The DePaul University historian Chernoh M. Sesay Jr.’s excellent dissertation, completed in 2006, provides the most thorough and rigorously analyzed academic review of Hall’s biography that is currently available. (The dissertation, which I have drawn on here, has not yet been published in full, but I hope it will be.)

Hall was a relentless petitioner, undaunted by setbacks. When Hall submitted his 1777 petition, co-signed by seven other free Black men, to the Massachusetts legislature, he was building on the efforts of other African Americans in the state to abolish enslavement. In 1773 and 1774, African Americans from Bristol and Worcester Counties as well as Boston and its neighboring towns put forward six known petitions and likely more to this end. Hall led the formation of the first Black Masonic lodge in the Americas, and possibly in the world. The purpose of forming the lodge was to provide mutual aid and support and to create an infrastructure for advocacy. Fourteen men joined Hall’s lodge almost surely in 1775, and in the years from then until 1784, records reveal that 51 Black men participated in the lodge. Through the lodge’s history, one can trace a fascinating story of the life of Boston’s free Black community in the final decades of the 18th century.

Why did Hall choose Freemasonry as one of his life’s passions? Alonza Tehuti Evans, a former historian and archivist of the Most Worshipful Prince Hall Grand Lodge of the District of Columbia, took up that question in a 2017 lecture. Hall and his fellow lodge members, he explained, recognized that many of the influential people in Boston—and throughout the colonies—were deeply involved in Freemasonry. George Washington is a prominent example, and symbolism that resonates with Masonic meaning adorns the $1 bill to this day. Hall saw entrance into Freemasonry as a pathway to securing influence and a network of supporters.

Hall submitted a petition to the Massachusetts legislature requesting emancipation, invoking the resonant phrases and founding truths of the Declaration of Independence.

In a world without stable passports or identification documents, participation in the order could provide proof of status as a free person. It offered both leverage and legitimacy—as when Prince Hall and members of his lodge, in 1786, offered to raise troops to support the commonwealth in putting down Shays’s Rebellion.

In the winter and spring of 1788, Hall was leading a charge in Boston against enslavers who made a practice of using deception or other means to kidnap free Black people, take them shipboard, and remove them to distant locations, where they would be sold into enslavement. He submitted a petition to the Massachusetts legislature seeking aid—asking legislators to “do us that justice that our present condition requires”—and publicized his petition in newspapers in Virginia, New York, Pennsylvania, and Vermont.

In the summer of that year, a newspaper circulated an extract of a letter from a prominent white Bostonian who had assisted Hall on this very matter. The unnamed author of the letter reports that he had been visited by a group of free Black men who had been kidnapped in Boston and had recently been emancipated and returned to the city. They were escorted to his house by Hall, and they told the story of their emancipation. One of the men who had been kidnapped was a member of Hall’s Masonic lodge. Carried off to the Caribbean and put on the auction block, the kidnapped men found that the merchant to whom they were being offered was himself a Mason. Mutual recognition of a shared participation in Freemasonry put an end to the transaction and gave them the chance to recover their freedom.

Prince Hall’s work on abolition and its enforcement was just the beginning of a lifetime of advocacy. Disillusioned by how hard it was to secure equal rights for free Black men and women in Boston, he submitted a petition to the Massachusetts legislature seeking funds to assist him and other free Blacks in emigrating to Africa. That same year, he also turned his energies to advocating for resources for public education. Through it all, his Masonic membership proved both instrumental and spiritually valuable.

Founding the lodge had not been easy. Although Hall and his fellows were most likely inducted into Freemasonry in 1775, they were never able to secure a formal charter for their lodge from the other lodges in Massachusetts: Prejudice ran strong. Hall and his fellows had in fact probably been inducted by members of an Irish military lodge, planted in Boston with the British army, who had proved willing to introduce them to the mysteries of the order. Hall’s lodge functioned as an unofficial Masonic society—African Lodge No. 1—but received a formal charter only after a request was sent to England for a warrant. The granting of a charter by the Grand Lodge of England finally arrived in 1787.

In seeking this charter, Hall had written to Masons in England, lamenting that lodges in Boston had not permitted him and his fellows a full charter but had granted a permit only to “walk on St John’s Day and Bury our dead in form which we now enjoy.” Hall wanted full privileges, not momentary sufferance. In this small detail, though, we gain a window into just how important even the first steps toward Masonic privileges were. In the years before 1783 and full abolition of enslavement in Massachusetts, Black people in the state were subjected to intensive surveillance and policing, as enslavers sought to keep their human property from slipping away into the world of free Blacks. Membership in the Masons was like a hall pass—an opportunity to have a parade as a community, to come out and step high, without harassment. That’s what it meant to walk on Saint John’s Day—June 24—and to hold funeral parades for the dead.

Whether that stepping-out day remained June 24 is unclear. As Sesay writes, “Boston blacks, including Prince Hall, first applied to use Faneuil Hall in 1789 to hear an ‘African preacher.’ On February 25, 1789, the Selectmen accepted the application of blacks to use Faneuil Hall for ‘public worship.’ ” By 1820, the walk on Saint John’s Day appears to have become African Independence Day and was celebrated on July 14, Bastille Day, much to the displeasure of at least one newspaper. An unattributed column in the New-England Galaxy and Masonic Magazine complained about the annual parade in recognizably racist tones (the mention of “Wilberforce” at the end is a reference to William Wilberforce, the British campaigner against enslavement):

This is the day on which, for unaccountable reasons or for no reasons at all, the Selectmen of Boston, permit the town to be annually disturbed by a mob of negroes … The streets through which this sable procession passes are a scene of noise and confusion, and always will be as long as the thing is tolerated. Quietness and order can hardly be expected, when five or six hundred negroes, with a band of music, pikes, swords, epaulettes, sashes, cocked hats, and standards, are marching through the principal streets. To crown this scene of farce and mummery, a clergyman is mounted in their pulpit to harangue them on the blessings of independence, and to hold up for their admiration the characters of “Masser Wilberforce and Prince Hall.”

Well after Hall’s death, the days for stepping out continued in Boston—an expression of freedom and the claiming of a rightful place in the polity. The lodge that Hall founded continued too. It is the oldest continuously active African American association in the U.S., with chapters now spread around the country. Its work in support of public education has endured. In the 20th century the Prince Hall Freemasons made significant contributions to the NAACP, in many places hosting the first branches of the organization. In the 1950s alone, the group donated more than $400,000 to the NAACP Legal Defense and Educational Fund (equivalent to millions of dollars today). Thurgood Marshall was a member.

for all of what we now know to be Prince Hall’s importance, I learned of him only recently. In 2015 the National Archives held a conference about the Declaration of Independence, inspired by my own research on the document. At the conference, another colleague presented a paper on how abolitionists had been the first people to make use of the Declaration for political projects other than the Revolution itself. A few months earlier I had come across the passage from Hall’s 1777 petition that I shared above, and that so beautifully resonates with the Declaration; at that conference, I suddenly learned the important political context in which it fit. I had published a book on the Declaration of Independence—Our Declaration—in 2014, but until the spring of 2015, I had never heard of Hall.

Yet I have been studying African American history since childhood. When I was in high school, my school didn’t do anything to celebrate Black History Month. My father encouraged me to take matters into my own hands and propose to the school that I might curate a weekly exhibit on one of the school’s bulletin boards. The school was obliging. It offered me the one available bulletin board—in a dark corner in the farthest remove of the school’s quads. This was not the result of malice, just of a lack of attention to the stakes. But I was glad to have access to that bulletin board, and I dutifully filled it with pictures of people like Carter G. Woodson and Mary McLeod Bethune and Thurgood Marshall, and with excerpts from their writings.

I am deeply aware of how much historical treasure about Black America is hidden, and have been actively trying to seek it out. While I was on the faculty of the University of Chicago, I helped found the Black Metropolis Research Consortium, a network of archival organizations in Chicago dedicated to connecting “all who seek to document, share, understand and preserve Black experiences.” And while I was at Chicago—somewhat in the spirit of that old bulletin board—I curated an exhibit for the special-collections department of the campus library on the 45 African Americans who’d earned a doctorate at the university prior to 1940—the largest number of doctorates awarded to African Americans up to that time by any institution in the world. Even so, I had not known about Prince Hall.

Having discovered Hall at the ridiculous age of 43, I have since made it a mission to teach others about him. At Harvard’s Edmond J. Safra Center for Ethics, we have undertaken a major initiative to develop civic-education curricula and resources. Among the largest projects is a year-long eighth-grade course called “Civic Engagement in Our Democracy.” One of the units in that course is centered on Hall’s life. Through him and his exploration of the meaning of social contracts and natural rights, and of opportunity and equality, we teach the philosophical foundations of democracy, reaching through Hall to texts that he also drew on, and whose authors are required reading for eighth graders in Massachusetts—for instance, Aristotle, Locke, and Montesquieu. These writers and thinkers were important figures to Freemasons in Hall’s time.

Too much treasure remains buried, living mainly in oral histories, not yet integrated into our full shared history of record. That history can strike home in unexpected ways. Not long ago, I was talking with my father about Prince Hall and the curriculum we were developing. His ears pricked up. Only then did I learn that my grandfather, too, had been a member of the Prince Hall Freemasons.”

This article appears in the March 2021 print edition with the headline “A Forgotten Founder.”

DANIELLE ALLEN is a political philosopher and the James Bryant Conant University Professor at Harvard. She is the author of Talking to Strangers, Our Declaration, and Cuz.

#Danielle Allen #Prince Hall #freemasonry #freemason #freemasons #revolutionary war #founding fathers #history #black history #american soldier #american history #black history month

[vampiresuns]

The Radošević-Cassano | Lore & Palazzo Inspiration

Some lore for the untitled geese family of Vesuvian High Society. As per usual, the family tree is here. With a quick run down on mostly everyone.

✴︎ General Headcanons

I call them the Radošević-Cassano because I keep Anatole in the centre of the family tree, and much of the Arcana lore I have revolves around him. This isn’t because everything is about him, but because he is the original OC, and hence the place all of this lore comes from.

In reality the Cassano of Vesuvia (how they’re actually known as) are an old Vesuvian family.

They hold no nobility titles, they’re just old, ingrained with the City, and simply have money. The surname Cassano isn’t that old, they’ve probably been the Cassano for less than what they’ve held the Consulship for, only having been known in this way since the last 300 to 250 years, give or take.

They’ve had a hold of the Consulship for a little longer than that. No one actually knows how they ended up with the Consul’s office.

Not even the Cassano themselves. There’s many rumours and the story itself is kind of a local legend at this point. No one remembers because sometimes stories are just oral tradition. Sometimes they just get lost. That’s how it is.

The Cassano surname comes from... a first name actually. Consul Cassano ruled Vesuvia in lieu of the Count they were Consul for, while said Count’s children grew up, becoming old enough to rule themselves.

They are a multicultural, multiethnic family. Different branches have different cultural backgrounds.

Yet their unity steams from 1. being the Addams Family of Vesuvia 2. The Consulship. A way for them to protect themselves versus other Courtiers down for their own power-grabs, or nobility which do not like that these respected and well known family have no titles made them create a network (inside and outside of the family) that allows them to protect themselves and their political position.

For a Cassano, it is not social standing which matters. It is political standing.

They’ve been friends with the Radošević family (less remarkable and less old) for around six or seven generations. The Radošević are the Addams Family of Balkovia. Fish, Water.

Both families favour cultivating a career, craft or academic pursuit. It doesn’t matter what at least you pursue it honestly.

Speaking of honest pursuits, one of their secrets for enduring is rejecting arranged marriages. Convenience marriages are one thing, if mutually consented by the future spouses, arranged marriages however are a recipe for owing other families favours. It helps get rid of families who simply want to marry with them solely because they’re interested in the political position.

Important things for both these families are: authenticity, professionalism (they do not conceive not working, hoarding land, property and wealth aren’t actual jobs), ambition, creativity, survival, fraternity and resourcefulness. Both of the families are very communal between each other, acting as extensions of each other way before they married between them.

They follow three principles: 1. Whatever happened to you, whatever life shot at you, you survived. A Cassano-Radošević is nothing if not enduring 2. Sometimes conventional problems needed to be solved through unconventional means. They are nothing if not resourceful. 3. What happens to one of us, happens to all of us. They are nothing if not community driven.

This sometimes made them out of touch with other parts of Vesuvian High-Society, especially certain kind of Noble families. I hc that the Consul is the link between the Count and the City, and is meant to represent the City in front of the Count. The Cassano have a very tightly knit relationship with the City, and while their position of privilege is undeniable they are more aware of the social condition and estate of the City than others of their same social circles.

Their tendency to work for the City in a usually self-less manner (which is encouraged), using their position to help others instead of stepping over them, coined the underlying belief that the Cassano are protectors of Vesuvia. They are the last line between something which wishes to harm the City and the people of Vesuvia. This is something which Anatole specially takes very seriously.

Other sayings or beliefs around them are: “Good Counts make their Consuls their friends, while Good Consuls have a Happy Marriage in their beds.” Given how long they’ve hold the Consul’s office, it is better for Vesuvian Counts (regardless of their origin) to befriend them rather than go against them. The second part stems from the Cassano tendency to marry for love, not out of arranged marriages.

“Nothing mortal can kill a Cassano” this began as a joke, simply because they’re a really sturdy family. While they were very close to disappearing in more than one occasion, they simply keep on living. They’re very petty about their vitality. This belief gets reaffirmed during any of the apprentice timelines, but also because of Valerian Cassano’s (Anatole’s great grandfather) longevity.

Few of them believe in the Arcana as a belief system, though a bunch of them are familiar with tarot. There’s a tendency to generate Death and Hierophant beneficiaries the most. The Radošević while not following the Arcana at all, and most of them being unfamiliar with them, have a tendency to generate beneficiaries of The Lovers, Strength and Magicians.

“When Death marries a Star nothing will bring that marriage down” comes from the most notorious Cassano marriages being between Death and Star beneficiaries, with the Star beneficiaries usually being foreign. Examples of this are Amparo Mediavilla (Star) and Vitale Cassano, former Consul (Death), Stelarius Cassano (former Consul, Death) and spouse (Star), and recently Amparo Cassano (Death) and Portia Devorakova (Star).

Magic in the family, manifesting in given individuals is rare, but not unseen. The Cassano seem to be coated by a halo of magical energy but not display magical abilities themselves for the most part. Some exceptions are Amparo Mediavilla, Lucenzo Cassano, Valerian Cassano, one of Florentino’s (Anatole’s grandfather) brothers – Nemesi Cassano, Amparo Cassano, Vlad Radošević (son of a Cassano, and Anatole’s father), Aelius Anatole Radošević, and Artemisia Cassano, sibling of Amparo.

People with magical abilities in the family tend to keep it reserved from the general public. The reasons vary. 

While the Cassano Personality is strong and produces an inter-generational imprint, the Cassano genes are not that strong. No one is entirely sure what a ‘Cassano face’ looks like because of their multicultural background, but apparently they all have expressive eyebrows.

However, most of the Cassano stand in the same way (the way Valerius stands). Valerius, Anatole, his father, Florentino, Amparo, Artemisia, Cassiopeia, and others all stand in the same way.

✴︎ The Radošević

They’re not that different from the Cassano. Can be described as a “A family of survivors, eccentrics, patrons of the arts, inventors and scientists. A family of academics full of anxieties about the world surrounding them, whose sorrows were scars they rarely showed. Private yet with an extensive, and international, circle of acquaintances who deemed them all charmingly strange on their best days; prideful, analytic, often with a drink in hand.”

The Cassano can be described in a similar way, they’re different manifestations of the same core after all. Other than them being the Addams family of the fantasy Balkans, there’s no much to add to them besides what I’ve already said.

While the most distinctive Cassano trait is probably spite, the most notorious Radošević trait is rage. Rage is easier than grief and they’ve all had complicated relationships with life. They are not violent or toxic as a family, however. While they are not perfect, it seems of little use to them to mistreat those who are in the same boat as you, going through the same hardships.

Probably the some of the most interesting people in this family are Elysian Radošević, Anatole’s great grandmother, a partisan, Neuma Radošević a famous painter, and well, Valeriy “Valerius” Radošević. This is my personal HC in the julesverse, but Valerius has more of a Radošević personality than a Cassano personality.

Anatole would be a nice mix of both of them, which is catalysed by his mother, Louisa De Silva.

As an aside, Anatole has his father’s and uncle’s brows, his father’s eyes, and while his face bone structure is a toss up, he has his mother’s lips and nose. He also has his mother’s hips and legs.

The Radošević have a vineyard in fantasy Istria. No, it’s not Valerius’ vineyard.

One of the reasons why Anatole would refuse all kind of title (and so would his uncle, actually, despite the way he acts) is because having a nobility title is one of the few reasons for your Balkovian citizenship to be revoked. Nobility has been abolished in Balkovia for decades, and it’s not making a comeback.

✴︎ The Palazzo

The Palazzo Cassano is where the star mark is. It is 12 minutes away from the Palace, and 18 minutes way from Goldgrave. It is one of the few properties the family has, and probably the most important.

For years, it has been open to the Vesuvian Public who, with previous appointment, might need its resources, such as the music room or the Cassano Library. Like I said before, the Cassano do not think owning things is a job, and like I said before they encourage finding an actual occupation, whatever it might be. Other properties tied to the Cassano, including the Radošević-Cassano, are: Mircea’s and Florentino’s house in Balkovia (Anatole’s grandfather’s), the Radošević Vineyard, Valerius’ vineyard, Blasio’s house (Milenko’s grandfather), Milenko’s apartment, Vlad’s and Louisa’s townhouse in Balkovia, where Anatole grew up, and Paris’ shop + apartment, as she leaves it to Amparo, Milenko and Anatole. 

The Palazzo holds a series of invaluable collections, from books, artefacts, painting, sculptures, swords and others. They are long standing patron of the arts, who sustain themselves on social connectivity, so it is not unheard of them sustaining balls for these purposes every now and then. The Palazzo is meant to be able to house the majority of the family in somewhat comfortable terms. It’s most famous room, is it’s winter garden, which is open to the Public on certain days.

The Palazzo does not have permanent staff. It’s an oddity. The only permanent positions are the one of personal secretary of the Consul — not a valet, not a servant — and the Chef. Most of the staff is divided in shifts.

The Palazzo doesn’t have a housekeeper, only a housekeeper assistant. The Palazzo housekeepers are Batiste Cassano (sister of Florentino, Anatole’s grandfather), Iris Ravella (Amparo’s parent), and post-game Valerius.

Some of the OC families they’re related to are the Ventura, the family of two high-priests in one of Vesuvia’s temples, the Valperga (Valerian’s family), a number of Venterrean family’s, the Radošević (obviously), and the Ravella, among others. All these families are part of the julesverse.

Canon families they are related to include the Devoraks, the Satrinava (Milenko, while not a Cassano by blood is a Cassano by upbringing, and the Cassano include all the Radošević as their own), and the Alnazar. 

As an addition, when @apprenticealec​ and I merge worlds, they are also related to the Parsa D’Orias, as they are to the El-Saieh, but they belong to @ilyamatic​.

The story of how they ended up with the Palazzo stirs as much rumours as how they ended up with the Consulship, but the truth is way less exciting. It came with the position, and they deliberately altered the papers so from Grant of the Count, became their own. It was finders keepers. The Palazzo is inspired by different buildings in different parts of the world, but primarily, it’s outside is inspired by the Palazzo Papadopoli, in Venice, Italy, the Palazzo Ca d’Oro, and Ca Dario

Here are some pictures of different things it takes inspiration from:

The Palazzo has a back door, which leads to a minor street — the lovers and close friends door — inspired by the Palazzo Bembo- Boldù. The only way to open this door is from the inside. To ring it, you have to turn the knob three times to the right.

Thank you for reading these untitled geese family lore ❤️

#the arcana #the arcana oc #the radosevic-cassano

[pulaasul]

Ode to the Departed

An Ode to the Characters who died in the Harry Potter series of books.

FFN I AO3

--------

Ode to the Departed.

Colin Creevey

Colin Creevey was a young wizard, Who trained at Hogwarts. He was an excited fellow, Exuberance you cannot mellow. Magic brought him joy, Even more than a toy. When his home away from home was attacked, He left the comforts of his family and came back. He took the risks that returning entailed, It didn't matter if he failed. As long as his training was repaid. Even if he became pale. His debt to his hero was paid.

Cedric Diggory

Cedric Diggory was a Hufflepuff, The glory he sought was rough. It wasn't for self-satisfaction, Rather, it was for his faction. To dispel the nasty names that took root, As loyalty was his boot. The glory he sought was in his hands, But a traitorous rat had other plans. To Dumbledore's army that didn't matter He was an inspiration for others, His path may have strayed to the Dark Lord's But as a Hufflepuff, he never left Harry alone.

Fred Weasley

Prankster, Jokster, Charming are some things to describe, This particular bloke, those who knew him subscribe. Fred Weasley was one of a kind, Even if he did things with his twin by his side. His last action however wasn't with his twin, But with his estranged brother, they took a win, The price of victory however Would take root forever A set of twins was subtracted by one But his smiles were always fond.

Severus Snape

Spite and Bitterness were the things that pushed him to join the Dark Lord, One declaration later, he had to cut the cord. Severus Snape was Dumbledore's spy, In a wizarding world that's full of lies. To protect he had to sneer, While doing his side job without fear, It did help that the one he protected, Was the son of a man he hated. Even if he was also the son of the woman he loved. In the end it didn't matter, For the boy would soon after, Win the war with his sacrifice, And survive the curse twice.

Remus Lupin

Remus Lupin was afraid of many things. The full moon, family and friends. He feared that all his relationships would end. If people knew of his affliction, He knew they would leave without condition. Some of his fears were unfounded, As he found himself supported, By friends dearly beloved, And a wife that loved him dearly. He left behind a son, A son who would understand That they fought to protect his future And time would be his suture. Lupin's fears stem From Things out of his control He soon found that they were unfounded And found himself beloved.

Hedwig

A loyal companion to the very end, Who's job was to deliver mail She went beyond the call of duty And protected her owner, truly She was born to soar and deliver And died as a protector.

Albus Dumbledore

Wisdom in spades Intentions in shades. Greater good was his mantra It was one of his centra. Albus Dumbledore was a Headmaster Also the Elder Wand's master He acted as a mentor and confidant, This gained him a lot of covenants. He founded the Order of the Phoenix, To combat the ever changing helix. The Dark Lord has introduced, Philosophies he induced, That lead to a war that reduced. In the end, Dumbledore's intentions were pure, That, all of us are sure Questionable, his actions maybe, It couldn't be denied that he wanted this war to cease and for everyone to live in peace.

Nymphadora Tonks

Cheery, clumsy, snarky and a bit zany That's what Nymphadora Tonks was to many Sweet, Loving and Caring, She was to Remus Lupin after marrying. She hated her given name with a passion, She'd hex even in the middle of action, If you're caught referring to her name You'd best apologize before you go in flames. She left behind a son, Who, no doubt, she'd love, She fought for his future, So he may prosper, Without a Dark Lord looming over. Tonks fought for love and peace, Something the Dark Lord doesn't have a piece, It didn't matter that she and Lupin left him, Because she knew others will love him for them.

Sirius Black

Sirius Black was always Sirius. As a Maruder, he was always not serious. Easy going, and a joker. That's what he and the marauders were after. Everything changed when his best friends were killed, A treacherous rat forced him a cell to fill. A simple explosion seemed to fit the bill. Transfiguring himself to escape, The dementor-filled hellscape. Once escaped however He took a vow forever, Be there for his godson Like how his best friend's parents treated him as a son. He once had other plans, To fillet the rat in a pan If not for his godson's nobility He'd have truly been a murderer in reality.

Ted Tonks

Ted Tonks was Eden's apple, To a family of pure-blooded people. He was a good father and husband, Even when his wife's family acted like a baboon band. And agreed with the unfortunate name of his daughter. As he was on the run, Due to the propaganda, Introduced by Voldemort. He protected a child, From the Dark Lord. A muggle-born he may be, A decent man is all you can see. Loving as a family man Hero to everyone.

Regulus Black

A boy strayed by family and prejudice, Following the family's tradition and malice. Served dutifully as the Dark Lord's vassal, Until something happened that he cancelled. Discovered how atrocious the Dark Lord at the crux, The making of the darkest artifact – a horcrux. He recovered the artifact, replaced it as a matter of fact, Rebelling against the Voldemort He didn't even end up in a morgue. Killed for his defiance, But gave everyone a chance.

Dobby.

A house elf who only wanted to protect Harry Potter from a threat that was erected He offered protection in the most roundabout way, Aiming to steal, injure and maim just to get his way. While the life threatening situations were unwarranted, The intention of those actions were appreciated. It got him freed from his master, Making him a free house elf, offering help faster. As his own master, he aided his friend Which ultimately got him to his end To escape captivity From Voldemort's activity.

Amelia Bones.

Fair, Just and Uncompromising This Department head was promising Law Enforcement was her game Bribery and Trickery was her bane. Amelia Bones was an amazing Department Head. She's what Dark Witches and Wizards dread. One of the many reasons why she was among the first To be killed in the Dark Lord's Immortality thirst. Murdered, she may be Among the first casualties we see But she was among who the Dark Lord feared The threat she posed would put a stop to all his dreams, he supposed. Hence she was opposed and killed in her home.

Dennis Creevey

Excitement and Joy You'd think he received a toy. His first bout of adventure Was meeting a deep water creature That was even before he was sorted To brave Gryffindors where his brother was first posted. Dennis Creevey was a lot like his brother Excited with magic all over Not all is what it seems however As magic also dimmed his life forever He sneaked into the battle Despite the teachers' prattle He fought alongside his brother Protected some others When he saw his brother's corpse lay Was when the floor gave way Fallen to pits unknown His body nowhere known.

Alastor Moody

Stared at the darkness more than once or twice Paranoia has become his vice. "Constant Vigilance" was his motto, It saved his life and others thereto. He died during the battle of the seven Potters, Escorting someone polyjuiced as Harry Potter, Despite the boy's utter disapproval of the plan. Mad-Eye, he was known to everyone who knew him Without him, the world would have been a lot more dim. There was a time his motto worked to his detriment When the Dark Lord ordered one to impersonate him His imposter copied him to great effect Even jumpstarted the Dark Lord's return, unchecked. By making sure Harry Potter's name was ejected, From the Goblet of Fire – An ancient object.

Others

Casualties were many during the wars Many of whom were innocent by far. No idea of the war they were involved in Ignorant of the ideals against them. Some died as heroes who protected, The people who were neglected. Muggles who gained the Dark Lord's ire Ignited the heroes' protective fire. Fighting what they think was right In protection of others, with might. Others who had a greater sense of self-preservation, Something that Gryffindors need to be taught with vocation Died on the run, hoping to outrun the Death Eaters Even if the circumstances were worse than any eaters. Others died after defecting Hoping to escape the inevitable ejecting. Alas they failed But their sacrifices has derailed The Dark Lord's plan from fruition Even if they were without recognition. And others may view it as dying in cowardice Worse than dying with avarice. I will say this in explicit No one really wins in wars Both sides lose so far Both sides suffer casualties Both sides suffer injuries This is for the Departed For all factions that interacted Voldemort's, Grindelwald's, Dumbledore's Hoping that future generations learn From mistakes we earned. For the departed May your lessons that have imparted Would bring us to a bright and hopeful future And in time heal our sutures.

#Harry Potter #cedric diggory #colin creevey #dennis creevey #albus dumbledore #fred weasley #dobby #severus snape #voldemort #grindelwald #alastor moody #amelia bones #regulus black #ted tonks #nymphadora tonks #remus lupin #sirius black #story #poetry #poem

[verreprincesse]

My Bio for the Descendant AU, eventually I’ll have it up on my blog but for now it’s gonna be on this post. I wrote soooo much and ugggggh if anything sounds off pls let me know....

cenerentola – città di vetro city of glass cinderellasburg city – farfalla paradisoville butterfly paradise villas rocky point court – corte rocciosa

charming castle – charmant château

cinderellasburg – verrelac

Charming – Leo ( lion ) Thibault

Charming Father – Andre ( manly; brave ) Thibault ( courageous people )

Charming Mother – Noemi ( beautiful, gentle ), Rainelda ( independent, self-reliant, and determined

Cinderella Father — Éduoard

Cinderella Mother — Astrid

Long before Auradon brought the kingdoms together, Verrelac was two kingdoms. One ruled by Prince Charming’s father’s family at the Charmant Château and the other ruled by his mother’s family at Corte Rocciosa. Not due to war did the two stay separate but due to a magical forest that cut them off. Stories of wild beasts and monsters kept them from travelling too deep into the forest, but his mother’s people were dying. Their soil no longer produced healthy food for them to eat and the animals they hunted had learned to stay away from the edge of the forest. In an effort to save her people CM and a small retinue of people braved the forest and pushed to CF home. She pleaded on her people’s behalf, promised a good alliance between her court and his. Her people were known for their glassmaking, down to how they could mimic rare stone without the need to mine for them or pay such high prices, in return for food.

They agreed and the two kingdoms paved a safe road from each place for travel, which also was used by the prince and princess just as often for they found each other in good company. He admired her passion for her people and her kind heart, and she loved his fair ideas and quick wit. He also loved she couldn’t dance. Every time she would end up trampling on his feet. She could make a graceful sculpture out of blazing glass but as her to be graceful on the dance floor and it was pure disaster. Over time the two fell deeper in love and convinced their parents it would be beneficial to their kingdoms if they were to marry and become one kingdom. They agreed and both kingdoms celebrated for a week. A tradition they continued to even this day. A holiday called Festival of Miracles celebrated every year with feasts and festivals. A time to remember the good that came of their union. A year later, Noemi gave birth during the festival, as did another woman.

Astrid, the wife of a very wealthy merchant had gone into labor early, two months early, with her daughter. It was a fight for both mother and child. Three days it took to bring Eleanor into the world, and she was as perfect as could be. Their little miracle. In more than one way too. Eleanor was the eldest of many sisters and was meant to marry rich but one of the times she had gone off by herself, often to just have a clear mind, she had ended up at Glass Lake. A strange phenomenon where the lake was both a solid and a liquid. If met with force, the lake defended itself by becoming solid and protecting the life within it. It was said fairies were born by the lake with its magical properties. Another story is that a queen once was able to trick the lake into giving up a piece of itself to be made into a large mirror.

No matter the stories, Astrid enjoyed the quiet solitude she gained from visiting. It was during one of those times she met Éduoard when he and his father took the newly paved road to take their wares. His father had people who could do the tedious work, but he wanted to teach Éduoard an honest living and to do that, he took his son with him. Astrid’s horse had become spooked and dashed out, nearly toppled Éduoard and his father’s cart over. No mater what she did, her horse wouldn’t rein in and her only choice was to jump. When she did, she and her horse were already by the lake and Astrid braced for the lake to harden, for the pain that would come but instead she plunged into its depths.

Éduoard and his father rushed after her, his father for the horse and Éduoard for Astrid. He was able to pull her out, despite his fear of water, and get them both safely to the bank. From then on, the two would see each other often at the lake. She had fallen for him, though she was often told it was only because he saved her. She didn’t care. The two married shortly after though their happiness didn’t last for very long.

After Eleanor was born, Astrid was very weak and grew sick with childbed fever. A week later she was gone and Éduoard was left to raise their little girl. He and his father grew their business until they were a large name in the kingdom in trade, even becoming one of the richest tradesmen. Eleanor, often called Ella, wanted for nothing. She was raised kind, and gentle, her father always keeping her mother’s memory alive. When she turned six, he remarried, and she gained a mother and two sisters. She had always wanted a sibling to get into mischief with but her new sisters were snobbish and often teased her and left her out of their merriment.

Even as she tried to make the best of it, more death struck her home when her father fell gravely ill and passed when Ella was only nine. It was then her stepmother showed her true colors. A black widow is what Ella often heard others say. Some even whispered that her stepsisters Anastasia and Drizella were fathered by two different men Lady Tremaine had killed for money. It could be true with how different the two looked. Anastasia was kinder to Ella, often bringing Ella extra blankets in the winter or giving her her old gowns. It was Drizella and her stepmother who were cruel, treating Ella like a slave and taking away her comfortable life.

The one thing she looked forward to, however, every year was the Week of Miracles. Even her stepmother couldn’t forbid her from attending, despite her trying every time, and when she was nineteen she had made herself a gown, thanks to Anastasia giving her some old fabric, and would have attended had her stepmother not ordered her daughters to ruin the gown.

Bereft, Ella was sure she’d never get to attend and ran to the forest to the lake where her parents first met. She felt close to her parents there every time she visited. She cried for her losses and for her triumphs and to just tell her parents of her life. She was kind to the wildlife there and if something magical happened, she never questioned it, nor took it for granted. It was there her fairy godmother appeared, helped her to attend the festivities every day of that week, no matter how many times her stepfamily would sabotage it. Everyday in a gown more beautiful than the first.

It was at the festival she fell in love. She didn’t believe she could be given more but when she met Henri her world flipped. He was handsome but she learned he was more than just a face. He cared for his people, he worried about their struggles and he wanted to make things better like his parents had. Every day she met with him and fell deeper in love with him but knew her stepmother would never allow her to rise above her daughters and so she always made sure to leave without him seeing so she’d not be followed home. On the last day, however, he laid tar on the steps of the palace where her shoe caught. Either she stayed where she was and be found out or she would have to run barefoot home. The fear of her stepmother finding out had her running instead. She never expected that he would search her out though.

He spent days taking the slipper to all the eligible maidens and no matter what happened either the slipper was too small or too big, none fit the slipper. When he arrived to Ella’s house she was in the garden in the back finding food for dinner while her sisters tried on the slipper. To no avail, they couldn’t fit. Just as they were leaving, Henri saw Ella come out of the backyard and insisted she try the slipper even though her stepmother stood in the doorway, threatening her life if she so tried. Promising her safety, he encouraged her and easily, the slipper fit as if it had been made only for her. True to his word he kept her safe from her stepmother and they were wed, on a condition he helped her stepsisters find good marriages. She still wanted them to live well.

For some years they lived well, and she was able to form somewhat of a relationship with Drizella, her relationship with Anastasia blossomed especially after she fell for a baker. It was short-lived however, as many things in her life seemed to be as when Belle and Adam formed Auradon and sent the villains away, he sent her sisters and stepmother as well despite how many times Ella tried to say her sisters had changed. They were villains though; they had tormented her, and it meant they could no longer share in Auradon’s wealth. Drizella was pregnant when she was sent away, meaning Ella would never get to meet her niece or nephew when they were born.

Ella often stayed away from Auradon if she can as she was quite upset with Belle and Adam for what they did, not seeing that her sisters had changed, until her own son was born. She knew it meant she would have to send him to Auradon Prep when he came of age and she would have to attend the many invitations. Otherwise she stayed in her kingdom and helps her husband rule fairly and justly.

#♕▐┆❝ v: descendants au tag

[cetaceans-pls]

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Batman - All Media Types, Under the Red Hood Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Jason Todd/Bruce Wayne Characters: Jason Todd, Bruce Wayne, Bane (DCU) Additional Tags: Reconciliation, Developing Relationship, Dom/Sub Undertones, Bruce Wayne Is Trying His Best, The rest of the family play a very small role, Slow Burn Summary:

Change is a hard thing for people to grasp, even when they’re billionaire vigilantes and reanimated pseudo-criminals.

Going from parent and child to zombie-son-left-unavenged and shitty-father-figure was rough, and trying to find even ground after Bruce and Jason had been so fundamentally changed by Jason’s death had been almost impossible.

But after a year of improved communication, rooftop tacos, and the foiling of a terrorist attack, they find a new normal for taking care of each other.

I have written over 30k words for this gd fandom since the day @setsailslash got me hooked and every day the mania just grows deeper.

Or,

That time I scrapped smut 300 words in because I thought if I did that how would you know they love the hell out of each other and haha here’s 10k of the concept of Third Thursdays instead: An Odyssey

Read on Tumblr:

Change is a hard thing for people to grasp, even when they’re billionaire vigilantes and reanimated pseudo-criminals.

Going from parent and child to zombie-son-left-unavenged and shitty-father-figure was rough, and trying to find even ground after they had both been so fundamentally changed by Jason’s death had been almost unovercomeable.

Acknowledging the differences is key, though. Where it had been obvious to Jason that Bruce’s problem was that he couldn’t accept that Jason’s different from before, it had taken him a lot longer to figure out that he was still holding Bruce to the standards he’d held when Batman was more like a god than a distressed man desperately doing his best.

In retrospect, he reckons that death’s actually an infectious disease. Jason got the blunt end of a crowbar and his rose-tinted glasses ripped right off his face, and Bruce came away only slightly more lightly with yet another heaping of trauma, and a chronic condition wherein every day he wishes he could kill the Joker while absolutely knowing that he won’t. It’s self-enforced suffering; the Bat is ruled not by absolutes but by ‘should’s and ‘shouldn’t’s, because ‘can’ and ‘can’t’s are too thin a line for him.

It’s been a fistful of years since Jason’s gone full-time on this Red Hood the crime lord thing, and Gotham’s calmer than she’s ever been; if he wants to have the streets crime-freeish, he just tells his underlings to work less.

Heading a criminal empire provides a much better work-life balance than being Robin, and don’t that hit like a bullet to the head?

(Hahaha.)

It’s been a fistful of years since he woke up, and Jason thinks it’s about time that he have a sit-down with Bruce, because they really fuckin’ need to talk about change and loss.

So he orchestrates a casual heist on a quiet night, and sits at the rooftop of the Natural History Museum with a hunk of meteorite that’s ever-so-lightly laced with Kryptonite, and waits.

It’s frigid as fuck for late April, but to be a Gothamite you sure do have to earn it, and ‘it’ sometimes means sleet down the back of your neck in the middle of the night while you’re trying to meet a man. The helmet’s keeping his head dry and muggy as always, but Lord god he might need to come up with an on-brand scarf design to protect the gap between nape and jacket if the weather keeps being Like This.

Jason’s halfway through troubleshooting the concept of a leather scarf when heavy boots land dramatically on the top of the building, the quiet hiss of a grapple line disengaging in the background.

That’s a thing, too. Bruce generally errs on the side of being Creepy and Looming and a shadow creature of eldritch horror to get people to fear the Batman, but he’s all big loud moves when he’s with Jason, all shout-y and hand gesture-y and frowny. The mystique of him in full-on Bat mode disappears when Bruce strides towards him briskly like an agitated goose coming in for an attack, while his cape just drags on the floor instead of obscuring his fundamental humanity.

Bruce had made more of an effort to keep up the persona back before, tried harder to seem significantly less mortal with the cowl on. Now he’s just all human all the time around him, and Jason sees that Bruce is always bleeding out, only sometimes literally.

“Hey, B,” he calls out, though his helmet probably glows like a beacon to where he’s sat on the water tank.

“Red Hood,” Bruce growls out, too professional to use real names, but too worked-up to not be angry. “Why are you stealing Kryptonite? If this is a plot against Superman, I have no choice but to-”

Ain’t that a joke and a half. “No choice but to do what, B? For the guy calling all the shots all the time, you’re talking some pretty amazing shit.”

At that Bruce doesn’t snap back, turning this way and that instead to do a sweep of the roof before he seems satisfied. “Hood, if this is a plea for attention-”

“Ding ding ding,” Jason says as he unlocks his helmet and takes it off, groaning a little when the light drizzle hits his overheated scalp. “Got half of it in one. I’m not pleading for your attention, B, but I am going to get it. We’re going to talk.”

It’s a new technique, just for today. Usually, any interaction between them turns into a clash; somebody lashes out and the other hits back, and fifteen minutes later either somebody’s bloody or they’ve stormed dramatically off the side of a building.

Today, Jason’s going to pull a Batman ( Thou shalt not steal (the tyres off the Batmobile), Thou shalt not kill (the Joker) ) and put down lines in the sand, make this a lawful argument instead of a raging one.

Getting pissed on by freezing April showers, Jason’s feeling unusually benevolent. It makes him want to laugh, a little, that Bruce has the time and the luxury to be angry with him on a rooftop right now because that’s what Jason wanted to do tonight.

It seems to work, though. Bruce is quiet for the longest time, before he comes closer, clearly wary. “So talk.”

“Much as though I love looking down on you, old man, calm yourself down and just come sit with me. You know as well as me that this place’s in a blindspot, so get up here already.”

Another line, another non-request. Jason expects that he’s going to have to wear Bruce down with this, but instead there’s the quiet boom! of the grapple going off, and in six and a half seconds flat, he’s got a seatmate.

Facing the same way, they have as good of a view as you can get of Gotham; the museum’s on a hill close to the bay, and from here you can make out the city lights and the barest outlines of buildings through the mist and rain. Even the looming hills that cocoon the city and contribute hugely to the awful weather and spectacular air pollution are visible, if you squint.

Absently, Jason notes that this is the longest they’ve gone in a while without either of them shouting, even if Bruce is radiating enough tension to heat up a house.

“So,” Jason starts them off, because he should expect no help from the dumbass next to him, “you know that I, like, died, right, B?”

The sharp intake of breath is like a reflex at this point; if Jason ever wants to get a punch in all he needs to do is look Bruce in the eye and remind him of Jason’s death and bam ! An opening right there.

That’s not the point tonight, though. Not quite.

He keeps going before Bruce can interrupt. “I know you know I did, B. I know you blame yourself for it, and you blame me for being angry you didn’t kill Joker, and then you go back to blaming yourself for not actually killing the fucker anyways. You’re all twisted up inside, and you probably always have been, and I guess the thing is I kinda only noticed that recently.”

So recently, he realised it mid-conversation. Wow.

“If you only wanted me to come so that you can berate me, Hood, I have better things to do,” Bruce says, terse and hideously impersonal.

Jesus, he’s bleeding out right now.

Jason nudges him in the side, but mostly just bruises his elbow on kevlar and leather. “It’s not about that. If I was berating you, I would be real fucking clear about it. I just need you to get through your thick skull, that the boy you took in and did your best to kinda take care of, he died and you mourned him and you’re still mourning him, and that’s fine .” It isn’t, not really, because Jason wants Bruce to mourn him , but that’s just a whole ‘nother kettle of fucking fish, really. “He died, and I came ‘round in his place, and we’re not the same people. Death really changes a man, you know, and I’m not your son anymore. I made my peace with that.” Sort of. -ish. Enough to function, enough to know they need this conversation.

He turns to look at Bruce, right at the eery white lenses. “The question is,” he says with a heaviness he doesn’t usually like to show, “have you?”

Lenses can’t blink, obviously, but Jason’s looked at and thought about this man long enough and often enough that he knows what’s going on even when Bruce’s face is obscured.

It’s a stare-off that Bruce somehow loses. He looks away, jaw still clenched tight. Jason can see the muscles twitching there, can almost hear the grinding. If he closes his eyes he can even imagine the little purple case and the clear night guard that Bruce has on the counter in his bathroom.

He wonders if the case is still covered in the stickers that first Dick, and then he himself had covered it in. He wonders if the tradition continued with the newer Robins, and if the guard and the case is still there, or if Bruce in his unwinding madness had just, god, laser-cut his teeth so that they wouldn’t touch or something.

Bruce’s answer is a long time coming, but it does come, eventually. “No,” Bruce tells him like it’s truth taken through torture. “No, I haven’t.”

(It is, truth taken through torture).

Any admission of weakness was well beyond anything Jason expected, and while his first inclination is to take that given inch and make it a vicious mile, to mock the absolute hell out of Bruce, he doesn’t.

Instead, he finds himself scooting over closer, close enough that their shoulders are touching. Bruce flinches, and Jason ignores the tell of discomfort.

“That’s all right,” Jason tells him, mostly meaning it. “He died for me too, you know. So at least this time, B, you got a mourning buddy.”

They sit in silence for a long, long time, until Batman’s communicator goes off and the spell’s broken. Bruce doesn’t say anything after the transmission’s fed right into his ear, just leaps off the water tank and lands on cat-quiet feet on the roof.

It’s as clear a sign as anything that their potential bonding’s come to an end, and Jason’s resigned to going back to his ratty apartment and rage-eating some cold pizza.

Instead of leaping right into action, though, Bruce turns and looks up at him. He holds up his hand, and it’s the stupid chunk of greenish rock. Jason rolls his eyes, but can’t help breaking into a grin. How a man so big and imposing got around to having such sticky fingers is pretty impressive.

“Thank you, Jason.”

It’s the first time tonight Bruce has actually called him by his name, and it’s such a wholesale fucking miracle that Jason is actually left speechless as Batman smirks, turns on his heel so that his cape snaps out dramatically, and disappears.

-

They meet up semi-often, after that. Jason sent out a company-wide memo; every third Thursday, everybody just stay the fuck at home. Anybody found breaking the order gets to have some personal one-on-one time with Jason and his favourite toy for the week, and about two months after that first meeting, Gotham’s taken to scheduling their outdoor celebrations and festivities to take advantage of the periodic significant decrease in shit like gun violence and kidnappings.

Jason’s got no complaints; it means that whatever rooftop they end up on, they get a view of lanterns and glossy food-trucks, loud music booming up to the rafters even though it’s the middle of the workweek. There’s a taquería-on-wheels that usually sets up shop on the corner of King and 18th, and Jason’s made it his mission in life to make a pilgrimage to it every haloed Thursday to get half a dozen pulled pork tacos. He does it partly because they literally are the best tacos he’s ever had in his life, and also partly because if it’s the matriarch María José at the cashier she will inevitably pinch his cheeks, call him handsome, and give him a glass of rice milk on the house so’s that he can grow some more.

Three months into this, whatever the hell this is, and a whole two tacos regularly go to Bruce, despite the fact that Bruce always comes by with food from whichever truck he buys out that night, a takeaway bag for them and the rest sent to the charitable organisation du jour .

Jason feels a weird sense of satisfaction in providing , though, so he always says he’ll bring home whatever Bruce’s brought to eat later, and instead has them share his tacos and drink and whatever corner store trash takes his fancy on the day. Trying to get Bruce to just go with the damned flow is a lot like trying to socialise the world’s most paranoid cat, and the first time that comparison occurred to him Jason had laughed to himself because he thought it was hilarious.

It came in a little later that cats that are paranoid and wary of people usually have a damn good reason for being so, and if that ain’t just the world’s most relatable shit….

The meeting after that realisation Jason had splurged on two horchatas as well as some churros, and when María José had asked if it was for a date, he had said of course not, ma’am, I’ve still got my eye on you , but in his head he thought Jesus, maybe .

By the fifth time they meet for what amounts to late-night snacks and aching chats, Jason notices and works very hard not to mention that Bruce has foregone the heavily-armoured suit that he usually wears on patrol, and is instead in the Batsuit Lite™, the version he would keep in his office for quick costume changes but couldn’t take a bullet half so well.

The actual Gotham Bat is literally lowering his guard around him, and Jason feels so goddamned all-powerful that he almost wants to send out another memo to say that all crime is all cancelled now, thanks, just so that dinner and drinks with a Bruce who is slowly but surely coming to terms with Jason being his own man can happen more often.

It never sat quite right with him to be provided for, he learns over the course of these dinners. Call it the result of a rough upbringing, call it a trick of the mind, but Jason’s never felt so settled in his skin as when Bruce is sat with him on a night that Jason finagled to be calm enough for the Bat to get time off, eating food that Jason bought for him, dressed as casually as the Bat can because Jason was there to guarantee his safety.

He never really knew what to do with the lavish life Bruce gave to him, before.

He’s beginning to think he has an idea about what he wants to give to Bruce, now.

-

There’s nothing unusually worldly about Jason’s porn preferences. It’s a secret he’ll take to his second grave, but he has a paid subscription to one of those tasteful for-women pornsites because some nights he and his right hand just want to watch people be kinda sweet to one another, you know? He’s surveyed the length and breadth of what the Internet can offer, doesn’t have any use for the ones where people aren’t having a good time, likes actual orgasms both behind and in front of the screen, and has a good grasp of the kinks that make him tick.

It’s not even sexual, this thing with Bruce. Sortof. It’s literally not sexual to sometimes go as backup with Bruce on cases so wretched they would make even Dick blanch and get queasy, or to share intel he got through nefarious means, or to avoid a kill shot when he can go around after and put the fear of the Red Hood into a perp and a bullet into their kneecap instead. It’s intimacy, yeah, to pick up a phone that rings at 4 o’clock in the morning whenever the usual cocktail of screaming horrors in Bruce’s head becomes literally unbearable and he just needs to hear that Jason’s alive still, tonight.

It’s a sign that he can be there to support Bruce, when he went with the man to his grave next to the Waynes, to just say hello and thank you and goodbye.

It’s not sexual, but close to a year into this, they’re both better off and better people. It started small and it grew big, and Jason just wants to give Bruce even more, make him take it, and more importantly, make him enjoy it.

They’re perched on some gargoyles for old times’ sake tonight, and far, far beneath their feet thousands of Gothamites are out on the streets. Jason’s lost track of the number of new celebrations that have cropped up, timed to meet the regular lull in crime, but tonight’s thing has lots of live bands, and lots of people dancing in the streets, swigging beer from plastic cups as they loosen their ties and kick off their heels and gently groove their way to train stations.

Loud block parties in the city centre on a Thursday are so on-brand for Gotham; it inconveniences absolutely everyone, but also if anyone tried to make them stop they would be mobbed. On any given day there’s no telling if Jason loves the people here or wants to beat them into the ground.

The same can be said about Bruce, as though there’s anything more through-and-through Gotham than the Bat and the man. The night’s been pretty chill, a little on the quiet side, but Jason thinks he’s about to change that. He’s going to draw another line between them tonight, but this one he wants Bruce to actually cross.

Plus, who would’ve known? Unwind the Bat enough and Bruce ends up being pretty decent company. He had a deep well of deeply entertaining bitchiness that was usually smothered under the facade of superheroism, he listened to hostage demands and a casual recap of the latest episode of Love Is Blind with the same amount of near-angry focus, and had a powerful implicit bias for anyone he cared about. Jason’s still in that category, somehow, and that was another group lesson; Jason’s a different man but actually, at the same time, maybe not.

God, identity politics are a riot when you throw adoption and death into the mix.

Nevertheless, Jason’s at the end of his tether. Getting laid’s not got the same kick to it, and sometimes mid-fuck he’s thinking about checking to see if tangerines are in season because if he scores a tempting enough bag of fruit the gauntlets come the fuck off to facilitate the peeling of the skin.

It’s the surest sign possible that this madness has sunk right down into his literal bones; Jason’s speaking from experience, and Bruce drives people all sorts of crazy even at the best of times, so he’s probably been screwed since that day on the water tank when Bruce said “Thank you, Jason”.

And now he’s really just going to say to his former-father-figure some version of not only do I seriously want to fuck you, I want to hold you by the neck to make you be good for me, and then I’ll praise you for just how damn good you can be . Lately it’s starting to feel like the highest calling he’s ever gotten, to make Bruce submit and then aggressively reward him for it.

He waits until they’ve worked their way to the bottom of the tray of nachos, after he’s handed a pack of wet wipes over so Bruce can fastidiously clean his gloves off of neon-orange cheese sauce. Not only is he now the kind of man to go around with wet wipes in his pocket, they’re even the fancy biodegradable ones because B had tutted at him the last time he suggested just tossing a regular one on some shitty roof somewhere.

They’ve probably got a maximum of ten minutes or so before Bruce will get up and go perch on a stoop somewhere he can keep an eye on crime and Gothamites having a genuinely good night out, and Jason knows that that isn’t time he can or wants to intrude on, so if he wants to confess, he’s going to need to do it soon.

“B, you know how we’ve been getting along well, lately?” Innocuous, a softball, good start, Jay.

Bruce tenses a little, but he’s not ramrod straight and his lenses are still down as he turns to look at Jason with a piercing look. “What’s this about?”

“You know how months and months ago, I said we needed to talk ‘bout me, and I was right? Well. I’m bringing it up because I think we need to talk about me again.”

Instantly Bruce is on red alert, feet curled under him till he’s wound up like a fight on spring-loaded legs, and he’s looking around with the night-vision lenses up. “What’s wrong, Red Hood?” he asks, ready to leap into the middle of whatever it is that’s got Jason all agitated.

That’s not what he was aiming for, having Bruce get his back up, even if it’s in a show of needless sweet overprotectiveness. Actively winging it at this point, Jason reaches over and holds the approximate nape of Bruce’s neck, even if all his hand meets is vacu-formed reinforced kevlar. It’s what Bruce used to do when he was trying to calm one of them down, and the theory is that the thought of it transmits even if it’s not skin to skin. “Calm down, B, it’s alright. I’m alright. I just want to lay out some things on the table, okay, and I need to know what you think about them.”

Bruce doesn’t smack his hand off, even though he’s clearly disgruntled as he settles down a little, loosening his fists. “When have you ever wanted my opinion on anything?” It comes off harsh, but there’s no point getting angry over a statement of fact, is there?

It’s a fair question, after all. “All the time, B,” Jason says, honest as he can manage. “Sometimes, sure, it’s so that I know exactly what not to do. But c’mon, give me some credit. This whole reconciliation thing is working because I needed you to know what goes on under the Red Hood, and along the way I figured, hey, why not try and understand you under all those layers of trauma and self-loathing and machismo too, you know?”

The sound Bruce makes sounds like a growl, but everything does with a modulator. Jason knows enough to know a snort of amusement when he hears one. “Yes, that is me, an extremely manly man. Spit it out already, Hood. What do you need me to hear?”

“Hey, c’mon, you’re telling me you didn’t used to make us run around in sequined shorts and pixie boots ‘cos you wanted to look scary and macho by comparison?”

The lenses disappear, because Bruce is so dramatic sometimes, and he wanted to properly convey his aghast. “Robin chose the entire outfit by himself. My initial designs were based on my suit, and he refused all of them. He didn’t even want full-length sequined pants. When you came along, I just went with his choices. It’s beyond the scope of my abilities to understand the fashion preferences of youths.” Bruce glares at him. “And you didn’t complain about it once.”

Jason rolls his eyes, and tries not to feel giddy about Bruce relaxing into his touch, how close together they’ve gotten as they talk absolute shit. “One, you should have known by then that his fashion choices literally only make sense to him. Two, I wasn’t gonna turn down free clothes. Three, on God, please tell me that you still have sparkly leggings kicking around in the Cave, because Nightwing’s really due a makeover.”

If they had glossy green beads that clattered loudly with movement, Jason could die happy for the first time.

“Stop getting distracted,” Bruce says mildly. “Nightwing is always welcome to my facilities if he wants to update his costume, and PennyOne dreams of one day being asked for input. Jaybird,” Bruce grabs hold of Jason’s arm, squeezes gently. “Do you need help?”

God, he can’t stop the slightly manic laughter from bursting right through him. “It’s more of a B thing than a Bat thing, okay? And you can tell me yes, and you can tell me no, and they’re both okay. Third Thursday Tacos are gonna keep happening, bimonthly visits home are gonna keep happening, but there’s this thing that, uh.” Fuck, words are hard. He should have just texted instead, but Jason can already see his unbearable desire to drop an eggplant into a DM to make light of a weird, heavy situation, so.

Just shut up and say it already. “There’s something that I want from and for you. You’re probably going to take it badly, which is fine, but I need you to take it seriously. Okay?”

Bruce doesn’t say anything, just nods, rubbing his thumb against Jason’s arm.

“I love you,” Jason just goes for it, starts with the most fundamental of truths. “I want to smash you to pieces sometimes but I also literally, actually love you, in a whole bunch of really, really confusing ways. The thing is that one of those ways has me wanting to take you to bed, B, make you submit so you can be good for me and I can be good to you. So what I’m asking is, do I have your permission to try and get you to where I want you to be, B?”

The initial reaction will probably go one of two ways; complete stillness as Bruce digests the information and tries to parse his way through it, or a burst of action, probably a dramatic escape into the dark like Dracula’s the maiden who’s feeling a bit shy.

What Jason gets is neither; what he gets is Bruce’s mouth moving before his brain has come fully online, defensive and reactionary. “Jason! You can’t be serious-”

He’s not having any of that. With the hand on the back of Bruce’s neck he shakes the man a little, breaking him off. “I am, B.” He takes a breath, takes a chance, presses their foreheads together, human(?) skin to lead-lined cowl. “You can say yes and you can say no, hell, you can even say fuck off, but you cannot tell me what I do and don’t want. Christ, if you learned anything about me this past year, please let it be that I’m not a child, and you don’t get to dictate shit to me.”

They stay locked in a staring contest for what felt like ages, even as the boisterous sounds of a brass section going absolutely ham for 9 PM on a Thursday floats up on drafts to them. When the break happens, it’s not with Bruce forcibly jerking away and screaming at him, as Jason mostly expected.

Bruce pulls away lightly, like he’s testing the hold Jason has on him, like he’s testing Jason.

Jason lets him go immediately, of fucking course. He doesn’t even register that Bruce might be looking for a reaction; barring crime or injury, he’s not going to keep anyone where they don't want to be. Hell, part of being an Outlaw was the absolute unwillingness to be held down.

Plus, Bruce’s consent was the most important thing here. Jason figures that between the trauma and the jumble of unhealthy coping mechanisms that make up the man who’s thrown himself at the cancer of Gotham for decades, Bruce probably doesn’t get to make decisions just out of easy, selfish desires very often.

That’s why lunches and dinners would continue no matter Bruce’s answer, that’s why Third Thursdays were going to keep being a thing. Jason doesn’t want this to be a noose around Bruce’s neck, an obligation, a duty he needs to step up to for Jason.

He lets go, because he wants Bruce to want him more than he wants Bruce to listen to him.

They’re at a standoff, but not really. Jason keeps his hands up and visible, leans out of Bruce’s space, doesn’t talk or plead or cajole, just sits on his spiky gargoyle and stares at Bruce.

(God, even the concept of giving Bruce the option to say no satisfies that odd little kink inside of him.)

“I’m going to go,” Bruce says at long last, getting to his feet with a bit of a wobble, like he’s drunk, or like he recently got propositioned by a former-son at the end of an ambiguous dinner date. “On patrol. I’m sure you have things to do, Red Hood.”

Ah, back to full-on codenames it is, huh. This has still gone about a thousand times better than Jason’s most feverish and optimistic projections, though, so he doesn’t take it to heart. He doesn’t get up, gives Bruce the high ground as he smiles lazily up at him. “Oh, you know me. Ain’t no party like a Red Hood party. You gonna be okay on patrol?”

Bruce nods, head jerking like a marionette handled by a very bad intern. “Take care of yourself,” he says, then pauses. Grits his teeth, takes a breath. And then, with barely-there hesitation, “I’ll see you next Third Thursday.”

It’s not phrased like a question, but it definitely is. Jason just salutes sloppily instead of needling Bruce further on the meaning behind the hesitation. “‘Course, old man. Whatever you want.” And just to hammer his point further, “Whatever you choose.”

He sees it land like a body blow, and sees Bruce recover from it twice as quick. A brusque nod, and Bruce disappears into the streets below, a slab of black blocking the citizens from view.

Now left without an audience, Jason topples onto his back, and lets out an explosive sigh.

So.

That wasn’t a no, was it?

He screams at the sky, and a flock of roosting pigeons take off in a startled hurry.

God fucking bless Third Thursdays, holy shit.

-

Their next couple of Third Thursdays are stilted, but Jason’s willing to put in the effort because while it absolutely sucks to keep going like his confession never happened, he knows how Bruce’s jumbled-up brain works. If they haven’t sat down to have a wholly shitty conversation on how they’re father-and-son, Jason’s just confused, it’s some sort of transference of affection, and he should be finding a nice young someone his own age, then it means that Bruce is still processing. Bruce, after all, prefers to have clear lines drawn between himself and others, for maximum ease in warding off distraction and danger.

If Bruce was completely disinterested, the talk would have come in hard and swift, and there probably would’ve been a lot of screaming. Instead Bruce keeps showing up to TT., if in slightly heavier armour than usual, and Jason can see that he’s more aware of Jason, in full-on observation mode even as he talks about his latest case or any breakthroughs in figuring out who in the hell keeps stealing the good coffee beans from the Watchtower.

It’s progress that’s likely only possible because of how hard they’ve both tried to be better to each other over the past year, and Jason’s pretty sure at this point that when the rejection comes, as long as B’s happy to keep accepting stuff from Jason, they’re going to be alright.

It’s a pretty nice dream.

Things feel rough and uncertain but good on the whole, until it all goes to shit when it’s another Third Thursday and Bruce doesn’t show up on the rooftop of the Opera House. Crime never sleeps, even if it tends to take a nap at Jason’s demand, but B’s conscientious enough to usually text if something came up and he couldn’t come. Once while abducted by Harley and Pam for their weird bi-annual bitchfest, hopped up on Ivy pollen that she swore was a fantastic muscle relaxant and giving Harley his fifteenth bi-annual lecture on how she was far, far too good for Joker, he had even sent a selfie of them all sprawled on a banquette in an abandoned building somewhere with a sad emoji in explanation.

Today, there’s nothing to mark his absence except for his actual absence. Jason sits on edge of the roof and ignores the prickle of unease on the back of his neck. B is a whole adult who’s been roaming these streets doing what he can for literal decades; yes, it’s entirely unlike him to leave someone hanging, yes, it’s the first time he’s gone missing without sending word, yes, something about this stinks, but he could just be running a little late.

God, it’s amazing how optimism can get you at the most inopportune times.

Jason finally cracks, gets his helmet back on to ring the Manor to check in just in case , when the emergency alert trill nearly bursts his eardrum. It’s ingrained into every single person who’s ever worked with the Bat; Jason remembers as a kid seeing Commissioner Gordon startle so hard he dropped coffee on himself when somebody’s phone had gone off with a vaguely similar pitch.

It incites a Pavlovian response; Jason’s already up and running to gain altitude for a better sightline before the alert winds down, and he’s pulling himself up by an angel’s wings by the time Alfred’s voice comes on.

“Good evening, all,” Alfred says, polite even as he sounds incredibly strained. “We have a mass casualty situation. Bane appears to have taken advantage of Third Thursdays, and is in the process of blocking off Cathedral Square; we have reason to believe he intends to set all the revelers there on fire, so I would appreciate any support in evacuating people. Batman has gone after Bane himself, and I have lost contact.” He then rattles off the roads that have been blocked and how best to maneuver around them to get people out, but Jason’s already off and running.

Red alerts aren’t a fun time to be a crimefighter, but there’s a sense of solidarity in knowing that he’s not the only one leaping across rooftops to get to it. For all that Bruce tends to irritatingly emphasise how much he prefers working alone, the network he’s inadvertently set up of people who both love him and would go too far for him is a solid one. He can almost imagine the convergence; Dick coming up from the south, Damian probably rushing in from the Manor to the north, Tim legging it from the east because it stylistically fits with Jason bolting towards the square from the west.

That’s not even counting the girls. Christ, nights like these you couldn’t look up without seeing a terrifying phantasm flying across the sky.

Jason comes up to the main thoroughfare leading to the square first; it’s barely a ten-minute parkour sprint from the Opera House, after all, and he’s still falling when he shoots down a handful of Bane’s goons who have set up a barricade blocking people from leaving.

His timing’s gorgeous; they haven’t lit anyone on fire yet, and while a lot of the civilians are screaming at him and the downed men, that core of Gotham steel shines on through as women in neat dresses and men in business slacks slosh through a bit of blood to help him tear down concrete blocks to make enough space for them to wriggle through. Some sort of concert had been planned for Cathedral Square, and there’s enough panicked people that a few dozen climbing out quietly wouldn’t rouse much attention.

Urgh, a massive shiny red full-face helmet is pretty eye-catching for this, but with this many people around Jason can’t exactly take it off and hope to blend into the crowd as he goes hunting. He snags an absolutely loathsome fedora off the top of a loathsome-looking man, and rams it onto his helmet. Jason hopes no one will be around to take a picture of this indignity, but as long as he slouches, he’s not an obvious target from afar, and this is as good as it’s going to get for now.

A wave of whispers emanate from his makeshift exit, everyone letting the person next to them know before they disappear away, and it’s deeply inefficient as a manner of escape but Jason’s got to hold back from large-scale destruction until he can figure out how Bane planned to set all these people on fire. No point saving everyone close to this exit and having everyone else die because he tripped a trigger.

Look at him, he’s so goddamn tactical.

As he stoops and slouches and slinks in the shadows to get to the next inlet that he can crack open enough to let people escape, people seem to understand what he’s there for, and some even seem eager to contribute to his disguise.

He drew the line at a young woman whispering to him that she had some foundation in her bag and it could stick to anything, honest to God, do you want me to make your disguise more flesh-toned, Mister Red Hood?

He did accept her very pretty scarf that is much nicer than a douchey fedora. Some incomprehensible out-of-towner handed him earmuffs, even though the last time it snowed in Gotham was last week and the locals were already starting to move into summerwear, but it’s the thought that counts. He takes out three more goons close to a tiny side-alley that would lead out to a main street, has someone donate a wig right off of their heads, and when he takes out the mini-squadron protecting the back of the Gotham Central Library and its massive double-doors, he gets an oversized wooly cardigan and what looks like a faux-fur stole draped over him without his permission.

Jason can’t look at himself, of course, but he suspects at this point he probably wouldn’t be mistaken for the Red Hood until somebody was literally maybe four inches away from him. Through it all, though, he still doesn’t see where Bane’s secreted the equipment for mass murder. Hell, even the barricades weren’t difficult to disassemble enough to let people sneak out. He can imagine batty figures high up on the roofs of all the august buildings that butt up to the square running life-saving errands, but Alfred’s regular updates make it clear that everyone’s drawing a blank as to where the weapons actually are. Priority is on getting everyone out without causing enough of a stir that the bulk of Bane’s men up by the stage notice something and start opening fire, but everything feels a couple of inches off centre, and Jason can’t help the feeling of wrongness.

“Hey, PennyOne. What’s the update on B?”

Here Alfred’s smooth delivery of information stutters a little. “Still no contact from him, I’m afraid. Does anyone have eyes on Batman?”

Nobody does, and nobody can see Bane either. Given that Bane on his best day is a spine-snapping motherfucker, Jason’s not exactly happy with current events. Holding the wig tightly to his head, Jason abandons the plan of liberating the next passageway along, and heads straight towards the stage. Staging a large-scale attack is the best way to get Batman to come after you quickly, and if you’re dramatic enough, he’ll get there before he waits for back-up, because not even years of suffering have taught Bruce that he’s not solely responsible for every miserable thing that happens in Gotham.

Do it on a Third Thursday, and if you’ve been watching closely you might know that the Bat’ll come for you with less kit than usual. You might not catch him unawares because a soft British voice is always in his head, but you might find him significantly more vulnerable than literally any other night.

Jason tries not to scream, because he’s already dressed like a walking sartorial nightmare who’s a solid 5’11 even hunched over, and he doesn’t need to contribute further to anybody’s trauma. That’s one of the things that B always used to harp on; don’t get into a routine, don’t become predictable, never allow yourself to get comfortable while on duty.

All Jason had wanted was to make things a little easier, a little more pleasant for Bruce, and this is how karma decides to show him up. After all these years, how is he still surprised that fate is a whole-ass bitch? God literal damn.

All wrapped up in 8 different people’s outfits and a strong sense of self-loathing, Jason draws to a halt close to the stagefront, and surveys the henchmen there. A litle over a dozen or so, armed to the teeth because Bane has an aesthetic that he keeps close to, and all wearing that bored-and-disengaged haze in their eyes. It’s not a definite thing, but it sure would imply that Bane’s not asked them to do anything more intense than appear menacing and keep people in the square. That’s another strike against the big-time arson theory, but Jason takes note of how more than half of them are clustered around the backstage tent. Something important is clearly being kept there, and Bane’s got a less clear cut MO than most of the rogues’ gallery. Jason’s first thought is that it must be munitions, because Bane sure does love him some straight-up physical violence, but when Alfred’s voice starts to stutter and fade in and out, things connect together like the final jigsaw piece finally saw the light.

There’s a signal jammer, it’s got to be some sort of powerful signal jammer, and if Alfred can’t trace Bruce’s location or get in touch with him, then Bruce must be close by. Jason surreptitiously looks around for a Bat or a Bird that could double up with him to storm the tents, but maybe they’re too civic-minded to abandon the cause of evacuating civilians, because Jason’s reading the pattern and whirls of people movement and can’t spot anyone sneaking towards the front.

It makes sense to get people out of the way first before lunging into the heart of a battle: less collateral, it’ll just be bad men versus bat men (and women). Jason’s really only here because he believes in the average Gothamite’s ability to worm their way out of trouble given a little helping hand, and something about Bruce’s absence sits so badly with him that it’s unbearable.

The thought, when it finally hits, smashes into him like a bat to the back of the head. No clear signs of weapons to be used on a huge number of people, elite guards that don’t look too interested in guarding, no alarm being raised that dozens of henchmen have been felled at various checkpoints, comms jammer.

Jesus. Bane wants them to wear themselves out spiriting away innocents, be unable to communicate and coordinate, and have all of them herd themselves closer to whatever the hell else he’s got stored in the white tent. Minimum civilian casualty, but it’s a surefire way to take a sizable chunk of the vigilante community out in one night.

In a high panic, it’s not a terrible plan; all of their training always, always puts priority on saving the vulnerable, and with all hands on deck a full-frontal assault would favour the team that has more experience working together in creative and terrifying ways. It’s also enormously flawed, because while Dick might be the type to vault off a cornice and tuck-and-roll into a perfect landing on stage to demand a fair fight, there are also enough sufficiently suspicious bastards in their little pack that someone will inexplicably go off on their own and inadvertently execute a pincer attack.

No, if you want everyone to come together quickly and mindlessly, you’d need more motivation than a dozen gunmen. Hostages are a good idea, but even Red Robin can disarm someone with breathtaking accuracy given one batarang and about a hundred paces, so that’s also not guaranteed.

No, no, if you really want all of them to converge at the speed of instinct, you take a hostage, and the hostage just has to be B-

Oh, man. Oh man, oh man, he’s going to need to put down Bane, he swears he will, after this.

Jason’s first thought is to do away with the subterfuge and just go in all guns a-blazing, tear the tent to pieces to find Bruce and whatever Bane’s plan is all in one go. Jason’s read on the situation isn’t 100% guaranteed to be right, but the pieces all fit, and among the things you pick up during an apprenticeship with the world’s greatest detective is the skill to believe your hindbrain when it makes connections too smart for the rest of you.

He could take out 4 men easily from where he is; he probably wouldn’t be found out until he breaks cover to take out the other two patrolling on stage, and then it’ll be open-season with the rest of the men hovering by the white tent. He could take them, Jason’s pretty sure. He wants to take them, is the thing.

A thought is the only thing that stays his hand; it’s the memory of Bruce’s gentle grip on his arm, the night of his confession. It’s the serious face and the serious voice asking him, “Do you need help?”

Right now, Jason wants to say no, he doesn’t, he’s more than able to tackle this alone. It’s even the Batman-y thing to do, to take everything on by himself, but….

Ah, fuck. It’s the Batman thing to do, but Jason’s going to end up being a hypocritical son of a bitch if he’s angling to get Bruce to open up and accept that he should listen to other people sometimes when he refuses to do it himself. Jason feels a headache coming on; Bruce had taken on a heavy, weird confession about feelings and desires that even Jason hasn’t figured out the extent of.

Jason can at least take his head out of his ass, back down from a one-man Rambo show, and do this right.

It takes an effort of will to pivot on his heel and sneak back further afield until he’s free of the jammer and can communicate what he’s found out and what he’s inferred; Jason spends the entirety of their planning phase feeling a little irritated that Bruce has somehow made Jason actually cooperative and team-spirited without ever saying a word about it.

The bastard better appreciate the lengths Jason is willing to go to just to keep him safe, fuck.

-

It comes to a head with a flaccid little whump . Under the combined forces of the assembled and very angry Bat family, Bane’s operation is taken out at the knees. Tim and Babs jam the jammer, Cass and Damian handle the armed guards near the front, Steph and Dick demolish the biggest barricades to let the remaining crowd of thousands leg it to safety, and Jason bumrushes the tent because they’d all come to a quick consensus that if Bane’s pulled any sort of back-breaking bullshit, the definition of ‘unnecessary force’ is going to get a bit hazy for everyone involved so long as 1. Bruce never finds out, and 2. Jason tries to stop before actual death. The rest of the group will be along as soon as they’ve done their part, but Jason gets to lead the charge.

He rolls in with most of his costume still intact, because Tim and Dick have already taken a combined 300 pictures of him in his full Gotham Look and he has become unable to feel shame. Instead of a bitter fight to the almost-death, though, he finds Bruce lying on an operating table, and Bane crumpled in a heap on the floor, desiccated and unconscious.

“Uhm.” This isn’t exactly what he’d signed up for.

The sound of his confusion rouses a response from Bruce, a slight clench and unclenching of his fists. Jason’s by his side in seconds, feet slipping and sliding a little in the leaking Venom. He nudges Bane a little further away from the metal table with his foot, and feels proud of himself for not breaking a nose under his heel instead.

Priorities, priorities. He looks down at Bruce’s prone form, and breathes a little easier to see the cowl still intact. Bruce’s eyes are open, but they’re hazy and unfocused. Jason checks his pulse, and ignores the little signs of numerous brutalities that Bruce has endured just from tonight in the Batsuit Lite ™, fuck, it isn’t even the Batsuit Mild ™ that has been the go-to armour the past few Third Thursdays.

“You with us, big guy? The rest of the gang’s going to roll in in a sec,” Jason tells B with forced levity, even as his hands start assessing the damage and addressing the myriad tiny cuts and bruises before he moves on to the more serious hurts.

Bruce blinks like it takes all his energy, and then smiles. “Glad. Came with….. gang,” he forces out through a bruised throat.

“All your harping about togetherness finally got through to me, I guess.” Jason pulls off his scarf and breaks a donated pair of sunglasses to fashion mini-splints for two fingers on Bruce’s left hand. He can’t do anything about the wrist right now except for basic compression, and he is not going to think about how the actual patrol suit could have prevented a lot of this damage. “Mind telling me how you took down Mister Big Bad over here? To be honest, I was looking forward to mounting a hell of a cool rescue.”

“Cool enough.” The noise Bruce makes is half a laugh and half a wheeze from injured ribs. “Bane wanted to lure…. All of you. Kill in front of me.” A deep, shaky breath. “Nicked pipe with batarang….. Mid-gloat.” A derisive snort. “Not even…..titanium-plated.”

It’s beneath Bruce to say dumbass, but the implication is pretty damn clear. Jason just laughs. “Don’t give him any ideas, B.” He’s stabilised Bruce to the best of his abilities, and decides that he’d rather Bruce get some medical attention as quickly as he can manage it. He pulls Bruce to sit up, and gives him time for the motion blur to settle. “I know you’re drugged up, but is it anything to be worried about?”

He’s greeted with the littlest shake of the head. “Just standard HS-342. Excuse me.” With surprising speed for a man so thoroughly out of it, Bruce leans over the other side of the table and throws up. When he sits back up, he seems more present. “It isn’t Bane’s usual style to try poisons, and this suit’s filter isn’t the best, so he took me by surprise when I cornered him here.” Bruce rubs at his mouth with a bloodied hand, and he makes everything look about 200 times worse.

Jason’s offering a wet wipe before his brain even digests the sight; Bruce just accepts it without comment, now looking down at the unconscious Bane. “Lucky he was in the mood for a long and slow torture session; think he was too excited at the prospect of catching all of you and gloating about it to kill me when he had he chance. Had more aerosolised paralytics prepped for all of you, too.” Bruce nods his head at massive gas canisters tucked into the corner of the tent, all with skulls and crossbones on them. They’re pretty hard to see, on account of being hidden behind crates that held enough firepower to down the average sovereign nation, wow.

“Taking you hostage was pretty bright, but it’s kinda amazing how no one’s figured out that it’s always a crapshoot for me, the demon spawn, and Black Bat with all this drug stuff.” Even if they had just barged in, even if Bruce hadn’t worked his way out of this mostly himself, it might not have gone totally tits-up then, which is good to know.

They don’t talk about the concept of how torture counts as good luck, because Bruce isn’t exactly wrong, is he? “C’mon, let’s get you out of here.”

More from force of will than any actual motor control, Bruce heaves himself onto his feet and stays standing. “The weapons and gas-”

“Clean-up team’s on the way in. PennyOne was very explicit about getting you back to base ASAP, B, and it’s way more than I’m paid to question our highest power.” Jason tucks an arm around Bruce’s waist, and pulls Bruce’s arm over his shoulder. “C’mon. I’ve got you.”

“Yes,” Bruce says, sounding a little awed. “Yes, I think you do.”

-

Jason sees neither hide nor hair of Bruce until the next Third Thursday, but word on the street is that Alfred’s wrath and Dick pulling double-shifts meant that Bruce got some enforced time-off; a whole two weeks of downtime, wonder of wonders. He had texted to say that he had some business going on and would need to take a rain check on dinner, but it’s mostly to stop Bruce from showing up all battered and bruised.

Jason has actually been busy, though. Having an assault mounted on a Third Thursday’s a pretty grievous insult, and goes against the entire point of having it, so Jason’s been doing some housekeeping. A better shift rotation of patrolling criminals that keep a cap on how much evil can manifest on this off day, a shakedown of a couple of crime families that had helped Bane smuggle his weapons and his mercs in, a bit of a rampage in Crime Alley that reminded the people that the Red Hood’s not the sort to be ignored. He intensely injures a large number of people who really deserve it, but he keeps everyone alive because it’s supposed to be recovery time for Batman.

He does still come by the Opera House with his usual order from the taquería, because his circadian cycle is three weeks long and he had subconsciously worked to have the night free the way he’s done consciously for well over a year now. Besides, missing this would have María José worry, and she’s had plenty to worry about after the brush with Bane’s terrorism the last TT. Jason’s sat on the lip of the massive, ostentatious golden dome, enjoying the breeze in his hair when a shadow alights in his periphery.

It’s a strange thing, but all of them have a different texture to the darkness they shroud themselves in. It’s all to do with costume material and gait and build and posture, some indeterminable mixture of all these things, but with enough time of figuring out who’s who just from a patch of not-quite-pitch-black, it becomes as bright and loud a signature as them just shouting their names.

Bruce’s shadows fall around him like a hedge growing over a statue; a mix of organic and not, and the quick terror that manifests when they fall away and all of a sudden it’s just a not-quite-man that’s all sharp edges and shades of darkness.

Jeeze. B gets roughed around a little bit, and Jason’s gone all dramatic in his head. He doesn’t betray his thoughts, just leans back to scowl as dramatically as he can muster. “Could’ve sworn I said not to come, B. Bane’s magic gas did a number on your reading comprehension too?”

Bruce doesn’t say anything in response, just plods over with a paper bag in hand. “Here,” he says, dropping it on Jason’s lap before taking a seat next to him, posture still tense. “I was on my way to pick up Korean fried chicken from a truck close by the library when we caught wind of Bane’s plans, and I ended up missing our prior engagement.”

The bag smells like it’s filled with something divine, and Jason’s diving in and already breaking into a sweat from the expectation of tongue-turning spiciness. He loves fried chicken in all their incarnations, but KFC hits something different, oh. Jason’s downed two wings and half a drumstick before situational awareness comes back in. “On the list of things you’ve done wrong by me, B, not getting me food because you were too busy thwarting a terrorist attack’s pretty low down.”

Bruce just shrugs. “It’s a pretty long list.”

“It’s gotten shorter.”

That gains him a look of curiosity, tinged with doubt. Jason licks his fingers, and realises this is the first time he’s actually eaten something Bruce’s brought for him. There’s probably something there to unpack, but that can wait until after he’s had his fill. He doesn’t say anything else, just waits for the inevitable question.

“How?”

Jason just shrugs, and pushes his tacos over. “I got to know you as an actual person, I guess. You make enough mistakes all by yourself, and I figured that I didn’t need to be angry with you about things that I know you didn’t mean.” Like missing a dinner date to save a city, like coming when he’s supposed to stay away, like looking ready for a fight with Jason over an absence of snacks.

Like Bruce letting the Joker live didn’t mean that he didn’t love Jason in his wholehearted, visceral way. The justice system isn’t built to handle people like Joker; Jason’s come to accept that neither is Bruce, and that’s a fact that he can either take in and accept, or not.

When push comes to shove, it’s no harder than accepting a bag of chicken.

They subside into silence; Bruce is the only human being Jason has ever met who could eat a hard-shell taco while making almost zero sound, and it’s easily the most unacceptable thing about him.

The music coming from down below is a little muted; it’ll probably take another couple of weeks before the stress of Bane’s hot nonsense cools down enough for Gothamites to go back to their wild ways, so tonight all they get is the tinny screech of some fiddles that are occasionally drowned out by one determined elderly woman on an accordion.

“Jason,” Bruce says, and that means it’s time to be serious because they’re still in their suits. Jason has a premonition of what this talk’s going to be about, and settles himself into a state of casual resignation.

“Jason,” Bruce says again, emphasising God knows what. “The…. thing, you previously brought up. Regarding your feelings.”

“Yep, I remember, thanks for bringing it up in the most awkward way possible.”

There’s a squeak of leather as Bruce clenches his fist, but the effect is somewhat ruined by the squidge of a sauce-laden bit of lettuce squishing out. “I’m doing my best.” He sounds calm, even if he doesn’t look it. “Taking you to bed is out of the question, right now. But if there’s a, a better dynamic we could have because parent and child isn’t quite right, well.”

Bruce is clearly biting the inside of his cheek, and it’s a new tic, holy shit.

Determination sets in, and he turns to look Jason full in the face because neither the Bat nor the man have ever been cowards. “You have been so good to me, Jason,” he says with aching softness. “I think I want to try to be good for you.”

Jesus Lord Christ. Jason drops a chicken bone onto his lap in his haste to grapple for Bruce, to get a sticky handhold on the back of the cowl, to press their foreheads together. Jesus, Mary, Joseph, he must’ve died again without noticing and this time instead of seeing an al-Ghul on the other side, it’s just hopeless, unbearable Bruce.

He doesn’t let his thought process come out his mouth, doesn’t press in for a kiss that’s unasked for, but he does close his eyes and take in a deep, shuddering breath.

“We’ll figure it out, B.”

Bruce’s lips tip into a lopsided smile. “Thank you, Jason,” he murmurs right back, and.

Jason’s a goddamned goner.

-

A/N: Tumblr always swallows up italics which I viciously over use but I do NOT have the emotional capacity to trawl through this fic once again bc I’m more dead than I am alive atm. GOD I think I’ve found my one true calling: domsub stuff but with 4x more faffing about and 0% sex is my writing sweetspot quarantine rlly be out here making you Real Eyes

#brujay #bruce wayne #jason todd #batman #red hood #i've been up since 4 trying to meet a deadline #and this was after staying up till 2 to post this monstrosity #i'm so on e #whale writing

[megashadowdragon]

I am ferdinand von aegir

ncfan-1 . tumblr . com/post/187898310567/i-am-ferdinand-von-aegir

The fact that Ferdinand says this every time you select him in battle in Part One is a meme for obvious reasons, but I’ve been thinking about it in a serious context for a little while, too.

Ferdinand places a lot of stock in his position as nobility, and in particular his position as successor to the Aegir dukedom, and what that means for his place in the Empire. He’s not the only student character in the game to place a lot of weight in his position—Lorenz, for instance, places a heavy emphasis on the fact that he’s a noble, and makes it clear even at the end of Part Two that he would make a better leader of the Alliance than Claude—but Ferdinand is unique in the sense that we can infer that the importance he places on his heritage and noble role is both something that was conditioned into him since he could understand spoken language, as well as something that is tied up in his sense of identity, and thus self-esteem.

Let’s back up a little bit.

Ferdinand is the only (or at least eldest) son of Duke Aegir, adviser to the current Emperor, Ionius IX. It’s known by everyone that Ferdinand is set to inherit the title and therefore the role and responsibilities of the current Duke Aegir, doing his part alongside Edelgard once she ascends the throne as it is also known that she will. This is a hefty responsibility, but one that Ferdinand feels confident he can take on, because he has been groomed for this since birth and has likely been assured that he will be able to do just as his father has done before him.

But what has his father done before him?

As far as Ferdinand is aware, his father has honorably upheld the status of Duke and has assisted / guided Ionius IX to leading Adrestia to prosperity. But what Ferdinand doesn’t know is that the current Duke Aegir hasn’t so much “guided” Ionius insomuch as he has controlled him, assisting other nobles into completely stripping Ionius of agency and torturing most of his children to death or insanity, and leaving Edelgard with her two Crests, shortened lifespan, and immense trauma. As of Part One, Ferdinand believes that his father is the image of what a noble should be: gallant, protective of commoners, and dedicated to assisting the current emperor and guiding him down the path of righteousness. For Ferdinand to believe this, he has to have been told this. And who would have told him this, if not for his father, the current Duke, himself?

To that end, I think it’s fair to assume that Duke Aegir was the one who filled Ferdinand’s head with the idea that he would have to “guide” Edelgard, no doubt using “guide” as a pleasant euphemism when what he really means is “control.” There is little doubt in my mind that the current Duke Aegir strove to groom Ferdinand to do the exact same thing to Edelgard that he himself did to Ionius IX: to not guide her, as an adviser would to his liege, but rather to control her as a puppeteer would to his marionette. Of course, he couldn’t outright tell Ferdinand to do this, so instead to impressed upon him the importance of guiding Edelgard, and more to the point impressed upon him that he was superior to Edelgard in every way. No doubt Ferdinand was told by his father since he was very, very small that he was smarter than Edelgard, more capable than Edelgard, stronger than Edelgard, and all around superior to her, and this was why he alone was set to “guide” her. If Duke Aegir made Ferdinand believe from essentially infancy that he was the one who would truly lead Adrestia to prosperity, then surely he would have no problem carrying on the noble Aegir tradition of stripping the emperor of all power and leading the country from the shadows. He would grow into the role pretty naturally, so long as Duke Aegir raised him to believe that Edelgard was misguided, weak, and ineffectual.

So Ferdinand grew up with his sense of self wrapped around this concept that he was superior to Edelgard in every way (and that this was a good thing, the right thing) and that he would lead Adrestia (and potentially the rest of Fodlan) to prosperity. His family was the most noble, the greatest, and he would carry the weight of Adrestia on his shoulders. He never doubted any of this because most children don’t doubt their parents when they’re very young, and with Edelgard constantly rebuffing his requests for duels, he had no reason to believe that he was anything but superior to her. (Note: I am not blaming Edelgard for any of this, I’m just saying that Ferdinand not getting knocked on his ass by her for so long did nothing to dash his image of superiority over her.) He was raised with the sole purpose of “guiding” Edelgard as Duke, and therefore never really branched out, considered what might happen if he wasn’t as superior to Edelgard as he was led to believe, or discovered who he really was …

… which is why the identity crisis hits him so hard in Part Two.

To be honest, it’s a bit unclear whether Edelgard ever actually tells Ferdinand what his father did to her (and Ionius IX) by the time Part Two rolls around. I think that if you’re on one of the other paths and recruit Ferdinand to those Houses (or if you’re doing Church Route), then there’s a good chance he never learns, and thinks that his father was unjustly stripped of his title and thrown in prison for no reason. But it’s also a bit hazy to me on whether he knows the truth on the Crimson Flower route either, because I seem to remember monastery dialogue from him at the beginning of Part Two where he says that his relationship with Edelgard is “contentious” at the moment, because of what happened with his father, which implies he doesn’t know (which … Edelgard, why wouldn’t you tell him?). But whether he knows or not, if you see Ferdinand’s supports with Byleth and Edelgard respectively, you see Ferdinand come to realize that he is not superior to Edelgard, and also that he now has to figure out what that means for him, and his role moving forward.

Aside from the fact that Duke Aegir never counted on Edelgard ascending the throne before Ferdinand could get her under his thumb, he also never realized that his attempts to condition Ferdinand to be just like him never had much of a chance of working, because unlike Duke Aegir, Ferdinand has a heart of gold. Ferdinand doesn’t take pride in his place as a noble because he legitimately believes that he’s better than others, but because he genuinely wants to help and protect those who need it. He sees commoner civilians get caught in the crossfire or suffering, and he believes it is not only his purpose, but his joy to help protect them. Setting aside the fact that Edelgard knew the truth of everything that was done to her father and was prepared to stop it, as well as the fact that Hubert would never conspire with anyone to manipulate and control Edelgard as his father did before him, I firmly believe that even if Edelgard hadn’t tossed the current Duke Aegir in jail and made it clear that those who conspired to control her would face similar consequences, Ferdinand would have never done what his father did. He believed, because he was raised to believe, that he was superior to Edelgard and that this was the way things were supposed to be, but he never held the malice toward Edelgard (or the greed for power) that his father held for hers. Ferdinand only ever wanted to work with Edelgard to ensure the best for their people, which is precisely what he ends up doing after coming to terms with who he is and what his true role within the Empire is, working as her advisor along with Hubert.

All of this is to say … I think it’s very telling that he stops declaring his identity on the battlefield all the time in Part Two. By the time Part Two rolls around, House Aegir is pretty much in disgrace due to his father being punished for his crimes, Ferdinand has most likely realized that he’s not superior to Edelgard as he has been raised to believe, and he knows now (since he’s fully out of his teenage years and has fought in a war for the past five years) that there is no honor that will be given simply based on what your name is or what House you hail from, but rather that honor is a result of your actions (and that even if not everyone knows your actions, that means nothing compared to the results your actions have). When he’s a teenager in Part One, Ferdinand declares his name on the battlefield because he thinks that telling the enemy that he is Ferdinand von Aegir, heir to the Aegir Dukedom, will be enough to make them quake in his boots and also let everyone else around know that they are safe and can rest easy because he is here to save the day. But when he’s an adult, he knows that his name in fact means nothing, and that if he wants people to know that he’ll protect them, he has to show them in action rather than just telling them in words (and also expecting them to know what those words mean, because as Byleth demonstrated when they first met, not everyone knows who Duke Aegir even is).

All in all, while Ferdinand shouting his name at the start of every battle in Part One is a meme for good reason (one that I myself laugh at), I also think it’s a subtle way to give insight to both his background and his character development given that he stops saying it in Part Two. Particularly when you see his supports with Byleth, Edelgard, and even Hubert, it’s clear how much he changes once he stops basing his entire identity and self-esteem around what he was raised to believe, and instead comes to determine a role and purpose for himself (which, incidentally, is what Edelgard wants and encourages everyone, Ferdinand included, to do). In that sense, it’s really wonderful and it’s something I’m glad is in the game, no matter how memetic it is.

#fire emblem three houses #fire emblem three houses spoilers #ferdinand von aegir #fire emblem ferdinand #fe16 ferdinand #fe3h ferdinand

[sage-nebula]

“I am Ferdinand von Aegir.”

The fact that Ferdinand says this every time you select him in battle in Part One is a meme for obvious reasons, but I’ve been thinking about it in a serious context for a little while, too.

Ferdinand places a lot of stock in his position as nobility, and in particular his position as successor to the Aegir dukedom, and what that means for his place in the Empire. He’s not the only student character in the game to place a lot of weight in his position---Lorenz, for instance, places a heavy emphasis on the fact that he’s a noble, and makes it clear even at the end of Part Two that he would make a better leader of the Alliance than Claude---but Ferdinand is unique in the sense that we can infer that the importance he places on his heritage and noble role is both something that was conditioned into him since he could understand spoken language, as well as something that is tied up in his sense of identity, and thus self-esteem.

Let’s back up a little bit.

Ferdinand is the only (or at least eldest) son of Duke Aegir, adviser to the current Emperor, Ionius IX. It’s known by everyone that Ferdinand is set to inherit the title and therefore the role and responsibilities of the current Duke Aegir, doing his part alongside Edelgard once she ascends the throne as it is also known that she will. This is a hefty responsibility, but one that Ferdinand feels confident he can take on, because he has been groomed for this since birth and has likely been assured that he will be able to do just as his father has done before him.

But what has his father done before him?

As far as Ferdinand is aware, his father has honorably upheld the status of Duke and has assisted / guided Ionius IX to leading Adrestia to prosperity. But what Ferdinand doesn’t know is that the current Duke Aegir hasn’t so much “guided” Ionius insomuch as he has controlled him, assisting other nobles into completely stripping Ionius of agency and torturing most of his children to death or insanity, and leaving Edelgard with her two Crests, shortened lifespan, and immense trauma. As of Part One, Ferdinand believes that his father is the image of what a noble should be: gallant, protective of commoners, and dedicated to assisting the current emperor and guiding him down the path of righteousness. For Ferdinand to believe this, he has to have been told this. And who would have told him this, if not for his father, the current Duke, himself?

To that end, I think it’s fair to assume that Duke Aegir was the one who filled Ferdinand’s head with the idea that he would have to “guide” Edelgard, no doubt using “guide” as a pleasant euphemism when what he really means is “control.” There is little doubt in my mind that the current Duke Aegir strove to groom Ferdinand to do the exact same thing to Edelgard that he himself did to Ionius IX: to not guide her, as an adviser would to his liege, but rather to control her as a puppeteer would to his marionette. Of course, he couldn’t outright tell Ferdinand to do this, so instead to impressed upon him the importance of guiding Edelgard, and more to the point impressed upon him that he was superior to Edelgard in every way. No doubt Ferdinand was told by his father since he was very, very small that he was smarter than Edelgard, more capable than Edelgard, stronger than Edelgard, and all around superior to her, and this was why he alone was set to “guide” her. If Duke Aegir made Ferdinand believe from essentially infancy that he was the one who would truly lead Adrestia to prosperity, then surely he would have no problem carrying on the noble Aegir tradition of stripping the emperor of all power and leading the country from the shadows. He would grow into the role pretty naturally, so long as Duke Aegir raised him to believe that Edelgard was misguided, weak, and ineffectual.

So Ferdinand grew up with his sense of self wrapped around this concept that he was superior to Edelgard in every way (and that this was a good thing, the right thing) and that he would lead Adrestia (and potentially the rest of Fodlan) to prosperity. His family was the most noble, the greatest, and he would carry the weight of Adrestia on his shoulders. He never doubted any of this because most children don’t doubt their parents when they’re very young, and with Edelgard constantly rebuffing his requests for duels, he had no reason to believe that he was anything but superior to her. (Note: I am not blaming Edelgard for any of this, I’m just saying that Ferdinand not getting knocked on his ass by her for so long did nothing to dash his image of superiority over her.) He was raised with the sole purpose of “guiding” Edelgard as Duke, and therefore never really branched out, considered what might happen if he wasn’t as superior to Edelgard as he was led to believe, or discovered who he really was . . .

. . . which is why the identity crisis hits him so hard in Part Two.

To be honest, it’s a bit unclear whether Edelgard ever actually tells Ferdinand what his father did to her (and Ionius IX) by the time Part Two rolls around. I think that if you’re on one of the other paths and recruit Ferdinand to those Houses (or if you’re doing Church Route), then there’s a good chance he never learns, and thinks that his father was unjustly stripped of his title and thrown in prison for no reason. But it’s also a bit hazy to me on whether he knows the truth on the Crimson Flower route either, because I seem to remember monastery dialogue from him at the beginning of Part Two where he says that his relationship with Edelgard is “contentious” at the moment, because of what happened with his father, which implies he doesn’t know (which . . . Edelgard, why wouldn’t you tell him?). But whether he knows or not, if you see Ferdinand’s supports with Byleth and Edelgard respectively, you see Ferdinand come to realize that he is not superior to Edelgard, and also that he now has to figure out what that means for him, and his role moving forward.

Aside from the fact that Duke Aegir never counted on Edelgard ascending the throne before Ferdinand could get her under his thumb, he also never realized that his attempts to condition Ferdinand to be just like him never had much of a chance of working, because unlike Duke Aegir, Ferdinand has a heart of gold. Ferdinand doesn’t take pride in his place as a noble because he legitimately believes that he’s better than others, but because he genuinely wants to help and protect those who need it. He sees commoner civilians get caught in the crossfire or suffering, and he believes it is not only his purpose, but his joy to help protect them. Setting aside the fact that Edelgard knew the truth of everything that was done to her father and was prepared to stop it, as well as the fact that Hubert would never conspire with anyone to manipulate and control Edelgard as his father did before him, I firmly believe that even if Edelgard hadn’t tossed the current Duke Aegir in jail and made it clear that those who conspired to control her would face similar consequences, Ferdinand would have never done what his father did. He believed, because he was raised to believe, that he was superior to Edelgard and that this was the way things were supposed to be, but he never held the malice toward Edelgard (or the greed for power) that his father held for hers. Ferdinand only ever wanted to work with Edelgard to ensure the best for their people, which is precisely what he ends up doing after coming to terms with who he is and what his true role within the Empire is, working as her advisor along with Hubert.

All of this is to say . . . I think it’s very telling that he stops declaring his identity on the battlefield all the time in Part Two. By the time Part Two rolls around, House Aegir is pretty much in disgrace due to his father being punished for his crimes, Ferdinand has most likely realized that he’s not superior to Edelgard as he has been raised to believe, and he knows now (since he’s fully out of his teenage years and has fought in a war for the past five years) that there is no honor that will be given simply based on what your name is or what House you hail from, but rather that honor is a result of your actions (and that even if not everyone knows your actions, that means nothing compared to the results your actions have). When he’s a teenager in Part One, Ferdinand declares his name on the battlefield because he thinks that telling the enemy that he is Ferdinand von Aegir, heir to the Aegir Dukedom, will be enough to make them quake in his boots and also let everyone else around know that they are safe and can rest easy because he is here to save the day. But when he’s an adult, he knows that his name in fact means nothing, and that if he wants people to know that he’ll protect them, he has to show them in action rather than just telling them in words (and also expecting them to know what those words mean, because as Byleth demonstrated when they first met, not everyone knows who Duke Aegir even is). 

All in all, while Ferdinand shouting his name at the start of every battle in Part One is a meme for good reason (one that I myself laugh at), I also think it’s a subtle way to give insight to both his background and his character development given that he stops saying it in Part Two. Particularly when you see his supports with Byleth, Edelgard, and even Hubert, it’s clear how much he changes once he stops basing his entire identity and self-esteem around what he was raised to believe, and instead comes to determine a role and purpose for himself (which, incidentally, is what Edelgard wants and encourages everyone, Ferdinand included, to do). In that sense, it’s really wonderful and it’s something I’m glad is in the game, no matter how memetic it is.

#fire emblem: three houses #ferdinand von aegir #fe3h #fe16 #meta #fire emblem: three houses spoilers #i say ''even Hubert'' because they're so ridiculously in love it can be hard to look past that #and see the character growth on Ferdinand's part #but it's still there if you can look past all the romo #(it's hard tho. they're so romo. they're so very very romo it's ridiculously adorable) #anyway I love Ferdinand a lot #he is Best Boy Number Two #(Linhardt is Best Boy Number One)

[wessonba]

First, let me say that 5.01 “The Fiery Cross” was a masterful mix of old and new.  It was recognizably based on the book but told with enough new and yet plausible surprises to keep me glued to my screen. It totally could have happened that way.  And, although I love Diana Gabaldon, and her gathering, I’m relieved they didn’t feel the need to replicate it in this episode. Instead, they gave us the wedding of Roger and Bree. It was a wonderful and joyous reunion filled with the people I have missed during this long drought.  As each face was shown on the screen, I found myself smiling somewhat tearfully.  I really do love this story and these characters.

As usual, when I sit down to write after an episode, a blow by blow recap of what happened isn’t on my mind.  There are lots of talented bloggers out there who do a great job looking at EVERTHING! I admire their ability to do so, but that just isn’t how my brain works.  I find myself thinking about one or two things that stood out for me or an overall mood or theme for each episode.  This week I couldn’t stop thinking about Jamie.  The Jamie I saw on my screen this week was the charming, complicated, yet simple man I have been longing to see.  As he stood before Claire wearing his plaid and his father’s coat, it felt like he had finally come into his own; laird, proud Scot, husband, father, grandfather.  He is a man and “that is no small thing”.  His tear-filled eyes throughout this episode revealed his soul and I found myself proud to “know” such a man.

Jamie and Bree

Matt Roberts writes with such love for this story and its characters.  He holds all the previous episodes in mind when he creates and tends to the small and endearing details.  In this episode, he called us back to the three conditions Jamie made when he agrees to marry Claire; a dress, a priest, and a ring.   We are treated to Jamie trying his best to make sure his daughter’s wedding day is the best he can make it, just like he tried for her mother. I was charmed by Jamie making sure Bree had her “modern” wedding tradition of something old, something new (fairly raw whiskey, ouch), something borrowed and something blue and even a sixpence for her shoe. His obvious fatherly concern is compounded by the fact that their relationship is still so new.  He just got her back and now he has to give her away.

As he turns the corner and sees Bree in her wedding dress, you can chase the emotions across his face; awe, pride, gratefulness, and finally a need to hold it all in check for this beloved and found daughter.  He could never have dreamed of placing his mother’s pearls on his daughter’s neck. He is able to pass on a family heirloom to his own flesh and blood. She is his blessing.  She is the embodiment of the fact that his sacrifices were not in vain.  He is moved to tears by her confession that she needs him and will always be his wee girl and the gift of her knowing and repeating the Fraser clan motto, “Je Suis Prest”.

Jamie and Claire

Throughout the episode, we are reminded of Jamie and Claire’s deep, passionate, and abiding love for one another.  The looks that pass between each, the unspoken language of couples who are so close they know what the other thinks and feels, added so much to this episode. Once again, the writers or actors took care to be consistent in how this couple interacts with each other like the “let’s do this” nod when Jamie goes off to do something dangerous.  But, Lord the looks between Jamie and Claire at the wedding.  He looks around at all he has wrought, the family he is surrounded by, and then back to Claire. Who knows.  He is overwhelmed by all he has that he thought he had lost forever.  He is a laird, a father, a…husband.  I am constantly reminded of all they had been denied and wonder if Jamie feels like Job who was blessed in his latter days and given twice as much as had been taken from him.

Jamie and the Governor

I teach literature. When I help students analyze Shakespeare, we talk about foils.  Governor Tyron was perfectly menacing and a perfect foil for Jamie. You couldn’t help but compare the two.  Their motivations, their values, couldn’t be more opposite.  The Governor has the care of a land and its people.  Jamie has the care of a land and its people. The Governor is motivated by power and his own importance.  Murtaugh has made him look a fool and must be punished publicly to restore Tyron’s pride and preserve the perception of his power.  Jamie is motivated by love, honor, and duty.  The knowledge of the future lays heavy on him.  He knows who wins the war, but first, you must survive the battle.  Instinctively he knows the best way to protect his men and their families is to assure their loyalty to him.  He creates a clan from the remnants of their memories and Scottish pride.  When he called Roger “the son of my house” and Fergus “the son of his heart”, he gave them a public affirmation of his acceptance and his love. Pledging their loyalty to him on bended knee with holy iron was one of the most moving callbacks of the whole series.  I loved Roger’s initial confusion then Jamie’s surprise as the scholar moved from academic to real with alacrity.

Jamie and Murtagh

We began and ended the episode with these two.  Murtagh pledges an oath to Jamie, a promise he gave his mother to always follow him and have his back.  He gently reaches out and takes wee Jamie’s hand in reassurance. Men in this time are definitely defined by their word and once given it is a serious and binding commitment. Murtagh pledged his life to Jamie.  We have seen him keep that oath.  We saw Jamie’s joy at being reunited with his godfather last season. However, the real depth of feeling Jamie has for Murtagh could only be guessed at… until this moment.  How much that oath meant to Jamie and his love for his godfather was revealed in this final scene. To save him, Jamie must release Murtagh from his oath and send him away.   In true Jamie and Murtagh fashion, no gushy words are spoken in their final goodbye. Jamie is tearful when he tells him to go and attempts to smile as he tells him to make himself scarce.  Murtagh’s response is to gently reach out and touch Jamie reassuringly, thinking first of Jamie’s feelings and needs always.  He leaves and Jamie then collapses in grief emitting gut-wrenching sobs. I think having loved and lost is painful, but to gain that love back and have to let it go again is unbearable.  Jamie is feeling fear as he never has before and that is saying a lot.  He has a lot to lose and will fight to the death to preserve all that he loves.

This episode and Jamie’s tears caused me to reflect on my own life. I thought of how much more easily my husband and I are moved to tears.  I believe, like Jamie, our age is a factor.  We have a lifetime of painful memories and struggles, things that we have overcome to get where we are now.  And, I often find I am now moved to tears by the simplest of things like watching our youngest granddaughters ride a pony or their obvious pride in catching a fish all by themselves, or watching the teens in all of their various sports and activities.or their inexplicable joy in a pair of gifted footed pajamas!  Sometimes watching the looks of pride on our own children’s faces as they look upon their children moves me to tears and I will look at my husband and find that he too is tearful. Like Jamie and Claire, understanding, gratitude, and love will wordlessly pass between us and end in a brief kiss and a tremulous smile.

      ≈

The Jamie of the Ridge … a reflection on Outlander 5.01 “The Fiery Cross” First, let me say that 5.01 "The Fiery Cross" was a masterful mix of old and new. 

[bytheanchorarchived]

BASIC INFORMATION

FULL NAME: Reid Lois Garwin PRONUNCIATION: ˌ rid ˈloʊəs ˈgɑrwɪn MEANING: Transferred use of the surname derived from the Scottish reid (red). The name arose as a nickname for someone with red hair or a red, ruddy complexion. REASONING: While I don’t know how much thought was put into his name, I take Reid’s name as being more connected to the metaphors and stereotypes usually associated with red haired people. In a way, he is also stereotyped this way. He is shown as bold and quick tempered and wild, and bratty, and brash, and while he can be all of those things it’s more of a first impression of him, the surface level, which I think works perfectly from what people think red haired people are like to what they really are like. Additionally Garwin means ‘rough’ which adds to that idea of his character. NICKNAME(S): Re, mostly by Tyler. And you know, troublemaker. PREFERRED NAME(S): Reid. BIRTH DATE: November 12th, 1990. AGE: 16-17 (canon), 19-24 (other verses) ZODIAC: Scorpio. GENDER: Male. PRONOUNS: He/Him. ROMANTIC ORIENTATION: Biromantic. SEXUAL ORIENTATION: Bisexual. NATIONALITY: American. ETHNICITY: Caucasian. CURRENT LOCATION: Ipswich MA, USA (canon). New York City, NY (some verses), Paris FR (some verses) LIVING CONDITIONS: Boarding school dorm (canon), though his mother lives in town, she is constantly traveling and so Reid spends most of his time at Spenser Academy, sometimes choosing to sleep in his own empty house in the colony. TITLE(S): One fourth of the Covenant of Ipswhich. Water elemental. Troublemaker. Part of Spenser’s swim team. 

↬  INTRODUCTION VIDEO

BACKGROUND

BIRTH PLACE: Home birth, at the shared coven property, assisted by coven midwives. His mother was not happy about it. But it is the custom of the coven when it comes to the first borns of the line. HOMETOWN:  Ipswhich, MA. SOCIAL CLASS: Reid comes from an old family, part of the witches of Salem, who ran from the trials, and settled the colony of Ipswhich. As founders, they became important, and the whole coven turned out well off. To add to it, his mother also comes from a good family, mix of English and French, and she went on to be a big name in fashion business, having an eye for discovering new designers and the charm to acquire the best deals, she makes very good bank. So all in all, money is not something that really concerns him, as it doesn’t any of the boys. He was very well bred and raised, and what he does that clashes with it, he does so of his own will, on purpose. Which means, when he has to he knows how to behave socially perfectly, and chooses instead to dress down, and talk in slang, and act up. EDUCATION LEVEL: Complete High School at boarding school.  Reid was brought up in Spenser Academy since he first entered school, at age 5. At Spenser he took things such as French, piano lessons, and of course made it into the swim team. He tried joining several different other sports teams but nothing truly stuck like swimming. He always hated the rules and the uniforms and all that. More and more as he grew up and it all started to suffocate him. He loves to read, and does so frequently, but hates traditional studying and school in general. He doesn’t like anyone to know he can play the piano, so only the other three boys know this about him. He learned French because his mother has some French in her family, along with English, and often took him along to France and England for business or family trips.  FATHER: Joseph Garwin. MOTHER: Meredith Garwin. SIBLING(S): N/A BIRTH ORDER: N/A CHILDREN: N/A PET(S): N/A, he is a cat person though. OTHER IMPORTANT RELATIONSHIPS: [1] Caleb Danvers, Pogue Parry, and Tyler Simms. The four boys grew up together, and they represent the four families that made a covenant of silence, promising to keep their powers and magic as a whole in secrecy, after escaping the Salem which trials, and settling into a new land. They are each the eldest son of each of those families, and as such, are given the Power — which is to say that once they turned 13, they first received raw magic, into them, and at their 18th birthday, they will each Ascend and get the full share of their Power, become one with it, which will be with them until they die. Because of this, each generation is very close and dependent on one another to keep the others stable. Caleb as the eldest of the four, and the son of the man who caused the derail of the last generation, feels responsible for all of them, is the mom friend, and as such buts heads with Reid nearly constantly. They are usually at odds, since Caleb is quick to get annoyed and Reid can’t resist baiting him, however there is a point where they both meet, in their playfulness and boldness, and rise up together in shenanigans and dares. And at the end of the day, whenever either of them really needs someone, the other will always be there to help. “You know I got your back / I know you do.” Caleb represents the element of Fire, opposite to Reid’s water. Pogue is more the fun big brother friend, who also looks out for the others, but in a more relaxed, and somewhat irresponsible way. He joins in on the fun, and often wins out over them, he passes an air of more security and experience, and is usually one riled up by jealousy. Because of that, Pogue and Reid have a very companionable relationship, with Pogue usually being the one to try and keep the peace in the group, without bossing any of them around. He’s the one Reid shares his risque and bad behavior experiences with, he’s the one he goes to when he needs advice but can’t tell any of the others. They have a more level headed bond, and there are some things Reid’s done that only Pogue knows. Pogue embodies the element of Air, which is why he and Reid are so compatible with one another. Tyler is the one Reid is closest with in the world. When they were kids, Tyler being the youngest, due to his parents pulling away from the coven before his birth, was the easiest to pick on, and Reid would prank him a lot. Slowly, though, that turned into fondness, and later on protectiveness. Reid is fiercely protective of Tyler, and despite his blase facade, he will tear apart anyone who comes close to hurting the boy. Hanging out with Tyler is easy, because though they are very different people, Tyler never judges him. Tyler is often also very impressed by him, and his deeds, which Reid admittedly enjoys, specially because, deep down, he’s the one to admire him, for being as good as he is. Tyler is a good person. Studious and talented, and correct, and Reid both admires it, and enjoys it when he’s able to make him tag along with his crazy plans. Tyler is his best friend. And he is also the person with whom Reid is the most affectionate. They often just lie together in bed and read, or go walk around together in town, and get up to trouble sometimes. Tyler knows who he is better than anyone, and reads him more easily than the others. Tyler represents the element of Earth, who grounds him. IMPORTANT EVENTS: Just before Reid was born, the past generation’s coven started to derail. Caleb’s father was quickly becoming an addict to using the Power, which consumes the weak human body each time it’s used, and because of it he was causing an imbalance in the covenant. The others, unable to watch him consume his own life, and basically slowly kill himself, and after realizing there was no helping him, each reacted in their own way. The tension in their bond, caused the cycle of their births to be stretched, which means Reid was born almost a whole year after Caleb, and Tyler was born almost two whole years after the eldest. It was also because of the break int he coven that when Reid turned seven, his father couldn’t stand to stick around watching William Danvers decay anymore, and after many fights with Reid’s mother as he grew up, they decided to get a divorce, and Joseph left Ipswhich never to be seen again. From time to time, Reid gets a birthday card with cash in it, and some words, but he throws them away, and his father never attempted to have any further contact with him. When Reid turned thirteen, as said above, he got his first share of Power. The five years between thirteen and eighteen are considered test or trial years. It’s when the boys first get to experience magic, and learn what their powers can do, but not still in full capacity. Because it’s just a small portion of the real Power they will get at eighteen, the magic doesn’t decay them yet, and they have to learn to construct their own will power and backbone to restrain their use of it on their own, so that after they turn eighteen, they have learned to resist temptation before it’s a problem and don’t become addicted to it before they even start. This is a big source of his fighting with Caleb, since they have very different views on control and restraint, and Caleb has the burden of his father’s mistakes on his shoulders, which often lead him to judging Reid more harshly than he would otherwise. Reid also often will use more Power around Caleb, out of spite, than he usually does when they’re not together. Secretly though, he has a huge fear of everything they say about him being true, and him becoming the next weak link of this new generation, which is why he develop a finer and more layered control than the others, learning to use just the exact amount of Power needed for every given situation.  At the start of their senior year, just before Caleb turns 18 and ascends (becomes one with Power), a series of haunting events lead them to finding out the line of the fifth family, which used to be a part of the coven and they thought dead, has not ended. They find that descendants of that line have been growing up and decaying young and having sons and passing the Power along, outside the coven, without support or even knowledge of what it’s happening to them. Because of it, Chase Collins, their generation’s fifth member, comes after them thinking he’s found the answer to the consumption of the body by acquiring more Power. Since ascending means becoming one with it, he blackmails Caleb into giving him his full share, after he gets it, and therefore sacrificing himself in return for the safety of the rest of the coven. After a fight, William ends up giving up his own Power to his son, and Caleb defeats Chase with it. When Chase first starts acting up, though, Caleb blames Reid for it, and they spend a lot of time fighting over it. Reid also begs for the chance to help in the fight, but after Chase baits and hurt Pogue, Caleb refuses to let him, and Reid still resents him that, knowing well that Caleb could have easily died and left them behind.  MY REID GARWIN HEADCANONS COMPILATION ARRESTS?:No. Not because the cops didn’t try, but when Reid is in trouble he uses to get out of it. Unless he has been on a masochist roll and decides to punish himself allowing himself to get arrested, which would be verse dependent.  PRISON TIME?: No.

OCCUPATION & INCOME

PRIMARY SOURCE OF INCOME: Trust fund given to him by his grandparents, after his father left.  SECONDARY SOURCE OF INCOME: Whatever job he gets after High School while he’s trying to figure out his life. TERTIARY SOURCE(S) OF INCOME: He will eventually get inheritances from his mother’s side of the family.  APPROXIMATE AMOUNT PER YEAR: Unknown. CONTENT WITH THEIR JOB (OR LACK THERE OF)?: Pretty much. Reid is not the university type, and after High School he spends some time just trying to figure himself out. He gets jobs here and there, and might even follow one of the boys to college, but he’s not decided on a career and he is in no rush to. PAST JOB(S): N/A SPENDING HABITS: Reid is not a big spender. It is true that his rebel clothes are all mostly designer, but that’s pretty much it. He is even the only of the four boys who doesn’t have his own car, since his mother sees it as absurd and he doesn’t really have need to push on the matter. He mostly eats fast food, and or at Spenser, and his hobby can be sated by trips to used books stores, which can’t be considered expensive. MOST VALUABLE POSSESSION: Probably something Tyler gave him a long time ago, like a pendant or a ring / bracelet or something. 

SKILLS & ABILITIES

PHYSICAL STRENGTH: Good physical strength, from years of swimming. OFFENSE: Reid is almost always ready to fight and go at it if he needs to. Specially to protect any of the boys, like when he stops a fight from escalating between Aaron and Caleb by making a friend of the former start puking. He is fast, a quick thinker, thinks outside the box, and strikes preemptively. He would be fairly unpredictable in a fight which is a good trait to have. Offense is the best defense. Reid uses his Power in his offense, and his power is connected to his elemental, water, which means his magic moves and reacts in a similar manner. DEFENSE: Reid is also extremely guarded, and always defensive. He has a tendency to just assume everyone expects the worst of him (which they usually do) and so his logic is what is the good in trying to explain things, or tell his side of the story if no one will believe him? And so walls up, attack mode he goes. SPEED: Reid is fast and slim, but nothing out of the ordinary for a swimmer. INTELLIGENCE: Highly intelligent and also intuitive, though it might not look like it. Reid is so good at getting to people because he’s very very good at reading them. He knows exactly what pushes them, or how to make them fall for something, or what is pissing someone off etc. Like his element (water) he runs deep, and as a child of a single mother, he has learned to anticipate what people are thinking and or feeling. The thing is he doesn’t always use it for good, but he does have high emotional intelligence. That’s why he can read complex books for hours, but systemic evaluation fails him and school bores him. He’s smart in out of the box ways. ACCURACY: Because Reid grew up hearing that he was the weak link in the group, the one more prone to becoming and addict and ruining everything, he spent countless hours training his control over power, and has the most refinement of all the boys. He never uses more than he has to to do exactly what he wants. Which is show by how the explosion of magic in his eyes is always very controlled, and only ever turns black when he absolutely needs full power (once when they all use it to levitate the car whilst running from the police, and another when he is fighting Caleb who is the most powerful of all of them). He has incredible focus and measure. As water is very versatile, so is Reid and his fighting technique. AGILITY: Reid has agile thinking, always understanding or seeing things before everyone else in the room. STAMINA: Reid has good stamina due to swimming and the Power. TEAMWORK: Reid can work in a team when he wants to, and has done it his whole life growing up with the boys. They studied together, learned about power together practiced together, went on vacations together, had sleep overs etc etc. He works in a team all the time, but he can get in moods where he needs to be alone. He’s definitely the most independent of the boys in that sense, because he goes out and does his own things, “had things to do”, while the others tend to move more in a pack, or with family. It depends on his will. TALENTS: Playing the piano, swimming. SHORTCOMINGS: Focusing for long periods of time, Cooking, Cleaning, Following Orders, Standardized Tests, Impulsive, Defensive, Pushes people away.  LANGUAGE(S) SPOKEN: English (native), French (not totally fluent). DRIVE?: Yes. JUMP-STAR A CAR?: Yes. More or less. With Power. CHANGE A FLAT TIRE?: Nope. RIDE A BICYCLE?: Yes. He owns one. SWIM?: Yes. Very well. PLAY AN INSTRUMENT?:  Yes, the piano. PLAY CHESS?: Yes. BRAID HAIR?: No. TIE A TIE?: Yes. PICK A LOCK?: Doesn’t have to. Power.

PHYSICAL APPEARANCE & CHARACTERISTICS

FACE CLAIM: Toby Hemingway. EYE COLOR: Icy Blue. HAIR COLOR: Natural Blonde. HAIR TYPE/STYLE: Longish, disheveled. GLASSES/CONTACTS?: No. DOMINANT HAND: Right. HEIGHT: 5′11′’ feet (or 180 cm) WEIGHT: Unknown. BUILD: Slim, lean muscles, tending to the thinner side. EXERCISE HABITS: Daily swimming, plus cardio. SKIN TONE: Pale, white. TATTOOS: See this post. PIERCINGS: N/A. MARKS/SCARS: A few from scrapes with people or childhood ones, just minor pale cut ones. NOTABLE FEATURES: Striking blue eyes, bright blonde hair, broad shoulders. USUAL EXPRESSION: Smirking, smug, goading. CLOTHING STYLE: Over-sized, ripped, jackets, boots, beanie, fingerless gloves, fashionably rebel. JEWELRY: Yes. He wears rings and bracelets and pendants, it depends on his mood and his outfit. May also wear earrings. ALLERGIES: N/A BODY TEMPERATURE: Cooler than average, like water. DIET: Highly inconsistent. Take out, cafeteria food. PHYSICAL AILMENTS: N/A

PSYCHOLOGY

JUNG TYPE: ENFP ENNEAGRAM TYPE: Type 5. The Investigator ( Ego fixation: Retention. Holy idea: Omniscience, transparency. Basic fear: Helplessness, incapability, incompetence. Basic desire: Mastery, understanding. Temptation: Replacing direct experience with concepts. Vice/Passion: Avarice. Virtue: Non-Attachment. Stress: 7. Security: 8.). Type 4. The Individualist ( Ego fixation: Melancholy (Fantasizing). Holy idea: Origin. Basic fear: Having no identity or significance. Basic desire: To be uniquely themselves. Temptation: To overuse imagination in search of self. Vice/Passion: Envy. Virtue: Equanimity (Emotional Balance). Stress: 2. Security: 1.). Type 8. The Challenger ( Ego fixation: Vengeance (Objectification). Holy idea: Truth. Basic fear: Being controlled, harmed, violated. Basic desire: Self-protection.Temptation: Thinking they are completely self-sufficient. Vice/Passion: Forcefulness. Virtue: Innocence. Stress: 5. Security: 2.). MORAL ALIGNMENT: Neutral Good and or Chaotic Good. TEMPERAMENT: Sanguine. ELEMENT: Water. PRIMARY INTELLIGENCE TYPE: Interpersonal, Musical and Kinesthetic APPROXIMATE IQ: Unknown. MENTAL CONDITIONS/DISORDERS: Low Self Steem. Isolates himself emotionally. Doesn’t believe he is worthy of love, or that love is for him. Fear of commitment. Fear of depending on anyone else. Fear of happiness. Shocks people to test them. Blows things up for himself for fear of it not working out. Pushes people to see if they’ll push back. Doesn’t believe in happy families. Self-destructive behavior. SOCIABILITY: Reid is very sociable. He likes to be in large groups and to be the center of attention. He feels comfortable in large parties, and is popular in school. He likes to tell outrageous stories, to shock people and make them laugh. He can go from 100 to -100 quickly though, and suddenly need rest or isolation. He can find rest being alone with strangers, so he’ll often push close people away to think or breathe. EMOTIONAL STABILITY: Reid is usually pretty relaxed, but there are a few key things, or people (name Caleb) who get under his skin and make him feisty and irritable. He is prone to jealousy due to his fear of being replaced, and not being good enough for the people he loves in the first place, so that can mess with him. Other than that he usually doesn’t care about what people think of him, or what they say. He does as he wants, and only cares about what people say of his friends. OBSESSION(S): Taking control over his use of Power. PHOBIA(S): What they say about him being true, and him being addicted to Power as soon as he ascends and end up decaying and ruining the coven.  ADDICTION(S): None. DRUG USE: Recreational pot, smoking on and off. ALCOHOL USE: Reid drinks occasionally but only ever at parties or things like that. He can get plastered, and enjoys doing so, but it’s not often.  PRONE TO VIOLENCE?: Sometimes. But not often and not by everyone. Mostly idiotic people amuse him, instead of making him angry. 

MANNERISMS

SPEECH STYLE: Reid purposefully talks in slang, abbreviating words, rarely saying them entirely, joining words together and using pet names and his own specific terms for things. His tone is relaxed, and drags a little, and he likes to say things that will shock people.  ACCENT: American. MA. QUIRKS: Talks with a smirk, sarcastic, slouches his shoulders, bites fingernails, hangs off people, very touchy, puts his arm around them, or uses them as head / leg / etc rest, specially so with Tyler. Makes people feel like they’ve known him forever when they talk. Can be mysterious when he wants to. Plays with things on his hands when he’s nervous. Looks down when avoiding subjects. Side smiles and shrugs a lot. HOBBIES: Reading, playing the piano (occasionally), swimming in the ocean, climbing (and jumping off cliffs). HABITS: Staying up late and sleeping in, drinking lots of coffee, reading in bed, sitting to watch the ocean, going off alone when there’s too much nervous energy in him. Falls asleep during class due to boredom and his escapades.  NERVOUS TICKS: Doodles to keep himself occupied and have an outlet for build up energy, will doodle on anything, from cash, to notebooks, to Tyler’s arms and hands. Clenches his jaw. Becomes antsy  and irritable. Can’t stay still. Will rather stand than sit down. Sits at the edge of his seat when he’s bothered, like he’s ready to get up at any moment.  DRIVES/MOTIVATIONS: Mastering his Power, protecting Tyler, not becoming the person people think he is. Keeping a good relationship with his mother. Standing out.  FEARS: Letting someone in and being abandoned. Being an addict. Not being good for committed relationships, turning into his father if he ever tries. Ending up alone. Self destruction. The future. POSITIVE TRAITS: Fun, Charming, Curious, Protective, Affectionate, Resilient, Spontaneous, Intuitive, Open Minded, Determined, Loyal, Honest despite what people think. NEGATIVE TRAITS: Self Doubting, Self Destructive, Reckless, Impulsive, Flighty, Jealous.  SENSE OF HUMOR: Sarcastic, ironic, dirty, forward, intelligent, cheeky, pop references. DO THEY CURSE OFTEN?: Yes. CATCHPHRASE(S): “Harry Potter can kiss my ass.” “Hell boys, Let’s drop in.” “Say my name.” “You kinda remind me of [my grandmother].” “You want me to stop? That’ll impress Harvard.” “It’s not over yet, boys.” “Big deal.” “I don’t see anyone else in here, do you?” “We were just playin’em.”  “I swear.” “Didn’t it, though?” FAVORITE QUOTE: “You know we got your back.“ FAVORITE QUOTE (ABOUT): “It’s always Reid.” REID SPEAKS (sample of my own Reid quotes)

FAVORITES

ACTIVITY: Thrill seeking, gambling, swimming, reading. ANIMAL: Cats. BEVERAGE: Beer. Coffee. Tea (he learned it from his mother). BOOK: Classics (such as Stephen King’s). CELEBRITY: N/A COLOR: Grayish blue. DESIGNER: Changes from time to time. FOOD: Chinese take out. FLOWER: Sea Lavender. GEM: Crystals. HOLIDAY:  Christmas. MODE OF TRANSPORTATION: Bike. MOVIE: Mystery and horror ones. MUSICAL ARTIST: Many. QUOTE/SAYING: “Selfish people live longer.” SCENERY: Mix of urban and nature. SCENT: Pines, coffee, cold salt (ocean). SPORT: Swim. SPORTS TEAM: Spenser’s Swim Team. TELEVISION SHOW: Supernatural. WEATHER: Fall. VACATION DESTINATION: England.

ATTITUDES

GREATEST DREAM: Enduring the Power. GREATEST FEAR: Failing the other boys and his mother. MOST AT EASE WHEN: Surrounded by people, doing something fun. Or with Tyler. LEAST AT EASE WHEN: Cornered or being judged. WORST POSSIBLE THING THAT COULD HAPPEN: Become and addict to Power. BIGGEST ACHIEVEMENT: Believing there is a future for him. BIGGEST REGRET: Not having been there for Caleb regardless of his orders. MOST EMBARRASSING MOMENT: Being found out as bisexual by the other boys before he was ready. BIGGEST SECRET: He craves not to be who people think they are. His sexuality. TOP PRIORITIES: Proving himself, gathering attention, protecting the others. 

adapted from

#bio tag #𝕚𝕤𝕞𝕤 ↬ harry potter can kiss my ass (reid garwin) #long post

[jaeokita]

Book Review on Frankly In Love by David Yoon

Frankly In Love by David Yoon is a book I picked up a while ago because the synopsis captivated and hit too close to home for me. I recently finished reading it and initial review is that this book is such a laid book and steady flow read for me. It was like reading an asian soap opera watching everything unfold at a nice pace. The book gives the reader a very accurate view on how asian culture and family is. Asians are a very close and tight knit race that stick together in a foreign land.

I love how Frank struggles with pleasing his parents so he doesn't follow his sister, Hanna's old road in life. Hanna was the perfect daughter, becoming a successful lawyer and the jewel in their parents' eyes until she chose to fall in love with an African american man. This is a big no no for a lot of old school asian families. You will face being disowned by your family and that's exactly what happens to Hanna. I know it's much more open minded now in reality but there is still a certain amount of distaste in the back of a lot of asian parents' mind when their children bring home significant others of a different race.

Another aspect I loved, was the foundation that was built among the older generation of how they would have these monthly gatherings at each others' houses to catch up on life, let their children hang out and continue the tradition hopefully. When asians immigrate to another country, they certainly do make it a goal to move to a town or city where there are other asians or try to locate other asians. In the book, seems like the few families mentioned were old school friends who landed in the same area in California. They are all well off whether it was starting their own laundromats, restaurants, and stores. And when asians get together they typically like to boast and show off what their wealth and success have gotten them. For example, expensive cars, giant houses, living in nice neighborhoods, and how smart and accomplished their children are. This rings very factual as whenever I go out with family the conversations always spiral to my son or daughter works there or did this so forth. It's normal and definitely was vert enjoyable to read about in the book.

When Frank's relationship with Brit goes down the drain, and he and Joy became official, I was leaping and squealing in joy. I had been cheering for them since they both appeared in the same scene in the book. Everything was fine and dandy until a joke goes wrong at a gathering and everything started going south for them too. I was screaming no after watching them go through everything with their previous significant others and Joy being there with Frank when his father got shot and learning his father was diagnosed with cancer. Thick and thin in other words.

This shows us how much influence parents hold over their children especially in asian families. In the book even Frank wonders how long do parents hold power over them and if it is only as long as we allow them. And then he believes they will hold power over them until they die and beyond. Typically it's the girl that usually crumbles under a parent's pressure to stop seeing someone and Joy does crumble before Frank. Frank only crumbled and let go when he sees that Joy has completely lost her footing in what he describes as love being a mutual belief and once one side starts doubting that's it. That section of the book broke my heart. Two people that loved each other but watching them slowly being forced to let go because their parents' are unable to put down their pride.

Pride is a major thing in asian families and something that they won't let go of even if it kills them which to me is stupid. I see how pride has torn families apart including my own. It's a trait we need and yet it will also destroy us. And even if differences are resolve, pride leaves a scar wedged between people forever. It's a cruel thing.

When Frank's dad condition starts getting worse, there is a show of sincere concern and closure when Joy and her family come back to visit Frank when he broke his ankle and Frank's dad condition is known to everyone. I wish that scene was elaborated a bit more between the two father's - some sort of resolve would have been nice to see but that's typical asians for you. What I did see was Joy and Frank still in love but unable to fight to break free from the power of parents.

The most touching part to me was when Hanna and Miles came back home to spend time with the family in their dad's last days of life and finally see acceptance. Frank states his parents were finally able to see how stupid their pride was, how ashamed and bad they felt for how they treated their daughter and her husband. Remorse is never too late. That was a very bittersweet moment for me to read.

Joy and Frank's final goodbye was heart wrenching to me. They will always love each other but because of their parents' pride - we don't get a direct answer on whether or not they will ever get back together.

Overall, this book was amazing. I loved it. The writing style, the backstory, the genre was just too close to home. This one is definitely in my top ten favorite reads of all times.

#davidyoon #book #korean #franklyinlove #frankly in love #review

[antonixfawley]

About: Antoni Fawley

“ I’ll keep all my plans close to my chest . . . ”

Introduction

name: Antoni Fabian Fawley also known as: Toni age: 23 birthday:  January 30 astrological sign:  Aquarius species:  Human gender:  Male pronouns:  He/Him orientation: Queer

Past/Bio

Early life: Antonio was raised by two loving parents, Peter and Lena Fawley. His father’s family came from a long line of pureblood, members of the sacred twenty-eight in fact. Though his family did keep their bloodline pure, they only did so out of tradition, and not because they really put much stock into blood purity. The Fawley’s were a long line of Hufflepuffs, with nearly every member being sorted into the badger house, aside from those who married into the family, such as Antoni’s mother. So of course he was raised on values of loyalty and hard work, kindness and gratitude, all the makings of another fine Hufflepuff student. Antoni never really clicked with those things, though. He wasn’t as interested in family activities as he was in reading alone in his room, he found making in depth maps of the land surrounding his family home much more engaging than playing silly games or doing chores on those lands. He had difficultly finding time alone growing up, as his father insisted he stay out and spend time with his siblings as well as aunts, uncles and cousins who were always at the estate for one reason or another. From fancy dinner parties to family game night to simply having tea, the Fawley’s adore entertaining guests. Antoni’s mother understood though, the polish witch being a bit introverted herself, she knew her oldest son was a bit more like her than his fathers side of the family. She would let Antoni leave dinner a bit early some days, or skip out on tea to have some alone time. She let him stay up later so he could read a few more pages of whatever book he was on at the time, when his siblings had to go to bed early. Growing up in a household with such high expectations for their children to be a certain way, Antoni became quite calculated in his behavior. He chose when to sneak away and when to be present with family, quickly learning when the right time to speak was, and when he should hold his tongue. He kept most of his thoughts to himself, already being so distant from his siblings and family, he didn’t want to further alienate himself by making any wrong moves. Hogwarts: When Antoni went off to Hogwarts, his whole family was ecstatic to see the eldest son find a place in the line of Hufflepuff legacies, but when the sorting hat touched his head, it had no hesitation before shouting out “Ravenclaw!” to the hall. Most children would be mortified of not being placed in their family’s house, but all of a sudden he saw a sea of blue rise up and welcome him in, a sea of people just like him. He felt like all his years of running off to find a quiet spot, staying up late in secret to read or write were validated now, he wasn’t the odd one out anymore. Antoni’s family, of course, were supportive anyways. After all, what kind of Hufflepuff wouldn’t support their family? There was always teasing though, and his siblings and countless Hufflepuff cousins never let him forget that he was different, he was odd, but he didn’t mind what they said. He knew who he was and he didn’t care what anyone else thought. Toni’s years at Hogwarts gave him time to grow and branch out, finding interest in astronomy, arithmatic, potions, and history the most, though he excelled in all his courses. He continued his hobbie of map making, working tirelessly to document every part of the castle that he could, drawing extensive separate maps of each floor and the grounds. He found many friends in ravenclaw, as well as some outside his house, though he always preferred to be alone when given the chance. He didn’t really find much interest in dating for the first few years of school, but around fifth year, his friends around him began to couple up he knew he needed to blend in with the behavior and found himself beginning to flirt and be more outgoing with other students. His family credits these years as when he started to blossom, as he began to stop secluding himself and interacted much more with others. He enjoyed these little flirtations he found, and some even blossomed into relationships, though they never lasted long. He wasn’t very focused on actually finding love or romance, he was just having fun with what he found to be a challenge. He wanted to see how easily he could get someone to trust him and fall for him, often playing mind games with the people he dated. Antoni grew into an extremely intelligent, calculating, and focused individual, crafting a reputation for himself as a charming, friendly young man with a bit of a heartbreaker streak. Current life: After leaving Hogwarts, Antoni ventures into various places of employment, testing out office jobs, interning at various places, including the Daily Prophet for a spell, though it didn’t last long. None really ever did since he was easily bored and would just quit, getting a new job whenever he wanted. Due to the high marks he reached on both his OWL and NEWT exams, pretty much any job was available to him. Then, Antoni had found an interest in Ministry work, and law had always been eye catching to him as well. Currently, he has been working as an intern for the Auror department at the ministry of magic. He found a place with the Death Eaters not long after graduation, his intellect and moral ambiguity being good qualities for him to apply to the group. He had never grown up being taught about blood purity, but he of course learned of it in school and was quickly swayed. After all, he was a Fawley, a member of the Sacred Twenty-eight. In his mind, he deserved a spot at that table, and he was going to get what he was owed.

About

personality: charming, calculated, friendly, intelligent, and self-serving label:  The Facade positive traits:  clever, passionate, level-headed negative traits: self-serving, two-faced, easily bored alignment: True Neutral goals/desires:  find something that interest him and holds his interest, gain power in society fears:  being bored, not finding anything engaging that can intellectually challenge him hobbies:  map making, reading, writing, calligraphy. habits: zoning out, over explaining things, lying

Appearance

Face claim:  Thomas Doherty height: 6ft eye color: Blue hair description: * color: Dark Brown * highlights: none * length: medium * worn: shaved on the sides, long on top, usually messy and tousled or styled up scars:  none piercings:  none tattoos: drawing of the golden ratio with a shell and an outline of Poland on his right forearm. A quill on the back of his neck, if you look closely the ink is actually dark blue, not black. clothing style: Clean, often a t shirts and jeans with a flamboyant statement jacket. For work he wears a suit, often dark blue. usual expression: Neutral, basically has RBF distinguishing characteristics: speaks polish sometimes. health physical ailments:  none neurological conditions: insomnia allergies:  none sleeping habits:  bad he doesn’t sleep enough eating habits:  also bad he isn’t starving tho exercise habits: decent he likes to keep in shape emotional stability: he isnt very emotional and doesn’t get worked up by much sociability: he’s quite sociable only because he forces himself to be to make himself look good, he would rather not be social. body temperature: cold addictions:  coffee/tea/energy drinks(caffeine) drug use: social alcohol use: moderate-high

Relationships

father:  Peter Fawley, distant, he doesn’t really understand his son but still has a civil and kind relationship. mother:  Lena Fawley, positive, his mother is supportive of him and they are close siblings:  distant, less positive, since his siblings don’t like how much he distances himself from them. relatives: Most- neutral, distant, he doesn’t associate with most of his relatives. Jasper Travers (cousin), positive, friendly. family line of work:  Ministry work, quidditch players, politicians.   best friends:  open!!! cohorts:  Scorpius Malfoy, Marcelina Bloem, Daisy Dursley, Doe Creevy, Dominique Weasley, Dylan Parkinson idk there’s a lot significant other: none atm gimme crush: open exes: open!! Pls hmu for this connection I’m sure he has loads followers: plots frenemies: plots enemies: gimme plots

Education

school:  Hogwarts house:  Ravenclaw best core class:  Astronomy, potions, charms, defense against the dark arts worst core class:  Care of Magical Creatures quidditch:  no extra-curricular: astronomy club idk probably others I can’t think rn

Magic

wand: * length: 10 3/4 inch * flexibility: unyielding flexibility * wood: Elder * core: Unicorn Hair pets:  none boggart:  boredom animagus/patronus:  Wild Rabbit amortentia: old books, grass, firewood

Favorites

theme song:  wait for it- Hamilton food: toast drink:  coffee/tea color:  navy blue animal:  mouse flower:  lavender season: fall

#about #bio #this took forver this is the only time im using adrians format #gimme plots

[gameofthronestldr]

Sansa Stark

“I'm a slow learner. It's true. But I learn.” - Sansa Stark

Born: 286 AC at Winterfell

Hair: Auburn

Eye Color: Bright Blue

Features: Beautiful, tall and graceful

Culture: 

Northmen 

Andal 

Father: Eddard Stark

Mother: Catelyn Stark

Siblings:

Robb Stark

Arya Stark

Bran Stark

Rickon Stark

Jon Snow (paternal cousin raised as bastard half-brother)

Spouse:

Tyrion Lannister (1st husband; unconsummated)

Ramsay Bolton (2nd husband) 

Titles: 

Lady of Winterfell

Princess

Lady Regent of the North

Aliases:

Little dove

Little bird

Jonquil

Sansa Lannister

Lady Lannister

Sansa Bolton

Alayne

Lady Stark

Lady Bolton

Allegiance: 

House Stark

House Bolton (formerly; by marriage)

House Lannister (formerly; by marriage) 

Religion: 

Old Gods of the Forest 

Faith of the Seven 

Direwolf: Lady

History

Sansa Stark, eleven years old at the beginning of this story, is the eldest daughter and second child of Lady Catelyn and Lord Eddard Stark. Eddard is the head of House Stark and Lord Paramount of the North. The North is one of the constituent regions of the Seven Kingdoms and House Stark is one of the Great Houses of the realm. House Stark rules the region from their seat of Winterfell and Eddard also holds the titles of Lord of Winterfell and the Warden of the North to King Robert Baratheon.

Sansa was born and raised at Winterfell. She has an older brother, Robb, two younger brothers, Bran and Rickon, a younger sister, Arya, and a "bastard half-brother" Jon Snow, with whom she had a distant relationship due to her mother's influence. Sansa enjoys proper "lady-like" pursuits and is good at sewing, embroidering, poetry, singing, dancing, literature, etiquette, history and music. When she was young she dreamed of being a regal Queen like Cersei Lannister, and that just like in the epic songs she would meet her knight in shining armor.

Appearance and Personality

Sansa has a feminine and graceful demeanor. Sansa is very beautiful, with the thick auburn hair and blue eyes that are characteristic of members of her mother's family, House Tully. Catelyn believes that Sansa will be more beautiful than herself when she is grown.

A courteous and dreamy young girl, Sansa was better known for her aspirations to become a great lady and to marry a handsome prince. Sansa loves music and lemon cakes. She used to believe that life could be like a song, with the existence of heroes. When King Robert comes to Winterfell and arranges a marriage between her and his alleged son Joffrey, Sansa is overjoyed and becomes deeply infatuated with him, blind to the psychopathic behaviour of her betrothed. Her naivete initially prevents her from recognizing the dangers around her when she is in King's Landing. Because Sansa is so young with a gentle and innocent demeanor, she is viewed as easily exploitable by the political players in Westeros.

Afterwards, Sansa has a harrowing experience as a prisoner of the Lannisters, a plaything for the psychopathic Joffrey to have publicly beaten by his guards for petty amusement. Her shock at the death of her father was only later deepened at the news of how her mother and brother Robb were horrifically killed at the Red Wedding and their corpses desecrated.

Sansa subsequently escapes King's Landing to the Vale with Littlefinger, and her experiences have clearly changed her personality. She had to learn from painful experience how to lie to survive at Joffrey's court, saying one thing but meaning another and manipulating people to her own ends as best she could. No longer under constant control by Joffrey and Cersei's guards, she is in her own way beginning to mature into her own power and influence as a political force.

The numerous tragedies she has suffered, and the crimes against herself and her family, have also darkened her personality turning her more ruthless, though not quite cruel. Once reclaiming Winterfell, Sansa feeds her abusive husband, Ramsay to his own hounds, even smiling as it happened.

However, despite all the suffering that she has been through, Sansa appears to have retained a certain degree of compassion. Sansa also becomes more compassionate and a loyal sister to Jon and apologizes for being "awful" when they were children. She has also become significantly more brave, courageous and is developing nerves of iron.

Sansa's sufferings have made her stronger and more mature, but also more war-like. Caring less for the traditional feminine virtues she used to praise as a child, Sansa moves against Ramsay in order to take back Winterfell and the North, and outright rejects his conditions for saving her brother Rickon, knowing full well he would never keep his word and instead tells him that he will die the next day. Her experiences with the Lannisters have enabled her to watch in grim satisfaction as Ramsay is torn apart and eaten by his own hounds. 

Skills

Sansa is also effective as Lady of Winterfell and Jon's regent, devoting her efforts to maintaining order and preparing the North for winter, for which she earns the respect of many Vale and Northern lords.

#sansa stark #sansa #game of thrones #house stark #winter is coming #a song of ice and fire #asoiaf

[baajisms]

mob boss au

Name: Anna Nickname: She is known in the underworld as ‘Anima’. Otherwise, Ani. Age: 51 Gender: Female Sexuality: Heterosexual/Heteroromantic Relationship Status: Widowed Relatives: Jyscal (Deceased) | Seymour (Deceased) Home: The Okinawa Islands, Japan Current Home: She goes where she’s needed. Occupation: Boss of the ‘Guado’ Mob.

Personality: Under any other circumstance, Anima is a gentle person. While there is a certain hardness about her that may deter some people (think resting bitch face), she is a kind soul underneath it all. She is very much a maternal figure, especially after her son was born, but that’s not to say she can’t dole out the punishment when it’s necessary. Coming from the background she did, one would think she’d be rather naive and closed minded, but if living with Jyscal has taught her anything, it’s that independence and going into things with an open mind is rather beneficial. Being more independent is something she’s had to grow into and going into things with an open mind is something she’s had to learn, but both are traits she prides herself in.

In terms of being the boss of a Mob, however, is where her personality may change. That’s not to say it’s who she is, but rather, who she needs to be. She needs to be strong, she needs to be in charge and there needs to be moments when she’s cold hearted. These moments may often be interpreted as her being aloof, but it is often for her own protection, because as soon as she lets her true feelings get in the way, that’s when the organisation may crumble. She is not afraid to do what needs to be done, even if that means exiling someone or executing them. She does not take her position lightly, but she does so with logical, sense and a cool head. She is not perfect in this position however, she has advisers, she has bodyguards and she trusts them. Anima is not one to trust easy in regards to the Mob, but once you’ve thoroughly earned it, you know. Her loyalty is something that many would want for themselves. Her gaze was often stone cold and it was if she could see right into your soul most of the time. Despite what her personality might’ve been outside of the Mob, she had a certain...sarcastic tone to her.

However, get on the right side of her during the mob and she can be friendly. She isn’t without heart, but it doesn’t show too much. To show it too often would be a sign of weakness and that’s not what she wants. So, one should themselves lucky if they enter her good gracious, even luckier if they see this side of her.

History: Born to a well off family on the Okinawa Islands, Anna didn’t want for nothing. But, it can with a set of traditions of who to marry, what line of work they should go into, who to marry. Ani rarely questioned it since she didn’t know any better. She grew up with a love of gardening, helping out at the temple and reading, amongst other things.

When she was 18, her parents started to think about her future, mainly about marriage. Her parents started talking to other families about who should have her hand. A couple of years past and Ani wasn’t married. A decision hadn’t been made yet. However, a man by the man of Jyscal came on a business trip to the Islands and the two hit it off. It was clear he was a man of great power, not only by the clothes he wore but the energy he gave off. Unbeknownst to Ani, that power came from being a mob boss but that wouldn’t come out until later on.

Jyscal came and went, but their relationship was steady. A couple of years later and Jyscal asked for her hand in marriage. She accepted, the two got married and Ani moved in with him. It was during these years that she found out what he actually did for a living. He had always told her that he was a business man for a large corporation and in truth, he was. He worked a large corporation on the side of being a Mob Boss. If anything, it was a cover for the truth.

It had been a mistake when she’d found out. She’d found out the exciting news that she was pregnant and had wanted to tell him. She had come into his office a bit too quickly and saw him looking at a couple of papers. That had started her suspicions off. She told him she was pregnant, he was happy, they both were, but afterwards, Ani started digging. She had always wondered about a few small things. Him coming home late, how he always locked his office, a few small secrets about what he was doing, the strangers in his house who always eyed her with wariness. He had made excuses and Ani had always brushed them off.

During the first couple months of her pregnancy, Ani dug. It took her a solid 4 months because her suspicions were confirmed. A morning news report and a disheveled looking husband the night before was all it took. She kept her suspicions close to her chest though, not wanting to voice her concerns just yet. 

It slipped out after the baby was born though. Not sleeping for 48 hours because of a difficult birth and it was when she was holding Seymour in her arms that the words ‘I know you’re a Mob Boss’ slipped out. There was an awkward silence for a moment and Jyscal kissed her on the forehead. When they got home and Anna had put the baby to bed, they talked. She made him talk. She wasn’t happy about it, but she wasn’t going to interfere so long as he didn’t bring it home with him. He agreed.

But, being a Mob Boss made him a target. Threatening letters were a big thing, but they always managed to hide it from Seymour. However, it was when Seymour was 8 and Anna had taken him out, there was a raid on the house. They came home to find the house in a state of near disaster. Papers everywhere, tables overturned, drawers on the floor. It had been like they were searching for something. Even Seymour’s room had been upturned. Anna was pissed. She didn’t say anything until Seymour had gone to bed though. They discussed the fact that maybe Anna and Seymour moved out to somewhere safer. Like a safe house. 

Which they did.

They visited Jyscal and Jyscal visited them but the visits grew shorter and further apart. It was when they moved into the safe house, that Seymour started to get a fascination of what his dad actually did. He would try and find out, the curious nature of a child getting the better of him so many times. Anna tried to keep him away from it but by the time he was 15, he’d found out anyway. It was disappointing that she couldn’t keep him out of it and as time went on, Seymour got more and more involved in his father’s mob. Anna couldn’t keep him away any longer.

So she kept an eye on them both. Even she got involved a little bit. Nothing messy, just what they were up to and what they were doing. From the sidelines, she started learning but kept it all under wraps. Before Seymour’s 23rd birthday, there was whispers of Jyscal growing soft. Of him becoming more lenient. So, Seymour formed a plan. He didn’t tell anyone apart from a few confidants in the mob.

2 weeks after his 25th birthday, Seymour murdered his father. He did it in secret, so that only he knew what had happened and then started a rumour that a member of a rival Mob had gotten to him. This furthered the ‘theory’ that Jyscal was going soft and let himself get killed and allowed Seymour to seamlessly take the Boss position for himself. The ‘Guado’ mob was a fearsome one in Japan and not one that you wanted cross lightly. They were logical, calculated and always seemed to be 2 steps ahead even if they weren’t. Seymour wanted to continue that reputation before his father ruined it. Anna couldn’t say she was shocked, after joining the Mob officially, she had seen a change in her son. He’d developed a hunger for power and after taking over, he’d developed a nihilistic sense of what should be done.

Because of that, she entered the Mob fully, to keep an eye on her son. She became known as ‘Anima’ in the underground circles. Sometimes, she was the voice of reason, to calm Seymour down and to stop him from doing anything too rash. She became his closest confidant, besides ‘Tromell’ (they figure it’s a code name, but no-one’s sure) and that was how she found out the truth of Jyscal. She kept her son’s secret despite everything. 

Some weeks later, the Guado are made away of a rival mob (Tidus, Yuna & the Gang from X if people wish) in the area, with a couple of interesting people that Seymour takes a particular interest in. Their initial meeting goes well, if not a little strained, with Tromell & 2 experienced bodyguards going along with Seymour in Anima’s place. However, it’s Seymour’s actions in the following weeks that makes whatever their relationship between the two factions had, or could’ve had, crumble and the two begin to feud. The new group manage to break through Seymour’s defenses and injure the head of the Guado quite badly, despite Anima’s intervetion. 

These injuries look like they’re fatal but, with the connection the Guado Mob have, Seymour is able to survive to near perfect condition. If Seymour wasn’t cracking already, this made him crack even further. He starts to crave power even more and his nihilistic sense of the world drives his mentality further towards breaking point. The Mob are on edge and there is little Anima can do at this point. Nobody voices concern, they keep going along, afraid of what might happen. Anima, however, begins to come up with a plan.

Being the mother of the leader has it’s advantages. Slipping out, she meets with the Mob that managed to slip through their defenses and nearly kill her son. What she tells them is brief and vague, only saying what was necessary and convincing them that Seymour needs to be taken out for good. They arrange to take out Seymour for good and manage to get Seymour & a number of guards to a secluded spot. The other Mob manages to take out the guards but hesitate over Seymour. 

It was that hesitation that made Anima shoot Seymour herself. 

It was with that, that she took over the Mob itself. No-one questioned her about it. When Anima returned with blood spattered on her and Seymour didn’t, people put two and two together and assumed that Anima had killed him. Which was correct. She gave a rather empowering speech and while there were a couple of complaints, she wasn’t at odds with taking them out either. After taking out her only son, it had awakened something in her. Anima had struck a deal with the rival Mob. While things were strained between the two, they wouldn’t interfer with each other’s business and let each do what they needed to, providing they left each others members alone.

Over time though, people became to see that it wasn’t just the fear that kept them there, Anima was a decent leader. She showed the right amount of logic to keep them afloat and the right amount of mercy to keep their reputation from becoming too ‘kill crazy’ like her son had almost made it. But her reputation was still made her fearsome. She wasn’t perfect, so she had Tromell as her second in command, advisers and bodyguards to steer her in the right direction. During her time though, there was a rumour or two going around about what happened to her son. Some said that his mother murdered him, others disputed it, saying that it was a rival gang that did it, like Jyscal. Whatever the rumours, it didn’t matter to her.

Anima ruled now.

#v; she rules now