#little hope 1917

[108garys]

Jeff Whitman as...

1917's Carver double. His name might not fit but I can work around that(Carver descendant, adopted by loving stepfather), he is approximately the right age to be C for the era, beautifully illustrated in @delurkr's 1917 little hope artworks(T/D/J/M/A-f/A-m) which didn't include a carver double at the time and since the addition of tdim Jeff has been worked into the reincarnation cycle lore.

(lore and close more undercut)

In this timeline Jeff lives but loses Marie which is in line with Carver lossing Madeline and that being the starting point for the descent into villainy, recall that it's only two years since and Reverend Carver had been a much more gracious man, even evidently being fully behind "He who is without sin cast the first stone" and that the lose of his wife was the catalyst for the man he'd become and this "evil Jeff" is more or less following the pattern as an "what would have happened had fate not been subverted" and because fate was subverted C was Shattered in the cycle and this is why there's a lot of him from the Midcentury era on, the powers that be made Carson but also Abe White and private Cooper who are the same age despite being shown at an earlier point(the back ups died basically)

Marie's necklace as a very visible attachment to her memory, especially given that they were married for one day and he's lived longer without her. It shows a deep inability to let go and how being hardened by time rather than healed leads to his callousness that he could not have imagined before with this speculative villain arc, all in all dying at the same time in this context would prevent his negative character arc that would occur over the following decades

There's is consideration for how things play out differently but for now I will leave you with some early progress sketches and the fact that this idea has been in the back of my mind for a good year at this point

@kassiekole22 @tatjana-fantasy @blubary @kindheartedgummybears @qusok @ctrvpani @unhingedlesbear @tinynightmarewoman @eframschweigersskincells @wacem @hannahhook7744 (I'm putting this in the little hope tags due to the nature of the au and it's framing)

[delurkr]

I didn't mean to make 1917 A-boy be last but someone had to be 😅

Someone also had to have the knickerbockers 😂. Same with the high collar, which I gave to him in honor of young Anthony's own stiff collar. His shirt has pinstripes like Anthony's collar again, his tie has a diamond pattern because of course, and the pattern is in the colors of Andrew's sneakers. And speaking of shoes, he gets the snazziest ones because the A-boys have the most visually interesting shoes out of their groups when you can see them. I tested him wearing a cardigan like Andrew's layers, but it looked weird somehow so he's carrying it. There's no hat in sight, for two reasons that probably only matter to me: 1) Abraham never wears a hat, even when he's outside (ok so none of the men do except Isaac, who also wears his indoors. Whatever 😅). And 2) It's just his energy. Anthony's sweater is trashed and you bet I noticed that 1917 A-boy is the only one in the war photo with his uniform unbuttoned. This makes me think Anthony is a little bit of a schlump even though he likes to look neat (I love him for it). And lastly, his belt is there to make the outfit work, but it also references older Anthony's belt.

And that's all of the 1917 doubles! I intend to write out something about their deaths and relationships with each other at some point, but what's going to happen first is that everyone's going to find out how slow of a writer I am 😆

[martyrbat]

forming parosocial relationships with the people in the medical book </3

[yjhariani]

Simon picked the crying baby up. Gently, he cradled the little being in his arms. He ran a light finger on the outline of the baby’s face, hoping that his touch would calm the little one down.

With the child, Simon walked to the other rooms, bringing the kid as far away as possible from you. You were asleep and Simon had not the tiniest desire to wake you up.

“Now, let’s find out what you want,” Simon quietly exhaled.

The baby’s crying stopped upon hearing his voice. Simon was frozen then and was locking eyes with his child. He watched the baby’s face turning from crying to somewhat intrigued and slowly crying again.

“Oh, come on, cheer up. I’m all you’ve got for now,” Simon said again.

Again, upon hearing his voice, the baby stopped crying.

“You want me to talk to you?” Simon concluded.

If it was possible, the baby would probably grab Simon’s voice with those little hands.

Would a baby care if he started a story about what it was like to survive on the battlefield? About his friends? Maybe about you?

“I've got nothing to say,” Simon sighed, rather frustrated.

Simon held up a finger in front of the child. Tiny fingers wrapped around his one. He walked the two of them to the sofa. He sat down, made sure the baby was comfortable in his arms.

Of anything that Simon tried to talk about with this baby, he went with the first thing that came to mind.

“Love's given to anyone born, I've noted,” Simon started.

It was strange hearing his own voice saying those words. Reading them was one thing, but saying and hearing his own voice reciting it was another.

Besides, it did not seem to be a poem that a baby should be hearing. However, the baby did not seem to mind.

“But between one's business, income and so on,” Simon continued. “The heart gets coated with soil too crusty for love to grow on.”

The baby cooed and Simon could not help but smile a little.

“The heart's in the body, and that has the shirt on,” Simon proceeded. “But, as if it wasn't enough, some—idiot!—invents the shirtfront, caps his paps into starch for bluff.”

Simon took a pause. He had no idea how he remembered all these words. He just did somehow. Just a few lines, too.

“Old age comes on—she takes to makeup, while he looks to Müller to give him a shake-up,” Simon sighed. “Too late! The wrinkles crop up all about. Love sizzles and fizzles and... goes out.”

The baby cried out of nowhere.

“Right. That’s a bad one, eh?” Simon said. “Maybe I should—”

Just then, Simon felt something warm and wet all over his arm and abdomen.

“Did I not put you in diapers?” Simon questioned.

A/N: I've been rewatching 1917 too much and this is the result.

[oillipheist9000]

Heyy

So, this is mostly just a fun timeline I made with little research backing it, but I thought it might be cool to share?

It goes through what historical events happened throughout Alastor’s life that might have impacted him and sets the stage for what his life might have looked like. It does hinge quite a bit on US history, so I will also touch on parts of that for our friends who aren’t from the US and don’t know : D

Now keep in mind that this is more of just a list of fun facts that i’ve shoved into a readable outline, than anything put together lol.

Alastor is said to be in his 30’s or 40’s when he died in 1933, this puts his year of birth at a rough range of 1890-1900. For the purpose of this timeline, I will be assuming that Alastor was born in the year 1902 because I want to. This would make him 31 at the time of his death.

In 1892, the supreme court ruled on Plessy vs Ferguson, which was what established the idea of ‘Separate but Equal’ <- (i'm assuming people know what that is and stuff, if you don’t know, feel free to ask, I can give more of a history lesson)

From 1900-1909, education past the 5th grade did not EXIST in New Orleans for black children. This is a large part of why I believe a birth year of at least 1900 would be more accurate for Alastor, as he would have been 7-9 (2nd-4th) when middle school (6th-8th) became available to him.

In 1917, McDonogh No. 35 High School became the first public high school for black teens. Alastor would have been 15 in my timeline. This means that he would have likely been out of school for a year under the assumption that he wouldn’t be able to go anymore. (There were a couple private schools, but those were Expensive!!)

1920: KKK reemerged in Louisiana <- (again, assuming people know the history on this, if you would like a quick history lesson, lmk!!)

In 1921, Alastor graduated! Yay!! He is now 19!

Now, a fun fact! Throughout all of this, radio has not existed as a Thing in New Orleans. Alastor would not have grown up listening to the radio. It would have been new tech for him!!

In 1922, the first radio station came to New Orleans!!! It’s called WWL and it runs … drumroll please … ADS!!! In an attempt to raise funds for Loyola University! Exciting, right? : D

By 1927, the Federal Radio Commission was established in an effort to help organize airwaves, which had become messy and disorganized from the abundance of unlicensed, random people broadcasting.

1933: Alastor dies D:

Also 1933, oddly enough, A newspaper somehow managed to get radio stations in New Orleans legally banned from airing news from the last 24 hours?????

An interesting note. This ban went through in the summer. Deer season is in the winter (Dec-Jan), so it was either banned 6 months before or 6 months after Alastor’s death

1934: FRC is replaced by the Federal Communications Commission

This is pretty much all I have. I also am including some of the links to sources that I thought were interesting. Super open to discussions and questions lol. Hope someone enjoyed reading all this lmao

And also @nunalastor cause you seemed interested and I finally got everything together lol

[bellaxgiornata]

All These Years [Part 13: "Breaking the News"]

Pairing: Matt Murdock x Fem!Reader

[You can find the full series summary and masterlist of installments for All These Years here.]

Warnings/tags: 18+ for this series; contains emotional hurt with no comfort until the final installments, angst, pining, friends to lovers, slowburn, and eventually smut

Word Count: 7.6k

a/n: This installment is quite painful and there is still no comfort to be had in this series quite yet, friends. But hey, it's the long anticipated moment where Matt learns the truth, right? And you get a Matt POV at the end. Plus this one is LONG. I hope you enjoy and feedback is always appreciated!

Tag list: @acharliecoxedfan @theetherealbloom @rotscinema @magnumstyles @roseallisonparker @ofmusesandsecrets @readerhead @paracosmic-murdock @v4leoftears @why-always-me-gosh-please @redbircl @keepingitlokiii @yarrystyleeza @mattkinsella @ms-murdockswift @margoo0 @1988-fiend @lockleywife @strangeobsessed @justalittlebitbored @am-3-thyst @buckybarnes-1917 @thora-jane @lionalsowrites @cloudroomblog @prince-tassel @danzer8705 @yourlocalbentspine @harperdoodle @hollandorks (some of you I cannot tag so please check your settings!)

Shifting back and forth on your feet outside of Foggy’s apartment, you anxiously waited for him to answer the door. Both of your now sweat-slicked hands were firmly gripping the six pack of beer you’d picked up on your way over, hoping it would help ease the sting of what you were here to tell him. You were beyond terrified of his reaction and just hoping he would take the news as well as you figured he could.

You could hear Foggy’s muffled voice as he made his way through the apartment, the door swinging open a few moments later. Your stomach twisted uncomfortably in knots as Foggy’s beaming face came into view. You felt terrible that he had no idea why you’d asked to stop by tonight, and judging by the look on his face, he clearly thought it was just a friendly social visit.

“Hey!” he greeted brightly, saying your name. “Come on in!” 

“Hey, Fog,” you greeted him back nervously.

Stepping inside, you awkwardly slipped out of your shoes as Foggy closed the door behind you. The rapidly beating thrum of your heart felt loud to your own ears as you sent him a tight smile. Foggy’s attention dropped down to the beer in your hands, his eyes further lighting up.

“Oh man, I am so glad you actually brought some beer because you know what?” he began, making his way towards the worn gray couch in his living room. “This whole week has been rough. Like an absolute shit show at the office. I could’ve started drinking hours ago.”

Hesitantly you followed after Foggy, making your way over towards his couch and watching as he sank down onto a cushion. Feeling even worse after hearing that his week had been difficult already, you awkwardly set the beer on his coffee table before sliding out two bottles and handing one to him. He thanked you before twisting off the cap, tossing it next to the six pack on the coffee table. Feeling slightly sick to your stomach, you opened your beer before settling onto the couch. Immediately you took a long pull from the bottle, swallowing the alcohol down and hoping it would quickly help dull your nerves. Except when you lowered the bottle to your lap, spotting Foggy across from you on the couch rubbing at his temples, your nerves only increased.

“So uh, bad week?” you asked lamely.

Foggy nodded enthusiastically. “That’s an understatement,” he replied. “We almost lost the trial yesterday. The whole thing was a massive headache. Matt has been a little too distracted this week with who the hell knows what, but he was off. Like way off this week. He was nothing like his usual self.”

“Oh,” you whispered, not wanting to think about Matt right now.

“But anyway, it’s Friday tomorrow and things should hopefully be looking up,” Foggy concluded, the smile returning to his face. “I’m going to try to remain optimistic that tomorrow will be better. But what about you? How’s work been going for you? And how’re things with your man? I haven’t seen him in a bit.”

Gripping the bottle of beer a little tighter in your hands, you took a deep breath and tried to prepare yourself for the news you were about to break.

“Well, Adam and I…broke up,” you admitted slowly.

Foggy’s eyes grew wide immediately, one hand lowering the beer from his mouth before he could even take a drink. He was leaning towards you on the couch, his mouth open in shock. You watched as he struggled to take a moment to process the information.

“You–you guys broke up? When?” Foggy asked.

Biting your lip, you looked away. Your cheeks were burning from the guilt at having kept Foggy in the dark for so long, but you hadn’t been ready to tell Foggy the full truth about why you’d broken up and that you were possibly moving. And there hadn’t really been a way to explain things away to him without lying in front of Matt–which you knew Matt would’ve called you out on. 

“It’s been a few months now,” you told him. 

“What?” he asked in shock. 

Foggy was quickly sliding over to you on the couch, reaching over to set his beer on the coffee table before his focus fully turned on you. You could already feel the tears forming when you saw that damn sympathetic look on his face again.

“Dude, hey, what’s going on? Why didn’t you tell me you and Adam broke up?” he questioned. “You tell me everything . What happened?”

“He wanted more from me than I could give him,” you confessed, lips trembling. “Because I–I'm still…”

Foggy’s face instantly fell, knowing exactly what you meant without you even needing to finish your sentence. He nodded slowly.

“Matt?” he asked.

“Yeah,” you whispered. “Matt.”

“Shit, I’m sorry,” Foggy said, one of his hands landing comfortingly on your shoulder. “I really thought maybe Adam had been the one to get you past your feelings for him. You both seemed so happy together.”

“We were, to an extent,” you told him. “Until Erica came into the picture and reminded me that I can’t just push my feelings for Matt under a rug.”

“So that’s why you broke up then?” Foggy asked. “Because you still have feelings for Matt?”

“Well,” you began slowly, your mouth suddenly going dry, “there was…something else.”

Foggy straightened on the couch instantly, his eyes narrowing curiously back at you. You felt his hand tighten on your shoulder just a bit.

“What do you mean?” he asked. “Did he–was he…?”

“No,” you said quickly, shaking your head. “No, he wasn’t cheating. But I–I was offered a new position at work a few days before we broke up.”

You swore Foggy’s entire body had frozen on the couch. It didn’t even look like he was breathing anymore. 

“It uh, it has a huge pay increase–almost double my current salary,” you continued, your stomach nervously churning as you did. “But it’s–it’s out in L.A. And Adam didn’t want to leave his job and his family here. Which is why he mentioned things like moving in together and–and possibly marriage down the road. He wanted me to stay for him. But I couldn’t see those things with him. And I tried really hard to, but I just–just couldn’t. So we broke up. And then afterwards I’d been…considering the job offer.”

Foggy’s lips thinned out, tears shining noticeably in his own eyes as he sat so still beside you. You could feel your own tears ready to fall at the way he was looking at you.

“You're taking it, aren't you?” he whispered. “You’re taking the job?”

Swallowing the lump that had formed in your throat, you nodded. “Yeah, Fog,” you answered. “I accepted it. They offered it months ago and I’d been waiting until it was a sure thing before I told you.”

Foggy sniffled loudly, his hand releasing your shoulder to wipe the heel of it across his watery eyes. “So you’ve known for a while?” he asked.

“Like I said, it wasn’t a sure thing,” you told him. “My company was still trying to get their new office set up out there for the past couple of months. But I officially accepted the offer at the beginning of this week. I uh, I’m flying out this weekend to find an apartment, but I’ll be back on Monday for work.”

“Fuck,” Foggy swore, turning and slumping defeatedly back into the the couch. “I can’t fucking believe this.”

Licking your lips nervously, your attention dropped down to the beer in your lap. Your fingers were drumming along the brown bottle as you heard Foggy curse again. Slowly you tried to inhale a deep breath, struggling to keep your resolve. You knew this was going to be difficult, but you also knew you needed to do this.

“Why are you leaving?” Foggy asked, breaking the silence that had fallen.

“I told you,” you began, “I was offered a position that–”

“No,” he said, cutting you off firmly and sitting upright again, the movement and tone catching your eye. “No, that’s not why you’re leaving. It’s because of this thing with Matt, isn’t it? You’re leaving because of him.”

Stunned, your mouth opened and closed a few times as you tried to form a sentence. Were you that transparent?

“Fog, I–”

“You’re running away, aren’t you?” he pressed. “Admit it. You’re running away from him.”

“Foggy, I can’t do this anymore,” you confessed, a few tears finally spilling over. “Yes, okay? Yes, I’m running away from Matt. Because I love him and he knows it, but what he feels for me isn’t the same. It’ll never be the same.” 

You brushed a hand absently over your cheeks to wipe away the tears that had slipped out. Fuck, you were so sick of crying.

“I love him, Fog,” you said, voice breaking on his name. “And it hurts so fucking bad. Do you have any idea what that’s like? To be in love with your best friend for years ?”

Tears were openly streaming down Foggy’s face now as he listened to you. He kept dabbing at his eyes with the back of his hand, but more tears kept coming in their stead. The sight of him crying was only further causing more of your own tears to fall.

“I see him all of the time, Foggy,” you continued, emotion thick in your voice. “It hurts to even hug him knowing it means something else to me than it does to him. And it’s like I swear I feel something everytime we do. It’s like this–this warm, happy, safe feeling washes over me. Like I could just–just stay there forever. But then I have to remind myself he’s just my friend and it hurts .” Sniffling loudly, you tried to keep your voice even as the words continued to pour out of you. “Now he’s with Erica. And you’ve seen him with her, Fog. He’s got that lovesick puppy look around her all of the time. He’s been crazy about her for months. It’s like Elektra all over again, except Erica isn’t necessarily bad for him. Their relationship, despite how busy Erica always is, is one that I could see becoming something more, you know?”

“Marriage?” Foggy asked.

Grimacing, you nodded. “Yeah,” you whispered. “And if it’s not her, it’s going to be someone else. Someone who isn’t me. And Fog, I–I can’t–can’t–”

The words got stuck in your throat, and no matter how hard you tried, it was a choked sob that fell out of you instead. Foggy was quick to wrap his arms around you and pull you into a hug. Burying your face into his shoulder, you openly wept at the thought of having to witness Matt get married to someone else. It had been painful for years to see him sleep around with countless women at Columbia, even worse when he’d been so stuck on Elektra with how awful she was for him. And then it stung watching him date and sleep around even more after that. But seeing him in a relationship now that might be eventually going towards something serious down the road? That had been the line you had to draw.

“I can’t be here to see that,” you choked out, shaking your head against Foggy’s shoulder as the tears continued to fall from your eyes. “It would–would kill me, Fog. I can’t–can’t see him marry someone else. I can’t do it. I can’t .”

“But why do you have to go?” Foggy whispered. “Why do you have to leave me, too?”

“Because Matt will always be here,” you answered softly. “And as long as he’s within reach, I’ll always be reaching for him.”

Pulling away from Foggy, you wiped roughly at your eyes. His arms released you slowly, coming to wipe at his own eyes that were still watering.

“I’m sorry, Fog,” you whispered. “But you can still come visit. So can Karen. And–and maybe someday I’ll come back and visit you here. It’s not like we’ll never see each other again.”

“Have you told Matt?” Foggy asked.

The question felt like a punch to the gut. You winced at the mention of Matt, that ache in your chest painfully growing. You wondered if anything would ever get rid of it. 

“No,” you answered, shaking your head. “I haven’t.”

“How long until you leave?” Foggy asked.

Your focus dropped down to the beer in your lap. Fingers fidgeting nervously with the label, you refused to look at Foggy when you spoke next.

“About three more weeks,” you said.

“Shit,” he breathed out. “So when–when are you going to tell him?”

Worrying your bottom lip between your teeth, you shook your head. “I don’t know,” you admitted. “I don’t even know how to look him in the face and tell him this. I don’t know how I’m going to–” you paused, eyes snapping shut, “–to say goodbye to him.” 

“He deserves to know,” Foggy pointed out. “He deserves a chance to say goodbye to you.”

“I know,” you breathed out. “I know.”

Turning the corner, your eyes landed on the red neon sign for Josie’s bar. Your arms wrapped anxiously around yourself, hugging your body tight as you made your way down the sidewalk towards it, maneuvering through the evening foot traffic on the sidewalk. 

Tonight was the night. You'd asked Fog and Matt to come out with you to Josie’s. It would be just the three of you this evening, no significant others. Just like old times. 

And you were going to tell Matt you were moving in three days. 

You'd admittedly cried a lot back at your apartment while you'd gotten ready to come out. Just thinking about what you were going to say to Matt and knowing how soon you would be saying goodbye had gotten you instantly emotional. And you knew Matt was going to be upset with you tonight. You were telling him just days before you left. It hadn’t been intentional, you’d certainly tried to tell him over the weeks before, but you had kept putting it off because you'd been too much of a coward, too afraid to tell him so many other times before. But now that your flight out of New York City was literally days away, you knew you didn’t have a choice. You couldn’t keep putting it off.

Opening the door to Josie’s and stepping inside, you were instantly hit with that musty, moldy smell that always seemed to mix with the scent of alcohol and sweat here. It wasn’t much cooler inside than it was outside tonight you noticed, your eyes scanning the bar for a sign of Matt and Foggy. You spotted them by a table at the far back of the bar, your eyes connecting to Foggy’s almost instantly. He sent you a sad smile, waving you over. You tried your best not to look miserable in return as you approached the table.

“You finally made it,” Matt said, shooting you a wide grin. “Was wondering what was taking you so long.”

The smile you tried to return him probably looked pained, but you knew despite his senses he couldn’t quite tell that. For a moment you stood there standing beside the table, your eyes scanning Matt over where he sat. That handsome, charming smile was still spread wide across his face. You noticed his beard was a bit darker and thicker than usual beneath his red glasses tonight, and he was dressed in his usual white dress shirt with the sleeves rolled up, his muscular forearms on display as he rested his arms on the table. 

The sight of him alone felt like a stab to the heart. Blinking hard, you forced yourself to look away as you situated yourself in the chair across the table from him. Turning, you focused your attention on Foggy to the left of you instead. You needed a moment to try to collect yourself.

“Yeah,” you said, finally responding to Matt. “I was running a little late, sorry. I hope you guys weren’t waiting too long.”

“Just a few minutes,” Matt replied. “Not a big deal. I grabbed you a beer, hope that’s alright.”

He slid a bottle across the table towards you, your eyes following the movement of it. For some reason the little act of thoughtfulness had your heart squirming in your chest. It was just a beer, after all. It didn’t mean anything. It’s not like you all hadn’t bought drinks for each other many times in the past.

“Thanks,” you muttered.

A silence fell across the three of you when Matt drew his own beer to his lips for a drink. Your eyes landed on Foggy, noticing him shooting you a pointed look. He’d been on your ass about telling Matt you were leaving for weeks now, and it was apparent on his face that he was mentally screaming at you to rip the bandaid off and just tell him already. 

“So uh, how’s work been?” you asked.

Foggy’s eyes narrowed at you and you quickly glanced down at the table, ignoring the sharp look on his face. You didn’t want to just sit down and drop the news in Matt’s lap the moment you showed up. You, at the very least, needed a minute to prepare yourself.

“Busy,” Foggy replied simply. “How’s work been for you?”

Nervously your tongue darted out, wetting your lips. You knew what he was doing. It felt like your throat was closing up at just the thought of saying ‘I’m moving in three days’ to Matt.

“Good,” you answered.

Foggy’s eyes only narrowed further at you. Unable to stand the weight of his glare, you glanced across the table to Matt. But that had proven to be a terrible idea because he was focused straight on you, his head tilted a bit to the side. His dark brows had furrowed together, slightly drawing down below the red lenses he wore.

You knew that look. Ever since you’d learned that Matt was the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen and you’d been informed about his heightened senses, you’d come to recognize when Matt was picking up on something. Zeroed in on it. And right now he was very focused on you. That alone had your pulse increasing, wondering how much he was picking up on– what he was picking up on.

“You doing alright?” Matt asked you.

Clearing your throat, your attention dropped back to the table. Saying yes was an obvious lie. Saying no would leave you telling Matt the truth right here and now and you weren’t sure the words were going to come out yet. You weren’t sure you were ready for the way he’d surely be upset with you at the news. 

“I’m just stressed,” you said–not technically a lie.

There was a brief pause. You could feel both men staring at you and you felt yourself shrinking further in on yourself in response.

“Stressed about what?” Matt pressed.

“Work,” you answered simply.

“What about work?” Foggy pushed.

One of your hands grabbed onto your beer bottle, squeezing it tight in your fist. You felt like you were going to explode, your heart pounding hard in your chest.

“Why don’t we talk about work a little later?” you suggested, teeth gritting together.

Your focus flew up to Foggy, the pair of you locking eyes. There was a very disappointed expression currently resting on his face. For some reason when you saw his mouth open, your own did, too. But instead of blurting the truth to Matt, you found yourself blurting something almost as bad before Foggy could speak.

“How’re Marci and Erica?”

You cringed the moment the question left you, realizing you’d asked Matt to indulge you with details about his relationship. That was not what you wanted. Even Foggy’s expression softened at your question, aware of your mistake.

“Marci’s been busy with work, but doing good,” Foggy answered.

“Great,” you replied stiffly.

Grinding your teeth together, you turned your attention to Matt. There was no backing out of enduring this tidbit about Erica because you’d asked for it. You were just going to have to force the strained smile to stay on your lips as you waited for Matt to stab you in the heart yet again.

“Uh, she’s doing well,” Matt answered slowly, his focus seeming to shift between you and Foggy for a moment.

“Fantastic,” you stated, the strained smile still on your mouth.

You drew your beer up to your lips for another drink, feeling like you desperately needed it. When Matt suddenly spoke again, you hadn’t been expecting it. 

“Actually,” he said, his tone a little off, “there was something I was hoping to talk to you both about. Since it’s been quite some time since we’ve been together like this. Just the three of us. I figured I’d tell you both something that’s been on my mind recently.”

Swallowing down your beer, you slowly lowered the bottle to the table. Your attention shifted to Foggy, one of your brows raising curiously. He made a face, lightly shrugging his shoulders and shaking his head in return. He looked just as confused as you were.

“It’s about Erica,” Matt began.

You sucked in a breath, holding it as your eyes flew back to Matt and you waited in anticipation. Had they broken up? Had Matt finally told her the truth about himself and she couldn’t handle it? Was she…cheating on him?

“Look, I know it’s not been quite seven months yet, but I’ve been thinking about just taking the plunge,” Matt continued on, his words tumbling out rapidly. “She’s really great. And she’s an intelligent, driven, successful woman. And we get along so well. I–I’ve found myself thinking about marriage lately.”

It took your brain a few seconds to process what Matt had just said, but when you did, your jaw literally dropped. He hadn’t been with Erica for quite seven months yet, but he was already thinking about marrying her? 

Your breath literally caught in your throat as you sat there in absolute shock. You couldn’t breathe. Out of the corner of your eye you saw Foggy’s head instantly whip in your direction. His eyes were wide, his mouth also hanging open in complete surprise.

“Guys?” Matt said nervously. “Care to say something?”

He wanted to marry Erica.

He wanted to marry her .

He wanted to spend the rest of his life with her .

Your right hand flew up to your chest, clutching the fabric of your shirt roughly in your fingers. There was a sharp pain shooting straight through your heart in a way you’d never felt before. Were you about to have a panic attack? A heart attack maybe? Was that what this was? 

You might actually throw up. 

“That’s uh…” Foggy said, voice trailing off as he tried to search for words.

“A good thing?” Matt suggested.

You could hear your pulse hammering in your own ears as you tried to inhale a shaky breath. Fuck, why was it so hard to breathe? Across the table, Matt focused back on you, saying your name with a note of concern.

“Are you doing okay?” he asked slowly. “You don’t sound…alright.”

He just fucking told you he wanted to marry Erica when he knew you were in love with him. Of course you weren’t fucking alright . You were the farthest goddamn thing from alright .

“Does she know?” you breathed out.

“Well…no,” Matt answered slowly. “I haven’t bought up the topic quite yet but I–”

“Does she know who you really are?” you pressed, cutting him off as your hand clutched your chest tighter. “ Does she know ?”

You swore you saw his eyes narrow behind his glasses in the dim light of Josie’s. His lips pressed firmly together in what appeared to be a hint of irritation.

“No,” he answered, his tone darkening a bit. “She doesn’t know that yet, but I don’t think it will be a problem at the moment. She’s mentioned always wanting a long engagement, so I’d have plenty of time to figure it out with her. I don’t think it would be an issue, and until then, she’d want to probably stay at her place near her work. Which means I could keep doing what I’ve been doing. We’d just have to figure that all out later. We’d make it work.”

A bitter laugh fell out of you before you could stop it. Didn’t he hear how stupid that sounded? What the hell sort of hold did she have on him? Why was he so stuck on her? He deserved so much better than being with someone who didn’t know him. He deserved someone who saw all of him and wanted him still. Who loved him for the man he was, crazy and frustrating as he could be sometimes. 

Someone like you.

But of course you were never good enough. He'd rather propose to a woman that didn't know he could smell what she'd eaten for lunch when she saw him after work. That had no idea he was risking his life most nights to save the people in the part of the city he loved so dearly.

“She will never move to Hell’s Kitchen with how much she dislikes it, and you’ll never leave it,” you stated sharply, anger quickly growing within you at how ridiculous this whole situation was beginning to sound. “How does that work, Matthew?”

Matt’s brows entirely pulled together behind his lenses, his jaw clenching as he stared back at you. “Well I don’t see how that’s any of your concern,” he shot back, a sharper edge to his tone. “You’re not part of this relationship.”

You gaped at him, momentarily stunned and hurt. A second later your eyes darted over to Foggy, seeing him sitting there in absolute mortification at whatever was happening between you and Matt. He looked like a deer in the headlights.  

“Well, Matthew ,” you said bitterly, focusing back on him across the table and not even bothering to hide your anger at this point. What did it matter anymore? You were leaving in three days anyway. “I think it’s a bit absurd that you want to propose to a woman who doesn’t even know you, when you have absolutely no fucking idea where you both would even live together, after not quite seven months of dating. Doesn’t sound like you thought more than three seconds about this whole thing.”

“Excuse me?” he snapped, his dark brows shooting up onto his forehead. “And what’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means I think it sounds like you’re clinging to her like you clung to Elektra,” you snapped. “For whatever fucking reason you did.” 

Matt sat back in his chair, a look of surprise mingled with hurt written on his face. Part of you felt bad for that low blow, but you didn’t have long to feel that way before Matt was leaning forward again, his face set in a firm expression.

“Just because things didn’t work out how you wanted for yourself, doesn’t mean the rest of us have to sit here stuck in one place,” Matt shot back.

His words felt like a slap to the face. You sat there for a moment, the tears burning in your eyes at the audacity of him saying that to you. Of him knowing how you felt about him, telling you he wanted to marry another woman, and then throwing your feelings back at you like that.

Swallowing hard, you abruptly pushed your chair back and rose to your feet. Matt was still sitting and seething on the other side of the table, focused on your movements. Foggy’s face looked like it was permanently stuck in a mixture of shock and horror as he sat in utter silence.

“Fuck you, Matt,” you growled. “I never thought you were that much of an asshole to throw my feelings for you like that back in my fucking face.”

Matt straightened instantly in his chair, his expression shifting rapidly. “What?” he asked.

“I said fuck you ,” you spat, tears starting to make their way down your cheeks. “For knowing I’ve had feelings for you all these fucking years,” you barreled on, watching as his mouth immediately dropped open and his eyebrows shot up high onto his forehead, “and letting me think you were fucking dead for months and now making me listen to your bullshit desire to marry Erica. You’re not worth the goodbye. So fuck you, Matthew Murdock.”

You didn’t bother to wait for him to recover from the shock of your outburst, his body pin straight in his chair as he gaped at you in stunned silence. Turning on your heel, you stormed off out of Josie’s, fuming internally as you pushed the door open and made your way out into the night.

Matt sat in his chair, his mind racing as he listened to you making your exit from Josie’s. He could taste the salt of your tears and the venom of your anger in the air right before you'd left, but it was what he'd thought he'd heard you say that had him sitting dumbfounded in his seat. 

Had you said what he'd thought you'd said? Had that really happened?

"Shit, Matt," Foggy groaned out. "What the hell was that?"

Matt's head spun towards Foggy, shock still coursing through him. He could feel his hands shaking as they reached up, pulling his glasses from his face and lowering them to the table. 

"What did she just say?" he asked Foggy in disbelief. 

Matt could hear the way Foggy’s mouth dropped open yet again and the way his eyes had widened on his friend's face. Though Matt was more focused on the feel of his own racing heart in his chest as he tried to understand what had just happened.

"I think she said it pretty loud and clear, buddy," Foggy told him. "She's pissed at you. And I don't blame her one bit."

"No," Matt breathed out, shaking his head at Foggy. "Not that. The other part. The part about having feelings for me."

"I mean…yeah," Foggy replied matter-of-factly. "She's had them for you forever, dude. You knew that already though."

" What ?" Matt whispered in shock.

You…you'd had feelings for him? For Matt? For years ? And you both for some reason thought he knew that?

"Yeah, Matt," Foggy continued. "She's been crazy about you practically since she met you. She said you guys talked about this when she found out about your big secret. That was a while ago now. She said you'd told her you always had known she liked you because of your senses."

"I–what?" Matt stammered.

"Dude," Foggy said in exasperation. "Why are you acting like this is such big news?"

"Because it is , Fog!" Matt exclaimed. "She told me she was in love with you !"

Foggy froze, his mouth once again hanging wide open. Matt could feel the confusion practically rolling off of him in the chair beside him. Then he noticed Foggy quickly and firmly shaking his head. 

"What the fuck are you talking about, Matt?" he asked. "When the hell did she tell you that ?"

"That night!" Matt shouted. “She told me that night!”

“No,” Foggy said, still shaking his head. “No, there’s no way, dude. Did she expressly say ‘Hey, Matt I’m in love with Foggy?’”

Matt opened his mouth, about to tell him yes, but then he stopped short. Because no, you hadn’t in fact said Foggy’s name exactly. You had never actually told him you had feelings for Foggy. He’d always just thought that’s who you’d meant and it had made sense. Even Elektra had been pushing that idea onto him, telling him that you were always pining after him. How obvious it was with the way you looked at Foggy. He’d always thought that was the truth.

Had he been wrong this whole time?

“No,” Matt breathed out. “She–she never said your name. She never said any name.”

It felt like his entire world was falling apart around him. You’d never actually told him you liked Foggy. Never explicitly said his name. He’d just let Elektra’s words and his senses paint a story for him that he’d believed for so long. Which meant that night, over a year ago now when Elektra had dropped him off at your apartment, you’d been thinking he knew that you'd always had feelings for him because of his senses, when Matt had thought you had confirmed you'd always had feelings for Foggy this whole time. And that also meant that night when you hadn’t known who the masked man was and he’d found you drunk in that alley after your asshole ex had cheated on you–it had been him you’d really been crying over. You had both held each other tight that night crying over your feelings for each other in the rain.

All of this time he had been the friend who you’d had feelings for? How could he have been so fucking unaware? 

“Holy shit, you really didn’t know, did you?” Foggy asked in surprise. 

“No,” Matt repeated vehemently, his focus returning to Foggy. “No, Fog. I swore I thought she was always in love with you! Ever since she met you the pair of you just clicked! You were always spending so much time together. Both so alike. And her body was always reacting like crazy around you–but it…” he trailed off, blinking hard a few times. “It was me?”

Foggy reached out, placing a hand on Matt’s shoulder. He felt his friend give it a reassuring squeeze as he tried to process the influx of information suddenly rushing back to him. Every time he’d thought he was reading you reacting to Foggy, it had been him. How could he have read you so wrong for years?

“Fuck, I almost told her on graduation night,” Matt recalled, tears filling his eyes. “You’d fallen asleep and she was–was right there . I had been about to tell her I had feelings for her–about to kiss her–but then she suddenly panicked and I felt her fear. I thought it was because she knew I was going to and she had gotten scared. Because she wanted you .”

“Dude, no,” Foggy said, squeezing Matt’s shoulder again. “She probably was hoping you’d kiss her but afraid she was misreading the situation. That’s probably the fear you picked up on. She thinks you’ve only ever seen her as a friend, Matt.”

Matt ran a hand through his hair, his mind reeling. He couldn't believe what he was hearing.

“All this time I’ve just been–been misreading everything ?” Matt asked in shock.

“Clearly. But how the hell does that even happen with you? With what you can do?” Foggy questioned him. “And also–what the fuck, Matt? You’ve had feelings for our best friend all this time and you never fucking told me ?”

Matt’s attention returned to Foggy beside him, his sightless eyes intensely focused on him. “Do you remember that fall semester?” Matt asked earnestly. “That girl I told you I’d ran into?”

“Matt,” Foggy said with a sigh. “You ran into many girls.”

Matt shook his head quickly. “No, not like this. Not her. The one we called the White Whale?” he pushed.

Matt could hear the way Foggy’s brows drew together on his forehead. His hand fell away from Matt’s shoulder and instead came to run across his mouth as he took a moment to think back.

“Yeah,” Foggy eventually answered. “The girl you spent weeks looking around campus for. The one you were dying to meet. We came up with a bunch of ridiculous ways you might meet up with her over winter break.”

“Yes, her,” Matt replied in a rush. He whispered your name, feeling his heart twisting at the sound of it. “That was her . She was the White Whale, Fog.”

Foggy sat speechless for a moment, his hand still raised to his mouth as if he’d been taken off guard by Matt’s admission. Matt could hear Foggy’s heart rate elevating even further in his chest as he processed that information.

“You–you told me you met the White Whale and things hadn’t worked out, Matt,” Foggy pointed out. “You told me that.”

“Because I thought she’d fallen for you!” Matt shot back, gesturing a hand roughly at Foggy. “So I never told you it was her because I figured it didn't matter anymore. And I was–was an asshole and selfishly never said anything about the feelings I thought she had for you because I–I didn’t want to see you two together.”

“Fucking hell, Matt,” Foggy groaned, running a hand down his face. “What a fucking mess. So all this time you two idiots have had feelings for each other and nothing happened because no one fucking said anything?”

“I had no idea,” Matt whispered. “I had no idea she felt that way about me.”

“Ugh!” Foggy exclaimed, throwing his hands in the air in frustration.

Matt heard the way both of Foggy’s hands flew up to cover his face soon after, his hands rubbing agitatedly at his eyes. He could feel the irritation and frustration coming from his best friend, and he could feel something else exuding from him, too. But Matt didn’t take a moment to even wonder what it was as a thought suddenly struck him.

He shoved his chair back, swiftly rising to his feet. He was going to go after you. He had to. He had to tell you the truth. But Foggy’s hand abruptly grabbed onto his arm and it caused Matt to stop before he could even leave the table.

“What’re you doing?” Foggy asked him.

“Going after her,” Matt answered as if it was obvious. “I can’t leave her like that, Fog. I can’t let her continue thinking I knew all of this time that she had feelings for me and that I never felt the same. Because that’s not true. And I can't let her keep thinking that.”

“Matt, buddy, no,” Foggy replied quickly, tugging on his arm. “You just told her minutes ago that you were considering marrying someone else. And need I remind you–you’re still dating Erica. The woman you just told her you wanted to marry. You can't chase off after her in some grand romantic pursuit and tell her you have feelings for her. Not like this. She deserves better, Matt.”

A pained expression pulled at Matt’s face. He didn’t want to let you go back home feeling like this.Thinking what you were thinking. He didn’t want that. Especially knowing what he now knew. 

"What're you saying?" Matt asked.

"You want to tell her this?" Foggy questioned back. “That you have feelings for her?”

Matt nodded immediately. "Yes, Fog. Yes. I've wanted to tell her for years. I��ve come so close so many times," he confessed.

"Then do it when you're single, Matt," Foggy stated. "Don't you dare go chasing after her and telling her you have feelings when you're dating another woman. When you just finished talking about marrying another woman. Don't you do that to her, man. Because so help me, Matt, I don't care how well you throw a punch, I will hit you."

Matt's face slowly fell as he gradually slumped back down in his chair. Foggy was right. He had just dropped this idea of proposing to Erica on you–and God what an asshole he felt like now knowing how much that had to have hurt you to hear. No wonder you’d gotten so angry and your body’s stress levels had risen so quickly. And now he would sound like an ass chasing you down after that. But knowing how much pain he’d just caused you only increased that familiar heartache of his own that was currently twisting and constricting in his chest. He’d hurt you tonight. And probably countless nights over the years. How often had you been crying because of him ? He wanted to slam his fist through the table at the thought.

"Why the hell do you want to marry Erica anyway?" Foggy asked. “That seems so out of nowhere, man.”

"Because we–we get along," Matt answered lamely. "And she's always so busy so me being Daredevil has never caused an issue. It’s never been a problem. And I–I don't want to be alone,” he admitted, aware of how pathetic he sounded. “I figured Erica and I would figure things out later. That maybe she'd understand. I wasn’t really thinking things through, I admit that."

"Matt, Erica doesn't even know about your heightened senses," Foggy pointed out. "You can't get that serious with someone out of convenience and fear of being alone, buddy. It's wrong and it won't work out. That’s not fair to Erica, either."

"I know," Matt murmured, running a hand over his forehead. "You're right. You’re both right. I just–just thought I'd never have her and I was lonely. And when I was with Erica, she made me feel less lonely."

Foggy was shaking his head again. "That's not right, Matt. You can't do that to Erica."

"I know," he whispered, shamefully burying his face in his hands. "I'll talk to Erica tomorrow after work. I'll end the relationship. And then I'll talk to her." He whispered your name, his voice muffled by the hands over his face. He could feel the tears burning in his eyes. “I’ll tell her the truth. Everything.”

God did he want to tell you the truth so badly, too. He wondered how pissed at him you would be when you heard it. He wondered if there was anything he could do to make this whole situation salvageable. To fix all the things he’d fucked up, knowingly and unknowingly. He would do anything at all. Whatever it took.

"Well if you're going to tell her about your feelings you better hurry, Matt," Foggy said, clapping him on the shoulder. “You’re running out of time.”

Matt's brows drew together on his forehead. Something you'd said just before you left ran through his mind again. Something about him not being worth a goodbye. Matt felt his chest tightening further, a few tears slipping out of his eyes as he instantly drew his face from his hands and focused back on Foggy beside him.

"What's going on, Fog?" he asked anxiously. "You said she had something to tell me tonight. I'm guessing this wasn't it. So what is it?"

Foggy expelled a deep sigh, his grip on Matt’s shoulder growing a bit firmer. Matt felt his heart beating a bit erratically in his chest in the silence that followed, especially with the nervous sounds Foggy’s body was making right now. 

"She was offered a new position at work," he finally told Matt. "Really amazing pay–almost double her salary. But the job is in L.A. where her company is opening up a new office."

It felt like someone had ran Matt’s heart straight through with a knife. He had endured a lot of physical pain over the past few years running around the city at night, his body taking a lot of abuse. But the way those words struck Matt hurt more than any injury he'd ever sustained.  

"Is she–did she…?"

Foggy nodded solemnly. "Yeah," he answered. "She accepted it. She moves at the end of the week."

Matt's tongue felt heavy in his mouth, unable to swallow or form words as his lips began to tremble. You were leaving him. He just found out the truth–that you felt the same way after all this time–and you were leaving him. Moving to the other side of the country in a matter of days and he had no idea until just now. Days before you left.

"What–what about Adam?" Matt breathed out.

"They broke up months ago," Foggy replied. "She realized when you were with Erica that she just couldn't get over you. She hoped Adam might’ve been the one, but apparently he wasn’t.” Foggy sighed, his hand still comfortingly on his friend’s shoulder. “That's why she took the job, Matt. She's running from you. Running from her feelings for you."

Matt’s gaze dropped down to the table, more tears slowly sliding down his face. He’d done that to you, then. Hurt you so badly that you wanted to run from him. Put an entire country between the both of you. Now you didn’t even want to say goodbye to him. He winced at the pain of that thought.

"What if–if I told her?" he asked Foggy desperately, his focus returning to his friend. "What if I told her how I felt, Fog? Would she stay? Do you think she wouldn’t leave then?"

He heard the way the air shifted as Foggy shrugged in answer. The gesture didn't ease the constricting pain in Matt’s chest at all. Warm tears kept falling down Matt’s face as the weight of losing you slowly settled in his heart. 

"She can't–can't leave though," Matt croaked out, voice breaking as he shook his head. "She can't leave us–she can't leave me ."

Foggy rose slowly from his chair, crossing the space between the pair of them before wrapping Matt in a hug. Without hesitation Matt clung to his friend as a sob fell out of him, his face contorted in pain.

"She can't leave," Matt choked out. “She can’t , Fog.”

"I know, Matt," Foggy said, emotion thick in his voice. "I don't want her to go either."

"I lose everyone," Matt whispered. He clutched at Foggy’s dress shirt, entirely uncaring of who was watching the scene in Josie’s as he sobbed on his friend’s shoulder. "I can't lose her, too. I can't. I–I love her, Foggy. I love her."

"I’m sorry, Matt," Foggy replied, crying along with him. "But I don't know if there's anything either of us can do now."

[END NOTES]

More end notes this time because I often feel like this series needs it.

Matt now finally knows that Reader is not in love with Foggy! It only took YEARS for him to realize that--and it's only because Reader blurted it out in her anger at Matt having stupid thoughts about marrying someone who didn't even know all of him. Clearly he was clinging to Erica because he didn't think he could ever have Reader and he was trying to latch onto someone who made him feel good in the moment. Matt now also knows that Reader is leaving New York in just a matter of days, too. But, despite Matt now knowing the truth, Reader still has absolutely no idea that Matt has feelings for her. So what happens next? Does Matt chase after her and she stays? Does he miss her and she leaves? Something else? You'll have to wait for the next installment to find out...

[drnikolatesla]

The Lifestyle of Nikola Tesla

Nikola Tesla was a very tall and skinny man, standing over six feet and weighing around one hundred and forty pounds. He had light blue-gray eyes, which was considered odd because he was of Serbian descent who were typically known to have darker eyes. Tesla, probably joking, said to a reporter that his eyes used to be dark, but using his mind so much had made them many shades lighter. The inventor was known to be very elegant, stylish, meticulous in his grooming, clothing, and regimented in his daily activities.

Tesla never married and remained a celibate and a bachelor his entire life. Tesla was solely committed to the principles of science above all else, and for this reason, he denied the love and companionship of a female counterpart. He chose to lead a solitary life, hoping only that this sacrifice to work would make his name live on through many centuries still to come.

One of his few hobbies other than work was feeding birds. Tesla’s respect for birds began when he was a child growing up in the Austro-Hungarian Empire. He and his local friends made a sport out of catching live birds, and when Tesla himself caught a couple of keepers, he and his friend found themselves getting attacked by a murder of crows. The revolt forced the boys to release the birds and take cover. In America, he made it a specialty of his to treat sick pigeons, which seems odd because he was quite the germaphobe. He would feed them every day on his daily walks and would also take in wounded pigeons and nurse them back to health at his hotel in New York. He seemed to have had a better connection with birds than with most people. In 1917, he was awarded the Edison Medal, and upon receiving the award, the inventor could not be found. He was later found feeding pigeons near a local library and was persuaded back to the ceremony to give his speech.

Tesla suffered from an obsessive compulsive disorder, and because of this, he developed some very strange idiosyncrasies and phobias, such as having a strong dislike against earrings, pearls, peaches, and touching other people's hair. He counted the steps in his walks and calculated the cubical contents of soup plates, coffee cups, and pieces of food. All repeated acts or operations he performed had to be divisible by three.

While living in New York, Tesla kept his laboratories absolutely clean and pure, refused to touch other people, would wear gloves while shaking hands, and insisted upon personally cleaning his own plates and silverware at restaurants with his requested 18 napkins. This cleanliness was all intentional because, as a child, he almost died from cholera, which raged in the region of his hometown Lika due to contaminated water. Many found Tesla’s actions strange, but to him, it was a very important measure to protect his health.

In another way to keep his body clean and pure, Tesla invented an electrical apparatus that could give the human body a dry bath by passing millions of volts of electricity through it (similar to his demonstrations in the early 1890s where he passed electricity through his own body). His oscillator was a small, drum-like object about two feet long by one foot wide and could apply half a million volts of electricity through his body. The large amount of electricity would affect the germs without destroying the cells of the tissues of the body. Though his oscillator seemed like a fountain of youth, Tesla maintained his conventional ideas of health. He bathed daily, believed in plenty of exercise, and would walk eight or ten miles every day. He said that he never would take a cab or other conveyance and relied on his leg power for transportation.

His diet was a crucial part of his daily routine to remain healthy and to prolong the length of his life. He was very fussy and particular about his food: he ate very little, but what he did eat had to be the very best. He wasn’t a complete vegetarian; he ate meat, just not very occasionally (perhaps once or twice a year). He did believe though that humankind should move towards a vegetarian diet, not just because eating meat the way we do is “barbarous,” as he said, but because he believed the vegetarian diet is more beneficial to the human body.

In his later years, he never smoked, drank tea, coffee, alcoholic beverages, or consumed any other stimulant. Since he saw life through the lens of his mechanistic theory of life, he took great care of his body as if it were a machine properly maintaining its best efficiency.

As for sleep, Tesla reported that he was a poor sleeper and had very unusual resting patterns. He claimed to only sleep a few hours each day and would oftentimes practice polyphasic sleep where he would take short naps for restoration instead of sleeping for a long period of time.

Unfortunately for Tesla and his clean and healthy lifestyle, in 1937, at the age of 81, he was hit by a taxicab during one of his regular walks. It is likely he was jaywalking because he admittedly was known to do so. He broke three ribs and seriously injured his back. Tesla would be bedridden for months while refusing to see a doctor, and on top of this would catch pneumonia, which would plague his health for the last 5 years of his life. I believe this accident and sickness would play a major role in the rapid decline of his health, both mentally and physically, and his goal of living past a century would never be realized.

Nikola Tesla had a unique and eccentric lifestyle and was known for his intense work habits, often spending long hours in his laboratory. So much so that his friends would seriously worry about his health. Financial difficulties were a recurring theme in his life, and he died in relative obscurity. Despite these challenges, Tesla's legacy is marked by his groundbreaking contributions to the field of electrical engineering.

[highonmarvel]

hi hope ur doing well. i was thinking, could u do a buckyxreader where hes paralyzed and like needs a caretaker. through some means reader ends up as the caretaker and all is well. but actually bucky was just pretending and hes not realy paralysed and he just pretended to get closer to reader and reader start expresing the idea that she might have to leave for whatever reason and buck does not like that so like he kidnaps her or something. I rlly luv ur work this is the first request iv sent

this is so good, i’m upset i didn’t think of it first. i’m so sorry for taking so long to get back to you, i really hope you enjoy, and thank you so, so much for the love. okay, here it is:

Himalayan Salt

Bucky Barnes: You’re assigned to a notoriously grumpy war vet, but he’s different with you.

content warnings here!

You nod as your supervisor goes over your final notes: James Barnes, World War II veteran, quadriplegic.

You follow her from the overcast weather into a beautiful but modest home in a fairly quiet suburb to meet the man sitting in a wheelchair in the centre of the room.

“Good morning, Mr Barnes,” your supervisor calls, tucking her clipboard under her arm as she waits for him to turn around. When he does, you’re surprised. You hadn’t seen a photo of him beforehand as this had been a pretty impromptu assignment, but you’re sure you were told he was born in 1917, yet he sits looking like he’s in forties, and aging well, at that.

“Hi, Mr Barnes!” you smile warmly at him, and he returns a friendly smile, introducing himself as Bucky and insisting you call him that.

“I just need you to fill out the last of the forms quickly,” your supervisor mutters, waving goodbye to Bucky as she leads you back out to her car.

You’re leaning against the boot of her oldish, red car, pen scratching against paper when she says, “He really likes you.”

“Hm?” you offer, raising your eyebrows but keeping your eyes focused on the form.

She leans her back against the trunk and shifts down a bit, speaking to you but looking over at your handwriting, “He’s known to be grumpy. You see the left arm? I don’t think he likes being dependent, I’ve had to swap out a lot of people.”

“And you didn’t tell me this before I took the job?” you frown, still finishing off the document, “Didn’t think I could handle it?”

“I know you’re capable, but I thought you wouldn’t want it. But listen, the organisation needs this, I don’t know if there’s anyone else we can find for him.”

You complete your signature with a satisfied smile, handing back the clipboard, “Don’t worry, I can do this.”

She nods then gets in her car and drives away, leaving you in the driveway. You stretch your arms then make your way back inside. When you enter the living room, there’s a draft you swear wasn’t here a few minutes ago. Bucky hasn’t moved, but you notice an open window. You furrow your brows as you look down at him, “Can I close that? It’s a bit chilly in here.”

“Go ahead,” he nods, and you walk over, pulling the handle it, and ignoring the recent-looking fingerprint marks on the glass.

***

A few hours into your first day, you’re a little taken aback by how friendly he is; even despite your boss’ warning, you’ve never had a patient so willing to co-operate, especially not veterans — they tend to be angry they need help, or have episodes due to PTSD, but Bucky seems perfectly in his right mind and understanding of both his and your position.

“Did they tell you I was a pain in ass?” Bucky asks before opening his mouth for a spoonful of food.

You laugh as you pull the spoon back, scooping up more of the rice and curry you made to lift to his lips, “Kind of,” you admit, “Said you were grumpy, is that true?”

He smiles, “I tend to be,” he confesses, “But I can’t keep that brooding persona up around you,” he takes a spoonful.

“So that’s what it is?” you raise an eyebrow as you pile the last of the meal onto the utensil, “A persona?”

He swallows the last of it and shakes his head with a grin, “No, but I can’t not be amused around you.”

***

You have no idea why your supervisor said he was difficult, your next few weeks with Bucky are light and fun, and you feel you’re even developing a friendship. You don’t see to him at night, and he has minimal needs during the day — some days it just feels like you’re there to keep him company.

You’re doing so well, in fact, that your supervisor wants to transfer you to a veteran from Vietnam who’s apparently even worse than Bucky (by other people’s stories — to you, if he’s anything like Bucky, he’ll be nice to see), convinced you have some magic touch.

As much as you’re developing affection for Bucky, you have to put work first, and you’re compelled to leave him for the other man who clearly needs you more. Bucky seems to be doing well, you’re sure you can’t be that special, and you’re sure someone else could take care of him just as well, if not better.

“Hi, Buck,” you greet with a smile as you close the door behind you. You hear his motorised wheelchair come rolling down the corridor to greet you.

“Hi, why could you only come in at ten today?”

You usually come in at seven on weekdays and eight on weekends.

“Sorry, I had a meeting,” you sigh, setting your tote bag down as Bucky switches his chair to manual.

“A meeting?” he asks as you take hold of the handles and push him to the other side of the kitchen island.

“Mhm,” you nod as you open the fridge, rummaging around for something to make, “There’s this other guy my boss wants me to help,” you call with your head still in the cold, “A Vietnam vet, no one else in the org will take him.”

You emerge with some eggs and milk, shutting the door with your foot before placing the contents on the island, “Did you eat? I assume Carol made breakfast but I can make more.”

“Are you going to take it?” he inquires, ignoring your question, “The job.”

“I mean, maybe,” you answer, placing your hands on the counter and tilting your head as you think, “I’m not sure yet.”

“But what about me?”

“The other guy needs full-time care, I’d have to spend virtually all my days there, but if I leave, Carol can take over for me, she can go from night to day, she’s amazing, and she doesn’t complain about you, at least not as much,” you wink, but he doesn’t crack a smile.

“Bucky, I didn’t mean to upset you—”

“It’s okay.”

“It’s just that—”

“It’s your job, I get it,” he replies, and you can see the stoicism build up.

“Nothing’s final, yet,” you say as you walk over, “And you’re doing great either way,” you give him a kiss on the forehead, “We don’t have to talk about that, let’s just eat, I’m starving.”

He nods and attempts to smile, but you can tell it doesn’t reach his eyes.

You try to make conversation as you make yourself an omelette, but you can tell he’s not in it, giving short answers and not reacting to your jokes. When you reach to grab the salt, he stops you.

“Not that one,” he says, “Use the pink salt, Himalayan, I swear it makes everything tastes better.”

You grind some onto your food and sit across from him on the island. Digging your fork into it, you see something flash across Bucky’s eyes. Your first thought is hunger, but he’d just eaten and swore he wasn’t hungry. You ignore it as you bring the fork to your mouth, savouring the taste, though it’s not necessarily a chef’s rendition.

It tastes fine, but there’s something off. At first, you think it must be the salt, but it’s not the taste that’s off; usually when you eat, you feel that warmth in your throat and then your stomach, but now, it’s like it went to your head. You press a hand to your forehead, feeling like you’re burning up. Trying to stand, you immediately sway, only not falling by gripping the counter so harshly and hastily you bend a nail. You try to look to Bucky to tell him you’re not feeling well, but he’s out of focus. In fact, he’s not there. Just as you collapse and close your eyes, you feel a tall shadow over you, but you don’t have time to figure out where it’s coming from before you fall unconscious.

***

You groggily wipe at your eyes when you finally stir before turning over to reach for your phone, at first thinking you had had a dream, but your phone’s not there, and the nightstand isn’t yours. You shoot up in panic and look down at your sheets: Bucky’s sheets. Okay, maybe Bucky rang Carol and she came and set you in bed. Your head still hurts, and everything’s a little hazy.

When the door opens, you expect to see Carol, but it’s Bucky.

“Bucky!” you gasp as you throw the sheets off of you.

He gives a lopsided grin, and for the first time you notice how tall he actually is, because he’s standing.

“Christmas miracle?” he offers.

He walks over to you and sets a glass of water on the bedside table.

“That Himalayan salt is really exotic, isn’t it?”

You don’t even have time to process exactly what he means by that, he’s still standing over you, using his arms and legs just fine, in fact, like he’s been doing it every single day forever. You should have suspected something was up; how could a paralysed man stay in such good shape? The thought briefly crossed your mind once when you ran your fingers over his muscled arm, but you brushed it off.

“Bucky! You- you—”

“Are perfectly fine, I am, and you will be too, soon, those drugs just need to wear off. I know you’re having trouble understanding, just drink some water and sleep it off a little longer.”

He leans down to give you a kiss on the forehead, but you dodge him, nearly falling off the bed in the process.

“Woah, there,” he chuckles as he catches you with ease, his reflexes so sharp it’s nearly unnatural, “Now I’m taking care of you.”

You’re not sure if you can’t speak because of the drugs or if it’s because you’re in shock. He gently sets you back down and your head falls against the pillow as you struggle to keep your eyes open, spots of black blocking little bits of your vision.

“I’ve been needing someone, I’ve gone through a few, but you, honey, you’re special, and I knew it from the moment I saw you. You can’t leave me, I still need you.”

✪

[taglist; @cjand10]

[beekeeperspicnic]

Visiting Fulworth

Today @jeremys-come-to-bed-eyes and I went on something that I might have been classified as a "research trip" for The Beekeepers Picnic, if it had happened a few years ago! As it is, there's no hiding that it was just a geeky fan trip.

I didn't invent the idea of Holmes retiring to keep bees in a village called Fulworth - it gets alluded to a few times in the stories, and there is one story set there, 'The Lion's Mane'.

We know Holmes' retirement home is either a 'cottage' or a 'villa', it's a few miles out of Eastbourne, and it's clearly somewhere where it's possible to walk to the sea for a swim. Sherlockian tradition is that the real-life place fitting this description is the village of East Dean.

So, that's where we went - walking from Eastbourne.

This area is famous for it's white chalk cliffs, which are eroding away very quickly. Here is a path to nowhere!

These cliffs are known as the Seven Sisters. They all have names but the only two I remember are Short Bottom and Rough Bottom.

The beach there is all pebbles - I knew that when creating my game, but I felt like a pebble beach just wouldn't look right all in pixels, so I made it sandy instead.

East Dean is absolutely gorgeous, basically everything I could have hoped for.

Here is the village green - flying a Ukrainian flag in solidarity!

And here is Mr Holmes' official cottage. As far as we could tell its now an office of the local estate rather than someone's house, so we didn't feel too weird taking lots of pictures! The Lions Mane implies his cottage is a little way out of the village, but I'll forgive them for putting it in the centre instead.

(I think that the dates are obviously the dates he lived there as recorded by his biographer - our last information on Holmes is from 1917. I think they made the right call not to try to invent a date for his death.)

A lot of the cottages in the area have this really distinctive mixture of pebbles and brick which I think must be a hallmark of the local area, but I was pleased to see a few whitewashed buildings like the ones I put in the game:

Thank you for reading, please enjoy this adorable foal.

[evita-shelby]

hey!! could you possibly do a Tommy Shelby x sister reader ?? With “ you can talk to me about anything. you know that, right? “ prompt basically just him being there for his younger sister the rest is up to you :)) but if you don’t want to do this that’s totally okay :)

Its been a while since i got one of these

The back step

Cw: mentions of underage smoking, mental health issues, suicide and death

Gif by @necessarypretext

You never knew your mother nor your father.

You were barely two when she stepped into the cut after Finn's birth and dad’s abandonment made a wreck of whatever hadn’t been ruined by the pills and booze.

Just because you didn’t have her or our father didn’t mean you lacked parents.

Your brothers and sister and your aunt Polly made damn sure you never lacked the love of a parent.

But then your brothers enlisted and left for France and in 1917, John's wife ,Martha, died and you had to help with John’s little ones and Finn while Ada and Polly ran the shop.

You were fourteen when they came back.

It was odd, they were odd.

They had nightmares, they drank and smoked more, Tommy took up opium and John simply couldn’t handle being a single father.

You got used to it, learned to avoid getting stuck in a bad place and learned the hard way that you don’t wake them up from their nightmares.

And in the mean time, Ada taught you to be a lady.

Taught you how to do your hair like hers, how to put on eyeliner without smearing what little they have and turn you into a woman.

When you get bold enough to steal a kiss from a Lee boy, Polly is absolutely livid with you.

You think you’ve heard the end of it until you overhear Polly and Tommy talk about a marriage with the Lee family after their grenade nearly killed Finn.

You hear Arthur suggest you because it would be a while until it happens because you are only fourteen.

When Polly tells them about the boy you kissed, you know its over for you.

The next morning you cannot pretend to be okay, you avoid their eyes, you snap at the barmaid for not minding her own business and eventually Tommy’s letting you smoke a cigarette with him on the back step.

“You can talk to me about anything. You know that, right?” he asked you softly, almost as if he was himself again.

The Tommy you knew was gone.

Sure he was there sometimes, but this Tommy Shelby didn’t laugh or dream or even dance anymore.

It was odd having your brother back. Made it all much worse, you think.

You get him back just as they’ll make you marry a boy you hardly know.

“I heard you want to marry me off to the boy I kissed.” You answer, looking at your feet in shame.

Shame because you are a girl and when the boys sleep around with women like Lizzie and Grace, they don’t get into trouble.

John wants to marry Lizzie, not because they love each other, but because she is the only one strong enough to raise his children and he brave enough to trust her.

“If you’d stuck around, kid, you would’ve heard me say John was the one we’re going to offer them.” Tommy said rubbing the cigarette on his lip before lighting it.

“Oh.” What else do you say? “Isn’t he engaged to Lizzie?”

“Not anymore, he needs a wife he can trust and raise his children to be as good as you and Finn. A wife people won’t laugh about in his face.” He explained as if you were as grown up as him.

Only one who didn’t treat you like a kid.

Maybe that was why he had been your favorite brother before the war.

“When will you tell him?” you ask hoping for an answer you won’t get.

“Day after tomorrow, and don’t think about telling him. If you tell him, he’ll run.” Your brother answered and somehow you agreed to it.

“I don’t want them to be hurt, Tommy.” You say hoping he will take his words back and tell John. “What if John hates me after?”

It’s his life after all.

“He won’t, you’ve met Esme Lee, she’s perfect for him. He’ll be too busy being happy with her to ever be mad at us, sweetheart.” Your brother says and you believe him.

And he is right, John tells you himself that he’s not angry at you for lying to him just as Ada goes into labor.

When Polly sends you to call the midwife because she and Esme aren’t enough, you find Grace calling the police.

When you tell Tommy, she tells him you’re lying.

And for a moment you think he believes her.

But he doesn’t. Not when the police come to arrest Freddie.

He is out drinking and smoking on the back step looking like hell.

It wasn’t his fault he fell in love with a rat and you can’t make him better, but you can do one thing.

“You can talk to me about anything. You know that, right?” you ask as you sit down beside him.

[empirearchives]

Hi! I was wondering is there an actual source stating that calling Napoléon "Buonaparte" was meant as derogatory? I've read here (https://mrodenberg.com/2012/09/13/bonaparte-or-buonaparte/) that on Saint-Helena, the British addressed him as that to undermine his legitimacy as French ruler. Also, I know of another historical figure, Prieur de la Côte-d'Or, who not being very fond of him used the same appellation when talking about Napoleon

Hey! Yes, it was definitely used in a derogatory way to delegitimize Napoleon’s rule by denying his frenchness. Napoleon’s brother, Louis, commented on this in his A Reply to Sir Walter Scott’s History of Napoleon in 1829:

Another visible object is, that of desiring to make Napoleon pass as a foreigner in France. In fact, if such were not the intentions of the author, why this obstinacy in writing the family name of Napoleon, Buonaparte, instead of Bonaparte, consecrated as it is by long habit? Certainly the letter O is not more or less noble or French than the letter U, but it is done to impress a foreign character upon Napoleon, and divide his glory from that of France.

The Italian nation is sufficiently glorious for one to be proud of belonging to it, especially of deriving one’s origin from this beautiful country; but when one has been born under the laws of France, grown up on its soil, with no other knowledge of foreign countries, even of beautiful Italy, than that gained with the victorious legions of France, it is rather too ridiculous to receive from an English author the certificate of a foreigner.

The name Buonaparte was being used by the coalitions before the St. Helena years, especially by the British, so there are quite a lot of examples.

To be clear, Buonaparte was Napoleon’s birth name and the name he preferred to go by for over 20 years. He changed his name during the French Revolution during a wave of name changes across France to more revolutionary and patriotic names. That being said, Bonaparte is already listed as his name on his baptism certificate* in 1771 (“Neapoleone Bonaparte”) when he was nearly 2 years old, which is 3 years into French rule of Corsica. On the same document, his father’s name is spelled as Buonaparte.

It’s a little complicated. The spelling of names weren’t very standardized and were subject to a lot of variation. But the usage of the name Buonaparte was definitely intentional among Napoleon’s enemies. You can tell pretty easily when someone is saying it in a bad faith manner.

From the historian Andrew Roberts (Napoleon: A Life):

For decades thereafter, British and Bourbon propagandists re-inserted the ‘u’ in order to emphasize Napoleon’s foreignness, such as in François-René de Chateaubriand’s snappily titled 1814 pamphlet Of Buonaparte and the Bourbons and the Necessity of Rallying Round our Legitimate Princes for the Happiness of France and that of Europe, in which he wrote: ‘No hope was left of finding among Frenchmen a man bold enough to dare to wear the crown of Louis XVI. A foreigner offered himself, and was accepted’ (Chateaubriand, Of Buonaparte p. 5). Even after the British royal family changed the name of their dynasty from Saxe-Coburg-Gotha to Windsor in 1917, some British historians still ridiculed Napoleon for dropping the ‘u’ from his surname.

It becomes obvious when people change how they refer to Napoleon depending on their current stance or relationship with him. For example, when France and Russia were allies, Tsar Alexander I calls him Napoleon or even the Emperor Napoleon. But when the alliances change and Napoleon is removed from power, Alexander referred to him as Buonaparte.

From the historian Marie-Pierre Rey (Alexander I):

Alexander’s use of the Corsican family name of Buonaparte is interesting, implying that for Alexander Napoléon was no longer emperor of the French — and not even French by nationality!

So there were two purposes to calling him Buonaparte: to accentuate his commoner origins as well as his foreignness in order to delegitimize his authority as head of state.

Thanks for the interesting question!

————

* (The baptism document can be found on Archives de la Corse-du-Sud -> Etat Civil -> Ajaccio -> 1771 -> Baptemes -> 6 MI 4/21)

[108garys]

Centuries

There's three main eras in little hope, five if you account for Tilly Johnson's statue and the WW1 photo adding to things, myself and @delurkr Have expanded the reincarnation cycle to 9 life's across the three century time span and keeping in mind that some of these incarnations are early concepts and just putting the decades is a bit of a mixed bag here's a portrait of every T across time

Individual and info undercut(but not touching on plots and headcanons tho)

Tabitha, the original and all that, none of the others would be here without her 💖

Truth, the very next life and a very early concept

Same with Temperance, vague details that are subject to change

Tamsyn, now she is fleshed out to an extent even though I started out with the thought of how lovely her hair is

Tilly Johnson, canonical fourth T, based off my colourisation of her bust but much much more off delurkr's interpretation of Tilly

Tammie started out as "Jenny may in a western" in terms of looks and I'm sure that's still there given her hair/eyes colour and mole although I did put in the effort to make her more historically accurate and more individual

Theresa is delurkr's oc for the 1917 cycle and I can't put enough weight on how important this character is to so much of my own creations, this character was the first time it occurred to me that little hope could be expanded this way and from there so many of the ideas I've had and come up with can in my opinion be owed to delurkr blowing my mind wide open to the possibilities and I could gush about it all forever(I'll stop before this post gets too derailed 😅)

Tanya is of course best girl and the reason we get to celebrate all these lovely ladies birthdays

Last but certainly not least is our girl Taylor, she's out here breaking the cycle✨

So yeah I took the relatively simple idea of symmetry portraits and got stubborn about it lol, also I'll lastly and again say that if you somehow like my stuff and haven't checked out @delurkr then what are you doing? Some of my best ideas spawned because they got me thinking and everyone should check them out 💕

@kassiekolchek22 @tatjana-fantasy @blubary @dennisseyebrows @qusochek @lazylesbianbear @ultrabananapudding @ivycross @eframschweigersskincells @eddie-brii @mybrainrotforreal

[delurkr]

1917 M was finished quicker than I thought!

That's a tam style hat she's holding by the way.

I already gave D a red sweater, but 1) current-day M literally wears a red pullover, 2) I wasn't planning this far ahead when I drew D, and 3) I wasn't feeling anything else I came up with. I've been toying with the idea that she is D's sister anyway, so... not-so-subtle visual connection maybe. Besides that, she has tucks on her skirt like on Mary's apron, and there's three of them like the three rows of trim on the bottom of Megan's nightgown. I think I got the shapes of both Mary's and Megan's/2020 M's collars in there too, or close 😅. And 2020 M's skirt is plaid, so I gave her plaid socks (that don't match) 😁

[a-punchline-on-duct-tape]

hello, @battleslippers brought up a pretty good point when it comes to desi!johnny cade, because what the fuck is he doing in oklahoma in the 1960’s anyway!

so now, i’m going to present possible reasons on why/how he even wound up here

a) immigrant johnny 🍅👎🏾🤬😤

is my least favorite, bcs it makes no sense for his character at all.

johnny immigrated with his family in 1965, and he was born and mostly raised in south asia

this one could be possible because there are recorded indian immigrants from this time (my sources are my family members)

i don’t like this one whatsoever because south asian lifestyles + culture are completely different, and his personality wouldn’t be anything alike to johnnys real one in the book/movie

b) east-india company 🥉

in the 1700’s, the east-india company brought indian servants to the colonies and they were recorded to be enslaved in mostly maryland and delaware. once slavery was abolished, they blended in with african-americans and were deemed as mulattoes. if this was the case, he could’ve wound up in oklahoma one way or another, so its defo not unrealistic

i can see this one being highly likely, but it was most likely mean johnny is of mixed descent (either mixed with african-american, latino, or native heritage) but i hc johnny to be mostly south asian, so think twice ab this one

c) indo-caribbean 🥈

between the years of 1838-1917 around 500k people living in colonial india were taken to the 13 colonies and the caribbean to be indentured slaves to farm sugar cane. this one could work because once these people were freed, johnnys parents/grandparents could’ve come to oklahoma and thats why hes there

this one im 50/50 about bcs it could also make johnny mixed and i dont really see it + the culture of indo-carribean people vs south asia is a little different

d) sikh migration 🏆 ⭐️🎖

in the late 1800’s and early 1900’s, many sikh immigrants came to california. these people specifically came because of food shortages and drought issues. these people typically worked on railroads. as these migrants came to the us, they experienced a lot of discrimination and racism (ex/ bellingham riots) so its possible his family moved to oklahoma to escape it then had johnny

there was a bunch of more complicated history with this, but that history doesnt change the fact this explanation is possible

this ones personally my favorite, because it means johnny could be mostly south asian, he could be sikh, and he would most likely be punjabi which is exactly how i see him

(hope y’all appreciate this i spent like 30 min researching and writing this lmaoo)

(usual desi johnny tags @pumpkinsy0 @coquettejohnny btw if yall want me to stop tagging, just send a dm! i dont mind at all)

[historia-vitae-magistras]

Hi, I hope you don't mind me asking but why did Zee hate being a nurse? Well, other than her being forced into the role

I don't think she hated it at first. She loved being a professional in a crisp uniform with real rank and authority all her own on the virtue of her education and experience. It's a far cry from being permitted to do more or less whatever she likes because her father is a man with rank and authority. She likes the puzzle of diagnosis, the riddle of keeping people alive, and the profound speed with which medicine advances thrills her. But even as young as she is by the standards of her own kind, she still gets a bit restless. And it's in those times that just how unfuckingfair everything hits her.

When Jack's bored, he can pick up anything he pleases. Natural history, biology, paleontology, leather tanning, winemaking. If he's tired of the city, he can just up and fuck off into the interior to be a stock hand If he wants. No one will stop him. And to a certain extent, she can too if she really wants, but it's just so much harder and riskier. What she is does give her a certain amount of protection, but it's still a hard thing to pull off. So she switches jobs, visits her father or a brother or friends or throws on trousers, and leaves gender behind entirely. But life is still so often a choice between harrowing or stifling.

Patients love her; she's an excellent nurse. She's funny, a bit naughty, and always partial to her own. She can give as much as she gets when speech becomes sparing. She continued in pediatric and community nursing over time, but I think she got heartily sick of nursing during WWI. She climbed the cliffs of Gallipoli half out of spite but still took the hill of Chanuk Bair. She left her gender behind and smashed her brains in with rocks like any other half-starved body on the trench line. She did her part to cut that hill from Turkish hands at bayonet point. She showed a talent and a propensity for violence no one wants to believe exists in pretty young women. The only real victory Gallipoli saw was hers, brought to heel by her brutality. But then the British lost the captured ground almost instantly, and it was for nothing.

She slides back into nursing not long after as Churchill's foolishness finally comes to a close, and she spends the rest of 1916 trying to preserve whatever decency, whatever sanity remains to her and Jack. And that's almost harder for her to do as a nurse, witnessing death after disease after devastating injury, one after another after another. She wanders around as she likes from unit to unit, corset or helmet on and off, but often feels guilty when it's not in a corset because nurses are in much higher demand than any grunt with a rifle. Sometimes, she just can't stand the sight of another broken body. But she does kind of redeem nursing for herself by mid-1917 when the British army commands that dominion nurses can't be trained as anesthesiologists, and she only mentions Canada and Australia. I always think of that as a sly little move on Arthur's part because it puts Zee on a pay and rank basis equal to doctors for the first time and that her forceful personality can go to some real reforming use for the first time in a while.

So yeah, too long didn't read: it's not that she hated nursing so much as she hates misogyny and the front-row seat to senseless violence it granted her.

[ruewrites]

Helloo! I dunno if your requests are still open or if you forgot to change it. If that is the case, feel free to ignore this.

I wanted to request a platonic scenario with Simeon and Solomon. I was thinking of a hurt/comfort where Simeon comforts Solomon when he is going through a bad time, probably something related to his immortality or the people he lost during his long life. I mean, that is a suggestion, but you can do anything you want, I just want Simeon comforting Solomon because their friendship is very cute <33

Pray for Us

AO3

Word Count: 1917

Warnings: light mentions of Solomon forgetting to eat (I know this is a little canon, our wizard not taking care of himself, but I still want to put the warning here)

A/N: I think... it may still have turned out a little sadder than I intended... But I hope you still enjoy Anon! I'm sorry it took me so long to write :,) I hope you enjoy!

It started out as a trick of the eye, a feather that only appeared to be less than perfect due to a trick of the light. It wasn't anything, it would never be anything. Yet it lingered in the back of Simeon's mind, floating and drifting among his thoughts. 

He had all intents and purposes to ignore it entirely, to swat it away like a pesky mosquito. But the mosquito bit him, and soon the mark graduated from an itching rash to a burning wound. He couldn't deny what was happening anymore, he couldn't ignore Raphael's presence in Purgatory Hall.

Now it wasn't so much Raphael himself that was the issue, but it was what he represented. 

Simeon knew something had been brewing for a while now. He could feel it deep within him and now that it was coming to light. Acknowledging it was something he absolutely couldn't do. It was out of the question. Because even if it was happening, acknowledgement made it real.

It was easy to ignore.

He was content with sweeping up the feathers he left in his wake.

But it would all come crashing to a head.

It had been a gloomy day already, no one had left the house. Rain pounded on the window outside and the occasional boom of thunder ran out in the distance, stepping ever so closer to Purgatory Hall. No one had seen a wink of Solomon in a few days at this point, so Simeon decided it would be appropriate to bring him some soup and hot tea. He knocked once, then a second time. After no answer he slowly opened the door.

He figured it would be safe, it wasn't like Asmodeus was paying a visit.

But looking back, maybe he should have left the items by the door and left. He could have sent a text, but his nature wouldn't allow him. 

Solomon was hunched over his desk. Cups of lukewarm coffee and tea were scattered all throughout the room. Some were even completely cold, left long forgotten in the depths of the room. Some were in ceramics and some in disposable cups from various cafes. No doubt those had been brought to him during hours he definitely should not be substituting them for sleep. His foot brushed against one of the aforementioned cups, sending it gracefully gliding  across the floor. 

Finally, the human seemed to be snapped out of whatever daze he was in and slowly turned his head to look at Simeon.

And he looked terrible.

The bags under his eyes were dark and his eyelids were heavy. A haze still had a hold on him, but he was fighting against it just enough to feign normalcy. It was a slight cue that screamed ‘ignore this, pretend it never happened’. 

Sure, there were times the angels chewed their human roommate out for neglecting to care for himself. But there were also times, where Simeon sensed it was best to ignore the chilling wrongs hiding beneath thin veils of normalcy. And it chilled him every single time. 

Solomon offered a nod and looked down at the food in Simeon’s hands. 

“Lunch time already?”

“Dinner actually.”

“Ah.”

You skipped two meals once again.

Simeon knew it wasn’t on purpose. Sometimes it felt like Solomon forgot that time still moved around him, that it hadn’t stopped entirely. 

“I can leave it on your nightstand if-”

“No,” Solomon stopped him, raising a hand, “Would you mind staying actually? I could use the company.”

Simeon froze. 

Then, swallowing the tight knot in his throat, he moved to sit on the edge of Solomon’s bed. Solomon joined him, pulling the nightstand over as a makeshift table for the meal. 

Solomon stared at the bowl in front of him for a second too long for Simeon’s comfort, and for a moment he reflected his age. 

“Soup.”

“I figured it would be nice on a day like this. Your room is freezing.”

“I like it cold,” he murmured, lowering his eyelids and bringing the spoon to his lips.

Simeon couldn’t help but note how frail and vulnerable he looked. 

Eyes closed, he took his first sip, and then a soft smile spread across his features, “It’s wonderful. Did you use herbs from the Celestial Realm?”

“I did.”

“Fascinating,” Solomon turned back to him, “You’ll have to show me where to get them one day, or bring some back for me. I’d love to use them.”

How much longer did he have to go back?

How fast was that unforgiving clock ticking along?

"I've been doing a lot of thinking," Solomon continued, bringing another spoonful of soup to his mouth, "It's been an incredibly long time since I've been this happy. I used to isolate myself, the whole immortality thing makes human connection a little more depressing. But now, I don't have to worry about losing my connections anymore."

They made eye contact and suddenly breathing became an impossible task. His chest heaved but the air never came. He started heaving and Solomon rose with a start. 

Why had those words shaken him so much?

He knew the answer, but in the same breath he refused to acknowledge it. 

Acknowledgement made it real.

“Simeon? Did I say something that upset you?” Solomon asked. His chair creaked as he stood. This wasn’t at all how he wanted Solomon to find out. He’d wanted to sit him down when he finally settled his nerves, or perhaps he would have never told him at all in lieu of finding a remedy for his ailment. But that wasn’t how it would happen. Simeon couldn’t conjure up incredibly good lies on a good day. Now Solomon was approaching him, eyes full of concern and curiosity.

Now he was here, standing before him, the room silent except for the ticking of a clock, counting down the final seconds until Simeon shattered. 

“Simeon?”

Solomon’s voice felt so distant, echoing in the deepest recesses of his mind. His own voice felt strange and foreign to him, “That reality you mentioned, I’m afraid it may be no more.”

As if on cue, another feather fell from his form, drifting to the floor as the final punctuation to his statement.  He couldn’t bring himself to look at his companion’s face as he processed the words. It was cruel what Simeon had just done to him, beyond cruel. Would it have been an even more unforgivable act if he had continued to let Solomon believe such a pretty little lie? Perhaps even let him believe it until the day Simeon hair went gray. How long did it take them to do that?

Words failed them. There wasn’t a thing either one of them could say. Nothing could remedy the tragedy playing out, and Simeon had no power over the pen crafting his narrative. For the first time since The Celestial War, Simeon was completely, and utterly, helpless. 

It was Solomon who finally broke the silence, “Will you still spend time with me?”

There was no question of why. It honestly surprised Simeon. He expected Solomon to bargain and plead, to immediately search for a solution. It wasn’t like him to accept the unacceptable. Was it shock? The complete shattering of the reality he had just come to accept? Perhaps Simeon was much crueler than he’d realized he’d been. Ing He had completely broken this man he cared so much for.

Solomon was in pieces, and it was his fault. 

How could he deny him more time?

“Of course I will.”

The silence lingered, continuing where it left off as they sat together. Solomon tapped his fingers against the table before them. Eyes transfixed on something beyond his own sight. Simeon watched his features for any ounce of a betrayal of his emotions. 

“Is there anything I can do? Anything we can do?”

Simeon toyed with his fingertips, wishing for a moment that he had anything else to do with his hands. He knew what Solomon was asking, yet he saw no need to conjure up some pretty lie for him, no need to veil the truth he was coming to accept. That would only make it hurt more. Solomon didn’t need sweet lies, but Simeon could deliver the truth as gently as he could. 

“Take care of Luke for me would you?”

“What do you mean?”

“He’s the future you know,” Simeon’s voice wavered, “I don’t want to destroy a bright future.” Simeon’s feather wasn’t the only thing that fell to the floor. Luke was all the hope he had. He was the only good thing left he could have seen about the Celestial Realm, and now he would be the only good thing left about the Celestial Realm. Simeon had wanted to guide and mentor him through all the growing he would have left to do, wanted to be there to watch him grow into a fine young man. Now he would only be there for a fraction of his life. He wouldn’t get to see him grow, not really. Simeon would only be able to picture what his future would bring as he aged so much faster than him.

And Solomon-

Poor Solomon.

Simeon genuinely looked forward to all the growing he would do as well. He was the most powerful and interesting human he’d ever met. Strange yes, but that was part of his charm. What would Luke’s future look like with Solomon there? Most likely Michael wouldn’t let him with Solomon full time. Oh Michael…. What would Luke be like under his care? The idea of him being Luke’s only caretaker made Simeon feel quite bleak. All the work he’d done, all the lessons he tried to teach, would it all be for nothing? Would Michael close the blinds that Simeon had worked so hard to lift.

There weren’t many young angels anymore.

Luke was the future.

And the future seemed uncertain and fragile, and Simeon was powerless.

“No.”

Solomon’s voice wasn’t sharp, and yet it still managed to cut through the room. It was a tone so foreign, not one Simeon had ever heard before.

“What? Solomon-” he barely had time to turn before Solomon’s arms were wrapped tightly around him. His fingers fastened around the fabric of his shirt. Solomon’s grip was suffocating, desperate.  Simeon wasn’t sure what to do with his own hands, and so they fell to his side, limp and useless. 

“I’m not doing that,” Simeon swore he heard his breath hitch, “Because I’m going to find a way to fix this. There has to be a way, there has to.” 

His shoulder was dampening now, it crept into the fabric leaving a cold and uncomfortable wetness as the seconds passed.  More feathers fell to the floor each time Solomon moved. All it did was continue to make Simeon’s poor heart ache. Eventually his hands lifted to Solomon’s shoulders, a soft and mournful smile forming on his lips as he leaned into Solomon’s sorrowful embrace. 

“Perhaps we should start praying,” the words were ironic, he knew this, and yet he couldn’t help himself, “For us.”

The rain continued to fill the silence, and Simeon couldn’t bring himself to let go. Solomon was a determined man, Simeon knew this. There wasn’t an ambition he couldn’t capture, an obstacle he couldn’t solve. Yet as they sat there in silence, and as he enveloped Solomon in what remained of his wings, he couldn’t help but wonder.

Was there a prayer in Heaven left for him?