#my husband gives me the strangest ideas and i suffer for it

[alsjeblieft-zeg]

272 of 2023

Do you hate it when people online tell you hi real quick before they leave?

...what?? What even is that question about? Grow up, please.

Have you ever talked to someone online while talkin to them on the phone?

My daily amount of WTF has exceeded the norm today.

Do you collect postcards?

Yes, I do. From all my travels.

What is the strangest e-mail you have ever gotten?

I had an account for trolling and someone took it seriously and sent me dick pics, no kidding. I laughed for two good weeks.

Have you ever forwarded a message because you were afraid?

...what?

If you could find a cure for world hunger, would you do it?

Is there anyone who wouldn’t?

Do you feel sorry for kids who have celebrity parents?

Kinda. Unless the parents arte like Rihanna, she’s admirable in protecting the privacy of her child.

When was the last time you visited an old teacher?

...never?

Have most of your elementary/primary school teachers retired?

I guess so, and some are deceased.

Someone gives you a horse as a gift. Your reaction?

“Look at my horse, my horse is amazing” 😂

Do you know anyone who owns a ranch or farm?

Yes. He was our coworker and he’s retired now, so he has more time to invest in his farm.

Who was your best friend(s) when you were 13?

There was a group of us, three boys and three girls.

Where do you think they are now?

One lives in Sweden, one is unemployed and has six kids with her husband (supposedly one of them is not his, though), one has a new boyfriend every year, and the last two I have no idea.

Has someone of the same sex ever called you cute?

Yeah. When it was the guy I liked, it was sweet. But when it was the man I wasn’t interested in, it was cringy.

Do you hold hands with your best friends?

I don’t even hold hands with my husband.

Has your friend ever held your hand and it made you feel uncomfortable?

I’m generally not very tactile person.

Are you afraid/nervous to speak aloud in class?

Not anymore.

Would you rather have some education or no education at all?

...what’s even that question?

If you have a pet is it skinny/average/or has some extra fat?

Both are within average, but one is kinda bigger than the other? Victoria has been always a petite cat lady. Susie is bigger by nature.

Are you afraid of being falsely accused of committing a crime?

If you don’t have a reason, you’re not gonna be accused. What’s the big fuss about?

Do you organize stuff when you’re bored?

I’m never bored. Boredom is for people with low intelligence.

What are you looking forward to?

Having the possibility to visit my parents.

What are you wearing?

White hoodie and white wide leg trousers.

Are you registered to vote?

I’m older than 18 and voting is mandatory where I live, so here’s your answer.

Have you ever won a trophy?

I kinda won an award in photography.

Last thing you bought at Walgreens?

I’ve never heard of that store.

Ever thrown up in public?

No, I don’t throw up at all.

Did you have long hair as a young kid?

No, it’s been always short.

When was the last time you cleaned out a bath tub?

We only have a shower in our bathroom.

Would you do your own surgery to keep yourself alive? (Ex. stitches)

Stitches are not necessarily surgery. I’m not a doctor, I wouldn’t risk.

Would you rather read poetry or write poetry?

No, thanks.

Have you ever had any really infected injuries?

Once, from self-harm.

Have you ever beat up someone because they had different beliefs than you?

...Jesus, what a stupid survey.

If you hair never got greasy again, would you still wash it?

My hair is dry, not greasy.

What was the last song you listened to?

Last.fm says it was Thousand-Arms Fortress by Returning We Hear the Larks.

If you could meet one famous person, who would it be?

Probably Baas B.

When was the last time you played jump rope?

I don’t think guys play it at all.

If you have ever jump roped, did you ever trip over the rope?

I haven’t.

Are you addicted to any energy drinks?

Great question to ask someone who has suffered a brain haemorrhage, right? I don’t even touch this shit.

what was the last thing you ate?

Chicken soup.

What’s the color of your front door?

Green.

Are you right or left handed?

I was left-handed, but then my left hand got paralysed.

Do you play any instrument?

No, you need two hands for that. Boring question anyway, everyone asks about it.

Do you snore?

I haven’t heard myself, so.

Have you ever worn a wig?

What’s the point?

Have you ever made a snowman?

Back in time when we had snow in this country.

Do you ever wish you were famous?

No. Lack of privacy is not worth it.

When was the last time you went bowling?

Never. I’m not interested.

Do you drink bottled water?

I don’t drink any water.

What was the last thing you drank?

Orange juice.

Do you believe in love?

I believe there are many types of love.

Last person of the opposite sex you texted single?

...can someone rewrite this question with correct grammar so I can understand it please?

Tell me about the shorts you’re wearing:

Who told you I’m wearing any shorts? It’s certainly one of the stupidest surveys I’ve ever taken.

How long have you lived in your current home?

Five years.

Have you ever talked to someone when they were high?

Yeah, one of my friends. He was weirdly cheerful lol.

What’s something you want to purchase at the mall next time you go?

Malls are the rarity in my country.

Would you rather be single all your life or grow old with someone?

I’m married not for no reason, I guess.

How long have you liked the person you like right now?

Five years, but I love him.

Do you like mac n cheese?

I hate it. One of the foods that could make me gag.

Do you listen to music everyday?

Almost every day.

Do you have a hard time making decisions?

No, but I always need to consider all possibilities.

Are you gonna be home alone tonight?

I don’t know yet, probably yes. Or maybe tomorrow.

Last book you read?

Answered it many times.

Last song you listened to?

Answered it as well.

Last show you watched?

Keeping Up Appearances.

What color shirt are you wearing?

Yet another stupid question. Have you ever heard about hoodies?

Last sport you played?

Basketball as a teen.

Are you one of those rare people that like to read?

Yes, but it’s not as rare. Maybe in your America.

You get to take free lessons of whatever you want! What do you choose?

Spanish language.

What were you doing 15 minutes ago?

Still this goddamn survey.

Do you wear contacts/glasses?

I do wear glasses, I’m very nearsighted.

Where’s your favorite place to get pizza?

Pizza is overrated.

What do you plan on doing for a career?

What I’ve been doing for the last nine years.

What are you wearing?

A hoodie and wide leg trousers, both white.

How tall are you?

180 cm.

Do you miss somebody?

Yes, my parents and my sister.

Are you too shy to tell people when you’re developing feelings for them?

Yeah, I never tell.

Do you wish you were with someone right now?

I’m good.

Do you always get along with your siblings?

Yes, but my sister is an awesome person. Sure we had some fights when we were kids, but who doesn’t, honestly.

Do you actually use the butter knife when buttering your toast?

I don’t butter any toasts. Disgusting.

What’s tomorrow going to be like?

Do I look like I predict the future?

Do you prank call people?

Not anymore.

Do you call fries “French fries” or “Freedom fries” or something else?

WTF is freedom fries?? French fries is creating the false history because France has nothing to do with inventing threm. Stop stealing Belgian heritage, you.

Do you like strawberry ice cream?

I do.

Where are your siblings right now?

In another country.

Have you ever swam while it was raining?

I can’t swim.

Do you take your time opening envelopes or do you just rip it open?

I have a disabled hand, so I can’t hold the knife with it.

Is your front door locked?

It locks automatically, you can’t open it without the key.

Is your lawn mowed?

What lawn? I’ve never had a lawn in my life.

Does anyone ever whistle at you?

I’m not a dog.

Last video you watched on YouTube?

Something about cats.

What did your dress for prom look like?

I’m not a crossdresser.

When you had the chicken pox, did you get it EVERYWHERE? And I mean EVERYWHERE?

I don’t remember if I’ve ever had it.

What was the last song you listened to?

Is it just me or did this question appear three times in the same survey?

What’s irritating you right now?

This survey, really.

Do long distance relationships actually work?

Didn’t work for me.

Have you ever lied to protect someone’s feelings?

I can’t recall any particular situation.

What does your last message in your inbox say?

Boring question, I’m not even gonna bother.

[viiisenyas]

when Anders says “Justice and I are one,” I strongly believe that it’s because Justice doesn’t want to go back to the Fade. I'm sure if Justice found another willing host, he’d move on if he wanted to.

[princesspiratecat]

The Rise and Fall of the Shepard Family Part 29: Summer, 1084 & Fall, 1085

Part 1& Part 2

Part 3 & Part 4

Part 5 & Part 6 & Part 7

Part 8 & Part 9 & Part 10

Part 11 & Part 12 & Part 13

Part 14 & Part 15 & Part 16

Part 17 & Part 18 & Part 19

Part 20 & Part 21 & Part 22

Part 23 & Part 24 & Part 25

Part 26 & Part 27 & Part 28

It was strange to be back. 

Most of Gwendolyn’s memories of the Allard estate were from a time when Aélgarda had been alive. During her exile at the hovel, she had come to miss so many things about it, and had reveled in the little luxuries she had once had. The fire was always roaring, the meat had always been cooked to perfection, and her feather bed had always afforded her a good night’s sleep when her mind was quiet. But now the house had a coldness about it that she hadn’t remembered from before. It was dark and damp and surprisingly dirty.

Gwendolyn wrinkled her nose at the smell of dog and garlic from last nights’ dinner that hung in the air in the Great Hall. There was something else there that she couldn’t account for....rotten vegetables perhaps? 

Yuck. 

They made their way to down the hall to the stairway and she could feel her palms getting sweaty. Frances met her eyes and offered her a reassuring glance, but she still felt a burning tightness in her chest as they treaded up the stairs.

Courage. You need courage.

“Oh brother! I am so glad you’re here!” Francine’s face was a mix of nervousness and fear as she hugged her brother tightly, and then hugged Gwendolyn. She had never seen her so frazzled before. Francine had always been the girlish one, full of giggles and frivolousness. But today, that was all gone, and she looked older than her eighteen years. “He is getting worse by the day, yet he still insists on coming down to sup and drink his mead. Then he is in his cups until he passes out. Frédérique says she will be here in the morning with her husband, but I am hoping they will arrive sooner. I cannot handle him anymore.”

“Mead? Is that wise?” The beautiful features on her husband’s face flashed with a look of concern.

“I cannot stop him. He won’t listen to anyone and keeps ranting about how he cannot trust women. I don’t know what to do!” The look of helplessness and hopelessness on her face disarmed Gwendolyn. She had seen that look before. It was the look her father had shortly before her mother died.   

“Take us to him.” Gwendolyn could see exactly what he was feeling without him having to say anything, just by the tone in his voice. He was nervous and slightly terrified. 

We all are. 

The room smelled of sweat, vomit and stale air. She had never been in the Master’s bedroom before, but it was a beautiful room, despite the smell. The bed was large with fine fabrics that seemed to shimmer in the light, and the furnishings were inlaid with beautiful carvings done by a highly skilled hand. The light streamed into the room through long windows, which, under different circumstances would have been pleasant, but just then it made her feel exposed. The floors were covered in a variety of fine furs, and the niches were filled with silver candlesticks and beautiful decorative wooden boxes. In the corner sat a bucket of unknown contents, and Gwendolyn tried not to think about what might be in it.

Marcelle had lost a considerable amount of weight since she had last seen him. He was frail and old looking, with dark circles under his eyes. But she noticed he was dressed in a long elaborate robe in the Norman fashion that set him apart from all the other men who wore the Saxon style. There was a finely carved silver medallion at his breast, which Gwendolyn found an odd thing to wear when one was sick. Had he dressed purposely for the occasion? 

He still wants to remind us of his status. Of course.

“What are you doing here, Shepard girl?” The raspy words slithered out of his mouth like a snake before she could even think. Upon his features was a look of disgust, reserved especially for her. She bristled under his gaze and felt her anger surface.  

“I am come to support my husband.” She looked away, intimidated by his hatred of her. She wanted to add that she had also come in the hopes that the breech between them could be healed, but after seeing his face she knew that it had been a foolish hope. Why was she here? The whole thing seemed like a stupid idea now, and she wished she had stayed away.

“Get her out of here, Frances.” He said his son’s name between clenched teeth, and her heart fell. What had she done for him to hate her so? Besides being born and falling in love with his son, she had never caused him harm or hurt him purposefully. If anything, it should be her that hated him.  

Perhaps it was better for her to go. If Frances wanted peace, then she was likely standing in the way of that just with her mere presence. But a small part of her hated being rejected by him, and it hurt her more than she expected it would. She got up and looked at what seemed like dead eyes and held his gaze to the point of making him uncomfortable. She wasn’t going to waste this chance to speak her bit, and he was going to hear it.

“I have come to inform you that I have forgiven you for all of the terrible things you have said and done. For exiling me, and for stealing my dowry, and for the hurt you have caused both of us. Although you really don’t deserve my forgiveness, nor my pity, I give it anyway.” His gaze was empty, as if he found her ridiculous. 

Then she moved closer to him and half whispered in his ear, ”Your time has come old man. You better get down on your knees and pray hard that your God will forgive you too for all of the rotten and disgusting things you have done.” She could feel her lip quiver in anger as she reflected back the look of disgust he had given her. His eyes grew wide with surprise, and it gave her a slight thrill. He hadn’t been expecting her to speak that way to him. In the past she would never have dared.

Before he could respond, she walked out of the room with more confidence than she felt. She noticed that her hands were shaking and her heart seemed to want to burst out of her chest. 

As soon as she walked into the long hall she felt a wave of relief wash over her. She had said what she come to say, and now it was over. She never had to think about that man again, and once he died, she would be free of him forever. But she couldn’t stop her tears from falling, yet she refused to give into the ache in her heart. 

Not here. 

She left word with a servant to tell Frances that she would be at the orphanage, and on shaky legs made the short walk down the lane to see her sisters. She wanted so much to collapse into Gwyn’s embrace, and after a few short moments, she did exactly that. 

She told her everything, in between sobs and sniffles. And when she had gained enough composure over herself, she asked her sister’s opinion. “Do you think I was too harsh on him? Do you think I should have said something kinder to a dying man?”

“Marcelle?! No. He is lucky indeed that more don’t make their opinions of him known. His wealth protects him. But most people have turned against him since what he did to you has come to light, they whisper about him. People are disgusted by his abuse of power against a helpless orphan girl. He’s no longer seen as a gentleman. If I were you, I would have said much more.”

Gwendolyn felt a small sense of relief that the village was on her side, but she was still worried about the rest of her new family. Where did they stand on the issue? Would they turn their backs on her once Marcelle was dead? 

During the ride back to the Inn, Marcelle explained everything that had happened and what his father had said. 

“Of course he chided me for leaving, and for marrying you and called me a simple fool. He called me simple!” Gwendolyn said nothing at this, as it was hardly a surprise. “Honestly, I thought he was going to be more angry and refuse to see me. But Gwendolyn, then he said the strangest thing- he called my mother a whore and said that myself and Francine are the only ones he can be sure are really his!”

Gwendolyn gasped in shock. “How could he say that of Aélgarda?! What an absurd thing to say! She dedicated her life to all of you, and the village.  And as for your parentage, one only has to look at your siblings to know they have the same parents as you do. They are all different arrangements of his own face!”

Frances nodded in agreement. Every one of his siblings had the same dark eyes as Marcelle, the straight sharp noses, and even the same shade of that beautiful sable colored hair. Gwendolyn thought that Frances was the best looking out of all of them, of course, but there was no denying that they were all related. It was as plain as day to anyone that cared to look. 

“I can only imagine that he is suffering from delusions. Perhaps a combination of poppy juice and mead?! He looks awful. I’ve never seen him so weak. It made me pity him.”

“Well, did you make your peace with him? How did you leave it?”

“In a way, I suppose. He said that I would inherit the estate since I am the only son he can be sure of...which shocks me to my core. I think the things you said to him had quite an affect on him, because he then told me to leave so that he could ‘make peace with his maker.’” He gave her a look just then, and she could see he was still recovering from shock. “What exactly did you whisper to him when you got close? I’ve never seen him pray in my life!”

She pinched her lips together and said quietly, “I told him what needed to be said. It was for his ears only.” 

His mouth curled into a little smile and he let out a chuckle. “Something about god? I’ll make a note never to cross you, as I have to say that I never want to see the look you gave him directed at me.” His eyes were teasing and he kissed her gently on the neck. “What a saucy Tigress you are.” She laughed and then he kissed her again. 

                             * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * 

In just a week’s time with the arrival of autumn, another nasty illness had spread to Barton Upon Humber from the North, and then made it’s way to Grimsby. Most people remained indoors, fearful that another plague would wipe out as many as it had several years ago, or more. Their fears were not unfounded, as it had been reported that twelve people had already died in the nearby farms and villages.

First it hit the Merchant household of Handel, and killed not only Master Uddulf Handel, but his young son as well. Everyone was surprised it had brought down such a large, healthy man, but luckily his wife and daughter were spared. 

Next it hit the Merchants, and killed the Irishman, Fáelán. For a time people thought that it would take Aoifé and the children as well, but they narrowly escaped death after several weeks.

Soon after it traveled to the house of the late Olric, where it bedded his widow, Agatha. The three children had to be sent to the orphanage while their mother was too sick to care for them, and she died just days afterwards, alone. 

But finally it ended it’s travels at the Allard estate, where it made short work of Marcelle, who had been hanging on. It also banished Francois to his bed, where he clung to life. Yet just as quickly as it had spread, it was gone again, leaving the living to mourn the dead one more time. 

As soon as Marcelle died a messenger was dispatched to the Inn. Frances had been summoned to the estate where the reading of the will was to take place, and they hastily began to pack their trunks. As Gwendolyn began to carefully fold her clothing, she couldn’t help but wonder why she felt as if someone had punched her in the gut. It was true that she mostly hated Marcelle, but now that he was gone she remembered the days when he used to come visit their father and offered them fresh cherries from his orchard. He would sup with them sometimes, and her father had always been so proud when he did. She had considered him a father figure for so long. 

What had made him change so much?

She glanced over at Frances, as tears silently rolled down his cheeks, and she could feel his sorrow. She stopped folding and clasped her hands in his. He looked away at first, too ashamed to look her in the eye. Then the tears gushed out, and he quietly began to sob. He rested his head on her shoulder, and she could feel him shake with misery. She gently rubbed his back up and down, up and down, until he sobbed even harder and it all came sputtering out. 

“Now we’re both orphans,” he whispered. 

[takadasaiko]

Learn to be Patient (Superman & Lois one shot)

FFN II AO3

Summary: Lois knows she should be patient for news, but the longer Clark takes to respond to the stolen ELT, the more worried she gets. Set directly after 1.09.

---

Learn to be Patient

One of the strangest subconscious reactions to learning that Clark was really Superman had been the worry that crept in. Logically, Lois had known that his powers didn't suddenly appear or disappear with the donning of a red cape, but it had taken a while to truly accept it when he sped off into danger. To get to the place where she could either watch or report on the live news covering whatever villain he was going toe-to-toe with without the knot of fear tightening in her gut. Slowly but surely, and with more than a few missteps in between, she made it to an understanding that she held onto with everything inside of her: No matter who he faced, the man she loved would always come back to her.

Over the years it had become easier. There were moments, but there was also a steadiness, almost a rhythm that they fell into. Once she knew who he was, any explanation as to where he was going or what he was doing had to wait until he returned. He'd always let her know once the danger was dealt with. She had learned to be patient in a way that had felt impossible in the earliest days of their relationship. That patience had become a part of her.

Most days.

Not tonight, though. Tonight she was still reeling from nearly losing one son to Kryptonite poisoning of her father's own making and the other to people they knew that had somehow been brainwashed - possessed? That was still a terrifying question hanging out on the ledge of her mind - by Edge. The same people that had stolen her ELT that had sent Clark barreling up into the sky to tackle the problem head-on. She had been left with the boys to work through everything that had happened, and focusing on that had helped in its own way for a while.

Jonathan and Jordan had gone upstairs and Lois had been left alone in her damaged kitchen with no idea if it had been Kyle or Emily that had pressed that little red button or someone else entirely. The longer Clark was gone, the more she was afraid it was someone else. Someone with a better handle on their powers that might have found a way to get the upper hand with him suffering the lingering effects of the Kryptonite gas. The longer he was gone, the more the fear built and she hated that old knot twisting in her stomach that she thought she'd learned to let go of years before.

She had to be patient. She knew she had to be patient, and part of that came with keeping herself busy. She picked up some of the debris left from the fight and took a shower. She looked in on the boys who appeared to have crashed while talking about the days' events in Jordan's room and then she finally crawled into bed herself. Clark's side of the bed was painfully empty. She curled up on her side and reached out, fingers wrapping around the fabric of his pillow. "Clark," his name escaped her on a breath and she squeezed her eyes shut.

A familiar whoosh startled her and she found him standing just inside their room, fear in his eyes and cape settling behind him from the movement. "Are you alright? The boys okay?" he asked, voice more frantic than usual.

Lois managed a small nod. "Just worried. After everything and you were gone so long…" The words felt absurd and selfish as they tumbled out, but she could see the relief wash over him too.

"I had to update your dad. I should have called."

"It's okay. Do you need to-?"

"Nope. All done. I'm home."

"What happened?"

"Give me just a sec?"

Lois gave another small bob of her head and he was gone as quickly as he'd come. She heard the shower pop on for a few seconds and found herself wondering if, fast as he was, he'd given the water enough time to catch up with him to do any good. He reappeared a handful of seconds after that at the foot of the bed in a pair of pajama bottoms and he was running a towel through his damp hair. She cringed at the bruises that had faded against his chest, but hadn't disappeared. In fact…. She rocked forward to her knees, getting a closer look at the damage that had been left behind. "Are those new?"

Clark glanced down to the marks and frowned. "I think so." He tossed the towel towards the hamper, landing it in one shot, and fell back onto the bed with her. He loosed a long, tired-sounding breath and those otherworldly blue-green eyes fixed on her. "You want to wait until morning?"

He didn't, that much was evident from his tone, but he was giving her an out if she wanted to just curl up and fall asleep knowing they were both home and safe. "I won't be able to sleep until I know," she admitted softly.

"Might not be able to sleep after either," her husband grumbled and pushed himself up so that he was sitting with her. He leaned forward, elbows braced against his bent knees, and she could see more bruising along his bare back. Her fingers ghosted over the temporary damage and she could feel his muscles tense.

"Does it hurt?"

"A little," he admitted and she leaned forward, pressing a gentle kiss between his shoulder blades. Finally, he seemed to relax just a little with that and he drew in a steadying breath. "Morgan Edge was the one that used your ELT."

"Edge himself? What, he didn't want to hide behind his super-powered army?" Clark turned to face her again and she saw a strange look in his eyes, almost haunted, and she felt the knot start to tense up as she pieced the clues together. "He has powers too, doesn't he?"

"He said he got them the same time I did."

Lois blinked hard at that statement. "What does that mean?"

"That he's Kryptonian. We were…. Evenly matched. I think he was a little stronger."

"Because of the gas?"

"I hope that's all."

"What did he want?"

Clark's shoulders sagged a little more and his gaze turned back to the far wall in front of them. "Me," he managed. "He wanted me to join him."

"I'm guessing the new bruises were his reaction to you telling him where he could shove it?" Lois tried for a tease. A quiet huff of a chuckle escaped him and she inched forward to wrap her arms around his broad shoulders. He leaned into her and together they eased back against the mattress, Lois holding onto him as he nestled a little closer. She could feel the intentionally gentle way that his fingers latched onto her t-shirt and her hand moved to stroke his dark hair in a soothing motion.

"That's my people," he breathed without looking up at her. "A megalomaniac that's willing to sacrifice living human beings to be replaced with the consciousness of a race that's been all but extinct for forty years in this universe and the echoes willing to use humans as living hosts. What does that say?"

The knot in Lois' stomach moved to her chest and it felt like it might squeeze her heart until it stuttered to a stop. "They're not all like. You're not like," she managed, voice trembling and she willed her hands steady as they held him. A multitude of possibilities flickered through her mind's eye, the worst including Edge standing over Clark's broken body, unwilling to be denied yet another thing he'd demanded of this world, and their boys would be next if he ever caught wind that there were two half Kryptonians living in Smallville. "He can't have you," she whispered, pressing a kiss to the top of his head. "I don't care if he's more powerful or if he buys up the whole damn world, this family…. he can't have us."

Clark shifted in her arms to look up at her. "I love you."

His words cut through the horrifying image, but Lois couldn't drag in the breath to answer him. So she did the next best thing as she inched down, pressing her lips against his in a desperate attempt to show him. She could taste her own tears even as he kissed her back, rolling so that he was on his back, Lois leaned over him. She broke the kiss, not able to go without air nearly as long as him, but didn't dare move far away. Instead she rested her forehead against his. "You know you're nothing like him, right?"

"Edge? Hope not. The only person I've seen you hate more is Lex Luthor."

She snorted a laugh. "I mean the other you. The one that destroyed Irons' world. You're nothing like him."

Clark loosed a sigh and Lois finally opened her eyes to find him looking at her. "I've read everything Irons left us on him and I've only found one real difference in all the articles."

"What's that?"

"He didn't have you."

"I'm not going anywhere."

"Neither am I."

That same steadiness that had helped her learn how to live this life with him filled the words. He would always come home to her. He would always come home to them.

Lois flashed a tired but real smile and pressed a quick kiss to his lips and rolled off of him to her side of the bed. "Glad we have that settled. I'm exhausted."

A soft chuckle echoed behind her and Lois felt her husband scoot closer until he was pressed against her back, one strong arm around her waist and she could feel his breath against the back of her neck. It had been a long, terrible day, but he was with her now, and when the sun rose, they'd face whatever Edge had to throw at them. They wouldn't let him take their family that they'd fought so hard for.

-----

End.

Notes: I stumbled across Superman & Lois after seeing a few very interesting things on social media. I don't think I've actively watched a Superman show since Lois and Clark way back in the day, so I wasn't prepared for the rabbit hole I was going to fall down. I'm absolutely obsessed with this take on a character that has been re-imagined so many times. The lens of family is what did it for me. The solid and healthy relationship Clark and Lois have (not perfect, but healthy), the complications with the twins, and all of the chaos that comes from it. It's beautifully crafted and brilliantly executed in a way I couldn't resist.

The problem is that I haven't watched any of the other DC shows in the Arrowverse very closely in years. I got through maybe 5 seasons of Arrow, a few episodes of Flash and Legends, and nothing of Supergirl or Batwoman when I started Superman & Lois. I did spot watch for episodes that Clark or Lois were in, but I think I only managed to confuse the crap out of myself with the colliding of universes that seemed to have taken place. I'm still unsure if this Clark and Lois even remember going to Argos in the other timeline or if that's faded like a dream at this point. Either way, I imagine that this Clark would feel heartbroken over the fact that the only members of his race left are acting as parasites to the planet that adopted him. The thought spiraled into my first little oneshot for the show. I do have another started to, so we'll see how that goes. Heaven knows I don't have time for fanfiction in a new fandom, but it's just too good to resist XD

[tams-writeblr]

Once I’m gone

Rating: M(ature)

Warnings: major character death

Category: F/M (main couple), Multi (side characters)

Fandom: Attack on Titan / Shingeki no Kyojin

Relationship: Mikasa Ackermann / Eren Jaeger | various side couples

Characters: Eren Jaeger, Mikasa Ackermann, Armin Arlelt, Zeke Jaeger, Hange Zoe, Floch Forster, Ymir, Reiner Braun, Pieck Finger, Historia Reiss, several others will make a cameo

Additional Tags: Modern AU | established relationship | toxic behaviour | Eren suffers from Huntington’s disease and tries to settle his matters before he dies | suicial blockhead Eren | aged up characters (by ten years) | suicide tw | depression tw | mental diseases tw | deathly diseases tw | this is clearly not write what you know, but I’m giving my very best to representate the topics as good as I can | this all basically came to me as a fever dream | you remember Thirteen from House, M.D.? I still have a huge crush on her so this version of Eren is greatly inspired by her <3

Language: English (not native, I’m trying my best you guys)

Stats: ongoing - Chapter 1/15 - Part 2/4 - 1507 of 3652 words

Summary: Eren Jaeger knew for years that he inherited Huntington’s disease from his late mother. When he first notices symptoms on him, his long protected plan, to end his life before reaching the critical state of his illness,  awakes. But there is still Mikasa, his girlfriend and the only person in the world he cares about more than about himself, and he can’t leave her alone and grieving. It’s time to find a substitute for when Eren is gone. With the help of a new friend Eren tries to scare away Mikasa while driving her into the arms of someone new.

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Charlatans and Pills - Part 2/4

<<previous

“Hey Mama”, the small, dark haired boy said and pulled his hand towards the woman that sat sunk down on an uncomfortable looking chair.

She didn’t directly look at him, only giving his pulled out hand a small, arbitrary glance and looked up towards the man, standing behind Eren.

“But Carla, Dear”, Eren's father said with a cheerful tone. “Shake at least our Eren’s hand. Aren’t you happy that we are visiting you?”

A thin lipped smile crawled over Carla’s face and her light brown eyes finally found Eren’s glance. “Eren”, she sighed recognizing and rather than just taking his hand, she slipped down her chair and tightly hugged him.

Tighter than Eren would have liked it. He looked up to his father, seeking help, insecure how to behave. She still was his mother, the one that always loved him and guessed every wish from his eyes.

Eren had found out that she was sick, three years ago. Back then they also told him, he eventually would get the same sickness. She often dropped things and so she did on his eleventh birthday with a knife to cut his cake. It fell right on her foot and she had to go to the hospital. After this incident, she never returned to her old self. She behaved strangely ever so often, screaming at his dad for obviously no reason.

But the strangest was when Eren came home from school one day. His father was still at work, he had a small practice in the middle of town, and usually a delicious lunch was waiting for him when he returned home from school. But on this day nothing smelled nice through the house, on the contrary it stank horribly of burned food and everything was full with smoke. Eren found his mother in the upstairs bathroom, her hands were dripping with blood, he had found shards in the kitchen.

“What do you want?”, his mother screamed and held her blood stained hands in front of her face. “Get out! I have to hide from the smoke!”

Puzzled Eren neared his mother. “But Mama, you have to turn off the oven or else whatever's on there will burn even more. Did you cut yourself? Do you need a bandaid?”

“Get our!”, Carla yelled again. “Who the hell are you, how did you get into my house?”

Helpless tears wobbled out of big, green child’s eyes. “Mama”, he whined and ducked away under a roll of toilet paper his mother threw at him. Desperately the boy backed out of the bathroom and ran back to the kitchen where he pulled all knobs of the oven until the red control light went off, then he remembered what his father always had hammered inside his little head: to call him at work, when something was wrong with Mum.

“The number is pinned on the fridge”, he had told him again and again. “I’ll be with you within 15 minutes.” If not at this moment, when should he bother his father at work? Quickly the boy looked for the phone around the smoke filled house, luckily he found it in the living room and not like so often in his parents bedroom. He wouldn’t have dared to walk past the upper bathroom in which he still suspected his mother.

His father indeed arrived within minutes. He found Carla beneath the toilet, sunk down and asleep and immediately called an ambulance. “I’m so sorry”, he murmured again and again while pressing the sobbing and crying Eren against him. “You’ll never have to be alone with her again. Everything will be alright.”

His mother didn’t return home after this incident. His father explained to him that she would now live somewhere, where people could look after her more appropriately. There no knife would fall on her food ever again and she wouldn’t burn any more pans.

But Eren found the place where they brought her simply terrifying. There were only old people. Not old people like his father but really old, probably older than his grandparents. It always smelled strangely and scary sounds came from some chambers.

Eren curled out of his mother’s embrace and his father came to help him.

“There, there Carla, not so fiercely”, he laughed and directed her gently back towards her chair. Then he took place across from her and placed a hand on her knee. “Well my Dear, how are you feeling today?”

Carla looked at him for a long time with a stoic face. At that her left arm twitched permanently. It hit against her thigh and the seating of the chair.

Eren watched the movement hypnotized and flinched when his mother took a deep, loud breath.

“Grisha”, she said with unmistakable joy in her voice. her twitching arm raised and her hand landed accurately on her husband’s. A smile crept towards her lips. “My Dear…” Suddenly she was once again his mother, the pretty woman with light brown eyes and dark hair, sun kissed skin and the most beautiful smile in the world.

Eren felt lighter than before and placed his small child’s hand above his mother’s. She only looked at him briefly, out of the corner of her eyes, before taxing Grisha again. The three of them stayed like this for a while in total silence. Only a far away, old and male voice asked when it was finally time for dinner.

The clearing of a throat crushed the family idly and Eren and his mother heavily flinched.

Carla’s head shot high to look at the creator of the noice’s face. Her own one suddenly started to twitch wildly.

“Mr. Jäger, can I please talk to you for a moment?”, a man in a white coat said. From his father Eren knew that doctors dressed like that.

Grisha got up and agreed with a dark look on his face. “Eren, sit down for so long. I’ll be right back.”

“You are a doctor?”, Eren heard the other man ask when he walked away with his father. The latter didn’t answer, maybe he had only nodded. “Then you must know about the condition your wife is in.”

Eren couldn’t hear more from the conversation. But from the look on his mother’s face, he could tell that her glance followed them.

He didn’t want to turn out like her. What was that for a life? Eren still couldn’t quite understand what was wrong with his mother, but he knew she always forgot things, sometimes even him or his father and that she always flapped around her arms. He didn’t want that, especially not the thing with forgetting. Carefully he took her hand between both of his. “I’m not gonna forget you, Mama”, he said tenderly and patted her hand that was gaunt and wiry. “I promise.”

Carla looked at her boy dumbfounded before pulling her eyebrows into a painful grimace. “Oh Eren, my little baby,” she cried and thick tears wobbled out of her eyes. Fragile and smaller as he remembered her she sat on that horribly uncomfortable chair, her hand between the small palms of her son.

Scared by her sudden burst of emotion Eren pulled his hands away. Two faces, so similar to each other that everyone would see their connection, looked at each other with a mixture of horror and hurt.

When his father returned, Eren asked him to leave.

“Come back soon!”, he heard his mother say softly when Grisha leaned down to her and kissed her.

He promised they would, of course he did. And of course they kept their promise. Eren couldn’t say how many hours of his youth he had spent in that foster home that cared for his mother. The doctors and nurses there did a wonderful job, they deeply cared for his mother, who visibly crumpled infront of her small family’s eyes. She got thinner and thinner and ever more erratic. Until she neither recognized Grisha nor Eren. Sometimes she remembered to have a son called Eren but in her memory he was still a ten-years-old that had broken his arm while wrestling with his friends. That the handsome young man infront of her was her small Eren, she wouldn’t get the idea despite their striking resemblance.

Finally her spasticies became so bad that it became too dangerous to let her eat solid food and she got a feeding tube. From this moment on, things went continuously down hill for Carla Jäger, whose husband was a doctor himself who slowly broke down by looking at her.

Almost exactly ten years after moving to the foster home and a little over 13 years after her diagnosis Carla died on a stormy fall evening. She hadn’t seen her son in four month, he just couldn’t take it anymore.

But losing his mother had broken something deep inside of Eren. Now a full grown man, he knew which fate his mother had handed down to him. But he also knew back than, how he would be reacting towards it, when his time came.

                                                                               >>next

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Author’s Note: Hey, thank you for coming back to me! I hope you don’t mind when long flashbacks like this are all in Italics, I know they can be hard to read. Just for Context: Carla was 30 when she had Eren in this story and she dies at 51. Can’t have a main character without a tragic family backstory, can we? See you for the next part!

[maladaptive-ninja-returns]

Dawn

Loki x fem!Reader

ONE/TWO/THREE SHOT

Warnings: mention of past trauma and fluff.

Summary: A truce to end all wars leads to an alliance between Earth and Asgard in the form of Loki marrying a mortal. None of them what this. None except fate.

Word Count: I know I have a lot of WiPs. They worry me. My office changed and now I have to travel forty minutes to and from the place and boy do I get tired after that! This is one of the reasons I’ve not been able to put up much. And I know this will lead to a lot of readers fading away (I have seen this happening already) which is okay. A little heartbreak but I’ll live. But I just hope everyone stays safe and takes care of themselves.

MASTERLIST in bio, darlings. Tags are open (check bio)

"This is the stupidest thing I've ever done."

"I think insulting your father in front of thousands of his Hydra henchmen is still on top."

The most anxious day of your life and Anthony Edward Stark still makes you feel at ease.

The reflection in the mirror in front of you is of a timid woman with not an ounce of beauty to her name but for the title that comes with her unworthy blood. At least that is what you think.

Tony can read it in those eyes that are still carrying the lost sleep from many nights gone.

"The Asgardians have no idea how lucky they are to have you. And your father was an idiot for giving you away."

He takes the golden chains from your hands that you're unable to lock at the back to do it for you. "But then again, if it weren't for you, we would have never won the war."

You mock a laugh. "Oh, come on, Mr Stark. I'm a freaking ball that was played by earth and Asgard's most unhinged boomers."

The clasp on the chain shuts and Tony's brows go up. "I could not have said it better. Odin does seem like he should chill out more."

"Right?"

You both chuckle and Tony presses away creases on your shoulder before catching your gaze in the mirror.

"You do know you don't have to go through this, Y/N. You just have to say the word and every one of us out there will fight those golden bastards for you."

Your lips stretch in an involuntary smile that fills your heart to the brim and you feel your eyes get wet for the man who has been more of a father to you than your own blood and bones. "You know that is exactly the reason I said yes to the wedding, right? I don't want any more bloodshed. Let's just take it as me repenting for my father's sins and call it a day. Although I'm glad this peace offering didn't come with shady terms like the Asgardians ruling earth or something."

Tony blinks and looks into some unknown void. "Hm." Some afterthought later he looks down at you adjusting a flower in his jacket's pocket, patting and jumping a little in excitement at how great he looked. "Maybe Odin wants to give one of his disappointments some responsibilities or something. To keep him busy, you know."

"Mm-hmm," you hummed, giving yourself one final look in the mirror before picking up the bouquet of Asgardian orchids- the golden flowers in full bloom.

"But honestly though, if he does something you don't like, you have to tell me. Or anyone of us. Nat! Yes, she will take care of him for you on the down-low. It'll be so quiet even he won't know what hit him."

You twirl around towards Tony, making him question the whole event once more. He could not let this happen to you. No. You deserved better. So much better than some egotistical maniac of a God who once wanted to rule your planet.

"Ready to walk me down the aisle?" You ask him with stars in your eyes.

"No?" He replies with clouds of doubt lingering over him.

"Tony."

"Okay, fine. But I am going to sulk about this throughout the wedding."

.

The great halls of the palace have been decorated with flora of all hues. Civilians have gathered outside to witness the wedding of their Prince. The old ones are curious about who would marry the adopted child. The young ones make merry, rejoicing their Prince has finally found love and the kingdom can once again celebrate after what seems like aeons. The guards have been doubled and the groom's brother is all over the place, running around to make sure everything is in order. It is only when Sif rolls her eyes and audibly groans before dragging Thor by his arms outside his brother's chambers does he stop. Be with your brother, he is ordered before she takes off to cover for him, leaving him to discover what he's been dreading all this week- what is Loki going to feel about this.

It surprises him when it does not take much to open the door and find his brother dressed in his most exquisite armour for the occasion. The gold glitters under the sun rays falling through the windows and balcony and the cape flutters luxuriously reminding every witness that none could carry one as Loki did.

Thor wonders how much of his mother's poise he sees in Loki while he stands overlooking Asgard. His eyes are taking in each and every living pixel while his hands are trying to scratch the nervousness off each other.

Mother would have loved to watch him start this new chapter today, Thor wonders gleefully on the inside.

Maybe it's the reluctant thought of their mother that travels unspoken across the room and makes the other brother turn around.

"Let's get this over with," Loki announces, walking towards the door.

Well, clearly not what I was hoping for, Thor muses, following his brother out.

"How are you feeling brother?" He has to ask.

"Like I might puke my insides any moment."

Vivid.

"Is there anything I can bring you that might ease your stomach?" I mean a brother can try, right?

"Oh yes, of course! Bring a very rare herb called common sense and feed it to your father. He seems to be suffering from this particular deficiency."

"Okay, Loki, that's a bit-"

"Say it's a bit on the nose and I will punch you in the face right now, Thor. I'm being married against my will to an earthling against her will. Father might be a professional matchmaker in his days but I am not one of his pawns to be used in some peace treaty like this."

Thor sighs because that is all he can do right now. No matter how much tries to defend the Allfather, the fact remains that two people are being brought together without much room for their thoughts and opinions. “Weren’t you the one to bring forth the idea of peace with the one planet that father has not tried to conquer and the one that still considers us friends? It is all for the better. And Y/N is an amazing woman. I am sure she would make a wonderful partner-”

“The peace holds because you are known to their heroes, Thor. And if peace is the subject let’s just marry you with Y/N, why don’t we?”

Thor mocks a muted laugh but Loki does not stir, staring at his blond brother with a piercing gaze that finally makes the former shift his weight uncomfortably between his legs. “That’s what I thought. Keep trying to defend the Allfather unless he stands against what you desire. You do realise this was the very reason I tried to stop you from becoming king in the first place at that time.”

Before he can get a word in- or at least try to think of one- Loki has already moved past the great doors to be welcomed by a crowd of royals gathered in the hall at one side and Y/N’s family on the other.

He knows. He knows deep within his heart that the royals are here just to witness what drama goes down this time, what does the bastard of Odin do this time to wreck chaos midst these celebrations. The other side? They are here to make sure they have his bones if Y/N says the word. So, it’s just another day in my life. But he has to admit to himself how he envies you for having a cavalry of the galaxy’s most lethal beings protecting you without so much as a word. What is this camaraderie exactly? A strategic alliance? A well-put band of the unfit?

It’s love, my dear.

It is not hard to miss Friga’s words fluttering inside once he climbs the stairs to stand by Odin’s side. Love, Loki mocks a laugh, it does make you do mad things. He is not paying attention to the grand speech Odin is giving, and for once he can relate to a yawning Clint in the front. All he wants is for this charade to end once and for all. So much that he might actually be happy if Y/N says no at the very last minute. Would save both of us some very awkward lifetimes ahead.

The great doors open again. Everyone rises from their seats to welcome the bride. Loki isn’t even interested in looking that way till the sun is reflected in his eyes from the veil that covers your face. And that is the first time he looks at you.

There is the strangest flutter inside his gut to witness his colours on someone else; on you. The armour in a matching shade of gold adorns your shoulders and arms. Gold chains have the honour of covering your chest and back, curving down from behind to the plates on your waist. Green of the gown dazzles like the galaxy moving around your existence, snug all around your curves. A Goddess walks on the land of Asgard. And every single soul is in awe.

Loki blinks under the light of the suns. The air seems to leave his lungs and time slows down. Everything fades away; except for the woman that walks towards him in arms with earth’s protector. His mind is questioning whether she is a mere human while his heart is trying to figure out the pressing sensation it is feeling.

“Lady Y/N, daughter of...under the care of the house of Stark,” Odin announces to the crowd, breaking Loki out the trance whilst he watches you climb the steps with Stark, come to stand by his side and give the man a kiss before he takes a step back, his gaze never leaving your face, waiting for a single line of doubt to take you away from all of this.

Well, one of the father figures understands.

“Time for the union,” Odin declares to the two of you.

You turn towards Loki, your heart beating in your ears as you watch your future husband for what seems like the rest of eternity through the veil. Even though you have been trying to convince everyone that it’s the right thing to do, your panicking heart seems to be having doubts of its own.

Breathe! Breathe, breathe, breathe, Y/N. Just breathe, please.

“Unveil her, Loki,” Odin softly orders the God.

You feel the heat run to your ears and neck. What fuckery-

“She will unveil herself, if she wants to, Allfather. Do not belittle her with your old traditions,” Loki points out, much to Odin’s dismay.

Damn right, Tony thinks to himself as he pauses and looks inside in disbelief for liking Loki there for a moment.

Loki does not miss your hands going to your solar plexus to wipe off the sweat before moving the veil back. The suns finally get to touch your face, that glows even when everything inside you cripples in anxiety. Y/E/C eyes meet the ocean of green looking at you with deep curiosity before you look away.

“Bring forward your hands unto each other so you may be tied by the fabric used by the first Gods to be wed under the suns and moons,” Sif requests as she holds a red fabric in her hand while her eyes travel to Thor standing at the end of the stairs.

Loki is first to bring forward his hands, patiently waiting for yours.

The hesitance is not for the ceremony as much as for the fear of him finding your drumming pulse under his touch. Oh, well, I’m pretty sure he can hear it from here right now. And so you bring forward your hands to slide into his, feeling the heat from your palms being siphoned by his cold ones.

A chill runs throughout your body; like a feverish tingle when your stomach is on the verge of throwing its contents out. And Loki seems to sense it too. It’s really hard to ignore for him, as a matter of fact. So is the repeated rise of your chest to breathe as much as you can while undergoing a panic attack; a state he is all too familiar with.

“Róaðu taugarnar á henni, gyðja styrks og umhyggju,” he whispers only for you to listen and still it does not make sense till you can feel an ascended calm run from your hands to the rest of your body, bringing the chaos to a standstill.

How did he-

The removal of clouds of anxiety seems to suddenly clear your vision and you watch the God holding you in a new light. His eyes are soft towards you, his touch careful and light. His head bows a little and his body is still as a boulder. If only I had a backbone like him, you wonder when Sif wraps the red around your hands, binding them together neatly with a bow on top.

“Time for your vows,” she whispers to the both of you with a smile before taking a step back.

You look at her and watch the face of a friend before your eyes come back to rest on the red fabric. So much power resides in this little piece of cloth.

“Under the stars of Valhalla,” Loki begins, bringing your eyes up from the fabric to his face like an involuntary reflex, “I take thee, Y/N, as my wife, if you shall have me. I vow to protect you and be by your side in life...and death.”

...okay...that was...okay.

You clear your throat as discreetly as possible, taking in one long breath before looking back at right into Loki’s eyes. “U-under the stars of Valhalla, I take thee, Loki, as my husband, if you shall have me. I-I vow to protect you and be by your side in life. And...and death.”

No sooner are the words said than the fabric starts to glow with a blinding light, turning into butterflies made purely of light and flying to the skies, marking the bond witnessed by the heavens old and new.

.

"If you need anything, your handmaidens will be a call away."

There is comfort in Sid's gentle smile. If only you could ask her to stay. But that's not usually how the night goes.

"Take care of her, brother," Thor comments before a strong pat comes for Loki's back and the God rolls his eyes.

You know Thor means well but those words in no way bring comfort to you as the doors to Loki's room opens and are shut behind the two of you.

Silence marks the first few seconds of being alone in a room for the first time. Well, not first really. There was that time when the two of you had to fight your way out of the Hydra's facility.

"Nice colour theme," you finally say out loud standing by the door, awkwardly swinging on your toes while holding a fur coat given to you when you were shivering at dinner.

Loki takes his helmet off and your eyes follow the raven strands of hair flowing in the night breeze dancing in from the windows and open balcony. How does he have such lush growth? Maybe it’s the water of Asgard.

The helmet rests on the table with a soft thud. “You can take the bed. I’ll sleep on the couch,” he states, already undoing his armour.

“Oh, no,” you press, taking a step towards him, “please, you don’t have to get uncomfortable in your own room on my account. I’ll take the couch. It looks more comfortable than my bed anyway. So…yeah. Um...where can I change?”

Loki blinks and turns his gaze towards an archway by the end of the wall. “That’s...the bathroom. Everything has been arranged for you in there.”

You nod even though Loki has already gotten busy with undoing what remains of his armour while you start on undoing yours. The bracelets come off first, then the earrings. But the worst is the clasps of chains choking you from your neck down your back. I should have asked Tony how he did it, dammit. No matter how much your hands try they just don’t seem to find the stupid openings anywhere.

“Allow me,” comes the voice from behind you, startling your already tensed nerves. And as if that isn’t enough, the touch of his cold fingers on your neck seems to fire up whatever nerve endings still seem to be working. Every undoing is soft and careful, always ending with a click. You can feel your hairs rise in anticipation of this foreign touch, goosebumps all over your back that you are pretty sure Loki can notice. You have to stop breathing in order to keep the shiver in check. It's only when your neck feels light once the last of the gold is removed do you take a lungful, catching the odd piece of jewellery in your hand, thanking Loki and hastily making your way to the doorless bathroom with a wooden partition made of intricate carvings as the only thing blocking the view on either side.

When you come out Loki has already changed into a loose black shirt over black pyjamas for the night, ready to take the couch. "I said I'll take the c-"

The creak followed by a crash drowns your words and makes you smack your hand on your mouth. The sofa lies in ruins on the floors, the legs done away with while the arms rests have fallen flat. And the thought of Loki almost sitting down on it fills you with the guilt of having the thought of laughing out loud at the scene.

"Oh, God. You okay?" You have to ask, partly because you did see him rise up safely thanks to his wonderful reflexes but mainly because the pressing jaw tells you somebody might die tomorrow morning.

"I'll have one of the servants clean this up," is all he says.

Servants. Ruined couch. Wedding night. That cannot go right in any way imaginable. Not at least for your overthinking mind.

"No, that's okay. We can share the bed," you blurt out, not wanting any outside attention, "i-if that's okay with you."

And so, both of you lie down on the king-sized bed, staring at the ceiling, wondering what odd decisions did you have to make to get you here. Even though the space over the bed is surprisingly a lot, the senses just cannot help but notice the other one's tiniest movements, every breath, every gulp and every sigh in the silent night.

"I'm sorry," you finally manage to say softly, still staring at the ceiling while your fingernails gnaw at each other. "That you were dragged into all of...this. I really thought the whole gist of a wedding between two kingdoms was over on my planet."

Silence resumes and as the seconds pass you feel a shot embarrassment rise in your throat for saying that. Clearly Loki is not interested in hearing any of this, you moron. He's a God married to a dumb mortal. This must be the worst day of his-

"Don't apologize for the mindless traditions of old men, dear. We are just pawns in their quest for power."

Weight of the words aside, there is something really soothing about Loki's voice mixing with the sweet cold of the night.

"All of this could have been avoided if Odin took his word back and let you live as you wished, no matter what your father promised."

You agree in a hum, bringing the duvet closer to your chest.

"But I presume you thought it better to avoid blood and take it as it was presented to you."

The words in that honey laden voice seem to travel over your exposed skin like a feather.

"Yeah. Yes. It would have been the better option but I could not stand to watch my friends and family suffer anymore. Tony deserves to rest and live a happy life with his family. Steve and Bucky are finally getting around to find their love for each other. Natasha has settled down with Maria and Clint can finally stay with his family. The battle had already taken a toll on them. I would have rather killed myself than make them put their life on the line again for the whole...planet I guess."

You do not notice but Loki has turned his head to look at you, to notice the quick blink of your eyes, the tug of your fingers on the edge of the duvet, the lick of your lips before biting on them hard.

"Well-" you clear your throat, scratching your forehead for some invisible itch- "I'm human. So, I'm supposed to make the dumbest decisions. But I cannot imagine how you must be feeling mixed in all of this. I'm sure this is the last thing you wanted for yourself in exchange for some reduced sentence. T-that's what Thor told me."

You turn to look at him and are caught off guard by the moons shining in on the pair of greens looking at you with utmost interest. And once you lock your gaze with them, it's hard to let go. Swimming in the springs in a forest under a full moon night while the world sleeps, that's what his gaze feels like. Why wouldn't it; they seem to be touching you in crevices untouched and unbared.

He continues to watch you and sigh. "To be honest I stopped putting any hope in Odin to think about me a long time ago. Nothing he does to me or for me surprises me anymore."

Your lips pucker down, letting the words sink in before you decide to turn in his direction.

"Well, I'll try to make this situation suck a little less as I can...though I highly doubt I'd be able to create much havoc here."

"Oh-" Loki feels his eyes close as a smirk lands on his face and he turns in your direction too- "trust me, darling. With me, there is no corner of this place that you cannot create havoc in."

You find yourself chuckling, letting a few seconds pass before you lick your lips and wonder whether to let out this tiny naughty piece of your mind into bed between the two of you.

The lick and the tug of your teeth at your mesmerising lips do not go unnoticed by the God; something that is soon brewing a question about why his insides are so restless at the sight of your lips having to feel the torture. Curse the unknown! "What?"

"Hm?"

"There is something you want to say but you're not allowing yourself to."

You take a deep breath and move your head just a little closer towards him in order to whisper. "It's not that I'm not mischievous... it's just that I'm often presumed to be the embodiment of a golden child and so I've never been caught. Ever."

The slight shift in Loki's expression that elevates from seriousness to confusion calls for clarification.

"I...once laced your brother's drink with laxatives because he pissed me off."

Confusion.

Surprise.

Shock.

"Y/N Y/L/N," Loki nearly gasps, feeling his head rise from the fluffy pillow, "you did what?"

And the night drowns with the light laughter and old stories for the mutual feeling of detest for siblings and contrast in the view of the world. Discussions went on through the timeless breeze blowing throughout the night about the worlds beyond and the things undiscovered; everything riding on a melody till one of you feel victim to the sweet sounds of slumber.

Loki's eyes are stuck on you all night, watching the serenity washing over your face as all worries seem to fall away while you let yourself drift in peace. Beautiful seems to be an understatement according to the God.

Even though she's an immortal, she does not deserve to be tied to me for eternity. That's a fate too cruel.

But something inside him does not want these words to be true; a gentle tug to his heartstrings by you, that seems to have struck a chord he cannot stop playing.

[allons-ymrholmes]

Justice - a GoT Fix It Fic

The ending we DESERVE! AO3 (X) FF.net (X)

The ash in the air has finally started to dissipate by the time Sansa and Bran arrive in King's Landing.

Sansa's nose twists in disgust as the acrid smell of destruction hits her.

She looks over to where Bran rides beside her, strapped into his modified saddle. He seems unfazed by the stench, keeping his eyes front.

Bran told her they had nothing to fear riding to answer the Dragon Queen's summons, and though the thought of returning south terrified her, Sansa has learned not to doubt her brother.

All her other advisors warned her against this trip, they were being summoned to face a trial for treason after all, but Bran insisted.

The Red Keep comes into view, and Sansa swallows back a satisfied smirk as she sees its half-collapsed form, smoke still rising in some places.

Jon is waiting to greet them, looking as solemn as ever.

He greets Sansa with a nod, and begins helping the guards unload Bran's chair.

When it's ready, Brienne pulls Bran from his horse and moves him to his wheelchair.

"Why did you ride south?" Jon asks quietly, leaning in so only Sansa can hear him.

"Bran insisted."

"She's waiting for you in the throne room… or, what's left of it," he tells them.

Sansa sighs and takes a step forward before Bran's voice stops her.

"Tell her to meet us in the Godswood," Bran says, and then he waves a guard forward to push him.

"Bran, now isn't the time to make demands of the queen," Jon argues, agitated.

"All will become clear."

The guard begins to push Bran away from the front of the keep, and Sansa glances back and forth between her brother and her cousin.

She chooses to follow Bran, hoping that his three-eyed raven gift holds the answer to overcoming their precarious situation.

I suppose though, she thinks, if I must be executed, I'd prefer to be defiant to the last.

Despite the destruction of the city, the Godswood seems almost untouched, much to Sansa's surprise.

The even bigger surprise, however, is the fully grown Weirwood tree in the center of the clearing. It wasn't their before, and she knows that enough time has not passed for one o sprout and grow so massive.

Bran positions himself beside the tree and waits, cryptically silent.

It takes fifteen minutes for Daenerys to join them.

She marches in, expression as dark as the storm she was born into. Jon is two steps behind her, followed by Grey Worm, several Unsullied, and Tyrion.

Sansa's eyes are drawn to her former husband, and her stomach twists uncomfortably as she sees the manacles on his wrists.

"Am I to understand you wish to pray before admitting your treason?" Daenerys demands.

"We are not here to answer for treason," Bran tells her. "We are here to give you the justice you deserve."

The Unsullied rally to their queen, weapons at the ready.

"You dare threaten me?"

Dany's eyes are all fire as she stares Bran down, her upper lip twitching.

"It was not a threat. I've come to help."

Dany laughs.

"How can you help me? I have accomplished what I came here for. The Seven Kingdoms are mine. The Iron Throne is mine."

"Did you accomplish it in the way you had hoped to?" Bran asks. "By burning women and children as they fled, looking for safety?"

Daenerys' expression shifts, and for a brief moment sadness fills her eyes.

"I… did as I had to," she says, quietly. "I took back my throne, with fire… and blood."

Sansa can hear the tremble in Dany's voice, and for a moment she sees a scared, vulnerable girl before her.

"Did you do it because you wanted to, or because you lost control over yourself?" Bran presses.

"You're implying that I'm going mad, like my father! I assure I am noth—"

"You misunderstand me. You didn't lose control because you are going mad, but because you were being influenced by darkness not of our world. Let me show you."

Bran reaches one hand out and places it flat against the side of the Weirwood tree. His eyes close, and lips start moving. He's mumbling beneath his breath, but Sansa can't make out his words.

A sound like lightening cracks loudly, emanating from the tree and the trunk splits open, orange light spilling from inside it.

Everyone stumbles backwards, away from the tree.

Sansa finds herself next to Tyrion and she glances down at him nervously.

He's looking up at her, and seeing her trepidation, reaches his bound hands up to hold her hand reassuringly.

Another loud crack blasts from the tree and two figures fall out of the hole in the trunk.

Bran removes his hand and opens his eyes. The orange light fades and the tree closes itself back up as if nothing happened.

The only evidence that something had happened is the two men now huddled at the base of the tree.

Sansa has no idea where they came from.

Surely they weren't both hiding in that tree?

They are wearing the strangest clothes she's ever seen. The material seeming to be of very high quality, but the style is something only a peasant would wear.

Slowly, the men find their way to their knees. They begin to stand, but the Unsullied move forward and keep them down, aiming spears at the newcomers throats.

They look extremely confused.

"What the hell, guys?" one of them asks. "Did someone forget to pay the extras?"

The one who spoke has dark hair, shaved almost to the scalp, and a dusting of hair on his face.

"Emilia, what's going on?" the second man asks.

This one has hair longer than the other, dark as well, at least on the top of his head, the sides are shaved closer and are starting to silver.

"Emilia?" he asks again, looking at Daenerys.

"My name is Daenerys Targaryen, Queen of the Seven Kingdoms. You should beware the way you address me."

The two men exchange looks, clearly confused.

"These are the men responsible for what was done to this city," Bran says. "They are from another world, and they are the ones who rewrote your fate."

"Isaac, what the hell is going on?" the man with the shaved head asks.

"Who are you?" Daenerys demands.

"Em, it's us. Daniel," he says pointing to himself, "and David."

He points at the other man.

"You are the reason I… I did what I did? To those people? To this city?" she asks, voice cracking.

Her face is so hopeful, wanting so badly to believe there is a reason for her barbaric actions other than madness.

"We've been over this. It had to be done. Dany going mad was the quickest way to end it," David says.

"What dark magic is this?" Jon asks, stepping closer to Dany protectively.

"Kit, man, come on. Joke's over."

"They are also responsible for Tyrion freeing his brother, and for Varys turning on you so suddenly," Bran says. "They are the ones who made Sansa decide to share Jon's secret, and have made Jon withdraw from you."

"It had to be done," Daniel says. "Just like we had to kill Missandei, Jorah, Rhaegal, Theon… we've been over this before. What is wrong with you guys. Show's over."

Daenerys' shock turns to fury.

"Bring them to the pit." Dany orders, turning on her heel and marching away.

The Unsullied force David and Daniel to their feet and urge them forward.

"Ouch! What the fuck," David complains as he's prodded with a spear.

Sansa releases Tyrion and goes to push Bran's chair.

"What is going on?" she asks, wheeling him to follow the procession.

"I am righting what needs to be righted. Our fates were shifted by those men, but now we can release ourselves. We are in control once more."

"Who are they?" Tyrion asks, falling into step beside them.

"In their world they go by David Benioff and D.B. Weiss. They make money off of writing our futures, and by making us suffer."

They walk in silence for a while, until Sansa can't help herself.

"I am sorry for your loss," she tells Tyrion. "I may not have liked your brother, but he did help save my life in a way. And I know how much he meant to you."

"He was a good man," Bran adds. "Much better than they wrote him."

"Thank you… both," Tyrion says, sounding choked up.

In front of them they can hear the men trying to talk to the Unsullied.

"What is happening? What is going on with this set?"

"Who put this together?"

"This is spectacular."

They enter the Dragon Pit and the Unsullied force David and Daniel to kneel in the middle.

Everyone else lines up around the edge of the pit.

"Can we please get these off?" Sansa asks, pointing to Tyrion's chains.

Dany looks over, thinking for a moment before nodding in agreement.

Grey Worm comes over and produces the key to release the bonds.

"Thank you," Tyrion says gratefully, looking up at Sansa.

Dany approaches the center of the pit, walking towards the kneeling men.

"You are horrid, terrible men," she says. "Despicable dark magic wielders who dare to interfere in our fate. And I, Daenerys Stormborn of House Targaryen, first of her name, Queen of the Seven Kingdoms and Mother of Dragons, sentence you both to death."

"Alright, Emilia, enough is enough!" David shouts. "We get you aren't happy with your new arc, but it was time to end it. This has gone too far, and I am not goin—"

Wind rushes around them, followed by the sound of great flapping wings.

Drogon appears, descending from above, landing right beside his mother.

David and Daniel shout and fall back in fear.

"What the FUCK?"

"Holy fucking shit! Oh my god!"

"Fuck… that's a fucking dragon?!"

Drogon leans in to nuzzle Dany.

"Any last words?" she asks the men cowering before her in pools of their own piss.

"Please, please, no," David begs.

"We… we just wanted to do Star Wars," Daniel sobs.

"And I said I will end all wars," Daenerys tells them coldly. "Dracarys!"

X X X

After the dark wizards were reduced to ash, it was like a cloud lifted. Everyone felt it to some extent. Like a cloud of despair that had plagued them was suddenly gone.

Despite the reassurance it wasn't her fault, Daenerys mourns for those she hurt. She doesn't have the burning drive to be queen any longer, and she and Jon decide to sail to Essos together, both just wanting a fresh start.

She surrenders her throne to Sansa before she departs, much to the Northern girl's surprise.

Bran returns to Winterfell.

Arya and Gendry decide to travel west together, looking for adventure in the unkown.

Brienne becomes captain of Sansa's Queensguard.

Sansa and Tyrion remarry and rule the Seven Kingdoms peacefully, and justly, providing their people with more prosperity than any have ever known.

THE END

(we deserve)

Author's Note: Fuck D&D... enough said <3

[stealth-liberal]

Hellooo!! I have here the numbersss for the askk GAMEEE!!

1, 2, 7, 18, 19, 23, 24, 28, 29, 35, 36, 63, 65, 68, 78, 90,

(yeah...i may have gone overboard) 👉👈

That is... a lot. This will be... long. But for you My Dear, I will do it.

1. 6 songs you like to listen to right now:

Hail to the King - Avenged Sevenfold

Daughters of Darkness - Halestorm

Skulls - Halestorm

Do Not Disturb - Halestorm

Follow - Monsta X

Ugh! - BTS

Amado Mio - Pink Martini

2. If you could meet anyone on earth, who would it be? Author Diane Ackerman to pick her brain!

7. What's your strangest talent? I have double jointed fingers and thumbs and bend them into crazy shapes. It's my party trick.

18. Do you believe in karma? Not in the reincarnation way as I only believe we get one life. In the whole you reap what you sow sort of way, absolutely. Assholes get what they deserve.

19. What does your url mean? Ah yes, I get this a lot. I'm a former U.S. Marine and I was a stay at home mom for a while and I dress rather modestly. So people made very wrong assumptions about my politics and such and always seemed to have whiplash when they found out they were dead fucking wrong. I'm an angry, bisexual, Jewish liberal who can kick your ass and I'm an editor who got her start in erotica. So....

23. How do you vent your anger? I have a punching bag in my garage and I beat the shit out of it and practice the moves I learned in the Marine Corps. These days I imagine Mitch McConnell's face on it and it helps.

24. Do you have a collection of anything? I have just over 2000 books. So, um, yes. A HUGE collection. My kids will inherit one hell of a library when I die.

28. What is your biggest "what if"? Dawn. She's it. If it had worked with her and she hadn't moved to Hawaii then I wouldn't have ended up dating the man who became my husband. Forks in the road and all.

29. Do you believe in ghosts? Aliens? I absolutely believe in intelligent live elsewhere in the universe. I'm just not so sure it's visited us. I absolutely do NOT believe in ghosts. The dead stay dead and as I'm Jewish, duality of the soul and body isn't an universal belief. So, yeah, no ghosties for me.

35. What, to you, is the meaning of life? To choose to do good in the world.

36. Define art? You expect ME to define something that has been debated by the greatest minds in our collective cultural history??? Let's put it this way, I know it when I encounter it, when I feel it. Good or bad, I know it.

63. What is your secret weapon to get people to like you? In person it's giving people my undivided attention. Online it's always being sincere.

68. What do you think Satan's last name is? So, I'm Jewish and we don't believe in the whole war in heaven, Satan being the devil or even hell. Shaitan is still an angel who's G-d given job is to tempt you and make your choices meaningful. So I'm the wrong person to ask. He's barely in my culture and religion at all.

78. Can insanity bring about more creativity? Sometimes, but at what cost to the artist? Privileged art consumers LOVE the idea of the starving and struggling artist who dies young for their art. And they love it from the comfort of their privileged lives. As Hannah Gatsby says "We don't know of Van Gogh because he was insane. We know him because he had a brother who loved him and made sure we know him today." Fuck the whole art means suffering, mental instability and death. Fuck it right up the ass. Sideways. With a splintery dildo. And no lube.

90. Mummies surround your bed, they aren't doing anything. What do you do? Mummies aren't T-Rex's so I assume that even though I'm lying still, they can see me. It's time to grab the baseball bat by the side of my bed and go out swinging and buying time for my husband to get the 2 kids, the dog and the cat out. I may die but I'm taking the mummies with me. Somehow.

[jesstasticvoyage]

calculator

calculator: list fifteen things that make you happy

Bad movies. Preferably horror but I do love action and comedy as well

RPing. It may stress me out at times but I love the worlds and characters that my partners and I have created.

My husband. He makes me laugh and gives the best advice. 

Reading. I don’t read as much as I used to but I do love to read my partner’s writing. So I count that. :)

My pets. They’re assholes but I love them. 

My sister. She is the strangest person I know but I always laugh whenever we talk.

Long-haired men. You know why. ;)

Stephen King. I love the hell out of that man. 

My Kevin Pop Figure that I carry around in my purse. Chris Hemsworth’s character in Ghostbusters.

My friends. I have so much fun talking about everyone’s RL lifes. What the adore about their characters and plots. What makes them happy. All that good stuff.

Would it be weird to admit that I make myself happy? I generally like the type of person I am. Yeah I have flaws, who doesn’t, but I think I turned out to be pretty alright and I make myself laugh at the random shit I come up with. Plus I love the ideas that roll around in my head. :)

I don’t know what number I’m on...Eleven? 90s Alternative music. I listen to a lot of it. If it’s not that its...

Chord Overstreet’s music. He’s twelve because I love his music and just the type of person he is. I get a lot of joy reading his tweets and interviews and think he is such an interesting person. You know how giddy I get with him. haha

When my mom is having a good day. She suffers from a lot of health ailments and it can get to be rather hard to talk to her but on the rare days she’s enjoying life she and I can have the best conversations that last for hours. 

Uh...That I made it to fifteen? haha Kidding. The last thing that makes me happy is the world in general. There’s a lot of bad shit happening, that much is true. But I like to focus on the good. Such as when I see acts of kindness or how happy someone gets around an animal. It’s the little things that a lot of people take for granted that make me happy. 

stationery-themed asks!!

@evansrp

[shewhowantsmouseears]

Love Like Lava, 3

Notes: As always, big thanks to my editors Drucilla and BlueShifted.

Managed to pop one more out before vacation time! One of the hardest things about this story was what to do with the Pygmalion mythos. At first glance it seems sweet, but once you take a closer look it does get pretty creepy. So I wrestled for a while how to fix it - and only in the last month or so did it finally come to me. What will happen to Goofy and the statue? You'll have to wait to find out.

For those new to my stories or just need a refresher - Millie is a fanmade OC made between myself and my friend Ange.

Summary: A woman lost to the sea, and a god lost to time. In her own way, Minnie will bring her gifts to those who didn't ask.

Whenever Daisy was informing Minnie about the ways of the world, which had almost become a daily routine by this point, the love goddess always paid rapt attention. She wanted to memorize every single detail her first friend gave her and to no longer feel as though she were a pathetic infant. But as the two immortals strolled around a quaint village of cobblestone, Minnie found herself unusually distracted. Daisy was explaining the differences between demigods, regular gods, and “The Big Three” as she called them, but Minnie kept sucking in her cheek and smacking her lips.

“Demigods, like myself, have only half the power of a regular god,” Daisy said, having chosen to wear a sunflower in her hair. Like all the other times they had taken casual walks through mortal homes, the two were invisible to the common eye. In an earlier lesson, Daisy had proven this by plucking off one of the seeds from her sunflower and flicking it at an elderly man's cheek. He had paused, picked up the fallen seed, and decided that it must have fallen from the mouth of a bird flying overheard. “For example, I can't summon a Viewing Mirror and I can't influence the mind of any mortal. Now the Big Three, they're all powerful, but it comes at a cost. Like my husband-”

The longwinded explanation came to an abrupt halt when she heard Minnie's lips smack once again. She stopped in place, narrowing her eyes and crossing her arms. One of the things that Minnie adored about Daisy was that she was never shy about how she felt, and right now she was obviously annoyed. “Do that one more time and I'll have you sit in a garden full of corpse flowers. Three guesses what they smell like and the first two don't count.”

Minnie hung her head like an ashamed child, twiddling her thumbs. “I'm sorry, Daisy. I just – I can't explain it...”

“Then ask. It's what I'm here for, apparently.” The two temporarily stopped where they were, and any mortals walking along the same path felt an inclination to walk around, perhaps thinking they wanted to avoid stepping in a puddle of mud.

“Oh, I do appreciate you teaching me so much! But – But sometimes I get worried I'm annoying you.”

“You are,” Daisy replied calmly, her bluntness another odd but helpful stable of this friendship. “But I figure the sooner you learn everything you need to know, the sooner we can get to know the real you. Knowing something doesn't define you. It's what you do with the knowledge.” Plus it gave Daisy's ego an extra boost. After being treated like a fool and a damsel in distress by her mother and those superior snotty gods on Mount Olympus, having someone admire and look up to her was more than welcome. “I'll admit, you being so cute does cut the annoyance down by half.”

It was supposed to be a compliment, but Minnie frowned, still being adorable as her pouting exposed dimples in her cheeks. She hated to have her friendship watered down by her own beauty. “All right, but you'll think it's strange. I...I've just been having the strangest craving for peaches the last couple of days.” When she told Pete, Mortimer, and Gladstone this, she was hoping to get some kind of answer. Instead, she got armfuls of peaches, followed by the men throwing peaches at each other because each one believed they should have been the only one feeding her.

Daisy blinked slowly three times before getting an idea. “A craving like that might mean someone offered peaches at your temple...And you have a temple! Way to go!” In congratulations, she ruffled the top of Minnie's head, and was both amused and miffed to find that each delicate curl of fur simply bounced right back into place.

“I have a temple?” Minnie asked out loud, but in that same second she felt it was true. “I have a temple! Oh goody!” Having so very few things she could call her own, the idea filled her to the brim with excitement, especially because as Daisy had told her on day one, mortals built temples. “People actually worked on it and built it, with their own hands! They didn't have powers or anything! Daisy, I want to go see it, I want go see it!” She skipped in glee, frolicking ahead of Daisy.

“Okay, but don't expect much!” Daisy called after her, trying to catch up to Minnie's dancing. “You're a new goddess! You won't have any statues or paintings or wall carvings! Slow down, will you?” But no matter how hard she tried to put a lid on Minnie's happiness, it wouldn't simmer down. She wound up having to chase after her friend, stifling chuckles in her throat. If this was a glance at Minnie's real personality underneath all the questions, perhaps she was as cute on the inside as she was on the outside.

Minnie thought it was sheer coincidence that her temple was in the very same village they were visiting that day, but Daisy didn't believe in coincidences. When you lived as long as she had, it was easier to see that random happenings were part of fate's ultimate design. As the duck had tried to warn her beforehand, the temple was nothing to brag about. It was smaller than the average house, with red paint that had already begun to show signs of scratches. The entrance was a little lopsided, and inside was only one altar in the middle of a tiny room. But Minnie loved it, loved it, loved it to pieces, running her hands on the walls and twirling around to make sure she'd seen absolutely everything. This was hers, and hers alone. “It's beautiful!”

“If you say so,” Daisy winced as she stepped inside, a wretched stench hitting her nostrils. “Ugh...and I think we found your craving.” Placing a hand over her beak, she approached the altar where a crate with now rotten peaches sat. “Oh, for goodness sake! They're supposed to burn the offering! That's how we get it! Whoever did this must be a few horses short of a full stable.”

Still, Minnie's mood wouldn't be beat, and she even hugged the crate, despite suffering from the same ghastly smell hitting her nose. “It's what they did with the knowledge, remember? And I think it's a wonderful gift...even if it is going to going to make me throw up in a few minutes.” Swallowing down an urge to gag, she now inspected the crate with loving care to find a name or an identifying feature. “I want to thank whoever did this!”

“Well, that is your right.” Daisy inched back towards the entrance, trying to waft away the smell with her hand. “If a god or goddess really likes what someone offered, they can reward the mortal who gave it. I've helped a few farmers with their crops after the nice stuff they gave me. All you have to do is concentrate, and you can find whoever left this here.” And maybe give them a good smack upside the head, she mentally added.

“Yes, I'll concentrate! … Outside!”

Once the duo were out in fresh air, Minnie closed her eyes, concentrating long and hard about whoever it was that left her an offering. It was slightly more difficult than Daisy's blasé explanation, and she found she wasn't really sure what exactly she was supposed to be doing. In a fit of frustration, she wished whoever it was gave her some kind of sign.

“YAAAAAA-HA-HA-HOOOOIE!”

Minnie hadn't quite meant it like that. As she and Daisy heard the holler, they tilted their heads in unison as a runaway wagon careened down the nearby hill, rolling over and over on anything but its own wheels. The horses that were supposed to be guiding it were on top of the hill, in no rush to after the lost cargo. Fruits and vegetables splattered off the wagon – including peaches, Minnie noticed – and the villagers stepped aside, many wearing an irked expression as if this was the sign of another Monday. The wagon only stopped when it crashed into a fence, but its rider kept on going, rolling on the ground until gravity and exhaustion made him plop face-first in front of the girls, half of a watermelon stuck on his head.

“Minnie, don't concentrate so hard next time.”

“Sorry.”

Whoever it was dizzily tried to sit up, tugging on the watermelon but finding it hard to remove. The villagers got to work cleaning up his mess, with their irritation obvious in every shout.

“Nice going, you big goof!”

“You really put the pig in Pygmalion!”

“Why don't you do us all a favor and not cause trouble for ONE day?!”

The rider didn't reply, still too focused on his entrapment, now even using his feet in an attempt to pry the fruit off of his face. Daisy didn't know who to feel more sorry for – this mystery oaf, or for Minnie that said oaf was her very first worshipper. Yet Minnie didn't sound disappointed, as she tugged on Daisy's arm and pleaded gently, “Okay, so, how do I make him see me?”

Daisy raised an eyebrow. “Are you sure you want to 'meet' him? He seems kinda...”

“Welp,” said the mystery man, “May as well have a snack, long as I'm stuck.” Daisy felt the chewing noises that followed said more than she needed to.

“Yes, I'm very sure.” Minnie nodded once, holding her head with pride. “He did something very nice for me, and he didn't have to! All the gods on Mount Olympus fawn over me and give me things just because I look nice. But he's never even seen me before and he gave me a whole crate of peaches! And without breaking the crate, which...might be a very big deal for him.” Minnie had only known this man for roughly fifteen seconds and she was already overwhelmingly proud of him. Even though he had messed up, it was the thought that counted.

Daisy could see that Minnie wouldn't be persuaded otherwise. “Very well. But first? We don't tell him we're goddesses. That'll just cause a world of trouble.” She grasped Minnie's right hand, and Minnie felt warmth seeping into her skin. “Second, we can't look exactly like we already do. Might make a few of them go nuts, and that'll probably go double for the 'goddess of beauty'. So you have to think of how you want them to see you. I'll help you out, just this once.” Attaining a form that mortals could see required a lot of energy, and there was no way Daisy was letting the newborn goddess do this all her own.

As for the mortal man, now that he'd eaten his fill, the fruity cage on his head was easier to yank off. Now that he was free, the girls could see he was a dog, with long black ears dripping with red juice. His muzzle stuck out the same way his limbs did, a little too much to be considered handsome. His buck teeth didn't help any, and his slow blinking eyes didn't give any signs of great intelligence hiding behind them. He was pretty much what one expected when you hear someone being described as goofy.  But one probably didn't expect them to keep it as a name. Goofy was full of surprises, not all of them pleasant, but it was his turn to be surprised today.

He lifted his head and saw two exceptionally pretty ladies standing directly in front of him. They wore matching dresses colored pink and green, with matching sandals and even matching hairstyles that stretched over the same shoulders. But they couldn't be called twins, as Daisy had chosen to make herself look like an older woman of refined dignity, perhaps the matriarch of a rich family. She had found that mortals tended to respect the elderly even if they were complete strangers. Minnie on the other hand, had decided to go as a young girl, nearly budding out of childhood, as she felt it was unfair to “lie” to her worshipper about how old she was, or at least how old she felt.

Goofy was very sure he'd never seen either one of them before in the village, but instead of regarding that with suspicion, he smiled pleasantly and offered both of his hands. “Well, hello there! You folks must be new in town.”

“Why yes, we are,” Minnie chirped, having no idea what to do with the hand in front of her. “I'm Minnie, and this is Daisy!” Was she allowed to give out their chosen names like that? She quickly glanced at Daisy for approval, but thankfully her elder quietly nodded and took Goofy's hand to shake. Minnie eagerly copied the action. How fun!

“I'm Pygmalion, but everyone 'round here calls me Goofy!” When his hands were free, he pushed himself to stand, towering over both of them but making sure not to use his full height. “Nice ta meetcha! I'm sure you'll like our town real nice. We got the world's first temple to that new goddess, Aphrodite!” He tugged on his robe with his thumbs, bits of lettuce tumbling off as he did so. “Why, I even helped build it!”

“Will wonders never cease,” Daisy mumbled under her breath.

“You did a wonderful job!” Minnie had to physically jump and grab Goofy's hand to shake it again, which she did with much more vigor this time around. “It's so beautiful! It's a perfect temple! I couldn't ask – I mean, Aphrodite couldn't ask for one better!”

“Aw, shucks. Weren't nothin',” Goofy blushed with full rich color, allowing Minnie to have his hand as much as pleased. With every shake he lowered his head lower. “Every god's gotta have a temple, right? Even mean ol' Hades!” He would have gone into the details of how the temple was truly a group effort had Daisy not given him a good smack upside the head.

“My hand slipped,” Daisy lied through bared teeth. “Apologies.”

Goofy blinked slowly, but seemed to actually believe this. “Shoot, that's all right! No worse than what I do most times.” Speaking of which, he finally looked to survey the damage he'd done. His shoulders sagged as he saw his neighbors lift the wagon back onto its wheels and lasso the horses back to their proper places. “Oops. I was just tryin' to make some deliveries on the side. Maybe I should help clean up.”

“What do you mean, on the side?” Minnie asked, giving his hand an extra long tug to distract him.

It worked, as Goofy whipped his head around, right as rain again. “Just to make some extra money! No one's been buyin' my art, so I gotta find some way to put food on the table. But I think today I might wind up eatin' the table.”

Daisy had to admit she was getting curious. “You make art?”

“Can we see?” Minnie had almost started to hug Goofy's arm, which he would have allowed, but Daisy grabbed her by the shoulders and finally yanked her off. “Please, I would love to see your art, mister Goofy!”

The dog's eyes widened slightly, clearly surprised by such a request. His sad feelings about lost food and lost coin would have to wait. “Sure you can! My house is just a jump, skip, and a hop away! Oh boy, I ain't had visitors in a real long time.” With an extra bounce in his step, he walked along the stone pathway and the girls followed, trying to imagine what a man like this could make with his hands. They weren't very surprised to see his home resemble the temple – it was boringly average with scrapped paint, the windows and doors at odd angles. Daisy was afraid that if she sneezed too hard it would all come tumbling down. Minnie thought it was quaint.

“Home sweet home,” Goofy said, pushing open his wooden door that fell over onto the floor. He shrugged it off, and walked inside with a whistle. “Make yourselves comfy! Sorry about the mess. Can't prepare for what you don't expect, I suppose.”

In seconds Minnie would learn what a sculptor does, as the one floor home was decked in marble life. The floor was covered in broken bits of stone and dust, and a chipped shelf held rusty tools that had seen better days. Yet even Daisy was stunned because she, like everyone else in the village, hadn't expected anyone named Goofy to be good at carving statues.

“Oh, my! These are amazing!” Minnie exclaimed, and despite having an inexperienced worldview, she was absolutely right. These were amazing statues, because each one looked ready to spring to life. In one corner sat an elderly man reading bedtime stories to his dozing grandchildren. A mountain lion on the prowl took over a good portion of the floor. Collections of birds sitting on shy girls' shoulders lined up on a windowsill. Each masterpiece was filled with emotion and devotion, and the only thing to find displeasing about them was that they took up so much space that it was hard to move around.

“I don't believe this,” Daisy walked around a marble deer that was sniffing a fake flower. “I've seen statues in temples that don't look half as good! How do you do it?”

Goofy shrugged, unsure of how to answer what he thought was a fairly silly question. “I just do it. Been doin' this ever since I could hold a chisel in my hand. It's what makes me happy.”

Daisy had to bend in an awkward position in order not to knock off a young athlete throwing a sharp javelin. “And you're telling me nobody wants to buy these? Are they blind?”

As long as he was there, Goofy decided to get a bit of work done. He picked up his aging hammer and rusty chisel from his tool shelf, and began to add another layer to a princess' wedding cake. “Folks don't really believe a guy like me can make anythin' purdy-lookin'. Can't blame 'em, really.” He knelt down, wanting to make sure the strawberry that fell off the icing had the right number of leaves. “Folks see a sickly gardener, they might think his veggies ain't good. They see a weaver with shaky hands, they might think her baskets fall apart. Way of the world, I learned by now. People see what they see.”

“But that's not fair!” Daisy scoffed, her flippant hand almost knocking over a flock of hummingbirds. “People shouldn't judge you based on what they see!” Although she had to pause as she realized she had done the same thing mere moments ago. She lowered her hand, nervously twirling her hair around her finger. “And if they do, they should feel terrible about it.”

Goofy chuckled, thanking her kindly for her sympathy. But neither of them had yet to notice the missing third member of their party. A moment ago, as Minnie had been admiring the works around her, she'd noticed a room that instead of holding a door had a blue curtain serving as an entrance. Her inquisitive nature naturally led her towards the room, paying no mind to the conversation being held without her.

It was a bedroom, if Minnie had to fathom a guess based on the sole frayed excuse of a mattress lying on the floor covered by a blanket that in no way could cover the extremely long dog. Unlike the rest of the house, only one statue was in this room. But it was more brilliant and beautiful than all the others – perhaps more brilliant and beautiful than anything Minnie had ever seen in her short life.

A woman stood on a sandy beach, seashells decorated at her bare feet. She was a dainty poodle, with cut puffs of fur around her neck and wrists. Her dress had only one layer, yet it pooled around her as if it could go on for miles. Her eyes were closed, her chin down, and she smiled with peace and serenity. In her cupped hands lay a necklace, shabbily made with bits of broken seaglass and string, yet she held it as if was the most precious treasure on earth. Even those who could claim not to have an appreciation for such things could tell this was a statue made with purest, deepest love – and Minnie felt it within the depths of her very soul.

She reached out to touch the woman's dress, almost startled to feel marble instead of silk, and as she continued to gaze at the woman's blissful expression, tears filled Minnie's eyes. She could feel every second that Goofy had worked on this piece, every passionate chip, and it was indeed made with love – with a heart broken in untold agony. Minnie fell to her knees, unable to stop crying, as if Goofy's heartache was also hers.

By then the other two realized Minnie had gone, and when Daisy pushed aside the curtain to see her sobbing companion, she ran to throw her arms around the younger goddess. “Minnie!” She held her close, trying to see her face. “What is it? What's wrong?” Unable to form words at the time, Minnie wildly gestured at the statue. Daisy looked up – while she too thought it was far more gorgeous than anything she'd seen in the entrance, she didn't understand why it had sent Minnie into a fit. “It's a happy statue! Look at that face, she's smiling!” Worry gave way to anger, and she glared at Goofy since he was more or less responsible for this mess. “Help me out here, will you? What's this one supposed to be?”

Goofy was at a loss for words for several reasons. He had never intended for this particular statue to be seen by anyone else, and since he never had visitors, it had never occurred to him that a curtain wasn't exactly a way to ward someone off. He'd also never handled a sobbing girl since – since – hm. Well. Since her. “She's...She was...a girl I loved a long time ago.”

Was – that one word diffused Daisy's anger like throwing water on a candle. Married to the god of death, she knew more than anyone the power of “was”. All she could say in response was a diminutive “Oh.”

Goofy hadn't told anyone this story, so he wasn't sure how to go about it. He took his time walking towards the statue, his voice distant and pained. “Her name was Millicent. She liked 'Millie' better, though. Said she always thought the name was for a fancier girl, not for a sailor's daughter. She taught me all about nautical ropes, and always untied me when I got it wrong. We'd make sandcastles on the beach and make up constellations when the stars came out. She never made me feel dumb. Said I was just smart about different things. Millie always knew how to make me smile, and she always knew when I was sad. She was special, but she wanted to be with me anyway. I always thought she deserved better than the likes of me, but anytime I said so, she made me take it back. Said nobody deserved anybody. That hearts loved who they loved, no more, no less, and that her heart loved me.”

His fingers touched the necklace embedded into the statue, and while Minnie's cries had quieted down, he felt compelled to finish what it hurt to speak of. “Her Pa was always sailin' to other places, and when he had to go, so did she. Last time he did, he and Millie weren't sure when they'd be back. I thought long and hard...and then I made her a necklace. I knew it wasn't good, it's not like carvin'. But I told her how much I loved her, and that if she wore it when she came back home, I'd make her my wife.” How many years had it been since he'd stood on the port, waving her goodbye until her boat was a speck on the horizon? He'd long since lost count, or more accurately, had stopped counting when he learned of its fate.

“Sailors can prepare for the worst. But they ain't gods. They can't predict the weather perfectly. Nastiest storm on record...nothin' left but planks floatin' in the water. We had folks search all over the ocean, and that was all they could find.”

Goofy's cheeks were dry, perhaps unable to cry after years and years of howling over Millie's cruel fate. Daisy's cheeks were wet, yet despite her blurry vision she noticed a vital detail about the statue. “She's – she's not wearing the necklace.”

“Didn't think it'd be right.” His fingers slid off the marble, his hands hanging at his sides. “Didn't wanna make the choice for her.” Goofy looked down at the women, and then knelt down, tenderly petting Minnie between the ears. “Real sorry to make you hear that sob story. Last thing I ever wanna do is hurt someone. We can still make this day end on a good note, if'n you want. Always thought makin' a new friend was the best part of any day.” He pointed to his face, where despite all that had been said, a smile lay there with warmth and invitation. “You might not feel like you'll smile again, but you will.” A mantra he'd told himself thousands of times, no doubt.

Minnie didn't smile, but she did throw her arms around Goofy's neck for a tight hug. Daisy joined right after, and while Goofy was temporarily stunned, he embraced them both. “Ain't you ladies sweet as pie.” His stomach seemed to have no connection to his heart, as it began to growl at the mere mention of dessert. “Huh. Dinner for three...might be a little tricky.”

With that, Minnie pulled back, wiping her face. “Oh, no, we wouldn't dare intrude. You should feed yourself.”

“Anything we eat is going to taste salty at this rate,” Daisy added, pulling Minnie to her feet. “We should get going.”

Goofy was slightly disappointed to be deprived of company so soon, but he'd never impose. “If'n you say so. You two ever wanna come by, my door's always open! Or on the floor. Either way, you'll be welcome! And to make up for all that cryin', I'll make a special statue, just for Minnie here! It'll make you smile, that's a guarantee!” He jabbed a thumb to his chest, allowing himself to have a few handfuls of pride if it meant cheering someone up. “Whaddya want made?”

Minnie blinked with wet lashes. What did she want? That was a new one. She'd never been asked that before. The men on Mount Olympus assumed her wants and needs, and Daisy either gave Minnie a lesson in whatever she felt like teaching at that moment or waited for Minnie to ask something. No one had ever directly asked her what she wanted – so she said the first thing that came to mind. “Can you carve a peach?”

Such a bizarre answer made Goofy pause for half a second before bursting into charmed laughter, holding his belly with both hands. “A carved peach! Ain't ever thought of that one before! Why, I could carve you a whole peach tree, but just a single peach? Ain't you somethin'!”

Daisy smirked, glad to hear the sound of mirth again. “I think that means yes.”

Minnie was relieved she could give Goofy joy, her own was short lived as she concluded she was missing something very important. “Oh! Oh dear, I don't have any money on me!”

“Wouldn't take it even if ya did.” Goofy held up a hand, his fingers flat out. “I'd never charge a friend, and now we're all pals! You just come back in a little while, and I'll have the best carved peach anyone's ever seen! Gunna be a real beaut! Why, I'm gunna get started right this minute!” He paraded out of the room, whistling a merry tune.

Minnie watched the blue curtain flutter as he left, her tiny hands over her heart. “Mortals are amazing,” she said in a breathless whisper. “He can smile after losing the love of his life.”

“Well, mortals have to be made of stronger stuff than us,” Daisy agreed after snapping her fingers – their mortal disguises vanished, and they were invisible once more. “They can only live for a couple of decades, and lose people all the time. Takes a lot of work to kill a god. I don't think I'd want to live if someone I cared about died.” If something ever happened to her husband – nope, nope, nope, she wasn't even going to entertain that notion. “Okay, that's it, I've had enough of the blues. You know what always cheers my husband up? Sailing!”

Minnie gave Daisy a curt look and the duck realized once again she hadn't thought clearly. “Ah. Right. Maybe not today...but the beach is a close second! We'll think about what we can give Goofy as a reward.” She offered her hand.

“I don't think I could ever give him anything that would be enough,” Minnie lamented, her entire body sagging like a dying flower. She might have curled up on the floor and thought about Goofy's tragedy for millennia to come, but Daisy snatched Minnie's hand and forcibly teleported the two of them to the nearest beach – although without Minnie's immediate mental cooperation, they fell in the water instead of the sand.

Daisy popped her head out first, spitting and sputtering. “If I have to taste salt one more time today, I'm going to lose my mind! Tears are salty, this water's salty, I'm about to be salty!” Minnie's sudden giggling interrupted her ranting, making her temper flare even hotter. “What's so funny? You were crying a minute ago!”

“I'm not t-trying to laugh! S-something's tickling me!” Minnie shrieked, flailing her arms and kicking her legs. Daisy was about to tell her it was merely seaweed, when she too felt tickling fingers on her arms and legs. She tried to demand the assailant stop before she brought the wrath of a demigoddess upon them, but it wasn't really threatening when it was said before fits of high-pitched laughter.

It went on relentlessly until Minnie sunk underwater, being too tickled to keep herself afloat. The sensations suddenly stopped, and when Minnie swam back up, she saw their attackers. “Mermaids!” Daisy snapped, smashing the water with anger fists. “I should've known! You stupid things are always causing trouble!”

“I win!” the chubbier mermaid declared, oblivious to Daisy's fury as she spun in the water. “I win, I win, I win! Now you have to give it to me!”

“Awww, that's not faiiir!” the skinnier mermaid whined, her shoulders heaving up and down as she wailed. “Can we go for two out of three?”

“No, you can't!” Daisy knocked their heads together, making them squeak and roll their empty heads about. “Minnie, don't you ever try to go near these things. Mermaids are just a bunch of ditzes! If we were mortals, we might've drowned!”

“Well, maybe they knew we weren't mortal,” Minnie pointed out. If Goofy had taught them anything, it was clearly not to judge people by first glance. “What were you two doing? Was that some kind of game?”

The girls looked at Minnie and – as usual when people got a first look at her – they were awestruck by her beauty. With wide eyes and stopped hearts, they quickly forgot their squabble and began preening and playing with Minnie's hair and fur. “She's pretty!” “She's sooo pretty!” “Let's dress her up!” “Yes, yes, let's play dress up!”

Daisy rolled her eyes, tempted to give a very loud “I told you so”. But Minnie touched the girls by their shoulders, pushing them back. “She's right, you know. If we weren't goddesses, that little game of yours could have hurt someone! That's not very nice!” How else would they know if someone wasn't going to tell them?

To Daisy's surprise, the mermaids appeared to consider this, though not for the reasons she thought. They looked at each other, concern twisting their scaly features.

“Not very nice? That means not very good!”

“Oh no, we're not good girls!”

“Only good girls get gifts!”

“I want to be a good girl!”

“Me too, me too!”

Minnie smiled, feeling like the smarter one. It felt nice to teach someone else something, and she clapped her hands together. Daisy huffed, but tried to wait patiently as the lesson continued. “Now then,” Minnie instructed, trying to imitate Daisy's confidence. “If you want to be good, an apology works! Just say you're sorry and we'll forgive you.”

“I won't,” Daisy felt obligated to mutter.

“We're sorry!” the mermaids said together.

“Whoever got someone to sink won.”

“And I won.”

“And I have to give her this because I said she could have it if she won.” But as the skinnier mermaid began to take off her golden bracelet, she gasped with an idea. “But an apology with a gift, that's twice as good! I'll be an extra good girl!”

“I'll be an extra good girl too!”

“Maybe Mickey will give us extra gifts because we're extra good!”

As Minnie took the bracelet, noting its lovely features and how it perfectly glinted in the sunlight, she asked, “Who's Mickey?”

“Mickey's our friend.”

“He's a god.” “He's the best god, after Poseidon.”

“But Poseidon doesn't give us gifts for being good.”

“So we like Mickey better.”

“Mickey's the best!”

Minnie assumed she wasn't going to get too much detail from these girls, so she turned to Daisy, and asked the expert on everything. “Who's Mickey?” she asked again. If it was a god, Daisy had to know them.

But for the very first time since Minnie had met Daisy, Daisy didn't have an answer for her. Daisy herself seemed to be bewildered, her hands open and closing with confusion. She knew every single god on Mount Olympus, she knew who ruled over the dead and who ruled over the ocean, she knew the demigods like herself that had mortal parentage, she knew many centaurs and satyrs and favorite mortals, she knew what happened at the beginning of time and the cursed lineage of Zeus and his ancestors.

“I...I've never heard of a god named Mickey!”

[marjaystuff]

Elise Cooper’s Interview of Hilary Davidson

One Small Sacrifice by Hilary Davidson is a procedural mystery that will keep readers guessing until the very last chapter. Each thread of the detailed plot unveils one surprising revelation after another. With the compelling characters this story contrasts how good people can go astray with horrible people that have no conscience.  

The early chapters set the pace for the rest of the book with war photographer Alex Traynor apparently getting away with murdering his good friend Cori Stanton. At least that’s what New York Police Detective Sheryn Sterling believes. Alex suffers from PTSD due to his harrowing work in war zones around the world. Unable to remember what happened the night Cori fell from a rooftop, it is believed he pushed her to her death. Yet, because of a lack of evidence, he was released.  

When Alex’s fiancée, Dr. Emily Teare, a talented and beloved local doctor, suddenly goes missing, Sheryn suspects Alex of misdeeds. Initially she was out to prove Traynor murdered again, but as the investigation into Emily’s disappearance deepens, Sheryn and her new partner find themselves going back over the previous case as well. It’s possible that there’s a darker story, and that Alex isn’t the only one with secrets.  Slowly she discards her tunnel vision and personal bias and starts relooking at the evidence that includes opioid addiction and illegal prescriptions.

It is also a love story between the two main characters Alex and Emily and how much they will sacrifice for each other. Alex, a photographer who made a name for himself taking pictures in war torn countries such as Iraq and Syria, witnessed multiple horrors.  While photographing the harrowing scenes, Alex was kidnapped in Syria. During the rescue operation by his army friend Maclean, Alex was shot in his leg. Taken to a medical center for treatment of his injuries he met Emily, a neurosurgeon who volunteers with Doctors Without Borders.  She removes the bullet from his leg, and their relationship builds from there into a romance that leads to their engagement.

What makes this a good thriller are the ingredients that Davidson puts into this story:

twists, turns, and surprises that make the novel really suspenseful. The story is so well crafted that it is difficult to know who is the guilty party. Is there a connection between the death of Stanton and the disappearance of Teare? Davidson drops details throughout the narrative that keeps the reader off balance, unsure, and on the edge of their seat.

Elise Cooper:  How did you get the idea for the story?

Hilary Davidson:  I first had an image of the characters in my mind, especially one character in particular that the was impacted by PTSD. I thought of books I loved with an unreliable narrator.  Because I experienced PTSD I was intrigued to find an interesting way to approach it with an unreliable narrator.  

EC: Can you discuss your experience?

HD:  My first job, more than twenty years ago, straight out of college, had workplace violence.  A man tried to murder everyone in the office at the Veterans Government Department in Toronto.  There were people who were not getting enough help that included this one man in particular.  He was homeless with a mental illness that was not properly treated.  This person was very angry at their counselor and made death threats for months.  One day he came and started a massive fire that destroyed three floors of the office building.  It was a horrifying scene.  

EC:  Did you get PTSD?

HD:  Yes.  I became very scared and weeks later I got these disturbing feelings. I remember the beginning of the incident but do not remember how I got out of the office.  I actually received an award from the government for helping other people out.  There is this lost time in which I do not recall what exactly happened.  I had this weird fragmental memory and unforgettable feelings.  I incorporated this in the book with my main character Alex.  He is a war photographer who saw terrible things on the battlefields.  Now that he is back home and safe in New York he has feelings popping out but also has blackouts.

EC:  It seems Detective Sheryn Sterling had tunnel vision regarding Alex’s guilt?

HD: This was my intention in the beginning.  Sheryn fell into the mindset to have the facts fit into her conception. She had it while on the hunt and when she had the suspect in her sight. I put in this book quote by Alex’s lawyer to show just that: “She’d going to shoehorn every shred of evidence to fit her theory and incriminate you.” I think that police work is sometimes like a scientist where they have a theory and go in that direction.   But I hope the readers saw she had a flexible enough mind where she could take in new information and reset her thinking.  Some have told me that they recognized that Sheryn grew and changed.  She broadens her perspective.  

EC:  How would you describe Sheryn?

HD:  Compassionate, honorable, flexible, brave, dedicated, and relentless.  She is molded by her family’s tradition of military service.  She is a tremendous advocate for the victims and is determined in the pursuit of justice.  

EC:  How would you describe Emily?

HD:  A big hearted person with a strong sense of responsibility towards others. Emily is an incredibly virtuous person who is not perfect.  She carries a sliver of darkness with shades of grey. She tries to do good in the world.  

EC:  How would you describe Alex?

HD: He is the dark mirror of Emily.  A good person who wants to make a difference in the world.  For instance, he went into war photography because he wanted the world to know the true story of what goes on in a conflict.  He feels deeply but cannot articulate it into words but has his images, a witness of sorts.  

EC: It appears you made a reference to the Jewish holiday, Yom Kippur-who will live and who will die?

HD:  You must be referring to the quote by Maclean who died while serving his country: “Not your turn today. It’s not about good or bad but if your number comes up.” I met a lot of people who have served in the military or on the police force.  They have a certain way of looking at the world.  As a writer, things come to mind in a sub-conscious sort of way.  Since my husband is Jewish I am familiar with that service. Writers who go out into the world will pick things up that will stay with them.  They come out at the strangest times.

EC:  One theme of the book is sacrifice?

HD:  Yes, the sacrifices people make for others.  I put in the beginning of the book a quote from an Easter poem written in 1916.  The idea is that too much had been sacrificed during the Irish Rebellion including too much blood shed.  It made me think when is a sacrifice too much.  In the book, there is also a darker sacrifice. An example in this story is how Alex sacrificed for his friend Will.  He feels such an obligation since Will’s mother took him in as a teenager.  She told him that Will now has a brother.  He feels it is his duty to protect Will even though the relationship is twisted.

EC:  Can you give a heads up about your next book?

HD:  It will be book two in the series with both detectives coming back, although a whole new case.  A female entrepreneur is being blackmailed.  At the beginning of the book she meets with that person.  The rest of the book delves into the fallout of it.  The title is Don’t Look Down and is out in early 2020.  

THANK YOU!!

[seniorbrief]

My Father Was the BTK Killer. Here’s Why I Managed to Forgive Him.

Travis Heying/Wichita Eagle

The man knocked on Kerri Rawson’s door around noon on February 25, 2005. She looked out at him from inside her apartment near Detroit—he was holding an FBI badge.

She almost didn’t answer. Her father, a code compliance officer in Park City, a suburb of Wichita, Kansas, had taught her to be wary of strangers, and this one had sat in his car for an hour outside her home. But she decided to let the FBI agent into her kitchen, where she had made a chocolate Bundt cake. From then on, the smell of chocolate cake would make her queasy.

The man asked if she knew what BTK was. Yes, she did. BTK—Bind, Torture, Kill—was the nickname for the serial killer who had scared her mom decades ago and who was responsible for murdering ten people in Kansas between 1974 and 1991.

The FBI guy was her dad’s age, in his late 50s, wearing glasses and a necktie, nervous. Kerri was a 26-year-old substitute teacher taking a day off, still in her pajamas. The man said her dad had been arrested as a BTK Killer suspect. He needed to swab her cheek for DNA. (Here are the strangest unsolved mysteries in each state.)

At that moment, in Park City, Kerri’s mother, Paula Rader, 56, sat down to lunch at home, waiting for her husband, Dennis. Cops rushed in, guns drawn. A week later, Paula’s lunch still sat uneaten in the house she had shared with Dennis since the early 1970s. She’d never sleep there again.

Cops arrested Dennis as he was driving home for lunch. In Wichita, officers picked up family and friends for questioning. At the police station, Paula defended Dennis. Back in Detroit, Kerri yelled at the FBI agent. The last time she had seen her dad was in Park City at Christmas. He’d looked sad. She remembered his bear hug, how he smelled, his brown uniform. This could not be true, she told the man. Dad had called last night, asking if she’d checked the oil in her car.

At that point, she did something she would do many times over the next seven days: defend and then doubt her father at the same time. She told the agent about Marine Hedge. Hedge, 53, was a grandmother with a silky southern accent, five feet tall, weighing no more than 100 pounds. She’d lived six doors down from the Raders and disappeared in 1985, when Kerri was six. Hedge’s body was later found in a ditch. Paula had been fearful. “Don’t worry,” Dad had said. “We’re safe.”

Kerri remembered that when Hedge disappeared, her dad wasn’t home. “It was stormy, and I didn’t want to sleep by myself. My mom let me in her bed—that’s how I know he was gone.”

After the FBI agent left, she took down a picture of her father from the hallway and stuck it in a closet. She Googled “BTK” for proof that he was innocent but then told her husband she was matching her memories to BTK’s murder timeline, wondering if her whole life might be a lie.

The next day, police and politicians gathered in Wichita’s city hall. “BTK is arrested,” the police chief announced. Kerri was furious when she learned that to link her dad to the BTK Killer, cops had obtained one of her Pap smears taken years before at Kansas State University’s clinic. They used it to confirm that the Rader family DNA closely matched DNA in the semen that BTK left at the scene of a quadruple homicide in 1974. The FBI guy had asked Kerri for a cheek swab so he could double-check her DNA.

The first nights, Kerri and her husband, Darian, slept as if one of them needed to be on watch—she on the couch, he on the floor. TV crews camped outside, and when Darian drove to work, they followed.

Darian watched his wife change. Athletic and nearly five foot ten, she was no girlie girl, and he loved that. She could walk for days carrying a backpack. But now, she was the BTK Killer’s daughter. She even looked like her dad: same dark hair, same eyes. She shared his middle name, Lynn. She felt as if she’d done something wrong.

Courtesy Kerri Rawson

Kerri searched her memories. The night of Hedge’s murder, Dad had taken Brian, her brother, on a Boy Scout campout. Was it an alibi so he could sneak out and murder their neighbor? In 2004, around Christmas, after BTK threatened in letters to the police and news outlets that he would kill again, Dad had driven her to the airport to pick up her brother. But Dad had wandered off. Was he mailing one of those letters? Watching the news to see if he was mentioned? She minutely analyzed her whole life.

Kerri remembered how he spoke sharply if she sat in his chair or failed to put her shoes away. Cops said BTK made strange marks in his communications to them. She recalled weird marks Dad made on newspaper stories. “Code,” he’d called it.

Three days after her dad’s arrest, Kerri flew back to Kansas City. On the plane, she escaped by reading Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire. But on her layover, she saw her father’s face on the airport’s TV screens.

Mike Clark, the family’s pastor, visited Dennis Rader in jail a week after his arrest. Clark called Paula afterward, and Kerri watched her mother take the call, with a yellow legal pad in her hand. Paula wrote, “He’s confessing,” and underlined it as they talked.

It was true. He had murdered the Oteros: a mom, a dad, and two children, ages 11 and 9. He had tortured victims, sexually defiled several. He had taken Hedge’s body inside Christ Lutheran Church, where he was congregation president. He posed her and took photos. BTK had started his crimes in 1974, before Kerri was born.

Everybody assumed the BTK Killer was a sadistic genius. But the real BTK is an ordinary, inarticulate doofus, Darian thought. And a good dad, Kerri said. With Paula, he’d taught the kids’ godliness. Kerri had two college degrees; Brian, her older brother, had been an Eagle Scout and was training to serve on U.S. Navy nuclear submarines.

Dennis couldn’t understand why no family members visited. Kerri wrote him: “You have had these secrets, this ‘double life’ for 30 years; we have only had knowledge of it for three months … We are trying to cope and survive … You lied to us, deceived us.”

The family dreaded a trial, where his crimes would be described. Dennis pleaded guilty to spare them. Kerri felt relieved until the plea hearing. Her dad told a TV audience at length how he had killed people, lingering over how he’d murdered the Otero kids. He seemed to enjoy the story. He even brought up Kerri. “Joseph Otero had a daughter; I had a daughter.”

One night the next year, while Darian slept, Kerri lay beside him and wrote her father.

“Should I tell you that I grew up adoring you, that you were the sunshine of my life … true, even if it is coming out jaded and bitter now … Sometimes I just want to go out and buy the biggest, buttery tub [of popcorn] I can find and wave it in your face and say, ‘Ha, you won’t ever have this again’ and ask was it worth it? In the next breath I want to ask if you’re staying warm at night … I’m so sorry that you’re alone in that small cold concrete cell and sometimes I just wish I could give you a hug.”

She never sent that letter. And when her dad wrote, his letters sometimes went into the trash, where she dumped cat litter on them. Other times she’d write, and he would not reply, later telling her he’d been busy.

Dennis committed his first murders at age 29. At age 29, Kerri became a mother, and suddenly she truly despised her dad. In 1974, he had killed two children. In 1977, he had strangled Shirley Vian while her six-year-old son watched through a keyhole. In 1986, he killed Vicki Wegerle as her two-year-old stood in a playpen. “Man hurt Mommy,” the child told police. Kerri stopped writing to her father and cut him out of her life.

Sue Parker, a therapist, treated Kerri for five months in 2007. Parker saw a woman with above-average intelligence, poise, and post-traumatic stress. (Kerri gave permission for Parker to be interviewed for this story.) Many factors determine how well people can recover. “It’s about the severity of the trauma and how long it goes on, but it also depends on the coping mechanisms the victims have … their support system, who they have around them,” Parker said.

Kerri had had good people around all her life, Parker thought. A loving husband. Church. Friends. And good parents. Not just Mom. Dad too.

Courtesy Kerri Rawson

The cops said Dennis Rader fancied himself a James Bond character with cover stories—Boy Scout volunteer, congregation president. But the BTK Killer had also been a good dad, Parker said. “Maybe it was all a cover story,” she added. “But if it was, it was a cover story that actually worked.”

While betrayed on a level only God can understand, Parker said, Kerri seemed healthy and strong when she left Parker’s care. After her daughter, Emilie, was born, Kerri clung to teachings about God’s love. But when a sermon on forgiveness was announced at church, she stayed away. She had a second child, Ian, in 2011, but her dad’s betrayals kept poisoning her life. When Emilie was five, she asked her mother where her grandfather was.

“In a long time-out,” Kerri replied.

Could Kerri see him? Emilie asked.

“It’s a really long time-out,” Kerri answered.

One day at church, Darian and Kerri listened to a woman describe being raped. She said she forgave not to help the rapist, but to lighten her own suffering. Kerri talked about that idea for days. In August 2012, she announced at church that her father was a serial killer and told her story. “I have not forgiven him,” she said. Marijo Swanson, a friend, talked to her. “If we choose not to forgive or not work at healing from the betrayal,” she told Kerri, “we continue to give the other person power to control us and our feelings.”

That fall, Kerri suffered a fracture in her tibia. She was laid up for weeks. Shortly afterward, forgiveness poured over her one day. She sobbed so hard while driving that she had to pull the car over. The anger was gone. In December, Kerri wrote to her dad for the first time in five years. She told him she would never forget his crimes or be at peace with them, but she was at peace with the man who had raised her. Then she wrote of her life and of the grandchildren he would never meet. “I don’t know if I will ever be able to make it for a visit but know that I love you and hope to see you in heaven someday.”

After that letter, Kerri changed. “Before she forgave him, she thought of herself as BTK’s daughter,” Darian said later. “But as soon as she forgave him, she was Kerri again.”

In February 2013, Kerri spoke at church. “[God] told me, ‘You have a dad problem; you have a trust and obedience problem. You trusted and obeyed your earthly father, and he hurt you, so now you’re holding out on me. Let’s fix that.’”

She said, “I told Him that ‘I love you.’ He said, ‘Then show me.’”

Courtesy Kerri Rawson

And so she had done it, she told them. She had forgiven him. She wrote again to her father, telling him once more that she forgave him. Her father was stunned. “Forgiveness is there between the lines,” he wrote in his rambling style. “She recalls all that we did as a family—many good memories, and that helps her make the day. That is true love from a daughter’s heart. What else can a father ask for.”

That was not the end to Kerri’s struggles. In September 2013, Stephen King said in a TV interview that he’d written a story inspired by the Rader family called “A Good Marriage,” about discovering a monster in the house. Furious, Kerri gave her own interview, lashing out at King. Among people giving her rave reviews: Dad.

“She reminds me of me,” he wrote to the Wichita Eagle. “Independence, fearless, uses the media. I was touch[ed] by it … People reading … will see we had a ‘good Family.’ Nothing to hide; Only me with my ‘Dark Secrets.’ Like she said, I was a good Dad, (but only did bad things).”

Memories came back to Kerri. In 1996, the Raders had lost a cousin to a car wreck and were losing a grandfather to illness. To comfort the family, her mom made manicotti, but the Raders got into a fight at dinner. “We had this old rickety table and someone—I don’t remember who—pounded on it, and the legs broke and all the dinner came crashing down … My dad was so angry at my brother, he put his hands around my brother’s neck and started to try to choke him. I can still picture it clearly, and I can see the intense anger in my dad’s face and eyes. Close to manic.”

For Kerri, life continued to be complicated. “I fight my dad sometimes in my dreams, never understanding who let him out of prison,” she said. “I’m always very fearful of him and very angry in my dreams. Sometimes I’m even fighting for my life or frantically trying to convince others of the truth.”

On a bitter morning in January 2015, Kerri is in Wichita. “Coming back here to Wichita is like stepping into enemy territory,” she says. She wonders whether people might recognize her, and she talks about forgiveness. “I feel bad for the 30 years of … bad things because of one man, my dad … I forgave him. But I didn’t do that for him,” she says. “I did it for me.”

She returns to her old block and points. “There’s my grandma’s house, and there’s where Mrs. Hedge lived … And here is where our house was.”

It is a vacant lot. The city razed the house to discourage gawkers. “To get to my grandma’s house, I had to walk past Mrs. Hedge’s house, and now [at age six] I was afraid. And the guy who killed her was living in our house.”

She shows where a tree house stood, built by her dad. She indicates with her arms how big his garden had been. “He turned my bedroom into a nursery for plants when I was three, and I’d sleep with my brother in the bunk bed. I was so annoyed with my dad. But now you realize that kept him out of trouble. He was trying to stop. So it was plants—or murder.”

She points to a depression in the grass: the grave of Patches, a pet dog long dead. The cops were so suspicious of the BTK Killer that they had dug up the dog’s remains to see whether BTK had buried any secrets with them. He had not.

But nothing about her life was spared, Kerri says. Not even the graves of long-dead dogs.

Next, find out the most notorious criminals in each state.

Original Source -> My Father Was the BTK Killer. Here’s Why I Managed to Forgive Him.

source https://www.seniorbrief.com/my-father-was-the-btk-killer-heres-why-i-managed-to-forgive-him/