#I have never met any 16-year-old who spent that much time either programming or hanging out in the woods who was not a pothead
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Would really love to hear about the angsty marcotobias fic if you're interested in sharing. 👀
Oh gosh, I feel like I'd have to actually write it for it to make sense because like 80% of it is subtext, but here's some rambling in that general direction.
I'm chiefly interested in the ways in which Marco & Tobias are actually incredibly similar -- their senses of humor, their attractions, their complete direspect for authority, and most importantly how they both lowkey hate themselves but insist on survival anyway, largely out of spite -- but how they treat their similarity as, like, a cautionary tale rather than the basis for a healthy connection that it could be.
Like, Tobias disappearing into the woods and giving up on everybody is exactly the kind of behavior that Marco finds incredibly triggering, having lived through it with his dad. Marco would never walk away from his remaining loved ones like that, especially in the post-war world where he's charged himself with being the public face of the Animorphs because somebody has to. But there is absolutely a part of him that wants to give up and disappear; ya boi is tired.
Meanwhile, I think Tobias sees Marco's devotion to Jake and refusal to abandon him even after how Rachel died (which Tobias blames Jake for) as a version of the hero worship complex Tobias used to have about Jake -- like, I think Tobias sees Marco as being too devoted to Jake to see "the truth" about him, and he pities that in Marco. But at the same time, Tobias envies Marco's close personal connections, and I think on some level he knows that the only way to get to that place would be to work through his anger at Jake to get to his anger at Rachel, and he just can't bring himself to do that. It's easier to stay mad.
And then there's the question of Rachel herself, whom they were both deeply invested in trying to keep alive at the end of the war. Like, we see this explicitly from Tobias, with his "just be Rachel" and constant emotional check-ins with her, but I don't think Marco gets enough credit for his active role in keeping her literally alive. Dude bodily removed her from battles, at risk to his own life, and I just refuse to believe that's not something Marco & Tobias talked about, given how much time they spent together in Ax's scoop during that period of time between Marco's fake death & the move to the valley. Rachel is both a mutual love and a mutual failure for them (and that level of mutual devotion to a third person gives my polyamorous ass A Lot of Feelings).
Basically I think there's a lot of respect and love between Tobias and Marco, but they can't get to it because it would require each of them to deal with Rachel-related guilt and confront parts of themselves that they don't want to acknowledge.
...so I want to get them high on Marco's fancy penthouse balcony and make them kiss about it
#when I say “their attractions” I mean both of them are in love with both Rachel & Jake because they are Berenson-sexual#also I cannot be the only person who headcanons that The Scoop Boys were weed smokers#like maybe when it was just Ax & Tobias they were more straight edge but as soon as Marco was living there they were lighting up guaranteed#I have never met any 16-year-old who spent that much time either programming or hanging out in the woods who was not a pothead#I bet they were all absolutely high af when they hacked the CIA#I bet Marco used CIA employee credit cards to order pizza while Tobias and Ax giggled and shushed each other in the background#I also have a lot of Feelings about the role that Marco plays in helping Tobias rescue Loren in 49#like there's this line where Marco says that Jake sent him & Ax to check on Tobias & I Do Not Believe It#Jake was losing his shit over his family at the time; he just let Tobias fly off alone & he spends the whole next book abdicating leadershi#Jake did not so much as consider the possibility that Tobias would stage a solo rescue mission; meanwhile Marco was fully expecting it#Marco absolutely took his own initiative in rallying Ax to help Tobias & then credited Jake for it because he didn't want to be Seen Caring#I also have like 10% of a fic about this btw but it's mostly centered on Jake#animorphs meta#animorphs#tobias animorphs#marco animorphs#marcotobias
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Eroding
Summary: Takes place in Lost Light #16 - #18. Wing's time in the "Afterspark" almost feels like paradise. Eventually it only leads to his desolation as he realises where he truly is.
Warnings: Major Character Death, Wing does not get a break :(
Word Count: 2000
Wing wakes up somewhere he’s never been before. The last thing he remembers was the cramped space of the ever shrinking ship, Skip, holding Cyclonus back as tensions rose to the boiling point and suddenly there were alerts of having to bail out of the ship to avoid being crushed. He died. He and his whole crew died. He steps out onto the balcony and he cannot believe his optics. There stands a gigantic Matrix of Leadership up in the sky, but he doesn’t smile. He frowns instead as he recognises exactly where this place is. His past keeps coming back to haunt him.
Wing is with Brainstorm, Nautica and Nightbeat during this. He finds them examining one of the slabs and they wave him over, knowing he was part of the Circle of Light. It leaves a sick feeling in his tank as he looks at the scrawling on the stone slab. He’s the one to explain his suspicions that they’re in the Afterspark after piecing together the events that happened. But Wing is skeptical. His relationship with faith still was healing, the cracks of it still never fully fixed. He knew that it was fragile and easily broken. So he didn’t go into this with fully believing this was in fact the Afterspark. But then the thought hits his mind. And he transforms into his jet form without a word, leaving Brainstorm, Nautica and Nightbeat to their own devices.
He flies relentlessly, scanning, searching for him. And when he sees the tell tale sign of white paint and long pointed finials does he land. It’s Drift. Sitting there in a kneeling position. Wing doesn’t move for a while. He’s frozen to his spot as he stares at him from behind. There from in front of him is Drift’s voice. Clear as day.
“Are you going to just stand there or don’t you want to see my face?” Drift asks. And in that moment Wing rushes in and tackles Drift to the ground in a hug. Years and years of pent up grief, sorrow and longing pour out of Wing as he sobs in Drift’s grasp. It takes a bit for Wing to gather himself but Drift takes his servos and pulls him up, the two walking. “What happened after I died,” Drift asks. There’s a hitch in Wing’s breath and a falter in his step as he recalls.
“I pretty much died with you that day, Drift,” Wing then starts. “New Crystal City… no longer was the utopia I saw it to be. Everything was just… grey and lifeless. I lost myself when you died that day, Drift,” Wing says. “I changed for the worse,” he confesses. “That annoyingly optimistic Wing you met… died the day you sacrificed yourself. For me.”
“I don’t regret it, you know,” Drift says. “I couldn’t stand to see you die, especially because of the mistakes I made. I think it would have eaten at me if you died because of me.”
“Then that makes two of us,” Wing laughs weakly. He can’t believe what’s happening right now. Drift’s beside him. ...It doesn’t feel right. Maybe it’s because he’s spent so much time with Ratchet or away from New Crystal City, but this doesn’t exactly reignite his faith in Primus or anything. It only feels worse when Drift says something that doesn’t feel characteristic of him. It’s only something that Wing’s heard in his dreams if anything.
“I waited for you, you know,” Drift then says. “I didn’t want to ascend without seeing you again.”
“We don’t have to,” Wing says this time. “We can just stay here and make up for lost time.” Drift frowns.
“You don’t want to ascend? I thought that’s what the Circle of Light had taught you.”
“Drift, I’m no longer a part of the Circle of Light,” Wing says. “I told you I died with you that day. My faith was shattered that day.” And Wing sees Drift flicker just for a moment.
“But you’re my sparkmate,” Drift says, almost hurt from what Wing said earlier. Wing lets go of Drift’s servos as the realisation sets in.
That realisation is cut short as he’s zapped from where he is and he reappears in a dark room surrounded by familiar figures he’d seen in readings and back in New Crystal City. He sees Rodimus is in the room with him. At this moment though, it’s just Wing and the Guiding Hand. He cuts Rodimus off before he can say anything. “No,” Wing says. Only a second later do Magnus and Ratchet appear. Wing steps back in disbelief as rage fills his very core. “You’re not real,” he says out loud in defiance. His already fragile relationship with faith is shattered once again. The image of the Guiding Hand flickers. “This is just some kind of sick joke, isn’t it,” Wing then says. “That wasn’t Drift down there. Was it,” he then asks. The image flickers again and warps before the four are dropped onto the ground.
“What just happened?” Rodimus asks. Wing stands up slowly, fists balled up tight as he shakes with a quiet rage that makes any question Rodimus has immediately go away.
It’s all been a ruse, a trick and Wing fell right into it. That wasn’t Drift earlier. And the revelation of that leaves him devastated.
“Come on,” Wing says after a moment. “We need to figure out what this place is before anyone gets hurt.”
“Can you see that, Wing?” Ratchet then asks, knowing that Wing is the only one within the group right now who’s seen through all this. “‘We are all trapped light.’ I’m sure I’ve heard that phrase before...”
“I see it,” Wing replies.
“I’ve got no idea what you’re talking about,” Rodimus replies.
“It’s not there,” Magnus says. “There’s nothing there,” he says as he looks up at the temple entrance.
Rodimus, Ultra Magnus and Ratchet enter the temple with Wing and they walk further into the halls until they see a door. The letters W-0 are painted on and Ratchet points at it.
“I suppose you can’t see this either?” Ratchet asks both Rodimus and Magnus.
“See what?” Rodimus replies.
“That. The letter W, the number zero.”
There’s a glass pillar in the centre with green electrical energy bouncing within the walls. Surrounding it are organic looking beings on slabs essentially hooked up to this pillar.
“Some kind of lab?” Magnus asks.
“More like a hospital...” Ratchet responds.
“W for ward, then,” Magnus says.
“Ward zero,” Rodimus adds.
The four converse for a bit before Wing hushes everyone. The beings on the slabs are speaking in their own languages.
“Prepare, confront, repel… they’re all saying that,” Magnus says.
“And before you ask, no chanting is not normal,” Ratchet adds.
“Ok, then, question two,” Rodimus starts. Wing immediately draws his swords. ”When does a chant become a summons?”
There’s the sound of rumbling and the room is suddenly filled with four stone golems.
“How do we get ourselves into these situations?” Ratchet asks in exasperation. “And more to the point, how do we get out of them?”
“You’re not going to believe this, but I know these guys,” Rodimus then says.
“Old friends, right? Please say they’re old friends,” Ratchet sighs. One of the golems punches Rodimus.
“To be fair, that’s not conclusive proof either way,” Magnus adds. The four manage to dispatch the stone golems fairly easily, Wing slicing through one of them with his swords and immediately kicking one towards Magnus to finish off.
“I have to say, last time we met, they put up more of a fight,” Rodimus says as he deals the finishing blow.
“Not that you’re complaining,” Magnus says.
“Not that I’m complaining,” Rodimus agrees.
During this time Wing hasn’t said anything. He’s still stewing in his anger from earlier and while Ratchet converses with Magnus to figure out what exactly this is and how to disable it, Wing takes a chair and throws it through the glass chamber. There’s a bright light that is almost overwhelming to the four of them until the light subsides, leaving them in a more modern medical setting. Before Magnus can scold Wing for his abrupt action, Rodimus places a servos on Magnus’ arm as if to tell him this wasn’t the time. So instead he turns towards Ratchet as he explains where they are. And what this place truly was.
When Rodimus gets to the part of where the program used their innermost desires and projected that, Wing feels even sicker than before. And then the hollowness comes back much much worse than Wing ever imagined. He snaps out of it when he hears Magnus.
“I’ll let the others know. Whirl? Are Trailcutter and Pipes still there? Because if they are, they won’t be for much longer I need you to -” Magnus pauses. “This isn’t the Afterspark, the dead haven’t come back to life and don’t ever call me Chunky.” There’s a response. “They probably think they are real. Which is why you have to tell them the truth - before they disappear like the Matrix. If anyone wants to say their goodbyes… They haven’t got much time-” Wing doesn’t hear the rest of what Magnus has to say before he races out of the room and stands outside, trying to let his mind be willing just one last time.
And Drift’s in front of him once again. But Wing can see the illusion already fading away slowly.
“I just need to tell you this. Any semblance of you, I don’t care if you’re fake,” Wing starts. “But I love you. I always loved you from the moment you told me why you joined the Decepticons, I loved you. I just wish I had the chance to tell you when you were alive.” He takes Drift’s servos into his and then embraces him for one last time. “I love you,” he breathes. And he’s gone.
And Wing collapses to his knees, hangs his helm low as he grits his dermas, optics shut tight as he cries again. He gets back up and goes back into the ward. He sees Nautica’s in there this time and sees a familiar greyed out mech in the arms of someone he hasn’t seen before. But that mech. His optics dim as his spark feels like it’s about to give out with the amount of grief that washes over him.
“Axe?” Wing calls out.
“I’m sorry, Wing - if I’d known he was a friend, I wouldn’t have, you know, used him to make an entrance,” Nautica says apologetically. Wing doesn’t reply as he takes his dear friend’s lifeless frame into his own arms. “I found him in a morgue downstairs - along with hundreds more like him.” Wing looks towards Nautica now.
“Did you see a mech that looked similar to me,” Wing asks sternly. He’s hoping desperately that Redline wasn’t among them too.
“Yes,” Nautica replies. “Wing. I. I think the entire Circle of Light was down there.” His spark feels like it’s about to give out again. He immediately begins to look around in Axe’s compartment and everyone shoots him a look of disgust and confusion. “What are you doing?!” Nautica asks. Wing ignores everyone’s protest and finds the thing he’s looking for, an old miniature datapad. When he looks at it, the words that Wing wrote so long ago hit him like a train.
Don’t look for me.
The datapad clatters to the floor. He doesn’t feel real right now. Today has just been blow after blow after blow and Wing thought he could fight against it and stay strong. But his will is so weak. And he feels it about to happen.
“I can’t do this anymore,” Wing breathes. It gives out. Everything in him shuts down and he collapses to the floor. He can’t hear the frantic panic of everyone. He doesn’t hear Rodimus and Ratchet’s panicked voices.
WING! Wing! Wing, wake up, wake up. Wake UP, WING!
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We Grow Together (25)
Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Tessa Sullivan (OFC)
Chapter Summary: It’s just coffee with an old colleague... nothing to worry about...
Summary: Relationships can be tough, especially when one person is a recovering-from-being-brainwashed-and-tortured former assassin and the other is an overworked mutant scientist. But hey, every couple has their struggles. Right?
“Stop sulking,” she tells him, not even looking up from her computer screen.
“I’m not sulking.”
“James,” she chides, glancing up and seeing him leaning in the doorway of her office, arms tightly folded over his chest.
“I’m not sulking,” he repeats, unfolding his arms and striding in to take a seat on the old sofa in the corner.
“Fine.” She pushes away from her desk, flips her glasses up on top of her head, and leans back in her seat. “Then you’re brooding.” He shoots her an irritated glare. “Just say it. You’ll feel better if you do.”
“I’d feel better if you’d stay out of this.”
“What happened to thinking that me going on missions was hot?” she asks, rising and crossing the room to shut the door. She turns back to him and leans up against the closed door, wiggles her eyebrows playfully before saying, “With great power comes great sensuality.”
He shakes his head. “That’s not what this is. You can’t even use your powers out there.”
“I know,” she says quietly, moving to stand in front of him.
He looks up at her with tired, conflicted eyes. “If you do… if this guy finds out you’re a mutant…”
“I know,” she repeats, dropping her hands to his shoulders and giving him a small, playful shake. The corners of his mouth quirk up just a bit and he brings his hands to her hips. “Have I ever told you, you worry too much?” she teases, before lowering herself down to straddle his lap.
“No. Never,” he replies with a frown.
“I’m just having coffee with an old colleague,” she says, wrapping her arms around his neck and letting her fingers play in his hair. “There’s no need to worry.”
“Undercover operations are the hardest to monitor and the easiest to lose control of,” he tells her with authority as each of his thumbs begin to rub circles into her hips. Her knees squeeze his thighs a little tighter as she sidles further into him, and he finds himself fighting to maintain focus and not get lost in the warmth of her body or the scent of her honeysuckle shampoo. “This could be really dangerous. You can’t lose sight of that.”
“We’re meeting in a public place, an outdoor café,” she tries, her fingers moving to sweep some errant strands of hair back behind his ears.
“Which means anyone can see you. And I could lose sight of you in a second.”
“But you’re not the only who’ll be there.”
“I just don’t like it,” he says, the frown returning to his face as his gaze drops.
“Well, I don’t like that people are – or were – experimenting on mutants,” she says, suddenly stiffening next to him. “And honestly, this is something that I should be involved with. This is something that, like it or not, already involves me… and my family. You’re the one who pointed that out.”
“It’s not your job,” he says plainly.
She scoffs loudly. “I have a suit. That basically makes me a part-time Avenger. And besides… how would you feel if Steve kept you from anything Hydra related?”
His brow furrows deeply as he looks back up at her. “I don’t know. But it isn’t the same. Not really.”
“Babe,” she groans, leaning back a bit and staring down at him with a serious look. “I went to live at Xavier’s when I was 6 years old. I started training with the X-Men at 16. My first real mentor was a brilliant physician who was covered in bright blue fur.” She smiles when he raises a single, suspicious eyebrow. “I know it doesn’t seem like I… identify as a mutant. And maybe I don’t always. Because it’s hard. And scary. And… it can be easy to lose sight of who you really are when you spend so long in hiding.”
His face softens as he takes in her words. If there’s one thing that they truly have in common, it’s this. Both of them have been so many people over the years. Both of them have spent too much time hiding who they are from others… and from themselves. He reaches up and pets back her hair, running his thumb along her forehead. “You never talk about it,” he says softly. “You never talk about your time there, with them.”
She drops her gaze, her cheeks suddenly taking on a bright red blush. “Yeah. Well… it’s sort of complicated. But…” She looks back up and into his eyes. “I am a mutant. And that means more than just having the X-gene in my sequence. To me, that means more. I spent years immersed in the… culture. We have a different history from other humans. We’ve been abandoned, denied, demonized. You think this Hydra facility was the only place experimenting on us? I personally went on at least four missions to rescue mutants – people – who were held for testing or… training. I grew up learning about the secret missions of Nazis to root us out, activate us, tear us apart to see what makes us tick. I spent more nights than I can count listening to Logan’s stories about the Weapon X program, about the torture they put him through to turn him into the ultimate killing machine.”
He cocks his head and narrows his eyes at her. “Weapon X,” he repeats. “Why does that sound so familiar?”
She merely shrugs. “I heard rumors that SHIELD took it over in the 90s… maybe Hydra was involved with that too.” She lets out a long sigh and drops her forehead to his. “But see? That’s the thing. If we weren’t hated, we were ignored, forgotten. There are millions of us on this planet, but most people would say they’ve never met a mutant, maybe never even heard of them.” Pulling back a bit, she locks eyes with him. “No one ever cared enough to save us. No one ever cared enough to even see that we needed saving.”
“I care,” he tells her, cupping his hand over the back of her head.
She smiles a small, sad smile. “If I wasn’t here, if you and Steve and the other Avengers didn’t know me… I don’t know that any of you would care enough to look into this.”
“That’s not true,” he says, hurt breaking through his voice.
“History shows otherwise.” She places her hands on his shoulders and pushes back off of him. “Anyway, all of this is to say… I know what I’m getting into here. Probably better than the rest of you.”
He grabs her waist when she tries to shimmy off his lap, and he pulls her back down. “I just want you to be careful,” he tells her as he wraps his arms around her. She melts into him, resting her head on his chest. “You’re not trained for this… or if you were, well, you’re way out of practice.”
She lets out a small laugh before mumbling softly, “I’m not worried. I know who has my back.”
000
“I never did like this guy,” Clint utters through the coms as he watches Dr. Aaron Scofield dodge traffic on his way to the café down the block.
Tessa sits idly at a table on the patio, lined up perfectly to be in his view as well as Bucky’s from the other side of the quiet main street. “You never met him,” she says softly, masking the movement of her lips with a coffee cup.
“You really think I didn’t know everything about the scientists stationed in Minsk. I know why Genetech hired him.” He continues to peer through the Stark-manufactured sight device, snickering slightly when he sees the doctor stumble as he steps off a curb. “Klutz,” he snorts.
“Whatever.” Through the sight on his rifle, Bucky can actually make out Tessa’s dramatic eye roll. “I worked with him every day for almost a year,” she goes on. “And I can honestly tell you that he doesn’t have enough personality to be either liked or disliked.”
“Can you two relive the past some other time,” Natasha mutters. She sits just a few tables away, but Tessa can only hear her voice through the coms and even when looking directly at her, she can’t tell at all that the woman is speaking. Damn, she’s good. “He’s on your left,” she says simply.
“Dr. Sullivan?” the man asks as he approaches. He extends his hand and offers a meek smile, one almost hidden by his graying mustache. “It’s been a spell.”
She rises and accepts his handshake. “It has been, Dr. Scofield. Thank you for meeting me.” She drops back into her chair and waves her hand at the seat across from her… the seat where Bucky expressly told her to get him to sit so that he wouldn’t be blocked by any other patrons.
Instead, he chooses the seat right next to her, plopping down and folding in on himself, resting his elbows on his knees. “I was surprised to hear from you,” he says, his voice holding more enthusiasm than she’s ever heard from the man. “Though perhaps I shouldn’t be. I have heard stories about working for Stark Industries. I came up with a few gentlemen who worked for Howard Stark back in the day.” He leans back in his chair then, smug look taking over his face. “They left when the boy prodigy took over and started running the place into the ground.”
“Are we recording this?” Clint asks. “I want to play this back for Tony later.”
Tessa raises her eyebrows in surprise. “Really? Well, I guess he’s grown up some since then. Business is booming.”
“Tess,” Steve’s voice filters to her through the earpiece. “You’re not happy with your job, remember?”
“Pure luck, I imagine,” Dr. Scofield replies to her. “But if things are going so well…”
“Right,” she corrects with an awkward laugh. “No… well… I mean, business is great. I can’t complain about that. I just… I’m not getting to do the research that I want.” She shifts to the edge of her seat and crosses her legs toward him, leans forward to close off some of the distance between them. “I was thinking…” She smiles lightly, slowly swinging her hanging foot back and forth in an almost hypnotizing way. “The work we did together on the M-gene… attempting to clone it and activate it within certain tissues to spark cellular regeneration and growth… that’s the sort of thing I want to work on. That’s the type of work that could actually make a difference for people.”
“I’ll bet Tony Stark has you doing things like developing technology for cell resiliency that inhibits hangovers,” he says with a smirk.
She chuckles lightly, laying her palm on his knee. “That would be something he could sell,” she says with a crooked smile.
“You might wanna cool it on the flirting, doll,” Bucky mutters. “He’s starting to look a little spooked.”
“Poor guy’s probably only talked to three women his entire life,” Clint mocks. “And one was his mom.”
“I think she’s got this, guys,” Natasha says blankly.
“Well,” Scofield says, blushing as he pushes his giant glasses back up his nose. “Perhaps I should suggest it to him then. I wouldn’t mind making a small fortune.”
Tessa leans back in her chair, still letting her hanging foot draw lazy patterns in the air just inches from his shin. “I was hoping you might know of something,” she says, drawing out the final word.
“Work on the M-gene? No, nothing much has been done with it since Genetech went under. They held so many patents – ”
“What about the X-gene?” she asks expectantly. “I feel like I’ve been out of that world for so long now, that I don’t even know what people are up to these days.”
He straightens up and gives her a suspicious look. “Research on the X-gene is highly regulated,” he says stiffly.
“Yes, Dr. Scofield, I am aware of that. The M-gene, as well. It’s why we had to be carted of to Minsk to study it.”
“Yes, but… X-factor research is… less theoretical. It makes people nervous.”
“Not me,” she intones, holding eye contact with the man as she runs her tongue lightly over her bottom lip.
“Laying it on a little thick, there Doc?” Clint chuckles into the coms.
“Look,” she says, leaning forward once again and changing her tone to a more conspiratorial one. “I’m going to level with you.” The man nods once. “I shouldn’t know this… but I came across some information. I’ve been doing some work with the Avengers recently – ”
“What the hell,” Bucky hisses from his perch on a rooftop blocks away. “What are you doing?!”
She cringes at the near-shout in her ear, but goes on. “They came across some information, from several years ago, that ties you to some… studies.”
“Tessa,” Steve warns.
“Let her go,” Clint says, his voice suddenly serious. “She might have him.”
“They can’t…” Scofield sputters. “There’s nothing…”
She waves her hands in a calm down gesture. “No, no… they’re not doing anything about it. The experiments are all decades old. I just thought… even if you weren’t doing anything in this… field anymore, that you might know someone who is.”
His eyes go wide for a long moment as he moves from panic to curiosity to an odd sort of calm. “If that is what I think it is, then those studies were long ago abandoned.”
“Oh,” she says disappointedly.
“But…” He smiles wide and leans forward. “If you actually are interested… really interested, then I do have a fellow I could introduce you to.”
A genuine smile spreads across her face as she nods excitedly. “I assure you, Dr. Scofield, I am very interested.”
#Bucky Barnes#bucky barnes fanfiction#bucky barnes x ofc#bucky barnes x original female character#Bucky x original female character#bucky barnes x oc#marvel fanfic#avengers fanfiction#Supernova
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I wanna know about your ocs!! microscope, ufo aaand love note for both mia and rae (or the one you prefer)
Gladly! Sorry this took so long; I started it last night but then my husband spiked a fever and we had to run to urgent care for a COVID test and my ipad ate my reply while I was gone :P
Microscope: “Zoom in - describe the little, insignificant details about an OC” (I wasn’t sure if this meant physical or other, so I did one of each :)
Rae (MC):
Girl loves everything peanut - Reeses? Check. Peanut butter fudge? Check. If it doesn’t have peanuts, it’s not worth calling candy/dessert. Her favorite thing ever is a vanilla sundae with crushed Reeses cups, Reeses pieces, and peanut butter sauce on top. With sprinkles.
She also has strangely long and thin fingers, like good luck finding a department store ring to fit her that didn’t come out of the little girls’ department. The only places she’s found that sell rings she can wear is Hot Topic. She buys her rings off Etsy now.
Mia (OC):
Collects tarot cards, but doesn’t believe in them. She loves the art, the symbolism, and how cards can be completely different but mean the same thing. She loves how much work and thought goes into making a cohesive deck. She’s memorized all the meanings and can easily do readings, but she’s insistent that everyone winds up matching what they already think to the cards. Will go on long psychology-related rants about it.
Has really really long eyelashes - like, she wears contacts because her eyelashes kept smushing against her glasses and making it hard to blink. They’re super long but not super dark, so she’ll tint them up with mascara if she’s going somewhere special.
UFO: “Identity! What are some key identifying qualities or traits of your OC(s)? How do they identify in regards to gender/sexuality?
Rae
With regards to gender/sexuality, she’s a cis woman, pansexual, and a dedicated monogamist. She’s very big into the idea of finding a partner and dedicating her life to them.
Professionally, she’s studying to work in art restoration and conservation. She’s patient and serious when it’s time to work, which throws people off because her personal identity is that of a prankster and fun-loving social butterfly. She’s also a singer in a metal band, so her rebellious streak definitely forms a huge part of her identity.
In fact, she’s worried about actually making her way in the art world because restoration/conservation tends to be a conservative (ha ha) field and between her color-rotation hair, variety of tattoos, and foul mouth, she’s doubtful she’ll actually get a job.
The rest of her identity is what she struggles with - the rejected no-hoper foster kid, no family, no friends because who can keep friends when you change foster families and schools every 6 months? The casual abuse, the neglect, the (thankfully temporary) loss of her brother, the suicide attempt - all of it led her to a family that loved her, but you can’t make up for 16 years of awful that quickly.
Mia:
Gender/sexuality: Mia would kind of identify as a woman, but it doesn’t matter too much to her. She’s not sure she’d go so far as to say genderqueer or Demigirl, but she’s not really invested in gender. She feels more like a woman than anything else, but is “meh” on it. She looks damn good in a dress and she knows it, but she’s more comfortable in cargo pants and tank tops. She’s straight, but poly. She needs her partners to be her family, and not every partner has to be a romantic or sexual partner. She craves physical affection and hates being alone. Hanging around in a cuddle puddle watching a movie with one or more partners is ideal for her. And if her partners are also partners? Bliss.
Beyond that, she identifies as a maker. If she’s not straight-up relaxing or doing some other job for her House, she’s building, crafting, or creating. Her style of magic is non-ritualistic, and she’s capable of imbuing what she makes with intention and power. Some items might take her months or years to create, but goddamit the end result will be usable, powerful, and, preferably, aesthetically pleasing.
She’s studied psychology but never actually made it into being a therapist. She has the degree and a year working at a home for troubled kids, but Magic and Making got a hold of her that was far tighter - and allowed for travel, and meeting powerful and interesting people :)
She identifies as a bookworm when she has the time to read, and if she can’t read, she’ll listen to audiobooks while she makes stuff. Part of her love of psychology stems from her love of fiction - books taught her how to deal with the world, and she’ll analyze any kind of story for hours.
Love Note: Who likes who? Crushes? Relationships? Are they mutual or unrequited?
Rae:
Rae and Mammon get a hold of each other pretty fast and never let go. It’s a solid, mutual relationship based on affection, dumbassery, and sarcasm.
If Mammon wants to do something stupid, Rae will find a way to either make it work, or to make it REALLY FUCKING STUPID.
(If it’s going to be dangerous or super illegal, she’ll talk him out of it.)
If Rae wants to do something stupid, Mammon will 1000% ramp it up to ridiculous levels, to the point where it never happens because they’re cracking up like morons over the plan instead of executing the plan.
Then there are days and nights spent locked in one of their rooms just chilling and being together. There’s a quiet there that works.
Mammon also SUPER accidentally helped her find her brother again.
Mia:
Oh boy. Mia’s story is still very much in the works and is VERY VERY self-indulgent, romantically speaking. I’m actually kind of embarrassed, but the story makes me happy.
Married her childhood sweetheart at 18 because the college they were attending wouldn’t let them live together on campus, and you could only live off-campus as a freshman if you were married. They’d been inseparable since they were in kindergarten, so why tf not, right?
(Was still poly when with him, just more casual about partners besides him.)
Lasted a whole three more years. Found out husband had some (diluted, but present) Celestial blood. As he struggled to figure out what this meant, it opened the door to be essentially radicalized into bounty-hunting “rogue” witches and sorcerers. They weren’t happy by this point, and Mia bounced.
Wound up moving around cities for awhile. Has what SHOULD have been a one-night stand with a mysterious sorcerer she met in a bar when some asshole would take her “no” at face value.
He helps her unlock her suppressed magic; has to do a lot of research to figure out WTF to do with non-ritual-based magic. This takes time.
Before they know it, what should have been a one night stand or, at best, a friends with benefits relationship, has suddenly become like 5 years of her, him, and his favorite demon, Asmo, as a kind of poly triad.
But he’s doing shady Sorcerer Stuff behind her back, like an asshole, and gets pulled into the exchange program before they can sort it out.
Mia has a TEMPER, and that’s the final straw. She’s a “leave no survivors, salt the earth” kind of psycho when you push the wrong buttons, so she lights out and has to cut off Asmo too, because he’ll tell Sol where she is if she doesn’t.
Winds up in The Conclave, a sort of sanctuary for non-ritual-based magicians, where she uses her talent for Making Magical Stuff to help them with their defense and offense. War strategy stuff. They jokingly call her General.
Who else winds up there? Rae! (Where else is a human with little magical ability but access to Devildom go? Conclave’s been around for centuries; well, look, they have a lot of art that needs cleaning.....) Who does Rae bring? Mammon! Mammon, at some point, brings Satan because there’s info he needs that MIGHT be in their extensive, centuries-old library....
Which leads to Satan and Mia hanging out a lot, him doing a lot of reading aloud while she makes stuff, then discussions of the books. Which leads to dating.
Which leads to a reuniting with Asmo. And Sol.
And A WHOLE LOT OF DRAMATIC SELF-INDULGENT STUFF LATER, we’ve got a poly quad with some interesting ground rules.
*whew* That took a lot longer than I expected! I have no idea how to be concise :) Hope it wasn’t too boring!!
#obey me#obey me mammon#obey me shall we date#obey me satan#obey me Solomon#obey me asmodeus#obey me Mc#obey me mctober#obey me Mc ask meme#obey me swd#my own self indulgent nonsense
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Dearest O'Malley chapter 9
Chapter 9
Every time Natalie was talking about moving in with Nathan, she put in a lot of thought to attract the energy into making it come true. I hoped she would move in with Nathan because it would make us both happy. Then one day, she showed me pictures on file from her laptop. Natalie had a ton of pictures on her laptop. When the photos got to the letter "L", I spotted a white 2 door Lincoln parked in the driveway in the background of a neighborhood in which she used to live in 16 years ago before she moved to Durango. I realized there was something mighty familiar about that car...but where? I studied the photo really closely as I zoomed in on the image and I realized, it was Gonzo. After 20 years apart, I hadn't seen him since Impa went missing. There was more for me to know and I wondered if she knew Impa, my friend that went missing. As I viewed more of her pictures, I found the answer to my questions. She had images of Impa and what I saw, disturbed me. Impa sat dead in a pile of weeds with the motor still intact, but the fluids all gone. Footages of what was left of him gave me nightmares. There was stuff in the trunk that wasn't there before and the windows were missing. The seats inside were ruined. Impa's dead body in the photo was just there rotting in the weeds. I had a moment of silence for my friend, Impa. Natalie told me who owned te farm and there was a guy was a local was in really bad debt before his divorce. He cheated people that bought cars at a dealership and was caught. He had to pack up and leave town with three kids, abandoning his ranch and home behind. There was only 5 horses and a mule that were out in the field by themselves. She shared some horse pictures that I got to see. Natalie would visit, do homework from college class, and relax with the horses. The horses weren't starving or anything because they had grass to eat and water to drink. They were just fine. I had a lot of memories of Gonzo and Impa together hanging out with me. I remembered the weekends, the things we'd do and I remembered all the jokes Impa told us when we were sad or bored our of our hoods...all for once last time.
I was still thankful that I had Gonzo and Robin as friends. Although, Gonzo had never met Robin before and by looking at Natalie, felt sympathy for me on my loss. I admired her feelings and I could see that she had a heart for my friend. I was glad she got a picture of Impa so I could see and feel better about what happened to him. A little later on our way to get drinks, Natalie was telling us all that she would feel happier living with Nathan since she had enough of Durango and all the things that were going on like the time she quit a program she was sick of called "Community Connections" because her caretaker kept walking in her apartment without knocking and another example the transit changed her bus stop. I personally believed she would be much better if she moved back down and with Nathan so he wouldn't have to waste gallons of gasoline going to Durango. I had a prediction she would and maybe later in 2018.
Later that day while I was at the drive in at Taco Bell, I happened to pull up to an old two door Lincoln that was white. He looked into the rear view mirror and seemed to recognize me. He asked if it was me and I replied it was recognizing him almost right away. It was Gonzo. He and I talked while we waited for our order and the line was long enough for us to catch up on all the things that we were doing these days. It was great to see him and he asked me about Impa...if I ever saw him after he disappeared. I told him exactly what happened to Impa and about Natalie having those pictures. Gonzo couldn't believe it either and he felt sympathy for poor Impa. He was heartbroken to hear it. Gonzo asked me how I've been holding up and I replied that I was handling it in a not so good but I'd pull through.Then, that's when I knew, I had to ask the same. Gonzo told me he would need some time to cope with his feelings. Impa was a good friend to both of us. We now swapped addresses so we could write to each other or even visit when we wanted to hang out. Interestingly enough, Gonzo lived in the same neighborhood as Natalie's mother and it was only a few houses down. Gonzo's order was up and so we both said our see-you-later words and then He zoomed off.
Later that day, I ran into Robin (Mister Rockin' Robin Finns, as I like to call him) while I was on my way to Safeway and got caught in another conversation with him. I told him that I found out that I lost a close friend a long time ago since he lost his sister recently. It all happened in Taos in a tragic semi accident. I was telling it how I remembered it. Knowing Robin, it kind of over-sympathetic and cried so much that he wanted to hear more. He wasn't exactly a cowardly red engine either and it was difficult to scare him, but I got him interested this time. His cowardly grille took me back in time 1985. It was just after watching "John Carpender's Christine" at the drive thru for the fourth time. But when that time when "Beetle juice" came to theaters, he totally moistened himself just as bad as "Creature" or even "Zombie Lake" or "Biohazard". Gonzo was all shook up that it was Impa's idea to go out in the woods to smoke reefer to calm down. Gonzo was so scared that he actually turned pink. He looked like Barbie's pink Lincoln from an Elvis Persley movie production. But Robin was so distraught that he gave me his deep sympathy and he remembered watching "Biohazard" for the sixth time and it didn't get any better for him on how scary it was. He asked me if I ever needed anything like a talk about to make me feel better, just to go to see him.
When I finished telling him about the death of Impa, Robin bawled for an hour as he tried to get a hold of himself. When he did, he apologized for acting embarrassingly cathartic. Robin was over-sentimental that he took things too far. He's what I described as having actor's syndrome. Someone with too much emotion that needed to be put at work on a set. I almost fell asleep listening to Robin go on and on in a conversation. It was almost getting late. Finally, Robin was done talking to me and thankfully he needed to get home too. We simply said a short good-bye and we both needed to get home.
By the time I got home, it was already an hour passed 10 PM. I was tired from Robin wasting my time by talking for so long. Once that I was let in, I had a seat on the couch and dozed off. The very next morning, I wrestled Ol' Reliable to get a move on so Nathan could test drive him around the block, I had to tell him I spent most of the month taking Jan, Nathan, and Natalie to town every night and that it was his turn to be driven. That seemed to put a lid on it! So without any guff, fuss, or cuss, Ol' Reliable obeyed me. I was still the leader and as long as I was on the property, I had control.
When Ol' Reliable got home shortly around the block, I got a chance to read Randy's old books. The time was already 5:23 PM and Jan just got home from work. In about 30 minutes, she would be ready to get drinks and go do errands. Tonight was about Ol' Reliable and it was his turn to take the three to town. And as for me, I got to 5 of Randy's books that he kept in the bathroom. I really enjoyed the fantasy world of quests and knights as I stayed home to relax. It was quiet enough by the time I finished all of the books, I turned on the TV to the VELOCITY channel and I watched some TV. It was a nice evening that night and having a break from town has never looked this good.
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A Passionate Home Cook's Bright Mid-Century Modern Home
Welcome to My Life at Home, where we slow down for just a minute to share a glimpse into the lives of food lovers we'd love to get to know better. Kick off your shoes and get comfy!
When I first met Kevin Masse, I knew immediately he was my type of people. Seatmates at a dinner, we chatted each other's ears off all evening. Our shared love of good home cooking, mid-century modern design, and sweet furry pups had us reach near-BFF status by meal's end. As the head of integrated marketing and brand partnerships for Bake From Scratch magazine, Kevin has an unsurprisingly appetizing Instagram feed, but I quickly discovered this marketer-by-day was chock-full of talents that extend beyond the kitchen.
Turns out this self-professed "serial home cook" is a downright modern-day Renaissance man. Sure, he can whip up beautiful, impressive (but always doable) meals, but he's also a veteran marathon runner (10! PLUS an "ultra marathon"—that's 37.2 miles, people), a classically trained pianist, a yoga teacher-in-training, and a budding philanthropist.
(Catches breath.)
Most importantly, Kevin couldn't be a kinder, more down-to-earth person. Come join me in getting to know this devoted dog dad a little better...
HANA ASBRINK: Hi Kevin, please tell us about yourself.
KEVIN MASSE: I am, first and foremost, a marketer by profession. I spent more than 10 years working in brand strategy in New York City before going into the world of start-ups and working for a growing food media company, where I was in charge of community engagement. This year, however, I decided to leave my job behind and spend time exploring ways to bring purpose into my life. So far, it has been an incredible experience.
I started volunteering with an organization called Healing Meals Community Project, which delivers organic meals to families facing health crises. The meals are cooked by high school students during an after school program, with adult mentors in the kitchen. I have been mentoring these high schoolers for the past few months now, and I can honestly say, nothing has been more nourishing for my soul than being in the kitchen with these kids.
I have also spent much of the time this year in the kitchen, focusing on creating new recipes and learning more about bread baking. The next chapter that I am embarking on is yoga teacher training. This year, my husband and I committed to doing a 40-day yoga challenge through a local studio called The Yoga Shop. I have seen so much of my life transformed that I am now enrolled in a teacher training program that starts this month. What I love is that yoga and food are very intertwined. They both require practice, commitment, and time; and both nourish the soul and make you feel whole.
HA: How long have you lived in your current home? What do you like most about it?
KM: We bought our home almost three years ago. We wanted our dogs to have a backyard and we were ready for more space. We saw the house the day it went on the market and had an offer in just hours after. We love that it's just the right size for us (about 1,800 square feet), which is much bigger than any of our old New York City apartments. It also has an open floor plan, which is something that's harder to come by in older homes.
The entire house (kitchen included) was remodeled before we moved in, which was a huge plus because we loved the finishes they put in: white cabinets, quartz marble counters, marble backsplash. We also loved that the house is on one floor, which means we can look forward to growing older together here.
Kevin's kitchen is part of the home's open floor plan. Photo by Kevin Masse
HA: Tell us more about your cutie pups. How did they come into your lives and how do they make themselves at home?
KM: Our dogs are our children. We got our first dog, Huxley, a Brussels Griffon, when we lived in Manhattan and he quickly stole our hearts. To say that he changed our lives is an understatement. He loved living in the big city and had so many friends at the Washington Square Dog Park. He was (and still is) a social butterfly.
When we moved to Connecticut, we got him a brother—a legitimate brother, actually. Orwell, our second Brussels Griffon, is Huxley's half-brother (they share the same father). They love each other so much. They have run of the entire house when we are home and have beds in pretty much every room. They love being right next to us when we are on the couch, but also just lounging on their own in different parts of the house. When I am working, 9 out of 10 times, they are in the living room or bedroom, either in their beds or hanging out in their crates.
We'll be right here, 'kthanks. Photo by Kevin Masse
HA: Describe your decorating style. What are you influenced by?
KM: We are very mid-century and minimalist in our style. Both my husband and I appreciate the clean lines and proportions of mid-century furniture, and we were fortunate enough to purchase an original dining set from my grandparents' neighbor right before we moved to Connecticut. What I love about the pieces is that they are not only beautiful to look at, but also really ingenious in their design functionality. Our table sits at 48-inches round, but expands to more than 10 feet, which means we can have great dinner parties without having to occupy a gigantic dining room.
I would say our home is influenced heavily by our personal tastes, rather than any one particular designer. I’ve really focused on trying to find pieces for our home that we will have forever, and not just pieces that will get thrown away with the changing tides of decorative taste. I love the history that comes with the furniture and pieces we have started to collect. Each one brings a different story, but collectively, they tell the story of who we are and our home that we are making together.
Bright pops of color in the mid-century modern arm chair cushion pillows. Photo by Kevin Masse
HA: Where do you like to shop for your home?
KM: Here are just a few of my favorites:
Inspirational online sites: I love Horne, which is an online retailer that sells everything from furniture to lighting to kitchenware. It's great for inspiration. I could also spend hours on Etsy looking at different things, and often, can find amazing pieces for a fraction of the cost.
Kitchenware: I truly love going to Food52's Shop as I think they've done a really fantastic job finding products that help real home cooks without relying on the fluff of gimmicky tools. I know that if Food52 sells the product, it has likely been well-used in their test kitchens.
Lighting: Rejuvenation has incredible lighting and I love the mix of styles. They also have great sales so you can usually find what you are looking for at a pretty reasonable price.
Furniture: I love Blu Dot and have a lot of the furniture in my office. The styles are exactly what we love and the quality is really great, which is important to us.
Brick and mortar shops: Mud Australia is one of my favorite stores to visit. I have been collecting pieces over the years and love going into the shops any chance I can get. I love the aesthetic of the stores, and even purchased a Vitsoe Shelving System for my home, based on how much I loved them in the Mud Australia shops.
Vitsoe shelving on display in the office, along with Huxley and Orwell. Photo by Julie Bidwell
HA: Something you hate-to-love or love-to-hate about your home?
KM: Our house has popcorn ceilings and I really wanted to have them all removed before we moved in, but it never happened. I have grown to not notice them, but still really want to have it all removed and redone. It is a VERY expensive project and all of the rooms have them!
HA: Do you have a favorite corner or nook of your home?
KM: The one project we undertook a few months after moving in was the removal of a broom closet at the end of our kitchen. When we moved into the house, it came to my attention that our cabinets were mounted at 16 inches above the counter, rather than the standard 18 inches, which meant many of our countertop appliances, including our coffee maker, did not fit under the cabinets.
That became the impetus to take out the closet and in doing so, it turned out that the closet was exactly the width of a built-in wine refrigerator. We converted the closet to become our bar/coffee station, and it was one of the best things we’ve done. Now we have a place to pour our coffee in the morning and mix our cocktails in the evening, genuinely multipurpose.
We are so here for this clever coffee/bar nook. Photo by Kevin Masse
I also really love our dining room. Of course, there is the furniture, which makes me happy every time I see it, but we recently hung wallpaper from Hygge and West and it has made all the difference in the world. The birds add just the right focal point to the heart of our home.
An accent wall anchors the dining area. Photo by Kevin Masse
HA: If your walls could talk, what would they say?
KM: “Who’s Alexa and why are you always talking to her?”
HA: How often are you cooking? Is your husband Michael a cook?
KM: On most weeknights, you will find me in the kitchen. The kitchen is where I spend most of my time and I could not be happier about it. I do some form of cooking every day of the week; I cook dinner for us about six nights a week. We’ve been trying to limit our dining out in the new year and focus more on being home at night with the dogs. We’ve also been going through a really rigorous yoga program, which has really driven us to focus on being more thoughtful with our food choices. While Michael does not normally cook, he did make a really fantastic quiche back in January.
HA: Are you guys entertaining often?
KM: We entertain at least once a week. My favorite way to entertain is low fuss and low stress. I love inviting friends over last minute when I realize I have enough to feed more than the two of us at home. I like to cook for our guests just as I would for us on a typical weeknight. I think when the food is unfussy and honest, it creates the best experience for those you have over. I think if people want fancy or fussy, they'll just go out to a restaurant. I want people to feel like they are home when they are here.
Hi Kevin, we'll be right right over.
HA: Do you have a signature drink or dinner party fare?
KM: I love roasting chickens for dinner parties, especially during the cold winter months. People are often intimidated by roasting whole chickens, but with just a little pre-planning and a good dry brine, you can create an incredible and easy dinner party that guests just go crazy for. I love spatchcocking the birds and two chickens will usually feed six people. Roast some vegetables to go with it and you’ll have a really happy crowd.
HA: What is your ultimate comfort food?
KM: Pizza is my ultimate comfort food and I love making it at home. I have really gotten into sourdough and have been making pizza with a sourdough crust. I bake it at 550°F on my baking steel and get restaurant-quality results with minimal effort. I also love that pizza is easy enough to make on a weeknight, and if I don’t have time to make the dough, I go with store-bought and let it rest before working with it; it works like a charm every time.
Pizza and roast chicken (spatchcocked or whole) make the world a better place. Photo by Kevin Masse
HA: What do you always keep in your fridge?
KM: Each week, I take out a few jars of homemade stock that I keep in the fridge. I use these during the week to add depth to recipes without having to take all day to cook something. Stock is so much easier than what most people think. I freeze all the ends of my vegetables when I am prepping (onions, carrots, celery, herbs) and also freeze chicken carcasses.
I also amp up my cooking with good condiments like harissa, tomato paste, and crushed Calabrian chili peppers. I also lean heavily on things like Greek yogurt, buttermilk, parsley, and cilantro. (Tip: I keep my cilantro and parsley, washed, in Ball jars in the fridge and they can keep for anywhere up to two weeks!) These key ingredients function as the backbone of my cooking.
Open sesame! Photo by Kevin Masse
HA: What are your top three kitchen tools?
KM: The ones I turn to again and again:
Huge cutting board: I cannot stress enough how important it is to have a big, heavy, top-quality cutting board. It allows you to prep a lot of things at once and not have to work on a teeny tiny space. My cutting board weighs approximately 15 pounds and sits on my counter all the time.
Chef's knife: My Miyabi chef's knife is a powerful and beautiful piece of equipment to work with and makes prep a breeze. I sharpen it myself with a wet stone and can work with it for hours without feeling fatigued.
Enameled cast-iron Dutch oven: I have a small collection of Dutch ovens in various sizes and these get used almost daily in my kitchen. I cook on induction, which has been a game changer for me and I love that cast iron works on such a modern technology. The Dutch ovens are incredible because they heat really evenly, retain the heat very well, and can go from stovetop to oven to table all in one shot.
HA: What is your favorite way to unwind after a long week?
KM: Baking bread is my favorite way to relax after a long week. I love the methodical, slow nature of the process and knowing that with only a few ingredients, you can get something so incredible and rewarding. Not to mention, it makes the house smell really incredible while they're in the oven.
Look at those ears. Photo by Kevin Masse
HA: What's on your playlist right now?
KM: “Hey Alexa, play Brahms on Spotify.” I love all different kinds of music, but 90 percent of the time I am listening to classical. I love the Romantic composers: Brahms, Chopin, Schumann, Liszt, etc. I love that each time I hear a classical piece, no matter how many times I've heard it before, I can pick out something new, like a new line or note that I did not notice before.
I was classically trained on the piano for nearly 20 years and I think this has had a big influence on my musical tastes. However, I do love all types of music and have a real soft spot for Neko Case, Lana Del Rey, Florence and the Machine, and Mumford & Sons—music that feels like music, if that makes sense.
HA: Do you have a favorite Food52 recipe?
KM: The Genius Nekisia Davis Olive Oil and Maple Granola Granola, hands down. I have made this recipe with some variations for years now and each and every time I make it, it comes out incredible. It hits on all the right notes for me: sweet (but not overly so), crunchy, and salty. I have to be careful not to eat too much of it!
This interview has been edited and condensed for clarity.
Another Genius Granola Recipe
What do you love most about Kevin's home? Let us know below!
Source: https://food52.com/blog/23889-my-life-at-home-kevin-masse
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11-Year-Old Has Spent Her Life in Jail, a Serial Killer as a Cellmate
By Rod Nordland, NY Times, Dec. 3, 2017
JALALABAD, Afghanistan--Meena got chickenpox, measles and the mumps in prison. She was born there, nursed there and weaned there. Now 11 years old, she has spent her entire life in prison and will probably spend the rest of her childhood there as well.
The girl has never committed a crime, but her mother, Shirin Gul, is a convicted serial killer serving a life sentence, and under Afghan prison policy she can keep her daughter with her until she turns 18.
Meena was even conceived in prison, and has never been out, not even for a brief visit. She has never seen a television set, she said, and has no idea what the world outside the walls looks like.
Her plight is extreme, but not unique. In the women’s wing of the Nangarhar provincial prison here, she is one of 36 children jailed with their mothers, among 42 women in all. But none of the other children have spent such a long time in custody; most of their mothers’ sentences are much shorter.
Locking up small children with their mothers is a common practice in Afghanistan, especially when there are no other close relatives, or fathers are absent or estranged. Child advocates estimate that there are hundreds of imprisoned Afghan children whose only crime is having a convicted mother.
There is a program that runs orphanages for children whose mothers are imprisoned, but the women have to agree to let their sons and daughters be taken, and the program does not cover many areas of Afghanistan, including Jalalabad.
At Meena’s prison, the women’s cells are arranged around a spacious courtyard, shaded by mulberry trees, and the children have free rein of it. There is a set of rusting, homemade swings, monkey bars and slides that end in muddy puddles.
A schoolroom is in one of the cells, with a white board and a mixture of benches and chairs, seating 16 children at eight desks. A single teacher looks after three grades, first through third, an hour a day for each grade; at age 11, Meena has reached only the second grade.
When I met with Meena, she sat down, clutching a yellow plastic bag under her shawl. “My whole life has passed in this prison,” she said, during a tense interview in the women’s wing last month. “Yes, I wish I could go out. I want to leave here and live outside with my mother, but I won’t leave here without her.”
Meena was soft-spoken, composed and well-mannered, with a cherubic round face framed by a modestly drawn hijab. Her mother was chain-smoking, brash and outspoken, tattooed in a country where tattoos are considered irreligious, her head scarf askew to reveal henna-streaked hair.
“How do you think she feels?” Ms. Gul said, impatient at what she derided as stupid questions. “It’s a prison, how should she feel? A prison is a prison, even if it’s heaven.”
A question about why Ms. Gul would not let her daughter leave infuriated the mother even more. She launched into a diatribe against the Afghan president. “You, Mr. America, tell that blind man Ashraf Ghani, your puppet, your slave, tell him to get me out of here,” she said. “I didn’t commit any crime. My only fault is that I cooked food for my husband who committed a crime.”
The man she calls her husband, Rahmatullah (they were never legally married), was convicted along with her son, her brother-in-law, an uncle and a nephew for their role in the murders and robberies of 27 Afghan men in 2001 to 2004. Afghan prosecutors said Ms. Gul was the ringleader.
Working as a prostitute, Ms. Gul brought home her customers, many of them taxi drivers, and served them drugged kebabs, after which her family members robbed, killed and then buried them in the yards of two family homes.
All six were sentenced to death, and the five men were hanged. Ms. Gul, however, got pregnant while on death row, so her own hanging was delayed. After she gave birth to Meena, her sentence was commuted to life in prison by the president at the time, Hamid Karzai, according to Lt. Col. Mohammad Asif, the head of the women’s cellblock here.
Ms. Gul first claimed that she had never confessed to the crimes, then said she had been tortured into confessing to them. Frustrated, she made clawing gestures across a table and hissed, “I’ll kill you. I’m going to come over there and take out your eyes.”
Meena touched her lightly on the shoulder to try to calm her down, put a forefinger to her lips and said, “Shh.” Her mother subsided, briefly.
The girl was still holding the yellow plastic bag; inside was a bundle wrapped in a carefully folded red and white kitchen towel.
“What’s in there, Meena?” I asked.
“Pictures of my father.”
She proudly unwrapped them to show them off. Meena and her mother rarely get visits, and never from family members or friends, all of whom are either dead or estranged. Part of the reason Meena is still behind bars is that she has no surviving relatives who would take her, even if her mother allowed it.
Or as Ms. Gul explained it: “I have many enemies. I wouldn’t trust anyone to take Meena outside.”
The photos were of Rahmatullah, whom Meena calls her father: portraits, snapshots on holiday, pictures of him with Ms. Gul.
Rahmatullah (who like many Afghans had only one name) was also convicted of killing Ms. Gul’s legal husband, a police colonel, when Ms. Gul and Rahmatullah were having an affair. The colonel’s body was among those found buried in the yards of the family homes in 2004. Rahmatullah was also a convicted pedophile and thief and reputedly a former Taliban commander.
What he almost certainly was not, however, was Meena’s biological father; the dates do not fit. He was already in jail when he implicated Ms. Gul in the murders, and they were in different prisons in different cities at the time of Meena’s conception. Afghan officials said that an unknown prison officer was Meena’s birth father, and officials accused Ms. Gul of deliberately getting pregnant to avoid the gallows.
Meena went through the photographs one after another, lingering over some, including two of Rahmatullah dead, after his hanging, in a burial shroud but with his face visible; it was not a pretty sight.
In a 2015 interview with The New York Times, Ms. Gul admitted that she and Rahmatullah had killed her husband together.
She denied it when I spoke to her. “It was all Rahmatullah’s fault,” Ms. Gul said. “I would not be here if it wasn’t for him. They should execute me, then Meena would have cried for one day, and it would be over. Instead I am crying every day; it’s a slow death, dying all the time.”
In her calmer moments, Ms. Gul had a simple, chilling message to convey: Meena deserves her freedom. But she won’t get it unless her mother does, too.
“Tell Ashraf Ghani that!” she demanded.
Children in jail is a scandal without an easy solution, advocates say. “When you didn’t commit a crime, you shouldn’t be punished for it, and those children did not commit any crimes,” said Bashir Ahmad Basharat, the director of the Child Protection Action Network, a quasi-governmental agency.
Keeping the children in prison is against both international norms and Afghan law, Mr. Basharat said, despite the practice being so widespread. “But it’s something where we don’t have other alternatives.”
The country’s approximately 30 women’s prisons have several hundred children accompanying their mothers, he said. The women’s wing at the Pul-e-Charkhi prison in Kabul now has 41 children who are younger than 5.
As Afghan prisons go, Nangarhar’s women’s facility appeared to be comparatively uncrowded and well maintained. The 36 children there on the day I visited ranged in age from three days to 11 years; Meena was the oldest.
The women and their children share 10 relatively large cells, with two double bunk beds each, so many of them sleep on mattresses on the floor. Only the compound as a whole was locked up, not the individual cells, so it did not appear prisonlike, aside from the huge steel gates to the outside and the coils of barbed wire atop two rows of surrounding double walls.
Meena sat through her mother’s tirades impassively, sometimes with a thin, sweet smile. She became more animated talking about her best friend, Salma, 10. She said their favorite pastime was playing with their dolls.
Meena said she and Salma created their own dolls, named Mursal and Shakila, out of bits of cloth and string. “Both of them are girls,” she said.
When it was time to say farewell, Meena shook hands with everyone politely, then went to the other end of the courtyard with Salma, arm in arm, still carrying her yellow plastic bag.
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