#I am so very thoroughly exhausted from the politics in this country and where things are going I just kinda need that no brainer gameplay

[llitchilitchi]

I get hating certain political systems and trying to abolish totalitarian regimes but at the same time many of them are so interwoven with our history and society they have become tropes and when I consume media with a setting where the monarchy is absolute and revered then I am playing my part and sucking that princeling off

[imagine-that-one-thing]

Her Majesty. || 6

♔♔♔

The Country Side.

I stand at the wooden fence, watching as a trainer is leading my horse, preparing it for some light exercise to keep her in excellent form. 

I rest my arms on the wooden fence and watch in awe as my horse gracefully leads around with the trainer on this early and rather a crisp morning. It is a nice change of weather to finally feel a bit of coldness after having such intense heat in the last few weeks. 

The palace has been hell since the horse races the other evening, Henry contrived to stir a lot of predicaments, particularly between my father and I. Somehow, the whole debacle with Henry was turned into being my fault. The media have been stationed outside the palace gates, waiting for some sort of story to mould, and online the media hasn’t exactly bestowed me any mercy. I definitely produced headlines, but not in the way my father had anticipated. My new budding romance has turned heads and now has the title of ‘The Monarch might be in the hands of an unsteady King and Queen.’ 

I haven’t heard from Henry since that evening, and I don’t want to hear from him. I am hoping that my Father manages to kick Henry to the curb and annihilates the tabloids and everything going on. But since my Father so graciously announced the relationship at the garden party and allowed our media team to release a story to the publishers, we are screwed until the media team can obtain a new story to leak. 

Being inside the palace with my father at this time is awful for everybody, even the staff are attempting to discover ways to hide out and keep away from him. He is on a warpath. Two people have been fired and my mother has had to overrule him and hire back the staff. 

I don’t understand why my father is so enraged, after all, he is the one who leaked stories to the press about me being away with a boyfriend in Hillsborough when he knew I was not. He went behind my back and painted a misleading picture for the media to dwell in, and now that his picture has streaks running through it, he wants to be deranged. He should have picked a better prince, or he should keep things out of the media. My relationships should be private. My life should be private, instead, my life is a matter of privileged information for anyone who works for the media.

I hear the rustling of grass and the sound of a few hushed coughs. I turn around to observe Harry wandering closer to me with a light jacket on. “I’m sorry, I know I am late,” Harry informs me as he is within distance for me to hear him. 

Harry is never late. It’s very rare for him to be late even if it is just to accompany me around the palace to make sure I’m guarded. 

I shake my head and grant him a smile, “It is okay,” I assure him, taking note of how dark his under eyes are and how his hair is a little slovenly but not in a bad way. “Are you okay?” 

Harry nods, “Just exhausted, I overslept.” Harry clears his throat, “I’m sorry, I’ll make up the time.” Harry has always been immaculate with time and on occasions he misses time, he makes up for it in overtime. It is like he never gets a break.

“You’re sick,” I point out the obvious.

Harry shakes his head, “I’m fine.” 

“You were out in the rain while holding my umbrella and —“ 

Harry cuts me off, “Anna, I’m okay, relax,” Harry assures me, “Just a little under the weather, not your fault.”… “So, I’m surprised to have found you here, has your horse sparked an interest?” Harry questions and I can’t help but chuckle and softly smile. 

I can’t deny the fact the horse has sparked an interest. I am more so out here to hide out from my father. I am doing everything possible to not cross paths with him. He is too busy to step outside the walls of the palace, so right now, watching my horse is my safe haven. 

“You ready to give it a chance, my darling?” 

I shake my head, “I don’t know how to ride and I’m … well... horses scare me.” 

Harry chuckles to himself and shakes his head at my comment, “I’ll teach you.” Harry responds. 

“You can handle horses and ride?” I question, unsure of where all of this is coming from. 

I have never once seen him ride a horse or get anywhere near the horses. Then again, what he does in his downtime I am not quite sure on. He doesn’t get much downtime so I just assumed he had no life outside of being my bodyguard, which is wholly ignorant of me. 

Harry nods his head, “I can do many things, Anna…”  Harry trails off with a cough, fighting to get his sentence out thoroughly. 

“You never told me you owned a horse or that you can ride.” 

Harry lifts his shoulders into a shrug, “You never asked. Would you like to ride, Anastasia?” Harry offers as he gestures towards the horse trainer. “Come on,” Harry encourages me as he begins to ascend over the wooden fence with such ease. 

Something tells me he grew up in the countryside. I’m sure he has mentioned it before but he hasn’t discussed too much about his childhood. I’m starting to wonder if it had anything to do with horses. 

I step up and climb over the wooden fence just as the trainer brings Meadow to Harry. Harry smiles politely and takes the lead rope of the horse and begins to speak softly to the animal, his right hand petting its neck while he stands right in front of the horse with ease and confidence. “That’s a girl,” He praises her before he motions for me to move closer. “Come here, she won’t hurt you,” Harry encourages me, reaching out and tenderly taking my hand and drawing me closer to him. “Just speak softly and put the back of your hand close to her nose so she can smell you and get a sense of you,” Harry instructs and I do as he says. 

After a few moments, I benevolently pet Meadow, trying my best to overlook the fact that she’s a lot bigger than what I am and that at any given moment she can decide to run Harry and me over. 

There are a lot of what if circumstances. A horse has a mind of its own and there’s no telling how long a horse will be obedient for. 

I have witnessed people fall off horses, I have seen people being bucked off horses and I have noticed horses suddenly lose their mind due to the impromptu racket of a car backfiring. Anything can happen at any given time. 

“The saddle is right over there,” Harry gestures towards my mother's saddle, his voice raspy and hoarse, “I can saddle her up and I’ll walk her around.” 

I shake my head, but Harry grants me his sweet smile, “It will be okay, take a risk. You said you wanted to be normal, this is normal Anastasia.” Harry informs me before he leads my horse closer to the saddle and I walk beside Harry. 

♔

Harry places an arm around me and caresses a kiss to the top of my head before he helps me get on the saddle. I take a breath and I glance down at him as he praises the horse for standing still. He looks up at me, “Just breathe, sweetheart.” Harry instructs. 

“Harry—“ 

Harry cuts me off, well aware I’m close to panicking, “Hey, hey, breathe. I need you to breathe. I wouldn’t put you on this horse if I didn’t think she’d be fine.” Harry assures me. “Do you want me to help you off? I don’t want you to panic.”

“Promise you have her?” 

“I promise.” Harry nods before he begins to lead the horse around slowly while I get the feel of being in the saddle. 

When I was younger, this was usually as far as I could get, sitting in the saddle. Nobody could get me calm enough to be able to at least walk the horse around for me. While Harry leads me around, I can’t help but feel like a kid again. It was always nice to have my mother lead the horse while my Dad walked beside me with his hand on my back just in case. 

Harry reminds me of the small details when it comes to horse riding, reminding me of how to hold the reins properly, and whatnot. It is slowly coming back to me. “Harry?” 

“Yes, darling?” Harry stops walking and turns to look up at me. 

“Do you… Do you think that she would let me just walk?” 

“Without me leading? Yeah, she is a trained horse, would you like me to give you the reins fully?” Harry offers and I nod, “Are you sure?” Harry questions and I bite my lip, not entirely sure. I want to take a leap of faith and do something out of my comfort zone, but so much could go wrong. “I am not letting go unless you are one-hundred per cent sure.” 

“Maybe not right now,” I chuckle, “Bit ahead of myself.” 

“You know, you can always take lessons from the trainer.” Harry flicks his head to the trainer who is taking a small break and sitting on the fence. 

“What do I have you for then?” 

Harry lifts his shoulders, “Eh, you know, I am just here to take a bullet for you, no big deal,” Harry responds as he continues to walk the horse for me.

I smile to myself, noticing how the man beside me does so much for me outside his job description, he isn’t just a bodyguard or some other man. He is a genuine guy that loves me and does everything to show and prove his love to me, but somehow, it still isn’t enough for me to end the charade and the ridiculous narrative the royal family is creating. He may not have royal blood humming through his veins but he is the definition of a true prince. He doesn’t talk down to people, he doesn’t look at status, and always puts others before himself, especially me. He doesn’t think twice about helping others, and he would take a bullet for me without thinking twice, yet he isn’t deserving enough to marry someone like me— according to the list of royal rules. 

Everything happens all at once and seems like a blur as the sound of Henry shouting powerfully reverberates around us. 

“Give me back my horse, you thief!” Henry yells, catching me off guard and startling me. 

My horse reacts negatively, and Harry does his best to calm the horse but Henry’s yelling makes this nearly impossible. 

I hit the dirt and to my surprise, the horse doesn’t run off, she stands beside me as Harry lets go of the rope and rushes to my aid. I let out a heavy breath of pain and wince as I move in an attempt to get up. 

The one time I take a leap of faith and feel comfortable on a horse, it is ruined. 

“Don’t move, take deep breaths, Princess,” Harry instructs me. 

I take a few deep breaths, and my heart is racing with adrenaline. I glance towards Henry who has jumped the wooden railing and seems to be showing no mercy for what he has done. 

He is on a mission and doesn’t have any regard for anyone else or the safety of those around him.

I am not quite sure what his issue is, he left me at the Ascot and he is the one who gave me the horse, I didn’t steal her. I can afford my own horse and there are horses in the stable for me, I don’t understand his logic or need to be such an ass. 

The moment Henry endeavours to march closer, Harry reacts, “You come any closer to her or the horse, it’ll be the last thing you do.” Harry warns Henry instantly, his pistol pointing directly at Henry while Harry continues to stare at me, his free hand assisting me to sit up. 

I wince again, the unexpected impact still humming through me. I lean forward and rest my head on Harry’s chest and he caresses his left hand to rest on my back, rubbing comforting circles on it. There comes a time where the stern, stiff bodyguard drops his act and shows more emotion than usual. For a moment, I think about lifting my head off his chest and pulling away, fearful someone might get the wrong idea… Even though the wrong idea is quite right. Despite how things look, I don’t care. I want the comfort of Harry and the security of his touch. 

Harry glances towards Henry who stands still with his hands up in the air, the only smart thing he has done lately. I didn’t think things with Henry could get much worse, but I was clearly wrong. I thought he had done enough damage at the event, clearly not. My Father is going to lose his marbles when he catches wind of this. 

Moments later, we are swarmed by members of the security team and Matt takes control of Henry, enabling Harry to withdraw his pistol and put it back in its resting position. 

“It wasn’t the horse’s fault or yours,” I inform Harry, well aware that his heart is beating just as fast as my own, I can only assume he regrets settling me on the horse. It was just the wrong timing. 

Harry lets out a sigh of relief and extends away from me. He clasps his hands on either side of my shoulders, “Nothing is broken, where’s most your pain?” 

“Right here,” I run my hand up my side, “Just a bruise, I’m sure,” I assure Harry, not wanting to have to deal with the entire palace going crazy over what has happened. 

Nobody needs to fret over the Princess. 

I am tired of everyone fretting over me and treating me like I am going to break the second I fall. 

♔♔♔

Harry’s fretting, his mind is thinking of one-hundred different things and debating whether to increase security or to call for a doctor, he hasn’t moved from his position in the chair since I dozed off a little while ago. His fingers are tapping against his knee with his head bowed in defeat. This man never seems to stop worrying about me, even when there is nothing wrong, he still finds something. I am alive, I am fine and yet, here he is, fretting in the chair instead of getting in bed with me. 

“How long are you going to sit there?” I distract Harry and he lifts his head. 

He runs his fingers through his hair, “You should be asleep.”

“As should you,” I respond. 

Harry nods his head and lets out a heavy sigh before standing to his feet and making his way closer to my bed. Harry sits on the edge of my bed and he brushes a few stray hairs away from my face, “It is two in the morning, your eyes are laced with pain, let me call you a doctor.”

I shake my head, refusing to allow him to bother the doctor. There is absolutely no need. This is not a life or death situation. “Harry, I’m just bruised, can we talk?” 

“About?” 

I carefully sit up and rest against the pillows and the headboard, “I’ve realised I don’t know much about your past, where you grew up and stuff. I don’t even know what you do in your downtime.” 

“Anna, you need to sleep. I need to know you’re rested before I leave.” 

“Before you leave?” I question with a raised brow. 

Where is he going? Is he leaving permanently? 

“Matthew has given me a few days off because I’m under the weather and because of Henry.” 

I grow quiet for a moment, unsure of what to say. Harry having a few days off is highly rare. 

Is it because of me? 

Why is he leaving because of Henry?

“Where are you going?” I curiously inquire.

Harry smiles tiredly, “Back home where I’m originally from, the countryside.” 

“Sounds lovely, can I come?” I challenge, forgetting my manners. 

I can’t just invite myself to his hometown. That’s rude, but I’d love to see where he’s from. I’d love to know more details about him, the small things he has failed to tell me. 

I want to see where he came from, what shaped him into the man he is. I want to meet his mother. Perhaps, his mother doesn’t know of me or wants to meet me. 

“You… You really want to come?” 

“Of course. Why wouldn’t I?”

Harry clears his throat, “Well, my mother’s house isn’t a palace and we live—,” Harry begins but stops himself. “I’d love to take you with me. Get some sleep and I’ll see what I can do by morning, okay?” 

“Really?” 

Harry nods his head, “Really.” Harry leans down and kisses my forehead, “Get some sleep.”

♔♔♔ 

I wake up as I hear the squeak of my door and I’m greeted by my mother's warm smile. She shuffles towards my windows and draws the curtains back just enough to concede some light to enter the bedroom. I’d much rather continue sleeping, but the royal duties don’t wait on me. “I’ve spoken to your father,” she promptly begins, turning around to face me as I sit up in the bed. 

“Is he still mad at me?” 

My mother shakes her head, “No, he’s mad at himself for allowing Henry near you. Mathew spoke to us this morning, we think it’s best you get away from the media and Henry. The ladies will pack your bags, just get dressed. The car is waiting.” She’s very straight to the point with this morning's agenda, forgetting to tell me of the royal duties I’m meant to take care of. 

Perhaps I’m off the hook for signing letters and reading mail for a day? 

♔♔♔

I sit patiently in the car, tapping my foot as I anxiously wait for the vehicle to start moving. Matthew doesn’t seem to be speaking; he seems occupied with his phone, probably handling last-minute security issues as a row of eight blacked-out SUVs are lined up. I know what he’s attempting to accomplish. If there are so many cars as we exit, the media won’t know which to follow nor will they know who is in each car, it’s a lot easier to lose unwanted followers this way. 

The other passenger door opens and Harry slides in, wasting no time with letting out a heavy sigh, “Everything is set, you can go ahead,” Harry informs Matthew who wastes no time with implementing the plan that has been devised. “Hey, Anna.” Harry leans over and kisses my cheek and Matthew begins to drive. 

“Hey.” I greet with a smile. “How did you pull this off?” I softly question. Within just a few hours, Harry has somehow managed to make my wishes come true. A two in the morning conversation seems to have worked in my favour, this is rare.

“Security wants to keep you safe, the publicist wants to keep you out of the media and do damage control, so we came up with a plan.” 

“That involves whisking me off to your home town?” 

Harry shakes his head, “We would do no such thing… We are taking you to a remote area that’s entirely safe where the media wouldn’t even think to look for you,” Harry winks. “Also known as my home town. You have the weekend to be normal, don’t make me regret this.” 

I grow quiet for a moment, the thought of being normal suddenly stroking me as scary. I don’t remember the last I left the palace without a strict routine set in place, I don’t remember being able to go somewhere where I could be normal. 

“Yes, don’t make me regret this, my ass is on the line. That means no falling off horses, no fainting, no speaking to strangers, nothing. I can’t stress this enough, one wrong move can send this to shit.” Matthew informs me, making it known that he is doing something that he shouldn’t be doing. 

I know this isn’t entirely protocol, they are doing me a favour to keep me happy but also to keep me safe. This is a win-win situation that I don’t stumble across very often.

“I understand.” 

“Anna, if you feel unwell or pain, you have to tell me. If you feel unsafe, you have to tell me. If something happens on my watch away from the palace, when your parents haven’t ordered this, I’m fucked.” Harry is stern with how he speaks, a clear indication he’s concerned. I don’t blame him for being stern but at the same time… What could possibly go wrong?

I don’t blame him. He has the life of the future Queen quite literally in his hands, this isn’t like the usual outings. I won’t be on Royal property; I won’t have the media around us or following us, I’ll be off the grid— I’ll be free. 

“I get it, Harry,” I nod my head, understanding his concern. “We will be like normal civilians.” 

Harry nods, “The best we can, yes.” … “I need to warn you, we don’t have palace staff at my mother's house, and I didn’t grow up in a castle.” 

“Harry, that’s perfectly fine. I’m not a stuck up Princess,” I mutter, unsure of why he seems to think I expect a palace life out in the countryside. I don’t want the palace life, I want normal.

Harry shakes his head, “I’m just making sure you know it’s a small house, nothing fancy.” 

♔♔♔

Harry’s pov. 

I have wanted to bring Anna to the countryside for quite a while, the idea of her meeting my family has played on my mind but I never thought we’d make it happen. We don’t have a typical relationship and she isn’t an ordinary girl. 

How does one bring home a future Queen? 

I take Anna’s bags and I give her a small smile as she looks at the house I grew up in. I know it’s far from Buckingham palace but it’s home to me. She wanted to know where I came from, this is it. 

“This is how the other half lives.” I grin, attempting to break the silence. I lean down and kiss her cheek before gesturing for us to walk up the cobbled pathway to the front door. 

Anastasia appears hesitant, she has this aspect in her eyes that I have seen before. She usually has this look when she’s meeting new people, especially those of high power or new royals. I place the bags down and I tenderly take Anna’s hand with mine, “You okay?” 

“Does— does she know who I am?” 

I know what she’s referring to. I know that her head is plausibly racing with one hundred different thoughts. Meeting your partner's parents isn't always easy, even if you are the future Queen of England. “You’re Anastasia, the girl I’m in love with, that’s what she knows,” I inform Anna with a reassuring smile. 

I don’t give Anastasia more time to panic, instead, I knock on the front door before I open it, taking Anna by surprise. I don’t think she has ever seen a front door unlocked, granted, I’m always having to unlock them for her and keep protocol. Once she enters this house though, all doors will be locked. 

I step into my mother's house and for the first time in quite a while, I feel a weight lift from my shoulders. There’s a sense of calmness and relaxation that washes over me and I couldn’t be more thankful to finally be home. 

Before I can call for my mother down the hallway, I observe her figure turn the corner and smile extensively at me, “Darling, finally. I was getting worried,” My mother hurries towards me and engulfs me in a hug before I can even put the bags down. 

“Hi, Mum,” I chuckle, “I missed you too,” I grin, appreciating her warm embrace, even if my arms are stuck to my side with heavy bags while she has her own arms wrapped around me. 

“It has been too long,” My mother lets me go, allowing me to breathe. 

I nod my head, agreeing with her, it has been quite a while since I have been home, “I have someone for you to meet, Mum, this is Anastasia. Before you engulf her in a hug, be careful she fell off a horse yesterday,” I inform my mother so she doesn’t wrap her arms tightly around Anna. I know my mother well, she is a hugger and sometimes they aren’t always soft hugs. 

“I am fine, Harry,” Anna murmurs, “It is really nice to meet you,” Anna beams towards my mother leaning in for a hug. 

“Likewise, I have heard a bit about you… Do I need to... Uhm… curtsey?” My mother asks Anna. 

“No,” Anastasia shakes her head, “I am just Anastasia, I am not a Princess. I’m just me, okay?” 

“Okay, well welcome to my home. Harry will show you to the bedroom. I have sandwiches for lunch, I wasn’t sure what you ate. But for dinner, I do have a roast lamb ready for the oven. You do eat Lamb?” My mother questions. I can see she is somewhat concerned that her meal choices are not adequate enough for Anastasia. 

“That sounds lovely. Thank you.” 

I take Anna’s hand and I benevolently guide her through the house, giving her a short tour before I take her to my old bedroom. 

She glances around my bedroom and appears intrigued by how my room is set up. Nothing has changed since I left it a few years ago. The covers are still the same, the blankets still sit at the edge of the bed, neatly folded and my books are still on the shelves. Nothing is out of order. 

Anastasia encompasses her fingers over the spines of each book while she wanders past them, she cocks her head to the side to look over at me, “Extensive library,” She points out, “You really are a mystery. Are the ribbons yours?” Anastasia points towards the few ribbons on my shelf. 

I place our bags down on the bed with a small exhalation, “Sort of.” I shrug. 

I can’t take full credit for the ribbons, they are partially mine, partially the man’s next door. “I helped train the neighbours horses for a few events. He allowed me to have the ribbons on the horses I trained. The skill is all in him and the horses, not me.” I don’t want to take much credit. I’m not a professional. I got lucky with learning how to train a few horses and helped the old man next door. 

“Oh my goodness,” Anna gasps, “Little Harry,” Anna coos, holding up a picture frame of a picture of my sister and me. 

I roll my eyes at the photo and the fact Anastasia looks entirely thrilled by the fact I look so young. “Okay, enough of that,” I walk around my bed to her. I take the frame and place it down before I gently wrap my arms around her. 

“Are you going to go through the rules again with me? Because if you are, I already know—” Anna begins, causing me to chuckle before I cut her off and caress my lips to hers. 

“No,” I mumble against her lips before I draw away, “No more rules,” I shake my head, “I do want to tell you something though.” 

“Mhm, what is it?” 

“I love you,” I respond with a smile. 

I do my best to tell her every chance I get. I don’t want her to ever be in a position to question my love for her. I do my best to remind her daily, but sometimes that isn’t plausible. For now, as she stays in the country with me, I will do my best to remind her each day that I love her. 

Anna glances at me with her beautiful eyes and dainty smile, “I love you, too. Does your Mother have any rules?” 

“Rules?” I raise a brow. I think the last time my mother set a rule for me was probably when I was sixteen. 

Anna nods her head, “Does she expect us up at eight for breakfast? Does she want us in separate rooms?” 

“Oh, sweetheart,” I sigh with a stifling laugh, “My mother doesn’t care when we get up, she doesn’t expect us at breakfast or lunch. She doesn’t care if we share a room as long as you’re comfortable. When I say we are laid back and normal, I mean that there are no royal rules. You can relax.” I inform Anastasia, “But, I do know she is about to feed animals, she might want me to help, want to come?” I offer, gesturing towards the door. 

Anastasia happily nods, bounding towards my door before I can think twice. I can’t help but chuckle at her enthusiasm while I follow behind her.

♔♔♔

Anna’s eyes light up at the sight of the farm animals, and she glances at me with awe, “Anastasia, are you coming?” My mother calls and Anastasia smiles widely like a child at Christmas before she’s hurrying down towards my mother. 

I stand at the fence, observing as she appears to be having the time of her life while surrounded by animals. I haven’t seen her this free in quite some time. I don’t think I’ve ever seen her smile this much besides when we’ve been alone. Seeing her free and in a normal environment shows me how much she’s constrained when it comes to her royal title. I wish I had the power to give her more free time to be a free spirit. 

“Be careful, darling,” I grin towards her. She is adorable to me.

Anna rolls her eyes at me before paying attention to my mother, learning from her. 

It’s strange to see how things have changed. Years ago, I would never have thought my Mum would be helping take care of the farm animals of our neighbour. But here I stand, on the opposite side of the fence for once, watching my mother feed the animals. 

It feels nice not being the farmhand, I spent many hours and days feeding animals and fixing fences, I honestly hated having to do it, especially in the middle of a cold winter. There’s nothing rewarding about having to break the ice so the horses can have water in their troughs or having to fix a fence right before it’s meant to snow. What is rewarding, however, is a simple fact that it’s a task I know how to do. I know how to care for animals, I know how to train a horse and ride, and it’s something that I’ll always have. Plus, if it wasn’t for being a farmhand, I wouldn’t have ended up being able to have horses compete in the races. 

The moment I glance down at my phone and let my guard down, I hear a gasp. Instantly, I look up and see Anna in the mud, “Anna!” I quickly climb over the fence but my mother stops me before I can get any closer. 

“She’s fine.” She assures me and it takes me a moment to realise that Anastasia is giggling to herself as she sits in the mud. This is a part of being normal. 

I step towards Anastasia in less of a panic and help her up, her giggles still filling the air. “I’m so sorry, I tripped over the goat.” 

She looks so sweet and innocent, half covered in mud with a dainty smile, “Or maybe I tripped over myself. I’m not sure, but the goat is happy.” Anastasia chuckles, gesturing towards the bucket of feed that she dropped. 

“You’re perfectly fine.” My mother assures her, “Is my son always like this?” 

Anastasia nods, “He is.” 

“Mum, it’s part of my job.” I interrupt, defending my constant observations and the fact that I may or may not have jumped a fence for no reason besides the fact Anna fell in the mud. 

“In his defence,” Anna begins, “A lot of the time we are constantly watched and you never know what’ll happen.” 

I nod my head, “Exactly. Let me take you to the stables, maybe you’re less likely to injure yourself there.” 

I take Anna’s hand and lead her towards the stables, leaving my mother to do her part of the chores. 

I know she’s not a fan of horses, and I know considering the events that have happened, she probably never wants to be near a horse again, but I know she deserves to know a little more about me. 

“Does this pretty girl look familiar?” I question, leading Anna closer to one particular stable where my horse is standing, waiting for her feed before being able to run free in the paddock. 

Anna takes a look from the distance, she cooks her head to the side and looks at me, “Looks like a horse.” 

I chuckle and shake my head, “Of course. It’s the horse that won the race. She has been staying at your Mum’s stable but she was brought up here to be a horse for a bit. I don’t want her being raced to death.” 

“Did you train her?” 

“A little bit, I haven’t had much time to put much effort into her, that’s why I hired a trainer. Can’t be a farmhand or work with horses when I’m your security guard.” I respond.

Don’t get me wrong, I wouldn’t change being her bodyguard for anything, but sometimes it would be nice to have a little bit more time on my hands. 

I catch Anastasia looking around and glancing over her shoulder, a look of concern written all over her face. I instantly narrow my eyes on her before I scan every inch of area around us. There’s no threat, none at all. “What’s the matter?” I question, diverting Anna’s attention back to me. 

Anastasia shakes her head, but I know she’s lying, something is rattling around that beautiful mind of hers. “Anastasia, what is it? Why are you looking over your shoulder? Nobody is there.” 

“I can’t help but sometimes wonder if Prince Henry could pop up.” 

The sheer sound of his name causes my nerves to rattle. That prick doesn’t dare show his face around here ever again. He might be royalty but I’ll gladly knock him down a few pegs. 

I step closer to Anastasia and I mildly grab her hand with mine, “He won’t come up here. He’d be stupid to even think of it. Let’s go back to the house, I have a few calls to make.” 

Although I highly doubt Henry would know where we are, I can’t help but want to double-check everything. I need to call Matthew and find out where Henry is and what will be done about him. I’m sure the King has some sort of say in the punishment— if any. On top of that, I need to make sure the media have caught wind of where we are, I also need to make sure that damage control is happening. Anastasia’s media team is known to sometimes side with the King and as of now, I don’t think Anastasia wants her father in charge of what the media has to say about her and her relationships. I know Anna is still mad that her father leaked the story to the press on where she was in Ireland. He had his own intentions for it, whatever they may have been, it was wrong. I can’t always fix the situations this girl gets put in because of her title, but I will do my damn best for her. My job doesn’t just start and end at keeping her physically safe, it involves keeping her emotionally and mentally safe, it involves keeping her integrity and outlook nice and clean. I love her and I will do what it takes to make sure that she isn’t slandered and beaten down by whatever the world or media may have to say about her. I know she reads the media, as much as her father attempts to keep her away from social media, she reads it. She reads the articles that shed her in a good light but she also reads the articles that shred her to pieces. Anastasia thinks I don’t know about the nights she has cried over her title and the stress it causes, she thinks I don’t know about the nights she has cried over the harsh articles and the reality of her life. I see it and it breaks my heart. 

The whole reason for bringing Anna with me is to keep her away from Henry for the time being and to keep her away from the firing media. I can only imagine the headlines that have been printed this morning. 

I purposely stayed away from newspapers and the internet. Surely someone has managed to leak the story on how the princess fell off her stolen horse. I need to go through the articles and do damage control. Her media team is meant to be strategically planning something, but most of the time I’m the one hiding certain things and releasing new stories or being the anonymous tip. 

♔♔♔

I stand on the back porch, gazing out into the open garden my mother has created in her spare time. I remember growing up, she always said how she wanted to have a beautiful blooming garden, a garden for her favourite flowers and a small area for her to grow fresh herbs to cook with. 

Before I left for London a few years ago, I built her the small garden patch for her herbs, and I had all intentions of finishing the project but little did I know that I would end up with a bigger job than being a farmhand and helping maintain everyone’s gardens for a little extra money.

I press the warm cup of tea to my lips and enjoy the quietness of being out here, there are no media, there is no hassle and most of all there is little to no threat for Anastasia, I can let my guard down a little bit and relax. 

The glass doors slide behind me, I look over my shoulder, expecting to see Anastasia with her sweet smile but instead, my mother offers me her charming smile. 

“What are you doing out here?” 

I turn around and fully face her. I lift my cup, “Just enjoying a cuppa. What are you doing?” I curiously question, unsure of why she has yet to wander off to bed or why she isn’t curled up on the couch with a new book. 

“Thought I would talk to you for a minute.” 

“What’s on that pretty mind of yours?” I ask. 

My mother grows quiet and for a moment, my heart sinks, whatever is on her mind mustn’t be the best of things. “What is it, Mum? What’s wrong?” 

She shakes her head and grants me a reassuring smile, “Nothing is wrong. She’s really lovely, and I like her.”

There it is… What’s running through her mind… Anastasia. 

It brings me joy to see my mother smile at the thought of the woman I love. I wasn’t quite sure how my mother would react to Anna, not because of I thought Mum wouldn’t like her for her personality, but more so I wasn’t sure how Mum would appreciate her having a title. 

“I like her too,” I chuckle, “But, that is obvious.”

I don’t think I just like Anastasia, I am pretty sure it is love.

“I see she loves you. Are you okay with everything that is happening? Are you okay?” 

I grow withdrawn for a moment, my heartstrings drawing. 

I am not okay with how certain things are. I despise the idea of Anna being with another man, even if it is fake. I hate the idea of keeping us a secret, but I knew what I was getting into when I first started to date her. I knew her life, I knew things wouldn’t be easy. She explained it all to me and I accepted things. I accepted that there would be bumps in the road due to her royal title. 

I accepted her for who she is, I accepted that we would have a lot of struggles that aren’t easily fixed or explained.

“No, I’m not. But she comes first.” I flick my head towards the inside of my mother’s house. “I love her. I’ll do anything for her.”

“If you love her, why don’t you propose? I read in the tabloids all the time she needs a husband…” 

“Not that easy, Mum. You know that. I can’t right now. I want too; I just can’t.” I trail off with a heavy sigh. She doesn’t just necessitate a husband, she needs a King. I will never be King. I don’t live up to the expectations of the Royal Family. I am nothing but a commoner. 

I’m just a boy who grew up in the countryside; I’m just a man who attempted to make a living and somehow fell in love with a true Princess. 

There is nothing more in this world I want than to be able to get down on one knee and ask her to be my wife. I picture our life together all the time; I imagine her planning a wedding, walking down the aisle and all the things we’d go through in life. I picture the way she’d fall asleep in our bed every night, how there would be no sneaking around and hiding things.

There would be no greater pleasure in my life than to be able to call her my wife and the future mother of my children. I want us to have a life together, but at the end of the day, she is the soon to be Queen and that changes things. It changes the picture of where I stand. 

“You want to? You’ve thought about proposing?” My mother challenges me and I nod my head. 

“Where is Anna?” I question, unable to see her through the glass doors but not wanting to chance anything. 

“She went to your room, she is going to call the King,” My mother pauses for a moment and chuckles, “I can’t believe the King of England is being called from my house.” 

I roll my eyes at my mother before I hand her my cup of tea. I pet both sides of my pockets down before I slide my hand into my left pocket. I pull out a small box and my mother’s eyes grow wide. 

“You-You have a ring?” She stutters. 

I open the box and show my mother the ring that I have been carrying around with me for a while. “For a while now. Just haven’t found the right moment. With everything going on, I don’t even think I should. I love her, I do. But I didn’t expect things to be so unconventional… I always thought I would ask my future wife’s father for his blessing, but what chance do I have to get the Kings blessing?” 

“Oh, Darling.” 

“It is respect to have his blessing… Plus, the King has to approve her marriage under the Royal Marriages Act of 1772. He won’t approve. I’m just another man in society.”

My mother rolls her eyes, “That is bullshit, Harry. For many reasons that is stupid. But unless both houses of Parliament object, you two can still get married. Even if her father says ‘no’ this is her decision. Is she going to let her father dictate her life forever?” 

“Mum, you don’t understand. She is in line for the crown.” 

“I know she is in line for the bloody crown, I know how it works. So what? It is a bloody crown and I think she would choose you over a damn thing that sits on her head.” 

“It doesn’t—”

“It does work like that, Harry.” My mother cuts me off. 

She has a point, to an extent, but things still aren’t that simple. It isn’t just a crown, it is a monarch, the whole country depends on her when she takes the crown. 

“I can’t ask her to choose the monarch or me. I need to check on the guards outside.” I attempt to divert the conversation elsewhere before my mother and I get too far into a conversation that I can’t get out of. 

My mother grabs my arm as I attempt to walk away, “Propose to her. I have never lead you wrong, she’s the one for you. Don’t let the monarch ruin it. A left-handed marriage in a monarch is better than a ruined love..” 

I give my mother a nod of my head, dismissing the conversation before I wander around the side of the house and make my way to the two guards who patrol the outside of my family home just in case. 

I play with the box in my pocket and contemplate the things my mother has said. 

What if I do propose? 

What if we elope? 

Nobody would need to know, Anna could keep her title and crown without an issue… We could figure out the logistics later on down the road. 

Perhaps my mother has a point. 

I can either take things by the reins and go headfirst into life with Anna, and show her how much I truly love her, or I can let a monarch ruin us over age-old rules that need to change. 

I may be nothing but a bodyguard but one thing for sure is I love her more than life itself. I put my life on the line every day to keep her safe. I don’t do it anymore because it is my job, I do it because I would take a bullet for the woman I love any day of the week. I would do anything to keep her safe. I would do anything for her. 

She’s the one. 

[ladymostdeject]

I Use My Outside Voice (Because I Have No Choice) Chapter 1

Hamilton hurried into his office, Thomas right behind him. He flung his briefcase back onto his desk, heedless of the laptop inside.

Hamilton didn’t even flinch at the noise, and he doubled back to close the door.

“Why does Washington always send you when he wants something from me? It’s like he thinks he can irritate me into submission.”

“Nobody sent me this time.”

Thomas rolled his eyes so hard his neck popped. “What do you want, Hamilton?”

“I need this bill passed. It’s stalled right now, and I need it passed.” He moved Thomas’ briefcase to get at the papers he’d left on the desk. He clutched them to his chest, face earnest.

“You’re talking about the bank bill?” he asked. Hamilton nodded and shifted on his feet nervously. “Why are you this wound up about it? It’s just a weird little regulatory bill. Those die in committee all the time.”

Hamilton puffed up his chest. “I wrote it.”

Thomas sighed so hard it almost hurt. “Of course you did.”

“It needs your support. If you support it, the other moderates will fall in line. Madison, Woodhall-”

“No.” Jefferson leaned back on his desk and crossed his arms.

“Okay, while that’s a compelling argument, I was really hoping for a little bit more back and forth. Is that all you really have to say?”

Thomas rolled his eyes. “No, I will not support that bill.”

Hamilton huffed, “Why not?! It doesn’t violate any of the major Republican Party stances, it doesn’t threaten you or Virginia in any way, it’s reducing certain banking regulations. Look right here, where it says-” Hamilton thrust a couple of the pages towards Thomas, who took them and promptly dropped them in the garbage.

Hamilton squawked. The mean little thing in Thomas’ chest purred.

“I can’t support it. Word has come down from on high, we have to object to anything y’all want. Doesn’t matter what it is. You can’t come down here anymore looking for compromises from the moderates, the answer is going to be no.”

“And you’re okay with that are you? Total gridlock for the next two years ?” he cried. No actually. It made Thomas sick. “It’s not the way things are supposed to work! We’re supposed to be making the country better!”

He circled back around his desk to give himself a moment. “I don’t know what to tell-”

“I didn’t know you were a coward!”

Thomas thought his patience was at its end already, but apparently it could stretch even thinner. He clutched his desk to keep from leaping over it and throttling Hamilton. “Fine! Do you want to know what I think? Even if I could help you I wouldn’t. It’s a bad bill. It is way too long. It looks like you’re trying to hide something in all that circular language.”

“It is not circular! Or too long! It’s exactly as long as it needs to be! It’s thorough and precise!” He gestured wildly.

“It needs to be about fifty thousand words shorter.” Thomas was starting to get his second wind. He had forgotten how much fun it was to wind up the other man.

“Fifty-” he sputtered. “That’s half of it!”

“And another thing, it puts an outrageous demand on an already strained system.”

“No, it utilizes a system that’s already in place to-”

“Also, if you really want bipartisan support, you need to remove the clause about omegas.”

Hamilton looked thunderous before, but suddenly he looked downright deadly. “I will not,” he growled. “That clause removes a century old system of oppression.”

Thomas shrugged. “You wanted my opinion.”

“I want your vote.”

He threw up his hands in exasperation. “You can’t have it! Just wait until the next time you have a congressional majority. That’s apparently how it works now. My god, Hamilton, learn some tact! You stormed in here demanding my help, you’ve shouted at me, and you’ve argued with every one of my suggestions. You can’t just strong-arm everyone into doing whatever you want. You’ll never get elected if this is the most diplomatic you can be!”

Something he said struck Hamilton hard. He looked gutted, and sounded hollow when he said, “I’m never going to get elected. That’s why I need to pass this bill.”

Thomas grimaced. “Oh, for- I didn’t mean right now, obviously. I meant that in the future, you need a good lesson on how to talk to humans beings, not that-”

“No. I’m retiring,” he spat like it was the filthiest word he knew.

Thomas surprised himself by laughing. It was a deep, belly laugh. “Sure from the White House staff, but we all know you'll move on to something else. The House maybe? Hamilton, you and I both know you're never going to truly retire. You're going to die at age 97 on the Senate floor after thoroughly dressing down Congress.”

Hamilton collapsed into the chair by the desk like his strings had been cut. “No, I’ve got two years.” Thomas opened his mouth to refute such a blatant lie, but he plowed on, “I'll never be able to successfully win any election, because that requires people to like you. Nobody likes me. No. I am un-electable. If I’m going to make my mark, I’ve got to do it now, while I’ve still got Washington backing me. Even if all I can do is write a weird little bank bill.”

Thomas feels ice crawl down his back, and even though he's never even considered it before, he suddenly knows it’s true. There's a handful of omegas in congress, but every single one is cute. Wholesome. Quiet. Every single one has a wife or husband and a gaggle of children. Hamilton has none of those things. He has a loud mouth and huge opinions and an inability to keep those opinions to himself. Most damning of all in the court of public opinion, he has a list of ex-lovers as long as his arm. He's not the kind of omega people like to see on TV.

“Moreover, I have very few positive connections. There is no one else who would be willing to hire me after we’re done in the White House. I make enemies everywhere I go. I have what I have because Washington trusts me. Sees what I can do. I've worked for him for twenty years. And in the beginning, I even had to fight for him to give me my due. I've been clinging to his coattails. I may be able to get some bullshit job to pay the bills after our term ends but probably never in politics again and definitely never somewhere with as much influence as I have now. I have fought tooth and nail for every single thing I have, and I've reached the end. I've peaked, and there's nowhere else for me to go. No, when George retires, so do I.”

Thomas feels the world shift beneath his feet. He'd never even considered Hamilton's future. He's never given a thought to how his gender might affect his career. He just assumed he'd always be hanging around DC, stirring up trouble and bothering everyone within hearing range. And if he'd been a beta, or hell, an alpha, Jefferson was positive Hamilton would be a thorn in his side until his dying day. But omegas get married, they have children, and then they leave the workforce.

He racked his brain for an omega that's over 40 still working in DC. He comes up with that same tragically short list of senators and representatives he'd thought of earlier. He thinks about the secretaries and assistants and baristas he sees around town. Every single one is a cute young thing, flirty and sweet the second they catch on that he's an unbonded alpha. Where do all the omegas go?

Surely they're not all chained to their stoves. They run charities and volunteer at hospitals, but are never on the payroll. They hang demurely on the arms of the people he rubs elbows with. They are mothers, PTA members, and soccer team chauffeurs. His own mother had never worked a day in her life.

But what if she had wanted to? She was brilliant, always keeping his father on his toes with their lively dinner debates. Would she have been happier with a career? How is this never a question he'd asked her when she was alive? How is this not a question he'd asked himself?

He's suddenly ashamed that he's 45 years old, and he just learned something so new and so big. He doubts she could have just gone out and gotten a job, certainly not one worthy of her intellect. Not back then, but if what Hamilton is saying is true, then maybe not even now.

Things are supposed to be different. It’s illegal to fire an omega when they get married or pregnant. It's illegal to discriminate against them during the hiring or promotion process. And before this very moment Thomas had never once considered the omega population's lack of upward mobility might not be due to genetic temperament and lack of desire.

But Hamilton certainly doesn't seem inclined to find a mate and settle down. And it's not that Thomas forgets he's an omega, it's just that it’s a lot easier to lump him in with the betas and alphas he knows. He's irritatingly bursting with ambition and pride. And if Hamilton can't have the career he deserves, how many other omegas are trapped in lives they don't want?  Not everyone has the strength of will to fly in the face of hundreds of years of social conditioning, middle fingers held high, verbal abuse cocked and loaded. Not everyone has the fortitude to claw their way to the top. He has been blind. Worse than that, he's been stupid. He stumbled over to his desk chair and collapsed much like Hamilton had.

What was that clause in the bill about omegas? Something about removing the forty-eight hour wait period on omega’s requesting large withdrawals from their bank accounts without an alpha or beta’s co-signature? And removing the bank’s ability to vet the purpose of the withdrawal and deny the withdrawal if they deem it irresponsible.

Everyone knows that omegas are bad with money, and poor at resisting temptation. That law is there for their protection. To keep them from-

The scent of distressed omega finally registers through his haze of thoughts, a citrus-y tang overpowering his usual sweetness. Because Hamilton is an omega. The omega White House Communications Director wrote a comprehensive bill about bank regulations. And while the man himself is very controversial (and exhausting), with his fighting and his Twitter tangents and mile long list of exes, he has the ear and the unwavering trust of the leader of the free world. If the goddamn White House Communications Director wants to withdraw a substantial sum of his own money, he has to ask the bank nicely.

“Jesus, Jefferson.” Hamilton was smirking. Why was he smirking, didn’t he know Thomas’ whole system of beliefs is a lie? “I didn’t realize the thought of me retiring would be so upsetting. Are you gonna miss me?” Read the rest of Chapter One Here

[sailorsilverladybug]

Now that it's all over, I wanted to let you in on the past couple of weeks of my life. It's been rather stressful and hectic, and some of it rather frightening, so please bear with me. I doubt this is a surprise to any of you, but we are living in the middle of a pandemic.

Unfortunately, it is not under control. Not even close. And while I won't go into politics in this venue, I will say that I am both angry with how this has been handled in my country, and afraid of what the future will bring.

So, here goes. Last week my sister-in-law convinced me to go with her into one of the nearby cities to shop and go to a local casino (which practices social distancing and refuses entry to anyone not wearing a mask). We had been out before, and I needed things for the house, so I went. And I had a blast. We had a lot of fun and just got to hang out and spend time doing girl things.

But this past Friday, the 14th, around mid-morning, I started feeling ill. I had a headache that was nothing like my migraines or a stress headache. It centered just behind my eyes. I started to have a runny nose and felt strangely out of touch with my surroundings. Worse, I started having trouble breathing. I told my husband, who called his work and warned them he might be infected. Then we started calling the local hospital to find out about testing.

We registered to get tested. The woman who registered us said there would be a sign on the side of the primary care physician's office that we should call when we got there Monday. Because we live in a tiny rural town, the hospital only does testing between 9:00 and 12:30, Monday through Friday.

We had to wait until Monday to get tested. An entire weekend, wondering if I was going to get sicker and sicker. With my pre-existing conditions I was sure if I had Covid-19, it would be a death sentence.

Added on top of that, my husband totally lost it when I tried to talk to him about my wishes if something happened to me. He absolutely refused to listen and for a moment I thought he was going to throw himself on the ground and throw a real fit like our son did once when he was small. So, I started putting everything in order, just in case. I spent most of Friday, Saturday, and Sunday putting together my own memorial service, just in case. I made written notes to doctors and made sure our life insurance was all set.

All of this took an even bigger toll on me than the continued headache and the congestion. Then, probably because of stress, I started feeling sick to my stomach. It wasn't pleasant. The stress got so overwhelming, and nothing wanted to go right, and I was just ready to tear my hair out and run down the street screaming. That would have been a rather embarrassing arrest, so I'm glad I had some self-control.

While we were waiting for the testing to start, I worked for several hours to put together a back-tracing list that had everywhere I had been for the last three weeks, where my husband had been, and even the places I knew my sister-in-law had gone. Then, on Monday morning, at just before eight, Steve and I left to go and get tested. Since we were afraid of exposing anyone else, we walked (and I walked up a very big hill almost completely without help!)

By this point, I firmly believed I didn't have Covid-19, but I wasn't about to take chances with anyone else's health and safety. So we got to the hospital, saw the sign on the side of the primary care physician's building, and made the call that we were there... except, we hadn't found the right sign. The one we were reading was the one ON the side of the building. Not AT the side of the building. So, after my husband discovered our mistake (forty minutes on hold later), we called the second number and waited for a response.

Now, I'll be honest here... by this time, I was hot, tired, afraid, and just plain mad. I held it together, but I'm pretty sure my diatribe on anyone refusing to wear masks was heard ten miles away. By the end of my rant, both the others waiting in their cars to be tested had rolled up their windows (it went on for a REALLY long time).

Then a nice gentleman came out. I turned to my husband in a panic and made him promise he wouldn't let me bite the poor guy (which is a tendency I have when I am in extreme pain and a doctor gets too close). He walked us through what would happen and I asked if he would let my husband hold my head, partly to avoid biting him, and partly because Steve just makes me feel better. The man agreed, Steve leaned my head against his chest, and I sat on my walker and waited with my eyes closed for the torture to begin.

I'll be honest, while it totally sucked, it wasn't quite as bad as I had made it in my head. It felt like he was trying to tickle my brain, and I think I begged him to stop and said "oh S***" A LOT, but in spite of the discomfort, I survived it. Watching Steve go through it a minute later was almost worse, because I knew how much it sucked. He had his hands fisted and was shaking the whole time. He was stoic about it, but afterwards, when I made the quip about tickling the brain, he said "more like drilling," and just shook his head.

The gentleman we had been speaking to (I call him a gentleman because he was incredibly kind and gentle) said we might have our results as early as today, which was both a surprise and a blessing, because without Steve going back to work, we weren't sure how we would even manage to get food next week, let alone pay our rent, electric, and other bills, or set money aside for winter heating.

We were on our way back when my sister-in-law (Steve's brother's wife) drove past. She yelled at us to stay where we were, and we did, because we were friggin' exhausted by this point. She picked us up and drove us home after taking her own test about ten minutes later.

So, we waited. Now, I'll be honest. By this point I was about 98% sure that none of us had Covid-19, but we didn't take chances. Steve works in a grocery store. Sometimes he is stocking shelves, sometimes running a register, and sometimes he is out at the fuel island (the store gas station) pumping gas for people, and taking their money. So we knew if he went to work he could expose a LOT of people. We were very careful.

At 9:00 on the dot this morning I received the phone call telling me that I was Covid-19 negative! I bounced in my seat through the whole call. She didn't have Steve's results yet, so we waited. Around eleven, my sister in-law got her results. And then around one Steve got his. None of us are infected, thankfully. Steve called his work and let them know he is free to return (not a moment too soon) and will be going back tomorrow.

In the meantime, all the things we couldn't do because we had to self-isolate need to be taken care of, including several errands like getting dog food. So he has been rushing around getting things done all afternoon. Then I sat down and started writing, because that is just how I process things. I put on some music and just let my fingers fly over the keyboard.

My week sort of sucked, but the bright side is, I don't have Covid-19. Now that you know that, it's time I got into a subject that has really been bothering me. If you don't want to read further, you don't have to, but I really wish you would, and that you would spread the message along.

Every single person who chooses to wear a mask in spite of the annoyance it causes, is a hero to me. Every one of you who has gone without going to the club, who hasn't been going to church, who hasn't done any of the other things that happen in big groups. All of you who have been frustrated, but who know that your actions can either protect or harm other people... You are all heroes. You make a difference. Just as much as necessary workers. Just as much as doctors and nurses. You are heroes.

For those of you who don't wear masks, social distance, or use proper protection procedures, I am begging you, don't let this disease take away what you hold dear. Be safe, be smart. Listen to the doctors and nurses. Listen to the people begging you to wear a mask. Don't put yourself (or your loved ones) through what I just experienced.

Each time you get out of your car to go in a store, put a fresh mask on. Each time you touch something that has been touched by other people, use hand sanitizer. Stay at LEAST six feet apart. Wash your hands constantly, and thoroughly, for at least 20 seconds. Avoid touching your face (or the outside of your used masks!) and be very careful.

You don't want to go through the worry and the fear that you might have been exposed. But more than that, you don't want to be worried that you gave Covid-19 to someone you love. Please, be careful, be kind, and be safe. I don't want to lose you from this world. Every single one of us is special and has a purpose. Don't let your light go out. Take care of yourselves, and the rest of us.

Now, I'm going to climb off my soap-box and go do something completely unrelated to death and dying for a few hours. I might play a video game, or write a funny story. I might blast some music and sing off-key (loudly). Who knows. All I know is, I've had enough of fear and death to last a lifetime.

I wish you all well. God bless you.

Tori

Sailor Silver Ladybug

[lokiondisneyplus]

Today I left the house wearing a face mask for the first time.

I had woken up to the sound of heavy rain, which is always surreal in Los Angeles, and when I look out of the window to the hauntingly dehumanising sight of bandana-clad dog walkers, an eerie weight settles as I remember: this is our reality now.

I’m standing in the supermarket queue, a line dotted by crosses taped on the floor of the underground car park to signify our designated 6ft distance. Easily 50 people long and snaking around the perimeter of the building, I make my way to the last available X-marks-the-spot and join the other masked Bandits. I haven’t food shopped for over a week and am in need of supplies.

There is an obnoxiously loud man two crosses ahead of me ranting into his phone with such a high energy, the surrounding Bandits have allowed an extended social distance of a cross on either side of him. I sigh, remembering I’ve left my headphones at home, so am unable to tune him out, I wait and exhale, wondering how I am going to get used to the claustrophobic sensation of hot air and fabric condensing on my face.

Loud Phone Man is not wearing a mask and it's clear we’ve passed the tipping point of mild judgement, at least here in LA, where Bandits exchange a raised eyebrow, (about the only non-verbal Bandit communication available) which somehow magnifies the annoyance of this shopper - not only loud, but breathing indiscriminately all over us in this confined space… what does he think this is? Last week??

It’s Monday on #Week4 of Covid-19 lockdown in La La Land and as I shuffle to the next X I reflect on the journey so far.

After a whirlwind press tour to promote the release of Misbehaviour in UK cinemas (sadly cinemas were shuttered just days after the film's theatrical release – but it's available to watch online at home from April 15th!) I returned to work in Atlanta for Loki, the Marvel limited series for Disney Plus I’ve been working on, so am on set when I get the news that we are going on hiatus as a precaution due to the accelerating coronavirus, initially for one week. Thinking it would be longer, but still unsure at that point, I book a flight to LA to sit things out there for the time being. The next day Trump imposes a travel ban on travelling in or out of the US for 30 days, and with my visa situation and the pace at which everything is moving, it feels risky to fly to the UK in case I cannot get back into the country when filming recommences, whenever that will be.

So, with my housemate and her dog for company, we embark on social distancing, self-isolation and Lady Macbeth-level hand-washing.

Managing a constant low-level anxiety about my parents and loved ones, and friends in New York, London, Johannesburg and all over the world, I become consumed by the news, glued to the BBC website and KCRW talk radio for the latest figures. Like families gathered around “the wireless” in wartime, everything is unfolding so rapidly and the news, never this dramatic in my lifetime, takes on disaster-movie proportions.

FaceTime and WhatsApp become my lifelines as the reality of the pandemic is tinged with a weird detachment… a numbness I later realise was a form of shock that lasts for nearly two weeks and puts me into a hyper-focused state as I race to keep up, stay informed and learn how to adapt to this new rhythm.

I am of course aware that I am so privileged to be safe and personally unaffected thus far, but grasping the truth from what is overblown, and fact from politics and propaganda, give everything an out-of-body zero gravity quality; a new normal we are all united in.

Things are kicking off in the food line as my attention is caught by an exasperated Valley Girl three Xs ahead who finally explodes at Loud Phone Man, “ OH MY GAAAAD, USE YOUR INSIDE VOICE, CANT YOU SEEEEE EVERYONE IS LOOKING AT YOU CAUSE YOU’RE TALKING SO LOUD… WE ALL HAVE TO STAND HERE, OHMYGAAAD!” As she stomps her Ugged feet to the next X the security guard and smiling store employee (no mask) approach and I can feel a repressed inside-voice-cheer emanate from the rest of the line in applause.

The Bandit Couple ahead of me raise another eyebrow in solidarity and Female Bandit begins to capture a video of Loud Phone Man on her iPhone. The air gets thin, the energy tightens, “Hey Man,” Smiling Store Employee intercepts, Security guard flanking, “You wanna keep it down a bit, people are stressed, y’know? Thanks Man.” Valley Girl scowls, Bandit couple exchange glances, while still filming, Loud Phone Man defends, “I WASN’T EVEN TALKING THAT LOUUUUUD!!!” (Collective Bandit eyeroll) “YESSSSS YOU WERE!!!” Hisses Valley Girl, “Yeah Man, sorry you were,” Store Employee placates. taking the referee stance. I notice Loud Phone Man is wearing flip-flops, on a rainy day. He continues his conversation into his device, phone held to his lips, like a dictaphone, barely any quieter. “We have to be prepared…”

I sigh and feel warm breath on my cheeks. Mouth drying I look at my phone for escape and see that Boris Johnson has been admitted into intensive care for persistent and worsening Covid-19 symptoms. I suddenly feel very far from home and very sad.

I remember the things I’ve been doing to keep grounded and my spirits up. One of the benefits of turning out old cupboards was rediscovering my long dormant art materials. Painting, such an absorbing and transporting activity for me in childhood, was once something I considered doing instead of acting, but found it a little socially isolating - so acting won because it felt more collaborative. Now, of course, painting in isolation is perfect and becomes the most comforting of pastimes and a creative channel as I make images of my family and feel like I am spending time with them.

Understanding how superfluous actors are in a crisis such as this, I come to terms with the fact that staying at home, as passive as it may seem, is my contribution for now. Having the luxury of not having to home-school any children and knowing my work is pretty much on pause until social distancing recedes, I try to reframe this time as a chance to rest and refill the creative well. I read novels for pleasure, something I rarely find time for beyond work-related reads. I take my first Zoom yoga class (alexdawsonyoga.com), I join a 21-day online meditation experience (chopracentermediation.com), I take local hikes for fresh air and make first ever batches of banana bread and chicken soup. I even buy a mini trampoline online which, after a mildly challenging self-assembly, I’ve been sweating it out on to streamed classes online (lekfit.com) with a friend in Toronto, followed by accountability FaceTime coffee dates to virtually high five!

By the end of week two, the adrenalin crash truly hits and I’m exhausted from the constant rhythm shifting, news consumption and uncertainty. I’m an eternal optimist and good at self-motivating, but even when you’re Keeping Calm and Carrying on, you need to crash at some point. I nearly cry when I get my mum an Ocado food delivery slot - nothing has been available for weeks - and the “what ifs” that I have been keeping at bay with all my other activities release with relief and gratitude.

That’s when I discover Brené Brown’s new podcast Unlocking Us and find such solace in her calm and thoroughly researched words and conversations. Since her TED talk fame as a charismatic shame and vulnerability researcher, I’ve read all of her books and there is always something practical and nourishing in her work, told with humour and in a deeply relatable way - which I’ve found comfort in while in the midst of folding laundry, cleaning the bath or chopping vegetables.

Back in the food line and things are moving; the tension of the Loud Phone Man Vs Valley Girl dispute still simmers but everyone relaxes as they get closer to the front-door finish line. Smiling Store Employee does his speech on the new system: no reusable bags allowed, sanitised trollies and a one-way system in the aisles inside marked by arrows on the floor, to minimise contact with other customers. It all feels so surreal and regimented, but the Bandits, already drained from the 30-minute wait, constant Loud Phone Man soundtrack, near car park fight and everything else they’re all adjusting to, nod wearily behind their moist makeshift masks. It’s a bizarre sight.

Still chatting, Loud Phone Man makes it in and there’s a collective “phew” eye-contact exchanged between Smiling Store Employee and the remaining Bandits. Then his smile drops and crinkles for a second. “Yeah, he’s been in every day this week. It’s kinda sad. There’s no one on the phone.” The Bandits' brows knot quizzically. “Yeah, I think he has mental health issues, he just talks but the phone’s not on and he has no ear pieces, he just talks into it… 'They’re coming, we have to be prepared.'… I don’t know what to do.”

The reality breaks my heart. It seems to highlight the collective insanity we’ve all been processing and in that moment I just feel so frustrated at the state of the world and how this pandemic has exposed so many cracks in our society - from mental health to healthcare to privilege and poverty, everything just feels so raw.

I try to look for the silver linings and, among all the fear and anxiety and loss, I’ve been so inspired by human resilience, adaptability and creativity. I’m hopeful this great pandemic leveller will bring a new era of authenticity. An opportunity to shift mentality from Me to We.

Week three in self-isolation felt almost normal, which feels weird to admit. I’m getting lots of sleep and take regular meditative baths, which I’ve renamed Home Spa. I’ve found ways to safely contribute in my local community. When the shelves were bare from panic buying, I chatted with the manager of our local grocery store, who seemed so overwhelmed, so my housemate and I volunteered to stack shelves after hours. Although not exactly the front lines, we have fun and it feels good to give something back in our small way.

We of course negotiated to be paid in baked beans and toilet paper.

[lesbiansforboromir]

Suppose boromir did make it to the end of the saga of lord of the rings, how would he navigate his relationship with Aragorn? And what if Denethor also survived? Would he come to accept Aragorns kingship over the course of their journey? Part of me is inclined to say yes, but I don’t have as good of a grasp on his character as you do

So listen… this came 18 21 40 days 3 months ago but I’m a sleepy bastard so I couldn’t muster the passion it deserved but nOW I’m here so! 

I have to reinforce that Boromir doesn’t care whatsoever about Aragorn’s kingship one way or the other during the Quest. He’s only ever going to manufacture an opinion on it as an when he needs too. Gondor’s safety is his primary priority. So discussions upon Boromir’s denial or acceptance of Aragorn’s kingship are really only going to occur after Sauron’s defeat.

Lets take this in parts because Boromir managing his relationship with Aragorn alone vs Boromir doing it whilst his dad still around would be wildly different. Denethor takes up a great deal of emotional space.

So, for ease of understanding, lets say that in the Denethor dies verse Boromir stayed with Aragorn after the siege at Pelargir and sailed with him up the Anduin so he doesn’t arrive in time to stop his father from burning alive. Then, in the Denethor lives verse, Boromir actually rides directly to Minas Tirith, either from the paths of the dead, or the moment Pelargir is secured. Either way he’s speedier and arrives in time to sneak past the armies and enter Minas Tirith, saving his father from his despair and breaking him from Sauron’s grasp. 

Lets also say that Boromir and Aragorn maintain their kinda easy back-and-forth trusting friendship all the way through till here so we’re jumping off a knowable baseline. After Boromir returns to Helms Deep from his recuperation in some small Rohir hamlet, he arrives as a positive and trusted voice and a bolster to Aragorn’s confidence. Aragorn didn’t tell anyone what happened with Boromir and Frodo, which is a point in his favour and a very good reason for them to just put it behind them for now. Boromir’s back and Aragorn had been holding onto that guilt until now. It’s good for everyone. They’re all glad to see him. 

So with that decided! Beginning with Denethor dying and Boromir becoming Steward, the first thing we have to deal with is who the hell tells Boromir that #1 his dad is dead and #2 that Faramir is dying. I’m inclined to believe it’s pretty rough, I think Boromir’s return is something that’s almost feverishly grasped upon by the Soldiers of Gondor and they demand a lot from him, guidance, reassurance, a sense of purpose. It takes a while for him to manage to pass up through to the higher levels of the battered city. 

Now the only people who know about Denethor’s death are Pippin, Gandalf and a few Citadel Guard and I think Gandalf certainly passes Boromir by a few times without telling him squat. Perhaps there’s a brief ‘I am surprised you live!’ but little else. I’d say he finds out about Faramir first, through following Aragorn up to the houses of healing, already a shock to his system. He looks for his father but is still battered by demands and it’s quite a bit later that he’s told by a Citadel guard about his dad’s death. Which ALL is like… rough. Gandalf definitely told Aragorn what’d happened. He just didn’t think it was his job to tell Boromir. Because Gandalf’s like that! Sorry! He is! So it isn’t until like close to the songs of mourning that anyone lets Boromir know Denethor’s dead. Also that Denethor’s body is still under rubble too. 

Which is… woof, a rough image huh? Boromir probably hears of his death first, not any specifics, there’s so much to be done. But then his body isn’t present at the funeral and he turns to Aragorn and heartbreakingly asks ‘where is my father’ and Aragorn has to look him in the eye and tell him he forgot. He forgot to send anyone to dig through the rubble to find the body of Boromir’s father. And man that certainly crumbles a good few months of bonding between them huh? Boromir probably goes to do it himself, declining Aragorn’s help. There’s a seed of distrust planted for how much Aragorn truly cares for Gondor, her heritage and the people who’d been sacrificing themselves to defend her. 

Anyway essentially this starts Boromir off on a rocky footing. And it only goes downhill from there. There’s a GOOD bit admittedly. There’s a bit where Aragorn comes to heal Faramir, as Imrahil and Boromir fearfully stand over him. And even Boromir’s staunch manner cannot help but find some amazement and a hint of the instant fealty in Faramir’s eyes as he awakens like magic. 

And then Boromir sets aside all his feelings to focus on a battle and be the leader of men everyone needs him to be. And it’s good, it feels good to make plans with Aragorn, especially now that they are in HIS element where men know and believe in him, the seat of HIS power. It levels their interactions somewhat, they are equals here. So it feels good to do that, and it feels even better when they WIN. They probably find each other in the scrum, they probably embrace, they’re probably just so elated that it’s over, together. Even if this victory cannot mean the same thing for Aragorn as it does for Boromir, who’s picking at such things? It doesn’t matter, they WON. 

But then… He finds out what was said between Gandalf and Denethor from Pippin, the lack of care or respect, how lost Denethor’d been at Faramir’s side. Gandalf had rid Theoden of Saruman’s dreadful curse, why hadn’t he even tried with his father? The obvious answer to Boromir is Denethor did not want Aragorn on the throne but Gandalf did and that made Denethor’s survival less than important to the wizard. And with this realisation he’s put in a difficult position. 

He’s crowned Steward pretty quickly and sets at his task with the vigour of a man very much trying to avoid grief. It’s not the time. Now is the time to talk about reparations, peace treaties, rebuilding, medical funds, housing, refugee care, and OH MY GOD FINE I GUESS ALSO THE KINGSHIP. It’s uncomfortable, Boromir knows he likely shouldn’t be equating Gandalf’s actions with Aragorn’s. But… it’s right there! The even MORE EXTRA awkward part is Faramir’s now awake and he’s walking and talking and even more Royalist than ever. The fact that Boromir is dawdling over a coronation is, in his mind, clear evidence that Boromir wants that seat for himself. Is he not grateful that his King has returned and saved his brother? 

So Boromir gets a brief latency period where Faramir’s just happy he’s alive and then a more complex one where they’re not-grieving-really-but-sort-of grieving their father, but that’s all way harder and more emotionally problematic than arguing over the kingship and getting way too angry about it so they shift into that mode asap. 

Now I should say here, even Boromir isn’t stalwartly going to deny Aragorn the Kingship. The line of Kings has a nearly religious right to it, and Aragorn does have a claim sort of we all guess kinda, along with a lot of prophesised evidence on his side. He FEELS like the King Returned, and after all his heroics you’d be hard pressed to find anyone in Gondor who STRICTLY disagreed with him taking the Throne in general. Gondorian culture puts a lot of stock in doom and their past and prophesies and the like. But the devil, as always, is in the detail.

Three distinct camps are created in Gondor’s political sphere. The Cautious, a band who agree with Boromir’s careful approach of taking each step properly and making sure all parts of their new constitution under a King are thoroughly agreed upon. They want a new constitution. 

The Royalists, headed by Faramir, who believe the Cautious are trying to drag this out for as long as possible in order to weedle more power for themselves and their families out of these discussions and undermine the power of their rightful king. They want to dig the constitution that had been in place during Anarion’s reign out of the Archives and reinstate it wholesale without even an amendment. 

And the Annoyed, headed by the Master of Waters and other union leaders, who could not give a flying fuck about all this and really wish the council would get back to actually running the damn country, good GOD give us money before the whole plumbing system collapses in on itself and takes the city with it. They want whatever piece of parchment will let them get back to work, although their members are also divided on how much they revere a king returned.

It doesn’t help that Boromir is NOT good at this. He’s not a bad Steward, perhaps he could be called a good one. But after Denethor’s example? It’s not even a comparison, there is no way for Boromir to measure up to Denethor’s skill in this arena, nor Faramir’s for that matter. And in all honesty there probably ARE some players within the ‘cautious’ sphere of Boromir’s supporters that DO want to ensure their power isn’t diminished with the coronation of a new king, Boromir wouldn’t be so adept at knowing what to do with them, he needs supporters! He’s very much caught between a rock and a hard place.

This period is rough, it’s exhausting, it involves a lot of talking, just days and days and days of it. It involves motions being passed in one assembly only to be thrown down at the next. Boromir and Faramir’s relationship is the rockiest it has ever been and Imrahil’s just so upset with all his family’s internal fighting after losing their patriarch, he doesn’t know what to do! Denethor’s sisters both put their support behind Boromir after hearing of the treatment of their brother, which causes even more strife within the Stewards. Some of their children don’t agree with them. Utter madness. And Imrahil can’t take sides between his nephews! Even though his reputation and influence would definitely sway the discussion one way or another, he refuses to do it, it’s CHAOS. And all the while the Dunadain are in their seperate sphere, getting more and more angry because really they don’t know why there needs to be any discussion about this at all. In their mind, Aragorn’s the rightful King and should have been accepted with only unending gratitude, along with those who’ve been faithful to his line. 

Aragorn has a better grasp of this, he knows what’s expected of him and some of what the issues are, a lot of the talking surrounds Aragorn inviting Boromir into his tent (that he still keeps, flying his banner and everything, reminding everyone of how this still isn’t settled) and them talking and arguing and agreeing and then disagreeing. Aragorn will bend somewhat to Boromir’s demands, for the Steward’s position to be protected and maintained, defined as a close and powerful advisor with strict protections against being susceptible to bribery so that there’s some reliable oversight on a King’s dealings. But he refuses to give the Stewards any definable powers, he refuses to give up any of his executive power to debate or voting, he refuses to be bound by other’s decisions or take on any of the obstructions that the Stewards had during their rule. 

And the discussions around this range from generally good talks, perhaps even followed by a little of their old natural banter, a kind of humorous agree to disagree, to just… god just the most bitter and furious of fights. Aragorn is used to men bending under the weight of his displeasure, as is Boromir, and when that works on neither party they resort to louder and louder and more genuinely angry words. 

Aragorn calls Boromir a faithless friend and says Faramir must be right, he IS power grabbing. Boromir demands to know how Aragorn can be such a hypocrite to say such a thing, when he arrives here after a thousand years and demands a crown that was never Isildur’s to hold. Aragorn throws up his hands in frustration, declaring that Boromir and Gondor refuse to learn the lessons of their past and refuse the infinite wisdom of the Eldar whom have known what is right for a millenia now. Boromir’s near disgusted, barking a cruel laugh and saying he is not surprised Aragorn’s speaks so, he should have known that Aragorn is still nothing more than an elf in man’s clothing, who cares and knows nothing of the people he wishes to rule. Aragorn asks what more Boromir wants from him, has he not proven himself? Has he not succeeded in his tests, where Boromir had failed? What right does Boromir have to judge him?

This draws them both up short, the cruelty of everything said saturating the air. For Aragorn, there’s a taste of guilt to it that he refuses to admit now. For at the time, he had known Boromir’s loss to be his fault and the breaking of the fellowship had been one of his few great failures. Boromir’s voice isn’t loud but malice is apparent as he slowly replies that it is not him that Aragorn must measure himself against, but his Father, a man Aragorn had done nothing but abandon, malign and ignore, and yet if not for Denethor there would be no country left for Aragorn to rule over. Not to mention every Steward before him. Denethor lost his wife, his youth, his sons, his sanity and his life to the defence of Gondor, what does Aragorn know of that kind of sacrifice? Nothing. Nothing at all.

It’s a while until they speak again, but Boromir makes a decision in the mean time. He cannot be acceptably neutral in this decision and, at this point, the stalling of government has become far too dangerous. Using his executive powers, he insists that there will only be one vote to pass any and all motions from now on, no more repeals, and the Council must be decided within a fortnight. This declaration both wins him the support of The Annoyed, and loses him support from many Lords within his own faction. He decides he doesn’t care, which as a strategy works surprisingly well in his political sphere. He’s happy to weather the consequences of bad decisions and he is not his father. 

With the shock of this sudden rush to completion, no one has any time to continue their lobbying or machinations. Even Aragorn is barely able to keep up with the proceedings, especially since he still cannot enter the city. Councillors and Lords hurry from one chamber to the next, civil servants are run off their feet trying to assign and inform everyone upon the dates and times of particular votes, it’s messy. However, mess levels the playing field.

In the end, with the new support of The Annoyed, an amended version of the old constitution is drawn up. In particular, treason is redefined. Lords have more allowance to speak against a King’s word. The Stewardship’s two capacities are redefined to more befit the times and the position of Warden of the White Tower is also put into more solid writing. The majority of it is more an edit of language. More moral and honourable emphasis is put upon unity and agreement and less upon a King’s divine word. To go against his vassals wouldn’t be illegal for Aragorn to do, but it would be legally frowned upon, which is at least enough of a basis for further legal challenges and can give requests for freedom of information more power in the long run. Gondor is a nation built upon it’s honour and morality after all. 

Everyone’s left in kind of a state of shock afterwards, surprised they managed it, exhausting, confused. Except apparently for Boromir, who’s remained remarkably calm throughout. Even with this very watered down version of what he apparently had wanted, he’s obviously content with it. Faramir’s surprised by this too, he and Boromir are too different in this regard. Where Boromir’s passion is for the agreement and process, Faramir is focused on perfect results. 

So! With less pomp and ceremony than it should have, Boromir goes to present Aragorn with this proposed constitution. Aragorn reads it and has it read by a few of his people. Faramir is present and ensures Aragorn know he has the right to refuse it and propose his own. It’s a whole thing. But, in the end, Aragorn agrees to the terms and, in a far more lavish ceremony, both he and Boromir sign the new document and make a public agreement. Boromir offers Aragorn the Steward’s sceptre in service, Aragorn makes his speech, Boromir makes HIS speech and asks all the gathered people of Minas Tirith if they’ll accept Aragorn as their king and they give a resounding affirmative cheer and Aragorn FINALLY stops sleeping outside and comes into the city to make ready for the coronation. 

But then, what of Aragorn and Boromir’s relationship? I think there’s some mollification for them both with this move. Aragorn’s mollified that Boromir got this done. Boromir’s mollified that Aragorn accepted it. And then just time lets things simmer down. Bad blood is still there, most particularly on Boromir’s side, but they find a working relationship. I honestly don’t think it’s ever what it was when they were on the Quest. They just aren’t the same men anymore, they don’t quite have the same goal, nothing is simple any longer. I think they find a new kind of friendship which allows for more up and down relations, gives more allowance for them to just be annoyed with each other. I don’t think apologies are ever forthcoming from either of them but it needs to work so they make it work. 

Aragorn needs Boromir to help him through this knotted thicket of a country, to be guided in this culture he’s not been a part of for forty years. And Boromir gradually is aware and accepts that Aragorn’s heart is in the right place, he does want to be good for Gondor, and his greater and more decisive powers certainly help push through change that they’d never been able too before. 

But does Boromir ever truly accept Aragorn’s kingship as the best and right thing to do? I think he still has his doubts. Aragorn might be a good King, but what of his son? And his son’s son? They did not just give all this power to Aragorn, they gave it up to a thousand unknown royals of the future and Boromir often asks himself if he made the right choice. He doesn’t have the same sense of faith as most Gondorians, the same reverence for the past. I think he’ll always wonder if Denethor would have approved, if Denethor might have done better than he did.

… Lets answer that question!!!

Yes he would.

 I- god I’m not going to go into the detail of before because this is already at 3000+ words, but Denethor’s mere presence chills everything out a great deal. This man has a near legendary track record in both wisdom, cunning and dedication to his responsibilities. As much as the Lords of Gondor remember Thorongil the great Captain, Denethor was their Captain-General long before he arrived. Denethor went to war for decades, Denethor held the country together through thick and thin and Denethor is universally trusted in at least his motives and purposes. No one who has dealt with Denethor truly believes he’s coveting power. 

With Denethor there’s no mess, there’s no distress or confusion. Denethor lets everyone know what’s happening. He knows which Lords are playing for their own power, he knows which of them to trust, he and the Master of Waters have been good friends for years, and he’s well trusted amongst the unions. With that all in play, the number of the Faithful is smaller than it might have been, and Faramir, whilst being definitely a thorn, is not so powerful when pitted against Denethor’s weight of experience. He also has Boromir on his side still.

I do think Denethor would conceed to Aragorn’s coronation, after all there’s just so much prophecy and timing and divinity to it all, and Gondor is a nation that puts a great deal of stock in gestures and how right something feels. Denethor knows that intimately, and a new age with a King might be actually very profitable. But Denethor has a new constitution draw up, voted on, and agreed to by nearly the entire council, before it’s presented to Aragorn. And this is his arena, they might be mental and physical equals, but Aragorn can’t win against Denethor’s time spent. 

This constitution has checks, it’s got balances, it’s got a defined and clear path to dethroning an unliked King and the kinds of abuses of power that could be it’s catalyst. Aragorn’s power is significantly reduced and tied to a more Steward-like system of government. And Aragorn has to bloody well accept it, because that’s what he’s going to get. He isn’t all that put out, in the end, it’s just another challenge to overcome. And you know what? He and Denethor do reconcile. Just simply by virtue of being so damned clever, and knowing that their hearts are both in the right place. That age old respect comes back to the fore and they remember how enjoyable it was to just talk to each other. Honestly I’d say Aragorn and Denethor’s relationship ends up being better than his and Boromir’s in the end. They’re just so damn alike and with the both of them at Gondor’s helm the country is really speed boosted into a bright and blinding golden age. 

… holy FUCK we did it lads, I’m gonna pass tf out now adIEU 

[worryinglyinnocent]

Fic: Dead Man Walking (2/?)

Summary: Prime Ministers don’t normally wake up in morgues after they’ve been murdered, but that’s exactly what Robert Sutherland has just done. Right in front of Lacey’s nose. With limited resources and not knowing who to trust, Sutherland and Lacey must work together to get to the bottom of the attempted assassination.

Based loosely on this dream I had.

Rated: T, eventually E.

Note: This is meant to be ‘darkly humorous and amusing mystery’ rather than ‘gripping political thriller’...

[One] [AO3]

---

Dead Man Walking

Two

Robert Sutherland was not having a good day.

The last thing he remembered was trying very hard to stay awake. He had been in his office in Chequers, attempting to look over the latest proposals from the Foreign Office regarding a potential delicate trade crisis that had only come onto their radar as Parliament had been breaking up for summer. Not wanting to cause a panic by recalling Parliament, he’d decided to just host a few meetings at Chequers to try and get ahead of the game before everything started up again later in the year.

Now he was thinking that probably hadn’t been such a good idea, since instead of waking up in his office where he had failed in his fight against oncoming exhaustion despite the copious amounts of coffee he’d been drinking, he had woken up in a morgue. God only knew where. On an autopsy table. With no clothes on.

He tried to count his blessings. At least he hadn’t woken up in one of the fridge drawers.

That was pretty much the only blessing he could think of right now, because his head was pounding, and the young woman who’d rescued him wasn’t letting him have any painkillers. He wasn’t sure if rescued was the right word for it.

“Think about it,” she was saying as she searched through the morgue office’s drawers and filing cabinets for something, muttering under her breath about her father not keeping anything in a logical place. “You were dead. A doctor declared you dead and you were about to be autopsied so that they could determine the cause of death. Then some official looking men in suits – maybe MI5, I don’t know – started delaying the autopsy. Why would they do that? You’re the Prime Minister. You’re pretty much the most important man in the country. They would want to know how you died asap so that they can announce to the country at large that you’re dead and parliament can start performing damage limitation and everyone who hates you can start partying in the streets.”

“You are not helping at all,” Sutherland growled.

“Just stating a fact. Anyway. They keep delaying the autopsy, the police are convinced your death was suspicious and the Suits were livid when Dad sent your clothes for forensics.” Lacey shrugged. “They’re trying to cover up the fact that your death was suspicious. You didn’t die, Prime Minister. You were murdered. Only, whoever murdered you didn’t quite succeed. And since you have no markings of a violent death…”

Sutherland did not need to be reminded that Lacey had seen him completely starkers.

“…Then that leads me to believe that you’ve been poisoned. With something that would make it look like a natural death, a heart attack or something. And the Suits, who are likely working for whoever poisoned you, want to delay the autopsy so that whatever it was that was used to poison you has had time to break down and won’t show up as anything suspicious on the toxicology report.”

Lacey slammed the final drawer shut and cursed under her breath before going out into the main morgue, telling Sutherland in no uncertain terms not to wander off. Sutherland had no idea where he’d wander off to in the first place; someone would probably find him traipsing the corridors in search of an exit and assume that he’d escaped from a secure ward, and if he told them that he was the Prime Minister, then he’d simply be branded as delusional.

Lacey returned, triumphant, holding up a sterile syringe still in its wrapper, and a couple of test tubes.

Sutherland edged his chair away from her.

“No.”

Lacey rolled her eyes. “I did three years at medical school and I’m in my sixth of studying forensic chemistry. I have taken blood before, you’re in safe hands.”

“No!”

“Look, do you want to find out what killed you or not? If we don’t do it soon then it’ll have broken down in your bloodstream and there’ll be no evidence.”

“I want to get the fuck out of here!”

“Yeah, well…” Lacey let out a heavy sigh, leaning back on the desk. “Look, I’m trying to help here, ok? I could just as easily throw you to the wolves in Suits out there and see how you get on then. I didn’t ask to be saddled with a not-dead Prime Minister whose party I didn’t even vote for. I have even less idea who I ought to trust than you do! Anyway, no painkillers until we work out what poisoned you. I don’t want to re-poison you by giving you something that’ll react to whatever it was that you were given before and I don’t want the painkillers to mask whatever it might have been so that we can’t work out what it was in the first place.”

Sutherland sighed, rubbing his forehead and willing the pain to go away. They were stuck in a stalemate, but at least Lacey did seem to have his best interests at heart, even if her bedside manner left a little to be desired. Maybe it was a good thing that she hadn’t finished medical school.

Still, he was as morbidly intrigued to know how he’d been unsuccessfully assassinated as Lacey seemed to be, and it made sense to get evidence against his would-be killer whilst he could. Against every better judgement that was currently screaming at him, he held out his arm.

“Very good. I knew you’d see reason in the end. If only you could see reason about that student loan forgiveness.”

To give her credit where it was due, she was very professional about the whole thing, washing her hands thoroughly and putting on gloves before swabbing his arm with disinfectant.

“Now, because they’re usually getting blood out of people without pulses down here, there are no tourniquets, so we’ll have to make do.” Lacey pinged an elastic band around his arm and twisted it to make the veins in his elbow bulge. “Hold that and make a fist.”

Sutherland did as he was told, mainly because Lacey was now holding a hypodermic and he didn’t want it being jabbed anywhere that it shouldn’t be.

“OK. Look away now if you’re squeamish. Sharp scratch.”

Within a few seconds, Lacey had filled two test tubes and was releasing her makeshift tourniquet, pressing cotton wool down on Sutherland’s elbow as her other hand searched for plasters before giving it up as a bad job.

“So, now that you’ve drained me dry, what next?” he asked.

“Well, someone needs to do a toxicology report on these samples,” Lacey said. “I’m slightly too invested in the case to do it myself. I mean, someone has to keep you alive now that you’re, well, alive. Also, amazing as I am, I’m not fully qualified so anything I do probably wouldn’t stand up in court. But we’re in luck, because we are in fact in a hospital and I happen to know a lot of pathologists here.”

She grabbed her phone before Sutherland could protest, hitting a speed dial.

“Hi Dorothy! You know you owe me a massive favour for setting you up with that cute nurse from A&E? Yes, well, I’m cashing it in now.”

Sutherland zoned out as she talked, trying to remember something, anything that could have any bearing on the case. Everything was so fuzzy, but he couldn’t remember anything out of the ordinary.

If he had been poisoned, then it had been by someone close to him. There had been so few people around and they were all known to him personally. The thought was chilling, and he wished that he knew who he could trust. It was a horrible feeling, metaphorically looking over his shoulder all the time. Politics involved a lot of backstabbing, he’d been in the business of it long enough to know that, but at the same time, he never thought that anyone meant it quite that literally.

It was probably the coffee. He’d been drinking a lot of it and he’d forgotten dinner, so intent had he in his forceful mission to get everything solved before it dragged on too far into the summer recess.

Sutherland began to feel slightly queasy.

“Are you all right?” Lacey was off the phone, stowing the blood samples in her rucksack. “Come on, let’s get out of here before one of the Suits comes back and finds that you’re not dead after all. Or my dad comes back and tries to autopsy you anyway.”

Sutherland took a deep breath. “I need to call someone.”

Lacey raised an eyebrow. “All things considered, are you sure that’s a good idea?”

“All things considered, we’re a dead prime minister and an almost-forensic chemist hiding in a morgue we’re not supposed to be in. I think back-up might be useful.”

“Ok, ok, I get your point, and I suppose I did just bring Dorothy into it. Who are you going to call?”

“Carrie, my chief of staff.”

“You trust her?”

“With my life.”

Lacey snorted. “Well, given the circumstances, you’d better.”

X

Moe had finally finished signing all the waivers, and the man in the grey suit with the grey hair whom all the other Suits were calling Sir had basically told him that if he broke any of the top secret agreements he’d just signed, he’d be locked up and the key thrown away and no-one would ever know where the body was buried.

He’d also told him that if anything ‘unusual’ were to crop up during the autopsy, then he should tell the Grey Suit Sir and no one else. It should not go on the autopsy report.

Moe valued his life and freedom too much to disagree. He was already in trouble for sending the PM’s effects to the police without leave from Grey Suit Sir.

Now, his shift was over and they still hadn’t given him the go ahead, so he had informed the Suits in no uncertain terms that he was going to have to go and put the Prime Minister away until he came back on shift now, because otherwise they’d have to go through the entire rigmarole again with another pathologist.

The Suits had actually seemed rather relieved about that, and Moe’s suspicions of them were growing by the minute. Still, he kept his mouth shut, and he didn’t complain when one of them accompanied him down to the morgue.

That was when things started to go pear-shaped. Because the morgue was empty.

Not only was Lacey no longer in the office, the Prime Minister was no longer on the table.

The Suit looked at Moe with a look that was slightly anger, but mostly fear. A kind of ‘oh crap, I’m so fired’ expression.

“Where’s he gone?” he asked.

Moe shrugged. “I don’t know. I’ve been under observation ever since he arrived. Maybe he snuck out whilst I was in the canteen and you were chatting up that nurse in the purple scrubs.”

The Suit scrubbed a hand over his face. “This is impossible! He was dead! He can’t have snuck out anywhere! He must have had help! I mean, someone must have stolen him.”

Moe just shrugged again, collecting his coat from the morgue office and surreptitiously sliding Lacey’s discarded headphones into his pocket before the distraught Suit could see them.

“Well, if you’d let me get going on his autopsy sooner, we wouldn’t have this problem,” he said calmly, although he was feeling anything but calm. Someone had stolen the Prime Minister, and it was looking very likely that the someone was his own daughter.

He thought back to the brief conversation that he’d had with her in the canteen whilst the Suit had been distracted by the purple scrubs. About how he didn’t need to worry about the PM going off overnight. And asking where his effects were. And Lacey had been in the morgue the entire night, unbeknownst to the Suits.

Moe was beginning to think that the Prime Minister wasn’t actually dead after all, and he really wasn’t sure whether that was supposed to be a good thing or a bad thing.

[echoedfates-archive]

My dudes. I'm not defending anything here, but please tag your callouts and reblogs of them. I actually don't have it blacklisted, but that's my own fault and usually I have the energy to gloss over them. Sometimes, I actively want to know who's reblogging if it's over a petty issue.

If what I'm seeing is true, the current callout on my dash is serious. But this also happens to be the occasion where I don't have the energy to read through it. I suffer from chronic pain, mental health struggles and sometimes those two things leak into fatigue.

Not wanting to see callouts when my disability is already exhausting me does not make me a bad person. I am simply not in the same position as a lot of people are to handle them. No, I don't have to read them right now, but callouts in general make me VERY uncomfortable due to a bad experience when I was younger, and scrolling past maybe 6 posts due to reblogs is not nice when I'm coming to Tumblr to see what my friends are up to.

It is my own fault for not blacklisting. But had I done so, I still would have had to make this post. And there will be some who DID blacklist and still had to scroll through a tonne of stressful info. The matter being discussed is a serious one, so I'm not telling you not to reblog. Not everyone has my stance on callouts and perhaps I'm the one in the wrong. I also didn't have the energy to read it thoroughly to decide for myself if it was a needed one, given the serious nature when I skimmed.

BUT. Whether or not you feel a callout or reblog is crucial, please remember to tag them. Not just the triggers, though thank you to those that did. There is a pandemic. Police brutality is ripe. My country is snowballing to political disaster. Aside from that, I am in pain. I am tired. I am still battling grief, on occasion. The other day I cried in the shower because of it.

Good on you if you want to fight against bullies and other wrong-doers, but please be considerate of those who struggle and come here for a break.

[madelinemsnyder]

Gute Fahrt!

This German phrase I saw in the Vienna International Airport and in the metro stations means good ride/trip/travels. And that is what I experienced this past weekend in Vienna, Austria. 

Mia and I arrived on Thursday night, and we unconfidently managed our way to our hostel. We were very hungry by the time we got there at 11 pm, but most places were closed. We caught a local pizza place selling the last of their day’s slices three minutes past close, and I was thankful. 

The next morning I was up at 8 am, solely to take advantage of the hostel’s free breakfast. Upon first glance, I was not sure that they had much to offer. But I took my time with breakfast, and I ended up enjoying thick bread rolls with lots of Nutella (I do love Europe for hazelnut’s prevalence), fruit yogurt with granola and cereal, and coffee from a fancy machine. I am somewhat high maintenance with coffee, but I have learned to love a simple latte (hot coffee with milk), so I had two.

To clarify, we never really planned on any of the places we ended up visiting. We knew very little about Austria upon entering the country, which was an exciting and daunting fact. It was nice not to have anywhere to be; we had the whole day to wander and discover. 

When I first saw Vienna, I was struck by how clean it was. The metro on the first night was unusually clean. In the daytime, the streets seemed immaculate- I did not see street cleaners or even a surplus of trash cans- it appeared a picture-perfect landscape. The sidewalks were wide and flat; all the streets, structures, and parks were politely asking us to walk down them and enjoy their beauty. Even the buildings-which is a common theme is Europe- all appear to be large and beautiful, even if a McDonalds or Starbucks sits on the bottom of it.

We initially headed to Volksgarten, a beautiful green open area, then to nearby Hofburg Palace, a beautiful gray white building with gold detailing. At first I did not realize how expansive it was, but I later learned there were many museums inside. I think it was also connected to the Austrian National Library- another beautiful building with a more amazing interior (according to pictures I saw). Next, we headed to MuseumsQuartier, another area quite close to where we were with grandiose buildings. I am not quite sure what drew us, but we wandered farther off in that direction. Again, I am not sure what stood out this time, but maybe there was a vague familiarity about the Leopold Museum standing out from the names of the other museums. We spontaneously bought tickets because the art advertised was gorgeous. And I was not disappointed. 

After our eyes were tired from reading about and soaking in the art, and our bellies hungry, we decided to leave to the museum to wander around to whatever our next destination would be. We had snuck some sandwiches from the hostel breakfast, so that we would not have to buy lunch. Maybe it was the hunger or maybe, just maybe, that gouda and turkey sandwich was the best one I have ever had. 

Next, we wandered to another side of Hofburg Palace, near the Albertina museum. It hurt us to not go inside the Albertina, as they advertised Van Gogh, Matisse, Monet, and Picasso pieces that I know we would have loved. We stopped by Beethovenplatz, a little square with a sculpture dedicated to his namesake. From there, we probably saw a million more beautiful views before arriving at the Belvedere Palace. A place which we chose to wander to because I think we had heard about it from a friend of a friend, and it seemed close to us when we looked on a map. I did Google our way there, and it seemed like we had arrived, when the map still said it was an eight minute walk. Really, that is just how wide-ranging the area was. From one side to the other was a 10 minute walk. It was beautiful, and I almost felt like a queen walking through the grounds of the palace. Even though I was wearing sweats and carrying a volleyball backpack.

After enjoying the views, we were quite far from our hostel, and it was getting dark. We started to head back (about an hour’s walk) to catch views of St. Stephen’s Cathedral and hopefully some authentic Austrian food. It was very cold, and I was getting hungry, so we stopped at Short Break, a little coffee shop on the corner of a tall yellow building. I ordered an iced coffee because I was curious if it would be any good (sorry Greece, but I have not been a fan of your coffee). It was great, and I felt like a child for indulging myself because there was literal ice-cream in the coffee. Mia and I also split a traditional apple strudel for the experience.

After warming up, we made our way to St. Stephen’s Cathedral, which appeared gothic in the night light. Its stark beauty stood in the center surrounded by tall buildings- the modernity made evident by souvenir shops, a metro station, restaurants, and high fashion stores. We walked around the nearby squares and ended up eating at a quaint little Austrian restaurant. I thoroughly enjoyed schnitzel with chips (fries) dipped in ketchup and mayo mixed together. I also had a martini, and Mia had a beer. My only objections to the experience were that water, ketchup, and mayo cost money even though we were not told ahead of time. Also, we were the last ones in the restaurant at 8:45 pm on a Friday night! It deserves a quick mention that I made it to Sigmund Freud Park and smoked a cigarette in honor of the psychologist famous for smoking cigars, psychoanalysis, and creating theories about sexuality based purely on observations of middle to upper class Viennese women.

We noticed that Vienna seemed populated by older people as opposed to young people (with the exception of Austrian teenagers at Freud’s park on Friday night). And we learned from experience that places, even restaurants, closed pretty early at night. Vienna seemed to be one of those destinations that maybe only more experienced travelers would visit. Many people were quite nice, and I was less worried about being pick pocketed here. I felt as though fewer people spoke English, fewer people tried to sell us things, and we stood out less as tourists (as opposed to more heavily-populated tourist cities). I think my family would love it here. If we came back, we would have no shortage of art (new and old to me) to enjoy.

Another brief thought about returning to Vienna on Monday. I was excited to be back, but it was not quite the same. This is where I felt humbled in my travels and experiences as a 19-year-old ambitious juvenile (I love you, Billy Joel). We had limited time in Vienna before our flight, but our hearts were set on seeing Gustav Klimt’s “The Kiss” when we realized it was hanging at the Belvedere Palace. It was a great few hours wandering the beautiful museum. However, we were quite tired from all our days of walking (50 miles in 4 days) and attempting to manage public transportation in the German language back to the airport on empty stomachs only exhausted us more. I wondered what it would be like to travel like supermodels or rich people, with chauffeurs, being put up in fancy hotels like the Ritz-Carlton, receiving welcome gifts and complimentary room service. But, it was empowering and rewarding to travel around on our own the way we did. I am eternally grateful for the experiences I have had, including all the hiccups along the way. Although Mia and I were evidently frustrated, we did not snap at each other once(!), so yes our podcast on marriage counseling will be coming soon :).

The country of Austria was never top of my list to visit (most definitely because I was ignorant of its beauty and history), but I am so thankful I made it. I learned so much about wonderful Vienna, and all hopes I could have had were exceeded by the art and ambiance of the city. Like Billy Joel said, I felt that Vienna was waiting for me.

[riverflowsthroughit]

Biologist, Paraglider, Annecy, France

Esther took an advanced paragliding SIV course in Annecy, France. I was the impostor who was there by accident, observing and taking a regular course. SIV stands for Simulated Incidence in Vol/Flight, covering training for controlling the paraglider in extreme circumstances. Exercises involve completely stalling the flying wing, plunging down and re-inflating the paraglider, spinning/spiraling and regaining control, and other magnificent and exhausting maneuvers. Esther completed the course, and was always asking the right questions, reviewing the videos diligently and thoroughly. She is a biologist in Holland, but paragliding is her passion. I thought WOW, here is a kick ass chick sitting in a group of 15 guys, full stalling her glider. I need to get more information. That's how this post came about, I followed her on a typical flying day. 1. Name. Iris Esther Dielissen. 2. Where is your hometown? Zwolle, a medium sized Dutch city with a nice historic centre. For paraglider pilots: It is situated between our beautiful soarable dunes on the coast and the best towing spot for cross country paragliding in the Netherlands. 3. What is your profession/career/title/self-label/designation? Biologist and paraglider pilot. 4. What was the journey like to get where you are (career wise)? When was the mental shift to start the journey? As long as I can remember I've been fascinated by the natural world around me. I am fortunate to have parents who love to travel and introduced me to other countries and cultures at an early age (for example Venezuela, South Africa, Namibia). My dad is a bird watcher so he taught me how to spot wildlife and notice the difference between species. So I am a biologist at heart, although it took me some time to discover that. I actually applied to study psychobiology at first (study close to neuroscience), but when I was hiking in the Azores, I decided that I wanted a study that had to do more with my natural surroundings, instead of doing research on rat brains in a lab. That moment's decision was very important and I have never regretted it. I now work for the regional government as a consultant in ecology and management of the nature reserves within my province. Before this I worked for a travelling agency for hiking & cycling tours. Paragliding is a (very important!!) hobby now, I don't know where I will end up one day, maybe again in the travelling business. 5. What did you study in school? Biology with a specialization in ecology and natural resource management. 6. How is your life different from what you pictured at 20? I didn't picture myself spending so much time in an office, and actually like what I do. My brain is challenged in this job and I can use my skills as a biologist in a way that has impact, which is great. However I still think it should be temporary, say for a few years. The trade off is that my body doesn't get as much activity as it actually requires and majority of the time I am not exploring my surroundings but sitting at my desk. I hope in the future I can do work that is more balanced in both or I just go full force on paragliding and travelling for a while. 7. Biggest accomplishment since making the (physical/mental) move? Getting a permanent contract on my current job as a biologist and to learn how to pilot a wing and fly my first cross country distances. 8. What was biggest disappointment and plan to overcome it? No huge disappointments.... yet! Only small ones, not one in particular that stands out. 9. Advice for other women? Fear less, don't think things are not for you because you are a woman, take a leap of faith now and then, trust your own judgement and go with your gut. 10. Knowing what we know now in current political climate, can women be "all that we can be" in today's world? What is the way forward, as you see it for "feminist values"? I think there is still a lot of pressure on what women should be, especially when it comes to appearance. Prettiness gives a women certain privileges and power over men, however I think for good looking women it is harder to gain respect in a professional career and to get opportunities to lead, especially in male dominated sectors. If you are a good looking you for example may have more chances to get hired, but there is less chance you are hired as a 'boss'. The way forward? I think women should help each other up more. There is too much competition between women, and too little empowerment. This is one of the ways forward, another one is to acknowledge discrimination on gender and on race still exists in modern western societies. 11. Where in the world do you feel “tallest” (i.e. where is your happy place)? In extreme natural environments. This can be in the air, flying but also deep jungles, an arctic tundra, on top of a volcano. The raw beauty of our world in these places is very overwhelming, making me feel very tall and very small at the same time. 12. What extra-curricular activities/hobbies are you most proud of? Why? Paragliding for sure. Because it is very mentally challenging, but also graceful and explorative. Before I started paragliding (2015) I tried diving, surfing and was following yoga classes. But nothing has been as amazing as flying a paraglider. It is very rewarding in terms of experiences and I like the mental challenge a lot. 13. What do you want to be when you grow up? Future goals/challenges? I think I haven't found my ideal job jet, or haven't found a way to make my current job my ideal job. 14. What fears are you still hoping to overcome? I would like to learn to trust my own decisions more. I find it very hard sometimes not to be in doubt, and just go for one way or the other especially in my job. In flying it can be hard to see the difference between 'true fear' and just making yourself crazy with scary thoughts that are not rational nor are your gut feeling. This is something that can be trained if you pay closer attention to your thoughts and feelings while making decisions. I hope that by training this while paragliding and being aware of the parallel with other situations in life will help me to grow more self-confident and be more decisive in my work as well. 15. Anything you'd do differently (if you had another go at life)? Not really, I have very few regrets and am still behind the choices I made in the past because I honestly think they where the best I could do at the time. If I would have a second life to live I would maybe be single for a longer time to see how that feels and how that would influence my self development (I have been in a relationship since 17, 12 years now), but I don't regret any of the choices I made to live the life I have now. 16. What inspires you? Nature, flying and people that are bright-eyed, enjoying life and create positive impact with their job. 17. What are you hopeful about? About the fact I still see myself growing as a person even if I don't always know which way I'm going. 18. What are some ingredients to a good life? Flying, good food, sex, warm relationships and having a job that means something to you and has a positive effect on others. 19. What are you reading now? (what books do you gift most and what are your favourite reads?) I have just started reading Paul Auster's 4321, recommended to me by a friend. And I read Classic Routes a beautiful paragliding book with descriptions and pictures some of the most epic and best known cross country paragliding routes in the world. 20. Who is a “WOW Woman” in your life who inspires you (and why)? One of my best friends Merel, who a professional scientist in tropical ecology and recently moved to Switzerland for a post-doc. I really admire her take on life, she's very relaxed but not in a lazy way. She works very hard on her scientific projects and has a lot of ambition, still she always finds time to climb (she loves rock climbing), travel and invest in relationships. Bèta science is very male dominated, which makes it less attractive to women, but she is definitely holding ground there. 21. Where can others find you/your work (links to websites, blogs, etc.)? facebook linkedin

[auroraynld]

Saturate

Saturate.

— v. /ˈsaCHəˌrāt/  to cause (something) to become thoroughly soaked with liquid so that no more can be absorbed.

I wanna say that i feel like i am saturated because i felt thoroughly soaked with those unwanted things —hoax, depressions, toxic people and their influences, and moreover, misbehavior and broken trusts— until i can’t even absorb anything anymore, not even lights and kindness.

Yes. I’m at this very phase of fed-up where i believe that i would really love to give up everything just to be happy, drama-free, and get the hell out of this place, pls. I’m weary of my current conditions, internally, externally, politically, mentally, and physically. Call me weak, but that’s what i really feel right now, where my cats can’t even amuse me anymore.

Internally, i’m on the edge of breaking down because of my anxiety of job-seeking, being unemployed, and my current regret of “dammit why did i took this major in the first place?!”. Tbh, i really wanna be who i always dream of, a diplomat or career woman, worked in the big ass company, got tons of respects from my friends, family, colleagues, etc. Yet, it’s not that simple, dear. Life is not that easy, it’s not as simple as studying, get a scholarship, get an offer on the job you want. No. Big no. Life is depressing enough till you can cry almost every night caused by the same reason you cried over the night before.

Externally—plenty of stuffs actually, yet i’ll start with my nuclear family. My biological mom has been ignoring me since the beginning of this year because of drama between her and my dad where i was dragged on to their stage, congratulated her on her birthday last April, no answer, asked her for apology earlier this month due to the Eid Mubarak, still no answer. My dad and stepmom got into a financial crises, not merely crises, yet they have gotten themselves in financial difficulties due to the economical and digital development, thus i lived with my aunt since i was in high school so at least i can save them a burden. Nevertheless, my aunt who has taken care of me, she decided to resign due to some internal problems, quite a few moments after her husband passed away, and so now she’s unemployed with a limited cash and a slight of assets. My other aunt and uncle, as usual, stingy and selfish, don’t care about the need of their nieces and nephews whilst they have a lot of money and assets, yet still, no feelings or pities. Other uncle, unemployed, spoiled brat, selfish, freak, and doesn’t care bout anything but himself. Those aunts and uncles are not very fond of my stepmom, idk why, well actually i know why, she talks too much, she complains too much, well tbh i don’t really like it too tho, but she’s my mom what can i do?! Dad? not helping, he forbid my stepmom to work and yet that’s triggered her bad habit of talking and complaining too much. And there’s one very close friend of my aunt that’s stupid and annoying, she always bring bad influences to my aunt where it’ll also spread to the whole family. Messed up? I know, that’s the reason why i really want to flee from this house and city.

Friends? Nope. No one but three that i can trust and i accounted for. Peer groups? Nope. I don’t like those spoiled brats who never listen and just go for what they actually need. Yes, i can say that i might be an extrovert but i don’t think that i really have friends since i’m that complicated person and i am that picky and i can’t simply hang out somewhere just to do...nothing???? I might be a fan of shopping, sight seeing, and hang around the malls for hours, but that’s all, without any of those not-so-friends, ok? And frankly, with their existence, i can always say that they actually the ones who make me depressed even more ever since i think i was always be in the dark, never get accounted for, and they never care about me. Not even a chance. :)

Politically. My family was exposed by hoaxes due to the presidential election last April, and the started to become the die-hard fans of the opposition, where they can’t even stop talking and spreading the black campaigns and rumors even after the election finished, and they keep saying that the election was corrupted, there was a big foul in the game. They refused to accept the lost, and keep hoping for an uprising. Shaking my head, i’ve tried so much, to make them understand, to tell them the facts that i had as a neutral citizen and an IR student, yet they-just-dont-wanna-listen. Why? They believe that this country was messed up enough and almost gone to the leftist wings a.k.a. communism. I really wanted to say, you stupid brat, no, it’s your brain and those quasi-religious people you look up to that gone way too far. Politics are just full of game. You know that, you should know that those quasi-religious people are just full of shit and they have no brain.

Those rants above are the reasons why i have this very problem with my very own self. The toxic condition around me drives me insane. It also exhausts me mentally whereas that exhaustion also affects me physically. I know that everybody might says “keep the positive vibes”, “don’t give up”, and those “love yourself”. But, haha, hun? You know what, keeping the positive vibes and loving myself is not that simple. If you were in this condition that you hate, you might wanna flee, i bet, and i guess, fleeing itself is the implementation of loving yourself that i never could’ve done due to my very own condition.

So, you might say that i’m giving up? Yes, i’m about to give up. I’m very weary.

I am saturated.

[abarahman-richard-chignell]

Nationalism...A Whole Lotta Nationalism!

Assalamu alaikum wa rahmatulahi wa barakatuh,   The original title was going to be "A revert's thoughts on the rise in Nationalism drawing on the Quran and Sunnah", but "a whole lotta nationalism" is appropriate given the rise of it everywhere and the length, I',m afraid, of this podcast! I normally try to avoid politics but in this day and age, it's almost impossible (Brexit, Trump, Saudi, China, to name just a few that seem to be all that is in the Western news). As always I want to try and tackle this in a way that is helpful to reverts or those rediscovering their Islam as this can be a rather difficult area to navigate as it involves it seems one has to question identities, nationalities, allegiances, religion, etc. It is rather a lot easier to understand if you are of Pakistani or Bengali heritage in the UK or Latino in the US, you've sadly experienced navigating this complex mix of where you fit in one way or another on a daily basis. If you are a refugee, life has always been hard, you never left your home just for a giggle, contrary to what it seems many people think you are not an expat who is just from a quote-unquote 'undesirable' country.  If you are from Palestine the struggle is in your blood. And of course this is just a snapshot of cases and far from fully inclusive. But of course, as a revert, you may be from none of the cultures under 'attack' you may even be from the culture or nation that is doing the attacking of your now new Brothers and Sisters. As a Brother from Britain or France, for example, you have the colonial legacy to deal with too. A Sister from the USA has the modern colonial warmongering of her own country to somehow come to terms with. As an Arab, you have the difficulty of leadership that never seem to represent the Islam that is everything to you, in a good light...I found and find this topic incredibly complicated and I hope that InshaAllah my thoughts and how I try to navigate this minefield may be of some value. Let me set the scene by giving some examples of rife nationalism and then tackle the Islamic view on this through some excerpts from the Qu'ran and hadith.  Although a warning ahead of time: my efforts to deal with this through an Islamic lens are going to be in no way exhaustive. Alhamdullilah this is simply because there are so many references that I could choose. Allah is the most Kareem (Kind) and his Messenger pbuh the best of examples - it should not surprise you that like most things - we've got this covered! DOCUMENTARIES I cut the cord to the TV ten plus years ago but still sometimes go down a YouTube rabbit hole now and then with my wife! We basically stick to lectures or documentaries in some pseudo attempt perhaps to be educated or intellectual ha ha. I am more than aware that our recent 'watchlist' is thanks to Google and whatever clever algorithm they have deployed to nicely serve up things for us to watch on a plate. Thank you YouTube algo-developers you clever little things! The 'freedom of choice' that we have online and the 'echo chamber'  effect is a whole other topic. I'm not going there today!!   Anyway recently we watched a series of interesting documentaries, from what I can remember, on VICE channel, Journeyman Productions, Ross Kemp on Gangs, BBC, Al Jazeera, etc I said it was a binge so let me share the ones I can remember:   Immigration - the harsh, fraught, struggle filled, emotional journeys of Syrians / Sub-Saharan Africans / Eritreans (the North Korea of Africa) / kind British people on the island of Lesbos / less kind Greek locals with a 'treat them mean and they won't continue to come' approach (as if that is going to do anything when they are willing to risk injury and death to leave where they are coming from) / unkind French and Italian police / kind local French people willing to go to court over providing refuge in their gardens to tens of refugees every day /  the disgraceful French police behaviour at the Calais Jungle camp. Israel, although we normally don't watch things on the Israeli occupation as my heart breaks at the barbaric nature of this ongoing apartheid and the international communities unwillingness to act on behalf of the Palestinian victims, we did watch an interesting thing on how the Haredi Jews have refused to serve in the Israeli military for religious reasons and yet how the Zionist government are not letting them get away with it. Now persecuting their own people for their religious beliefs which they are meant to share. As I'm an Englishman and we have a bit of a dark humour, I must confess to being amused by how un-Jewish the Zionist government are, and how if you are actually a practising Jew you are also borderline, or maybe not even borderline, an 'enemy of the state'! Also, I had no idea what a large number of practising Jews were opposed to military service.  A cursory bit of research highlighted that there are many other Jews like the Hasidic Jews who are against the occupation and service in the IDF.   We watched on Guantanamo Bay and how it is still open and on a 'tour' were quite amazed by how little the US soldiers guarding knew about their 'enemy' that they were holding. This is rather damning of the educational level and natural intellectual inquisitiveness. Even the base commander with rather a lot of stars on his shoulder confessed to knowing next to nothing! Quite staggering. Of course, the former guard who reverted to Islam featured in the documentary, mashaAllah, so it is wrong to totally generalise - we come to Islam in some very unexpected ways! Allahu Akhbar! We also watched Hate Thy Neighbour on the Deep South of America and the horrid EDL in the UK which was simply staggering for the total demonstration of ignorance and racism that are on both sides of the 'pond'. As an Englishman watching the EDL I just felt horribly ashamed. It is quite hard for me to fathom how this country can produce such disgusting characters from its midst.   A documentary on the most insane murder rate in Mexico border towns controlled by the cartels and how El Salvador is just so dangerous that those expelled from the US who have never really known El Salvador as home are willing to walk this 'caravan' that takes a minimum 30 days, and is truly treacherous, to try and get back into the US. Fully aware of the stakes involved if they are caught and that is if they beat the odds and even get anywhere near the border in the first place. We watched one on Afghanistan being, amongst a cornucopia of other natural resources, a gemstone capital. The one we watched focussed on emeralds and if you can afford them and want the greenest in the world then Afghanistan surely has them! This backed up what Afghan friends of mine had said about mineral resources in the country that I confess to never quite believing. It is amazing when you see for your own eyes that it rams home the point that you've been sold a dud by the media. It might even make one question the real motivations over the presence in a country that historically has been a graveyard for one army after another? Also, a debate hosted by intelligence squared and Chaired by Lyse Doucet (BBC's Chief International Correspondent) with the motion that "The West should cut ties with Saudi Arabia". For the motion were Mehdi Hassan (Journalist and Al Jazzera Broadcaster) and Madawi Al-Rasheed (LSE Professor and expert on Saudi Arabia). Against the motion Crispin Blunt (Conservative MP for Reigate - just up the road from me) and Mamoun Fandy (Egyptian born Middle East expert). It was a thoroughly good debate and well worth the watch. Before coming into the event 41% said they were for the motion, 22% against, 37% undecided. After the debate the positions had changed to 63% for the motion, only 5% were undecided, 32% were against. That was a swing of 6% towards the motion that "The West should cut ties with Saudi Arabia".  An obvious trigger and feature of this debate was the alleged but clearly fairly solid 'off with his head' order by MBS on journalist Jamal Khashoggi in the Saudi embassy in Istanbul. We also watched an interesting Oxford University Hard Talk on "What is the human cost to China's economic miracle?" again with Mehdi Hasan who this time was challenging Charles Liu on China's economic and human rights record - particularly on the Uighur Muslim detention or extermination depending on who you choose to believe.  Many are calling this ethnic cleansing and again it is happening pretty much undeterred. I forget where we watched it, but a just heartbreaking look at the humanitarian disaster that is Yemen, with a war that has been going on since 2015!  The civil war was ongoing but everything got significantly worse and became the worlds worst humanitarian crisis upon the involvement of the Saudi-led coalition. As in every war, civilians are bearing the brunt and suffering. Normally Scandinavia is portrayed as the lands where everything works, people are the happiest in the world, etc. Yet another documentary on the rise of Far Right parties puts pay to that notion - at least in my mind. In the sidebar, there were similar documentaries on neighbouring and regional countries. Sweden was even interesting and frightening in that there is a vicious battle between these right wing hate filled groups and militant violent left groups that actively combat the fascist right. All of this centred around the topics of nationalism, immigration, race, etc.   It is not just the algorithm served documentary binge fest where nationalist, separatist, racist, derogatoriness seems to be the global norm. The Christchurch terrorist act occurred and is obviously fresh in everyone's mind. As everyone knows this was nationalist, racist and hate inspired. I will not elaborate on that here. You may like to listen to my former podcast that covered the global Muslim reaction I experienced to this dreadful event, especially as it may not have been the reaction you may have expected (you can find it here). WHATSAPP Another example is from my own WhatsApp. I am a member of a number of Malaysian WhatsApp groups, after having lived there, and there is always a whole heap of Malay nationalism due to their concerns about the Chinese takeover of their country and the economic destruction that comes from not following Islamic economic principles at the state level. Post Christchurch I have received a troublesome number of links to mosques being vandalised in the north of England, we had Surrey Police talk in my local mosque and say that there had been a terrorist act against Muslims in normally sleepy Surrey. A 50-year-old man ranting about 'white supremacy' knifed a 16-year-old in a supermarket carpark..... and what is sad I am sure there are far more examples that someone with less aversion to media and social media could add to this already saddening list. The Today Show was shared with me where Muslim parents are upset about primary school sex and relationship education and Piers Morgan, taking on the mantle of a gay rights activist, decided to slander the Muslim journalist on his show, and Muslims in general, with an Islamaphobic and racist rant which was aired on an apparently well watched national TV channel. Although interesting the last 6 minutes or so were not featured online via the TV station where Piers steps a little too far over the line (the full version was sent to me). Piers, Piers, Piers, we are here to stay, when are you going to get that? Many of us are white like you mate. No, we're not going back to Islamabad, most of us never came from there, we're as British as you and have contributed more to building this society with real-world jobs than you. Wind your neck in mate. Accept that in a pluralistic society a favourite soundbite that you like to throw out, which is defined as: "A pluralistic society is a diverse one, where the people in it believe all kinds of different things and tolerate each other's beliefs even when they don't match their own.", you are going to have to accept that there are a whole bunch of us who face Mecca 5 times a day, wear different clothes, and rank God above all things. We accept you, time to actually be pluralistic and stop always targetting Muslims. That my friend is called Islamaphobia and you are only getting away with it because we don't seem quite as good as the Jews have been at getting it to be a term that people quake at being associated with, like anti-Semitism but.... we will get there soon inshaAllah, so watch out! NEWSPAPER Now I don't normally get a newspaper as I have a method that suffices my needs using my investment platforms excellent resources and I prefer books or periodicals for their deeper more thoughtful analysis. In general, I am not a fan of the 'news' per se. I know many successful people who seem to be just fine operating in a complete news blackout or reading headlines on the daily newspaper as they walk past a newsstand. However, after my family took my Dad out for lunch at the Shard last week I picked up an FT. I did it as a kind of walk down memory lane as I used to take the FT every day. As a finance chap, there really is no substitute. Now, this is not meant to be topical but rather an example of what is being pumped out and consumed. What I mean is that it is not specifically these stories that matter but rather the type of content I want to highlight. Scanning other newspapers in preparing a bit for this podcast, there is a commonality running through almost all UK publications - the examples I'm citing are indicative of the general state of affairs. I'm going to be referring to the Tuesday 19 March 2019 International Edition. Amidst the pages, on literally almost every page, what do you get but: Nationalism, Nationalism, Nationalism!   Also, I quite like the FT as they don't mess about! The news section is a few condensed pages before they get full-on business. So let me walk you through this sample Tuesday from our look-for-the-nationalist or leaning-that-way articles and references: 

- The front page headline has of course Brexit with "May's Brexit hits block as Bercow rules out third vote on same deal", naturally this sets the tone for a number of other articles where everyone guesses about the fiasco that has become the Brexit. The FT indicates what is coming in the rest of the paper on the front page. - Turning to page two, blissfully we get a pass.  - Page three has four articles all of which are loaded with nationalistic, and because this is Britain schoolboy antics of our esteemed politicians. The main article is "Bercow adds to May's problems while delighting Europhiles and Brexiters". The photo below showing Union Jacks and European flags jostling for our attention. As its a Brexit piece it is safe to say that this is nationalistic, them and us stuff. Then we have "Leavers will back PM's deal 'if she agrees to go'. In short, this is where conservative party members seem more interested in their positions in parliament than the future of the country. Pretty standard fare for politicians. We also have "Article 50 Back to Brussels with extra baggage" which is of course more of the same about poor old Theresa May having to go back and forth to Brussels to try and find some way out of this pickle we as a nation have got ourselves in. Finally, we have more of the games in the Conservative party with "Johnson and Raab jockey for position" which is all about how to slip into the PM spot as Theresa May leaves. Oh yes, it's not about serving the public interests first but rather serving their own. Loyalty to none it seems. Of course, cherrypicking some terms we have plenty of "leading Eurosceptic contenders", "prominent Brexiters", "insisting they are acting in the national interests", "hardline Brexiters", "pro-Brexit hardcore", etc, etc, yawn, yawn. - Page four we have a detour from Brexit woes for a little foray into Europe-land. "Staff resist Czech tycoon in battle for Le Monde"  is an article on a Czech billionaire looking to acquire control of the famous Le Monde newspaper. We have quotes like "I'm very suspicious of a foreign billionaire trying to get a foothold in the western establishment through the ownership of a media, especially through a newspaper such as Le Monde, which sets the tone and agenda of news in France and beyond". Yet we also have someone presumably talking on behalf of Kretinsky the billionaire saying "He is a Francophile and believes that France plays an important role in the fight of populism.". So here we have suspicion, foreign, western (making Czech back to the Eastern Bloc I presume), French nationalism in Le Monde as voice, Francophile, populism. Then it gets deeper as of course, we have "French interior minister in hot seat after yellow vest protest". This is more of the yellow vests protests that descended into violence with rioters setting fire to newsstands, a bank, restaurants and ransacking more than 90 shops. Sadly also for this chap they report on his playing around with waitresses rather than his wife. Who only knows what this movement is about anymore. It may not be so nationalistic but it is certainly popular and violent. And of course the French are often quick to say that everywhere immigrants come from are uncivilised and yet here we have France regularly looking like a war zone. - Page five, oh dear me, we have "Brazil's Trump pivots towards US in boost for White House", with subtitle "Rightwing Bolsonaro's Washington visit brings hope on both sides of closer ties". I can probably rest my case here but there are two disturbing quotes I will site to ram home the point: Firstly: "Day's before Jair Bolsonaro's meeting with Donald Trump this week, a select group of enthusiasts gathered at the Trump International Hotel in Washington to celebrate the ideas that helped bring the two rightwing populist leaders to power.Eduardo Bolsonaro, son of the Brazilian president who won a landslide election in October, was there. So too, as co-host of the event, was Steve Bannon, the former White House strategist who has set up a club for nationalist populist leaders called The Movement. "This is a very important movement and not just for Brazilian-US relations.... but the world," Mr Bannon told the gathering. "Ideas have consequences, and with the arrival of Bolsonaro [in Brazil], Trump [in the US], Orban [in Hungary], and Salvini [in Italy], it's a critically important time."We're at last doing what communists and socialists did a long time ago," added Eduardo Bolsonaro, who is also head of Brazil's congressional foreign relations committee. "We're organising ourselves internationally". All I will say personally is that I find this level of organisation globally of Nationalist leaders, the language used, and the titling of their club as The Movement, simply terrifying. - Page 6 and I promise we're done, inshaAllah, but there are a couple of things here which are both nationalistic and divisive. I have to make a little detour here. The first is "Erdogan angers Wellington by airing video" where we find out the Mr Erdogan screens footage of the mosque killings during his election rallies. It seems whilst everyone else is noting how well the NZ Primeminister has dealt with the whole affair Erdogan is trying to garner voters that he is struggling to hold onto. Now I am not sure who his advisors are but even my local Imam preached to the community not to share the videos due to the hurt it would cause the victims families, the disrespect to the martyrs, and the fact that it aids the intention of the killer himself. Oh no it seems Erdogan went and dove in with both feet the videos even being captioned "A terrorist who is the enemy of Islam and the Turks". In the rallies, Erdogan said 'the "real target" of the New Zealand killings was the Turkish people, the Turkish flag and the Turkish state.' Do we need to remind Mr Erdogan that whilst he might be struggling for votes that Islam, Muslim and Turk are not synonyms. But, without going too deep into this from the Islamic perspective, we have again(!) another example of rife nationalism. Next, we have "China talks up close ties with EU in riposte to 'systemic rival' label" and language like "concerns Beijing is trying to divide the bloc", China being an "economic competitor" and "systematic rival". China's representative making a big thing of "co-operation is a mainstay of European relations". The whole thing, of course, suggests discomfort from both sides with Europe marking their turf and China doing the same. I am going to finish with the headline "Beijing attempts to justify Uighur detention". As we all know by now Human Rights groups, international concern, yet not enough governments speaking out about the atrocious, ethnic cleansing, abuse, forced marriage, forced consumption of pork and alcohol, all in the name of education, oh and torture, murder, etc,  treatment of the Uighur people in China. Here we have Erdogan reclaiming some class by being the "first leading Muslim-majority country to call on China to close its mass internment camps holding Uighurs." Of course, I don't have to work hard to convince you that this is nationalistic, ethnic, racist, behaviour at play. I do have to say one thing.... you know you have that one friend or family member who is prone to massive exaggeration. Well, it seems China's state council has a serious case of exageritis! Let me read you this quote "Xinjiang has destroyed 1,588 terrorist groups, arrested 12,995 terrorists" and it goes on. But really? Really? 1,588 terrorist groups. 1,588 terrorist groups inside Xinjiang province. I spat my tea out reading that! Come on China state council pull the other one! I think you need to double down on your editorial control to ensure that the 'stats'  you produce have at least some basis in reality. WRAP UP THROUGH THE LENSE OF ISLAM Ok, ok, no I haven't turned this into a news review podcast but what I do hope I have done is demonstrated how everywhere you look there is the talk of nationalism or conditions that trigger nationalistic feelings. There are whole regions in flux and mobile populations at unprecedented scales. I want to say unprecedented but I'm not a good enough historian to know if that is totally true. What is for sure is that there is a significant amount of population movement and a significant amount of nationalism. What I'd like to do now is address nationalism through the eyes of Islam and my views as to how we as Muslims are meant to actually tackle this specific issue of nationalism. I'll start with making the point that Muslims living in non-Muslim majority countries can have issues that are kind of hard for them to deal with although I emphasise they have to rely on the religious teachings of our Deen (religion). Let's note the ease with which Muslims can feel awkward in Western countries with things that are nowhere near in line with our Religious views e.g. homosexuality, sex education at increasingly younger and younger ages, public debauchery, the promotion of gambling, sexualisation of almost everything, diminishing moral standards, etc, etc. Regrettably, the list is quite long. As this warrants a whole other podcast in its own right I am going to cover this in as short and sharp a practical manner as I can without giving any specific scriptural references, I'll save that for the full podcast inshaAllah. The key point: Muslims as long as able to practice their religion have to respect and uphold the laws of the land. After having travelled in many Muslim countries, you will find that many in those lands are jealous of the law and order in the West. There is no perfect Islamic environment in the world. We have to simply make do with what we have and in the West you are really rather blessed, whether you know that or not. Just wise up and be pragmatic. Thank God that you can freely worship, that you can listen to khutba's (sermons) that are not written by the state, that you can homeschool your children if you don't like the state education, that there is good state education at all, that there is access to medical care - which is often free, the rule of law is more balanced, bribery is not rife, etc. My suggestion is don't be a complainy-pants. Don't focus on the few things that are less pleasing and overlook much that is good. We should have shukr gratitude, for the blessings Allah swt has bestowed on us and sabr for those things he has also bestowed upon us that we find hard. As Muslims, remember we are people of shukr and sabr. So what do you do my brothers and sisters about things you are uncomfortable with, like homosexuality? Well how about this? Don't go to any gay bars!! What if you meet someone 'strange' or 'odd'? Be kind and well mannered. You never know if you may be an instrument of Allah swt and a trigger for them looking to Islam. There is no compulsion in religion and we are all the creation of Allah swt after all. A simple heuristic is to worry more about yourself, then your family, then your community, and work your way up. I am sure there are more than enough things for you to work on in those first three areas before being outraged by fringe groups. Even if they are rather vocal considering their meagre numbers.   Back to Nationalism. Look I checked my logic on this whole topic of Nationalism and being a Muslim with one of my close Arabic Brothers who has memorised the Quran mashaAllah. I also asked him for verses that he thought were relevant. There are honestly so many on this topic and additionally many many Hadith. I messaged him the following: "I would like to write something on nationalism and its dangers. It will be along the line of what I believe is stated in the Quran and the Sunnah: that we are Muslim first and from a nation second. That cultural things from our national traditions are cool as long as they don't contradict explicitly something from the Qu'ran and the Sunnah. This is my logical understanding so far." My Brothers response was "I stand with you for this Brother, flags and colours should not take us away from each other, we are being called by Allah swt as "one Ummah" and the only differences between us are in Taqwa which no one can judge except He." Note the key points here. 1) we are an ummah before we are nations with flags, colours, etc, (2) our unity as brothers and sisters in Islam supersedes our allegiances to nation states, (3) in the eyes of Allah swt we are all the same except in our taqwa. Taqwa if you have not heard of it before is our God consiciousness or you can have it translated as fear of Allah swt. It is what makes us do acts in remembrance of Allah swt. This can only be judged by Him the Most Magnificent as He is the only one who can look into the hearts to see this taqwa. None of us mere mortals possibly can. Actually, there is another area I want to share in my communication with my Brother that I think is important to reflect on as Muslims. I laughed with my wife that it is so amazing that I can just ask him for references and he closes his eyes and can just pull relevant verses from the Quran database that is his brain. What an incredible blessing that is from Allah swt and for someone who didn't grow up with any knowledge that people have memorised God's word in its entirety with no errors I continue to be astounded when I see this. I told him we thought this and he laughed. He said "Alhamdullilah Brother, when someone says this to me I really would say as Prophet Suleiman (Solomon) said in the Quran 27:19 "... "My Lord, enable me to be grateful for Your favour which You have bestowed upon me and upon my parents and to do righteousness of which You approve. And admit me by Your mercy into [the ranks of] Your righteous servants" Alhamdullilah" Then he tells me "you should teach your kids Arabic Brother, they will be grateful to you afterwards, they will appreciate how much you really love them especially when they read the Quran and understand it the way it was revealed" Then he said: "Walahi Brother, Quran is the only guidance in my life, and without it, I am completely NOTHING. It is my soul's oxygen! and every Muslim's too (supposedly)!" I share this as I feel it imperative to ask anyone still listening or reading: is this how you feel about the Quran? Is this your relationship with it? Is it your oxygen? Are you nothing without it?   It is meant to be! This is what creates our unity, creates our understanding, means that when there are issues like nationalism we know 100% where we stand as Muslims. We know that we're united with every single other Muslim on the Straight Path as we all go our understanding from Allah swt's direct words to us in the Holy Quran as well as the example and explanation of those words from the Prophet pbuh and what we have learnt from the Sahaba (may Allah be pleased with them), and the great scholars who have helped ensure in these modern times we understand as we were meant to the way to live. May Allah swt enable us as an Ummah to reconnect with Him through His Words and may we have the Qu'ran such a part of our life that it testifies on our behalf in the hereafter. Ameen. So here are a few quotes from the Qu'ran:    21:92-93 *"[Prophets], this is your community, one community, and I am your Lord, so serve Me. They have torn their unity apart, but they will all return to us."* 23:52-53 *"This is your community, one community - and I am your Lord: be mindful of Me - but they have split their community into sects, each rejoicing in their own." *   In both of these the emphasis, the angle that is being stated if you like, is referring to us as a community which is understood as an Ummah-nation. A community united by shared beliefs. One where our religion is the unifier, that is what makes us a nation, we are not separate from any other Brother or Sister, we are united as an Ummah through our religion, through the Lord we worship, the Lord we fear, and the Prophet pbuh who's example we follow. Allah swt reminds us of the risks of division and how we will all ultimately return to Him. He swt also highlights at the end of the second verse how the Jews and the Christians split into sects "each rejoicing in their own". Here the Quran is warning Prophet Muhammad pbuh and us that we are meant to be united as an Ummah, as a community, and not divide up into groups, making the errors of the former peoples of the book. Do you see how this trumps all human constructs of nations or nation-states? How it runs so much deeper? *3:102-103 *"You who believe, be mindful of God, as is His due, and make sure you devote yourselves to Him, to your dying moment. Hold fast to God's rope all together; do not split into factions. Remember God's favour to you: you were enemies and then He brought your hearts together and you became brothers by His grace: you were about to fall into a pit of Fire and He saved you from it. In this way God makes his revelations clear to you so that you may be rightly guided." * This is massive! We were enemies, and He brought our hearts together, through the religion, and His favour and we became brothers. Allah swt tells us that this saves us from the pit of the Fire. He swt tells us that we must "hold fast to God's rope all together".  So why are we fighting, killing, making enemies of other Muslims, fighting as nations against other nations, when that favour of Allah swt and brotherhood in religion that he has given us is what keeps us from the fire? *3:104 "Be a community that calls for what is good, urges what is right, and forbids what is wrong: those who do this are the successful ones."* As is the case throughout the Quran Allah swt tells us what makes us "the successful ones" and it as a community - a global ummah again - calling for what is good and forbidding what it is wrong. Calling to good is about as expansive as it gets. Are nationalistic motivations, the superiority of one type over the other, calling for good? Is this treating our brothers as we would hope to be treated? A community is stated here, not multiple nations. A community of believers where collectively, we focus on good. United we are successful as a single global community. I see this as knowing that deeper than the human constructs of nation-states there is a bond between me and my Moroccan brother, or between me and my Yemeni brother, or between me and my Colombian brother, or any other brother you can think of.... that transcends that nation-state man-made construct.   *3:105 "Do not be like those who, after they have been given clear revelation, split into factions and fall into disputes: a terrible punishment awaits such people."* This should make us think, should it not? Are we going down the route of those in the past who became divided? Have we not been given clear revelation? Have we not witnessed the mess that has become of those who have split into so many factions they lost all unity and are clearly in confusion? Do we no longer fear the punishment of Allah? Allahu Akhbar! La illah ill Allah. We hear and we obey! Or at least we should be unified by that La illah ill Allah. There is a community or a nation but its the community or nation that unites across all languages, races, and types under the shahada: La illah ill Allah, Muhammad rassululah.   THIS TOPIC REQUIRES MORE I actually got into this topic without thinking it through fully! I realise that I have only really scratched the surface of what needs to be said on this matter. For example, I need to address the race and racism part. How the inclusiveness of Islam is one of the biggest draws and how the Quran and indeed the Prophet pbuh's last sermon covered how we are all the same no matter our skin colour or where we happen to have been born. Maybe even more so than this is the importance of highlighting the importance of brotherhood and sisterhood as a broad concept in Islam and how this adds to the trumping of nationalism. However, this is already exceptionally long and so I guess I shall inshaAllah break this topic up and cover these in future podcasts. InshaAllah I also didn't lose everyone with the length of this one, in what seems to be, unintentionally, my first long-form podcast. CONCLUSION To wrap up I hope that I have made a clear case that as Muslims we must be very careful around nationalism and tribalism. We are Muslim first and of our countries second. Or maybe even deeper we are of the human community first and foremost, as all are created by Allah swt irrespective of belief. Then as Muslims, we believe in Allah swt and we happen to live in a particular nation, for what is ultimately a very short period. The purpose of this residence being to work so that we get where we so desperately hope to in the hereafter which is eternal. Furthermore, I hope that, although I didn't drum it home so much that, as long as we are able to practice our religion we are bound by the laws of the lands we reside in. This can raise emotions that can be difficult to deal with but we must be patient (have sabr) as well as being grateful (having shukr) for all those things we are blessed with. I've lived in different European countries most of my life and then in Muslim countries. I have good friends and business interests in many different countries and I can categorically tell you that even if things look 'idyllic' somewhere else - they aren't. Remember this is the dunya - you want idyllic? - work for it through your worship and remembrance of Allah swt. May Allah swt draw us together as Muslims, enable us to be the best of examples and the ones no one fears, may we not harm our brothers and sisters in any way and may our leaders lead with wisdom and mercy for all humankind. Ameen.

[slytherindragonfly]

Bewitching - Draco x Reader

Summary: Convinced by Narcissa earlier during the day, you attend a soirée at the Malfoy’s, where something weighs heavy on your conscience as you feel yourself losing control under Draco’s gaze.

Word count: ~2.6k 

You were hurrying down the hallway, clutching a file full of papers that would go flying should you let them slip out of your grip. You were stressed out, as you’d felt a change in the atmosphere at work over the past months. You had to prove your value, or you’d get rid of.

During the war, the Ministry had seized control of the operations at Gringotts. Since your parents had forbidden you from attending your 7th year at Hogwarts, not willing to risk your life, you’d applied for a job at the bank; making sure you wouldn’t stay idle for the year.

Now that the war was over, and that it had been exposed that He had been controlling the Ministry then, control of Gringotts had been surrendered back to the goblins, on the condition that they kept the wizard employees that had earned a position inside during the war. 

The goblins weren’t too happy with their institution being taken over, and now that it had been months since they’d won back control, tensions were high. They were extremely scrupulous, and should one task be ill-performed, any wizard was sure to be pointed towards the door. Not that you particularly blamed the goblins for reacting that way. You believed if you could outlast their disgruntled period, you could have a future at the bank, and without a complete education, you wouldn’t let it go without a fight.

So there you were, rushing to deliver some important documents from an office to another when you made eye contact with a woman you’d last seen nearly a week before then. She was talking with a goblin, who seemed to be showing her the way out from the vaults, but you knew she recognized you from the knowing smile that she gave you. Observing decorum, you halted to salute her.

“Mrs. Malfoy, what a lovely surprise seeing you here today,” you greeted her with a polite smile, still holding on to your papers.

“Y/N, I didn’t know you worked here,” she observed, amused, as she looked at the golden name plate pinned to your shirt. “Quite a fine young lady to have in your ranks,” she told the goblin approvingly with a smile like she was miles ahead of the conversation.

“Yes, quite,” replied the goblin with a professional smile, despite the fact you knew for a fact he was high-ranking enough to have never heard of you.

“Say dear,” she added, still looking at who you were pretty sure was Mr. Griphook, “do you think it would be possible for miss Y/L/N to escort me to the exit? I am quite sure you have more pressing matters to attend to, and I would like to speak a few words with her,” Narcissa asked, her tone a perfect blend of pleading and persuasive.

“Your wish is my command, Mrs. Malfoy,” he replied with a crisp smile, before nodding in your direction, a silent command to do whatever she would tell you. “I shall bid you a good day,” he said, before walking away.

You knew that because of the war, the Malfoys had lost some of their... prestige. As far as you could tell, the goblin hated her. But then again, despite being arguably disgraced, the Malfoys were still very much rich. And in a place like Gringotts, greed often overruled ideology.

“Thank you for your kind words,” you thanked her, appreciative.

“No need thanking me dear,” she waved it off. “It was very much deserved. Now, I believe that the last time we saw each other was at Greengrass manor last week, wasn’t it?” she asked as the two of you started walking. 

“Yes, that does sound right,” you nodded. “A lovely evening,” you commented as if you were reciting lines.

“Quite,” she agreed with a pleased smile. “Draco seemed to think so too, from the way he mentioned you the day afterwards,” she added, glancing at you, amused.

“Oh, did he?” you couldn’t help but blush. “I’m glad to hear he enjoyed himself,” you added, hoping to go back to small talk.

“You are such a lovely thing, I’m glad your family moved closer to the city,” she laughed, amused. “Your parents are always a delight, I’m looking forward to seeing them tonight. I’m hoping you will join us as well?” she added expertly.

“I’m afraid I will be working late tonight, I wouldn’t want to arrive late and disturb the evening,” you explained, contrite. 

Really, you were exhausted and didn’t feel like going to a social event, but she didn’t have to know that side of the story, as what you told her was true as well.

“Nonsense, you must come!” she dismissed, slightly indignant. “I admire that you’re a busy woman, but that’s no reason to shut yourself in! After all, you must wear your dresses out somewhere,” she commented, using the same tone she did to convince Mr. Griphook to let you walk her out.

“I don’t know...” you hesitated, not wanting to be rude.

“Now, now, you’ve lived on the border of society long enough because you lived so far away, it’s time to join us dear,” she insisted, insinuating she knew what was best for you. “It’s such a shame to bury pearls in the country,” she sighed.

You pondered the idea of going for a few seconds. Your mother would be awfully happy with you if you did go, that you knew. Perhaps this was one of those things where you would gain most by not arguing further.

“Fine, I’ll try to make it,” you gave in, forcing yourself to smile. 

“I’m certain you won’t regret it,” she approved, satisfied. “Now, I’m confident I can find my way out from here, thank you for walking with me,” she declared the conversation over.

“My pleasure,” you replied. 

“See you tonight dear,” she bid you goodbye with a smile worthy of theatre as it made it almost impossible to believe it belonged to such a manipulative woman.

And with that she walked off, leaving you with an uneasy feeling in the pit of your stomach. You didn’t know where you stood in regard to the Malfoy family. You couldn’t ignore the atrocities committed during the war. But your parents, who had known them their whole life, had thoroughly explained to you how they’d had no choice in participating, really. 

Your family itself had come out of the war branded as cowards. Your parents had refused to align themselves with any side, clinging to their neutrality by shutting your family off in your old manor in the country, far away from everything and everyone. While you’d lost more than those who’d picked the right side, you’d lost less than what the losers had.

There was no denying that the pureblood families of England had come out of the war damaged, and there was something quite ridiculous about the way they clung to their broken ways, all of them looking like they had no idea how to do things any other way. Those were confusing times.

“You told her what?!” Draco exclaimed, stepping away from his mother, causing her to almost strangle her with the tie she was tying for him. 

“You should see how she blushes, the pretty thing,” Narcissa eyes sparkling with amusement.

“Don’t call her a pretty thing, mother,” Draco rolled his eyes. “You know she’s more than that.”

She raised an eyebrow at him, slightly surprised. She was not one for miscalculations, but yet...

“You really are quite taken with her, aren’t you?” she asked, serious this time.

“No offense, but I don’t like discussing those things with you,” he evaded, heading towards a mirror to rearrange his hair.

“Fine,” she conceded, knowing her son needed to feel like he had control over his life these days in particular. “I just thought you’d like to know I talked her into making an appearance later.”

“I do not need you playing matchmaker for me, mother,” he replied, tense and a tinge of nervousness having found its way into his tone.

“Well then, let the record show that I invited her for my own selfish reasons; I think she will be a delightful guest,” his mother told him.

He looked at her like he was hardly convinced, but she knew he somehow appreciated her words. 

“Now if you’ll excuse me, I have to finish getting ready myself,” she told him before exiting the room. “Just... keep in mind she did mention she might arrive late.”

Draco spent what felt like a major part of the night waiting at an inconspicuous distance from the door. He wanted to know when you’d arrive, but not be close enough that it was blatant he was waiting for you to get there.

However, at some point, he did start becoming quite hungry, and left for the kitchen to grab something to eat before his stomach started drawing attention to him through growls.

Much to his dismay, when he came back, his eyes immediately found you talking to his mother and yours in the living room. Before he could decide on what approach to take, his mother saw him coming back and called him over to join the conversation.

As he walked up, you turned around to face him, all smiles and glittering eyes. In that sliver of a moment, you looked truly bewitching, and he had to hold himself down not to appear affected. 

“Hi, Draco,” you greeted him, warm and demure. 

“Hi,” he spoke with a polite smile, nodding.

Narcissa could have rolled her eyes, but of course decided against it.

“Draco, I was just telling Y/N about the new changes in the gardens; perhaps you could show her around?” she asked her son, eyes mischievous but voice perfectly on the tone of conversation. 

“That would be great! I bet these rose bushes look lovely” you added, waiting for Draco’s response. 

“Follow me then,” he lead you astray from the group, but not before one last glance at his mother, letting her know not to interfere anymore.

It was a perfectly pleasant night, and you didn’t need any coat as the two of you stepped outside. The garden was a quiet display of obscene wealth; the kind of understated that could only be achieved with the necessary amount of resources.

There was something about the way the moonlight shone on the stone and vegetation that instilled an element of fear in you, somehow. You were walking ahead of Draco, and you could practically feel his gaze on the back of your neck. You had to be wary; you couldn’t let your vanity enjoy his attention.

“If you want to see the roses, we have to walk some more,” he told you, catching up.

“Alright then, lead the way,” you answered in a voice quieter than you’d hoped for; loading your words with a hidden meaning you hoped he wouldn’t pick up on.

“Haven’t seen you since the other night at Greengrass Manor,” he started, making small talk as you walked side by side, slowly as if not to rush there.

“I think Astoria was quite taken with you, if you don’t mind me saying so,” you teased him, glancing his way. 

“Right,” he scoffed, shaking his head. “Astoria.”

“I’m just saying, she’s a beautiful girl. A bit frail, perhaps, but not any less lovely,” you kept on teasing, trying to see if he would take the bait. 

He stopped walking and grabbed your hands, making you halt too. His grasp wasn’t tight, and yet it felt as if he were holding on to a rope about to sever itself.

“How can you talk to me about Astoria Greengrass when you’re the only one I’ve thought about since that night,” he accused in a burst of passion very unlike him. 

“Draco,” you responded, half exclamation, half question. 

He didn’t reply, simply gazing into your eyes; yours frightened, his confident yet tender. From what you knew about him, he wasn’t going to verbalize his feelings any further; it was your turn to pick up on all the words hidden in his eyes. But you desperately didn’t want to; you knew it was too dangerous.

“Draco I-” you started, looking away, before he cut you off.

“Don’t lower your eyes, Y/n,” he whispered, making you look back up. “Not now,”

“I don’t understand,” you tried escaping it, though your eyes were transfixed on him.

The combination of the atmosphere in the gardens and the growing anxiety in the pit of your stomach at the fact you weren’t able to say what you needed to say before it all went too far were so frightening they made you dizzy, disoriented. Like you didn’t even know good from bad anymore.

Slowly, giving you plenty of time to pull away, he let go of your hands to place one on your bare arm and the other on your cheek. Bringing your face closer to his, his eyes so close to yours you could see nothing else.

“Can I ever?” he murmured, the half-formed sentence a question you knew neither the meaning or the answer to. 

And then what was an eternity in the making finally came to be; he pressed his lips against yours, your eyes shutting painfully tight as you felt all your self-control snap at the seams. The kiss was gentle and yet your lips burned against each other’s as he pressed your arm, once again holding on to you. 

A moment of clarity forced you to break the kiss, your lungs on fire as you gaped for air. It wasn’t that you’d kissed him long enough to lack air; it was the guilt, like poison, that made it hard for you to breathe. 

“What just happened...I can’t,” you said between to breaths, not daring to look him in the eyes, but he didn’t even hear you.

“I don’t know how you did it, but you’ve managed to enchant me, Y/N,” he started, apparently confused too. “It’s like I can’t even do anything about it, whenever I even hear your name, you’re on my mind for days!” he went on, frustrated and relieved at the same time.

“Don’t say such things,” you bit your lip, still not looking at him.

“Why not?” he asked, confused.

“I am betrothed,” you admitted, so quietly you hoped perhaps he wouldn’t have heard.

“What?” he asked, even more confused. “That doesn’t make any sense, you don’t even have a ring on your finger!” he argued, growing upset.

“It’s... a complicated arrangement,” you evaded. “I’m sorry, Draco, I knew I shouldn’t have come,” you apologized, filled with dread you’d lead him on like that.

“Then break it off!” he exclaimed. “I'll love you, I’ll do anything for you,” he attempted, pacing, desperately trying to make eye contact with you.

“You don’t know what you’re saying,” you dismissed him, shaking your head sideways as daggers stabbed your heart. “I should leave,” you realized, starting to walk away.

“No, don’t go yet!” he called after you, reaching out.

“I’ll see you around, Draco,” you concluded, before heading off.

He stayed behind, unsure what had just happened. He might not have believed he’d just kissed you were his lips not still tingling. He hadn’t even thought he liked you enough to go on saying what he had. He knew he had a lot to figure out; after enough time had passed, he went back inside and avoided the other guests to start working on the letter he’d send your way this very night.

[wendyimmiller]

Winter Sun & Guilty Joy: A Letter to The Midwest

From the editor: Rant readers following the verbal sparring between our own Scott Beuerlein and guest ranter Marianne Willburn may be wondering if the daggers had been sheathed for good or just for the holidays. This week, after the two met up at the Mid-Atlantic Nursery Trade Show (MANTS) and Scott spent an evening good-humoredly roasting her at Maryland’s Brookside Gardens, Marianne offers an olive branch with a few thorns and a tough topic for discussion….in letter form. Will he answer? 

Lovettsville, Virginia

January 22, 2020

Dear Scott,

I’m trying to remember now how we left things in November. It’s probably safe to assume you were bitter; and I believe I was sitting in front of a roaring fire stroking a cat, reading Lloyd and quietly chuckling over a sharp sentence or two.

In truth, it is a Jack Russell that I stroke, though the fire exists, and so does the chair. I have an unreasonable love for these little dogs which I must admit was fostered by a friend in England and her series of intelligent, ball-obsessed terriers.

Mungo.  Garden dog. Vole killer. Part-time writer.

The love affairs one experiences in one’s twenties – be they man, beast, plant or country – make a deep impression on the psyche, and are tough to shift. I foresee an equally long series of JRTs in my own life (Mungo is my second), punctuated by my husband Michael’s desire for sloppy, loveable labs. I would tell you to try the breed, but they can be little devils and you certainly need no further reason to give in to that opioid addiction you keep mentioning.

How we left matters as the sun shone on a little house in Maryland on Sunday is far easier to remember, as is the loveliness of your wife Michele, who, as you say, is far too good for you and has an incredibly sweet smile. I’m thrilled the two of you were able to venture East for MANTS and even happier that you were able to attend the dinner party held in your honor, deep in the country, and referred to by many of the DC Beltway Crowd as “way the hell out there.”

I did warn you to keep driving until the banjos started playing. If you thought it was tough getting to the festivities on Sunday, my house is just across the Potomac River and down a two-and-a-half mile gravel road. Many of my friends have had to buy four-wheel drive vehicles just to keep drinking our wine, and complain bitterly up until the moment they are sitting on the deck surrounded by the night sky.

I wonder what Michele thought of that motley Mid-Atlantic group of pedants and plantspeople, yards deep in an 1840’s Federal – and many of them exhausted after a week trudging through the wonders and warrens of a Baltimore nursery trade show? Michael can only handle a half an hour’s discussion on epimedium foliage before he begins to lose consciousness and begs for a glass of single malt.

Did you switch dinner partners between courses as instructed? I’m afraid that I interrogated a very decent native plant nurseryman and his wife a bit ruthlessly during the salad course, but I love a good discussion and he brought up a few excellent points that I will file somewhere in this poor brain of mine.

Soaking up the sunlight on that wide porch with you and Michele and a very nice gentleman named Paul, and not discussing global warming was one of the joys of the afternoon. It has disturbed me over the last few years that it is widely considered flippant or insensitive to take some pleasure in the weather when it is unseasonably warm; or to do anything other than discuss the impending apocalypse when a massive snowstorm forces us to unplug and unwind.

Well he’s happy, anyway.

Instead we must rend our garments and gnash our teeth and shake our fists at the sky or a passing politician (there’s always one within arm’s reach in this part of the world). Guilt and Anxiety I suppose to be our constant companions from here forward, whether or not our sinks carry the weight of compost bins (I have two), and we regularly use ancient green tools such as clothes lines. (Can’t beat that fresh scent.)

I like to think I have changed enough cloth diapers on the back seats of vehicles in Mid-Atlantic winters to earn me the ability to turn my face to the sun with pleasure during a January warm-up. Even if it means there will be no tight, touchable blossom heads on Hydrangea macrophylla again this year.

A handful of joy.

It is an interesting question don’t you think? If we somehow find the ability to turn off all the voices in our own heads shouting about the mortgage, the hydrangea, a new suspension system for the Subaru, and a pressing deadline (or five), are we allowed to turn off the voices around us and be happy in the short life we are given on this Earth – living as responsibly and as carefully as we can as individuals?

I feel increasingly that as gardeners we are soldiers in the literal trenches.  Forced to cope with what is, while our generals bicker over another political win or loss, and civilians weigh-in from armchairs far away.

We learn to remediate early springs, late frosts, 35-inch-above-average annual rainfalls, a greenhouse full of lost stock, a crop devastated by blight, or bugs. We are adaptable in a way we should be proud of – and for that matter, so are many of our horticultural charges.

If we must cope with the effects of a changing climate, can we not admit to moments of joy in the midst of adversity without being shamed? Our anxieties will only line the pockets of the pharmaceutical companies.

Rainfall that did not stop – The summer of 2018.

…and Mungo could not have been happier.

Drugs aside, gardening is obviously the answer when it comes to quieting the soul. For all your bitterness over meconopsis, you and I both know this.

I have watched a cutting of Atlas cedar root over the last several months and felt the weight of the world melting away when I look at the tiny grey tufts of new foliage happily protected under a cloche. You could bottle and sell the endorphins coursing through my blood in those moments.

But I fear we are making our gardeners, and worse, potential gardeners, nervous wrecks with the sheer number of rules they must follow or be damned.

For example, I sat through a Master Gardener meeting not so long ago where hellebores were touted, only to have a freelancing health and safety officer making sure we all knew they were poisonous and that we might want to make other choices.

I’m afraid my exclamation of disgust was not as under-my-breath as a room of that size might have merited.

Hellebores for God’s sake. Call out the National Guard. Contain the area. Kiss your children.

Chris Martin put it best I think in Coldplay’s Don’t Panic:

“All of us are done for. And we live in a beautiful world.”

Did I mention that he and I started at UCL the same year? You were dropping so many names on Sunday I probably couldn’t get a word in.

Perhaps I am only feeling the weight of living so close to the constant turmoil in Washington. Friends in Missouri say their dinner parties rarely turn political, and when they do, there is no shouting over the bread pudding – only discussion.

Is this your reality? What did you call yourself… “a simple gardener from the heartland?” Are you viciously throwing miscanthus plugs at each other out there; or are you pushing chairs back from the table like Browning’s Bishop Blougram and settling in for a lively debate over your Big Gulps?

Speaking of which, I thoroughly enjoyed the roasting at your talk Friday night. Yes, there was a lot of palaver about African savannas and something about a woman with her white-trousered leg in an open pit toilet – the image of which I can never erase – but overall, a lot of laughter, and I do think we need more of that in this world right now.

That, and good red wine. I didn’t tell you (or anyone else for that matter) but I’ve gone off the grape for the month of January, and by the time you read this the horror may well be over. Even Michael doesn’t know. I can’t bear being watched. If you knew the temptations I have overcome these last two weeks. MANTS alone. Dear God. Gardeners and writers can drink, damn them.

Warmly,

    P.S.  There is new UK plant porn on the market – I knew you’d want to be informed at once. Jimi Blake’s A Beautiful Obsession has come to American shores.  I can guarantee I will be able to grow less than a third of what he’s fondling with those magic Irish fingers, but I shall read it anyway.

P.P.S. Beth Chatto’s biography by Catherine Horwood is also here. I enjoyed it, and revere St. Beth perhaps a little more.  Little pink pills and a lover, as it turns out.  I guess none of us is superhuman. _________________________________ Marianne is a gardening columnist and the author of Big Dreams, Small Garden. Read more at SmalltownGardener or follow @smalltowngardener on Facebook and Instagram.

Winter Sun & Guilty Joy: A Letter to The Midwest originally appeared on GardenRant on January 22, 2020.

from Gardening https://www.gardenrant.com/2020/01/winter-sun-guilty-joy-a-letter-to-the-midwest.html via http://www.rssmix.com/

[turfandlawncare]

Winter Sun & Guilty Joy: A Letter to The Midwest

From the editor: Rant readers following the verbal sparring between our own Scott Beuerlein and guest ranter Marianne Willburn may be wondering if the daggers had been sheathed for good or just for the holidays. This week, after the two met up at the Mid-Atlantic Nursery Trade Show (MANTS) and Scott spent an evening good-humoredly roasting her at Maryland’s Brookside Gardens, Marianne offers an olive branch with a few thorns and a tough topic for discussion….in letter form. Will he answer? 

Lovettsville, Virginia

January 22, 2020

Dear Scott,

I’m trying to remember now how we left things in November. It’s probably safe to assume you were bitter; and I believe I was sitting in front of a roaring fire stroking a cat, reading Lloyd and quietly chuckling over a sharp sentence or two.

In truth, it is a Jack Russell that I stroke, though the fire exists, and so does the chair. I have an unreasonable love for these little dogs which I must admit was fostered by a friend in England and her series of intelligent, ball-obsessed terriers.

Mungo.  Garden dog. Vole killer. Part-time writer.

The love affairs one experiences in one’s twenties – be they man, beast, plant or country – make a deep impression on the psyche, and are tough to shift. I foresee an equally long series of JRTs in my own life (Mungo is my second), punctuated by my husband Michael’s desire for sloppy, loveable labs. I would tell you to try the breed, but they can be little devils and you certainly need no further reason to give in to that opioid addiction you keep mentioning.

How we left matters as the sun shone on a little house in Maryland on Sunday is far easier to remember, as is the loveliness of your wife Michele, who, as you say, is far too good for you and has an incredibly sweet smile. I’m thrilled the two of you were able to venture East for MANTS and even happier that you were able to attend the dinner party held in your honor, deep in the country, and referred to by many of the DC Beltway Crowd as “way the hell out there.”

I did warn you to keep driving until the banjos started playing. If you thought it was tough getting to the festivities on Sunday, my house is just across the Potomac River and down a two-and-a-half mile gravel road. Many of my friends have had to buy four-wheel drive vehicles just to keep drinking our wine, and complain bitterly up until the moment they are sitting on the deck surrounded by the night sky.

I wonder what Michele thought of that motley Mid-Atlantic group of pedants and plantspeople, yards deep in an 1840’s Federal – and many of them exhausted after a week trudging through the wonders and warrens of a Baltimore nursery trade show? Michael can only handle a half an hour’s discussion on epimedium foliage before he begins to lose consciousness and begs for a glass of single malt.

Did you switch dinner partners between courses as instructed? I’m afraid that I interrogated a very decent native plant nurseryman and his wife a bit ruthlessly during the salad course, but I love a good discussion and he brought up a few excellent points that I will file somewhere in this poor brain of mine.

Soaking up the sunlight on that wide porch with you and Michele and a very nice gentleman named Paul, and not discussing global warming was one of the joys of the afternoon. It has disturbed me over the last few years that it is widely considered flippant or insensitive to take some pleasure in the weather when it is unseasonably warm; or to do anything other than discuss the impending apocalypse when a massive snowstorm forces us to unplug and unwind.

Well he’s happy, anyway.

Instead we must rend our garments and gnash our teeth and shake our fists at the sky or a passing politician (there’s always one within arm’s reach in this part of the world). Guilt and Anxiety I suppose to be our constant companions from here forward, whether or not our sinks carry the weight of compost bins (I have two), and we regularly use ancient green tools such as clothes lines. (Can’t beat that fresh scent.)

I like to think I have changed enough cloth diapers on the back seats of vehicles in Mid-Atlantic winters to earn me the ability to turn my face to the sun with pleasure during a January warm-up. Even if it means there will be no tight, touchable blossom heads on Hydrangea macrophylla again this year.

A handful of joy.

It is an interesting question don’t you think? If we somehow find the ability to turn off all the voices in our own heads shouting about the mortgage, the hydrangea, a new suspension system for the Subaru, and a pressing deadline (or five), are we allowed to turn off the voices around us and be happy in the short life we are given on this Earth – living as responsibly and as carefully as we can as individuals?

I feel increasingly that as gardeners we are soldiers in the literal trenches.  Forced to cope with what is, while our generals bicker over another political win or loss, and civilians weigh-in from armchairs far away.

We learn to remediate early springs, late frosts, 35-inch-above-average annual rainfalls, a greenhouse full of lost stock, a crop devastated by blight, or bugs. We are adaptable in a way we should be proud of – and for that matter, so are many of our horticultural charges.

If we must cope with the effects of a changing climate, can we not admit to moments of joy in the midst of adversity without being shamed? Our anxieties will only line the pockets of the pharmaceutical companies.

Rainfall that did not stop – The summer of 2018.

…and Mungo could not have been happier.

Drugs aside, gardening is obviously the answer when it comes to quieting the soul. For all your bitterness over meconopsis, you and I both know this.

I have watched a cutting of Atlas cedar root over the last several months and felt the weight of the world melting away when I look at the tiny grey tufts of new foliage happily protected under a cloche. You could bottle and sell the endorphins coursing through my blood in those moments.

But I fear we are making our gardeners, and worse, potential gardeners, nervous wrecks with the sheer number of rules they must follow or be damned.

For example, I sat through a Master Gardener meeting not so long ago where hellebores were touted, only to have a freelancing health and safety officer making sure we all knew they were poisonous and that we might want to make other choices.

I’m afraid my exclamation of disgust was not as under-my-breath as a room of that size might have merited.

Hellebores for God’s sake. Call out the National Guard. Contain the area. Kiss your children.

Chris Martin put it best I think in Coldplay’s Don’t Panic:

“All of us are done for. And we live in a beautiful world.”

Did I mention that he and I started at UCL the same year? You were dropping so many names on Sunday I probably couldn’t get a word in.

Perhaps I am only feeling the weight of living so close to the constant turmoil in Washington. Friends in Missouri say their dinner parties rarely turn political, and when they do, there is no shouting over the bread pudding – only discussion.

Is this your reality? What did you call yourself… “a simple gardener from the heartland?” Are you viciously throwing miscanthus plugs at each other out there; or are you pushing chairs back from the table like Browning’s Bishop Blougram and settling in for a lively debate over your Big Gulps?

Speaking of which, I thoroughly enjoyed the roasting at your talk Friday night. Yes, there was a lot of palaver about African savannas and something about a woman with her white-trousered leg in an open pit toilet – the image of which I can never erase – but overall, a lot of laughter, and I do think we need more of that in this world right now.

That, and good red wine. I didn’t tell you (or anyone else for that matter) but I’ve gone off the grape for the month of January, and by the time you read this the horror may well be over. Even Michael doesn’t know. I can’t bear being watched. If you knew the temptations I have overcome these last two weeks. MANTS alone. Dear God. Gardeners and writers can drink, damn them.

Warmly,

    P.S.  There is new UK plant porn on the market – I knew you’d want to be informed at once. Jimi Blake’s A Beautiful Obsession has come to American shores.  I can guarantee I will be able to grow less than a third of what he’s fondling with those magic Irish fingers, but I shall read it anyway.

P.P.S. Beth Chatto’s biography by Catherine Horwood is also here. I enjoyed it, and revere St. Beth perhaps a little more.  Little pink pills and a lover, as it turns out.  I guess none of us is superhuman. _________________________________ Marianne is a gardening columnist and the author of Big Dreams, Small Garden. Read more at SmalltownGardener or follow @smalltowngardener on Facebook and Instagram.

Winter Sun & Guilty Joy: A Letter to The Midwest originally appeared on GardenRant on January 22, 2020.

from GardenRant https://ift.tt/2v8vz3S

[hasansonsuzceliktas]

Dear Brave Souls…

Part 1 So here you are, trying to fit your vast being into this tiny body, like attempting to cram an ocean into a toothpaste tube. What’s more, you try to survive in this world, which resonates with heavy, intense frequencies. Everything you eat or drink is loaded with chemicals. Your mind is constantly confused by manipulative messages coming from all directions. Then you forget that you are actually the ocean, so you don’t know who you are anymore. You took the risk of disconnecting from the source and asked to be incarnated on this planet, with countless attachments that I couldn’t possibly list here. No matter what we think of each other, or how we judge others, there is a single truth: We are all very brave souls. Congratulations to us all, a million times over… Part 2 Before we were born into this life, we all went through certain stages. We actually all went through a similar process in all of the systems where we were incarnated, both on this planet and elsewhere in the universe. First of all, we must realize how each of us is a soul. Each of us disconnected from the source to experience a journey. We each have a soul name, by which we are known throughout the universe. Some of us have names that could actually be pronounced in earthly languages, while for others it’s a certain frequency. We are all named but in several different ways, and this is your soul’s identity. Our souls then incarnate, at different times and in various places, sometimes in their entirety, but sometimes a soul divides itself into several pieces? Why? We also have spirit families. These spirit families form tribes, and these tribes in turn form spirit nations. Every spirit family improves its own virtues, which is what we are here to do. Why? Every virtue we improve increases our frequency and refines our resonance, so we grow closer to the source. The greatest desire of all souls is to return to the source and reunite with it. This was always the final destination of this journey, to complete the circle. This is why we practice virtues as spirit families… The subject of virtues is a wide topic on its own, but in short, righteousness, honesty, love, compassion, justice, and many other virtues are the subject of spirit families. Do not assume this is an easy task, though. Some sources describe souls who must reincarnate hundreds of times just to balance out the jealousy. We practice virtues, and as we improve, we increase our resonance. As our resonance increases, our spiritual friends and guides change as well. When we later depart from this world, we engrave our virtues on our spirit family trees. Then comes the next stage… By the way, I imagine you’ve already heard about how we choose everything we experience—whether it be guilt, dissatisfaction, or joy. We unfortunately choose them all, but do you wonder why? Before being born into this life, I knew as a spirit what I was supposed to work on. I don’t want to list them all here, but I carried a bunch of “objectives” with me. My guides offered me various options for earthly lives where I could work on these objectives. One of them involved being born as Hasan, the son of Mahmut and Ülker in Turkey. Another meant being born as Karl in Norway, the son of Olaf and Inga. There was Yamato in Japan, the son of Yuici and Suki. They offered me a few options, and I entered into some of these lives as a spirit and experienced them thoroughly. I looked at the potential. However, I did not go through all the options exhaustively, because the choices differed. I only saw the potential and made a choice based on that. I was summoned to a council of wise spirits, who politely asked me, “Look, you understand how Earth is one of the most testing planets in the universe. Some who have been born there never want to return. You have chosen to take on a lot of lessons. Are you sure you want this? Do you think you’ll be able to handle them all?” I replied, “Oh, this is nothing. If I can manage to deal with them all in 40 years, what more could I want? Give me more subjects.” The council then conceded and gave me permission to incarnate on Earth. I don’t have to describe how these spirits were extremely wise. They know everything about us, but they never judge. Sure, they know whatever seedy secrets you may have, but none of them are interested in such things. They just follow the motivations you act upon and provide support and guidance when necessary. They might say, “Well done, but don’t you think six times is enough now? Do you need to be loved that much? Stop denying it and see the many people around you who love you.”) While your mother is pregnant with your new body, you follow her around for about three months, waiting to enter the body. Once the fetus is ready, though, in you go. This is briefly what we do before we arrive here. (Note: I mixed a cocktail of Michael Newton’s Journey of Souls, Annie Kagan’s The Afterlife of Billy Fingers, and several other sources, together with my own insights and things I learned from conversations with dear friends. My intention is to give you a taste, even if it’s just a teaspoon from the cauldron of truth.) Part 3 Dear Brave Souls, why did we separate from the source? The answer is actually really simple. Now it’s summer of course, and Eid is fast approaching. What are we going to do? Some of us will be traveling abroad, while some of us will travel in our own countries. For example, some of us left Turkey to go to Egypt last month. We saw impressive places there and returned with some amazing experiences and memories. After landing again in Turkey and leaving the plane, we were completely different. It was like we had all risen up a level. This is the main objective of our separation from the source. We are travelers within existence, but we will finally return to where we started, the source, with our countless stories, experiences, and memories… So, while traveling in Egypt, did we torture ourselves with homesickness because we were away from our precious land? Did we cry about it? No. Turkey has always been there for us, and we knew it would be there when we returned. Maybe if we had been away from a month instead of nine days, we would’ve started to miss her more. You know the feeling when you’re abroad for long periods, you start to miss your native land… Actually, this is the source of all the pain we go through. As our journey time lengthens, our longing for our motherland, the source, increases. We miss its warmth and safety, as well as the feeling of just being there. We want to return immediately. In this life, it is interpreted as our subconscious longing to return to the mother’s womb, because the womb is a symbol of the creative source. The source of our body is our mother’s egg, but the source of our soul is the egg of existence. The father’s sperm fertilizes the mother’s egg, and so a body is formed. The existence egg, however, is the universal sperm from the Creator’s energy, a divine thought that fertilizes. From this our soul is formed and we are born. When we are born into this world, we are also born into the universe… As souls, we travel for so, so long, before eventually returning to where we started. This is called death in our incarnated lives. Of course, we don’t go back into the mother’s womb, but our mothers are also a part of Mother Earth. When we die, our bodies return to Mother Earth, and our souls continue their universal journeys. (By the way, I would like to point out that among the souls, those who choose to incarnate on Earth are highly respected, because it is one of the most difficult experience fields in the universe. Many souls prefer easier planets after incarnating on Earth, but some of us keep returning to Earth despite all the pain and suffering.) You know, sometimes I’m filled with joy. I find souls who I know very well from the afterlife, having been incarnated here on this planet. I sometimes embrace them physically, or I’ll greet them with words. I am extremely lucky. We are all extremely lucky… To the readers of this article, I wonder if we’ve crossed paths somewhere before. Even if we never have, we have now, my dear friend. You are my brother, my sister, my family, my love, and a part of my being. Open your arms and let’s embrace. Come on! Read the full article