#every time I forget just how many other towns in Devon there are that exist and are on the line

[dracolizardlars]

Getting the train home from London to Cornwall is always a frustrating experience because you start hitting The South West ™ and you're like ah, finally my territory! I'm nearly home! And then the train stops at every fucking town in the whole of Devon and takes absolutely forever to get anywhere

[thanatosangels]

the Life of Lucie

Lucie Herondale au request by @daisyherxndale - thank you so much!! this was so fun to write!! <3

tagging: @churchthecatismyspiritanimal @fairchild-squad @truth-lies-hidden @princesslucretia @abigneignenn <333

Lucie was never quite sure why she didn’t age and die.

James did. She supposed he was always more like Papa though, in looks and personality. 

She’d never forget him dying. She’d already lost Cordelia the year before, and the emptiness in her soul was still a ragged, open wound. And then James had taken ill. He lay in the infirmary of the Institute, and Uncle Jem did everything he could to save him but they could only numb the pain. She had sat with her still youthful hand holding his wrinkled one, their mother holding his other on the opposite side of the bed. He had been so frail then, but still blazing with his playful exuberance until the very end. He died, surrounded by love. As Will had done.

And Jesse… Jesse’s death was still too much for her too think about

She’d watched the love of her life, the one she’d brought back to this life, grow old and fragile until he died peacefully in her arms. She’d watched as time took over his features in a way that it never did to hers, as he’d retired from battle due to the aching of bones that she never experienced, as he started to forget where he’d left his glasses, or that their children had left home years before, when she remembered everything so clearly. She never loved him any less. One cold, wintery morning, when frost dusted the grass and the robins wittered just outside the window, she awoke nestled into him, just as cold as the air outside, in their bed.

It was like someone cutting canvas with a knife, clean and vicious: there was life before Jesse, and there was life after.

It was all something of a blur, the week following his death. The funeral, the kind but distant words, the looks on their children’s faces. She understood, only then, why her mother had left for Paris after her father’s death. There was something so inherently wrong about being somewhere your love had once been, once sat, once ate, once laughed. She couldn’t even look at the face of her grandson, the one who had his eyes and his hair. She just had to leave.

So she did. She went, and she found her mother, and they lived together in New York.

She’d never aged a day past twenty, but that didn’t mean she would never die. She half-expected - half-hoped - to go to bed one day and never wake up. But everyday she saw the sun rise and heard the chirping of the pigeons and smelt that early morning New York river-water smell and watched the mundanes hurry down the streets on their way to work. She envied them. They were so secure in their knowledge of the word, wrapped up in their own little lives. She was so lost, an anchor cut free of its ship, sinking rapidly to the bottom of the pitch black ocean.

The rest of the 60’s passed like water through Lucie’s fingers. Tessa helped her through her grief, made sure she ate enough and drank enough and made her laugh even when she felt like her heart was being crushed into oblivion by grief’s unyielding fist. Her mother showed her New York, told her stories of the city she once knew and loved, and of how it had changed. Her mam had seen a great deal since Will’s death, Lucie realised, and a small fire of hope ignited itself in her chest. I will rebuild myself.

One day, a few years after Jesse, they sat in the booth of a small, dingy diner. They made idle conversation, people watching and giggling as they often did, until Tessa sat back against the red leather seat and stared thoughtfully into her coffee. Lucie recognised the twitch at the corner of her mouth, the one that meant she was trying to decide whether to say something or not.

“Mam, what are you thinking?” Lucie narrowed her eyes.

Tessa looked at her, her big blue eyes soft with love, and smiled a sad little smile. “I think you need to write again.”

Lucie was taken aback. Whatever she’d been expecting, it wasn’t that.

She thought of the only time she’d tried to write since Jesse. It was a dark night, not long after she arrived in America, and she was sitting at the small, ink-stained desk in their two bedroom apartment, fingers hovering over the keys of the familiar typewriter she’d brought with her from England. Writing had always been her reprieve, fiction her escape from the crushing reality of the real world, and she wanted nothing more than to escape then. But no words came to her. No stories weaved themselves together in her head. No heroine painting herself to life in metaphors and similes. There was simply…. nothing. 

Lucie tried to think of typing out a story, or writing another book, without having Jesse to read it over and give her critique or chastise her for saying ‘very’ one too many times. She tried to imagine writing for hours on end without having him bring her cups of tea just the way she liked or staying up, reading in the armchair next to her desk until well past midnight, just so they could go to bed together. She remembered the air leaving her lungs as a scream of anger - at the world, at Jesse for leaving her, at herself for still being alive - built within her, her mother running to restrain her as she viciously  punching the keys of the typewriter over and over again, her hands balled into fists and her nails piercing the skin of her palms. She had collapsed against Tessa, the livid energy suddenly leaving her, and they sank to the floor together. She cried into her mothers arms until she had no tears left, until the hazy relief of sleep took her in its grasp and showed her dreams far better than this life.

“No.” Her mouth was in a hard line. “No, I can’t.”

Tessa took Lucie’s hand across the table. Lucie met her eyes. There was such hope, such faith, such belief, in her gaze that Lucie’s mouth quirked up at the corner ever so slightly.

“Yes you can.”

And she did.

Lucie left New York - left her mother - as the new decade rolled in. She didn’t stay in one place: she followed her Daisy’s footsteps and went to all the places she’d once lived: Paris, Bombay, Morocco, Cape Town, Canada. All the while, she wrote. She wrote of the girl with fire for hair and more strength than anyone she’d ever known. She wrote of the boy with the sun in his eyes and the night sky on his head. She wrote of the boy who lived twice but loved once. She wrote of the boy with burnt clothes and lilac eyes. She wrote of the truest love she’d ever known, between a boy with a compass tattoo and a boy with spears in his pockets. She wrote of a blonde boy, the bloodied and battered angel. She wrote every story that lined her heart and her soul, and as the 70’s faded into the 80’s, she was thankful she had. Her mother had told her memories start to fade to black and white, like a forgotten photograph, when you live forever, but her words captured her memories forever in their original, colourful glory. 

She spoke to her mother as often as she could, and she always sent her postcards from her latest destination. Her mother would travel too, and she would keep Lucie up to date on the Downworld wherever she went. Lucie kept away from the Downworld, mostly. She had no interest in fighting any more, and the Clave seemed to have forgotten her existence, but she did carry a small axe in her bag at all times. Old habits die hard. 

At the start of the 90’s, she got word from Tessa about unrest surrounding the Accords.

I feel as though we are about to witness something terrible. She had written. Lucie, please stay as far away from Idris as you can. 

And she did.

It was a long few months before she heard from her mother again. She told her of the war, and the bloodshed, and the death. She told her of Stephen Herondale, their own flesh and blood, killing innocent Downworlders as if there were no demon blood in his lineage. Lucie had cried.

But life goes on, and it did. Lucie went back to London, for the first time. She walked passed the Institute that had once been her home, and the grand houses that had once belonged to her friends and family - now hotels or flats or just gone completely, as if they’d never stood at all. She took a trip to Devon to walk past Cirenworth Hall. She felt closer to Cordelia, in that moment, than she had in years, and the faded parabatai rune on her chest seemed to throb like the beating of a second heart.

In 1999, she went back to New York. She walked passed the Institute there too - although by chance this time - and caught sight of three people walking towards the entrance. There was an elegant woman with black hair down to her waist, just as her Aunt Cecily’s had been; a tall, burly man who’s stature painfully reminded her of Thomas; and a small baby, wriggling in his mother’s arms. He seemed to sense Lucie’s presence and twisted around to look at her. His eyes, his hair, his nose, even his tiny mouth…. he looked exactly like Alexander had, when he was a baby and she was just a girl. She tore her eyes away, the world a smudge of watercolour through her tears, and hurried on down the street.

More time passed. Lucie wrote another book, this one about a girl with long brown hair and sparkling grey eyes who would never die. She would live to see every sunrise, every sunset, every star in the night sky twinkle and die, everyone she ever loved go where she could not join them. But she could also read every book, and see every country, and learn every language she ever wanted to, and see every new wonder of the world. She could keep her loved ones with her and carry them wherever she went, both in her mind and captured in the battered old photographs that were her most prized possession.

2008. Lucie’s phone buzzed on the coffee table next to her. She was in Glasgow. The setting sun was casting long shadows across her little one bedroom flat as she had her head in a book, her newly cropped hair brushing against her chin. She’d spent quite a bit of time here: it felt like London, but not so much that it hurt her, just enough to feel like home. The historical buildings that were scattered around the city centre reminded her of herself, in a way. Their well-kept exteriors remained the same as they had been the hundred or so years ago when they were built, but their interiors were updated and changed over time, revealing new secrets or harbouring new treasures.

She picked up her pink mobile and looked at the text that flashed across the screen. Then, with the swiftness that a Shadowhunter can never quite lose, she jumped over the back of her sofa and darted into her bedroom. Hastily, she shoved some clothes into a backpack, grabbed her wallet and keys and ran out the door. She hurried through the streets, not paying attention to who or what she was bumping into, only focused on getting to the train station. She arrived, panting, paid for a ticket to London, and hopped on a train.

She kept reading the text over and over again. 

COME TO LONDON ASAP. MEET YOU AT EUSTON. MAM.

When the train finally arrived in London Euston station, Lucie was the first person off the train. She  stood on her tiptoes and looked around the crowded platform wildly, her short hair flying every which way. Finally, she spotted her. Her mother. She was standing near a wall at the edge of the platform, wearing a dark blue cardigan that was almost the colour of Will’s eyes, and scanning the crowd. She began shoving people aside, using knees and elbows as weapons, until she broke free of the tangle and ran towards her mother. 

When Tessa saw her daughter, an immense smile broke across her face, like the sun parting the clouds. Lucie flung herself into Tessa’s open arms, and they stood a second or two, just embracing. 

Lucie stepped back first, her concern painted plainly across her face. “What’s wrong, mam? Why did I need to hurry?”

Tessa was still beaming. “Actually… nothings wrong, bach.” She turned to face the man standing a little way from them, one Lucie hadn’t noticed before. “Somethings actually very right.”

Lucie narrowed her eyes and looked at the man. He was tall and thin, and his hair was straight and dark brown, almost black, with a single streak of silver at the front. Something about his kindly face, his dancing eyes, the small smile on his lips looked so… familiar. He almost looked like….

She took a step forward, her eyes widened in astonishment. “Uncle Jem?” She questioned softly.

Tessa was bouncing up and down on the balls of her feet, radiating with excitement. Lucie had never seen her mother like this, so full of life, not in the 71 years since Will’s death. She was gazing at Jem with complete adoration, and he was smiling at her with such gentleness that Lucie’s heart ached, with happiness for her mother but sorrow for herself. She missed love.

Jem looked at her, his brown eyes soft and happy. “Hello, Lucie.” He gave a small wave and put his hand out towards her, clearly inviting a handshake. 

But Lucie Blackthorn didn’t do handshakes. She covered the distance between them in two strides of her short legs and flung her arms around him: her head only reached his chin. He seemed taken aback, but hugged her tightly anyway. 

“Oh, Uncle Jem!” She squeezed him. “It’s been so long!”

He chuckled and stroked her hair. “I know. And yet, we three have barely aged a day.”

She stepped back, and took Tessa’s hand. “I don’t quite understand what’s going on, and I have so many questions. How did this happen? Once a Silent Brother, always a Silent Brother I thought, but is that not the case?” She looked at Jem. “When did you come back? Oh! I do hope you told me immediately, mam. This is a miracle after all, and you know how I hate to miss miracles.” She was talking so rapidly that her words seemed to be falling over one another. Jem was just nodding slightly, looking bemused, and Tessa was trying not to laugh.

“Come on,” Tessa gave Lucie’s hand a quick squeeze and took Jem’s with her other. “Let’s go get a coffee and I’ll explain properly.” 

As the trio began to make their way through the station, Tessa began to speak. “It is yet another story of Lightwoods and Herondales and Fairchilds…”

[totallyrhettro]

Territorial, chapter 5

Word Count: 2365 Rating: This chapter: G. Overall story rating: explicit Warnings: None Summary: After finally realizing their shared love for one another, all internetainers Rhett and Link had to do was live happily ever after. Unfortunately, as it turns out, that’s a lot harder to do in a world of werewolves. Notes: Takes place 1 year after Animalistic began. Still no wives; Rhett and Link are in an established relationship. This is a sequel to that fic. You don’t have to read that first, but it is highly recommended.

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Link enjoyed a bit of manual labor now and then. Despite his reputation for being klutzy he was pretty skilled with his hands. Tearing up the old, stained rug upstairs didn't exactly call for finesse anyway, and it provided him an outlet for his pent up energy; he always had extra during the moons. It was satisfying to hear the rip of the carpet with every sharp tug, feel the matting come up from the floorboards.

The wood underneath was probably very nice once but was now covered in nail holes and splashed paint, along with some other random stains. Link was already thinking about how they could replace it as he finished the upstairs bedroom and moved on to the hallway. He had just made it past the upstairs bathroom when he heard a truck pull into the driveway. Confused, he brushed off the dust from his hands before heading down to the front door to greet any would-be visitors.

A quick glanced outside told him it wasn’t the silver FJ cruiser he and Rhett shared nor Theo’s brown bronco. It took him a split second to recognize it was Seth’s giant, red truck. He didn’t see Seth himself, however, just Damian at the door. The short, round-faced man walked confidently up to the wrap-around deck and strode over to the front door before knocking firmly twice.

“Hey, Damian,” Link greeted, upon opening the door. “If you’re looking for Theo he’s at his bar.”

“Actually I was hoping to speak with you and Rhett; see how you two was doing.” He glanced inside, his nostrils flaring slightly.

“We’re doing fine. Rhett just went into town to grab some supplies.” Link was doing his utmost to be polite, but he didn’t like this unexpected visit to his and Rhett’s private sanctuary; especially when he was here alone.

“I’m not trying to be rude, I promise.” Damian shifted his weight, sensing Link’s unease and stepping back half a step. “Devon really is concerned for you and your lot. We just want to make sure you guys are staying safe.”

“We’ve been just fine by ourselves for quite sometime now.” Link’s politeness was a bit strained, but Damian didn’t seem to notice. “Rhett was turned last year, attacked by a rogue werewolf and we didn’t hear from you guys then.”

“We are sorry about that but you have to understand…” The shorter man looked apologetically up at Link. “It’s not like we weren’t in contact with the area. Theo himself told us everything was under control. He encouraged us to stay up North and not help out. He said he would handle it.” Link didn’t know what to say to that. It had not occurred to him that Theo had spoken to the Lowell pack at all since he and Rhett had met the him.

“When was this?”

“Shortly after your friend was attacked. We heard about it real fast.” This gave Link pause as he considered this new information. “May I come in?”

“Yeah, sure,” Link nodded. “Sorry about the state of the place.” He stepped back and gestured towards the dining room to the side. “It was a bit run down when we bought it, but it’s coming along. Want something to drink? Water? Beer?” Damian wiped his shoes on the doormat before stepping in.

“Water would be nice,” he replied, following Link to the chairs at the dining room table. Like the rest of the house, the dining room still needed a lot of work before it would be presentable, but the table and chairs were in good condition. Rhett and Link had found them in an antique store a few weeks after buying the place. While Damian sat down, his host went into the neighboring kitchen to wash his hands and get them both something to drink.

“How long have you been a werewolf?” Link asked when he got back, handing his guest a glass and sitting in a chair beside him.

“All my life, Link. That’s what being a purebred means,” Damian explained. “My father was a werewolf, and my mother. I think my grandmother on my father’s side was a human, but that’s not uncommon. You keep breeding only wolves and you’ll quickly have inbreeding. There just aren’t that many of us these days.”

“Right. Purebreds," Link nodded. "Theo mentioned that. He’s a good teacher, I’m just not always the best student. Rhett though… He’s his prized pupil.” Link tried not to sound to bitter about that.

“I’m sure you’re a good student,” Damian assured him. “I just think you’re education is lacking down here. There’s so much you and your friend need to know to survive in this world.”

“We’ve managed.”

“That you have," Damian agreed. "I’ll give ya that, but that could have been just luck. Just ‘cause you and your friends dealt with one rogue werewolf by yourselves doesn’t mean you’re prepared to deal with others.”

“Others?” The idea of more rogue werewolves in the area made him a little sick to his stomach. Dealing with one was bad enough.

“There’s very little in the werewolf world that our pack doesn't hear about, especially so close to our territory,” Damian continued. “There are dozens of rogue mutts living in california alone, unsupervised, unchecked. Now I’m sure most of them are fine, decent people. Most of the time. But when the full moon comes out, so does the beast, and anyone who doesn’t understand how to control it… well, they’re dangerous.

Frankly, I’m surprised a young wolf like yourself was able to take down a veteran.”

“I didn’t,” Link admitted. “I was there, sure, but it was all Rhett and Theo.”

“What happened?” Thinking back, Link could remember the events of that night clearly. He would never forget, though sometimes he wished he could.

“I don’t know much. I was waiting in the car for the guys to come back from finding the werewolf that had been killing people. It was almost dawn when I saw it coming out of the forest. If it weren’t for Rhett, it probably would have killed me. He stabbed it with a silver dagger.”

“Rhett was in human form?” Damian guessed.

“Hybrid.”

“Rhett’s able to transform into a hybrid? That’s quite an accomplishment for someone so young.” Link didn’t respond. He looked down at his water as he sipped it, slowly. “Can you do it too?”

“No I… Not for very long.” Link frowned. “I think about sixty seconds is my record.”

“I wouldn’t feel too bad about it. Most mutts can't even do it at all.” Damian gave Link a nice smile. “I can help you, if you like.”

“Can you become a hybrid?”

“All purebreds can. We start learning about controlling our form even before our first change. We’re raised since birth to be werewolves. It’s more than just a monthly thing. We embrace it completely because it’s who we are. Because of that, we are very good at transforming between wolf, human, and hybrid during the moons. I can help you do that, too.”

“You’ve taught many mutts?” Link chuckled. Damian nodded with a knowing grin.

“A few,” he admitted. “I even taught Theo, actually. I don’t know if he told you, but he used to be part of our pack.”

“He doesn’t talk much about your pack. In fact, he didn’t mentioned you guys at all before you showed up the other day. He doesn’t talk much about his past ever, really.” Link scrunched his face, thinking about this. He always trusted Rhett, and Rhett always seemed to trust Theo. Since he was the only other werewolf they even knew existed, aside from the one that turned the two internetainers, it often seemed that they had to trust him. He was all they had and they took him at his word. Now, knowing that there were others… it made him think. How much did they really know about this bartender?

“Well, it’s not my place to talk about it, but let’s just say that Theo wasn’t one for following the rules. Up until now, Devon’s let him be, but it seems like things are just getting worse down here.”

“What does this Devon want with us? Rhett and me?”

“He’s our pack leader, and he’s in charge of several packs in the whole Northwest.” Damian pointed upwards for emphasis. “He just wants to make sure that everyone stays safe and follows the rules. You follow the rules, keep the werewolf secret a secret, and you guys won’t have no trouble. That’s all. Live and let live, as they say. Personally, I hope you two will have a more active role in the pack.”

Link was looking down at the empty glass in his hands, thinking about all the new information that was now rattling around in his head, when he heard another car pull up into the driveway. He looked out the front window in the dining room and saw the FJ cruiser pull up besides the truck. It was Rhett. He couldn’t help but smile at the sight, a serine, content smile that came from having his security blanket back with him once more. Damian saw the car as well but his smile was a bit more forced. Pushing his water aside, he got to his feet. Link followed suit and led the way to the front door to greet Rhett.

“I probably should get going,” Damian was saying.

“You don’t want to tell Rhett what you told me?”

“You can tell him just fine. It’s getting late and there’s another full moon tonight. I should be getting back. Have to get ready for the run tonight. You should come with us. See what living as a real werewolf is like.” They stopped at the door just as Rhett came in. He glanced at the two men before him, looking slightly confused at to why Damian was here.

“Uh, hey um…”

“Damian,” Link reminded him.

“Damian.” Rhett offered his hand, mostly out of habit, and shook the visitor’s hand. “How’s it going?”

“Not bad,” Damian replied. “Just stopped by for a quick visit. I was just leaving.” He turned back to Link. “If you want to come, we turn at our place. Big brown house at the end of Pilot Road. Can’t miss it.” His eyes focused completely on Link as he said this, not even sparing a glance at Rhett, which didn’t go unnoticed.

“I’ll think about it,” was all Link could think of to say.

“Cool. See ya, then.” He gave a courteous nod to Rhett. “Rhett,” he said.

“Goodbye, Damian.”

Once the visitor had left, and was completely out of earshot, Rhett spoke to Link.

“What did he want?” he asked. “He invite you to a party or something?” Link rolled his eyes as he picked up the glasses and set them in the kitchen.

“He invited me to ‘run with the pack’, I believe. I’m not going,” he quickly added, seeing the look in Rhett’s eye. “I don't want to spend my moons with anyone but you. Besides-” He leaned against the kitchen counter to look up at his boyfriend- “until I learn to control my hybrid form I don’t think it would be safe to go anywhere while I’m changed.”

“Is that all he wanted?” Rhett didn’t want to be suspicious of what amounted to their werewolf neighbors, but he couldn’t shake the feeling that they weren’t as friendly as they seemed. His earlier conversation with Theo didn’t help either.

“He offered to help me master the hybrid form.”

“You don’t need his help,” Rhett promised. “You’re doing fine on your own.”

“That’s easy for you to say,” Link grumbled. “You already mastered yours. I’ve been a werewolf for just as long as you had been when you learned.” He turned to look down at the sink, sighing at himself. “I’m sick of losing myself every month. I want… I want to remember. I want to be with you.” Rhett stepped up behind him, wrapping his arms around Link’s waist and nuzzling the side of his neck.

“You’ll get there. You have to be patient. In the meantime you are with me. Even if you don’t remember, you are, and I’m with you.” He breathed deeply, inhaling the scent of his boyfriend, enjoying it like no human ever could. Link felt a little better, holding Rhett’s arms with his own and letting himself be held. After a moment, Rhett continued. “In the meantime, I think you should steer clear of Seth and his brothers. From what Theo’s told me, they are bad news.” Link frowned.

“You trust Theo?” he asked, softly. He felt Rhett pause, surprised.

“Of course I do. He’s been with me from almost the beginning.” Link turned in Rhett’s embrace, his arms held up between them but not pushing him away.

“I just wonder, what do we really know about him? I mean we’ve known him for like a year and I feel like we barely know him at all.”

“Did Damian say something?” Rhett asked, eyebrows furrowed.

“No, not really I just… Think about it. How did he become a werewolf? How does he know the Lowells? I think maybe we should learn more about the situation before we trust him with our lives.” Now it was Rhett’s turn to frown. He didn’t like Link questioning Theo’s loyalty, or trustworthiness. Theo was his friend, their friend, and he trusted him implicitly. If he hadn’t, he probably wouldn’t have made it past his second moon.

“I trust him,” he stated with certainty. Link bit his lip, not entirely convinced. “You trust me, don’t you?”

“Of course. Without question.” Rhett held him closer.

“Then trust me on this. I have faith that Theo is our friend and that we can count on him. He hasn’t done us wrong and I know we can count on him.” Link nodded, but inside he still wasn’t sure. He did trust Rhett. He always would, but Theo was still such a stranger to him. There was still so much they didn’t know.

Until he had all the pieces, Rhett was the only person he trusted.

Next chapter More Fics

[withlovecb]

Marriage Talk Pt. II - What The Men Are Saying

Hey guys!

Seems like Wednesdays come around faster than ever, lol.

Any who, let’s get down to blog business. Usually, after I write all my posts, I have a phone conversation with my mom. Anyone who knows us, knows that she is really my best friend, but also another great writer. Her opinion really matters to me. I ask her over and over again, “So, mom. You liked it? Did you really like it or are you just saying that?” I really harass her when it comes to the pieces that I write. But as I’m having this discussion with her about my previous blog post, I couldn’t help but hear my dad’s voice in the background. Couldn’t really make out everything that he was saying, but it sounded pretty extensive. So, I asked my mom, “What’s Dad saying?” He’s usually always talking junk. I was praying though, that the ‘junk’ that he usually spews had nothing to do with my previous blog post. Whenever my dad forms an opinion about something that I’ve created and it’s a negative critique, I really get into my feelings lol. No, I mean like crying and all y’all lol. I don’t know what it is. However, the ‘junk’ talk was actually no junk at all, but rather an opinion. My dad actually loved my ‘Marriage Talk’ piece and thought that it’d be an even BETTER idea to get the men’s side of the issue. I honestly couldn’t have agreed more. So, here it is. Marriage Talk Part II – What The Men Had to Say!

As I’m riding in the car with my boyfriend, driving back to our home town, I’m telling him how opinionated my father was on this topic. He told me that I should include men and not assume that all my readers are women. I agreed. So, I raised this question to the men, lol, even my very young men. I wanted to really see the generational difference in responses between the younger and the older. Alright guys, here goes nothing. So men, tell me... Do you think the engagement ring is necessary in order to seal the deal in a marriage proposal? Why or why not?

Dyshell P., 25 – “Necessary? Negatory. I feel like the ring is more so for others to see. In my opinion, what’s the difference between me kneeling down asking for your hand in marriage with a ring vs. giving my word? It’s between the two people in the actual situation, technically speaking. The engagement ring does not solidify anything.” (He requested this picture be alongside his response).

My face after his request:

Lol, but let’s continue. My father has been patiently waiting for his time to shine so ... here you go dad. 

Preme B., 52 – “No, the engagement ring does not seal the deal for the proposal. However, if both persons’ finances are in order, credit is good and all your ducks are in a row, by all means, buy the ring. But if your finances and priorities aren’t situated then in the end, all you’ll have is that ring. What would be the sense to buy a ring if you can’t afford it? You’re portraying an image that’s not reality. Look at it this way, you use your credit to buy a ring because your money not right, all this does is become another bill. For what? I’d rather build on something of more value than an engagement ring. Focus on the bigger picture and the bigger goal like buying a house. For example, if I went outside and made you a wooden ring and asked you would you marry me and you look at me like I got two f—kin’ heads, then you’ve missed the total concept. A ring, in my opinion, doesn’t prove real love. It’s just a materialistic, adopted culture that many women have become so desperate to be a part of. Back in the day, you created your own ceremonies where people laughed and had good times. These days, what’s that show? Bridezilla? You see how all the women are usually angry and everyone is so stressed out? It’s because everything has become so materialistic. A ring means absolutely nothing. It’s just something for the perception of someone else and a good business deal for the stores. To be honest, what good is a ring if your priorities are f—ked up? Bottom line, if you can afford the ring and you’re in good financial standings, by all means, do you. But is it necessary? No. Build your future first. Let’s get sh-t in order so we can have sh-t.” 

Jerome R., 32 – “In a way, I PERSONALLY don’t think its quote on quote necessary but the way in which we were ALL taught or should I say brainwashed to believe from society is that YES in order to propose to someone you MUST have a ring. But I say this, if I DON’T have a ring, does that mean the love we have for one another and your thoughts of possibly wanting to get married goes away if I don’t propose to you with a ring? See that’s important to think about because we get so caught up in the materialistic ‘stuff’ that we forget what’s really important . What’s important isn’t the ring, that sh-t is just for show for her to brag to her girlfriends and family. The important thing is the love that we have for one another that ultimately got us to the point that we even had a thought of wanting to get married in the FIRST place. So I say, no, it’s not necessary but many will probably disagree because like I said before, everyone is so programmed to believe that in order to propose one MUST have a ring that they can’t think outside of that.”

Kwame B., 19 - “Nah. The engagement ring isn’t necessary. If I got down on one knee and asked my girl to marry me, the emotion is still going to be the same. With or without the ring. The message is still the same.”

Keith T., 52 – “No. A ring is not necessary. A ring is to let everyone outside the couple know that they are in a relationship. The biggest/ highest compliment a man can give a woman is to ask her to marry him. No paper or ring can change that. When you’re committed to someone, it’s in your heart not on your finger.”

Johnathan B., 25 – “Hey Tay, lmao, wah gwan? But nah, I don’t think the ring HAS to be the necessary item. It could be a house or a sentimental gift… something like that and then you get the actual ring on wedding day.”

Devon A., 26 – “Hmmm, that’s iffy! Well according to society, the ring is what really seals the deal. I wouldn’t care to be honest but if you’re going to announce it on Instagram, etc. etc. every one’s going to be like, “Where’s the ring?” with their big ass eyes.” 

Michael C., 26 – “I don’t think it’s necessarily needed to seal a marriage proposal because as a man, your word is supposed to be your bond and you shouldn’t need a ring as reassurance that your spouse isn’t bullshitting. But the whole proposing with a ring thing has been done for so many years that it would look abnormal to someone to propose without it."

Aaron T., 48 – “Unless you can’t afford the ring, yes, I do think the ring is necessary. To me, it shows the seriousness in wanting a commitment.” 

Vincent S., 27 – “No, I don’t think so. The engagement ring is just something of symbolic meaning. I honestly think it’s a mean of spending more money for the economy. The fact that people equate a diamond to love is nearly stupid. Love is love, you shouldn’t need a materialistic thing to prove whether or not the deal is sealed for marriage.”

Amir S., 19 – “I think the engagement ring is an important piece to let your lady know it’s real.”

Anthony W., 26 – “No, I do not think an engagement ring is important. Depending on the financial status of the gentleman, he may not be able to afford a ring at the moment and love is something you can’t put a price on. As a woman, if you have no doubts in your mind that you and your significant other are in love, then there shouldn’t be any question. But if the brotha just being cheap, let him goooooo sis!!! Lol. (Sidebar: Please note readers that Anthony was joking with his last statement. He wanted me to make sure that I added the ‘lol’, haha! I’m telling you, interviewing the guys was hilarious!)

Tysean T., 22 – “I think, not just because I’m not a material kind of person and we both know that the ring you want will cost damn near what the wedding cost, if you and I both know we love each other and we know we want to marry each other, you will eventually get the ring. The proposal doesn’t become less official because the ring isn’t present.”

Keith T., 27 – “Nah because marriage is a covenant under God and Christ! Material shouldn’t matter! It’s really to let others know like “Yo, this one right here is mine, she spoken for” but between the two people in the relationship, no.”

Isiah B., 25 – “Yes. Because it puts a title on your property as a man. It’s almost like a dog pissing on a tree to label it as their spot. So we put rings on our lady finger to make it known that she belongs to one. Sometimes, material objects are the best way to get a point across. It’s so deep and so traditional that there’s no turning back.”

Leonard C., 26 – “I do not believe the ring is a necessity. It is customary, but not mandatory. In some cultures it is almost non-existent and unheard of. One of my previous employees got engaged to a wealthy man and did not receive a ring because it was not customary in their culture. In our culture, the proposal represents a promise between two people to commit to each other and then wed, making a covenant with God. The engagement ring is a sign to the masses/public that the woman has accepted the man’s proposal to make a lifelong covenant. Therefore, she is almost permanently, unavailable. It is also, a symbol to the man and woman of their love and commitment to each other. 

Eventually, they will both receive wedding rings which are to be worn on the only finger that has a vein that connects directly to the heart. This simply symbolizes how deep their love runs for each other. 

I’ve recently met men (in different scenarios) who were clearly committed to their wives but didn’t necessarily wear a wedding ring. The ring isn’t the commitment. It is not the element of love itself. It is simply a symbol. 

Suppose the woman does not have a hand? Is she automatically disqualified from engagement eligibility? Of course not! Nick Vujicic is a powerful motivational speaker and leader who is happily married with two children. However, he is totally unable to wear or present a wedding ring. He is quadriplegic. 

As I said, the engagement ring is not mandatory, only customary. I intend to follow the custom.”

Well. You heard the men. They have spoken. 

I always love the variance in responses and again, I am just as shocked with these responses as I was for the women. Honestly, after careful observation of all the answers I’ve received from doing this Q&A, lol, I have to agree with the fact that no, the engagement ring is not necessary to seal the deal. My boyfriend and I are both still young with goals that we’d like to achieve. Saving our money, clearing our debt, buying a home. So, how could I say “No” to a man who craves the idea of me being his wife, but would rather put his money into a better future for us? I feel like the commitment is already in the mere act of the man’s proposal, not the engagement ring. 

So, as this topic comes to an end, I will close this post with a sincere THANK YOU to everyone who participated in my Q&A. Literally, answering my mass texts at 9 o’clock in the morning, lol. Gotta thank my boyfriend too for all of his help. Staying up late night helping me with editing and getting responses as well. You were great babe, Netflix and chill? *winks* ... No, but seriously, I thank all of you who really support my writing and my craziness on Wednesday nights or whenever you have the time to read my posts. It’s really motivation to keep this here going. Thank you all for bringing me back to my passion. I love each and every one of you!

Until next time.

Always, always love,

-CB.