#in fact it saddens me a bit when i see the common assumption | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

notthatiwilleverwriteit · 5 years ago

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I want to make one thing absolutely clear before getting any further into this: I am not in any way or form saying you are not allowed to ship whatever you want. I am not here to call you Toxic™ or Problematic™. In fact, I get hives when people guilt-trip others because of their fictional ships and make them feel like there’s something wrong with their head. I have many dark ships myself and know how the bashing feels so I would never do something like that to others.

For a long time, I didn’t actually have a real NOTP, and this one was mainly born out of the fans’ reaction to She Li and his recently revealed backstory rather than the ship itself. To me, it seemed like some people took the “easiest” way with SL and MGS’s relationship and jumped straight to romantic love. When, in fact, I find their past and relationship much more complicated.

I liked what OldXian had to say about the matter, actually. Thank you @nira18 for going through the trouble of posting and translating OX’s comments for us. (I’m going to borrow them for a while 🙏) But before that, a few words about what I’ve learned about interpreting during my years as a literature major.

Usually, I have mixed feelings about authors “explaining” their stories because fan-readers often use them to attack other fans’ interpretations that differ from their own and make them less valid. There are actually three major players and powers when it comes to interpreting: the author, the text itself, and the reader. You can study texts from any of those major perspectives, but you’d be surprised how little the author’s intentions weight when reading and interpreting. In fact, scholars and students of literature are very rarely interested in them at all.

What many fan-readers don’t perhaps realize is that interpreting isn’t supposed to be some kind list of correct and incorrect that you should check with someone to see if you “got it right”. As long as you can argue your point by using the text, your interpretation is valid. Which is actually an interesting issue since so much of the fandom culture stems from the fans’ almost rebel-like ways of reading characters and stories. For example, one reason why fans write fanfiction is to fulfill their own interpretations the author hadn’t explored. Actually, fan-reading revolves around the age-old question of literature: to whom does the power of interpreting belong after a text has been published, the author or the writer? So, why are we somewhat hypocritical when it comes to fan-interpretations that differ from our own?

All that being said, I’d still like to take a look at OX’s comments. But I don’t wish to use them as weapons, though. I’ve been saddened by how people seemed to almost rub them in the shippers’ faces.

“Two people can’t just stand in one place together and fall in love! [Laughing crying] There are many kinds of feelings in the world, family affections, friendship affections, romantic affections, hatred, jealousy, etc. I personally believe that the often interesting relationships (?), are complicated and unexplainable.” X

As I said earlier, when SL’s backstory and his first connection with MGS were revealed, some fans jumped straight to the romance wagon and saw SL being so hung up on MGS as romantic jealousy. I see where the shippers are coming from but find that a whole plethora of feelings that would fit between hate and romantic love is in danger to be bypassed. As OX said, there are many kinds of feelings in the world, and many of them are nuanced even though they share some common denominator. I am not saying people can’t see SL and MGS romantically, but it’s a bit frustrating if they choose to ignore all of other, more complex options. Just because 19 Days is a shounen-ai doesn’t mean there can’t be any other kinds of relationships.

Partly, my frustration stems from my “protectiveness” of SL’s character. It’s no secret I’m very interested in and intrigued by him. I realize he’s the bad guy of the story and fully understand why the majority of the fans hate him with a burning passion. But I can’t bring myself to dislike him. He’s in the long line of antagonists who have found their way into my heart.

I find SL’s character highly complex which is why I don’t want to brush his feelings towards MGS and role in the overall story off as romantic love. It feels way too hasty. To go to such extreme as “love” is too easy and cuts too many corners.

What I think SL and MGS’s relationship could be boiled down to instead is “misery loves company”. SL had once managed to pull MGS down with him and intends to keep him there. Because if MGS gets freed from SL’s world, it would quite painfully point out how messed up SL’s life is, too. Which brings me back to OX’s point about nuanced feelings. To see others you thought shared your misery actually try and climb out of the pit, is its own form of jealousy. When I see SL being so hung up on MGS, I don’t see romantic jealousy but something more complex.

I like what @casually-inlove said about the different roles of SL and HT in her answer. HT is a savior of sorts in MGS’s life, someone who believes in him and strives to make him “an outstanding person” aka not ruin his life by becoming a part of the criminal gangs and underworld for good. The opposite of what SL ultimately wants to.

And the change in MGS must have been apparent enough for SL to take notice. Since MGS has gained more people who actually see good things in him and even admire him, it’s given him more self-esteem and confidence and started to convince him he’s not an outcast good-for-nothing delinquent. He’s been looked down by his peers since his childhood and after a while, he’s started to believe in that image, too.

Hope is a very strong motivation in life, and SL seems to despise the idea of MGS having any of it. It’s the light at the end of the tunnel that would ultimately lead MGS out the world he’s shared with SL.

Up until HT got involved, SL had managed to snuff out MGS’s hope quite effectively. He’s manipulated him by using the carrot by talking about “destiny” and seemingly giving MGS what he knows he’s desperate for:

But he also wasn’t hesitant to use the stick when he needed to remind MGS of his place. There’s a lot to be said about using gratitude as a way to manipulate others but it’s very effective and something SL seems to go for a lot:

I don’t know if SL actually believes MGS owes him for the rest of his life and sees himself as some kind of grand savior. It’s possible, I suppose, and would somewhat explain why he’s trying so stubbornly to hold on to MGS even though he obviously has quite a lot of followers already. SL seems to have a compulsive need to control and possess other people and sees MGS trying to leave his side as a betrayal. No one is allowed to think their debts have been repaid until he says so. Now, why is it like that is the million-dollar question. Why is he so desperate to shackle people to himself like that? Is it simply about power or something deeper?

We don’t know exactly how SL saved MGS either, but ultimately I think it’s about giving MGS a place to belong when others discriminated against him. He took advantage of MGS’s growing bitterness and strengthened his poor image of himself by creating a vicious cycle of being involved in gangs and further more estranging him from his peers. As I said in my earlier post regarding MGS’s character, there’s no faster way to turn someone into an outcast than by making them bitter and pushing them to join like-minded people.

However, it’s also possible it didn’t begin that way. It’s unclear to us how long MGS and SL have known each other. Their first encounter was revealed in ch 294, but it seemed one-sided. How soon after this

did MGS and LS meet again? Did SL recognize MGS? Were they actual friends at some point, and it all went to hell later on? Did they perhaps bond over both being seen as weirdos and outcasts by others? (As a side note, I’d like to recommend this piece of fanart by @naesol that I think offers an interesting possibility of how things might’ve gone down between them.)

At this point, you might rightly wonder how on earth I could like a character like that. A despicable manipulator who exploits others’ weakness and wants to drag them down with him. It’s actually partly why I don’t see a romantic connection between MGS and SL.

As crazy as it sounds, I relate to some of SL’s character. Up to a point, I see my own shortcomings in him. When I see him being jealous of MGS trying to turn his life around, ultimately leaving him behind and feeling betrayed by it, I 100% recognize that feeling because I’m prone to it myself. In those situations, I don’t go wielding pocket knives or try to manipulate them out if it, of course, but I can’t bring myself to genuinely root for them, either. Instead, I tend to feel jealous, envious, and bitter. When I see others fix the things in themselves that I hate about myself, I silently wish them to fail because if they can do it, what’s my excuse for not doing the same? I’m not proud of this side of myself but it is the truth.

And that’s why I think it’s dangerous to bash other people for what they ship or what characters they like. You can’t possibly know the reason why and can make them feel really shitty about themselves by assuming they just don’t know right from wrong or want to romanticize problematic things. The thing about fiction is that it provides us a safe environment to experience and discover different feelings, some of which can be weird or scary or conflicting, and possibly recognize those feelings in ourselves and work on them. And people should be allowed to do that without being bashed or made assumptions about by others.

All in all, because I relate to what I interpret SL is feeling I don’t recognize the romantic aspect some readers find between them. I think it’s more based on fanon than actual canon, but that doesn’t mean I have the right to tell anyone what to ship.

30 day 19 Days challenge

#30 day 19 days challenge #she li #mo guan shan #19 days #kinda long post again #but this has been on my mind for a while now #and what sometimes bothers me about this fandom

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raendown · 5 years ago

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Pairing: MadaraTobirama Word count: 3984 Chapter: 7/? Summary: Not all wars are fought on the battlefield. Some are fought at the conference table, with whispers in the shadows, or even in the bedroom.

In a world where the Senju and Uchiha traditional lands were too far apart to have ever made them enemies, Butsuma and Tajima are the ones who come together and sign a treaty of peace. Madara isn’t happy to have his life signed away for him in a political marriage to strengthen the bond between their clans. He is even less happy to have Tobirama make assumptions of him from their very first night together. What follows from there is a journey of healing, of learning, and finding the places to belong in the places least expected.

Follow the link or read it under the cut!

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Chapter 7

As he had silently promised himself, Madara did think about what Susumu-sensei and Hashirama both said to him. The idea that one had to work to fall in love still baffled him, he wasn’t sure he would ever be able to wrap his head around it, but one thing did stick out for him as only logical. If he wasn’t going to have a chance to achieve the happiness he should have been able to have in life then there was no point in making himself even more miserable than he needed to be. It would be best if he and Tobirama got along, at least.

Where he balked was having to make that first move himself. For all the unfairness he was already suffering he thought in this he should be allowed a bit of selfishness. Tobirama had grown up expecting this sort of misery so obviously he should be the one to make the first effort, not Madara who was still trying to get used to the fact that his life would always be empty of love.

The problem chased him around for several days and kept him just preoccupied enough not to think it was all that weird when he noticed his husband watching him a little too closely during meetings. Generally the two of them avoided looking at each other when at all possible so having Tobirama spend several days eyeing him contemplatively should have awakened suspicion or worry or some kind of self-preservation instinct. Madara’s only excuse was that Tobirama’s gaze seemed to have absolutely no ill intent, no dire under-handed plan with him as the target. All he did was stare with those pretty red eyes that any Uchiha would be jealous of.

Madara was ashamed to say that he didn’t fully register the anomaly until a bigger one came along when Tobirama approached him of his own free will while he was doing nothing more than sitting at the island in their kitchen with a mug of tea. Sudden movement in the corner of one eye sent him leaping right out of his own skin, mug falling on its side and sending tea rushing across the surface.

“Shit,” he growled quietly. “I thought you were gone.”

“Ah.” Tobirama blinked at the tea with the same old dead expression as always. Madara spun to reach for a towel but when he turned back Tobirama had one hand hovering over the spill and lit up with chakra. One twist of his fingers and the liquid followed where he beckoned it like he was some sort of water spirit, back in to the mug that he had already set back to rights.

Rather than thank him Madara grunted and pulled his tea closer to inspect it for any funny business. His husband watched him for a moment before sighing and looking away.

“I need to speak with you about something.” He looked up again at Tobirama’s voice.

“Those proposals I sent in yesterday are no longer up for debate,” Madara ground out, hackles up before anything else had been said. He was all ready to defend the papers he’d spent several weeks redrafting each time Tobirama brought up another point of contention during council meetings – but the subject was waved off with a quick swat of one pale hand.

“Not that.” If Madara didn’t know better he would have said by the shifting of weight and refusal to meet eyes that Tobirama was nervous. “As a…member of the clan I asked around and apparently overseeing the training of the younglings is your purview. Unexpected, I have to admit.”

“Okay…?”

Taking a deep breath and letting it back out in a rush, Tobirama raised his chin to look finally meet Madara’s gaze with an almost defiant expression. “I was going to do this anyway but Hashirama has been badgering me and there really is no point in pissing you off more if it isn’t necessary. I would like your…permission to train Uchiha Kagami. You seem close with the boy so he probably would have said something eventually anyway.”

Shrugging lightly as if to convince himself he didn’t care all that much, Tobirama looked away again, focusing out the window at the trees rustling in the wind. Madara stared.

“You want to train an Uchiha child?” he demanded. Tobirama gave him one sharp nod.

“Training the younglings has always been one of my duties. Or it was until I effectively left the clan. Kagami is…different from the other Uchiha that I have met. Affable.”

“Right.” Drumming his fingers in the island between them, Madara squinted. “There has to be more to it than that.”

He almost had a moment to feel smug for guessing right until the other man’s reluctant response took all the wind out of his sails – out of his lungs as well, leaving him feeling rather like he’d been punched in the gut.

“It was my thought that proving I can care for one of your children would endear me in some slight way to the others so they might not detest me quite so much. Earn their trust, so to speak.” Clearly forcing the words outs had cost him greatly but that was definitely not what Madara focused on. He was more stunned by the words themselves than the effort behind them.

“Wait, you think my clan hates you? All of them?”

To Tobirama’s credit, he refrained from snarkily pointing out that they were technically supposed to be his clan now as well. With a tight jaw and clenched fists he asked, “Don’t they? When I draw near they stop speaking. When I come around the corner they stop laughing, stop smiling. All signs of joy flee at first sight of me. To you they nod and smile and chatter. To me they bow and speak formally and then hurry away as quickly as they can. I think it’s more than clear that I am not welcome anywhere in this clan.”

Blinking slowly, Madara bit the inside of his cheek and wondered if perhaps the two of them were both doomed to misinterpret every social interaction they ever experienced. It would be ironic, if nothing else, for that to be their only commonality.

“My – our people do not hate you.”

“I’m sorry, did you listen to a word I just said?”

“They don’t!” Madara rolled his eyes. “If you had bothered to ask any of them they could have explained that they were trying to make you more comfortable!”

“By alienating me?” Tobirama gave him a dubious look.

Frustrated, Madara curled the fingers he had been drumming. “No! You’re always so…so…formal! Distant! They’re trying to act more appropriately to your station so they don’t insult you with frivolity!”

“Insult me with frivolity? They think I don’t want them to be happy?” By the end of his question Tobirama’s voice had trailed off and Madara was nearly shocked right out of his socks as he realized that his husband was actually saddened by the thought that others might be unhappy because of him. It was oddly human of him.

Slightly uncomfortable with this revelation, he brought his arms close to cross over his chest and muttered, “They’re perfectly happy; just a bit more restrained because they – and I, to be honest – thought you would prefer more formal interactions. They’re showing you respect.”

“I see. I had no idea that was the general opinion of me.”

“Well your general opinion was that they all hated you so it’s not like that’s much worse.”

Tobirama scowled but for once the expression seemed turned inwards at himself. “It baffled me that Kagami could be so different from the rest of his clan, so cheerful when everyone else who spoke to me seemed so insular.”

“Kagami is no different from the rest of us,” Madara snorted. “He’s just too enthusiastic to keep it in his head when his mother tells him to remember his manners.”

“I prefer him the way he is.” Tobirama shrugged.

“Do you?” Humming thoughtfully, Madara realized with no small amount of surprise that it seemed he hadn’t needed to make the first move after all. Susumu-sensei’s words bounced off each other inside his head for the thousandth time, echoed by Hashirama’s voice insisting that his little brother wasn’t actually a closed off robot, that he was somehow worth getting to know. Before he could stop himself Madara allowed his curiosity to get the better of him and asked, “Do you like kids or something?”

He wondered if it was the question itself or just the fact that he had asked it that gave Tobirama such a startled look on his face.

“Yes,” was his simple answer.

“Huh. I wouldn’t have expected that.”

“Why, because I am so cold and formal?” Tobirama ground out and Madara couldn’t really bring himself to be angry about it because yes, that was exactly why.

“It was a misconception,” he admitted instead. “One that you have now cleared up.”

Tobirama watched him carefully for a few moments, probably trying to determine whether or not he was being sincere, then finally nodded to close the subject. “Do I have your permission, then? To train Kagami as my own student? You have my word that he will receive my best efforts.”

For a second Madara hesitated, not sure how to voice his single protest without being insulting. Despite what it might look like to anyone observing them they were actually making more progress with each other in this single conversation than any they’d had before. Not a single intentional insult so far. He would call that progress!

“I can only see one difficulty, being that you are a water natured shinobi. Kagami is fire natured, like almost all Uchiha tend to be, and he will eventually need someone who can teach him the clan jutsu.”

Not looking the slightest put off, Tobirama hummed in thought. “I would ask that you simply teach me the clan jutsu but I’m entirely certain that would be breaking some sort of rule. Are spouses allowed to learn clan jutsu? I suppose if they are it would still require a level of trust which…does not exist here.” The simple hesitation at the end of his sentence was significant in some way, Madara was sure of that, but he would have to mull it over later. Something else required his attention first.

“How on earth would I teach them to you?” he asked. Had he not just said that he knew the man’s nature was water? Yet Tobirama only shrugged and casually rocked his world yet again with a single calmly spoken sentence.

“I can use all five nature releases,” he said, “so it wouldn’t be a problem for me to learn them.”

“You…what?”

Tilting his head, Tobirama drew his brows together in a contemplative frown. “I was given to believe that was fairly common within the Uchiha clan. Your dōjutsu allow you to instantly memorize and copy jutsu of any nature beyond kekkei genkai, correct?”

“Yes but – wait, how did you know that?”

“I…asked?”

Madara blinked. “Asked who? When? And why were you asking about our eyes?” Suspicion reared its head and Tobirama clearly knew the lines he was thinking along because contemplation quickly turned to confused offense.

“As soon as I learned that I was engaged to you I wished to know more. Was that not you who answered my letters?”

“What letters!?”

“I sent dozens of letters when I was told of our engagement! We were going to live together but we’d never met; I wanted to know you, to understand the people that I would be living among. I assumed it was you answering my questions.” He looked uncomfortable with the idea that he had been communicating with some unknown entity.

“No…I had no idea you ever sent anything.”

On his part Madara couldn’t decide which made him more uncomfortable. The fact that someone had been answering his mail without even informing him that it was there or the fact that someone had so easily sent confidential information about their clan’s most prized treasure – their own eyes – out in to the world in letters that could have fallen in to the hands of practically anyone without them even knowing.

He would have to look in to who did something so stupid. Izuna wouldn’t be the one. His brother was even more suspicious and protective of their clan secrets than Madara was. Susumu-sensei certainly knew how to imitate his style of writing but he couldn’t imagine how she would know he was receiving mail or how she would have been in the right place to intercept ‘dozens’ of letters without him noticing. Not to mention that she wouldn’t have any motive that he could think of to do that.

The only other person he could think of was his father but the old coot didn’t strike him as the type either. Unless…

“Were they sealed?” he asked with dread curling in his stomach.

“Yes. Every letter was sealed to open only if I penned the correct kanji on the outside. Why?”

“Mother fucker!” Madara looked around for something to hit but everything in range was breakable. “You were writing to my father. He’s never sent a letter he hasn’t sealed; it’s the only fūinjutsu he knows and he likes to show it off.”

Tobirama thought for a moment. “Your eyes can’t copy fūinjutsu?”

“No, they can’t.”

“Oh. I never thought to ask, I simply assumed. Although I suppose I can understand the logic of it if how your Sharingan works falls in to the theory I was able to cobble together from the sparse information I was allowed to know. Tell me, if you see someone release a jutsu but you don’t see the hand seals they used to activate it then can you still imitate it?”

Blinking even harder now Madara tried to follow yet another jump in topic. He was having a little trouble keeping up, answering out of reflex as he reeled along behind the other man and tried to figure out what they were really talking about. “Ah, no. We need to know how to use the jutsu of course.”

“Yes, of course. Excellent. So I was right then!”

“About what!?”

“That’s why you wouldn’t be able to learn fūinjutsu just by looking at a seal, even if your Sharingan were activated! Because you didn’t get to watch when it was originally laid!”

Madara wanted to respond somehow, never a fan of being left in the dust to feel like he was too stupid to follow a conversation, but he found it quite difficult to think past anything except the brilliant, lopsided grin splitting Tobirama’s face in half quite suddenly. In all the time since they had married he had yet to see the man smile even once. He was a vision. He was also apparently off on an excitable tangent with no intention of slowing down.

“So if you do see someone laying a seal would you be able to memorize it then? Or would fūinjutsu be different because it relies a little more heavily on the environment and the materials used rather than just the base chakra of the one who draws it?”

“I don’t…know.”

“Hmm. Something to test! Excellent! I’ll have to ask Kagami if he might help me record some results, he did express some interest in returning to the lab. Very interesting! I wonder if–”

As though entirely forgetting that they had been in the middle of a conversation, as if everything they had just been talking about was already erased from his mind, Tobirama spun on one heel and walked away muttering under his breath the whole time. Madara stood in the kitchen and watched the man turn left out of the doorway. Then ten seconds later he passed the doorway again in the opposite direction. Had he forgotten where he was going in his distraction?

It took a while for Madara to move again. All he could see in his mind’s eye was the afterimage of that incredible smile. More than human, more than just aesthetically appealing, he had looked happy. Now that was a word Madara had never thought he would ever associate with someone like Tobirama but there was no denying what he had seen. A small part of him wished he had taken the time to activate the Sharingan they had been talking about and demonstrate its memorizing prowess by imprinting that unexpected gift in to his memories forever.

The moment he realized where his thoughts were headed Madara scrambled up out of his seat. He didn’t even want to look at the clock as he snatched up his obi and made himself a little more presentable on the run. With how long they had stood there chatting it would be a miracle if he wasn’t late to work.

Most of the journey across the village passed him by in a blur of distracted thoughts, the majority of them centered around a husband he’d thought he had figured out. Evidently his sensei and Hashirama had both been right to tell him to look deeper. Well, to be fair, Hashirama was the only one who had insisted that there was anything deeper to look for. Susumu-sensei had mostly just told him to get his head out of his own self-centered ass.

Either way he was hardly about to rush off and tell either of them that they had been right. Surely they would figure that out on their own eventually – and then hopefully never bring it up to him again.

Not wanting to be caught showing up late by his father, Madara figured his best bet would be to slip in the window of his own office and threaten Hashirama in to silence about his untimely arrival. It seemed like such a great plan right up until the moment he was sitting astride the window sill with one foot still outside and both of his father’s eyes staring him down from the doorway. He was all too familiar with that fire and brimstone expression and for a single moment he considered spitting at the man’s feet in anger of his own. It was sad the way he was getting used to holding that hot ball of betrayal in his stomach when he met Tajima’s eyes. How dare he answer letters meant for someone else? And how dare he never deign to so much as mention them? He spent enough time reminding Madara how important it was that their marriage stay together, one would think he’d be the first to help them along with that.

But the moment passed and Madara schooled himself in to a carefully blank expression. Nothing good would come of yelling at his father for something that happened months ago and he knew damn well he would never get the apology he wanted. The best thing right now was to redirect the anger he was already being faced with. It was always better to just get the truth over with when Tajima brought out that particular pinched expression. Across the room Hashirama kept his eyes on his own work and tried not to look like he was cowering while Madara brought his second foot in to the office.

“I apologize father,” he mumbled, not actually sorry at all. “I was speaking with Tobirama and we simply lost track of time.”

“Speaking with your husband?” Tajima lifted one eyebrow and Madara hesitated. He would be the first to admit that it sounded unlike him but it was the truth!

“Yes, sir.”

“I’ll let it pass this once. Finally a little effort; I would hate to discourage such behavior.” With a warning look that he would not be so lenient if this happened again, Tajima dropped a handful of scrolls in his inbox, demanded they be looked over by the end of the day, and then left.

Madara slumped down in to his chair with legs that felt like jelly. A smiling husband and a lenient father, what other surprises would he have to deal with before noon?

While he tried to convince his heart to stop racing Hashirama was just peeking up from his own space across the room. If he’d been watching for it he would have seen the worrisome grin spreading across his friend’s face, not nearly as attractive as his brother’s and generally the herald to much more chaos. Probably. Madara was actually a little worried about what Tobirama had wandered off to do.

“Sooooo…” Hashirama appeared at his side like a ghost and Madara startled violently for the second time that morning.

“What?”

“You were chatting with your husband were you?” the man grinned at him, leaning down to rest both elbows on the desk so he could drop his head in both palms. “Things are improving then?”

“It was one conversation,” Madara snarled.

He shoved the unwanted elbows off his work surface and reached for the scrolls his father had dropped off for him but Hashirama was far from deterred. A second later it was an unwanted rump planting itself across the spot he was about to fill with parchment and important duties.

“Tell me everything! One conversation can pave the way for many more! You’ve been having such a hard time with all of this, can’t I be happy for you that it looks like things are finally on the up?”

“Would you go away and let me work?”

“Come on! Please? Just tell me what you two were talking about!”

“Ugh!” Madara rubbed and the bridge of his noise impatiently. “He wants to train a student. That’s it. Now will you screw off? You heard my father, I have to get these done by the end of the day and I already had a full plate!” There really was no point in starting a discussion about the whole letter fiasco right now. Maybe his friend would have some insights in to that but that was best left for later; they were supposed to be working right now.

Hashirama didn’t protest when he was pushed off the desk again but he did make soft little cooing noises as though his brother taking on a new student was the cutest thing ever. Which didn’t make a lot of sense. Hadn’t Tobirama mentioned that training the younglings had been one of his duties before their clans moved here and he was married off to someone else? Madara wondered vaguely who had taken up that duty in his absence. Overseeing the new fighters was his own responsibility as well, technically, but he had taken to delegating that task to others since discovering early on that he was a shitty teacher.

Despite his insistence that he had a lot of work to do Madara found it difficult to concentrate with so many new thoughts about Tobirama bouncing off each other inside his head. It had never occurred to him that anyone could misconstrue a bit of polite behavior as hatred but now that it had been pointed out he could see how being treated differently by an entire clan might give that impression. Between that, the shock of having him ask to personally train little Kagami – when had they even met? – and the curious offhand statement about some kind of lab, Madara despaired of the idea that he would be able to accomplish even half of what he needed to get done that day.

For once, however, his thoughts of Tobirama were not filled with anger or grumbling about how much he hated the man. It wasn’t much progress yet but he had to admit that even a small step was big for them. Perhaps it was a little early to say for sure but Hashirama might have actually been correct for once. Things might finally be on their way up.

#rae writes #madatobi #madara #tobirama #hashirama #tajima #fanfiction

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seriouslyhooked · 7 years ago

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Ten Minutes Ago

A/N: Reader requested EF AU oneshot set to one of my favorite songs, ‘Ten Minutes Ago’ from Rodger’s and Hammerstein’s Cinderella. In essence I have made a Cinderella-like fic and placed it in the setting of a royal Christmas ball. Because honestly, why not throw more holiday spirit into everything? In this I am also writing what I believe may be a first for me – Killian is the prince and Emma is the Cinderella figure. This is a sweet, short slice of what could have been a full multi-chapter AU. But until I find the time to write that up, I thank my lovely reader who suggested it and I hope you all enjoy! This chapter, and the rest of the mixtape collection, available on FF Here.

Watching the snow covered world pass by from the window of this horse drawn carriage, Emma Swan couldn’t help but feel like this was all a dream.

Not that anyone could blame her really. After all, fairy godmothers and magic were supposed to be just the making of childhood stories, but tonight that had been proven incorrect. One moment Emma had been barely holding it together, saddened and dejected by the cruelty of her situation. Usually she could bare it to some degree, holding onto to the belief that if she was good and kind and brave, someday things would be different. But on this Christmas Eve, when every eligible maiden was invited to King Liam’s winter ball, Emma felt like all that faith in something better was for nothing. She was trapped in the tiny corner of hell where she’d been living for years, locked in her attic room with no way out, no finery befitting the evening, and no hope that she’d even have a way of getting to the castle if she was freed from this cage.

But then magic made real had flown into the picture, and she was dressed in a sparkling gown of green that shimmered and sparkled in a hue all its own. Tinkerbelle, her name had been, and from the moment Tink arrived at Emma’s window tonight, the tiny, dimming light of hope Emma had been clinging onto for all these wretched years sparked a little bit brighter. She was smiling again, and doing everything in her power to enjoy this one night. For that was all it could ever be… one perfect night to change her life, if only for a moment. Because when the clock struck midnight she’d go back to the life she had before and that would be that. The magic would fade away and she’d return to the girl she was, simple and ordinary and inconsequential.

Emma shook the thought away, promising herself that such thoughts were over. She would not waste a second of this precious Christmas gift with sadness or regret. Instead she’d savor every part of tonight, from the majesty of her mice turned to horses leading the charge through the freshly fallen snow, to the way the castle looked so picturesquely beautiful as they pulled up to where the ball was taking place. Looking at it from her window Emma almost forgot to breathe, but then she collected herself, smiling at the attendant and tilting her head to the side curiously when he addressed her as ‘Princess.’ That was quite an assumption to make on the spot, but then again this crimson gown that Tinkerbelle had crafted for Emma was remarkable, and no person she knew could ever dream to replicate it without magic or a material wealth reserved for royals.

The next thing she knew Emma had been led up the stairs and into the palace, trying to take in every wreath and garland and perfect decoration that spoke to more wealth and affluence than Emma could even imagine. Only after a moment, did Emma realize, however, that she was arriving rather late. No one remained in the entryway save for palace staff, meaning that everyone else must be inside already. A prickling of unease came upon her then, for she hated the idea of standing out from the crowd, but what was there to do at this point? She’d come all of this way, and it would be foolish to turn back now. No. She had to keep going. It was the only way.

“Okay, you can do this Emma,” she whispered to herself in attempt at stern self-council. “Just breathe. Just breathe.”

With one last steadying breath and a rushed sort of prayer that she didn’t trip and make a fool of herself, Emma made her way to the landing and looked down below. It was the first time she’d ever seen a gathering like this, with all the dancing, and the music, and the splendor of it all. The room was adorned in golden hues made more prominent by the reds and greens and whites of Christmas. There were massive trees that must have come from deep within the forest in each corner of the room, and the general merriment of the festivities was palpable, leaving a buzzing kind of energy all throughout the space. Emma immediately fell in love with all of it, soaking in the excitement and the ambiance all around, but then something changed. A hush fell over the room and suddenly everyone was looking at her. Emma felt her cheeks warm at the attention and part of her wanted to turn tail and run for the closest exit, but then her eyes landed on one man among the crowd of people and her heart skipped as a sense of something familiar washed over her.

Handsome was a word many people would use to describe such a man, and they wouldn’t be wrong per se, but Emma didn’t think it did him justice. He was… god she didn’t know what he was, but this zinging sense of rightness tingled through her as she made her way down the stairs, and she couldn’t help as she descended the way her eyes tracked every part of him. That dark hair, those unbelievably blue eyes, and that handsome face held her captivated. She was so taken in she had no idea how she made it down the final set of steps, but as she’d made her way, the mysterious man had made a journey of his own, not attempting in any way to hide his objective of getting close to her. Emma smiled at the thought and the look in his eyes that told her she wasn’t the only one feeling this pull between them, but then her smile prompted a grin from him in kind and Emma was just as overwhelmed as she’d been at first sight.

Somewhere in the midst of all of that though, things began to piece together. Given the finery of his clothes and the seal of the noble house of Jones on his jacket, Emma realized he must be someone important, but only when she heard the murmurings rumbling through the crowd around them did she realize in full. This wasn’t just any nobleman; it was Prince Killian, younger brother of the king, and the man who this ball was intended for. Tonight he was supposed to find a proper match, and of all the people in the palace, he chose to be here now with her, making Emma feel wonderful and wildly anxious all at once. What could she – a common kitchen girl – possibly have to say to a prince? She hardly knew, but she had to figure it out and quickly too.

“Your highness,” Emma said as means of introduction, curtseying in a way she hoped passed for polite, but when she was done the prince said nothing. Instead he stepped toward her, taking her hand in his, his thumb brushing ever so slightly against her skin and leaving a blissful, sparkling sense of desire and awareness flowing through her as his eyes traced every feature of her face. She was so dizzy from it all that Emma almost forgot the fact that he hadn’t yet spoken, but a voice to the right of them alerted Prince Killian of his need for action.

“Well don’t just stand there, mate. Ask the lady to dance.”

Emma looked over to find a man in knight’s garb grinning from ear to ear, and then she heard the prince grumbling about ‘that damned Scarlet’ but when she turned back to look at Prince Killian again all the intensity of before remained locked on her. In those cerulean eyes she saw so much that would go unsaid, and it left that twisting twirl of want and anticipation fluttering all the more low in her stomach. She’d never felt so frazzled and free all at once, and then he offered her another smile, this one turned up slightly at the side and she was lost.

“Would you do me the great honor of dancing with me, Princess…?” he asked her, and Emma wanted to correct him and clear the air now. She was no princess, but she was also unable to form those words. She was falling into the silken sensation of the gravel of his voice against her skin, and it felt like the only choice she had was to tell him her name, since that was clearly what he wanted.”

“Emma.”

“Emma,” he murmured in reply, as if he was tasting her name on his tongue and finding he loved it. The way her ordinary name sounded so transformed on his lips was enough to have Emma reeling, but that sensation was only made more prominent as Killian led her to the dance floor that was now cleared of anyone else.

“Everyone’s watching us,” Emma whispered to him after a few turns about the room, reluctant to keep staring at him even though it was what she wanted most to do. She was giving too much away, showing too much affection for a man she didn’t even know, but Emma couldn’t help feeling a sense of loss when her eyes left his gaze. Then the apprehension of earlier returned as she saw the eyes of everyone in the ballroom fixed on the two of them.

“Are they?” Killian asked in a distracted tone, pulling Emma’s eyes back to his where she found he’d never looked away from her. “I’ll have to take your word for it, since it seems I’m powerless to see anything but you.”

“Are you always this charming?” Emma asked then as she fought off another blush and Killian chuckled lightly, shaking his head.

“I don’t think anyone has ever called me charming, Princess, especially at a Christmas ball.”

“Not a fan of the season?” Emma asked, genuinely curious as to why that would be, especially when he was nothing but a gentleman with her in every way. Or rather most ways. Emma doubted that gentleman ever held their dance partners quite so close, but she didn’t mind that at all. Being here, pressed against his firm body and held in his strong arms, Emma felt safer than she’d ever been, and more desirous than at any time in her life before.

“I used to be, once upon a time,” he said thoughtfully, and Emma watched as his eyes fogged up a bit with some memory he must be revisiting.

“But not anymore,” Emma observed, expecting him to agree, and feeling the surprise when he smiled again.

“Well now I’m not so sure. You see this was shaping up to be the same kind of Christmas as all the others, dark and dreary and missing that certain something everyone wants this time of year. But then an angel in red appeared before me and now suddenly everything is different.”

Where there words to respond to such a compliment? Emma didn’t know of any if they did exist, but she smiled back at him and let it hang there between them as Killian effortlessly twirled her across the dance floor. One song flowed into another, and now more people had joined them on the floor though Emma barely noticed. Instead she was grounded in this perfect little bubble where a man who made her breathless held her in his arms with a care and reverence she didn’t know could even exist.

“Tell me I’m not dreaming, love,” the prince said aloud a moment later, and Emma watched as the realization that he’d just said those words and called her such an affectionate name sank in. The flush that spread in response was endearing, just as it was when his hand came to scratch behind his ear in a show of slight embarrassment. “Forgive me. That was too familiar. It’s just… all night I’ve been standing here, saddled with responsibility, trying to do my brother proud though I couldn’t stand to be here, and then you walk in and all of that is gone. I spent the whole night praying for this evening to end, and now I never want it too.”

“We only met ten minutes ago,” Emma replied with an attempted smirk that probably didn’t play as confident and self-assured as she wanted. Try as she might she couldn’t appear unfazed by Prince Killian or his words since they meant so much to her.

“And I only needed one to know,” Killian murmured as one of his hands came up to graze her cheek. Emma leaned into the action, feeling her breathing speed up as she did.

“Know what?” she asked and at that Killian grinned again.

“That you’re different,” he confessed and Emma looked away, slightly ashamed that she’d been figured out so soon. Then he stopped dancing and his hand came to tilt her chin back up to look at him. “That you’re special.”

“If you really knew me, you might not be so sure,” Emma said, hearing the defeated tone of her voice and watching as Killian shook his head, not thwarted in the slightest.

“Let me prove you wrong. Let me show you what I know is here between us,” he implored her and Emma tilted her head in question. She wanted to go with him, on that there was no doubt. But could she trust her judgment tonight? Was she capable of guarding her heart enough to keep it safe when all of this was over, when she had such a night and such a man to tempt her? Emma didn’t know, but Killian must have read her mind as he made a final plea. “All I need is for you to trust me, and I swear I’ll show you there was never any need to fear.”

Pacified by his promise Emma nodded and she allowed the Prince to pull her out from the ball and into the courtyard outside. The music from inside still wafted out to here but it was softer now, flittering through the windows and the doors in a soft and soothing kind of hum. Emma thought to herself in that moment as she gazed upon the snowy scape before them that it should have been freezing out here, chilled as the world was this time of year, but through some enchantment Emma couldn’t quite place the air around them remained mild and the lantern lights glowed, illuminating the bluer hues of late night stars in a similar gold to the ones within the palace.

They stayed out there for what felt like mere minutes, but Emma knew from all they said that it must have been more time. It was just so easy with him, sitting here, tucked close together hand in hand without a care in the world, and for those hours out there they weren’t a prince or a common maid, they were just two people, two people who Emma had to admit, did seem to fit so seamlessly together. If things were different – no, regardless of how things were – it was clear to Emma that Killian was the best kind of man. He was good and kind and honorable, with a love of his brother and his kingdom and his people. He was witty and charming, but never conceited or elitist. And perhaps more than anything else, Killian was the first person in a long time who looked at her like he saw her for all she was. He might not know everything, but Emma couldn’t help but feel like he knew her heart and that that was the most important thing. He was a man who was impossible to resist, and after years of never thinking she’d find anything like love Emma had to concede that the stirring in her soul tonight was evidence that love was, in fact, possible.

“Didn’t I tell you, love?” Killian asked after a time spent in companionable quiet out there together, and Emma looked back at him with questioning in her eyes as he brought her hand up to kiss ever so gently. “There’s something here, something rare and remarkable. Tell me you feel it too.”

“I feel it,” Emma whispered, hearing the cracks of emotion in her voice brought on by the sheer force of what she was feeling, and the lingering remembrance that soon this would all be just a dream. Tomorrow she’d wake up with all of this out of her reach, and it nearly tore her heart in two to think that way. Then Killian leaned down, taking her lips in a kiss and Emma was both distracted from the pain and imbibed with a new sense of earnest need and wanting. If this kiss – this perfect, passionate embrace – was all she ever had with Killian, then it would have to be enough. She’d never feel this way again, never love as fast or as strongly as she’d fallen tonight, but at least she’d have this beautiful remembrance to see her through the long hard days without him.

The kiss, which started as a gentle assurance of their mutual desire turned to more, slipping past the kind of actions a prince or a lady should be partaking in at a public ball, but Emma didn’t care. All that mattered was this connection and this moment, and she soaked all of it in until the last final second when time caught up with her and called her back to reality. The slice of fear that cut through Emma as the clock tower rang out the tones of the midnight bells was instantaneous and at the sound she pulled away from Killian, rising to her feet and looking towards an escape. She had to get out of here or risk ruining this glorious night with a reality that just wasn’t the same. Once the magic faded, Killian would see that even if she’d never lied, she’d withheld a crucial truth, and that would change this perfect fairytale to something Emma couldn’t begin to dream of handling.

“I’m sorry, tonight’s been… well it’s been like a dream but I have to go. I’m so sorry.”

The words fell past Emma’s lips in a rush as she ran from the garden, avoiding the ball that was still carrying on inside and trying her best to get around the estate and towards her carriage once more. She had so little time, so little chance of getting out of here, and then that chance was truly halted when a hand – Killian’s hand – reached out to stop her.

“Emma, I don’t understand. You have to go? Just like that?”

“I don’t want to,” Emma said as the next bell tolled and she willed herself not to shed the tears that were forming in her eyes. “But I have to. It’s out of my control.”

“I can’t accept that Emma. If you don’t care for me then tell me that. I’m man enough to stand aside if your heart desires another… but if its fear that’s guiding you, then please don’t run from me. Run to me, love, and whatever it is, we’ll face it together.”

Emma felt herself shaking with adrenaline as the clock tolled out again. She wanted so badly to give into his plan and to face this by his side. Leaving him was the hardest thing she’d ever had to do, but staying...? Well staying meant the chance that he’d reject her and she didn’t think her heart could take it. Before she could say any of that though, he pulled her back further into his arms and kissed her again briefly before speaking the rest of his peace.

“There’s nothing you could say that would change my mind, Emma. No secret, no darkness, no story that will change the way I feel for you. I realize its fast, some would say its crazy even, but sometimes you just know when something is right, and I know in my heart that I was meant to find you and that we belong together.”

Emma closed her eyes, fighting a war within herself about what to do, but in the end it was the voice inside her heart that led her way. It told her to believe, because maybe – just maybe – this would turn out all right in the end. Maybe it really wouldn’t matter, and maybe they could have more than just this one night. There was only one way to know, and it would require her to be braver than she’d ever been. So she didn’t pull away from Killian, even as each final tone sounded out in the cold night air, counting down to midnight and revealing the magic for what it was, a glamour covering the simple girl she really was.

Killian’s eyes went wide at the transformation, and before he could ask anything, Emma filled in the missing pieces. She told him the absolute truth of who she was and who she wasn’t. She told him about Tinkerbelle and the magic, about the constraints on her time and how it couldn’t last forever. But most importantly she told him she was sorry, sorry that she’d kept things from him and led him to believe she was anything other than Emma Swan.

“Don’t say that,” Killian said in the face of her apology, and Emma didn’t know what he meant until he pulled her closer again and made his feelings on the subject plain as day. “I hate to think that you’d regret this evening, love. Not when it’s been the happiest of my life.”

“It has?” Emma asked in shock, truly not expecting his acceptance so quickly. “But what you thought before – what I led you to believe…”

Her words trailed off as Killian brought her hands into his, leading each one up to his lips for a gently kiss as he smiled at her again. “The way I see it, love, nothing has changed.”

“What do you mean?” Emma asked, with a charge of emotion clinging to her voice. “Everything’s changed! I walked in tonight and you thought I was a princess, and now you know that’s not the case. I’m far from royalty, your -,”

Emma’s words were cut off before she could finish the thought by Killian pulling her in for a kiss that somehow packed even more passion and want and truth than the ones before. It also allowed Emma to let go of those worries she’d been clinging too only moments ago, and by the time she pulled away, there was nothing on her mind except for the feeling that this was right, and that she never wanted to leave this man who held her like she was the most precious thing in all the realms and like he never wanted to let her go. Even when the kiss had ended she held on tight, her forehead pressed against his as her hands clung to his jacket, unwilling to break the bond between them.

“When I called you Princess tonight, Emma, it wasn’t merely speculation based on your gown. It was because I knew, even before I knew your name, that in a perfect world, in a world where dreams could be made real, you would be a princess, my princess. One look was all it took for me, Emma. I saw you and I knew. Call it fate, call it destiny, call it love at first sight, but the only thing that mattered – the only thing that will ever matter – is you, love.”

“And what about your brother?” Emma asked. “What about the kingdom?”

“I know that they will see what I see in you. No matter where you come from, Emma, you are still you, and that in itself is more than enough.”

This time it was Emma who pulled Killian in for a kiss, loving the feel of him and finally allowing herself to believe in his words. He really did want her, and now she felt like she could be honest with herself in how much she wanted him too. Nothing before had ever meant so much to her, and she was so consumed by this embrace she almost missed the crackling aura of magic surrounding her once more. When they did come up for air though, Emma was shocked, watching the rags she’d been wearing before transform back into her crimson dress once more.

“But Tink said it couldn’t last… that the magic was only strong enough for one night.” Emma said, unable to understand how she was once again dressed in the garments Tink had bestowed upon her until Killian offered a potential answer.

“What magic could ever be stronger than true love?”

“Love?” Emma asked, shocked at the word but unafraid of its implication. This was fast, yes, but what was it he’d said only a moment before? Sometimes you just know…

“Aye. I love you Emma Swan, and I want to spend my whole life showing you just how much,” he said looking at her with a hope and a certainty that awed her as his hand reached inside his jacket and removed a ring. Then, right there in the snow covered garden he got down on one knee and plead for the chance. “I never believed this would happen tonight, love, mostly because I never knew a love so strong awaited me. But now I know, and I’ve no intention of turning my back on such a gift. You are all I need, Emma. You are the magic that my life has been missing. Will you marry me?”

“Yes,” she replied, happy tears streaming down her face. “Yes, Killian I will marry you.”

And with that there was much more celebration to be had. The engagement was announced and a wedding soon followed, and Killian was proved right in his earlier beliefs. For Emma was beloved by the people and her new family too, and there was never any question of where she belonged and what she deserved. From that point on Christmas time carried even more cheer and happiness than in the years before, and as for Emma and Killian, well they did what so many souls who share true love do: they lived happily ever after.

……………..

Ten minutes ago, I saw you I looked up when you came through the door My head started reeling You gave me the feeling The room had no ceiling or floor

Ten minutes ago, I met you And we murmured our "How do you do's?" I wanted to ring out the bells And fling out my arms And to sing out the news "I have found her, she's an angel With the dust of the stars in her eyes We are dancing, we are flying And she's taking me back to the skies"

In the arms of my love, I'm flying Over mountain and meadow and glen And I like it so well That for all I can tell I may never come down again I may never come down to earth again

Ten minutes ago, I met you And we murmured our "How do you do's?" I wanted to ring out the bells And fling out my arms And to sing out the news

I have found him In the arms of my love, I'm flying Over mountain and meadow and glen And I like it so well That for all I can tell I may never come down again

I may never come down to earth again

Post-Note: So once again I just want to say thank you to the lovely reader who suggested this song. It was quite a while ago that I got this request (as any of you who have asked for songs know, I take FOREVER to get around to them since there are so many), but finally my muse showed me a way to make all my usual fluff and share it with others. So I am very thankful for the request, and for all of my readers who have sent some of their own. Know that I have a list of them all, and though my writing has been so much less frequent because of this program, some day I hope to get to each and every one of them! Anyway if you celebrate I hope you all have a Merry Christmas, and if not, wishing you all lovely winters filled with lots of CS and fic cuteness galore!

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, Part 7, Part 8, Part 9,Part 10,Part 11, Part 12,Part 13, Part 14, Part 15, Part 16, Part 17, Part 18, Part 19, Part 20, Part 21, Part 22, Part 23, Part 24,Part 25, Part 26, Part 27, Part 28, Part 29, Part 30, Part 31,Part 32, Part 33, Part 34, Part 35, Part 36, Part 37, Part 38,Part 39,Part 40, Part 41, Part 42, Part 43, Part 44, Part 45,Part 46,Part 47, Part 48, Part 49, Part 50, Part 51, Part 52, Part 53,Part 54,Part 55, Part 56, Part 57, Part 58, Part 59, Part 60,Part 61,Part 62, Part 63, Part 64, Part 65, Part 66, Part 67, Part 68,Part 69,Part 70, Part 71, Part 72, Part 73, Part 74, Part 75,Part 76,Part 77, Part 78, Part 79, Part 80, Part 81, Part 82, Part 83,Part 84,Part 85, Part 86, Part 87, Part 88, Part 89, Part 90,Part 91,Part 92, Part 93, Part 94, Part 95, Part 96, Part 97, Part 98,Part 99,Part 100, Part 101, Part 102, Part 103,Part 104, Part 105,Part 106, Part 107,Part 108, Part 109, Part 110,Part 111, Part 112,Part 113, Part 114, Part 115,Part 116, Part 117, Part 118,Part 119,Part 120, Part 121, Part 122, Part 123,Part 124, Part 125,Part 126, Part 127, Part 128,Part 129,Part 130, Part 131,Part 132,Part 133, Part 134, Part 135, Part 136, Part 137, Part 138,Part 139,Part 140, Part 141, Part 142, Part 143, Part 144, Part 145,Part 146, Part 147, Part 148,Part 149, Part 150, Part 151,Part 152, Part 153, Part 154, Part 155, Part 156, Part 157, Part 158,Part 159, Part 160, Part 161, Part 162, Part 163, Part 164,Part 165, Part 166, Part 167, Part 168

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universalsoulmate-blog · 7 years ago

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How to Make, or Break, a Relationship

I frequent Netflix. Often it plays in the background as I work on other things. Back at the end of March, the header frequently advertised a new upcoming series, 13 Reason Why. I read the description and dismissed it as YA drivel, something for the teeny boppers. After a few days of incessant ads, I caved. Well played Netflix. Little did I realize that it would soon become the catalyst for a six-month long experiment with some of those closest to me.

For those unfamiliar, this is the Netflix description: “Newcomer Katherine Langford plays the role of Hannah, a young woman who takes her own life. Two weeks after her tragic death, a classmate named Clay finds a mysterious box on his porch. Inside the box are recordings made by Hannah – on whom Clay had a crush – in which she explains the 13 reasons why she chose to commit suicide. If Clay decides to listen to the recordings, he will find out if and how he made the list. This intricate and heart-wrenching tale is told through Clay and Hannah’s dual narratives.”

The main character, Hannah, moves to a new school and really doesn’t fit in. I was left with the impression Hannah may have had some issues at her last school and the reason her family moved, but no details were ever given. She is presented as intelligent, but socially awkward girl having a hard time finding a group of friends at school. Doesn’t that describe most new kids?

The other main character is Clay. He appears to be a loner type and all around good guy. He knows everyone and they peacefully coexist. He and Hannah end up working together at the local theater and, of course, have school classes together. Although Clay and Hannah have an interest in each other, they fail to make a solid connection throughout the story.

Watching this series, I wondered the intent of the writers? Despite the cliché and formulary story line, I found it interesting at times. I spent most of the time thinking Hannah was a self-absorbed bitch. Maybe that’s exactly what I was supposed to think? Not only for committing suicide, but leaving tapes to point the blame at other people for it. Maybe I was supposed to feel sorry for her because she was pushed beyond her limit and no cared enough to save her? Maybe Hannah didn’t see any value in her life except for how others saw her? Two of Hanna’s “reasons” (one stated and one alluded to) struck a nerve. Not because of what people did, rather what they didn’t do?

In the story Hannah was “raped”. I put rape in quotes because she never told the guy “no”. If you listen carefully, you hear her say “Please Bryce”, but in a don’t-do-it kind of way. The scene was created to blur the legal line for rape. As a last-ditch effort, an unspoken cry for help, Hanna confided in her school counselor about the incident to implicate Bryce. The counselor asked if she ever said “no”. He asked her if she would be willing to testify against him. He explained what the real-world options were given the circumstances. And because Hanna wasn’t willing to confront her accuser, required by our legal system, or be involved in the process, he told her she’d have to find other ways “to move on”. This is the point she gets up to leave his office in frustration. As she does, his phone rings. He briefly tries to get her to come back and sit down, but she continues leaving, closing the door behind her. Hanna pauses outside his office as you hear him frustratingly talking to someone on the phone. A few seconds later you hear him hang up. Hanna is still outside, waiting to see if he is coming after her. Hanna expected him to come after her. And when he didn’t, she went home and cut her wrists.

Clay and Hanna spent the entire story dancing around the spark between them. He was the best part of her life, even though at times she felt he let her down too. Although Hanna didn’t blame him for her death, she relives an incident at a party. Hannah and Clay ended up in a bedroom making out, about to have sex. That set off a trigger for Hanna. She pushes him away and says “leave me alone Clay. Just leave me alone. You should just go.” Clay asks her if she’s alright. Her response, “I don’t want you here, get out!” Clay says in a caring voice “Hannah…” and she says, “Get the fuck out!”. So, he does. On her tape she comments, “why did you have to leave? It was the worst thing ever”.

Hanna was testing Clay, only he was too naïve to realize it. She needed to feel wanted, valued and understood. She needed to know she was worth the effort. In her eyes, Clay failed her test. Did Clay want and value her? Of course, he did.

Hanna Baker is a fictional character, but people like Hanna really exist … lots of them. She craved something deep, something honest, something special. She desired to open her heart, but that’s when her insecurities surfaced. Pulling away even a tiny bit, or flinching when she pushed back was interpreted as rejection and validated her fears. She let her guard down before and paid with trust and dignity. And if you walk away, she’s not going to chase you. It saddens her heart, but she understands she’s too much trouble for you. Guess it wasn’t meant to be after all.

Are there 13 reason why Hanna died? No, there is only one; lack of communication. Littered throughout the story were examples of miscommunication generating negative assumptions, all leading to more problems, and ultimately her suicide. Very rarely did people talk anything out. Although she wasn’t, Hanna was left feeling isolated and alone.

An exercise I like to do when discussions circle around to relationships is have them write down what they see as the ten most important things in an intimate relationship. One item I always look for, because it ranks number one on my list, is communication. Communication is not only the foundation for successful relationships, it’s an essential life skill. If you can’t communicate, you can’t connect. Good communication doesn’t guarantee a successful relationship, but if it ends, at least you won’t be wondering why. Communication is a skill. It requires effort, practice, and at times, determination.

What can you do if someone won’t communicate with you? I’ve had many different types of people in my life, including those like Hanna. I find few things more frustrating than someone who can’t, or won’t, communicate. I should point out talking is a physical act. Communicating is conveying and understanding information. You can have an hour-long conversation with someone and still not have any useful information. In a relationship, needs, desires, feelings and expectations must to be communicated. If not, it will either be unfulfilling, or a failure.

For over a decade I’ve tried different methods to communicate with those more challenged in this area. The walls built around them are so high, their love and emotions seem condemned to live in isolation of their thoughts. Echoes of the past bounce around, never finding a way to be released, so there they sit in a constant state of angst. Friends, co-workers, even family can’t see behind the façade. They’ve learned to hide it well. But what they crave most is to be released, to have the walls torn down.

Back to the experiment. People learn most effectively from experience. Simply saying “you need to communicate better” doesn’t go anywhere. Effective learning involves carrots (positive) and sticks (negative) for reinforcement. It must be attached to some emotional investment, something the mind remembers. What could I do to encourage better communication?

Most resort to what I call the “crowbar method”. It pretty much involves the relentless barrage of calls, messages, and pestering until they talk to you. Although it usually extracts information, it doesn’t address the core issues affecting poor communication. In my opinion, this creates a lot of artificial drama and validates a negative form of communication that will soon be repeated. In fact, it can become a cycle just to feel some emotion.

Another not so positive method I’ve used as a last resort is pissing them off. Get them mad enough, they will talk. You might not like what comes out, but it works to start dialogue. This is the same reason people who can’t communicate fight all the time, it’s the only way they can let their emotions out and feel something, even if it’s in a negative way.

I wanted to try something different, something that wouldn’t lead to a negative pattern of contrived emotion. What if I mirrored their patterns, actions, and insecurities? Would they pick up on the negative aspects and correct it if mirrored it back to them? Cutting to the chase, the conclusion is: No. Unfortunately, it had the opposite effect. In one case, it pushed her totally out of the picture. She also happened to be the most like Hanna. So, this wasn’t without consequences. Just call me Clay. This experiment goes in the failed column, for now.

Why do people resist communication? Two common reasons are trust and vulnerability. Trust is built over time, but quickly destroyed. We’ve all been there, myself included. If you don’t trust someone you won’t feel safe, and you aren’t going to reveal yourself. Constant abuse of trust leaves someone just waiting for it to happen again … so we withdraw. Someone who’s been constantly berated and criticized by the person they love while trying to communicate will be conditioned to see communication as painful. This will carry over into other relationships and aspects of the person’s life. They become defensive to innocuous statements viewed as criticism. A simple text like, “What are you doing?” is met with a defensive “Why?”. Anytime communication has the potential for a negative outcome, we want to avoid it, so we look for it, and even make assumptions that it is.

Even though I like to think of myself as an excellent communicator, I too struggle. The number one reason I find myself not communicating: fear of being misunderstood. Especially if I’m talking with someone having the issues I just mentioned, I choose my words carefully or it may invoke an argument over something that doesn’t exist. Even writing this blog I’m cautiously considering each word and how it may be interpreted. Will it convey what I intended to say? Guess I’ll find out!

How do we improve communication? Stop relying on texts and use the phone as it was originally designed – for sound. Better yet, if possible, have a face-to-face conversation. A few text messages throughout the day checking on someone, telling them how much you care is fine. But anything of depth or meaning needs to be vocal; otherwise you are opening the door to miscommunication. And, not everyone (me) can type out a message at 10 words a second.

Some people have an easier time being honest/real with words, rather than verbally or a physical conversation. A screen provides a buffer zone one sometimes needs to think. Some proficiently convey how they feel through written words. Others, not so much. That is part of learning how someone communicates and working to understand them. Don’t assume everyone is like you.

Do you identify with Hanna’s feeling of isolation? Do you desire a deep relationship, but can’t let yourself go there? Think about how you are being perceived. What words or signals are you giving? Is it a “go away” vibe, or one that says, “thank you for taking an interest in me”? If you give mixed signals, the negative ones will dominate and be assumed. If you need time to think, say so. Be honest, and be open about things you are comfortable revealing. Use that as an opportunity to build trust and you will feel your walls coming down.

If you have a Hanna Baker in your life, there is no shortcut. Be assertive communicating with them. Only time, consistency, reassurance, love, understanding and patience will work. Eventually you will break through the fears and insecurities. Communication is the highway which love travels.

#universal soulmate #relationships #communication #love #13 reasons why #blog post

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rafiekasfauxpas · 7 years ago

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The Wisdom in consuming White “Feminist” Media as Black Girls/Women

Hi My name is Rafieka Williams. I am a young black South African woman and I am obsessed with Lena Dunham’s “Girls”.

The last season of Girls came and went and with all sincerity I was truly saddened. I followed these Girls from season one but I am also grateful for the closure. I am not bothered by the already accusatory stare or frown of disgust that you carry on your face as you read my arrogant words of appreciation. This for a media product which displays multiple levels of entitlement not only in it’s storyline but also in the creator’s position within society as a white woman, her assumptions and the lens through which she undertakes the damning task of shoving her privilege in our faces.

As a black woman who is fully aware of where she falls on the societal chain - the most oppressed demographic in the entire universe, I would like to offer an alternative view on “Girls” - that knowing how white women navigate life as “feminists” is imperative if we are to critique their approach.

The Girls series rotates around the lives of four characters, Hannah, Jessa, Marnie and Soshana. It tries to depict the struggle for independence of these four completely different characters and their coming into adulthood and how they find common ground in their womanhood. Hannah, the lead character is played by Dunham herself, a feminist writer who lives life devoid of any sense of responsibility, basically making it all up as she goes along and paving her own path; Jessa who is a realist and a free spirit, uses addiction as a coping mechanism for her abandonment issues; Marnie who funny enough starts off in the series as the most stable, most responsible woman but has no identity and is probably the most relatable character because her experience is so close to the experiences of black women; and Soshana, type A personality who really just wants to live her life as it was supposed to be lived and couldn’t really give a fuck about anybody else. The common thread that distinguishes these women, is the absolute lack of accountability to anyone but themselves.

Dunham has previously characterised the show as a representation of the depths of women. That there are different layers to a woman mentally, emotionally and physically. She was obviously referring to white women only, since there are no black characters (Question mark).

For someone who has never engaged or cared to befriend a white woman, it was really exciting for me to witness both the parallels and differences between Hannah's fictitious life and my own aspirations as a writer. The fact that Hannah has the freedom to carve her own path and I can only ever aspire, to be free. Hannah’s life is by choice, all her moves completely her own, her choices and thinking independent. Hannah has agency - an aspiration that I as a socially awkward and out of place POC can only dream of.

Girls also showed me that even white women have hierarchies, therein exposing the white world for its fickle nature and general ignorance towards what is happening outside itself. While we as black women consider a win for one to be a win for all, the white world is more about your own personal winning journey, not whether or not you’ll win but just when and how you’ll get there - winning is an absolute. But the level of nuance that comes with problems such as mental illness, sexual identity, addiction, relationships, financial security, marriage, parenting and all life’s challenges is, sad to say it, designated to the white world. If you expected anything more, we have a bigger problem of naivety on our hands.

While we may find it disappointing that there is no black representation, we have to see it for what it is, a white show about white people. Who, still, are people. Let’s not get so lost in our understanding of our own place to forget that other people exist as other within their own communities. It is not Dunham’s responsibility to include us when she has never even met us or associated herself with us. And one has to appreciate the absolute honesty of it all. The honesty of insecurity, of shallowness, of instability, of no responsibility, of ignorance, of dependency, of apathy but more than anything and most importantly, the bare truth of narcissism. Narcissism on a level so grotesque that one could almost muster a little bit of pity.

Now you may argue that it is only a series and surely this is not real and yet! This media product has been celebrated and revered so widely. So, what does that say to us as a young black society about the world that we live in? I’ll leave you to figure that out for yourself.

On a more personal level, I suppose I do watch Girls with a sense of envy. The envy to have that much freedom to be who you are or have the fucking time to figure it out without being held hostage by your social conditioning. I envy that these “Girls” can go through life and everything will fall into place for them because they are white. Society will shield and protect them and save them from themselves, while I have to be real careful about my position. In my world, one wrong move could mean the end of everything and my anxiety is so high for fear that it will all come crashing down on me.

In the end I appreciate Girls for being Real with me about what I do not have and what is not for me in this world. Too long have white women been quiet about how they actually don’t give a fuck and really just yearn for affirmation and protection. How they feed off their privilege and how their rights and concerns are the centre of the universe. I think we have to engage critically with this world of white privilege and call out out the blatant ignorance and apathy that rotates within it. Expose it for what it is, lay it bare and learn how to counter it in a meaningful way.

I thank Dunham for the undertaking, for exposing that world for us young black girls, whether it was intentional or not. If she didn’t I would never have known what hides behind those fake smiles in the elevators or at the shopping mall lines or their polite conversations at the coffee shop. I thank you Lena for showing me how I don’t exist in your world. No hard feelings when one day you don’t exist in mine.

On a more empowering note - for some real kick ass Black Girl Magic alternatives to Girls:

Girlfriends (Classic) Milk and Honey Insecure The Foxy Five Brown Girls Ackee and Saltfish

#Girls #Lena Dunham #Black women #feminism #feminist #white feminism

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mullersturtleneck · 8 years ago

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Sticking with the Schuylers (9)

It’s time for a sister-centered chapter…Peggy’s getting under Angelica’s skin…well, lately it seems like everything is getting under Angelica’s skin. And Eliza can sense it. Now she just needs to find a way to address the awkward silences that seem to be happening more and more frequently…

<Sidebar: So sorry this took so long…I’ve written ahead a few parts because I couldn’t quite decide what I wanted this part to be and of course I’m a perfectionist so it took a few tries to get this to a point I was satisfied with. And then I got sick and have been sleeping 10+ hours a night…what a week! Hope you enjoy!>

1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8

Coffee and Some Schuyler Side Eye:

The Schuyler sisters were spotted on their usual tryst to class on Wednesday morning, arm in arm and heads bent close in that signature secretive chatter making all of Manhattan wish they were a sister. The three stopped at a nearby concessions stand to grab a coffee, then parted ways for school. But not before youngest sister Peggy pushed her hair back from her face to reveal some serious side-eye, aimed directly at Angelica. Is this older sister over-stepping? Or has being Manhattan royalty spoiled the baby of New York City’s royal family?

…

“I’m right in front of you, I can clearly see that you’re ignoring me.”

“You are, and I am. A coffee and two hibiscus teas, please.” The sisters stand by the cart, waiting for their order to be filled as an awkward tension fills the air between them. Peggy has been chatting incessantly their entire way here-the walk soon becoming insufferable as Angelica begins to make her feelings known. Elizabeth, stuck in the middle, became her younger sister’s sounding board as Angelica walked beside them, head up and staring straight with her lips sealed.

Today, her sisters are not the best company to have.

She shoots a quick text to Alexander-help, I’m drowning in sisterly tension!-before Angelica hands her a steaming cup of tea.

“Do you want some sugar in your tea, Peg?”

“No thanks, I’ll take it cold and bitter, like you.” The youngest Schuyler puffs out her chest as her lips draw a thin line, eyes rolling away from Angelica with scorn. Her sister, in return, practically drops the paper cup of tea into Peggy’s outstretched hand, arms crossed and eyebrows raised in an expression she’d been using since they were kids. I’m the kid-boss, she used to say as she kept the two younger sisters at bay. You need to listen to me. I’m the oldest, so I’m the kid-boss.

“Really? You’re going to start?” Now, Angelica still considers herself responsible for her sisters; speaking for the three of them during interviews, fielding awkward questions, interrogating their boyfriends…

Which is where the argument between the oldest and the youngest had started this morning, Elizabeth recounts. When the car had dropped Peggy off at Eliza’s grouping of dorm buildings to meet her sisters she’d immediately began asking questions about her love life-polite questions, albeit a bit inappropriate for Elizabeth’s taste. But she’d laughed them off, ruffling Peggy’s hair and fighting away a blush as she reminded her sister that no, she didn’t know if he was ‘any good,’ they hadn’t even been on a date yet. This earns her a hard look from Angelica, who’s not as amused by the playful questioning.

“You’re being inappropriate, Eliza’s clearly uncomfortable so you might want to stop while you’re ahead.”

This silences the youngest Schuyler, but only for a brief moment. The trio walks awkwardly, Eliza’s gaze shifting between her two sisters as they clear their throats and sigh for attention. Eliza shoves her cold hands in her pockets, biting her lip as she searches her brain for something to break the silence. But luckily-or, not so luckily- Peggy’s the first to speak up.

“So, Bets, you’ve been spending more time with Alex lately.”

“Yes.”

“Tell me more about his friend.”

“Which one?” There’s an air about the youngest Schuyler, then, who lifts her head up and looks at the sky, as if searching for the answer as a playful grin graces her lips. She then tosses her hair, shrugging before turning back at Eliza with mischievous, shining eyes.

“I mean, all three of them are beautiful, so….”

“Peggy!”

“But then you remember when we were all there….” Eliza raises her eyebrow as she glances over at Peggy, a silent conversation ensuing. Angelica simply looks on, watching as their facial expressions change and morph until Peggy covers her face with her free hand, groaning.

“Okay, now I don’t know anymore!”

“I have a point about John though, don’t I?” It’s all very matter-of-fact; the way Eliza pushes her dark, silky hair over her shoulder before tilting her head toward Peggy lovingly. There’s a way about their middle sister then-head held high, expression a cross between nurturing and ‘I’m telling you so’-that has Angelica looking away, down at her phone instead of the private conversation going on next to her.

These things, of course, don’t go unnoticed by Eliza.

If any one word could be used to describe their fairer-skinned sister it would be empathetic. Large-hearted, Elizabeth Schuyler has always been one to read the people around her with a marksmen’s accuracy. It was a gift, when that ability was paired with her kind soul and gentle-mannered temperament. She was the peacemaker; often knocking softly on bedroom doors and sitting with teary-eyed sisters, rubbing their backs and soothing them with genuine words that reached her eyes until they transferred to their souls. A healer, that’s what she is. A healer who tended to put everyone else’s needs above her own. And, if asked, Elizabeth would give an ear-to-ear smile when presented with the question of whether or not it was worth it. Yes, of course, making people happy was always worth it.

Until this very moment. Until she sees the upset in Angelica’s body language; refusal of eye contact, slight bend of the fingers that curled nearly into a fist upon the presentation of the topic of conversation…She immediately itches to bring it up. It’s unbearable, really, to see the way her sister reacts when she brings Alexander into conversation. Especially when the trio heads back to Eliza’s room after Peggy gets out of school to get ready for an appearance at their father’s gala that night.

She unlocks the door and her sisters trail in behind her, throwing their bags on the floor before settling on her bed. Peggy lays upside-down, letting out an exasperated yawn while Angelica perches herself neatly, finishing off a text message. Elizabeth pauses at the counter of her little kitchenette, where her vintage-ornate vase is now filled with sunflowers. She smiles and moves toward them, thinking of her roommate and her genuinely kind albeit a bit obsessive boyfriend. But when she finally finds the small card attached to one of the flower’s stems, it’s addressed to her.

They don’t nearly brighten up a room as much as you do….

Tomorrow at 7,

Alex.

She bites back a smile as she holds the card between her fingers, letting her eyes run across his hasty chicken-scratch handwriting as they bask in its familiarity. The same writing that adorns the letter she still keeps in her pocket, folding and unfolding as if his genuine nature is so much of a shock to need the consistent reminder.

But then Peggy’s gasping, the sound of the weight on her bed shifting before Eliza feels her presence behind her. She gapes at the flowers, smacking her sister’s arm in excitement.

“These are adorable but seriously, he talks like he’s from the olden days and he’s trying to court you.”

“I think it’s sweet.” She replies in a more reserved voice, letting her fingers trace over the buttery soft petals of the sunflowers.

“I forgot your date was tomorrow…” Angelica pipes up from her place on the bed, her eyes glancing up from the screen of her phone. Her sisters are huddled around the flowers, Eliza’s fingers still dancing around the petals while Peggy looks on, teasing. Eliza looks back at her comment and her features immediately change; her face falls, cheeks looking deflated as her eyes seem lost-saddened, even. Her fingers drop from the flowers and she turns around, making her way to the other side of the room as Peggy looks on.

“You know if you have a problem, you can tell me.”

“Bets,”

“Don’t pretend that you’re not upset, Angie. I can see it. I can hear it…If I had known that my going out with your friend would upset you, I would have never even considered it. He could’ve been yours.”

“That’s not…” Angelica pauses, then, and pats the spot on the bed next to her. Her middle sister hesitates, then complies, settling herself on her bed with her legs crossed, eyes cast down at the mint green comforter that adorns it. Peggy sighs, shaking her head before gathering her things.

“This isn’t a conversation for me…I’ll see you at the gala, guys.”

When the door clicks shut there’s a considerable amount of silence. Eliza finds the hem of her comforter between her fingers, tracing the in-and-out seam of the sewing. Angelica plays with her fingers in her lap, mind racing as she searches for a way to start the conversation.

“I don’t like that you’re seeing Alex.” Angelica was one to be blunt, but the sentence she mutters lingers in the air between them like an open wound; something the two of them had known but both had been too timid to bring up.

“I kind of figured that much. I had just thought that you and Church were doing so well, and,”

“It’s not about my liking Alex. God, no.” She immediately refuses the thought, almost laughing at her sister’s assumption.

“You’re just…you’re more similar to him. You have more in common. When the two of you talk it’s so fast, and it’s like you could skip paragraphs of things just to reach your point and he’d still completely understand you.”

“We’re similar. That’s all. He’s good company.”

“So if it isn’t that, then what is it? Why don’t you want me to see him?”

Angelica sighs, putting a hand on Elizabeth’s shoulder. She’s reaching, now, her eyes searching an invisible bank of memories-things she hadn’t wanted to bring up-before deciding just how to get her point across.

“When I started seeing John, do you remember how dad was?”

“He was…distant. He didn’t like him. But he never likes anyone we see, Ang.”

“There are things you never saw…things I wish I could take back; the way dad treats John, the way I treated dad…do you remember when dad told you I was selected for a scholarship weekend away? At debate camp?”

“Yeah…and then the camp extended your stay to a week and you missed your senior semi-formal. And mom hung the dress in the back of your closet, and they talked a lot…and then you came back, and they never even asked you how camp was.”

“I wasn’t at camp. I was with John.”

“When…why didn’t you tell me?”

“And then what? Explain what was going on to my 16 year-old sister? The one who could do no wrong?”

Eliza’s taken aback at the comment; the way Angelica’s eyes are suddenly very dark-the way she looks past her, to the distance, in a glossed-over gaze that makes her stomach turn in knots. In a way that brings forth a slight twinge of betrayal.

They’d always told each other everything.

“Dad never liked John. He still doesn’t. He plays a good game, and it’s much better now than it was before, but it just kills him that John isn’t as rich as he’d like-that Church isn’t a name recognized by his friends and colleagues, so really he can’t show off or expand his name using me. I’d always felt like it was my job. It’s a pressure he never put on you guys, and I always felt so…special. I was the one that would carry on the name. I was the powerful one, the one that would prove everyone right about loving the Schuyler name. And I’m his only biological child…he made me. He chose you. There’s so much more that I have to prove…I have to make his legacy last.”

“Angie…” Eliza is quiet; a hand reaching out to hold her older sister’s, facial features morphed into a contemplative mixture of pity and confusion. “Dad loves you…he’ll always love you. It may take him some time to come around but this is all so new to him-he’s realizing that his daughters are getting to that age where we’re not always going to be around. We’re not always going to just be here, and that might terrify him. We’ve always been such a tight-knit family…and mom and dad had to fight not only to get pregnant with you, but to get Peggy and I as well. For him, your choosing John….it was like the wake-up call he never wanted to hear.”

“It’s the one he’s going to have to hear. I may regret the way I handled things back then but I don’t regret choosing John. I don’t regret the path I’ve taken.” Angie stops then, letting herself find comfort in her middle sister’s hand in hers, the way she’s leaned her head on her shoulder so that Angelica could run her fingers through silken strands of brown.

It’s reminiscent of their younger days; a crack of light would shine in from the hallway as the door clicked open, accompanied by the sound of Eliza’s tiny feet pattering across the hardwood floor. Angelica would shift over in bed and the middle sister would crawl in, wrapping herself around her older sister, seeking comfort. Sometimes she’d sniffle, then Angelica would dry her tears and soothe her. Sometimes it was the older sister who’d need consoling, then Eliza would hold her hand and recite a long list of things she loved about having her as a sister. And other times the two would say nothing at all, simply holding each other until they both fell asleep.

“I don’t want you to make the same mistakes that I did. I don’t want dad to look at you the way he still looks at me sometimes.”

“I understand that. And I appreciate that. But you’ve spent your whole life looking out for me…I learned everything I need to know from you. I don’t want you to have to worry anymore.”

“I’ll always worry about you.”

Angelica chuckles-an airy and reserved kind of laughter-as she pulls Eliza closer to her. It’s an embrace that suddenly sets the older sister’s lips into a thin line; her arms tighten around Eliza and she feels it, reacts to it by turning her head up in question. Angelica looks back at her, eyes hardened and serious.

“The other thing I was going to say….are you sure you’re ready? After James,”

“I don’t want to talk about that.” Elizabeth whispers, her eyes cast back down at the comforter and her body stiffening underneath her sister’s touch. So Angelica waits; listening to the shaky breath her middle sister draws in, before moving her hand through her silky hair once more.

“He’s different.” Eliza doesn’t answer but Angelica can still feel the stiffness of her muscles. It’s heartbreaking, the way a name-one syllable-can change her demeanor so quickly. And suddenly they’re young again, Angelica holding her closer as the dimmed lighting and soft hum of activity outside her door are the only things tethering them to the world outside of their bubble. She’d known she wouldn’t be able to keep her little sisters free of harm forever; the reality of the world’s cruelty was all-too real to her. But in their bubble-in the safety of Eliza’s room, where she could just hold her-there was a realization.

“There aren’t many people in this world who deserve your kindness, Betsey. But with the way he’s trying, the way he writes about you…Alexander comes pretty damn close.”

Angelica Schuyler may not be able to shelter her sister from every bad thing that comes her way, but there would always be a bedroom; or a couch, a place to keep the bubble of security that surrounded them when they held each other. They’d always have each other. And as long as Angelica could keep her middle sister-her warm-hearted, trusting, pure of heart sister-wearing the hopeful smile she was managing at his moment…well, that’d be enough.

#hamliza #hamliza AU #mine: SWTS #hamilton #hamilton au #schuyler sisters

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