#it's just like. she's so reminiscent of people who Do survive war and oppression that way

[sleepingfancies]

foxface as a character fascinated me so much in thg purely bc she’s just a constant presence. katniss never learned her actual name, never knew how old she was, never knew what family she had waiting for her, if any, never knew if she was reaped or volunteered. she wasn’t talkative and made no friends. she got almost no sponsors. she was one of the closest to winning the games and barely anyone ever saw her. as far as we know she never even killed another player. katniss is never sure whether she just slipped up in eating the nightlock berries or if it was intentional. and maybe i’m just obsessed with narrative ghosts but foxface haunting the games as the silent survivor who’s not pretty enough or strong enough or sociable enough to be promised protection by society is so poignant

[random-thought-depository]

The infamously corny Star Trek TOS episode The Omega Glory was on TV last night and I watched it. My ideas for how I’d rewrite it to make it less silly:

---

The Yang ancestral culture wasn’t literally the USA, it was just a society that looked kind-of sort-of like the USA in the same way some pre-Columbian American and ancient Indian societies may have looked kind-of sort-of like ancient Athens. That by itself would make the episode much less stupid, and you could keep most of the same basic ideas.

Since we’re not bound to absurd levels of parallelism anymore, I’d personally be inclined to make the Kohms light-skinned blue-eyed blond(e)s and make the Yangs darker-skinned with darker hair and eyes, and imply that the Kohm ancestral society was fascist instead of communist. Maybe sprinkle some symbols distantly reminiscent of Nazi iconography around the Kohm village. It’s not like there was any meaningful connection between the Kohms and communism anyway, and I feel this resonates better with a lot of the ideas the episode was going for. Admittedly, this is probably influenced by my own biases.

---

Basically swap the roles of Cloud Williams and his mostly silent female companion who doesn’t really do much.

Why? Let’s think about how Yang society might work for a moment. I’m going to say they’re horse-riding big game hunters, like the nineteenth century Great Plains native American cultures on Earth, because 1) that fits with the idea that they’ve been driven into marginal lands and had to become nomads, 2) if you want nomads capable of assembling armies of thousands of people it’s either that or Eurasian-style herders, 3) it fits with the “they’ve become like native Americans” idea. They’re very slow-aging, theoretically capable of living over a thousand years ... but if they’re like their precedent cultures on Earth they probably live fairly rough and dangerous lives and I think would probably tend to live only a few decades or centuries before dying in a hunting accident or battle or something like that. But... going by Earth precedent, it would probably be mostly the men who do the most high-risk activities of hunting and war, which might result in very gender-asymmetrical life expectancy patterns, where men tend to only live a few decades or centuries while women stay relatively safe and have a decent chance of living to be thousand year old ancients. This would be compounded by 1) a lower death rate would mean a lower birth rate for replacement rate reproduction, 2) they’re almost immune to infectious diseases, which would make childbirth in primitive conditions much safer, so that would greatly reduce the probable primary cause of death for women in such a society (childbirth complications). So I think it’s pretty plausible that they’d have a more-or-less matriarchal society where women have a lot of power because they live a lot longer and hence have a lot more time to accumulate experience and become repositories of culture (important for a low-tech nomadic society that will have a mostly oral culture!).

So, I’d gender-swap Cloud Williams; my version of her would a matriarch with a leadership position in her tribe because she’s one of its oldest able-bodied members, she’s got a thousand years of experience and she’s had time to memorize a lot of the oral histories of her tribe and become basically a living library. Why would such a person be anywhere near a battlefield? Well, “the oral histories of her tribe” would include a lot of war stories, with detailed and often basically accurate descriptions of tactics and strategy because that’s how knowledge of how to win wars against Kohms and rival Yang tribes is transmitted in her society. She’s a living tactical manual, so of course she leads her tribe’s warriors in battle.

She could have a companion who’s a big guy who doesn’t talk much and does the brute strength side of what in the episode is Cloud Williams’s role (fighting Kirk in the cell, ripping out the bars). Maybe he’s her grandson, and was captured with her because one of his roles in the tribe is to be her bodyguard in battle.

----

Related to what I just said, have a bit where Captain Tracey says that he expected the primitive and superstitious Yangs to be overawed by phasers, but instead it was almost like they have a recent cultural memory of war with modern weapons and war against technologically superior opponents and they quickly started using effective counter tactics. Given the explanation in the episode for the long lifespans of people on Omega IV (very strong selection pressure for disease resistance), none of the Yangs would actually remember the ancient high-tech Yang civilization and original war against the Kohms, but the generational transmission chains from a lot of presently living Yang matriarchs to that time might be relatively short. For a lot of the presently living Yang matriarchs shooting down Kohm helicopters with surface-to-air missiles and ambushing Kohm armored columns in mountain passes might be something like “my grandma’s time.”

----

The reason the “Eee Plab Neesta” sounds like gibberish is that Cloud Williams is reciting it in its archaic original language, which the living Yang language has evolved into mutual incomprehensibility with. The Yangs might have one lovingly preserved paper copy of their equivalent of the Declaration of Independence, but their culture is mostly oral, and they mostly preserve the “holy words” in the heads of the matriarchs, who memorize it and transmit it from mother to daughter exactly (“by heart”), being careful to get every syllable right so it does not become distorted. The oldest matriarchs can still speak the ancient language, but for most of the Yangs, especially the relatively short-lived men, it’s like me listening to somebody recite Beowulf in its original language.

This is more-or-less my headcanon for what’s going in the actual episode too: the “Eee Plab Neesta” is just the text in its original now archaic form of the Yang language, which the universal translator can’t translate because it doesn’t have a big enough sample to work on. I’d make that much more explicit though.

The way I’d handle the scene is to have Cloud Williams start to recite the Eee Plan Neesta, and then have Kirk ask her what it means and suggest that she try to translate it into the everyday language of the Yangs so all her people could hear it with understanding, and of course it wouldn’t be the actual Declaration of Independence but something different but with a similar spirit, something like this:

“We the people of these five colonies of the nation across the sea and seven nations of the original inhabitants of this land, establish a Union, which we found in and organize according to the following principles: that all people are equally precious, that laws exist by the consent of the people and to serve the people, that leaders serve the people and hold their offices by the consent of the people...”

Then have Kirk give his speech about how these words are meant for everyone and not just for chiefs and should be something shared among all the people and lived by and not something gatekept behind archaic language most people can’t understand. Have him reference the USA founding documents by saying that his world has something very similar and he knows from the history of his own world how world-changing these ideas can be and how precious they are.

----

Obviously you can’t do that “the Yangs try to find out if Kirk recognizes the holy words, and Kirk almost recognizes them but not quite” thing with this version, so the equivalent I propose is:

Kirk recognizes the original functions of Yang “holy relics,” i.e. relics from the ancient Yang civilization: one is part of a machine that once carried people through the air (it’s a snapped-off piece of a helicopter blade), one was a device for seeing far away things as if they’re near (it’s a broken pair of binoculars), one was a machine which people could use to talk to people who were beyond the horizon (it’s a broken-down cell phone), etc.. OK, the last thing is anachronistic for TOS, but if I were writing this as a fanfic it’s what I’d do.

Cloud Williams starts to recite a long epic poem the Yangs have that tells their entire history, to see if Kirk will recognize it. Of course Kirk doesn’t, but while the Yangs don’t have history books they do use visual textile art as an aid to memory and they’ve set up a big story cloth that depicts the narrative in the room and Kirk goes over to it and starts pointing to pictures on it and correctly interpreting them:

“Here, the Yangs were oppressed by kings. The Yangs rebelled and overthrew their kings and made a new nation that had no kings. After this the Yangs became very rich and very powerful, they built great cities. The lords of the Kohms were threatened by this and they used terrible weapons on the Yangs and invaded the Yang land with great armies. Here’s a Yang city being destroyed in an instant by a Kohm weapon. The Kohm lords were so threatened that they tried to destroy the Yangs’ whole way of life. The Yangs retreated to the bad lands and kept fighting. Here are Kohm flying machines attacking a Yang village, and a Yang warrior hiding behind a rock destroying one of those flying machines with a lance of fire. The Kohm lords couldn’t overcome the Yangs until they brought the Death Thirst to the Yang lands in a box and let it out. But that weapon had a life of its own, and turned against the Kohms, and almost destroyed them too. Only a few Yangs survived in the bad lands, and the Kohms claimed the good Yang lands and settled them. But the Yangs survived, they learned the bow and the lance, and eventually their numbers started to increase. The survivors lived longer than people had before; you interpreted this as a gift for the Yangs and curse on the Kohms by the Great Spirit, so that both might live to see you retake what was once yours. And little by little, you did retake what was once yours...”

----

One way to suggest the Enterprise crew making a positive difference on Omega IV at the end of the episode: have Kirk convince the Yangs to spare the Kohm civilians in that village.

The victorious Yangs are all set to give the last Kohms the Numbers 31 treatment, which is what they usually do when they overrun a Kohm community. Of course, Kirk is horrified by this, and he manages to use arguments involving the Yang “holy words” to convince the Yangs to be merciful instead. “Your own holy words say that every person is equally precious! Every person! That includes the Kohms too! If you really mean it, it includes the Kohms too! They’re no threat to you anymore! Did you fight for so long just for a chance to do to them what they tried to do to you? If so, how are you any better than them? Your own holy words claim to be for all people! Your own holy words say that all people are more alike than they are different, and all people are capable of appreciating the gift of freedom! If that’s true, then your holy words are for the Kohms too! That’s why the Kohm lords were so threatened by you, because they were afraid of what would happen if the Kohm people heard those powerful, good words! Tell the Kohms about your holy words!”

So Cloud Williams agrees to make a merciful and peaceful settlement with the “last of the Kohm places,” let it integrate peacefully into Yang society with no further bloodshed and no abuse inflicted or spoils taken. And then Kirk says “If you mean your words of freedom, your work didn’t end today, it’s just starting. Build good seaworthy boats that can cross the ocean, and send people to the Kohms across the sea, so they can hear your words of freedom too! The words of your ancestors are for them too! You’d never be able to conquer them, but they can hear your words!”

[gods-no-longer-tread-here]

Y’all didn’t give me Witcher prompts so here’s one I wrote for my boi Liam on Facebook:

Geralt knows his human form is intimidating. But if he were in his true form, he would drive humans to madness. So he stays in his bulky human body, following the demon.

The demon is everything a demon of lust should be: handsome, dangerous, carefree, and rich. He walks ahead of Geralt, chatting enthusiastically with the human woman on his arm. They do not have a tie of sin, so she is not one of his tempted. But why would a demon want to be seen with someone he does not control? Geralt has been told over and over that demons are possessive, and cruel, and abusive. Perhaps this is something he does for fun.

The demon and the human part with a hug, and while the human walks away, the demon turns and looks straight at Geralt.

His eyes are so blue. Sapphire-blue. Phthalo blue. The blue of an intense flame.

Geralt clenches his jaw and approaches. If the demon wants to fight on the street, Geralt will oblige him.

With a smile radiating warmth and sweetness, the demon enters the building he had stopped outside of. Geralt can feel the pulse of demonic energy already; every inch of this building saturated with evil. But he is fearless. Warriors are always fearless. He opens the door and steps inside.

Darkness slams over his eyes, a howling wind lashes around him, and the stench of incense made with blood fills his nose, mouth, and lungs. Before he can catch his breath to shout, it all falls away, instantaneously. He blinks and looks around.

This is a stone box reminiscent of a jail cell. There are four candles, one on each wall. A small summoning circle is tucked in the corner. And on the pile of ragged furs in the middle of the cell sits the demon.

The demon doesn’t smile, just props his chin on his hand, looking tired. “They’ve sent another already, have they?” he says dully. “I keep telling your superiors, I’m freelance, now. Not affiliated with Hell. Ah well, that’s angels for you.” The demon sighs and sits up straight. “What’s your name? You can call me Jaskier.”

It leaves his mouth before he can think: “Call me Geralt. What do you mean, freelance?”

Jaskier chuckles. “You’ve heard of fallen angels, right? They’re not fallen. They’re freelance. They work on the ground, taking care of people, while the fucks up in Heaven fight over who gets to lead Heaven’s army. I did the same. Hell is… a bad place. And I hated being bitter and spit on. So I came to Earth.” Jaskier smiles crookedly at Geralt’s confusion. “Don’t you ever feel the same? Feel like… escaping? Claustrophobic and caged?”

Geralt shakes his head. “It’s nice in Heaven,” he says. “There’s a library and the First Ones know all of history.”

“But don’t you ever feel like something is missing?” Jaskier presses. “Like there’s more, but no one will tell you?”

Geralt frowns. “No,” he snaps. “I have been taught everything I need to know.”

Jaskier looks at him with a sad, wistful expression, then sighs and stands. “Alright, Warrior Geralt. Before you kill me, I would like to take you to somewhere nice; a human library.”

It was too tempting. Geralt loves books too much; it’s his weakness. So he nods, lets Jaskier take his arm, and lets the darkness enfold him.

~

Geralt is horrified by all the inaccuracies in the human history books. But as the inaccuracies repeat over and over, and begin to make more sense than Heaven’s histories, he starts feeling sick. What else has he missed?

Jaskier reads books called “bodice rippers” while Geralt reads book after book of history, jumping around in eras and topics, trying to see why Heaven would lie about humans. He finds a history of Christianity in Europe and wants to throw it in a mud puddle, because no, that’s impossible, Heaven teaches love, not this--not this terrible history of war and domination and destruction. Angels are supposed to love. Humans who follow God are supposed to love. Isn’t that the true sign of goodness and mercy? To follow God and Heaven?

Geralt can’t read any more after that. He shuts the book quietly and tells Jaskier, “I’m done.”

Jaskier raises his head and meets Geralt’s eyes with his own beautiful sapphires. “You’re not, though,” he replies softly. “You want to learn more. You just can’t learn more right now.”

Geralt hesitates, then nods.

“Alright, Warrior. Have you tried kebabs? They're amazing.”

~

Geralt spends the dark hours sitting in a corner with an ancient wolf skin wrapped around him. He’s dizzy with thoughts and confusion. Is all of this true? Do humans control themselves, instead of following either God or Satan? If they do control themselves, how do they know what is good and what is bad? Why would Heaven teach young angels lies? Heaven is supposed to be good, but lying is evil.

Jaskier sighs and gets up from his “mattress” to walk over and sit beside Geralt. “It’s a lot,” he murmurs sadly. “When I left Hell, I read as many “sinful” books as I could--and they were more sinful than Hell had told me they would be. My superiors told me that humans were all disgustingly good and needed to be humbled… but humans aren’t completely good. I’ve swindled millionaires, I’ve caused scandals that destroyed entire companies. I’ve met humans so truly evil that I couldn’t even look at them. But… there really are good humans. Community gardens, charities, free clinics funded by people who agree with their cause. Attorneys who give up time and money to fight for the rights of the marginalized and oppressed. Little kids playing with each other, adults talking to their friends, old humans being begged to tell stories of their lives. There is so much good on Earth, Geralt. Human beings survived and thrived because they cared for each other. Because they were good.”

Geralt is silent for a moment. Then he says, “I would like to go to the library again.”

Jaskier nods. “We can do that.”

~

It’s been two weeks and Geralt still has no idea what humanity is.

He’s read all the history books at the library. He’s read instructional books on everything from knitting to blacksmithing to making small characters out of dog fur. He’s even read one of Jaskier’s favorite bodice rippers and gave it back quickly, his face redder than a tomato.

He likes mystery books. He’s not sure why. He likes to try and guess who the villain is. He’s always wrong, but… that makes them interesting.

And in so many books, there isn’t even a peep of religion. Even the philosophy books he reads in fascination talk about it in the abstract, how religion came from the human need for community and a moral compass. The philosophy book he likes best talks about the importance of the elements, and how they balance, and how they can influence different humans.

He likes that. Humans are not ruled by good or by evil, but their own natures, which are tied to their material plane. And slowly, he begins to realize that no one is born in the dichotomy that he was taught.

Jaskier asks him on the last day of the second week, “Do you want to stay on Earth? There’s billions of books to read, and billions of people who can tell you more.”

Geralt looks at him for a moment. Then he does a very stupid thing and presses a clumsy kiss to Jaskier’s cheek. “Yes. I want to stay with you.”

Jaskier’s face turns pink, and he smiles. It’s a beautiful smile. Why did Geralt ever think a bunch of white and gold buildings were more beautiful than Jaskier’s smile?

Jaskier cups Geralt’s face in his hands and kisses him slowly, tenderly. “I want you to stay, too,” he murmurs.

[tardis-sapphics]

Could you please write something about Thasmin going to Pride together? Thanks!

i know this ask is like fuck-off old but i didn’t forget i swear!!! i wanted to do it justice and hopefully this makes up for the very long wait!

They’d be forgiven for mistaking the thumping for an earthquake.

It starts deep, low, reverberating in their very bones with an urgency that demands to be felt. Hands shake with it; feet are planted firmly on the dusty, rocky ground. On instinct, Yaz lurches and her hand clutches onto the Doctor’s bicep. And then – even then, especially then – the thunder makes itself felt, answering back to the double pulse with something equally organic, something equally alive.

In the far reaches of the universe, on some distant corner of a galaxy and millennia away from their time, they feel the thundering of something familiar. At first, Yaz believes it’s the stubborn human condition driving them towards this same-sense importance – to prescribe something of their known to the unknown, to distort something, almost, to make it palatable – but the Doctor’s earlier announcement dispels that notion. Not that it doesn’t exist; just that it doesn’t exist here. Humanity’s ability to see themselves amongst the stars was slow at first – but once achieved, it was unstoppable. And here is the unstoppable: on a lonely planet, orbiting a star in a solar system far more expansive than the one that bore Earth. Here, humanity found the lonely, and in it found something worth anchoring onto.

They have landed just to be heartened by the unstoppable.

There are worse planets, Graham decides, frowning down at the barren land. Dust thrives in long reaches, extortionate motions. But, he adds, nor is it the best.

The Doctor looks offended. ‘Honestly, you humans! You’re never satisfied, are you?’

Despite the apparent dissatisfaction, when the Doctor beckons, they follow. They are satisfied enough to follow her unstoppable.

Yaz would follow forever, if that were feasible. As they walk towards the thunder, her hand trails down the inside of the Doctor’s arm, fingers alighting on the folds of her coat, the orderly bunches at the crease of her elbow. This will do in the meantime. This will more than do.

Thunder does not exist without lightning, though the latter has an easier time of being obscured if the observer so wishes. Like all proper adventurers, though, the four time-travellers do not fit into this category. Danger’s threat is an invitation for those whose curiosity manifests as a need to help. If a tree is hit by lightning, and no one is around to see it,  a tree is still singed. And so they are pulled by it; the charge, the ions, and the naked, brilliant electricity. They do so, blinking underneath sunglasses at the lonely star, on the lonely planet. They do so, entwined entirely by a need to help.

Sometimes, however, thunder is not a threat – at least, not to those who have no reason to feel threatened. Sometimes thunder is but a celebration of itself; a comment on the naked, brilliant notion of its own existence. Sometimes thunder is an invitation to more than just the adventurers. Sometimes, a drum beat is not a signal of war but the joy of champions.

Lightning is here to stay. Flags flutter in the distance, hoisted high, anchoring the once-lonely to the celebration. All the colours of the spectrum belong here, manifest relief fused into a defiance against the monochrome of the expected; the suppressing; the conformity. Onlookers come to gather under them, the unapologetic no longer terrifying as it would have been, millennia ago. A procession of the familiar: it’s this they feel in their bones. The drum beats, the praises for a feeling nurtured in biology, in identity. Almost unimaginable, being miles from home – but entirely reminiscent of it.

‘Is that–?’ Graham asks.

‘Pride,’ Ryan and Yaz answer in unison. A similar glance to each other, a smirk of acknowledgement. This solidarity is something barely discussed between the two, not for a lack of concern but for the innate recognition of it. Jokes about Ryan’s crushes, pronouns flitted between without thought, are commonplace.

As for Yaz – well, her arm is still wrapped tight around the Doctor’s.

‘Brilliant,’ the Doctor murmurs, flashing a grin to her, so close by her side.

‘’Scuse the obvious question, Doc,’ Graham says, ‘but what’s Pride doing here thousands of years in the future? Thought things were getting better, on the whole.’

‘Good question, Graham!’ the Doctor beams. ‘It does seem a bit outdated here. But old beliefs have the uncanny knack of staying alive, especially as peoples get older and older. I don’t know if this particular colony went back on all the progress – it happens sometimes – but it’s more likely that Pride morphed into a human tradition. Depends on which colony you go to, really, and what time.’

‘Well, for our sake, I really hope it’s a tradition,’ Graham answers. ‘Not sure I fancy coming face-to-face with a homophobe today.’ He receives a round of nods.

‘Best to be where the party is, eh?’ the Doctor asks her friends. Now, murmurs of assent.

They take in the thunder, and get taken in by it.

Yaz has marched in the Sheffield parade for two years now, police uniform on, to the simultaneous delight and consternation of her community. She is at once lifted by the liberation her institution has taken, especially amidst a growing backlash in her contemporary world – but also weighed down by the oppression the uniform symbolised; the knowledge that the law is vulnerable to the humans that make them, and the endangerment of the vulnerable it brings in turn. It’s a constant unsettlement, but at least here, that conflict does not have to count. What counts is her enjoyment.

She wonders whether that intrinsic disharmony exists in this time, on this planet, in a further developed context. She wonders what the relationship between citizens and law enforcement is here.

The Pride march is not cordoned off and neatly packaged, like they have become back at home. There are no metal fences where marches are directed by an overseeing power. Its power is its own. The flow is its own – the thought, the inclusion, all natural. This pull to belong is for the lightning living, wild living. It is untamed by arbitrary concepts such as ‘marchers’ and ‘audiences’. The wild beast encompasses the streets of the colony and all alive are participants. They are all sprawling, hungry for the sight of themselves; hungry to be witnessed in nature.

It has made itself known to each other, to themselves, through the drum band, the only regimented display within the mass. The sprawl curls itself around the sound, protects it. Participants amplify the sound through whistles and new instruments; analogue and electrical instruments blend new technologies and old successes to create the perfect cacophony. Cloaked in flags unchanged by the daunting progress of millennia, the musicians, the shouters, and the listeners are flying on the gusts of their own thunder.

Deep, rich colours, and the bright and beautiful. Robes and garments and uniforms, with rainbows and tri-colours, quad-colours, sewn into their very lining. Pastel blues and pinks decorating white chest garments. Colonists, doused in glitter, throw handfuls at each other. It glimmers as it falls in the baking starlight, impossible not to witness. When it touches the dusty ground, it evaporates, leaving no trace behind.

There is no point in spectating. There is no chance. As the four arrive, they are pulled, gentle intention expressed in grabbing hands, deeper into glorious furore. It is a carnival of delight: Yaz is immediately doused in glitter by the colonist next to her and she laughs. It sticks to her hair, her face, her clothes. She adores it.

She lost sight of Graham and Ryan, lost them to the belly of the beast. They have let themselves be swallowed, stomping in time to the beat like they were already here; consumed by it like they were always going to be. But the boys are not her priority. All of her is at the forefront, in this place that demands it, demands for her to see the very best of herself – and there is one person she must share this with.

This living, loving mass parallels the Doctor’s energy, but even so, Yaz can find her. Lost in it, she seems to command her own space, her own brightness. She sees a flick of blonde hair, and hazel eyes lock onto her own. The Doctor excuses herself from admiring a genderfluid flag and inches her way to Yaz.

There’s an earthquake happening that reflects her own, a pounding full of yearning. Echoed in the two hearts in front of her –  she knows it, she knows her girlfriend’s heartbeats almost as well as her own – it seems they have found a place to broadcast it. Her hands come up to the Doctor’s shimmering face, palms stained pink-purple-blue by a handful of glitter. Blonde wisps are caked in colour. Their hearts are bursting. This glorious beast, nature in roaring joy, moves to survive; and it adapts its stream around the two of them.

‘You having fun?’ the Doctor asks, breathless. Her hands come to rest on Yaz’s waist. The lonely wanderer, found a place to anchor.

Words are not enough, not with everything else around them so enigmatic, so vibrant.

So Yaz does not wait. In lieu of an answer the Doctor already knows, Yaz moves forward and presses her mouth to the Doctor’s, euphoria tasting sweet as their lips slot into place. She grips tight to taste it louder, louder than the drums, and above them, they are sprinkled again with the rainbow – unstoppable, and the lightning living, thundering through them.

[diguerra-moved]

TYRANDE WHISPERWIND HEADCANON 001: THALYSSRA AND SURAMAR

Tyrande’s participation in Legion is... controversial, on some accounts. I personally think it could have been handled better, but that is not really what I mean to discuss. The first time we really interact with her in Legion, it is in Val’sharah. Malfurion my love aside, we help her there, and later meet again in Suramar, where she’s taken kaldorei forces to help free Suramar from the Legion.

Tyrande’s tone when greeting to the player character is vastly different depending on if they are Horde and Alliance --- not contradicting, but very different nonetheless. I don’t think one is truer than the other: they are both ultimately the same thing, only phrased very differently.

I am glad to see a friendly face on this battlefield, <name>.

It is... hard... for me to once again walk in Suramar. Ten thousand years have passed since my feet last felt the grass of this land.

Back then, we were fleeing the Burning Legion.

I never believed I would return to the place of my birth to wrest it from the grasp of those I once believed were my people.

To the Alliance, she is obviously more friendly, as would be expected. Tyrande isn’t the most forgiving, she doesn’t believe in ever lasting peace with the Horde, and if there is a truce and she will respect it, ultimately she doesn’t see the Horde in a friendly manner. To Alliance players, she speaks not of the Nightborne, but of Suramar, reminiscing about the War of the Ancients. I’ve seen people take the last part as her meaning to take Suramar for the kaldorei but that is obviously untrue: when she speaks of freeing it from those who were once her people, she doesn’t mean Thalyssra and the Nightfallen (why would she help them at all if she did?). 

But this shows the emotional weight the entire situation has for her. Suramar was Tyrande’s home. She was born there, she grew up there, and she believed it lost forever with the Sundering. Returning to it is to her more bitter than it could ever be sweet; it was her home, but it isn’t hers any longer. Those were her people but they aren’t anymore. While she and others fought the Legion and struggled to survive, part of the Highborne placed a shield upon Suramar and hid beneath it, not caring for those who really sought to stop the Legion (of course, we know it wasn’t really like that, but this is how she sees things). To her, they kept a city that wasn’t just theirs all to themselves, all the while leaving everyone else to die. She loved her city deeply, and she didn’t have a shield to protect herself and those who ended up following her because the people who led them before were either dead or betrayed them. She didn’t have a choice but to fight, for herself and for others. Of course she’ll be bitter learning about Suramar’s fate.

When I let you take the Tears of Elune, I assumed the next time we would see each other would be at the final battle with the Legion.

I did not expect to see you in the company of mana addicts at the footsteps of the city of my birth.

Speak quickly, <race>. I am not in the mood for Thalyssra's petitions.

In the end, what she says to Horde players isn’t as different from what she says to the Alliance: only harsher. Like I said, truce or not, she doesn’t like the Horde and ultimately they are enemies. Sure, you helped her in Val’sharah, and maybe she would be grateful for it, but like I said, Suramar feels very personal to Tyrande, and if she doesn’t feel as comfortable showing that vulnerability, she’ll be hostile, which is exactly what she does. In the end, the meaning is the same: she’s bitter about the situation, she resents the Nightborne for hiding and leaving the rest of them to die, and seeing her past home as it is wounds her. But since she has no friendship for the Horde, instead of allowing herself some vulnerability, she turns to aggressive words.

(As a sidenote, I want to comment that Tyrande using their addiction as an offense is, of course, terrible. They are not to blame for it, and addiction is never something to be made fun of. It is also very hypocritical of her, because in the War of the Ancients, when Illidan was the one suffering from magical addiction, she was the one who offered him the most support, and she wasn’t at all judgmental about it. So yes, I agree with anyone who thinks that her doing this is awful, but well, she is not perfect and this is one of her most evident flaws).

We elves are long lived, but not as long lived as our prejudices it would seem.

Tyrande’s progression line during the one quest with the pranks and provocations between the elves is this one (I believe it’s the same for Liadrin but shhhh). I particularly think that not only the elves tend to hold on to their prejudices, they keep exceptionally long grudges because they are so long lived. And in this case, Tyrande’s motivations to act the way she does are definitely influenced by her emotional responses to the entire Nightborne situation, which really isn’t surprising considering how often she acts based on emotion. Tyrande is very intense on that regard, and she can be very blunt and rash due to it.

She feels betrayed by those who stayed in Suramar, as the leader of a people who didn’t have a similar choice and as one of Suramar’s previous inhabitants. The Nightborne turned their backs to the rest of them for their own survival, and as she says in one other quest (Any regret I had for these people vanished when they went under that shield), she has little sympathy for the Nightborne due to it. Her resent makes it hard for her to have empathy for their fate; in her eyes, they were selfish in hiding beneath the shield and not caring for those who were not Highborne, and that they became addicted due to it, well, it’s just a consequence of their own egotism.

Could she have been more diplomatic? Sure. But Tyrande isn’t perfect, rather the opposite. She’s flawed, she resents, she favors being honest to the point of bluntness no matter how much it will wound those hearing it.

With all of that in mind, let’s take a look at the infamous conversation between Tyrande and Thalyssra that takes place right at the beginning when they first meet, and that Thalyssra later shows to Liadrin and the Horde player in the Nightborne recruiting questline.

Tyrande Whisperwind says: Arcanist Thalyssra. I remember where your order stood in the War of the Ancients. How do we know you won't betray us and become the next Elisande... the next Azshara?

First Arcanist Thalyssra says: We do not intend to be slaves to the Nightwell. We seek to drive the Legion from Suramar and put an end to Elisande's oppression.

Tyrande Whisperwind says: The kaldorei will fight to see the Legion defeated and the Nightwell destroyed. Beyond that... we shall see where Elune's wisdom guides us.

While I will 100% agree with anyone who claims Tyrande to have been disrespectful and needlessly rude about the Nightborne when speaking to the Horde player, I don’t really agree with it on this part. Again, she could have been more diplomatic, but she isn’t as much rude as she’s merely blunt. On her experience, the Highborne, particularly the magical elite, mostly sided with Azshara and aided her in bringing the Legion to Azeroth; those who didn’t or who regretted it were the ones who became the Sin’dorei later on. The Highborne from Suramar, even worse than those who became Belfs, abandoned their kin to die to the Legion or to the Sundering, became addicts due to it and now need her people’s help to free themselves from yet another fallen leader. 

What reason does she really have to immediately agree Thalyssra will be different? As far as Tyrande is concerned, Thalyssra took part on all of that and just recently turned her back on Elisande because Elisande allied with the Legion. What reason does she have to trust her, when she thinks Thalyssra was one of those who betrayed their fellow kaldorei in the War of the Ancients? What reason does she have to trust she won’t turn out like Azshara or Elisande, when all of them seem to her to have a shared background?

She’s not being cruel or mean for nothing. She is simply voicing her doubts, even if they seem harsh. And when Thalyssra claims she wants only to free her people, while it isn’t enough to convince Tyrande, her reply isn’t mean either. She agrees that her people will help the shal’dorei fight the Legion and destroy the Nightwell. She’s just unwilling to compromise beyond that, because she really has no reason to be that trusting. All Tyrande says is that they will help then, and later they’ll have to see, and she has every reason to approach the situation like that. Her past experience with the Highborne and those who became the Nightborne wasn’t good to say the least, and she just found the Nightborne again and they’re in the middle of a crisis with yet another corrupt leader and a huge magical addiction problem, which doesn’t tell her that much has changed. Why should she make any future compromise to these people, when they may end up repeating those mistakes again and dragging her people along the way?

The Nightwell is no more. These Nightborne will learn to survive without its corrupting power, or they will perish. Let us hope it is the former.

Admittedly, by the end of the Nighthold and with Thalyssra’s decision to let the Nightwell die, Tyrande should have seen that she really did intend to make a new path for her people. But there are too many reasons for her not to show them any warmth, and while I think the destruction of the Nightwell could have been a first step towards building an actual relationship between their two peoples, that alone wouldn’t be enough for Tyrande to seek out Thalyssra. It was Thalyssra who needed allies, truly, and the Nightborne who had done questionable things in the Kaldorei’s views; Tyrande wasn’t the one who should have sought the other side after Suramar was freed. She did what she promised, and that was it. Still, as the above quote shows, she did hope the Nightborne would learn to survive free of their addictions.

Tyrande had more than enough reason to act the way she did, and she didn’t even act actually antagonistic towards Thalyssra (she never says the worse of it, like calling the Nighborne mana addicts, to Thalyssra herself). Yes, by no means she showed them the empathy Liadrin showed, but the two of them are coming from very different places. While Liadrin sees in the situation something that reminds her of her own people’s struggles, Tyrande sees in it a reflection of the tragedies that befell her people because of the greed of others.

In the end, Tyrande made the decision she thought was best based on her past experiences, and according to her experiences she had every reason to act the way she did. After the destruction of the Nightwell, there is no indication that Thalyssra tried to approach her or the Alliance again --- in fact, it seems the Sin’dorei were the ones to offer continued aid out of their own volition, and while this makes it an obvious choice for Thalyssra as to who would be more more desirable allies later, Tyrande didn’t have any reason to be the one to try to bridge the gap between the two races. Later, when the Nightborne join the Horde, she probably just saw it as being proven right in her distrust: instead of seeking to give the Kaldorei reason to trust them, they simply stuck with those who would be less likely to hold them accountable for their past mistakes. 

[justjessame]

Diamonds Are A Boy’s Best Friend Chapter 17

I left Ike’s office and met the driver waiting for me just outside the front doors.  There were times, like this one, that I felt oddly satisfied by the watchful eye of my father.  At least I didn’t have to wait for the car long, and that meant I didn’t get noticed by Vera.

When I walked in the house, I nearly groaned aloud at the beckoning from my father to join him in the study.  Rolling my eyes, and shoulders since I felt a cramp building, I walked in to find him alone.  Again.  Where the hell was Lily?

“Father?”  I went straight for the bar.  Dealing with him was far easier if numbed by alcohol.  He waited while I poured, then directed me to take the seat in front of him.  

“That was a very long lunch, wasn’t it?”  I didn’t answer, choosing instead to focus on my drink.  “How IS Ike?”  

“Satisfied.”  A sip and felt a bit of my tension leave.  He was watching me.  “What?  Suddenly interested in the details?”  

“No,”  he looked calculating.  “No details, Liz.  You were closeted together for hours, my darling daughter, surely not even YOU could keep going for that long.”

I didn’t care for his tone, or his insinuations, but I realized he’d probably heard it all from Lily.  My personal education, so why bother defending my honor to man more than willing to whore his own daughter out.  

“Oh, Father, how sweet and innocent of you to make such assumptions.”  I swallowed the last of my drink and stood up.  “He’s satisfied, I’m satisfied.  You should be.”  And then I turned to walk away.  

“Don’t forget, Liz, just who you belong to.”  I shook my head and left, back ramrod straight and head held high.  Reminding him once again, that I was far better than he’d ever be.  

I skipped dinner, and breakfast.  Why bother?  Seeing my father’s smug face would only wind me up and quite frankly I wasn’t in the mood.  A knock came to the door as I was lounging in my nightgown on the bed reading.  Not waiting for my answer, Lily rushed in.  

“What the hell?”  Then I saw her face.  Oh God, what now?

“Will you go out with me?”  Seeing how anxious she seemed, I nodded and told her to give me a moment to dress.  

I threw on a pair of the shorts, and a top to match, then shoes and tied my hair back.  Would the look win me an award for being fashion forward?  Probably not, but it would do in a pinch.  I met her downstairs, where the quiet felt oppressive, and she surprised me by taking the wheel of the flashy red convertible.  As we left the house behind, I had to remind her to calm down and drive carefully.  Dying by automobile accident wasn’t on my list of things to try.

She pulled over near the spot that Ike and I had confessed our feelings to one another.  Getting out, I was forced to follow her.  Lily walked and walked, and I wondered if she was trying to lose whatever spies Father had sicced on me.  When she stopped, we were in a clutch of trees, unseen from where she’d parked.  

“Liz,” her eyes looked almost wild, and she was pleading.  “I don’t know what to do.”

“Calm down and tell me what has you in this state, Lily.”  And she did.  The truth and the whole truth.  More than I wanted to know, honestly, but once she started, she seemed unable to stop.

Stevie.  Her.  The photos they took.  My father’s suspicions.  He’d tossed her room, or had his minions do so.  He was on their scent and she wasn’t sure that Stevie really burned the photos.  Or that Father dearest didn't’ already know.  

“My God,” I said, once she’d purged all she could and had finally stopped.  “What a mess.”  I was breathing as though I’d been running, trying to take in her verbal barrage, and now I felt like I was going to faint from the information.  “Is that all?”  I asked, frightened to get her going again, but knowing that I had to have all of it or I wouldn’t be able to help.  If I could help at all.  

“Isn’t that enough?”  She asked, her chest heaving from holding back her nerves.  I nodded, absently wondering how to fix the mess that two people with more hormones than brains had created.  

“Does his father know?”  I wouldn’t say his name, not in connection with this.  She shrugged and my eyes widened.  “How do you not know?”  Another shrug and I felt like screaming.  An urge that was coming far more frequently in Miami than anywhere else I’d been in the world.  

“He’ll kill us.”  Yes, I was aware of my father’s propensity for violence.  “You have to help me, Liz.”  

How? I wanted to scream.  A flash of horror came to me.  “Did he visit you while we were shopping?”  Different dressing room, separate Evans men.  She nodded.  “You knew Father follows me.”  Was she trying to get caught?  “Dear-”  I took a breath.  “I have never met more people who want to dance within the flames.”  She looked confused, but that was no doubt because her nerves were at the breaking point.  “I can’t bring Ike into this.  Did you call-”

She nodded.  “Yes, but he-”  She looked down.  So Grandfather Sy, mystery man was out.

“I’m not sure what I can do, Lily.”  I leaned against the tree nearest me.  “You know he’s-”  A deep breath.  “I’m on thin ice with him, Lily.  You know that.”  

“Distract him?”  How?  “Show him you’re making strides with-”  I sighed.  “If you’re getting what he wants, he’ll lose interest in what I’ve done.”  And are still doing, I’d bet.  

“I’m not sure that’s true.”  He’d tossed her room.  He was searching for proof.  Clearly he could juggle his attention.  “I’ll try.”  Maybe I would have to tell Ike.  Maybe two heads, three heads, I corrected looking at Lily, were better than one.

I went to the hotel early the next morning.  One of the younger bellboys, who told me to call him Ray-Ray, answered my query about Ike’s whereabouts by telling me he was in the Atlantis.  The bar?  This early?  Shifting my confusion to the back burner, I went to find him.  

I’d opened the door with a greeting on my  lips that died when I realized he wasn’t alone.  An older, white haired man was sitting at the bar with him and I stopped in my tracks, but the swish of the door alerted him to my entrance.  Damn it.  Keeping the smile, but swallowing the greeting, I restarted my forward momentum.  

“Hello, Mr. Evans.”  And I was surprised when the older man stood and offered his hand.  Taking it, I shot a look at Ike.  

“Miss Diamond, my father, Arthur Evans.”  Ah, that would explain the confusion.  “Dad, this is Elizabeth Diamond, Ben’s daughter.”  

Mr. Evans, the senior one, said something to Ike that sounded like, “Ona krasivaya, ty uveren, chto ona Ben?”  (Translation:  Are you sure, she’s too beautiful to belong to Ben?)

“YA uveren,” he was smiling widely at me, dimples deep.  I raised an eyebrow.  “He wanted to know-”  (Translation: I’m sure.)

“You’re far too beautiful to be Ben’s.”  I smiled, quite the charmer.  “He told me it’s true.”  He shook his head and sat back down on his stool.  “You look like you came in here with a purpose.”  Damn it again.  

I licked my lips.  “Oh.”  Put on the spot, I felt incredibly stupid for not having an excuse for visiting Ike so early.  “I wanted to discuss-”  I searched my brain for something, anything.  “I want to plan a dinner party.”  Never in a million years would I plan a dinner party for my father.  “I wanted to surprise Father.  To thank him for bringing me home.”  I felt a blush coming on and fought against the burn.  

Ike was staring at me like he knew how completely wrong what I’d said was, but I was sure he’d chalk it up to me wanting to have a morning taste of him.  Not that I was opposed to it, but right now-

“Sit down, Liz,” he patted the stool next to his father and took the one beside it.  “My dad isn’t against having a gorgeous woman join us, are you?”  

“Why would I be?”  And I sat down, thinking that this was the worst idea I’d ever had.

An hour later and I forgot my misgivings as I laughed through another tale of Ike’s youthful silliness.  Arthur, as he told me to call him, was smiling as widely as his son at the sound of my laughter.  

“What stories do you have from your misspent youth?”  He asked, and I smiled.  

Ike answered before I could.  “Liz didn’t misspend her youth.  She went to boarding schools in Europe.”  He wasn’t teasing, he sounded proud.  “Isn’t that right, Liz?”  

I smiled at him and felt his father’s attention shift between the two of us.  “Somewhat.”  I turned to Arthur and told him about the school girl pranks my classmates and I tried on our staid and strict headmistress.  He listened attentively, but then asked the most loaded question I’d had since coming to America.

“You were there during the war?”  I nodded, feeling the fear build.  “How did you not get-”

“Dad,” Ike’s voice held a warning, but I understood.  I’m Jewish, how wasn’t I picked out?

My hand touched Ike’s, stopping him.  “It’s alright.  I’m surprised no one else asked, honestly.”  Turning back to Arthur, I told him the truth.  “I went to Catholic schools.  Forced Communion, no Bat Mitzvah, no Star of David.”  No Shabbat, no Hanukkah, the list of things I couldn't celebrate until the war ended and was free to do so was endless.  It was shameful to me.  What my people went through that I was saved from by my wealth, or my father’s.  I swallowed back the fear that I’d felt when we heard, I’d been young enough to worry, but I was soothed by the realization that no one, other than those who reared me that I was a Jew.  One of the hunted.  

“You survived.”  Ike said, touching my hand as I had his.  “That’s what matters, Liz.”

“Yes.”  His father agreed.  “There’s no shame in survival.  And I’m not practicing so I wouldn’t judge you for hiding your faith.”  

I nodded and Ike, seeing that I needed a change of topic went back to reminiscing with his father, letting me laugh at their hijinks.  I realized that I should leave, my stay had been far longer than I’d planned and I hadn’t gotten to the real purpose anyway.

“I think it’s time I take my leave.”  I stood and the two Evans men stood as well.  I felt a shock run through me when Arthur took my hand and smiled.  

“You’re a good one, Elizabeth.”  And kissing my cheek, he nodded to his son and sat back down.  

“I’ll walk you out, Liz.”  Ike took my arm and tucked it into his.  Once we were out of earshot, but before we were in full view of the rest of the hotel he turned to me.  “Want to tell me the real reason for this visit?”  I shook my head and sighed.  

“I can’t.”  I glanced back through the doors at his father.  “Not now.”  

“Should I be concerned?”  The Flirty tone was gone, and I nodded.  “Is it personal?”   I shrugged, yes, but not us.  “You have to give me something, Liz.”  

“Stevie.”  And his eyes closed at the mention of his son’s name.  “When can I-”

“I’ll call, I swear, Liz, I’ll call.”  I nodded.  “Is he in danger?” Another nod.  His sigh told me this wouldn’t be the first time.  “Alright, sweetheart, let me-”

“You’ll call.”  I said, wishing we were somewhere more private so I could kiss him goodbye.  “I wish I could give you a proper goodbye, but-”

“Me too,” he was wistful again.  “Soon.”

“Promises, promises.”  I smiled as I walked away.   Feeling like nothing else could possibly go wrong.  

It took a few days.  Days of Lily shooting me pleading looks behind Father’s back.  Days of me waiting for Father to leave the damn house so Ike could call.  Days of worry.  Days of missing the feeling of his arms around me.  And days of me feeling like the world was slowly unraveling.  

When the phone rang, not that it hadn’t before but my father had finally gone out, I nearly tackled the maid who went to answer it.  “I’ve got it.”  I offered, and she looked as shocked as I felt.  “Hello?”  

“Hey,” thank god, I thought.  “Let me buy you lunch.”  

“I’ll be there in ten minutes.”  I answered, but he stopped me.

“I’m just around the corner,”  I bit my lip and smiled.  “Turn right.”  Outside the gate, he meant.  

“I’ll be there soon.”  And then, not looking for Lily, just telling the maid who had moved to the den to dust that I was going out for a walk, I tried to not run down the driveway.  Normal. Slow and steady, I had to repeat to myself, but as soon as I saw his car, it was a lost cause.

“Hey, you.”  Ike greeted me with a wide smile.  “Come here.”  And then I was pressed chest to chest with him and he finally kissed me.  “That was a too LONG of a wait.”  I nodded and he dipped back in, nipping at my bottom lip and tasting me.  He pulled back and I sat back against the seat as he drove away from the curb.  

“Where are we going?”  I asked, as he drove past the diner.  He smiled, but didn’t say a word.  I studied him, he drove like he did anything.  With confidence and radiating power.  And he was incredibly handsome as he did it all.  “You aren’t wearing a suit.”  It hit me, he was in a jacket, but his shirt was more casual and the same wine color that my gown was.  

“You noticed.”  He glanced my way.  “You’re not wearing black, or a dress.”  No, I was dressed in shorts and a matching top, as I had been the day Lily had taken me for a drive.  

“Well spotted.”  I smiled at his profile.  “I hope that my attire doesn’t ruin your plans for lunch.”  

He shook his head, grin growing, but giving me no hint of where we were headed.  When he pulled the car off the road I was confused.  Bumpy road, leading to-  “The beach?”  I asked, turning to see him put the car in park hidden behind overgrown bushes.

“You mentioned that you don’t go farther than the hotel.”  I nodded, turning to watch the waves crash against the shore.  “I thought I’d take you on a picnic.”  

“You really are something, Ike Evans.”  He was getting out of the car, and before I could open my door he had the handle in hand.  Ike offered me his hand to help me out, then reached for a basket that had been hidden behind my seat.  Walking hand in hand, he took me to a spot near the water, but well outside the reach of the tide.  I watched as he put down a blanket and sat when he bowed to me.  “How did you-”

“A gentleman never reveals his secrets, Liz.”  He pulled a bottle of wine and two glasses from the basket and foods that were picnic appropriate, but also worked well for romance.  Grapes, cheeses, crackers.  A little of this, a little of that.  “I’d really love to just spend this time wining and dining you, but you wanted to tell me something, didn’t you?”  

I nodded as he poured the wine for us.  Holding the stem of my glass, I waited until he took a sip and then followed suit.  “Father suspects Lily of being unfaithful.”  He was watching me so I went on.  “I’m not sure he knows it’s Stevie, but-”

“Is it?”  I didn’t answer, letting my silence be the answer.  “Damn it.  And I thought Danny was going to give me ulcers.”  

“Danny?”  I was confused, what did Ike’s unknown son have to do with anything?

He sighed.  “Danny was offered a job with the State’s Attorney’s office.”  I waited, not seeing an issue.  Ike wasn’t my father, after all.  “Liz, there’s a lot you don’t know about-”

“About what?”  I felt the now familiar bubble of fear building inside me.  “What don’t I know, Ike?”  A lot, I was thinking, but mostly that concerned my father.

“You know your dad and me are-”  I waited, while he searched for the word he felt fit.  “We’re partners, of a sort.”  I nodded.  “Have you been following the news?”  

“Missing people, dead people, Cuba in upheaval,” I listed, wondering which part he was referring to.  He waited and I realized I’d missed something.  “What did I miss?”  

“The vote to legalize casino gambling in Florida.”  Oh.  Why was that important?  “I owe your father a lot of money, Liz.”  I felt churning in my stomach.  He owed a gangster money, a gangster whose nickname was “the Butcher”?  “I bet on that boxing match.”

“And lost.”  Reality hitting me like a freight train.  “It’s why you looked so-”  I took a deep breath and a large gulp of my wine.  

He nodded.  “I wanted to take the winnings and repay your dad.”  Losing meant he couldn’t, and he couldn’t even use the money he’d placed since it was gone too.  I nodded, waiting, clearly there was more.  “The vote?”  Another nod, another drink.  “He wants me to bribe the-”  I held up a hand, stopping him.  

“Don’t tell me anything that I could be forced to ask questions about.”  His turn to nod.  “So, my father snagged you in his web?”  He was watching to see my reaction.  “He’s a real piece of work, isn’t he?”  I stared at the waves for a moment, forcing down my rage at my father, and a bit that I felt for Ike.  “How do you plan to fix it?”  

“I have ideas.”  I nodded, eyes watching the push and pull of the blue water.  “Does this change how you feel about me, Liz?”  I shook my head, turning to meet his eyes.  

“No.”  My smile felt tinged in sadness, knowing that my hero had flaws was a blow, but then again, he was married to someone else.  “I still love you, Ike, but I don’t know-”

“I wish,” he took a drink of his wine.  “I wish so many things, Liz, but I can’t wish my feelings for you away.”  

“What do we do with them?”  I was curious.  How did he think this would work?  Vera, Ike, and me?

It was his turn to focus on the water, and I could tell, that even with everything bearing down on him from the hotel and my father, this question plagued him the most.  “I want you, Liz.  I want to see you every morning when I wake up.  And I want to kiss you goodnight every single night.”  I waited for the ‘but’ and wasn’t disappointed.  “But, Vera-”  He looked down at his left hand, the sun catching his wedding band.  “I take the vows I said to her seriously too.”  I would have snorted, but I knew what he meant.  Cheating was one thing, but divorce a whole different subject.  

“Did you know,” I laid down on the blanket to stare at the clouds.  “When Henry the Eighth wanted to leave his wife Katherine of Aragon and he was getting denied by the Church, he offered Anne Boleyn the strangest ‘compliment’?”  He turned to look at me.  “He tried to convince her, since she was refusing to bed him before marriage like all good Christian women should, to become his ‘official mistress’ and promised to not take another.”  He was staring down at me.  “She refused.  Some speculate that she was a pawn for her male, grasping relatives, others thought she held out because she was ambitious and wanted to be queen so badly she denied him.”  I met his eyes then.  “Want to know my theory?”  He waited.  Silence broken only by the crashing waves.  “I think she thought that it was insulting.  That he swore he loved her, only her, but thought making her a lover and not a wife was demeaning to her and their love.  The point is, Ike, some women refuse to be slighted, even in the name of love.”  

Our lunch ended soon after.  Ike had a lot to think about.  And I did too.  Because the rest of Anne Boleyn's story was tragic.  She helped Henry break free from the Church and create a Bible that anyone who could read would be able to, but she also died at the hands of a swordsman for a whisper of infidelity.  And I wondered, as I sat in my room trying to read, if I’d cursed myself to a similar fate.