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symphonyofthewrite · 4 years ago

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If These Walls Could Talk (Ch3) (with cover art!)

(AMAZING cover art by Junki Sakuraba on Instagram and Deviantart!!)

Fandom: Castlevania Netflix

Summary: Vampires do not have reflections, and castles do not have hearts. But Dracula is no ordinary vampire, and Castlevania is no ordinary castle. If castles can fight, maybe they can think too.

The series, and Adrian’s childhood, told from the perspective of the castle.

Chapter Summary: “‘Alucard’, they called me. The opposite of you. Mother never liked that. Did you know that? She hated the idea that I might define myself by you. Even in opposition to you. She loved us both. Enough that she wanted us to be our own people. Living our own lives. Making our own choices."

Chapter 3: “Alucard”

The castle doesn’t like it when Adrian leaves.

Adrian is a child of both worlds, so he must walk in the day every once and a while. He cannot stay in the castle, in the night, forever; he must travel outside the room, feel the sunlight without the glass. He must understand his mother’s people; his human half. A glass half full is a glass half empty, and he understands his duty to fill in the blanks where humanity is supposed to be.

Castlevania is unsure. Afraid, perhaps. It does not know much of humanity…but it does know that their blood tastes sweet, their words sound sour, their hands feel bitter. It knows they are not likely to treat the son of the vampire king with kindness.

It knows of only one human whose touch and words are sweet without taste.

If his mother can be kind… is it possible other humans can be too? Or does being a mother simply necessitate kindness? Is it possible there is more to them than sour speech and the bitter fists? That they are more than just something to fill its master’s appetite and quiet his boredom?

Lisa tells them all so. She gathers her family in the room, and tells them stories of knights and heroes, witches and villains. Of good kings, and evil priests. Of good gods, and evil queens. Of demons and zombies and the heroes who rose up against them—(and maybe Adrian can be one of them, some day). Of people who have nothing but manage to change the world anyways. Of people who have everything but are empty all the same—(that one started to sound a little too familiar). And not all of the stories are read out of books. Some are real, were history. Some she’d even seen herself. Some were told to her. She said she heard some of the most wonderful ones from a Speaker once. She even made some up. Until Adrian himself formed stories when she wasn’t there to tell them.

Dracula looks out the window at the rain, chuckles to himself at the fact that too many of her stories end happily…but something deep inside his eyes is trying, trying to believe her. To believe there’s truth to these stories, even those she made up. To let the light in her eyes flow into his. He tries to make up his own stories too, sometimes. But the darkness in his presence does its best to swallow the light in her words.

Adrian snuggles up beside her and the gleam in her eyes reflects in his without a second’s resistance. Enough that after a childhood of listening to these stories, begging for his parents to take him outside, he can barely wait to experience it himself.

That’s not to say he never left. She took him out on little trips, letting him take bites of the world out there. Each time he came back with treasures—(well what he considered treasures)—in his hands, and a grin secured firmly to his face, and he’d ask with voice bright and fast as a hummingbird, where they’d go out next, and how long he’d have to wait. Even his father took him out to the enchanted forests and grottos of the world for lessons, but always made sure they were the deepest, most well-kept secrets of the world, where no human would find them.

Well, most of the time. There were times when he came back with tears in his eyes. He’d ask What’s a ‘monster’?, and his father would lean down, put his hand on his cheek, and say Definitely not you. Lisa would plead or argue with her husband, but when Dracula would leave, the moon would turn red, and he’d remember what blood tasted like.

But this is different. This isn’t some day trip to come back with trinkets, some night lesson to come back with knowledge. The time it’s stretched out, and stretching them thin.

When he leaves and doesn’t come back that night… that morning…the next…the room tries to speak but finds there’s no breath in it, like it got the wind knocked out of it.

This is a different emptiness from what Castlevania was before. It isn’t a principal, not simply a fact of life. It is an absence. An absence of something living. An absence of a fact of life. A true emptiness in that the room was once full.

It doesn’t take long for the room to know what I miss you means; that absence creates ripples of yearning in its wake. That emptiness aches to be filled. It misses the games he played in the sunlight, it misses the lullabies, the drawings, counting the stars and sitting by the fire, the moments when the family would tell stories to the walls they didn’t know were listening.

It even misses the crying.

The clock tower’s ticking eats away at them from the inside.

And within the ticking, the room, the castle, wonder what the humans will do to him out there.

Will he be a monster in their eyes? An enemy, a beast, an ugly thing? Will they not see the light in his nature, rather the dark that nurtured him?

Will he be a cacophony to their ears, the screeches and howls of undead things, instead of the symphony they know his voice to be?

Will his blood be that of demons and beasts to their noses, and will they cast him out for not being human enough?

Will he be a toy in their hands, just as he played humans-and-vampires, just as he pretended to fight monsters with wooden swords?

…But he is alive, and living things ought not be played with, for they cannot be imagined into something they’re not.

And if he is a toy to them…what will they make of him? Will they imagine him as a human like them? Or will they imagine him into a monster he is not? Will they realize he is neither? Will they think he needs the night when he is perfectly fine in the day? What stories will they tell of him?

Castlevania has not met many humans. But those it has were prone to make monsters out of decent men, and weapons out of instruments of peace.

Will the humans’ mouths be forked and deadly as ever? Will their hands be weak and empty as ever? Will they assess him as fuel for their ever-greedy fire? Will they take the life—they who have so much of it—take the single life they have here, the one that brought it to them all—and crush it out of him, figuratively or literally?

Will they bully him, and scorn him, and lie to him, and cheat him and hate him and…hurt him?

The room twists and spirals in its thoughts, as if going down a hill, and throbs at the last word.

Or… says the castle softly, Will they welcome him? Will they understand him? Will they see him as we have? As he truly is? Will his light withstand the darkness in them? Can he bring life to these bloodthirsty beasts?

When Adrian returns, what—or who—will he be?

The castle and the room wonder, and wait, and question, and long for him as they are left in the dark, holding their breath until breath itself is but a fleeting memory.

They couldn’t say how long it had been since he left, it could have been a lifetime. But one day, as black and white as the rest, the morning comes with spreading color, and breath tumbles into the deepest corners of the room again.

They are equal parts nervous and eager to hear the stories he has to tell; for these monsters and men are more than toys.

And he does have stories to tell.

Out there, adventure exists in more than just books. Out there he can learn without charts and lectures; he can learn by doing, by experiencing. He can put to use, and to the test, all the spells and techniques he practiced indoors. Out there the scenes that were pictures before are real, are alive—the rain licks and the snow bites, the grass whispers as the wind sings its haunting melody, and the rivers join in response. Out there he can smell the trees, and flowers, the campfires, listen to the howls and chirps of the animals, and feel the sun on his skin without the glass to separate them. Taste the world. And out there the heroes and villains are animate too—he can speak to them, and won’t have to dream up their responses. He can make friends and enemies out of words and actions instead of wood and clay. Out there the threats, the demons and monsters are real too, and he has to fight them with something sharp—be it his pen or his sword. Out there, imagination is a weapon against reality. Out there he doesn’t have to imagine his world to life because it already is. And he is alive in it…this is his life that he is finally living.

That is what a life is. The idea echoes in the room.

(If this is a life…are we alive? The room asks.

Alive isn’t the same as life. Castlevania mutters softly, and doesn’t explain.)

And, amongst all the adventures they learn that while he walked the world a spell, his mother’s people gave him a new name:

“Alucard.”

Alucard. The reverse of Dracula.

They looked at him, they listened to him, they spent time with him and they understood—(breathe again and be still, they understood)—they understood that he was not the dark and the cold and the death his father is. In fact, they thought that he was so different from his father that this reversal must be his name.

The room is proud of him, happy for him, relieved, for this was its purpose, its hope. Relieved to have him back—more full of life and light than ever.

Lisa, while always proud of him, doesn’t like the name. She named him after all, it makes sense that she wouldn’t appreciate a dismissal of the name she chose. But…there’s more to it than that. She doesn’t want him to be defined by his father. She doesn’t want him to be a difference, a reverse. She wants him to be himself. Him and his father to be different people. She wants them to be themselves; not dividends, fractured pieces of one another put back together in different orders.

(But aren’t we all fractured pieces of each other? Don’t we take fragments of each other to make up ourselves?)

This is a strange thought to Castlevania, for it has always been defined by Dracula, and never minded, but perhaps mirrors ought not mind their reflectors. Adrian is no mirror. Still, the castle has always compared the boy to his father. The room was always meant to be the opposite of the Dracula, of his castle. The boy’s very existence has always spelled the reverse of everything they knew. Its only fitting the boy would be a reversal of his father.

‘Adrian’ is a nice name…but ‘Alucard’ fits like a tailored suit.

Adrian likes the world. Makes sense, he likes the sun, the day, the mirrors, the books, the stories, the people.

But what doesn’t make as much sense, and what’s more important, is the world likes him. At first its strange, but as the castle thinks about it more it makes sense; they may have come with pitchforks before, because they didn’t like Dracula. …But Alucard is not Dracula.

The room breathes deep, more alive than ever. And, as its master returns, tells his story, the room learns too.

Castlevania may be able to move for its master, but the room is stuck in its place. It cannot see the rest of the world like the boy can. It understands now that Alucard being different from Dracula also means that he cannot stay inside like his father does. That though it hurts when he leaves, the room can never be everything he needs the way the castle can for Dracula. That he is made for something bigger than four walls…even if those four walls were part of what made him.

It understands that breath cannot be a constant for it. That its master will leave, and the room will be hollow and ache for certain periods of time. This is a fact of life. This is what living is.

But it also understands that he will always come back. This isn’t something it reasoned or multiplied out. This is just something it knows within the oldest parts of it; that they will never be apart forever.

Now that the room is alive within the castle it will always be its own existence. Even if it’s empty, even if it gets broken and battered, it will always be the universe they built for him, a universe can’t be destroyed by mortal hands. It can never be fully erased as long as Alucard lives.

(…And Castlevania understands that is dangerous.)

The room understands that though life was always a stagnant thing for the castle, it is more dynamic and elusive for it. It will go through periods where there is nothing in that room, and the emptiness will throb, but in the same way that Alucard has the kind of life Dracula could never have, the room will have the kind of life the castle could never have.

The room’s breath will ever be catching itself and falling, like a dance, as if always during the most exiting part of a story.

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antihero-writings · 5 years ago

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If These Walls Could Talk Chapter 3: “Alucard”—Castlevania (Netflix) Fic (Full Chapter!)

Fic Title: If These Walls Could Talk

Synopsis: Vampires do not have reflections, and castles do not have hearts. But Dracula is no ordinary vampire, and Castlevania is no ordinary castle. If castles can fight, maybe they can think too.

The series, and Adrian’s childhood, told from the perspective of the castle.

Chapter Title: “Alucard”

Chapter summary:

“‘Alucard’, they called me. The opposite of you. Mother never liked that. Did you know that? She hated the idea that I might define myself by you. Even in opposition to you. She loved us both. Enough that she wanted us to be our own people. Living our own lives. Making our own choices."

Notes:

I am SO sorry this took so long!! And that this chapter is so short. My December was so busy, what with Christmas, vacation, family over, etc. I had hoped to get this out before all that, but with what writing/posting time I had I ended up needing to focus on the christmas/time-specific fics, and I didn't want to rush the chapter. In the end I'm very glad I didn't, as I'm much more proud of how it turned out now!

I fear I'm jinxing myself by saying this, but the next chapter shouldn't take that long, as I'm not as busy now, I have it pretty much written out--I just gotta finish editing--and it's one of my favorites! It'll be longer too!!

Also, if after reading there's anything in this chapter you'd like to see expanded upon as its own little fic, don't hesitate to let me know, either in the comments/replies, or as an ask! I feel like there are a lot of things that would be really fun to write out as little oneshots!

Chapter 3:

The castle doesn’t like it when Adrian leaves.

It knows of only one human whose touch and words are sweet without taste.

Well, most of the time. There were times when he came back with tears in his eyes. He’d ask what a What’s a ‘monster’?, and his father would lean down, put his hand on his cheek, and say Definitely not you. Lisa would plead or argue with her husband, but when Dracula would leave, the moon would turn red, and he’d remember what blood tasted like.

But this is different. This isn’t some day trip to come back with trinkets, some night lesson to come back with knowledge. The time it’s stretched out, and stretching them thin.

When he leaves and doesn’t come back that night… that morning…the next…the room tries to speak but finds there’s no breath in it, like it got the wind knocked out of it.

It even misses the crying.

The clock tower’s ticking eats away at them from the inside.

And within the ticking, the room, the castle, wonder what the humans will do to him out there.

Will he be a monster in their eyes? An enemy, a beast, an ugly thing? Will they not see the light in his nature, rather the dark that nurtured him?

Will he be a cacophony to their ears, the screeches and howls of undead things, instead of the symphony they know his voice to be?

Will his blood be that of demons and beasts to their noses, and will they cast him out for not being human enough?

Will he be a toy in their hands, just as he played humans-and-vampires, just as he pretended to fight monsters with wooden swords?

…But he is alive, and living things ought not be played with, for they cannot be imagined into something they’re not.

Castlevania has not met many humans. But those it has were prone to make monsters out decent men, and weapons out of instruments of peace.

Will the humans’ mouths be forked and deadly as ever? Will their hands be weak and empty as ever? Will they assess him as fuel for their ever-greedy fire? Will they take the life—they who have so much of it, take the single life they have here, the one that brought it to them all—and crush it out of him, figuratively or literally?

Will they bully him, and scorn him, and lie to him, and cheat him and hate him and…hurt him?

The room twists and spirals in its thoughts, as if going down a hill, and throbs at the last word.

When Adrian returns, what—or who—will he be?

The castle and the room wonder, and wait, and question, and long for him as they are left in the dark, holding their breath until breath itself is but a fleeting memory.

They are equal parts nervous and eager to hear the stories he has to tell; for these monsters and men are more than toys.

And he does have stories to tell.

That is what a life is. The idea echoes in the room.

(If this is a life…are we alive? The room asks.

Alive isn’t the same as life. Castlevania mutters softly, and doesn’t explain.)

And, amongst all the adventures they learn that while he walked the world a spell, his mother’s people gave him a new name:

“Alucard.”

Alucard. The reverse of Dracula.

The room is proud of him, happy for him, relieved, for this was its purpose, its hope. Relieved to have him back—more full of life and light than ever.

(But aren’t we all fractured pieces of each other? Don’t we take fragments of each other to make up ourselves?)

‘Adrian’ is a nice name…but ‘Alucard’ fits like a tailored suit.

Adrian likes the world. Makes sense, he likes the sun, the day, the mirrors, the books, the stories, the people.

The room breathes deep, more alive than ever. And, as its master returns, tells his story, the room learns too.

It understands that breath cannot be a constant for it. That its master will leave, and the room will be hollow and ache for certain periods of time. This is a fact of life. This is what living is.

(…And Castlevania understands that is dangerous.)

The room’s breath will ever be catching itself and falling, like a dance, as if always during the most exiting part of a story.

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hookedontaronfics · 5 years ago

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Honky Dancer series - Chapter 7

Chapter title: Secrets and sorrows Read the previous installments here: Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6 Rating: M Pairing: Taron x OC Warnings: None A/N: This chapter tore the hell out of my emotions, and I actually expect it to do much the same to you. I’d apologize for that but I know you’ll all stick with me to the end, because the story has a long way to go to get to that happy ending you all want so much! Enjoy! X

The next three weeks were some of the best weeks of my life. Being Taron’s girlfriend, being loved by him, was an exceptional experience. Despite both of us being incredibly busy and in the thick of filming, he never let a day go by where he didn’t remind me in some way that I was loved and that I was his. I’d never had a relationship that had felt so genuinely real and sweet and supportive, and it made a difference in how I felt about my own life to that point.

One of my favorite moments had been the evening I was making dinner, some kind of cauliflower pasta recipe Taron had agreed to be the guinea pig for. He and Clara were seated at the dining table, going over her fractions homework. Clara’s frustration at not understanding the problems was palpable, but I just remember how patient and calm Taron remained until that look of understanding dawned on my daughter’s face. They’d both looked up at me, leaning in the kitchen doorway, with the sweetest looks on their faces.

Their bond was growing every day, made even stronger when, unbeknownst to me, a special delivery had been made of a Steinway upright studio piano so Clara could continue her lessons at home. I will never forget the look on her face when she realized it really was hers and it would be staying in my front room. Taron rebuffed every “you shouldn’t have” I tried to give him, telling me he knew first-hand how important it was to be supported in the pursuit of your art. I couldn’t deny him that, because I knew it to be true as well. Still, a few internet searches later made me gasp at how much he had spent on us; I knew I could never repay him.

But that was just the thing; he didn’t want or need repayment. He did things for people out of the kindness of his heart; he never expected someone to give him a favor back. He was generous to a fault, and whether he knew how much money he was worth or not, he never affected an attitude that he was affluent. He remained the working class boy he’d spent his childhood growing up as, the boy who needed financial help from his family just to audition for RADA. And I think I loved him even more for that.

Trying to pin Markus down, though, that was a whole other story. I knew I needed to tell him we were definitely done, but every time I tried to make plans to grab a coffee he had something else come up. We were dancing every day, learning choreography for both “Saturday Night’s Alright” and “Bitch Is Back,” and my body hurt in every way it was possible to hurt. Both of those pieces were massive, and when they secured set locations we would have to be ready to go.

I’m pretty sure I spent more time at Rocketman rehearsals those few weeks than I did teaching my own classes, but I was beginning to wonder if Markus was blowing me off because he already suspected what I needed to tell him. I had finally decided to just grab him after rehearsal that day and make it final, and the stress and anxiety of it made me feel slightly queasy.

We had just finished rehearsal and Leah immediately came up to me before I could pull Markus aside. “Are you okay?” she asked me, and I shrugged.

“Of course. I mean, I’m with Taron now anyway,” I said, watching Markus flirt a bit shamelessly with another dancer, and she was all-too-happy to be receiving his attention. I’m not really sure how someone could manage to make a leotard look slutty, but she certainly got an A for the effort.

“Markus can be a dick, forget that. What I mean is that you’re really pale but your cheeks are also really flushed,” Leah said, staring at my face.

“Oh, that, I don’t feel great, no,” I shook my head. “I’m kind of nauseous, but hey, I’m here. The show must go on,” I said, giving her a faint smile.

“Or it really doesn’t if you’re really sick, Juliette,” she said. “Maybe you should sit down for a moment.”

“I just need to deal with Markus and get home and take a nice long soak and get some sleep. I’ll be fine,” I said, giving her a tight smile even though I was fighting the urge to lose my lunch at that moment. “See you tomorrow?” I said, and she nodded, still looking concerned. But when I turned away from her to find Markus, he had already disappeared, and I was in no state to try and chase him down.

I changed into my sneaks and gathered up my bag and, as I was leaving, had to make a detour into the bathroom to puke after all. I hadn’t had much to eat that day anyway, so it was mostly orange Gatorade and bile and I felt worse for throwing up, since it was now burning in my throat and sinuses.

“Ugh, fuck,” I groaned as I left the stall, trying to wipe the clammy sweat off my forehead. The truth was that I was waking up most mornings feeling a little ill and sometimes it lasted long into the day. I was beginning to think I needed to go to the doctor, but it seemed to come and go at random. I imagined it was likely just stress from everything going on, but it would probably be wise to see the doctor anyway. I washed up, splashing water on my face, and smiled as I scrolled through my texts. Taron never failed to make me feel better no matter what.

I left the bathroom and passed Riley and her posse hanging out in the hallway, ignoring their stares and the whispered comments on how I must be bulimic because that’s why I was always running to the bathroom during rehearsals and why I stayed so skinny. I had no idea what they were talking about, and ignoring them was always the safest bet, but their bullying still got under my skin some days. I wished I could turn to them and tell them off, but that probably wouldn’t satisfy anything or make me feel better.

The subway ride to my mother’s to pick up Clara, and subsequently home, made me feel even more queasy, and I lost my appetite for dinner for the rest of the evening. After I helped Clara with her homework, her piano lessons, and made her food, I ended up just laying in front of the telly, exhausted and lacking any energy, for the rest of the evening. It wasn’t the most inspiring end to the day, and just as I was crawling into bed, Taron called me.

“Hey love!” he replied when I answered the phone, probably sounding as sleepy as I felt.

“Hey T,” I groaned, rolling over slightly in my bed, all of my muscles protesting.

“Everything alright?” he asked, the excitement draining from his voice slightly.

“I just feel miserable, honestly,” I said softly. “I think I might go to the doctor tomorrow.”

“Oh, babe, you should have called me over. I’d bring you the best soup my mam made to make me feel better,” he said sweetly.

“I just need sleep. And probably strong drugs,” I mumbled into the phone.

“Do you want me to go with you tomorrow to the clinic?” he asked, and I shook my head before realizing he couldn’t see that.

“I’ll not have you cancel on your film scenes to go wait in a clinic lobby. I’m sure it’s just some kind of bug. I’ll be fine,” I insisted, and I could hear him pacing on the other end, the way he did when he was anxious about something.

“Alright, but if you need me, you know I’ll be there, right?” he said quietly.

“Of course, babe. I know that. With my whole heart, I know that,” I smiled softly. We chatted a bit more but I couldn’t hardly keep my eyes open, and soon we ended our call and I passed out.

I actually felt better in the morning, enough to keep some dry toast down, and after seeing Clara off to school, I managed to teach my first two classes of the day before taking my lunch break to go to the clinic. My stomach had started to churn again, and I was ready to just be over this stomach bug. I got checked in and had to groan at the long wait time, having to text the Rocketman choreographer that I’d be running late to rehearsals but he only told me to take care of myself and he’d see me later, and to let him know if that somehow changed.

I was a nervous wreck by the time my name was called, and after having my vitals checked (and frowning over the fact that I’d gained 10 pounds despite my diet restrictions) and explaining my symptoms to the nurse, I was left to wait in the room for another 15 minutes, shivering in the cold air. I bounced my knee and aimlessly scrolled through Facebook until the doctor came in. After describing my symptoms, yet again, even though they were in my chart, the doctor asked if there was even a remote chance that I could be pregnant. And since I couldn’t answer that with utter confidence, she made me take the dreaded urine test.

I was so nervous I nearly couldn’t do it, and then had to wait even longer for the results to come back, my stomach tied in knots for an entirely different reason. I’d had my period, though, so I’d never thought to take the home tests I’d bought. I’d believed that was a sure sign I wasn’t. But what if I’d been wrong? I thought to myself, my head a complete jumble.

When the doctor knocked and came back in the room, interrupting my train of thought, I nearly fell off the table for having been holding my breath so long. I was clutching my phone in my hand so hard my knuckles were turning white.

“Well, Juliette, your symptoms are very explainable by one very simple thing. You are indeed pregnant, about seven weeks or so,” the doctor replied, as gently as possible.

“But it can’t be,” I whispered, feeling the walls of the room closing in around me, the tightness in my chest threatening to overwhelm me. “I had my period,” I said stupidly.

“Many women still have menstrual cycles, especially in the first trimester. It’s quite common, and some can even exhibit period symptoms throughout the entire pregnancy. But the results are very clear,” she explained sympathetically after gauging my reaction as not-of-the-excited variety.

When I didn’t respond, couldn’t respond, the doctor continued, giving me a prescription to help with the nausea and telling me I needed to follow up with my Ob-Gyn. I could only nod my head, still frozen in the ocean of confusion, fear, anxiety, joy and excitement that came with “You’re pregnant.” Where do I go from here? I had no idea.

I left the clinic in an absolute daze, and instead of going to Rocketman rehearsal, I ended up wandering around Regents Park, not really seeing anything at all as I worked through the torrent of emotions and thoughts and questions inside my head. Seven weeks meant the baby was definitely Markus’ - that was the only good thing about this situation. I wouldn’t have to spend months wondering who the father might be.

But now I wasn’t sure what to do; I was in love with Taron, but how could I possibly ask him to carry this burden with me, to take this responsibility on when it was another man’s? Even more so, I was adamant that Clara know her father; I would fight just as hard to make sure this baby knew his or hers. And I had yet to actually leave Markus, so maybe the right thing to do was to decide to be with him even if it didn’t make my heart entirely happy. I now had a responsibility to this baby to not be selfish, to not choose only my own happiness but what would be best for all of us.

I gently touched my belly and smiled for a moment; a new chapter in my life was most definitely beginning.

I finally made it to rehearsals, texting Taron that we needed to talk later, as soon as we could manage to find time. He responded immediately that he’d meet me after rehearsals were over, so I spent the next few hours trying to dance through my anxiety. As soon as I stepped out of the rehearsal room, bag slung over my shoulder, Taron was there waiting for me.

“Juliette, darling, everything alright?” he asked, kissing me on the forehead and making me feel intrinsically sad.

“No, not really,” I said softly, nodding toward one of the empty studios. We stepped inside and instantly I felt smaller, diminished by what I was going to do, a lesser person somehow.

“Please tell me what’s going on,” he asked, his eyes wide and full of the vulnerability that had endeared me to him, my hands clutched tightly in his.

“I can’t do this,” I said so quietly I wasn’t sure he even heard me. “I can’t be with you, Taron,” I mumbled, hearing his sharp intake of breath and feeling it like a knife wound in my heart.

“What the hell do you mean?” he asked, slowly dropping my hands and staring at me.

“I have to break up with you. I’m going to choose Markus,” I said numbly, unfeeling.

“You told me you loved me,” he said, the hurt in his voice hurting me.

“That was a lie,” I said, trying not to tear up. I’m not sure I sounded even remotely convincing.

“No, it wasn’t a lie,” he said, shaking his head and calling my bluff. “I don’t know why you’re doing this, at all. I don’t understand it, but I won’t play these games with you,” he said, waiting for me to explain myself. But I couldn’t tell him about the baby now; it would only hurt him further. “I gave my heart to you. You can’t just toss it away or pick it back up when it’s convenient to you,” he said, not an ounce of anger in his words, only resignation. His eyes were a bit red at that point, and if I wasn’t already feeling low, seeing him nearly cry would have broken me down further.

He sighed heavily when I still said nothing. “When you’re good and ready to love someone proper, come back to me. But until then, I wish you all the best,” he said gruffly, tearing himself away and leaving me standing alone in the studio, the pain in my heart echoing silently off the walls.

****

It turns out that I deserved the biggest Oscar award in the world. To act sincerely happy when your heart is shattered into a million jagged pieces is no small feat. Markus, for his part, was beyond thrilled that I had chosen to be with him after all, and while he wasn’t Taron in any capacity, he was still kind to me at least. I had yet to tell him that I was pregnant though; somehow that felt like a secret I needed to protect until the moment I couldn’t hide it any longer.

For now, I continued to dance, eating anti-nausea meds like Pez candies and trying to find the right balance between eating enough food to sustain myself and the baby but not so much that I’d gain any more than I had to. If the production never found out I was knocked up, then no one else would have to be the wiser. I hadn’t told my mum yet either, afraid of her judgment, nor Madison, even though I desperately needed to talk to someone about this. All she knew was that I had decided to cast my lot in with Markus and that I was, according to her, figuratively insane.

The worst part was the cold politeness I now received from Taron any time we ran into each other at the studios. I hated what we had become, hated the pain I had caused him and myself. I knew he’d shut himself down to protect his own feelings against me, but knowing how warm and compassionate and open he could be just made this feel even worse. Still, I knew for certain that he couldn’t know about the baby, and so I bore the ups and downs of the pregnancy for weeks in silence, sometimes dreading getting out of bed, sometimes full of a strange energy I couldn’t explain. But glowing I was not; I mostly felt bedraggled and exhausted, so much that even Clara asked if I was sick one day.

But you can only go so long without support before you totally break; I learned that lesson the hard way. Five weeks later, after a back-breaking rehearsal, I just totally felt something inside me snap. We were about to start night shoots for the “Saturday Night’s Alright” scenes but I couldn’t even muster the excitement I had originally felt when I signed my contract. I felt like I was going through the motions of everything, and I was worried I wouldn’t even be a proper fit for the film. I was living a lie, only partly happy in this pseudo-relationship I was trying to build with Markus. It wasn’t true, and it wasn’t me, and keeping the baby a secret was crushing me. I also desperately missed Taron, and I can’t tell you how many times I nearly dialed his number, because I knew despite everything he would have picked up the phone, and he would have listened, and he would have tried to help me find a solution even if he wasn’t with me. That was just the person he was; I felt like I had lost my best friend.

I pulled Markus into the same empty studio I had broken Taron’s heart in, and sat down on the floor, my hips aching something fierce.

“Markus, I have to tell you something. Please don’t freak out,” I said quietly, as he sprawled out on the floor next to me, his sweaty shirt sticking to his muscular chest.

“What is it, babe?” he asked, crossing his arms behind his head and staring up at the ceiling. While I loved when Taron called me babe, something about the way Markus said it always made me cringe slightly. For a moment I nearly chickened out in telling him my news, but I couldn’t keep going on like this. At some point he would notice when I was naked that my just-beginning-to-show stomach bump was more than just a large meal I wasn’t even eating.

“You remember that first time we had sex, right?” I said, looking over at him and biting my lip.

“Of course I remember that,” he chuckled. “I fell for you that night,” he said, a boyishly cute grin on his face.

“Yeah, well, we did a lot more that night than just sleep together. Markus, we made a baby. I’m pregnant,” I said quietly, but my words still sounded too loud.

“Woah, no way,” he said, sitting up immediately. “You… you’re sure of that?” he asked, and I nodded.

“I had a test at the clinic, I’m sure,” I said. “I’m twelve weeks already.”

“And you’re sure it’s mine?” he asked, making me sigh.

“Of course it is. Taron’s always used protection, for one, and for two, the timeline is right. It was you.”

He was quiet for a long few minutes, trying to process this news, I’m guessing. “You’re running out of time then,” he finally spoke.

“Running out of time? For what?” I asked, confused.

“Well you’re not going to keep the thing, are you?” he said, and I couldn’t help it, my jaw dropped.

“Of course I’m going to keep your son or daughter. This baby isn’t some ‘thing.’ It’s not garbage you throw away,” I said, feeling the anger rising in my chest.

“Woah, I didn’t mean it like that Juliette. But I sure as hell am not ready to become a father,” he said, holding up his hands to me.

“You don’t get to make that decision now, Markus. You have to take responsibility for what you did,” I nearly hissed. “And what about Clara? You can’t date me without considering her!”

“Yeah, but Clara’s old enough to wipe her own ass. And I’m not her father, she already has one of those she spends time with. I’m fine with that, but a baby is a whole other story. You can’t possibly want this too, it will ruin your career,” he pointed out, and I could only stare at him, unable to process what he was saying.

“My career? Being a mum was the best thing I’ve ever done in my life and I will choose my family over my career every single day of my life. But of course, you wouldn’t know what that’s like because you don’t even want to try,” I said, my face flushing red.

“I’m sorry Juliette. I just can’t,” he said, shaking his head. “I’d support you if you want to, you know, terminate it, but I won’t be the one raising it,” he said. “I’m not going to shatter my life like that,” he continued.

“Then get out. Get out of my face. Don’t ever talk to me again,” I said, my voice shaking in both anger and anguish. “This baby will be better off without someone who doesn’t want it. But I do, and my baby will always know how much I love him or her.”

I buried my head in my hands, bursting into tears as I heard Markus leave the room without another word. I’m not sure what I had expected, but that was not it. I hadn’t remotely prepared myself for the possibility that he would have wanted me to get an abortion, that he would reject fatherhood so thoroughly. Were any of us ever ready to be a parent, even people who had looked forward to it for so long? There was something so deeply terrifying about being responsible for the needs of such a tiny human being, of trying to help them thrive in a world meant for destruction. But that was also the greatest role I had ever held, far more rewarding than any production I had ever graced the stage in. And it wasn’t until the words had left my mouth that I realized how deeply, fiercely I wanted and needed this baby too.

I have no idea how long I cried in that empty studio. I have no idea who discovered me like that through the tiny window in the door. And I have no idea who went and got Taron, but suddenly he was there, pulling me into his safe, comforting arms. I don’t know how long we sat like that, until I had long cried all my tears out and my body had stopped shaking and his fingers grew tired of stroking my hair.

He had stayed silent, patient, until I finally pulled away enough to sit up on my own. “Are you going to tell me what’s going on now?” he asked, absolutely no judgment in his voice. His expression was nothing but kind and compassionate, worried for my well-being over his own.

“I found out I was pregnant five weeks ago,” I said softly. “That’s why I was feeling so ill. I went to the clinic and we did a test. I was already seven weeks at that point. I thought … I thought it would be the right thing to do to give Markus a chance to be the father of the baby he created with me but he wants no part in it. He told me to get rid of it, and I can’t,” I whispered.

“That’s why you tried to break things off with me?” Taron asked gently, smoothing back my hair from my face as I nodded. “Oh Juliette,” he said softly. “I knew there was something, some reason for it. I knew that wasn’t what you wanted, that you were breaking your own heart. I’ve only been waiting for you,” he said, making me want to cry again. “I am here for you in everything, through everything. And we will face this together too. When I told you I loved you, there were no conditions attached. And I love Clara too, and I will love Markus’ baby as it were my own. Because that’s how I love, endlessly,” he said, and my eyes watered up again.

“I can’t ask that of you, Taron,” I said, wiping at my face hastily, but he just reached over and gently brushed my tears from my cheeks before gathering my hands in his own.

“You’re not asking me to do anything. This is something I need too. Maybe it doesn’t happen exactly the way I imagined it would, but that doesn’t mean I can’t accept it, adapt to it, and grow with it. Life has a way of challenging people, but that doesn’t make it all bad. And I right imagine that this could be so much more of a blessing, yeah?”

“My God, you’re a saint. An absolute angel, Taron. I don’t deserve this, at all. I pushed you away,” I said, trembling slightly so he pulled me back into his arms and kissed my forehead sweetly.

“I’m just Taron,” he smiled. “And you do deserve to be happy, and to be loved, and to be absolutely fucking cherished. So I am here for as long as you want me to be here,” he said. “I never really stopped.”

“Even with this?” I asked, touching my belly, which I had started to hide beneath dance sweats because leotards just weren’t cutting it anymore.

“I’m going to be a dad,” he grinned and I’m pretty sure I broke apart in a whole new way at that statement.

“Taron,” I breathed slowly, just gazing at him, feeling excited and a bit bewildered too. “Are you sure?”

“100 percent, Juliette. Now stop asking me that because I won’t change my mind,” he chuckled sweetly. “Now let’s get you up off this floor, and let’s go have a celebratory dinner, shall we?” he said.

“But don’t you have more filming to get back to?” I asked, a bit wide-eyed and still feeling a bit like I was floating a few feet off the ground. My head was swimming with the crazy turn of events.

“Dex understands. You needed me, it’s really as simple as that,” he replied, helping me stand up and even shouldering my stinky dance bag himself, making me roll my eyes.

“I’m pregnant, Taron, not invalid,” I teased him and he just shrugged.

“I’d carry it for you any day,” he smirked, even holding the studio door open for me too. “Get used to it,” he said, before playfully slapping me on the bum as I walked by. “Also just wanted to do that,” he said cheekily, making me groan at that but also feel so grateful that we hadn’t lost what made us feel so special.

“So who all knows about this?” he asked me as we walked out to his car.

“Just you and Markus, really. I hadn’t told anyone before today,” I said softly. “I couldn’t handle it on my own anymore. I was feeling so alone.”

“Well you aren’t alone now, at all. And you should tell your mum, and Madison. Tell them the baby is mine if you like, if you’re worried about anyone judging you. It might as well be, because I’m going to love it that way,” he said, squeezing my hand in his. “But you should feel happy, and proud, and excited. I want that for you,” he grinned, changing everything about the fear and confusion I’d felt just a few weeks before.

“How are you so perfect, Taron?” I asked, shaking my head in awe of him.

“I just wear my heart on my sleeve. It’s not that hard to care about people more than yourself. I find that pays itself back in dividends. And it’s not hard to love you, you know. You’ve brought a lot of color and light into my life in a way I didn’t understand it could be before,” he said softly. “And now I have even more to look forward to.”

“Damnit, T,” I said through the blush rising in my cheeks. “I don’t know how to handle when you say things like that,” I laughed. “It’s like living inside a fairy tale.”

“Fairy tales were written because the truth in them does exist. They aren’t unattainable, impossible figments of our imagination. They can be elusive, yes, and rare, but sometimes you do find yourself living inside one.”

I could only gaze after him as he unlocked the car, opening the door for me again, as I felt every bit of myself being put right again. We decided on our favorite pizza place, but I first made him stop by my house so I could shower and change into more suitable clothes. Clara was with Zayn that night, so we took our time eating and enjoying our relationship again, a relationship that nothing could seem to derail.

I had the idea to stop over at my mum’s, because of all the people who should know, who had been through thick and thin for me with Clara, it was her. Taron almost seemed cutely nervous as we sat on the couch and I broke the news to her. My mom honestly screamed in excitement, jumping up and enveloping us both in a bone-crushing hug. I had no idea why I was so worried about her reaction after all; we never mentioned the baby’s lineage and let her assume since Taron was there. We figured it would be easier this way, to not have to deliver the news with a long introductory caveat, and if the question came up later we could explain then.

As we were driving back to my home, it hit me with a sudden jolt that I would have to meet Taron’s parents, and that we would be sharing the news with his family too. Something about that made everything feel far more real to me, that this was honestly going to be my life. That I would truly become a part of his life, not just in the few dates we managed to squeeze between rehearsals and film sequences, but that we would honestly be creating a life together. There would be many things to have to discuss and figure out in the near future, but tonight wasn’t the night for all of that.

Later, when we were laying on the couch, my head in his lap, the telly on a low murmur and both of us trying to not pass out, everything just felt right. Troy was snoozing on the rug, and I felt as emotionally satisfied as it was possible to feel, and far too stuffed with pizza than I had a right to be. I didn’t have to put on any kind of show with Taron; there was no performance here. We could both comfortably be ourselves, even if that was tired and cranky or moody or whatever.

“Tomorrow’s a big day,” I said with a yawn.

“God, don’t remind me. Night shoots,” he groaned playfully.

“I think it’s exciting,” I grinned. “The set already looks insanely cool. I can’t imagine it all lit up at night!” I smiled. We’d already had a few camera blockings at the carnival they had built specifically for this scene. I was honestly excited about the four days we’d be shooting tomorrow, despite the massive amount of logistics that would go into it. We were definitely in for some long, long nights.

“You think that because you haven’t done it yet,” he giggled. “Speaking of, we should probably head for bed ourselves now. Try to store up some of that energy we’ll be needing.”

I grinned at that and happily followed him back to my bedroom. We both quickly got ready for bed and fell into it, and I was all too happy to see him resting between my frilly sheets and pillows. “You’re cute,” I grinned, kissing the tip of his nose, which he wrinkled in response.

“Well don’t give me a big ego about it,” he teased me lightly, pulling me down to him so that I squealed and then kissing me proper a few times.

“Get some sleep, love,” he smiled, his eyes already drifting shut in exhaustion.

“You too, T. Thanks for saving me today,” I said softly.

“Always,” he breathed out, falling asleep shortly after, his eyelashes sweetly resting against his cheeks in slumber.

Despite my own exhaustion, I was still a whirlwind of emotion and I couldn’t quite fall asleep, so I silently slipped out of bed and grabbed my phone, sitting on the bathroom floor and calling Madison even though it was late and not caring if it woke her up.

“What on earth is going on with you!” she fairly screeched into the phone when she answered, clearly not asleep. “You’ve barely talked to me for weeks. I’m so-”

“I’m pregnant!” I cut in, and she instantly stopped what she was saying.

“What?!” Madison yelled into the phone, so I had to hold it away from my ear for a moment.

“Jesus, Mads. Calm down. Things have really changed,” I said, explaining why I’d broken up with Taron, how things went down with Markus, and that Taron had been more forgiving than I deserved him to be toward me.

“So you’re back together again?” she asked softly.

“Yeah. I’m not sure we really were ever apart. He knew I hadn’t made the decision I wanted to make. That the lie was that I didn’t want him. He knew that the whole time. He truly knows me better than I know myself,” I smiled softly.

“And what about, you know, Markus’ baby?”

“That Markus refuses to acknowledge? Yeah, Taron said it’s his now. He wants to be a dad, and he’s claiming this as his.”

“That’s love, right there, Juliette. It’s staring you right in the face. Don’t you dare ever try and throw that away again, you hear? I will kick your little ballerina ass with my own pointe shoes if I have to!” she squealed, making me laugh too.

“I think I’m done screwing everything up here,” I replied with a laugh. “The universe couldn’t be louder and clearer.”

“That’s for damn sure. Now I’m just curious when he’s going to put a ring on that finger of yours!” she giggled.

“Woah, let’s not get ahead of ourselves just yet,” I cautioned.

“Dream a little, Juliette. He’s obviously a bit of a romantic. You know he’s going to make an honest woman of you. You’d better get on Pinterest and start planning. Oh, and I’d better be your maid of honor,” she said, making me laugh again. I listened to her chatter on about weddings and babies and all the possibilities, feeling bemused but also a little hopeful. I had no idea what a future with Taron looked like, not really, balancing kids and our careers. But I was certain that it would be happy; not easy, not perfect, but always fulfilling and supportive.

“Alright, Mads, I should go,” I said with a yawn, breaking into her reverie of my own someday maybe wedding.

“Oh, of course. Momma ought to get her baby rest,” she teased me, but it was all in love and excitement for me.

“You know it,” I giggled. “And that hottie in my bed tonight, snoring away,” I snickered.

“Jesus, you lucky bitch,” Madison joked, sort of.

“Yeah, yeah,” I grinned. “Night, Mads. Love you long.”

“Love you hard, Juliette,” she grinned back before we managed to hang up the call. I leaned my head back against the wall for a long moment, smiling to myself. I could honestly do this - I could have a happy life, I thought to myself.

I used the toilet one last time, already starting to feel the need to do that more often, before slipping back into bed with Taron, realizing just how much I had missed seeing the silhouette of his sleeping form. We had grown so comfortable with each other, that that absence over five weeks had been misery. But like magnets, we had found our way back to each other, his openness, vulnerability and forgiving heart never once questioning whether I should be in his life. He already knew that was where I belonged, and I loved him so much for never doubting it. I needed him, and he accepted that, and trusted so much of himself to my broken heart.

“Love you, T,” I said in the darkness, brushing my fingers lightly through his hair, before settling in next to him, feeling every ache and pain, emotionally wrought, but also feeling a deep satisfaction too. There was a certain courage in what he was choosing to do, and I respected him whole-heartedly for it. The universe had given me the greatest gifts, the man beside me, and the baby inside me. As I fell into the sweetest slumber, I promised myself I wasn’t ever going to let go now.

How will Taron and Juliette’s lives intersect, now that there’s a baby between them? Find out in Chapter 8 HERE.

#taron imagine #taron egerton #taron x reader #taron fanfiction #rocketman fanfiction

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insatiabletc · 5 years ago

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This is Henny Scott, a 14 year old member of the Cheyenne people. She lived on the Northern Cheyenne Reservation in Lame Deer, Montana. Henny was very well loved, and it appears adored by all in her community. Here are some things that the people who knew her have said:

"She was into everything…There was nothing she couldn’t do. She could do it all. She started taking up beading, which I was proud of, she started learning Cheyenne. And her teacher commented on how well she was doing and how well she was saying the word, and that made me proud.”* - Her Mother, Paula Castro-Stops

"She was a sweet loving girl. Her smile, you could just go into a room and she’d light it up, and her hugs were the best, her laugh.”* – A friend and classmate, Tonielle Shoulder Blade.

From an interview with the Billings Gazette:

“Scott was a girl who made an effort to acknowledge people when she saw them, often times crossing the room for a hug, her mother said. She was always "jamming" to music, Stops said, bringing a brief laugh from the two of them as they stood outside Muddy Hall Saturday morning before the convoy of vehicles arrived.

‘She'd always be changing my '80s (radio) station,’ Castro said, mimicking her daughter saying ‘Jeez Mom, you're just old,’ before putting on one of her favorite R&B or hip hop stations.

She was athletic and played basketball at Lame Deer, her mother said. Scott had ambitions to become a doctor, Stops said. An EMT with Northern Cheyenne Ambulance, Castro said she would sometimes talk to her daughter about treating injuries or let her flip through her medical books."** – Journalist Ryan Welch quoting Henny’s mother, Castro-Stops.

"Henny was something else, she was always outgoing she would always try to make people happy even when she wasn't happy herself,"*** -- Henny’s sister, Barbara Other Medicine, as told to Spencer Martin.

"My Henny if anybody was to ever meet her they would just love her she could just walk in a room and just light it up get it going and everybody laughin’."*** – Paula Castro-Stops, as told to Spencer Martin.

"Whenever Henny was around you couldn't be sad or angry all you could do is be happy when she was around because she'd make you happy and just laugh all the time,"*** --Henny’s sister, Kaylannah Strange Owl.

When you read the details below, keep in mind that this was a human whose loss was shocking and devastating to her people. Hold her relatives and community in your heart.

The Bare-Bones Situation

On December 7th, 2018, Henny was hanging out at a friend’s house in a nearby area, Muddy Creek. That evening, she called her mom to see if she could go with some friends to a nearby city, Billings, to attend a basketball game. Her mom, Paula Castro-Stops, said no and to head home, to which Henny agreed. Paula waited. And waited. She grew more and more worried as time passed and Henny didn’t arrive home. She reached out to Henny’s friends and she drove around looking for her, but she had exhausted her own resources. Paula tried filing a missing person’s report with the BIA but was told that Henny was likely out partying with her friends and suggested Paula ask them where she was. Understandably, she was upset that they wouldn’t take her daughter’s disappearance seriously. Beyond the fact that Henny was 14 years old, a child now missing, the weather in Montana that night was snowy and likely below freezing. Perilous conditions regardless if she was taken by someone or lost out in the dark.

The BIA took two weeks to issue a missing person’s report, and it is unclear if police ever searched for Henny. Paula, terrified and frustrated, went to a nearby Crow Reservation to file a missing persons report there as well. That agency placed Henny’s file on the desk of a police officer who was out on leave, and thus no action was taken. Paula’s friends offered to start a search party, but she worried that doing so would step on the BIA’s toes or interfere with a formal investigation.

After two weeks of no action from the BIA, Paula accepted the offer of a community search party. On December 21st, 2018, searchers found Henny’s body within 200 yards of her own home.

Cause of Death

· Witnesses say Henny left her friend’s home on foot in light and weather-inadequate clothing.

· Coroner Terry Bullis found her cause of death to be hypothermia with alcohol as a significant contributing factor.

· Several sources say Henny’s family does not agree with the COD. It has been mentioned that Paula said her daughter’s nose was broken and she had bumps and scratches on her. We were unable to find Paula’s Facebook post that has been cited, so we are unsure if she still believes this.

· The autopsy showed that there were no “significant traumas” on Henny’s body. We learned that this is a term used to determine injuries to the body, using something called the Injury Severity Score. Anything that scores above 15 counts as significant trauma. It is a pretty confusing scoring chart for a layperson to decipher, so we couldn’t tell whether a broken nose would constitute a 15 or higher. If not, that means the family’s assertion of a broken nose, bumps, and scratches could still be accurate, just not as significant trauma.

· One woman, in a shared Facebook post, referred to a “girl” being responsible for Henny’s death. We couldn’t find anything else to substantiate this.

· Because Bullis ruled the COD as hypothermia, the FBI will no longer investigate her death, leaving the community of Lame Deer and her family with a great deal of questions and no closure.

Had the BIA Acted Sooner

We wondered, how far away was the house Henny left from? Looking at Google Maps, it appears that the general area she left from, Muddy Creek, and the center of Lame Deer was a distance of 5.4 miles. There were no public transit options and Google suggests the only walking route was along Hwy 212, an estimated walk of 1 & ½ to 2 hours. Not a terribly long distance.

The questions we wish we could answer are:

· Why didn’t someone give her a ride? Was a car not available?

· What is the BIA’s manpower like? Had they acted, what are their resources? Perhaps, if BIA officials (or Search and Rescue) had ruled out the stretch along Hwy 212, the Castro-Stops would have turned to their back yard sooner.

· Was Henny found on a path? It sounds like she was familiar with the area she was found in. Was this a route she often took from this friend’s house?

Hypothermia & Alcohol

One question we had was how long it would take someone to perish in Henny’s situation. We started by trying to find out what the weather would have been like that evening. The closest historical data we could find for 12/7/2018 was from the Billings Logan International Airport Station, pulled from Weather Underground. Billings is about 100 miles away from Lame Deer. Certainly not ideal, as weather patterns can change over a few miles, but it’s what we have. According to their data, around 7:30pm, the air temperature was 28 degrees Fahrenheit. Looking at average temperatures for Lame Deer, pulled from Weather Spark, December clocks around 13 degrees Fahrenheit.

Then, the other factor to consider with hypothermia, is wind speed. In Billings, the wind speed ranged from 14 to 18 miles per hour. Weather Spark says the average December wind speed is 13 miles per hour. According to information we found on the Canadian Centre for Occupational Health & Safety, the combination of factors for Billings shows a wind chill factor of -12, and for Lame Deer it would have been likely close to -18. This puts both Billings and Lame Deer in the same category of “moderate risk” for developing hypothermia after prolonged periods.

Adding alcohol into the mix would have raised the risk of hypothermia. Alcohol has been observed to stop the body’s shivering response, as well as pull much needed blood away from the core to the surface.

That all said, it seems that the length of time from drinking to perhaps passing out in the snow, to death is highly dependent on each person and all the miniscule factors in the moment. Without viewing the coroner’s report, we can only speculate that she could have perished anywhere from one to three days (some sources suggest that one can be “rewarmed” back to life as many as 6 hours after cardiac arrest).

So, while we may not know exactly what happened to Henny that night, we can say with all certainty that the BIA’s two-week lag in looking for her was absolutely too long. Had Henny’s family been given the proper support to find her, she may have been able to survive. The BIA should have been able to say, “we did all that we could.” Instead, their inaction at best compounded and amplified a family’s trauma, and at worst could be culpable for a child’s death. A child who they accused of partying when in reality she was trying to obey her mother and make her way home.

Who Can We Yell At?

Here’s a detail we are mad about and unsure where it fits into the story neatly, so we’ll plop it here: poor Henny’s family learned the cause of death NOT from an FBI or BIA agent or Coroner Terry Bullis…but from a newspaper article in the Billings Gazette. This is inexcusable. They’ve given a milquetoast apology (“aw gee, it was a jurisdiction issue, we’re sowwy”), but it’s not enough.

If you want to make a big fuss about this horrifying lack of care for the Castro-Stops family, you can contact the Lame Deer BIA agency here:

· Website: https://www.bia.gov/regional-offices/rocky-mountain/northern-cheyenne-agency

· Phone Number: (406) 477-8242

And the FBI field office here (looks like the closest one is in Salt Lake City):

· Website: https://www.fbi.gov/contact-us/field-offices/saltlakecity

· Phone Number: (801) 579-1400

Terry Bullis: Information taken from http://mtcoroner.org/coroner-directory.html

Big Horn County Terry Bullis P.O. Box 318 Hardin, MT 59034 Ph 406-665-1207 Fx 406-665-1208 [email protected]

How to find your state representatives to tell them how upset you are about how these cases are being handled: https://www.house.gov/representatives/find-your-representative

Terry Bullis:

While searching for contact information for Bullis, we came across this article from 2003: https://billingsgazette.com/news/local/mortician-disciplined-over-ethics/article_3cdcc6bb-2fd6-5746-8059-e7b45a19d87d.html. Essentially, Bullis was put on probation and assessed a fine as he embalmed a body (before speaking with the family) and refused to release the body to the family without payment for the embalming services.

“Bullis must also take eight hours of ethics classes. He did not have to admit any wrongdoing for embalming the body of 21-year-old Toy Parker of Ashland without her family's consent. Bullis acquired the woman's body through his duties as county coroner. He would not release her body until her family paid his $410 embalming bill.”

Turns out, embalming isn’t a required practice and nowhere in the state law does it say that bodies must be embalmed.

“Bullis was charged with failing to release human remains on demand, charging fees for services that were not requested and using his role as county coroner to funnel business into his own funeral home.”

So, not only is this the coroner who didn’t think it was his duty to inform the family first of the cause of death, he also has a shady ethical history in Montana.

Apparently, in 2003 he had such a long history of doing this, other professionals in the area at knew to have “cash on hand” because Bullis would demand payment for services no one requested and are not mandated by the state.

Turns out Bullis is sitting in an elected position. We’ve sent an email to the Elections Administrator in Big Horn County to find out the following:

1. How often elections are held – Answer: every 4 years. The last election was held in 2018, which means the next election will be in 2022.

2. Term of office – Answer: 4 years

3. Impeachments – Answer: There are no impeachments for this position. However, I would urge folks who live in this county to consider finding out other methods of reprimand if they feel upset enough about how Bullis has handled his position.

Want to Learn More About MMIWG?

Our page is just a drop in the bucket of information out there on this topic! Here are some great sources that we have come across:

• National Inquiry into Missing and Murdered Indigenous Women and Girls (Canada) https://www.mmiwg-ffada.ca/ • Missing and Murdered Indigenous Women USA https://mmiwusa.org/ • CBC’s database on MMIWG (Canada) https://www.cbc.ca/missingandmurdered/ • Justice for Native Women (USA and Canada) http://www.justicefornativewomen.com/ • The REDress Project (Canada) http://www.redressproject.org/?page_id=43 - Sovereign Bodies Institute (USA and Canada) https://www.sovereign-bodies.org/request

*From https://www.mtpr.org/post/northern-cheyenne-hold-funeral-henny-scott

** From https://billingsgazette.com/news/state-and-regional/crime-and-courts/family-community-filled-with-questions-after-teen-s-death-on/article_768c2bb9-189e-51f7-bdb3-4c274bc86ea7.html

***From https://www.kulr8.com/news/henny-scott-found-deceased-near-lame-deer-family-mourns-and/article_b93191da-0be9-11e9-9714-5fad62a66e76.html

#mmiwg #mmiw #art #sketchbook #justiceforhenny #montana #truecrime

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spootiliousrps · 7 years ago

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Doctor!Gabriel?

You're now chatting with a random stranger. Say hi!

You both like sabriel.

Stranger: Sam Winchester always had one thing on his mind, helping people. It was something he did naturally from a young age and it made it no surprise to his family and friends when he decided he wanted to go to medical school. He had the grades to get scholarships, and he was more than persistent. Which is why within four short years he was the new medical intern, fresh from Stanford’s Medical school. So he stood that morning, the youngest of the group, waiting to be assigned a doctor that they’d be working and training under. Some of the doctors themselves were already milling about, unceremoniously chatting amongst themselves. Sam was eyeing each of them in turn. It wasn’t long before they were all grouped together and the person in charge began naming off who was with who. Naturally, Sam came last and he looked around the room. Each doctor had already gone to talk with their intern and he wondered where his was supposed to be. “Sam Winchester... you’ll be with Doctor Gabriel Novak... if he decides to show up,” the man with the clipboard sighed and Sam shifted on his feet anxiously.

You: [Reading! Sorry.]

Stranger: ((No problem! Thanks))

You: [Reminds me of the Fireman/doctor destiel au on tumblr. I love it! Replying now!]

You: Gabriel rolled his eyes as he heard the other man's words, walking up behind him, looking a bit worse for wear. "Thanks, Jeeves. I think I can take it from here." He grumbled, stepping out from behind the man and sipping on his coffee as he glared at him. "Go bother someone else, you vulture." He added, making the man grumble before wondering off. Gabriel's attention turned to his new intern; gaze hitting those broad shoulders first before going up and up... and up... until they finally reached the man's face. "Christ, you're a big one; aren't you Moose?" He commented lightly. "What, couldn't make it on the basketball team or something?" He teased before moving to collect a file from the nurses station, expecting the tall man to follow.

Stranger: Sam was more than intrigued by this doctor. Fashionably late, not seeming to be all the serious type, and somehow shorter than Sam was expecting. He pursed his lips and cleared his throat. "Sam... my name is Sam." His reply was terse and short, shifting on his feet once more which let his anxiety slip through just a bit. He decided to ignore the second comment. "It's nice to meet you, Doctor Novak." When the other began walking he easily kept on his heels.

Stranger: ((btw in case we get disconnected you can contact me at my email

You: "I'm sure it is, Sam-squatch." Gabriel commented flipping through the papers and sighing. "Kelly, I told you not to let Ms. Henderson have any sweets. Now, I'm going to have to listen to her bitch." He grumbled, handing the folder to the nurse in question and collecting another, along with a clipboard. "I'm one of the best there is. Some one say /The/ best... Well, I would say /The/ best. But, I'm always right so..." He continued talking, gaze down on his clip board as he started to walk again, his words not really directed at anyone but meant for Sam. "The question is; is it nice to meet you? Because; So far, I'm not impressed."

Stranger: Sam coughed, his eyebrows shooting up his forehead. "Excuse me?" he challenged. Great, not only was the doctor he stuck with cocky, but he was turning out to be the exact type of guy Sam would love to avoid. He'd had to deal with enough bullies in junior high. Shouldn't that have worn off by the time you became a full fledged doctor? Manners seemed beyond this guy and Sam, despite trying to be polite, was regretting his word choice because he was finding it less than truthful at the present time.

You: Gabriel glanced up, arching a brow at the question, pausing to face him with an annoyed sigh. "Listen kiddo, lets get a few things straight here and now." He began, regarding him flatly. "I do not repeat myself; it's too boring. You've been assigned to me because someone thinks that you're the best and brightest in the class. Good for you! Gold stars all around!" He wiggled his fingers sarcastically. "But here's the dealio; I'm right. Period. No arguing, no whining, no crap. What I say goes. End of topic. You nod and agree. It's so easy that even a Neanderthal like you can do it. Keep up or be left behind, don't touch my things and don't fuck with my schedule." He paused, glancing him up and down once more. "If you can do that; you might last as long as my last intern...." He shrugged. "Maybe. Got it Samantha?"

Stranger: Sam's face heated up, not from embarrassment, but from annoyance. He wasn't sure who this guy thought he was, but he just made a challenge that Sam full well intended to beat. He was going to last the entire semester with this dick-wad whether or not he had to suffer through it. And if he could, he was going to make this guy eat his words. "Whatever you say," he drawled out. His jaw clenched at the end and he had to physically force himself to not scrunch his nose in annoyance.

You: The reply had Gabriel's gaze flashing with amusement and his mouth turning up at its corners. "That's it big guy; you've got the idea." He laughed, giving his massive... and apparently super firm, chest a heavy part before turning to stride down the hall. Damn, the guy was fit. It sucked he was an intern... He wouldn't have minded taking him for a spin around the block. "Come on, Sammy. We've got patients to see." He chimed musically, turning into a nearby room to check in on Ms. Henderson.

Stranger: The second the doctor turned around Sam rolled his eyes so hard he was surprised they didn't fall out of his skull. It was going to be a long semester, but once he was done he knew he wouldn't be happier. Maybe he'd even give himself a reward at the end of it all. Like a new apartment that wasn't too small for his bedframe, so he didn't have to sleep on a mattress that sat on the floor. Which is exactly what he was thinking of as he rounded the corner behind the doctor and into a patient's ward.

You: Ms. Henderson was a very large woman; weighing approximately four hundred pounds, though she held the weight well. Her hair had a bit of salt and pepper to it as she glanced over the book in her hands, regarding them evenly with those hazel eyes. "Dr. Novak. Nurse Kelly said that you've restricted my diet." She spat in annoyance. "I'm a big girl; I need to eat." She growled making Gabriel sigh as he moved to her side and wrapped a few fingers around her wrist, attention going to his watch. "I know Ms. Henderson but with your blood sugar so high; we're going to have to lay off those sweet." She tensed as if she were about to rip him a new one when he raised his hand. "I know. I know. But I'll just have to keep restricting it until you're tests show otherwise." He reminded, making her deflate. "I'll make you a deal. If you can get your sugar under control by tomorrow. I'll go all in for a ice cream party." "The real ice cream." She demanded. "Scouts honor." He teased lifting three fingers in a salute before checking a few of the machines and bidding her good bye. The second they were out in the hall he shoved the clipboard against Sam's chest, before turning the corner. "Mark her down for a clear diet and an insulin increase." He ordered as he strode away, expecting the man to keep up.

Stranger: Sam faltered only a moment before he easily caught up. it was a gift to have long legs in a situation like this. He jotted down the notes, marking off appropriate boxes as he continued to follow like a puppy to its master. It was annoying, and it was going to be a long day as it were. He wasn't sure what he was doing here if the doctor was just going to have him mark patient charts and not do any actual work, which is what it seemed he intended to do after all.

You: The rest of the day was much the same; Gabriel would bark order and expect them to follow. He was completely polite to his patients but practically cruel to Sam. Lunch was apparently off the table as the sandy blonde seemed to run on nothing by coffee and sweets; stealing practically the whole jar of suckers off the nurses station in the pediatric ward. By the time he seemed to slow, most of the staff was gone for the night and he was leaning against the counter flirting with a lab technician lazily as he continued to pass sheet after sheet of paperwork to Sam for the man to fill out.

Stranger: "Aren't you supposed to be, I don't know, teaching me something?" Sam grumbled as he continued to fill out forms, barely batting an eye. It was boring if nothing else. Of course it would be his luck, why wouldn't he get stuck with someone like this? There hadn't been any challenges, he hadn't even gotten a chance to interact with the patients which is why he'd wanted to take this job in the first place. Helping people, all of that jazz. But instead he was forced to stand there like an underpaid assistant.

You: Gabriel sighed, his annoyance at being interrupted while trying to pick up someone obvious as he turned to the taller man. "I am teaching you something Sammo. I'm teaching you how to do paperwork." He answered, tapping the clipboard the man was writing on. "Of course, if you don't want the job I can give it to someone else. All you've got to do is talk to the Dean." He reminded. To be honest, it was surprising that he had lasted the day. A guy as fit as he was... They normal were gone after his 'do what I say' speech.

You: [brb]

Stranger: "I'm in college. I know how to do paperwork if nothing else," Sam rolled his eyes, his own attitude seeping through. He flipped through another page, and when the final one was finished he smacked it down on the counter. "Done. Got anything else?" he cocked an eyebrow and met the doctor's gaze, knowing it was the end of the shift, yet not doubting that the other would find something for him to do if pushed too far.

Stranger: ((I'm gonna have to go. If you want to continue this you can email or kik me the link and we can continue there?))

You: kk

Stranger: ((look forward to hearing from you! Thanks!))

Stranger has disconnected.

#doctor!gabriel #sam winchester #gabriel #sabriel #omegle #rp #supernatural

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mariomaqz515-blog · 6 years ago

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30 of the Punniest maine coon kittens Puns You Can Find

The sensational Maine Coon cat is not truly a cross between a raccoon and a domestic shorthair, however there's a good reason individuals used to believe it. When I was maturing in Maine, everyone "understood" Maine Coon felines were half-raccoon and maybe part bobcat, too.

Obviously, it's clinically difficult for bobcats or raccoons to mate with domestic felines. However, having actually resided in Maine for several years, owned Maine Coons, and being aware of the ways of bobcat and raccoon (both numerous in the Evergreen State), I question. I wonder if the qualities of these lovely and mysterious animals somehow, by some strange spiritual osmosis got in the soul of this domestic cat type and altered it forever.

Maine Coon Or Raccoon?

The similarity is partially in the Maine Coon feline's tail, which undoubtedly is long, bushy, extravagant, and in some cases ringed-- extremely like a raccoon tail. Like other cold weather animals, such as the arctic fox and Siberian Husky, such a tail is available in very handy on a cold winter's night when sleeping outdoors, functioning as a mix ski mask and muffler. The big, well-tufted ears (often called "lynx pointers" in Maine Coon cat lover circles) and huge feet (like snow shoes) probably triggered the bobcat legend. And of course, like both the raccoon and bobcat, Maine Coons are nocturnal and prowly, however no more so than any other domestic feline breed.

Maine Coon felines are likewise exceptional climbers, like bobcats and raccoons, another quality which may have offered increase to the legend of their origin. Maine Coon felines can actually do quite much anything they please.

There's the matter of the water-fetish. Like raccoons, the Maine Coon feline type is completely amazed by water in any form. Not only do they not seem fearful of it, they delight in it. Many Maine Coons will spend a number of amusing minutes every day playing with their water bowl or attempting to switch on the faucet. Often they prosper. They like bathtubs, too. One of my Maine Coon felines would take naps in ours.

Possibly this cat breed's valiancy of water is due to the quality of their thick coats, which are partly water repellent. The cat's coat doesn't mat nearly to the degree of other longhaired feline types because the Maine Coon has a much shorter undercoat.

Another raccoon-like characteristic of the Maine Coon feline is the dexterous use of its oversize paws. It can scoop up a toy or little bit of feline food and clench its toes possessively around the item. Some Maine Coons actually dunk the food in water, simply like-- well, a raccoon. Although the Maine Coon cat is touted as one of oldest "natural feline breeds" in the United States, there's constantly been something just the tiniest bit "abnormal" (at least as far as common cats go) about this big lovely feline.

Maine Coons Have Character

One thing entirely separates the Maine Coon from any wild animal-- its entirely social, captivating, and family-oriented character. The Maine Coon feline is for the owner who wants a great deal of cat-- in every sense of the word. Among the largest of the cat types, the Maine Coon likewise makes his presence understood in the most captivating way. They use up more room on the couch than the typical feline, although they're equally popular for squeezing themselves into not likely corners and strange shapes.

There's nothing not to like about this oversized lovely feline. At one time nearly extinct, the Maine Coon now rides near the top of the popular feline charts-- and with excellent reason. The Maine Coon Feline makes an instant impression: an incredibly large, wonderfully covered, and gloriously tailed feline type.

Part of the Maine Coon's appeal is owning to its unmatched good looks-- but the rest is because of its super-excellent personality. You might fall for this cat type's looks, however you'll stay in love with its character.

The Maine Coon feline is friendly and faithful, however not neurotically clingy. Many Maine Coon cats delight in a great romp early in the early morning and again in the evening. The rest of the time they take it easy, like the sensible cats they are.

Maine Coons are devoted to their human household, although they can be mindful (but never mean or shy) with complete strangers. The Maine Coon's generous nature allows it to accept kids, other felines (consisting of unrelated animals of the same sex) and even dogs with grace. Naturally, it's never ever smart to leave a small kitty alone with a canine up until you know they're fast good friends. Even a well-intentioned canine, if extremely excited, can injure a young kitty. It should be stated that some Maine Coons take pleasure in rough-and-tumble video games.

The Maine Coon's Quirks And Qualities

The Maine Coon's sociability extends even to its eating practices. When other cats or their humans are likewise sitting down to eat, lots of appear to do not like solitary dining and dig in just. Keep in mind, this cat is bigger than other feline types, it eats more, too.

If you have an extremely lap dog, be prepared to accept the fact that your Maine Coon might grow to be three or 4 times the size and weight of the canine. This always produces interesting conversation for your somewhat tense guests. Although your Maine Coon will probably employer your tiny pet around, he's not likely to bully or pester him. The nickname of "gentle giant" is well should have-- Maine Coons rarely display habits issues of any sort. They are much too reasonable.

In terms of mindset, the Maine Coon cat has been compared to a 3-year-old human kid: curious, willful, lovely and absolutely without conscience. Any cat can shred something costly, but the large size of the Maine Coon enables it to shred more effectively. On the plus side, Maine Coons are considered one of the smartest and most trainable of all cats.

Maine Coons are strong, too, favoring macho tug-of-war games. Feline toys are an absolute need to for this feline breed-- their intelligence needs active stimulation. Maine Coons are particularly fond of the fishing-pole type cat toys, however be forewarned. A Maine Coon can easily snap the cable of flimsier designs-- select a sturdy range. And constantly keep in mind to put the kitty teaser away after playtime-- curious cats, especially kittens, can accidentally swallow strings and speed up a serious and really pricey medical crisis.

Another unusual play habit of the Maine Coon is their fondness for butting heads with their owners, and I suggest that in an actual sense. Large Maine Coons can providing rather an effective hit, and I speak from individual experience. It seems a type of safe play, which they prefer to participate in with their preferred individual. If that person isn't offered, the cat will then continue down the viewed line of authority in the family. At any rate, all these macho play practices go far to capitivating the Maine Coon to the male of the human types. This is certainly a man's cat. Even men who state they do not care for felines are usually charmed by the enormous and lively Maine Coon.

Female or male Feline?

A lot of people agree that of the 2 sexes, male Maine Coons are more lively and clownish. The female felines appear more dignified, as befits the gentler sex (a plan similar to that in the human world, perhaps).

Maine Coons delight in participating in family activities, especially those that involve water, such as gardening, bathing, shaving and cleaning up the dishes. They don't actually assist with any of these tasks, obviously. These cats similar to enjoy.

Maine Coon felines aren't noisy like Siamese, nor are they completely silent. They seldom utter a traditional "meow," however have an unique vocabulary of their own, including sweet cheeps, harsh purrs and unusual trills. Distinct among cats, maybe-- but I need to state that the vocalizations of the Maine Coon do bear a striking resemblance to the chirps, purrs, coos and trills of the raccoon. Most likely simply a coincidence.

There's A Mouse In Your House.

The Maine Coon is also justly famous for its remarkable mousing abilities, which traditionally http://catsofeverywhere.com/ made it a place by hearthside, even in the dourest Maine house throughout the direst of winter seasons.

The highly promoted mouse-catching expertise is due not just to the Maine Coon's speed (surprising in a cat of this size), however likewise its immense catcher's mitt paws. Their intelligence, affection, charm, independence, size and appeal make these stunning cats genuinely one of a kind.

https://www.washingtonpost.com/newssearch/?query=grey maine coon

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#cat #kittens #maine #coon #rescue #coon cat

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shannon-jeanna · 7 years ago

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Since Swift is sueing over this article, I might as well signal boost the article in question! You’re welcome!

The day the song came out, Breitbart jumped on the lyrics on Twitter: “I rose up from the dead, I do it all the time,” a line that they interpreted as racism and racial hatred rising from the dead. Those tired old beliefs about protecting the white race have found new racists to carry the torch (literally) and their beliefs into the 21st century. Breitbart and their loyal followers are central to the movement to be proud of being a racist, white supremacist and have the audacity to equate that with patriotism. And for liberal Bay Area natives like myself, who grew up with a healthy dose of 90’s era “racism is dead” propaganda, it feels like racism has risen from its grave with the stamina of a White Walker. While society at large seemed to reject racism as an abstract concept, the internet provided an “underground” space for racists to congregate without fear of retribution until Donald Trump encouraged them to come out in the open.

Taylor’s are lyrics that connect with whites that are concerned with what they see as the white dispossession of power. Breitbart highlighted another lyric on Twitter, the line, “but I got smarter, I got harder in the nick of time. Honey, I rose up from the dead, I do it all the time.” The lyrics were paired with the image of a story about a loophole for buying AR-15s. And the lyrics speak to even more than just unnecessary gun glorification but also to the white people who have been closeted racists for years.

Later in the song, there is another telling line: “I don’t like your kingdom keys. They once belonged to me. You asked me for a place to sleep. Locked me out and threw a feast (what?).” These lyrics are the most explicit in speaking to white anger and affirming white supremacy. The lyrics speak to the white people resentful of any non-white person having a position of power and privilege. Think of Barack Obama: the fears of white dispossession of power were actualized in his success, which was a huge factor in the appeal of candidate Trump. He is a patriarchal, rich white man that embodied the anger and white supremacist ideology.

From the White House to the streets, chants like, “ you will not replace us” and call and responses like “whose streets” “our streets” were yelled by white men carrying torches in the night in Charlottesville a few short weeks ago are reminiscent of Swift’s lyrics. “I don’t like your kingdom keys, they once belonged to me,” is another way of saying, I will not be replaced and anger over white dispossession of power.

The lyrics validate those who feel that have been wronged, e.g. white people angry about a black president. The chant, “our streets” is similar to saying “you locked me out and threw a feast.” It is about feeling displaced, feeling wronged.

In other words, these lyrics became the voice of the lower case kkk, and Taylor’s sweet, victim image is the perfect vehicle and metaphor for white supremacists’ perceived victimization. With the song at the top of the charts, it makes one wonder: how large is the lower case kkk? How much are people paying attention to the lyrics of the song? It is clear that Breitbart has embraced the song as being a white supremacist anthem, so why wouldn’t Trump’s base — and other white Americans that believe they deserve their white privilege — embrace it as well? And considering Taylor’s fan base is mostly young girls, does the song also serve as indoctrination into white supremacy?

It is hard to believe that Taylor had no idea that the lyrics of her latest single read like a defense of white privilege and white anger — specifically, white people who feel that they are being left behind as other races and groups start to receive dignity and legally recognized rights. “We will not be replaced” and “I don’t like your kingdom keys” are not different in tone or message. Both are saying that whites feel threatened and don’t want to share their privilege. And there is no way to know for sure if Taylor is a Trump supporter or identifies with the white nationalist message, but her silence has not gone unnoticed.

“Quiet racism only needs subtle encouragement, and it seems that ‘look what you made me do’ fits the criteria perfectly.” Swift is not one for politics. She did not endorse Hillary Clinton until November 8th, 2016 on the eve of the election. She has stayed away from race conversations directly, but her music has been interpreted as racially offensive before. Her song “Shake it Off” has come under fire many times [salon]. The song has long been considered an insult to black America, yet it debuted at the top of the charts and is one of Swift’s biggest hits. It is clear her message of being white, pretty, and consequence-free is one that many in America have embraced. And like the quiet support that Trump received to the surprise of polls, Democrats, and the world, Taylor is giving support to the white nationalist movements through lyrics that speak to their anger, entitlement, and selfishness.

When Katy Perry, Lady Gaga, and Beyonce openly campaigned for Hillary Clinton, Taylor’s political silence appeared to be a rejection of her peers’ support of the inclusive Democrat platform. And when one of the most popular female artists in the world declines to join the many in her field in voicing for progressive politics, it could well be construed as her lending support to the voices rising against embracing diversity and inclusion emblematic of Trump supporters. Further, the single attacks other pop stars in the same way that the alt-right has attacked the “liberal” media. Taylor’s song identifies with the oppressed conservative trope, and the song is indeed their anthem.

Taylor Swift was called “Nazi barbie” by Camille Paglia, who stated that Swift is “a silly, regressive public image of white 50’s America.” That seems to fit nicely with the imagery of the alt-right. Her lyrics are like an affirmation for everything the alt-right has been feeling for years: oppressed, afraid to come out, and made to look like a fool. And now that they feel empowered, it befits the movement to have a white, blonde, conservative pop star that has no doubt been “bullied” by people of color in the media, singing their feelings out loud. And with a president that openly addresses hate groups and justifies racial hatred, this is not a time for neutrality.

And while pop musicians are not respected world leaders, they have a huge audience and their music often reflects their values. So Taylor’s silence is not innocent, it is calculated. And if that is not true, she needs to state her beliefs out loud for the world — no matter what fan base she might lose, because in America 2017, silence in the face of injustice means support for the oppressor.

#taylor swift #neo nazi #fascism #white supremacy #signal boost

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symphonyofthewrite · 4 years ago

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If These Walls Could Talk (Ch3)

Fandom: Castlevania Netflix

Summary: Vampires do not have reflections, and castles do not have hearts. But Dracula is no ordinary vampire, and Castlevania is no ordinary castle. If castles can fight, maybe they can think too.

The series, and Adrian’s childhood, told from the perspective of the castle.

Notes: Hey, thank you so much for all the likes!! If you could reblog and/or leave a comment too it would be greatly apprecaited!!