#sure jimmy's responsible for his own terrible awful actions

[l0ver-nyan]

Jimmy: I could make it all disappear. No one has to know the truth. A tragic accident with no survivors. I'll take care of it.

Curly:...

Jimmy: I'm going to crash the ship.

Curly:...

Jimmy: *walks to the cockpit at a casual pace*

Curly:...

Jimmy: *crashes the ship*

Curly: (ﾟoﾟ ??????????????

[protectwoc]

why all reylos are racist

y’all can go ahead and cancel me now because some of you are not going to like what i have to say and i am completely okay with that.

this recent gq interview with john boyega has incensed me. hearing all the things he went through, from disney and from “fans” and with no support from anyone… i’m livid. sometimes when i think about it for too long i start shaking, i’m so furious. and the response from the reylo fandom has infuriated me to a degree i honestly didn’t know was possible.

some of you may have seen my recent tumblr rampage. it’s reylo bullying hours here on my blog, and i’m not sorry either. one person threatened to post screenshots of my comments, which like… okay? i know what the fuck i said, it wasn’t that long ago. in fact i was going to include the screenshots in this post right here, but they blocked me before i had the chance. sorry. i’m sure somebody has them. anyway…

over the past two days in the star wars fandom we have seen something unprecedented: an outpouring of support for john boyega. both reylos and anti-reylos have joined forces to voice support for john in the wake of the gq interview (and the blm protests, let’s be real, some of y’all would not have given half a fuck if it wasn’t suddenly cool to be antiracist). and this showing of unity is one of the most rage-inducing things i’ve ever seen in a fandom (which is saying something; i have seen some shit).

reylo fandom, full offense intended, but where the fuck do you get off? you’re supporting john now? where was this support when tfa came out and you couldn’t stand the thought of him next to your white-girl-self-insert? where was it when tlj came out and your boy ryan completely sidelined him? where was it earlier this fucking year when y’all twisted a harmless joke (like yall haven’t spent years writing reylo-throne-room-sex-meta BULLSHIT) and ignored the vile racist shit coming from your own fav’s mouth? but you’re supporting him now? now that being antiracist is trendy? fuck outta here with that bullshit.

your fandom is the reason for the vast majority of the absolutely subhuman treatment john has endured over the last few years. your fandom influenced ryan (yes i know what his name is) to write tlj the way he did, you have behaved indefensibly here on tumblr.hell writing and drawing and fantasizing about all sorts of racist bullshit, and y’all have STAYED in his twitter mentions spewing hatred seven ways to sunday. but NOW, without a shred of self-reflection, you’re supporting him? now his experiences are valid?

the way that your fandom refuses to take accountability for its actions makes me see red. y’all stay on some “not all reylos” nonsense and i am SICK OF IT. i’m only gonna say this once, and i want you to hear me: you cannot be a reylo and be “antiracist”. you cannot participate in a fandom that has behaved the way yours has and say “blm, uwu acab.” you can’t. like do you think black people are dumb? that we can’t see right through you? we can.

“but rae,” i hear you whining. “you’re gonna say just because i like two characters together i’m a racist?” and of course not. that would be ludicrous. i think just because you knowingly engage and participate in a fandom that has racism encoded in its dna, you’re a racist. i think because y’all are in bed with racist harassers, racist trolls, and racist content creators, you’re a racist. that’s what the fuck i think. y’all lost the right to “it’s just a ship” me the instant you dragged john boyega into this.

here’s an example: i watched tfa about three days after it came out. i watched the first half, saw the obvious relationship set up between finn and rey, and thought, “aw, cute.” then i watched kylo and rey fight, watch him offer to teach her, and thought, “... interesting.”

when i got home i checked tumblr for finnrey content, saw the outpouring of love from black fans, all the cute fanart and fics blooming, and smiled. then, slowly, guiltily, i searched “reylo.”

BOOM. racism. the things i saw in the tag that night are tattooed on my brain. reylos rejoicing about the obvious rey/kyle pairing because “sw would never put her with that monkey finn”. calling him an “oaf”, “useless”, “bumbling”, “stupid”. reylos joking about how “when they talked about the Dark side, [they] didn’t think they meant that kind of dark.” “woke” reylos pretending to ship stormpilot in an obvious ploy to get finn away from kylo. and in between all of that, cute ship art. fun fics. talented gif makers. and nobody saying shit about the reprehensible behavior going on in their tag.

reylo is built on a foundation of racism. from that first week, racism has been woven into the fabric of your fandom, and it’s been going unchecked. and i don’t mean calling out other reylos. that’s not enough. i mean taking actual steps. y’all have been sitting in a cesspool of racism for five years, and its time for you to get the fuck out or shut the fuck up about being an “ally”. y’all need to leave this fandom.

don’t agree? here’s another story. in 2017, when i still watched supergirl (before i grew taste) i shipped karamel. for those of you who don’t know, karamel is the ship of kara zor-el (supergirl) and mon-el, her second love interest. when supergirl was moved to the cw for its second season, the decision was made to abruptly end her romance with jimmy olsen, played by mecahd brooks (a black man) and replace him with mon-el, played by chris wood, a white man, who was revealed to be, among other things, an alien slaveowner, as well as a playboy and all-around terrible person. and i shipped them. look, i’m not defending myself, but i never really bought the chemistry between jimmy and kara. even though mon-el’s introduction and the way that they carelessly disregarded kara’s feelings for jimmy made me uncomfortable, i thought the way melissa played her attraction to chris wood was more believable (and again, i’m not defending myself, but they are now married so it’s not like i was wrong). so i shipped them. simple as that, right?

well, no. not really. because the inherent racism in the way the writers wrote out her admittedly sweet romance with a black man in favor of a white slaveowner jerk kept bothering me. and finally i decided that it made me too uncomfortable to participate in. i never really reblogged any karamel fandom stuff, but i completely divorced myself from the fandom. i stopped reading karamel fic, and i switched to reblogging exclusively jimmy/kara content until the fandom died out/i stopped watching. i made a choice that real life racism is more important to me than a fucking fandom or a ship, and then i acted accordingly. simple as that.

and i’m not saying you have to stop liking the reylo dynamic. i still like the chemistry between kara and mon-el. i’ve shipped problematic ships before (bamon comes to mind) and i don’t think there’s anything wrong with that (to a point). but there’s a difference between liking a ship dynamic and engaging and contributing to a fan culture of racism. you have to stop participating in the fandom. y’all are in bed with people indistinguishable from confederate-flag-waving-all-lives-matter-touting racists and you don’t feel the need to get out of that environment? there comes a certain point where you have to decide if fandom bullshit is more important to you than fighting racism, and unfortunately, reylos have chosen wrong. that, ladies and gentlemen, is why all reylos are racist, regardless of what they say. roll credits.

except i have more to say, so i’m gonna say it. first of all, i’m not trying to hold myself up as some kind of paragon of virtue. i’m not holier-than-thou because all my ships are “woke” or whatever. chemistry is subjective, and we’re all going to be attracted to different ship dynamics, and there’s nothing wrong with that in theory. what matters is the execution. i finally had to say one day, “you know, this ship and the racist baggage it carries is actually less important to me than battling systemic racism on every level, including the fandom level”. y’all thought being antiracist was gonna be easy? that you wouldn’t have to make some actual changes, to make some actual sacrifices? sorry not sorry to disappoint. and if i, a normal-ass person with flaws and problematic thinking that i’m still dealing with and the whole ine yards, can make that decision, then other people should be required to as well.

(what really irks me is that the karamel fandom wasn’t even really that bad! i definitely could have gotten away with being a karamel stan in 2017. thankfully the supercat and supercorp shippers were doing the lord’s work and bullying them into submission (don’t think i’m letting y’all off the hook either, y’all have got some racism to deal with as well but that’s an essay for another day) but like most of the racism happened at the writing level; the fandom itself wasn’t engaging in racist clownery on the regular. but like the reylos are. y’all see racist bullshit coming from your neighbor, fav fic writer, artist, gif maker, whatever, and don’t say shit? don’t feel the need to distance yourself from them? gtfoh.)

i made this argument earlier when i was on my rampage (which i’m still on btw so don’t clown in my inbox, you will get your shit rocked) but i’m going to make it again because i feel like its important to note. when i pointed out that existing in the reylo fandom while you are aware of its racism makes you complicit in that racism, a white reylo told me earlier that (paraphrasing, my memory’s not as good as it used to be and i did mention that they’d blocked me) “you don’t solve a problem like systemic racism by ignoring it. leaving the fandom would be allowing it to happen.” when i pointed out that that’s police officer rhetoric almost verbatim, she (a white reylo) admonished me (a black woman) not to compare police brutality to a “ship war.” lmao.

look, clearly y’all need a refresher on what “systemic” means. it means, quite simply, that there are systems, large and small, allow for racism to exist, and it also means that allowing for racism to exist on the small scale means expecting it on a large one. like you think police officers spring fully formed from the head with racist ideals already ingrained? no! they learn it and learn to justify it with “well just because my friend made a racist joke doesn’t make me a racist” and “just because i laughed at my friend’s using a racist term in my video game doesn’t make me a racist” and “just because my friend is a racist doesn’t mean i’m a racist” and then we have people watching their coworkers kneel on a man’s back for 8 minutes with no remorse. i’m not gonna solve police brutality by fighting reylos on tumblr, but fandom racism is real racism with consequences on our world, and i don’t tolerate ANY type of racism. and the fact that you are so willing to not just tolerate it but justify it should say something to you.

and not all reylos are like this. similar to cops, good reylos don’t last. i have seen people grow so disgusted by the racism in the reylo fandom that they publicly turned their backs on it, and those reylos i respect. you’ve heard of “the only good cop is an ex-cop” well get ready for “the only good reylo is an ex-reylo”.

(and also like far be it from me to justify a cop but one could at least say they have their livelihoods to think about (not like they couldn’t just pick a nonmurderous profession but i digress) but you reylos can’t even choose between taking a stance against the hateful and unjustified bullying of a man who had the audacity to… get a job (?)... over a ship? come on now.)

the point of all this is, for all their posturing about “being antiracist” and “fuck 12” and “support john boyega”, reylos have decided that a relationship between two fictional people is more important than all the black and brown people who are hurt by that decision and the consequences of that decision. and before y’all pull some “b-but there are POC reylos!” (stop fucking using poc as an adjective, its a noun, it stands for person of color, please use it as such) internalized racism is a thing. busting out your token “reylo of color” (see how easy that was?) is not going to change my mind. all reylos are complicit in the racism of their peers, and being complicit makes you culpable. full stop.

and that is why the public support of john boyega from the reylo fandom has me seeing red. renounce your fandom or keep that man’s name out of your mouth. anyway, this was long and ranty and entirely stream-of-consciousness and i’m refusing to edit it so it’s probably completely incomprehensible to anyone besides me but if you made it this far thanks for reading ig. all reylos are racist, blm, fuck 12, acab, stan john boyega, don’t clown in my inbox unless you’re coming to bully me for being a karamel shipper, which i deserve (or do, i couldn’t give less of a fuck). good night.

[ajokeformur-ray]

You’re my safe place // Arthur Fleck + Joker x Reader // separate comfort scenarios.

A/N: This post, especially, is self indulgent. I came home from seeing Joker for the third time last night and I had a good cry in the bathroom because I’m really not okay. I played Smile and ended up sobbing while I was washing my hair over the bath. The aim of playing that song had been to make myself smile, but I ended up doing the opposite woops. I feel better now but the feeling I had last night is there if I wanna feel it. I don’t. Anyway... enjoy! <3

Arthur Fleck

Summary: Arthur finds you sobbing in the bathroom. Not even Death himself could tear Arthur from your side now.

Word count: 1, 514.

Arthur came home from a long, hard day in which he was belittled, ridiculed, threatened with a beating (he wasn’t sure if he preferred an actual beating to the threat of one, just so that it was gotten over with and he wasn’t left waiting for something which may never come) and more. He was unappreciated, not funny enough (though he had made children at the hospital laugh and really, what more could he ask for?), overworked and underpaid (just like the rest of the world) and treated like shit for no other reason than being himself. He was exhausted but the thought of you being at home waiting for him made him pelt his way up the apartment flights, all eight of them, and then despite his lungs and legs burning and his chest heaving and his whole body yearning for its daily abuse to stop, he marched down the hall. To home. To you.

Arthur had been worrying about you all day, and it had made everything that had happened to him today feel so much less than what it was. So what if his coworkers hated him? He had you. So what if there was a potential beating in this week’s future? Do it or don’t, he doesn’t care because he’s got an angel to come home to. Frankly, he wished he had always had the mental strength to view his awful life like this, but he didn’t. You were his strength, his life, his smile, his love. He could lose the job he loved (despite all it took from him but didn’t give back, Arthur loved his job at Haha’s), he could lose his useless therapy sessions, he could lose his way of obtaining his medicines. He could lose it all and he would be able to weather it because of you. You could never know just how much power you held over Arthur, but he wanted to spend the rest of his life showing you just how much he loved you. Love seemed too juvenile a word, it couldn’t fully encompass all that you were to him. If he couldn’t explain something, he would show it, and that was his plan for the rest of your lives together.

The first thing he noticed was that the television was off. The lack of the background noise which he had become accustomed to made his apartment seem eerie. Empty. The second thing Arthur noticed, his feeble heart in his throat, was that he could hear Jimmy Durante’s Smile playing softly, the noise coming from the bathroom. He could hear you singing softly and it began to make him smile, his bad (normal) day melting away at the door like it was nothing. Because it wasn’t. Not anymore, not now that he was home with you. You were sobbing, too, the words coming out garbled as you desperately tried to sing through your pain. Wait, what?

As your melancholy seized a hold of his pounding heart, Arthur was lingering just outside the open bathroom door so he could assess the situation before he acted. Comforting you was sometimes delicate, because more often that not, you didn’t know that you needed comforting because you were so used to doing it yourself. To leave you alone was best when you were upset, but it wasn’t in Arthur’s nature to stand by and do nothing. He was a man of action. You were knelt down on the bathroom floor, your head bowed. Arthur could see copious tears run down your face, dripping off the end of your nose.

“Smile, light up your face with gladness. Hide, every trace of sadness. ..” You swiped a hand over your face, trying to compose yourself even though you were far from finished crying, but as the violins kicked in, your face crumpled again and the resounding loud heartbroken sob you let out as you succumbed to your pain made Arthur’s heart break. He could see how hard you were trying to cheer yourself up, but the song had only worsened your state. He shouldn’t have told you how he cheered himself up, which was to sing along to his favourite songs so he would learn to smile through his hurt. How can he be sad when he’s listening to a song he loves? Arthur was much better at hiding his pain and you… oh, the world was trying but it hadn’t trampled all over you yet. He would never allow such a thing. You were his Y/N and no one would ever get to break you. No one. Not even yourself. Arthur had already figured out that you were the cause of your own grief. Despite your best efforts, he could always see straight through you.

As Arthur watched you lift your head and force yourself to smile, he saw your index fingers twitch. He couldn’t help himself, he did smile sadly a little at that, because he could see from where he was stood that you were using all of his methods to make you smile when you thought he wasn’t home. He couldn’t take anymore, though, when you did force your mouth to smile using your fingers, tears still streaming down your face.

“Don’t... Don’t do that.” He murmured, pulling your fingers away from your face.

You blinked. How long had he been home? Had he seen you stood there? Oh, great, he was going to think that you were too pathetic to handle yourself when you were home alone with your own mind, and he was going to leave and -

A strange noise ripped from your throat and Arthur’s eyes widened. He’d never heard such a sound coming from you before, one of pure pain and desperation and he knew you didn’t understand your own pain, how could you? You were still so young and though you had had some terrible experiences in your life, you still believed in the good. You were still innocent.

You were in Arthur’s arms and on his lap before you could blink as he rocked you slightly, shushing you gently. Arthur pressed kiss after kiss to whatever part of your face he could reach. It didn’t escape your notice, despite what was going on inside your head, that he focused on the areas where the tear fell. Arthur was trying to replace the physical signs of your pain - your tears - with his love. It was such a sweet, thoughtful gesture and it only made you cry harder.

“H-how was your day?” You whispered, your hands moving to cling to Arthur as you pulled yourself even closer to him. He must have been uncomfortable from where he had awkwardly thrown himself down to get to you, you knew you weren’t comfortable.

Arthur laughed in disbelief. You were the one in pain and still you asked after him. He could never thank you enough for loving him, even if he did so every second of the rest of his life. “Oh, you know, the usual.”

You grimaced as another tear fell. “You had a bad day again.”

“No,” Arthur hummed, “Just an okay one.”

His tone was casual but you knew what that meant - he hadn’t had a day so bad that he couldn’t keep us his pretences. You marvelled at his strength and wished you could be like that too. It was funny how far you and Arthur admired the other’s strength, unable to see to the end of your own noses; what we see in others exists in ourselves was a saying proven true in this situation.

You stood up and held out a hand to Arthur, using the other to wipe your face. As Arthur reached his full height, he cupped your face in both hands and pulled you in for a kiss. It was hot, heavy, demanding, it made your toes curl but above all, it made you smile into his kiss; loving the man who was doing this to you.

Arthur pulled back when he felt you smile against his lips, his stomach giddy that he had made you smile, and he was quick enough that he managed to catch the sight. “There you are.” He grinned, finally letting go of your face and reaching down to take your hand in his, squeezing comfortingly.

You smiled, you really couldn’t help it, and you did feel better. 

“I love you so much” You pressed another kiss to his lips. You pecked once, twice, lingered, and then a third time. You could feel Arthur’s arousal against your leg; it never took much to get him going. This wasn’t the time for that, though, so you pulled away and led him to the sofa for some good old cuddle therapy; your favourite as a couple.

Arthur would be watching you carefully from now on, just as you always watched him carefully to see if he was really okay. From these attentions had grown such an intense, loving and caring relationship, one from which you would grow into the people you were always meant to be.

Joker

Summary: Joker comes home to find you crying. It’s such a wrong sight for him to be greeted with, so he does his best to make you smile. 

TW; this one contains swearing, thoughts of murder, a vaguely insecure Joker.

Word count: 1, 170.

When Joker came home after working tirelessly on some errands which were essential to his continued successful reign over Gotham, you weren’t waiting to launch yourself at him in greeting before he had even fully gotten through the door. To his almost frantic gaze - not that he would ever tell you that he secretly enjoyed the way you clung to him in excitement when he came home - he couldn’t even see you. He couldn’t hear you. Okay, now he was having a bad day. Any day where you weren’t there to smile to him, to hold him, to love him, was immediately a bad day. People had a tendency to die when Joker was having a bad day.

Quickly did he search his mind for any recent events which may have caused you to leave him. Joker couldn’t help that that was his first thought. He had always known, even when he was Arthur, that it didn’t make sense for you to love him. It must have taken a miracle, whatever had caused that emotional response in you. He had never been able to rationalise it himself, even when you cried once because you loved him so much. That had truly baffled him, but when a beautiful person throws themselves at him in a hug so tight he can feel all of you against him? He would take it gladly, without question.

Joker’s sharp ears nearly missed the loud sound of sobbing coming from the bathroom, so lost was he in thought. Now, instead of thinking that you had left him, Joker was ready to commit actual murder when he opened that door and found out that someone had harmed you. A man like him, as well supported and publicly liked as he was, had enemies, and being his significant other and sometimes partner in crime meant that you had those same enemies, too. Your relationship was so intense, so involved, that you shared enemies, and the thought made him chuckle aloud. What a pair you were. He wouldn’t trade it for all of Gotham. He’d make the opposite swap in a heartbeat, though.

In his haste to get to you, Joker flung the bathroom door open. It made you jump and startled your sorrow out of you as you whipped your head up when the door slammed against the fragile, water damaged wall. The two of you stared at each other for just a few seconds longer than necessary, and then - 

“Who was it?” Joker was livid, his nostrils flaring. “How dare someone hurt you? I’ll kill them. I’ll actually fucking kill them.” He raised his head to the ceiling, eyes glittering with unshed tears, and laughed decisively. Yes. He would happily murder in your name, and he’d even bring back some evidence as a gift.

“Me. I hurt me.” You whispered, not bothering to wipe the tears off your face. You didn’t even bother to get up off the floor. Goodness knew that you and Joker had seen each other looking far worse. 

Joker’s eyes narrowed almost imperceptibly as he took in all the signs: red puffy eyes, tear tracks drying on your cheeks, damp sleeves, the way you were looking at anything but him because if you saw the look on his face, it would only make you cry again... he sighed and all traces of anger and murderous intent vanished with it. 

“J-Joker - “ You sniffed, swiped a hand across your face and made to remove all physical signs that you had been having a much needed, heavy crying session on the bathroom floor. Joker believed you to be strong, but were you really? You had had a bad day with your own thoughts so instead of fighting, you had sat down and cried. Yeah. Real strong. “I’m sorry you had to come home to this. I know I have no reason to cry, it’s stupid - “

“Don’t say that.” A harsh whisper close to your ear as Joker lowered himself to sit on the floor with you. He sat in front of you and the look on his face was so Arthur that it made you cry again. What was wrong with you? Joker reached to take both of your hands in his, and the way he tugged at your hands made it clear that he wanted you to look at him. He needed to see how you were doing; everything was in your eyes. He knew that that was why you weren’t looking at him, but he wasn’t going to have that. Not today, not with you like this. It was breaking his heart and he hated it. “Come on, doll. What’s going on up there?” Joker moved one hand from your grip to tap your temple gently and then brought his hand back to hold yours. The feeling of emptiness in your palm was gone as quickly as it had come. 

“I don’t know. I just feel... bad. There’s nothing wrong I just...” You shrugged and Joker held back a sigh. He knew what you needed. You needed something to eat - he bet you hadn’t eaten all day and if he hadn’t of done the same, he would have told you off for that too - and you needed a cuddle. You needed him and it made him feel so proud. He loved how much you loved each other.

Joker stood, not letting go of your hands, and he pulled you up with him with surprising strength given how frail and emaciated he really was. “Come here.” You frowned at him, confused, but Joker smiled easily and lifted you into his arms, carrying you in such a way that you had to wrap your arms around his neck and your legs around his waist just to stay upright. Joker grinned, bounced you to make you laugh, and took you to the sofa. He sat down gently and when at last you had both shifted and moved enough to get comfortable, you were straddling his lap with a blanket draped over the both of you. Joker’s head was resting on your shoulder so he could watch the news and see the results of his labour - he so loved causing riots. He enjoyed all the colours, the lights, but above all, he loved the audience.

With your head buried in the crook of his neck - the two of you enjoyed cuddling in awkward positions, that was for sure - you were able to litter his neck and lower face with gentle kisses of thanks, of adoration, and of comfort. Joker’s hands rubbed up and down your back, played with your hair, sometimes he would move so he could kiss you. He just wanted to hold you, to soothe those thoughts in your head which sometimes were louder and more obnoxious than you were used to.

With both of you fighting your own battles fiercely, you could rest safely in one thing: 

Neither of you were fighting alone.

Arthur Fleck/Joker:  @writings-of-a-gen-z @x-avantgarde-x @mapreza1 @insomniabird @mavalenovaninagavi @itwasrealenough @morrisonmercurymalek  @rand0ms-fand0ms @rafaelina-casillas @aclownthing @rebs-doom @vivft @help-i-am-obssessed @autumnaffection @taintednihilist @vladtoly @mg-woolf99 @misstgrey92 @that-s-life @dopey-girl-blogs @seeking-dreamland @sweetheart-syndrome @heartxfdesire @xmusichealsthesoulx @0callmejude0 @the-one-that-likes-riddles @hannibalsslut @folliaght @freeeshavacadoo @bingewatchingmylifegoby @unlovedbyeveryoneandeverything @okamiredfoxx @sp0okysp0oky

[reekierevelator]

The Time Has Come

John Maclean (1879 – 1923) reviews his life as he prepares to address the horde of a hundred thousand people which has gathered on Glasgow Green to hear him speak after his release from Peterhead Prison.

            So here I am again.  Back on the speakers’ platform; fingers twitching and mind racing.

In a few minutes I’m expected to give a rabble-rousing speech to the thousands upon thousands of people staring up at me, despite the fact that until yesterday I was languishing in the sewer called Peterhead Jail, despite the fact I’d been on hunger strike for eight months.  But I’ll manage it.  I will do it, just as I did it after prison the last time, 1916. For even now that the war is over there are still too many who don’t understand, who aren’t yet class conscious, who can’t see through the fog of capitalism. I will do it because however weak I am today, I am no longer being force-fed twice daily through rubber tubes.

I can hardly believe it’s only 1919.  The trial seems such a long time ago.  But it was really only a year ago.  I was fit and robust then.  I conducted my own defence.  I spoke from the dock for an hour and a half, logically rebutting in turn each of the trumped up charges they laid against me. Defence of the Realm Act indeed. Then as now I said I wished no harm to any human being; that all my actions were entirely humanitarian in nature.  But they insisted I was a threat to society, that I should be keen to kill my fellow workers in other countries, that I should be more patriotic. Patriotism - the last refuge of those scoundrels; Dr Johnson was right.  And maybe it’s true that I did try to undermine their war effort, their drive to slaughter millions. I tried, just as my friends Karl Liebknecht and Rosa Luxembourg did in Germany.  I was convicted of sedition, of trying to bring down the state, and sentenced to five years in the Peterhead hellhole. But now that the war has ended, I’m not such a threat, and in response to public clamour they set me free.     

 Was it all worth it?  I suppose I should be grateful to have avoided the fate of my Edinburgh friend. James wanted to bring trade unionism and socialism to another part of the United Kingdom, the Ireland of his father and forefathers. Connolly was brought up among those Irish immigrants crammed into the caves under the arches of the city’s South Bridge. After fighting for workers’ rights against the Dublin lock-out he founded his Citizens’ Army. And in 1916, for his trouble, he ended up severely wounded, dragged up against a wall in Dublin Castle, and shot dead by soldiers. But I’m sure this country will find that’s not the end of the Irish story. Maybe that’s something Maybe that’s what I should tell them.

I still have my friends in Glasgow - Jimmy Maxton, Guy Aldred, and Willie Gallacher Jimmy’s the clever one.  One day someone will probably write a doctoral thesis on Maxton’s thinking and end up as Prime Minister.  And Guy, like me, he’s seen his fair share of courtrooms.  America saw its way to amend its constitution with a Bill of Rights in 1791. But poor old Britain had to wait for Guy to be repeatedly arrested on this very Glasgow Green, for making speeches and gathering crowds, before the courts eventually agreed that public free speech, public meetings, and public processions really ought to be part of everyone’s civil liberties.  And Willie, he’s seen the inside of prisons too, Willie still guides the unions, leading the Shop Stewards Movement on the Clyde. But he’s left his syndicalism behind, thrown in his lot with Lenin and Trotsky and founded the Communist Party of Great Britain.  One of these days I can see him in Parliament, a Communist MP.

Looking at this huge crowd of people eagerly waiting to hear me speak I know many campaigned relentlessly for my release from prison.  And now they expect a victorious call to arms, a vibrant, revolutionary speech, all fire and brimstone. They want to greet a Scottish Lenin at the Central Station rather than the Finland Station. But the prison regime has exhausted me and destroyed my body.  And it wasn’t as if I hadn’t known hardship before, growing up in the poverty in Pollockshaws where my Gaelic speaking parents had landed up after being forced off their Highland land.  In school they called me a lad o’ pairts, a clever wee boy. The Free Kirk arranged for me to be trained as a teacher.  And after that I went on to Glasgow University and took my MA in Economics. But it was the terrible housing, poverty, and illness I saw all around me that drove me to a proper understanding of economics from a socialist perspective. It’s seventy years since Engels, in Manchester but writing in German, found himself forced to describe the awful condition of the working class. And fifty since Marx wrote about the Highland Clearances.  Yet sometimes it’s hard to see that very much has changed.

Of course, when I started to speak in public about the need for reform, the need to redress the terrible ills of society, I was sacked from my teaching job. Then they barred me from teaching in schools altogether.  Nothing daunted, I founded the Scottish Labour College to teach people about socialist economics. I espoused the co-operative movement. I got the Renfrewshire Co-op to push local school boards into providing facilities for adult education, economics education. During the war I did what I could to support Mary Barbour and the women’s fight against the rent increases, imposed by absentee landlords while their conscripted husbands were away fighting in France.  Aye, one of these days they’ll put up a statue to that wonderful woman.

And now Willie Gallacher and the Clydeside workers have decided they have to strike again. Trying to reduce working hours to a forty hour week.  And it’s not that they want the same pay for fewer hours. They’ll take a bit less pay.  All they want is to make some room in the yards to give jobs to all the unemployed demobbed soldiers. But in Parliament they fear an uprising, a Glasgow Soviet, a Soviet Scotland. Churchill’s tanks are even now being marshalled in the Gallowgate. Thousands of English troops are arriving by train. Meanwhile, the Scottish troops are confined to barracks in Maryhill.  And if Willie speaks to them at Maryhill he knows the troops will come out for him. Revolution is in the air.  But I’ve told him, that kind of battle – workers in khaki killing other workers in khaki – that’s not for me, not what I want to see. If there are to be tanks on Sauchiehall Street they must be faced down without bloodshed. But can I convince this heaving crowd of that?

Like me, most of the people here couldn’t see what the so-called ‘war to end wars’ was all about, why everyone had to starve or die because of it.  Just one imperial power slaughtering the workers of another imperial power as they tried to gain a bigger slice of the cake, the wealth of the exploited colonies, for the benefit of their own capitalist classes.

The Russian workers couldn’t understand it either.  We all cheered when they abandoned the war in 1917 and overthrew their government.  I well remember chairing the Third All-Russian Congress of Soviets.  And then Lenin appointed me Bolshevik Consul in Scotland.  I hear they’ve even named a street after me in St Petersburg, or Leningrad as they’re calling it nowadays.  There’s even been talk of carving my name on the Kremlin’s walls. But what do those things matter – his ribbon, star, and a’ that?

I’m thirty-nine and feeling nearer ninety.  The force-feeding when I went on hunger strike in prison didn’t help. Some even say they tried to poison me. Now they tell me pneumonia is setting in – that I’ll probably be dead in a year or two.  People might remember me for a while, before I’m eclipsed by others; Scottish people better able to fight for socialism and independence, people who understand the true nature of Scotland.  If my funeral attracts as big a crowd as the one before me now it will be the biggest funeral Glasgow has ever seen.  Maybe I’ll be a footnote in some socialist history of Scotland, or someone might write a song, a poem, or a play about me.  My dear wee daughter Nan says she’ll write a book about me.  A hundred years from now will anyone read that passionate speech I made from the dock? Will that speech’s prediction – of another world war twenty years from now - prove true or false?  Will the egalitarian principles I've lived and fought for ever really be able to establish themselves in an independent Scotland?  Marx said capitalism forces companies to compete, to exploit resources and labour, and the devil take the hindmost. The losers are taken over, merged, or eliminated altogether, whatever the cost to the workers. Eventually there will be huge companies, but there won’t be many. I suspect, as Marx predicted, that companies will become global, capitalists billionaires, and the gap between rich and poor will only widen. Could an independent socialist Scotland really stand in their way?

Ach, so I lost my safe middle-class teaching career, I lost my health. I gained a prison record. Have all those things really been for nothing? - But good grief, what kind of self-serving question is that for me to be asking myself?

Oh dear, the Convener is nodding towards me now.   It’s time to get up on the old hind legs and give this multitude some eloquent words to chew over.  Maybe their reaction will provide the answer to some of the questions tickling my brain.

[cinning-at-midnight]

The Charity Gala- Part 1

The day’s lessons had been pushed back, and so I took the opportunity to sit in the garden with a nice pot of tea. I sat in an outdoor lounge chair, my feet hanging delicately over the edge. My teal dress flowed to-and-fro, tickling my legs. The garden was my getaway, and whenever I had the free time, I would sit and admire the beautiful scenery. Today, I chose to take my afternoon tea amongst the hydrangeas.

“I thought I’d find you here,” Nico said approaching me in a hurry.

I leaned forward in my seat and turned to face him.

“Giles asked me to come get you,” he said, apologetically.

I glanced down at my teacup and took in one last breath, inhaling the fresh aroma of the garden flowers.

“Thanks, Nico, I’ll see him now.” I replied, smiling.

I handed my teacup and its saucer over to Nico, and moved to my feet. With a spring in my step, I strode through the castle halls. My proposal must have been accepted, I thought. A few weeks ago, I had told Leo of my desire to assist my people better-- to make a stronger impact on their lives. Leo helped me to write the proposal so that I could present it to Giles. And now I’ll finally have my answer.

In the study, Giles was leaning over a binder, flipping through its pages.

“Giles, I brought her!” Nico said, his voice musical like wind chimes.

“Did you submit my proposal to the bureaucrats?” I asked, my eyes boring holes into Giles’ turned back.

My advisor straightened his posture and turned around to face us, his hands neatly folded in his lap.

“Princess,” Giles began, “I spoke with the members of the board responsible for clearing charity events such as this one-- and they’ve accepted your proposal.”

I became overjoyed, and threw my hands into the air.

“That’s not all,” Giles went on, chuckling at my reaction. “There are to be several booths set up with refreshments. Our guests will enter, and buy tickets that they will use to buy goods inside the event.”

Nico grinned, “It sounds like a fair!”

“Hardly. Although the ticket system is the same, the event itself will be conducted as a gala.” Giles replied, his cheeks lightly tinted crimson.

I smiled at Giles, “Thank you, but now we must call everyone to a meeting to discuss it further.”

Nico, Giles and I all set out immediately to collect everyone needed for the meeting. At last, we were together in the parlor with Alyn, Leo, and Robert. The six of us had a much better chance at fine-tuning the details of the event when discussing it all at once. Alyn was the only one who was clearly annoyed to be in attendance.

“Gentlemen,” I spoke, beginning our deliberation, “Now that the proposal Leo helped me write has been approved, we need to work together to decide who will be in charge of the booths.”

“Alyn, I’d like for you to put together a dessert booth,” I said, “I believe the nobles would be drawn to those first.”

I could see Giles across from me, diligently taking notes on the results of our meeting, to look back on later.

“Yes, of course. Um,” Alyn stammered, “My one and only request is to be away from Leo.”

“Aw, c’mon, Alyn,” Leo whined playfully.

Alyn ignored Leo’s plea, and twisted around in his chair to avoid Leo’s gaze.

“M-moving on,” I cleared my throat, “Leo, you should be in charge of the ticket booth then.”

“So, I sell tickets to the guests?” Leo asked.

“Yes, that and you’ll be responsible for the security of their donations.” Giles said, looking up briefly from his notes.

I nodded in assent, and turned to the butler, “Nico, you’ll be responsible for putting together a tea and wine booth.”

“Tea and wine?” Nico asked.

“Yes, because I doubt a tea booth alone would generate donations,” I replied.

“Your Highness, what shall I do?” Robert asked.

“Robert, do you think you could do a booth of sketched portraits?” I asked him.

“Of course, but because of the amount of time it may take for a single person or a couple, I suggest that they be a higher value item…” Robert said, twiddling anxiously.

“Definitely, we can discuss the value of our tickets and the pri

,ce points individually at a later time,” I said, making eye contact with everyone.

“Thank you for meeting with me again on such short notice” I concluded, “I promise to meet with you each individually, and if you have any questions before then please come to Giles or I.”

They all began to leave, but I pulled Giles aside.

I looked into his eyes, “Giles, I wonder-- can we invite Stein to participate?”

“Are you suggesting King Byron run a booth of his own?” Giles asked, dubious.

“Stein could have a booth-- I doubt Byron himself would run it.” I responded, the wheels in my mind turning.

Giles smiled, “Of course, and we could invite Stein’s nobility as well, and split the donations between the two nations.”

A part of me had hoped for Wysteria to benefit the most from the event, but knowing Stein would be involved meant a higher likelihood of large donations-- and even more people would attend.

“Yes, let’s arrange for formal invitations to be sent out,” I told Giles.

“M’lady, one of us should go to Stein to speak with King Byron as well,” Giles said.

A small sigh escaped my lips, and I felt my adrenaline failing. The event was now no longer an idea-- it was becoming a real thing that required work.

“Hmm, I’d love to, but I really want to be involved in the planning taking place,” I finally said, my voice trailing off.

“Princess, it’s getting late, why don’t you go to your chambers and I’ll send Nico with your tea.” Giles said, tracing small relaxing circles on my back. I shivered from the sensation.

“Thank you, Giles,” I smiled at him, “but I don’t know that I can relax until I’m sure what’s happening.”

“Hmm,” Giles frowned slightly, “Then at least take some time to yourself, if you get overworked now then you might get sick.”

I nodded, and returned to my chambers, to work out more of the details I wanted to incorporate into my charity ball. In my room, I paced the carpet floor and began to work out the plans with myself. Alyn, Nico and Robert are in charge of the entertainment booths, and Leo will take their money and exchange it for tickets. My thoughts pulled me in several directions at once. Stein will be invited, and perhaps they’ll have a booth for raffle prizes. It’d be a good idea as well if Louis… The sound of a jiggling door handle broke me out of my reverie.

“Princess, Giles asked me to bring you tea to help you relax,” Nico called as he jimmied the door open, with a full tray in his hands.

“Nico!” I pulled the door wide open, and cleared a place on my dressing table.

“Thanks for that,” Nico said, placing the tray down.

Nico poured me a cup of tea, and handed it to me.

“If Giles thinks that tea will help me get to sleep, he’s wrong,” I said, gingerly sipping the warm beverage.

Nico poured himself a cup and sat on the sofa, “He’s only looking out for your health-- we all are.”

“This is the first charity event that I’ve pulled together, and it will make me look like a failure if it goes poorly,” I mumbled.

Nico smiled, “I can understand your worry, but because you’re behind it I’m sure it will be the best charity ball we’ve had.”

“Thanks,” I replied quietly.

We sat drinking our tea in silence, and I felt my limbs grow heavy.

“I’m starting to feel tired after all,” I spoke just before a yawn emerged from my lips.

Nico took my cup away, and returned it to the tray. “I’ll let you sleep, then.”

We said goodnight and Nico exited my room, the door closing behind him. I stood and snuffed out the candles in the roo. With a sigh I loosened my dress and it surrendered gently  to the floor. My bed was already looking inviting, and I climbed under the covers and turned onto my side. I closed my eyes, and felt all of my worry gradually slip away as I succumbed to the darkness.

The following day I awoke feeling refreshed and prepared to tackle my plans. I hurried to dress myself, and quickly ran a brush through my tangled locks. At the breakfast table, Giles was already seated with Leo.

“Good morning,” I said, taking a seat next to Leo.

Leo turned away from Giles and their paperwork, “Good morning, Princess.” .

“Today’s plan is to approach King Byron about the event,” Giles explained.

Nico came in then, and poured my tea. “Good morning Your Highness, breakfast is almost ready.”

“Thank you, Nico.” I smiled at him, before he went back towards the kitchen.

“Giles, shall I come with you to Stein?” I asked, offering my assistance.

“Yes, I think that would be best,” Giles replied.

Leo interjected suddenly, “Princes, I can meet with the booth directors to discuss them in detail and take notes for you.”

I grinned at Leo over my tea cup, “Oh, Leo, would you? Thanks so much!”

Over breakfast, we decided that Giles and I would leave as soon as we had finished the meal. Leo was to meet with Alyn, Nico, and Robert. He would then give me notes in detail about their plans-- color coded, he promised. As I chewed on the remnants of my toast, I remembered an idea I had the evening before in my chambers.

“Leo, could you pass a message to Duke Howard that I’d like to speak with him?” I asked.

Leo nodded, and took a sip of his tea, “I certainly can. I’ll send word to his duchy later today.”

I swallowed another bite before responding, “Thank you. Please schedule his arrival for tomorrow-- we’ll arrange to have afternoon tea.”

I heard Leo mutter about never being invited to tea, but I didn’t address it with Giles around.

At last, it was time for Giles and I to depart for Stein, and I had a terrible knot in my stomach. Giles passed me the notes he’d taken from our meeting yesterday, and I clung to them as we boarded the carriage.Hopefully King Byron accepts the invitation, I thought. It would do well for our relationship with Stein, and both of our kingdoms after all… Giles climbed in and sat across from me, his hand gently pressed to my knee. At times, my advisor’s reassurance was all I needed to take action, and in this moment I was thankful for him.

“Do you think Leo will be alright, with taking charge for today?” I asked Giles.

Giles smirked, “I think Leo would be appalled that you would question his abilities.”

I shrugged my shoulders and sunk into my seat, “I know, but I don’t like asking so much of people.”

Giles nodded in understanding, “That’s what we’re here for, Princess.”

We smiled at each other, and Giles retracted his hand from my knee. The loss of contact felt lonely, as though I was being abandoned to dwell in my own worry. I stumbled over myself to think of a new subject. Giles was the one to break the silence.

“This charity event will give you ample time to spend with everyone,” Giles noted.

I looked to him for clarity, “Yes, I hope the guests enjoy themselves.”

“What about your relationship with Stein, and more importantly, Wysteria?” Giles asked me.

“You’re not suggesting my relationships are in peril, are you?” I inquired.

Giles laughed, “They’re not failing, no. I merely mean to ask if you’re trying to solidify a relationship with a suitor.”

A blush crept onto my cheeks, “Giles, if you’re so worried about me picking a Prince Consort why not just declare one and be done with it?”

His expression became forlorn, and I had to turn away to spare myself from his unspoken answer. He’s worried that’s exactly what it’s going to come down to, I realized. I need to make a fair effort to show that I’m going to meet him halfway. The carriage began to jostle over the cobblestone streets, and I knew we were only minutes away from Stein’s palace. Time’s running out, I should say something comforting.

I reached out for Giles’s forearm, and looked into his misty eyes, “I’ll take the time spent planning the event to also bond with the suitors one-on-one.”

Giles smile lit up his face, “That’s all that I’ve been hoping for.”

The castle came into view through the window, and I leaned forward to get a look at the grand entryway. I nearly slid off the seat as the carriage slowed to a stop. Giles chuckled quietly, as I hoisted myself back up. The footman opened the door, and I took his hand to carefully disembark. My advisor exited after me, and stood by my side.

“Come now, Your Highness, your future husband awaits.” Giles said coyly.

I rolled my eyes at him, “Don’t get your hopes up.”

The footman held the doors of the castle open, and we approached the entry way. Standing a few feet in the distance was two men dressed in very dark attire. The taller man with glasses spoke first.

“Welcome to Stein,” he said.

I curtseyed to them both, “Thank you for agreeing to see us.”

“I’m intrigued, Princess,” the man with an eyepatch said, bridging the gap between us.

“Wysteria has been distant from Stein since my father ruled-- with good reason,” he added.

“King Byron,” Giles bowed, “It’s an honor to meet you.”

I followed Giles’ action and curtseyed, “King Byron, I apologize if my request to meet came as a surprise to you.”

Byron’s eye widened, “It was not a remark meant to offend you, I merely stated that due to my father’s reign I had assumed the relationship between Wysteria and Stein was irreparable.”

He smiled at me, “I’m pleased that you’ve reached out to me personally, Princess.”

My cheeks became hot, and I fought to hold his gaze. Giles clapped his hands together as if to focus the attention on him.

“I apologize,” Giles said, “but our schedule is very tight and so time is of the essence.”

King Byron’s eye narrowed, “Yes, of course. Please, allow us to adjourn in my office.”

There were two chairs seated in front of Byron’s desk, and Giles and I took our seats there. Albert stood to Byron’s side, slightly behind the desk.

“First and foremost,” King Byron began, “The brief summary you sent states that for this charity gala, there will be booths presented.”

I nodded, “Yes, you see, I have beverage, dessert and portrait booths designated already.”

Byron considered this a moment, “It would seem you have almost all of your bases covered.”

Giles and I made brief eye contact, and I turned to Byron.

“Was there something you’d like to contribute?” I asked him.

“Well,” King Byron spoke, “What about doing a raffle booth, with donated prizes?”

Giles smiled, “That’s a lovely idea. Where would we get the donations?”

Albert cleared his throat, “Perhaps we could collect donated prizes from local businesses.”

Byron smiled at Albert, “I think that’s a good place to start. We’ll combine donations from businesses in Wysteria and Stein for the raffle.”

I began to feel giddy, seeing everyone come together for a charitable cause-- and one that I inspired, at that. It was becoming hard to sit still.

“Thank you, Gentlemen,” I said, when the meeting came to a close. “I’m very optimistic about the outcome of this gala, thanks to your involvement.”

King Byron bowed, “Thank you, Princess, for including us in this wonderful event.”

He placed a gentle kiss on the back of my hand, and I curtseyed to him in response.

In the carriage, Giles and I eagerly talked about the success of gala so far.

“It would seem you’re making quite an impression on everyone, as well,” Giles said with a sly grin.

I blushed, “The week’s not over yet, there’s still time to see for sure.”

[lolaruberto96]

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