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atpaftmoom-bily · 3 years ago

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Thoughts about Erik, why Wilhelm wasn't allowed to come out, and more.

Be warned, this is long, confusing, and I'm not even sure if I made any valid points. But I had thoughts on Young Royals, with no one to talk to, so here you go.

I've seen various different takes on Erik and what people thought his reaction would have been if Willie had come out to him, most of them being positive, and some as well saying how sad it was that Willie never got to come out to his brother. I have a different take, but bear with me it's gonna take a second to get there.

Something that I found interesting in the first place was that when August found out it was Simon and not a girl, he just seemed shocked, but not in a homophobic way that I had kind of been expecting.

Additionally, let's take a look at the comments on the video, I've split them up into three different groups. General comments (disbelief, surprise, pity, etc.), comments sexualizing them, and negative comments. (I've translated these as well as I could as they were not all captioned, but if I've made a mistake feel free to let me know!)

General Comments "OMG Have you seen this?? The Prince is gay!!!!" "Who's the other guy?" "I'm dead" "Finally some news to put Sweden on the map!" "Poor boys, I feel sorry for them" "So clumsy to get caught on film" "I know where he lives!" "I think the video is fake" "Love for the boys"

Sexualizing Comments "Royal porn" "Sexy" "Love" "Sexiest video ever"

Negative Comments "How will the monarchy survive this?" "The end of the royal family, time for Sweden to become a republic!" "Never been ashamed about being Swedish until now" "Class traitor! Your mother cries for your sins"

Now, there are quite a few things I want to point out about Sweden that I feel should be taken into account here. Of course, we don't know the exact dates that the show took place, but we do know it is modern-day, and though it is a work of fiction, I am going to assume that anything that is currently true in Sweden at the moment, give or take a few years, would also be true in the Young Royals universe.

The first point I would like to make is that Sweden is one of the most LGBT-friendly countries, even being named the most friendly country in 2019. Looking back in history, 1944 was when Sweden decriminalized sexual relationships between consenting adults of the same sex, though it was still thought to be an illness. However, in 1979 it was no longer considered an illness. Fun unrelated fact, but Sweden was the first country to legalize gender change in 1979. (If you'd like to read more on LGBT rights in Sweden here are some resources. One. Two.) If Sweden is that progressive and is that LGBT-friendly, then I wondered what the problem was with Willie coming out, so I dug some more.

I'm American, so my understanding of many parts of the world is unfortunately skewed or incomplete, but I'm working on changing that. However, because of this, one thing that surprised me in my research was that the monarchy in Sweden is more of a unifying symbol than anything else. They have no political affinity or formal powers, but rather "the King’s duties are mainly of a ceremonial and representative nature." Of course in the case of Young Royals, the Queen inherited the throne, and Wilhelm would after her.

Something else I found interesting about the monarchy in Sweden is that the current Queen, Queen Silvia, did not come from a line of nobility, so when Queen Silvia and King Carl Gustaf married in 1976, it was highly unusual. (See more on the Swedish monarchy here.)

There is one last thing I want to point out about the current King and Queen. "In summer 2000, King Carl XVI Gustaf and Queen Silvia of Sweden made history when they ate under the rainbow flag at Djurgårdsterrassen, a Stockholm restaurant owned by gay owner Arto Winter. At that time, the decision was seen as controversial, and played a valuable role in moving conversations forward – while making the royals’ position abundantly clear." (Source)

Now, of course, I understand the difference between a fictional work and real-life situations, but at least in my opinion, these same ideals should carry through to the show that we see. If the King and Queen in real life have been openly supportive of the LGBT community since at least 2000, then although specifics might not be the same, some of those ideals should carry through to Young Royals, so what is the problem, right?

I'm not trying to erase the reality of homophobia altogether, because of course, that exists. We even see in the show through comments that there are some people who are worried about the state of the monarchy, are disgusted, or downright still think that not being straight is a sin, but we also see other comments as well. If Wilhelm were to come out, what would happen? Would there be some backlash? 100%. Would there be people who would support him? Also 100%. Would it make his life harder? Probably, but would he be happier? In my opinion, yes, but I guess that's a question that Wilhelm would have to gauge on his own.

Now I want to look deeper at the conversation that Wille has with his mother, the Queen, in the car on the way home so he can give a statement to the media. Below is an excerpt from their dialogue.

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Wilhelm: Why can't I just have a relationship with him? And not say anything. Just live a normal life.

Queen: You're the crown prince. And that's a privilege, not a punishment.

Wilhelm: Yes, but I didn't ask for this!

Queen: Well, nobody has ever, ever asked for this! You are the only one who can take over the throne after Erik. Don't you understand that? You are so young. When you're young, love feels like the most important thing in the whole world. When I was your age, I too had an unfortunate romance. That was before I met your father. What I mean is, is it worth it? If you feel that the attention you've been getting so far is unacceptable, it's nothing compared to what you will endure for the rest of your life. We have a chance to cover this up, I urge you to take that chance. You may not get another."

---

Something I find interesting is how much Willie just wants to live a normal life, which I get. He is under so much pressure, from being a role model, his brother's death that he hasn't even had time to process, preparing to be king someday, and (kind of) being outed to the entire world, but at least his school. It's enough to make anyone want to live normally. I think the biggest thing we have to think about here is the Queen's question as well. Is it worth it? She is right of course, the attention he will get will always be there, but I do think that Willie would be able to find a way to be happy along with being King. It shouldn't have to be a case of either-or, and ultimately I don't think it is.

Now I'm going to move back to Erik, and really, this ties everything back to the start where I mentioned I had a different take on Erik's reaction to Willie being not straight. I think that Erik already knew. It would make sense for a variety of reasons. In the show, it is obvious that the two of them have a good relationship. We also hear Erik tell Willie, "you can trust him, he's like a brother," in episode one when speaking about August, showing that trust is something strong between them as brothers. I'm not exactly sure how old Wilhelm is meant to be in the show, but I estimate somewhere around sixteen. I would like to assume that sometime before attending Hillerska, he may have had a crush or felt some attraction to a guy. We also can see from their phone call in episode three, that they're not afraid to joke around with each other about such things, meaning that Erik would most likely be the first person that Willie would go to about such things.

Another thing that makes me believe Erik already knew has to do with people assuming that Simon is the first guy that Willie has liked. Now, I know things are not the same for everyone, but if we consider what happens when the video is posted, and Willie had to deny it is him, we can conclude that being anything other than straight in their family is not okay, simply because they are royals, and the media attention will be too much. Imagine you've known your whole life, you can't be something, the first instance you encounter that, you're probably not going to give in right away. I'm talking at least some minor internalized homophobia here or something.

So put that into the context of Simon and Willie's first kiss in episode two. Simon kisses Willie twice before Willie says "Well, I'm not... I'm not... Stop! Wait, wait, wait!" and immediately pulls Simon back towards him. Let's reflect back to episode one where Willie says "I’m not… I’m not allowed to speak about political issues." I'm not allowed. Of course, there are TONS of restrictions on what he can and can not do, kissing guys, probably being one of them. But if he was going to say I'm not gay or I'm not like that, why would he instantly pull him back in, contrasting what he was just going to say. In episode three, Willie does say, "I'm not like that," which makes sense. He's had time to think and isn't in the heat of the moment. What other explanation can he give? Sure, he could say he's not allowed to be like that but saying that would admit that he is. It's a circle, a very messy circle, but it is a... loop.

Going back to what I'm supposed to be talking about here, Erik. This isn't Willie's first rodeo, but Erik was there for the first. One last thing I want to talk about is the phone call that Erik and Willie have in episode three. Below is an excerpt from their dialogue.

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Erik: You've met someone.

Wilhelm: I, uh... Yes, okay, but I... I don't think we're a couple or anything. I don't know what it is but can we just...

Erik: I get it. I get it. You don't have to tell me any... I don't wanna hear any details. Hey. Willie, enjoy yourself. Soon enough people will start having opinions and-

Wilhelm: They don't care about me. 'Cause you're the Crown Prince that they have opinions.

Erik: I don't get it. Why are you sitting in your room sulking when you have a crush to hang out with?

---

Firstly, Erik refers to Willie's crush as completely gender-neutral. "You've met someone" could very easily be "you've met a girl". The same goes for "you have a crush to hang out with". Very well could have been "you have a girl to hang out with". Sure, it could be completely coincidental, but we live in such a heteronormative society that it would just make sense for Erik to use female-gendered words. Unless, of course, he knew.

Secondly, "Hey. Willie, enjoy yourself. Soon enough people will start having opinions". This sounds very much to me like, enjoy your time while you can be yourself without backlash because soon you won't have that privacy. While I feel that, yes, the same may happen with anyone Willie was to date, him having a same-sex partner multiplies that, by a lot.

In conclusion, Erik knew Willie was not straight, Willie should come out, but when he is ready, and August is a really deep character that people don't give enough credit to. Gosh, I hope I covered everything, I probably forgot so much, but it's fine. Please let me know your thoughts if you've made it this far into the post.

One last thing. I hope you'll notice how in this post, I never referred specifically to Wilhelm's sexuality, and I did that for a reason. I often see gay used to label him, and though I am unsure if that's being used as an umbrella term or specifically as in he only likes men, I think it's really important to realize that they're specifically making him unlabeled. In this youtube video Edvin Ryding, the actor who plays Wilhelm, says "What we're trying to do... We're not labeling Wilhelm's sexuality. I think that's good because it's like, it portrays that it's okay that way too. You don't have to. You shouldn't have to come out. It should be allowed to be a bit fluid, a bit out there." I just think that it is important as it's another type of representation that is not seen often.

#young royals #prince wilhelm #simon eriksson #wilmon #simon x wilhelm #young royals netflix #wilhelm yr #simon yr #august yr #erik yr #netflix #edvin ryding #omar rudberg #malte gårdinger #ivar forsling

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a-little-slice-of-fandom · 4 years ago

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That's a pretty horrendous thing to say that immigrants shouldn't feel prideful of their culture or identity. I have friends who have never had the chance to know their culture. so when they find out they have irish ancestry, they aren't allowed to feel prideful or happy about that? Once a person immigrates, that's the end of their culture? how can you be diaspora but also not be allowed to leave your country and still be irish?

(Firstly I just want to clarify: I can only speak on Ireland and Irish issues, not issues relating to other cultures and other nationalities. I want to make that abundantly clear)

I never said that you can’t feel proud of your Irish heritage, in fact if you’d bothered to check my blog you’d see that I’ve said in other posts that I’m more than happy for people to look into their heritage. And even if you don’t have any Irish ancestory, you’re more than welcome to share in our culture and events! Irish culture is such a beautiful thing that was nearly killed off (the Irish language literally had to be revived) so I’m always super happy to see people celebrating Ireland.

But I think people (and I am so sorry but it’s usually Americans) don’t understand that there is a massive difference between having Irish ancestory and being interested in the history and the legacy that comes with that ancestory and heritage (which is totally fine and encouraged), and actively claiming that you are Irish because of a tenuous connection to Ireland at best.

If you immigrated from Ireland then you are totally Irish, no ifs ands or buts. And if you’re first, second or third generation Irish then no one is going to give you shit for saying that you’re Irish. In fact, go for it! You’re probably even entitled to an Irish passport which are like gold dust in today’s political climate. Immigration absolutely does not mean that you cut all ties with Ireland. I speak as someone who has family who live/lived in Australia.

However, that’s not what I was talking about. I was talking about the “Irish” folks in America who go around telling everyone that they’re Irish, just because they had one relative who immigrated due to the famine...which took place nearly 200 years ago. At that point, the cultural connection to Ireland (which is way more important than any blood nationalism crap that I’ve been seeing a lot of) is lost! And I’m being 100 percent honest, if you said to anyone living in Irish that you are Irish because of an incredibly strenuous connection...you would get laughed at! It’s literally a running joke in Ireland that Americans always find the smallest connection to being Irish and run with it. It’s a bit like if I found out that one of my great great great grandparents was from Sweden and started claiming I was descended from Viking blood. Now, the Vikings are an incredibly interesting bunch that I enjoy learning about immensely...but if I started saying I was Swedish or a Viking I’d probably get some strange looks.

And that actually links into a massive issue with these people who claim that they’re Irish through dubious connections, usually because they use these connections to justify systemic racism (usually under the guise of “we pulled ourselves up by the bootstraps” while completely ignoring all their anti-African American practices that they used to be accepted within the Anglo-American sphere of influence and the fact that Ireland as a county actually has a lot of ties to Native American tribes through shared hardship and the generosity of the native Americans during the Irish famine). There’s even been instances of Irish POC being told they’re somehow less Irish than white Americans...even though the former had lived in Ireland their entire lives and had grown up in the culture while the other just had great great great grandparents who had immigrated 200 years ago! And it’s also pretty concerning that a lot of these people who claim Irish blood and who are so proud of this Irish ancestors are also right wing neo-nazis, so much so that the Celtic cross, something incredibly important to Ireland, can be a dog whistle for these groups! So yeah, excuse me if the entirety of Ireland doesn’t want to be associated with that lot!

There’s also this horrendous article of an “Irish American” who said it was okay to culturally appropriate different cultures because isn’t Saint Patrick’s day cultural appropriation? It’s not by the way, it’s cultural appreciation. And also that author literally said he didn’t know where his Irish ancestory came from, he just had an Irish second name but still calls himself Irish...but his second name is actually Scottish. If you want to make your blood boil read this article.

Also there’s the total misconception of what Irish culture even is by these groups of people. Despite what many like to believe...Irish culture is way more than just getting hammered on Saint Paddy’s day and dying a river green. Irish culture is actually really beautiful - particularly Irish mythology which is my main area of interest. It’s so much more than what people talk about and it’s actually super sad it gets misunderstood.

I’m going to be really honest...people living in Ireland actively distance themselves from these eejits because we hate how they completely go against what we would consider Irish values. If right wing, conservative Irish Americans heard the Irish presidents Saint Patrick’s day speech...they’d probably start foaming at the mouth because it was overwhelmingly socialist and pro immigration!

Again, that’s not to say that these people who have one relative who came over to American from the Irish famine can’t be proud of their heritage or take interest in the Irish culture. In fact, everyone, regardless of their ancestory, is welcome to take part in our culture and celebrations and to learn about Irish history. But actively saying that they are “Irish”, not just “Irish American” but fully “Irish” are eejits, and I refuse to sugarcoat that.

#being irish is my only personality trait #ask #ireland #ask answered #anon #anonymous #anon ask #anonyous ask #irish american

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anotheronechicagobog · 4 years ago

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Crockett Marcel x reader D’accord (Oneshot)

Written by: @anotheronechicagobog

Warnings: Mature themes, America has HORRENDOUS gun laws, seriously as a Canadian I get second hand anxiety about your gun laws/judicial system (even though Canada’s is far from perfect)/healthcare system, April is not written well here but I’m gonna do a nice fic for her soon, pardon my French (literally, quite a bit of this fic is in French with translations)

You’d been surprised to find another Francophone in Chicago. After you’d moved there from Quebec, you weren’t expecting much. Only a couple of “Oui, oui,” and “hon, hon, hon”’s from some unintentionally insulting Americans. So when, during your fifth shift, you swore in your native tongue “merde!” you’d been pleasantly surprised when Crockett had responded without missing a beat.

You’d shown him French-Canadian food, he’d shown you Cajun food, and you had each gained a confidant at med. And you’d both needed it. You were in a new country with very different social customs and laws, and April had kissed him while Choi was deployed leaving him a magnet for gossip. You’d both just needed someone to talk to, and speaking French with each other was just an added comfort.

“What did Doris say this time?”

“I don’t care that people are talking about me, I really don’t. Gossip is just part of hospital life and that’s fine, but I am so tired of being glared at and avoided. People aren’t even bothering to get to know me. I am just so tired about having to fight for a basic level of confidence in my colleagues for something that I didn’t even do! She kissed me, she just walked up and kissed me, how is this my fault?”

“I’m sorry Cherie.”

“I know. How was your day?”

“Anderson pretended to shoot at me again.”

“Seriously? You should report him to HR.”

“I don’t know, I don’t want to be overreacting.”

“He is pretending to have a gun and waving it at you on a daily basis because he knows that you are from a country with decent gun laws. What about the day he comes in with a real gun? And loaded? What if he actually shoots you? You need to report him, Cher.”

“Okay, I will. At the end of the day.”

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

You sat at Molly’s away from the main group, shunned by your colleagues. “It was just a joke, Y/N, can’t you take a joke?” But it didn’t feel like a joke. Not to you. You already felt like you should be wearing a kevlar vest on a regular basis; you didn’t need to be made fun of for your very real fear. You were busy moping when someone plopped down in the stool beside you. “Mon journée a sucé. Dites-moi que le vôtre était meilleur.” (My day sucked. Tell me yours was better)

“Voyez-vous la foule de gens qui me regardent et qui parlent de moi là-bas?” (Do you see the crowd of people looking at me and talking about me there)

“Zut. J'espérais vraiment que ça irait mieux.” (Damn. I was really hoping it would get better)

“Moi aussi.” (Me too)

“The hell are you two speaking? Swedish?”

“... It’s French, Hermann.”

“If you say so Y/N... You guys want another round?”

“Yes, please, kind sir.” Trying to make a joke with the man everyone said had a heart of gold and a belly full of laughs at all times.

“Well, okay then. French people are weird.” Both you and Crockett sucked in a breath. Explaining was always the hardest part. “We are not French people. Crockett is Cajun, and I am French-Canadian.”

“Okay, I don’t know what Cajun is, but isn’t French-Canadian just a Canadian who speaks French?”

“Mon Dieu.” (My God)

“Sacre bleu (Damn it), Hermann. No, a French-Canadian is not just a Canadian who speaks French, and unless you want to start a war in a country you don’t even live in, I advise you to refrain from speaking in that manner again. And just for the record, a Cajun person is someone descended from Acadia settlers in Nova Scotia who left for Louisianna to flee the British.”

“... Okay. I’m sorry I asked.” You just held your breath as Crockett swore under his breath. You opened your eyes, grabbed your glass over bourbon and downed it. “Je sais que je viens juste d'arriver, mais je veux déjà partir.” (I know I just arrived, but I already want to leave)

“Allons-y alors.” (Let’s go then) Marcel threw cash down on the bar before you could argue and helped you put your coat on. “Avez-vous déjà mangé des tapas? J'ai entendu dire qu'il y avait un super endroit à quelques pâtés de maisons d'ici.” (Have you ever eaten tapas? Heard there is a great place a few blocks from here)

“Montrez le chemin.” (Lead the way)

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There was a new hot button topic of gossip the next day at MED. You and Marcel. Of course, no one was that cordial. ‘He couldn’t have a nurse so he went for an intern?’, ‘What, she thought being an intern is too difficult so she’s hooking up with a doc so she doesn’t fail?’. None of anything they were saying was true. First of all, April kissed and then rejected him all while she was dating someone else, second, he wasn’t even your attending. You did your ED rotation before he got here. You were on your pediatrics rotation, and kicking ass at it. Third, he didn’t know anyone here besides you thanks to April, so who exactly was he gonna say ‘give her a pass for me’ to? You just rolled your eyes and continued working. At the end of the day, that was what would speak for you.

You hadn’t been very close to April, or anyone in the ED really, they’d all had their own drama going on the entire time you were there, so you just faded into the background. But now, April was making an effort to talk to you. You would have found it odd, had it not been at the time the rumours were really flying, and if you hadn’t seen the burning question behind her eyes. She was jealous. She damn well wouldn’t admit it, but she was. And you were angry at her, and at least you were grown up enough to admit that. She had hurt Crockett. Damaged his work relationships and reputation before he’d even started. So you acted like you enjoyed her company. You talked about literally anything that wasn’t Crockett Marcel. You watched as her questioning eyes grew more and more desperate. If she was going to come to you acting like a jealous girlfriend she should have had the decency to be honest. But she wasn’t. And Crockett was paying the price. So you tortured her a bit. It wasn’t that bad, honestly. Plus, what made her think she had any right to know about relationships you may or may not be in? But her feelings did become noticeable. To the other nurses, doctors, interns. Suddenly everyone was aware that she had kissed Crockett, and that Ethan wasn’t the only doctor she had feelings for. You felt bad for Crockett, he’d gotten sucked into a wormhole before he even knew his feet were leaving the ground. The same thing could be said for Dr. Choi’s fist.

You pushed back the curtain and marched over to Crockett who was too busy arguing with Maggie to notice you at first. “Have you gotten a CT done yet?”

“Oh- Dr. Y/L/N. Uh, let me check. Uh... Here.” Maggie handed you and a skeptical Will the tablet with Crockett’s head CT already loaded. The black and white image should have comforted you. It looked good, no injuries or anomalies. But you kept looking, you kept gripping the tablet no matter how much your knuckles, and fingers, and wrists were starting to hurt. “Cher?” You slowly looked up, Maggie and Halstead had left the room at some point. “You seein’ something Halstead didn’t?”

You didn’t answer. You didn’t have the voice to. Instead, you regarded his face intently. Choi had only gotten in a single punch, thankfully, so there was only bruising around his right eye. You moved to stand in front of him, standing in between his legs which were dangling off the side of the bed. “Cher?” The bruise was already purple, the section around the forehead turning black. Your lips pressed into a firm line. After setting the tablet on the end table you gently took Crockett’s face in your hands. Ignoring the rest of him, you gently drifted your fingers around the bruising. Your stomach sunk the more you looked at it. It wasn’t inflamed, there wasn’t any bleeding, his CT was clear. But you just couldn’t shake the weight in your gut. You didn’t even know what you were looking for. But you kept looking. “Cher.” No inflammation. “Cher.” No bleeding. “Cher.” Clear CT. “Cher.” Keep looking. “Cher.” Crockett delicately grabbed your wrist, finally grabbing your attention, bringing more than the bruise on his eye into your focus. “I’m okay, Cher.” His eyes were boring into yours, pleading for you to listen to him. He moved his hand from your wrist up overtop of your hand before intertwining your fingers together and leaning his face into your clasped hands at the side of his face.

“D’accord?” (Okay?)

“D’accord.” (Okay) He smiled gingerly. Still looking at you with soft eyes that made you melt he opened his mouth, you could tell that words in his native language were on the tip of his tongue, when the curtains in the room were pushed back suddenly. April stood, tall, strong, and with a look of utter betrayal on her face. No one in the room said anything, no one in the room breathed. Slowly, as if she were avoided a cornered coyote, April backed out of the room, her chest starting to shake, her eyes watering. Soon you were left alone in the room, your hand still wrapped in Crockett’s. Now in full view of the entire ED staff and gossip mill.

#One Chicago #chicago med #crockett marcel #crockett marcel x reader #april sexton x Crockett Marcel #april sexton #maggie lockwood

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cappymightwrite · 4 years ago

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ASOIAF & Norse Mythology

PART 1: Introduction

Laying Out the Groundwork...

I’ve been interested in all things Norse/Vikings for a long time now, so when I first read George RR Martin’s ASOIAF series I was struck by, as I think many people have been, the quite obvious parallels to Norse mythology and Viking Age culture. I’ve read a few other Norse themed metas here and there, but I thought I might have a go at adding my own two cents since I am currently doing a masters in Viking and Medieval Norse studies at two Nordic universities...despite the hellfire that is 2020.

(Am I procrastinating my uni work by doing this meta? Yes. Do I regret it? …ask me later.)

I haven’t read every single Norse/ASOIAF meta out there, but from the ones I have read, I think there has been a bit of a tendency to argue for very direct parallels between the two. For instance, claiming one ASOIAF character as an explicit parallel for a particular Norse mythological figure, or using certain mythic events, and how they are described within their medieval sources, as an exact blueprint for how things are going to play out in the books.

(Let’s all just pretend the show and its ending didn’t happen. Ok, good? Good.)

I completely understand the urge to take this approach, it is a very tempting, fun thing to do. However, I think it maybe conveniently sets aside some unfortunate home truths that rather harm this kind of reading:

[November 27, 1998, on the topic of the Wars of the Roses]

The Wars of the Roses have always fascinated me, and certainly did influence A SONG OF ICE AND FIRE, but there's really no one-for-one character-for-character correspondence. I like to use history to flavour my fantasy, to add texture and verisimilitude, but simply rewriting history with the names changed has no appeal for me. I prefer to reimagine it all, and take it in new and unexpected directions.

[February 29, 2000, on the topic of historical influences for Dorne]

I read a lot of history, and mine it for good stuff, but I also like to mix and match. That is to say, I don’t do straight one-for-one transplants, as some authors do, so you can’t really say that X in Westeros equals Y in real life. More often X in Westeros equals Y and Z in real life, with squidges of Q, L, and A.

[June 20, 2001 on the topic of whether GRRM borrows from history for the character of Loras Tyrell]

Well, yes and no. I have drawn on a great many influences for these books. I do use incidents from history, yes, although I try not to do a straight one-for-one transposition of fact into fiction. I prefer to mix and match, and to add in some imaginative elements as well.

These are just a few examples I’ve pulled out, and granted he’s talking about historical sources in all three instances here, but nevertheless I think the same thing applies to mythological sources as well: GRRM does not do ‘straight one-for-one transplants.’ Bearing this in mind, I would be very hesitant to say that Robert Baratheon equals Þórr (Thor), for example. That kind of shoehorning is not what I’m interested in with this particular meta. Instead, I want to look at how the ways in which the Norsemen’s mythological worldview might have influenced GRRM’s writing, and more specifically what we’ll eventually be facing in The Winds of Winter.

An Argument for Norse Influence…

A lot of the time when people discuss Norse parallels in ASOIAF the assumption that GRRM has read and is explicitly drawing on Norse mythology is taken as a given. The parallels seem so obvious that we don’t take a moment to consider the validity of that assumption before ploughing straight ahead with various comparisons and theories. So, before I really begin, I think it’s important to actually give some evidence as to why I agree that GRRM has read certain Norse mythological texts and is therefore consciously using them in his writing.

For starters, just trawling through some of the fan questions he’s answered in the past (NB: I was planning to go through all of them, but…there’s just so many), GRRM does make a few references to Norse myths/Vikings, e.g.:

[June 11, 1999, on the topic of Ravens as messenger birds]

[…] I also liked the mythic resonances. Odin used ravens as his messengers, and they were also thought be able to fly between the worlds of the living and the dead.

[April 23, 2001, on the topic of Wildlings in the north]

Raiding is definitely a part of wildling culture, as it was for many in the real world -- the Norse who went a-viking every summer, the ancient Celtic cattle raiders, the Scots border reivers, etc.

So, from just these two examples it is clear to us that GRRM has some degree of knowledge regarding Norse mythology and Viking Age culture. You could argue that this is just a basic kind of knowledge, which isn’t illustrative of any deeper understanding or interest. However, I think the first quote proves otherwise.

Apart from Þórr, Óðinn (Odin) is probably the most well known out the Norse gods to a non-medievalist audience; though thanks to Marvel comics/films, Loki is quite (in)famous as well. Quite a lot of people might know that Óðinn is associated with ravens, two in particular: Huginn and Muninn, whose names translate from Old Norse-Icelandic to ‘Thought’ and ‘Mind’ or ‘Memory,’ respectively. But their function, or role in connection to Óðinn, might require a bit of a deeper read and understanding.

Indeed, in the quote above GRRM notes that they are Óðinn´s ‘messengers,’ which is a detail that occurs in several Old Norse sources, namely in chapter 38 of the Gylfaginning section of Snorri Sturluson’s Prose Edda (c. 1220), as well as in the Eddic poem Grímnismál, a work that is included in the Codex Regius (compiled 13th cent., containing 31 poems), the principal manuscript of the Poetic Edda:

‘Two ravens sit on Óðinn’s shoulders, and into his ears they tell all the news they see or hear. Their names are Huginn [Thought] and Muninn [Mind, Memory]. At sunrise he sends them off to fly throughout the whole world, and they return in time for the first meal. Thus he gathers knowledge about many things that are happening, and so people call him the raven god. As is said:

Huginn and Muninn

fly each day

over the wide world.

I fear for Huginn

that he may not return,

though I worry more for Muninn.’

(The Lay of Grimnir, 20)

In fact, as seen above, Snorri uses Grímnismál as a source to back up his own claims within the Gylfaginning.*

NB: In Old Norse, Gylfaginning translates to ‘the beguiling’ or ‘deluding of Gylfi.’ It is the first part of Snorri’s Prose Edda, and is structured as a question-and-answer conversation between Gylfi — a king of ‘the land that men now call Sweden,’ though there’s no historical record of him — under the guise of the name Gangleri, and three enthroned men: High, Just-As-High and Third. In chapter 20 of Gylfaginning it is revealed that these are in fact pseudonyms for Óðinn.

Elsewhere, we see reference to Huginn and Muninn as messengers in Snorri’s other work, Heimskringla (c. 1230), a collection of several sagas about Swedish and Norwegian kings. In chapter 7 of Ynglinga saga, Snorri writes that:

[Óðinn] had two ravens which he had trained to speak. They flew over distant countries and told him much news. From these things he became extremely wise.

So, we can see that this detail about Huginn and Muninn as messenger birds is well established in several Old Norse sources, and is therefore likely to be included in any general guide or overview to Norse mythology. GRRM could have left it at that and all would be fine and dandy. But he doesn’t. He adds that ‘they were also thought be able to fly between the worlds of the living and the dead.’ For me, this is an interesting inclusion, because as you can see from the quotes above, though they are said to travel ‘over the wide world’ and ‘over distant countries,’ it isn’t explicitly stated in the Prose Edda, Poetic Edda or Heimskringla that they fly between the realms of the living and the dead.

The closest thing I can find that fits in with what GRRM is saying here is a fragmentary verse from the Third Grammatical Treatise, a text composed around the middle of the 13th century by Óláfr Þórðarson, a nephew of Snorri Sturluson (and he seems to have been influenced by his uncle’s works). The second part of this text contains examples of Old Norse-Icelandic skaldic poetry — this is where we find our reference to Huginn and Muninn:

Two ravens flew from Hnikar’s [Óðinn’s]

shoulders; Huginn to the hanged and

Muninn to the slain [lit. corpses].

[TGT]

According to this verse, from Óðinn’s shoulders, the two ravens fly to the ‘hanged’ and the ‘slain,’ so their association with death is pretty clear. The problem, however, with saying that they ‘fly between the worlds of the living and the dead,’ is which worlds? Does he mean from Miðgarðr (Midgard) to Valhöll* ´the hall of the slain’? Or to Fólkvangr ‘field of the host’? Or from Ásgarðr (Asgard) to Hel? I know what he means, I’m just being pedantic.

NB: Valhalla is a modernised version of the Old Norse-Icelandic Valhöll — in modern Icelandic, the ‘LL’ in Valhöll is pronounced sort of like ‘TL.’ So, for instance, the new Assassin’s Creed game…the Norsemen/Vikings, as well as later medieval sources, wouldn’t have referred to it as Valhalla, they would have called it Valhöll.

But back to the Third Grammatical Treatise — it should be noted that, according to Tarrin Wills, ‘of the poetic examples, a large amount of material is not found elsewhere and a large proportion of that is anonymous.’ Furthermore, the above fragment in particular ‘belongs to no known poem’ (Wills), which is probably why we don’t find this kind of detail about Huginn and Muninn elsewhere in other, better known mythic sources, such as the Prose Edda.

What I’m trying to get at here is that, in my mind, for GRRM to make the claim that Óðinn’s ravens were ‘thought be able to fly between the worlds of the living and the dead’ he’d have to have more than just a basic interest in Norse mythology, because not all guides/overviews/introductions to the Norse myths include or reference this obscure, fragmentary verse. I mean, I don’t particularly remember it coming up in my Old Nordic Religion and Belief module I did last year, so that’s why it stands out to me.

Ok, so GRRM has definitely read up on Norse mythology. Great, point proved! Ah…but then there’s this:

[January 20, 1999]

[Summary from Kay-Arne Hansen: I asked him if he had read 'Norwegian Kingssagas' by Snorre Sturlasson, and explained that I thought so on the basis of Sansa's story about Ser Arryk and Ser Erryk seeming to be the equivalent of the brother kings Alrik and Eirik, and went on to make suggestions about other possible 'inspirators' from the 'Kingssagas'.]

Ah... well... a fascinating theory, but...

I did take a semester of Scandinavian history back my sophomore year in college, which was.... hmmmm... around about 1967-8. I read a couple of Icelandic sagas during the course, and found them thoroughly compelling, but after the passage of thirty years I confess I no longer recall the titles or the names of any of the characters. It may be that chunks of them, buried in my subconscious, somehow surfaced during A SONG OF ICE AND FIRE... but it seems a long shot.

Ser Arryk and Ser Erryk were inspired by the twin knights of Arthurian myth, Sir Balon and Sir Balin, who appear in Mallory.

Sorry.

Nice try, though.

I came across this Q/A on reddit and the response was quite a few redditors feeling a tad despondent. They seemed to understand GRRM’s answer to mean that any reference/allusion to Norse mythology in his texts were just memories of a long ago Scandinavian history course ‘buried in [his] subconscious’ that ‘somehow surfaced’ during the writing process, so weren’t intentional, conscious inclusions. Even then, GRRM considers this hypothesis ‘a long shot.’

However, I wouldn’t necessary give up all hope, because the texts being referred to here are Snorri Sturluson’s Heimskringla, which we looked at above, and most likely the Íslendingasögur (aka the Sagas of Icelanders), referred to by GRRM as ‘a couple of Icelandic sagas’ he read in college.

Heimskringla does include mythological content, but as I’ve already mentioned, it’s primarily a history of Norwegian and Swedish kings — though it should be noted that GRRM doesn’t outright say he hasn’t read Heimskringla. As for the text(s) he does mention, in Egils saga for instance, there is reference to pre-Christian religion, but again, I wouldn’t look to the Íslendingasögur as a go-to source for Norse myths.

Granted, the question being asked is about historical sources and inspirations, I still think it’s telling that GRRM doesn’t mention having read the Prose Edda or Poetic Edda here. Because those are the two key textual sources that we look to for the Norse myths, and even though they were written/compiled well after the conversion to Christianity, they still arguably preserve aspects and memories of what went before. So, I really doubt he wouldn’t have come across them on that Scandinavian History course — the gradual conversion to Christianity in Scandinavia and Iceland is a pretty important period in their cultural history. Going further, I think that these are texts he’s returned to time and time again...in particular the sections that refer to the ‘Twilight of the Gods,’ aka Ragnarök.

References/Bibliography:

Snorri Sturluson, Heimskringla I: The Beginnings to Óláfr Tryggvason, trans. by Alison Finlay & Anthony Faulkes, (London: Viking Society for Northern Research, 2011)

Snorri Sturluson, The Prose Edda, trans. and intr. by Jesse Byock, (London: Penguin Classics, 2005)

Tarrin Wills, “The Anonymous Verse in the Third Grammatical Treatise,” in The Fantastic in Old Norse/Icelandic Literature, Sagas, and the British Isles: Preprint Papers of The 13th International Saga Conference Durham and York, 6–12 August 2006, ed. by John McKinnell, David Ashurst & Donata Kick, (Durham: The Centre for Medieval and Renaissance Studies, 2006)

END OF PART 1...

With that out of the way, parts 2 and 3 will be on:

The ‘Long Night’ and the Fimbulvetr

Ragnarök and the ‘Red Comet’

I’ve also go some other potential parts in the works, but let me know what you thought of this, if I should continue, or if I should just shut up, lol. I promise the next sections will be dealing with the really interesting stuff, I just wanted to strengthen my forthcoming arguments with this intro first :D

Cappy x

#asoiaf #norse mythology #game of thrones #asoiaf and norse mythology #asoiaf meta #got meta #grrm #me being a nerd and generally procrastinating uni work

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halfway-happyyy · 5 years ago

Text

It’ll All Work Out

AN: Been a while! Got inspired to write this piece as I am currently stuck working through this mess, while my partner stays home to social distance. Hope everyone is staying safe out there! All of the fluffiness and feels.

Word count: 1499

This was never going to be simple.

You knew it from the moment he sidled in next to you at that quaint bar somewhere downtown. All of his impossibly warm skin, a cracked leather jacket, the distinguished Swedish lilt. You were good at avoiding eye contact; it was a trait you had picked up in younger years and never fully let go of. Yet you yearned to stare at him- you ached to watch the way the feint wrinkles next to his eyes grew deeper when he smiled, the way his cheeks grew pink under the influence of dark ale and even darker lights. You’re pretty sure you knew that night that you loved him. You knew because he asked you to dance with him and you said yes without missing a beat. You wandered fearlessly into his open arms and swayed with him to the live band a few feet away, oblivious to everything around you. No one had ever felt like home the way Alexander did. You were hard-pressed to believe anyone ever would again.

And then the earth made a full rotation around the sun, and the inevitable happened and he got on a plane and disappeared for four months.

You were surprised with yourself if you were being honest. Where a year ago, you never thought twice about the empty space next to you in bed, now it was all-consuming when the lights went out at night. An indent of where he used to sleep could still be found there, and quite frustratingly, you found yourself aching for him. It wasn’t just the physical aspect of his touch that you keened for, though you missed that very much as well, but it was the act of having someone take up the perfect amount of space in your life. You longed for the idle wine-induced arguments, early mornings perched on his lap at the kitchen table, pouring over coffee-stained scripts and even later evenings attending premiers in dresses you could never fathom wearing in your wildest dreams. You had watched your life intertwine with his in ways hard to explain, and yet you still let him board the plane to Iceland without telling him the truth.

You managed to miss the first phone call.

Somehow the frequency of the vibration had been a few octaves too low the first time and a second managed to rouse you from your slumber. You fumbled around in the dark for the phone next to your bed, wordlessly pressing the glowing green button before you had even worked out what to say. You scrubbed a palm down the length of your face to wake up. “Mmm, hullo?” You yawned sleepily into the darkness before you.

Alexander sighed heavily, the sound tinny and crackled through the connection of the wire. “Hi baby. I’m sorry to have woken you, but I’ve just gotten some bad news.” Your gaze travelled to the newspaper splayed haphazardly on your bedroom counter, the headline reading:

DEADLY VIRUS MAKING ITS ROUNDS IN THE NEW YORK CITY AREA

LOCKDOWN FOR RESIDENTS IMMINENT

You were pretty sure you had every idea what this was about, though you asked him to elaborate regardless. “They halted production on the film this morning and I’m currently in a car on my way to the airport.”

“When will you be home?”

Alexander hesitated before replying. “I’m supposed to land at JFK around 6:45 in the morning.”

“Alright well, I’ll pick you up-

“You can’t baby.”

You swallowed hard, your throat suddenly void of all moisture. “I can’t?”

Another beat. You could hear Alexander saying something to the driver on the other end. “I need to… self-isolate for fourteen days upon arrival.” He must have sensed the unease on your end because he cleared his throat and began again. “Just for precaution’s sake of course. I’m all good- I feel fine. We are all fine here on set but Bill is lending me his place in the city for the two weeks while he goes home to Sweden.”

And then it donned on you. “Why aren’t you going home too?”

Alexander murmured something else to the driver and you could make out the sound of a car door closing in the distance. “Well, you are my home.” The silence didn’t settle long before he informed you that he’d made it to the airport. “I’ll call you when I’m on solid ground, okay?”

You found yourself nodding into the growing light of your bedroom. “Wait! Alex?”

“Yeah baby?”

Your heart began to hammer wildly inside your chest. “Have a safe flight home.”

“Can’t believe I get to see your beautiful face in fourteen days.” Alexander faltered before the line went cold; you could almost feel the warmth from his smile all the way in New York City.

If any of the fourteen days were going to be anything like the first one, you figured you could probably get through this ordeal relatively unscathed. Alexander facetimed you for over two hours after getting settled into Bill’s apartment. He spoke at length of his time in Iceland, and how when this was all over, the two of you would road trip around the country for a few weeks before production picked back up again. You spoke until you noticed how jetlagged he was, and you hung up on the promise of another call again later in the evening.

Day seven was rough all around. Courses you’d been taking while Alexander was away, had been cancelled in person but were to continue up online a week later. Work had sent you home a few days prior and the feeling of being trapped in your own space, by yourself had become somewhat overwhelming. “I know times are scary and unpredictable right now... but we’re already halfway there baby.” Alexander mused quietly, a glass of wine wedged firmly within his grasp.

“Not soon enough,” You groaned.

“Just think,” Alexander smirked. “In seven days, I get to finally touch you after four months away…”

You rolled your eyes and unscrewed the cap of the half-empty wine bottle before you. “Do not start with me, Skarsgard.”

Alexander clicked his tongue teasingly. “Of course I’m going to start with you, and then after I do that, I’m going to finish with you.”

You could only imagine the things he had planned for you; the places his lips would touch, fingers would slip, tongue would graze. Your eyes fell shut as you gave yourself over to the thought, earning a hearty laugh from Alexander on the other end. “I’m hanging up on you now.”

Day thirteen had finally arrived. You had been occupied most of the day with work, so had not had a chance to speak with Alexander until the evening over dinner. He had made himself salmon and rice with a garlic dill aioli and you opted for Asian-chicken stir-fry, which you consumed mostly wordlessly. After dinner, you chose a vinyl record to put on (Ryan Adams) and set Alexander up so that he could watch you finish off the rest of the dishes. “That’s one thing I’ve really, strangely missed since I’ve been gone,” Alexander offered up after a while.

“Hmm?”

“Doing the dishes with you.”

Your eyes widened in surprise. “Dishes?”

He nodded his head, a small smile pulled at the edges of his lips. “Or anything really. Dishes, reading, bickering, making the bed.”

“Grocery shopping?” You quirked an eyebrow in amusement.

“Yes! My favourite Sunday’s with you are the ones where we wake up late, grab breakfast from Frankie down the block and grocery shop.”

“Frankie does make a mean egg’s benny,” You offered quietly.

Once you had finished up the task at hand, your fingers raw and red from the water they had been submerged in for over half an hour, you took Alexander to the bedroom while you got ready for bed. He wordlessly watched you free yourself from your clothing and slip into one of his old t shirts. “Guess what Alex?”

“What’s that baby?” He yawned.

“I get to see you in ten hours.”

Alexander beamed brightly at you, the sheer force of it caused you to smile back just as big. “How did I get so lucky, hmm?” A moment passed before he spoke again. “What’s the first thing you’re going to do tomorrow morning?”

“Well, I think I might just wrap my arms around you and never let you go.” You sidled down in bed and turned onto your side. “And you?”

Alexander took a deep breath and said, “The first thing I’m going to do tomorrow morning when I see you, is tell you how much I really do love you.”

Those last five words hung suspended in the void between the pair of you; he was six blocks away but if you closed your eyes real tight, you could almost feel him next to you. “Tomorrow morning I’ll say it back.”

This was never going to be simple.

But damn, it was going to be worth it.

#phoeobe bridgers on repeat #this was not meant to make light of the current situation #more so to distract from it #hope yall enjoy #alexander skarsgard #alexander skarsgard fanfic #alexander skarsgard x reader #alexander skarsgard oneshot #alexander skarsgard fluff #fluff #writing #alex sstuff #alexander skarsgård

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octothorpetopus · 4 years ago

Text

Across The Universe (Aaron Hotchner x Emily Prentiss)

Hotch would have chased Emily to the ends of the earth if he had to. So he did.

A/N: I’ll be honest, this is not in any way canon compliant, and I didn’t really have a specific timeline in mind as to when this is occurring. Thanks to @agenthotchner for the idea.

Hotch wasn’t sure at what point he decided to go. He had been thinking about it for months, to the point where he had planned it out to the last detail. But then there was the matter of Jack, who he owed a trip to his aunt’s house, and that he didn’t actually know where Emily was. Every time he thought about pulling out his phone and calling her, he thought better of it, for months and months and months. And then the one time he did, he found that the number no longer belonged to her.

Then he remembered the one person he knew who could find anyone on earth if she put her mind to it, so he called her.

“Garcia?”

“Sir Hotch? It’s been a minute.” Through the phone, it was like he could hear her smile, and he smiled too.

“It’s nice to hear from you, Penelope. Listen, I need you to do something for me.”

“Anything for you. What’s up?” Hotch paused. Could he ask her to do this? Did he want to ask her to do this? And then he pictured Emily’s face, her broad, white smile, framed by pitch-black hair, her eyes that saw everything.

“I need you to find someone.” Garcia sighed.

“Hotch-“

“Please.”

“Hotch, I’ve looked for her, but she’s smart. She doesn’t want to be found.” Hotch nodded. He had expected as much.

“Thanks anyway, Garcia.”

“See you in a week for Christmas?” He chuckled.

“Yeah.”

“Hey, Hotch?”

“What’s up?”

“I love you just a little bit.”

“I know, Penelope.” He hung up and fell backwards on the sofa in his empty apartment. Oh, well. Maybe it wasn’t meant to be. In the meantime, while Jack was gone, he could get through the stuff he had to do at home. And he would start with the massive pile of junk mail that had collected on the kitchen counter.

Halfway through the stack of bills and catalogs, Hotch came across an unassuming cream-colored envelope. It was nicer, heavier paper than most mail, he noticed. And then he flipped it over and saw the scrawled, loopy handwriting he had struggled to decipher on a thousand reports, that had signed a half-dozen birthday and Christmas cards that he had received from twenty different countries. It was Emily, he saw her in her writing, in his own name and address. His hands shook as he opened the envelope and unfolded the heavy white paper.

Aaron, it read,

I haven’t heard from you in a while. Which is admittedly my fault. Anyway, I know you hate to get sappy, but I miss you. I miss everyone, but it seems like every day I see something and I think, “that would make Hotch smile”. I miss your smile, Hotch. I’m just writing to say merry Christmas, I guess, to you and Jack. I won’t be back for the holidays, so I find myself having plenty of time to write this letter (and more) in between glasses of wine alone on my fire escape. Give my love to everyone, and I’ll see you when I do. Hopefully soon, if you know me as well as I think you do. Much love from Stockholm, Emily.

Hotch read the letter, and re-read it, and then re-read it again.

“Am I reading into this?” He asked himself silently. But there was no one on earth he knew better than Emily, and there was no one who knew him better than her. He got up and practically ran to his home office. He pulled out the legal pad he had been so fond of writing notes out on in his attorney days. “If I know you as well as I think that I do.” “Much love from Stockholm.” It was a message if he had ever seen one, and he had seen dozens.

Hotch had his go bag out from under the bed and packed within five minutes. He grabbed his passport from the kitchen drawer, his car keys and wallet, and was out the door in ten. There weren’t many flights to Stockholm, but he found one, and ten hours later he stepped off the plane in Sweden. And that was when he promptly realized he didn’t know how to find Emily and he didn’t speak a word of Swedish. So he called the one person who could help him, once again.

“Garcia,” she answered, yawning. “Hotch, it’s two in the morning.”

“In Stockholm, it’s eight o’clock.”

“What does that have to do with anything? Wait, Hotch, are you in Sweden right now?”

“Yes, and as a matter of fact, so is Emily. Penelope, I need you to find her. Look for a driver’s license, employment records, whatever you can to find her address.”

“Fine. Give me twenty minutes. I’ll call you back.” She called back almost exactly twenty minutes later.

“So, Emily was working as a trauma counselor for a month or so, but her records end about a month and a half ago. I did manage to get a home address, though.” Hotch listened and scrawled down the address on his legal pad.

“Thanks, Garcia. Go back to bed.”

“Yes, sir. I’ll talk to you later. Preferably when the sun’s up.”

Hotch caught a cab to the address Penelope had given him, but when he talked to the landlord, he found-

“Sorry, she left almost two months ago,” the landlord said in strongly accented English. Hotch nodded and turned to leave, but the landlord cleared his throat. “Wait. You wouldn’t happen to be, ah, Aaron Hotchner?”

“Yes, that’s me.” The landlord nodded and reached behind the building’s front desk. He pulled out an envelope, the same heavy cream-colored paper with messy blue ink across it.

“She left this for you.” Hotch took the letter and read it in the cab back to the airport.

Aaron,

I’m sorry I missed you. I don’t know if my letter got lost in the mail or if you let it get caught up in that awful stack of mail you always let pile up in your kitchen. Either way, I’ve found that it wasn’t just DC I couldn’t stay in. I can’t seem to stay anywhere for too long. But again, you know me too well, so you know what I’m doing. See you soon, Hotch. Much love from Manila, Emily.

Hotch folded the letter and slipped it into his breast pocket, right alongside the first one. So. The Philippines. Well, Hotch had saved well from early in his life, including his airline miles, and he had always wanted to travel the world. Besides, Jack was at his aunt’s for another week.

And the more Hotch thought about it, the more he realized he would do this forever if he had to. He wouldn’t leave Jack behind, of course, but if he had to keep chasing Emily through letters and airplanes, he would do it. There was a time when he would have denied that, and when he would have denied feeling anything for Emily other than friendship and perhaps a strong sense of family. But he felt that family bond with Penelope, with Dave, with Derek, with JJ, with Spencer. With Emily, there was something more. Something he hadn’t realized until too late. And then that something had taken over him, made him sick with love and the pain of not knowing how to find it. Before Emily, he hadn’t understood the term ‘lovesick’. But there was no other word to describe the feeling he felt now, that grew with every hour on the plane. He was closer now, he felt it. And he would find her.

One seventeen hour flight later, the flight touched down in the Philippines, and once again, Hotch called Penelope.

“Where are you now?” She asked without bothering to greet him.

“Manila. What time is it there?”

“Nine o’clock. A.M. You’re good. Twenty minutes?”

“Sounds good.”

Twenty minutes passed and this time, Hotch had to call Penelope.

“Garcia? What’s taking so long?”

“It seems like Emily didn’t work for whatever amount of time she was there. I’m looking into hotel records now, and... got it!”

An hour later, Hotch found Emily’s hotel, and just like Stockholm, found her gone, with another letter in her place.

Aaron,

We have to stop meeting like this. Or rather, not meeting like this. I’ve only been here for about a week, and I don’t think I’ll stay any longer. It’s fine here, a little too hot for my tastes. If you’re reading this, I’ll see you in the next spot. Much love from Athens, Emily.

“Damn it, Emily, can’t you just date your letters?” He muttered. “Back to the airport, then.” And to Greece it was. Another fifteen hour flight. Hotch’s legs were cramping and he hadn’t had a steady sleep in almost three days now. He didn’t know what time it was in Greece or in DC when he called Garcia, but she picked up anyway.

“Where?”

“Athens. Twenty minutes?”

“Twenty minutes. Love ya.”

As Hotch walked the crowded city streets of Athens, staring up at the Parthenon, he thought about how little he had seen. He never had a chance to travel the world, he realized. That was always more Emily’s speed. He loved this, seeing the world through her eyes. It was like being with her. He could almost hear her cracking jokes and reciting facts, probably in her best imitation of Reid, which wasn’t particularly good.

This time, Hotch found just what he expected. A letter. He had grown to like the letters. Not as much as he would’ve liked to find her, but he liked the way she smudged the ink as she wrote and made the lines a little too long when she crossed her Ts. He wasn’t Reid, he knew next to nothing about handwriting analysis, but that didn’t mean he didn’t know her from her writing.

Aaron,

I stayed three weeks this time. I hoped you would get here sooner. I would have loved to show you the Acropolis and the Parthenon and taken you to all the temples and museums. I highly recommend you take some time to check them out. Of course, depending on how far behind you are, maybe you don’t have time. I hope you find me, still. Please find me, Hotch. Much love from Mumbai, Emily.

“Emily, why do you have to move across the continent?” He asked it as if she could answer. The letters were something, but they weren’t her. He had to find her, the real her, not just these damn letters. And the next step on that trip was India.

“Hotch, so help me god, please tell me you’re getting closer,” Penelope said as soon as she picked up the phone.

“I think so. At least, I hope so. I’m in Mumbai. She’s only two weeks ahead of me now, so she can’t have gone far. Check hotel records.”

“On it.” This time, Hotch didn’t even bother hanging up the phone. He was content to listen to her type and him quietly to herself. “Hey, Hotch?”

“Yeah?”

“You really love Emily, huh?” He hesitated. Because he did, didn’t he? Why else would be crossing the world to find her?

“Yes,” he said simply.

“Good. I love you both and you’re perfect for each other. Find her, and see if you can’t bring her home, eh?”

“I’ll see what I can do. What do you have for me?”

“Well, I have her address where she stayed for the last two weeks.”

“So she’s still here.” Hotch let out a sigh of relief.

“Well, maybe. She checked out this morning.” Hotch got in a cab and told the driver to step on it.

“Damn it!” Hotch restrained the urge to punch a wall. She had left two hours ago, the hotel manager told him, and handed him another letter.

Aaron,

Damn it. I thought I left enough time. I hope you see me. I hope I see you before Christmas. Although I can’t blame you if you decide to give up and go back home. If you do, I’ll see you when I do. I’ll keep this letter short, and I’m not sure how many more I’ll write if you don’t catch up soon. But I hope you know I’m not trying to abandon you, and if you find me, I’ll be the happiest I’ve been in years. Also, tell Penelope thank you. I’m sure there’s no way you’ve found me without her. Much love from, well, where would I disappear to? You know me, Aaron. You know me too well.

At that moment, Hotch knew exactly where she was. Just one more twelve-hour flight away.

Hotch had always liked Paris. Emily has always liked Paris, actually, and Hotch liked Emily. The truth was that Hotch didn’t much care about where he was.

“Penelope-“

“Paris?”

“Yes, how did you-?”

“Please. I’m not a profiler, but I know Emily. Anyway, she hasn’t been here long enough for me to know where she is-“

“That’s fine. I know. I just called to tell you she says thank you. And so do I.”

“You’re my best friends. I’d do anything for you. Go get the girl, Hotch.”

“Thanks, Pen.” Hotch knew exactly where she was. She didn’t often talk about Paris, but when she did, she talked about the view she loved, when she could see the Eiffel Tower and the Seine from the same window. He bought a map from a newsstand and sat down to mark it off. A drizzling rain had begun to fall, but he hardly noticed. He didn’t have Reid’s geographical profiling skills, but he could mark off the area that could see both the river and the tower. Then all he had to do was find the apartment buildings in that area. As a matter of fact, there were only three. Only one had Emily, or rather one of her aliases, in their records.

It was late and pouring rain by the time Hotch arrived. He scanned the buzzer in the dim, foggy light of the street lamps. She would use her own name this time. She had no reason to hide. So he found the button next to the name Prentiss and relief washed over him as he pushed it. And it was at that moment that he realized he had no idea what to say. But he didn’t have time to think about it because the intercom buzzed.

“Qu'est-ce?” It was French, but it was her. Hotch had to hold in a half-gasp-half-sob. “Qu'est-ce?” She repeated.

“It’s Hotch.” There was a pause, and then-

“Hotch? Oh my god, Hotch?”

“It’s me, Em,” he replied, and he found that he was crying just a little bit. His tears mixed with the rain that had now drenched his face, and for that matter the rest of him.

“Hold on.” Something buzzed and the door unlocked. Hotch heaved his bag over his shoulder and sprinted up the stairs, disregarding the elevator entirely. He ran up ten flights of stairs and down to the end of the hall, panting and trailing water behind him. He pounded on her door, knowing he was being too loud and frankly not caring. As he began to knock again, the door swung open and his fist hit empty air, and behind that empty air there was Emily, staring up at him in slack-jawed silence. And Hotch still didn’t know what to say, so he didn’t say anything. He just kissed her. His hands were on her face, her hands were on his back, and he was steadily dripping rainwater onto the hardwood floors.

“You round me,” she said at last as she broke the kiss.

“I’m one of the best FBI profilers in history. Did you think I wouldn’t?” He asked, still cupping her face in his hands.

“Not for a second. Although I got a little worried there in Athens for a minute.”

“Please. Also, I had Garcia track your employment and hotel records.”

“Hmm. Very smart.” She stepped aside to allow him in. Her apartment was filled with boxes. She had arrived mere hours before him.

“I was so close to getting you in India.”

“I know. But I’m glad it was here.” She took his hand and tugged him through the near-empty apartment.

“Emily? Where are we going?”

“Fire escape.” She crawled through the open window and helped him through. The rain soaked her down in less than a minute, but she didn’t seem to mind. From the fire escape, the Eiffel Tower was lit up in a golden spire, and the reflection danced across the Seine. He could see why she liked it so much.

“Hotch-“

“Emily-“ They both laughed, and it came unbearably easily, as if they had never been apart.

“You go first.”

“I need to tell you something. I need to tell you why I came across the world to find you.” He turned around so that his back was facing her. He didn’t think he could do this if he had to look into her eyes. “Emily Prentiss, I love you. And I didn’t realize it until you were gone. Which, I’ll admit, was stupid of me. It was stupid of me to ever let you go.

“Yeah, it really was.”

“Hey, can you-? Thanks. Anyway, like I was saying before I was so very rudely interrupted, I found you, and I’ll find you ten more times if I have to because this is a few times in a lifetime type of love. And not being with you makes me feel sick. And I came across the world to fine you.”

“You said that.”

“Well, I’m running out of things to say, so can you just kiss me and shut me up please?” Emily put a hand on his shoulder and leaned over his shoulder. He had to crane his neck, but she kissed him.

“I love you, Aaron Hotchner,” she said between kisses.

“Oh, thank god.” He looked down at her positively drenched clothes. “You’re going to catch a cold.”

“So are you. Give me your bag, I’ll toss the stuff in the dryer, and you can hop in the shower.” Hotch stammered incoherently. “Please. I’m not proposing anything indecent. But you’ve been chasing me for almost four days. You need a shower.” Hotch shook his head, spraying water everywhere.

“In a minute. First, promise me you’ll have all your stuff unpacked by Christmas. You deserve Christmas.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Second... promise me you’ll let me stay for Christmas. So you’re not alone.” Emily’s bro’s furrowed.

“What about Jack and the others?”

“Hayley’s family would love to have Jack for Christmas, and he’ll survive without me for a few days.” Emily bit her lip.

“Or... what if I came home with you? What if I came back to DC and spent Christmas with you and Jack and the guys?” Hotch felt his eyes start to water again.

“You would do that? I thought you wanted to escape DC.”

“I do. Kind of. I wanted to escape because I thought there wasn’t anything for me there. But that was dumb. I have you. I have our friends. So I don’t know that I’ll be back right away, but I’ll come back for Christmas.”

Hotch threw his arms around Emily in an uncharacteristic burst of excitement. Then again, he couldn’t help it.

“Hey, Hotch?”

“Yeah?”

“Thank you. I never thought I’d have anyone who would cross the world to find me.”

“As long as you keep running, I’ll keep chasing.”

#hotchniss #criminal minds #emily prentiss #ssa emily prentiss #ssa aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner x emily prentiss #paget brewster #thomas gibson #criminal minds fic #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds fluff

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bigbrotherlouis · 4 years ago

Note

for director’s cut: the raleigh/airport scene in ‘i can’t find nothin’...’ if you would like to!!!!

ANGELA you’re gonna make me talk about sex scenes on main?! let’s DO IT

(director’s cut meme)

andrei understands, on some level, why they have to fly commercial, (i’m always going to make players fly commercial in fic if i can. direct action.) even with a job like theirs, but in practicality, when he’s wandering around the raleigh airport at six am after their flight out is delayed, he doesn’t.

marty’s laughing at him in the way that means he’s trying to be subtle about it, but andrei’s too grumpy to care. (this was for la.) it’s too fucking early and the line for coffee is too fucking long.

“it’s too early,” he whines. marty flips over the book in his hands to read the back cover.

“boo fuckin’ hoo, bud.”

“i’m tired.” and again, in russian, “я устал.”

“не— не— i don’t care,” (i couldn’t remember how to phrase this properly and i didn’t want to look it up, plus it’s funny) marty snaps back. “it’s your own fault for watching tv until one in the morning.”

“it was gossip girl,” he mutters. “important american culture.” (in one of my transition workshops where we learned to handle moving countries, we watched mean girls as an example of american culture. true story.)

“uh huh, and degrassi is exactly how canadian high school was like.” (didn’t like the flow on this sentence but i couldn’t figure out how else to phrase it. oh well.)

andrei is, like, ninety percent sure marty didn’t finish high school in canada, but he’s not willing to take the chance that he’s wrong and get teased about it. “please, can we go to starbucks now? давай, давай.” [let’s go, let’s go] (translation is always a struggle, and even more so when it’s a different alphabet like russian. i decided to include translations when context isn’t immediately clear for the reader’s comfort. also, this is something my family does-- use a different language when we want to stress something, like svechy stressing that he wants to leave)

“talking in russian won’t get me to go any faster, svechy,” marty says, placid for the early morning, and shoves a book into andrei’s hands. “here. read this and distract yourself.”

“i don’t read until i awake.” (svechy’s syntax was hard for me to write, because i want it to be clear, true to character, and respectful all at once which is hard to balance. it’s why svech’s grammar can sometimes seem a little inconsistent-- sometimes, i chose respect and readability over true to characterization. also, transliteration of accents can make people seem childish or dumb which is absolutely not what i want!)

“sucks to suck.”

andrei grumbles under his breath, a mixture of russian and english and some of sebastian’s favourite swedish (this should be finnish. oops.) curses thrown in there too, absently drumming his fingers on the cover of the book he’s still holding. marty is paying him no attention, which almost bothers him as much as the lack of caffeine does.

he’s cocking his head to read the spines of the books in the airport store when he feels the heat of someone step behind him, too close for politeness, and he’s whirling before he can even really think about it. (there really aren’t a lot of places spies can meet up by accident without getting too repetitive, especially in something that’s supposed to be silly and short, but an airport felt plausible.)

“whoa,” says joel, stepping back out of andrei’s elbows. “easy there.”

“joel?”

“in the flesh,” he says with a grin, and andrei’s thinking about how twice is a coincidence but three times is a pattern when (this is me lampshading their constant meetups because i didn’t feel like expounding on it LOL)— “is that twilight?”

“i— what?”

“the book you’re reading.”

andrei looks down at his hands and then scowls in the general direction of the shelves. fucking marty. (this is the whole reason they’re in the bookstore. for me to make this joke about svech holding twilight.)

joel tips his head to the side and grins wider. “didn’t peg (haha peg) you for a vampire guy, but i can see it. wait, fuck, are you from transylvania?” (apologies to americans but this is a little jab at your general geography abilities)

“no, not in in russia,” he says absently. “siberia, yes. transylvania, no. why you here?”

“well, i just like to lurk around airports for fun. you see interesting people like this.”

“really.”

joel snorts. “no, i have a flight, dumbass. i’m a business bitch.” (my rule of thumb for writing joel’s dialogue is to think of the most ridiculous thing i can imagine a person saying in any given circumstance and then assigning him that line.)

“a business bitch?”

“yeah, dude. makin’ money moves n’shit.”

“you’re not following me?” andrei asks, aiming for teasing, pretending it’s not a real question. (more lampshading. i was lazy.) joel makes his eyes go wide and innocent, and mostly doesn’t succeed.

“andrew,” he says, outraged. “are you accusing me of being a stalker?”

“yes.”

“oh, so you’re definitely team edward. (this joke fell into my lap) i see how it is. can’t a bro say hi to his bro in an airport, especially after getting a decent brojob the last time they saw each other?”

andrei mouths the word brojob (i crack up every time this term is used and joel would absolutely say it) and then shakes his head. “no.”

“tough crowd. what are you doing here, buddy?”

“waiting for marty to finish so we can go to starbucks. too early and he is too slow.”

“yeah?” joel looks over at where marty is now examining the overpriced souvenirs with a very careful air, taking them off the shelves and putting them gently back. (i was very into this image) “wanna go stand in line with me?” (high romance there, bee)

strictly speaking, marty and andrei are supposed to be together when travelling, just in case someone gets snatched. it’s happened before, but andrei really, really wants something to drink before they fly out to fucking vancouver, or wherever they’re going. he can’t even remember. besides, if joel was going to snatch him, he would’ve done it earlier, in the hotel when andrei was fucked out and happy. he shrugs. (listen. i didn’t want to do any worldbuilding because it was a fun au so i did the bare minimum.)

“sure. marty, i go to stand in line,” he yells and marty waves a hand without looking up. the line stretches down the hallway, too many people patiently waiting for a rush. (i’m so familiar with this and it makes me sad just writing about it) andrei can’t fault them; he’s tired too, which is why he doesn’t realise that joel’s pulling him towards the bathrooms instead of the coffee shop, pushing him into the family stall and shoving the door closed. (i’m gonna be honest: i have absolutely no idea why i made this a sex scene. like none. i remember being halfway through and being like “....i’m writing?? airport sex??” but i don’t remember why i decided it was a good idea.)

for a second, andrei thinks this is when he gets kidnapped and killed, a rival taking him out in the crowded airport where no one can see. the bulgarian maneuver would’ve been a lot less conspicuous, but oh well. (this is referring to the bulgarian assassins who killed a journalist in the 80s? i think? with a poison-tipped umbrella and i’m just now realising that’s probably not common knowledge)

instead, joel clicks the lock in place and presses up close, plastered to the front of andrei.

“wha—” says andrei, but it’s swallowed up in joel’s mouth, swallowed up in the kiss that joel gives him. he kisses back, of course he does, because it’s a fucking good kiss. joel hums, coaxing his mouth open for a minute and then biting on his lower lip before pulling away. he doesn’t go far, hands skimming down andrei’s body until he drops to his knees on the dirty bathroom floor.

“we are in a toilet,” andrei hisses. “in an airport.” (svech has the practical response)

joel shrugs, giving him the biggest shit-eating grin as he undoes his belt. (joel is never not going to be smug) “guess you have to be fast, then. besides, i owe you one.”

technically, he still got off last time, even if it was pretty basic, it’s not like andrei’s going to say no, not when joel is looking so eager and mischievous.

“don’t make too much noise,” instructs joel, (i realised after i posted the fic that both blowjobs start with someone giving instructions and i’m gonna say it’s because it’s a literary parallel and not because i don’t know how to transition into sexual acts) and then he’s got his mouth on andrei’s dick and andrei can’t think of anything else to say. he bangs his head against the door and clamps a hand over his mouth, digging his fingers of his other hand into the wood behind him.

joel is good enough that andrei’s not going to last long, not like this, getting off on the secrecy of it all. (read: i just didn’t want to write a lot. but also i think svechy has an exhibitionist streak in him and joel definitely does) it’s a tiny bit shameful in the way that makes him groan into his palm, makes him rock his hips into joel’s hot mouth. joel just hums around andrei’s dick and that’s— okay, that’s a lot. andrei’s gonna get a splinter under his nails from digging so hard, or maybe he’s gonna die on the spot, or like something because joel pulls off to just go right back in again and fuck. (fun fact! i’ve never had sex i don’t know what i’m writing)

“fuck,” he hisses through the meat of his hand. “fuck!”

it’s too loud, probably, and joel’s eyes flick up to his with a warning.

“sorry,” andrei breathes. joel pinches his thigh, sharp enough to sting, and embarrassingly, that’s what makes him come with a noise between a breath and a whine.

“baller,” (joel pick something less sexy to say i dare you) joel says smugly when andrei comes back to earth, enough of a douche move that andrei can’t help but roll his eyes. he flicks joel on the cheek.

“you suck.”

he grins. “well, yeah. obviously.” (low hanging fruit but he’d say it so i wrote it)

“idiot,” andrei mutters and then tugs on joel’s shoulders until he stands up, pulls him in until he can nudge at joel’s jaw with his nose. “i help you?”

joel shakes his head, his hair tickling the side of andrei’s cheek. “nah, i like it when you owe me. hey, does it count as being part of the mile high club if we’re still on the ground?” (i was literally in the middle of posting this fic to ao3 before i realised i had not made a mile high joke which was unacceptable. typed it right into the text box)

“no?”

“damn. it’s on my bucket list.”

“you so weird,” andrei tells him, not managing to keep the fondness out of his voice, and then yawns so hard his jaw cracks. “i’ll pay you back with a drink.”

“oh my god,” says joel and then pinches andrei in the side so he twitches. “i just gave you the best airport blowjob—”

“only airport blowjob.”

“the best fucking airport blowjob of your life, and you’re thinking about drinks? fuckin’ ridiculous, andrew.”

“not andrew, yo-el.” (this is svech getting back at joel as best he can. trying to give it as good as he gets it. establishing banter!!)

“sure, bro,” joel mumbles and andrei shoves at him so he can get his pants back on, fumbling with the door. “next time better be fuckin’ phenomenal. you owe me big time.”

“excuse me, you said it was payback. we equal.”

“maybe i changed my mind,” joel says with a grin, bumping him with his hip.

“maybe i disappear forever,” he replies, halfway between teasing and halfway to serious. joel reaches up to fix his snapback (this is also for la.) and shrugs.

“nah, you’re too sweet to do that.”

“i’m not sweet.”

“uh huh, bro. keep tellin’ yourself that shit.”

the line’s gone down, incredibly, and they’re close enough to the counter that andrei has to start thinking about what to order. he should probably get something for marty, or risk getting whined at all flight.

“yo,” says joel when they’re two people away from the barista. “you got digits?”

andrei hesitates and then holds up his hands, wriggling his fingers. “uh. yes?” (it’s probably more in character for real life joel to ask for instagram instead but this joke made me laugh so much that i couldn’t bear to leave it out. also it’s a little fun second language moment)

joel blinks at him for a long second and then breaks out into a wide smile, shaking his head. “nah, not those. i mean, like, a phone number.”

“i don’t have a phone,” he mutters and then pulls one out of his pocket. (YES this is a tumblr post ripoff but svech wasn’t just going to give it up so easily so in it went) “okay, give.”

he dutifully types out the sequence joel rattles off and then sends a smiley face to the number when joel makes him text.

“cool. now we can text instead of ambushing each other in public.”

“that not me,” andrei tells him. “all you.”

“you’re jumpy and it’s cute.”

“i’ll delete your number. block it.” he warns and joel waves a hand.

“yeah, yeah,” he says cheerfully and then leans over to tell the barista what he wants to drink. it’s the most ridiculous sugary concoction, hardly any coffee, and andrei stares at him in horror. (this is projection for my horror at some of the things i’ve seen in american coffee shops. that’s just. so much sugar. also prime chirping opportunity to show their personalities and dynamic a little)

“you gonna drink that?” he asks and joel frowns a little. “is just sugar. candy.”

“yeah, so? it tastes so good.”

“you not gonna have teeth.” he orders two cold brews and pays. “you gonna die early from sugar.”

“somehow,” joel says with a sparkle in his eye, “i don’t think it’s gonna be the sugar that’ll nerf me in the end.” (minor foreshadowing here! also lmao @ the thought of joel saying nerf)

he gets his vanilla bean java chip unicorn whatever frappuccino— literally, what the fuck— and takes a satisfied sip.

“disgusting,” says andrei. “no more kissing for you.”

“aw, bud, how am i gonna practice? you said i needed it.” (it’s not stated in the fic but joel learned how to flirt from watching tk and patty and i think it shows)

“lost cause,” he tells him airily. he’s about to suggest something— he’s not even sure what— when someone appears over joel’s shoulder.

“farabee,” the guy says. he looks stern, but that might be the impressive beard. or the death glare he’s levelling andrei’s way. “where the fuck have you been?”

joel brandishes his drink. “caffeinating it up, g. stayin’ alert and awake.” (real life joel has said this at least once to claude, and i will stand by that statement)

g’s frown gets deeper. “we’re going to miss our flight.”

“nah, we’ve got time— oh, shit. yeah, we gotta bounce, bruh, but i’ll catch you later? text me.” (inelegant departure but my goal was to not overthink things in this fic, like i’m prone to do, so i left it) he almost literally get pulled away by his elbow, towed by his ginger friend through the airport so he can enthusiastically wave his goodbye.

“well,” marty says out of nowhere, reaching for his cold brew and making andrei jump. “there’s good news and bad news.”

“okay.”

“the good news is that he’s cute and somehow into your stupid face.” he takes a long drink, conscious that andrei is about to hit him for making him wait and enjoying it very much. (he’s dramatic and also i wanted to draw out the surprise a little) andrei needs new teammates.

“the bad news?” he prompts.

“the bad news,” repeats marty, grimacing. “the bad news is that he’s definitely in the same line of work as us.”([john mulaney voice] the other shoe just dropped.)

everything in andrei’s head grinds to a stop. “uh. what?”

“i recognize his handler. giroux, french canadian division.” (i’m gonna work g into fic when i can bc i love him)

“joel’s american,” he says absently and marty takes another drink, shrugging.

“so philly’s an international cooperation team. (this was my way of making the international aspect of the spy teams make sense, and also to not have this be enemies-to-lovers, as much as i love that trope) can’t imagine that ever happening.” he gives svech a look which, yes, andrei knows they work together because of a treaty or whatever, but still. he wants marty to be wrong about joel, for so many reasons.

mainly because he doesn’t like feeling like he’s been conned, not when he’s so good at doing the conning, and this is a big one. (it’s not my fic if there’s not at least a little angst!)

“fuck,” he says glumly. marty pats him on the shoulder.

“well,” he says. “at least he’s cute.” (marty’s trying to show his support for svech here! he just wants good things for his friend :)))

that was so fun to do, thank you so much for asking! ily!! <3 <3 <3

#personal issues #fic talk #hockey fic #hockey #hockey bros #my fic #long post #selkiefinalist

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asiaberkeley · 4 years ago

Text

Afghan is beautiful

I am a half Afghan woman. An Afghan-European American. An Afghan American.

Admittedly, it took me awhile to offer up this information in the aftermath of 9/11 when Afghanistan became synonymous with terrorism in the eyes of many Americans. Taking pride in my heritage suddenly and painfully became controversial.

People didn’t know about my Afghan-ness though because I had my mother’s surname and not my Pashtun father’s: Hotaki. Also, I didn’t wear any kind of head covering because I was raised Catholic. It was easy to hide and pass for completely White.

My late father, an aspiring doctor and med school student who spoke six languages, left Kabul with his family before the Soviet Invasion of Afghanistan as a child. They were the lucky ones. He spent most of his life in Germany where many Afghans have sought refuge. One of my fondest memories is flying kites with him and my Irish-Swedish-French American mother in the Munich Public Gardens as a child. There was no wind that day and we dragged the kites in dizzy circles…laughing together...just as I imagine him now when he was a boy: kite flying in the streets of Kabul.

Since my father died when I was six, I returned to my mother’s hometown of Boston with her in 1996. I was later left to contemplate what it meant to be Afghan in a place with very few Afghans compared to Virginia, California, and New York. In college, as an Asian Studies major at Wellesley College and later at the University of California, Berkeley, I often corrected people who said that Afghanistan is in the Middle East and not in South-Central Asia. I wondered why it seemed that no one had received much education on this country’s history or people outside of reading the popular Khaled Hosseini novel, The Kite Runner, especially since we have been at war—fighting together with the Afghan forces against the Taliban in the longest war in American history.

Many Americans don’t realize that the attackers on 9/11 were not Afghan. The attackers did seek a hiding and meeting place in Afghanistan, however. But those facts shouldn’t matter. Because it doesn’t matter what ethnicity, race, or nationality someone is if they commit a crime and it doesn’t matter where they were hiding. The guilty party does not represent all people of their background or country just like Hitler does not represent all Germans or all of Germany and El Chapo does not represent Mexico or all Mexicans. Similarly, the latest mass shooter in El Paso doesn’t represent all white American men.

After former President Trump pondered out loud the mere possibility of a concocted plan to kill 10 million Afghans and wipe the country off the face of the earth – presumably through the use of nuclear weapons – I have thought more about what it means to be Afghan American today. And it’s not because of those unimaginably cruel musings which add insult to injury in the homes of all Afghans traumatized by decades of war. Indeed, nearly every person who is not a white man has been made to feel worthless, subhuman and criminal under the rhetoric of the former Trump administration...so Afghans are not alone.

But Afghans were alone in the discussion of their genocide in 2019. I have contemplated my identity even more because not one leader or politician in America of any background spoke out formally against those disturbing statements. (And it doesn’t matter if this was an actual plan of his or just an imaginary scenario dangling in the recesses of his mind.) What does the national silence mean?

After 9/11, Afghan American author of West of Kabul, East of New York and Destiny Disrupted, Tamim Ansary, went viral with an email he sent. In it, he wrote:

“The Taliban and Bin Laden are not Afghanistan. They’re not even the government of Afghanistan. The Taliban are a cult of ignorant psychotics who captured Afghanistan in 1997 and have been holding the country in bondage ever since. Bin Laden is a political criminal with a master plan. When you think Taliban, think Nazis. When you think Bin Laden, think Hitler. And when you think “the people of Afghanistan” think “the Jews in the concentration camps.” It’s not only that the Afghan people had nothing to do with this atrocity, they were the first victims of the perpetrators. They would love for someone to eliminate the Taliban and clear out the rats nest of international thugs holed up in their country. I guarantee it…Some say, if that’s the case, why don’t the Afghans rise up and overthrow the Taliban themselves? The answer is, they’re starved, exhausted, damaged, and incapacitated.”

After 2001, my family warned me that just telling people I was Afghan may offend or anger them because they may have lost a loved one on 9/11 or they may have had a son or daughter deployed to Afghanistan. In middle school, a classmate told me I was from the land of the terrorists after I proudly showed her an autographed book I received from an Afghan British writer, Saira Shah, called "The Storyteller's Daughter." My American cousin, a veteran, was later deployed to Afghanistan and brought back a burqa which I showed to my classmates in high school to teach them about the Taliban’s oppression. Contrary to what they may have assumed, what they saw was not traditional Afghan clothing. Traditional Afghan clothing, banned under the Taliban, is colorful, intricate, deeply hued, bright and beautiful. Google it.

A year has passed since Trump discussed wiping Afghanistan off the face of the earth. After it happened, I regularly checked Twitter and the news to see if any of our nation’s leaders denounced those remarks. I called my Governor, Congresspeople, and many others asking if just one would put out a statement to support Afghans and Afghan Americans against talk of our annihilation. The Governor’s office simply said that he did not put out a statement. I still haven’t found any. However, some Americans did speak out on social media. Thank you.

We have studied the long-lasting horrors of the U.S. nuclear bombings of Hiroshima and Nagasaki in our classrooms. I thought we concluded as a nation that something like that could never happen again. That not a single person in power thought it worth it to speak out against the possibility of the U.S. committing another nuclear genocide bewilders and frightens me. Is it controversial to say out loud that Afghans civilians do not deserve to die en masse? Are Afghans so vilified in our society that it’s a public risk to defend us?

If you still blame the Afghan people for 9/11 even if only on an subconscious level, think again. Many of the Afghan people are suffering in ways you can only imagine in your worst nightmares. They are not responsible and took no part in this. Like the poor souls who were killed in the Twin Towers, Afghans are survivors and casualties of terrorism as well. Afghan women have lost their entire families. They have been abused and pillaged. Men, women, and children have been bombed and maimed. Their history, including the rich Buddhist Silk Road history of Afghanistan, has been destroyed by the Taliban and others.

Discussing our nation's capability to conduct nuclear genocide of an entire people and country is an affront to all humans.

So I suggest to all of our nation’s leaders who have remained tight-lipped in the face of the unspeakable: Take time to learn something you don’t know about Afghanistan. Perhaps that could start with the story of progressive Afghan Queen and feminist Soraya Tarzi who asked, "Do you think, however, that our nation from the outset only needs men to serve it? Women should also take their part as women did in the early years of our nation..." Or it could be about the life and death of iconic Afghan singer Ahmad Zahir. You could learn about the courageous resistance of Afghan women and girls throughout history or visit that Afghan restaurant you were too timid to enter and try a sweet pumpkin kadoo dish.

As the war in Afghanistan, a war based on lies and deceit, may be coming to another tragic end with even graver implications for the women left behind who have fought so hard for equality, maybe it’s finally time to read another book that is not the Kite Runner... and most importantly, time to look deep inside of ourselves and question the possible anger, hate and bias that has developed towards the Afghan people after the catastrophic and traumatizing events of September 11, 2001.

*See the Washington Post’s Afghanistan Papers which deemed that the American military did not know what it was doing there and that the war was based on lies and deceit. Government officials misled the American public about the war. The war has cost the lives of thousands of American soldiers with many more wounded as well as 100,000+ Afghan civilians killed or hurt. Many of the American troops have returned with PTSD. 30% of the Afghan casualties were children.

Sources

https://apnews.com/a2a8d7a4f89ec0515379dc4d4a38b56a

https://www.washingtonpost.com/graphics/2019/investigations/afghanistan-papers/documents-database/

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ourplaceinthecosmosphff · 4 years ago

Text

Chapter 5. Truth or Dare

‘TRUE BEAUTY is not of the body or of the face, no, it is a thing of the soul - of fire and air, breath and spirit, something brave and unafraid.’ Segovia Amil

The door opened without a knock; I saw through the reflection in the mirror Cadie stop herself from walking straight in, instead fixing her posture and looking solemnly at us.

“Excuse me, Ma’am.” She said, formally.

“Don’t bother with formalities on my account, Cade.” Louis told her, grinning. “We’re all friends here. I won’t tell Auguste you usually call my sister by her name.”

The secretary grinned, but didn’t move. “There’s a delivery for you.”

“For me?” She replied with a nod.

“I think it’s a dress.”

“Oh!” Louis exclaimed, jumping up from his seat in the two-seat sofa in front of my bed.

I raised a hand in pause to Cass, who was just about finished doing my hair, and turned around to eye my brother suspiciously.

“What is it? And why is it in my name?”

“It’s for you.” He said, walking to the door and speaking to someone outside. “In here, please!”

The Prince of Wales’ butler walked in, solemnly carrying a garment bag over both his arms, which he laid over the couch where Louis had been sitting, before turning around to bow to the both of us, and leave as swiftly as he had come.

“If it’s for me how come I don’t know anything about it?!”

“It’s a surprise.” He shrugged, smiley. “Cass, are you done over there?”

Cass, who had been discreetly spraying my hair as we talked, pulled another couple of strands leading into my bun and took a step back.

“Look at me, please, ma’am? Oh, yes, I’m done. Beautiful!”

I looked in the mirror. My hair was pulled loosely to the back in a bun, with strands falling artfully to the sides of my face. Atop my head, sat Empress Eugénie's 1853 pearl and diamonds tiara, commissioned by Napoleon III to celebrate their marriage. It was adorned with 212 pearls and 1998 diamonds. After Napoleon III’s 1870 defeat, the tiara was surrendered to the Savoyen Royal Family and now it laid on my hair. It was one of my favorites from the Savoyen Crown jewels vault, and Maman had sent me with Georgian pearl earrings to match, which I picked up as Louis rushed Cass and Cadie out of the room.

“I already have a dress, Lou.” I told him, approaching the garment bag.

“How would you know it’s a dress?” He asked, teasingly, to which I only gave him a suspicious look with one raised brow. “Okay, fine, it’s a dress…”

He pat a chair next to the bag and I sat down, just as he sat in the coffee table in front and held both my hands in his.

He cleared his throat. “As I have expressed, I am sorry for the things I said when we were fighting.”

I watched him, silently, then nodded slowly. “Okay?”

“However, there is something I have been meaning to talk to you about, which may have transpired during our, uhm, bagarre.”

“...yes?”

“Maggie, you have to stop letting mom and dad walk all over you.”

“I do not-”

“You have worn at least three outfits this tour I know for a fact that you wouldn't even have purchased if it weren’t to make sure Maman wouldn’t have something to criticize.”

“Excuse you, I think my outfits were very cute!”

“I didn’t say they weren’t!” He clarified, pointing a finger at me. “All I said was… they weren’t you.”

I sighed, resting my back against the chair.

I couldn’t say I hadn’t noticed before that every time I had to do something regal there was a tiny voice in the back of my head wondering, what will mom approve of? before I chose an outfit. Her style had more of a conservative, 50s debutant vibe, while I tended to be more romantic yet modern. It was a fine line that separated both styles, and the advantage usually fell to my mother.

“She’s a very stylish woman.” I countered, and he nodded enthusiastically.

“She sure is. And you are twenty-five years-old! You should be allowed to wear things that are… out there, daring, iconic!”

I laughed. “I’m not exactly a fashion icon!”

“My point exactly. You could be.”

“Louis-”

“I know you have style! I have seen it! You just hold it back because you think you have to!”

“I do have to.”

“It’s the twenty-first century! The Swede Princesses show a lot more skin than you do!”

“They don’t have our mom breathing down their necks.”

“Maggie, fashion is supposed to be fun! But you need a little bit of courage to really shine in it.”

I sighed. “What exactly are you suggesting?”

He leaned back and crossed his legs, confidently. “Let me guess, the dress maman chose for you for tonight's of a light shade, probably blue to match your angelic eyes, with a simple silhouette that covers everything God gave you, am I right?”

I didn’t have to answer; he knew he was right, so instead he merely walked over to his delivery as he spoke.

“I have made some very good contacts since I moved to Britain, in part thanks to religiously attending London Fashion Week. So I made a call.”

He dramatically opened the bag, to reveal a strong, smooth red fabric.

“Red?!”

“I looked it up, the Duchess of Cambridge herself has worn red to a previous state dinner.”

I bit my lip. It did look quite pretty. And much more interesting than the very conservative choice my mother had made.

“Okay, I’ll try it on.” He squealed as I got to my feet. “But just because I’m curious! If I feel it’s too much cleavage, or too out there, I’m putting on the blue dress.”

“Yes!” He threw the garment bag at me and ran to the door. “I’ll go get dressed as you do that, and send Cadie in to help you.”

As I rummaged through the bag, I saw another thing inside.

“Spanx, Louis?!”

He closed the door with a thud.

I needed Cadie’s help to get everything on without damaging my makeup, hair or losing the tiara in the mess, but at last, I was ready.

Cadie approved it. “It’s perfect!” She breathed, amazed.

I walked out of the bathroom to the full body mirror in the room, finding Louis sitting in the sofa again. His eyes widened as he saw me. “Woah.”

“Strapless?!” I asked him, unfazed. “Lou, you know I can’t show cleavage on a state dinner!”

“Oh, no, mustn't let the British know you have arms!” He rolled his eyes, getting to his feet. “What will they tell the church?!”

“Lou!”

“Relax, look, it’s an upper neckline, you’ll be fine! Again, the Swedes wear strapless all the time”

“We’re not Swedish!”

“To be fair, the draping does cover much of your chest.” Cadie added, to Louis’ joy.

“Thank you, Cadie. Why don’t you go wait outside?” I told her, with an eye roll. She left, grinning.

The shape of the dress was almost a mermaid-cut, but the draping made it a lot loser in the lower-body, and added a very interesting detail to the hips; in my case, making it look like I had some.

I sighed. “It’s… beautiful.”

“But?”

“There’s a lot that goes into choosing a dress for an event like this, I can’t just change it last minute.”

“Your tiara matches, I made sure of it. The dress is tighter on your body, but not that much that Maman will have any right to criticize, the dress is red, which is new for you but not against the rules, and most importantly, out of your comfort zone! With the added bonus of the sexy factor!”

“This is the gayest you’ve sounded in your life.”

He put a hand to his heart. “Thank you!”

“I shouldn’t be looking sexy in a state dinner, anyway.”

Through the mirror, I watched him give the windows a look he seemed to be hoping I would see.

“What?!”

“Well, you know, that is true… unless there’s a very handsome man in the state dinner who’s been shamelessly flirting with you for three days straight.”

I rolled my eyes, but smiled despite myself. “I was wondering if that had any influence over this intervention.”

“No!” He replied, quickly. “I’ve been thinking about this for a while. Although you gotta admit, it’s perfect timing!”

“Harry’s just being…”

“Nice?” He asked, sarcastically, before walking over to adjust the drape. “What’s wrong with nice? You deserve nice.”

He placed a hand over my arm and looked at me in the mirror.

“Chris didn’t deserve you. You know that, right?”

I wanted to roll my eyes at him for bringing him up again, but instead I just nodded, trying to allow the words to take root in my heart.

“But Harry might.” He shrugged. “He seems to at least know you’re way out of his league, that is more than Chris already.” We chuckled. “So wear the dress. Feel as powerful as I know you are and let him know it too.”

So I held his hand, took a deep breath, and said, “Okay.”

---- ---- ---- ----

Once you’ve seen one palace, you’ve seen them all: high ceilings, golden fixtures, red carpets. The one thing that changes is the art in the walls, the people in the paintings, the era of the vases. Buckingham Palace was not different, which is why I wasn't taking too much notice of it as we walked in that night; I had spent our first day in the country admiring Buckingham, tonight was about more.

Tonight was the ultimate opportunity we had to show the world how friendly our countries' relation was, so that the people might pressure their politicians into putting work into fixing the immigrant crisis. In a more direct way, the star of the night were the speeches by the Queen and King. In an indirect way, I had been informed by Cadie on the way over that the pictures of Louis and me with the Cambridges and Harry had become very popular online, and that it wouldn't hurt to look as friendly as possible.

That would be harder, though, because on state dinners the seating chart was made very carefully so that the main visiting royals can mingle with the hosts, and the spare royals can give their attention to the other guests, so they feel heard.

As we walked in, I suddenly felt absolutely wrong in the dress. Though there was limited photographers in State Dinners, they were definitely there. Particularly at our arrival. The flashes were so blinding I could only focus on walking without tripping over my train, but in the back of my mind I couldn’t help but wish I was wearing my comfortable, old blue. Louis had prepared me for it, though.

Back in Clarence House, as we descended the staircase, the last ones to be ready, he reminded me that everything new felt wrong until it didn’t. That was easier to say when all he had to wear was a boring tuxedo he had worn at least twenty times prior.

When we walked into the living room, the conversation stopped. My father and our five person staff stared at me, head to toe, mouths opened, as my brother offered them a cocky look.

“Well,” I said, “I’m ready. Shall we go?”

Though Auguste said nothing, he looked as though he wanted to, but reconsidered when my father merely smiled, offering me his arm, and we made our way out.

Now, walking into the palace, I was reconsidering the choice myself. The dress was beautiful, my hair and makeup were perfectly in place thanks to Arnie’s flawless work, the tiara was a dream come alive; it was me. I was a pile of nerves.

As Louis offered me his hand to climb up the steps, he looked at me, confused.

“Why are you shaking?”

I shrugged, and he grinned.

“Just you wait.” He replied when I questioned this.

Dad led the way, greeting Her Majesty with a kiss on each cheek, before taking one step to say hello to the Prince of Wales and his wife, just down the line. As the heir, Louis was next, so he stepped forward and bowed his head before kissing her as well.

“Your Majesty, is it 1956? Because you look barely a day over 30.”

The Queen let out a naughty giggle, caressing the diamonds in her bracelet shyly.

He was going to make a fantastic King.

“Your Majesty.” I said, bowing down in a curtsey when it was my turn.

“Princess Margueritte.” She greeted as I, too, kissed her cheeks. “You’ve been making quite a ruckus these last couple of days.”

I looked at her, feeling my head tilt sideways. “Have I?”

“I hope my grandson hasn’t bothered you too much.”

“Oh. No! Harry? No. He is… No!” I assured her, feeling my myself blush. “Uhm. He, he is-”

“He's always been a bit like a shark like that. If they stop swimming, they die. Well, he does if he stops flirting.”

I laughed, aware we were being filmed, hoping the press wasn't close enough to pick audio, trying to look as unbothered as possible.

"He's been very friendly and... Welcoming."

"I'm sure."

"What is it?" asked the Prince of Wales, drawing the attention of my father, brother and the Duchess. I shook my head, but the Queen told him merely, "Harry".

It seemed to be enough, though, as the whole group nodded, grinning.

"Oh, yes. It seems my son is a bit taken with your daughter." The prince told my father.

Though his mouth said "oh" in an amused way, I could tell it wasn't the first time he heard of this.

“It doesn’t help she’s exactly his type.“ The duchess commented, making the group laugh again, so I‌ attempted to hold a steady, polite smile on my face.

We moved on to mingle and get in our positions to enter the dining hall; as the guest of honor, since Dad was here, there wasn’t anyone else to wait for. The rest of the guests were already in the dining hall, probably being told to find their seats now. The royal families - hosts and guests - were to enter later, so for now we could be ourselves and enjoy some privacy.

“Breathe.” Louis told me again, as we followed dad around the room. “You look about to pass out.”

“What did she mean by ‘his type’, you think?” I asked him, in a whisper.

“He’s probably dated someone who looks like you.” He replied, grinning.

“More than one... but ‘his type’, though. You think he just likes me because I’m blonde? He just likes my looks?”

“Great relationships have started with looks.” He said, turning around to face me, stopping me in my tracks. “How do you know he’s dated more than one person who looks like you? Have you stalked him online?”

I rolled my eyes, turning to look around the room. “Don’t be ridiculous.”

“You have a tell, Maggie. When you’re lying you look away so people can’t see your eyes.”

Instead of dignifying his - smart - insight with an answer, I merely hooked my arm in his and walked off, having just identified the people I’d been looking for, and trying to ignore the smile on Louis’ face when he realized where we were going.

“Good evening.”

Though Harry had his back to me, I could watch the reaction of his brother and sister-in-law. They looked at me as I approached, unsurprised I was coming; almost as though they had seen me already. When I got to them, instead of greeting us, their eyes went to Harry.

His shoulders squared back in a long breath, and then he turned around and looked at me. I watched his mouth open and his eyes widen, both so slightly it made me question if I’d imagined it, but also so obvious I wanted to turn around and go back to Clarence House to get changed immediately. It didn’t help he looked me up and down quickly and then gulped, before averting his eyes.

“You both look very dapper tonight.” Catherine said, smiling awkwardly between her brother-in-law and us. She was wearing a dark blue gown and a diamond tiara, hair half up, half down.

“Thank you!” Louis said, returning her smile with none of the awkwardness, and a lot of amusement.

“Yes, we’re very happy to have you.” William said, looking equally as amused. “I’m afraid you’re at the boring table today, Louis.”

Catherine gently edged her elbow to her husband’s arm. “Don’t say boring.” She whispered, making Louis laugh.

“Trust me, I understand what you mean.” He replied; I tried to smile, as it felt like that was the tone the conversation required. But it was hard when Harry still hadn’t looked back at me. “What is the party table, though? Does Harry get a round of Bubbly Pong going?”

They laughed, I mimicked. Harry looked around the room very still. There was an uncomfortable silence as the laughter died down, and suddenly there was a British aide telling us it was time to get to our places in line to enter the dining room.

I gladly took the excuse to move away, feeling sick to my stomach. Had I been excited before? I hardly remembered it anymore.

��I’m in the boring table, too.” Catherine told me, walking quickly to catch up to me as we moved to the middle of the line as the heirs went forward. “It was terrifying on my first time at one of these, but I’ve come to find you can have some interesting conversations, don’t you think?”

I smiled, remembering her nerves from the car the day before. “No, you’re right, it’s not that bad, actually. Though, it’s not as interesting as it seems to outsiders, either, I suppose. My sister is convinced there’s dancing, like in a ball in a Disney movie.”

She laughed, looked back, and then added, whispery, “You make him nervous.”

“What?”

“I’m over there, I’ll talk to you later, I hope.”

We exchanged a smile, even if mine was a bit confused, and she moved to stand next to the Prime Minister.

“You know, in Britain only the married women attend these,” Harry started, standing next to me in line. “And you wouldn’t be allowed to wear one of those until married, either.” He said, staring at the tiara in my head with - I was happy to see - some reverence.

“In Savoy, unmarried women can wear tiaras as long as they’re over twenty-one. Good thing I’m not British.” I said, on a low tone, glad Auguste couldn’t hear such an undiplomatic sentiment.

He grinned. “Yes. I’m very glad about that.”

I looked around, seeing the line basically done. “Are you not going to find your place?”

“I think I’m right where I belong.”

“With me?” I asked, surprised; he returned a flirty smile.

“Yes, Mary, with you.” I rolled my eyes, grinning.

“Do you get all your pickup lines from Taylor Swift songs?” He laughed a bit louder than the current volume level in the room, and more than one pair of eyes turned to look at us.

Usually they wouldn’t pair the ‘lower royals’ together like this. The high ranking ones, yes; queen and king, heir with heir. My father and Louis were both ahead, and would be sitting at the head of the table, with William and Catherine, I supposed. But Harry and I should have been paired with diplomats or dignitaries.

As we walked into the room, to the sound of their national anthem, I noticed two important things. One, Harry looked very handsome in white tie and tails, with his military medals pinned to his chest. Two, as we walked, he gave a grateful smile to a nearby aide, and I wondered if he had arranged to be seated with me. I felt… strangely flattered.

As we got to the table, and the anthem finished, a staffer pulled the chair for me, and we were all seated in silence as, at the center part of the table, they prepared for the speeches.

“I don’t think I can stress this enough, Mary.” He said, whispery, leaning closer to me than it was necessary.

“Marie.” I corrected, now more teasingly than anything else, making him smile as he looked into my eyes.

“You’re the most beautiful thing I have ever seen.”

I didn’t have a teasing answer for that; I could barely think straight as he kept staring into my eyes from so close.

Suddenly, however, his grandmother’s voice startled us both out of it and we stared ahead as she began to speak.

It felt as though the Queen and my father spoke for hours; I‌ kept my eyes focused ahead hoping to steady my breath and sweaty palms enough to be able to look back at Harry at some point in the night.

Luckily, by the time they started serving the entrees, I‌ had remembered that due to the dinner etiquette I was supposed to make conversation to the man by my other side before Harry. So I took in a deep breath, smiled politely, and asked him about his work.

By the time it was our turn to talk, he gave me a friendly smile and said,

“Dare.”

I sighed a short giggle. We had, now that I‌ thought about, left the truth and dare game unfinished the day before. I‌ had answered last, so I supposed it was his turn. I cracked my brain to think of something that was good, but not scandalous.

“I dare you to,”‌ I‌ started, slowly, staring into his water glass, “tap you fork to your glass loudly to call the attention of the room to yourself, get up, and improvise a speech in honor of my father.”

He barked out a laughter that started louder than any of us thought was appropriate, and we quickly ducked our heads down to hide our playful grins and blushing cheeks; Harry was still laughing. Taking a deep breath, he looked around the room.

“I can’t!”‌‌‌ He replied. “It’s not protocol, it’ll be too weird. It will make the news!”

I sighed, smiling. ‌“Alright, then. I‌ suppose you could… start coughing when the staffer comes back for our plates and then dramatically grab his sleeve and pretend to have an allergic reaction.”

This time his eyes widened as he laughed, leaning closer to me. “Are you trying to get me disowned?!”

I‌ laughed.‌ “Too much? Okay. I dare you to…”‌ I looked around the room, thinking.

The table was shaped like an upside-down U. The Queen and her guests were at the top, horizontal edge; Harry and I were at the start of one of the legs, close to the curve of the table, which was narrow and had no one sitting there. The person closest to the other gentleman on my side, was Catherine, and by her side, ‌my brother.

“I dare you to throw a pea on my brother’s wine glass.”

He leaned closer to me in order to see around the tall centerpiece arrangement in the middle of the table. He smelled of… lime, possibly? And I‌ felt myself leaning back towards him to smell it better.

“Hm, how about Cath? She’s more in my line of vision.”

“No!” I‌ whispered, making one of his eyebrows raise slightly above the other. “She’s nice, I‌ don’t want to mess with her.”

“And your brother isn’t nice?”

I rolled my eyes. “My brother has been a royal since birth and is used to me. Your sister-in-law seems to still be trying very hard to… behave the way people expect her to. I‌ don’t want to make that harder.”

He smiled.‌ “How do you know that?”

I‌ shrugged.‌ “I’m observant. Stop stalling. If you won’t do that, then…”‌ I looked back, seeing the staffers come back around to collect our plates. “When they’re removing your plate, I‌ dare you to burp your thank you.”

“For such a pretty girl, you are… disgusting.”

“Ouch.”‌ I said, on a bored monotone, making him fight a smile.

I‌ kept my eyes ahead as the poor staffer approached by his side to remove the plate, and then I‌ heard a loud and disgusting “thank you”, making me laugh.

We waited until they had left and broke down in a fit of giggles that made me feel very hot; I‌ took a long sip of my water, deciding I had had enough wine for the night.

Throughout the night, the game went on through each course; because I‌ didn’t want him to get any ideas about revenge, I‌ kept choosing truth, and as the first one traumatized him so much, so did he, and we ended up just having a regular conversation. Well, kind of.

He asked how many people I had ever kissed; I did the quick math in my head and told him nine (Chris was my first everything, as he was a childhood friend, and other than one 7 minutes in heaven incident at 16, the rest were all casual dates during the one time when we broke up during University, and since the last break up). So I asked him the same, and he very quietly, blushing, justified his double digit as he stuttered through a lot of excuses, which I thought was cute.

He asked what my pet peeve was, and I talked about wanting to scratch my eyes out when people chewed gum open-mouthed. I asked who was his favorite out of all the famous people he had ever met, and he told me about meeting Paul McCartney, which lead me to volunteer my experience in a Paul McCartney concert in New York a few years before, and soon we were exchanging our favorite Beatles songs, and what were our favorite bands as teenagers, which was particularly cringey for both of us (I had an insanely embarrassing obsession with Britney Spears, he had a gangster rap phase).

He asked how old I was when I stopped playing dolls (13), I asked how old he was the last time he peed himself (20, drunk). He asked what was the last text I sent, and I told him about confirming lunch plans with my coworker for the day after tomorrow. I asked him what was the last thing he searched on his phone, and he told me about googling how to tie a bow tie, which earned him a confused look.

“I know, I know. I ought to know it by now. But I told you about my terrible memory. I can never remember.”

“Okay, okay. Tell me one thing on your internet history you wouldn’t want me to know about.”

He stared at his plate, thoughtfully.

“Well, in the name of our blossoming friendship, I feel I should come clean. After your brother mentioned it at polo, I did google you.”

I nodded. “Yeah, so did I.”

“You did?”‌ I‌ nodded. “Well, may I just say those pictures are low quality, and everything is actually much bigger-”

“I‌ meant I googled myself, you narcissistic piece of work.” I‌ laughed.

“Oh, you googled yourself and‌ I’m narcissistic?!”

I‌ shrugged.‌ “I guess I wanted to see what you would see if you googled me.”‌

“Well, I‌ saw some adorable childhood pictures.‌ Bangs look cute on you.” I rolled my eyes.‌

“Shut up.”

“Found out you have three dogs, amazing. And Christopher looks like trash. You can do better.”

I laughed again, drinking more water just to have an excuse not to have to comment on it.

As we moved to the next course, we took some time to talk to the people on our other sides, so I did my best to focus on the questions the gentleman to my right was asking me.

In the back of my mind, however, something bugged me. I couldn’t stop thinking that he still didn’t know about the first time we met, and the longer I‌ took to tell him, the more uncomfortable it would be when I finally did.

“Truth or dare?”‌ He asked, without preamble, as soon as I turned to him again.

“Truth.”‌ I‌ smiled, hoping he would ask how we met so I could get it over with.

“Which of your siblings is your favorite?”

I‌ sighed; mostly because he had a very irritant, smug grin on his lips.

“I can’t answer that. Also, it’s so unfair that you only have one so I can’t return this horrible question.”

“Yes, that’s why I asked. Go on, you can do it.”

“Fine. Louis. But I‌ have-”

“Oh, wow, Mary!” He said, mock-shock all over his face.

“You asked!” I‌ said, whispery.

“That is cold!”

“I have reasons!”

“Fine, what are the reasons?”

“I was eleven years-old when Lourdes was born! I love her, of course. But I‌ only had a couple years with her before going to boarding school. Louis is just a few years younger than me, we grew up together! We’re just… closer.”

He nodded. “You went to school abroad, right?”

“Well, I‌ had a year in Savoy, then I‌ transferred to Belgium.”

“One year?”

“Yes, and it was easier to see them then, I came home every weekend, spent as much time with them as I‌ possibly could. Even when I was living in Belgium, actually. I still did my best.”

“You came home often?”

“As often as I could.” I said. “Lourdes was three when our grandfather abdicated due to his age. She will never remember a time when she wasn’t the daughter of a king. I was already off at Belgium by then. I wanted to be… I don’t know, to be…”

“There.”

I sighed. “Well, yes.”

“You felt guilty you were away.”

I looked at him, but didn’t say anything for a while.

“I don’t- I don’t know. It’s stupid. I know there was nothing I could do, I just… They were so busy, our parents. Busier than ever. And I just... ”

“You didn’t want them to feel alone.” I looked at him, surprised. He shrugged. “Will did the same for me.”

He reached over and took a sip of his wine. “When… everything happened. Not just the divorce, but everything that came after, I think he felt guilty leaving me.”

I didn’t need to ask what was the ‘all’ that had happened. The entire world knew. For this reason, I think, I wanted to offer something vulnerable in return.

“I came over to Savoy every weekend.” I confessed. “I left school every Friday on a private plane, and went home to see my family as if I still was studying in Savoy. My father shielded me from it, but the press found out and he was under attack for the expense. They called me spoilt, and said my mother insisted I was educated in Belgium out of an unpatriotic whim.”

He gave me a sad look, but I shrugged.

“I just wanted to make sure Louis and Lourdes were alright. I didn’t want them to forget about me, or think I might have forgotten them.”

He nodded. “You want to know what I think?”

I smiled. “I know you’ll tell me.”

He chuckled, silently. “I think you sound like a girl who really liked her country, and her home, and her family, and really wanted to be there, but could not, for some reason, stay in school near them. I wonder why?”

I leaned back, sighing, a grin on my lips. “And what is your theory?”

“Don’t lawyer me, Mary.”

We laughed.

“Marie.”

“It must have been tough.” He added, seriously.

He didn’t know; he seemed to just… understand.

The staff arrived to remove our plates, and we took some time to ourselves. When they left, I turned to him again.

“The girls didn’t like me.” I confessed, softly. “I see now where they were coming from. I was too… too much. Quiet, but I overcompensated a lot. I had… a lot of opinions, which I mostly shared with the teachers, in class, when forced. I was always called on and, of course, everyone knew, or thought they did, every detail about me, and my family. And they all seemed to think I needed to be… more.”

“More what?”

I shrugged. “Everything. Or maybe less of everything... I don’t know, I just wasn’t enough. I just wanted… for no one to know who I was.”

“So you moved to Belgium.”

I smiled, sadly. “No one cared who my father was there. They found out, eventually. But I already had a couple of nice friends by then. It was all I needed.”

He smiled. “I hated school.”

I rolled my eyes. “Everyone did-”

“No, I… I really did. I’ve never been smart.”

“Excuse me?”

“I’m serious. I don’t mean it in self-pity, either. It’s just… I’ve never been good at it. I don’t have an affinity for academics. I never had… an affection for any subjects, at all. I always just liked… the outdoors. The conversations, the connections with others. The adventure. I hated being inside.”

I smiled. “People are different. The only problem is the system that convinces us there’s only one way to be.”

After dessert, as soon as the Queen and King stood up, we were allowed to, as well. We were then ushered to another saloon where drinks were going to be served, and guests could mingle with other guests other than the ones they had been seated with at dinner, and soon after say their official goodbyes to the Queen.

The gentleman that had sat to my right introduced me to his wife, and we talked about their children for a while before I felt the conversation die out and gave a secret signal (adjusting my earrings) for Cadie to rescue me.

“Hello…” Louis grinned when I‌ joined him, where he was observing our father from a distance.‌ His tone alone got me to blush.

“Shut up.”

“Why? I was just going to say you and Prince Harry sure seemed to be having fun.”

I sighed, “We did.”

“That’s nice.”‌ The tone was different this time, more… honest. Less mocking. So I smiled in return.

“And I deserve nice.” I repeated his line back to him, making his smile grow.

“Auguste noticed it, too.”

I sighed again.‌‌ “Let me guess. Have I‌ behaved promiscuously?”

“He is not sure if anyone will have noticed, but he thinks it’s a bad match.”

“Ugh, what is this, the eighteenth century?”

He shrugged.‌ “He said something about both of you being spares, and none having a throne to inherit, it’s just not good politics.”

I gave him a flabbergasted look. “What?!”

“I’m obviously kidding!”‌ He laughed, but I‌ rolled my eyes. “Look, just don’t let him talk you out of it, okay? Harry is great. He’s funny, and polite, and according to Kate, seems to really like you.”

“What? What did she say?”

He grinned again. “She told me in confidence, I‌ can’t repeat it.”

“Louis!”

“He’s nice!‌ And you deserve nice!”

“I know…”

“…he’s also super hot, which doesn’t hurt.”

“Shut up.”‌ I replied, but with a grin of my own this time.

“What, you’re telling me you don’t think he’s super hot?”

“That’s not- I‌ don’t- Shut up!”

I‌’d seen Harry approaching out of the corner of my eye, and was desperate for him to stop talking.

“Hello.”‌ He greeted.

“Hi, Harry…”‌ Louis greeted him with the same teasing tone he had used to greet me.

“…Hi.”‌ Harry’s smile grew a bit more, and he blushed looking at the floor, uncomfortably.

“Stop.” I‌ whispered to my brother.

“Oh, look. I’m getting a call.” He returned, dead-faced. showing us his dark, silent phone, which was most definitely not receiving a call. “Talk to you later.”

Harry laughed as I‌ sighed. “Sorry, he’s…”

“Hey, do you want get out of here?” I stared, intrigued. His smile dropped as regret took over his face. “No!‌ I‌ just mean… To walk around, in the palace. See some cool closed wings and stuff.”

I‌ laughed. “Sure.”

“Really?”‌ He seemed genuinely surprised, and my heart ached.

I looked around at the room, enough people looking at us just because we were who we were. Our brothers looking away from us in a way that made me sure they were very aware of our movements. Auguste was standing by my father, but keeping an eye on me from the corner of his eyes. Cadie gave me a discreet thumbs up from the corner.

I remembered we were meant to be leaving the country tomorrow morning, and thought of how he still didn’t realize when we met. I remembered just how much he annoyed me only three days ago, and realized I didn’t know when I might see him next. Sure, it was almost time to leave, but I wasn’t ready to say goodbye. I wanted to see this through.

And I deserved nice.

So as he watched me with expectant eyes, I felt my heart jump in my throat and smiled as I said, “…yes.‌ Lead the way.”

--- ---- ---

Margueritte’s State Dinner Outfit

[A//N: Thank you so much for reading!!!!!!! I’d love to know your thoughts, please drop me a message here or like this page? Again, it’s a privilege, thank you for reading! Next week: Harry and Margueritte go on a secret Buckingham palace adventure!]

#prince harry fanfiction #prince harry fanfic #princeharryfanfic #princeharryfanfiction #princeharryff #Prince Harry #brf #fanfiction #fanfic #Modern Royalty AU #modern royalty fanfic #modern royalty fanfiction #chapters #OPITCphff

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angrypixie-sarisa · 4 years ago

Text

Of Death and a Baby

Piedras Rodantes Pt. 23

Sam xMexican!Witch!fem!readerx Dean (polyamorous)

Author’s note: There’s the use of indigenous language, Nahuatl, casually but magically as well. Nahuatl is the language used by the Aztecs. It doesn’t mean they were magical, but Día de muertos was celebrated long before the Spanish conquista. Because of the focus of death in this chapter I personally think that the connection between the tradition and language is quite beautiful and I wanted to use it in a way with respect. I personally am learning Nahuatl and felt the enthusiasm of incoporating it to the story. If someone finds it offensive or has notes about it I will gladly take them and even erase the chapter if necessary.

Warnings: kinda long, swearing.

(no gifs bc my wifi sucks)

“Okay, so, are you sure he had no aura? Like, not even a spark of red? Yellow? Heck, not even blue?” Diego was sitting criss cross in front of you. You shook your head as you finished drawing on your floor.

“Nothing, and when I say nothing, believe me, it was nothing. You remember that spooky book at school? The one with the weird gray lump?”

“Wha-the weird one?”

“It reminded me so much of that.”

“Word?”

“Word. Hence this.” You signaled towards the things drawn on your floor, all surrounded by the respected color, tarot cards, crystals and herbs. Diego sighed as he helped you light up all the candles.

“You know, if they find out about this, they’ll get mad.” He said as he placed his hands on his knees, palms hugging them lazily.

“¿Quién?” You asked as you did the same thing. He gave you a look as if you were supposed to know who he was talking about.

“Sam and Dean?”

“Oh, pft, who cares if they get mad? Esto es justo y necesario. Además sus sentimientos no tienen nada que ver en si hago magia o no. Screw them.” he dedicated you a proud look, before clearing his throat. “Ready?”

“On three?”

He nodded. “One.”

“Two.”

“Three. Nihuinti, nichoca, nicnotlamati, nicmati, nic-itoa, nic-elnamiqui: ¡Maca aic nimiqui, maca aic nipolihui! Incan ahmicohua, incan ontepetihua, in ma oncan niauh: ¡maca aic nimiqui, maca aic nipolihui! Estoy ebrio, lloro, me duelo, digo, me acuerdo: ¡ojalá no muera yo, ojalá nunca perezca! Donde no se muere, donde se encumbra, allá vaya yo- Ojalá.” You both chanted in unison. The circle started to illuminate with variety of colors, though the ones that repeated the most were red, purple, orange, green and blue. You kept chanting the same words over and over until in the center of it all, you got an answer.

Slowly, you both opened your eyes and moved your hands from your knees as you looked at the center on the circle.

You sighed. In temporal burnt letters it was written “Tetlapopolhuiliztli. Atlenkauitl.” Which meant sorry, no time or bussy.

“Well, there’s another way.”

“I know, but it’s the longest way of invoking death.”

“But it’ll be worth it. You’ll have your answers.”

You sighed while passing a hand through your hair.

“Es la muerte. Tiene sentido que esté ocupada.”

“Ni modo.” Your phone vibrated in your backpocket. You took it out and checked it only to find a text from Lisa. She managed to convince Dean to get on board with the gun lesson and the knife throwing. Verga. You forgot about it or rather you were utterly convinced that he wouldn’t give in that you decided to focus all your energy and thoughts to summoning Death. But well, she was busy and now you were stuck multitasking.

“It’s not fair. I wanted to learn how to throw it.”

“I know champ. But for now your mom gets this privilege.” You caressed his hair slightly. Though Lisa didn’t feel it like a privilege. She would rather not have to know how to fire a gun and throw a knife, but her situation demanded it so here she was.

“Okay, once you master the movement of your throwing hand and you don’t fear to hit your foot instead of the wood your standing on-”

She looked at you with a mock on her eyes at your teasing.

“Then you’ll move from throwing at the floor to throwing at a wall. For now, stick to the other method, the precautions and keep practising. Salt in the windows and doors, the whole shebang.”

She nodded as she and Ben helped you get the set up you brought for her practicing. Next thing you were at the door, already saying your goodbyes and as you walked a block away your phone vibrated again. Since you wanted to summon her, you kept thinking everything could be a signal that death actually made some time to pay you a quick visit. But sending a text wasn’t her style and when you saw your screen it was Dean’s name that appear. It was a text, however, you didn’t get the chance to read as a call came to replace it.

“Hey. I was just with Lisa and Ben, made sure the house’s properly safe and all. What’s-”

“Y/N, we need your help.” He sounded desperate, his voice was rushed and it sounded as if it came from different places, kind of like up and down, for some reason.

“Wha-Why? With what?” Just after you asked your ears were filled with the sound of whales, very noisy and demanding whales with a tiny sob here and there.

“Is that a baby?!”

“Yeah! I told you we need you! Quick, I don’t know for how much longer we can handle this!”

“Okay, but-”

“Perfect. See you here.” And then he hung up.

+++++

There was a knock on the other side of the door, a very loud knock. "No, no please don't…" Dean muttered as he heard the baby starting to cry again. Sam passed a frustrated hand over his face as he saw his brother open the door only to be met by another catastrophe. Your eyes were flames and he could swear you could kill anybody with that glare.

"What. The. Hell? At least if you ask me to come over give me the fucking place where you're at! I had to open five different doors to come here! There's a Swedish family you owe an apology to!" You practically helped yourself in. Taking deep breaths to calm yourself as you walk through all the room. Your eyes landed on the whaling baby. "Hi. I'm sorry, did I scare you, darling?" You went to pick him up and to the brothers surprise the baby lifted his arms at you. "Yeah, come here buddy. Hi! Are these evil men not attending to your needs? They're pretty awful aren't they?"

"Excuse me?" Dean glared at you and the baby as he settled his head on your chest, on top of your heart. You passed a soothing hand through his back and rocked him gently.

"Sorry I woke you up. They were awful to me as well." You whispered to him.

"Oh, come on!" Dean, once again, complained.

"That's a lie." You heard Sam say at the table.

"Don't believe them. They would say anything to save their necks. A bet they don't even hold you. Tsk. Muy mal." With every word you felt him relax and you looked down to confirm that his eyes were droopy.

"Hey, about your spanish." Started the older Winchester and measured his words as he was met up by a murderous gaze.

"What about my Spanish?"

"I'm tired of wondering whatever you're saying all the time. Could you just cast that spell that Diego did for Tyler?"

"Me too."

You turned to look at Sam and you couldn't see anything other than mere curiosity. You rolled your eyes as you whispered the spell and a light orange smoke appeared at your feet before dispersing quickly, as though something scared it.

"Did it-did it work?"

"Pues claro que funcionó. ¿Verdad que sí mi niño?" And as you spoke words started appearing as if they were watching a movie with subtitles.

"Wow! That's awesome! Say something more."

You thought for a while as if suddenly you didn't know any Spanish. Funny enough, the next words you spoke weren't Spanish.

"Ma cochi, pitentzin. Maconexteca pitelontzin. Ma cochi cochi noxocoyotl. Maconexteca noxocoyotzin. Maconexteca pitelontzin. Ma cochi cochi pitelontzin. Maconexteca noxocoyotzin. Maconexteca pitelontzin. Ma cochi cochi pitentzin." But it worked, the spell translated the Nahuatl words, the song to them. But of course, the sound of it wasn't familiar to the brothers.

The baby in your arms cooed lazily at the sound of the song. Instead of bothering to answer the brother's questions you kept singing to the babe until he fell asleep. Only then did you stop singing and placed him in the crib.

"What was that?" Sam asked. He had stood up from his place on the table to lean nearby on a wall.

"Nahuatl." You said nonchalantly. But of course that wasn't a satisfying answer.

"I studied Nahuatl so it makes sense that I know how to speak the language." You looked at their dumbfounded faces and sighed.

"Do you need a quick class of Mexico's history?" Seeming that there was no response you continued. "As in the United States, México was also populated by indigenous cultures. The dominant, and I'm not proud about this, culture was the Aztec/Mexica. They dominated great part of the country so it's the most spoken indigenous language, although there's still a small number of people that speak it. I personally fell in love with it and so wanted to learn it and did." You shrugged when no response came from them. "What can I say? I'm a woman of many surprises."

“I see that.” Sam said, patting your head gently as he went to head outside.

“Where are you going? I hope you didn’t just drag me around here to babysit.”

“I just have to cover something I missed. Brb.” He winked at you before disappearing behind the shut door.

You sighed and passed a hand through your hair, then turned to look at Dean, who was resting in one of the beds. “Well at least you’re here to keep me company.”

You sat beside him, looking at the wooden bars of the crib whilst biting your lip, deep in thought. He never used to pat your head, he only did it once before you told him to stop because you felt like a dog.

You felt heavy fingers tapping at your back lazily. You turned around to face the tired look on his face. “What ‘cha thinking?”

You released your lip and turned your attention back to the crib.

“Nothing.” It would’ve convinced him if it wasn’t for the fact that your voice sounded low and dark, causing him to sat up.

“That’s the worst lie you’ve ever told.” When you didn’t answer, he pressed. “Is it Sam?”

At that he caught your attention, seeing as your head quickly spun around to face him with a puzzled look painted in it.

“You feel it too?”

“Feel what?” He thought the distance between you and his brother was bothering you and he didn’t know why it was there in the first place. You two should be like newly weds or something, after all, you were reunited again.

“Nothing, nothing.” You panicked and closed your mouth before you could say something else.

“Y/N.” He warned. Well now he needed answers. He wanted to know what was happening.

“Dean, you don’t wanna know, okay?”

“Except I do, you’ve just called me Dean.”

Finally, you met him in the eye again. “What?”

“You only call me Dean when you’re serious.”

“That’s not true.”

“Mhm, sure.”

You laid back on your forearms, still looking forward. “Don’t know what you talkin’ ‘bout win- I mean, De-”

“See, I told you!” He slapped your thigh playfully as he chuckled, earning a few silent laughs from you.

“Okay, alright, you’re right. I do call you Winchester frequently.” His hand wrapped above your knee and squeezed gently. He gave you some time in silence before he planned to press again. He didn’t want to give the impression that he wouldn’t ask again but also he didn’t want to annoy you with his insistence.

“What is it? What about Sam?”

You groaned. “You never give up, do you?”

He shrugged as his thumb made tiny circles on your jean wrapped knee.

You sighed. “Fine. Si te vas a poner en ese plan, pues ya que.” You huffed as you sat up again.

He smiled softly. “ I love this spell.”

“Yeah, except now I can’t talk shit with you in the room anymore.”

He bumped his shoulder with yours. “Don’t change the subject.”

“Wha- you were the one who did.”

“Y/N.”

“Ay, sí, ya sé.” You rolled your eyes, took a deep breath and let go. “Do you think Sam is… You know, our Sammy?” There was a pause as his hand stopped moving abruptly. You started playing with one of your beaded bracelets nervously as you waited for his answer. “What do you mean?”

You sighed before answer. “He’s not Sammy, Dean. He’s… Different and not in a good way.”

“What- How is he different?”

“Well he doesn't fight with you.”

“Oh, so you prefer it that we fight?”

“No, i don’t mean it like that. I mean it’s not natural. You guys fight and now he rises from the depths of hell and suddenly your brotherhood is just paradise?”

“How do you even know that we fight normally?”

“He told me before going back to hunting, before going to hell. Dean he’s not Sam. There’s something wrong with him, he-he has no aura. He’s way to poised and calm all the time. He patted my head.” You started listing all the things, carefully toning down your voice so you wouldn’t wake up the baby again.

“Wow, what? Your basing all this on him patting your head?”

“It’s not just that, didn’t you hear what I said? He had literally no AURA. And him patting my head? I asked him not to once and he never did it again through the time we were together.”

“So he’s awkward, he’s remembering how it was having you around it doesn’t mean anything.”

“Well, how do you explain the aura then?” You crossed your arms.

At that, he remained silent, clenching his jaw as he thought. “Maybe you’re still tired, from the djinn thing.”

You took a deep breath and clenched your fists. You knew he wouldn’t understand.

“Just forget I told you this.”

“No, Y/N, I-” But whatever he was about to say got muffled by the sound of something splattering, followed by baby cries. You both looked up to see skin and blood on the wall.

You both hurried to aid him, you beating Dean to it as he answered a call from Sam.

“Dean.” You called as you picked the baby covered in green goo. He hanged up the phone and took the baby from you. But neither of you knew what to do except for panicking and do a funny dance where you stood.

“Shapeshifter.”

“I know.”

“The baby, he’s…”

“I know.”

“What do we do, Y/N?!”

“Um, okay, well…” You stammered. “No need panicking.” But what could you do? Was there anything to do, really? All you could do was take care of him until you could figure out something better. “Um, we- we can’t have a dirty baby. Let’s clean him and for once stop him from crying.”

The Winchester nodded rapidly. “Yeah, yeah that sounds like a plan.” He took the baby to the bathroom, living you staring at the mess left behind.

“I guess I’ll deal with this.”

+++

You finally got everything clean except that the baby kept crying. You tried cooing at him and playing with him but nothing worked. It would’ve been easier if you had a baby toy but, the brothers didn’t buy any.

“Y/N, come on. You were supposed to be the baby whisperer.”

“Oye! Just because I’m a woman it doesn’t mean I’m the baby whisperer.”

Then, there were knocks on the door before a voice came through. “Manager. Everything okay in there?” You frowned as you both shared a look before glaring at the door.

“Yeah, no, we’re fine. Thank you. Good night.”

“There’s been complaints. Mind opening the door, sir?”

“Ay, pinche wey, pues que le valga a la verga.” You whispered. The older Winchester pressed a hand on your mouth despite your complaints. “You cannot curse in front of a baby.” He scolded.

You shrugged his hand away. “Oh, grow up, everybody does.”

“Sir?”

“Uh, it’s not a good time. J-Just got out of the shower.”

The doorknob started moving impatiently. You shared a look with the hunter. In your eyes he found an ice cold blue that wasn’t supposed to be there. He saw you move to hide on one side of the door, leaving the baby to him as he placed the him in the crib, before mimicking your actions.

The door opened up to reveal a police man with a knife. Manager, mis huevos. Dean heard your voice in his head, not affording to look at the translation. The intruder just needed to advance a couple of steps before he grabbed his arm and you got the knife out his hand.

Struggling, the man pushed you two away from him, making the stupidest thing and pushing you two in between the baby and him.

“Get the hell out of the way.”

“No that’s not gonna happen.”

“A child should be with his father.”

“Prove he’s your son, then we’ll consider it.” You said.

“I’m not just talking about me, I’m talking about our father.”

You masked your confusion well enough but the hunter looked as if he took the bait. You mentally facepalmed. And as the guy went to make his move you quickly dodged his kick before you kneeled and kicked his other leg.

“Y/N, look out!”

He grabbed you by your hair and pulled. But just as sudden as it was it stopped. Dean had jumped into action and wrestled with the man.

“The knife!”

You felt it beneath you and you grabbed it as you went and pressed it on the shapeshifter’s throat. He groaned, placing his hands around the hunter’s throat.

“Try me, I’ll choke him before you could slice my throat.”

“You talk to much.” As you went to move your hand he slammed his head with yours, freeing himself from your threat.

You placed a hand on your forehead and saw him towering over you. But before he could do anything else a gunshot was heard and his body met the floor with a thump.

“Well, there goes our deposit.” You heard Dean say towards the door. You needn’t see it to know that it was Sam.

+++

You were driving to meet up with Samuel and the cousins. The boys had discussed about the events and Sam had suggested to go to Samuel. You weren't happy about it, your gut kept telling you that something was wrong. Still, there you were, sitting at the back of the car, keeping an eye on the sleeping baby.

You looked out your window, not really knowing where to look at, but you certainly didn’t want to face forw, when something caught your eye. As if the world had slowed down, you perfectly saw a lost soul watching dumbfounded at the cars as if they didn't know how they got into the road.

Your fingertips started tingling and you glanced down at them to find them colored a coal black tone.

Verga. You glanced around shoving everything trying to find anything that could help you; there had to be something you could use to hide them.

"Hey, what's up?" Dean asked watching you through the rear mirror.

"Uh. Sammy…" you cleared your throat. "Sam, do you happen to have the other day's gloves?"

"Uh, I think so. I think there somewhere back there."

You sighed and mumbled a thank you. You were sure to move carefully, trying not to flash them your fingertips.

Just as you thought you had no exit to your problem you saw crushed leather fingers beneath the baby's car chair.

"Ay Dios mío, gracias!" You quickly retrieved them, shoving your hands swiftly into the soft fabric from the inside.

"So, what's with you and the gloves?" The older brother asked.

"I- I well, you know, I tend to wear them when I get too overwhelmed."

"Overwhelmed, 'bout what?"

"Er, um, pues, 'bout the energy of people or a place, sometimes certain hours of the day. It depends but the feeling's rare."

While it was a true statement, it had more to do with the fact that death started surrounding you and it would only intensify once the summoning was complete. But, the fingers usually happened if the spell for summoning death worked a little too well.

+++

It was night time when you arrived and the chills down your spine intensified. There was no way you were leaving the baby’s side now.

You felt your phone vibrate in your pocket. Soon all of this mess would be over.

You held the baby close to you, careful not to crush him, and the cousins gave you weird looks about it that you decided to take care of by giving them the finger. Every time you did, Dean shook his head.

“Oh, relax he’s asleep. He can’t see me.”

Gwen approached you with her eyes fixed on the baby. She went to caress his head softly as she said. “Well, aren’t you the best disguise a monster ever wore?”

You looked away from her, sure that if you stared at her for too long her head would explode. Instead you locked eyes with Dean and you both rolled eyes in unison at his cousin’s words.

However, she noticed. “I’m kidding, guys. Relax.” She said before going away.

You lifted the baby softly so he could hear your words. “Cura, cura, cura. Sana todo lo que llevas. Que tus abuelos están contigo y sus espíritus te protegen.” It was an incantation to wash away the energy of the brother’s cousin, you didn’t want it sticking around where it didn’t belong. No one heard, but they did see you and questioned you. When asked what the hell you were doing, you shrugged.

“Que te valga madre, ¿no?”

When you fully lifted your gaze, the Sams were already heading towards you and the older brother had already stood besides you.

“Hey, let me see the little guy.”

“That’s alright I got it.” You said firmly.

Samuel smiled. “What do you think I’m gonna do?”

There it was, your ice cold eyes again. “I don’t know. What do you think you’re gonna do?”

“You don’t want an answer to that question.” Dean backed you up.

“Well, I’m curious. Who exactly do you think we are?” Christian asked from his chair.

“Hunters.” You both answered. But that didn’t matter because his response was only directed to the one on your right side.

“Funny. Here i thought we were family.”

“Hey, let’s not get worked up.” Sam started.

“Yeah, let’s not.” His cousin finished before directing his attention to something else.

“Here, Y/N, it’s fine.” He neared you and looked at you. “Let me take him. It’s okay.”

“Heh, well you’ll have to rip him off of my arms.” You didn’t move. You stood your ground because stepping back would’ve ment intimidation and you weren’t intimidated you were furious.

“Y/N.” Sam said quietly.

“No, don’t talk that bullshit to me. What do you want him for? Hm? Tell me, give me a good reason why you want me to hand him and I will.”

The room fell silent, more than it already was. You scoffed. “What you can’t think of a good one? He’s fine, he’s healthy, he isn’t injured. You want to take a look at him? Hear your words. Look. You can do that shit with your eyes, I don’t need to hand him over for that.”

Samuel, sighed, raising a hand to scratch the back of his neck.

He’s nervous. The older brother heard your words in his head. His back shuddered, but when he turned to look at you he saw that your attention wasn’t directed at him. He didn’t even think you actually intended to talk to him. What did you said once? You tended to think loudly.

“What are you gonna do with him?” The attention of the good ol’ Campbell shifted from you to his grandson.

“Raise him.”

You scoffed. “Simón, wey. Esa ni tu te la crees.”

“Raise him?”

“You got another suggestion?”

“But-”

“It’s dangerous out there for him.”

“What about in here? What are we gonna study him? Poke at ‘im?”

“Your mind goes right to torture, Dean. Don’t assume that for everyone.”

“What exactly you’re tryna say?” Great, now you got two angry people. Good luck fighting us.

“Sorry, I heard what you majored in. Down in the pit.” Christian retorted.

“Ay, pinche puñetas! Que te valga madre, pinche cabron de mierda!”

“Sorry, I don’t speak mexican.”

You gritted your teeth. “And I don’t speak bozo, yet here we are.”

“The hell is your problem, man?”

His cousin stood up and walked directly towards you. “You’re starting to become a pain in my ass.”

“Take it easy. They’re my family.” Sam stepped in.

Christian took a look at you. “I’m not scared of fighting a girl.”

“Funny, I was going to say the same thing about you.”

Dean gulped and looked at your eyes, they were no longer icy blue, they were pure red, as fire and blood. As if you could burst something into flames by just looking at it.

“We’re done bristling up here or what? Nobody’s doing anything to him, guys. When he’s old enough we throw it to him.” Samuel spoke. “He wants to volunteer to help out, that’s fine.”

“Could be great.” Mark added.

“How?” You asked lowly.

“Think of the kind of hunter he’ll grow up to be.”

“Hm. See I didn’t see it before but now I do. Thank you for that, you’ve opened my eyes.” You said sarcastically.

“You have to be joking! I mean, come on. You can’t Angelina Jolie a shapeshifter.”

“Why can’t you give me an inch of trust, Dean?”

“Y/N, give him the baby.” Mark commanded.

“Uy, sí, mamón. Lo que usted ordene. Se me olvidaba que le tengo que hacer caso a cualquier pendejo que abra la boca.”

“Maybe because you two are back from the dead and I seem to be the only one who wants to know how.”

“You’re not the only who wants to know.” Sam said softly. That took you off guard, it sounded so genuine yet only in that moment he felt honest.

“Well, there’s too much of mystery in this family for me to get comfy.”

“Then don’t. But don’t put it on us. All we’re trying to do is invite you in. You too, young lady. You think we are some merciless hunters but we’ve been nothing but open to you. Christian, you’ve always wanted a baby, haven’t you?”

“I mean, yeah.”

“Try to take him away from me and see what happens.”

Samuel scoffed. “What you think you can do better?”

“At raising him? Yeah, I do.”

“But didn’t you tell Sam that you didn’t want kids?” Gwen stepped in.

“Well I changed my mind, sue me. One thing is for certain, I have a better chance. You guys are always on the run, always hopping from one town to another. You don’t have a steady income. I do. And I have a savings account with money enough to start a college fund. If you can’t say the same thing, leave the baby the fuck alone.” Your phone kept buzzing like crazy. Just a little bit more, he’s almost here.

Everyone fell silent again. This was new to Dean. He had never seen you liked this but he always knew that you had a good way of shutting people the hell up with solid facts.

Just when Samuel opened his mouth to respond, distant barks were heard and panic overflowed the room.

You looked at Sam, only to find nothing but confusion. Then you turned to Dean, but he only dedicated you a panic look as well. You felt paralyzed, your body tensed and for the first time in years, you didn’t know what to do. Well, you did, but it was easier for you to think tit than to move your body. You had to blame it on the spell, it was making you slow and frightful, like an old person that had their foot more on the afterlife than on the material world

“Safe room.” Samuel said. He placed a hand on your shoulder and guided you towards a door. “It’s downstairs. The baby’s gonna be safe there, go! We got it, go!”

+++

Loud clanks and footsteps echoed in the safe room where the four of you where at.

“Come on, Bobby John, you’ve got to be quiet.” Dean cooed at him above of you. You still didn’t feel like handing him to someone else.

“I’m gonna go check, you guys stay here.” Sam said, but as he looked through the window his image was mirrored and the shapeshifter yanked the door of it’s hinges. He took Sam by the collar, blocking his attack and threw him out of the room, knocking him out. He spotted you and began to walk towards your direction, getting rid of Dean in the process, making him blackout as well. . He then saw you and took your form.

“Give me the baby.”

“Took you long enough.” You whispered before handing them the babe. The shapeshifter gave you a thankful look as they carried the baby in his arms. They took a deep breath as they relaxed knowing that his keen was finally with them.

“Thank you for calling us. And trusting us, Y/N. Thank you for taking care of him, we are in debt with you. It did making the tracking easier”

“There’s no need for that.” You sighed. “I’m only glad he’s safe. I was the only one who thought he was better with his kind.”

Your mirrored self gave you one last nod before walking away. Just as they were about to round the corner, they turned to you.

“But you didn’t trust one of us before. What changed?”

“Like I told him. All I needed was proof that he was the father. Now it doesn’t matter anymore. He has no one close to him left. I’m sorry for all the trouble, it wasn’t supposed to go like this.”

They shrugged and as they walked away they said: “Make sure to make your injuries believable.”

Yeah. You thought and sighed. That was going to hurt.

The rest of it went like you expected, lots of clean up and confusion. Dean asked about the shapeshifter alpha (which was the one tracking the baby) and his grandparent and Sam answered patiently.

Now you where at the walk to the car, tending to your black eye, that you funnily gave yourself, while the brothers talked.

“You know what’s funny.”

“What?”

“Back there, the fight in the motel. That guy said that they had to be with their father. So maybe, he was talking about the alpha.”

“Uh, I guess so.” Sam said nonchalantly.

“So you heard that?”

“I don’t know, it was kind of a hot moment? Why?” He looked at his brother and then at you, but whatever he was searching for he didn’t find it.

“Because if you did know the alpha was out there and you knew they were looking for the baby, then that means you took the baby as bait.”

Sam fell silent but looked at his brother as he waited for the question. “So did you?”

“Did I what?”

“Took the baby as bait?”

“Of course not, Dean. I honestly thought Samuel was the best shot we got.”

The older Winchester looked at you for backup and his brother mimicked his action.

“Ah no, a mí ni me miren, yo tengo mis propios problemas ahorita.” You pointed at your black eye and thankfully that made them take their eyes off of you. And the rest of the ride was silent as a tomb.

+++

When you got back to your house, a tiny shadow was waiting for you, meowing.

You sighed, relieved. “Schrödinger, hola gato guapo.”

“You have a message. It’s on the altar.” He walked you towards your coffee table, where you had mantled death’s altar. In the center, on top of the tarot death card, there was an envelope with a black wax seal, death’s seal.

You sighed. “Always so fancy and proper, huesuda.” You opened the enveloped and unfolded the letter that was inside. It was a personal letter to basically tell you to be patient, she had a lot of work but as soon as she felt a space between her schedule she would gladly have a cup of coffee with you.

“Great. I’ll have to make café de olla de aquí hasta que aparezca.” You clicked your tongue.

“At least she communicated with you.” Schrödinger said as he rubbed his body against your leg. You smiled and picked him up. “I missed you.”

“I missed you, too.”

+++

@anathewierdo

#piedras rodantes #supernaturqal #supernatural fanfiction #Supernatural fanfic #supernatural imagines #supernatural #supernatural imagine #Sam Winchester #sam x reader #sam x reader x dean #dean winchester #dean x reader #angsty #angst #kindaangsty #notreallythatangsty

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avellanas-nutty-empire · 4 years ago

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Silent Love Part 4

Aldidjdbdj it's been a while huh? I got a lot more asks than I was expecting so hopefully that filled yall up while waiting for this

Fandom: the umbrella academy

Pairing: axel x Irish!OC

Time and place: Spring 1990 San Patricio

Summary: over 1200 words of kelly, axel, and Nikolas just at the pub

Last chapter was really short, so plz enjoy this longer one! I hope it was worth the wait.

Plz rememebr that the only character who's first language is english is Dick from part 1, so the dialog is spoken all wich accents and doesnt have a wide variety of vocab if its english (aka black colored) especialy for Axel cause he knows the least of them

Green dialog is Irish

Blue dialog is Swedish

A small bell chimes with the opening door, notifying nearby people of the new person. Axel looks around the pub to see people drinking, talking quietly, and clapping and stomping their feet to the beat of the music while people dance in a cleared out area. This place is so warm. He thinks to himself. Almost a little suffocating, if I think about it. Axel decides to take a seat at the bar closest to the door.

“Welcome to the irish pub! My name is Sean, and I'll be the bartender this evening. What can I help you with?” A man says, cleaning a glass in his hands.

“Waiting” Axel responds simply, while Sean gives a nod of acknowledgment. The pub is not going to stay open forever. Most people have already left for the night.

“Very well then, please feel free to ask for help. I'll come by later” The bartender sets down the glass behind him and walks off towards the other end of the bar. The music ends, and the dancers bow. Another song starts up as the door opens again with another chime.

"Thank you Again for agreeing to meet with me" Nikolas says, taking a seat next to Axel. "I know swedes prefer to stay out of other people's business, so I'm sorry if any of this has been an inconvenience for you. Were you waiting long?"

"No" he responds curtly. The bartender comes over again at the new man's appearance.

"Welcome to the irish pub! My name is Sean, are you ready for something?" The lad jots down Nikolas's order on a notepad then turns to Axel. "Anything for you?"

"Same" he says.

"Good choice gentlemen, I'll get right on that" Sean walks over to prep the drinks on the back counter.

"...So, do you know the woman who helped at all, or was it a factor of chance?" Nik says, deciding to start the conversation once their drinks arrived.

"No. I was walking nearby and heard Adela call out...." I thought it was my family. "...I thought..." Axel trails off, sipping his drink in between pauses.

"This country isn't all it's Cooked up to be" Nik says with a sigh, taking reign for the poor lad. "You have to be a pure american to fit in. Walk, talk, and look like them. What they seem to forget is that this country is made almost entirely of immigrants. They pushed back, suppressed, stole, and killed the natives of this land to claim it as their own. People like us... who are different... have it rough, we need to look out for each other. No one else will" Axel nods solemnly. Discrimination is everywhere. “That's why I like places like these...” Nik says, gesturing to the entire pub with glass in hand.

Glancing around, most every person there is Irish or some other immigrant. In the corner behind the bar, Axel spots your head of red hair as you prep something on the back counter. The front door opens with another chime of the bell, and a small boy darts right though the door, smacking straight into Axel. The boy falls down with a thud and a gasp, making your head swivel over to the 3 boys' location. You throw your hands up and mumble something under your breath, walking towards them.

"That's her. The one with the red hair" Axel points out to the man.

"Levi, what did I tell you!" You scold him, briefly checking for injuries. After concluding there aren't any, you turn to the 2 men at the bar. "I am so sorry, gentlemen-" your eyes meet Axel’s, and your face lights up with recognition. She does remember. And she's speaking slowly for us to understand better.

"Don't worry about us, is the lad alright?" Nik asks.

"I'm fine, thank you. Sorry for running into you" Levy answers him, speaking softly enough for only them to hear.

"Why don't you go upstairs. And use your walking feet!" You suggest, a hand on Levi's shoulder. “I am so sorry, again-” You start, interrupted by the elder man.

“It's alright, he's just a boy and will learn with time” You smile kindly at him, thanking god he’s not upset. “You're a kind lass for helping my granddaughter last week” He says, this time sending you a kind smile.

“You’re her grandfather? Oh, I’m so glad she found her family” You turn your attention to Axel this time “I’m sorry I couldn't help more. Is your arm doing good? I could rebandage it for you” You offer, motioning where he was wounded on your own limb.

“Arm is good” How does her face just.... Relax like that?

“Thank god, I'm glad”

“My name is Nikolas, but you can call me Nik. It's very nice to meet you” He extends his hand for a shake, and you lean in to take it.

“Please call me by my last name, Kelly”

“Don't like your first one?” The old man questions.

“...something like that” Nik nods his head in acknowledgement.

“How long have you been in the country?”

“Well, my parents moved here with me after I finished schooling... but they moved back after 15 years. I have a job here because it's run by my best friends family, and that's what I've been doing ever since”

“I see... it must have been rough when you first moved here” Nik comments.

“Yes, it always is. That's why immigrants help immigrants, right? We all have it tough”

“That is exactly why I like places like these” Nik continues his earlier topic with a smile. “You’re much more likely to find kindness here than with a ‘real’ american - as they like to call themselves” You smile with a small laugh.

“Well, what's your name? How long you been here?” You say, directing your attention to the Swede.

“Axel. 1 year” Technically it's been a little less than a year, but I don't know how to say that in English. You nod your head sympathetically.

“It is a hard language to learn, my parents had the most difficulty. Part of the reason they moved back”

“In my experience, it's easier when surrounded by the language” Axel zones out of their conversation momentarily, not very interested in their business. Why are they both so friendly? He ponders, glancing around the pub again to see that the population has dwindled.

“...You dance?” He asks you finally, gesturing to the dancers up front who have all stopped for water. You turn your head to glance over at the girls, before responding and turning back.

“Not a lot anymore. I teach and help make new dances though. In the morning before the pub opens we let local dancers practice here”

“My, that's so cool! Adela was always interested in dancing” Nik responds with enthusiasm.

“It's a lot of fun. Levi has a lot of energy, so I'm trying to make him like it more”

“Maybe if he and Adela met they could like it together?” The older man suggests, your face springs with an idea.

“There's a big show soon. They could meet then?” You propose, emphasizing the size with your hands.

“Yes!” Across the room, a clock chimes for the hour and the excitement from your face deflates.

“Pub closes soon” You say, sadness tinging your accented voice. “Time to go home. But next time?”

“Yes, I can not wait!” Nik stands up with a newfound happiness. “Thank you for talking to me, I am sorry if I was interrupting your job”

“Of course. Good night, be safe!” You pat his shoulder eagerly as he heads towards and out the door.

“Arm... bandage?” Axel questions, motining to his injured arm. You look back to him suddenly, eyes widening in recognition yet again.

“Yes. Wait please” You then make your way behind the bar and trek up the stairs with vigor. As he waits, Sean comes up to take his empty glass.

“Done?” He questions before picking it up. Axel simply nods and the cup is taken to be cleaned. Soon enough you return down the steps, glidings over to him with supplies. Setting the small jar of slave down, you start unwrapping his bandages with such delicacy it almost scares him. It's as if she's afraid something will shatter with her touch. Revealing the wound, you are relieved to see it truly has gotten better - if even a little.

“Not big” You say, applying the same salve as last time. “Will heal fast. Thank you” That's almost exactly what she said last time too. You quickly wrap the new bandage around his arm, satisfied with your work. But... “Done!” You quip with a smile. Every cat has claws... and I don't plan on being fooled again.

#avellanahablando #the swedes #silent love tua #axel x oc

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letterboxd · 5 years ago

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Life in Film: Levan Akin

“Someone told me, ‘You are one person when you make the film, another when it’s over’. And that’s really the case with this film, it’s changed me fundamentally.” —The writer and director of And Then We Danced talks to our London correspondent Ella Kemp about masculinity, queer love stories, Georgian cinema and the ever-quotable joys of Romy and Michele’s High School Reunion.

Love stories come and go, but few have the golden warmth of Levan Akin’s dance-romance, And Then We Danced, which has captivated Letterboxd members enough to garner an impressive 4.0 rating out of 5. The film follows Merab (Levan Gelbakhiani), a dancer who has grown up training at the National Georgian Ensemble, and is moved to examine the structures and traditions he exists within when the charismatic Irakli (Bachi Valishvili) arrives at the company.

Akin was born and raised in Sweden, the son of a Georgian family who emigrated in the 1960s. Following the attacks at the 2013 Pride parade in the Georgian capital of Tbilisi, the solidarity among the country’s gay and queer communities became more urgent. Akin was moved to turn away from the big-budget Swedish TV productions he has made a name directing, in order to connect back to his roots for this project. But And Then We Danced isn’t solely a political commentary—it moves and feels freely.

Akin’s film gives audiences a long-overdue education on traditions far outside Hollywood: we see the rigid rules of Georgian dance, the way a body is taught to bend and extend and survive, and how spontaneous feelings have no place in that education.

If the film, told from such a unique perspective, also feels somehow familiar, it’s because Akin, who wrote, directed and co-edited, is a magnanimous cinephile. He’s been watching and understanding love stories since he can remember, and speaks of them with immense enthusiasm. There are years of wisdom and observation in the details of And Then We Danced. Every time I admit to him I haven’t seen a film he mentions, he looks sincerely happy for me that my world is yet to experience it.

Answering our Life in Film questionnaire, Akin shares memories of ABBA as a national treasure, the first film that blew him away in cinemas as a child, and why Tarkovsky could have done with being a little more queer.

This is quite a departure from the scale of your television projects. What drew you back to Georgia and those difficult circumstances? Levan Akin: I come from a background of making bigger projects, and this wasn’t obviously what a person like me should be doing next. I did a lot of Swedish TV, but I had grown tired of working the way I did. I started working for [Swedish film and commercial director] Roy Andersson when I was 22 and then I went into TV—I never went to film school. I applied twice and I didn’t get in! I was brought up in the SVT [Swedish public broadcasting service] way of making TV series. You have a script, you break it down, sometimes you write it yourself, sometimes you don’t, you do the shot list, you work with the actors, you block the scene and you move on and that’s all fine and good.

But after my previous film I was very tired. I was 36 then, and had sort of forgotten why I was making films. I had seen this Pride parade, the one where they were attacked in Georgia in 2013, and I couldn’t stop thinking about it. So I went to Georgia and did some research with my own little camera, and it very organically developed into this film. I never sat down and thought I’d write a story about this dancer. I used what happened around me, and I found a lot of real people. We often weren’t allowed to film in places a lot of the time—we made up stories about what we were doing. We had to have bodyguards, we’d lose locations on a day’s notice. It was insane, so I couldn’t plan out the movie like I would normally.

I wanted to make a very classical story, a very universal story and have the motor be [Merab’s] first love for Irakli and that setting him free. And then I filled it with things that happened while I was working. I’ve never worked like that, but I think it’s the best film I’ve made, and it’s really been a rejuvenation of my creative energy. Someone told me, “You are one person when you make the film, another when it’s over”. And that’s really the case with this film, it’s changed me fundamentally.

One character in And Then We Danced says, “Georgian dance is based on masculinity”. What are the defining traits of masculinity in Georgia? The definition of masculinity is so different in different cultures. In Sweden, where I live, if two men just hug too much or walk arm in arm, it’s considered super un-masculine. It’s like the whole thing about how young boys fight each other because that’s the only way they can be close in Western society. Whereas in Georgia, you can sit in someone’s lap and it’s not considered gay or un-masculine. Over there, traits like being very poetic, being a dancer, being a good singer, things that might be feminine in our culture are considered very masculine.

I thought that was interesting for the film because the regular story might have been, “I want to be a dancer but my family doesn’t want me to because it’s considered to be a feminine job”. Whereas here it’s the opposite, it’s, “I am a dancer, and I can’t be gay”.

Why was it important to use dance as a narrative vehicle to show these changing identities? What they say in the film is that Georgian dance has evolved. It’s based on old folk dances from different regions of the Caucasus, other Caucasian countries too, as well as Georgia. The dances from Batumi have a lot of oriental influences, originally even more than now. And the Kintouri dance was originally created by a queer group of people who lived in Georgia 100 years ago, and they were people working in service jobs.

Men wouldn’t take those jobs because it was considered unmanly, so the ones who worked in those jobs were gay guys or queer, some were even trans. They developed this dance and it’s sort of like a Paris Is Burning. Everybody knew they were gay. That’s what the teacher says in the film, when he says “they were softer but we made them harder”, because then these dances were appropriated by three big ensembles, and they did alterations to them.

Levan Gelbakhiani in ‘And Then We Danced’.

How did that influence the message you ultimately wanted to share? The film is about finding your own place in a traditional society, and not letting anyone tell you what your traditions ought to be, or how you ought to define yourself, to be accepted as a Georgian. That discourse is all around us now. I’m really frankly tired of people telling me that, for instance, I’m not really Swedish because my parents came from Georgia, and I have a Muslim background. Also, Georgia is 90 percent predominantly Christian Orthodox now, so a lot of Georgians think you can’t be Georgian if you’re not a Christian.

There are two major contemporary music cues in the film—ABBA’s ‘Take A Chance on Me’ and Robyn’s ‘Honey’. How did those two come to be? During the Soviet Union, there was an ABBA concert on TV and I think that was one of the only one Western pop concerts that was broadcast in Soviet. I think it had to do with Sweden being social democratic, and we had sort of a good relationship with the Soviet Union so they thought, “Ok, we can show this, at least it’s not American”. It would be on every New Year’s Eve and it would be like a tradition.

So when the Soviet Union fell, ABBA had a new market with new people who also loved ABBA. So ABBA is actually very popular in Georgia! Of course ABBA is super-expensive to [license], and we had literally no money when we made this film—it was a very hard shoot. But one of the producers of the film is the son of Benny Andersson of ABBA… I figured if he likes the film, for them it’s not a big risk. I thought, I’ll try it in the rough cut and either he’ll like it and say yes or he won’t—but he loved the movie, he was crying afterwards.

Levan Akin.

I’d also taken a risk with Robyn because that album had just come out, and we all love Robyn. We just hoped she’d like it and accept it, because we couldn’t pay her very much. Thankfully she did, and also we actually got help from Jen Malone. She’s a music supervisor and she’s so talented, and she’s the one who does the music supervision for [bands including] Euphoria, Creed and so on, so once she also got in touch she made it work for us. I’m eternally grateful to Jen.

[The following answers contain spoilers for several of the movies mentioned by Akin.]

And Then We Danced has many beautiful dance sequences. Which specific dance scenes, or dance movies broadly, inspire you? I love The Umbrellas of Cherbourg as a whole, and it has dancing in it, so that’s an easy one. In Dirty Dancing, I love the last dance, I can watch it over and over. It’s an amazing scene in every way. I also love the scene in Ex Machina where [Oscar Isaac] is dancing. It’s so nice, and so sexy.

I don’t know if there was dancing in it but I really want to mention this film—I love The Diary of A Teenage Girl. Marielle Heller is a genius. And Bel Powley and Alexander Skarsgård, they’re just so good in those parts. He was incredible! That should have won all the Oscars. In my films I never have clear antagonists, even if there are characters antagonizing the main character. I love them all, there’s no clear moral compass, everyone is just trying to do their best with the circumstances. It’s the same with this film. I love that you understand and love Alexander Skarsgård, and the guilt Minnie must have been feeling. It’s just so sensitively directed, with such a precise feeling of how to not veer in any one direction. If anyone is just shaking somewhere in that film, let’s put it in this ranking!

There’s this amazing documentary made by a Swedish documentarian, Martha & Niki. It’s about two friends who are dancers, two black girls from Sweden. Their friendship is really complicated, and they’re competing in a special dance, and you just follow them as they’re touring and competing. One of the girls is from Uganda, if I remember correctly, and another one is adopted, so they also have very different social backgrounds. I saw it in cinemas and I was just sitting and crying.

Jennifer Tilly and Gina Gershon in Bound (1996).

What are your favorite on-screen gay love stories? Brokeback Mountain. I saw that movie in New York in 2005 and I was so shocked. I just thought, “What the fuck have I just been through”? The ending… Nowadays, I would never want to kill off a character in a gay movie, but then, it’s so vague that you don’t even know what happens to them. It breaks my heart, it still does.

I really enjoyed God’s Own Country. I thought it was really moving and touching. Josh O’Connor is a revelation, and the other guy [Alec Secareanu] is amazing too. They have great chemistry. It’s just so delicately made.

I also love the Wachowski sisters’ Bound. I remember when I saw it, oh my god. Back then, seeing that was really something. I love Jennifer Tilly, what a star!

In terms of a movie that gay communities really love: Romy and Michelle’s High School Reunion. I’ve seen it literally a thousand times, I just rewind it and watch it again. It’s so amazing. When we were younger, 50 percent of the lines we would say would be lines from that film. It’s hilarious. It’s such a great story about friendship. If you haven’t seen it, congratulations, you have so much to look forward to!

And how did I almost forget My Own Private Idaho?! I saw that as a kid in the 90s, and it’s just so amazing. River Phoenix. What a movie.

Could you give the Letterboxd community a primer to some great Georgian films? I love My Happy Family, a film by Simon Groß and Nana Ekvtimishvili. They’re a directing couple. They did another film called In Bloom; about a teenage girl, it’s sort of autobiographical I can imagine, as it feels very lived. It’s about a Georgian girl in the 90s. Both films were at Sundance—My Happy Family was there three years ago and I think it won an award. [It was nominated for the Grand Jury Prize, and was Georgia’s entry for the 2013 best foreign language Academy Award]. Netflix bought it, so it’s on there now.

My Happy Family (2017).

It really shows this thing in Georgia where there is no private sphere. Families live together inter-generationally for life for many reasons—financial ones for sure. It’s the story of this woman who lives with her mother, her father, her children, everybody is in that house. She decides that one day she wants to move into her own apartment, and it’s the most shocking thing anyone has ever heard of. She says she just wants to sit alone and read books and have her own space, and everyone is so provoked by that because that can’t happen in Georgia.

There’s another Georgian film I love called Street Days, by Levan Koguashvili, which came out in 2010. It was one of the first new-generation movies in Georgia showing the reality of Georgia the way it was then. It’s the story of a man who is struggling to support his family, but he’s also a drug addict. It sounds really bleak but it’s made with such dark humor.

To go really far back to the directors working through the Soviet time, there’s The Wishing Tree by Tengiz Abuladze. So many shots from that film are so, so beautiful. It’s set in the rural parts of Georgia, and it’s about a young girl who falls in love with a boy, but they can’t be married because she has to marry an older person because it’s better for the family. And the boy she was in love with was killed by the husband. She goes insane, because she keeps thinking about it all the time; she’s talking to his ghost. This old woman in the village hears her and thinks she’s cheating on her husband, so they decide to do this ritual where they stone her. It’s so sad and so beautiful, and there’s a woman in the village who’s like the town fool but she’s the only one making sense. It’s so poetic.

Sergei Parajanov is another of my all-time favorite directors—I love The Color of Pomegranates and Ashik Kerib. He’s a great surrealist director and has inspired many directors since, such as Tarsem Singh and Mark Romanek, who did a lot of music videos in the 90s. Madonna’s video for ‘Bedtime Stories’ was really inspired by Parajanov. He worked a lot with tableaux, and it’s so queer. [Parajanov] was gay and he was imprisoned for it many times. He was very close friends with [Andrei] Tarkovsky and he attributes his artistry to being inspired by him, saying that Tarkovsky released his creativity. They were close, but they’d also fight a lot. One time Parajanov told Tarkovsky, “You can never be as amazing a director as me, because you’re not a homosexual”, which is funny!

Finally, what was the film first made you want to be a filmmaker? I love that question. It feels like I’m closing a circle because I think the movie I’m thinking of has some similarities with my movie. It’s Some Kind of Wonderful, [written] by John Hughes and directed by Howard Deutch. It’s not one of the most famous John Hughes movies but it’s one of the first ones I saw in the cinema. I think I was seven years old, I went with my older sister who was eleven at the time.

Mary Stuart Masterson and Eric Stoltz in ‘Some Kind of Wonderful’ (1987).

It’s a love triangle between Eric Stoltz, Mary Stuart Masterson and Lea Thompson. Stoltz plays this working-class kid, he lives on the wrong side of the tracks, the classic perspective that’s always in John Hughes movies. He’s in love with the popular girl in school, Amanda Jones. She is also from his part of the town but is dating the rich guys. He’s really in love with her, and his best friend is played by Masterson, she’s called Watts but her nickname is Drummer Girl, and she’s a tomboy. When I was little I thought she was a boy who was a gay character. I didn’t understand that she was a girl because I’d never seen a girl like that as a kid. It’s just a great movie, it was a love triangle before love triangles were boring. I don’t know if it consciously made me want to direct films, but it was the first film that I saw that that stuck with me.

We didn’t have a lot of movie culture in my house, my parents emigrated to Sweden in the late 60s. My father read a lot, but we didn’t come from any culture. The films I’d find were the ones you could rent in the local store. Mostly American movies. The more highbrow stuff came later when I was older and could search them out myself.

‘And Then We Danced’ premiered in Director’s Fortnight in Cannes last May, and has won several prizes at other prestigious festivals since. The film is currently showing in select cinemas on the east and west coasts of America, and opens in UK cinemas on March 13.

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