#we support grief stricken women around here

[sailermoon]

R O U N D 5｜Alien Stage by VIVINOS

[imherongraystairstrash]

Defender of Men

Alex Lightwood birth storyyy!! I’m finally publishing it because someone sent me an ask on it, but it became too long, so here’s part one:

“Cecily, are sure you’ll be alright?” Gabriel asked. 

“Jiw jiw, for the millionth time, I’ll be fine.” she said, pushing Gabriel out the door. “Now go do something useful.”

Anna was already outside, leaning against a tree, frowning down at her dress. 

“Anna, gwnewch yn siŵr bod eich tad yn stopio poeni.” Cecily said.

Gabriel looked at her, annoyed. “I speak Welsh, Cecy.”

Cecily kissed his cheek, “Then make sure you do well on what I said.”

Gabriel rolled his eyes and hugged her with one of his arms.

“I’ll be back soon.”

“No, Gabriel.” She said, putting a hand on his chest. “Just have fun sledding with Anna, your nieces and Gideon. Sophie is right next door, if I need anything—which, I won’t—I’ll just call her.”

“Are you sure?”

“I’m not made of glass, love. I’ll be fine. Now go before our poor Anna gets stuck frozen to that tree.” 

Gabriel dropped a kiss on the top of her head before letting her go.

Cecily watched as he walked to Anna, who made a show of pretending to be asleep. He ruffled her hair, stealing her hat in the process and running down the street. Anna laughed and chased after him.

…

“Kit, bach, are you sure you don’t want to go sledding with Anna and your father? I’m sure it will be loads of fun,” Cecily said, once she was back inside. 

Kit furrowed his eyebrows and cast a hesitant look outside. “I think I’d rather stay with you, Mam.”

Cecily smiled, knowing perfectly well Kit didn’t like the cold. “Alright then, fy ngalon bapur i.” (A/N: my paper heart)

Cecily walked to the kitchen and pulled out two mugs from the cupboard and filled them with tea. Before she picked them up, she grabbed a pocket watch that was on the counter and hung it on her neck so she could time her contractions.

When she got back to the drawing room, she tried to set the mugs on the table, but she couldn’t bend down that far. Christopher shot to his feet and helped her put them down, and lowered her to the couch.

“Thank you, darling.” Cecily said, bracing a hand of her belly. She felt like she was at the verge of giving birth, which is never a good thing, as a mother’s instinct is rarely wrong. The first stage of labour takes around fourteen hours, hence Gabriel’s hesitation to leave her at home. Cecily had thought he was being dramatic, but that was before she realized that she was maybe closer to birth than she had thought. Had fourteen hours already gone by?

“What book are you reading?” Cecily said, looking over her son’s shoulder, distracting herself. 

“The Picture of Dorian Gray.”

Cecily scrunched up her nose. She had never read the book herself, but from what she’d heard of, it didn’t seem like a book Christopher would be interested in.

“What a peculiar choice of literature, cyw.”

“Matthew recently read it and said it was at utmost importance I read it as well. I don’t understand much of it, though. I’m also not very fond of the characters. I’d prefer your company over that of this book.” 

Cecily smiled. “As do I, bach.”

Having children was a strange experience for Cecily. She was apprehensive at first, afraid she wouldn’t be a good mother and her children would end up resenting her. When she got pregnant with her first child, she was so happy. 

And when she lost it, she had been so incredibly grief-stricken.

She had felt like she’d already failed as a mother, even though the Silent Brothers confirmed there was nothing that there was nothing that could have been done differently to have saved it, that it wasn’t uncommon to lose a child in the early stages of pregnancy.

That was the cruel irony, wasn’t it? To feel so much regret, to have your child die inside of you, and not know what went wrong. 

They’d tried again, and then she was pregnant with Anna. The whole time she had been so horribly sick, she was terrified of losing another child. This time, however, she’d been pregnant long enough that she’d have to give birth to the child, whether it was alive or dead.

Those months had been the worst in Cecily’s entire life. Not even when her father had gambled away their home in Wales, the one she had memories of running with Will and Ella down valleys, had she felt such despair.

“Mam?”

Cecily shook her head, bringing herself back to the drawing room sofa, beside Kit.

“What is it, bach?”

“Does the baby have a name yet?”

Cecily rubbed her belly. “Not yet. Why do you ask?”

Kit shrugged. 

Cecily suddenly felt a contraction. She started the pocket watch timer and sat forward and breathed deeply to try to relieve the pain. This one felt longer than the rest had been. 

Kit looked at her from over his book, his eyebrows together. 

Once it had passed, Cecily stopped the timer. After a couple of seconds of recovering from the contraction, she looked at the time, and swallowed.

“Kit,” she said as calmly as she could. “Bach, I need you to ring for the Silent Brothers.”

…

Brother Enoch, Zachariah and another brother Cecily couldn’t remember were preparing for the birth. Christopher had helped her up the stairs, before the brothers had come, and was now standing in a far corner of the room, at loss for what he should do.

“Christopher.” She said, motioning for him to come.

“You needn’t be here. I’ll be fine and your father will soon be here. I already asked Sophie to send him here once he stops by after sledding. You can wait outside until then.” 

“But Mam, I don’t want you to be alone.”

“I won’t be alone. I’m with the Silent Brothers.”

Christopher looked over his shoulder at the Brothers.

Cecily put a hand under his chin and turned his face to face her own. She smiled at him.

“Go, Kit. It’s alright. I’ve done this before.” She said with a smile.

“I want to stay here. With you.”

Cecily tried to rub away a smudge on Christopher’s face, perhaps something to do with his most recent experiment.

“I don’t think you do, bach. When people say birth is a natural process, it’s because they’re trying to glorify a process that’s ghastly.” 

Cecily looked deep into his lavender eyes and smiled. “Now go, before I start crowning. Trust me when I say you’ll wish you’d have gone.”

Christopher made to move, but didn’t get up.

“I want to help you. I want to stay with you the way you stayed when I got my first rune.”

Cecily wanted to argue that this was different but she suddenly got a contraction that was long enough she knew she’d have to push at any moment.

Sure enough, Brother Enoch said, you must begin pushing soon, Cecily Lightwood.

“You have to be sure, Christopher.” She said through her teeth. “One-hundred percent sure. And you must stay on this side of the bed, because I don’t want you to see the birthing process. I’ll only let you stay because if not I’m afraid you’ll ‘stress experiment’ and blow up the house.”

Kit nodded quickly.

“Alright then.” She said.

Are you ready to push?

“Yes. Let’s finish what we started, Enoch.” Cecily said, taking Christopher’s hand in her own and bracing herself for the birth. 

…

Congratulations, Cecily Lightwood, it’s a boy. Enoch said in her head, less than half an hour later.

Cecily fell back on the pillows, exhausted. Birth never really got easier over the years. 

Jem came around with the baby in his arms and gave him to Cecily. She swore she saw him stroke the baby’s hair as he walked to her. She smiled up at him. 

“Thank you, Jem.” She said, quietly.

He inclined his head at her and walked away. 

Cecily looked down at her youngest son for the first time. She’d helped other women give birth when she was younger, and had always thought newborn babies ugly, but whenever she looked down at her own, they were the most beautiful and perfect little things in the entire world. She smiled and offered the little baby her finger to hold. 

Like with all of her other children, she felt her eyes sting. There was something about holding her child for the first time that always brought chills to Cecily’s body. It’s not like when she held Anna for the first time, the feeling she felt that her life would forever be changed, but it was more like when Christopher was born; she didn’t feel any fear, just happiness. She kissed the baby’s forehead.

“I wish you could have met your grandparents.” She whispered.

Edmund and Linette had passed away four months ago, and it had been difficult for Cecily not having been able to visit them when they were still alive. Since she was pregnant, she and the baby would be at high risk of death, if she caught the influenza disease. 

She tried to shake off the memory. Right now, she only wanted to focus on the good things in life, not the bad.

She looked up and saw Christopher a distance away from where she was. He must have moved away from her once the baby was out and the Silent Brothers began moving about, preparing the child to be held and checking to make sure everything was alright. Christopher looked at the baby in wonder, one of the first babies he’d ever seen. 

“Come meet your brother, Kit.” She said, holding a hand out.

She motioned for Christopher to sit next to her on the bed and, resting the baby on her chest momentarily, demonstrated how to position his arms.

“That’s right, bach.” She said, lifting the baby to put in Kit's arms.

“Mam,” he said nervously. “What if I drop him?”

Cecily smiled. “You won’t. I have faith in you.” 

She gently placed the baby in his brother’s arms, Christopher looking like he was holding his breath.

“Breathe, darling. It’s just your brother. Look at how much he likes you. He’s already reaching out to you.” The baby’s hands were indeed opening and closing slowly. Cecily helped Christopher adjust his arms, so that he was supporting the baby’s head better, and when she sat back, she felt a pang in her chest at seeing her two sons together. Christopher had a soft smile on his lips, the smile that many people had told her is the same as her own. 

Sometime after she’d put the baby in Kit’s arms, a Silent Brother told her she needed to push out the placenta, so that they could begin healing the tears induced by the birth. She nodded and when she began pushing again, Kit looked up, confused. 

“Is there another one?” He asked, surprised, his eyes wide with curiosity.

“Heavens, no. Thank the Angel. It’s just the placenta.” 

Christopher still looked confused. 

“It’s nothing you need to worry about, bach.” She reassured him.

…

The Silent Brothers were gone by the time Gabriel and Anna got home.

Cecily had been feeding the baby, and Christopher was reading a book on his back, keeping her company. He’d given up on reading The Picture of Dorian Gray, had switched it for a book on science. Cecily had tried to read a couple of sentences, but was deeply confused by them, not being able to understand a thing. 

“I don’t know how you can read that, Christopher. I can’t follow a single sentence, much less the entire book.”

Kit looked up at her. “It’s not that hard, it’s just that Biology is interconnected, so you have to understand the previous concepts to understand this one.”

Cecily laughed. “You put a lot of faith in me, Kit.” 

Christopher tilted his head to the side. 

“What are you reading about now?”

“Genetics. Why children come out looking like their parents.”

“There’s an explanation behind that?” She asked.

“Yes! We all inherit half of our genes from our mother and half from our father.”

“Are you sure? I can’t imagine your father inheriting anything from Benedict.”

“It’s more so to do with physical traits.” Kit explained. “Like blue eyes or green eyes.”

“That’s quite interesting, bach.” she said.

And that’s how Cecily got a lesson on genetics. She was happy to listen to her son talk happily about science and to have her new baby in her arms and be able to kiss his tiny, soft nose and occasionally ruffle Christopher’s hair.

…

“By the Angel, Cecy.” Gabriel said, coming inside, worried. Both Anna and Gabriel had a lot of snow on their coats. They must have come home running after hearing the news. “Are you alright? Is the baby?”

“Yes, yes. Stop worrying.” Cecily said, holding up the bundle of blankets they’d hidden the baby inside of.

Anna’s eyes widened as her eyes landed on the bundle in Cecily’s arms. “Is that the baby? It’s so small.”

Cecily nodded and Anna walked quickly to kneel beside the bed and smiled at the baby. 

“Hello.” She whispered, touching his cheek lightly.

“This is your new brother,” Cecily said, smiling at Anna.

Gabriel leaned in over Cecily’s shoulder, close enough that she could see his face as he smiled down at his youngest child. He put a hand on her shoulder, and kissed her temple lightly while Anna cooed at the baby. 

…

A few moments later, Anna was sitting on the armchair across the room, holding the baby for the first time, Christopher standing to the side, letting the baby hold his finger.

Gabriel leaned close to her and whispered, “what do you think about Alexander?”

Cecily turned to look at him and smiled. “Alexander?”

Gabriel shrugged, brushing her hair away from her face. “I was thinking about names while I took Anna sledding. I tried to come up with names for each letter of the alphabet and I got to ‘Maxwell’ before I thought of Alexander.”

Cecily looked back at her children, interlacing her hand with Gabriel’s. “What made you think of Alexander?”

Gabriel shrugged. “Maybe the letter ‘X’ that they have in common.” 

Cecily felt her smile grow wider. “I love it. Alexander.”

She felt Gabriel put his arms around her and she rested her head on his warm chest. 

“The birth wasn’t that bad, was it?” Gabriel said, his voice lightly amused.

“Go to hell.” Cecily mumbled against his shirt.

Tagging: @tsccreatorsnet @atla-lok143 @rinadragomir @youngreckless @autumnangel20 @julemmaes @cupcakesandkittens @no-scones-allowed @fictionally-fantastic @stxr-thxif @writeforjordelia @itsdaughterofthemoon @jordeliasupremacy @cordelia-cardale @will-effing-herondale @axoloteca @heronstairs2014 @ilovemanicures 

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[mikauzoran]

Lukadrien: Études: Fifty Kisses: Fourteenth Kiss

Études: Fifty Lukadrien Kisses: Fourteenth Kiss

(Prompt Fourteen: A kiss so desperate that the two wind around each other, refusing to let go until they are finished.)

When Adrien came barreling through the door of the safe house, Gabriel preemptively took back the cup of tea he had just handed to Luka a second before.

Gabriel was just in time. No sooner had he snatched the hot liquid away than Adrien crashed into Luka, knocking him back on the couch, surrounding Luka in his embrace like a coral expelling its guts to cover and digest its prey. If Gabriel hadn’t known better, judging by the ferocity and desperation of Adrien’s kiss alone, Gabriel would have sworn that Adrien was a starving cannibal determined to consume Luka, tongue and esophagus first.

Gabriel sighed loudly to be heard over the smack of lips and breathless gasps. “Adrien, he’s fine. Like I told you on the phone, the gun wasn’t loaded. He was never in any real danger.”

Adrien did not appear to hear, too wrapped up was he in his beloved.

“The young woman has been arrested,” Gabriel continued, knowing full well that his son was unaware of his presence in the room and would remain so until he had finished kissing the man that he loved. “and I have instructed our legal team to prosecute her to the full extent of the law. Hopefully that will set an example for other fanatical admirers upset by the news of your…uh…bisexuality.”

Gabriel looked back over his shoulder to find that the kiss had simmered down, morphing into a slow series of light, tender smooches, as if Adrien were kissing a scrapped knee, magically making it all better.

Gabriel refused to admit that the scene was heartwarming. He was obligated to object to his son’s choice in a partner solely on principle so that the candidate did not relax and mistakenly think that they had a free pass, regardless of whether Gabriel actually liked or disliked them. Gabriel did not intend to ease up on his signature reproving stare until there were grandchildren. At that point, he felt he could consider his son’s happiness secure regardless.

Finally, Adrien’s lips parted from Luka’s in a grief-stricken breath. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, Luka. This is all my fault.”

“Perfect Fifth, you can’t control what your crazy fans do,” Luka chided, giving Adrien’s jaw a nuzzle.

“If I had known that going public with our relationship would cause something like this…” Adrien slumped forward, resting his head on Luka’s shoulder, still sitting on Luka’s lap, straddling his beloved, wrapping around Luka like a boa constrictor.

“Adrien, it wasn’t a big deal,” Luka tried to assure.

Adrien scoffed, lifting his head to glare at his boyfriend. “Some lunatic pointed a gun at you, convinced that killing you was necessary to save me from the evil spell you’d cast upon me. How is that not a big deal?!”

Luka shrugged, looking off to the side. “The gun wasn’t loaded. Obviously, my would-be-assassin was incompetent, and even then, some of your other crazy fans, dedicated to protecting your happiness, jumped the attacker. I was just startled. By the time I really realized what was happening, the attacker was already pinned to the ground and security was getting involved and Gabriel was there, so…”

Adrien rolled his eyes. “What if the gun had been loaded? What if my fan club hadn’t been there to dive on the attacker?”

“Your self-proclaimed ‘Guard’ of young women supporting your happiness with Luka is actually quite ubiquitous,” Gabriel informed helpfully. “They show up at all events…regardless of whether the events are officially announced to the public. They’re quite passionate about their support for you, Adrien. I believe that they’re just happy you didn’t choose a woman over any one of them. In that respect, this relationship has been much easier on PR than a heterosexual one would have been.”

Adrien sighed. “Still. Luka, being with me is putting you in danger.”

Luka rolled his eyes, but Adrien caught Luka by the chin and made him meet Adrien’s gaze.

“Seriously, Orpheus. We need to break up.”

“W-What?” Luka breathed incredulously, his entire face going numb in horror.

“What?! No!” Gabriel snorted. “I forbid it.”

Adrien looked up to frown quizzically at his father. “…But—”

“—No,” Gabriel repeated with authority. “You’re not breaking up with him unless he does something reprehensible like cheating on you that we can use to garner public sympathy. Adrien, do you know what a public relations nightmare this has been? Unless something drastic happens, you are marrying him. The PR department has already put countless hours into laying the groundwork. I’ve designed a same-sex wedding line. You have no other option.”

“But—” Adrien tried again.

“—No,” Gabriel snapped. “You should have thought of this before very publicly declaring how in love you were with this boy. Now, the staff has cleaned up the shrapnel to the best of their ability, and they’ve done a fantastic job. The public overwhelmingly supports you two, and I’m not going to let you ruin everyone’s hard work over this incident, especially when you are so obviously crazy about him. Don’t be a child, giving up when things are hard. Grow up and commit, Adrien, because, in my mind and in the mind of the public, you are already married. There is no other recourse.”

Adrien winced, looking back to Luka, gently stroking Luka’s cheek. “Orpheus, I am so sorry. I didn’t think—”

“—P5, I am one hundred percent okay with this,” Luka chuckled. “The thought that you’re already shackled to me by outside forces and that I don’t have to do anything to keep you that way is reassuring.”

“Keep in mind that if you make my son unhappy, I will manufacture a scandal and burn you to the ground,” Gabriel reminded.

Luka waved Gabriel off unconcernedly.

Adrien sighed, dropping his head to rest on Luka’s shoulder so that he could more easily nuzzle Luka’s neck. “I guess you’re stuck with me.”

“Stuck with you?” Luka scoffed, pulling Adrien in closer. “I won the lottery and got the grand prize.”

Adrien tightened his hold on his boyfriend. “…What are we going to do? What if this happens again? Luka, I can’t lose you.”

“You won’t,” Luka promised, kissing the top of Adrien’s head.

“I’ve already started the process of interviewing bodyguards,” Gabriel informed. “You two will spend the night here, and the candidate should arrive to collect you tomorrow morning.”

Adrien’s ears perked up. “Really?”

Gabriel rolled his eyes. “Of course. Adrien, the reason we have a security team is to deal with situations like this.”

“Thank you, Father.” Adrien grinned brightly as he offered his heartfelt thanks.

“Thank you, Gabriel,” Luka added with a tentative smile of his own. “We appreciate everything you’ve done to look out for us.”

“I’m sure,” Gabriel replied coldly, turning his back on the couple. Unseen, he smiled into the rapidly cooling teacup still in his hand, drinking to the small victory.

[unicorn-vibes-99]

Learning to Live With Never

my gift goes to @chloexdecker​ my prompts were monster mash and  "you know, it can be scary sometimes, but... being who you really are is never a bad idea." a quote from Chloe Decker, season 3 episode 8. I had a lot of fun doing this! I hope you enjoy!!!

Trixie was seventeen now and had resigned herself to three truths in this world.

1) She had met the devil, and he was the kindest man she had ever known.

2) Her role model as a child was a demon, and she was the best at taking care of her

3) And finally, when they left- they weren’t coming back.

It was still hard to think about even if it did happen over half her lifetime ago. Ten years flew by when nothing good happened. Her father, Dan, had died in an accident involving a murderer who was after her mother. That had been five years ago and though the ache in her body still felt fresh, she knew it did no good to dwell on it. She had felt completely alone after it happened, Lucifer and Maze gone, her mother guilt stricken, and her father gone she tried to pull herself together and be the woman she saw in her mother, but she always fell flat in her mind. That’s when she met Eve, who helped her in every way that she couldn’t help herself. Eve had become her older sister, helping with things like boys, and grief. 

Which brings us to now, where Trixie was in the school parking lot for her final Halloween dance. Eve had been swarming her with different makeup and dresses all month, and Trixie was glad that was finally over. However Trixie was still curious about why this dance mattered so much more than any of the others. Somehow Eve had dragged her mother into being a chaperone to this specific dance with her, an amazing feat considering Chloe had to work doubles to support the apartment and Trixie since Dan died. 

Eve switched the dress Trixie was going to wear from a green and black homage to Frankenstein's monster, to a red wrap around dress that faded to grey and black at the bottom. Trixie had no idea what monster she was supposed to be, but didn’t mind because when she spun in this dress the flare was something to be remembered. The three women climbed the stairs to the entrance of the school. The hall before entering the gym was dark, and covered in fake spider webs and campy ghosts. In the distance she could hear the song “Monster Mash”. Eve grabbed Trixie’s  wrists and started dragging her to the gym dancing, it was bad dancing but trixie laughed and started to dance nonetheless. 

Just as they were entering the gym Eve spun her and Trixie’s dress flared out into a reverse fire. Trixie knew what monster she was supposed to be now, she smiled at Eve, “Demon?” She asked and Eve nodded. 

“I think it looks fantastic.” A woman's voice whispered in her ear. Trixie would know that voice anywhere, it raised her and helped her through her parents divorce. 

“Maze.” She turned and stood stunned and frozen to the spot.

There stood the baddest demon she knew. Granted probably the only one she knew. Maze wrapped her arms around Trixie but Trixie couldn’t get herself to move. She would be lying if she said she hadn’t dreamt about this very moment a thousand and one times before. She never thought it would actually happen. She thought maybe when she died, she might see her, but not before that. Not now. Definitely not in her high school gym at a cheesy dance. 

Suddenly there was a clatter behind her and Trixie turned to see her mother looking more stunned than herself. The cup that had fallen to the floor spilled red liquid all over the floor. “Maze…” Chloe trailed off. She bent down to retrieve the plastic glass off the floor. “Is… is. Um. is he here?” she stuttered out quietly.

“I wish I could tell you. When I left he was still conflicted over it. Might do more harm than good.” Maze said softly. It felt weird, almost fake, how we were talking about Lucifer as if he were real. Trixie knew he was real, she knew he existed but over the past ten years he felt more like an imaginary friend she had made up. 

Trixie couldn’t breath as she walked over to the dance floor. It was overwhelming, no one could have prepared her for the emotional roller-coaster that the night had become. Eve and Maze followed quickly behind her. Why couldn’t they understand she needed to be alone? This was all too much. She was happy, that was for sure, it was all the other emotions she was feeling that made her unable to even think at the moment. She tripped and began to fall when someone caught her arm and pulled her up. “Now, now we need to slow down. I know it’s a gym but…” the man trailed off when Trixie looked at him.

Someone should go tell her mom yes. 

Lucifer stood silently just holding Trixie’s arm. “Well didn’t the little monster grow up.” He finally broke the silence.

“What are you doing here?” Trixie asked quietly. Tears welling up in her eyes as she lowered her arm and lucifer let her go.

“Can you keep a secret?” he asked lowly. Trixie nodded. “I’ve come to all of them since… Since Dan’s death. I’m not your father, But I promised, through Amenadiel, That I would look out for you. I sent Eve when Chloe was depressed. I had Maze come up tonight because I knew after all this time you deserved at least one good thing happen to you.” He whispered quietly.

“So my uh dad… He’s…” Trixie started but couldn’t finish, the words got caught in her throat. Tears threatened to spill and ruin her makeup.

“He’s in heaven, never even smelled the brimstone.” Lucifer reassured her.

Trixie took a deep breath. For the first time in five years she felt like she could breath, like the weight of the world was finally off her shoulders. Her dad was okay, he wasn’t suffering. The tears actually fell this time. Not because she was sad but from relief, which seemed like a worthy reason to ruin her mascara. “Can… Can you do me a favor?” Trixie asked hesitantly

“I don’t know Trix…” Lucifer trailed off.

“You spied on me for five years, I’m just asking for a small favor.” Trixie said with the fire that she had at seven.

“Alright, fair is fair.” Lucifer sighed and crouched down to listen to her request. Trixie whispered in his ear. “No. I can’t do that.”

“You promised.” she pouted.

“Fine, but the aftermath is yours to pick up.” Lucifer sighed and straightened the cuffs of his white shirt.

Lucifer walked across the dance floor starting out confident but slowly losing nerve as he grew closer to the punch bowl. The truth was that Lucifer could watch from a distance how chloe aged and fell in love and eventually died. This was like flying too close to the sun, Chloe could melt all the layers he put up over the past ten years to protect himself, all she needed to do was look at him. By some miracle though she hadn’t turned around yet, too preoccupied by the senior who tried to spike the punch bowl.

Lucifer had practiced a moment like this a billion times, he might open with a cocky line like “did you miss me?” or he might just embrace her, he had a thousand ways he wanted this to go, but everything failed him now. He couldn’t talk, couldn’t move, his heart beat so loudly in his ears that he was reminded how human he was in her presence. 

Chloe scolded the teenage boy for five minutes while Lucifer just stood there. When she was done she sent the poor boy away and she turned around exasperated. Then she froze. It felt like she was seeing a ghost, in all actuality she thought it more likely that she would see Dan standing there before Lucifer Morningstar. “Lucifer?” the word slipped from her lips like an avalanche down a mountain, shaking the world that previously didn’t have Lucifer and Chloe existing as one.

The word hung between them, Chloe shaking for what? She didn’t know. Lucifer was still frozen to the spot. The air was thick and the music wasn’t there for them. Ten years of waiting had led up to this moment. Lucifer shook off his fear and doubts and smiled his Cheshire grin and held out his. “Detective.” He said offering a glimpse into the past.

Chloe wasn’t prepared for this. She spent the last ten years resigning herself to the fact that she may never see Lucifer again. She was at peace with that fact, but here he stood in what felt like the least likely place for the two lovers. Chloe felt like she was going to throw up, or faint, possibly both. She stared at his hand and back up at his eyes. She wanted to hug him, to kill him, to scream, and to kiss him all at once. 

This whole time lucifer held his hand out waiting for her to take it. It was terrifying to be this vulnerable, he was the king of hell yet nothing mattered except this moment. The eternity he spent living in heaven and hell, couldn’t compare to the bliss and horror of leaving his heart open to this woman.

Chloe shook off the fear and bewilderment and reached a shaky hand out and grasped Lucifer’s. Then everything snapped into place, the music was playing a slow song and the room was quiet for the first time all night. Lucifer pulled Chloe close and their feet had a mind of their own as they began to dance. It was as if the stars had finally aligned and everything was as it should be.

“What are you doing here?” Chloe asked quietly

“I have promises to keep.” He responded just as quietly.

“Like what?” she looked up at him, looking into his deep sad eyes.

“Well first I promised Dan to look after Trixie, and then I promised Trix, that I would have a dance with you.” He said.

“So… after this dance you’ll be gone. Just like before, only this time we’ll only have a few minutes together.” Chloe said as tears welled up in her eyes. She didn’t want to cry, not over a man, but she couldn’t help it. She thought that he may finally be back. 

For her.

It was a selfish idea but one she desperately wanted to be true.

Lucifer nodded and chloe stopped for a second. “Then let's make the most of these last moments.” Chloe snapped back into reality and layed a kiss on Lucifer’s lips.

This wasn’t permanent, but temporary was better than any imaginary scenario she could dream of.

..............................................................

I also drew this in hopes that it could show what trixie looks like in this story. I am not an artist but i am proud of how it looks.

[twdmusicboxmystery]

How the Carzekiel Breakup is Actually a Good Thing for TD

Sorry, once again. I said I’d do details today but I’m pushing that by one more day. Why? In small part because the fandom is freaking out about the Carol/Daryl/Carzekiel situation (like 25%) and in larger part (like 75%) because I didn’t have time to write my details post. This one was already written. ;D

So as far as this subject goes, everyone take a deep breath, calm down, and stop listening to the shippers.

 In terms of the jealousy question...

Realistically I do think there's some jealousy going on here. But NOT romantic jealousy. This is not a we’re-both-in-love-with-Carol-so-let’s-fight-over-her kind of jealousy. Not at all.

So what is it? 

It's obvious that Carol is leaning on Daryl a lot in the wake of Henry's death. She really shouldn't be doing that. She ought to lean on Ezekiel, both because he's her husband and also because Henry was their son. Zeke is grieving too. So, I think Zeke is jealous of Daryl, but not because he thinks Carol is in love with Daryl or vice versa, but because he wants Carol to lean on him and share her grief with him, rather than Daryl.

It’s one of those things that doesn't have a right or easy answer. I can’t judge Carol for this. She's dealing with her grief any way she can, and the death of the child is unimaginable. Not to mention, Daryl was there for her when Sophia died, and has always been there for her in the past, so she's really just gravitating towards something she knows from experience will help.

And that in itself is pretty messed up. I mean, how many times has Carol gone through this? How many kids has she lost? So, I have a hard time being mad at her for leaning on Daryl rather than Ezekiel.

But I understand Ezekiel’s point of view as well. Of course he wants Carol to lean on him. Of course he doesn't want to lose her. And Daryl, even as just a platonic friend, is standing in the way of that.

Annnnd…we know Daryl is her best friend and always has been. If she were leaning on Zeke in this time of grief, he would support that and even think it was the healthiest thing she could do. But on the other hand, if she's in pain and wants him around to help her, you know he's going to be there for her. She was there for him even when he didn't want her to be in 5x10 after Beth.

In fact, he pretty much said this in the episode. When Zeke asked him to step aside, his question was what Carol wanted.

I also want throw this out there, and it will probably get me some hate, but it's the truth. The writers have told us many times that Daryl and Carol have a mother/son relationship. Certain shippers will deny that the high heaven, but it has been mentioned many times. The two instances that jump to mind are in Consumed when Carol says, "You used to be a boy. Now your man." That something a mother says to a son. A woman doesn’t say that to an equal or lover. That would be kinda gross and creepy. 

 Then, after the cabin scene in 7x10, (another time the shippers claimed Caryl would happen, but it didn't) Norman said that Daryl looked at her like "Mommy, why did you leave me?" And the shippers got really mad and railed against Norman for saying that because they knew it showed the mother/son relationship. Now they do everything they can to discredit it, but that doesn't take away what Norman said. Bottom line, Norman would know, and he wouldn’t say it without the express consent of the writers.

The reason I'm pointing this out is that Carol just lost her son, Henry. Gravitating toward someone else she also has a mother/son relationship with is…actually kind of understandable.

So, everybody's doing the best they can, and reacting from a place of good intentions, but grief is messy. Carol ought to rely on Ezekiel rather than Daryl, because that would be the logical thing to do. But how often do people actually handle grief that logically?

The answer is never.

Where are they going with this? Predictions:

Okay, this part is more of a prediction than anything else. Carzekiel breaking up serves three purposes that me and my theorist peeps can tell.

1)A nod to the comic books. Creds to @bluesandbeth for this because, not only is this a great insight but it she told me some things that I didn't know about the comic book arc involving Ezekiel.

What I did know:

1. It's Michonne who is Ezekiel’s lover in the comic books, not Carol. Which means any nod to the comic book arc will happen with Carol, rather than Michonne.

2. Ezekiels is dies and is piked by the Whisperers in the comic books. Michonne, out of grief, leaves TF for about two years.

What I didn't know:

Apparently, sometime before Ezekiel dies, Michonne breaks up with him. She had two daughters in CBs, both of whom died, and she was grief stricken about their deaths. She didn't think she was worthy of Ezekiel's love. So, she broke up with him. Sound familiar?

So sequence goes like this: Michonne breaks up with Ezekiel, then sometime after that Ezekiel is killed by the Whisperers. Michonne is grief-stricken not only because of his death, but because she never went back to see him and tell him that she still loved him and she was sorry she left. So that leaves her grief very unresolved.

Guys, this is where they're going with Carol. Carol has lost two children now that mirror Michonne’s daughters in the CB. But I actually think they split this arc in half for Carol. Remember Lizzie and Mika? 

Back in S4, Carol lost two girls she'd been caring for in a really terrible way. (I’ve said this before but go back and watch the convo she has with Tyreese after Mica dies but before she kills Lizzie. It’s obvious that, while she’s talking about Lizzie, she’s applying what she’s saying to herself as well.) At that point, she specifically said she was not worthy to be with TF and kept trying to leave. Daryl is the one who stopped her in S5. She didn't end up leaving until S6, and her leaving specifically led to her finding Ezekiel, which is the relationship that healed her.

So, we've already been told that Ezekiel's “death" is coming up. I’ve said it will be a death fake out (more about that in a minute, and how this kind of shows that that's the case) but the point is that Carol breaking up with Ezekiel mirrors the comic book arc of Michonne breaking up with Ezekiel and then it will lead to his death (or “death”) which will give Carol a lot of grief because she never went back and told Zeke how much she loved him and was sorry she left.

So, actually her breaking with Zeke is very important to what's coming next in her arc. At no point does a random hookup with Daryl enter the equation.

Now, this by itself doesn't prove Ezekiel will have a death fake out rather than a real death, but check this out:

I said in THIS POST that the women Beth mentions in her line, (Michonne, Carol, Maggie, and Beth herself) will all be one half of a couple that has a death fake out arc.

I've realize now that in each one, there is a short separation of the couple before the death fake out and the one left behind feels really guilty about something. Let's take a look:

Glaggie. Glenn's death fake out happened in S6. Maggie and Glenn were separated for a short time because he was helping with Operation Lead the Walkers Away and then he suddenly disappeared. We saw Maggie’s guilt when she talked to Aaron in the tunnel. She says she wished she had gone with Glenn and maybe she could have helped him. Now she doesn't get to know what will happen or whether what she did was right or wrong. She had severe guilt that she probably would've dealt with the rest of her life if Glenn had died in that incident.

But, lo and behold, Glenn was alive and made it back safely to live another…er, season before his actual death. But I think Maggie was able to be a strong leader at Hilltop and deal with his death in such a healthy way (given the circumstances) because she did get to see him again, she did get to tell him how much she loved him, and she knew that he died knowing that.

(A shorter way of saying this is that the show doesn’t leave loose ends, especially between true love characters. There has to be closure before death, and obviously with Beth and Daryl…)

Bethyl. I doubt I need to recount this for you, but they were separated for short time because she was taken to Grady. Before her death fake out happened, Daryl did see her again, but he never got to talk to her or embrace her or tell her how he felt about her. And of course we’ve seen for many seasons the guilt he has over not being able to save her.

(We could even parallel what happened there with Glaggie, because remember that when Glenn first got back to Alexandria in 6x09, he almost died. He was surrounded by walkers and Maggie screamed because she thought he would die. It's very much what happened with Beth and Daryl, except that Daryl doesn't know Beth lived, where Maggie saw that Glenn did.)

Richonne. They had a relatively small separation. I think she saw him the day before, but he was out working on the bridge rather than being in Alexandria with her. She did see him for a brief moment on the bridge—just like Glaggie and Bethyl—before it exploded and his death fake out began, but was unable to hug him or talk to him or tell him she loved him one last time. Especially through her conversations with Daryl this season, we seen Michonne’s regrets and guilt over this.

Now we have Carzekiel. I’m telling you guys, this is where they're going with it. They’ll be separated because Carol leaves him and then when he dies (“dies”), she’ll have great guilt. Based on how closely paralleled these are (and, you know, the Sirius/serious piggyback symbols we’ve seen around Carzekiel) it will be a death fake out. I just don't know how long it will last. So in a way, this breakup supports my Carzekiel/Death Fake out theory. And if Richonne, Glaggie and Carzekiel all have death fake outs, then per Beth’s line in Still, her death is a fake out too.

Parallels with Season 5:

This came to me partly from Ezekiel asking Daryl to leave and partly from something the ingenious @thegloriouscollectorlady said. So, creds to her.

I had the thought that Daryl and Carol being together again in the same community might be a parallel to S5 when the two of them ran off to Atlanta together to find Beth. That was really the extent of it for me. Just a possible parallel to S5, and for any more details, I’d have to wait and see how things play out.

But @thegloriouscollectorlady went into more detail about that, and when we learned about Daryl and Zeke’s conversation, it all came together for me. Plus there’s the fact that Daryl talks to Carol about taking Lydia off on their own and protect her himself. Carol says no. All these things play into what I’m about to suggest.

What I'm seeing is a role reversal for Daryl and Carol. In S5, Carol tried to run off on her own and Daryl stopped her. Now Daryl is trying to off in his own (albeit with Lydia) and Carol stops him. That made me realize that this is a huge, huge parallel—way more than I originally realized—to S5.

Carol leaving Ezekiel and going where Daryl is sort of parallels the two of them being together (along with the others) in Father Gabriel’s church in S5. In fact, go back farther than that. Rick kicked Carol out of the prison in S4. So she was apart from them for a while. Similarly, she’s been apart from the others for a time, living with Ezekile at the Kingdom. Her going to live with Daryl parallels her reuniting with TF after Terminus in S5. Then she and Daryl head off to Atlanta together to look for Beth.

I think at some point next season, Daryl will actually try to leave with Lydia and Carol will either stop him or go after him, just as he did with her in 5x02. Carol and Daryl taking off together in 5x02 led to them figuring out where Beth was, and Carol being captured by the Grady people. I think the same will happen here. I think this is a parallel to S5 that will lead to Beth.

What’s all that got to do with Ezekiel? Couple of things.

1. We actually saw a lot of foreshadows of Carol and Ezekiel/the kingdom in Consumed. (Tiger on her bunk; the fact that she was there for the beginning of this fake out arc, which might because she’ll have one of her own, left behind and losing the one she loves, just like Daryl. I’m also thinking about the mother/child walkers they saw there. That symbolism proved that Carol’s entire arc—like, throughout the whole series—is about lost children. It foreshadowed her losing children as well, which happened both before she met Ezekiel (Sam) and after (Henry).) So this sequence may lead not only to Beth but to Ezekiel's death fake out as well.

2. Logistically, Ezekiel and Carol have to be apart for this to happen. If she is living in one community, and Daryl and another, she won’t know that Daryl is trying to leave with Lydia and so won’t be able to follow him or stop him. If she, Daryl and Ezekiel are all in the same community, Ezekiel would either try to stop her from going or go with her. That would get in the way of his death fake out arc. Not to mention, he’d kind of been the way in the middle of this Daryl/Carol/finding Beth arc. The writers had to come up with a way to separate Carol and Ezekiel for short time to make all this happen.

If you need proof of how things that happened in S4 parallel future events on the show, read @thegloriouscollectorlady’s 4 Arcs for 4 Communities post. Pretty much everything she said in that has come true, which proves the writers set things up exactly this way.

Also check out THIS POST I wrote before 9x07 aired. Most of what I said there came true too.

Do you understand why Carol leaving Ezekiel for Daryl doesn’t bother me? It’s part of her larger arc and will lead to what comes next, but what come next isn’t romance for Carol and Daryl now any more than it was in S5.

So yeah. That’s pretty much what I wanted to say today. Hope that helps everyone feel a little better about all the Carol/Daryl/Zeke stuff. Just ignore the shippers and try to have a good hiatus.

I promise, promise, PROMISE my next post will be the details post. Promise…promise.

[realtalkingpoints]

President Trump’s Oval office address transcribed (from CBS news website)

Read Trump's full remarks

Here are the president's full remarks from his Tuesday evening Oval Office address:

"My fellow Americans: Tonight, I am speaking to you because there is a growing humanitarian and security crisis at our southern border.Every day, Customs and Border Patrol agents encounter thousands of illegal immigrants trying to enter our country.  We are out of space to hold them, and we have no way to promptly return them back home to their country.America proudly welcomes millions of lawful immigrants who enrich our society and contribute to our nation.  But all Americans are hurt by uncontrolled, illegal migration.  It strains public resources and drives down jobs and wages.  Among those hardest hit are African Americans and Hispanic Americans."

"Our southern border is a pipeline for vast quantities of illegal drugs, including meth, heroin, cocaine, and fentanyl. Every week, 300 of our citizens are killed by heroin alone, 90 percent of which floods across from our southern border.  More Americans will die from drugs this year than were killed in the entire Vietnam War. In the last two years, ICE officers made 266,000 arrests of aliens with criminal records, including those charged or convicted of 100,000 assaults, 30,000 sex crimes, and 4,000 violent killings.  Over the years, thousands of Americans have been brutally killed by those who illegally entered our country, and thousands more lives will be lost if we don't act right now."

"This is a humanitarian crisis -- a crisis of the heart and a crisis of the soul. Last month, 20,000 migrant children were illegally brought into the United States -- a dramatic increase.  These children are used as human pawns by vicious coyotes and ruthless gangs.  One in three women are sexually assaulted on the dangerous trek up through Mexico.  Women and children are the biggest victims, by far, of our broken system.This is the tragic reality of illegal immigration on our southern border.  This is the cycle of human suffering that I am determined to end.My administration has presented Congress with a detailed proposal to secure the border and stop the criminal gangs, drug smugglers, and human traffickers.  It's a tremendous problem. "

"Our proposal was developed by law enforcement professionals and border agents at the Department of Homeland Security.  These are the resources they have requested to properly perform their mission and keep America safe.  In fact, safer than ever before.The proposal from Homeland Security includes cutting-edge technology for detecting drugs, weapons, illegal contraband, and many other things.  We have requested more agents, immigration judges, and bed space to process the sharp rise in unlawful migration fueled by our very strong economy.  Our plan also contains an urgent request for humanitarian assistance and medical support.Furthermore, we have asked Congress to close border security loopholes so that illegal immigrant children can be safely and humanely returned back home.Finally, as part of an overall approach to border security, law enforcement professionals have requested $5.7 billion for a physical barrier."

"At the request of Democrats, it will be a steel barrier rather than a concrete wall.  This barrier is absolutely critical to border security.  It's also what our professionals at the border want and need.  This is just common sense.The border wall would very quickly pay for itself.  The cost of illegal drugs exceeds $500 billion a year -- vastly more than the $5.7 billion we have requested from Congress.  The wall will also be paid for, indirectly, by the great new trade deal we have made with Mexico.Senator Chuck Schumer -- who you will be hearing from later tonight -- has repeatedly supported a physical barrier in the past, along with many other Democrats.  They changed their mind only after I was elected president."

"Democrats in Congress have refused to acknowledge the crisis.  And they have refused to provide our brave border agents with the tools they desperately need to protect our families and our nation.The federal government remains shut down for one reason and one reason only: because Democrats will not fund border security. My administration is doing everything in our power to help those impacted by the situation.  But the only solution is for Democrats to pass a spending bill that defends our borders and re-opens the government."

"This situation could be solved in a 45-minute meeting.  I have invited congressional leadership to the White House tomorrow to get this done.  Hopefully, we can rise above partisan politics in order to support national security.Some have suggested a barrier is immoral.  Then why do wealthy politicians build walls, fences, and gates around their homes?  They don't build walls because they hate the people on the outside, but because they love the people on the inside.  The only thing that is immoral is the politicians to do nothing and continue to allow more innocent people to be so horribly victimized."

"America's heart broke the day after Christmas when a young police officer in California was savagely murdered in cold blood by an illegal alien, who just came across the border.  The life of an American hero was stolen by someone who had no right to be in our country.Day after day, precious lives are cut short by those who have violated our borders.  In California, an Air Force veteran was raped, murdered, and beaten to death with a hammer by an illegal alien with a long criminal history.  In Georgia, an illegal alien was recently charged with murder for killing, beheading, and dismembering his neighbor.  In Maryland, MS-13 gang members who arrived in the United States as unaccompanied minors were arrested and charged last year after viciously stabbing and beating a 16-year-old girl.Over the last several years, I've met with dozens of families whose loved ones were stolen by illegal immigration.  I've held the hands of the weeping mothers and embraced the grief-stricken fathers.  So sad.  So terrible.  I will never forget the pain in their eyes, the tremble in their voices, and the sadness gripping their souls."

"How much more American blood must we shed before Congress does its job? To those who refuse to compromise in the name of border security, I would ask: Imagine if it was your child, your husband, or your wife whose life was so cruelly shattered and totally broken?To every member of Congress: Pass a bill that ends this crisis. To every citizen: Call Congress and tell them to finally, after all of these decades, secure our border.This is a choice between right and wrong, justice and injustice.  This is about whether we fulfill our sacred duty to the American citizens we serve. When I took the Oath of Office, I swore to protect our country.  And that is what I will always do, so help me God. Thank you and goodnight."

They also posted Schumer and Pelosi’s rebuttal, but its mostly just attacks on Trump.  I didn’t see the live presentation of either (Trump or Pelosi/Schumer) but judging by the transcript, I’d say Trump owned them...

[etaeternum]

Resolution

Bond of the Grey (Dragon Age Fanfic)

Ch 4

A flashback on the pain of Caoilainn’s infertility. The healing couple sets some rules.  TW: Depression, infertility, referenced cheating. 

9:35 Dragon

The third year, toward the end of their holiday at the cabin, they walked to Redcliffe Village to gather supplies for their trip back to Denerim. Merchants gawked at the royal couple’s candidness each time they came for supplies. The pair wandered the town with relaxed conversation until Caoilainn stopped in her tracks in the busy commotion in the village.

Alistair noticed she was not at his side from a few paces ahead. Brows furrowed with concern, he swiveled to see her staring. Following her eyes, he spotted a common woman holding hands with a small child as they walked through the crowd. Conversing with the little one, the mother pointed to something in the distance and looked back to her daughter with a wide smile. Alistair’s gaze followed where the woman pointed. A short distance away, a man who must have been the girl’s father bent to his knees and opened his arms. The little girl waddled to him. He scooped her up and lifted her into the air before bringing his giggling daughter in for a hug. The mother, still smiling, walked to them; she was expecting another child.

“Oh. I just remembered I probably left the lantern lit... and the front door wide open,” Alistair mumbled, painfully aware of the sensitive topic of their infertility highlighted by this happy family's sentimental moment. What had once been a distant hope for a miracle pregnancy had sharpened to stabbing hopelessness over the years. He knew it sank into her gut each time she witnessed a mother and child, even worse, an elated family. “Come on, my love. Let's get back.” Alistair put his arm around Caoilainn’s shoulder and ushered her to walk a different direction.

Caoilainn gave a blank nod, her eyes reddening, tears pooling as she turned away. She shielded her eyes with a free hand as they walked, hiding her tearful reaction. With no clear way to console her, apart from offering guidance, Alistair walked Caoilainn in silence back to the cabin. Grief-stricken mood swings often incited emotional distance. Alistair still didn't know how to handle them; his usual method of giving her space wasn’t an option.

The two entered the cabin. An unexpected change of pace, Caoilainn spoke. With a heavy sigh, her head lowered and shook before facing Alistair. “I don’t want to go back,” Caoilainn declared as the door clicked shut behind Alistair.

His head tilted to one side. He made careful choice of his words, “I’m sorry, my love but we have to go back. We can’t stay here.”

Her gaze met his, brows furrowed, pleading and angry. Stubborn by nature, Caoilainn's stance stood strong. “Alistair, I’m tired of it and I don’t want to do it anymore. It’s like I’m at my mother’s salons all the time.” She rolled her eyes. Elbows bent, her hands spread with her aggravated speech. A probing gaze searched for his understanding as her words fell. “I hate entertaining noble women and I’m certain they judge me for not giving you a child. And you know I want to, Alistair, more than anything. But I can’t.” Caoilainn’s final statement released with a tired sigh, “I’d rather be in armor.”

He snorted, a slight chuckle of agreement. “Oh, I know it. You and me both. I hate meetings with advisors, signing scrolls, sitting through court,” he walked to her and put his gentle hands on her shoulders. “But I need you, my love. The gorgeous, smart, strong Queen that you are. I need your help with all this King stuff.”

Alistair valued his wife's return to Denerim three years ago. If he ignored what he knew of her relationship with her Lieutenant, Caoilainn's presence gave him support and her experience as Warden Commander made for good counsel. The choice to enjoy her return and trust its permanence abated any urge to confront the issue.

Caoilainn took an intense turn to meet his gaze with a creased brow and set jaw. “Then let me come to your advisory meetings. I can add my thoughts in court. It would save time from you asking for my advice later when you need it.”

“Well,” his gaze wandered and his eyebrows gathered as the word trailed off. “It’s really more of a man’s game. You know what I mean? No girls allowed, so to speak. I know it’s stupid, but I can’t change the rules.”

The excuse lacked validity. Women held roles and had voice in his court though few. Representatives from varying regions of Ferelden primarily consisted of men. Alistair's aversion to Caoilainn’s proposition sprang from insecurity.

Disgusted, her mouth slacked, lip curled; she blinked in disbelief. Exaggerated and annoyed annunciation coated each word. “But you can. You’re the King, Alistair. You make the rules.” She shirked her shoulders away from his hands.

Cheeks reddened, Alistair shrugged and his palm rubbed his neck. “That’s true, I suppose but I don’t know if everyone else is ready for that. I’m sorry, my love. I’d rather not rock the boat too much just yet. I’m still fairly new to this King business.” He avoided her suggestion.

That same year Caoilainn returned to Vigil’s Keep.

Days passed. Alistair’s disdain became annoyance with longing; churning the strange amalgam of love and resentment, anger and pining with neither a catalyst nor relief in sight.

The size of the collective forces required the fleet to march north through the Emerald Graves, reaching the low-lying Dales. Plains of open field skirted the forested land east until the frigid climate of the Emprise. Wider ground permitted the armies to march freely, less encumbered by the wooded environment. Grass and sparse trees spread through the large valley. Formations of rocks protruded from the earth, breaking up the uneven grasslands. Abandoned buildings showed remnants of complicated history, and occupied military bases needing repair scattered between boulders.

Alistair’s frustration came and went in waves as he stood away from the bustling camp unpacking for the evening. Instead, he observed the land ahead. Typical, he noted. She's given up. It often seemed habitual for Caoilainn to practice evasion of situations where she didn't have control. Reminded of her predictability, Alistair evaluated her absence as true to her pattern. Though he wasn’t surprised, the realization hurt.  

“Alistair?” A tentative and careful voice rang from behind; she stated simply his name. He closed his eyes. With a deep breath, he allowed Caoilainn’s voice to resonate and soothe stressed nerves, unable to deny he had missed the sound.

He replied without facing her. “Come join me to revel in the wondrous sight of the Orlesian countryside.” His sarcastic sing-song voice played at the deteriorating environment. Caoilainn’s quiet steps brought her to his side; Alistair pointed. “See, on this side is a crumbling Orlesian building. But over here is a collapsed military base because of civil war- Orlesians love civil war, you know.” He took in an excessive gasp, “And if you look far enough in the distance, you can even make out decayed elven architecture. Isn’t it lovely? We should come back here on holiday.”

“I’ll pass,” she gave a relaxed giggle, amused with Alistair’s review of the landscape. Relieved to receive his humor after spending days hesitating to approach him again. His playfulness made uplifting distraction from her fatigue. “I’d rather the cabin.”

She referred to the cabin outside of Redcliffe Village: the peaceful resting place purchased the first time she returned from Vigil’s Keep. After each Summerday the royal couple hid for a month in the mountains, away from the city. The visits ceased when Caoilainn fled back to the Wardens.

“I sold it,” Alistair replied without moving, his tone cold and indifferent. “The second year you were gone, I couldn’t reach you. I wouldn’t use it and I didn’t want the reminder of the good times we had there.”

“They weren’t all good times,” Caoilainn’s sad murmur echoed his aloofness. Her fond memories of the cabin had been sullied by Alistair’s timidity when she confronted him about changing policies.

Their last conversation at the cabin, not one of his finest moments, had replayed until his stomach turned. Nauseated and ashamed of his cowardice, regret singed his ego, now prodded by her murmur. “I’m sorry,” Alistair snapped an authentic but irritated apology.

“I’m sorry I ran away,” she mirrored his remorse with her own.

Amends hesitated; silence burdened with the unsaid. Side by side, the pair stood looking out on the horizon as dusk fell. Tacit reconciliation teetered on a cusp.

Emotion broke through Alistair’s tone. Sadness and regret sounded from the surface and underneath it, fear. “I don’t know what to do,” he explained. “Whether you cheat on me, or you run, or you die-” The last word stung. Alistair’s head made a quick turn as the impact hit. He inhaled. “How do I know you’re not just going to leave?” Like everyone does. Pain filled his incredulous question.

A teary gaze up from Alistair’s side, Caoilainn wiped her eyes. “I’m here and I'm not going anywhere. I’m committed, Alistair. I’ll do my best not to die anytime soon, but in the meantime I want to be with you. What do you need from me to prove that?”

“Rules,” his even tone gave a quick reply. Head turned to pierce her stare, he bit his lip for a moment then replied, jaw firm. “I need rules we agree on.”

Brows furrowed, unclear of his demand, she asked for clarification, “What sort of rules?”

“No one else,” he answered with his first rule. “It’s our marriage, not to be shared with anyone. No matter the distance between us, and no matter the time before we see each other again.”

“Of course,” she gave a hurried nod, “that’s a given.”

“Well, I figured I would make it clear, in case you had any other plans.”

Caoilainn sighed at his admonishment. “Alistair,” she groaned.

“I’m not done, my love,” he said, his sharp tone lifting as his mood softened. “Rule two: be honest with me. I want no more secrets.” Caoilainn’s silent nod gave him a signal to continue. “Rule three: Don’t make your decisions based on me. I don’t want your counsel if you’ll resent me for it. Don’t come back to Denerim to make me happy.”

“Thank you,” she cooed. Unhealthy elements of their relationship often arose from ill-considered efforts to satisfy the other. Caoilainn smiled; her tense shoulders eased.  

“Uh-huh,” he took her gratitude and gave a meager grin. “But that one’s for my sake as much as yours. Rule four: do not undermine me. I am the King of Ferelden, Caoilann and I need your respect.”

“My fealty stands, Alistair,” her hand covered her chest as she bowed her head. “No undermining. Do you have any other rules?”

“At the moment, just one. Tell me what you want from me. Please, if you’re missing something, if you need something, I need to know.”

“Those rules are fair,” she agreed. Her head lowered as she sought words. “I’ll need my own.”

“All right. State your terms, my Queen.” He lifted his arms, palms out. “Remember to go easy on me.”

Caoilainn gave a playful roll of her eyes. “One,” she lifted her finger to exemplify the word. “I need my independence. I’m not just your lovely Queen. No more spies and I want my own work. Most importantly, I want to be recognized for it.”

“Oh, woman,” Alistair snorted and rubbed his chin. “I said go easy on me. Damn, you drive a hard deal.” Caoilainn’s brows lifted, waiting for his confirmation. “We’ll make it work, my love.”

“Two: Don’t appease me. Don’t hold your frustration, anger or sadness and take it out on me ten years later.”

“Got it. Must bottle feelings for less than ten years,” he bobbed his head in agreement, a playful grin highlighting his jest.

“Alistair,” she groaned, failing her attempt to withhold a chuckle. “I’m not kidding.”

“No appeasing,” he confirmed. “Check. It’s a real shame though. I’m definitely the best appeaser I know.”

“Three: I won't make your decisions for you. I’m your wife, not your mother.”

“Ouch!” Alistair laughed and cupped his hand over his heart.

“I mean it,” she assured, her expression showing her severity. “Four: I stay Commander until we find a cure.” Alistair’s eyes squinted, humor lost. “Or until the Inquisition no longer needs us, then I’ll come back to Denerim. But I still want to make time for the search.” He gave a solemn nod and waited for her final rule. Caoilainn’s eyes widened, her face pleading, palms lifted. “Nate is my friend. I swear to you, nothing will happen between us, but he’ll need me if he takes over as Commander. Five: I keep communication with Nathaniel when I return to the city.”

The wisdom Caoilainn gained as Commander occurred when she undertook rebuilding the order on her own. Alistair's duties as King kept him from joining. She stayed embittered by his abandonment, neglecting her anger around the topic until she confessed her pain at Skyhold.

Frowning, Alistair gave a decisive shake of his head. “I can’t have that,” he replied. “I don’t trust him, Caoilainn and that would challenge the trust I need to rebuild with you.”

“It’s not that simple. There’s so much to leading the order, communications with Weisshaupt, the other divisions. I can’t just leave him to figure it out like I had to,” she reasoned, desperate to explain the complicated nature of taking over as Warden Commander.

“No,” Alistair reiterated, predicting her rationalization. “You can find someone else to command or he can communicate with me, the King if he needs help.”

“Alistair,” she made a curt statement of his name as if he might hear the harshness of this requirement. Unmoving, Alistair peered down at Caoilainn, set in his decision. With a deep breath in, Caoilainn centered herself, calming her nerves and worry surrounding her potential successor. She gave a patient nod. Her future with Alistair dependent on this priority made the choice simple.  “I understand.”

Resolution discovered, conversation assuaged years of bitterness and guilt. Mutual observance of reaction found amity. The two faced each other, Caoilainn in her Warden gambeson, Alistair in his leather brigandine; the Inquisition camp nearly set for the evening on one side and the open field of the Exalted Plains spread on the other.

“The rules can change.” Alistair broke their respectful silence. His hands found their way back to her shoulders. “But we need to talk should they be changed, expanded, or added to.”

“I appreciate that,” Caoilainn replied and held his gaze. Eyes locked, intense in agreement. Her excited heart fluttered with gratitude as relief washed over. The looming fear she might lose him vanished, bringing appreciative tears in place. “Thank you. I love you.”

“I love you too,” he replied. Effortless words, unneeded, understood by both, and spoken out of familiarity.

Rules set, hearts lifted, and hope renewed, both given an opportunity for redemption. Alistair’s anger now distant with her assurance and commitment; Caoilainn’s blind trust affirmed by his ardent love.

Alistair stepped in. Bodies pressed, a hand moved from her shoulder to her neck, his thumb pressed against her cheek. The other hand found her waist. Foreheads touched, thankful for reunion, absorbing hard earned connection. Alistair’s head lowered; earnest lips found hers, sealing their agreement with a kiss.

In unspoken congruity, the pair walked from the camp. Extending the harmony of this unifying outcome, savoring the moment in ardor. Like-minded steps carried them through the plains as darkness fell. The two walked in reverence. Stars shined from the clear sky, illuminating their path. Unhurried conversation allowed time to wander; flirtatious subtleties mixed through their dialogue more as the hour drew late. The Inquisition camp drifted from sight.

Concordant, the couple stopped as if reaching their intended destination. A tree marked the location. Its drooping limbs and base composed of many wide segments was unlike the barren branches of timber in the rest of the plains.

Caoilainn turned to face him. “We made it,” she whispered, distinguishing their wordless communication of intention. A few steps backward brought her under the tree’s protective arms.

“We did,” Alistair echoed, following her steps until they were both under the branches’ haven.

Steady steps, Caoilainn’s back bumped the tree and Alistair closed the space, pinning her so the thick trunk stood between them and the Inquisition camp. A small whimper released, Caoilainn’s hand grabbed the cord linking his spaulder. She pulled him in for a kiss. Engaged, the pair locked mouths. Alistair’s hand returned to the base of her scalp and their tongues separated lips, twirling in celebration of reunion.

Long seconds stretched by, love rekindling to fire until Alistair broke away. Caoilainn’s moan resonated as her neck tilted. Revealing sensitive skin begging to be bitten or throttled in a primal nature.

“I have another rule,” he mumbled, nuzzling his nose against the tender skin of her neck before leaving a gentle kiss.

Caoilainn emitted a soft ‘mmm,’ lost in anticipation for him to inflict brief anguish to stimulate pleasure.

“Rule six: no more pain. I’m not hurting you, Caoilainn. Even if you like it,” he murmured into her ear. The curve of his grin tickled.

Her hum turned to a whine; a disappointed groan unhappy with this information. She lifted her head, returning his gaze; displeased brows furrowed, lip protruded in a subtle pout. Something she discovered in her time away from Alistair, Caoilainn's penchant for masochism, built on a foundation of trust in whoever delivered the sensations, offered a reliable escape from life's pressures.

His wrinkled forehead reconnected with hers. “There’s already been enough pain between us.” Light earnest explained details of the rule, “But I reserve the right to grab that magnificent ass, and I might take an occasional nibble here and there, but no pain. If you want to get hurt, go practice in the training yard.”

She gazed up from under thick lashes and inhaled; her face relaxed, and she agreed. “Yes, my King.”

Alistair blinked, cherishing her reply, and allowing its essence to sink in. The authentic tone delivered three words and promised her total commitment, confidence, and faith in him as her protector; he grinned. “Rule seven: keep doing that. I like it when you do that.”

Caoilainn smirked and crooned another “yes, my King.” She tilted her head back against the tree, waiting for his next step.

Both hands found her waist, a half step back permitted momentum along with her compliance. In a quick motion, he turned her around to face the tree. A kiss on her clothed back coerced her head to turn to glance over her shoulder. She watched as he admired her form from behind. A hand cupped a muscular cheek of her rear.

“Rule eight: trust me,” he growled.

Caoilainn's body quivered, grateful adoration coursed through her veins. Extolling Alistair's direction, his certainty permitted her concerns to leave, replaced instead with freedom to savor their connectedness.

He squeezed her cheek harder, rougher with a satisfied grunt. In reply she moaned, frustrated with her limitations caused by clothing.

Alistair's head wandered to the other side of her neck, lips brushing skin, hot breath against her ear. “Rule nine: tell me if you don't like something I’m doing.”

“I like this, my King,” she whimpered, fleeting tension fled. Gooseflesh spread down her neck, tingling down her arms to her hands. She steadied herself on the tree.

“Rule ten: tell me what you want,” he ordered between kisses on her shoulders.

A giggling moan sounded, tempted by his affection, but amused at his last rule. “That was rule five.” Tactful teeth found her ear and nipped lightly on the cartilage. Her giggle lowered into a blissful sigh. “My King,” she added.

“Mm-hmm,” he sang. “You’re paying attention. That one is so important I said it twice. So, my love, what do you want?”

Decorum forgotten, responsibilities to the Wardens fled from her mind. Love brimmed, overflowing from every pore. Smiling lips buzzed pleasurably and Caoilainn whispered, “I want you, my King.”  

[a-wandering-fool]

President Trump did something Tuesday night that he has rarely done since taking office: He used the presidential bully pulpit to reach beyond his hardcore base of supporters to make his case to the American people as a whole.

Speaking from the Oval Office for the first time during his presidency, Trump embraced our country’s tradition as a nation of immigrants, declaring “America proudly welcomes millions of lawful immigrants who enrich our society and contribute to our nation.” He then offered a cogent explanation why he believes we face what he called “a humanitarian crisis — a crisis of the heart and a crisis of the soul” along our southern border.

He pointed out the human cost of our broken system to illegal migrants themselves, expressing compassion for the “children [who] are used as human pawns by vicious coyotes and ruthless gangs” and the “women [who] are sexually assaulted on the dangerous trek up through Mexico.” He shared heartbreaking stories of Americans killed by criminal aliens who had no right to be here — including a police officer in California who was murdered, a 16-year-old girl who was brutally stabbed in Maryland, and an Air Force veteran who was raped and beaten to death.

“I’ve held the hands of the weeping mothers and embraced the grief-stricken fathers,” Trump declared. “I will never forget the pain in their eyes, the tremble in their voices, or the sadness gripping their souls.”

And he laid out his solution, which he explained was “developed by law enforcement professionals and border agents” and includes funds for cutting-edge technology, more border agents, more immigration judges, more bed space and medical support — and $5.7 billion for a “physical barrier” that he called “just common sense.” Without naming her, Trump responded to the absurd charge from House Speaker Nancy Pelosi (D-Calif.) that a wall is “immoral.” Democrats voted repeatedly for physical barriers until he was elected president, he noted. If a wall is immoral, Trump asked, “why do wealthy politicians build walls, fences and gates around their homes? They don’t build walls because they hate the people on the outside, but because they love the people on the inside.”

The president did not unilaterally declare a national emergency. Instead, he called for compromise and said, “To those who refuse to compromise in the name of border security, I would ask: imagine if it was your child, your husband, or your wife, whose life was so cruelly shattered and totally broken?”

He was, in short, presidential.

Democrats insisted on equal time, which is highly unusual for presidential addresses other than the State of the Union. It was a mistake. In contrast to Trump, Pelosi and Senate Minority Leader Charles E. Schumer (N.Y.) came across as small and intransigent.

While Trump spoke calmly and rationally from behind the Resolute Desk, the Democratic leaders accused him of “pounding the table” and having a “temper tantrum.” While Trump told human stories, they complained about process. They accused him of arguing that the women and children at the border were “a security threat” when he had just explained to the American people that they were victims, too. They charged him with using the “backdrop of the Oval Office to manufacture a crisis, stoke fear and divert attention from the turmoil in his administration.” They were partisan and petty, while Trump came across as reasonable and even compassionate.

To normal Americans watching in the heartland, and who are not steeped in Trump hatred, the president must have seemed like the adult in the room.

Keep reading…

==========================

Interesting, I didn’t see the rebuttal but I just saw a clip from MSNBC that said they (Schumer/Pelosi) were horrific.

[arncis]

                             ❛ 𝕮𝖑𝖊𝖆𝖓𝖎𝖓’ 𝕺𝖚𝖙 𝕸𝖞 𝕮𝖑𝖔𝖘𝖊𝖙

“ι goт ѕoмe ѕĸeleтonѕ ιn мy cloѕeт and ι don'т ĸnow ιғ no one ĸnowѕ ιт ѕo вeғore тнey тнrown мe ιnѕιde мy coғғιn and cloѕe ιт, ι'ммa eхpoѕe it.”

“ι ѕaιd ι'м ѕorry мoммa! ι never мeanт тo нυrт yoυ! ι never мeanт тo мaĸe yoυ cry, вυт тonιgнт ι'м cleanιng oυт мy cloѕeт”

The formal dining area was in silence; neither Arnais nor the rest of his family members gathered at the table for breakfast felt the need to converse since the anniversary of Desmond’s death was looming over them greater than an incoming tsunami. Dessalina and her boyfriend Tristian had flown in for moral support for the upcoming week, but his sister’s presence only seemed to irk a grief-stricken Arnais even more. He used the silver fork to stabbed at the untouched ackee and saltfish before Dessalina decided to break the painful silence. “Papa Tommy has decided to retire.” Arnais posture straightened as his ears perked up. He knew one day it would be his turn to claim the Kelly’s throne but he didn’t think that day would come so soon. He hadn’t even made it to his eighteenth birthday yet. His lips parted but Dessalina continued with her short speech. “And he is passing the business down to Tristian and I.” Arnais fork dropped as his mother cast her eyes down to her plate. Ava had stopped trying to steer her children away from that dangerous lifestyle a long time ago.  There was no use in fighting with their destiny but it didn’t stop her shoulders from slumping in defeat as she forced a quick congratulations to the couple before focusing back on her dinner. Arnais, on the other hand, was livid. His thoughts flashed back to the body he caught at fifteen, that Dessalina had promised would secure his future in the empire.  

                                        𝕷𝖔𝖓𝖉𝖔𝖓 𝕰𝖓𝖌𝖑𝖆𝖓𝖉

“ιт'ѕ мy lιғe, ι'd lιĸe тo welcoмe y'all тo "тнe arnaιѕ ѕнow"

Arnais could still taste metallic on the tip of his tongue as his eyes drifted to the middle-aged man formerly known as Connor spread out on a plastic tarp, naked as the day he was born. “You did what you had to do to protect our family and our legacy.” His grandfather, Papa Tommy, thick Dublin’s accent haven’t reached Arnais’ ear but the sound of a powerful electric chainsaw coming to life did. Nevertheless,his glazed browns eyes stared straight ahead, frozen on the corpse. Arnais was in a state of shock,not because he had just taken a life, but because how easy it came to him. He was numb as he plunged the machete into Connor’s skull with so much force that the blade split his head open, exposing brain matter. He had almost let out a sardonic chuckle once Connor took his last breath before clasping onto the tarp. 

Arnais didn’t enjoy the act of killing but the rush was intoxicating. It was like chasing the white horse for the first time and he’d gotten a blissful high. But like every drug, that adrenaline had ran out sending him crashing down as he watched his grandfather starting to rip away the flesh of Conner’s neck as the saw tore at his hyoid bone. For once he had felt in control, but that was short-lived as the male’s head started to detach from his shoulder. The reality of what he had done punched him right in the gut. He dropped to all fours, spewing up the bangers and mash he eaten for dinner. He could feel someone’s stare burning a hole in the back of his head. He slightly turned, connecting with his sister’s disgusted gaze. She looked at him like he was the weakest thing to cross her path. Any sympathy Arnais had for the dead associate vanished. Vacancy consumed his features as he stood back to feet, wiping the sick away from the corner of his lips. Some part of him had hoped his sister would comfort him but she was cold as always. 

It still angered him because he had committed the deadly sin in her honor.  Connor was a thieving mole who had been caught red-handed by Dessalina. He threatened to go to the authorities on her and the rest of the Kelly family and soon he found himself in one of the many infamous slaughterhouses Papa Tommy had across Europe. Dessalina was the one to put the machete in Arnais’ hand before urging him on. When he resisted, she started to belittle him making Arnais act out of rage. Now Connor was dead. “Stop being such a bitch, Arnais! His death was his own fault!” That’s what Arnais’ sister would tell him when he couldn’t sleep that night. That’s what he continues to tell himself to this present day.

“reмeмвer wнen daddy dιed and yoυ ѕaιd yoυ wιѕнed ιт waѕ мe? well gυeѕѕ wнaт, ι aм dead, dead тo yoυ aѕ can вe!” 

Arnais was seeing red. He had sacrificed his soul just to get on his grandfather’s good side after the burning of his grandparent’s estate only for the son of a bitch to give his position to somebody else who didn’t even belong to their bloodline. Suddenly, Arnais fist slammed against the glass table causing everyone to tense. He stood to his feet, wide eyes reflected everything and saw nothing. Behind them was something more intense than normal. His defined jawline clenched which everyone knew wasn’t a good sign. “The arms business is my fucking birthright! It’s always been run by the firstborn son and it will continue to be run by the firstborn son! Ya think cause Desmond’s punk ass decided to kick the bucket early, we gonna throw away a tradition that goes back to the eighteenth century?” Both women were appalled at how Arnais addressed his deceased father but Dessalina was the first to react.

“ Yuh nuh dare chat bout fi wi fadda like that!” Dessalina growled with fire in her eyes as she rose from her chair, ready to take on her deranged brother for his blatant disrespect.  

“Shut the hell up, Lina!” Arnais snapped as he charged at his sister but her boyfriend bolted out of his seat, capturing him by both of his forearms. Being restrained didn’t stop Arnais from trying to get to Dessalina. He fought against Tristian as his sharp tongue continued to cut at his sister. “I can talk about him however I want because I was there! Yall got the news over the phone but I saw it all! I didn’t get a heads up that my fadda’s guts would be spilling out that day!”

Dessalina eyes flashed with horror before the fire in them died, roaming all over Arnais agony-stricken features that were contorted with anger. She realized this wasn’t just about the family’s business, her little brother was reliving everything at once. Their father’s death and all the well-kept secret between the two of them. “Arnais don-” 

 "No Lina! No! I watched the flames lick his skin as he laid there motionless. I watched him scream my name just before his entire left side was crushed into nothing but flesh, blood, and metal! I watched it all Lina, every single moment so don’t sit here and tell me what I can and cannot say about my goddamn father! He didn’t even try to fight death, he let me watch him burn!“ He let out a bitter laugh, hollow like the hole in his heart. "I watched our fada burn to death and with that haunting me, you decided to coach me into becoming a murderer just like you coached me into burning down our grandparent’s house because you blamed them for his death! I-" 

“Enough!” Ava screamed out as tears rapidly pooled around the rims of her eyes as her entire body shook. Immediately, an overwhelming sense of remorse made Arnais clamp his mouth shut. He’d never spoken to his mother about how her husband had perished, always choosing to spare her the gruesome memory that he relived in every nightmare. But it had to come out someday just like the truth about Dessalina. Arnais was, in fact, a pyromaniac with borderline personality disorder, but his actions weren’t always because of his impulses. Dessalina had a way of manipulating him; she knew Arnais could be vulnerable and she took advantage of that every chance she got, making him do her dirty work. Everyone thought he was the second coming of the anti-christ, including his own mother, when really it was his sister who was the deadly sociopath. She had been mentally and sometimes physically abusing Arnais throughout their childhood. The random burn marks, bruises, and cuts people use to discover across his body wasn’t from self-harm, but the doing of his own biological sister.  She’d even gone as far as stuffing half a bottle of pills down his throat days after Desmond’s funeral, which was labeled his first suicide attempt at the age of nine. Years and Years he endured her torture without saying a word because all he wanted was for Dessalina to love him as much as he loved her, but finding out that she had snatched his heir from beneath his feet was the last straw. He wanted to kill her right where she stood, but Arnais couldn’t focus on his hatred for his sister when their mother was crumbling right before their eyes. 

"Ma?” He whispered hoarsely but she wasn’t listening. A suffocating moment of silences went by before dead and dulled hazel eyes filled with grief meet with the three people watching her. “G-get o-out” Ava managed to stutter in a low whisper.

“ “Mummy, we need to talk about-" 

 She cut Dessalina off “I said get the fuck out of my house! All of you need to leave now!”  Her mother’s voice made Dessalina think again about approaching her. Ava’s entire face had shut down, devoid of all emotions but grief as her bottom lip quivered.

Defeated, Arnais ripped himself from Tristian’s hold and retreated out the door and to his car, mentally beating myself up for lashing out while his mother was present. He started driving aimlessly around Beverly Hills. His breathing was erratic and forceful, filling the silence in the car with whimpers that slowly turned into sobs. He pulled into a random parking lot before he held a hand over his mouth, trying to stop his tears by blinking but it was no use. He wanted so badly to blame Dessalina for pushing him into the hole he was in, but somehow his father face clouding his vision was the burning in his veins at the moment. If Desmond hadn’t died, maybe things wouldn’t have turned out the way they did for The Kelly Family. Maybe Dessalina’s abuse wouldn’t have escalated. Maybe Arnais wouldn’t be the empty shell he was now. 

[classyfoxdestiny]

Nik Dodani, Sujata Day, Kiran Deol on the evolving space for Indian-origin creatives in western cinema

Nik Dodani, Sujata Day, Kiran Deol on the evolving space for Indian-origin creatives in western cinema

Where once, being brown brought with it stereotypes and typecasting, now a new generation of creatives of Indian origin, including Sujata Day, Kiran Deol, Nik Dodani and Avantika Vandanapu, is effecting change in western cinema — with diaspora narratives and creating their own support structures

“The producers actually asked if I’m ‘100% Indian’,” recalls Sujata Day about an unfortunate audition experience for a major sitcom in 2018. The actor-filmmaker, along with four other Indian-American actors, was vying for the role of the fiancée of one of the show’s lead characters. “In response to the producers’ query as to whether or not I was ‘100% Indian’, I said, ‘My parents are from Kolkata and I speak fluent Bengali, so yes.’ But the fact that I had to defend my Indianness was very strange. I know I didn’t book the role because I clearly didn’t look ‘Indian enough’ to them.”

Also Read | Get ‘First Day First Show’, our weekly newsletter from the world of cinema, in your inbox. You can subscribe for free here

Day, during a video call with The Hindu Weekend, shakes her head as she talks about the then-and-now of South Asian representation in western film spaces. But the 37-year-old is not alone in her views of a culturally-stagnant cinema industry in the West. The industry boxed its South Asian actors and filmmakers into what they deemed acceptable. But in the past five years, creatives have continually expressed their dissent, announcing on social media, as well as during roundtables, protests and even stand-up routines that they are tired of the ‘identikit Indian’ roles.

More South Asian-origin actors, such as Dev Patel, Janina Gavankar, Rahul Kohli, Geraldine Viswanathan, Utkarsh Ambudkar, Kuhoo Verma, and Anya Chalotra, are shunning reductive roles in favour of fully-rounded characters that had long been reserved for only a few actors of colour.

For example, in Hulu’s Plan B, Kuhoo Verma’s portrayal as a sexually-curious teen who has to come to terms with the reproductive rights in her conservative state of South Dakota as she tries to purchase Plan B (morning-after pill) resonated with many women of colour. Prior to this, Indian girls were the one-dimensional personification of purity culture across western cinema. More recently, Dev Patel’s casting as the historically assumed-white Sir Gawain in The Green Knight turned the tables on the scope of open ethnicities.

Still of Sunny (Kuhoo Verma) and Lupe (Natalie Moroles) in Hulu comedy-drama ‘Plan B’ (2021)   | Photo Credit: Hulu

The identity struggle is never easily reconciled. Take that episode of The Mindy Project where Mindy (Mindy Kaling) goes on a date with the ‘ideal Indian man’ but he, unimpressed by her lack of knowledge about India, says he “could never date a coconut — brown on the outside, white on the inside”. This lights a flare to the tough dichotomy the diaspora tackles every day while forging their identity; embracing their surrounding culture and holding onto tradition.

Some address this by not taking on the ‘Indian-origin’ tag. Verma identifies as a woman of colour, as her family moved to the United States from South India but, without dismissing her heritage entirely, prefers to be known as ‘just an actor’ in the industry.

Nik Dodani attends The World Premiere of ‘Dear Evan Hansen’ presented by Universal Pictures at the Opening Night of The Toronto International Film Festival on September 09, 2021 in Toronto, Ontario.   | Photo Credit: RYAN EMBERLEY/AFP

Meanwhile, actors and filmmakers including Nik Dodani, Day and Kiran Deol are also taking matters into their own hands — by either creating their own support structures for South Asian actors or producing their own films and taking them to international stages such as the Toronto International Film Festival (TIFF).

Festivals matter

Festivals have become a cornerstone for Indian filmmakers and actors. It is not just a networking opportunity but a platform for visibility. In mid-September, actor-filmmaker Deol’s short I Would Never premiered at TIFF as well as Dodani’s Dear Evan Hansen.

“Massive festivals like TIFF really help to legitimise a filmmaker and their support really helps to bring up international talent,” says Deol, who has received support from Sundance and TIFF in the past to get her short film made. “I hope that these festivals continue to be as inclusive. Big film festivals like Cannes and TIFF have been some of the places where I’ve discovered some of my favourite filmmakers, so it’s no small thing.”

Read More | Kiran Deol on ‘I Would Never’, a film for the #MeToo ages

A still from the 2020 short film ‘I Would Never’ starring and directed by Kiran Deol   | Photo Credit: Kiran Deol

Meanwhile, Dodani, a deep admirer of Day’s “hustle” through the contentious industry, shares the festival circuit this year certainly feels different as well. “We are seeing more incredible filmmakers of colour; it’s a reflection of the power of our communities to get our stuff made and insert them into the conversation. The indie world has always been exciting because that’s where the films that push the boundaries exist, so we’re finally starting to see the financing start to follow the Black and Brown creators.”

Creating a community

The changes, however, are slow and not simultaneous; some generations of creatives will reap the rewards of those who have toiled for years in the murky industry. Things now could be looking up for casting as well as attention to details in South Asian roles and script. Avantika Vandanapu plays a young Gujarati high school student who is an ace coder and who, through a happenstance crush on a boy at school, discovers and nurtures talent for DJing.

Avantika Vandanapu as Rhea, in Disney Channel movie ‘Spin’   | Photo Credit: Kharen Hill / Disney

Vandanapu’s Telugu roots have seen her appear in 2015’s Brahmotsavam alongside Mahesh Babu and 2016’s Premam with Naga Chaitanya and Shruti Haasan.

The 16-year-old says her auditioning process for Spin was a far cry from the horror stories minority actors have experienced, and she owes it all to their resistance and perseverance over the years. “From the moment I saw the script, I was so glad Disney had not generalised the Indian ethnicity, but had narrowed on the specificities of the Gujarati culture,” she says. “Seeing an Indian girl written as someone who is comfortable in her identity rather than having an identity crisis was exciting.”

Of course, Vandanapu understands identity conflicts are a prevalent matter, but she hopes it is not the only narrative for people of the Indian diaspora.

Speaking on what catalysed change across the industry changing, he says, “This industry is white-dominated, and the Black and Latinx communities in Hollywood have organised and supported each other in ways that are so inspiring; we hope to replicate that. The conversation around inclusion and equity has been changing for a few years now, but has accelerated immensely after last summer. The Black Lives Movement is directly responsible for that; every community of colour in the US is benefiting from the work the activists have done over the years. The real test, if the industry starts walking the walk, is in the next five to ten years.”

Still of Evan (Ben Platt) and Jared (Nik Dodani) in Universal Pictures’ ‘Dear Evan Hansen’ (2021)   | Photo Credit: Universal Pictures

On their own terms

One of the happy results of this movement is The Salon, co-founded in 2019 by Atypical and Escape Room actor Dodani, along with Bash Naran and Vinny Chhibber. “It started out as an informal way for us to connect,” says the 27-year-old. “Vinny, Bash and I were chatting and we found we all knew different folks in the South Asian film industry but not everyone knew everyone. For the first year, our goal was to just get people in the same room, to have the most basic form of community. Our vision is to help the next generation of South Asian talent.”

Read More | Nik Dodani on his cultural identity, and working on ‘Escape Room’ and ‘Atypical’

Day is not blind to the industry’s flaws either, one of the most prominent being its unwillingness to change. “Green-lighters in the film community were, and still are, slow, but now we are giving ourselves the green light,” she says.

So, the filmmaker pooled her money and directed, wrote and starred in comedy-drama Definition Please, which has been a favourite on the festival circuit in the US, having won ‘Outstanding Directorial Debut for a Feature Film’ at the South Asian Film Festival in America, and Best Narrative Feature at CAAMFest.

Told through the Indian female gaze, the indie film follows an Indian-origin woman who is living in the past glory of her spelling bee champion days while trying to move forward and dealing with her grief-stricken family. The film, which also stars Ritesh Rajan, succinctly explores themes of female friendships, familial pressures, mental health, and toxic masculinity in the Indian community.

Read More | Sujata Day on pushing through Hollywood bureaucracy and making ‘Definition Please’

Day was inspired by her long-time Awkward Black Girl and Insecure collaborator Issa Rae, explaining, “Very few people know of her first two web series; everyone thinks Awkward Black Girl was her first. But she never gave up and never let the system stop her from creating. And neither should we!”

The OTT problem

Day is currently in chats with streamers and distributors worldwide for Definition Please, and she confides with a laugh, “They feel that if they have Bollywood movies on their platform, they don’t need diaspora films. They think we are being represented already, which is wild to me because as much as I love the stars, that’s not our lives in the diaspora. We have very specific and interesting stories to tell.

During Asian-American Heritage Month (May) in the US, she noticed that streaming companies were putting out lists of Asian content on special servers and many were subtitled and foreign, but not a lot were content out of the US (or the UK). “They are handling Asian inclusion in a global sense that doesn’t make sense to folks in the diaspora. We should be able to hold them accountable and we bring these grievances up in meetings and they’re hearing us. Hopefully, they make some changes to shift their thinking.”

Money talks

Having travelled to many film festivals when it came out in 2017, Day’s eight-minute short, Cowboy and Indian (a drama-thriller about a Bengali bride who collapses in the street and is rescued by a cowboy) is now being made into a television series — made possible by a South Asian film executive reaching out to her. “It absolutely matters who’s also buying stories for production. We need representation there too!” she says.

Agreeing with her, actor-filmmaker Deol elaborates, “I feel like funding for filmmakers is always the 21-million-dollar question. This is true for folks of any colour trying to get their projects made.”

A growing space that is increasingly getting more funding is book-to-screen adaptations. Diksha Basu’s Destination Wedding, which was shortlisted for the Wodehouse Prize, is currently being adapted to a series. Meanwhile, Rakesh Satyal and Dodani have long been working on an adaptation of Satyal’s 2009 bestseller Blue Boy, which tells the story of a young gay Indian-American boy who is bullied through his school years. Dodani, who found the book to be a “full body experience” when he first read it, turns screenwriter for the film. “We’re trying to find the right home and financing for it. We want to make sure it’s done right and gets the right budget and talent,” he says.

So, while many creatives are more than happy to bid goodbye to ‘brownface’, casting appropriation and tokenism — as Deol sees it, this farewell is rather fresh — there is still a lot to look forward to and to demand in terms of inclusion.

“The changes showcase for me both how far we have come, and how far we have to go,” Deol sums up, adding, “I’d love to get to a place in representation where we have the room to tell extremely specific stories that don’t have to speak for the entire diaspora because there is enough variety in the shows and movies that get airtime, that there is a multiplicity of voices and points of view to choose from.”

It will be a frustrating wait for this level of change and some unfortunate barriers are inevitable. But as more creatives of colour vocalise their needs and rights, and also hold studios and casting agencies accountable, things are bound to change.

. Source link

[poetrybooksya]

DISCUSSION: New #ReadSoulLit Picks | Why I Don't Read Much Black Literature

oOo For more posts like this, visit my DISCUSSIONS TAB. oOo

I'll admit that I don't read a lot of black literature, and as a young, black woman of color who wants to expand my reading tastes, I needed an outlet to help guide me. I grew up reading books that had predominantly straight white characters, with easygoing plotlines, characters that didn't really go anywhere. But I never questioned my reading because just the fact that I was reading whatever I wanted stood above me reading about white characters.

With that being said, I still read books with primarily white storylines. But then, this tag on social media called #ReadSoulLit captured my eye to see about opening my reading tastes to include black reads. Created by Didi Borie of Brown Girl Reading, she made this tag event to promote black contemporary writers of color during Black History Month in February 2015. Even though it's clearly not February today, I still wanted to share my appreciation for celebrating underrated writers and stories of color. 

From Didi's interview with folkloreandliteracy:

Ideally I’d love it if publishers expressed a desire to sponsor #ReadSoulLit.  I think this would allow them to see that there are more people out here than they think who are prepared to support black authors.  I hope that publishers will try to collaborate more often with black literary influencers like myself to promote all books in general. Publishers need to see that we are here, enjoy reading, and we’re talking about what we like and what we don’t like in books.

Homegoing by Ya'a Gyasi -  Synopsis: Two half-sisters, Effia and Esi, are born into different villages in eighteenth-century Ghana. Effia is married off to an Englishman and lives in comfort in the palatial rooms of Cape Coast Castle. Unbeknownst to Effia, her sister, Esi, is imprisoned beneath her in the castle's dungeons, sold with thousands of others into the Gold Coast's booming slave trade, and shipped off to America, where her children and grandchildren will be raised in slavery. One thread of Homegoing follows Effia's descendants through centuries of warfare in Ghana, as the Fante and Asante nations wrestle with the slave trade and British colonization. The other thread follows Esi and her children into America. From the plantations of the South to the Civil War and the Great Migration, from the coal mines of Pratt City, Alabama, to the jazz clubs and dope houses of twentieth-century Harlem, right up through the present day, Homegoing makes history visceral, and captures, with singular and stunning immediacy, how the memory of captivity came to be inscribed in the soul of a nation.  One of my Current Reads, this story revolves around family and how a long family line also means many secrets. I've been reading this slowly since last year, and it's very fascinating. Following every slave's story from beginning to end, even some of the slave owners, is something you really have to pay attention to, which is why I haven't finished it yet.  The Bluest Eye by Toni Morrison -  Synopsis: The Bluest Eye is Toni Morrison's first novel, a book heralded for its richness of language and boldness of vision. Set in the author's girlhood hometown of Lorain, Ohio, it tells the story of black, eleven-year-old Pecola Breedlove. Pecola prays for her eyes to turn blue so that she will be as beautiful and beloved as all the blond, blue-eyed children in America. In the autumn of 1941, the year the marigolds in the Breedloves' garden do not bloom. Pecola's life does change- in painful, devastating ways. What its vivid evocation of the fear and loneliness at the heart of a child's yearning, and the tragedy of its fulfillment. This sounds so sad and heartbreaking and I'm so here for it! Plus, I don't get to read from a child's point of view too often because of their immaturity and naivety. However, with this book, I'm able to make an exception.  

Tar Baby by Toni Morrison -  Synopsis: Jadine Childs is a black fashion model with a white patron, a white boyfriend, and a coat made out of ninety perfect sealskins. Son is a black fugitive who embodies everything she loathes and desires. As Morrison follows their affair, which plays out from the Caribbean to Manhattan and the deep South, she charts all the nuances of obligation and betrayal between blacks and whites, masters and servants, and men and women. This reminds me of The Hate U Give by Angie Thomas, not the police brutality against black people, but more how the main female black character, Starr, has a white boyfriend, Chris. Starr doesn't know how to navigate herself properly because on one hand, she's known in one way at home. On another hand, she's known for trying to be this conservative girl who's attracted to someone of a different race. Chris doesn't understand her points of view when it comes to hardships as a black woman in America, but he wants to at least try because he loves her. That's what I hope Tar Baby will represent; I'm all for supporting interracial relationships and love, but if Jadine's boyfriend shows more ignorance than compassion, then we're going to have a problem. But, I am still hopeful for a good read.  The Mothers by Brit Bennett -  Synopsis: It is the last season of high school life for Nadia Turner, a rebellious, grief-stricken, seventeen-year-old beauty. Mourning her own mother's recent suicide, she takes up with the local pastor's son. Luke Sheppard is twenty-one, a former football star whose injury has reduced him to waiting tables at a diner. They are young; it's not serious. But the pregnancy that results from this teen romance—and the subsequent cover-up—will have an impact that goes far beyond their youth. As Nadia hides her secret from everyone, including Aubrey, her God-fearing best friend, the years move quickly. Soon, Nadia, Luke, and Aubrey are full-fledged adults and still living in debt to the choices they made that one seaside summer, caught in a love triangle they must carefully maneuver, and dogged by the constant, nagging question: What if they had chosen differently? The possibilities of the road not taken are a relentless haunt. At first, I wasn't going to pick this up because while I don't hate love triangles, I've outgrown them a bit. Everytime they're used as a plot device in a story, they turn into something corny or unrelatable. But with this one, I think it could be promising. 

The Nix by Nathan Hill -  Synopsis: Meet Samuel Andresen-Anderson: stalled writer, bored teacher at a local college, obsessive player of an online video game. He hasn't seen his mother, Faye, since she walked out when he was a child. But then one day there she is, all over the news, throwing rocks at a presidential candidate. The media paints Faye as a militant radical with a sordid past, but as far as Samuel knows, his mother never left her small Iowa town. Which version of his mother is the true one? Determined to solve the puzzle--and finally have something to deliver to his publisher--Samuel decides to capitalize on his mother's new fame by writing a tell-all biography, a book that will savage her intimately, publicly. But first, he has to locate her; and second, to talk to her without bursting into tears. I've read orphan/founding family stories before, but they were mostly of fantasy genres. So seeing this new one come from a historical drama or fictional background piqued my interest. Hope I like it!  What are some of your favorite new #ReadSoulLit picks? Comment below!

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via Blogger http://poemsbyayoungartist.blogspot.com/2018/05/discussion-new-readsoullit-picks-why-i.html

[sasha-amy]

Here we go, another hot topic to be addressed because once again, it’s getting on my nerves and again, it’s to do with Johnny. It’s about how people are getting angry that he is still appearing in movies after all the drama with his ex, Amber. It’s quite ridiculous that people are getting angry about this. He is an incredible actor and deserves to redeem himself in the public eye because all this happened mid last year! It’s now nearly 2018, over a year has past. People need to move on and get over it because producers of movies, other actors and Johnny himself have so why can’t the public? There are many other things happening in the world that people should be concerned with rather than what is happening in celebrities lives. It’s not even 100% known if all of this really happened so all this hate towards him could really be for nothing. A few of his ex’s, his daughter and others have stuck up for him in this providing information against the accusations and if people that close to him believe in him then why can’t others? People are mainly mad about his appearance in the second Fantastic Beasts movie because of his brief sighting in the end of the first one. The second movie won’t be out until late 2018 which will be over two years since this drama, almost three years and that’s a long time to still be talking about it! A producer of the movie said they cast Johnny because “He’s an iconic actor and we needed an iconic actor to play this part. Johnny’s created two or three iconic people, people who are unforgettable. He makes choices and that was really, really important… He was an absolute pleasure to work with.” A director of the film also said “What you have to remember about Johnny is that extraordinary talent and that talent never goes away. Hollywood is such a fickle place. People go up and go down.” Even JK Rowling had something to say about Johnny appearing in the Fantastic Beasts movie. She said “He’s obviously a cameo in this film but going forward will obviously be more important. Watching Johnny create a character is really quite remarkable, it’s fascinating. It’s great as a writer to work with people like that.” If these people who are very involved with this film can see how good of a man he is then why can’t others? Even is co-stars of his most recent film said how much of a pleasure it was to work with him and how great of a man he is.

Johnny is a great man and what people are failing to see is that even though the accusation was that Johnny hit his now ex wife, his ex wife has been previously convicted of abuse herself but nobody is talking about that now are they? I am not saying it’s acceptable to hit others but in this day and age, people would applaud if it was a male abuser who was abused because they’d say that he got what he deserved but because in this situation, it was a woman abuser who was supposedly hit then everyone is loosing their mind over it and calling the man an animal. To me that is seriously wrong. Everything is one sided these days. Why is there never any justice for men but there always is justice for women? What’s that all about?! Johnny was never even convicted of this accusation and both him and Amber made a joint statement during their divorce which said “Our relationship was intensely passionate and at times, volatile, but always bound by love. Neither party has made false accusations for financial gain. There was never an intent of physical or emotional harm”. 

I personally believe that Johnny didn’t do it and there is alot of evidence floating around that can support that but Johnny and Amber knows what really happened, Amber could have made it up to take light away from her own abuse accusations made against her or for some other reason or Johnny may have done it but not intentionally, he’s never done that in the past so something must have pushed him to do it, for example, the death of his mother last year which was very close to the accusation in question. People stricken with a big loss and grief can become angry because of that and it may have caused him to loose his temper at Amber. A mother is the biggest part of somebody’s life and once you loose your mother it’s a huge part of you gone too so it’s understandable to be angry. None of us know though, we could throw suggestions around for days but it won’t do anything. You are still entitled to have your opinion on this whole thing but we can’t go around acting like we know what really happened because we don’t. All we are going by is the information the media has provided us with and even the media have been known to stretch the truth so just be opened minded about this please or just leave this whole ordeal alone because it’s almost two years later! Just be kind to one another. 

[zip-ur-quiznak]

This is basically me letting out my emotions. And this isn’t going to be pretty, so it’s going under read more.

Shock. All Lance could feel was shock. The village on Arus, the very first planet they visited, was decimated. A massive Galra ship had slipped past Voltron and destroyed the beloved village, despite their best efforts to stop it. By the time they finally destroyed the ship it was too late. But even then they did not yet know the extent of the damage.

Lance already knew that it wasn’t good. But he had to see for himself. He needed the closure.

So when they returned to Arus, they were devastated. Bones and debris crunched under their feet as they walked through what was left of it. Charred wooden poles were all that remained of the trees. There was nothing green left here. The only colors that could be seen were gray, red, and black.

There were bodies everywhere. Men, women, and children. None had been spared. Lance dropped onto his knees beside a family that had not survived. They had all gathered together in their last moments, finding solace in each other.

“I...I don’t...I don’t understand.” Lance barely recognized his own voice. It was hoarse, weak, and illustrated what he was feeling. Tears fell from his wide eyes as he picked up a doll. It was covered in soot, but was intact. He looked to a little girl, curled in a ball on the ash coated ground. Her body was bloodied and battered. A few places were even charred. He tucked the doll under her arm, and pressed a tender kiss to her blood-stained temple.

Then the girl stirred, eyes cracking open. She was still alive, but wouldn’t be for long. Her wounds were too great. She began to whine, and he promptly removed his chest plate and gathered her into his arms.

“I’ve got you. It’s okay.” He whispered, rocking her back and forth. He felt her settle in his arms, one tiny hand resting against his chest. When he looked down, he saw a smile. Weak, but it was there. “We took down the Galra that attacked you. You’re safe now.”

“I...I knew you’d...come back.” Damn, she sounded terrible. But he could hear the joy in her voice. “I never lost...faith in Voltron...even when our village crumbled around us. I saw you...in...the sky...fighting for us.”

“I’m so sorry.” Lance felt his composure breaking. “We couldn’t save you...I couldn’t save you.”

“You did, Blue Pa-Paladin. You saved our planet. You...you still defeated the enemy...thank you...” With one last tiny breath, she passed. Her hand went slack against his chest, and the light left her eyes.

Slowly, he lowered her back on the ground beside her family, doll and all. Once he did, he bowed down until his head touched the ground. As ash floated down around him like snow, he let out a grief-stricken scream.

That was how the others found him. On his knees, doubled over, screaming and wailing before the corpse of a family. 

Shiro, whose eyes were red and wet, bent down to wrap an arm over the boy’s back. His head rested against Lance’s as he tried to comfort him. “I’m so sorry, Lance. I’m so, so sorry that you had to go through this.” He brought his other hand around to cradle Lance’s head.

Lance buried his face into the crook of Shiro’s neck and continued caterwauling, trembling with grief. His hands shook violently as he tried to return the embrace. His chest felt tight, making it difficult to breathe. His screams had turned into high-pitched squeals, causing concern for the Black Paladin.

“Ssshhh, just breathe. Breathe, Lance.” Shiro started rubbing slow, wide circles into Lance’s back, feeling his breath hitch as he tried to slow his breathing down. Within a minute, the boy’s breathing had started to slow down. “That’s it, you’re doing great. Just slowly breathe. In, and out--atta boy, just like that.”

Ten minutes later, Lance was limp on the ground. Blue eyes were partially open, but were dull with sorrow. He felt numb inside. He’d let out all of his emotions, and now he was empty. His body felt heavy, and he knew that getting up by himself wasn’t going to happen. But he didn’t care. Nothing mattered to him right now.

“Let’s get you back to the castle. You can ride with me in Black.” Shiro’s voice was gentle, almost motherly in nature. Lance’s head bobbed up and down, and that enough consent for the leader of Voltron to help him to his feet. He slowly walked Lance into Black’s cockpit, gently sitting him down on a bench. He held Lance’s head between his hands for a few moments, wiping away his tear tracks with his thumbs, then he went to the pilot chair.

The ride back to the castle was silent, which was not surprising. Lance was half-asleep upon arrival, and he’d already vomited once. He looked up when Shiro’s figure blocked out the light from Black’s dashboard. His leader’s face was solemn yet kind.

“Hey, buddy, we’re here. I’m gonna help you up, alright?” Shiro didn’t like how pale Lance’s face was, nor how bloodshot his eyes were. After getting a nod from him, he pulled him to his feet. He let the boy lean on him while he wrapped an arm around his waist to support him.

Lance was grateful that Shiro was here for him. His presence alone was comforting, and he was about to be surrounded by his friends. Sure enough, as soon as he was brought to his room, the other three Paladins as well as Allura and Coran were there. Even the mice were present, and so was Matt.

No words were needed. Everyone gathered around him for a group hug, making sure that Lance had room to breathe. This was what he needed. Friends and family alike, and faith.

[coeurdastronaute]

From Eden VII

Some more From Eden? Maybe a light chapter - big Hollywood movie star comes for dinner and meets Clarke's parents? 

Previously on From Eden

“Are you sure about this?”

“No, but I think it’s a bit late for second guessing.”

The highway lazily curved and bent through the trees, half trailing the edge of ocean on one side. The water was calm and still, the Atlantic not particularly interested in waking from its summer nap despite how late into the evening it was getting. From time to time, a house would appear, interjecting itself into the woods, a long driveway seen snaking up and disappearing. It was entirely foreign and new to the actress, and so despite her girlfriend’s worry, she was excited.

Never before had Lexa considered the state of Connecticut. It was always just there; tiny and unassuming and well-enough alone in its little corner of the world, not bothering a soul. But just the peak at it as they drove toward Clarke’s hometown left Lexa very confused about the girl who sat beside her who, at one point in the not too distant past, lived on a street that house multiple pawn shops and liquor stores and what she was certain was an illicit neighbor. It was very far removed from the town they were driving through.

“I can’t believe you used to live here,” Lexa finally ventured.

“I can’t believe I’m taking you home,” Clarke returned with a wild kind of grin.

“It’s going to be fine, you know?”

“Yeah. I know.”

The way she said it made Lexa almost certain that the opposite was true, but she didn’t bother trying to change her mind. Instead, she kissed her hand and let the world bloom through the windshield.

Downtown was a blink. There was nothing to it except tiny shops and restaurants and benches and storefronts. People milled about, laughing and perusing. Kids with ice cream cones ran ahead. It was perfect.

“How long has it been since you’ve been home?” Lexa ventured as they made a few turns and left the bustling metropolis of the sleepy seaside town.

“What’s today?”

“August fifth.”

“Oh yeah, just, you know. About four years.”

“You said a little while.”

“That is a little while. A bit. Cosimically, I mean,” Clarke checked her mirror as she turned on her blinker. “I see my parents at least once a year, they come out and visit. I just haven’t been back here.”

“You’re just full of surprises.”

Sheepishly Clarke smiled.

The house on Maple Street was exactly what Lexa could never imagine growing up in. She remembered her little house she shared with her parents, a little box of a thing. Not that they wanted for much, just that they were much more modest.

As soon as the car slipped into park, Lexa tilted her head and looked at the old white home with navy blue shutters, with the moulding around the huge porch, with the flowers and the manicured lawn, with the glowing windows and screen door and lights. She remembered being fourteen and spending the weekend at a friends house and having that inadequate feeling. It was still very much alive in her.

“Are you ready?”

“I think I should be asking you that,” Clarke chuckled.

“Clarke, I am a highly desired actress who just was in a film that won the Palme D’Or. I play a damn superhero who wields a mace. I’m well travelled, somewhat educated, and at least to supplement my lack of degrees, I might dare say well-read. I am not afraid of meeting your parents.”

“None of that matters when you’re sleeping with their daughter.”

Lexa gulped.

“Ugh, don’t remind me,” she whined, deflating quite quickly from the pretend confidence she tried to instill within herself. Clarke chuckled and leaned over to kiss her girlfriend’s cheek.

“You are, by far, one of the best people I’ve ever met. They’re going to love you,” she promised.

“You are my favorite, and they already love you,” Lexa promised with a smile as she earned a kiss.

“You’re so cute when you’re naive.”

Somehow, Lexa realized, she was standing on the porch of a beautiful house, with a beautiful girl, and she was about to meet someone’s parents in the ‘I’m-dating-your-daughter’ kind of way. She knew, the entire drive up, that she would be doing this, the meeting, the shaking hands, the smiling and being polite. But it was suddenly very, very real.

For the briefest of instants, she absolutely hated her girlfriend. Right there, in the middle of Connecticut, she hated her for one blink in time. Because of those damn eyes and those hips and that voice, she agreed to spend the weekend there for her father’s birthday. If Clarke had been anyone else, she wouldn’t be in this predicament. But Clarke wasn’t, and that was why Lexa was madly in love with her.

“Finally!” a man burst through the screen door as soon as Clarke knocked. He wrapped her up in a huge kind of hug, eclipsing her entirely. “Honey, our long lost progeny has returned.”

Somewhere, muffled in his arms, Clarke mumbled a response, hugging him back just as tightly. Lexa stood to the side, carefully holding the presents and bags, glad to have something to do with her hands.

“How was that?” he finally laughed, pulling away.

“Plenty embarrassing, thank you,” Clarke laughed, catching her breath, still half hanging on her dad. “I want to introduce you to Lexa.”

“It’s a pleasure. I feel like I know you already,” he beamed, hugging her around her full arms. “Hawkgirl.”

“I told you to stop telling people about my secret identity,” Lexa admonished her girlfriend who weakly held up her hands in defeat.

It was going too well, it was going too smoothly, Lexa was too at ease, and Clarke was too far antsy to remember the impending weight that would try to tear her apart. For the longest, Jake grinned and held Lexa’s shoulder happily. And then the screen door shut.

“It only took how many years?” Abby said, holding out her arms. It took a moment, but Clarke hugged her back, relaxing into it as she was known to do.

“Hi, Mom. The guilt can wait a few, right?”

“A few,” she smiled and relaxed, sizing up her daughter, holding her cheeks and scanning her for defects. “You don’t eat enough.”

“I eat too much,” her daughter promised. “I want you to meet Lexa. She makes sure I’m fed and watered most days.”

“It’s nice to meet you, Dr. Griffin,” Lexa offered after a moment, extending her hand.

“Same to you.”

She wasn’t sure why, but Lexa found herself looking at her girlfriend for help, unsure of what or how or if that feeling was normal. Instead, she just got her father slapping her shoulder and helping to grab bags.

The evening set in and the heat from the summer kicked up with the bugs and the shouts from neighbor kids chasing the last bit of streetlight. Sticks slapped the ground as a makeshift game of some sort happened just beyond the tree line while the four found themselves relaxing in the heat on the porch, letting the dark envelope them with a kind of welcome that could only come from late summer evenings.

Since their arrival, Clarke had been on edge, and Lexa was able to pick up on it quickly. It was a fine line the artist was walking, to keep herself calm enough to put her girlfriend at ease while at the same time hosting her own internal gladiator match of emotions that came with being home after leaving and promising to never return.

But the actor knew it already, knew how complex home was for Clarke, admired her more for setting out on her own, refusing to adhere to her mother’s wishes. She just couldn’t fathom what it meant for her, sitting between two ridiculously strong-willed women while simultaneously trying to make a good impression and be supportive.

The porch swing croaked in a rhythm as Lexa lazily pushed them to catch the tiniest breeze while the lights from inside spilled out like ghosts onto the porch, casting them all in orangey hues and shadows.

Just a few hours in, dinner under their belts, and she hadn’t messed anything up yet. Her confidence was building as she carefully repeated Anya’s mantra that she was Lexa Fucking Woods, and she was any parent's’ dream. Almost instantly, Lexa had reminded her of the numerous cover stories and girls she’d blown through in her grief-stricken stupor. Anya had nothing for that.

“So I’ve never gotten the full how you met story,” Abby pressed as she took a seat on one of the padded chairs and handed her husband another beer. The screen door finally shut behind her with a gentle thwap.

“It was actually really sweet,” Clarke smiled at her girlfriend who blushed slightly.

It was foreign and wonderful, to see Lexa so worried. The girl could stand in front of a dozen photographers in a ridiculously beautiful dress and make up and have them eating out of the palm of her hand, have them adoring her while she whispered little jokes and basically didn’t notice she had that effect on people. And now she was sitting on a front porch, awkwardly sipping a drink she didn’t like, blushing at the idea of someone knowing her personally. Clarke enjoyed it more than she ought.

“I think you said it was at work, right?” Jake asked, relaxed in his corner.

“Lexa walked in and asked for some books on a painter, or painting.”

“It was a painting or the subject of a painting. It was confusing, but it turns out I picked the most knowledgeable person on the planet to ask,” Lexa supplied. “She knew exactly who I was, fumbled some books, and gave me a stack about three feet tall to read.”

“That almost degree wasn’t a complete waste then,” Abby almost scoffed. Dig number six, Lexa counted to herself.

“And that was around lunchtime,” Clarke ignored her mother, squeezing Lexa’s leg gently. “She holed up and I’d look over and see her every time I passed the aisle all day. For about eight hours. Until she disappeared and then came back about a half hour later with dinner. I closed up and we spent the night talking about art and work and all kinds of stuff.”

“Not a terrible first date,” Lexa grinned, teasing Clarke as best she could.

“That is actually a wholesome story I wasn’t expecting,” her father chuckled and took a longer swig from his bottle.

“It was nice. And no one else really knows the story. I think we keep it just ours,” Lexa realized. “I like that most.”

“That must be hard, being in the public eye the way you are,” the mother leaned forward slightly.

“It can be,” the actress shrugged. “Sometimes it’s funny. But if anything it kind of makes us talk more, be more open, trust. I think it’s going alright.”

“Yeah, alright,” Clarke pretended to be apathetic, though smiled and kissed Lexa’s cheek softly.

“Listen, I’ve held out as long as I could,” Jake shook his head, interrupting the sweet moment. “I have to know who the villain is going to be in the third one and if you’re going to join the Justice League. Also, if it’s true you’re going to be making an appearance in Birds of Prey.”

“I told you he’d love you,” the daughter whispered.

“You just had to tell him my secret identity.”

“Jake, please. Come on. You’re worse than a child,” Abby shook her head. “I’m sorry for him.”

“Not a problem,” Lexa chuckled. “Unfortunately I can’t tell you anything.”

“My daughter can.”

For a moment, Clarke caught her girlfriend’s eyes and debated it. She saw Lexa’s tell, and realized that they almost had their own language, developed and tested through many moments in which they were very public and wanted to be on the same page. Just a tilt of a head or drift of a glance said enough.

“Let’s just say that we’re going to spend the winter in San Francisco.”

“That’s where the Birds of Prey are meeting,” Jake explained with a wide grin on his face as he chuckled.

“I didn’t know you were acting now, Clarke,” Abby turned her head from the teenager she seemed to be married to, and back to her enigma of a daughter.

“I could never.”

“You do alright when you help me learn lines,” Lexa promised. “Potential for sure.”

“Never.”

“So you just go wherever Lexa goes?”

“Not exactly. I have the freedom to work wherever,” she shrugged.

“It’s not even that,” Lexa interjected. “You get to do that show with your friend Jeremey. He’s an artist out there, does a lot of experimental, street art type stuff. When I’m working, sometimes we can go a few days without seeing each other, even when we live together.”

“You live together?” Abby asked, shocked slightly.

“Oops.”

“We’ve been dating for two years. Of course we live together,” Clarke chuckled, soothing Lexa’s worry.

“Alright, so we know Lexa is going to be shooting parts of Birds of Prey. Tell me more about what you’re up to, kid,” Jake took Lexa’s lead, interjecting himself into the conversation to stave off the inevitable fight just a little longer.

“Tell him about the giant painting. The one that takes up the whole garage,” Lexa urged.

There was a peace there, for a moment. It was tenuous, but Lexa held onto it as hard as she held onto her girlfriend who grew excited and spoke with her hands while her father did the same thing. Quietly, Abby sipped her drink and pressed it against her neck, thinking.

The bedroom at the end of the hall on the left was a museum. Pale blue walls and white molding, big, airy windows, lace curtains that showed the backyard and the huge elm tree that stood beside the porch outside. The bed was made, the heavy white and blue duvet puffed and primed, the pillows sitting up as if they’d been curated. The light on the nightstand glowed against it all. In the daylight it would be a different sight, but for the night it was a treasure trove.

Lexa was taken most with the art on the walls. There weren’t bands or sport stars or even many personal photos tacked up anywhere. But the one wall was nearly covered in scraps, just like she remembered Clarke’s apartment being the first night she spent over there. The sketches were definitely not as good as what she did now, but there was still a certain style that remained consistent. Lexa was certain she could tell a straight line that was Clarke’s from anyone else’s in the world.

She let her eyes glance over the bookshelf, with its ponies and girlhood knicknacks. She traced the spines of a few well-loved books stacked there. On the dresser sat a few trophies and some jewelry. None of it individual amounted to much, but in the artifacts of Clarke’s life, they were all, as a total, monumental.

“It’s a good shower, isn’t it?” Clarke breezed in, shutting the door behind her. Lexa jumped at the newest arrival, as if her looking and tracing was a crime.

“I felt so much better,” she smiled. “I hate feeling like an airplane.”

“Find anything good enough to mock me yet?”

All too quickly, the towel around Clarke’s chest was dropped as she dug through the suitcase for clothes. It was enough to make Lexa forget which state she was even in at the moment. Though something about the glow-in-the-dark stars plastered to the roof caught her attention.

“It’s just very… you. Normal. I would have been more surprised if it was pink and covered in boy bands. But this seems… very Clarke.”

All she earned was a snort when Clarke finally pulled out one of her own old shirts and put it over her head after sliding on underwear. The windows were open and the breeze was aided by fans blowing. The cool of the evening slipped in and tickled their legs.

“I’m exhausted,” the artist complained as she flopped onto her bed. “And did you hear my mom all evening? It’s going to be a long weekend.”

“She wasn’t terrible. I don’t think she likes me though. “

“To be expected.”

In a dramatic fall, Lexa landed beside her girlfriend as they sunk into her double bed, much closer than they were used to in Lexa’s huge one, or all of the kings they used on vacation across the world.

“I wonder if my stars will still glow,” Clarke breathed, settling her cheek on the actor’s shoulder.

“You know that what your mom says doesn’t matter, right? You have a great life, and I think we’re happy.”

“We are. I’m so damn happy with where my life is going,” she promised as Lexa fiddled with their hands, kissing her palm in that sappy way she liked to do. “Don’t worry about that.”

“Great. So no worrying for either of us. We’re just here to celebrate your dad’s birthday and then leave. No harm, no foul.”

Lazily, the curtains breathed in the night, gently wafting the fans into the room. Clarke turned more to her side, slid her leg over her girlfriend’s hip, slid her hand to her chest, pulled up a little on the old tank top she wore, teased the warm skin of her ribs.

Both laid there and listened to the crickets singing, to the far off noises of the trees dancing and swaying with little need other than the music of the summer night making them antsy. Lexa kissed Clarke’s forehead as the house creaked a bit, as a door shut somewhere, as voices were heard but not understood from the kitchen window.

“So, do you want to fulfill some of my teenage dreams and make out in my room while my parents are home or…?” Clarke finally whispered, earning a smile that grew wide on Lexa’s cheeks. She held her hands on those warm ribs and held her laugh there.

“Is there a list?”

“Oh boy, is there,” she promised, slipping her leg between her girlfriend’s as her hands moved around ribs and to skin on hips.

“That’s why you invited me.”

“Mostly.”

“You never made out with anyone in your room?” Lexa recalled, cocking her head slightly.

“Did you?”

“Me and Anya moved into a tiny apartment when she started going to school. I started working at sixteen, and before that I didn’t really… um. No. I didn’t get the chance,” she swallowed.

“Mom wouldn’t let me really have anyone in my room after I got caught making out with Katy Dietrich in the baseball dugout at the high school.”

“Wow.”

“If people came over, it was always downstairs only. And then we’d just make out on the couch or porch.”

“Oh, my.”

“We can do that tomorrow,” Clarke promised,  yawning slightly. “For now you can settle for my bed.”

With a shake of her head, Lexa leaned and shut off the light. Carefully, they slipped under the blankets. By the time they met in the middle, both were so tired they didn’t even notice the green glow of the constellations that meticulously covered the ceiling. Instead, they lazily kissed and slid hands under what little clothes they wore and felt like the sneaky teenagers neither really got to be.

Before she could really fathom what was happening, the day was set. Before she even got her coffee, before she properly opened her eyes, the agenda was made and she didn’t have the wherewithal to fight back against it.

Grumpy and dazed and with hair like a rat’s nest, Clarke stood in the kitchen clutching her coffee cup with one hand and holding up Lexa’s old sweatpants on her hips with the other, scowling at the perky morning that existed.

“Let’s go, Clarke, we have a lot to get done today,” her mother tutted about, cleaning up the breakfast she missed and stacking her paper’s in a fine line and row.

“What? How?”

Around her, the house was already alive. Lexa helped pick up dishes, already showered and dressed and ready for her apparent day trip with Jake to the tennis court and club.

“We’re all leaving in about a half hour,” her father informed her. “You didn’t tell me Lexa played.”

“You know me, full of surprises,” she grinned as her father kissed her cheek. Lexa just blushed slightly at the sink.

While her mother and father buzzed with excitement, Clarke remained still, leaning there against the counter. She wanted about another hour of sleep and to finish that make out from the night before, but here she was, disappointed and decaffeinated.

“So what’s happening?” she asked her girlfriend.

“Your dad invited me to play tennis with him and a few people from the club,” she shrugged. “I think he wants to show off Hawkgirl. Just wait til he sees my forehand.”

“I do love your forehand,” Clarke grinned.

“While we’re playing, you’re going to go help your mom set up for the party.”

“How did I draw that straw?”

“You refused to get up when I told you it was time for breakfast.”

“Mmmm,” she hummed as Lexa scooted closer, trapping her against the cabinets. “My dad really does like you, and not because he’s a huge comic book nerd.”

“I really like him too,” Lexa promised, pressing her hips against the sleepy girls. “He reminds me of my dad a little. Which is… it’s kind of really nice, actually. They’re not exactly alike, but all dads have this kind of dad-ness to them.”

“Can’t I play tennis with you two?” Clarke whined leaning forward and hiding in neck, earning a chuckle.

“I heard you’re banned from the tennis courts.”

“That’s from something non related to tennis playing!” she complained.

“Go get ready,” Lexa rolled her eyes, impervious to the objections.

By the time they were pulling up to the country club that she absolutely loathed, Clarke was certain that it was a nightmare and she was still asleep. How else could she explain her girlfriend who she never saw play a sport, suddenly be a tennis star, swapping stats about some tournament with her father? How else could she explain how she managed to get dressed and somehow was transported to the ninth circle of hell that was the Elmhurst Country Club? How else could she explain the words her mother was saying the sounded like a to-do list?

The pinch she gave her own arm quite discreetly, didn’t wake her up though. This was real. This was happening.

“Have fun. I’ll see you for lunch,” Lexa smiled and kissed her cheek gently as she followed Jake. The giant man put his arm around her shoulder, guiding her toward the changing rooms and court.

Helplessly, Clarke watched them go, her voice failing her to call out for a savior. Instead, she got her mother calling her name in the opposite direction, and hung her head, resigned to her fate.

Somewhere between being directed this way and than, between making runs for the proper table glitter not once, but twice, Clarke gave up to the will of the world, stopped at the gas station a mile down the road and drank her slushie very slowly. By the time she got back with her single bag of table adornment, her mother was stuffing gift bags quietly.

“It took you an hour to go to the party store?” Abby shook her head.

“Traffic.”

“Why is your tongue blue?”

“I’m probably contagious. I should just go,” Clarke nodded eagerly.

“Help me with these please,” her mother pulled out a chair, and her daughter could feel the trap that was set, and yet she was helpless.

The goal of the trip was to never be separated from Lexa, and never be alone with her mother. Very simple. Very easy. And then she found herself in that situation, and she wished she hadn’t gotten a brain freeze and she wished she had gotten lost. Lexa could find another way to the airport.

Carefully, Clarke tied ribbons and slipped candy and little gifts into the bags, which still made no sense to her, but she didn’t fight. Her entire existence had always been a quiet rebellion against her mother, though she’d learned what was worth it.

It took all of five awkward and silent minutes for her mother to start the inevitable, to launch that cannon, to fire that shot heard round the world, so to speak.

“So you moved out of that apartment?”

“I did. I do miss my proximity to multiple pawn shops though,” Clarke sighed. She could practically feel her mother pace in her own head. “Lexa’s place is much nicer.”

“I’m sure it is.”

“I pay rent still. She doesn’t ask for it, but I can’t not contribute,” she explained. “Maybe you and dad can stay there the next time you’re in town.”

“How was your trip? You only sent a few emails,” Abby tried.

“It was amazing. Spain, Amsterdam, Turkey, India, Japan. We saw so much stuff and stayed at these amazing places. I’m excited to get back though,” Clarke realized. “I missed LA, our friends, a good schedule.”

“Sounds spectacular.”

For a moment, neither knew how to get to point B of the conversation. Clarke knew that the moment she agreed to come for her father’s fiftieth birthday, that she was in for a fight with her mother. That was just how it went.

The day she dropped out of med school, she knew that their relationship would never be the same. She kind of hoped that one day it would get better. But now, she just knew, deep down, that perhaps it was all done, that she would never have it.

It wasn’t a relationship that was particularly strong. Abby worked because it was easier than the teenage girl at home. She wasn’t particularly warm or touchy feely. She couldn’t handle anything after Clarke turned ten. Everything was foreign after that.

“If you don’t like Lexa will you just say in?”

The bag she was stuffing got tossed absently onto the table. Clarke didn't’ care much about it, and she couldn’t keep up much more of the quiet and the brooding and her mother’s terrible method of keeping things to herself. She just sat there judging and knowing and it was every reason Clarke never felt especially close to her.

“I like her plenty. I just met the girl.”

“You don’t like her. She’s an artist. She travels too much, pays for too much, has those pictures with other girls.” Abby scoffed. “I know you’ve googled her. I know you know about her. But in the time we’ve been together, she’s been… she goes against the fear she has and she’s been so wonderful. I love her.”

“She sounds like a wonderful girl.”

“Then what is it?”

“She’s fine.”

“Come on, Mom. Let’s just get this done so we can awkwardly avoid each other for the rest of the trip.”

That was it. That was the last moment that made Abby lose the veneer of cook she attempted to keep to herself. With a flourish, she slammed her hand down on the table and made her daughter jump. It took a second, but she took a deep breath and heaved a heavy sigh from the depths of her heart.

“I’ve never known you,” Abby shook her head. “I don’t get you. I never have and I am painfully aware of that. So I’m trying my best to figure it all out, to not spark a fight that makes you run away from home for years so that we only get life updates from you in the form of magazine articles and Instagram posts.”

Clarke winced at the idea of it all. She hurt her mother in the same ways her mother hurt her, she went into it ready to disconnect. It made her uncomfortable. She looked guilty enough at the new information.

“Lexa is holding you back,” Abby shook her head. “You were… you had dreams and you had things you wanted to accomplish. Now you run around, on her schedule.”

“That’s not true,” Clarke disagreed quickly.

“What are you striving for? I know I wanted you to do more than art,” she furrowed and clenched her jaw. “I just don’t understand what you’re doing.”

“You’ve… you’ve got it so wrong,” her daughter tried. “If I still wanted to work in the bookstore, Lexa wouldn’t care. I get to travel. I’ve worked with so many new people. I’ve painted more, I’ve put on a show. I got to make enough to support myself. Lexa has, without even meaning to, given me freedom. She… I fight her to let me pay for things, and she tells me to go do whatever I want. She’s done nothing but offer her full support for whatever I do, and I do the same for her. If that means I work from her trailer in Newfoundland for a few months, what do I care?”

“Because it’s supposed to be about you! There’s you to think about!”

“Mom, that’s stupid~ Why can’t we support each other in different ways?”

“I just don’t want you to get lost in… what you don’t want like m--”

“Like you?” Clarke finished. “Because you gave up so much because dad wanted a family. You’re not the head of some Swedish research neuro lab because Dad wanted a family and a house and the quiet life in the suburbs?”

“Yes.”

“Because you had me when you didn’t want me.”

“I don’t regret that.”

“But you didn’t want it.”

“Clarke, you've been the best thing I’ve ever done. That’s not it!”

“Me and Lexa aren’t you and Dad.”

It was a stalemate of sorts, with words that both wanted to say finally appearing and surprising themselves with probably the most honest conversation either ever remembered having with the other. THe gift bags were half finished, half spilled out on the table with their candy guts remaining unstuffed.

“Hey,” Lexa poked her head into the quiet room. “Are you guys ready for lunch?”

As tense as it was, Lexa smiled, sunshine and freshly showered from her morning on the courts. She gave Clarke a look for a moment, sizing it up and knowing something was happening, unsure if she should leave or stay or try something else. It was a small bit of language between them, imperceptible at best.

“We demolished Andy and Sharon,” Jake waltzed in a second later. “You should have seen it.”

“Finally. You’ve been itching to even the score,” Abby swallowed and smiled back at her husband.

“I can’t wait to tell you about it,” he extended his arm. “And for you to see Andy’s face.”

Lexa waited until they made it to the door to approach her girlfriend. It was cautious and gentle, but she knew how to navigate the waters of Clarke Griffin. Hyped up on her win and the feeling of having fatherly approval, she was untouchable, and wanted to share that. She always just wanted to share the good parts with Clarke.

“Hey, you okay?” she tried.

“I am, Champ,” Clarke nodded, winding her arms around her actor’s shoulders. She kissed her sweetly. “Did you have fun?”

“I did. I like your dad. He’s so much fun. And he only called me Hawkgirl four times.”

“Progress.”

“You sure you’re okay?”

“I’m starving.”

“Are you sure everything’s okay with--”

“I’m still madly in love with you.”

“Well thank goodness I didn’t ruin that without being near you.”

“Let’s go eat. Me and you have plans tonight.”

The beach was nearly empty. A bonfire existed about a half mile up from where they settled on the blanket. The waves murmured and hemmed and sighed and hummed to themselves while the sand just slumbered under it. Even though the summer heat remained, a blanket atop the town, it was the calm of the beach and the waves and the breeze that cooled the sand and made the evening have that chill, that famous summer cold.

“This is your favorite place?” Lexa asked, kissing Clarke’s neck and settling her chin on her shoulder.

“I love it here,” Clarke nodded. At night, I always just wanted to walk out there until I disappeared. There’s something calming about the idea of disappearing.”

“It’s a good spot,” she agreed. “How many did you bring out here to seduce?”

“Oh none. This was always just mine.”

“I’m honored.”

There wasn’t missing the tilt to her voice, and Lexa just wrapped her arms tighter around her girlfriend. If she could keep her there, if she could hold her well enough, then she would be alright. That was all she had, that was her logic.

“I heard what your mom said, before lunch today. I didn’t mean to, I just…”

“She doesn’t know us.”

Clarke ran her hand along Lexa’s forearms, made her hold her tighter.

“If I’ve ever made you feel like my career or my… life or wants or needs are more important than yours, I am so sor--”

“Are you kidding me?” Clarke scoffed. “You bend over backwards for me. That’s what we do. Nothing that she said was anything I’d ever thought.”

“I just want you to know--”

“Lexa, seriously. I didn’t want you to hear that. Because it’s not true.”

With a small smile, Lexa dug her nose into her girlfriend’s neck, kissed her hair, kissed every part she could reach, squeezed her legs around her.

“But still. If you ever… if there’s every anything. If you need anything from me…”

Decidedly, Clarke turned slightly, repositioning her hips. She shook her head and put her hand on Lexa’s cheek and neck, grabbed at the collar of her borrowed sweatshirt.

“Don’t let her get in your head. She’s not in mine.”

“Okay.”

“I really didn’t want you to hear that.”

“Me neither.”

“We’re good.”

“Yeah?”

“Mmm, very,” Clarke smiled and leaned forward to kiss her girlfriend.

She let Lexa pull her backward, she laid atop her, she was very happy.

The entirety of her father’s address book and contact list was in attendance. The ballroom filled, the bar and the patio overflowed with friends and family who hadn’t seen each other in ages. There was dancing and games and so much food and booze, it felt like Gatsby himself was behind the shindig. The summer night was alive with the frivolity of the event so that the country club on the hill was brimming brighter than the town by the bay.

“This is Lexa, my daughter’s girlfriend,” Jake shook hands with an old colleague. Lexa did the same. “Helped me beat Andy the other day in doubles. Wicked backhand.”

Well-versed in all manner of boring parties in which she did not know anyone, Lexa slipped into her role quite easily, quickly taking up as Jake’s sideshow piece to show off to friends. It didn’t bother her. If anything, it was nice to have someone brag about her for something so normal and not about her day job. All he wanted to do was make sure she would be back for the club doubles tournament, and he wanted everyone to know he was a contender this year with his secret weapon. Because more important than love and happiness, his daughter had selected a wonderful tennis player for a girlfriend, and he was proud.

“So what is it you do?” someone asked.

“Oh, I…” she furrowed at the thought, refreshed entirely at anonymity. “I fly. A lot. I just got my wings a few years ago.”

Beside her, Jake grinned into his whiskey.

“A pilot? What do you think of those mergers with--”

“I’m afraid I’m not allowed to say much as a member of the union,” she tried, politely excusing herself.

Far on the other side of the room, she caught that familiar shade of blonde and tried to figure out how she was going to get there.

“Why don’t you go find that daughter of mine? I’m sure Abby has pictures and such if I can find her.”

“It was so nice to meet you,” Lexa smiled warmly and shook that man’s hand before nodding to her girlfriend’s father.

It was hard to squeeze through, to find some kind of method of being polite and yet forceful. The entire day had felt like that though, carefully tiptoeing around the Cold War that raged between mother and daughter. Clarke said it was okay. Abby didn’t change a bit, and yet Lexa knew the words were festering in her girlfriend’s head. They had to be.

But Lexa didn’t push. It was much easier this way, and she knew nothing would come of it if she bothered Clarke. The artist was fickle in that she had to choose when she could say what she wanted and had been thinking.

“You look absolutely fantastic,” Lexa smiled wide as Clarke swayed closer to her through the crowd.

“You’ve already used that line on me tonight, Ms. Woods,” Clarke retorted, earning a kiss on her cheek and a hand on her hip.

“I still mean it.”

“It’s still working. Do you want to get out of here?”

“The party just started.”

“I think it’s expected of me, the resident bad seed, to pull something,” Clarke decided quite seriously. “You’ll ruin my reputation.”

There wasn’t much choice in the matter. As soon as Clarke looked around and saw her mother nowhere in sight, she grabbed her hand and tugged her toward the back entrance. As much as she didn’t want to admit it, she still had a working knowledge of the secret routes of the country club.

“Where are you dragging me? You’re going to get me banned and then I won’t be able to defend my doubles title with your dad,” Lexa complained, half-hearted and amused at the covert methods of her girlfriend.

Carefully, they snuck through halls and past familiar guests.

“Like they’re going to ban Lexa Woods from coming here,” she snorted as they snuck through the kitchen. “You’re the talk of the town. Literally. People are talking about you in town.”

“How could they not? I beat Andy and Sharon at doubles.”

She didn’t mean to, but Lexa bumped into Clarke as she paused right there on the sidewalk.

“Oh my goodness,” she exclaimed. “I’ve done it. I’m dating my father.”

“Very funny.”

With a kiss, Clarke smiled and tugged her once again as they veered off of the sidewalk and down into the grass. They moved behind the trees, they moved carefully through the dark. Behind them, the party continued, none the wiser, with bursts of laughter and levity emerging through the open windows.

“Is this on your list?” Lexa finally asked as a flag appeared on the green of what she thought must be the ninth hole.

“No, it was supposed to be the eleventh hole, but that’s farther away than I expected.”

In dramatic fashion, Clarke took a seat and tugged her girlfriend down with her. Beneath the edge of the rough, the hill dipped and the town glimmered in the distance, just behind the edge of the trees, with the water, calm and clear and flat beyond it.

“Thank you for coming with me to my dad’s birthday. I know it’s been… interesting.”

“Are you kidding?” Lexa smiled, watching Clarke look at the view. “It’s been really nice. They’re very nice, and it’s fun seeing a bit of you. I get it more.”

“Get it?”

“I don’t know. You always seemed to not come from anywhere, you distanced yourself from here so much,” she shrugged. “But I see little bits of it in you.”

“I left when I was eighteen, and haven’t looked back,” Clarke sighed. “I don’t miss it.”

“Have you thought about where you want home to be? I mean… permanently?”

It was the chill of the night, the dress, the grass. Clarke held onto Lexa’s arm and warmed up there. She kissed her bare shoulder and grinned at the familiar smell that didn’t disappear despite how far they travelled. She kissed the skin again with a smile.

“Honestly? I don’t much care. You’re not letting what my mom said worry you, are you?”

“A little.”

“I don’t need a house. I just need a fairway and a green and I’m a happy girl.”

With a final kiss on bare skin, Clarke smiled to herself and laid back in the grass. Lexa looked over her shoulder and watched the content grin on the artist’s face. In the moonlight and the grass and the summer night, she was more beautiful than Lexa could remember.

There was this memory, Lexa had, of the first time she saw that girl in the bookshop. All flustered and holding a huge stack of books. The nervous smile that disappeared after an instant just to reappear once she caught her breath. The determined crinkle in her brow as she wove through the tightly packed shelves. She was too distracting and Lexa knew no one could ever compare. Seeing her in an old shirt and with a little dirt from old books on her cheek, if that was enough to drive Lexa crazy, then all done up and in a birthday dress was enough to knock her down.

“You’re so pretty, you know?” Lexa mumbled.

“You like to tell me that.”

“I love you.”

It wasn’t said often. It wasn’t said to end a fight or frivolously. The words held weight for Lexa. She struggled to say them often, and then, others, her heart just bubbled up to her chest and through her throat and the words popped out despite themselves.

“Come here.”

The smile faded. Clarke cupped at Lexa’s neck and kissed her as she hovered atop her, sweet and innocent and saying all of the words she didn't quite know how to say either.

“We should go back to the party.”

“You don’t mean that,” the artist hummed. Hands slid along her ribs. Her hands moved to hips and pulled closer. “Want to help me christen the golf course?”

“Do you mean? You can’t-- We-- You can’t be serious…” Lexa gulped.

There was a moment in which she debated, but Clarke already knew what she wanted, and she knew that two nights at her parents home where they didn’t have much chance to do anything meant Lexa had things she wanted to do as well.

“This could be like that time in Rome,” she murmured.

“That was a private balcony. This is a golf course.”

“Fine, we can go back to the party,” Clarke lamented, her hips moving against Lexa’s thigh, betraying her words.

“The things I do for you to finish off this list.”

With a sly grin, Lexa kissed her girlfriend once again.

There was still a stalemate between the mother and the daughter. All through breakfast, Lexa and Jake tried to keep busy and out of the way, keeping the conversation light, recapping the party and the events, planning their run as doubles partners in the spring. There was no thaw to come though.

“It was a pleasure having you here,” he grunted, heaving a bag into the rental car. “I mean it. You both are welcome anytime.”

“I appreciate it.”

“Too bad you can’t stay longer.”

“Yeah,” she smiled and shoved her own bag in as she snuck a glance at her girlfriend and her mother on the porch. She watched them hug, brief and without much to it.

“My wife doesn’t really know how to have all of this,” he explained. “Just… keep your chin up. You’re a good kid.”

“Thanks.”

“My daughter is very fond of you. I’m not going to do the whole talk thing. I think you’re just as fond of her.” He crossed his arms and leaned against the trunk. “You keep her happy, and I think we’ll both be okay.”

“And if I keep feeding you info about the next installment, right?”

“Something like that,” he nodded.

“I didn’t even have to bribe you with a trip to set or anything to gain your trust.”

“It can still be won.”

“Yes sir,” she chuckled.

“Just let me know about your schedule and we’ll make a trip out soon,” the father nodded as the other two approached. “Come here, kid.”

In a second, Clarke was wrapped up in a huge hug from her father while Lexa awkwardly stood near Abby. The goodbyes were heartfelt and a relief. And while she counted the visit as a success, Lexa wanted nothing more than to get back to normal, back to the real world, back to her life.

“You okay?” she asked as Clarke buckled.

“Let’s go home,” Clarke smiled, holding Lexa’s hand as they drove out of the driveway and back toward the airport.

[ashrantings-blog]

Chapter 1: Beginnings

It would appear that Alfr sadly isn’t blessed with much else than a sense for stewardship, which is unbecoming for a future viking. His patient nature however makes him a decent defensive soldier, which I might just find some good use for; particularly as we are not the masters of our own fate just yet, starting off as vassals under King Sigurdr Ring of Svibjod. My son Eirikr is more balanced - a Shy yet Flamboyant Schemer who somehow manages to be both Ambitious and Temperate at the same time. His forte, unlike his father, is thus guile and the stabby kind of diplomacy. Alfsol, the daughter, is still too young to have stats or traits, and her portrait is turned sideways with chubby cheeks and a blank stare, waiting to be filled with my ideas and glorious ambition.

First things first; Alfr must get married again and produce some more boys in case something horrible happens to my son, which would potentially mean game over upon Alfr croaking it. As such, I set my “ambition” to get married, and then start looking for a suitable wife. The women of the realm however seem less keen on marrying a dirty 39-year old at the meagre age of 16, but this is the way things were back in ye olde day. Aslaug, who is already in my court, has some pretty serious stewardship stats herself that would be nice to add to Alfr’s own, so I arrange a marriage between his fuzz and her vacant stare. A match made in heaven. I find a lady for my son too, who is also into spy-related shit.

Next comes setting a Focus, which is essentially what lifestyle your ruler pursues. Considering Alfr is a northerner surrounded up other pagans who are looking at his domain between deep, creepy breaths, pursuing the War focus doesn’t seem like a bad idea. It improves his Martial ability either way, which will be good when fighting goes down; and it will. Onto that, I might just be able to challenge people to duels, which will be hilarious assuming I win.

Looking over my council I come to realize two things; my son is my spymaster, and my steward is mediocre at best. 

I set to replace Grimr and immediately find Birger, who is willing to come over and check out my court in exchange for some hard cash. I concede, because in the Af Vendel family I’ll be damned if we accept anyone mediocre to handle our dealings.

Looking at my closest neighbour Porbjörn (Lit. swe: Porn/porebear) I realize he’s independent, has no friends, and has an incredibly weak levy. As Alfr’s ambition to get married now is also fulfilled, netting me some of that sweet, sweet Piety, I set his sights a little lower; Become King of Sweden. Also I declare a subjugation war on Porbjörn, with the intent of taking his lands.

Several things happen at once; Birger accepts my generous invitation (and bribe) and replaces Grimr as my Steward, and my liege King Sigurdr Ring declares a subjugation war in turn on Helsingland. As my army shuffles in to beat the daylights out of Pornbear, the rest of the kingdom rallies behind the king and marches north to grab some land of their own. As I siege Jarnberaland, King Ring rolls up with 1.6k troops to swallow a singular province into his kingdom.

Seeing his King swag past him with an army roughly twice his size, Alfr suddenly feels the urge to have more than what he does and acquires the Ambitious trait. Helsingland is straight up subjugated and put inside the kingdom’s borders even though I started my siege before King Ring. Never the less, within 2 months the gates of the little village of Jarnberaland falls, and I take it for myself.

Immediately upon conquering the province, I set my steward to fabricate a claim on Herjedal, which isn’t technically part of the Swedish kingdom and thus I do not have any claim to it even with my ambition to become King. My son is also sent to Constantinople to spy on their secrets and try to figure out how to build anything bigger than a mud hut. I set my sights north towards Tryggve of Medelpad, just past Helsingland that my liege conquered, and see that our armies are at present quite evenly matched. I play the waiting game and scheme meanwhile.

The very moment I see my levy is sizeable enough and declare war, my liege has the same idea but southwards and proclaims the Swedish-East Geatish Subjugation War. I take my men and march north, giving somewhere between zero and null craps about his dealings. I intend, after all, to eventually overthrow him. Ring immediately pressures me to join his war, lest I lose some Prestige, and I agree to do so without turning my armies around. I’m your moral support, Ring. Don’t worry-

Balls. My wife Aslaug keels over at dinner, clutching her stomach. Her recent period of Diarrhea, Fever and Abdominal Pains had clearly not tipped me off to actually call for a court physician. I realize I have no court physician, which might explain my wife’s sudden passing. No one person in my entire damn northern nation is deemed capable of being such either.

I bribe a man called Saemundr who appears at least partially educated to come to my court, and he fills the role nicely. Perhaps this could prevent further mishaps. My army meanwhile is reinforced randomly by Helsinglander infantry, who probably believe I am acting in the interest of their lord. I do not complain, and remarry a woman called Malmfrid whilst sieging the northern holdings. It’s good to be the future king-

Grimr decides it’s time to leave this earthly life just a month after my x-wife. He was doing nothing save for just hanging around in my court at this point, so I don’t really know why I should give a rat’s arse. Shove him out to see on a ship on fire, subjects! Meanwhile I run back and forth, slapping Tryggve and his army like a ping pong ball between his two provinces (thus, where he can retreat after defeat), ensuring his army shrinks significantly before I take to sieging his capitol down. My liege is fighting a hard-won war down south and probably could have used my troops. Alas, I’m busy usurping you, sir.

After the siege concludes I manage to drag Tryggve’s wife Aslaug (kudos to your taste in spouse-names though, sir) out of her hiding, and imprison her. Tryggve would have loved to pay her ransom to get her free, but sadly he’s well into the minuses so she gets to rot a little longer. The war ends promptly as I beat Tryggve’s desperate army once more, and I sieze all his holdings. His wife however remains in my prison, and I look her stats over briefly before letting her remain there. Maybe he can afford her release in the future. My liege meanwhile actually loses his first fight in the south, and I start to plot against his holdings instead. He only has one son, and what a shame it would be if he were to somehow croak before his time.

The Kingdom of Sjaelland with King Brandr at the front decides that my liege is a dick and decides to help Austergotland the only way they know how; declare a war of their own upon King Ring. Things are getting interesting as I also notice that there’s a small faction amongst Ring’s vassals, to whom I belong, that wish to demand independence.

But before joining any more dodgy plots, I wish to add one last province to my growing lands by kicking Chief Sarra, aka Chief Moustache, off of his throne or whatever equivalent that the Chiefs sit on up in the north. Meanwhile, King Ring pulls a fast one and after just barely sliding over 100% Warscore in his war, takes the entirety of Austergotland and the south for himself. The victory might be short-lived however as the Danes are coming marching from the south.

Speaking of short-lived, the cockgoblin immediately decides to demand I join his futile war, or suffer the penalty of 300(!) Prestige and potentially suffer disfavor to trust among the people of the world should I decline. To put this in perspective, Pagans of the north can immediately summon a 2.5k strong army with the aid of 500 Prestige, rallying warriors to your side, so it’s arguably a more valuable resource than money at this stage in the game. I am forced to relent, and hope my own personal expansion war ends as soon as possible.

Alfr decides this is the time to read up on Alexander the Great. Perhaps we can avoid certain pitfalls of his, like dying horribly. Ring’s Queen, Alfhildr has sadly managed to pop out another boy of his in the meantime, which might make my more stabby, shady plans more difficult-

Or not. Ragnarr, Ring’s firstborn croaks just as my siege in the north is about to end. He’s back down to 1 inheritor which, if we manage to murder him, will splinter his realm in a thousand pieces, but if we don’t, mean that he’ll maintain all his holdings and keep it all together. It’s a high-risk game, in a way.

Stricken with grief, King Ring puts a random woman to death by burning her at the stake. We all have our ways of dealing with loss, my liege, but damn. Also, upon the successful siege of his village, I capture Chief Sarra’s wife, daughter and a random courtier of his and throw them in my dungeon.

Either way, my war up here is over; I take his holdings and march south in an attempt to help my liege, in the hopes that I’m not next for the newly warmed-up stake. Disbanding and re-raising my levy, I send almost a thousand men to my King’s side. Let’s see how this turns out in the near future.

[adaralondon]

Studying the narrative of women in Moses, Citizen, & Me

  One thing we often forget is that every aspect of our lives contains a narrative. From the movies we watch to the books we read; they all contain some type of carefully woven together time and place of concurrent events. Even natural storytellers who are surrounded by boundless narratives, writing a novel still poses many challenges. Authors must choose carefully the way they put together the events that they’re describing, who narrates the story, and where it takes place or risk the message being lost or misinterpreted. In Moses, Citizen, and Me, the narrative is woven together through the lenses of a foreign women thrust into the aftermath of a civil conflict between the Revolutionary United Front and the government of Sierra Leone. As readers who have no connection to Sierra Leone, we can empathize with narrator: Julia. Just like her, we are outsiders thrust into the conflict, desperate to find our place and what we can do to help. If this book was told from the perspective of a male or someone who never left Sierra Leone the story would be entirely different. Perhaps we wouldn’t see the death of Adele or know about the rehabilitation of Citizen. Maybe the novel would focus specifically on the violence perpetrated through the war instead, we could only imagine because there are an infinite number of ways this story could have been told if the narrator wasn’t Julia. However, since this novel is told through the lens of a woman, I want to focus on this paper on that aspect by talking about Pre- and Post-colonial west Africa, the roles of women, and Julia’s specific role in Moses, Citizen, and Me. 

To understand the role of women in the book, you first have to consider where it takes place. This may not seem important but western cultures have different gender roles than Asian or African cultures. With that being said:  Moses, Citizen, and Me takes place in Freetown, the capital of Sierra Leone, a country in West Africa. Freetown was established in 1792 by free blacks, Caribbean’s, and Africans. Without the western influences of patriarchy created by slavery and racism, a melting pot of unique African and Caribbean culture was able to form. However, in 1808 that all changed when Freetown became a crown colony of Great Britain. Although the conquest of Freetown happened significantly earlier, the scramble for Africa changed the entire culture. In order to survive now, West Africans were forced to adopt new ideologies. This can be seen in books like Chinua Achebe’s Things Fall Apart and Ngũgĩ Wa Thiong'o's Weep Not, Child. These new ideologies severely changed not only the role of women in west Africa but also the overall culture. In Pre-colonial West Africa “West African women and the spiritual female principal during the long precolonial period the power and right to give orders, make decisions, and enforce obedience in short they had authority.” (History Textbook).. However, as Africa was colonized, Western men saw women in positions of power as disgraceful and placed them in roles ‘more suited’ to women. “History has been obscured by western patriarchal ideologies which imagined west African women as a beast of burden.” (History Textbook) Gone is the tradition of women being involved in politics and having the same authority as men.

Sierra Leone was freed from British colonial rule in 1961. From 1967 to 1985 Sierra Leone was a one-party state. In 1971 the government abolished Sierra Leone's parliamentary government system and declared Sierra Leone a presidential republic.  (Britannica) With all this inner turmoil in Sierra Leone, women are unable to find a role that’s comfortable for them and the culture becomes even more torn and fragmented. The civil war in 1991 however adds another role. They are forced into being child soldiers, with both their child and womanhood taken from them. They are killed destroying the matriarchy. “It was a woman. Her hands were tied behind her back and her legs were bound together, there were several bullets in her back. It was Adele, his own grandmother.” (Macauley 2) Choice is stolen from them and disobedience is met with violence. “He turned and hit her hard across the head, so she fell to the ground where her chin hit the bottle. Holding her jaw, she struggled to her feet and stood behind him.” (Macauley 64). Finally, they are made into beings used for sexual gratification and objectification. “The lieutenant touched his ‘wife’ on the buttocks and kissed her on the neck, indicating that it was time to move on.” (Macauley 65). Julia our narrator shows us the brutal affects not only this war, but all the political turmoil has caused for the women of Sierra Leone. 

“Maybe it wasn’t your plan, but you could help them, both of them. Did you know that?” (Macauley 320) The novel takes place in Freetown after the civil war. Women finally trying to  shift into all three roles and find a place between post and pre-colonial culture that works for them. Julia, who has no idea of any of this, having been born in London, is surprised when she first arrives in Freetown. She is immediately subjected to taking over her aunt Adele’s role as homemaker. It’s her place, a role that’s already been ordained for her. “But he needs care. Someone who would care. Someone like you.” (Macauley 16) She is stubborn. This is her story and she’s going to be the one to tell it. It’s not in her nature to be a caretaker, she wants to make something of her life that’s more than being a trauma rehabilitation center. “Mummy I’ve been thinking I might go abroad at the end of this year.” (Macauley 100). She also states she isn’t ready to give up the things she’s worked so hard in life to secure like the women around her. She feels angry and disappointed with her family, Moses especially, trying to her make her take on this responsibility. “I felt disappointed. I could not imagine any other emotions again. Why could he not understand me and support me? Why did he not see that I was trying to find my way here? I gripped my Paris dream hard.” (Macauley 104) Her uncle, stricken by grief, unknowing names Julia as a replacement for Adele. It’s her job to rehabilitate her nephew Citizen and she is fiercely averse to taking the role. “‘Oh, does he? I thought he’d need people here; people who understand what’s happening to boys like him what they’ve been through.” (Macauley 16).

To me Julia isn’t just our narrator, she also serves as a thematic character, representing this change between old ideas of western Africa, the influence Europe, and the aftereffects the civil war had on Sierra Leone. She’s a representation of the struggle to re-embrace one’s roots or adapt to new times and cultural normativism. “‘That’s how my mother made it and that’s how aunt sally showed her how to make it.’/ ‘We don’t make it like that anymore’. She said. ‘That’s so old fashioned’ she stood up and walked over to the cupboard that I had barely noticed before. From it she took a jar which was put down in front of me. A jar of peanut butter. ‘This is what we do now.’ “(Macauley 82) Initially, Julia rejects her role as a cultural martyr and consequently her character becomes purposeless in the novel. She has no reason to be Freetown as she has rejected the new culture.

Julia is a memetic character in the sense that she is constantly tied between taking her ‘destined’ role in Freetown and or maintaining comfort in being a European woman. Although she rejects the role the pressure from the environment eventually is able to break her down. She represents the struggle between the old world and new world and her rejection of rehabilitating Citizen takes away her ability to fit in. She sticks out like a sore thumb, while the other women work closely with the child soldiers, Julia is fearful and rejects them. However as much as she rejects this role, she is also desperate to fit it. She is desperate to know her African self and roots and find a place for herself that she never found in England. So desperate that she changes her mind and accepts her role as Citizen’s caretaker. The women in the novel have also seemed to do the same. They are no longer the powerful political figures the history books talk about. They’ve been complicit and accepting of the European idea of what a woman should be and what her role and place in society is. Just like Julia, they are memetic, and all symbolize something greater:  the mother figure of Sierra Leone in its entirety (Adele), homemaker/housewife (Anita), and heroine/rescuer of Sierra Leone’s broken children. (Elizabeth). This would make Julia seem as the hero of her story. She’s the only one brave enough to stand up against her ‘destiny’ while women such as Adele and Anita, while having an essential role in the culture, are confined to a more European role. Yet she also gives way to complicity making her unreliable as a character and narrator.

This may seem unimportant to narrative and narrative theory but it’s actually what makes the narrative. As the audience we follow live through her experiences as told by her. Narrative is more than a simple story but rather a time and place of events. With Julia we see things as though she there with Citizen, she gives an opportunity to understand his part in the war, the opportunity to empathize with him. If these events were recounted by Moses perhaps it would be filled with hatred or anger. Also important to the story is the focal point, it’s strictly told after the civil war has wrapped up. Although she gives us breaks from this strictness when she’s showing the war through Citizen’s eyes and flashbacking to her time in Europe. Narrative also helps us realize that character often times have depth and dimension: Julia, Adele, and Anita are memetic in the way that they all represent something larger upon further inspection. Without them we have no story to tell.

Works cited:

“11: Women and Authority in West African History.” History Textbook, wasscehistorytextbook.com/11-women-and-authority-in-west-african-history/.

“All People's Congress.” Encyclopedia Britannica, Encyclopedia Britannica, Inc., www.britannica.com/topic/All-Peoples-Congress.

Jarrett-Macauley, Delia. Moses, Citizen & Me. Granta, 2006.