#which like. true or untrue or whatever. lady that is not the place for that

[hmslusitania]

I knew from reading *about* him, I didn’t like Terry Long? But having now read more comics where he’s substantively present, let me just say from the bottom of my heart, fuck that guy

[itsalwayswellattheworldsend]

Book 2 Chapter 6 - The Lady Tells Somewhat of Her Doings After She Left the Wilderness

Text Audio

Synopsis:

More Lady lore.

Summary:

"O friend," she said, "I see that so it is with thee that thou wouldst find due cause for loving me, whatever thou foundest true of me. Or dost thou deem that I was another woman in those days? Nay, I was not: I can see myself still myself all along the way I have gone."

Ralph interrupted then: “When I asked about you in the Land of Abundance, there were some who said that you have let more than one man love you, and it was torturous to me to think that that might be true. But now that you tell it to me yourself, it hardly bothers me at all. Do you think I’m fickle?”

“Oh friend,” she said, “I think that you would find a reason to love me, no matter what you found out about me. Or do you think that I was someone else in those days? No, I was not. I can still see myself all the way back down the path of my life.” She was silent for a moment, then said: “Don’t worry, I will give you many reasons to love me. But now that I know how you feel, I will tell you less of what happened to me after I left the wilderness, for whatever I did and whatever I endured, it was always me who was there, and it is me whom you love. Furthermore, my life in the wilderness is a stranger story to tell than afterwards when I met with various people, and with Kings and Barons and Knights. But sometime later you will hear those stories from me, as the days and the years pass over our heads.

“We did not leave the next day because we had food and the king’s son was still weak from his journey, so we stayed in that beautiful place for another day before going westward, following the old woman’s advice. It was many days before we were out of the wilderness, and we were often short on food. Often I rode behind my knight on his horse, and sometimes he led while I rode alone, but much of the time he rode and I went on foot, for I was as quick then as I am now.

“I won’t tell you about the way we went just yet, for I have no doubt that if we both live, you and I shall walk that road together, going eastward, for that is the road to the Well at the World’s End, which I have been to, or else we never would have met.”

 Ralph said, “I gathered as much from that book I read, but it did not say plainly that you had been there.”

“Yes,” she said, “because that book was written by my enemies, not my friends, and they would like people to believe that my enduring beauty and the undying youth of my heart came from evil, devilish sources; but if you will trust my words, I will say that that is untrue, for in the Well at the World’s End there is no evil, only the Quenching of Sorrows, and the Clearing of Eyes so that they may see. And it is so good that they look upon you now. And furthermore, that book is partly written with false intentions and ill-will, and partly a confused mixture of truth and lies.

“Listen now,” she said, “while I tell you what happened to me before I drank from the Water of the Well. We traveled for days through woods and barren fields, dangerous, evil lands, and feared for our lives because of the things we saw, but we saw no people until at last we met simple folk who were kind to us. These people were happy and lived good lives, though to the knight they seemed quite poor. In truth, by that point we were poorer than they were, for we were cold and hungry, worn down by our hard lives. Still, my days of traveling were happy ones, though my lord missed the riches of his father’s kingdom, and the honor his people paid him, and all the other things which he had promised I would have that day we first met, so he probably was not as happy as I was.

“It was springtime when we came to those people, for we had spent autumn and winter getting out of the wilderness—not because it was that far, I learned later, but because we had gotten off track and come out of the woods into that terrible, stony wasteland which we tried to cross three times, and each time we had to turn back because our supplies ran out. For the fourth attempt, though, I gathered up a store of food from foraging, and we crossed it into populated lands.

“Yes, spring had come as we—my lord and I—came down from the desolate, stony fields and went hand in hand across the plains where the men and women of that folk were feasting in the simple homes and halls they had built in the woodlands. They left their festivities and ran to us, and we went to them, though we did not know if they meant us harm. But those kind people gathered around us and did not even ask about our business until we had been fed, bathed, and given new clothes. And then, despite the nakedness and poverty in which they had first seen us, they believed us to be gods sent to them from the world beyond the mountains by their ancestors. They knew no more of the Holy Church, the Blessed Trinity, or the Mother of God than I did at that time, and were heathen, just as the Gentiles of old times. And even when we dissuaded their belief and explained our situation, their kindness did not stop and they asked us to stay there, and they were our loving friends and family.

“In truth, truth, I would have been happy to live there until I was an old woman, but my lord wanted better things for me. Though to me it seemed that his promise of being honored had been fulfilled by these people, for when we had been there a while and our beauty, which had been marred by the hardships of our journey, came back to us, they treated us as though we were saints come back to the earth, and their children would gather around me and include me in their games, and they were always sad to leave me. When their old folk saw us, their faces would light up, and their young men worshiped the ground I walked on, though it saddened me that I could not pleasure them in the way they wanted. All of this was wonderful to me, who had not long ago been forced to work by threats and whippings, and had never known words of thanks or praise.

“But eventually, we had to go, and the kind folk showed us how sad they were at our departure, but they did not try to make us stay. Rather, they encouraged us and when we left them, we rode off on horned cows (for they did not know horses in that region), bringing along a pack animal as well, and they gave us bows and arrows to defend ourselves and also to hunt deer with.

“I am not saying that we did not encounter dangers, but I will not tell you about those now. We met other people, richer and more powerful than the first, and I saw castles, abbeys, churches, and walled towned, and was amazed by all of them. In these places, the people knew the kingdom of my lord and his father, and since these were not the people of his enemies, he showed them proof of who he was and we were treated honorably, and my lord began to feel like himself again, and to carry himself like a mighty lord. And here I thought it was advantageous that we met those kind people and had been dressed in their clothes, for if I had been wearing the poor cloth and goat-skins which clad me at the House of the Sorcerer, and he had been wearing his royal attire and bright armor, they would have said that I was a thrall he had been tricked by, and would have made some excuse to take me away from him. But instead they thought that I was a great lady, and a king’s daughter, according to the story he told them. In truth, many men saw me and desired me beyond measure, and no doubt some proud man or other would have taken me from him, except that they feared the wrath of his father, who was a powerful man.

“Yes, once while we were staying in a certain town, a young man—very strong and skillful—came up to me with his squires as I was walking outside the walls in a meadow, and he carried me off and would have taken me to his castle, except my lord followed him with some of the townspeople. There was a battle in which my lord was hurt, but he killed the young man, and I was sorry for his death, though glad that I had been freed.

“Another time, we were staying as guests at the house of a great baron, who put a sleeping potion in my lord’s drink and came to me in the middle of the night and demanded my love. I refused, and he threatened me terribly, and he called me a thrall and a runaway that my lord had picked up off the road; but I got hold of a knife and ran him off once I saw that my lord would not wake up. But the next morning, two terrible men he hired came to the hall, and they lied and said that I was a thrall and a runaway. They did this so that the baron could have me held there, despite my lord and his distress. However, a young knight of the baron’s house swore to slay him unless he let us go, and because there were other squires and knights there who seemed to question their master, the baron was forced to comply. So we left, and some of the knights and squires went with us to ensure our safety.

“But this was close to the kingdom of my lord’s father, and I later met that terrible baron again, and he was always one of my worst enemies.

“Furthermore, that young knight who first stood up for us followed us on even when the others had turned back, and soon I saw that he could not keep his eyes off of me, and my lord saw that, too. They nearly fought each other for me, but the knight was not a bad man, and I was terribly sorry for him, but I could not help him in any way that he would accept from me.

“Listen, my friend, this is the beginning of the terrible things of those ancient days and the seeds of misfortune which were sown in the field of my new life even before it was plowed.

“Well, we soon arrived at my lord’s country, and it was fair and rich and lovely in those days; peaceful and quiet, and a happy home to farmers and craftsfolk. Word had gotten to the king that my lord was back, and he came to meet him with a large company of knights and barons, dressed in the most noble clothing that such folk have. Because of this, I was awed by their glory, and I asked my lord to let me step back out of the way so that he could find me again later, but he asked me to take his right hand, for I was half of his life and his soul, and my friends were his friends, and my foes were his foes.

“Then I got an inkling of what would happen, and I saw that the sweet and clean happiness of my new life was marred. It had grown into something else, and I began to know the pain of strife and the grief of confusion. But since I had not been raised delicately, but had endured sadness and grief from my youngest days, I did not shrink back. I hardened my heart to face all things, even as my lord tried to harden his heart. For, indeed, I said to myself that if I was half of his life to him, he was nearly all I had.

“It is as if it had all happened yesterday, my friend, how easily I remember how we stood beside our horses in the middle of that ring of great men dressed in gold and bright steel in the meadows outside the gates. I remember the peace and the rustic wholesomeness with which the flocks and herds fed, and the farmers tending the earth and their crops, and how the great and noble array of men had changed it so completely. There we stood, and I knew that the eyes of all those lords and warriors were looking at me in awe. But the love of my lord and the recently-learned knowledge of my beauty kept me together. Then the ring of men opened and the king came to us. He was a tall man and big, fifty-five years old and of good body, looking much like my lord. He threw his arms around my lord and kissed him, and then stood a little back and said: ‘Well, son, have you found the Well at the World’s End?’

“‘Yes,’ said my lord, and then he lifted my hand to his lips and kissed it, and I looked at the king’s faces and his eyes were turned towards me, but it was as if he were looking through me at something else.

“Then he said: ‘It is good, son. Come home now to your mother and family.’ Then my lord turned to me and—with none of those around moving to serve—helped me into the saddle. And when he made to mount, himself, one well-dressed lord from the ring of men came to hold his stirrup for him, but my lord jumped nimbly into the saddle and took my reins, and he led me along with him so that he and the king and I went on together. All the nobles and their folk cheered and raised their swords and spears up and followed after us. And we left the meadow to be quiet and simple again, and rode through the gate of the king’s capitol city, which contained his high house and his castle, the homes of his family since ancient times.”

Notes:

The stony wasteland that the Lady and the King’s Son struggled to cross is specified as a “heath,” which is like a moor but not as elevated. They’re often dry, support only small shrubs and grass, and are generally not the kind of place you want to be traveling for very long.

The word “nakedness” is in the original and I left it, though I don’t know that it means literal nudity. My guess is that their clothes were in terrible shape due to living in the wilderness for six months. “Poverty” also isn’t referring to them not having money, but rather them lacking basic things and scraping by.

The original line about “pleasure” is “though it grieved me that I could not pleasure some of them in such wise as they desired.” As usual, when I encounter a bit of word choice that I don’t feel confident in interpreting, I leave it and let you decide. So uh, good luck with that one.

These are those Innocent Folk that I talked about before (they’ll come up again, too). Interestingly, the King’s Son seems to no longer have a horse by the time they met them. I assume it died along the way and was possibly eaten.

When she says that the people would have thought she were a thrall the King’s Son had been tricked by, the original word is that he was “assotted of [her].” “Assot” can mean either to trick or to cause to fall in love (that is, he became infatuated with her). Infatuation was my initial approach, but using the meaning of trickery fits with her assumption about their reaction. Perhaps I should say “tricked into loving” but I’d have to re-write this particular note and I don’t feel like that right now.

The “demanded my love” line was originally “required me of my love,” which I again chose to simplify but not interpret.

The Lady originally says that the baron called her a “thrall and a castaway,” but the term “castaway” now mostly refers to people surviving shipwrecks. In this case, it refers to someone who has been abandoned by their family, cast out, exiled. I used “runaway” to try and give a similar feeling of him calling her street trash, but one important difference I will point out: a runaway (which she technically is I guess?) leaves because they want to, a castaway is thrown out by someone else.

The Lady describes her encounter with the baron thusly: “but I gat a knife in my hand and was for warding myself when I saw that my lord might not wake: so the felon went away for that time.” A more direct translation would be “I got a knife in my hand and was protecting myself when I saw that my lord would not wake: and so the villain left then.” “For warding” is an interesting phrase that I’m having trouble looking up. My assumption is that it means “to protect” or “to keep something at a distance [from the thing being for warded]” based on “for” meaning “away” and “ward” meaning “to protect” or “to defend.”

Weirdly, the second use of “thrall and a runaway” does actually use “runaway” in  the original text.

The “plow” double entendre is unintentional, the original says “before the furrow was turned.” Both are very similar things one does to a field before planting, but I needed a phrase that would be understood.

I will include the original text about the effect of the nobles on the atmosphere of the pastoral meadows due to it being of a bit confusing nature and wanting to justify my translation. “It is as if it had befallen yesterday, my friend, that I call to mind how we stood beside our horses in the midst of the ring of great men clad in gold and gleaming with steel, in the meadow without the gates, the peace and lowly goodliness whereof with its flocks and herds feeding, and husbandmen tending the earth and its increase, that great and noble array had changed so utterly.” The subject-object relationship is a little foggy due to old-timey phrasing and syntax, but I do believe it is the nobles who changed the scene, not the other way around.

Another weird wording is about them getting on their horses and following the king. The original is “Then my lord turned to me while the king took no heed, and no man in the ring of knights moved from his place, and he set me in the saddle, and turned about to mount, and there came a lord from the ring of men gloriously bedight, and he bowed lowly before my lord, and held his stirrup for him.” “Took no heed” is something I would normally translate as “was not looking” or “was not paying attention,” but I think the meaning here is more complex. To “heed” something means both of those things, but also to honor or respect, or to treat in such a way. The point of this scene is that the king and all the nobles ignore the Lady (except to stare at her beauty), as they don’t acknowledge her or do the basic mannerly thing and help her into her saddle. As soon as the King’s Son moves to get in his own saddle, someone jumps at the chance to help him. This whole scene paints a clear picture: the nobles are interrupting the natural world with their gaudy presence, and they do not seem to notice it or the Lady in any respectful way.

The next chapter is another long one, but we’re almost done with the Lady’s tale.

Map:

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Hue and Cry XI

Warnings: non-consent sex and rape, sad reader, Bucky being Bucky because he don’t quit.

This is dark!medieval!Bucky Barnes x reader and explicit. 18+ only.  Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Synopsis: You try to make things better.

Note: Finally it’s the weekend! Got this done catching up on FATWS and just kind went with it. Also if anyone’s interested in making a moodboard/banner for this, I’m not sure if I like the one I have and I might play around with it. I would forever be indebted to you.

Thanks to everyone and thanks in advance for all your feedback. :)

I really hope you enjoy. 💋

<3 Let me know what you think with a like or reblog or reply or an ask! Love ya!

MASTERLIST

You were frightened by the gentle touch on your elbow. You were so ensnared in your despair, you hadn’t heard the soft footsteps or sensed the figure right beside you. It was only May’s sweet voice which woke you from your drunken malaise.

“Oh dearie, what is the matter?” she rubbed your arm, “I did see how you left but Peter did not say what upset you. It wasn’t him, was it? I swear, I taught that boy better--”

“No, no, it wasn’t him, never, I… No, he has only been kind to me,” you sniffed, “it is only… I have been untrue. I do not deserve his, or your kindness.”

“Dearie, that is ridiculous, you are a good girl, you deserve all good things. Perhaps we only did just meet days ago, but we care for you. We could not be unhappy with you for anything,” she cooed.

“You don’t understand,” you daubed your eyes with your knuckles, “I… I lied to you, to your husband, and your nephew. Everyone here.”

“Is it a lie that would hurt us? Truly?” she asked, “would it lead any true plight for us? Would we lose our livelihoods or our lives?” She tried to look you in the eye, “I do not think so and so I do not worry of it.”

“What do you want from me?”

“What do I want from you?” she blinked in confusion.

“Yes, everyone wants something of me. If it is to be your friend, I do not know I could be much of one, and if it were to be… something else to your nephew, that surely could never be, and whatever it is, it cannot end well.”

“You speak in riddles, girl, and no doubt foolishly because you are already my friend and I would not rescind that title for anything.”

“And if I have no other title? Hmm? If I am only a servant painted to be a lady?” You looked at the floor and more tears streamed down, “do you still call me friend?”

She was silent. Her hand fell down your arm and she took your hand. You were surprised as she embraced you and pulled your head onto her shoulder. She rocked you as your tears spilled onto her gown.

“Whatever you are, you are good,” she whispered, “I, nor my husband, nor my nephew would take offense at your true bearing. The lie is small, but your character has shown true.”

“I can’t--I couldn’t--”

“What you will do is you will come with me for the night. You will let the wine drain from your veins and your tears subside,” she coaxed, “and whatever it is that truly troubles you will wait until then.”

“But what about--”

“Those men can tend to themselves,” she hooked her arm through yours and carefully drew you from the wall, “now let us go. I am weary myself.”

You let her lead you away even as uneasiness boiled in your stomach. You should go after Lord Barnes, find your way back to his chambers, but you were just as afraid to appease him as to defy him in that moment.

🏰

You slept beside May. Actually slept. You hadn’t done much of that in a long time. She was warm and reminded you of your mother. When you were young and she served the former Lord Barnes and you slept between her and your father on a straw mattress. He always smelled of hay and she smelled of some indiscernible pollen.

May smelled of cinnamon or something like it. You woke with a heavy head and limbs. You sat up in nothing but your shift as the older woman moved around in the dim. She hung a kettle over the small hearth in the tight chambers, nothing so roomy as the duke’s.

She stood and arranged two cups on the table. She wore a plain robe over her shift and rubbed her hands together in the morning chill. She smiled at you as she neared the window, “I didn’t mean to wake you, dearie.”

“No, I should,” you slid out from under the blankets as she pulled back the curtains from the only window, “I should go--”

“You should stay. I’ll brew some berry tea, it’ll do your head well,” she insisted.

“You don’t understand. I shouldn’t have come here last night, I should have--”

“Is this anything to do with Lord Rogers?” she interjected, “you did not say exactly how you knew him.”

“Rogers? No, he is not…” you pulled on your gown but it droop as you could not reach the laces, “please, help me dress. I must be back.”

“Back to what? To who?” she urged.

"Just back," you walked to her and turned your back to face her, "please, you've been so kind but you cannot know what should ensue should I delay."

"Because you won't tell me," she pulled the laces tight and jerked your entire body, "if you did, perhaps I might help."

"You couldn't even if you knew," you murmured as she knotted the ties, "I'm sorry. Thank you for all you've done," you faced her again, "but…"

"It's Lord Barnes." She declared staunchly, "isn't it? I saw him last night with you and Peter. My nephew would not share what was said but he was as out of sorts as you."

"As I said," you took your cap and pulled it over your head, "I am only a maid dressed to be another," you reached around your skirts to wiggle into your slippers, "I was remiss to lie to you, to involve you in my mess. You should stay away from me and I will do the same."

"You don't have to go back to him," she stopped you as you tried to flit past her.

"Where would I go?" You asked, "he will find me. He found me before. He is close with the king and every man of esteem in the kingdom and I haven't a coin to shield me."

"You could go to our stead. We could take you back with us, we are ever in need of another hand--"

"To be what? I would serve well but I expect you mean as more. Your nephew's interest in me is misplaced. I am not of his stature, in title or repute." You brushed past her and grabbed the long door handle, "I am a whore, that cannot be undone."

"Dearie--" you left her and pulled the door to clatter loudly behind you. It was early still but too late to please Barnes. You would face his wrath so it did not again stray to Peter and his kin.

You found Lester outside his door. The horse-faced guard snickered as he let you through and you hid your sneer from him. You knew how he listened through the door and there were times he mocked you when Barnes was not around, mimicking those whines and whimpers drawn from you in your torment. He would have more fodder that day.

The duke was awake. He sat only in his nightshirt before the blazing fire as he stirred it with the iron poker. He grumbled as the latch fell back into place. 

"You're overdue," he stated bluntly, "how is the boy? Hmm, were you so desperate to beg his pardons that you could not be troubled with mine?"

"It was his aunt, she saw me through the night. I was drunk," you neared him cautiously, "I wanted to be back but she kept me. It is no excuse for my… straying." 

You went around him so that you stood between him and the flames. He raised the poker to point it at your throat as he glared up at you. You grabbed it lightly and pushed it aside. He let you and dropped it to the floor with a clunk. He squinted up at you curiously. You bent slowly and gathered your skirts to lift them.

"No--" Bucky began and you put a finger to his lips, a shaky finger, and came closer as you hushed him.

You straddled him as your skirts bunched behind you as you held yourself up with your knees against the bench. You let your hand fall to his shoulder, that one which did not lead to more, and bent to kiss him through the thin linen.

"I came back, my lord," you said, "I wanted to all night but the wine… let me make it right."

He grabbed your chin with his other hand and forced you up. His jaw clenched as he looked you in the eye and held you there. You slid your hand down his chest and stomach and rubbed him through the tails of the shirt. He responded quickly as you felt him growing hard.

"You tell me all the things you want of me but do not allow me to be them," you leaned in so that his lips were close to yours, "so let me."

His blue eyes glimmered and you felt him gasp as you hand slipped under his nightshirt. His hand slipped down to your chest and squeezed as he moaned airily.

"You think I would forgive you?" He asked, his lips grazing yours hotly.

"For what, my lord? You thrust me into another's arms but what more did I do but dance," you struggled to keep your voice from quivering, "you left me there alone but I came back to you…" you stroked him and he gulped, "don't I always come back to you, my lord?"

You kissed him and forced down the revulsion and anxiety of what you were doing. This was the only language he understood. You angled his member and lifted yourself over him. You angled him against your entrance and shuddered as you let him inside. You croaked as you parted from his lips and sheathed him completely,

"I don't want that boy," you whispered as you moved you hips and latched onto his shoulders to keep on him, "only you, my lord, as you want me."

"Sweeting," he murmured, "ohhhh…" 

His hand went to your hip beneath the layers of your gown and shift. He grasped your thigh as you kept your motion steady. You flinched only as his fingers crawled to your vee and he flicked your bud. You moaned without thinking and focused on your hips.

A heat built at his fingertips as he kissed you again, deep and desperate as his hips tilted into you from below. The bench creaked under your weight and the fire flickered against your back. You slung your arms around him and closed your eyes, they stung but you would not cry.

You huffed as the tension coiled inside of you, his fingers working faster and faster, urging you on as his smoky voice filled your lungs. You tore your mouth away from his and hung your head back as your body moved out of instinct. 

You felt the same rise as that day in the carriage when he first touched you. Ripples rolled over you and you exclaimed as they rained over you like hail. Your walls clenched him and the tenderness that lingered dissolved. It had never felt this good, never felt good at all.

He pulled his hand from between your legs and hooked his arm around you. He stood and flipped you swiftly so that your back was across the bench. Your legs dangled down, splayed before him as he took control. He hammered into atop the narrow bench as you head and shoulders hung off the back. 

Your hood fell onto the floor and sweat gathered beneath the silk and linen of your day-old attire. You swooped your arm around Bucky's neck as he pinned you on the thin cushion and the noise of his frantic intrusion filled the room. He smelled of leather and smoke. He felt like fire and ice at once.

He rammed into you as hard as he could and pushed his face into the crook of your neck. His heavy pants warmed your flesh and his bit into your throat as he groaned. His hips spasmed wildly and he came with a final pinch of your tender skin. He stopped at his hilt and rested atop you like a stone.

The blood pounded in your head painfully as you hung over the bench. He pulled you up with him and your vision swam from the disorienting rise as he kept inside of you. He staggered around the seat and carried you to the bed, falling atop you on the cushy feather mattress. 

He pushed himself up on his elbow and gazed down at you. He shoved his cock as deep as he could and watched you squirm. His eyes were alight as he delighted in your helpless whimpers and you grasped the front of his nightshirt.

"You will always come back to me," he rasped and thrust hard, "always."

"Always… my lord," you squeaked as the pain once more filled your core and soul alike.

[docholligay]

The Green Knight: A Ramble Through the Field of Honor

So I talked in an earlier post very glancingly about the line “Why greatness? Is goodness not enough?” and how it fits into the idea that Gawain has no idea what true greatness looks like, and I think, dovetailing into that, we kind of have to talk about how Gawain is...not a great guy. 

And I’m not even talking about the way we begin the movie with him in a brothel, though I am going to use that to spring off here and talk about his conduct toward Essel. Knightly stories are full of these ideas of chivalry particularly around women, and I think Lowery is using Essel to make the point that Gawain is not doing that, not even remotely. Essel is a working girl, sure, but she’s also, as its shown throughout the movie, devoted to him, and cares for him far beyond his ability to provide for her. She even tells him that she has his gold, when she asks to be his lady, but she wants very simple things--to sit by his side at the fire, and have his ear, and be his lady. In full fairness to Gawain, I suppose, he never pretends even for a moment that he has any intention of doing that. Gawain is not interested in whatever he might owe her, because in seeking his greatness he utterly passes by this goodness. 

We see this again in “A Kindness” where he repeatedly tells the scavenger that he is “Just passing through” when asked if he is a knight, not dodging the question, exactly, but allowing the scavenger to think this untrue thing. The scavenger talks about how he has brothers out there, the wide field of bodies like the fallen trees, showing us the lumber that Camelot is built upon, but Gawain does not have a moment for sympathy or pause. He fails to see this kid as a human being, and the narrative allows us to glance over it too, fixated in the same way Gawain is on the destination and not the journey. 

Even when he is given instructions about how to get to the Green Chapel, when it’s been shown he has only the roughest sketched ideas of the way--and we can argue that the instructions may be false, but I’m not sure I think it matters--all he offers this scavenger, this BOY, is his thanks, despite being told he’s lost his family, was almost lost himself. He has to be shamed into offering a single coin, when Excalibur itself was offered to him when he needed the help. 

This goes back to the idea of a test, and of Gawain’s repeated failures to have honor, to be great. He can’t see that mercy and generosity are a part of what it means to be a knight, to bear that mantle of goodness that I would argue underlies the knightly ideal. 

This is why, when he’s captured and his things taken from him, he asks for the GReen Chapel and is told, “You’re in it.” This is a test as surely as kneeling before the Knight himself, and he’s failed, not only the test of generosity, but of courage, as he pleads with them that he’s not a knight, and he never said he was, and it’s true, that he isn’t, and so he’s stripped of all the trappings that make him a knight--his horse, his arms, his shield--because if he will not behave a knight, if he will not meet the world with the courage and honor he’s meant to have, then he may as well have none of it at all. 

Gawain is pretty much a world-class fuckboy until the Tale of St. Winifred, until he truly connects with the natural impulse within him in the form of the fox (More on this in a much longer later post) 

The tale of St. Winifred is his chance to begin his redemption, really the first time that he’s been willing to take any real instruction on the nature of becoming a knight--he sure as shit could not be bothered to listen to Arthur--and so this is where he earns back the axe. He earns back the right to even have this quest in the first place. 

I don’t know how much the audience knows about the tale of St. Winifred, but the details are changed from the usual telling of the story in order to support the themes of the film.  St. Winifred is also, in one sense, a tale of beheading and of virtue. That in upholding her ‘purity,’ she lost her life and her head. This is why I think it’s not actually a foregone conclusion that Gawain is spared at the end--I think Lowery makes the point that sometimes our values must be paid for in blood. 

The flexible nature of honor is addressed directly in Winifred’s story. From the beginning, when she tells him not to touch her, that “a knight should know better,” there’s a sort of restarting the clock on his ability to be that knight. He just failed the last test, but as people, we are not who we are in one moment, whether that is terribly virtuous, or terribly cowardly, but the accumulation of who we are in all the moments. Each story is the chance to start again, and that’s why you’ll see so much menton of his being a knight at the start of each ‘section.’ It’s his chance to begin this anew. 

In that way of, just tell the audience what’s going on, when Winifred is telling her story, of a man who came and desired to lay with her, and says, ‘Perhaps he was thee,’ that’s not just speaking to the sense of circles and repetition of nature in the movie--though not unrelated--but the idea that Gawain could be that man, could still, in a sense, choose to be that man. That he can always fail this test, too. 

“If I go and get it, what will be my reward?”

It takes you aback, just for a moment, when he asks her that, until we realize that we were all asking ourselves that too. Reading into the traditions behind knights and saints, I think we’re used to the idea that a boon will be received for dong the right thing, and Lowery asks us to evaluate all that in Winifred’s reply:

 “Why would you ask me that? Why would you ever ask me that?” 

Harkening back to when he didn’t give the kid more than just a single coin, and telling him, “my thanks”--does he really have the right to ask for such a thing when he couldn’t manage to reward kindness himself-- but also the idea that honorable tasks should be taken up for their own sake, and not in order to have a reward. Can you truly be said to be acting with chivalry and honor if you’re doing it for a reward, or even notoriety? 

Going back to my larger theory that Lowery is trying to bring forth the idea in all of this that there is no such thing as being a “knightly” sort of person at rest, while still holding that the decisions of a moment can cement the sort of person we continue to be, it makes sense that he would ask if we can say Gawain passes this test, if Winifred regards him. 

“Now I can see thee,” she says, because this is a baptism of sorts, and being a saint, she can only see a soul in clarity. This is the direct opposite to the moment that Arthur tells him he has mud on his face, this is in direct opposite to his behavior with Essel, this is him doing the right and kind thing for a woman, without a thought to reward, and in that, he is cleaned, and Winifred can see what’s underneath, the sort of man he can be under what he’s accumulated. 

ANd this is why he gets back the axe. It gives him leave to continue his quest, even though just a bit earlier, when asked where he was going, he simply said, “home.” But the show of the axe let him know that honor was not yet lost to him, that there was still a chance to be the sort of person he might have been. 

WHich, by the way, does not makes things clear to him still. Life is not that simple, and I am very very resolute on my idea that a lot of what this movie is about is about the journey of our own lives to meet death and live with honor inasmuch as we can overcome our own cowardice and shitty behavior to do so, and even at the end of it all, about to meet the Green Knight, asked why he’s doing it, expressing that honor is why a knight does what he does, and then, pressed, says:

“Honor is a part of the life I want.” 

This is Lowery pretty firmly taking aim at the old Arthurian texts, wherein honor very often good be a sole raison d’etre, saying that for most of us--and I would argue the whole reason Gawain is a fuck up is that he’s meant to represent most of us--that isn’t enough. There needs to be something more. 

I also don’t think, for all I’ve talked about tests, that Gawain’s cowardice with the Green Knight had to be the end of the story. I think Essel’s pregnancy, and his cruelty, was a test. I think lying about what happened in the Green Chapel and accepting a knighthood was a test. I think there are multiple tests in that little interlude, but you see, the problem is, the more you do something, the more you’ll do it. As he makes these choices, this more and more becomes the man he is, as these choices stack up like stones, it gets harder and harder to knock down that wall. This is why his green sash--his cowardice--has become a physical part of him by the end of that interlude, bleeding as he draws it out. 

Honor isn’t set, and it isn’t enough. Life is a confusing journey, rife with difficulty to do the right thing with consistency not because of outside influence so much as ourselves. Gawain’s great antagonist in al of this is not the Green Knight, but himself. Such as it is for all of us, as we TRY to be good people, and risk sometimes redefining honor, or greatness, what it means to be “a knight” in order to convince ourselves that it might be true. 

“Is this all there is?” Gawain asks, before the axe is laid down, and I want to give Dev Patel a lot of credit here, though I’ve mostly been focusing on imagery and story. I’m not sure this would work as well if he hadn’t made it feel quite as human as it does, when he says it. It’s the question I think all of us ask, as we contemplate our own deaths, our own struggles to even up with what was right. Is there no way of knowing what comes next? 

Life is a series of tests. A measure of honor. And what else ought there be?

On Doc and The Green Knight

[bugsyfics]

Hello, dear! I wanted to compliment you on how organized your blog is with the navigation pinned so I don't have to go searching through the tags and I- well, it just makes my inner perfectionist super happy.

I was hoping I could give you a promt for everyone's favourite butler Sebastard (heh)? I've noticed that you've already written about a reader who was very desperate for the demon but what if it were the other way around?

Hmm. Ok. So. Here me out.

I see a lot of fanfics were Sebas gets the better of the protagonist character. I guess because they are supposed to be self inserts and relatable but screw that. What if we take that trope and flip it on to its head? Hmm? I wanna see someone take Sebastian's shit and throw it right back at him.

So the female (human) protagonist has a wit of iron, a tounge of steel, and a cunning that rivals even Ciel. She is flirtatious, sarcastic, salacious, and for whatever reason, completely immune to Sebastard's demonic charms. But is totally willing to taunt him about it. The scenario would be based around his perspective, his reaction and exploring the dynamic that kind of relationship would cause. Will they? Won't they? Tension so thick even Sebastian could not cut it with one of his butter knives.

The circumstances in which the protagonist enters Sebastian's life is entirely up to you. You can choose how sfw or nsfw, whichever will be the most fun for you. I am just here for a good game of cat and mouse.

And because Sebs needs to suffer.

Thank you, dear. And please be safe out there!

Hi, I really love this request! It’s such a good idea and like —yeah 💕. Hopefully this fits what you asked for and if not I’m totally willing to rewrite it lol. But anyway here’s your story for Seb! <33

Sebastian Michaelis x Reader

————•————•————•————•————•————•————•————

It was only meant to be a few days that she would be staying at the Phantomhive Manor. I asked the young master what was the point of this feckless arrangement, but of course I never received a definitive answer. According to the young master, Y/N was in urgent need of a temporary stay while she traveled throughout Europe. She’s meant to be in Bordeaux, France, if I’m not mistaken. While I am not one to outwardly question my young master’s decisions, I can not help feel like this woman isn’t here for the right reasons. Oh, how merely a snow storm can wreak so much havoc within a week. It’s been the fifth day of this lingering unsettlement I have felt; her invulnerable manner is excruciating to withstand. Whomever is in my presence is aware that I am the leading man, and those around me shall remain docile. Y/N refuses to take that hint and while at first I thought she was dense, I realized that in fact she is just stubborn as a mule.

“Good morning!” I hear Y/N’s voice behind me. I turn to face her reluctantly, unsure how this interaction will go. She stands with her arms crossed, pushing up her bosom in a way so naughty I almost forget my resentment. A foxy smile —no, cunning— creeps onto her daring lips, as she teases her tongue between her teeth. I feign from reacting, for it’s only been a minute. “Oh Lady Y/N, what a wonderful surprise,” I try to remain pleasant, with a smile.

Y/N approaches me, brushing past my arm, “I was speaking to Lord Phantomhive, sir.” She stops beside me and tilts her head quizzically, “What an untrue statement you made… I thought you never tell lies. Isn’t that right?” She whispers bitingly, then diverts her attention to the Young Master. Her face visibly softens and she carries on with her morning greetings.

The way she struts around is immaculate. She doesn’t carry herself with her head as if she’s needy or desperate, or with her feet as if she’s cowardly, she leads with her chest. It’s a sign of authority and comfortability. But why would she be comfortable in my presence? The presence of a demon?

“Y/N, the weather is still nasty. I see that you won’t able to leave for the next few days. Hopefully, that is okay with you,” says Young Master.

“It’s fine, my lord. I enjoy staying here, anyway. Thank you for showing me your hospitality —even on such short notice.”

They continue talking as I run about, making sure the other servants are not destroying the mansion with their half witted decisions.

“Sebastian, take Lady Y/N down to the laundry. She said her undergarments must have been mixed up with Mey-rin’s,” says Young Master, stopping me outside his study.

“Yes, my lord.”

The walk to the laundry room is silent, but Y/N’s presence is as loud as ever. I open the door and lead her into the room, pointing to the clothesline. I watch as she gets up on her toes to pull some undergarments down and I assume she needs help.

“Lady Y/N, do you need my assistance?”

“Did I ask for your assistance?” she quips.

“Well no, my lady. I am only offering my services,” I speak through gritted teeth.

“Hm, services… What kind do you offer? Are you some type of butler escort?” Y/N questions sarcastically.

Her attitude just won’t do. I think she needs to be reminded of her place. I pluck the undergarments from her hands and place them behind my back, towering over her. I sigh and glance down at Y/N, “Maybe someone should teach you how to act more ladylike ...I provide those services as well.”

She tilts her head slightly seemingly more interested in my words. It’s time to draw her further in.

“I am certainly not an escort, but I can be a mentor of sorts. Ordering you in the right direction and providing some disciplinary action to get you back on track. During the rest of your stay here I plan on instilling knowledge deep within you.”

Y/N smirks and bats her long lashes up at me. I would ravish her in a heartbeat, if I didn’t hold myself back. Her hands roam up my arms and to my shoulders as she leans in close, her sweet scent tickling at my nose.

“You are quite handsome... but you haven't proven to me that you are worth my time,” she shrugs and pulls away from me. “I do have to commend you on your tempting offer, however.”

This is unbelievable! Not once, have I ever encountered a human who has rejected my advances. This woman is built of steel and forged with fire. My tongue runs across my teeth, feeling a sharp prick and it draws blood. I have been so overwrought, my true form is starting to emerge.

I trap her against the stone wall displaying my vigor, hoping this will intimidate her. She laughs and reaches up to my face cupping my jaw firmly between her fingers. Pulling my face towards her, she speaks above my lips, her breath fanning lightly on my skin. “How does it feel knowing that I can torment you with only a simple quip? Your charms don’t enthrall me, love. Maybe I’ll give in if you try harder.”

She pushes past me to the door and points at the undergarments that are still in my grasp. “Keep those. Perhaps they’ll keep you thinking about me, sir.” Y/N winks and struts out, leaving me in utter awe. Darkness spills throughout the room and energy surrounds me as I exit my human form. Two can play this game, but only one will win, darling.

————•————•————•————•————•————•————•————

— bugs

[keyofjetwolf]

We’re All Just Guys

Well it took the entire fucking season, but I FINALLY get the purpose for Henry Fondle: Sex Robot. And while the entire episode (and season, honestly) has been tremendous, that this ridiculous fucking punchline was the vehicle to deliver the overarching point with a solid knockout punch of meaning AND pathos? Absolutely floored. That BoJack Horseman can be (and often is) brilliant isn’t a surprise, but the ways is keeps proving it often are.

So “The Stopped Show”, a tale of accountability and responsibility and how we’re all just guys.

Each of our main characters closes out this season alone (sort of), in assorted stages of realizing the main themes, or completely failing to. I find Diane’s arc the hardest for me to make a decision on, which isn’t surprising, as I think in many ways, Diane’s the most complicated character in the show. She delivers, directly and succinctly, one of the major points of not just this season but the entire show, but how does it relate to her? I’M NOT COMPLETELY SURE. I think part of the problem with (and for) Diane is that she knows better. She’s the most insightful character, she has a fantastic head on her shoulders, but only for everyone else. She’s this fucked up little disaster prophet, her vision clear and her message concise, unable to ever apply her gifts to fix herself.

Diane is just as trapped as BoJack, but in a fun twist, is now lagging behind him in trying to do something about it. Nearly every single scene with Diane this season has been in this sad little room of her sad little apartment with all her sad little unpacked boxes, and no matter how much truth and wisdom she spits out, HERE SHE STILL IS, failing to correctly assemble IKEA furniture with names like Bȧcksleid. She already feels like shit for sleeping with Mr. Peanutbutter, so what does she do? THE SAME FUCKING THING. To which I groan and roll my eyes, while simultaneously being proud of her for directly and immediately setting him straight about not getting back together. Diane rides this constant line where she gets it but also doesn’t, which is so interesting to me in the level of additional frustration this makes me feel. BoJack is so self-absorbed you don’t really expect any better of him, which has the flip side of your expectations being so low that even the whiff of progress feels exceptional. Diane doesn’t come with any of that though, she knows better, you KNOW she knows better, and the consequence of this for the audience is that she winds up being more unlikeable than the guy who literally last episode nearly strangled his girlfriend and co-star in the middle of a paranoid drug-induced frenzy.

Which is fucked up! It’s intensely fucked up! And also, I think, the point! We expect more of Diane, and so feel more disappointed when she doesn’t deliver. Is that fair of us?

But there’s more here, as we pivot to the accountability portion of this episode/season. From the beginning of the show, it’s been incredibly upfront about how everything is unfair. We come back to this time and again. Privilege rules the day in the world of Hollywoo. Fame, money, charisma, gender, power. BoJack has been an asshole from pretty much the moment he set foot in the spotlight (possibly before?), and the only thing ever even attempting to hold him back has been the moments his guilt manages to scream loud enough to be heard over his internal narrative. Whatever he does, however he fucks up, he always stumbles back to his feet, and NEVER with any (broad scale) consequences. Meanwhile, here’s Diane, in her sad shitty apartment. Consequences haunt Diane, even if she’s the one doing the haunting. The crap things she’s done and the shitty choices she’s made cling to her.

There’s no fairness in that either, no justice. But Hollywoo (and the entire world around it) (and our world too oh yes) has that privilege carved into its bones, and Diane bears none of its marks. Her situation is very different from but parallel to Gina, who is just so fucked over, it keeps legitimately making me angry for her.

Gina, of course, brought none of this on herself. She made the mistake of caring about BoJack and trying to help him. OOPS YOU WERE A GENEROUS PERSON WITH AN OPEN HEART FUCK YOU LADY. For her trouble, Gina has been assaulted and traumatized, AND she is in very real danger of her career being over when it’s only just finally beginning. And she KNOWS THIS. That’s the part that I keep coming back to. All this should be an aberration, an anomaly, and while that may be true of the specifics, conceptually, it’s so commonplace that Gina already knows how it’s going to play. She’ll stop being Gina and become The Woman Nearly Strangled To Death By BoJack Horseman. Even if she’s able to keep working, this is what she’ll be asked about in every interview forever. Even if she convinced people to genuinely listen to her, BoJack would, at worst, get a slap on the wrist as he stumbles back to his feet. We know that, WE ALL KNOW THAT, because it happens all. the. fucking. time. Gina did nothing wrong, but this would still define her for the rest of her life, while for BoJack, it would maybe become a footnote on his Wikipedia page.

Nothing about that is FAIR. Nothing about it is JUST. Gina’s choices shouldn’t have to be “this becomes my entire life” or “swallow this down and pretend it never happened”. But it is, as it has been in perpetuity for the victims of the privileged.

So then what can we do about it? Well that’s really the question, isn’t it? This episode answers it in an assortment of ways (I think the entire SHOW is very much about this, really, but this episode is for sure coming with guns blazing), while also showing us why none of those answers can work. It’s funny and sad and awful and true, but also, ultimately, the most hopeful answer because it’s the only one you can actually affect: It’s you. It’s me. It’s each and every one of us, individually, making a choice to be better.

And believe it or not, we embody this with Henry Fondle: Sex Robot.

I thought the whole thing was so unbelievably stupid. Half the season, we’ve had this goddamn multi-dildo’d juvenile frat boy joke running around with its stupid ass Speak-and-Say voice, doing the same shtick over and over, and I’m like, “okay this is just the shit I have to put up with to get the clever stuff, I guess.” BUT THAT’S EXACTLY THE POINT I’M SITTING THERE LIVING THE ENTIRE GODDAMN POINT AND MISSING IT. Henry Fondle: Sex Robot is seventeen shades of overt horribleness, AND WE ALL JUST GIVE IT A PASS. It’s just the way it is, the way the world works, the price of doing business. When the whole time -- THE ENTIRE FUCKING TIME -- all it took was one person to say no. One person who could see the game we all are playing and was willing to give up everything to stop it.

Hilariously, Henry Fondle IS a metaphor, sort of, but of the saddest kind. He is literally a robot, he can’t possibly change. What’s more, media fervor will never affect him, fallout will never touch him, and the powerful will always rally around themselves to retain their power. It takes Todd, the head of the company, the creator of Henry Fondle, and the one person who would benefit most from the unending efforts of the rest of the world bending over backwards to avoid the truth, to put a stop to it. In doing so, he immediately returns to his old, homeless, destitute self, but doesn’t once hesitate or look back.

It’s Todd, and only Todd, that stops that madness, because while individual people are a problem, the world at large is too. Stefani makes a great point that Diane holds herself and everyone else to impossible standards and a little forgiveness and grace wouldn’t go amiss, but when Diane suggests they apply that philosophy to their clickbait gossipy shit on their website, it’s just

Which again, is beautifully cynical and depressing, but not untrue. Fostering a more forgiving culture isn’t in stopping websites from posting clickbaity takedown articles, it’s each person deciding not to take the clickbait. We can absolutely have a conversation about the people creating their world or the world creating its people, but when you boil it down, only one of those things can you yourself absolutely and directly change, and it’s not the entire world.

A THING DIANE GETS BUT SIMULTANEOUSLY ABSOLUTELY DOES NOT.

I can’t take myself away from this Diane thing, I know, but only because she’s the fucking CORE of each and every one of us struggling with this idea. She’s the simplicity of it and the complication all in one. Not BoJack, which is NOT where I thought we’d be when we started this journey. BoJack is more an action on the people around him at this point in the story, he IS the world you cannot change. He’s pointed to rehab, and off he goes -- or doesn’t! I don’t think it’s coincidence that we stay with Diane and watch her watching him.

Oh, Diane, indeed. As she tells her story of her friend Abby, who threw her over for the cool kids, who turned every confidence into a scar. Who Diane still helped anyway, because Abby needed her. Did Abby learn from that, did she get better? We don’t know; we stay with Diane and watch her watching Abby. Diane, who can so completely understand about personal responsibility while failing to recognize her own enabling for the shitty things that keep happening to her.

You can control yourself. That’s it. That’s the only playground with a guarantee.

Will BoJack go off to learn that? Will Diane stay and figure it out?

THAT’S WHAT NEXT SEASON IS FOR

Something I was toying with including in this, but ultimately decided against for a variety of reasons, was the contrast between BoJack’s take on personal responsibility independent of external response, and The Good Place’s argument that people need external support for personal growth. An idea I may not have even considered contrasting save that Doc’s talked before about these two Jewish creators with what are clearly very different philosophies, and basically, if she were ever able to manage a discussion between them on this, I’d love to be in the room. I’ll be very quiet and not get in the way, I promise.

[swiftgronmasterpost]

Glee Live Tour Part 4 - The ShirtGate Essay Dianna published to the felldowntherabbithole Tumblr

Inserting a cut because this thing is long

or skip Dianna’s gay panic and click here to keep reading the masterpost!

June 2, 2000

What does that day, month and year mean to you? President Bill Clinton used that particular day to declare ”Gay and Lesbian Pride Month”. Nine years later, on June 1st, President Barack Obama spoke to incorporate an even wider group. Lesbian, Gay, Bisexual and Transgendered citizens alike could all have this month for recognition, respect and appreciation. However, I am aware that not all minds meet equally about the rights and respect that we should pay to others. As each generation leaves their footprints, and paves the way for what is to come…to some, change is an impossible idea or action to put in motion.

You know what? Often, this unfortunate reality is because of learned behavior! As much as we may often preach that we like to speak for ourselves, or outside the box, how many times have you caught yourself, or someone you know repeating the thoughts of another before them? Sometimes without proper information? And how many times have you felt that perhaps further knowledge on an issue or subject matter might result in a different voice, a different understanding? Perhaps even going against the ideas they’ve learned, heard, or grown up around? We have the ability to fly planes, send astronauts into space, develop technology such as cellphones! Things that once were unfathomable. I can sit at this small computer and type this message. Once I push send, this message can be seen by anyone who’d like to engage, all across the WORLD.

As many of you know, we (the Glee cast) have been storming the country at whirlwind speeds to put on a forty-two show, month-long tour. It has been a constant reminder of why we do this. We’ve witnessed the impact our show has had, from the very beginning, to these moments, three years later. You LOVELY & AMAZING fans! Just indescribable. The love, affirmation, and dedication you provide! We see it all, value it all. Trust me, we do! On stage, the excitement that we absorb from your ball of energy brings our adrenaline levels to highs that often-times, we aren’t sure we can reach. Bottom line, we love you guys. And our crew! Without this diverse group of hard-working people, this venture would be impossible.

Yesterday was June 11th, and we were tackling our newest location, Toronto! We had finished our first concert of the day, and I was about to take a moment to relax before the second. On the way to our dressing rooms, I passed a stack of shirts lined up on the merchandise tables. The white T’s were modeled after shirts we wore in a performance set to Lady Gaga’s, “Born This Way.” This sparked an idea. And that idea ended up on stage.

Kindness moves mountains. Acceptance opens doors, makes room for change, diffuses misunderstanding. Every day, people commit hate crimes because of misunderstandings. Hate effects the target, and consumes the person behind the gun. It is crazy to realize that we have been in war for almost our entire existence on this planet. Many times for reasons of greed and hate.

Anyone that has experienced the death or abuse of a loved one can tell you that, “IT HURTS BEYOND EXPLANATION!!! AND WE SHOULD DO EVERYTHING IN OUR POWER TO MAKE ANY CHANGE POSSIBLE.” Raise your hand if you’ve spent nights crying yourself to sleep, raise your hand if you’ve felt as if you’d rather hide in bed all day than face the people that make you feel small or powerless! Raise your hand if you’ve felt as if you’d rather lie to people than tell them the truth about who you really are, because at least you wouldn’t be the victim of hateful behavior or prejudice! And raise your hand if lying feels almost as bad.

I was not raised in a family that accepted prejudice or hatred. For that, I thank my Mom and Dad each and every day. Look, we are human, we make mistakes. I will gladly shout from the rooftops that I AM NOT PERFECT. Nor will I ever be. But I can happily say that to my knowledge, I do not ever intentionally cause people pain. I love my family, my friends, my co-workers…and they all consist of girls AND boys. I do tell them that I love them. Yesterday, during our second show,  Instead of wearing my usual shirt during “Born This Way” I decided to wear one that said “Likes Girls”. It should actually have read, “Loves Girls”, because I do. The women in my life give me things that the men in my life can’t. And vice-versa. No, I am not a lesbian, yet if I were, I hope that the people in my life could embrace it whole-heartedly. And let me tell you, I can easily spill (quite comfortably) what I admire, respect and think is beautiful about any of the women in my life. Piece of cake!

Last night, I wanted to do something  to show my respect and love for the GLBT community. Support that people could actually see. Which is why I decided to change my shirt for the show. I happened to read a few comments that were posted on twitter. Many of you asked, “why?” This is my response. I am not asking for you to agree with what I am saying, but if you are listening, thank you. That is all I can ask. And a step further would be to take a moment to (honestly) answer the questions that I have raised. We can’t always put ourselves in someone else’s shoes. But we can try.

I am lucky to live in a place where I can wear almost anything that I want to express myself, and that jail is not a probable consequence. Which makes me feel as if I should exercise my right to do so every now and then. Think of the people that have died because of their passion and heartfelt hopes of change? So many good men and women. All because of an inherent wish for tolerance, love and support.

Our show celebrates the GLBT community. We are proud to be a part of something that embraces an often avoided topic. Hate is terrible, especially when we pass it down to a new generation of innocents. Recently, I heard a lament about San Francisco. How SFO just didn’t sound like a fun place to be, or visit, because that person wasn’t gay. Wait, really???? I wanted to laugh! But that would have been a response that wouldn’t have encouraged that person to be open-minded. To see that perhaps, their statement was foolish? Why won’t San Francisco be fun for you? Do you think the whole city is gay? Do you think they will judge you? Won’t feed you good food?  Perhaps they won’t let you have fun, the way THEY have fun?

Sadly, we’ve gotten letters from people who explain that they love the show but hate the gay story-lines. That we shouldn’t be polluting their children’s heads. To this I’d sometimes like to sarcastically reply, would you also like us to tell them that a stork is dropping off our offspring? That the sky is purple? That it is not practical to be true to yourself, because there are mean people in this world that will make them feel wrong for being honest? That instead of embracing themselves, they should lie to the world? THEY should be the ones being untrue and unhappy?

I believe that if you are bringing a child into the world, you should be willing to accept them in any reality. Whether they are Black, White, Asian, have four fingers, are disabled, gay….that the only wish should be for a happy and healthy baby. We are each other’s children. Unless someone has committed a violent or hateful act, why should we judge? We can so quickly resort to anger, often, the product of a whole other issue. Most often, an issue with our own self.

I understand that I am sitting behind the protection of this computer screen, in this hotel room, and to many I might sound “preachy”. Especially now that I have written an essay. I hope my intentions sound pure, and just. I speak, because I am passionate. I write with this passion because I know how it feels to be hurt, to be depressed, to not value yourself, or your feelings. If any of this has inspired or moved you, even just made you think….I encourage you to tweet or reblog a picture, quote, anything that you feel will continue to spread the love. And if any are interested in tracking the chain, perhaps visualizing the greater collective, include the hatch tag, #letlovein.

Affection is responsible for nine-tenths of whatever solid and durable happiness there is in our lives. - C.S. Lewis

Being deeply loved by someone gives you strength, while loving someone deeply gives you courage. - Lao Tzu

Fortune and love favor the brave. - Ovid

AND remember that sometimes….

People need loving the most when they deserve it the least. - John Harrigan

To thine own heart be true. Many thanks for your time, your love, and the gift you’ve given me.

Sincerely,

Dianna Elise Agron

Click here to keep reading!

[aelaer]

☕ The fact that Wakanda was presented as an advanced country looking down on others from it's comfortable vibranium armchair but had a monarchist system that could place a ruler with 100% muscles and 0% brains at the head, along with other bothersome stuff like that, like Shuri being the head of the government's science department while she is a part of the royal family, or really, every single part of Wakanda that looks good on paper - a king with a council of people leading the different tribes - but that history has shown us very often ends up creating a dictatorship, which is really what happened in the movie and I'm surprised no one sees it.

Like, the movie literally shows us this country that's supposedly so advanced, with spies and people placed around the world, most likely putting their fingers in as many pies as possible, and an incredibly developed technology - which is frightening on many levels considering that UN or no Wakanda could blow up everything outside of its borders and people wouldn't know it until it happened -, but with a monarchist - and whatever other words could define it - governmental system that has revealed a lot of problems in its configuration. The tribes leader were literally being choked in the throne room and no one was doing anything, there was a destruction of a historical, scientific and cultural heritage being condoned by the new religious ceremony leader(???) just because the king ordered it. They would've literally tried taking over the entire non-black population (and where does that leave all the metis people? All the ones that are not white, but not black? Of middle eastern descendance? Of Asian one? Etc?) if the ex-monarch hadn't done something.

What I'm trying to ask if, what do you think of Wakanda being a good idea on paper but terrible in practice? True! Untrue? Something else?

Holy shit lady, you ask the tough questions. This is a difficult subject to cover - you’re asking me to look at the political structure of a fictional society within a disenfranchised continent - and I’m uncertain if it’s possible to do a decent analysis without addressing heavy topics. Basically, I don’t want to sound like a privileged dickwad. So I guess what I can say is - this comes from someone with a (mostly decent) American-based education, and no formal study of pre-colonial customs and political structures in Africa. I apologise for any misconstrued ideas and more than welcome any corrections to those who know more about these subjects!

I like Wakanda on paper, mostly due to the fact that the majority of Africa got completely screwed in terms of historical treatment and I’m rooting for the continent’s people to gain their own voices again. Wakanda being such a huge thing in international popular culture might serve as an inspiration for someone who ends up being important to at least one country there. In that sense, I really like Wakanda - the idea that it can potentially inspire historically disenfranchised cultures in the real world. How practical that thought is, I’m not sure - I might just be too idealistic.

Dictatorships can happen in non-monarchies as well, which you know -- as the most famous examples in 20th century history are not monarchies. The issue that can appear in monarchies -- or dictatorships -- is the lack of checks and balances to help keep those in power from going overboard (or the populace not having enough manpower/arms to get a dictator-like-coup out, but that’s an entirely different discussion!)

From what we got in the movie, Wakanda does seem to lack those checks and balances and no ability to overrule a king’s command. It seemed that they never had any sort of Magna Carta in their history (which is far from a perfect document, but did start the precedent of limiting monarchical power), and it doesn’t seem there’s anything resembling a representative government with veto power over the leader that you see in, what, 2/3rds of the world these days? (I legit have no idea, but I do know it’s wide-spread.)

But why wouldn’t they have such a document limiting monarchical power or some sort of democratic process? The modern mindset across many countries around the world leans towards democracy and elected, representative governments. But it can’t be denied that colonialism helped spread this, as -- at least, according to wiki -- representative democracy/liberal democracy/Western democracy all originate in Europe. So, in some way it makes sense that they didn’t transition yet because they were never colonized, and they were completely self-contained so didn’t have any of the outside world conflicts to force them to make changes. France helped fund the barons who pushed for the Magna Carta. France was also responsible for helping fund/arm the US in their fight to gain independence (lol France vs England history, it’s so great). External conflicts with other regions/countries caused *changes* to happen in those societies, at least from what I know of European history. Possibly happened in other continents, but I’m just not knowledgeable enough about their histories to give specific examples.

Wakanda had no outside conflict, and with no outside conflict, you get one major source of problems eliminated. Civil wars happen for a multitude of reasons, but perhaps one of their solutions historically for kingship changing without civil war was the fight of a representative of a tribe to try and win it over. Who knows? But when you’re enclosed like Wakanda was, there’s a lot less chance of things changing.

(On that note - their selection of a new leader is also incredibly disproportionately unfair to women. The average man is physiologically stronger and faster than the average woman. It’s just--biology. But who knows, maybe Wakanda was the same as much of the rest of the world in terms of their thoughts of women leading in politics. There’s comic canon that could be different, but the MCU did a lot of changes from comic canon.)

A *lot* of things changed across the world in the 20th century, making the world much smaller. Before the 20th century, it was likely considered completely useless and nonviable to make war on other nations because, though they were more technologically advanced, it’s incredibly unlikely they had something akin to nuclear bombs in the 19th century. They had to have their own steps of progression. And if they were only *a bit* better, they couldn’t stop the entire world if they started attacking and word spread. It’s only in the late 20th, early 21st century that things like destroying the rest of the world with Wakandan weaponry was likely actually feasible. Though honestly? I don’t think that shield could withstand a nuke. I just don’t see it. If Erik’s plan went through, he may have doomed Wakanda's capital city to being utterly annihilated because too many countries do have the ultimate kill button, and there are some who would not hesitate to use it.

It also could be cultural. Wakanda didn’t go conquering their neighbors left and right. They were happy with five tribes and it seemed to remain five tribes. That speaks of something deeply cultural, deep within the roots of how they’re raised and taught. Erik came from an entirely different culture with a violent childhood and background, and because they were in the 21st century, other Wakandans could *learn* of the rest of the world, and get new ideas - and get the same anger that stirs war and revolutions, and ultimately can affect a country’s culture.

So perhaps before the 21st century, limited power with the king wasn’t needed simply due to their isolation. Now, though that they are much more connected with the world, maybe they need something more like Botswana or Nigeria, only tied in with a monarchy (according to wiki -- Elsewhere, in Botswana, the kgosis (or chieftains) of the various tribes are constitutionally empowered to serve as advisors within the national legislature as members of the Ntlo ya Dikgosi. Meanwhile, in Nigeria, the various traditional polities that currently exist are politically defined by way of the ceding of definite authority from the provincial governments, which in turn receive their powers to do so from a series of chieftaincy laws that have been legislatively created.)

So basically what I’m trying to say is, while I’m personally super gung ho about representative democracies and individual liberties, that’s not necessarily the culture of Wakanda and it may not fit for them. But *what* the culture of Wakanda evolves into, being more open to the rest of the world -- and thus, the rest of the world’s ideas and cultures, remains to be seen. They may find that they do need to reform their political structure after the civil war we saw in the first film, though, and perhaps they do so.

[commonplaceprojkelseyh]

Reflection!

Kelsey Harper

Professor Dr. Richards

(ENG-3298-01, WGS-3298-01, GBS-3298-01)

July 30th 2021

Individual CommonPlace Book & Reflection Paper

Feminism & Gender Equality

Did you know that eight out of the top ten countries have a larger female gender population compared to the male gender yet the percentage of women within the workforce was at 28% since 1959 up until 2020? That means for every 1 male, there are 7 females to that one male, making the population higher for women. It is sad to report considering I have been a part of that percentage since 2000.  To think that an entire race of extraordinary females for more than just one reason are not on the same working tier as man, even though woman represent a great deal larger within the population compared to men is astonishing. I know what you are thinking, it is due to our past ancestors that made the corporate world, “a man’s world” however, so much has changed in today's society to encourage women that they are just as equal to man in more than one way!

I, for one, grew up in a “both my parents work” home situation, which ultimately left my brother and I with a lot of babysitters. For many other people like me, that can be normal right? Well, what I didn’t know for the longest, was that my mom was working as a Merrill Lynch Financial Advisor managing over 500 million dollars in assets which ranks her in the top one half percent of all females and more importantly males in her industry. Ironically she has been doing this for over 34 years and the percentage of women who are at her level in the investment business has never moved past 15%. Making her one of only 200 other women in the entire industry at her level(which made her job an everyday event to consistently prove herself to the men around her.) She picked a career that was based on meritocracy, so there was very little subjectivity to her advancement. Basically, she was responsible for her own success, the harder she worked, the better she did. This inspired me at an early age because my mom never seemed to think that whatever she was searching for, shooting for or hoping for was unreachable. If anything it never even crossed her mind to not work as hard as she could to be within her industry and have the reputation she has built up to today. She has made it her mission to bring up other women to follow in her path. Okay, so you may ask well how does this even relate to our class? Well, part of the reason I was so interested in taking the class in the first place was the title, which is, “Woman’s Writing Worldwide”, which stood out to me because of the first word. It stood out because of that five letter & two syllable word that can make or break a human coming into the world. For others, within third world countries, like the ones we have been reading about, that word defined one from the jump and almost pre-decided that female's destiny. As much as I would like to say it is different in the United States, it is similar in the way that being a woman in today’s culture is a huge ever-growing adjustment because men are only making it harder for us to speak our truths and claim our spots within the working class. Trust me, I may sound like a hater on the male race, but I am eternally grateful to a lot of them for making me the person I am today, however if men truly understood woman, like we do them, the world would be a much fairer place because it is not a competition all the time like men tend to make it to be.

One person that spoke volumes to this exact subject was Meghan Markle, in her speech that specifically dealt with her first encounter with being a woman’s right advocate at the early age of 11. In that speech, she essentially told the audience that she was watching a TV show in grade school, when a commercial came on for a dish liquid with the tagline, “woman all around America are fighting greasy pots and pans,” when two boys in her class quickly said after that commercial, “yeah that is where women belong, in the kitchen.” She was so bothered with this that she wrote to the first lady, then Hilary Clinton, Linder Elerby, Gloria Albred and the soap manufacturer, Proctor and Gamble to change the tagline to, “people all over America are fighting pots and pans.” When in fact, a month later they in fact did change the tagline and opened the doorways for Markle to really understand the magnitude of her actions within this topic. She then goes on to even say that, “women need a seat at the table, they need an invitation to be seated there, and in some cases when a seat is unavailable then they have to make their own. It is said that girls with dreams become women with vision. May we empower each other to carry out such a vision because it is not enough to simply talk about equality and it is not enough to simply believe in it, one must work at it. Let us work at it together, starting now.” I absolutely loved her entire story because it really hit home for me who was mesmerized by her willingness to stand up and say something. Without that willingness from women such as her, women as an entire race will never have a seat at the table. I am thankful to her and for the blessed opportunity to come across that story which inspired me to start a club chapter of CHAARG(changing health, attitude, actions to recreate girls) to encourage women to speak their truths, focus on themselves and be inspired by the powerful woman around them to step up and not only prioritize their mental health & wellness but their eating, their exercise, their self care, their mental health and overall happiness.

Another important factor to add, is that it has been observed in women's fight for equality in the workforce,  that there are a lot of women that fall into the category of being a part of the “sandwich generation.” This generation of professional working women have been tasked with both caregiving for their children and their aging parents. This has caused breaks within their career paths and deferred promotions. This is particularly felt within the wealth gap of income disparity between men and women. Recently, I have noticed a corporate trend towards improving this disparity. Corporations are offering more flexible work hours to accommodate these “sandwich generation” working mothers.

One speaker that really spoke volumes to this exact subject was the Msimang TED talk, where she described a time in her life where she had something taken from her by the opposite gender and felt for the first time the extreme difference between a boy’s perspective and a girl’s perspective. A great quote from our actual syllabus by Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie was, “The problem with stereotypes is not that they are untrue but that they are incomplete. They make one story be the only story.” I enjoyed this quote because both the story by Msimang and the quote by Adichie, touch upon a common goal, equality in every form. Another element that really moved me within Msimang’s TED Talk was her inner passion for storytelling and really trying to capture what makes a good story. I also was really inspired by the TED Talk by Dalia Mogahed, a religious muslim that spoke heavily on the idea of Muslims within America. Although her topic wasn’t exactly about gender equality but more so about racism in general, she spoke about a time in her life when she felt embarrassed to not only be a muslim but also a female muslim. Her story about being scared for her life after the 9/11 attacks, was the first time in her life, she said, that she was afraid to be her true self. I felt for her in this way that I too, felt similar when walking down a city street by myself as a young adult female. Although the two are still very different, in the moment while watching her speak about her story, this was the first image that popped into my mind.

Most importantly, I enjoyed the TED Talk by Kavita Ramdas, with her extraordinary opener, which was: “ Given my TED profile, you might be expecting that I'm going to speak to you about the latest philanthropic trends -- the one that's currently got Wall Street and the World Bank buzzing -- how to invest in women, how to empower them, how to save them. Not me. I am interested in how women are saving us. They're saving us by redefining and re-imagining a future that defies and blurs accepted polarities, polarities we've taken for granted for a long time, like the ones between modernity and tradition, First World and Third World, oppression and opportunity.” This got me thinking more and more about gender equality as a whole and just how important and influential women are in society. Countries such as China, took a very long time to find this out, as many of new born baby girls were sold to the States for money because in their culture, “boys were the only ones that could work to bring the family up, girls are an embarrassment and are only here for one thing, reproduction.” However, after several years, they grew to know that they ended up needing more women because they were running out of women to bear children, hence the population drop in 2019 into 2020.

To combat that however, it has been proven through the last century that intellectually women are naturally more nurturing & emotionally smarter than men, just like the saying that “women develop maturity faster than men do”. So women tend to outshine men in industries such nursing.  However, men tend to rely more heavily on their physical strength in order to obtain certain jobs that are not typically where women fit into the picture such as construction and engineering. I, for one, have never viewed it like that because I have always believed that no matter the race or ethnicity, age, gender, religion, sexuality or financial standing, everyone deserves to work a job they love in any industry and that all judgement should be shoved out the window without reason.

In conclusion, I believe in the strength of women as a whole race to be able to one day never have to speak of women's rights. I envision a time within my life that women will have a seat at the table, they will be heard, understood and most importantly treated equal to men. I believe it starts with women empowering other women first and then men following that trend.

[visenyatargaryn]

Despite being a Teryn’s daughter, Ophelia Cousland dreams of a grander life. One that is filled with sword fights and adventure, but is instead forced to play the noble lady and entertain the wives of dignitaries. However, all of that comes crashing down when tragedy strikes, forcing her out of her very own home and losing everything she loved in the process. Darkness and light are two sides of the same coin, but will Ophelia strive more towards the light? Or will darkness overcome her in her need for vengeance and the will to survive?

With the impending darkspawn invasion, and a civil war threatening to break out across Ferelden… will she be able to put a stop to it all and save her homeland? Or will it all be too late to stop the inevitable?

CHAPTER THREE || Goodbye, Brother || G || 4000 words || ao3

Ophelia finds herself in a difficult situation when she hears the reasoning behind the Greywarden’s arrival at Castle Cousland. Meanwhile, it is finally time for her to do the thing she dreaded for so long—to wish her brother farewell before he heads off to Ostagar to battle darkspawn, but not before coming face to face with familiar and new faces. 

Ophelia and Ser Gilmore walked through the halls of the castle with Amadis padding at their heels. Her mind was swirling with thoughts—many of which were none too pleasant. The strangeness of Arl Howe's behavior from earlier still unnerved her greatly. She had never been too fond of her father’s old friend, as she always sensed something about the man was… off. Almost as if he were hiding something…

“Is everything okay, Ophelia?” Ser Gilmore asked as they walked. She had nearly forgotten the Knight was currently present as she had been lost in thought.

“Yeah, everything is fine. I just have a lot on my mind is all,” she answered, half-truthfully, shaking her head as if to rid herself of such thoughts.

“You know, I have been told that I’m an excellent listener,” Roderick said, offering a smile that reached his bright, blue eyes.

Ophelia returned a small smile. “I’m just worried about the upcoming battle is all, with my father and brother away, I’m to be the one in charge. I don’t know if I’m even qualified enough for such a task.”

It wasn’t the entire truth, but she did not wish to bring up their previous conversation She knew there was no point in trying to convince the Knight of her speculations on the Arl, no matter how persuasive she could be. Besides, it wasn’t entirely a lie either since the thought of the battle did not sit well with her.

“You have nothing to fear, Ophelia. There are to be at least 50,000 men and women at Ostagar, and that’s including the mages,” Ser Gilmore said, in an attempt to comfort her. “Your father would never have appointed you as the one in charge if he didn’t think you were fit for it. Besides, the Teryna will be there to counsel you, and I will be at your side, as always.”

Her smile faltered while fighting the tears that were threatening to come. “Except that’s only half true, Roderick. You won’t be here by my side, or ever again for that matter. The Grey Warden—Duncan, he’s planning to recruit you.”

“What? You can’t be serious?”

“You know I wouldn’t lie to you about such things…”

“But—Who will protect you once I’m gone? Surely there must be a better candidate than myself?”

Ophelia wanted to hug him. Out of all the reasons he could have said for not wanting to join the Grey Wardens, it was her that he thought of first. It was never his own self that he worried about most, it was always her and her alone.

“Roderick, you know there’s nothing that can be done,” she said, wishing it were somehow untrue. “Someone new will be assigned or perhaps no one at all. After all, I’m not the defenseless damsel I was all those years ago. You will be off to join a legendary group of warriors—which might I add, you would make an excellent candidate for.”

After a long, never-ending silence, Ophelia looked up at her friend. The look on his face tore at the seams of her heart. It was as if a million battles were happening inside his head, and he didn’t know how he could possibly win either of them. Not wanting to endure this any longer, she grabbed hold of his calloused hand, causing him to halt his steps and look down at the Teryn’s daughter.

“You are my dearest friend, Roderick, and as much as it pains me to say this, please, don’t fight it. There is no outcome in which you would win in this situation,” Ophelia said, offering him her best smile. “Besides, after everything is over, I could come and visit you. Would you like that?”

A small smile appeared at the corner of the Knight’s lips. “Yes… I would like that quite a lot.”

“Good. Now, let us not waste any more time. I would like to wish my brother farewell while I still have the chance.”

Rounding the corner, they found the Teryna speaking with some guests, two of which Ophelia recognized as Lady Landra, and her son, Dairen. The third, however, was one she did not know. An elven woman with a slender build, with hair the color of honey stood between Lady Landra and her son. Ophelia thought she was quite pretty. They approached, and Eleanor Cousland greeted her daughter, while Ser Gilmore bowed politely.

“Ah, here is my lovely daughter. I take it by the presence of that troublesome hound of yours that the situation in the kitchens has been dealt with?”

Amadis barked at the mention of her name, startling the young elf. Ophelia gave her an apologetic smile before turning her attention back toward the Teryna.

“Yes, Mother. Nan is back to work as we speak,” Ophelia answered, avoiding to bring up the reason why Amadis was causing trouble in the first place, as there were guests present.

“That’s good to hear,” the Teryna answered. “You remember Lady Landra, Bann Loren’s wife?”

Lady Landra stepped forward to greet her. “I believe we last met at your mother’s spring salon. It was quite a lovely occasion.”

“Of course. It is good to see you once more, my lady,” Ophelia agreed, offering the Bann’s wife a warm smile. She remembered Lady Landra getting quite drunk on wine after her mother had told the servants to bring it up from the cellar. It resulted in even more brazen, but unsuccessful attempts to get Ophelia to agree to a marriage proposal with her son.

“You are too polite, dear girl. I do remember spending the evening trying to persuade you to marry my son. However, like you, he is still yet to be married.”

“And you’re still making a feeble case for it, I might add,” Dairren interjected, turning towards Ophelia with a bright smile. “Don’t listen to her. I can assure you that I came here, not as a suitor, but to assist your father.”

She furrowed her brows. “My father?”

“I’m to accompany him when we ride out tomorrow as his second. It is quite the honor, I might add,” he said, giving her a pleasant smile.

“Then, I trust you will make sure that you will keep my father safe and, most importantly, alive?” Ophelia asked, folding her arms across her chest.

“I will do whatever it takes to make sure the Teryn is safely returned to his family.”

She opened her mouth as if to say something but was cut off by Lady Landra before she could muster a word.

“Anyway, this is my lady-in-waiting, Iona,” Lady Landra said, interrupting the two as she motioned to the woman beside her. “Do say something, my dear.”

“It is quite the pleasure to make your acquaintance, my lady,” the elf—Iona said with such shyness. “The rumors of your beauty were not falsehoods, it seems.”

Ophelia blushed at her words. Although, she might have said the same about Iona. From afar, the elf looked merely pretty, but up close… it was an entirely different matter. Her honey-colored hair was long and worn in a beautiful crown plait as elven ears peeked out from the sides. Her large eyes were stunningly blue, like cornflowers, that sparkled when the light hit them. Ophelia smiled in thanks to the compliment.

“And yet that doesn’t seem to make it any easier to find a suitable match for her,” added the Teryna.

“I would say that you should be proud to have a daughter who’s most skilled, my lady,” Dairren interjects, offering Ophelia a smile.

“But alas, pride doesn’t get me any more grandchildren,” Eleanor sighed, looking to her daughter.

“Mother!” Ophelia groaned, not wanting to hear no more talk of marriage or even grandchildren.

“Well, I suppose we shall retire until the evening. We will see you all at dinner,” Lady Landra said, before taking her leave.

As she and Iona dismiss themselves and head back towards the castle, Dairren reaches for Ophelia's delicate hand and pressing his lips against it in a tender kiss, before peering up at her. “It was a pleasure to see you once more, my lady. Shall I see you later?”

At the corner of her eye, she saw Ser Gilmore tense slightly at the gesture.

“I—of course, Dairren,” Ophelia said sweetly, offering him a smile. Watching the young man leave, she felt her face burn from the flirtation.

“What a charming young man,” the Teryna mused.

“Mother, no,” Ophelia warned, not wanting to hear more of this.

Eleanor raised a brow. “No, what?”

“You know exactly what I’m talking about.”

The Teryna sighed. “You must marry at some point, Ophelia, and he’s a polite, handsome young man from a good family…”

“Yes, I know. I’m just… not ready is all. I do wish to enjoy my youth while I can, which I hope is something you can understand, mother.”

“Of course, my dear,” Eleanor said, finally defeated as she reaches to caress her daughter’s cheek. “By the Maker, how you have grown so quickly! I still remember when we used to walk around the gardens when you were little. Do you remember?”

Ophelia smiles fondly at the memory. “I do, actually. We would walk around, and you would continuously point out the different types of flowers as we passed. Afterward, we would sit below our favorite tree, the slightly crooked one, and you would read to me.”

“Yes,” the Teryna chuckled, as her hand fell back to her side once more. “You were always fond of stories about heroes and princesses…”

“Ser Gilmore, Fergus, and I used to play ‘princess in the tower’ numerous times when we were children,” Ophelia said with a laugh as she glanced over the Knight. “And sometimes we added a dragon… or two.”

“That too,” Eleanor said, with a slight sadness appearing in her eyes. “I love you, my sweet girl.”

“I love you too, mother.”

Reaching to tuck a stray strand behind Ophelia’s ear, the Ternya sighed. “Oh, how I wish you and Fergus didn’t grow up so quickly! Soon, you will be running the castle with your father gone while your brother leaves tonight. Have you said your goodbyes yet?”

Ophelia shook her head. “Not yet. We were actually on our way there before running into you.”

“Then I won’t keep you any longer. We can speak later if you like,” Eleanor offered, before embracing her daughter. When she finally pulled away, the Teryna looked over Ophelia and smiled, before taking her leave. She watched as her mother walked away, before making her way to the bedroom chambers with both Ser Gilmore and Amadis following behind.

As they grew nearer, Ophelia could hear her nephew through the open doorway. His tiny voice bringing a smile to her face.

“Will you bring me back a sward?” Oren asked, his eyes widening as he looked up at his father.

Fergus chuckled, kneeling before his son. “It’s sword, Owen, and I will find you the mightiest one that I can find.”

“Promise, papa?” Oren asked in that small voice that Ophelia loved so much.

“I promise,” Fergus agreed, while gently grasping his son’s shoulders. “And here is my sweet sister, coming to see me off.” He grinned, as Fergus noticed Ophelia entering the room from the corner of his eye. “With Roderick at her side, no less!”

Ser Gilmore bowed in greeting to the young lord while offering a smile. “I am duty-bound to protect your sister, my lord, even if she doesn’t need it no more.”

The words pierced through Ophelia’s heart as she reflects back to their previous conversation. It is quite apparent that he was hurt by the news… something she now regrets ever bringing to light with him.

“Sister?” Oren asked, confused. “But that’s Auntie Ophelia!”

Ophelia chuckled as she mussed his hair. “I am both actually.”

“Hey!” her nephew cried out.

“Mother and Father had insisted that I come to say goodbye since it could be quite some time before I will see you again…” she said, coming to stand near her brother.

Before Fergus can speak, his wife, Oriana, interrupted whatever it is that he was about to say. “Ophelia! Don’t speak like that in front of Oren!”

Her brother frowned. “She didn’t mean anything by it, love.”

“Of course not!” Ophelia said, immediately trying to fix her poor choice of words. “I only meant that the journey to Ostagar is quite long, and depending on the weather, it could be months until he returns.”

Oriana’s solemn expression remained, as it appeared that she was not convinced. However, she said nothing more of the matter.

“Besides," Ophelia grinned, placing a delicate hand on his armored shoulder. "Nothing could ever harm Fergus. He's one of our best warriors—well second best.”

"Ha! It seems not even I can surpass my little sister’s prowess with a sword and shield!” Fergus laughed. "It is a shame you aren't coming with me, though. It's going to be quite tiresome killing all those darkspawn by myself."

"A woman fighting in battle?" Oriana asked, slightly surprised. "In Antiva, the very idea of that would be... unthinkable!”

"Really?" Fergus's mouth contorted into a grin. "I always heard that Antivian women were dangerous."

Oriana cracked a smile. "Only with kindness and poison, my sweet husband."

Fergus's eyes widen before he lets out a round of laughter. Turning to Ophelia, he motioned back towards his wife. "You hear that? And this is from the woman who serves me my tea!"

"Honestly, for putting up with you so much, I'm actually surprised she hasn't yet." Ophelia chuckled, earning a laugh from both.

"Poison papa?" Oren gaped, with eyes wide. "Don't do that!"

Oriana knelt beside him, smoothing down his coppery hair, gently quieting him. "We're only joking Oren," his mother reassured him in a soothing voice.

"Besides," Ophelia continued from before. "Father isn’t so keen on sending me off into battle, just yet.”

“Which would be best, might I add. You would be much safer here within the castle walls than taking arms against… darkspawn.” Fergus remarked, frowning at the thought.

Ophelia arched a brow in response to her brother’s words, all while folding her arms across her chest. “You know well enough that I could handle myself in battle, dear brother. Simply ask Roderick!”

She looked over towards the Knight, who had been silently standing off to the side during the entirety of their conversation. Ophelia saw that he wore a smile upon his face, one that matched his bright, blue eyes.

“I’m not typically one who takes sides between the two of you, but she does speak the truth,” Roderick agreed, his eyes meeting hers. “I pity any poor fool who meets your sister in battle.”

Ophelia smiled as she felt a rush of pride coarse through her body at hearing the words.

"Even so, I'm not looking forward to the journey since we're quite short on men," Fergus said, shaking his head. "I still can't believe that Arl Howe's men are delayed again! You would think they were marching backward or something."

Her smile faltered, remembering the conversation her father had with the Arl of Amaranthine. The periodic glances towards the doors and the disappointment with finding out that a Grey Warden was here at the castle. Ophelia felt deep within her bones that something was off about the entire thing. However, there was nothing to be done about it. It wasn’t as if she could accuse the Arl of treachery with no proof…

"It's a shame Duncan won't be riding out with you though,” Ophelia said, bringing her thoughts back to the present. “Being a Grey Warden, I imagine he would be of great use against the darkspawn."

"A grey warden?" Oren exclaimed, his eyes widening with excitement. "Did he ride here on a griffin?"

"Shush, Oren." His mother chided. "Griffins only appear in stories now."

Fergus turned toward his sister. "I heard about there being a grey warden here, but I was never told why. Do you know?"

Ophelia nodded, her stomach knotting up as she glances over at Ser Gilmore. "Duncan has come here because he’s looking for recruits." She said, meeting her brother’s gaze. "Apparently, he has his eyes set upon Roderick."

Although she dared not to let it show, Fergus knew what to look for when something was amiss with his little sister. Even now, he saw as her demeanor changed in front of him. Although the two of them grew up together with Ser Gilmore. It was Ophelia who held the closest relationship with the Knight—as they spent countless days around each other.

She watched as her brother’s gaze shifted toward her friend. "Roderick is a good man and capable of holding his own in a fight," Fergus said, with a sad smile. "It is no surprise that Duncan would consider having him within his ranks."

“I appreciate the kind words, my lord,” Ser Gilmore said with a smile that no longer reached his eyes. “If I am to join the ranks of the Wardens, then let it be known that it has been an honor to be in the service of such a noble family.”

With a tight smile, Ophelia nodded in agreement. An unbearable silence has fallen upon them before the sound of Fergus clearing his throat echoing throughout the room. "Anyways," He continued, offering her a grin. "If it's any consolation, I'm sure I'll freeze my arse off in the southern rains. I will be quite jealous of you being here at the castle, little sister, all warm and safe."

"Don’t forget there’s better food here as well,” Ophelia remarked, cracking a smile.

Oriana let out a breath. "I'm so glad to hear you will be so miserable, my love."

Fergus chuckled. "I was only kidding." Letting out a deep breath, he looks over at the four of them. "Well, I should probably head out then. The darkspawn aren't going to kill themselves—although I wouldn’t lose sleep if they did.”

Oriana wrinkled her petite nose. "Fergus!"

Her brother opened his mouth but was instead interrupted by a voice coming from the doorway. "Good, you haven't left yet!"

They all turned to look where the voice had come from as both, Teyrn and Teyrna stride in together. "Actually, I was just about to,” Fergus said, rubbing the back of his neck.

Eleanor Cousland frowned as she pulled her son into an embrace. "Be well, my son." She said with such gentleness. "I will pray to the Maker for your safety, every day that you are gone."

"Thank you, Mother." He responded, the octane of his voice so low that Ophelia could barely hear his words. "You know well enough that no darkspawn can best me."

Stepping away from Fergus, she wiped away the treacherous tear that had escaped and made its way down her cheek. Afterward, Bryce Cousland stepped forward, embracing his son in his arms.

"Stay safe out there, my boy," The Teryn said, clasping his son's shoulder with a solemn smile spread across his face. "Both Howe, and I will see you in Ostagar.”

"The Maker sustain and preserve us all," Oriana spoke in prayer. "Watch over our sons, husbands, and fathers and bring them safely back to us."

"And bring us some ale and wenches while you're at it!" Fergus bellowed with a laugh.

Ophelia remembered how he never was one to like overly serious or ominous moments like these. It was something that she was thankful that stayed with him even after spending years preparing to become the next Teryn.

"Fergus!" Oriana scolded, shooting him a glare. "You would really say that in front of your mother?"

Fergus offered his wife a sheepish smile. "Err... for the other soldiers, I mean. I don't need any wenches since I have you, my love."

"What's a wench?" Oren asked, innocently. "Is that what you pull on to get the bucket out of the well?"

"No, my dear boy," Bryce chuckled, as he knelt beside the child. "A wench is a woman who pours the ale in a tavern." He then lowered his voice. "Or a woman who drinks a lot of ale."

"Bryce!" Eleanor exclaimed while stifling a laugh. "Maker's breath! It's like living with a pair of small boys. Thankfully I have a daughter who actually acts with decency."

A knowing look is exchanged between the two siblings, as Fergus is trying his best to suppress a laugh. “I will miss you, Mother, dear,” he managed after clearing his throat. “I’m sure Ophelia will take good care of you while father and I are gone. Isn’t that right, little sister?”

Ophelia resisted the urge to roll her eyes, not wanting to risk a scolding from their parents due to such childlike behavior. "Maker knows that Mother can handle herself. Always has.”

"That's true," Fergus said, with a smile upon his face. "Perhaps they should be sending her to Ostagar instead of me. She would scold those darkspawn back into the deep roads.”

"Well, I'm glad you find this so funny." Eleanor retorted.

"Enough, enough," Bryce chuckled, touching his wife's shoulder before glancing over to Ophelia. "If you haven't already, say your goodbyes, pup. You’ll want to get an early night’s rest since there will be much to do on the morrow.”

Ophelia nodded before walking over to Fergus and throwing her arms around him in an embrace. "Goodbye, dear brother." She said, trying to restrain the tears that threaten to come. "Fight well, and I will see you on your return.”

"Goodbye, little sister." He said, returning the gesture. “Do stay out of trouble, won’t you?”

Ophelia cracked a smile. “Anything for you, dear brother.”

Wishing the others good night, she turned on her heel with Ser Gilmore and Amadis following behind. Ophelia could hear her father strike up a conversation once more with her brother, as she began to head down the corridor toward her bed-chamber.

“Are you okay, Ophelia?” Roderick asked while he kept pace beside her. “Saying goodbye couldn’t be easy for you, especially since your brother had just returned.”

She quickly wiped a stray tear from her cheek. “No, but I will be. The upcoming months will be enduring, but it will keep my mind preoccupied. However, I must face them as a Teryn’s daughter and not as some weakminded child.”

“Just because you fear for their safety, doesn’t make you weak,” Ser Gilmore reminded her. “It makes you human, Ophelia. They are your family, after all.”

Ophelia let out a breath. “You’re right, of course, but you must remember that I am also a woman—some will already think I am not fit simply because of that fact. I must prove them wrong, Roderick. I must.”

“Of course, I’m sure you will do what you think is best for your people and for Highever,” Ser Gilmore said. “I have the utmost faith in you.”

Reaching her chambers, Ophelia looked up at the Knight—who was also her dearest friend and smiled. “Thank you, Roderick. It will make the couple months all the more bearable, after hearing those words. Goodnight, Roderick.”

“Goodnight, Ophelia,” he answered. “I will see you come morning.”

Ser Gilmore watched as Ophelia disappeared inside her room, along with her mabari hound. Taking his leave, he finally felt as his heart steadied its pace as it had quickened while being near the Teryn’s daughter as it often did. The Knight didn’t like to think much of it, but deep down, he knew his feelings towards her grew with every passing day to the point that it was almost unbearable. Not to mention the thought of being recruited into the Grey Warden ranks didn’t sit well with him either. He couldn’t comprehend the possibility of going a day without seeing her beauty. Perhaps tomorrow he will finally speak to her of the matter? Because the truth was… he loved her.

[artificialqueens]

That's so Sharon Needles (Shalaska) - Needles4prez

Summary: Sharon had convinced herself for a while now that Alaska had probably entirely moved on from their past years spent together.

AN: This is a short messy fic I quickly wrote after a pretty rough week. It’s cheesy and fluffy and extremely dumb. My apologies if the writing quality is poor, plenty of wine will do that to ya! I’m working on some more serious multi chapter fics for later, but figured this’ll do for now. <3

Simple 1.8k words

Sharon had convinced herself for a while now that Alaska had probably entirely moved on from their past years spent together. It’d been two months since they’d broken up and stopped talking and Sharon couldn’t prevent the thoughts of Alaska hooking up with other people. It was wrong to be fazed by the idea of someone you love bettering themselves by moving on, Sharon knew that much. And, yet she still dreaded the return to her apartment in Pittsburgh, every single night. Sharon hadn’t moved on. She was however, a good liar. Sharon Needles had the ability to plaster on a confident smile that told the world with ease, that she, simply needed no one to rely on for anything. Maybe it’d be an inspiring message to project to everyone, if it hadn’t been so damn untrue. Parts of Sharon’s life were blessed, she ensured that she never found herself becoming ungrateful for all that her friends and chosen family have done for her. She had secured a strong career for herself, built her life from the ground up, and succeeded in receiving a rewarding paycheck at the end of each month. All was well, to the eye of an outsider. But, no one saw the Sharon who would have outbursts, cursing Alaska’s name as any minor thing goes wrong.

Their apartment was much messier now that Alaska was gone, beer cans were scattered all over the floor’s surface, no longer a pretty blonde there to gladly pick them up after her self-proclaimed PBR Princess. Cooking rarely took place anymore, Sharon stumbling into the poxy home space in the late hours, occasionally able to catch a takeaway place in time. Sure, neither her or Alaska had been fantastic cooks to begin with, but they made it work. It was an enjoyable experience, laughter erupting from the two of them as they regularly managed to burn the bottom of their pan with something as simple as pasta bake. Sharon at most times can feel her mind slipping away, and next thing she knows, she’ll be stood in the centre of her kitchen envisioning Alaska wrapping her arms around her waist, slender arms squeezing with nothing but love. The worst times were always at night, and they only worsened when Sharon had to lay alone in bed, alienated and desperate for her previous lifestyle to somehow snap back into existence. Usually clinging to her cat Cerrone, or sometimes a pillow, in dire need for any form of touch; it constantly felt impossible to adapt to whatever this pitiful routine had become. Though it wasn’t easy, Sharon had for the past two months, avoided her most nearby gay bar like the plague. It would’ve been naive to think that she would manage to not come into contact with Alaska, and Sharon knew it’d hurt with more than she could handle if she did see her. Alaska would blatantly be doing just fine, upbeat and left scarless from the painful break up, while Sharon is cut and resentful. At least, that’s how things had been going before that night. That night at 11 PM where Sharon discarded the half-empty Chinese noodle box on her kitchen counter, assured herself she was better than this - she was Sharon Needles after all, and took out her favourite silk black dress from her closet, changing and throwing on a pair of heeled knee-high boots that flattered her shapely legs. A few years after being with Alaska, Sharon had admittedly started to eat much better and regularly than before, the tiniest sight of podge seeping above the tight fit of her undergarments. She was tired of weeping each night with no one by her side, tired of being terrified of the mere thought of bumping into Alaska at the bar they both loved so dearly, tired of pretending that she’s okay without the tall girl who had been her companion for almost 3 years now. It was ridiculous, maybe even pathetic. Sharon Needles had been fooling herself for two whole months now, and for what? If any time was her time, it was now. It was likely the alcohol that’d built up this steep hill of courage, and it worked for her. So, proudly, she slipped essentials into her purse, and exited her apartment complex, headed for the Blue Moon. The cold weather lingering on the streets brought a small chill to Sharon’s exposed skin, goosebumps rising and tickling the back of her neck, trailing its way down past her shoulders, and to the very bottom of her arms. She should’ve worn her leather jacket, but she knew if she spent any more time in her apartment, that this sudden rush of pride and bravery, would soon slowly fade. She brushed off the sensation, caressing her arms softly and swinging her long black hair over her shoulders and quickening her pace with determination. “Ouch, watch where you’re going for fucks sake!” A voice hisses, the sounds of whines and whimpers following behind. “Shit, I’m sorry.” Sharon quickly recovers from her collision with the other lady, holding out a hand apologetically for the girl who’s ass is currently on the sidewalk. The stranger reaches for the hand, and only as her head tilts up to connect her eyes with the clumsy person in front her, does it become clear to Sharon that it’s Alaska who’d toppled over. They stay silent for a moment as Alaska’s petite self gets heaved up, and Sharon can’t help but flush crimson at the awkward encounter. Prior to this, Sharon had rehearsed manys ways that the two would reunite, but this - was certainly not one of those ways. The blonde was repping a hot pink lipstick topped with a gloss, smokey eyeshadow, an obnoxious red bow the colour of Sharon’s cheeks tied into her tall ponytail, a tight red cocktail dress that fit her slender body perfectly; fabric clinging to her slim figure, hugging her long thin legs which made their existence known with thanks to the absence in length of the dress. Sharon tried not to stare too hard, but the way she had wiggled her body to get back on her feet caused the skirt of her dress to hitch up even higher. “I miss you, Alaska.” Sharon had never been one to beat around the bush, the intensity of her bluntness normally too much for people to know how to work with. It wasn’t always quite this bad, however. “How many beers?” It wasn’t an angry response, infact, the words were hushed like a whisper. Alaska was the only person who truly knew Sharon beneath the surface, the only person who had seen her vulnerable side, the self-doubt, the lack of confidence. She wasn’t stupid, this boldness stemmed from someplace else than just her natural mindset. “Two,” Sharon wanted to deny having had any, but knew better. She shoved her hand into her purse and rumadged it around blindly in search for a cigarette, or maybe a vape, or maybe a beer - any vice that would help in coping with whatever the fuck this was. A pack of cigarettes were closest to her grasp, so she settled for one and slipped it between her lips, bringing her lighter up and letting out a curse of aggravation under her breath as it stubbornly fails on her a couple times. Alaska snatched the lighter out from her hand, lazily pushing it back into Sharon’s purse with one hand, and stealing the cigarette with the other. This time, she places it between her own lips, holding in a cackle at the sight of Sharon who’s smiling smugly at her as she lights the cigarette with her much more trustworthy lighter, exhaling the smoke and blowing it over to Sharon’s face. “Why wait so long if you missed me that much?” Alaska huffs childishy, raising an eyebrow questioningly, and also, a little teasingly. Alaska had been impatiently waiting like a Princess in a tower for Sharon to cave into the pain of the quiet two months, admittedly experiencing aches in the pit of her belly as time continued to pass and concern began threatening her. “Oh, wait, did I say, I missed you? I was talking about Cerrone, he missed you.” She received an audible groan and a pair of rolling eyes for that one. Alaska purposely breathed out more smoke in Sharon’s direction and her lips suddenly curled up into a knowing smirk, one that Sharon had been all-too familiar with. “I have a boyfriend, anyways…” She trailed off, head tilted in favour to her left with two fingers now pressing on Sharon’s bottom lip. Sharon instinctively parted her lips and adjusted her head to take both the fingers in her mouth, sucking long and frustratingly slow; provoking a small gasp from the content blonde. Alaska snappily dropped the cigarette to the floor and crushed it with her pink heel, quickly returning back to Sharon who’s in a state of complete awe, dragging her fingers out of her mouth and down to Sharon’s chin, ensuring a stripe of dark lipstick marks the journey. “Even if that were true, you know you’ll always be mine.” Alaska shrugged but never denied it. Sharon, getting impatient, grabbed Alaska’s head and pulled her in for a passionate and heated kiss. Alaska’s arms snaked around Sharon’s neck and forcefully brought them closer till their chests slammed together in a motion on the verge of hurting. Sharon’s hands crept down to Alaska’s ass and she groped it, squeezing tightly at the sensation of Alaska’s tongue slipping into her mouth. Sharon could taste the smoke on Alaska’s tongue as it sloppily grazed along Sharon’s teeth and licked a stripe along the roof of her mouth before diving down to tangle their tongues together in an intertwining mess. The actions continued and repeated themselves for a while, until the two collectively pulled back panting and both in search for air. “I love you Alaska,” Sharon’s breathing was still a little unsteady, and her usually haunting tone was trembling as though she were a teenager all over again.  

“I love you too, Noodles.” Sharon bent herself down to be around level with Alaska's stomach, her arms holding securely around the tiny waist of the the tall girl, lifting her up and swinging her body over her shoulder. Alaska is pulled into a fit of girlish giggles as her head dangles about only able to see Sharon’s back, excitedly kicking her legs about while Sharon begins to retrace her steps from earlier and return back to their apartment. “Cerrone’s gonna be ecstatic to have his other mom back.” They both chuckle like little kids and Sharon feels at home again. Truthfully, she couldn’t recall the exact reason for their breakup in the first place, it was likely a petty drunken fight that only resulted in a breakup because neither wanted to apologise first. Within the time frame of almost three years, it hadn’t been the first time a messy breakup had occurred.

“Hey, you know, this kinda felt like the other night when I was carrying that corpse back to my place.”

“That’s so you, Sharon Needles.”

*

Sharon awoke to the blaring sound of her phone’s alarm. She reached her arm over to her bedside table to shut it off, and when she settled back into bed she sprawled her legs out, expectant to feel the warmth of her lover. Instead, her comfort dissolved at the sensation of; nothing. She was still alone, the exact same as every other night before. It had been pure fantasy. She clutched onto her sheets and shoved her face into the stack of pillows all piled on her side of the bed, crying angrily at herself. Moments had been bad, but this was evil.

[livralph]

Self control i

~ Wolfstar fake dating au ~

“This will end in disaster.”

“It won’t end in disaster!”

“Well it cant end well.”

“It could end well!”

Lily sighed. “It was still a bad idea.”

“What part of this was a bad idea?” Remus’ voice had steadily been becoming louder since they’d started talking, and it had finally reached a point where students around them seemed to be listening in rather than reading whichever books they were studying from.

Lily grabbed Remus’ sleeve and pulled him to a corner of the library near the very back that was practically always empty. Not many people had even stepped into the entire section dedicated to flobber worms.

“Remus, do you really think this can end in any other way that him finding out?” Lily’s eyes were wide and pitying.

He winced and pulled a face as if he was trying to convince himself that it would all be okay, that he could hide the way he felt about Sirius in their new arrangement, but he gave up and buried his face in his hands. He’d spent all day thinking of ways this would end well and all of them had major downfalls. “I know your right, Lils. I know. It’s just that... I can’t say no to him. You know I can’t. He asked for a favour...” Remus was searching her face for some sort of understanding, which he did find, accompanied by, yes, that would be pity.

She breathed in deeply then shrugged. “It is what it is, right? And it is utterly stupid for you to have agreed to pretend to date the guy you actually are in love with.”

“I know.” He groaned, then took his hands from his face to look at Lily again, a teasing smile in place on his face. “Anyway, I don’t know if you can talk. Aren’t you still pretending that James is your least favourite person in the world?”

Lily went bright red then hit Remus lightly on the arm. “Stop changing the subject.”

“No. Please change the subject we have a potions essay due tomorrow and I’ve helped Peter and Sirius finish theirs pretending I’d done mine.”

~~~

Remus wasn’t quite sure why it had happened. It was after the moon. He was out of the hospital wing late at night, preferring to sleep in his own dorm, surrounded by his best friends. He’d gotten back to the fat lady’s portrait, said the password. Walked past a few people still finishing homework, then up to the boys dorm. Walked to his trunk, changed into pyjamas. Brushed his teeth, gotten into bed. The usual routine. He’d expected to take the usual two hours more to get to sleep in peace.

Then Sirius was pulling back the hangings around his bed just enough to climb in beside Remus. For a moment Remus had thought it was a dream so he turned onto his side to face Sirius, who was facing him. When he felt a twinge on his side from last nights injury he realised that, yes, this was real and, yes, Sirius was currently so close to Remus face that he could feel his breath fanning over his lips.

Sirius pulled his wand from under the duvet and cast a wordless charm which, Remus assumes, would drown out any sound that came from within. “Hi.” Sirius said with a shit-eating grin on his face either meaning he was completely aware of how little his friend was breathing, or that he was completely oblivious and has a plan. Remus had severely wanted it to be the latter.

“Hi.” He replied, realising Sirius had said something and he certainly would realise that Remus felt completely incapable of anything in that moment if he didn’t reply

“I need a favour.”

Remus felt his breathing stop entirely for a moment.

Sirius swallowed, smile faltering a little as if he had decided that this was not a good idea.

“What?” Remus said when there had been a minute of silence. “Whatever it is I’ll help.” He winced internally. Probably not the best thing to say, however true it was.

“Okay.” Sirius nodded, rolling onto his back. “Shit. Right. Okay. First thing is, I’m gay.” He stopped there for a second and before he had any time to even process it he was continuing. “I told my parents this summer, which was why I left, they got about ten times worse than they had been. James and his mum and dad- my mum and dad now- know too. That’s what had happened when we sent owls to you and Peter at three in the morning telling you to come over. I wasn’t really ready to tell you both yet but... y’know.” Sirius looked over at Remus, who nodded, understanding not being ready to tell friends- however close and accepting. He’d told Lily months before he’d even thought of telling anyone else.

“Second thing.” He continued, looking back up at the ceiling. “You came out near the end of last year. Everyone knows your bi. That’s...” Remus could see something in Sirius’ expression that he couldn’t quite understand. “It’s amazing, Re. Really. No one in our school was openly anything and then you just came out and then there was that group of girls a few weeks after you and a few other guys. It’s just incredible.” Sirius hand found Remus’ under the duvet but he didn’t say anything about it, so neither did Remus. “Incredible.”

Remus smiled sheepishly, feeling heat rise up his neck. He tried to pretend his heart wasn’t beating higher in his chest than it ever had before. “You, um.” He cleared his throat, which suddenly felt constricted. “You had a favour to ask me?”

Sirius tightened his grip on Remus hand slightly. “Yeah. You don’t have to do it, you don’t have to say you will if it’ll make you uncomfortable. Will you pretend to go out with me? Just for a few weeks. Just so I can come out. Because I don’t want it to be this thing that float around as a rumour that’ll get warped and retold until it’s completely untrue. Nothing big. Just fake dates, small couple things. Nothing that makes either of us uncomfortable. You don’t have to do it.”

Remus wasn’t speaking. His mind was running over everything Sirius had said in the past few minutes. He was gay. He thought Remus was amazing for coming out. He was asking Remus to fake date him. As if that was an easy decision to make. As if Remus wasn’t currently holding Sirius’ hand and feeling as if he was walking through a dream so, so close to one he’d had so many times. As if Remus could ever say no to him, especially under such circumstances.

Maybe he’d waited to long to reply, he probably had. His thoughts may have felt like they were going at a million miles an hour but in reality they were not and minutes had definitely passed since either of them had spoken. Sirius was pulling his hand from Remus’ taking silence as his way of saying no. “It’s fine. You don’t have to. It’s kinda stupid anyway- I’ll find another way to do it. Something like that Hufflepuff girl did the first day back after summer. Y’know, sending a howler to the great hall saying she was gay then walking through the door with her robes dyed rainbow. Sort of disappointed I didn’t do that now. But I’ll-“

“No- Sirius.” Remus said, reaching out for Sirius hand again. “I’ll do it. Start tomorrow?” He said it as if it were business or some homework assignment rather than what it was. He had to. If he hadn’t he’d probably have cried instead, and that would have been worse.

Sirius grinned, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Of course.”

~~~

Remus woke up wondering if last night had even happened. Maybe it was some weird dream he’d had while drugged up on Madam Pomfrey’s healing potions. An ominous sinking feeling in his stomach made him think otherwise. As did the curtains being thrown aside by a very, very buzzed Sirius black who was holding liquid eyeliner in his hand and grinning wildly. “merlin, Pads. How many coffees have you had this morning? Actually, no. Tell me what time it is and then answer.”

“Seven.” Sirius beamed. “And two. Or three. Or four.” He furrowed his eyebrows. “One of the three.” He shrugged. “Anyway, Lily said your literally the best person at eyeliner in the whole of Hogwarts. So please help me I’ve stabbed myself in the eye six times and it looked awful.”

Remus sighed, rubbing his eyes, then sitting up in his bed. He waved a hand, motioning for Sirius to sit down in front of him. He did so, legs crossed with his knees touching Remus’. Sirius passed over the eyeliner bottle.

Remus took the lid of then traced Sirius eye with the brush, telling him to keep his eyes closed once he was done on one eye before moving onto the next. When he finished, Remus didn’t move away, using the excuse of making sure the makeup was perfect to be close to Sirius in private. It only lasted a second because James was pulling open the bed hangings, words half way out of his mouth when he saw the boys, inches apart from each other in a seemingly very intimate way.

“Oh.” James said, not moving. He looked to Remus, who had one hand cupping Sirius face and the other resting on it, eyeliner brush a few centimetres off his face. Then he turned to Sirius, who hadn’t opened his eyes, but did slowly turn his head to be facing in James’ general direction. “Wait, Remus how the hell did you do that?” Remus shrugged, closing the eyeliner -now now touching sirius’ face- and taking his wand and waving it at Sirius face in a short complicated hand movement.

Sirius shuddered a little then muttered, “can I open my eyes now, Re?” His hand had slipped to be resting on Remus lower thigh. Somehow, he hadn’t noticed this until Sirius squeezed it once, making Remus jump.

Remus briefly wondered whether they were playing up the couple thing for James too, or if this was just their normal now. If it had always been their normal, but he’d only just noticed because he was hoping beyond everything that Sirius could possibly like him back. Before he wouldn’t even allow himself to think about it, well, not consciously. His dreams were sadly ruins his control. “Go for it. And you’ll have to ask me to take it off because I found this charm for Lily a year or two ago that makes it so it is waterproof, and so it doesn’t smudge.”

Sirius smirked, “not the only thing I’ll ask you to take off, babe.” He followed this up with a wink.

Remus was going to die. He put his head back on his pillow and buried his face into it, groaning loudly. To James this probably seemed to be because he was embarrassed by his boyfriend, but it was actually because he now had the memory of Sirius Black actually saying those words to him. The two of them were howling with laughter. After a few seconds of hearing this Remus sat up, intertwined his fingers with Sirius’, smiled unsettlingly sweetly at him then said in a low voice, “if you say things like that around our friends, babe, then maybe I won’t take anything off you.”

Yes. Remus was going to die- and by the way James was laughing so hard that he was just wheezing, he already was. At that moment Peter chose to walk in the room, robes on and toothbrush in his moth. He froze at the sight in front of him. First he looked at James, then Remus, and lastly Sirius, who had swallowed thickly at his fake boyfriends words and then nodded solemnly. However sincere this seemed, he doubted it would actually happen, seeing as Sirius was the biggest drama queen in the world. The previous year Dumbledore had rewarded points to him on five separate occasions for making such a show of pretending to be disappointed by recieving yet another detention. (McGonagall had removed the points immediately, but the thought was there.)

So, based on this, yes. Remus was going to emotionally die.

~~~

He’d told Lily that afternoon it was fake. She’d barely opened her mouth to say how good it was for him when he told her. He couldn’t deal with all of his close friends telling him how amazing it was that they’d ‘finally gotten together’. Sitting in the common room with her at three in the morning while sharing a blanket and a pot of tea a house Elf had offered to bring was much more therapeutic than lying awake in his bed listening to James try and weasel details about how they’d started going out from Sirius. Lily and Remus hadn’t spoken about it since the library earlier, instead discussing class and a muggle book they’d both read.

They were both ignoring it- the elephant in the room. And eventually Remus was going to talk about everything Sirius said and did the previous night. He knew it. All he’d told lily was that he’d asked for a favour and that favour was fake dating. He hadn’t told her about the hand holding. Or the faces inches apart. Or the strange atmosphere in his bed before James threw open the curtains, and for a few seconds after.

He knew Lily wanted to talk about it, she just wasn’t bringing it up. She wanted to ask why he’d said yes again, why he’d agreed to put himself through something that would so obviously hurt him. It was obvious in the way she was only talking about spells and potions and magical creatures, rather than students and friends.

“Ask what you want to, Lils.” He finally said, as she was halfway through the symptoms of doxie poisoning.

Lily let out a heavy breath. “You know me too well. I can’t hide anything from you.” She huffed again.

“Same goes for me.”

Lily didn’t respond, instead staring at the fire. “How did he ask, Re? You can say no to Sirius. You’ve said no about so many pranks, plans, ideas, everything. Why not this?”

Remus told her what happened, how they’d been so close that he could feel the heat radiating from Sirius body, how they’d been holding hands, how everything made him feel more in love that he constantly did. How if he’d moved himself less than two inches closer together they could have kissed. “He was lying their waiting for me to say something. Holding my hand. I can say no to pranks, Lily, things that aren’t plausible or could hurt people. I can’t say no when he’s vulnerable and needs nothing more than some help. I always have to help him.”

Remus had silent tears travelling down his cheeks and he pressed his face into her shoulder. “I needed to do this. For- for him.” He swallowed, trying to keep his voice steady. “He’s helped me so much. So much. He deserves the same.”

“I know.” Lily muttered, putting her arms around his shoulders and hugging him tightly. “I know, Remus... but you shouldn’t help him when the only collateral damage is going to be you.”

[wanheda0313]

Time Will Never Heal this Wound

This is my first fic I’ve written for the fandom and the first thing I’ve written for a long time so it’s probably not very good. This is based of an incorrect quote me and @thedorkofoz were discussing over vc on the sixcord which is Maggie told Lizzie about Anne’s death so... Enjoy

She knew that Anne had heard the whispers. Everyone had heard them. Henry moving on with another woman. A rumour like that was hard to hide and even harder for it not to spread around the court like the plague.

She wasn’t dumb. She saw the looks Henry gave to a particular to one Jane Seymour. Anne’s own Lady-In-Waiting. Her friend.

It briefly brings her back to time when Jane Seymour was Anne Boleyn. Long ago to a time when a Spanish Princess ruled side by side with an English King.

The king, bewitched by the new arrival at court and had quickly forgotten about his wife and daughter for a new and younger plaything. Someone who could give him a son.

For Anne, sneaking around with the king behind the Queen’s back, it became a game. Only to arrive by morning to help the queen get ready for the day with her none the wiser. Until she was.

Maggie had seen it all during her time as Lady-In-Waiting for two of Henry’s wives. In her opinion, soon to be three wives.

From Aragon to Anne. Anne to Jane… Now, history is repeating itself and Maggie can tell this will not end well. It never ends well, she’s begun to see. Never for the wives that is.

Secrets among the courtiers and ladies is never a good thing. When one secret is about a certain queen and reaches the ears of a king who wishes to wed a new wife, that's when it starts to become a dangerous game where someone will get hurt.

And in Maggie’s experience, it's never the husband who gets hurt.

Once upon a time, Henry was happy and in love with Anne. It is true. The fire, the intelligence, the wit and the charisma that Anne was so well known for, Henry loved it all.

Once upon a time he loved her but not anymore.

Maggie should’ve done something. To warn Anne. She’d do anything to make this outcome different but what could she do to persuade the king. She was powerless. Helpless. She’d be given the same fate as Anne without any questions asked. And who would look after Lizzie once she and Anne were gone.

What Henry wants, he gets no matter the innocent lives that get ruined in the process

She’d been with Anne since Anne was a new Lady-In-Waiting for the new queen. They’d become close friends quickly. She supported Anne through miscarriages and stillbirths. She helped Anne with Lizzie. Watched with Anne as she grew up into a curious toddler.

Anne was playing with Lizzie in the nursery when the guards came. Maggie was there watching and waiting.

“Look after her. Please,” She had pleaded.

“Dear friend, whatever they say about me. What slander they announce or have decreed I have done. Make sure she knows the truth. That I tried my best to be a good queen and that her mother loved her very much and would do anything for her,” Anne had whispered that sorrowful night, before walking away with the guards.

Her head held high and her gaze straight. And a crying Lizzie and a mournful friend left behind. The sounds of footsteps fading away.

Days later Anne’s been condemned to die. The accusations, the crimes, they’re untrue but when a king is convinced that Anne must be gotten rid of, there is no winning. She was doomed from the start but that didn’t help smother the flicker of hope she had until the verdict was read out.

Guilty of incest, the judge called out. The echo revelation around the room. Yet, Anne kept her gaze towards the front. Her mouth barely moving in a prayer. A punch in the gut.

Guilty of Adultery. It rings out. The death sentence. Anne doesn’t falter. It leaves Maggie spinning.

Guilty of treason. Silence.

The silence rings around the room. Anne Boleyn will die for her actions against the crown. Against an unjust crown and ruler. Maggie feels the wind knocked out of her.

The next few days are the most vivid days of her life. She remembers everything she did. Every moment spent with Lizzie. Every time Lizzie asked for her mum but Maggie didn’t have the heart to tell Lizzie that her mum wasn’t coming back.

One day though, she will need to know.

One day she will hear the whispers of court about her mother. The disgrace of the country. The whore. The witch for leading Henry away from being on the path of God and onto a path of damnation.

She’ll never hear about Anne’s kindness to others, her intelligence and wits to rival the great men of the court. For all these will be swept under the rug. Forgotten as Henry moves onto the next wife. And then the next. Then the next. Until his death. Never satisfied.

Until it becomes a distant memory in the ever changing court goers.

Maggie will never forget though. She will never forget the nights talking to Anne when they were young Ladies-In-Waiting serving a foreign queen to when Anne herself was queen. She’ll never forget the quiet fire that roared in Anne’s eyes. Blazing away during the countless arguments she heard.

Her quiet night time talks about improving the lives of the commoners. The intelligence and the grace that Anne was villainized for, were the very traits that Maggie admired the most.

The night before Anne was to be executed, Maggie sneaks out. Under the cover of darkness, she leaves the castle. And she runs.

Runs to the place that if she’s caught, she’ll be sent to. Runs to the place where her best friend, is being held. Counting down the seconds, minutes, hours to her death.

She runs through the tower with an ease. The guards know her, she won’t be stopped.

She stops at the cell she’s been running to.

“Anne,” She whispers into the darkness

A ruffle of cloth is barely audible in the ever present silence.

“Maggie?”

The dim candle light barely envelopes the room but it's enough to see the bag under Anne’s eyes. The tears she’s cried.

“Is, is she safe?” A whisper. A voice of a mother who knows she isn’t leaving this cell alive. The voice of someone who only cares about the safety of her daughter.

“Yes. She asks for you. Every single time. I don’t have the heart to tell her but I fear I may need to.”

A sigh echoes around. Bouncing off the walls into the silent night.

“Please. Tell her. She’s young… Too young for this but she deserves to hear it from someone who loves her unconditionally. And since I’m not going to be there and Henry only loves with conditions, you need to tell her for me.”

Anne chuckles softly but it quickly fades away. Replaced by an ever thickening silence.

“I will.” A nod barely visible in the dim candle light.

“I will tell her that you loved her very much and you wish it didn’t end like this. I will tell her what an admirable woman her mother was from the moment I met her, to the moment she died.”

“Thank you. You have always been a true friend. I will miss you but please, leave. Do not get in trouble for visiting me, for Henry will have you in here with me.”

“I will.” A silent promise.

As Maggie turn away into the darkness she hears a whisper.

“Maggie,” She turns around.

“Promise me you’ll raise her to me intelligent and witty and to never think she is less than anyone. You promise me that she will know that her mother loved her more than anything that this world could produce. You promise me that she will know the truth of me and my life.”

The final wishes of a condemned queen.

“I swear upon my life that I will uphold this promise. She will never forget you Anne,”

Maggie spots the familiar smile and fire that she has come to know. It fills her with melancholy for this may be the last time she will see Anne alive.

She slips out of the tower and into the dark and cold night. Dread filling every part of her body for the coming morning.

The next morning was cold and miserable. Maggie makes her way to the Tower of London with the other Ladies.

The mood is dark and somber. No one wanting to make conversation for one of their own, a beloved mistress was soon to be gone.

The wait is anxiety inducing. Then she sees the familiar brown hair and face.

Her head is held high. Her gaze straight, scanning the crowd. Even walking to her death, she holds the grace of a queen.

She kneels down. Laying her head on the block. She has come here to die. And no one can take this away from here.

“Good Christian people, I am come hither to die, according to law, for by the law I am judged to die, and therefore I will speak nothing against it.”

This captures the crowd’s attention. The chattering and cheers from the crowd silenced by the last words of a disgraced queen.

“I come here only to die, and thus to yield myself humbly to the will of the King, my lord. And if in my life, I did ever offend the King’s Grace, surely with my death I do now atone.”

Nothing Anne did for the king was ever enough. No matter the heartbreak, the stress. Henry kept pushing. And pushing until he had enough. And condemned her to death.

“I come hither to accuse no man, nor to speak anything of what whereof I am accused, as I know full well that aught I say in my defense doth not appertain to you. I pray and beseech you all, good friends, to pray for the life of the King, my sovereign lord and yours, who is one of the best princes on the face of the earth, who has always treated me so well that better could not be, wherefore I submit to death with good will, humbly asking pardon of all the world.”

Maggie can tell Anne is trying to sound genuine but she can hear the superficial words. Henry took Anne away from Lizzie. The only person Anne cared about.

“If any person will meddle with my cause, I require them to judge the best. Thus I take leave of the world, and of you, and I heartily desire you all to pray for me. Oh Lord, have mercy on me! To God I commend my soul!”

A few moments pass. The audience replying her words in their minds then the sword comes down.

Maggie turns her head almost in preparation for the blow. She hears the thud and the cheers.

She walks away. Back to the palace. Noting that the king isn’t even attending. This time there is small chatter and conversation amongst the courtiers and ladies. Maggie stays silent the entire time. Too busy mourning the loss of her best friend to an unjust king who’s want for power and an heir cost the life of an innocent woman.

She walks into the nursery where Lizzie is playing. Her eyes light up upon seeing Maggie enter the room. It breaks Maggie’s heart.

She runs as best as she can on her short legs to Maggie.

“Maggie!” Lizzie squeals.

“Where’s mama?” She says looking around. Just like Anne would play where Anne would hide around the room and Lizzie would try to find her.

She walks around looking under things and moving things around.

“Mama!” She calls out into the empty room with a childish glee.

Maggie sighs. Knowing that Lizzie needs to know.

She picks up Lizzie and sits down on Anne’s favourite chair.

Maggie doesn’t know how to tell her.

“Mama…” She tries, “Your mama isn’t coming back home. She’s gone to heaven to be with angels. Before she flew away, she wanted me to tell you that she loves you very much,” Maggie starts to choke up.

She can see the tremble of Lizzie’s bottom lip.

“She didn’t want to leave you but she had to fly away. She wants you to know that she will never stop loving you and will always be proud of you.”

“Mama. Gone?”

A nod.

Lizzie starts to wail. Maggie starts crying as well. Unleashing her tears and emotions that's she’s been holding onto for the entire day.

It feels like hours passed. Lizzie long ago fell asleep on Maggie’s shoulder. Maggie feels as if she is right about to when she feels a hand on her shoulder and a whisper in a familiar voice.

“I’m so proud of you both. I will always love you Lizzie,”

She slowly turns around to see the barely visible smile of Anne Boleyn before she fades away.

[fleshbetty24-blog]

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[princess--catherine]

Maybe y’all will hate me for this, I’m all for women’s rights and the Me Too movement but has it maybe taken a turn it shouldn’t have? I can already feel the hatred

Just in the past couple weeks I’ve seen at least 3 “predators/rapists exposed”, and after looking into it I saw no predatory behavior to expose that was given. And people are losing their shit over this “cancelation?” The evidence for this one? “Had a minor backstage”...you think that didn’t and doesn’t currently happen with idk, every Disney star EVER and boy band on the radio? I’m sure a portion of Billie Eilish fans who’s parents buy backstage passes are REAL young, is she cancelled too? Since when does having a minor in your presence = any type of sexual behavior? This allegation causally mentions “backstage minor” and quickly moves to “predator” with no cohesion there. Since when does an adult simply being around a minor automatically make you guilty of doing sick shit? The “evidence” shown was pretty pathetic: cropped and blocked out texts with no name as to who it’s from, no name but said star predator, no time stamp or date, no pics, no voice memos, no emails, no proof of any kind that there was any truth to the claims, no detail, no real allegation actually even made from what I saw. Unless the “so and so did this” part was in invisible ink. I could literally google the date of a ‘insert famous person here’ concert or general tour dates, and do the same with a texting app or with someone else’s phone. This is an Accusation on someone of a serious sex crime on the sole basis maybe 5 texts, some of which are hidden, and ALL of which are anonymous, detail no criminal activity, are never worth ending or attempting to make sure someone’s career over.

Another one I saw was an explanation that another social media person made a somewhat crude comment/gusture towards a woman he knew but wasn’t super familiar with. One time, no actual touching. He was later told by a friend “not cool, other lady friend did not like”, he did as he should have and apologized, and it didn’t happen again- admittedly on both sides. The two girls told him everything was cool and okay, no harm no foul, don’t worry about it. It didn’t happen again and the friendship continued. Days later, “evidence” comes out from one of them citing him as a sexual predator for this situation. This incident. Yeah, it’s not cool to get in peoples space or compliment them in certain ways if your friendship is not on that level and it hasn’t been established. That I agree with, that it simply wasn’t very polite, but a) no one was actually touched physically in anyway and b) the “crude” comment from my understanding was about an outfit fitting her well or being firm fitting. Yeah, that might make ya feel a lil icky, but there was no sexual suggestion or threat. There’s a huge difference between unwanted attention and sexual harassment. Someone else later gets involved but says she’s “not comfortable/willing to discuss” but still insists he’s a predator but doesn’t show a single shred of any involvement or information. If I was these people being falsely accused, getting death treats and doxxed, and ultimately, “cancelled”/therefore loss of income possibly long term , with basically no evidence or someone saying shit like “yes, that’s a predator. Nobody gets to know why I’m saying that though. I don’t want to relive it, my bad. You horrible people need to stop supporting this sex offender!” I’d be sueing the shit out of someone and everyone for slander. Like this is unreal to me. It really blows my mind.

Before you message me hateful shit, hear me out. I’m not saying these guys are stand up, amazing, perfectly well behaved dudes. I’m not saying they’ve never done anything predatory or wrong before in their lives or careers. Lord knows narcissistic and higher than thou types run entertainment. I’m sure they all got their attitude and behavioral problems. I’m just saying the info I just read and described is almost nothing being real generous, no rational person sees that and labels someone a sex offender. You’re accusing someone of a very serious crime, in a lot of cases a fat ole felony, being a RSO list sometimes for a lifetime. Bill Cosby? Deserve it. Weinstien? Deserve it. Epstein? Deserved to be under the jail. I understand there’s not always physical evidence, or maybe there’s not enough to build a case/a case is unwanted by victim. Some say they want people to know and be warned. If that’s what you truly want, you truly truly are trying to protect others, go in 150%. Everything you got. But when this person publicly and openly calling someone out by name for being a “rapist/sexual predator”, absolutely dragging them thru the mud, and the reasoning, the justification for this is that he was dating other women? nah sis. That’s not how this works, getting played, while scummy, is NOT RAPE/SEXUAL ASSAULT/etc. (*this is excluding things that don’t apply to this particular story like recanting consent or knowingly passing on an STI) So sure, he’s a probably a POS, clearly unloyal, he’s maybe learned the art of sweet talkin his way into this one way monogamous relationship, and I frankly wouldnt feel bad if one of those girls who got played popped 3 of his tires, bought a fuck ton of spiders and sneak them into his bedroom or something. But not jail or prison. What he did (unless other info comes out) isn’t something to be uplifted or encouraged, it’s poor, unfair behavior. But what he did is not CRIMINAL. It’s just shitty and inconsiderate. And I know y’all are reading this thinkin “fuck this bitch”, making assumptions before you read a fraction of what I’m saying.

So let me explain a situation I was accidentally involved in a few years ago with someone who was “famous” around those parts and had lots of fans and groupies. Let’s call him “Lee”. Long story short, a friend and I were with him and different other people basically from like 8-9 pm to around 4 am. He was alone (out of my sight) only 3 times: once to use the bathroom at my friends before leaving, once in the men’s bathroom at a club, and for maybe 5 minutes when I had to change at my friends place before going back over. They lived in the same complex and stuff so it was basically throwing on some sweats and taking an elevator down. We hangout, drink, smoke, talk. Lowkey, chill.

I wake up the next day, someone texted me this link about “Lee” raping a girl. I’m thinking “holy shit, that’s scary and insane, we were just with him last night drinking and shit.” Keep reading...it says it was the night before. Same date we were with him. And the time the assault supposedly took place was when we had come back to his place, where other people were already there, we were sitting there forever talking/whatever, this girl who pointed the finger was not even in the room and left before we did. She poked her head in once and asked where Lee’s roommate was. He told her cookout, it’s late so it’ll be a minute. Asked her if she wanted to hang out with us. She declined. So I figured maybe this info was wrong somehow and at the time I wasn’t making the connection between that girl and this story. I was like, no way a girl would lie about that of all things and especially knowing it’d likely get picked up by the local media, or at least local gossip. Her life here would be over. My friend and I decided to go talk to the police even though I avoid the damn police at all costs. The first thing I asked this officer was: “are you POSITIVE this is the date, place, and time, and are you POSITIVE “Lee” is who she is accusing?” And I asked that mostly because I was not about to defend or vouch for someone about a situation I wasn’t present for. Also, I wasn’t the biggest fan of “Lee”, so I sure as shit I wasn’t getting myself involved and going to bat for him without knowing it’s right. The Officer was very adamant that all that info was correct, victim was very sure. I explained to him everything I explained above, but I’m sure in better detail and included texts, pics, videos all with times, plus receipts showing how this isn’t adding up. He wasn’t alone the entire night and early morning. Officer ask me if she (the victim) was visiting a roommate of Lee’s, if they were sleeping together during her visit, I told him the truth which was that I didn’t really know for sure but it was a possibility. He told me somebody else had claimed she was no longer welcome for unknown reasons and believed this to be be related. I explain to the officer that I won’t speak on her time with the roommate because I saw her only long enough for her to ask a question and respond to another. Before she peeped out the door, I had no clue anyone was in there. I said I think she told me her name but I’m awful with names even sober so. He started getting kinda hostile and cutting me short. I repeated exactly what I told him the first time: I’m only speaking on what I witnessed and what I know to be true. So, if you and she are correctly reciting the time, place, person being accused, this accusation is untrue. He first makes a bitchy threat like “you know these girls who lie for these athlete boys can really get in trouble? They all end up broke after the NFL anyway if they even make it. Lying for a friend is illegal, that’s breaking the law and will get YOU in jail.” I lost all my fear of speaking to a police officer at this point because they KNOW this man did not just call me a liar to my face despite my 1:2 of the evidence already fucking up this accusation. I told him that I honestly wasn’t a fan either professionally or personally of “Lee” and I would lie for no one regardless of friendship or status about this, I’d turn in my own flesh and bloood brother and sing like a bird if I caught him doing any sex offender shit. So again, I told this slow man with 2 braincelle this was the reason I asked about how sure he was and he believed the victim was, on the time, place, person, etc. Officer says something along the lines of “well, something happened to this girl and this boy’s gonna be hurtin for it. Someone’s getting charged here.” Which I dunno bout y’all, maybe I’m reading it wrong. But What I gathered from that is: “I’ve decided to be judge and jury in this situation and moreorless declare this young man guilty despite evidence in front of my own eyeballs that shows that there is a good chance the accused is innocent.

I have no idea why this happened. But after we spoke to that dickhead cop it was dropped relatively quickly. I don’t remember now if she pulled the charges herself or the state denied to prosecute. And even still, this followed him. The internet is forever. When his great grandkids google his college career, that will show up. Please keep in mind this was a black athlete, playing ball for a big college in the south, with a white girl accuser, all the cops I saw at that station were white in the short time I was there and at least the one I spoke to had his mind made up. He was loud and clear about that. He said basically the same to my friend who was interviewed separately, that he was determined to convict him, he was “the one”. This city I’m speaking of has been sued for police brutality against BPOC and I’ve heard my friends/classmates getting called the N word (hard ER) in the broad, open day light. So yeah add that info in with the rest and come to your own conclusion.

Before anyone comes for my throat again: idk exactly what DID happen but I know what DID NOT. Which to be clear, is pretty specifically: this rape with this person, did not happen here and at this time. So I’m not saying something didn’t happen but under different circumstances. I know trauma can mess with memories and if something did happen under different circumstances, I am so sorry that happened to her, I wouldn’t wish sexual assault on my worst enemy. I’m also not saying she necessarily had ill intentions or knew it would proceed and go viral as it did. The point is I just don’t know, no clue. Not throwing any blame or shade her way, all blame and shade on that cop though. ACABs, no excuse for his ass.

Anyway, y’all don’t gotta believe this since it’s been a few years and I highly doubt that stuff is anywhere in my phone like 4 iPhones and two laptops later. No reason to front, I don’t gain anything by lying but a guilty conscience. But this scenario that I btw, very much did not wish to be a part of, showed me another side of things. Can we agree to yes of course, trust and support women but also trust evidence and testimony? While, yes, stats show few women lie about this, can we at the same time understand questioning and thoroughly investigating such a heinous crime? Can we also recognize the system is literally built to “serve & protect” some by severely and systematically oppressing others? There are people, too many damn people, who have lost absolutely everything, served major time in big boy maximum security 23-1s, and have been put to death, based on biases and little to no evidence.

Next time you see an accusation, regardless of what it is, please do a little research. Make your own conclusion. Put yourself in their shoes, would you want to be “convicted” (either legally or through SM bullshit) on a snip it of convo with almost no information/context? Called a rapist cause you led someone on? No. You wouldn’t. Actually for any crime for that matter. You would reasonably ask and expect for it to be fair, two sided, and with as much evidence or info as possible. So let’s treat musicians, athletes, influencers, celebs the same way. Let’s not condemn before gathering as much information as possible. If not, I am so afraid we will drive an innocent person to suicide. We would all feel so guilty if someone was driven to suicide over false or misleading statements. Let’s avoid this, please.

[draculalive]

Dr. Seward's Diary.

26 September. -- Truly there is no such thing as finality. Not a week since I said "Finis," and yet here I am starting fresh again, or rather going on with the same record. Until this afternoon I had no cause to think of what is done. Renfield had become, to all intents, as sane as he ever was. He was already well ahead with his fly business; and he had just started in the spider line also; so he had not been of any trouble to me. I had a letter from Arthur, written on Sunday, and from it I gather that he is bearing up wonderfully well. Quincey Morris is with him, and that is much of a help, for he himself is a bubbling well of good spirits. Quincey wrote me a line too, and from him I hear that Arthur is beginning to recover something of his old buoyancy; so as to them all my mind is at rest. As for myself, I was settling down to my work with the enthusiasm which I used to have for it, so that I might fairly have said that the wound which poor Lucy left on me was becoming cicatrised. Everything is, however, now reopened; and what is to be the end God only knows. I have an idea that Van Helsing thinks he knows, too, but he will only let out enough at a time to whet curiosity. He went to Exeter yesterday, and stayed there all night. To-day he came back, and almost bounded into the room at about half-past five o’clock, and thrust last night's "Westminster Gazette" into my hand.

"What do you think of that?" he asked as he stood back and folded his arms.

I looked over the paper, for I really did not know what he meant; but he took it from me and pointed out a paragraph about children being decoyed away at Hampstead. It did not convey much to me, until I reached a passage where it described small punctured wounds on their throats. An idea struck me, and I looked up. "Well?" he said.

"It is like poor Lucy's."

"And what do you make of it?"

"Simply that there is some cause in common. Whatever it was that injured her has injured them." I did not quite understand his answer:---

"That is true indirectly, but not directly."

"How do you mean, Professor?" I asked. I was a little inclined to take his seriousness lightly -- for, after all, four days of rest and freedom from burning, harrowing anxiety does help to restore one's spirits -- but when I saw his face, it sobered me. Never, even in the midst of our despair about poor Lucy, had he looked more stern.

"Tell me!" I said. "I can hazard no opinion. I do not know what to think, and I have no data on which to found a conjecture."

"Do you mean to tell me, friend John, that you have no suspicion as to what poor Lucy died of; not after all the hints given, not only by events, but by me?"

"Of nervous prostration following on great loss or waste of blood."

"And how the blood lost or waste?" I shook my head. He stepped over and sat down beside me, and went on:---

"You are clever man, friend John; you reason well, and your wit is bold; but you are too prejudiced. You do not let your eyes see nor your ears hear, and that which is outside your daily life is not of account to you. Do you not think that there are things which you cannot understand, and yet which are; that some people see things that others cannot? But there are things old and new which must not be contemplate by men's eyes, because they know -- or think they know -- some things which other men have told them. Ah, it is the fault of our science that it wants to explain all; and if it explain not, then it says there is nothing to explain. But yet we see around us every day the growth of new beliefs, which think themselves new; and which are yet but the old, which pretend to be young -- like the fine ladies at the opera. I suppose now you do not believe in corporeal transference. No? Nor in materialisation. No? Nor in astral bodies. No? Nor in the reading of thought. No? Nor in hypnotism -- -- "

"Yes," I said. "Charcot has proved that pretty well." He smiled as he went on: "Then you are satisfied as to it. Yes? And of course then you understand how it act, and can follow the mind of the great Charcot -- alas that he is no more! -- into the very soul of the patient that he influence. No? Then, friend John, am I to take it that you simply accept fact, and are satisfied to let from premise to conclusion be a blank? No? Then tell me -- for I am student of the brain -- how you accept the hypnotism and reject the thought reading. Let me tell you, my friend, that there are things done to-day in electrical science which would have been deemed unholy by the very men who discovered electricity -- who would themselves not so long before have been burned as wizards. There are always mysteries in life. Why was it that Methuselah lived nine hundred years, and 'Old Parr' one hundred and sixty-nine, and yet that poor Lucy, with four men's blood in her poor veins, could not live even one day? For, had she live one more day, we could have save her. Do you know all the mystery of life and death? Do you know the altogether of comparative anatomy and can say wherefore the qualities of brutes are in some men, and not in others? Can you tell me why, when other spiders die small and soon, that one great spider lived for centuries in the tower of the old Spanish church and grew and grew, till, on descending, he could drink the oil of all the church lamps? Can you tell me why in the Pampas, ay and elsewhere, there are bats that come at night and open the veins of cattle and horses and suck dry their veins; how in some islands of the Western seas there are bats which hang on the trees all day, and those who have seen describe as like giant nuts or pods, and that when the sailors sleep on the deck, because that it is hot, flit down on them, and then -- and then in the morning are found dead men, white as even Miss Lucy was?"

"Good God, Professor!" I said, starting up. "Do you mean to tell me that Lucy was bitten by such a bat; and that such a thing is here in London in the nineteenth century?" He waved his hand for silence, and went on:---

"Can you tell me why the tortoise lives more long than generations of men; why the elephant goes on and on till he have seen dynasties; and why the parrot never die only of bite of cat or dog or other complaint? Can you tell me why men believe in all ages and places that there are some few who live on always if they be permit; that there are men and women who cannot die? We all know -- because science has vouched for the fact -- that there have been toads shut up in rocks for thousands of years, shut in one so small hole that only hold him since the youth of the world. Can you tell me how the Indian fakir can make himself to die and have been buried, and his grave sealed and corn sowed on it, and the corn reaped and be cut and sown and reaped and cut again, and then men come and take away the unbroken seal and that there lie the Indian fakir, not dead, but that rise up and walk amongst them as before?" Here I interrupted him. I was getting bewildered; he so crowded on my mind his list of nature's eccentricities and possible impossibilities that my imagination was getting fired. I had a dim idea that he was teaching me some lesson, as long ago he used to do in his study at Amsterdam; but he used then to tell me the thing, so that I could have the object of thought in mind all the time. But now I was without this help, yet I wanted to follow him, so I said:---

"Professor, let me be your pet student again. Tell me the thesis, so that I may apply your knowledge as you go on. At present I am going in my mind from point to point as a mad man, and not a sane one, follows an idea. I feel like a novice lumbering through a bog in a mist, jumping from one tussock to another in the mere blind effort to move on without knowing where I am going."

"That is good image," he said. "Well, I shall tell you. My thesis is this: I want you to believe."

"To believe what?"

"To believe in things that you cannot. Let me illustrate. I heard once of an American who so defined faith: ‘that faculty which enables us to believe things which we know to be untrue.’ For one, I follow that man. He meant that we shall have an open mind, and not let a little bit of truth check the rush of a big truth, like a small rock does a railway truck. We get the small truth first. Good! We keep him, and we value him; but all the same we must not let him think himself all the truth in the universe."

"Then you want me not to let some previous conviction injure the receptivity of my mind with regard to some strange matter. Do I read your lesson aright?"

"Ah, you are my favourite pupil still. It is worth to teach you. Now that you are willing to understand, you have taken the first step to understand. You think then that those so small holes in the children's throats were made by the same that made the hole in Miss Lucy?"

"I suppose so." He stood up and said solemnly:---

"Then you are wrong. Oh, would it were so! but alas! no. It is worse, far, far worse."

"In God's name, Professor Van Helsing, what do you mean?" I cried.

He threw himself with a despairing gesture into a chair, and placed his elbows on the table, covering his face with his hands as he spoke:---

"They were made by Miss Lucy!"

For a while sheer anger mastered me; it was as if he had during her life struck Lucy on the face. I smote the table hard and rose up as I said to him:---

"Dr. Van Helsing, are you mad?" He raised his head and looked at me, and somehow the tenderness of his face calmed me at once. "Would I were!" he said. "Madness were easy to bear compared with truth like this. Oh, my friend, why, think you, did I go so far round, why take so long to tell you so simple a thing? Was it because I hate you and have hated you all my life? Was it because I wished to give you pain? Was it that I wanted, now so late, revenge for that time when you saved my life, and from a fearful death? Ah no!"

"Forgive me," said I. He went on:---

"My friend, it was because I wished to be gentle in the breaking to you, for I know you have loved that so sweet lady. But even yet I do not expect you to believe. It is so hard to accept at once any abstract truth, that we may doubt such to be possible when we have always believed the 'no' of it; it is more hard still to accept so sad a concrete truth, and of such a one as Miss Lucy. To-night I go to prove it. Dare you come with me?"

This staggered me. A man does not like to prove such a truth; Byron excepted from the category, jealousy.

"And prove the very truth he most abhorred." He saw my hesitation, and spoke:---

"The logic is simple, no madman's logic this time, jumping from tussock to tussock in a misty bog. If it be not true, then proof will be relief; at worst it will not harm. If it be true! Ah, there is the dread; yet very dread should help my cause, for in it is some need of belief. Come, I tell you what I propose: first, that we go off now and see that child in the hospital. Dr. Vincent, of the North Hospital, where the papers say the child is, is friend of mine, and I think of yours since you were in class at Amsterdam. He will let two scientists see his case, if he will not let two friends. We shall tell him nothing, but only that we wish to learn. And then -- -- "

"And then?" He took a key from his pocket and held it up. "And then we spend the night, you and I, in the churchyard where Lucy lies. This is the key that lock the tomb. I had it from the coffin-man to give to Arthur." My heart sank within me, for I felt that there was some fearful ordeal before us. I could do nothing, however, so I plucked up what heart I could and said that we had better hasten, as the afternoon was passing...

We found the child awake. It had had a sleep and taken some food, and altogether was going on well. Dr. Vincent took the bandage from its throat, and showed us the punctures. There was no mistaking the similarity to those which had been on Lucy's throat. They were smaller, and the edges looked fresher; that was all. We asked Vincent to what he attributed them, and he replied that it must have been a bite of some animal, perhaps a rat; but, for his own part, he was inclined to think that it was one of the bats which are so numerous on the northern heights of London. "Out of so many harmless ones," he said, "there may be some wild specimen from the South of a more malignant species. Some sailor may have brought one home, and it managed to escape; or even from the Zoölogical Gardens a young one may have got loose, or one be bred there from a vampire. These things do occur, you know. Only ten days ago a wolf got out, and was, I believe, traced up in this direction. For a week after, the children were playing nothing but Red Riding Hood on the Heath and in every alley in the place until this ‘bloofer lady’ scare came along, since when it has been quite a gala-time with them. Even this poor little mite, when he woke up to-day, asked the nurse if he might go away. When she asked him why he wanted to go, he said he wanted to play with the ‘bloofer lady.’”

"I hope," said Van Helsing, "that when you are sending the child home you will caution its parents to keep strict watch over it. These fancies to stray are most dangerous; and if the child were to remain out another night, it would probably be fatal. But in any case I suppose you will not let it away for some days?"

"Certainly not, not for a week at least; longer if the wound is not healed."

Our visit to the hospital took more time than we had reckoned on, and the sun had dipped before we came out. When Van Helsing saw how dark it was, he said:---

"There is no hurry. It is more late than I thought. Come, let us seek somewhere that we may eat, and then we shall go on our way."

We dined at "Jack Straw's Castle" along with a little crowd of bicyclists and others who were genially noisy. About ten o’clock we started from the inn. It was then very dark, and the scattered lamps made the darkness greater when we were once outside their individual radius. The Professor had evidently noted the road we were to go, for he went on unhesitatingly; but, as for me, I was in quite a mixup as to locality. As we went further, we met fewer and fewer people, till at last we were somewhat surprised when we met even the patrol of horse police going their usual suburban round. At last we reached the wall of the churchyard, which we climbed over. With some little difficulty -- for it was very dark, and the whole place seemed so strange to us -- we found the Westenra tomb. The Professor took the key, opened the creaky door, and standing back, politely, but quite unconsciously, motioned me to precede him. There was a delicious irony in the offer, in the courtliness of giving preference on such a ghastly occasion. My companion followed me quickly, and cautiously drew the door to, after carefully ascertaining that the lock was a falling, and not a spring, one. In the latter case we should have been in a bad plight. Then he fumbled in his bag, and taking out a matchbox and a piece of candle, proceeded to make a light. The tomb in the day-time, and when wreathed with fresh flowers, had looked grim and gruesome enough; but now, some days afterwards, when the flowers hung lank and dead, their whites turning to rust and their greens to browns; when the spider and the beetle had resumed their accustomed dominance; when time-discoloured stone, and dust-encrusted mortar, and rusty, dank iron, and tarnished brass, and clouded silver-plating gave back the feeble glimmer of a candle, the effect was more miserable and sordid than could have been imagined. It conveyed irresistibly the idea that life -- animal life -- was not the only thing which could pass away.

Van Helsing went about his work systematically. Holding his candle so that he could read the coffin plates, and so holding it that the sperm dropped in white patches which congealed as they touched the metal, he made assurance of Lucy's coffin. Another search in his bag, and he took out a turnscrew.

"What are you going to do?" I asked.

"To open the coffin. You shall yet be convinced." Straightway he began taking out the screws, and finally lifted off the lid, showing the casing of lead beneath. The sight was almost too much for me. It seemed to be as much an affront to the dead as it would have been to have stripped off her clothing in her sleep whilst living; I actually took hold of his hand to stop him. He only said: "You shall see," and again fumbling in his bag, took out a tiny fret-saw. Striking the turnscrew through the lead with a swift downward stab, which made me wince, he made a small hole, which was, however, big enough to admit the point of the saw. I had expected a rush of gas from the week-old corpse. We doctors, who have had to study our dangers, have to become accustomed to such things, and I drew back towards the door. But the Professor never stopped for a moment; he sawed down a couple of feet along one side of the lead coffin, and then across, and down the other side. Taking the edge of the loose flange, he bent it back towards the foot of the coffin, and holding up the candle into the aperture, motioned to me to look.

I drew near and looked. The coffin was empty.

It was certainly a surprise to me, and gave me a considerable shock, but Van Helsing was unmoved. He was now more sure than ever of his ground, and so emboldened to proceed in his task. "Are you satisfied now, friend John?" he asked.

I felt all the dogged argumentativeness of my nature awake within me as I answered him:---

"I am satisfied that Lucy's body is not in that coffin; but that only proves one thing."

"And what is that, friend John?"

"That it is not there."

"That is good logic," he said, "so far as it goes. But how do you -- how can you -- account for it not being there?"

"Perhaps a body-snatcher," I suggested. "Some of the undertaker's people may have stolen it." I felt that I was speaking folly, and yet it was the only real cause which I could suggest. The Professor sighed. "Ah well!" he said, "we must have more proof. Come with me."

He put on the coffin-lid again, gathered up all his things and placed them in the bag, blew out the light, and placed the candle also in the bag. We opened the door, and went out. Behind us he closed the door and locked it. He handed me the key, saying: "Will you keep it? You had better be assured." I laughed -- it was not a very cheerful laugh, I am bound to say -- as I motioned him to keep it. "A key is nothing," I said; "there may be duplicates; and anyhow it is not difficult to pick a lock of that kind." He said nothing, but put the key in his pocket. Then he told me to watch at one side of the churchyard whilst he would watch at the other. I took up my place behind a yew-tree, and I saw his dark figure move until the intervening headstones and trees hid it from my sight.

It was a lonely vigil. Just after I had taken my place I heard a distant clock strike twelve, and in time came one and two. I was chilled and unnerved, and angry with the Professor for taking me on such an errand and with myself for coming. I was too cold and too sleepy to be keenly observant, and not sleepy enough to betray my trust so altogether I had a dreary, miserable time.

Suddenly, as I turned round, I thought I saw something like a white streak, moving between two dark yew-trees at the side of the churchyard farthest from the tomb; at the same time a dark mass moved from the Professor's side of the ground, and hurriedly went towards it. Then I too moved; but I had to go round headstones and railed-off tombs, and I stumbled over graves. The sky was overcast, and somewhere far off an early cock crew. A little way off, beyond a line of scattered juniper-trees, which marked the pathway to the church, a white, dim figure flitted in the direction of the tomb. The tomb itself was hidden by trees, and I could not see where the figure disappeared. I heard the rustle of actual movement where I had first seen the white figure, and coming over, found the Professor holding in his arms a tiny child. When he saw me he held it out to me, and said:---

"Are you satisfied now?"

"No," I said, in a way that I felt was aggressive.

"Do you not see the child?"

"Yes, it is a child, but who brought it here? And is it wounded?" I asked.

"We shall see," said the Professor, and with one impulse we took our way out of the churchyard, he carrying the sleeping child.

When we had got some little distance away, we went into a clump of trees, and struck a match, and looked at the child's throat. It was without a scratch or scar of any kind.

"Was I right?" I asked triumphantly.

"We were just in time," said the Professor thankfully.

We had now to decide what we were to do with the child, and so consulted about it. If we were to take it to a police-station we should have to give some account of our movements during the night; at least, we should have had to make some statement as to how we had come to find the child. So finally we decided that we would take it to the Heath, and when we heard a policeman coming, would leave it where he could not fail to find it; we would then seek our way home as quickly as we could. All fell out well. At the edge of Hampstead Heath we heard a policeman's heavy tramp, and laying the child on the pathway, we waited and watched until he saw it as he flashed his lantern to and fro. We heard his exclamation of astonishment, and then we went away silently. By good chance we got a cab near the "Spaniards," and drove to town.

I cannot sleep, so I make this entry. But I must try to get a few hours' sleep, as Van Helsing is to call for me at noon. He insists that I shall go with him on another expedition.