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kindtobechurlish · 2 years

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“Kevin, Russia impacted the world. The world is doing a world liberal order.” Yes. Who sells oil to Europe today? Stalin and Lenin went after the Kulak, Trotsky wanted worldwide revolution as Stalin only wanted revolution in Russia. Lenin said Stalin was too radicle, but what of it? Both Stalin and Lenin went after the Kulak. A Kulak is a peasant who is wealthy enough to higher labor and have equipment. Now, “sad” would get sad when she sees the picture of trucks and the instance of being “just wealthy enough” to higher workers. Now, you can understand immigrants and a woman who makes muse of being a geek. So, ultimately she just gives me more work to do, as she assumes the title of GEEK, DWEEB, DORK, GEEK. The instance would be personified, and a ball cap boy is now trying to act as dad. After he is dad, he wants to get you in bed and become DADDY! As he is daddy, it is all means of elder dolphin asshole, “can you do me a favor”, the sod occultism makes the lock and now you see how a woman can be put in slavery. I know insurance is insurance, but isolation is dangerous! Now, you see it, is that woman you are dealing with a rat? I would show you a mother is not just someone having a baby, fuck that negress with her narrative that says you are a dad if you have sex and a baby is made. A mom, mother, mommy, is a mum. I would personify a secret, and now you see that woman talking and she would make me think of the public toilet. I would think of the public toilet, because she isn’t going to find out what I like just to not let me have it right now - to make me into a CIRCUS. I’ll show you what a cynic is beyond definition, and it’s more than a sentence! You would see two people make an attempt at love, and when I consider her life she wants to make me into a womanizer, “all of these women”, and women are just like her. I would personify myself by ancient status, and my enemies aren’t even smarter than me - but they “feel” smart because I would give them lane to give signs until I cut them off or they get a corrupt cartouche involved themselves. I would have a complex counter, and in order to make my counter be understood I have to make my enemies look very smart. “I agree.” You would see people get involved in my love affairs, and when I deal with them and make them into idiot wanna be sods, you see a corrupt highwayman who needs to go be a highwayman. Some people saying, “God, Queen, and Country” and if it’s not the Queen of England it’s Hillary Blithé. Hillary Blithé wants you to think that she is fit to be a leader, and you just didn’t give her position to lead, and I would say what leader is limited to position? And now you see why I don’t like her, why I don’t care for her. Love who loves you. By her moral, her ways, she wouldn’t love me. I’ve seen what she’s about.

I would see someone who doesn’t take action, and the lack of action would amount to me ripping out a soul and you only say, “I can see him saying that.” You would see a demoralized people, just to not understand “I’ve heard enough” and “asshole.” You would give your omens according to mutual imprecations, and I would do the necessary to personify a private just for me to litigate a boon. You don’t understand what is? I am an aristocrat, I have been one, and because people are shrewd, evil in nature (acting like a people who need who can only make leaders), I would give a boon from my own fire/flame that is only the sign of prominence. How does it feel to have your day, “my day?” Tis’ is well to all do they who celebrate holidays, and at one time I spoke on a matter, “do not condemn a holiday the day of a holiday”, and now you see your “day”, just to forget seasons and a year. A year would personify someone’s health, what makes them whole, and the contrast is people who are not whole. How does it feel to realize, by experience and action, that isolation is dangerous, and your FBI/CIA is very bad? I would have a family, and if I go missing that is to the detriment to a “Cheka.” In the detriment, you can see the action of “benign neglect” and the fact of me not being a negro. You would see a lazy people, who have the term SPICK as a kind, just for me to tell you that “SPICK AND SPAN” is a term, and now you see what I did and haters who hate my kind. I would be able to personify Egypt, a place I’ve never been, and the fact has been apparent, and many idiot sods are not in tune with their sides of masculinity and femininity to make a BALANCE - forcing genitals, privates, to define itself by, not piss but, masturbation. I would personify masturbation, and shit is better than your own finger - now you see people who would have an oral fixation just to need the cigarette to take a good excrement. The cigarette and crap brings about a nostalgia that is better than the day? The toddler would shit, and that personifies the anal stage, the infant would “eat” and that personifies the oral stage. The two stages would show how they both are dependent on one another, and now I am personifying weird. People would see I found a woman just off the cusp, and I would make a lock by an environment showing hate. What is a weird person, a person who sees a boon from love and would rather stop love (Europa’s Bull) to be proven as an idiot? People would get involved in my love life, just for a heifer to make the personification of “the past”, “not listening”, and now it has amounted to me applying a different sort of madness - a madness that makes people sad as the twiddling of the thumbs would destroy chaos in one slash. But, what is a drive? “Sitting that seat” and the seat of Jupiter would personify Saturns Cave with a noose and treasure to personify it. Everyone who goes to the cave, gets nothing for it. The fare skinned, with that “hair” (you see it), would be, and it’s means for hemp to be tied as the cave would store itself. Now, you can understand “signup fee” that amounts to workplace. Do you want anyone golfing? You don’t know?

Spick and span is “brand new”, literally, “splinter new.” You would see that splinter is a small, thin, sharp piece of wood, glass, or similar material broken off from a larger piece. Now, “splinter new” would personify spick and span, and now you see a people who are “thankful.” In “boon”, I would personify a mirror, and the mirror does nothing but show racialism. I can personify racialism, just to show spick and span, a race of people, and a divide in “wetback” as language would personify “articulate tone” by Mesoamerica. Now you can see a ball game, people who would like Donald Trump and, too, want to play, watch some others play, Mesoamerica Ball Game. People would get involved in my love affaires, and I, as always, would make an order just to personify I am not a pompous pharaoh - and my words bring pain just for you to see a woman who is “acting tough” when I did some things and she really doesn’t like the label of honey gal, “dad!” When you see what I did, you should be very ashamed in your communities, your homes, they don’t force marriage just to push this narrative of racism, and if it is not a narrative of racism it’s a narrative that is subliminally against “DAD.” When people ask what you want to be when you grow up, no kid said dad. Why? You would see a woman get stand-offish, and it’s because speech personifies blackmail and she doesn’t want to be “seduced.” I got to talking, and she realized that I’m not that negress but I’m me.. and she got to acting tough just to see she was being seduced. In her being seduced, she thinks of me just getting with someone else and she isn’t “hiding” but stand-offish as the rest are “silent” or don’t have much to say, “fuck you… errr, thank you.” Now, you see women who act like “young gal” and young gal has a premise of racialism, just to not know what made racialism. She learns of ragtime, the first American Genre of music in The States, and she doesn’t want to ENLIGHTEN the world (she has platform) on honey relationships, honey gal, unmarried cohabitations, broken wagons that amounted to songs, and music that makes the sky into brass and the ground into silver. That’s what this is about, she didn’t/doesn’t “share” just to make it about work and give me more work to do. In the muse, muzzle, you see what people are silent too, and the “professionals.” You want to leave it to the professionals? How do you feel when I personify lumpen, lumpenproletariat, proletariat, and bourgeois, just to cap it off with kulak and serf? Does it spark a BOON? Imagine debt bondage and indentured servitude, and you are not a “slave” due to you being in the status of serf.. many cannot understand what vocabulary is, what a cynic is, as pseudo is pseudo, so now you can see the effect of turning yourself off from something just to not castrate yourself. Now, “sad” would personify her sadness in her kind being Trotskyite’s! Everyone wants to be a kulak, and the Kulak isn’t the bourgeois as you can picture a Mascogo as a KULAK. What is a Kulak? “Their goal is kulak with the ability to play social lubricants and watch TV.” She’s sad because Stalin did a COLLECTIVIST tactics, “ten years or we go under” and you can UNDERSTAND IT because of me. “I’m a Stalinist” doesn’t scare you, when you really see a Kulak? “High places. Bodega.”

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daloy-politsey · 3 years

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On my first date with Yehoram, I offered him a sip of my prosecco at the hip Tel Aviv bar I had brought him to. He tensed, paused and quietly replied, “I’m not sure if I can. I don’t know if it’s kosher.” I immediately recognized his confession for what it was: a coming-out. I told him that it’s fine, that we can ask the waitress if the wine has a certification, that I grew up in an observant family too. He finally breathed.

I already knew that Yehoram is female-to-male transgender. In fact, it was the only thing written on his dating profile. Over the course of our year-long relationship, and then our seamless transition into friendship late last year, he explained to me that the queer community will often accept that he is trans but not that he is religious. But the same is not always necessarily true of the religious community – and particularly of his family.

There are many preconceptions about his family. The matriarch Mazal, 74, and patriarch Yehiel, 78, were both born in Sana’a, Yemen, and immigrated to the newly-declared State of Israel in early childhood. (Haaretz is honoring their request not to publish the family name.) They are visibly Haredi: Mazal wears long skirts and tucks her hair into modest black caps; Yehiel trims his salt-and-pepper beard, and wears a uniform of crisp dress shirts, black pants and a black velvet kippa.

They speak with heavy Yemenite accents – which have been at least partially adopted by their seven children – and their speech is seasoned with religious aphorisms and allusions. People are surprised to learn that Yehoram, 32, is accepted and supported by his parents, to a degree that is rare even in the secular homes of Tel Aviv.

At their kitchen table in a town near Rehovot, central Israel, Mazal has set out water, juice and a homemade cake. Yehiel has set down a voice recorder of his own, to make sure he isn’t misrepresented. They have a story to tell about being the parents of a trans son, and they have decided that I am allowed to tell it.

Before we begin the interview, both are apprehensive. After much deliberation, they decide that I can publish their names but not their images. Yehiel is a respected figure in religious circles: he serves as his synagogue’s main cantor on the High Holy Days, is a mezuzah scribe and kashrut supervisor for the Chief Rabbinate. He spends his free time poring over religious texts, with Yehoram often alongside him. His son no longer attends the local synagogue in which his father plays so large a role; the congregation knew him before his transition, and it could hurt his family’s reputation.

If someone goes to the rabbi with this article in hand and tells Yehiel that he’s out of the fold, “at our age, there’s no fight left. There’s nothing you can do,” he says. “It would destroy me.” When he thinks I cannot hear him, he says that he suspects that one of his contracts as a kashrut supervisor was not renewed for this exact reason – because of his unconventional family.

But if getting his story out shows religious parents that they can embrace their own LGBTQ children, he wants it published. “I want to help,” he says.

Mazal chimes in. “Both of us do. You hear these stories about parents throwing their children out ... I don’t understand it. I don’t understand how you throw out your child.”

She recounts going to the shivah of a friend of Yehoram’s – the transgender queer activist DanVeg, who took her own life in 2016. “I saw them all in the living room, with their heads on each other’s shoulders. I started to cry. I wanted to hug them all, to go one by one. And they came to me; they saw the look in my eye. There was a man who had become a woman, who came to hug me. And a young girl, and more. I couldn’t take it,” she says, wiping away tears that are coming faster and faster. “More and more of them told us that they’re alone, abandoned by their parents. How can you throw out your child? The child of a human being!”

I get up to hug her, and she cries into my back: “Why? Why would you throw your child out of your house? Why?”

They say they never suspected that Yehoram was different before he came out to them, if not unconventionally, as queer at the age of 18, some 14 years ago.

He did not employ the usual lexicon: “I told them, this is how I am – I’m wearing pants from now on and I’m not interested in men,” he recounts. In Yehoram’s absence, Yehiel recalls it as well. Yehoram sat his parents down in the living room and said his piece, and then asked his parents for a response.

“We got up immediately, as if it were coordinated,” Yehiel says. “We hugged [him] from both directions … and we told [him], ‘You have nothing to be afraid of, no need to worry. You’re our daughter, it doesn’t matter what you do.’” Yehoram then opened his backpack to show a couple days’ clothes inside. “If you didn’t accept me, I would have killed myself,” he told his parents.

From there, they worked to make sure that their son wouldn’t, for one moment, forget that he is loved and cared for. They also made sure that he could live a normal life. “It was important that he be self-sufficient, have a respectable career, be able to build a life without us,” Yehiel explains. “Every day, I’m afraid that he won’t be here. I think about how he can build his life so he’s not dependent on anyone else.”

Mazal and Yehiel tend to refer to Yehoram with female pronouns when he isn’t in the room, and occasionally slip into them when he is. To her, Mazal says, he will always be their daughter. “It’s hard for me,” Yehiel concurs. “[He] should be patient.”

Mazal calls him by his chosen name – an anagram of his birth name – to make him happy. “And to connect with [him] – what can you do? We love [him] either way. [He’s] our daughter.”

There have been difficulties in accepting him along the way, she concedes. But like many parents of LGBTQ children, they are mainly rooted in concerns that he will be able to live a safe, fulfilling life.

No one should mistake their acceptance for liberalism – they repeatedly note that the Pride Parades, with their scanty clothes and glitter, are unsightly. “The left brings it in,” Mazal says. “Non-Jews from abroad, with all their tattoos and whatnot.” However, their embrace of their transgender son and the many queer people who have passed through their doors does not come in spite of their firm religious beliefs, but is the direct result of them.

Yehiel, a lifelong religious scholar, has poured over sources biblical, talmudic, rabbinic and kabbalistic. The kabbalistic concept of the soul provides a simple explanation for the transgender phenomenon, he believes.

“We have the knowledge that Jewish souls can be reincarnated into anything – into non-Jewish families, into animals, even into food,” Yehiel explains. “We were taught that the soul of a man can be reincarnated into a woman, in order to remedy something he had done in a past life.”

When Mazal was pregnant with Yehoram, she had already given birth to five daughters and was hoping for a son. The couple went to a respected rabbi, who told them to buy a bottle of wine for the circumcision ceremony and to come see him 40 days into the pregnancy. Yehiel says that when the time came, it was hard to get hold of the rabbi to schedule an appointment, and they were only able to see him eight months in. The rabbi gave them the blessing regardless.

“The body was already formed female,” Yehiel says, but the prayers had worked: “The soul was male.”

And there is scripture to back up the existence of LGBTQ people within Judaism. “You’re not different, you’re not strange,” Yehiel says. “This [phenomenon] has always existed. It’s in the Torah, and it’s in the mystical sources.” Mazal adds: “It’s a shame that we don’t lay this out these days, to have everything written up and organized to say that it’s all there in scripture.”

At 26, Yehoram told his parents he was transitioning. He underwent top surgery – a double mastectomy – without informing them. “On the one hand, it hurt us,” Yehiel admits. “For us, it meant that’s it – it’s sealed. If he’d told us in advance, we would have told him to wait. Maybe the situation would change.”

But what’s done is done, Mazal says. “What hurt me is that [he] underwent the surgery and I wasn’t there. That ate at me.”

Both loudly agree that the important thing is that he is happy and healthy. “We hope just for success – and thank God there are many successes, so everything is alright,” she says. “I’m just waiting for children,” she laughs.

Yehoram, who has taken a seat next to her, smirks. Mazal jokes about him coming home pregnant one day. He’s slightly irked, but jokes along. A couple of years ago, he froze his eggs through Ichilov Hospital’s fertility clinic for transgender men, and hopes to one day become a father, no matter how he has to do it. His parents strongly supported the move. They have 31 grandchildren and two great-grandchildren.

Yehoram asks a question of his own: Whether his parents want to talk about the time they took him to an esteemed rabbi in Tel Aviv, after he came out at 18.

“After he told us everything, we consulted with a rabbi,” Yehiel relays. “I remember that he got angry and yelled at him. I didn’t like that. He hurt him, and I couldn’t stay any longer, so we left.”

“The rabbi told me that I had lapsed, deteriorated in my spirituality,” Yehoram explains. It’s clear that he remembers it vividly. “That I had fallen.”

After that, the rabbi told him to leave the room, and for his parents to stay. “I heard shouting, and then you left the room,” he says to his parents. “You didn’t say anything, I didn’t say anything. We were quiet all the way home.”

No one discussed the incident for days after, and they barely spoke at all. After three days, Yehoram says, he asked his mother what had happened after the rabbi told him to leave the room.

“I didn’t know what happened, I assumed the worst. You told me that [Dad] got very angry and told [the rabbi], ‘How dare you hurt and belittle a Jewish soul?’ You said you had to give him however much money, and that you just threw a small bill onto the table and left the room,” Yehoram tells his mother. “It really surprised me. I thought you were on his side, and then I suddenly heard that you were on mine.”

When he is with us in the room, Yehoram sometimes seems agitated by his parents’ insistence that their acceptance has always been complete. He tries to direct them toward other instances, other rabbis they don’t or won’t recall. It is often difficult for parents to acknowledge the pain or discomfort that their actions caused their children, even if they were accidental. Mazal brings out a picture from Yehoram’s bat mitzvah, of them embracing the young girl he was. They look almost exactly the same, 20 years later, beaming. Young Yehoram, in a long-sleeved, high-necked dress, is smiling, but the smile does not reach his eyes.

Elisha Alexander, co-CEO and founder of the transgender advocacy and information organization Ma’avarim, says that even though Yehiel and Mazal’s acceptance of their son may seem unique, he would like to think it’s more common than we assume.

“There are religious and even ultra-Orthodox people who accept their trans family members, but it’s usually in secret. The main problem in these communities is the leadership,” he says.

But if more of them realized that embracing their children was a matter of pikuach nefesh – the Jewish concept that saving a life supersedes most religious commandments and norms – they would be more inclined to find a halakhic solution to integrating transgender people into these communities.

There is also a misconception that acceptance is a binary choice: That any parent who does not kick their transgender child out of the house or disown them has, by default, accepted them. “This could not be further from the truth,” Alexander says. “Accepting your child means accepting every aspect inherent to them, including their gender identity, pronouns and so on.”

When parents refuse to do so, their child may seek acceptance elsewhere. He adds that studies show that acceptance within the family drastically reduces the suicide rate among transgender people.

Knowing this, Yehiel says that any parent in his position must continue loving and supporting their child. “This child can fall,” he says. He does not mention it, but he is aware of the stories and statistics: trans youth who find themselves on the street face high rates of abuse and exploitation. Thirty to 50 percent of transgender teens report suicidal thoughts and behaviors – a rate three times higher than for teens overall. But that figure falls to 4 percent when families accept and embrace them, says Sarit Ben Shimol, manager of the Lioness Alliance for families and transgender children and teenagers.

Yehiel adds that it is the duty of parents to give children the support they need to thrive. “As a parent, it is your responsibility to tell your child: You are my child and you are my life. My life depends on you. Watch over me so that I can watch over you,” he says.

As we get up from our seats, Yehiel looks at me for a moment and asks, “If it’s not too personal – since we already opened up the topic – what is your relationship like with your parents?”

I tell them that I talk to my parents, and especially my mother, almost every day. That it was difficult for them to come to terms with my sexual orientation as well, and that sometimes I have an inkling that it still is, even if they won’t say it outright. But I try to be patient.

“Good,” Mazal says. “It’s important to be patient – they’re learning too.” She embraces me again, and Yehiel rests a hand on my shoulder. They invite me to come again, whenever I like. “After all, you’re like our daughter, too.”

#lgbt jews #transgender #judaism #jumblr #transphobia cw

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captainbeverlycrusher · 4 years

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An Open Letter to the Star Trek Community

To the Star Trek Community,

I write this from a place of deep respect, gratitude and compassion, and with hope that what I have to say will be received in good faith and be heard.

I am an immigrant woman of colour who found Star Trek at a time when I was at my lowest and stuck in what seemed like perpetual darkness, and it was this wonderful franchise and its powerful message which uplifted me and brought me back into the light so that today I can truly say that I am at my strongest. As such, Star Trek’s positive influence in my life has been no small thing. Star Trek has taught me to be the captain of my life, to reach for the stars, to stand up for what is right no matter the cost, and, above all, to be brave and bold.

And so, in the spirit of boldly going, I humbly call on ALL white members of the Star Trek Community — creators, platform curators, prominent fans and figures, including and especially Star Trek cast members, past and present — who believe in the underlying mission and vision of Star Trek to formally denounce all forms of racism and bigotry and those who uphold such abhorrent beliefs; I call on you to condemn the actions of those who have harmed Black and Indigenous people, and all People of Colour (BIPOC); and I call on you to strive to do more and do better for the sake of BIPOC in both the Star Trek community and in your own lives who have been subjected to racism. Finally, I encourage you to urge your supporters in this community to do the same, particularly those who are now finally waking up to the injustices perpetrated against BIPOC.

I am, of course, aware that the official Star Trek entity released a statement in this vein recently. I know many of you have expressed one way or another your support for the Black Lives Matter movement. I see you. It’s a good start. But it is not enough. I need each of you who hold so much influence within this community to do this, to say once and for all that you will not condone racism and anti-Blackness from your supporters, fans and followers any longer. It is important for this to happen.

I know you support the vision of the great Gene Roddenberry and the powerful philosophy of Star Trek and what it stands for. I know you believe in these words as much as I do:

“Star Trek was an attempt to say that humanity will reach maturity and wisdom on the day that it begins not just to tolerate, but take a special delight in differences in ideas and differences in life forms.”

But many white supporters within the Trek community truly do not share these sentiments, and they have proven this time and again, especially as they have belittled and driven fans of colour like me away instead of putting the mission of Star Trek into practice and welcoming us with open arms. Both on-and-offline, there are those who have insulted and degraded BIPOC involved in the Trek community— and not just fans but creatives, actors, and notable figures of colour alike. We have been treated as inferior and dismissed.

I have seen and witnessed it with my own eyes. I have endured this myself and I cannot explain to you how hurtful it has been for many of us. I am a fan who has experienced so much harm from many white people I have come across in Trek spaces, at conventions and events, even among those I had considered friends, and for it to come from within a franchise that promotes love, hope and acceptance, it has been devastating. What I once looked to as a safe haven no longer is.

I can only speak for myself and from my own experiences. And based on my experience, my call to action here is completely necessary. Because something I never say aloud, something I constantly have to process and reprocess in therapy is that 6 years ago when I was 24, the night before I first met my Trek heroes, I cried bitter tears because I felt that they would not accept me because I wasn’t white, that I was unlovable by even the most amazing people because I was not white like them. 24 years old. A grown adult. And I felt that way. So many white Trek supporters contributed to making me feel that way every time they overtly and subtly implied that their whiteness made them superior. I have remained silent about this and numerous other incidents for many years, but living in silence has only served to intensify the painful experiences I’ve had, and so I share this to stress the urgency with which this community-wide issue needs to be addressed. We cannot allow damage like this to continue towards BIPOC in this community.

Racism destroys the soul. Racism is why I hurt myself for so long and why so many white supporters have harmed fans of colour like me, despite their claims that they believe in all that Star Trek stands for. Racism hurts us all. This is just a small part of my story. Imagine how many more there are like it or even worse. As white people, you will never experience racism and you may not see the abominable treatment BIPOC in the Trek community encounter, but it is happening.

With the Black Lives Matter protests gaining momentum worldwide, it couldn’t be more clear that now is not the time to find the middle ground on issues like this, because there is none when it comes to racism. Either you are against it or not. And I promise you, the Trek community does not need the support of people who go out of their way to justify any and all racist acts, because as we can clearly see, even the smallest racial microaggressions and biases can ultimately lead to murder. The desire to keep the peace in the fandom and franchise is not more important than Black lives. Especially because the truth is, as far as I have observed, there has never been actual peace.

We are presently witnessing a global reckoning in which many are finally starting to acknowledge the existing ways racism and white supremacy are upheld. As a community that claims to value all beings and embrace all differences, it only makes sense for Star Trek and all its community members to lead the way to a better future in the entertainment and creative industries and beyond, and to start doing so by looking within ourselves and our own backyard. We MUST clean up this community so that all People of Colour can truly feel safe and welcomed and be embraced and celebrated in every Trek space.

As I issue my call to action, I urge you to consider doing the following:

First, in particular for prominent white cast and creatives, please let the Trek community know where you stand. If you have not already done so, please let people know that you will not tolerate any further bigotry and racist behaviour from anyone. Please let your Black fans and all fans of colour know that you are with us. And please don’t mince words.

Amplify the voices of BIPOC within this community. So many of us are constantly silenced and drowned out and it is time for us to be heard. Our presence only enhances the Trek community. Uplift and embrace us. We matter.

If you manage any online Trek-related spaces and platforms, it is your responsibility to moderate and remove speech that is racist against BIPOC. It is imperative for you to enforce stricter commenting policies and do all that you can to protect BIPOC from further harm. And for those participating in these spaces, it is equally your duty to call out and report any such speech you encounter.

Educate your fellow white Trekkies who don’t yet understand why this is important. BIPOC have expended a lot of labor attempting to do so already but we have been dismissed, ignored, and cast aside. The onus is now on you to ease us of this burden and do the work given your positions of influence.

Hold yourselves and other white people in your Trek networks accountable to BIPOC community members. Make this part of your norm so that it becomes second nature to you, especially so these issues don’t ever fade into the background as they have often done in the past. This is an opportunity to improve and get it right.

Continue supporting the Black Lives Matter movement even after it stops trending. Visit https://blacklivesmatters.carrd.co/ to find helpful resources, make donations, sign petitions, and to get more involved in this work beyond the Trek community. This work is ongoing. It is lifelong.

Committing to doing every one of these would be small yet meaningful steps in the ongoing struggle for racial justice and it would make a significant difference. So with great respect and love, I implore you to use your power and privilege to do this for BIPOC, for yourselves, for all of us.

Stand up with and speak up for all BIPOC fans, friends and colleagues, far and wide. Be loud about it.

Be as loud and unrelenting as LeVar Burton. He has always been at the helm of this struggle, has always been upfront about it, and I love and admire him for it. Follow his lead.

Naturally, fear courses through me as I write all this, but I think of Gates McFadden, a great hero of mine, who once rocked the boat and spoke up against the sexism and racism she witnessed while working on TNG and was actually fired for it. If she can do that, then I think I can do this regardless of the risk. Because I know what I’m asking for and ultimately fighting for is right. Because what we can no longer deny is that lives are at stake. Black lives. And they matter.

Now it is up to you to do your part. Boldly go, in hope and with love.

And may you Live Long and Prosper.

— Originally published on Women at Warp

#Star Trek #Star Trek TNG #If you’re a genuine and committed trek fan you will not ignore this post #hi #yes I’m alive #some of you will remember me and others may not #you may know me as Bollywood Bev #regardless it will be clear that this account was inactive for a long time until now #I left the tumblr and the trek fandom completely because of the poor treatment in Trek spaces I experienced as a WOC #and witnessed towards other BIPOC #it was unbearable #folks seem to think that being a trek fan makes one inherently anti-racist but that is hardly the case #the fact is this fandom and franchise is filled with racists and bigots who parade around like they’ve done nothing wrong to harm POC #I have stories for days about what I have seen and endured #so I wrote this open letter to the community which I think is completely necessary #just as there is a worldwide reckoning taking place there needs to be one in the overall Trek community #to address racism and anti-Blackness within all Trek spaces #and I’m going to make sure it happens bc I can’t allow this supposed progressive franchise to continue to ignore its blind spots #while fans of colour like me suffer silently and pay the heavy price of racist actions against us #the fandom drove me away from it years ago with the incessant micro and macro aggressions thrown about by white fans #like that stuff really messed me up for a while but now I have decided to reclaim my space #and speak up after years of biting my tongue #because I deserve to be here and for Star Trek to be a safe space for me again #I’ll deal with the racism in the crusher fandom at a later point bc that is the one I was mainly involved in #but for now I issue this call and hope it is heeded #please read this and receive it as the gift that it is #thanks #tng #ds9 #star trek tos

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arepaz · 2 years

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some thoughts about heritage and family culture

every so often i think of my childhood and think about my view of my family’s culture. i’ve experienced a number of emotions when hearing about what other kids born from immigrant/immigrants families experienced: happiness, sadness, hope, jealousy, and regret. jealousy and regret is what frustrates me most.

i was (and somewhat still am) jealous of the kids who grew up speaking their family’s native tongue, jealous of the kids who were able to travel to their family’s home country, jealous of the ones who have met all of their family and actually are recognized as someone of that culture.

i didn’t have that. and with some of those things, they can be linked to my own fault. maybe i didn’t learn spanish as much as i should have as a kid, and even if i did - i definitely didn’t keep at it. i grew up in a primarily english-speaking country, taught in an english-speaking school, and would reply to people in english when they spoke to me in spanish. however i could have and still can continue to learn my language, yet some part of myself won’t allow me to continue if i make a mistake. it must be my ego or my desire to be considered the best i can be so i won’t be viewed as a disappointment. but regardless, i have the opportunity to still learn.

i’m thinking back to when i was a kid and how confused and upset that my mother wouldn’t tell me things about her life in colombia or what traditions or quirks her family had. i think i had an intense desire to find a sense of identity. i grew up around people who (just like me were children of immigrants) and who i thought had more experience with their culture. but now that i think about it, my mother did share some of her culture, but it was my responsibility to listen. we make arepas, make sure to eat 12 grapes at new years, wear yellow underwear for a sign of good luck in the new year, start the new year off by being given a 20 dollar bill to encourage wealth and prosperity, and other small traditions.

i spent so long looking for something to latch onto, to reassure that i am of my mother’s culture, to have some form of something to identify with, that i looked past all the opportunities to learn about my family.

and i fear that i come off as if i’m complaining of the life my parents gave me. there is an infinite amount of gratitude in my heart and soul towards my mother, her family, and all immigrants, along with other children of immigrants. i know my mother wanted to ensure that my brother and i had the best life possible with as much opportunities as her and my father could provide. but growing up in a country that is founded on the backs of immigrants, people of colour, and natives yet a country that doesn’t value those people- i just. i can’t help but mourn the fact that i know so many people who have lost parts of their culture because of colonization. i know that even though my mother tried to teach my brother and i spanish, she made sure that we were fluent in english so we would be able to communicate with others in this country and so we wouldn’t be looked down upon by other english-speakers who do not value those who are not from the same country or culture.

i’m not sure where i was going with this, mostly writing down these thoughts as they come along. but i will say, as someone who is rarely (if ever) called an optimist, i still have hope that there are people who want to change the world for the better. that this world, this country can become a more accepting place for people of other culture. i still have hope that the young immigrant or child of immigrant will be able to grow up in a place that does not limit their opportunities and choices and will feel free to learn and share their culture without any fear.

#can you tell i’m emotional tonight #i started this off as a way to procrastinate my studying for my gov exam and now i’m crying #anyways yeah #idk if this makes sense or if it is at all coherent #i really hope that i don’t come off ungrateful as i reflect on my gratitude everyday #also feel free to share your thoughts about this or own experiences or whatever #sorry it’s so long as well #long post #iris babbles

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oksana-moods · 3 years

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Ghost of you - Part 14

Summary: The Octopus has Ghost wrapped around its legs.

A/N: Keeping my promise, here we are.

Trigger Warnings: Violence, language, mentions of death and blood… tell me if I need to add any.

“As the stars begin to gather And the light begins to fade.”

#not my picture

“My God, Lara.” Carol ran to me right after I opened the door. “You said you’d call me. Dammit, Lara, you promised.” Her eyes were so sad that I felt guilty. “I’m sorry. I had everything under control.” She snorted. “You’re drenched in blood; you call this control?” I looked at my state and I was horrible, with a frown in my brows I let a soft ‘yeah’ scape my lips. “What happened?” She asked. “Greene was waiting for me.” I licked my lips and sighed. “Come, let me help you with your wounds.” I picked some clothes. “I’ll take a shower first.”

After a long hot shower, I got myself rid from all the blood in me, the literal blood, at least. The figurative one? Not quite, for Greene’s words were running wild through my mind, I could feel a headache coming. The good news was that I saw through the mirror that my shoulder plates already healed there was only one wound to be healed. When I got out of the bathroom, I saw that Carol had a medical kit in her lap at the balcony, I set in front of her and lifted the hem of the tank top I was wearing, showing to her were the gunshot pierced my stomach, and I felt myself awfully uncomfortable under her gaze. “You lost a lot of blood. Don’t you think we need to go to the hospital?” Her voice made Greene’s voice disappear from my head, for now. “It’s not safe.” I replied. “I can take care of this, if…” She was shaking her head in disagreement. “I’ll take care of you.” She softly spoke and I just nodded. “This might hurt” She said with a grimace in her face while holding the forceps and the scalpel close to my skin, she looked up as if asking permission for start her work. I just nodded at her and emptied my glass of scotch in one go. I hissed when she started to remove the bullet, “Sorry.” She whispered and I just shook my head, concentrating in not cursing out loud. After a while, she managed to get the bullet out and she looked up to meet my eyes. I don’t know how, but the tag with our names was above my shirt and that piece of metal caught her attention. Instinctively, her hands shot up to touch the plaques, and her eyes became impossibly softer. “You still wear it.” Her voice was barely a whisper, as if we were sharing a secret, and it was indeed a secret to her, until now. “How do you have it?” She asked and I felt a lump forming in my throat, right now wasn’t the time to talk about this. I sighed. “Maria gave it to me… few years ago.” Her gaze was so intense that I felt intimidated, she was looking at me like she could pull the answers with her eyes. “Why?” It was a simple question that could mean tons of things, but I knew exactly what she meant, and she knew I knew. She had powers over me that she doesn’t even know, and maybe her eyes did have the power to rip the truth out of me. “The same as before… I guess.” I softly replied after a deep breath. There was no use in deny or try to lie to her, not with her eyes shining like they are right now. Suddenly, all the stars she had imprisoned in her eyes were shining closer than ever, like the whole universe were glittering in her orbs and that alone made me want to touch her and feel her skin, just like I had a lifetime ago. “After this whole time?” Her whisper was so, so low that I thought I had imagined, but her eyes were boring into my soul waiting for a reply, indicating that I haven’t. There was no use in try to keep this at bay anymore, hell, my feelings for her were always in the way throughout this whole mission. I screwed things up and I don’t even know when. I sighed and I felt her hand cupping my cheek with a oh so soft touch that I leaned in her palm without even thinking. “Bold of you to assume I ever stopped.” She took in a deep breath and closed her eyes, a gloomy smile flashed in her lips then faded when she whispered. “Our destinies dance around each other like spirals.” She replied while opening her eyes, and they were so, so gentle that I felt unworthy. She too, by saying that we were like spirals, spirals that never touch. Fuck. Greene was right, I longed for her, wish things could be different, but reality is all that I have. I wrapped my hand around her wrist and pushed her hand away from my face, sadly, realizing that I don’t deserve her touch, no matter how much I craved for this. I kissed her palm before letting her hand go and got up to my feet.

“Lara…” Before she could even begin whatever excuses or pity-speech, I cut her off. “We don’t have time to talk about this now.” I said walking to the wardrobe and picked my suit for the night. A smoking and a tie. Seeing this, Carol came inside the room too, but her face had a frown. “What do you think you’re doing? We have a plane to catch.” I sighed; this would be hard. “I’m not going in that plane, Carol. You may go, but I won’t.” I walked to the restroom so I could start to change my clothes. “You are going to Chateau de Mercues.” She spoke in a way that made it clear that it wasn’t a question. “They are going to discuss the attack in London.” I opened my arms as if there was no option, and if I squint a little, we truly have no option here. “I need to go and stop them, or maybe learn everything about the attack, so we could prevent it.” I licked my lips. “Look, you can go. This is on me and I’ll take the responsibility, but I can’t step back now.” She let a distressed breath and shook her head, as if trying to make a child learn something obvious. “If you’re going to that meeting, then I’m going with you.” This made my eyes widen. “Of course not, I don’t know what might happen there, they can hurt you or…” She walked so fast that I was startled by her hands touching mine. “No way that I’m going to let you go by yourself. I can’t sit and wait for you to come with another missing piece, or don’t come back at all.” She was shaking her head, and when she saw me opening my mouth her eyes were so hard, and I knew that there was no talking her out of this. I sighed. “Alright. We’ll keep this Philipps façade, at least while we can. I’ll change quickly.” She nodded and let my hand go and I closed the door. When Carol came out of the restroom in her dress for the night, I had to remind myself that I need to keep breathing. She glided towards me with a perfect white silk dress with thin straps over her shoulders and her hair was flat down. She was beyond flawlessness. My heart was begging for me to take her by the hand, run with her to the nearest church and offer my life to her. “What?” Her voice brought me out of my daze. I used my fingers to dry the corners of my lips. “Wow Carol you are…” I smile delicately at her. “Darling, you give perfection a run for its money.” I could knee and ask for her hand right here, despite knowing that I couldn’t, no matter how much I wanted. A bright smile adorned her lips and my stomach dropped when she looked me up and down, as if she were scrutinizing me. “I thought you looked good in dresses. But with this suit… I could marry you right now.” Oh, please Carol. I do. I walked to the door and offered my hand to her. “Loved the stilettos, by the way.” She completed with a soft giggle and I felt my cheeks burning. I think I believe in angels now.

Almost two hours driving took us to the top of a hill where we could see an imposing building like an old castle, only there was nothing old about it. Chateau de Mercues, usually, was a luxury five-star hotel, but tonight was completely reserved and prepared to accommodate all Spectre’s members. I was amazed with such beauty. We got ourselves inside the building easy and fast since I was wearing my ring and Carol her bracelet. After few instructions, we found our seats at the main hall, which was beautifully decorated. While expensive champagne was served, I let my eyes wander around the room looking for any familiar faces or someone standing out that could be their leader. Following the drinks came dinner, then the meeting started. People talked about numbers, goals… everything that they’d obtain with the contract with UN. A man, whose name is George Steinfeld, introduced himself as a new officer member due to Beauffort’s death. I met him at Greene’s boat when he invited us for lunch. Since he was replacing Jean, he’d be working with immigration and was now responsible for London situation, in his words. Like giving a speech, he declared to the group few details about the attack. Under the table, I sent a message to Natasha with everything he had shared: Piccadilly Circus in three days, around rush hours. This was everything we need, so I made a signal to Carol that we’d leave this place at the first opportunity. We were walking in a very rushed pace towards the entrance, when Steinfeld approached us. “Lara, good evening.” He offered his hand to me. “George, hi. I wish you great success now as head of immigration field.” I politely said while shaking his hand. “Of course, thank you. However, I think I might need a strong hand to help me…” He slightly scratched his temple with his index finger. “And I can’t think about anybody else but you. I think he’d like this. Jean told me he’d make you his second in command.” I was at loss. We need to get out of here, but I can just run away now. “Why. George, this is flattering. I’d love to.” I looked around and saw that Carol had already been pulled into a conversation group and shot me an apologetic smile. “Thought you’d say that. Come, there is a few people that I want you to meet.” He said and I started to follow him since he was leading the way. “Actually, let me show you the wine house, they have an aged bourbon that you’d die for.” I looked at my cellphone and realized that my message to Natasha never left my device, because there was no signal here. Fuck. Something is not right.

------

“Leave us.” A voice startled me. I stopped my wine tasting and turned to see who was talking and my eyes widened seeing Georges Batroc, in the flesh, in one piece, in front of me. No, is not possible, I killed him earlier. He walked slowly in my direction and opened his arms. “What? It looks like you saw a ghost.” His wicked grin appeared in his mouth. “I killed you.” I spat at him, and Steinfeld widened his eyes at me, quickly reading the room so he fled away. “I’m not that easy to kill, sister.” Sister? What. The. fuck? Lara doesn’t have any siblings. “I’m not your sister.” His smile was wide open now. “Sure? I have your blood in me.” That confused me, what does he meant with that? “You’re bluffing.” But he never answered me. Taking advantage of my distraction, he charged at me and my back hit an oak barrel, instantly breaking it, causing the wine to spread on the floor. Before he could land his hands on me, I kicked his legs and tried to get up, but he still picked me by the lapel of my jacket and tossed me around, my back hitting another oak barrel. In this pace we’d be drowning in wine by the end of the night. I took off my jacket and tie and dropped then by my side and ran to him. Like two boxers, we exchanged blow after blow. He tried to control the fight and I was trying to take advantage, but he dodged most of my hits, until I kicked his right leg twice and he leaned a bit more to the side, then my metal arm found his jaw and I mercilessly punched his face till I saw his head tilted backwards. I pushed his tie and used my legs to wrap myself around him and brought us both to the ground, my arms around his neck while my legs stopped his arms from moving.

I had Batroc in a chokehold and was about to snap his neck when a voice startled me “ah kids, this way there will be no more bourbon to enjoy during the next winter”. A man that I never saw before walked inside the partially destroyed wine house. When I saw the party behind him my bones froze and my stomach knotted around itself, because I saw Carol being tugged between two henchmen. Maybe my hold faltered, or I should blame my lack of concentration, but Batroc managed to turn himself in my hold and kick me in the face, having me pinned to the ground with my face touching the floor in milliseconds. I was about to move my arm to get him off me, but the man caught my attention by clearing his throat and pointing at Carol with his head. I saw that someone was holding a gun aiming at Carol’s head. Her eyes found mine and they conveyed how helpless she was, and my body ached seeing so much sorrow in them. But I was still confused, why isn’t she fighting? Why is she tied in this metal wrapping her hands and wrist and, mostly important why is she not using her fists to blow everything already? I was still trying to figure out what was going on when the man’s voice found my ears. “Ah you’re wondering why she is powerless?” The man said and had a wicked grin, maybe Batroc learned with him, because that smile sent shivers down my spine. “We studied the tesseract for years through Zola’s mind, and of course, through you.” He crouched down few steps away from me. “With a little help from some friends, it became possible to inhibit her powers. They are numb inside her, so she’s just like a normal person now.” I tried to move under Batroc’s body, but to no avail. “I don’t believe you.” He stood to his feet. “Of course.” Then, he shows he’s telling the truth by signaling for one of his minions and the brute guy slaps her cheek with the back of his hand and I can see her face turning to the side with the impact, a shade of red painting her perfect skin. “You will lose your hand for that.” I growled at the man. And this wasn’t a threat, no. This was a promise. He smiled at me like he knew that this wasn’t a possibility, and that made me nervous. “Ah, isn’t this beautiful? I missed you, Ghost.” He said to me still wearing that smile and I was confused. Who was this man? “Who are you?” He put a hand in his chest mocking being wounded by my lack of memory. “Oh I should be offended by you not recognizing me, but this only shows that I did my job right by erasing your memory.” I was totally lost. So, he was Hydra? Wasn’t he Spectre? What the fuck is going on here? Were they playing under another name this whole time just to fool us around? “What, are you Hydra?” He clicked his tongue and spoke. “Thought I taught you better. You’re supposed to be smarter, faster… and, especially, to be a Ghost, to play in the shadows. But look at the mess you made…” He picked a chair and set crossing his legs, as if he were waiting for his afternoon tea. This man was unnerving, his eyes only screamed how sociopathic he was. “Please, could you enlighten me, then, what I’ve missed?” He laughed. He genuinely laughed at me and clasp his hands together. “God. You were my favorite. Always sassy with your comebacks” He spoke pointing a finger at me. “While Barnes was always so grumpy. I missed you.” My mouth was hanging open. He moved his hands like dismissing my lost expression and straighten himself at the chair. “I’m Ernst Blofeld, head of Spectre and I created you! I erased your memory for the first time, and I gave you your previous arm! I loved this new one, by the way. Such an art.” He said pointing his hand to my arm, a smile in his face like this was somewhat amusing. “Then, Pierce became too greedy and decided to take you with him, both of you. Therefore, he could run the world that he claimed was his.” I was mildly aware that Batroc had loosened his grip around my body, but I was too entranced by Blofeld’s words to try anything. “That’s precisely the difference between Spectre and Hydra. They wanted audience, they wanted to be revered and recognized as mighty rulers. That’s when we became different things. They wanted the praise more than the power, and that’s exactly why they were crushed.” His wicked grin never left his mouth. “Because I value power more than anything. Knowledge, information, resources… that’s power, that’s Spectre, and we are everywhere.” My mind was running wild with this new revelation. I didn’t even know what to think. But if I squint a bit, it kinda makes sense. This whole time they were playing us, but what for, though? “You knew who I was!” It was a statement, not a question. “Even before you left the compound, dear. You were so cute creating Philipps’s profile. Of course, I had to let Beauffort and Greene in the dark about your intentions. Only today I told Greene that you were my Ghost.” He shrugged his shoulders and the way he spoke the word my made me wary. “I needed you to think that you were really succeeding with your quest.” He finished his sentence with a half-smile in his lips, but his eyes were cold and sent shivers down my spine, once more. Make no mistake here, he can be playful but he’s the devil. Suddenly, Greene’s words made sense: Blofeld was Devil. The one who created me. “Why?” I licked my lips, realizing that my limbs were starting to become numb. “Why let me do all of this only to show up now?” “Well, not everything is about you, dear. I really needed new investors; we lost a lot of good people with this Thanos thing.” He got up from his chair, making me turn my neck even more so I could still make eye contact, and it hurt like hell. “But I let you do this whole ordeal because I needed you back. I wanted you back.” He sent that wicked smile at me again. “You’re my Ghost. Always will be.” He made a movement with his head towards the Batroc and before I could say or try anything, I felt something like a needle to pierce the skin in the back of my neck, then darkness embraced me.

taglist: @yourtaletotell

#carol danvers #carol danvers x original character #carol danvers x fem!reader #cap marvel #captain marvel #captain marvel x female reader #original female character #Ghost #ghost of you #marvel fanfic series #marvel x reader #spectre

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eirian-houpe · 3 years

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I’d love to hear about your experience teaching in Cairo. How did you come to do that? What were your favorite and least favorite parts of it? And anything else you want to share!

Oh my goodness, where would I even start? It's quite the story, and it was quite the experience. Let's start at the beginning... that seems sensible.

Before I was able to immigrate to the USA (another long story, perhaps for another time), I used to live in England. Through a long series of circumstances, which can basically be summed up by "US immigration rules," I ended up resigning from my full time UK teaching position. Finding a new job when the promised immigration did not happen was nigh on impossible. Then, one day I received a phone call from an agency who had seen my resume online and wondered if I would be interested in a teaching position that had just become vacant in Cairo, Egypt. After much deliberation - quite angsty deliberation as it turned out, I said I would be interested, and here's where everything gets head-spinningly fast.

As near as I can remember the details, I interviewed with the headmaster of the school via skype on a Tuesday. I was offered the position on the Thursday, and accepted the day after, following more soul searching. Later that day I received the E-ticket for the flight to Cairo, which was for the following Tuesday. I basically had the weekend to pack, and prepare myself to move.

The arrangements were that I would be met by a driver at Cairo airport, and driven to the hotel where I would be living for the first few days, until the school provided accommodation. So, I arrived in Cairo close to midnight, expecting to see a little guy holding up a board with my name on.

Nope!

After much wandering around, and with fewer people at the airport, I FINALLY found a dude wearing a CES shirt. (Cairo English School). He spoke no English. I spoke no Arabic. He called someone from the school and we were finally able to communicate via the third party... and I was at last taken to the hotel. I remember thinking as we drove along that this could all be a ruse, and I could be taken away for human trafficking or murder or whatever. So arriving at the hotel was a HUGE relief.

The following morning, I was picked up by the school bus and driven to the school, quick chat with the Headmaster, and then introduced to the team I'd be a part of. There was a British ex-pat who had married a local, converted to Islam, and was quite the whirlwind. Her name was Sarah. An older gent on the team, think... grumpy old man, and you'd be right. (Brian) and a guy called Mark who I bonded with almost right away. Turns out that I was replacing a guy who had been fired because of parents complaints about his conduct with the kids.

Literally, I was dropped in at the deep end. Met my class and was expected to teach. Teaching was through English language. On the whole they were good kids. There are always one or two trouble makers in any class, but it wasn't bad. They were lively though... a lot of them wouldn't stop talking, one kid in particular, who, after a few days I grew impatient with, and just told him to "Zip it!" After school that day, my friend Mark took me to one side and suggested that I find a different way to get the kid to shut up. He explained that (close as makes no different), in Egyptian Arabic Zip-it meant 'Penis' Mortified. Yes! After that, I adopted 'Button it!' Much safer. I also decided that learning some Egyptian Arabic might be an idea, and soon!

The next problem came when it was time for me to move out of the hotel into the school provided apartment... except there WAS no apartment. Apparently someone had missed the memo and nothing had been arranged - and now there were no remaining apartments. They said I could stay at the hotel, but I'd have to pay.

Nope! Enter whirlwind Sarah to the rescue. She lived in an apartment in a gated community called El ReHab. (Yes, we had fun with that one. I ended up living in Rehab). She knew a guy that had an apartment. She took me under her wing... had the guy meet us at the place, which wasn't quite ready (needed a good clean) for me to move in, but which was affordable (i.e. would be covered by the housing allowance paid by the school), was in a relatively safe area, (being a gated community and all), and wasn't bad. I have some pictures somewhere, I'll have to see if I can find them. It had a bedroom, a bathroom, and a kitchen/lounge separated by 'breakfast bar' It also had a washing machine - lifesaver. There was a balcony outside of the bedroom, and while we were there looking around, there was a tiny mewling sound. Turns out a kitten was stuck on the balcony. I would have loved to keep it, but I didn't because, what would I do after a year? (Contract with the school was for 1 year). Sarah rehomed the little tyke.

The supermarket, and the Souk were within walking distance, although there was a (free) bus service within the city, and the number 5 bus went to and from the shopping district to my apartment area. (five is 0 in Arabic). I pretty quickly learned numbers. A must, because most of the shop keepers chose not to use English - and I guess why should they - even though they knew it. So, unless you could see the display on the register when you were shopping, it was hard to know how much the total was. However, the cost of living, (in comparison with the US) was RIDICULOUSLY low. For example, my monthly electricity bill came to the equivalent of about $5 US.

So it wasn't ALL bad - contrary to the way it might sound. Great kids, a good team, and the chance to learn another new language (and I love languages). I'd say I learned 'survival' Arabic at best, and can fully empathize with kids coming in to school as ESL. Sadly through misuse, I've forgotten most of what I learned. I remember 'I want...' and 'I don't want...' (Ana isa & Ana mish-isa respectively). I could probably still count to ten if I really think about it. But with my love of languages, I think this had to have been one of my favorite parts of being there.

Least favorite - being the object of racism - it's way different when you're treated that way, and makes you appreciate what others go through. I was once asked to leave my classroom (I was grading at the back of the class while the Arabic Studies teacher was teaching the lesson). The reason I was asked to leave was because I was not Muslim.

Most surprising - the cold. Say Egypt to most people and they think hot country. Deserts are DAMN cold at night... and in the winter... OMFG. I literally had to sit 2 feet away from the space heater, wrapped in a blanket to stay warm. Why? Well the apartment was built to keep inhabitants cool in the height of summer... (because when it was hot, it was hot!). It was all marble floors and wall tiles, and not at all good for keeping heat in when it was needed.

Where other countries have 'snow days' etc., Egypt has 'sandstorm days'

Most disturbing - when I was there it wasn't long after the revolution, so there would be some days when we would get a call from the school to stay in our apartments and that there would be no school that day due to unrest in the society.

Also, one morning, I saw a man on campus who had a gun tucked into the waistband of his pants. Of course I reported it to the headmaster right away, and it was investigated. Turns out that it was a plain clothes policeman.

Would I go back? I want to visit for a vacation some day, do all the things that I didn't get to do because I was too busy teaching. The most touristy thing I got to do while I was there was a boat trip on the Nile. It was a school field trip for geography lesson, and it was in the heart of Cairo. Let me tell you, that water was NASTY.

Would I want to live/work there again. No, really I wouldn't. And driving in Cairo... Hell no! New York driving x10 doesn't even come close... maybe if you crossed NY driving with Stock Car racing, you'd come close. Those drivers are SCARY!

It was an experience, and I don't really regret doing it. I think I learned a lot from being there... about people, and about myself.

Thank you for a brilliant ask!

#TMI Tuesday #ask answered #jackabelle73

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bexterbex · 4 years

Text

A Soul to Mend His Own | Ch. 3

A Kylo Ren x Modern! Reader in a soulmate au with some canon divergence. —————————————SLOWBURN————————————–

He is already the Supreme leader, searching the universe to find you, his Empress. Your name on his wrist has been the only constant in his life, while you have doubts about his existence and his acceptance of you. He isn’t in the database and why did the name Kylo Ren cover Ben Solo?

Originally posted on my Ao3 Crystallclover. If you missed Chapter 1, Click Here

Chapter 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6

Chapter 3: Of Speculation and Anticipation

Summary: “In fifteen minutes we will hear from the Prime Minister with more information about the First Order and what we as citizens are expected to do. Please stay tuned to CBC News for updates.” And “Tonight at 7 PM Eastern Standard Time First Order Supreme Leader Ren will address the public for the second time.”

_______________________________________________________________________

You arrive home and park in your building’s ramp. You see Carter pulling into the guest parking zone. You wait for them.

“Want to order something for lunch,” asked Carter.

“Sure, does curry sound alright,” you asked. Carter nodded and you both headed into your building.

You both took the stairs up to your floor and you unlocked your door. Both of you took off your shoes and you pulled out your phone to do your usual curry order

“So this thing with the First Order. What do you think? How many people are out there,” Asked Carter.

“I don’t know what to think. This all feels like some weird Sci-Fi movie. Why is this the first time we have been contacted by some sort of ‘alien’ race? This is just weird,” you responded. You pulled out your laptop and set it up on your small kitchen table. You set up a live feed to the CBC News broadcast and plugged your laptop in.

“What if they are really peaceful and don’t mean any harm. You heard that man, the Supreme Leader I think that’s what he’s called, as long as we follow orders we should be fine,” responded Carter.

Suddenly you both get a text in your group chat from Hayden asking, ‘What’s up with this alien invasion thing 👽? Spooky 👻’

“Should we invite him over,” asked Carter.

“Yeah, let’s see if I can add to the lunch order,” you responded while Carter texted Hayden back.

“Damn it, it won’t let me. Let me check if I have any salad or anything to go with it,” you told Carter.

“Why don’t I text Hayden that if he plans on coming over now he needs to bring something,” asked Carter.

You nodded with approval. Although Carter texted Hayden separately he is always the type to respond in the group chat. ‘Coolio, I’ll pick up some drinks and chips and hummus 😂’

“Why he does that I’ll never understand,” you stated. Carter nodded in agreement.

The live stream on your laptop flashed so you unmuted it.

Live from Ottawa

“In fifteen minutes we will hear from the Prime Minister with more information about the First Order and what we as citizens are expected to do. Please stay tuned to CBC News for updates,” said the blond anchorwoman. You turned down the volume on your laptop to a background noise level.

“Dang. Hopefully, he has more information as to who they are. I have been checking the government website all day and no one really has anything. Their Supreme Leader is a total mystery,” said Carter.

You both then went to minding your phones. You scrolled through twitter. Everyone was talking about #alieninvasiondc and #firstorder. No one had any real news, just speculation from what you could see. Ironically the #raidarea51 tag was trending again talking about how this is what the U.S. government was hiding.

There was a knock on your door. You went to open it. The delivery person was there with your food. You paid him and he went on his way. Almost immediately after you shut the door there was another knock. Hayden this time with the drinks and chips and hummus.

He walks in without taking off his shoes and said, “aliens man who would have thunk.”

“Take off your damn shoes I don’t know how time I have to tell you,” you scolded Hayden who made his way back to the door.

“Ok jeez it’s not like your apartment is huge. It won’t take long to clean it,” Hayden responded.

Carter just rolled their eyes at the two of you. Hayden was the more relaxed, and slobby of the three of you. You were more type A, where everything had a place and you like things just so. He was definitely the extrovert of the group, someone who could have a 3-hour long conversation with a bartender about their life. Meanwhile, you were more of an introvert. Carter was the perfect balance for you two. Ever the optimist but an ambivert none the less.

Hayden loved conspiracy theories. Always talking about a new one here or there. He was the least adult out of the three of you. You had your habits and the way you liked things. Being a minimalist you liked the things you liked the way you liked them. You needed to be efficient and precise in order to survive your home and work life.

“My apartment may be small, but if it bothers you why is it that we always end up here, hmm?” You responded sarcastically.

Hayden just shrugged and went about preparing himself a plate of curry, rice hummus and chips while grabbing a cider from the six-pack he brought.

“I don’t know if you heard but the Prime Minister will be speaking in a few minutes, hopefully with more information on this First Order stuff,” said Carter trying to distract you two from your usual petty disagreements.

Carter was the glue to your friendship. The rock to keep you three together. Despite Hayden’s extroversion, there were still some prejudices against the unmatched. He could easily find someone to go home with after a night at the bars but had a hard time making lasting friendships until he found Carter.

“Cool, love seeing my man Trudeau,” said Hayden.

Just now your laptop screen flashed with the news report. You turned up the volume.

Live from Ottawa

The Prime Minister started to speak, “as you all know yesterday there was a visit to Earth by a then-unknown group who we now know to be the First Order. Earlier this morning the U.S. President spoke to everyone on behalf of the United Nations. I myself and many others are in agreement that the First Order have come here in peace. I ask everyone in Canada to act peacefully and follow all instructions that you may receive from the government or the First Order.

You will be able to register at all public government offices like the housing department, the post office, the motor vehicle registration office, the social insurance number office, the immigration office and more. In the upper parts of provinces and in major cities there will be temporary registration stations. Please check the government website canada.ca to find any more places to register.

We ask that all citizens of Earth remain calm and proceed to be registered. Earlier the President said that citizens may be reassigned to duties within the First Order. This will only happen with your consent and only to positions, the First Order may need. You also may have the choice to temporarily be reassigned to help with registration.

The First Order will also be removing all standard currency and will be shifting all current wealth into the galaxy’s credit system or galactic credit. No citizen will lose any portion of their wealth and all physical currency will be able to be exchanged at any bank, credit union, or any government office and all digital currency or any currency currently kept at a bank or credit union will be converted automatically. This will happen 3 days after the trade deadline. By the end of the month, Earth will join the galactic trade economy and will be able to set up trade with any planet within the First Order rule.

Tonight at 7 PM Eastern Standard Time First Order Supreme Leader Ren will address the public for the second time. It is important that all citizens tune into the news and all employers are mandated to allow all employees the opportunity to watch or listen to Supreme Leader Ren’s speech. Thank you.”

All three of you sat stunned looking at the laptop. Carter was the first to speak.

“Is he human, Supreme Leader Ren I mean? You saw that helmet thing I wonder what's under there” asked Carter.

“I don’t know maybe he’s got like a tentacle face like Davey Jones did from that Pirates of the Caribbean movie. What do you think Y/N,” asked Hayden.

“You both say the videos of last night’s landing right? There was a ginger man with them, maybe they are human, but there is probably some sort of mix within their ranks. You’ve both seen Star Trek and other Sci-Fi movies. There is a possibility all of the First Order with helmets are some other species. Maybe they brought that ginger man to calm us all down so we don’t have an alien vs predator thing,” you said.

Both Carter and Hayden seemed to nod in agreement. For a little bit, you all went about eating your food.

“Hey, this might be one of my crazy theories but what if your guys’ matches are some weird alien species,” said Hayden. “Like think how cool that would be!”

“I will love whoever or whatever they are. The universe thought it was important enough to put their name on my wrist so that is all I care about,” said Carter continuing to eat.

You just simply looked down at the names on your wrist. You secretly hoped that Kylo/Ben wasn’t going to be disgusted at you being human.

#kylo ren x reader #kylo ren imagine #sw #sw sequels #first order #a soul to mend his own #sw first order imagine #kylo ren #why is tumblr like this

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ourplaceinthecosmosphff · 4 years

Text

Chapter 5. Truth or Dare

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

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

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

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

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

“For me?” She replied with a nod.

“I think it’s a dress.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“...yes?”

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

“I do not-”

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

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

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

I sighed, resting my back against the chair.

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

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

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

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

“My point exactly. You could be.”

“Louis-”

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

“I do have to.”

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

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

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

I sighed. “What exactly are you suggesting?”

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

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

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

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

“Red?!”

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

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

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

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

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

“Spanx, Louis?!”

He closed the door with a thud.

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

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

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

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

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

“Lou!”

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

“We’re not Swedish!”

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

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

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

I sighed. “It’s… beautiful.”

“But?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What?!”

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

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

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

“Harry’s just being…”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Why are you shaking?”

I shrugged, and he grinned.

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

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

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

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

He was going to make a fantastic King.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"I'm sure."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Good evening.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I think I’m right where I belong.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Dare.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“And your brother isn’t nice?”

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

He smiled.‌ “How do you know that?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He stared at his plate, thoughtfully.

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

I nodded. “Yeah, so did I.”

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

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

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

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

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

“Shut up.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Which of your siblings is your favorite?”

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

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

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

“Fine. Louis. But I‌ have-”

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

“You asked!” I‌ said, whispery.

“That is cold!”

“I have reasons!”

“Fine, what are the reasons?”

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

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

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

“One year?”

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

“You came home often?”

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

“There.”

I sighed. “Well, yes.”

“You felt guilty you were away.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

He gave me a sad look, but I shrugged.

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

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

I smiled. “I know you’ll tell me.”

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

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

“Don’t lawyer me, Mary.”

We laughed.

“Marie.”

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

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

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

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

“More what?”

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

“So you moved to Belgium.”

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

He smiled. “I hated school.”

I rolled my eyes. “Everyone did-”

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

“Excuse me?”

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

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

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

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

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

“Shut up.”

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

I sighed, “We did.”

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

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

“Auguste noticed it, too.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What? What did she say?”

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

“Louis!”

“He’s nice!‌ And you deserve nice!”

“I know…”

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

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

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

“That’s not- I‌ don’t- Shut up!”

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

“Hello.”‌ He greeted.

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

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

“Stop.” I‌ whispered to my brother.

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

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

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

I‌ laughed. “Sure.”

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

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

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

And I deserved nice.

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

--- ---- ---

Margueritte’s State Dinner Outfit

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

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

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cxhnow · 4 years

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Chloe x Halle Talk Police Brutality and Postponing Their Album

“The way our music has evolved is exactly how we're evolving as young women.”

Four days before the release of their sophomore album, Ungodly Hour, Chloe x Halle addressed their fans to let them know they’re postponing it. In a video posted across their social channels, sisters Chloe, 21, and Halle Bailey, 20, sat shoulder to shoulder at their home in Los Angeles, surrounded by hovering green trees, and tried to sum up their range of emotions after witnessing a global uprising against police brutality.“In honor of all of the lives lost in police brutality, we felt like it was right to postpone, and fully shine our attention and our work on them,” Chloe said, with both a shake and clarity in her voice, in the video to the duo's 2.7 million followers. Halle added, “Music has been used for a long time to bring us joy and healing in difficult times like this.” Just weeks before, George Perry Floyd, a Black man living in Minneapolis, died in police custody while a white officer’s knee was pressed on his neck. As video of his killing spread, and after the deaths of Ahmaud Arbery and Breonna Taylor, protests sparked around the world demanding accountability and allyship with the Black Lives Matter movement. On the day Chloe, Halle, and I spoke by phone, Tony McDade, a Black trans man in Tallahassee, Florida, was fatally shot by an officer. In Los Angeles, where the sisters live, protesters strung their bodies together to temporarily shut down the 101 freeway. In Atlanta, where they were born, six police officers were charged after being accused of using excessive force on two Black college students who were tased and pulled out of their cars days earlier.During a time when fans are more critical of how celebrities engage in civil rights activism, Grammy-nominated musicians and actors Chloe and Halle Bailey don’t tiptoe. They urge fans to sign petitions, donate, vote, and recognize Black life, early and often. They celebrate Black joy year-round. This is what their followers have grown to expect from them. Chloe and Halle have always had something to say, and it just so happens to be an important time to speak up.

It’s hard to wrap your head around the unbreakable confidence it takes to be a female pop artist if you aren’t one. Thankfully, Chloe and Halle have each other. For decades, the bond among members of Black singing girl groups has given audiences soulful and fun music. In the '90s, groups like SWV, En Vogue, and Zhané made upbeat R&B music that made you want to dance with your homegirls. Now, contemporary duos like KING, Van Jess, and Ibeyi stand out for their rapturous vocals enveloped in dramatic production. Chloe x Halle add to this legacy by singing, writing, and producing ethereal music that resonates with the girl next door.Yet there are distinct differences in the duo’s vocal style; they don’t try to match each other’s voices to create some sort of uniformity. Rather, they play off of rhythm and song pacing to meld their voices. When they do sing choruses and bridges together, their voices, albeit distinct, create layered, otherworldly melodies.The duo’s sound is often described as angelic, giving leeway for some to describe them as two women without sin. Chloe and Halle want to shatter this idea because it’s not realistic. “For Ungodly Hour we were so excited to just flip the narrative of being the perfect angel and show the other side[s] of us.…," says Halle. "The dark side, the naughty side, the things that happen that you don't see behind the scenes.”

The majority of the 13 songs on the album are about navigating messy situations — sometimes ones that you have caused. In the midst of trying to be a better friend or romantic partner, you know that you’ll always be imperfect, and decide to love yourself anyway.“I've always been a jazz head," Halle says. “I don't know why, but there's something about the pain and the love and the heartbreak that you can truly feel through the essence of those songs that are sung by Billie Holiday, Nina Simone, Ella Fitzgerald.” As of late, Chloe’s “really, really been inspired by '90s music and early 2000s production,” a vibe you can hear and see in “Do It,” the second single off of Ungodly Hour.“We wanted to show our sensual side because we are growing as young women, but we still kept it classy and cute,” Chloe says. “It was just really fun for us to do that. We also wanted to start dancing this era, and just something really simple. And it makes us so happy to see everyone doing that dance on TikTok.”Chloe expands on how the name of the album and title track came about after working with the U.K. duo Disclosure: “We wrote this song [the title track “Ungodly Hour”] with Disclosure, and we had the best time,” she recalls. “I forgot what I was watching, but I heard the phrase ‘ungodly hour’ and wrote it in my notes. [It] kind of stuck out to all of us, and we were like, ‘What can you say with this?’ We all came up with this sentence: ‘Love me at the ungodly hour,’ which means love me when I'm at my worst; love me when I'm not all dolled up and made up. Love me when all my insecurities are out on the table.”’

“We started writing about when you're in a situationship with a guy and the chemistry is there, and you know the love is there and your connection is so deep, but he's not going all in," she continues. "For some reason he doesn't want to commit. He's entertaining other options, and it's just saying, ‘You know what? I love myself enough to walk away and put the brakes on this and to pause this. So when you decide you like yourself, when you decide you need someone, when you don't have to think about it — love me at the ungodly hour.’”Other emotionally complex tracks on the album include “Forgive Me,” a haunting song inspired by Chloe’s own life, after she discovered a guy she was involved with was going back and forth between her and another young woman. “I Wonder What She Thinks of Me” is a song that tells the story of the new love, the one a man gets with after he’s broken up with his ex.The vocalists are eager to make music that grows with them and becomes more layered as they do. “The way our music has evolved is exactly how we're evolving as young women,” Chloe says. The chromelike wings they turn around and show on their album cover, worn with black, latex dresses, are symbolic of their strength and power.When I ask what they hope for in the future, the Bailey sisters seem at ease. Chloe would love to work with BTS: “They're performing — it's top-notch. I'll sit at my computer and watch all of their music videos and all of their performances.”“Awards would be nice," she adds. "Being at the top of these Hot 100 lists would be beautiful and amazing, but as long as I'm growing and I'm a better version of myself tomorrow than I was today, I am content.”

The duo is used to releasing music during times of political duress. Two years ago, when Chloe x Halle were part of our music issue for the release of their debut album The Kids Are Alright, the world was grappling with an immigration travel ban enacted by President Donald Trump, the #MeToo movement, and pressing climate change legislation. That album was an intonation from the sisters to young activists approaching human rights issues head-on: “Do it while you young. Don't let them turn you numb. Don't let them get you strung. Ooh, let me put you on,” they sing on their first album's title song.“I was 15 through 17, and Chloe was 17 through 19 during the making of the album,” Halle says of their debut project. “We were still very young. We were still trying to figure out what we wanted, and I think that showed in the music.”As artists, the singers say their first album was about proving they could play an active, hands-on role in the production of their own music in an industry dominated by men. As two teenage women, it was about showing the world that, although they didn't have all the answers and weren’t sure what was lurking around every corner, they had the guts to find out. At that point in their careers they had been signed to Beyoncé’s Parkwood for five years and had released one other project, the Sugar Symphony EP, in 2016. But aside from opening tour performances and high-profile appearances, they hadn't become household names.

Now, amid a health pandemic and a country in unrest because of its history of white supremacy, Chloe and Halle are navigating being famous and also having a distinct voice. While finding ways to take care of themselves, the sisters are also promoting an album from their home, in the rooms where they first honed their craft as writers, instrumentalists, and producers. “We've kind of gotten back to our roots and started doing what originally got us started," Halle says, "which is doing YouTube covers, interacting on social media, and connecting with our beautiful fans through there.” A lot has changed in their personal lives as well. They're private about the details, but say they’re learning more about guys and finding themselves in relationships and situationships. They’re experiencing more love, heartbreak, and the misguided antics of boys. "We have to take our power back as women and not allow ourselves to be played,” Chloe riffs.In January, the third season of their Freeform show, grown-ish, dropped. In the college-centered comedy, led by Yara Shahidi, Chloe plays Jazz and Halle plays Sky, ambitious twin sisters who attend the fictional state school Cal U. Jazz is balancing being in love with her boyfriend Doug (played by Diggy Simmons) and schoolwork; Sky is focused on being a track star while navigating her interracial relationship. Like the sisters in real life, their characters are witty, impeccably stylish, and proud of their Blackness. But unlike Chloe and Halle, they’re far more overt about their love lives — often kissing in hallways and openly discussing their sex lives — and unfiltered opinions.Before stay-at-home orders went into place, Chloe and Halle had been expanding farther into Hollywood, and pursuing separate film projects.In July 2019, it was announced that Halle is set to play Ariel in the live-action The Little Mermaid. Many saw Halle’s breakout feature-film role as a huge win for inclusion, but, like clockwork, people on social media found an issue with the revamped iteration of Ariel being played by a Black woman. Halle spoke out on the discourse, telling Variety at the time, “I feel like I’m dreaming, and I’m just grateful. I don’t pay attention to the negativity. I just feel like this role is something bigger than me. It’s going to be beautiful.”

Halle remains grateful, but says of the negative criticism, “We've always learned to just keep our heads up no matter the situation. No matter what anybody has to say about you...just keep pushing.”

Like Halle, Chloe is also expanding her acting chops in feature projects. In December, Chloe wrapped filming for her role in the horror film The Georgetown Project, starring Russell Crowe and Ryan Simpkins. “I'm really protective of my energy, I'm very spiritual, and I love God,” she says about the thriller. “So I was constantly praying when I was on set. But surprisingly, the energy on set was so positive. And I learned so much by being around all of these Oscar-winning actors.”

Humility is a running trait between the sisters. They don’t hide their confidence, but are also God-fearing and incredibly gracious. They’re media-trained and polite, but also find a way to be frank. They say this album is a “whole different world” for them as they reveal more of their personalities, while exploring what it means to be grown women.

“We are learning to embrace who we truly are,” Chloe says about their music evolution. “Our insecurities, our sexuality, owning our power. I'm grateful that we are given a space where we can do that comfortably. And I'm grateful for our parents, because they instilled in us that we need to be strong and independent young women.”

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