#this man told me he can’t have children and how it impacted his marriage and I genuinely cannot tell you if it was a lie

[newvision]

Feeling like cracking open my skull, throwing up, never leaving bed etc

#how can people fake intimacy I don’t get it #how can you talk to someone and tell them intimate things about yourself and it’s al fake???????????????? #like genuinely okay I’m drunk but how is that something people do #why can’t you be sincere #I told this man things about myself I don’t tell people very easily and he doesn’t even have the decency to fucking answer my fucking mail #if you’re gonna act inappropriately with a student at least fucking apologise when they ask you to stop #I was perfectly polite as well #god I fucking hate myself for being so fucking naive #how am I the idiot in this story #why does he get to walk away and I’m here getting drunk by myself cause i don’t know how else to deal with this #he’s probably out walking his fucking dogs (they’re not his he borrows them from a neighbour and I know this cause I pay attention to him) #god forbid I open up to people #why do I have to feel wretched and stupid and embarrassed about this when he’s the one trying to fuck any and all of his students #kind of funny how easily I believed my opinions and thoughts mattered lol #this man told me he can’t have children and how it impacted his marriage and I genuinely cannot tell you if it was a lie #sorry for this I’ve had to much wine and been crying for like an hour #I’m gonna sleep now #ugh #emmys thoughts #too*

[religion-is-a-mental-illness]

By: Theo Merz

Published: Feb 26, 2015

“Some victims of domestic abuse are not identified as regularly,” reads a line several pages into a new report from a UK domestic violence charity. “Particular groups of victims may be less visible to services or be given less priority.”

Along with people from black, Asian and ethnic minority backgrounds, “male victims” form one of these neglected groups, according to the SafeLives study, which was published on Wednesday.

Perhaps this is unsurprising, given that the vast majority of SafeLives’ 35,000-strong database of survivors is female. When we think of domestic abuse it is generally as a women’s issue, while most high profile awareness drives, such as The White Ribbon Campaign, are aimed at reducing male violence against women.

But domestic violence against men is far from a niche concern. The most recent Crime Survey for England and Wales estimated that around 800,000 men – five per cent of the male population – had experienced domestic abuse in 2011-12, compared to 1.2 million women – or seven per cent of the female population. Since about 2005, around 40 per cent of domestic violence victims have been male.

And when these victims are not identified in time, the results can be disastrous. In this week’s SafeLives report, titled Getting It Right First Time, the charity claims: “The impact of domestic abuse on the victim and on children – even once they have achieved safety – is severe and long-lasting.”

'I didn't think of it as domestic violence'

Simon* is one man who understands the consequences of abuse better than most. For most of his 17-year marriage, this 47-year-old was subjected to domestic abuse from his wife, from having hot drinks poured over him to dinner plates smashed over his head.

While his wife was never physically violent towards their three children, she would often attack him in front of them.

“I didn’t think of it as domestic violence and I think that’s often true for male victims,” he says now. “You put it down to mood swings. There was also the pressure of thinking that if I walked away, I might get a raw deal when it came to custody of the children.

“One day, though, my youngest child replicated her behaviour. They came into the kitchen and smashed a plate over my head – I got really angry, shouted and I remember them looking so shocked. They didn’t realise it was wrong because this is what they had seen their parents doing. I wondered whether I was really protecting any of them.”

He reached breaking point one night after his wife threw him out of the house – something she had done several times before. Simon, who was then working for the church and had never talked to anyone about the abuse he had suffered, went to speak with a superior in the church hierarchy.

“They said, go back to your wife and nobody will be any the wiser, but I knew I could never do that.”

Since leaving the marriage, Simon has become involved with charities like the Mankind Initiative, which provides support for male survivors of domestic abuse.

“It’s a long battle to change people’s perception,” he says. “People are used to the idea of domestic violence being something men do to women, but when it happens the other way round, they can’t get their heads round it.

“Going for the authorities was never an option for me. I thought, who would believe me – a big, strapping bloke? I can look after myself in that sense.

“But as a boy, growing up, I was always told that boys don’t hit girls. That was the most important thing. It didn’t matter how I was provoked, I would just never do that. So I would let her anger burn out rather than ever retaliate.”

He says that men in similar situations should remember they are not alone and – if they feel unable to talk to anyone about the abuse – keep a journal and read it back, so they can get a more objective view of what is happening to them.

“Start thinking about ways out, too. You might hope that things will change but the reality is they never will.”

'Why would you, as a man, put up with that?'

Ian McNicholl, 52, is another male survivor of domestic abuse. He was subjected to a 14-month ordeal by his ex-partner which saw her pour boiling water over him, put out cigarette butts on his face and genitals and attack him with a hammer.

He still bears the physical and psychological scars from that relationship, and needed his septum replaced after his ex assaulted him with a metal bar. The police became involved after McNicholl confided in a neighbour that suicide was the only way he could see out of the relationship.

His girlfriend was found guilty of grievous bodily harm and assault, and was sentenced to seven years prison time, but is now out on licence.

“When I tell people about what happened, some of them still ask: why would you, as a man, put up with that? It’s because they don’t understand how manipulative some people’s behaviour can be – it takes all you have, until you’ve got nothing left.

“I don’t deny that more females are victims of domestic abuse, but it’s a crime that can affect anyone. The media need to give male victims more coverage and a more balanced view of what domestic abuse is.”

*name has been changed

==

Reminder: the idea that "more females are victims" is a cultural meme, not fact. Despite feminist propaganda, such as the Duluth Model, which uses feminist mythology rather than evidence to assert that only men perpetrate violence and women only act in self defence, actual statistics don't back this up at all.

Far and away the most common dynamic in intimate partner violence is bidirectional/symmetrical, while in the minority that are unidirectional or asymmetrical, the most common dynamic is actually female on male. What's termed "severe male on female" is the least common dynamic of all (~5%).

Yet, like the myth of white cops murdering scores of unarmed black men, the least common scenario is the only one anyone pays attention to, and the only one anyone is allowed to talk about.

#ManKind Initiative #domestic violence #domestic abuse #intimate partner violence #abusive relationship #abused men #violent women #violence is violence #religion is a mental illness

[heylinfanclub]

Texts to send to my brother about his neurodivergent wife who ran away to holland with their kid and how he treats me and how I think it reflects on his marriage—- plus a video.

Stuff that make me think of me and Kim and potentially [your kid]. Just cause. Hm. Lots of people in the family (not just you, but Scott, my parents, the church people who support me— under all the love they give—) give the vibe of ‘I’m not going to do any research on your condition, I’m going to constantly invalidate it and regurgitate misinformation about this thing you’ve had all your life and will have all your life, give you advice that you can’t act on because of your disorder I refuse to research, make you feel like shit, etc— then blame you for being sensitive and different’.

Older people think the ‘you’re just different, everyone’s different’ is comforting but it’s actually a platitude that stymies real conversation about an actual issue that they want to avoid because it’s ~confusing~ and they don’t want to ~bother~. They just want the other person to be ~normal~. They never actually accept that difference!

They don’t get that the differences mean they NEVER WILL BE NORMAL. and that it’s OKAY. And should be. ‘Different’ is not and never will be a proper definition of the real issue a person is facing!! It’s not!! They told you the diagnosis they have!! Google it bare minimum! Become an expert if you LOVE THEM. Otherwise it’s just a cruel show of a lack of care and compassion, an utter disregard for another persons struggles as anything more than a warped figment of your personal imagination.

If ya can’t quote Browns Model of Executive Impairment in ADHD (2005), ya can’t tell me what I do or don’t struggle with.

TLDR: My therapist once said that children get traumatized not because they suffer, but because they SUFFER ALONE. And kids with neurodevelopmental disorders are prone to being traumatized BECAUSE of their mental health leaving them stigmatized and ostracized and feeling like Nobody understands and Nobody Ever Will (let alone the people most important to them!). At that point. Being Alone becomes a shield from disappointment. So. I do think of [your cHILD] and what she might be goin thru. Cause I went through it too. And I didn’t have the words to express it for 26 years. Probably more still. And I never got to have a close friendship with my parents because of it. Why I could tell dad ‘you’re a good man but I’d never be friends with you if you weren’t my family. Because you could never be truly concerned with my struggles. Only concerned that I’m not meeting *expectations*.’

And despite this text being an agonizing call to action to PLEASE do some modern research on things impacting your family: the video also said ‘it’s okay if they don’t understand, as long as they don’t stop you from meeting your needs however you need to’ and Augh the agony of accepting that alsooo. But putting that into actionable words is like: I said I couldn’t brush my teeth so I made strategies to try to get myself into it. YOU SAID ‘OR YOU CAN JUST KEEP ON TOP OF IT (an IDIOTIC STATEMENT)’. 100% unnecessary and WORTHLESS commentary. I stopped being friends with people for less.

https://youtu.be/Gej2YNMLzrc?si=IZNlcpSktTBkJ4A8

#me. #therapy. #(we’ll see if I send this actually tho

[slasherhaven]

Could I request a slasher fic on how they propose? I have been thinking about it but I think you could do it more justice!(also totally ignore if you dont want to)

The Slashers and Proposing:

Thomas Hewitt

Thomas wants marriage so much. The idea of having a ‘normal’ family is everything to him. Getting married, having children (biological or adopted), it just makes him feel all fuzzy on the inside.

So, after so long of dating, Thomas was starting to consider proposing to you. He would talk to Luda May about it first, asking for her opinion and advice, and she was very encouraging.

Just like most of the slashers, he would have to get a ring from a victim. Even if he could go into the nearest town, he wouldn’t have the money to buy a decent ring and you only deserve the best.

Luda May would be in a really good mood ever since Thomas brought up the idea of marriage. She’ll be giving you looks and smiles that make you think that something is going on that you don’t know about.

Thomas and you will take a walk one afternoon, something the two of you would do to get away from the family when you had some free time.

When you get away from the house, he’ll stop walking, expressing how much he loves you. Whether he signs it or gives you a note. Then he will get down on his knee and hold the ring out to you, just like Luda May had told him too.

When you agree to marry him, he’ll pull you into an embrace. He feels like he could cry when he buries his face in your hair. He just loves you so much and now he’s going to be your husbands. He’s going to be a husband!

As soon as you return to the house and Luda May notices the ring on your finger, she is congratulating you both. You were already family but now you would be officially. She’s already planning your future with Thomas but just let her, he’s just excited.

Michael Myers

Never though of marriage. Not once. Realistically, never will.

Now, he’ll do something eventually. It’s far from traditional but means a lot coming from him.

You will have had to have mentioned marriage at some point. Given him some reason to believe you wanted marriage. 

He doesn’t think about it again until he’s killing a victim and notices the ring on their finger.

He will either pocket the ring or steal one from elsewhere.

When he comes home, you’re asleep. He’ll slide the ring into your finger and go to bed like nothing happened.

You don’t notice the ring at first until you’re making breakfast, freezing when you see the ring on your finger...the only explanation was Michael. 

When he comes into the kitchen, you smile and walk up to him. You lean up to give him a gentle kiss and he allows it. But doesn’t really respond when you joke about how he should have asked but yes, of course, you’d marry him.

You’re his, he didn’t need you to answer the question to know that. But...it’s still nice to hear, he supposes.

Jason Voorhees

Jason wants everything to be perfect for you!

He has to get the ring from a victim and he gathers a small collection before he picks the one he wants to propose to you with. He just wanted to make sure he picked the best one, the one you would like the most.

He’ll even take you out on a cute little date. Probably a picnic in a pretty location in the forest.

He’s noticeably nervous the whole time, especially when it’s coming up to the big question. 

When you ask him if he’s alright, he will nod and try to collect himself.

His mother raised him to be a gentleman so he knows what to do, getting onto one knee and pulling the ring from his pocket. He hopes you get the idea because he can’t really sign anything when he’s presenting you with the ring.

But you do understand and you accept, pulling him into a hug, feeling him physically relax in your embrace.

Brahms Heelshire

Brahms had spent a lot of his life reading books from the house’s large library, which includes romances. So he’s thought about relationships, marriage, and all of that before.

But its wasn’t until you that he started putting himself in that position. He’s craved a relationship for a long time but he’s only started craving marriage recently, with you.

Can’t get a ring...but after you say yes he tell you that you can get yourself one with his family’s money...sorry.

You’ll have dinner as usual. Afterwards, Brahms will put on some music and ask you to dance, which isn’t unusual, you just think he’s in a good mood. You’re not wrong, but that’s not the full story.

The two of you dance and finally he asks you if you like to marry him. You make him smile more than ever when you say yes.

Bo Sinclair

It’s definitely going to take a while to get a marriage proposal from this man.

He just never thought about it, never considered it. He knows that he plans on having you by his side for the foreseeable future, so why does marriage feel like such a huge step for him?

But at some point he thinks about it and he finds himself smirking at the thought of introducing you to people as his wife/husband/spouse. That’s what encourages him to genuinely consider it.

He pockets an expensive looking ring from a victim, sitting on it for a while until he decides what he wants to do.

He’s not going to make a big deal out of it but he might actually put together a dinner just for the two of you. Nothing fancy but it’s nice.

Then he’ll propose and you’ll probably never expect it from him. But of course you say yes.

He noticeably extra gentle with you that night.

Vincent Sinclair

Vincent loves the idea of marry you but is super nervous to propose. What if you say no?! He knows you love him, you’ve proven that to him time and time again, but he can’t help but doubt himself from time to time.

He’d try to make it as romantic as possible, already not liking that the ring he was going to give you was from a victim. It was a pretty ring and he would have bought you one if the brothers had the money for it, but they didn’t.

A romantic candle lit dinner! He’s pretty proud of himself for it. And it is perfect.

It’s after dinner, you walk up to him and wrap your arms around him, asking him what all of this was for.

That’s when he would reach into his pocket, fumbling for the ring before presenting it to you. Hanging his head slightly, shyly. He was adorable.

But of course you accepted and he couldn’t be happier, pulling you into a loving kiss before just embracing you.

Lester Sinclair

You’ll know he’s up to something pretty quick. He’s gotten all cleaned up and has put on a nice shirt, and when you joking ask him what the special occasion is, you quickly realise that he is hiding something. You just don’t know what.

He’ll...try to make you dinner. It’s not bad but usually you cook, or manage it together, but this time he insists on doing it all by himself.

Now you realise that Lester is trying to be romantic, something was coming. The idea of a proposal probably popped into your head at some point in the evening but you could never be sure with Lester, he could be a little unpredictable.

Dinner and wine, because that’s what he’s supposed to do, right?

He’s a real gentleman all night.

After dessert, Lester will give you a cute little speech about how much he loves you and how much you have impacted his life. When he’ll kneel down in front you, presenting you with a ring.

Even if you predicted it, act a little surprised for his sake. He’ll be smiling like an idiot as he pulls you into a kiss when you say nice.

Bubba Sawyer

The thought of marriage does make Bubba happy, it gets him smiling like only you can.

Unfortunately, he doesn’t have anyone to go to for advice. Well, he does but none of them give good advice. He’s better just figuring it out by himself. And he does eventually.

He isn’t sure when to propose because if he had it his way he would have done it already, but he knows that he can’t do it too soon. That being said, there is a chance he will propose pretty quick.

It’s simple. Once he’s found a ring that he likes and thinks will look pretty on you, he is ready.

It will probably just be in his bedroom when you both get some time alone. You’ll both be sitting on the bed, him babbling nervously, you’ll have to take his hands and calm him down.

Once he calms a little, he’ll reach into his pocket and pull out the ring, holding it out to you. As soon as you say yes, Bubba is smiling widely. Put the ring on and pull this boy into a hug, he’ll cling to you for the rest of the night. He’s so happy!

Billy Lenz

A proposal isn’t going to happen for a long time, simply because Billy has never considered marriage, never even thought about it.

He loves you, he wants to be with you, and he wants to be with you forever. Marriage has just literally never come to mind.

It doesn’t come to mind until the two of you were cuddled up on the couch watching a movie, the couple getting married. Then he starts to think about it and he realises he would like that a lot, with you.

“Would you marry me?” he lifted his head, resting his chin on your chest as he looked up at you.

You thought it was a hypothetical question. “Sure, Billy. I’d like that a lot” you smile, running your fingers through his hair.

He giggled, leaning up to place kisses against your neck while murmuring “wife/husband/spouse”. 

What’s when you realised he was being serious, he had just asked you to marry him while laying on the couch in your pyjamas. It wasn’t the most romantic gesture but it was cute. And your answer stayed the same.

Asa Emory (The Collector)

Asa is the type of guy to take everything into consideration. How would a marriage effect your relationship, how would it fit into his life, and how would it fit in with his ‘hobbies’, those are the most important things he has to consider.

It wouldn’t effect your relationship much at all. You already live with him, you know about what he does at the hotel, he would just call you his spouse. And because you already know about what he does, it wouldn’t effect his work at all. He had no reason to not marry you...

All of that just for him to realise that he really does want to marry you, for more than just appearance reasons. Admittedly, a marriage would be good for keeping appearances in his ‘normal life’, but it’s more than that. He’s decided that he would like to marry you.

Asa probably gives you the most conventional proposal. Probably a nice dinner date, a walk to somewhere more private like a nice park. That’s where he’d propose, already knowing you’d say yes. He’s always in control like that.

Jesse Cromeans (Chromeskull)

The possessive side of him (and arguably his romantic side) is fond of marriage. You being his in the eyes of everyone, nobody would be able to argue the point. You would be his.

But he still has his reservations. He lives a complicated life. You knowing about that side of him, about the stuff he does, not having to hide anything from you, that’s what pushes him to propose. You are already with him despite all of that, so he didn’t see why that would change in the future.

This man is so damn rich, you’re getting a grand proposal with this man.

He’ll buy you a brand new outfit to wear for the night and when you get to the fancy restaurant, you realised that he had bought out the whole place for the night. Even replacing the usual staff with his own. And you knew something was up, that he had something planned.

And he’d propose with an incredibly expensive ring. He just likes to spoil you, getting you the best of the best.

He’s already confident that you’ll say yes but still smiles when you accept the ring with you own bright smile.

Otis Driftwood

In Otis’s opinion, the proposal should be private. Something that should be personal, just between the two of you, which is arguably romantic in it’s own way.

Will most likely take place in his bedroom, since nobody but the two of you go into there, so it’s private.

He won’t say the words “Will you marry me?” It’s probably going to be more along the lines of “so you wanna be mine for good?”

And he will definitely get you a ring. It’s going to be stolen from a victim but it will be nice. He isn’t going to settle for just any ring he comes across first, he will wait for the perfect ring. If he sees somebody with a real nice ring, he’ll purposely target them for it.

Okay so erm…if you’re alright with gore and stuff, if you partake in his ‘hobbies’, and you have a good sense of humour…he may just present that ring to you while it is still on the victim’s cut off finger. He’ll make an educated guess on whether that would be something you found funny or grossed you out.

Baby Firefly

Probably never thought of getting married before you came along. She never thought about spending the rest of her life with someone, the idea of marriage seemed boring to her. 

The usual idea of marriage is settling down with someone, having kids, blah blah blah. She just wants to do fucked up shit!

But then she realised that she wants to spend the rest of her life fucking shit up with you! So that’s what your marriage would be like and that’s what she wants!

She wants to get the perfect ring for you because you deserve it! And she’ll get one for herself. Ideally, she would find matching ones or ones that are very similar.

Like Otis, she will target a victim simply because she’s decided that they are wearing the ring that she wants to propose with.

She’d asked “You wanna marry me?” with a bright smile on her face, already confident that you’re going to say yes.

Yautja (Predator)

The Yautja and humans have very different cultures and traditions. While they don’t have, what we call, marriage and aren’t usually monogamous or the sort to settle down, it’s not impossible.

You’ve talked about marriage traditions with him before, just when you were discussing the differences between both of your cultures.

They don’t get their mates rings, that’s a difference. But humans do, so he will. He wants to try to combine cultures and traditions.

Well, he’s not walking into the nearest jeweller and buying you a ring. Your ring is going to be made of some alien metal that you’ve never heard off, but it’s going to be super strong and super pretty.

He’ll get down on one knee and present you with the ring, just like he had seen in movies you had shown him. 

But a ring isn’t the only thing he presents you with. He will also present you with a large skull of an alien you don’t recognise. The skull is meant to prove his capabilities to be a provider and a protector, that’s their tradition. The skull might have been alarming if similar gifts hadn’t been presented to you when he was trying to court you, but this is certainly the largest gift.

#thomas hewitt x reader #michael myers x reader #jason voorhees x reader #brahms heelsire x reader #bo sinclair x reader #vincent sinclair x reader #lester sinclair x reader #bubba sawyer x reader #billy lenz x reader #otis driftwood x reader #baby firefly x reader #yautja x reader #predator x reader #asa emory x reader #the collector x reader #jesse cromeans x reader #chromeskull x reader #slashers x reader #slashers #slasher #my writing

[oscopelabs]

Isn’t Everything Autobiographical?: Ethan Hawke In Nine Films And A Novel by Marya Gates

When asked during his first ever on-camera interview if he’d like to continue acting, a young Ethan Hawke replied, “I don’t know if it’s going to be there, but I’d like to do it.” He then gives a guileless shrug of relief as the interview ends, wiping imaginary sweat off his brow. The simultaneous fusion of his nervous energy and poised body language will be familiar to those who’ve seen later interviews with the actor. The practicality and wisdom he exudes at such a young age would prove to be a through-line of his nearly 40-year career. In an interview many decades later, he told Ideas Tap that many children get into acting because they’re seeking attention, but those who find their calling in the craft discover that a “desire to communicate and to share and to be a part of something bigger than yourself takes over, a certain craftsmanship—and that will bring you a lot of pleasure.”

Through Hawke’s dedication to his craft, we’ve also seen his maturation as a person unfold on screen. Though none of his roles are traditionally what we think of when we think of autobiography, many of Hawke’s roles, as well as his work as a writer, suggest a sort of fictional autobiographical lineage. While these highlights in his career are not strictly autofiction, one can trace Hawke’s Künstlerromanesque trajectory from his childhood ambitions to his life now as a man dedicated to art, not greatness. 

Hawke’s first two films, Joe Dante’s sci-fi fantasy Explorers with River Phoenix and Peter Weir’s Dead Poets Society with Robin Williams, set the tone for a diverse filmography filled with popcorn fare and indie cinema in equal measure, but they also served as touchstones in his development as person drawn to self-expression through art. In an interview with Rolling Stone’s David Fear, Hawke spoke about the impact of these two films on him as an actor. When River Phoenix, his friend and co-star in Explorers, had his life cut short by a drug overdose, it hit Hawke personally. He saw from the inside what Hollywood was capable of doing to young people with talent. Hawke never attempted to break out, to become a star. He did the work he loved and kept the wild Hollywood lifestyle mostly at arm’s length. 

Like any good film of this genre, Dead Poets Society is not just a film about characters coming of age, but a film that guides the viewer as well, if they are open to its message. Hawke’s performance as repressed schoolboy Todd in the film is mostly internal, all reactions and penetrating glances, rather than grandiose movements or speeches. Through his nervy body language and searching gaze, you can feel both how closed off to the world Todd is, and yet how willing he is to let change in. Hawke has said working on this film taught him that art has a real power, that it can affect people deeply. This ethos permeates many of the characters Hawke has inhabited in his career. 

In Dead Poets Society, Mr. Keating (Robin Williams) tells the boys that we read and write poetry because the human race is full of passion. He insists, “poetry, beauty, romance, love—these are what we stay alive for.” Hawke gave a 2020 TEDTalk entitled Give Yourself Permission To Be Creative, in which he explored what it means to be creative, pushing viewers to ask themselves if they think human creativity matters. In response to his own question, he said “Most people don’t spend a lot of time thinking about poetry, right? They have a life to live and they’re not really that concerned with Allen Ginsberg’s poems, or anybody’s poems, until their father dies, they go to a funeral, you lose a child, somebody breaks your heart, they don’t love you anymore, and all of the sudden you’re desperate for making sense out of this life and ‘has anyone ever felt this bad before? How did they come out of this cloud?’ Or the inverse, something great. You meet somebody and your heart explodes. You love them so much, you can’t even see straight, you know, you’re dizzy. ‘Did anybody feel like this before? What is happening to me?’ And that’s when art is not a luxury. It’s actually sustenance. We need it.” 

Throughout many of his roles post-Dead Poets Society, Hawke explores the nature of creativity through his embodiment of writers and musicians. Often these characters are searching for a greater purpose through art, while ultimately finding that human connection is the key. Without that human connection, their art is nothing.

We see the first germ of this attraction to portray creative people on screen with his performance as Troy Dyer in Reality Bites. As Troy Dyer, a philosophy-spouting college dropout turned grunge-band frontman in Reality Bites, Hawke was posited as a Gen-X hero. His inability to keep a job and his musician lifestyle were held in stark contrast to Ben Stiller’s yuppie TV exec Michael Grates. However in true slacker spirit, he isn’t actually committed to the art of music, often missing rehearsals, as Lelaina points out. Troy even uses his music at one point to humiliate Lelaina, dedicating a rendition of “Add It Up” by Violent Femmes to her. The lyrics add insult to injury as earlier that day he snuck out of her room after the two had sex for the first time. Troy’s lack of commitment to his music matches his inability to commit to those relationships in his life that mean the most to him. 

Reality Bites is also where he first positioned himself as one of the great orators of modern cinema.” Take this early monologue, in which he outlines his beliefs to Winona Ryder’s would-be documentarian Lelaina Pierce: “There’s no point to any of this. It’s all just a random lottery of meaningless tragedy and a series of near escapes. So I take pleasure in the details. You know, a quarter-pounder with cheese, those are good, the sky about ten minutes before it starts to rain, the moment where your laughter become a cackle, and I, I sit back and I smoke my Camel Straights and I ride my own melt.” 

Hawke brings the same intense gaze to this performance as he did to Dead Poets Society, as if his eyes could swallow the world whole. But where Todd’s body language was walled-off, Troy’s is loud and boisterous. He’s quick to see the faults of those around him, but also the good things the world has to offer. It’s a pretty honest depiction of how self-centered your early-20s tend to be, where riding your own melt seems like the best option. As the film progresses, Troy lets others in, saying to Lelaina, “This is all we need. A couple of smokes, a cup of coffee, and a little bit of conversation. You, me and five bucks.”

Like the character, Hawke was in his early twenties and as he would continue to philosophize through other characters, they would age along with him and so would their takes on the world. If you only engage with anyone at one phase in their life, you do a disservice to the arc of human existence. We have the ability to grow and change as we learn who we are and become less self-centered. In Hawke’s career, there’s no better example of this than his multi-film turn as Jesse in the Before Trilogy. While the creation of Jesse and Celine are credited to writer-director Richard Linklater and his writing partner Kim Krizan, much of what made it to the screen even as early as the first film were filtered through the life experiences of Hawke and his co-star Julie Delpy. 

In a Q&A with Jess Walter promoting his most recent novel A Bright Ray of Darkness, Hawke said that Jesse from the Before Trilogy is like an alt-universe version of himself, and through them we can see the self-awareness and curiosity present in the early ET interview grow into the the kind of man Keating from Dead Poets Society urged his students to become. 

In Before Sunrise, Hawke’s Jesse is roughly the same age as Troy in Reality Bites, and as such is still in a narcissistic phase of his life. After spending several romantic hours with Celine in Vienna, the two share their thoughts about relationships. Celine says she wants to be her own person, but that she also desperately wants to love and be loved. Jesse shares this monologue, “Sometimes I dream about being a good father and a good husband. And sometimes it feels really close. But then other times it seems silly, like it would ruin my whole life. And it’s not just a fear of commitment or that I’m incapable of caring or loving because. . . I can. It’s just that, if I’m totally honest with myself, I think I’d rather die knowing that I was really good at something. That I had excelled in some way than that I’d just been in a nice, caring relationship.”

The film ends without the audience knowing if Jesse and Celine ever see each other again. That initial shock is unfortunately now not quite as impactful if you are aware of the sequels. But I think it is an astute look at two people who meet when they are still discovering who they are. Still growing. Jesse, at least, is definitely not ready for any kind of commitment. Then of course, we find out in Before Sunset that he’s fumbled his way into marriage and fatherhood, and while he’s excelling at the latter, he’s failing at the former. 

As in Reality Bites, Hawke explores the dynamics of band life again in Before Sunset, when Jesse recalls to Celine how he was in a band, but they were too obsessed with getting a deal to truly enjoy the process of making music. He says to her, “You know, it's all we talked about, it was all we thought about, getting bigger shows, and everything was just...focused on the future, all the time. And now, the band doesn't even exist anymore, right? And looking back at the... at the shows we did play, even rehearsing... You know, it was just so much fun! Now I'd be able to enjoy every minute of it.”

The filming of Before Sunset happened to coincide with the dissolution of Hawke’s first marriage. And while these films are not autobiographical, everyone involved have stated that they’ve added personal elements to their characters. They even poke fun at it in the opening scene when a journalist asks how autobiographical Jesse’s novel is. True to form, he responds with a monologue, “Well, I mean, isn’t everything autobiographical? I mean, we all see the world through our own tiny keyhole, right? I mean, I always think of Thomas Wolfe, you know. Have you ever seen that little one page note to reader in the front of Look Homeward, Angel, right? You know what I'm talking about? Anyway, he says that we are the sum of all the moments of our lives, and that, anybody who sits down to write is gonna use the clay of their own life, that you can’t avoid that.”

While Before Sunset was shot in 2003, released in 2004 and this monologue refers to the fictional book within the trilogy entitled This Time, Hawke would take this same approach more than a decade later with his novel A Bright Ray of Darkness.

In the novel, Hawke crafts a quasi-autobiographical story, using his experience in theater to work through the perspective he now has on his failed marriage to Uma Thurman. Much like Jesse in Before Sunset, Hawke is reluctant to call the book autobiographical, but the parallels to his own divorce are evident. And as Jesse paraphrased Wolfe, isn’t everything we do autobiographical? In the book, movie star William Harding has blown up his seemingly picture-perfect marriage with a pop star by having an affair while filming on location in South Africa. The book, structured in scenes and acts like a play, follows the aftermath as he navigates his impending divorce, his relationship with his small children, and his performance as Hotspur in a production of Henry IV on Broadway. 

Throughout much of the novel, William looks back at the mistakes he made that led to the breakup of his marriage. He’s now in his 30s and has the clarity to see how selfish he was in his 20s. Hawke, however, was in his forties while writing the book. Through the layers of hindsight, you can feel how Hawke has processed not just the painful emotional growth spurt of his 20s, but also the way he can now mine the wisdom that comes from true reflection. Still, as steeped as the novel is in self-reflection, it does not claim to have all the answers. In fact, it offers William, as well as the readers, more questions to contemplate than it does answers.

The wisdom to know that you will never quite understand everything is broached by Hawke early in the third film in the Before Trilogy, 2013’s Before Midnight. At this point in their love story, Jesse’s marriage has ended and he and Celine are parents to twin girls. Jesse has released two more books: That Time, which recounts the events of the previous film, and Temporary Cast Members of a Long-Running But Little Seen Production of a Play Called Fleeting. Before Midnight breaks the bewitching spell of the first two films by adding more cast members and showing the friction that comes with an attempt to grow old with someone. When discussing his three books, a young man says the title of his third is too long, Jesse says it wasn’t as well loved, and an older professor friend says it’s his best book because it’s more ambitious. It seems Linklater and company already knew how the departure of this third film might be regarded by fans. But it is this very departure that shows their commitment to honestly showing the passage of time and our relationship to it. 

About halfway through the film Jesse and Celine depart the Greek villa where they have been spending the summer, and we finally get a one-on-one conversation like we’re used to with these films. In one exchange, I feel they summarize the point of the entire trilogy, and possibly Hawke’s entire ethos: 

Jesse: Every year, I just seem to get a little bit more humbled and more overwhelmed about all the things I’m never going to know or understand. 

Celine: That’s what I keep telling you. You know nothing!

Jesse: I know, I know! I'm coming around! 

[Celine and Jesse laugh.] 

Celine: But not knowing is not so bad. I mean, the point is to be looking, searching. To stay hungry, right?

Throughout the series, Linklater, Delpy, and Hawke explore what they call the “transient nature of everything.” Jesse says his books are less about time and more about perception. It’s the rare person who can assess themselves or the world around them acutely in the present. For most of us, it takes time and self-reflection to come to any sort of understanding about our own nature. Before Midnight asks us to look back at the first two films with honesty, to remove the romantic lens with which they first appeared to us. It asks us to reevaluate what romance even truly is. 

Hawke explores this same concept again in the 2018 romantic comedy Juliet, Naked. In this adaptation of the 2009 Nick Hornby novel, Hawke plays a washed-up singer-songwriter named Tucker Crowe. He had a big hit album, Juliet, in the early ‘90s and then disappeared into obscurity. Rose Bryne plays a woman named Annie whose longtime boyfriend Duncan is obsessed with the singer and the album, stuck on the way the bummer songs about a bad breakup make him feel. As the film begins, Annie reveals that she thinks she’s wasted 15 years of her life with this schmuck. This being a rom-com, we know that Hawke and Byrne’s characters will eventually meet-cute. What’s so revelatory about the film is its raw depiction of how hard it is for many to reassess who they really are later in life. 

Duncan is stuck as the self-obsessed, self-pitying person he likely was when Annie first met him, but she reveals he was so unlike anyone else in her remote town that she looked the other way for far too long. Now it’s almost too late. By chance, she connects with Crowe and finds a different kind of man.

See, when Crowe wrote Juliet, he also was a navel-gazing twentysomething whose emotional development had not yet reached the point of being able to see both sides in a romantic entanglement. He worked through his heartbreak through art, and though it spoke to other people, he didn’t think about the woman or her feelings on the subject. In a way, Crowe’s music sounds a bit like what Reality Bites’s Troy Dyer may have written, if he ever had the drive to actually work at his music. Eventually, it’s revealed that Crowe walked away from it all when Julie, the woman who broke his heart, confronted him with their child—something he was well aware of, but from which he had been running away. Faced with the harsh reality of his actions and the ramifications they had on the world beyond his own feelings, he ran even farther away from responsibility. In telling the story to Annie, he says, “I couldn’t play any of those songs anymore, you know? After that, I just... I couldn’t play these insipid, self-pitying songs about Julie breaking my heart. You know, they were a joke. And before I know it, a couple of decades have gone by and some doctor hands me... hands me Jackson. I hold him, you know, and I look at him. And I know that this boy. . . is my last chance.”

When we first meet Crowe, he’s now dedicated his life to raising his youngest son, having at this point messed up with four previous children. The many facets of parenthood is something that shows up in Hawke’s later body of work many times, in projects as wholly different as Brooklyn’s Finest, Before Midnight, Boyhood, Maggie’s Plan, First Reformed, and even his novel A Bright Ray of Darkness. In each of these projects, decisions made by Hawke’s characters have a big impact on their children’s lives. These films explore the financial pressures of parenthood, the quirks of blended families, the impact of absent fathers, and even the tragedy of a father’s wishes acquiesced without question. Hawke’s take on parenthood is that of flawed men always striving to overcome the worst of themselves for the betterment of the next generation, often with mixed results. 

Where Juliet, Naked showed a potential arc of redemption for a father gone astray, First Reformed paints a bleaker portrait. Hawke plays Pastor Toller, a man of the cloth struggling with his own faith who attempts to counsel an environmental activist whose impending fatherhood has driven him to suicidal despair. Toller himself is struggling under the weight of fatherhood, believing he sent his own son to die a needless death in a morally bankrupt war. Sharing the story, he says “My father taught at VMI. I encouraged my son to enlist. It was the family tradition. Like his father, his grandfather. Patriotic tradition. My wife was very opposed. But he enlisted against her wishes. . . .  Six months later he was killed in Iraq. There was no moral justification for this conflict. My wife could not live with me after that. Who could blame her? I left the military. Reverend Jeffers at Abundant Life Church heard about my situation. They offered me a position at First Reformed. And here I am.” How do we carry the weight of actions that affect lives that are not even our own? 

If Peter Weir set the father figure template in Dead Poets Society, and Paul Schrader explored the consequences of direct parental influence on their children’s lives, director Richard Linklater subverts the idea of a mentor-guide in Boyhood, showing both parents are as lost as the kid himself. When young Mason (Ellar Coltrane) asks his dad (Hawke) what’s the point of everything, his reply is “I sure as shit don’t know. Nobody does. We’re all just winging it.” As the film ends, Mason sits atop a mountain with a new friend he’s made in the dorms discussing time. She says that everyone is always talking about seize the moment—carpe diem!—but she thinks it’s the other way around. That the moments seize us. In Reality Bites, Troy gets annoyed at Lelaina’s constant need to “memorex” everything with her camcorder, yet Boyhood is a film about capturing a life over a 12-year period. The Before Trilogy checks in on Jesse and Celine every nine years. Hawke’s entire career. in fact, has captured his growth from an awkward teen to a prolific artist and devoted father, a master of his craft and philosopher at heart. 

#ethan hawke #boyhood #before trilogy #before midnight #before sunset #before sunrise #reality bites #first reformed #dead poets society #a bright ray of darkness #film writing #film essay #musings #oscilloscope laboratories

[crushing-on-nico-di-angelo]

This is kind of a random question but...

Do you know why people hate Rick Riordan?

I just have no information, and I’ve seen a lot of stuff lately talking about how he’s problematic.

hi!! yes, I've seen things about this as well. I can list the reasons I've seen. I don't agree with all the points made, but its just what I've seen and I think it may answer your question. I also recommend going through the tag #rr crit, as it will give you a lot more and detailed information regarding him (beware: there are quite a few buzzwords. I recommend taking the facts and forming your own conclusions). I also think it's important to note that many people don't hate him, but they acknowledge that since he's a cishet white man there's things he didn't handle well and he needs to listen to critisicm.

Completely mishandled Piper's native American heritage. From the feather in her hair, to her dad being from a reservation that doesn't exist in Oklahoma, to having kaleidoscope eyes (some say that it suggests brown eyes aren't beautiful enough for aphrodite, more on this in the next bullet), to being a kleptomaniac, her character is, ignorantly or purposefully, chock full of stereotypes. having a cornucopia being her weapon. when Rick was told that this isn't good he became defensive and didn't listen to any critisicm

not giving female characters chances to be young, or not have a boyfriend or be unconventionally attractive. if they do get to not have a boyfriend, they're thrown into the Hunters of Artemis. their eyes are anything but brown (I do disagree with the eye thing but it's important to note), suggesting that having brown eyes should be considered less than. Sadie got a 1000 year old boyfriend when she was 14. 13 year old Hazel had a 16 year old boyfriend-- that could be a seventh grader and a junior or a freshman and sophomore depending on how you look at it (and I LOVE frazel, don't get me wrong. the age gap is just,,). in fact, the only female non-hunter without a significant other I can name is Meg, and she's 12.

Sadie Kane and the fanart he boosts of her. he frequently shows her looking completely white, despite saying she "stood out in class for being mixed." It honestly wouldn't surprise me if a white girl were cast to play her in the Netflix movies.

treatment of characters with invisible disabilities. this can range from the coment of "You anemic loser" targeted at Octavian (as someone with an iron deficiency, I don't see anything wrong with it, but cmon. kids can see that, rick. you can't control anemia) to Clovis' chronic fatigue being treated as a joke. invisible disabilities are hard and just as painful as physical ones. it doesn't help if you treat them like that.

too much misogyny to list all of it, but we can start with young girls being expected to be, and acting, more mature than they are; the strong female characters portraying the "I'm not like other girls" trope; the entire way Hera was treated.

The way Nico's outing was handled (this is one I especially disagree with, and this post said it best, thanks ghost). A violent outing by the God of love taking place before Nico was ready, according to some, was not what younger gay people needed to see. he should have had a loving environment and, at the very least, it should have been from his own point of view and not Jason's.

anti-acne and fat phobia: Apollo having a deep hatred towards his acne and Frank's glow up including severe weight loss (not being a cuddly teddybear anymore, getting taller) isn't the best thing for kids who have acne or are fat to see.

Samirah al-Abbas: "reversing the stereotype (Rick's words)" of an arranged marriage by having her be in love with a distant cousin is... not reversing the stereotype at all actually. it just falls into it. Having her take off her hijab around floor 19 because they feel like family is also not great, because, to my understanding as a non-hijabi and non-muslim, that is not how being hijabi works. similar to the piper situation, when Rick was told that this isn't good he became defensive and didn't listen to any critisicm

ANTISEMITISM, ANTISEMETISM, ANTISEMITISM. this is one of the ones I agree with the most. Having Hades' children be Nazis, having a plot point revolve around one of the most traumatic events in world history, ignoring the fact of generational trauma and ignoring the fact that It Didn't Matter That It Took Place In World War Three, it could have not had any correlation to the death of over six million Jewish people. it legitimizes evilsurrounding Hades and death, and -- well, this one makes me so mad, I can't explain all of it so here is a post explaining more in depth

Slavery issues: similar to the holocaust, Rick Riordan made one of the most terrible issues in American History into a fight between demigods. this lowers the legitimacy of the issue, makes it seem fictional, makes Camp Jupiter seem terrible and awful, except it doesn't. because camp Jupiter isn't terrible. but the confederacy was. if children, especially white children, learn about the confederacy through camp Jupiter, it makes it seem way less bad than it was.

again, I don't agree with all of this, it's just reasoning as to why. in my eyes, Rick Riordan is a man who has grown in his telling of his stories. he started with a canonical all white, all straight, all cis cast. he has now a series featuring a latino genderfluid queer person. This Post said it better than I ever could.

I know that it's impact over intent in so many situations. and this isn't to say I disagree with all, or even most of his critisim. I just think that he has good intent, and I hate him for absolutely none of it.

I am gay, I am Latino, and I am trans. that is all I can speak on, and I think his rep for that was great. I hope this answered your question, dear anon. again, I encourage you to do your own research and form your own opinions. I only touched on a few issues that Rick has had and there's a lot more to be talked about. I would say to keep in mind his intent and his growth. thank you for the ask, thank you for directing it to me that made me feel happy lol. ily I hope you have a good day

if anyone else has anything to add, by all means please do!!

#rr crit #ask #anon ask #you can click that tag dear anon!! #pjo #percy jackson and the olympians #piper mclean #nico di angelo #samirah al abbas #long post #rick riordan criticism

[causeiwanttoandican]

The Times

Prince William’s close friends on what makes him tick — and why he’s not trapped

March 20 2021, 6:00pm

As the world devours the Harry and Meghan interview, what’s going on with the brother who was left behind? He’s embracing his destiny, William’s close friends tell the Sunday Times royal correspondent, Roya Nikkhah

Next month Prince William will celebrate his tenth wedding anniversary — the day he became a duke and embarked on the most formative decade of his life. Back then, the tentative 28-year-old newlywed was not ready to devote himself entirely to royal duties. A decade on, he is in a very different position.

The job of being the heir to the heir to the throne, of finding a balance between life and duty, is difficult at the best of times. These are not the best of times. In their bombshell interview with Oprah Winfrey this month the Duke and Duchess of Sussex accused the royal family and the institution around it of racism and callous disregard for a suicidal newcomer, among many other damning charges. Harry the spare also declared that William was trapped within “the system … My brother can’t leave that system, but I have.”

In the immediate aftermath of the interview William was “reeling”, a source close to the duke says. “His head is all over the place on it.” Four days after the Sussexes had their say, he hit back during an engagement with the Duchess of Cambridge at a school in east London. Asked about accusations of racism, William retorted with restrained fury: “We’re very much not a racist family.” He also confirmed that he hadn’t spoken to Harry yet, “but will do”. By the weekend it emerged they had “been in contact”.

William is thought to have been less than thrilled a few days later when that conversation made global headlines after the American presenter Gayle King, a close friend of the Sussexes, revealed live on air that it had not been an easy chat: “I did actually call them to see how they were feeling,” she told viewers. “Harry has talked to his brother and he had talked to his father too. The word I was given was that those conversations were not productive.” The intervention prompted a senior royal source to say that “none of the households will be giving a running commentary on private conversations”.

A close friend of both brothers says Harry’s “trapped” comment was “way off the mark”, insisting that William does not see it that way. “He has a path set for him and he’s completely accepting of his role. He is very much his grandmother’s grandson in that respect of duty and service.”

When the Queen turned 90 nearly five years ago William admitted “the challenge” that “occupies a lot of thinking space” is how to “modernise and develop” the royal family, and make it “relevant in the next 20 years’ time”. Twenty years now seems like a very long time. In the hours and days after the Oprah broadcast, William was at the heart of all discussions with the Queen and the Prince of Wales about how to respond to the Sussexes. He was keen that the issue of race should be acknowledged in the Queen’s statement as an area of particular concern that “will be addressed”.

William has always railed against being a “ribbon-cutter royal” and the issues he champions — mental health, battling racism in football, homelessness and his ramped-up eco-warrior role — are a window into where the future King William V will take the House of Windsor. A friend says: “He’s a small-c conservative. He values tradition and the need to go around the country, but he realises he can make a difference beyond traditional royal duties.”

Today royal popularity is, to put it mildly, in a state of flux, but William’s strategy has been working. Post-Oprah, he ranks just below the Queen at the top of a YouGov poll of royals. Not so long ago such a position looked like a long shot, when the “workshy Wills” and “reluctant royal” tags plagued him and he was clocking up fewer days of royal work than his nonagenarian grandparents. Pictures of him hitting the ski slopes and clubs of Swiss resort Verbier in March 2017, missing a Commonwealth service that even the Duke of York flew back for, didn’t help.

After the lasting PR gold dust of the Cambridges’ 2011 wedding and the births of Prince George and Princess Charlotte, it was the first public nosedive for William, who was still working as an air ambulance pilot. “That pissed him off,” a friend says. “He was leaving home at 5.30am, getting home after dark and saving lives in between, but people were still being critical of his commitment to his [other] job.” William was based at Cambridge airport with East Anglian Air Ambulance for two years, where he was on call for “some very sad, dark moments”, often working “on very traumatic jobs involving children”. He later acknowledged that “after I had my own children … the relation between the job and the personal life was what really took me over the edge, and I started feeling things that I have never felt before”. But it was a job he loved, because of “working in a team … that’s something that my other job doesn’t necessarily do. You are more out there on your own.”

A former royal aide says: “Immediately after their wedding he had a very clear idea of the pace at which he wanted to take things.” William was adamant he wouldn’t curtail his day jobs, first as an RAF search and rescue helicopter pilot in Anglesey and then with the air ambulance. “If you’re not careful, duty can weigh you down an awful lot at an early age,” he said, insisting he didn’t “lie awake waiting or hoping” to be king. He delayed full-time royal duties until the autumn of 2017, when, acknowledging the Cambridges’ future required more time at “monarchy HQ”, they moved from Norfolk to London and George started school.

He’d had to fight his corner for the air ambulance role. A source close to William reveals “there were lots of raised eyebrows in the Palace when he wanted to do that. While the Queen and his father backed him, some senior courtiers questioned whether it was becoming of a future king to be doing a middle-class role, hanging out with ordinary people. They thought he wouldn’t stick it out, he’d find it boring, or was doing it out of stubbornness to put off royal duties. He was pretty bloody-minded about it, and determined that other people’s expectations in the media or the system shouldn’t get in the way of his own values.” In the wake of Harry and Meghan’s interview much has been speculated about the extent to which royal life is dictated by Palace officials, but it is clear that William has managed to forge his own path. Who knows how high those senior courtiers’ eyebrows rose in 2019, when William spent three weeks shadowing the spooks of MI5, MI6 and GCHQ to learn how they combat terrorism. He insisted on being called “Will” and lunching in the canteen every day.

Those closest to the duke say his resistance to the idea of full-time royal duties stemmed not only from a desire to achieve something for himself but also from a fear of the impact on his family life. Miguel Head worked alongside the prince for ten years until 2018, as William, Kate and Harry’s communications secretary and later as William’s private secretary. “In his role everyone’s going to tell you you’re marvellous,” Head says. “The RAF and air ambulance jobs were about knowing what his abilities were, what he was good at in his own right. Without that he’d still be hankering for something that was his own.” After children came along he says William developed a “visceral determination to give them a life of consistency and privacy that were missing for large parts of his own childhood”.

Another close aide says the plan enabling the Cambridges to have a few years of “normal” married life, away from the full-time glare of the royal spotlight, paid dividends: “For years, the battles around privacy and paparazzi intrusion were all-consuming. He wanted to know, could we build them a credible plan allowing them a family life while slowly increasing the profile of official life? It took years to get there, but the success of that plan allowed him to be confident and content in his role. He’s not worried about his kids’ privacy any more and he has been able to be the kind of dad he wants to be.”

“Marriage maketh the man,” a friend says. “Catherine’s groundedness has been the critical anchor. And where his relationship with the media was once all fury and frustration, he now understands using the power of modern media, so the public feel they’re getting enough access.”

The children’s birthdays are marked with photographs — often taken by the Duchess of Cambridge — and there has been a noticeable increase in their public appearances of late. While not “officially” staged, William was happy to let George and Charlotte be photographed at their first Aston Villa match with Mum and Dad in 2019. Pandemic set pieces have shown the family clapping for the NHS on the steps of Anmer Hall, their Norfolk home, and, before Christmas, their first red-carpet appearance together for an evening at the panto with key workers and their children.

As they celebrate their anniversary on April 29, friends who joined the Cambridges on their wedding day tell me the partnership’s equal footing is key to its success. “They’ve got a solid relationship and she gives him confidence,” one says. “There is no jealousy, no friction, they are happy for each other’s successes.” In private William talks as passionately about Kate’s work as his own campaigns, and takes pride in her growing confidence on the public stage.

William has said his grandmother’s approach to being head of state is to take “more of a passive role. She’s above politics and is very much away from it.” He doesn’t plan to meddle in party politics, but he was not happy about the unenviable position the government put the Queen in with the 2019 proroguing of parliament, which was later ruled to be unlawful and forced an apology from Boris Johnson to the monarch. Constitutionally the Queen had no alternative other than to act on the advice of her government, but in William’s reign there will be “more private, robust challenging of advice”. His last three private secretaries — Christian Jones, Simon Case, now the cabinet secretary, and Head — had all worked in government departments, helping William to keep his finger on the political pulse. The new incumbent, the Whitehall heavyweight Jean-Christophe Gray, who served as David Cameron’s spokesman, continues in that vein.

The former Conservative leader Lord Hague of Richmond was last year appointed as chairman of the Royal Foundation to develop William’s work on mental health, the environment and a raft of new support programmes for key workers. “People internationally and nationally respect his credibility and knowledge on these issues,” Hague says. “He’s very persuasive. You only see that behind the scenes. He knows what he wants and he goes out to get it.”

Charlie Mayhew, chief executive of the conservation charity Tusk, has known William since he was 20. In 2005 Tusk and Centrepoint, the homelessness charity championed by Princess Diana, were the first patronages William took on. “In those early years I kept having to pinch myself to remember how young he was,” Mayhew says. “He was much more mature than his age and very aware of his destiny coming down the track. He had a sincerity, but never without wicked humour. His teasing is merciless.”

William knows some people see his passion for conservation as a posh man’s part-time hobby, but Mayhew says the duke’s “genuine and huge knowledge” undermines that view. “He’ll call and WhatsApp to flag up something that I haven’t even seen in the conservation space. He can be impatient to get things done.” Last year William launched the Earthshot prize, a £50 million Nobel-style environmental award to galvanise solutions to global problems over the next decade. He believes “conservation and the environment … shouldn’t be a luxury, it���s a necessity”, Mayhew says. “That’s the drum he wants to beat. He’s got a megaphone and wants to use it in the most constructive way. He speaks for that next generation and I think they can relate to it.”

A turning point for William was his 2015 official visit to China, one of the world’s largest consumers of ivory, where he met President Xi and condemned the illegal wildlife trade as a “vicious form of criminality”. Unlike his father, who has refused to visit the People’s Republic over its human rights record and treatment of Tibet, William’s view was that despite the UK’s fractious relationship with China, “we’ve got to engage”.

“It was very political, raising the illegal wildlife trade in China. I’m sure the diplomats were having all sort of nightmares in advance,” says Mayhew, who joined the duke in China. “But he was gathering greater confidence that he had the ability to be a mouthpiece for the issue.” Mayhew reveals that while William was visiting Japan before China, he still hadn’t secured a meeting with Xi. “But when the Chinese saw all the high-level meetings he was having in Japan, they changed their minds and Xi made time for him.” Later that year, as Xi began a UK state visit, William appeared on Chinese television condemning the ivory trade. Two years later China banned the trade.

In 2018 he spent months prepping for his most high-stakes overseas visit yet, to Israel and the occupied Palestinian territories that summer. Navigating the diplomatic tightrope walk between Jerusalem and the West Bank, he visited a Palestinian refugee camp in Ramallah. As he travelled back to Jerusalem, he changed his speech for a reception with young Israelis and Palestinians to strengthen his solidarity with the latter: “My message tonight is that you have not been forgotten … The United Kingdom stands with you.” It was a bold move, but both sides hailed his visit a success and the officials breathed a sigh of relief. To the delight of the travelling press pack, William’s engagements on the final day were brought forward, allowing the diplomat duke and president of the Football Association to land back in the UK in time to watch England’s World Cup tie.

Ask him if he’s a peacemaker and William will laugh, saying Kate is the mediator. But according to a source close to William and Harry, his bridge-building skills were deployed in the lead-up to Harry and Meghan’s wedding in 2018, when tensions in the Kensington Palace household, then still shared by the brothers, were running high: “Every time there was a drama, or a member of staff on the verge of quitting, William would personally try and sort it out.”

As the brothers clashed more over the substance and style of their work, and the family hierarchy that William is a stickler for but Harry is less keen on, a split was inevitable. When they finally divided their households in March 2019, it had been a long time coming. But he never thought that a year later his brother would up sticks for America.

The pair went for a long walk to clear the air after the “Sandringham summit” when the Megxit deal was hammered out, but did not part shores as friends. What upset William the most was Harry and Meghan’s surprise launch of their “Sussex Royal” website before the summit, which featured their blueprint wish list of a part-time, commercial royal future. Later, when the Queen decreed they could no longer use “royal” in their future ventures, their website hit back with this bold statement: “While there is not any jurisdiction by The Monarchy … over the use of the word ‘Royal’ overseas, the Duke and Duchess of Sussex do not intend to use ‘Sussex Royal’ … or … ‘Royal’ …” Both “the content and that it’s still online is staggering”, a senior royal source says. “That was it for William, he felt they’d blindsided the Queen in such an insulting and disrespectful way,” says a source close to him, who reveals it was still at the forefront of William’s mind at the Commonwealth Day service one year ago. It was the Sussexes’ final engagement as working royals, and the froideur between them and the rest of the family was unmistakable.

It is a year since the Sussexes left for California and William misses Harry. “Once he got over the anger of how things happened, he was left with the absence of his brother,” an aide says. “They shared everything about their lives, an office, a foundation, meetings together most days and there was a lot of fun along the way. He’ll miss it for ever.” A close friend says William “definitely feels the pressure now it’s all on him — his future looks different because of his brother’s choices, it’s not easy.” Another friend says: “It’s still raw. He’s very upset by what’s happened, though absolutely intent that he and Harry’s relationship will heal in time.”

After lobbing bombs in his Oprah interview, Harry said: “I love William to bits … We’ve been through hell together … we have a shared experience … The relationship is space at the moment, and time heals all things, hopefully.” Harry would be wise not to set his stopwatch.

The first test will come this summer, when the brothers could be reunited for a series of family engagements including the Duke of Edinburgh’s 100th birthday and the Queen’s birthday parade in June. In July they are scheduled to unveil a statue of their mother at Kensington Palace, marking what would have been Diana’s 60th birthday, an emotionally charged occasion with the world watching.

While a chasm has opened up between the brothers, William has grown closer to the Queen and Prince Charles. He has helped them to navigate their way through Megxit, Prince Andrew’s removal from public life following the Jeffrey Epstein scandal and, now, the Oprah controversy. “That has changed the way the Queen sees him and values his input,” a courtier says. William also feels his relationship with his grandmother has “massively improved” in recent years and their views are “more aligned than ever”.

Friends say there has also been a “renaissance” in William and Charles’s relationship. “As the years passed there were strains imposed by the system — money, work, competition, Diana,” one says. “Part of William’s evolution is that as he has become closer to his father, he sees their similarities. At William’s wedding there was a gag in one of the speeches that he was more like his father than he’d ever admit, which made a lot of us laugh. As their respective destinies get closer, it weighs more heavily on them and strengthens the bond. The rift with Harry has also brought them closer.”

William is said to hate “flummery”, though the role of future king comes with plenty of bowing and scraping. But in 2017, for the first time publicly, he didn’t get his way. As a new parent worried about rising teenage suicide rates, he had spent a year convening a Cyberbullying Taskforce with big cheeses from tech and social media giants including Facebook, Snapchat, Apple, Google and Twitter. He wanted them to adopt industry-wide guidelines creating safer online spaces for children. According to William the meetings at Kensington Palace got “fruity” and the tech giants didn’t come close to the change he wanted. He was furious.

Tessy Ojo, chief executive of the Diana Award youth charity, sat on the taskforce. “He was deeply disappointed,” she says. “He didn’t come into it as ‘the duke’, he gave emotional pleas as a father.” William has since publicly condemned social media giants for their “false choice of profits over values” and privately offered support to the family of Molly Russell, who took her life at 14 after viewing images of self-harm online. Ojo believes it is William’s “lived experience of the fragility of life that guides the work he does”.

It also shapes the way he and Kate are raising their family. William has said he is determined that the grandchildren Diana never knew should “know who she was and that she existed”. He “constantly” talks to his children “about Granny Diana” at bedtime, so that they know “there are two grandmothers in their lives”. Earlier this month on Mother’s Day, Kensington Palace’s social media feeds published George, Charlotte and Louis’s cards paying tribute to “Granny Diana”, revealing it is an annual ritual for the Cambridge children. After a difficult few weeks for William, a line in Charlotte’s card provided poignant insight into how he is feeling: “Papa is missing you.”

He is on course to be a more modern monarch than any before him, but William is still a creature of habit at heart. He has the same tight circle of friends from his schooldays, one of whom says that, with William, “it’s all about trust and loyalty”. He plays five-a-side football in his Villa socks when he can, goes to the Chelsea Harbour Club gym he went to as a child with his mother and has a “smart casual” public uniform of chinos, jacket, blue shirt and no tie.

“William’s not trying to be down with the kids,” a friend says. “He never wants to be painted as irrelevant or dull, though he’s allergic to being compared to celebrities. The public doesn’t always get to see his funny side, but otherwise he’s the same in private as in public. He once said, ‘I’ll be in the public eye all my life. I can’t hide who I am because I’ll be found out.’ ”

In 2019, during a visit to a youth homelessness charity supporting LGBT people, William was asked how he would feel if one of his children was gay. “Absolutely fine,” he replied. “I fully support whatever decision they make, but it does worry me from a parent’s point of view how many barriers, hateful words, persecution and discrimination might come.” Such a personal exchange was a radical departure from royal engagement small talk. But William, the first in his family to be photographed for the cover of a gay magazine, had personally put the issue on the agenda.

As president of Bafta he gave the academy a diplomatic dressing down in his speech at last year’s ceremony, expressing his “frustration” over the lack of diversity: “In 2020, and not for the first time in the last few years, we find ourselves talking again about the need to do more to ensure diversity in the sector and in the awards process — that simply cannot be right in this day and age.” The 2021 nominees announced this month suggest his words hit home.

William “thinks the public look to him to keep royal work looking modern”, a confidante says. “The Queen and Prince of Wales are providing continuity and stability. He’s carving out his own relationship with diverse communities. He sees it all as a way of doing things now that will help a smooth transition when the time comes.”

Since the start of the coronavirus pandemic, as a former frontline worker himself, William has led the royal charge supporting key workers. “Now, more than ever, he knows what his role in public life is, and he sees the value in it,” a close aide says. Chatting to NHS workers in January, William said: “Something that I noticed from my brief spell flying the air ambulance … is that when you see so much death and so much bereavement, it does impact how you see the world … as a … darker, blacker place.” Soon after the first lockdown was announced, the Cambridges’ Royal Foundation launched Our Frontline, a round-the-clock mental health and bereavement service for key workers.

Miguel Head says the future King William will continue to campaign on his big issues: “I can’t see him backing away from causes he’s passionate about. And while he’s not someone who loves ceremony, he knows the importance of it. When he gets the top job he won’t do away with it all. He’s mindful the monarchy represents something timeless that’s above all of us, and many people like the magic and theatre of it.”

Roya Nikkhah

Roya is royal correspondent at The Sunday Times. Over more than a decade she has covered royal events for the BBC, interviewed the Prince of Wales and Prince Harry and presented the films Prince William, Monarch in the Making and Meghan and Harry: The Baby Years.

#William #TeamQueen #TeamWilliam #TeamCambridge

[starstruck-shima]

𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐖𝐢𝐧𝐝 𝐁𝐥𝐨𝐰𝐬. (𝐕𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐢)

“Even gods can’t help but stop to catch a breath.”

Notes: fem reader.

There were many things I wondered about.

After so many years of living, so many eons of asking questions without answers, I simply stood in the middle of a dandelion field, surrounded by crystal flies--Like a fool.

As I gaze upon the starstruck sky, what would lie ahead of me now? I was but a directionless being, with nowhere to go. My kin were gone, separated by walls that spared no mercy, not even to the birds. Now, all that remains of such were merely ruins of old. Its as if I’ve completely lost my purpose--no longer a protector of Mondstadt, no longer worthy of the long lifespan I was blessed with--Just a being of pure element, lost and astray.

It was there when I first felt the wind glaze over me so softly, and it was the first time I met you. At that moment, I felt a moment of rebirth. You were so kind, glazing upon me with such hazy eyes, and I felt so out of place. You, the ever glowing saint, an archon of the new world, and me... a soldier with no master.

I couldn’t even muster up words, for I was ashamed. Ashamed of what you’d think of me. So I did the bare minimum, for a being with heavy debt to Mondstadt itself. I ask for my punishment. “I lower my head to you. Please, set me free.”

His response however, shattered my expectations. With little to no hesitance, his reply flew like the wind. “That is for you to bring upon yourself.”

W-what? My eyes felt like saucers, as my throat ran dry. What did he mean by that? Freedom, retribution, I deserved none of that. The sin I hold upon myself by serving Decarabian is too much for a simply apology. It’s a burden I must carry.

“(Y/n) (L/n),” I rise my head to the call of my name. “--Former soldier of Decarabian’s. But most importantly, a lover of Mondstadt.” His hands outstretched to mine, and for some reason, it was as if I was naturally drawn to him. I knew his name, I knew who this was. Barbatos. It seemed that it wouldn’t take long for me to realize that no matter what form he took, he was still the same inside.

Archon, elemental being, bard. No matter what, Barbatos was Barbatos, and he gave me the ability to see truly for the very first time. That my freedom was in my own hands. 

“Then, with the freedom you’ve given me...

Let me vow to protect Mondstadt, for as long as I live.” It was going to be a very, very long time. I knew that. But I shall do this with the freedom I have granted myself. For the good of the four winds, of the nation I loved, and Barbatos, this is the vow I will stand in for as long as the wind howls.

...And that was how I ended up with this total drunkard of a god for the rest of my days.

Should I have begged even more for my execution? Probably. But would Barbatos still spare me? Most likely so.

“Dandelioooooonnn~~” his words were slurred, like he was riding a merry go round of booze. “Why won’t you let me touch you? Hey, come here~~”

“--That is unnecessary,” our friends watched as we bantered, me dodging Venti’s barrage of physical affection, and Venti... still trying no matter what. The traveler, who sat opposite of us, could only stay bewildered at the story, and the stark contrast of its two main heroes today.

“S-so, this is the fierce warrior who was granted the mercy of Lord Barbatos?!” Paimon’s mouth was agape. She stops for a breath, before carrying on. “You m-mean, (Y/n) once KNEELED to Venti?! Not only that, but the Barbatos in that tale feels so different than the Barbatos now!”

“It’s like watching an old married couple.” The traveler adds on to Paimon’s speech, still in disbelief. “So, that was how you met?”

Pushing away Venti’s hands, I try my best to keep a straight face. “Yes. The tales you hear the townsfolk tell to their children are partially true. however. the one Venti and I have told you tonight is how it really went down.” I chuckle at the thought. Who knew our first meeting had such an impact? “Though I’m glad it’s been teaching the kids a good life lesson or two.”

As my eyes trail back to Venti, I was hit with a softness, the same softness I felt after my adrenaline rushes were over, and when I knew everything was safe. I was pretty sure the traveler noticed my fondness too, but it’s alright. It’ll be our little secret. “Say, traveler. Let me let you in on a hymn of the bards of Mondstadt.”

“No matter how far the wind blows, everything stays,” I shift a bit at Venti’s weight, finally letting him rest on my shoulder. He reeked--though that was to be expected. “Right where you left it. Everything stays, but it still changes.”

I hope the traveler knew what I was talking about. In any case, the feel of Venti’s hand in mine, and the way he looked at me with such gentle eyes even whilst intoxicated proved such phrases to be true. We’ve gone through change, we’ve become different people. Once a warrior, once a rebel, now simple folk of Mondstadt, learning how to love like the people do. Once on different sides, fighting for the same freedom, and then--as the same wind blows, our relationship with each other slowly differed.

“So~” Paimon started to speak again, this time in a mischievous tone. “How did you two fall in love?”

Unexpectedly, I threw out a hoarse chuckle. Love. Such an unexpected experience that had befallen me. The truth was, I never expected it--at least not during my days of serving Decarabian. But as the times past, and when nations grew, I began to realize quite the consensus. The Mondstadt I protect now is still the same, yet things are different now. I didn’t need to devote myself to endless servitude, to slice monsters in half--because there was barely the need for it nowadays. Mondstadt’s people are capable of protecting themselves, and perhaps that was what Venti wanted me to believe.

“And then, perhaps that was when he grabbed the opportunity and freedom to woo me.”

“Ho ho, and it worked!” I roll my eyes at Venti’s sudden jab. Geez, what a childish god. “She used to be so serious. “I will protect Mondstadt!” “I will devote my life to it!” “No threat will ever pass you, Barbatos!” And then she’d run off to the wind, flipping her hair and acting all cool.”

“--But give her a flower and a song and she’s all red like an apple! Ahahahaha!” I wince at the embarrassment, quickly shutting his mouth. The traveler and paimon seem amused at the sudden revelation, and this was when I realized that it was probably best to do some damage control before my dear lover would be sleeping on the couch tonight.

Bidding the two and the bartender at Angel’s Share a farewell, I shoulder Venti, making sure to guide him deftly through the streets of Mondstadt. As we pave through the mostly empty surroundings, I start to feel warm--almost proud of the new Mond of today. How long as it been since the people were granted freedom? Since I had been able to stop and see the fruits of the labors its people who fought for it grow? It’s a nostalgic feeling, really.

“Heya, (Y/n).” It seemed that Venti noticed my silent musings. I hum a response, with no expectations whatsoever. If it was a question about how far we were from home, surely that--

“Marry me.”

I nearly ran into the pavement there and then. Marriage? To Barbatos? To Venti? To the man I knew as my lover? Wait, of course the person you’d get married to is most likely your lover. Then, why am I still so flustered? Why is it that with this man, everything felt so different and new? How is it that he could make such a mess of me, yet make me whole?

“Hey, why are you so quiet?” He pouts, adorably I might add. I still stumble to catch my breath. To be honest, I wouldn’t mind... “We’ve been together for so long, we’re pretty much just giving rings to each other. Come on~”

“Geh... When you put it that way... can’t you take this seriously?”

I felt a sudden drop--a different feeling place itself on him, and all of a sudden, he vocalizes many, many words. “I have! I’ve consulted the church, I’ve looked at all kinds of rings and other things you might prefer for proposals, and I’ve been thinking about it even in eons of slumber! I want us to be happy, (y/n), but most importantly, I want you to be happy, so regardless of your acceptance, it’s fine if we stay by each other’s sides, right?”

My breath hitched. Tears were threatening to prickle my eyes. Of course he’d be  so thoughtful, yet so playful too... don’t tell me. “I don’t want you to propose to me while you’re drunk, Barbatos... but you’re actually sober, aren’t you?”

“Ehe.” He chuckles, before getting on one knee, a small crystal core presented on the palms of his hands. “So, is that a yes?”

I couldn’t contain my smile. No matter how red my face was. A chorus of giggles rang through the night sky, and as Venti hovered over to my head to place the crystal core on my hair, I accepted his proposal.

#genshin impact x reader #genshin impact #genshin impact imagines #genshin impact headcanons #genshin impact scenarios #venti #genshin venti #venti x reader #genshin impact venti

[dialovers-translations]

Diabolik Lovers DARK FATE ー Laito Ecstasy [10]

ー The scene starts in the entrance hall at Eden

Laito: ( ーー That has to be a lie! I won’t believe it...!! )

( It just can’t be...I mean, if this isn’t one big lie...Then this whole situation...And all of us involved... )

( It would turn everything into one big joke...! (1) )

( It would mean we’ve all lived our lives so far, completely ignorant to the fact that everything is simply the result of one of his experiments...There’s just no way... )

( It would make all the pain and suffering I had to endure a necessary part of the process as well...! )

ーー Haah, haah...

ーー Open this darn door right now!!

Hurry up...!!

There’s something...I need to confirm with you...! I bet you want to make up some lousy excuse again, don’t you!? Show yourself...!!

ーー Hurry!!

*TIMESKIP*

Yui: ( Laito-kun...I knew he’d be here! )

Laito-kuーー

*Rustle*

Ayato: Oi, Chichinashi.

Yui: Ayato-kun...!

Ayato: The fuck has gotten into Laito?

Yui: Well, I don’t know either...Ever since he read through the report he brought from the medical department earlier today, he suddenly started acting like that...

Ayato: Aah? The medical department?

Yui: Yeah. We went there during the game of hide-and-seek, and then...

Kanato: ...Could this be the report in question?

Yui: Kanato-kun...!

Kanato: I was in the garden when it came falling down from above.

*Flip*

Yui: Yeah, that’s the one...!

...A-Anyway, we have to stop Laito-kun!

Ayato: Y-Yeah...

Kanato: ...

Yui: ( Laito-kun, what has gotten into you, honestly? )

ー They approach Laito

Yui: ーー Laito-kun!!

Laito: Ugh...!! Haah, haah...

Yui: ( ...!! His hands...The knuckles are bright red, covered in blood...! Did he slam them against the door, perhaps...!? )

Laito-kun!

Laito: Stay away...!!

Yui: Uu...!

Laito: ーー Hey! Answer me!! I know you’re in there!! There’s something I want to ask you!

*Thud thud*

Yui: ( This is the Chamber of Time, right...? Is he screaming at Karlheinz-san who is inside the room? )

Laito: Hey...!!

*Thud thud thud*

Yui: ( What should I do...? Is there anything...I can do to help him right now? )

( Or should I just keep quiet instead...? )

Selection

→ Hold him tight

Yui: Laito-kun...

*Rustle*

Laito: ーー Don’t touch me...!

Yui: But...

Laito: Bitch-chan...I appreciate the sentiment. But I simply don’t have the time for you right now.

Yui: S-Sorry...

→ Watch over him (♡)

Yui: ( ーー No, I’ll just watch over him for now... )

( That’s all I can do right now after all... )

*TIMESKIP*

*Thud thud thud*

Laito: ...Hey! Can you hear me...!?

Yui: ( Quite some time has passed since, but Laito-kun still hasn’t given up. )

Hey, Laito-kuーー

Karlheinz: ーー Leave already.

Laito: ...!!

Yui: ( This voice...Is that Karlheinz-san? )

Karlheinz: Time is not ripe just yet. You should know that as well...

Laito: More importantlyーー!

Karlheinz: I have no interest in having a conversation with you while you are blinded by rage. Now leave.

Laito: ...!!

Yui: ーー Laito-kun, let’s just return to our room for now and calm down?

If we do so, Karlheinz-san might also...

Laito: ...

ー Laito steps back

Yui: Laito-kun...?

Laito: ーーI thought we were going back to our room?

Yui: Y-Yeah...Let’s head back.

( Did he calm down? ...No, he hasn’t...He may look composed, however... )

( I can tell. Laito-kun...He’s completely enraged right now... )

ー The scene shifts to the guest room

Yui: Hey, Laito-kun? What on earth happened?

Laito: ーー The report I stumbled upon at the medical department, you see. Our secret was written inside of there.

Yui: ...Eh...?

Laito: Long story short...The reason why that man chose to marry Cordelia, the daughter of the Demon King...

It was all just part of an experiment.

To find out what kind of children would be born from a woman of Founder descendance, combined with his own DNA...

Yui: What do you mean, Cordelia is a Founder? 

Laito: ーー I’m not quite sure where she connects to the Founders either. However, one thing did become clear to me.

Karlheinz was never interested in Cordelia at all.

He only cared for her as a woman with Founder’s blood.

In other words, we’re nothing but the outcome of his experiment.

Yui: No way...

Laito: Kuh...

Yui: Laito-kun...

( He’s not taking this well at all... )

( What should I do...? What should I say to him...? )

ー The scene shifts to the forest

Shin: ーー Che...The fuck’s that guy doing inside the castle...!?

I’d hate to upset Nii-san but...I’ve run out of patience...

He should have been given plenty of time. Yet, he never took action.

ーー Because he never intended to from the very beginning...

...Which means, I’ve got no other choice but to go myself...

*HOOOOWL*

Shin: ーー Just you wait...Karlheinz...!

Monologue

When Karlheinz-san refused to meet Laito-kun,

I felt relieved deep down.

Because I was terrified,

of what Laito-kun might do while his emotions are running wild.

Then, when I was told the truth by Laito-kun afterwards,

the impact was far too great for me, I could no longer keep up.

Their marriage and the reason why he conceived children (子供をもうけた理由) with Cordelia.

All of it was nothing but an experiment.

Because Cordelia is related to (始祖の血を引いた) the Founders.

Furthermore, Karlheinz-san wanted to know,

how children between the two of them would turn outーー

ーー TO BE CONTINUED ーー

Translation notes

(1) I would just like to mention that the dialogue of this sentence and the one above it are much more vague in Japanese with large chunks of the sentence being left out. This is my personal interpretation of these lines, but please do realize that someone else might read into these differently. 

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<- [ Ecstasy 09 ] [ Ecstasy Epilogue ] ->

#diabolik lovers #dialovers #laito sakamaki #dark fate #diabolik lovers translation #dflaitoecstasy10

[robininthelabyrinth]

what do you think would happen in a role swap where wei wuxian is the one with an arranged marriage, yanli becomes sect leader, and jiang cheng runs away with the remnants of the wen clan?

“It’s impossible,” Wen Qing said, her voice flat and eyes icy. “Literally impossible. It would kill you both.”

“But –”

“If you don’t care about your own life, at least care about his,” she said, and Wei Wuxian fell silent; she’d hit him right where it hurt the most, and he turned and stormed away.

Wen Qing waited, watching as Wen Ning ran after him, distressed by his distress, and when he was finally out of earshot, she said, “You may regret that, one day.”

Behind her there was a rusty bark of laughter, if that horrible twisted sound, low and grating and rasping at the throat until it bled, could be called a laugh.

“I won’t,” Jiang Cheng said. She’d removed the needles that kept him asleep the day before, though he’d played limp any time Wei Wuxian had come around, and Wei Wuxian had been so excited by his idea that he hadn’t noticed. “Thank you for lying to him.”

“My family killed yours,” she said with a sigh. “The least I can do is save one.”

“If you regret it so much, you can abandon your office and surrender yourself,” Jiang Cheng said, and turned away from her. He hadn’t forgiven her, that much was obvious. “You lead a Supervisory Office. That isn’t a neutral position.”

“I have to keep my brother, and the others, safe,” she said. “You understand that.”

“I understand it. I just think you’re wrong.”

“How am I wrong? Your Jiang sect is gone,” she said, twisting the knife cruelly. “Wen Ruohan has over half the cultivation world under his grip – how are the rest of you going to overcome that?”

“I didn’t say we would win,” Jiang Cheng said. “I said you were wrong.”

Wen Qing opened her mouth and found she had nothing to say. That wasn’t a condition that came naturally to her, so she scowled and changed the subject. “What are you going to do next?”

“Rebuild the Jiang sect.”

“The Jiang sect? But – how…?”

He turned back to look at her. “My golden core is gone, and I’m a good-for-nothing,” he said flatly. “That much is true. But you forget – I still have a sister.”

Jiang Yanli wasn’t a fighter; this much was true. She wept bitter tears when Jiang Cheng and Wei Wuxian finally found their way to her side, horrified by what Jiang Cheng had suffered, what had happened to him. But fighter or no fighter, she knew her duty.

The Jiang Sect had its first mistress. She could not lead them in war – Wei Wuxian did that – but she tended their wounds and sat in all the strategy meetings, giving her thoughts and making the final decision with her brothers’ advice; those who became sect disciples did not feel that their gentle lady, who they came to worship as Guanyin reborn in human form, was anything less than the rest.

“We need more help,” Jiang Cheng, who had become one of his sister’s advisors and learned through painful experience how to ignore (but never not notice) all of the pitying stares that came his way, said. “We’re not doing as much in the war as the other Sects – if we don’t establish a strong alliance with one of them, and soon, we will very soon lose the right to call ourselves a Great Sect.”

“A marriage,” Jiang Yanli said, understanding at once. “But I can’t…”

She was Sect Leader, now. She could not marry the heir of another sect – she would only be able to accept a man who married in, who would agree that his children be named Jiang.

The Jiang sect had to come first.

Whatever dreams she had once had about Jin Zixuan were gone now, burned to ashes in a way that not even a broken engagement could.

“Not you,” Jiang Cheng said. “Wei Wuxian.”

Wei Wuxian looked up sharply. “You want to marry me off?” he asked. “Are you serious?”

Jiang Cheng laughed harshly. It still didn’t sound like a laugh, not even after all these months. “What,” he said mockingly, his bitter voice eerily reminiscent of his mother’s at her most furious. “You expect a cultivator to marry me?”

Wei Wuxian fell silent. It was not that cultivators didn’t marry regular people – it happened quite often. But an arranged marriage, for the purposes of building an alliance?

Even if no children could be expected from the match – it would have to be a cutsleeve marriage, given the lack of daughters among the Four Great Sect, but such things were not uncommon if the real purpose was a political alliance – the minimum requirement for making such an offer was a cultivation base sufficient for dual cultivation. Anything less would be an insult – the same as sentencing the cultivator to a dead end.

The same dead end that Jiang Cheng faced every day.

“Who were you thinking?” Wei Wuxian finally asked. “If you even dare suggest the peacock –”

“Lan Wangji.”

“What?! But he hates me!”

“He’s the best available option,” Jiang Cheng said. “He’s strict in terms of etiquette; regardless of his feelings, he won’t mistreat you. Jin Zixuan is obviously out – even if you didn’t hate him, his parents would never agree to a match with no chance of legitimate descendants, and we’d never accept one of Jin Guangshan’s bastards; it would leave us with no face at all.”

“What about Nie Huaisang?”

“No influence,” Jiang Cheng said simply, and Wei Wuxian grimaced, conceding the point. Even if Nie Mingjue could be coaxed into an agreement, no one in the cultivation world would ever think that the wife of his little brother had any impact on his decisions, and that would defeat the whole purpose of this endeavor. Nie Mingjue was too straightforward, too rigid – marrying Nie Huaisang would be as good as throwing Wei Wuxian’s life away for no purpose.

And that left – Lan Wangji.

“Well, whatever he thinks of me, I always rather liked him,” Wei Wuxian said, not looking at Jiang Cheng – the memories of the accusations tossed around after the Xuanwu’s cave, why did you have to stand up for him, still lingered in his ear. “Gloomy and humorless as he may be. Do you think he’ll agree?”

“I’ll take one of the guards to go find out,” Jiang Cheng said. He ignored their involuntary wince at the reminder that he couldn’t go himself – weak, helpless, vulnerable, not to mention unable to fly on a sword by himself – and took his leave.

He came back with an agreement, and just like that Wei Wuxian found himself engaged.

It didn’t change anything, though the Jiang Sect partnered more and more often with the Lan sect on missions – Wei Wuxian found that he enjoyed fighting back to back with Lan Wangji, and enjoyed teasing him even more – and the war dragged on for a long time, the tides turning against Wen Ruohan only very slowly, battle by battle, inch by hard-won inch.

But in the end, they won.

They won, and stood together at Phoenix Mountain to celebrate their victory.

Wei Wuxian allowed himself to breath a sigh of relief, and shared smiles with Jiang Yanli. Jiang Cheng didn’t smile, he didn’t do that anymore, his brow always creased in anger, but he nodded and allowed Wei Wuxian to wrap an arm around both their shoulders.

The three of them together – broken, damaged, but together.

If Wei Wuxian had known that that would be the last time they’d stand together, the three of them together the way they’d promised they would be, he would have cherished it more.

But who would have thought that within three days of Phoenix Mountain, Jiang Cheng – ordinary Jiang Cheng, with no golden core, with nothing but angry determination – would accuse the Jin Sect of horrific abuses, and then, when he got no satisfactory answer, kidnap an entire set of war prisoners from the Wen sect out from right under the Jin Sect’s nose?

Everyone demanded to know where he’d taken them, and didn’t believe them when they said they didn’t know.

Lan Wangji didn’t even ask, merely leaned his shoulder against Wei Wuxian’s, and Wei Wuxian’s heart softened, thankful.

He’d be less thankful when he found out that Lan Wangji had helped Jiang Cheng do what he did and then refused to share where he’d gone, citing a solemn oath that he’d taken, but at that moment he found himself thinking – at least I have you.

They had some fights when the truth came out – Lan Wangji confessed – but it ended up being something he could forgive, especially when it turned out that Wen Qing had been the one to ask, and Wen Ning very nearly killed by the indifferent guards; it had been the right thing to do.

Jiang Cheng hadn’t even known what the Wens had done for him. He’d only known what it felt like to have nothing, to suffer endlessly, and he’d done the right thing.

Just as it was the right thing for Jiang Yanli to break ties with her brother, to cast him out of the sect that he had once been the heir of, her eyes full of tears even as she did it; anything else would have opened her sect up to reprisals it couldn’t afford, weakened as it was. Until Wei Wuxian’s marriage was finalized, they lacked the strength to defend him.

Unsurprisingly, their very next move was to set the date for the wedding.

Wei Wuxian spent the entire two months leading up to it biting his fingers until blood flowed, hoping against hope, and his faith was rewarded when Jiang Cheng, abhorred by the entire cultivation world, ignored all common sense to come to visit him the day before the ceremony.

“You make a terrible bride,” Jiang Cheng said, voice gruff, and Wei Wuxian forgot himself and tried to tackle him the way he used to; it was only Lan Wangji catching him and holding him back that reminded him that he couldn’t do that anymore, that Jiang Cheng wasn’t a cultivator, that his body had grown weak for lack of spiritual energy. “Really, look at you – who told you red was your color?”

“Red has always been my color,” Wei Wuxian shot back, grinning. “It’s not my fault it clashes with purple.”

He didn’t comment on Jiang Cheng’s clothing, the dull colors of a rogue cultivator.

“I’m glad you came,” he said instead. “I came up with something for you.”

“I’m the one who’s supposed to be bringing gifts,” Jiang Cheng grumbled. “And now you’re going to blow them all out of the water by comparison, since it’s not like we have any money…what is it?”

Wei Wuxian handed him the book he’d written.

“Cultivation of resentful energy?” Jiang Cheng read, and scowled at him. “Did Hanguang-jun tell you were I’m living?”

“He said it had the worst feng shui he’d ever seen, but nothing more than that,” Wei Wuxian said, a little annoyed but not very: he’d gotten Lan Wangji to promise that he would tell him once they were wed, since spouses shouldn’t keep secrets from each other. He’d gotten Lan Wangji to promise quite a lot of things, actually; it turned out the man actually liked him, and not just a little – who knew when that had happened? Luckily for them both, Wei Wuxian liked him back just as much. “It’s as orthodox as Lan Wangji and I could get it, given that it’s intrinsically, well, not. Every possible precaution against it turning into – uh –”

“Demonic cultivation.”

“…yes. That. Any type of cultivation that uses resentful energy damages the temperament, body and heart, but there are more orthodox ways to go about it that minimize the impact. We borrowed quite a bit from the Nie sect, prepare yourself, but anyway, you’re already so pissy, who would even notice if you got angry more often?”

The Nie clan’s cultivation gave them immense power but short lives – but not as short as a regular person who didn’t cultivate at all.

“Get lost!”

“It’s worth a try, okay?”

Jiang Cheng didn’t look convinced, so Wei Wuxian pulled out his trump card. “If it works, you could use Zidian again.”

Years later, Wei Wuxian would wonder about what he unleashed into the world that day, but right then there was nothing more than the longing in Jiang Cheng’s eyes, the first spark of purple lightning in years, and the first smile Wei Wuxian had seen on Jiang Cheng’s face since even longer.

No matter how it turned out – it was all worth it.

#mdzs #jiang cheng #wen qing #wei wuxian #jiang yanli #lan wangji #my fic #my fics #this is more of a how did it happen #but it was a lot of fun to write #I really like seeing how far I can bend canon without breaking it entirely #wangxian #Anonymous

[searchingwardrobes]

Ivory Runs Red: 4/6

Just look at this cover art by @cocohook38 !!!!! Isn’t it amazing? I just can’t stop staring at it. She is so talented and spent so much time working on this, please head over to her blog and give her some love. 

This chapter is sort of a bridge chapter (no pun intended) where we begin to discover connections between all the characters. Belle especially is tied to Emma in a surprising way. 

Massive thanks again to my beta @demisexualemmaswan​ and everyone in the @cssns​ !

Summary: When ebony flashes gold, blood runs cold. When ivory runs red, you’ll be dead. Killian Jones had heard the old rhyme his entire life. Every child did in Storybrooke, Maine. They heard it whispered in the dark at sleepovers as children; taunted as a challenge as teenagers. Killian never believed it was actually true. Until that fateful night …

Rated M for graphic depictions of violence, abusive relationships, and major character death (I mean, it’s a ghost story ya’ll, people are dead. BUT I promise, there is a happy ending. Trust me? *peeks from around a corner*)

Length: 6 chapters, complete, updated every Friday

Chapter One | Chapter Two | Chapter Three

Also on Ao3

Tagging the usuals: @snowbellewells @whimsicallyenchantedrose @kmomof4 @xhookswenchx @let-it-raines @bethacaciakay @tiganasummertree @shireness-says @stahlop @scientificapricot @spartanguard @welllpthisishappening @resident-of-storybrooke @thislassishooked @ilovemesomekillianjones @kday426 @ekr032-blog-blog @lfh1226-linda @ultraluckycatnd @nikkiemms @optomisticgirl @profdanglaisstuff @ohmakemeahercules @carpedzem @branlovestowrite @superchocovian@hollyethecurious @vvbooklady1256 @winterbaby89 @delirious-latenight-laughs @jennjenn615 @snidgetsafan @itsfabianadocarmo @lassluna @distant-rose @courtorderedcake @winterbythesea @thesschesthair @killian-whump @thisonesatellite @batana54 @it-meant-something @xsajx @therooksshiningknight @gingerchangeling​

Chapter Four: Red

“Neal Gold,” Belle said, her voice trembling with excitement, “no wonder it got covered up.”

Belle struggled with an ancient tome on the top shelf in the library’s genealogy room, and Killian rushed to help her. When they set it atop the metal desk nearby, a cloud of dust billowed up. The genealogy room was hidden away in the basement too. 

“I still can’t believe Graham went to the bridge,” Belle continued. He’d never seen her so giddy with excitement. “This will show everyone Killian! You aren’t crazy!”

Killian nodded weakly. He knew it was true, and he knew that Graham getting Neal’s last name from Emma was a huge break for them, but he was starting to worry. He wanted to help Emma by solving her murder, but he also didn’t want to lose her. Didn’t ghosts linger because they had unfinished business? If he, Belle, and Graham, took care of Emma’s unfinished business, then would she . . . what? Move on to paradise? Cease to exist?

“Killy, did you hear what I said?” 

He shook the thoughts from his head and focused on Belle who stood over the huge book, her finger pointing to its binding. 

“Um, sorry. What did you say?”

“I tried to look up Swan, Emma, but the entire S section is missing.”

Belle’s fingers ran along the torn edges of several pages. Killian ran his hand wearily down his face. 

“Of course it is. So no birth certificate there either.”

“Wait a minute!” Belle exclaimed. “We know she died in 1894, and we know she was sixteen years old.”

“Which means she was born in 1878. We figured that out already. But the birth certificates from that entire year are also missing, remember?”

Belle nodded. “Yes, yes, the Gold family had money and power and were very thorough, but they may not have thought about baby announcements.”

Killian grinned. “Parents put baby announcements in the newspaper! Belle, you’re a genius!”

They ran down the short hallway to the microfilm room. Belle quickly pulled out the film for 1878 and put it in the machine. Once they figured out where the social section of the paper was located, they were able to scroll fairly quickly. And then - there it was. Just a few short lines: 

David and Mary Margaret Swan are pleased to announce the birth of their daughter, Emma Eva Swan, on October 22nd, 1878 at three o-clock in the afternoon. She is welcomed by her paternal grandmother, Ruth Elizabeth Swan, and her maternal grandfather, Leopold Blanchard.

******************************************************

“David and Mary Margaret,” Emma whispered. 

Killian tightened his hold around her shoulders and brushed a kiss against the crown of her head. “They were your parents.”

Emma nodded slowly, and he watched her facial expression under the light of the waning moon. He could practically see happy memories light up her face. 

“I remember them,” she whispered. “We didn’t have a lot of money, but we were very happy. We lived on a farm.”

She dropped her head onto Killian’s shoulder and let out a contented sigh. They remained that way for a long moment, silently watching the stars twinkle overhead. 

“She had a beautiful smile,” Emma told him quietly, “and he used to cup my head so tenderly whenever he hugged me. That’s all I remember, though. Their faces are even fuzzy in my memory.”

“I’m sorry.”

She turned in his embrace so she could look him in the eye. “Don’t be. I wouldn’t remember anything if it weren’t for you. Thank you, Killian.”

She pulled his head down gently so she could press her lips to his. They lost themselves in the passion of their kisses.

***********************************************************

Killian sat with Belle once again in the library’s musty basement. Books with cracked leather bindings were piled around them: genealogy records, property records, and marriage certificates. With names and the information that Emma grew up on a farm, they were able to piece together the history of the Swan and Gold families. 

There was no evidence, however, of the Swan’s reporting their daughter was missing. In fact, aside from the birth announcement in the paper, there was no evidence that Emma Swan had existed at all. Everytime they got close, records were conveniently missing. Pages had clearly been torn out of several books, and years worth of Storybrooke Mirror and Portland Press articles were missing from the microfilm records. 

“It’s so obvious, though,” Belle exclaimed in frustration, slamming yet another large book shut. “Neal Gold falls in love with Emma Swan, a poor farmer’s daughter. His family would never approve of the relationship, so he never plans on marrying her. She’s just a good time to him.”

“I’m still a little grossed out by how old he was,” Killian muttered. 

Those records hadn’t been missing. Neal Gold was absolutely, unequivocally twenty nine years old when he met fourteen year old Emma Swan. Which made him thirty one when he got her pregnant and murdered her. 

Disgusting. 

“Belle? Did you hear me?”

His friend had gone completely pale, her finger frozen in the center of a yellowed page. Killian got up and leaned over her shoulder. 

“What’s this?”

She flipped the heavy leather volume back to the cover with a deep sigh. Killian leaned further over his shoulder and read the title out loud. 

“The Life, Impact, and Genealogy of Storybrooke’s Founding Family: The Golds. Well that’s not pretentious at all,” he snorted. Belle giggled. “By -”

He cut off, reeled back, and looked at Belle, who nodded in affirmation. “By Roderick Gaston?”

“There’s more,” Belle told him, flipping back to the page that had left her frozen. 

It was a family tree, and Killian scanned it quickly. At the top was Robert Gold, the founder of Storybrooke, with his wife Milah’s name beside his. Below that, it listed their only son: Neal Gold. He married Tamara Gold in 1894, the same year Emma died.

“Well, there’s another motive for murder,” Killian murmured, “not only did he get a teenager pregnant, he was cheating on his fiance.”

“Keep going,” Belle whispered. 

Neal and Tamara had three children: Bonnie, Felix, and Gretchen. The oldest daughter, Bonnie, had married Roderick Gaston, and they had two sons: Lewis and Mitchum Gaston.

“Wait - isn’t Mike’s dad Mitch Gaston?”

“Yes,” Belle told him softly, “and I met his grandfather once, too. His name is Roderick. I never put two and two together before, but the man was the worst snob. He kept asking who my people were and going on and on about how the Gaston’s were connected to Storybrooke’s finest families.”

“So this means that your boyfriend -”

“Is the descendant of Emma’s murderer.”

*******************************************************

“Where the hell are you going?”

Killian jumped at the sound of his brother’s voice. He whirled away from the back door to find Liam standing in the kitchen with the phone in his hand. Killian could hear the loud, grating beeping of the line as it went dead. 

“Who were you talking to at 3 am?” Killian shot back. 

Liam narrowed his eyes then slowly put the phone back onto the receiver that hung on the wall. He took his time untangling the long cord before turning back to face Killian.

“Something’s happened, little brother.”

Liam’s voice was so full of fear, shock, and sadness that Killian didn’t even bother correcting him on the little brother label. 

**********************************************************

The girl in the hospital bed couldn’t possibly be Belle. Her eyes were wild and darted around the room, her hair was a tangled mass around her face, and when she saw Killian she began to scream. 

“I saw her, Killy! The ghost! The blood, the blood, the blood . . .” 

Orderlies ran in and grabbed her before she could lunge from the bed. She fought them tenaciously, her back arching and her eyes rolling back in her head.

“Ivory runs red, ivory runs red. He’s dead, he’s dead.” She started to laugh maniacally as one orderly managed to get a syringe into her veins. They wrestled her to the bed and strapped her down, but she continued to speak, her words slurring. “He’s dead, dead, dead.”

She arched her back one more time, mumbling about ivory and red, shaking her head back and forth. Then she began to say the rhyme they had learned as children, singing it to a morbid little tune. 

“When ebony flashes gold, blood runs cold. When ivory runs red, you’ll be dead.”

Killian felt the blood rush from his head, leaving his skin cold in the sterile room as he watched Belle’s breaths even out. He knew the kinds of drugs running through her veins, God did he know. He also knew no one would believe her. 

Mike Gaston was dead, and Killian couldn’t muster a modicum of grief. 

#cs ff #captain swan ff #cssns21 #captain swan supernatural summer #horror #ghost story #strange lieutenant duckling #lol just trust me #happy ending of sorts

[alarawriting]

52 Project #24: The Princesses and the Peas

(Inspired by a post on Tumblr and if I can ever find it again I will link it here.)

(Not proofread, beta’ed, or even read through a second time because this is massively late and if I don’t post within the next hour it will officially be next week everywhere in the United States and I will have failed in my mission. I’ll try to re-read and proofread and edit next week. Also this note is highly unprofessional, but I learned my relationship to my audience through fanfic, so this is how I roll.)

***

Surely you have heard a similar tale before, almost but not entirely like this one, of the queen who sought the perfect wife for her son, the crown prince.

The queen had ruled the land alone since the death of her husband. She was praised for her wisdom and her benevolence toward her people. But she was no longer young, and it was time to make sure her son made a politically beneficial marriage, to strengthen his position when it came time for him to take the crown. Many in the land whispered that the young man would make a terrible king, and wanted him to abdicate in favor of his younger sister, who was beautiful and bright and smiling. Celia, the young sister, could look anyone in the eye and make them believe that in that moment, they were the most important person in her world. Arien, the prince… could not do that.

The prince had a talent for mathematics, and it had expressed itself very young. Some said he should be the chancellor of the exchequer rather than the king. But Queen Leyta knew her son would make a compassionate and wise ruler as well as a prudent one. He also had a gift for seeing the humanity behind the numbers he calculated, of being able to think of the impact they would have on the people he would one day rule.

Once, when he was a child of six, his nursemaid lost him. Leyta found him behind the kitchens, picking through the garbage bins to find table scraps. She would have punished the kitchen staff for allowing such a thing, but Arien insisted that she should not. “It’s not their fault, Mother. I ordered them to let me, and I’m the prince, so they had to obey me. I told them that if you became angry at them I would tell you that they were only obeying my orders. They can’t get in trouble for obeying their liege.”

Leyta sighed. She could punish them for obeying their liege, when their liege was 6 and the thing he wanted to do was eat garbage, but she wouldn’t, because she knew why they obeyed. When the prince was thwarted, he would ask why. And if he received an answer, he would argue with it and present his position. Sometimes, this debate would lead to him accepting the necessity, and calmly going about his business, seeming to forget all about what he’d asked. More often, if he didn’t get an answer to “why”, or he didn’t like the answer and thought it didn’t make sense, and he was still thwarted, he would start to scream and hide under tables, or scream and run around and break things, or scream and slam his head into the wall, and he wouldn’t stop even when offered the thing he wanted. It was very, very hard to calm him once he started shrieking. So instead of punishing the kitchen staff, she asked Arien, “Why were you eating garbage?”

“Our food is bought with the taxes we take from the people,” he said seriously. “If we wasted less food, we wouldn’t have to tax the people as sorely as we do, and they would have more money to buy things for themselves.”

So she took him aside and told him that the scraps were fed to the dogs, who helped the palace huntsmen bring down game, or the goats and fowl, who gave the palace milk, meat and eggs, or they were tilled into the ground to make the fields around the palace more fruitful. They did not, in fact, go to waste; food that wasn’t wholesome for humans to eat could still feed animals, who would turn it back into wholesome food.

Then she had a lengthy discussion with him about tax policy, and listened gravely to his suggestions as to how they could ease the burdens on the people, and told him what the problems with his ideas were. And when some of his ideas didn’t have significant problems, she told him so, and discussed them with him, and even implemented a few as policy.

Arien also had a great love for bugs. He spent much of his days wandering the grounds, sketching every insect he saw, capturing some to study them and figure out what they ate. When Leyta learned of this, she found a learned scholar of insects, and hired him to be Arien’s tutor in the matter of insects, only. The man was at first openly resentful of being required to work with a small child, assuming that Arien would be a spoiled princeling with no real interest in learning, but when he discovered Arien’s love for the tiny creatures, he embraced the boy wholeheartedly and tutored him as well as he could.

The prince had few friends. He was open and innocent, happy to make friends with any child close to his own age, but the honest children who truly wanted a playmate were put off by Arien’s tendency to talk about bugs and math almost constantly. The children who put up with Arien’s chatter were, to Leyta’s eyes, obviously coached by ambitious mothers, pretending to friendship with the strange young prince to improve their position at court. She arranged for most of these children to be sent away – either their mothers dismissed, or the family sent to one of the crown’s holdings with some duty to perform or another. Arien was saddened by the disappearance of his playmates, since he didn’t realize they saw him as mere stepping stones to power. Celia knew, and would comfort her brother as well as she could… but she didn’t have a lot of patience for math, tax policy, and insects either.

As he grew up, Arien continued to display a strange mixture of wisdom and childishness. He would run around the palace grounds, playing with children far younger than he was, and they were not old enough to try to manipulate him, so Queen Leyta left them alone. He enjoyed riding his horse and taking care of it, and was often found at the stables, for he believed his horse needed to cared for in just the exact way he did it, and he didn’t trust the stablehands to follow his instructions exactly. He would spend hours discussing the politics of the land and the problems facing various groups of his subjects with Leyta and her own advisors, and then he would scream and throw himself on the floor at dinner because a chef had put visible onions in his soup, and he would need to be put to bed with his favorite blanket and a knitted doll of a dog that he’d had when he was four.

People said that the boy was touched in the head, that he was slightly mad, and also, that a future king who threw temper tantrums over onions was not to be trusted. But they weren’t, exactly, tantrums, as Leyta saw them. They didn’t stop when the problem was solved, they usually didn’t include demands – in fact, usually it was hard to get the prince to explain what was wrong, because he seemed to lose much of his ability to speak when these fits came on him. And she could see in his eyes that he was terrified and overwhelmed, not angry and demanding. Arien needed the world to work a certain way, and when it did not, it left him adrift, frightened and lost in a world that seemed to make no sense to him anymore.

Some of these ways that the world needed to work involved food, and the importance of not being able to see onions, for an onion large enough to see was large enough to crunch in his mouth in a way that apparently was so disgusting it would make him lose his ability to eat all day. There were similar rules regarding peppers, and certain cream dishes. Other ways the world needed to work regarded his mother’s advisors treating him like their future king, not in terms of obsequious deference but in terms of actually listening to his ideas and explaining things to him – even when he was merely eight. And then there was the care of animals – his own animals needed to be cared for in an exact way, and if he saw anyone being cruel to an animal, he might actually become violent to that person. The same was true of stronger people being cruel to weaker ones. When he was fourteen, he heard a maid crying, and asked a kitchen maid to find out for him what had happened. And then, when he learned that a nobleman under his roof had ill used her and cast her aside, he went to his mother and demanded the man be whipped for his crimes. The political explanations she gave for why that couldn’t be done fell on deaf ears; he was a cruel man and he’d harmed someone he had power over, and that was all Arien cared about. Leyta only managed to satisfy him by sending the man on a probably futile sea expedition to try to find a cheaper source of rice.

This was the boy that Queen Leyta had to find a proper bride for.

Her mother-in-law, the Dowager Queen, had ideas, but it had been many years since the Dowager Queen had actually held any power; she was one of Leyta’s advisors now, nothing more. So the idea would have to be one that Leyta agreed with, herself.

A ball to introduce eligible young women with powerful families to the prince? No. The prince didn’t handle crowds or parties well, or meeting a lot of new people in one evening.

A series of daytime salons, where a small group of eligible women would converse over luncheon with the prince? No. That was still too many people and the prince  was self-conscious about people watching him eat.

Individual visits from each eligible young lady and her chaperones, to the palace, to meet with Arien, and also to be approved by Leyta? Yes! An excellent idea. Leyta had her secretary write up the invitations, to all the young women whose parents had written to her or the Dowager to express an interest.

In the palace was a suite of rooms that had been Leyta’s, once, when she’d lived in this palace to learn its ways before marrying the then-prince. She had that suite cleaned and prepared for the guests. Sleeping quarters to either side for the princess’s guards. Ladies-in-waiting to sleep in the antechamber outside the princess’s bedroom. And inside the princess’s bedroom, a bed heaped with several thick eiderdown duvets and pillows, incredibly soft, with sheets made from the finest linens.

And under the second eiderdown duvet, dried peas.

Queen Leyta tested the peas. When she sat on the bed, she couldn’t feel them. If she laid in the bed, she could barely tell they were there. But when she had Arien try it, he said, “You’re going to take them out before the guests come, right? The peas make the bed much too uncomfortable.”

“The peas,” Leyta said, “are to test whether a girl is right for you or not. It’s magic.”

Arien looked at her skeptically, unsure whether he believed in magic or not. “How are dried peas supposed to find me the right wife?”

“Magic,” Leyta said. “I can’t tell you exactly how it works. But it’s very important that you not tell them about the peas, or the magic won’t work.”

“Mother, I’m sixteen. I’m not a child. This whole story sounds ridiculous.”

“All right,” Leyta admitted. “It’s not magic, but I won’t be able to explain it to you until after it’s proven that it works, or doesn’t. But it is very important that you not tell any of your guests about it.”

Arien looked like he wanted to argue some more about it. Leyta said, “Trust me,” and he sighed, plainly remembering the number of times his mother had stood up for him or had come up with some scheme to help him.

“All right, Mother, but I’ll want that explanation afterwards.”

The Dowager Queen had her own theories. “You want to see if they can tell the peas are there?”

“To a certain extent,” Leyta said.

“You know that old wives’ tale about princesses being true and refined if they’re extremely sensitive is just a myth. I wasn’t a fragile flower who’d lose petals if you looked at her hard, and neither were you. And neither will Celia be.”

“I know that, Mother,” Leyta said – it was custom to address your mother-in-law as Mother, and Leyta’s own mother had died shortly after her wedding. The Dowager Queen had been the closest thing to a mother she’d had the entire time she was Queen. “I’m not testing for extreme skin sensitivity. Trust me.”

“It’d be hard for him to get an heir on a princess that fragile, don’t you think?” The Dowager chortled.

Leyta sighed. “No need to be crude about it. I have my reasons, and I’ll explain them to you, eventually. Let’s see if it works, first.”

***

The first princess was from the west. She had long straight hair and delicate-looking eyes with folded lids that left them shaped like almonds, rather than the eggs that the people of this realm wore in their face. She had pale creamy skin with a golden undertone, and she was demure and very polite, her etiquette perfect. She sat with Arien for hours, smiling at him with a face that expressed great interest, as he explained to her the complexities of life in a beehive.

In the morning, Leyta asked her, “How did you sleep?”

“Oh, wonderfully,” the princess said. “The bed was perfect! So soft! Your hospitality is wonderful.” She bowed her head.

Leyta saw her and her entourage off. When she returned, she asked Arien, “What did you think of her?”

“She was nice,” Arien said. “She listened to me. I’ve only had a few friends who listened to me, and they all moved away.”

Privately, without Arien present, the Dowager asked, “So what’s your verdict?”

“Unless none of them pass the test, she’s a no.”

***

The second princess was from the land immediately to the north. Her skin was tree- brown but as smooth as a tranquil lake, her hair floating around her head in a soft, curly cloud. Arien talked to her about beetles. She made excuses of not feeling well about half an hour into the beetle discussion.

When Leyta asked her how she slept, she said, “Your rooms are very nice. And the food last night was excellent, I’m so sorry I had to cut the evening short. But I feel fully rejuvenated today.”

Arien said, “She seemed okay, but she kept looking around while I was talking to her, so much that I think she gave herself motion sickness. I think that’s why she got sick.”

Leyta said to the Dowager, “A definite no.”

***

The third princess was from the far south. She had beautiful straight golden hair, cut short and asymmetrically, where it was shorter in the back than front and where it was parted on one side rather than in the middle.

She complained about her soup being cold. She complained about her roast beef being too bloody. She complained that the dessert course had small portions and also that it was too sweet. She screamed at servants for not bringing her wet towels for wiping her hands quickly enough and for refilling her wine glass too quickly. She insisted on talking to the seneschal about the servants who had served her, demanding that they be banished from the castle for incompetence. When Arien tried to talk to her, her demeanor was sweet, but every time he tried to talk to her about something he liked, she insisted that he show her another part of the castle. She made plans for room redecoration as if she had already become Arien’s queen.

In the morning, she was sickly sweet with Leyta, saying it was only a minor thing, really, but surely more competent servants could be found to make the bed? It was extremely lumpy. Leyta found out that she’d woken the chambermaids at 1 in the morning to demand an additional five featherbeds piled on top of hers.

Arien didn’t look at his mother. “Um… I don’t want to be impolite, but… I didn’t like her very much.”

The Dowager Queen said, “Please don’t tell me you’re considering that young harridan just because she could tell there were peas in the bed.”

“Oh, no. Not even for a moment,” said Leyta, and drew her quill through the name “Princess Carinna” on the list.

***

The fourth princess was actually the daughter of a powerful merchant, not an actual princess at all. She had deeply tanned skin and thick black hair, and beautiful dark eyes. She and Arien talked for hours about tax policy and accounting techniques, and she seemed genuinely interested.

She said the bed had been wonderful, and there was nothing wrong with it. Arien liked her. But Queen Leyta marked her as a provisional choice, the first on the list if no one passed her test.

***

And so it went with princess after princess. Most of them showed at least some slight sign of impatience when Arien monopolized the conversation, but none of them admitted to it, and few even tried to change the topic. No others were as rude as Carinna. No others admitted to detecting the peas, either. Leyta was on the verge of contacting the merchant to make an offer for his daughter to wed Arien. And then Princess Inaya arrived.

Princess Inaya was from further north than the second princess had been, her skin darker and her hair in braids that lay directly against her head, with ribbons and beads woven into them at the bottom. She didn’t look Leyta in the eye – or anyone else, really, keeping her head bowed demurely. She picked at her food, more or less eating only the potatoes, and she barely spoke… until she met with Arien.

He offered, diffidently, to show her the garden, and she accepted. He started to point out interesting bugs that he saw in the garden… and she began to point out interesting rocks. They soon began an animated conversation that sounded to Leyta more like two separate threads, where Arien would say a sentence or two about insects, then yield to Inaya, who would say a sentence or two about rocks. Sometimes they had a genuine back-and-forth when they talked about the habitats of pillbugs, who lived under rocks, or other areas where rocks and insects somehow intersected. Arien showed Inaya the notebook where he drew bugs and made his observations, and Inaya seemed to be thrilled with his artistic skill. She showed him her own notebook, with no art at all, where she wrote down the properties of rocks she had discovered and outlined the tests she did on stones to see what they were made of. Arien was fascinated with the efforts she’d gone to and how thoroughly she’d documented her findings; he’d never thought of doing anything to research the insects aside from looking them up in his tutor’s books.

At no point did she ever look Arien in the eye. At no point did he seem to care. He relaxed enough with Inaya to flap his hands when he grew excited; Inaya had a chain of polished stones that, instead of wearing around her neck, she tossed in the air as she paced.

In the morning, when Leyta asked Inaya how she slept, she squirmed.

“I, um. The bed was mostly very nice. Very good linens, nice soft down. But, uh. It felt like maybe there were… tiny pebbles in there somewhere? I’m not sure, I didn’t want to be rude and strip down the bed to look, but, uh. It was kind of uncomfortable.”

“Oh, I’m so sorry to hear that,” Leyta said.

She made arrangements to ask Arien his opinion before Inaya’s entourage left, this time. He spoke very simply. “I love her. Pick her, she’s the one.”

“I thought you would say that,” Leyta said, and she finished drafting the offer to Inaya’s parents, and signed it. “Take this to her lady-in-waiting before they leave, to give to Inaya’s parents.”

“I can’t!” Arien said, looking all around. “I can’t be the one to do it because I have to give her a parting gift if I see her and I don’t have any nice rocks!”

So Leyta gave him a bracelet with a large inset opal, and smaller jades all around it. “Take this to her and tell her which kinds of stones are in it, and tell her she can wear it as a bracelet if she wants, or take it apart for the stones, whichever she prefers.”

Later she heard that Inaya collapsed on the ground crying when he made the offer, but that her lady-in-waiting reassured Arien that this wasn’t abnormal – that she did this whenever her emotions were too strong to control, even if they were happy emotions. Inaya confirmed that she was crying from relief and joy, because she had always thought that no man would ever want to marry her and if one did, he would hate her rocks and want her to do normal womanly things like embroidery or something, which she wasn’t good at in the slightest because her coordination was bad and she was always poking the needle into the wrong place, and she had never imagined that she would ever find a man who understood her and didn’t demand that she look in his eyes and liked to listen to her talk about what she loved. Then Arien asked her very gravely if she liked hugs, because most of the time he didn’t like hugs, especially when they were a surprise, but if she would like a hug he really wanted to give her one. They hugged, and declared mutual love (“as far as I can define the feeling of love, anyway,” Inaya said, “because I don’t think I’ve ever been in love before, so how can I know for sure that that’s what this is?” Arien had agreed with her, but said “I think that even if what we’re feeling isn’t the same kind of thing as other people feel when they’re in love, it’s close enough that we can use the same word, because who wants to have to make up a new word?” And then they spent several minutes amusing each other to the point of hysterical laughter in making up new words that sounded ridiculous, sometimes repeating them to each other ten or a dozen times.) When Inaya finally had to leave, Arien cried.

Leyta wasn’t there for any of that, but her spies were everywhere in the castle.

***

When the Dowager demanded that she explain her test, Leyta summoned Arien, who had washed his face so it looked more as if he had had a terrible runny nose and sneezes than that he’d been crying.

“You asked me about what it would prove, to put peas in the bed,” Leyta said, “and I was looking for two things, but one was more important than the other.”

“What were you looking for?” Arien asked.

“Arien… you know that you’re a special young man, and different in some ways than other people your age. I’ve consulted with many scholars. Children like you are often strangely sensitive to things that other people don’t notice… often to the point where it’s unpleasant. Such as your feelings about onions.”

He shuddered. “Please do not remind me of the existence of those devil vegetables.”

Leyta laughed. The Dowager scowled. Leyta knew she preferred that a king, or a crown prince who’d just been betrothed, have a serious demeanor. She also knew that Arien would be who he was, no matter what anyone asked him to be.

“So I thought, the peas might be noticeable to some of the girls, but they would be especially notable to a girl who was like Arien. More importantly, if a girl noticed it but claimed she didn’t… Arien, I know you are often taken off guard by lies, and you’re a very honest man yourself. I know you would prefer a wife who will tell you when something makes her unhappy, rather than her trying to guess how you feel about it and then telling you what she thinks you want to hear.”

Arien nodded. “Nobody can see inside someone else’s mind, so why would anyone even do that?”

“I wanted a girl who would be honest about something she found unpleasant, even if she had to offend her host to admit it. But, obviously, kindness and compassion and a lack of malice about it were necessary as well… we don’t want a Carinna anywhere near the rulership of the kingdom.”

“You can say that again,” Arien said. Leyta suspected he was setting her up so she could tell a joke.

“But I won’t, because I know you heard it the first time,” she said, smiling.

The Dowager frowned. “So you picked a girl who has the same kinds of problems as Arien? Was that wise? The kingdom may need rulers who understand the idea of telling lies when they must, who can be charming and adept with politics. I thought you’d pick a girl who would cover Arien’s weaknesses, not one with the same issues.”

“Your son understood me,” Leyta said simply. “It was an arranged marriage, but we quickly grew to love each other, because we respected and we understood each other. I don’t want the kingdom to have a queen who resents her husband because she thinks he’s strange… who may play politics behind the scenes to have him killed so she can take power. Or who takes lovers, so we don’t know if the royal blood is even in the heirs. It’s more important to me that Arien’s wife respects him and understands him, and that he understands and respects her, than to have rulers who can detect all the subterranean undercurrents of a conversation. That’s what spymasters are for… and Dowager mothers and grandmothers, and perhaps even younger sisters.”

“Mother,” Arien said, “thank you. I know the people think I’m strange, and maybe I am, but you’ve always watched out for me. I didn’t even know I needed to find a wife who wouldn’t lie to protect my feelings until you pointed it out, and now it’s obvious.” He looked at the Dowager. “And Grandmother, Inaya does complement me. I understand mathematics, and finance, and things like that. She was trained by her parents to understand logistics, so she could run the castle, but she went deeper with it; she understands things about what kind of weather will do things to the crops and what will happen to the farmers when that occurs, things I never even thought about asking. Together I think she and I can make our country one of the most prosperous and happy nations in the world.”

***

And so it came to be. Prince Arien and Princess Inaya were wed in a lovely ceremony that they immediately fled to go on their honeymoon as soon as the marriage vows were taken. They understood the economics of the nation, and other nations, as few kings and queens ever did, and when they needed someone to tell them that someone else was lying, they had the Dowager Leyta and Princess Celia. The country prospered as it never had before, with no beggars on the streets of the cities, because the King and Queen gave homes to those who had none, and living expenses to those too sick or weak or lacking in some ability so that they couldn’t work.

It would be a lie to say they lived happily ever after, because no human can be happy all the time, and they had arguments and problems in their relationship from time to time. But even Arien the Honest and his Queen would agree that we can say they lived mostly happily for the rest of their lives.

#52 project #i'm late! i'm late! #fairy tales #autism #altered tales #the writer is autistic

[cherryblossomtease]

In The Fairest Season ~ Part 2

18+only

warnings summary masterlist

~JUNE~

The first time you sing for the Baron you haven’t even met him yet. In fact, you have no idea that he is in the audience.

Your solo, the lone aria not sung by Serena, the lead vocalist who will never let anyone forget it, opens the second act and it is your chance to show the world, or at least the city, that you are meant for greater things.

You give the song everything you have. Living it, breathing it, exhaling it out across that stage until the audience is moved to tears. You can’t see them for the lights, but you can feel it.

Follow that, you think as you glide offstage, passing the undeserving diva who strong armed her way to top billing. You don’t like to fight amongst your own kind, but if she suddenly lost her ability to speak you wouldn’t be sad about it.

Curtain call confirms your intuition. You are pulled front and center by your cast-mates and their own applause is drown out by the roar of the crowd.

The people love you.

Accepting your praise with a truly humble heart, you curtsy under a wave of roses. All the while, one man sits watching from a private box.

He is the last to stand. Not because he disagrees with the ovation, but because he’s been rendered immobile since the moment you opened your mouth.

You didn’t know it then and neither of you would be certain right away, but it is clear to any who see the way he looks at the aspiring songbird dipping low as she thanks the audience with tears in her eyes— Baron Helmut Zemo is already falling in love with you.

While finding out as much as he can about you is easy for a man like the Baron, your only knowledge of him is gained the same way as most outside of the elite circles— through rumors and whispers— and those tell the tale of a powerful man who has gained the love and devotion of his fellow soldiers and countrymen while at war with an enemy state. Though some say his tactics were less than honorable…

Either way their war was too distant, both in time and setting to matter to anyone here, but it changed the Sokovian people forever, reshaping the land and claiming so many lives.

Zemo’s wife and child among them.

You’d heard the story in passing and found it heartbreaking but hadn’t felt the need to think of it again until today, thanks in large part to the kindness of Colonel Nicholas Fury and his wife, the Lady Valentina a former Countess through marriage with a taste for danger. It comes as little surprise to those in the know that the Colonel, or his Lady wife would know someone like the Baron, who happens to be a former Colonel himself, though there are many secrets kept about their history and just how such a friendship was made.

Today however, none of it matters as the Colonel and Lady Valentina are holding a lovely benefit for the local children’s home, and while it is a reason to show off their mysterious guest, as the Baron will be staying with the pair for the season, you’d agreed to entertain long before rumors of this Baron began to make the rounds. The Colonel pays prices most girls won’t see after a month of work, and with nothing expected from you but your voice at its best and your personality front and center to charm the upper class, this is the sort of performance you look forward to.

Accompanied by piano in the grand solarium, the performance is by your own standards a very good one; Understated, gentle on the ear, but, as is evidence by the looks on the faces of the Lords and Ladies in attendance, no less impactful.

“Haunting” Is what you’re told by those who greet you afterwards and you wear that word like a badge of honor over your heart as you mingle.

It is between sets while standing at the piano that you feel the lightest touch on your shoulder.

Fingertips, brushing your bare skin with a hesitancy but such longing that your attention is grabbed instantly.

You’ve been touched like this before, but this is different—you turn around feeling curiosity instead of dread.

You aren’t quite sure how long it takes you to speak. Maybe it’s seconds, perhaps some minutes or more before you find your words, the point is, time feels irrelevant.

His gaze is as bold as the sun and you are held there, left to feel the trails of heat along your skin in the wake of it—up your arms, across your shoulders and neck, your lips— you’ve never had a man look at you this way before and not felt the urgent need to run. Instead, you take a step forward.

“Madame. Allow me to introduce his Lordship, Baron Helmut Zemo.” The Colonel announces.

With a slow bow of your head you lower into a small curtsey to show respect for the man above your station. Your eyes lift to meet his as you rise up and watch his mouth curl into a hint of a smile.

“Madame y/n” He exhales when he says your name as though he is relieved to know it and you feel the little hairs on the back of your neck rise as if he’s whispered in your ear. “It is an honor.”

You smile and thank him “The honor is of course mine, my Lord Baron.”

“After today I’ve had the privilege of watching you perform twice now. But I was beginning to fear I might never meet you in the flesh.”

Something about his choice of words makes you feel warm all over. “It seems the stars have aligned and brought us together after all.” You say with a genuine smile.

He gives a hint of a laugh and glances at Fury. “Yes a, Man shaped constellation” He teases making the Colonel grin.

“Forgive me Barron Zemo,” You say a little timid. “I hope I don’t embarrass you or myself by speaking freely, but… your accent? Please, tell me the name of your country. I’ve heard it said before but can quite recall.” You’re unable to hold back your curiosity and the way he forms words has you eager to know more.

“Ah.” He flashes a quick smile. “Well, you see I am only here to visit my friend as you know.” He says glancing at Fury. “A summer abroad. A summer away…” You catch a hint of sadness but he presses on. “I am from Sokovia. A small country but there is none that can compare to its beauty.”

“Sokovia?” You say it slowly “Yes, in passing I’ve heard it said but I am ashamed to say I could not point to it on a map. Though I’m sure it’s as beautiful as the tone you take when speaking of it.” You pause to look him in the eye. “I can hear the love you hold for your homeland in your voice Baron.” You are being polite but the truth is, you are struck by it. He has a sort of rasping tenor that comes out in a hesitant whisper, as though he wants to say more but fears saying too much.

I can take it, you think and find yourself drawing your bottom lip between your teeth as you study his. He has a wonderfully wide mouth and the way his lips move when he speaks is hypnotic.

“I will never hide my love for my country. Not after everything we have been through.” He says.

You smile reading between the lines. “I see that. And while I’m only a singer who has had her travel limited.” You admit. “I hope to perform across the world. Tell me the best Sokovian stage Baron and perhaps I will stand on it one day.” You say, aware of how eager you sound but know that it’s the truth.

The Colonel laughs like all wealthy men do when they hear the dreams of women, but the Baron does not. No, he looks at you as though you’ve just spoken your deepest desires aloud and he feels blessed to have heard them.

“One day, yes. Perhaps you will.” He says and you hope he doesn’t notice how your breath catches in your throat, but the way his eyes fix on yours makes you feel seen.

The three of you fall silent and you’re very aware of Colonel Fury watching the two of you. You see his coy smile from the corner of your eye and its clear that he thinks the Baron will have you down to your stockings by the days end, but nothing is further from the truth.

Baron Zemo doesn’t try to take your dress off, not even when you wander inside and into the library alone with him. Instead he listens to you tell stories about the parts of your life that are easy to share and with what seems to be genuine interest.

You tell him about your mother who was a singer before you, though she never made it to the big stage. You still send money home to her and your sweet father who is too sick to work but still manages to paint when he’s feeling up to it.

“So you are the product of true love.” He says and while there is an edge to his voice, he is not trying to tease. You feel him watching you touch the spines of the many books along the shelves in the dimly lit room.

“Why do you say that?” You ask, your back still to him.

“A singer and an artist who marry do it for no other reason.” He says, confident in his statement. You can hear the smile in his voice and your own grows across your face. Coming from anyone else this would be an insult. Coming from him, it turns your ordinary origins into something romantic.

“Love, with the hope of fame and money.” You correct with a smirk and find him over your shoulder.

He is standing in the light of the large south facing window and you have no choice but to turn and face him. It’s nearly unfair that any man should be so beautiful.

You’d noticed the way the other women in attendance looked at him in his exquisite jacket and vest, looking the very picture of fashionable victorian masculinity; and done without effort it would seem. Just his natural air of confidence. Honestly you’re convinced Zemo could make a workhouse uniform look like the kings cape.

What would those women do now, you wonder. With his brown hair looking almost black in the library shadows, so thick and pretty as it falls in his eyes in lovely contrast to his fair skin.

As the clouds part and a strong band of light breaks through the windows casting a warm glow over the man, you smile imagining the socialites batting their lashes and dipping into quaint curtsies to attract him, but it seems none can manage to take his eyes from you…

They would all say it’s because you’re a stage whore, a woman of ill repute with the gift of song. But they are wrong. They always are.

“Tell me Baron Zemo, how long did you say you’ll be staying” You ask crossing the room to step into the sun with him.

He looks down at you and you notice for the first time the flecks of gold in his eyes. “I must return at the end of August.”

“Oh.” You look away. It’s already June.

His body language changes a bit, like someone has splashed cold water over him and he goes stiff. Quickly as if desperate to do so, he takes hold of your hand which startles you as much as it excites you. You try not to let him see the way he’s made your own body respond but your heart threatens to leap from your chest.

“Would it be forward of me to ask you to join our small party for dinner this coming Saturday?”

Your eyes dart up finding such hope in his. “Not at all. So long as you understand what it is you’re asking?” You hate to turn the mood, it was so nice, but this needs to be said.

“What do you mean?”

“Well dinner with a performer of course. I suppose it could be seen as the Colonel’s kindness… but Baron please don’t tell me you’re so naive to the ways of the country you summer in.”

He gives you a curious frown “I forget where I am often. Your ways here will always be a little strange. You see in Sokovia, to possess a gift such as yours would see you walk among the people who look down on you here. We lift those better than ourselves up in my country.”

You feel light headed at the idea. Imagine being seen as important for what you are born with, and not for what you are born into. “It sounds wonderful.” You say, fully aware of how soft your voice is when you’re standing so close to him.

Him, this man you do not know. You pull your hand free from his.

Taking a step back you give a small curtsy. “I must go back, we have a few more songs to perform, but thank you for the walk, and for the invitation. I look forward to it!”

He smiles politely and offers to escort you, but you know better. No need ruining his reputation or starting rumors about your own.

You go back to the solarium and take up your place next to the piano and proceed to sing the heartbreaking aria that can decimate even the strongest of defenses.

Your eyes scan the room as you sing, finding hapless victims to serenade until finally you land on the Barron standing behind the rows of chairs.

The man is stricken by your words of love and loss and you think perhaps you could have warned him about your song.

When you find him again, it is an accident.

You’d gone off looking for your pianist when you find the Baron standing alone in the garden just off the parlor.

You almost speak but notice the way he stands there without moving. He is looking down at a bush of flowers; large white Lillies.

You brace against the doorframe and lean in to watch him for a moment before you realize… he raises his hand and wipes a tear before slipping it back into his pocket.

Tears over flowers? No. Not flowers, and then you understand. The war you know nothing of, took everything from him.

You feel guilty. Of all the songs you had to sing you chose the one that could break a healthy heart, what had it done to this shattered thing probably held together by nothing more than string and sheer determination.

Your own ached for him and you’d never longed to hold anything or anyone so much in your life, but you did not know him yet and quietly slipped back inside.

Your last interaction with the Baron that afternoon had been no more than a sweet goodbye, but your thoughts are preoccupied with him over the week.

You find your self thinking of the way he’d touched your shoulder while you dress for your performances, and onstage when you shut your eyes you see his looking back at you, golden in the sun.

When Saturday comes around, you ignore the teasing of your best friend Brigitte who watches the way you’re fussing over your hair and pinching your cheeks after dressing in the small apartment you share with her over the theatre. Thankfully no one keeps watch over the costumes and so you wear the pale yellow dress from last years production that you think looks best against your skin.

Brigitte asks if he’s proposed yet just to set you off, but only because she’s never seen you nervous, but then she’s never seen you so excited over a man. Presumably because none has ever managed to hold your attention for so long.

The carriage arrives to pick you up and you try desperately not to be won over by the fact that he’s sent his own.

You know that it is his.

You run your hand along the silk lined walls, inhaling deeply, picking up the faintest scent of his cologne as you sink into the seat. Your smile grows wide with no one there to see as the driver sitting high above steers the horses through the city streets, the light jostle inside keeping you alert as you imagine the Baron standing at the threshold of the estate waiting for you. It begins to feel wonderfully indecent to be surrounded by him so intimately.

And what would it feel like if he really did hold  you close? Would it feel this warm and safe? Would you rest in his arms as you do his carriage, rushing past the world feeling untouchable?

Your eyes close for a moment; you are lost in a sea of daydreams until a wheel hits a large hole that jolts you back to reality.  Eyes going wide, you quickly blow out the tension built up in your chest through your lips and shake you head trying not to smile.  The man has held your hand one time old girl. Calm down!

You are still flushed and breathing hard when you arrive. When you see Baron Zemo waiting for you in the hall of the estate, in his dinner jacket and tie, you feel as though he knows every indecent thought you had on that incredible ride through town. If he does however, the Baron does not humiliate you, only showers you with complements on your appearance tonight.

And though the night is perfection, dinner in the city would not be dinner without a scandal. And so it goes that yours is candlelit and ripe for the pamphlets.

Colonel and Lady treat you as their guest of honor, though it is the Baron who attracts the attention of the others in attendance.

As he escorts you to the dining room, Baron Zemo dares to whisper in your ear. “If I could have entertained you and you alone, I would have made it so. But this is —not allowed —on these foreign shores.” He says and you see the way his dark gaze fixes ahead. You aren’t sure if it is Lord or Lady who earns his contempt but all you can do is hold back your laughter.

“It’s perfectly fine. The rules are there for them, so long as I am in their world I will play along. To be perfectly honest Baron… ” You look up at him in the door way and he lays his hand over yours, resting in the crook of his elbow. “This is exquisite.” You say. He smiles looking a little relieved and you notice that he’s been watching your lips as you speak and you feel yourself blush.

That however is not the moment to cause the scandal. Nor does it come from the Baron expressing his rather progressive views which he offers up like a complement to the soup course. It comes when he asks your opinion and you, shock of all shocks, give it.

The Lady Hawthorn who is also in attendance tries to cut you off, but the Baron hushes her and urges you to go on.

With him backing you, you find yourself feeling quite free to express your desire to see all people treated equally, and end your monologue by announcing that you know such a utopia could never exist so long as the wealthy are pleased and the poor too overworked to notice. This sends the Lady over the edge and Fury into a fit of laughter.

Only Baron Zemo hears the truth and he looks at you through the deep yellow glow of candlelight with pride.

Unfortunately that, is not what they print.

Rising star flies too close to the sun

“What a ridiculous thing to say” You huff carrying an armful of gowns over to the mirror in the little dressing area of your apartment.

“Maybe, but you’ll sing to a packed house tonight” Brigitte grins as she lounges on the settee in the middle of the small but colorfully decorated room. “The audience loves a spectacle.” Her French accent makes everything sound cute but it is nothing short of annoying in the moment.

“It’s hardly a spectacle Brigitte. Just bored, sad, empty headed people with nothing better to do than twist your well thought out words and opinions. My, well thought out words and opinions.” You speak with conviction while trying to ignore the sinking sense of embarrassment as you hold each dress up over your underclothes, one at a time. You are angry of course, those damned pamphlets are nothing more than a way for them to openly indulge in gossip and cruelty about you and your kind. Granted you’re not above reading them from time to time and this isn’t the first experience you’ve had with being a feature (poor Lord Quinn. He did fall in love so easily) but this is the first time that you care.

“You’re quite the radical aren’t you.” Brigitte says sitting up and sipping her tonic.

“Yes, a woman with an opinion, how will the world move on.” You roll your eyes and sling the yellow dress aside.

“Those aren’t costumes.” Brigitte says suspiciously and sits up on her knees, her arms hanging over the back of the sofa.

You look at her in the mirror and sigh. “No. I can’t keep borrowing them and besides, these aren’t for the stage.”

She’s waiting but you hesitate. “Tell me! Who are they for? It’s him right? Your Baron.”

“He isn’t mine.” You scold. “But yes, Baron Zemo has asked me to accompany him to the festival tomorrow night, and…” You pause glancing at yourself in the mirror. “I’ve said yes.”

“Of course you have, silly girl.” Brigitte giggles and gets up, coming over to you. She stands at your back, her long elegant fingers resting on your shoulders. She presses her cheek to yours and you feel the swell of love for your oldest friend rise.

The two of you have been through so much together. From escaping the cruel and often times corporal punishment of St. Augustine’s school for girls, to the deadly grasp of the streets. You’d been fighting along side one another until you both managed to sing your way onto the stage.

While Brigitte is technically better, you’re the one who sings with heart and that small edge is why your likeness will hang from the posts and not hers, but she is your friend in all things and as you gain notoriety, you have every intention of bringing her right along with you.

“I don’t know why I think anything will come of it. He’s a Baron for goodness sake.” You say scrunching your nose up at the lavender dress.

Brigitte is waiting, knowing you’ll answer your own suspicions.

“But, he looks at me and it’s as though these barriers don’t exist. I might as well be the daughter of a Duke when he smiles.”

“In his eyes, perhaps you are.” She says kindly. “Now, put those dresses away, you’ll wear my white one and look nothing less than angelic tomorrow. Tonight, you’ll sing like one and win your place in the Barons heart for good.”

As fate would have it, Baron Zemo was not at the performance last night. It means nothing though, that much is clear. He is as taken with you as you almost allow yourself to be with him. It is a dangerous game you play, one that could see you broken by the end of summer, but it is so hard to stay away…

You stroll causally behind The Colonel and Lady Fury through the park grounds along the pea gravel paths lit by paper lanterns with sparks flying from swirling machines and flames that shoot up from small bonfires.

Brigitte and your friend Eloise are bringing up the rear, but it feels as though there isn’t another soul alive. Just you and him and the beautiful menagerie that surrounds you.

The festival is one you’ve heard of but never attended and you’re almost happy you never have because as far as firsts go this one is magic.

A show of sight and sound engages every sense. There are acrobats, jugglers, stilt walkers and sword swallowers. You smell the food being sold from small carts and hear the music of the far off bandstand. You have a hard time not running around like a child as you point and shriek at the shocking, and squeal with delight at the fun. Each beautiful display of oddities and wonder that seem to never phase the Baron amaze you, though he does take great joy in watching your reaction.

When a fire breather spits yellow flames in your path, you jump back with a scream grabbing Zemo’s arm which makes him laugh.

You’re suddenly aware of how jovial his voice can be and when you look up, he smiles like you’ve never seen before and closes his hand over yours.

You think he might let go, but instead he begins to walk again, happy to keep you close.

You take in the sights on either side of the lawn, until it all begins to feel like a dream. Perhaps it was the champagne you had on arrival…

“Thank you my Lord, I’ll never forget this night.” You say under the cover of a trellis dripping with wisteria just outside of the wonderful chaos.

“It has been quite the show” He says looking back at the distant festivities before settling on you again. He quickly takes off his black topper, his hair falling into his eyes. “Unlike anything I’ve ever seen” He says looking at you with such an intensity that you can not hold the eye contact. You smile and look away spotting a servant with a large tray of champagne stacked like a pyramid of glowing gold.

Baron Zemo sees how you look at it and waves him over, taking two glasses from the top giving one to you, and raising his glass in salute.

“What do we drink to?” You ask.

Zemo thinks while looking into your eyes. Finally he raises the glass a little higher. “To the continuation of our friendship.”

You feel your cheeks flush and your mouth go a little dry. To declare a friendship between you is something you almost wish he wouldn’t say, but, it’s already been done. Still, what future can there truly be, you wonder looking up at this man who, had you been born into a wealthy family would have been yours weeks ago. But then, something about the Baron tells you not to fixate on what could have been, and to always expect the unexpected.

The sound of your glasses clinking is drown out by the boom of fireworks in the distance.

You tip your glass and drink. The champagne is sweet and cold and bubbly. You swallow with a smile only to shut your eyes when he strokes your cheek with the back of his hand, his thumb daring to glide across your bottom lip.

You inhale the moment and open your eyes to find his wanting, but not here. Not yet.

“To our future.” You say, needing him to know that you wish to push forward.

The Baron nods and takes another drink, watching you do the same over his glass. “I must insist on seeing you again, you understand?” He asks as he finishes.

“Yes of course.” You say. “I have one week, and then the show continues.” You tell him feeling sorry for it. It’s not easy to balance a life on and off the stage, in fact you’ve never really had too before, but for him you will try.

“A week.” He says it with finality. “Then let us have this week as our own.”

The next few days are a whirlwind of unforgettable moments. You are convinced any other man would be trying to impress you with his knowledge and access to things privy only to someone of his status, but with the Baron it feels as though he simply enjoys sharing his world.

From a private showing of the Kings’ collection of antiquities, to a small garden reading by one of your favorite authors who Baron Zemo happens to know personally, you spend your time together as near equals, exchanging ideas and thoughts as easily as you would with your oldest friends. It surprises you to find it so easy to speak to a man you’re only just starting to know.

Perhaps that is because he never once reminds you of the gap between your status. You are cautious to believe anything a man of such wealth says, but when the Baron speaks he seems to do so truthfully, and when he listens, he does so without judgement.

“How is it my Lord, that you seem to rise above the constraints of society while moving through it so elegantly?” You ask as he escorts you home to the theatre one evening.

You are arm in arm, the lamps are lit and the air has a certain joie de vivre that radiates from the passersby. You smile and nod hello to a couple before looking up at the Baron’s handsome profile. He walks in silence for a while and you know him well enough by now to understand that he is just thinking before speaking, which is something you greatly admire.

“I hope my manner is not offensive.” He says with a deep frown. “I simply wish to be as honest with you as possible. To pretend that I see you as someone unworthy of my attention would be a lie.”

You turn your face to hide your giddy smile but he stops walking, your hand slipping from his coat.

Confused, you spin to face him. “Baron? What is it?”

“Do not hide.” He says in all seriousness. “Your face, it’s so expressive. There is such an openness in the way you show your emotion and I fear someone has told you to keep it hidden?” He asks and you avert your eyes instinctively but quickly look back up at him.

Feeling sure, you confess. “When my parents were too poor to keep me, I was sent to Augustines as I’ve mentioned. It was there I was taught that to show joy is a sin. To cry is a sin, to be angry is a sin. Frustration, even a simple smile, all sins. Everything beautiful about who we are as living creatures must be suppressed” You say, still bitter.

The Baron scoffs shaking his head. “Nothing is a sin when you stop believing that there is someone to sin against. Your smile is a gift mala ptica, a glimpse at your pure heart, just as your tears are an expression of the pain you feel inside. People can be very cruel, and I am sorry you were ever told such lies.” He says and you see that it truly hurts him to picture you as a child, scolded for what comes naturally. “Please, do not feel as though you ever need to hide either from me. If I am the reason you smile, then I consider myself to be a fortunate man.” He pauses, looking at you as people pass by. “Conversely If I ever make you cry, well, the pain of hurting you will be my deserved punishment.” He says and though you stand apart on the dark sidewalk, you feel the warmth of his affection reach out and close its arms around you, holding you close enough that you can hear the drumming of his heart.

The week ends with a picnic, just a small luncheon taken outside with all the delightful indulgence of the spoiled upperclass.

You sit at the edge of a large blanket, covered by a spread of fruit and cheese and bread. There are biscuits and cakes, small sandwiches and of course tea— and what looks to be chopped pheasant being carried out by a young servant all the way from the house. You are thankful for the shade of the ancient tree you sit under with the women; Lady Valentina, her neighbor, who has brought her daughter-in-law, and their two cousins, all of you laughing as the men play a lazy but entertaining game of rugby in their shirts, their jackets thrown down in the grass.

You applaud for the Baron and Lord Wessex the neighbor’s son who has come home for a quick visit with his wife. They make a great team, and though the Baron insists he’s too old for sport—which he is most certainly not— he is fast and strong and shows just a glimpse of the man he must have been during the war.

“He cuts quite the figure.” One of the cousins says to the other with a wicked little grin.

You eye her prim face, almost jealous but the energy would be wasted. You know who he smiles at as he crosses the lawn.

“Yes, but I hear he’s engaged.” Says the other

“Oh? To who? Certainly not to anyone here.” Lady Valentina says sipping from her cup.

You are silent as you watch these women who you know in name only. You don’t know their hearts, but you guess them to be as cold as the pheasant.

“No. A Sokovian Duchess I believe.” The cousin says and you stare at her.

“Then why on earth is he here?” The daughter-in-law asks.

“Must not be a very happy engagement.” The cousin says, her tittering laughter joined by the others.

You smile but set your tea down and look over, watching Baron Zemo toss the large ball across the lawn to his partner. He trots backwards and calls something out, clapping a few times before stopping and resting his hands on his knees. As though he can sense your eyes on him, he looks over from his bent position, that lock of hair fallen out of place.

He told you just a day or so ago to never hide your feelings from him, and so you don’t. Honestly, given what you’ve just heard, you couldn’t if you tried.

You can only imagine how you must look because he stands upright, rakes his hair back with his fingers and stares at you, his own face long, his jaw tight.

He knows something has happened. Immediately the Baron calls for a break in the game.

You look away eyeing the women. “Please, excuse me. I believe my legs are going a little numb.” You shrug, feigning a smile at the ladies and quickly get up, brushing your skirts and walking off.

“Poor circulation from all that time standing onstage.” You hear one of them say.

“And lying on her back” Another whispers loudly to the shocked laughter of the others.

The insult stings, more so than it normally would, and you shut your eyes as you march off towards the house ready to leave.

Of course they think you’re just here playing the whore to the rakish Baron. Why you ever thought they would accept you as their own or that he would be better than the rest is beyond you.

But what truly shames you, is that you believe their gossip, even after spending time with him. And why shouldn’t you? Isn’t this what men do? Lie? Especially to women of your profession.

It’s when you’ve reached the manicured part of the lawn that you realize you’re hardly breathing and that your heart feels like it’s been run through with one of the picnic bread knives. You clutch your chest, angry at the pain as the tears that well in your eyes burn, and you curse yourself for letting him have such an effect on you at all.

“Wait.”

You gasp, startled by his voice vibrating deep in your own chest as he has come up on you by surprise; his body so close to yours you feel his breath along your neck as he takes you by the arms and pulls you into the shaded privacy of the garden trees before you can protest.

He turns you around and the look on his face is a mix of curiosity and worry, to which you find yourself surprisingly angry. “What’s happened? What have they said to you?” He asks.

“What’s wrong Baron? Are you worried that I’ve found out?” You ask and move to wipe your eyes, but you let him see, just as he’s insisted.

“Found out? mala ptica, I don’t know what you mean.”

“Don’t you?”

He just stares down and you realize you’ve never seen him confused before. “Baron? What do you think they said?”

“Some insult? A way to make you feel inferior as seems to be their casual form of amusement.” He says clearly very angry and possibly ready to march back and defend you.

You feel your anger falter. This is unexpected and you shake your head. Now you’re the one confused. “No. Baron… I—I’m afraid I’ve made something of a fool of myself if you truly have no fear of any secret being found out?” Your voice rises as you question it.

“You are not a fool y/n” He says with a hint of irritation in his voice.

You look down, steadying yourself before looking back up into his eyes. “I never expected anything from you, you know? Your friendship has been nothing short of wonderful, but I fear that in getting to know you, I’ve found it impossible not to let my romantic heart lead the way. But what can we expect from a product of love.” You toss your hands up flashing a sardonic smile.

The Baron steps forward and your eyes close reflexively when he lays his palm to your cheek. “What have you heard? Tell me.”

“That you are engaged.” You answer not wanting to prolong it. “To a Sokovian Duchess no less.”

He smiles, looks off then back down at you and you hope he never stops the gentle, rhythmic stroking of your face. “I was, and it was a mistake. I broke it off before I doomed us both to a loveless marriage.”

“I was under the assumption that people of your wealth marry to acquire more of it.”

“You assume wrong.” He says even closer “It is beneficial, but, should I ever marry again, it will be for nothing less than a love to repair what is left of my heart.”

You’re breathing faster. He is so close. It seems to happen so quickly. One moment you’re ready to leave, angry and hating that you’ve even come, embarrassed that you’ve been swayed by a Lords influence. And the next you’re standing in his shadow gazing up into his eyes…

“May I kiss you?” He asks in a way that would be very hard to refuse.

“You may” You whisper. His fingers inch along to the back of your head, his other hand pulls you in by the waist until his hips are pressed against you and his lips part; the heat of his skin so warm from running touching you before his mouth does.

It is the force and passion of his kiss that surprises you. Not overly aggressive or unwanted, it is unexpected, as though he has been longing to do this as badly as you have and now, he can not let another second pass without tasting more of you.

His tongue on your own is warm and soft as he gently enters your mouth and it is not the demure touch of society but of two people who feel a great many things, not the least of which is an urgency to do more.

The Baron pulls away, your lips leaving his slowly. You look at your hands resting on his chest over his white shirt. His cravat is a little askew letting you see a hint of skin and the shimmer of a very thin necklace that makes your stomach flutter. Your eyes flit up to meet his as he exhales very slowly.

“Thank you mala ptica” He says and kisses your forehead and you think there are many reasons for him to say this, but for now you let it be, though something else has always made you wonder…

“What does that mean?” You ask curious, eyes closed

He leans back to see your face. “What?”

“Mala… mala ti..”

“Mala ptica” He says with an amused smile. “It means—little bird actually.”

You scrunch your nose wondering why this is what he’s taken too calling you and he chuckles a little with a sigh. “Your voice is like the song of a bird, a thing of natural beauty. Forgive me for having been so familiar. It—slipped out.” He says simply.

You grin, you can’t help it and close your hands to fists in his shirt and pull him down kissing him again.

It is hard and fast but he is a most willing partner.

When you let the Baron go, you bite at the corner of your lip feeling such an urge to go down to the cool grass with him here and now, understanding why everyone seems so preoccupied by it, but the truth is no man has had you and you refuse to be the woman they expect you to be. You will not succumb, not even for a Baron, not even for this one. But he will challenge you to no end.

He smooths his hands over your face and sighs. “What now hmm?”

You mimic his movements smoothing the wrinkles you’ve caused in his shirt. “I can not go back. I don’t belong here.” You tell him.

He takes hold of your hand on his chest and holds it there. “No, I don’t believe I do either. Not today.”

“My next run begins in two days, I won’t have time to go on so many adventures with you.” You smile.

Zemo pulls your hand down but does not let go. “Then I will wait until you are free to enjoy the rest of the season with me.”

“Will you?”

“Of course.”

“It’s almost over my Lord, you’re going home at the end of summer.”

“Yes,” He says and tilts his head to find your eyes. You look at him and smile wide. “But perhaps I might persuade you to come with me.”

#baron zemo x you #zemo x reader #zemo x y/n #zemo au #baron zemo fanfiction #victorian au #victorian era #mcu au #baron helmut zemo #helmut zemo x reader #baron zemo #zemo fanfic #zemo x you #zemo in love #Baron Zemo romance because thats what we want

[turtle-paced]

Anon asked: What do you think about Jaime in ASOS playing the whole you can’t help who you love and saying “the things I do for love” then saying hiw he’ll marry mycella to Joffrey eventhough he knows how terrible Joffrey is, and how Robert was welcome to him, and later how he deserved to died eventhough being his son and around 14. How do you think Cersei would react pre ASOs if she knew how he felt towards Joffrey?

This seems to refer to several different passages, taking place at very different points of Jaime’s ASoS arc. Let’s put a cut in here for length. The shortest version: Jaime’s nonexistent relationship with Joffrey and lack of thought for Joffrey as a person is a deliberate thing, meant to show how Jaime’s terrible relationship choices have impacted the rest of his social life.

Here’s the first passage.

Perhaps Stannis Baratheon and the Starks had done him a kindness. They had spread their tale of incest all over the Seven Kingdoms, so there was nothing left to hide. Why shouldn't I marry Cersei openly and share her bed every night? The dragons always married their sisters. Septons, lords, and smallfolk had turned a blind eye to the Targaryens for hundreds of years, let them do the same for House Lannister. It would play havoc with Joffrey's claim to the crown, to be sure, but in the end it had been swords that had won the Iron Throne for Robert, and swords could keep Joffrey there as well, regardless of whose seed he was. We could marry him to Myrcella, once we've sent Sansa Stark back to her mother. That would show the realm that the Lannisters are above their laws, like gods and Targaryens.

- Jaime III, ASoS

This man still has two hands. He’s not thinking about Joffrey here, he’s thinking about himself. This passage is far more about what Jaime wants from his relationship with Cersei than it is a serious thought about what’s best for Joffrey and/or Myrcella.

"You say Sansa killed him. Why protect her?"

Because Joff was no more to me than a squirt of seed in Cersei's cunt. And because he deserved to die.

- Jaime IX, ASoS

That second quote is brutal. Absolutely brutal. But it does go to show how Jaime’s reassessing his relationship with Cersei at that point, as well as a bit more consideration of who Joffrey actually was. The thoughts of marriage and superiority aren’t in that quote. On the contrary, Jaime’s thoughts on Joffrey here are sharply reductive. It’s the endpoint of Jaime’s ASoS struggles with the realisation that he doesn’t love his bio-kids.

Jaime had seen him born, that was true, though more for Cersei than the child. But he had never held him. "How would it look?" his sister warned him when the women finally left them. "Bad enough Joff looks like you without you mooning over him." Jaime yielded with hardly a fight. The boy had been a squalling pink thing who demanded too much of Cersei's time, Cersei's love, and Cersei's breasts. Robert was welcome to him.

And now he's dead. He pictured Joff lying still and cold with a face black from poison, and still felt nothing. Perhaps he was the monster they claimed. If the Father Above came down to offer him back his son or his hand, Jaime knew which he would choose.

- Jaime VII, ASoS

The Knight of Flowers had been so mad with grief for Renly that he had cut down two of his own Sworn Brothers, but it had never occurred to Jaime to do the same with the five who had failed Joffrey. He was my son, my secret son... What am I, if I do not lift the hand I have left to avenge mine own blood and seed?

- Jaime VIII, ASoS

This line of thinking, specifically how his relationship with Cersei has impacted any desire he might have had to build a family, continues through the end of ASoS into AFFC, mostly when talking about the still-alive Tommen.

"He is your son..."

"He is my seed. He's never called me Father. No more than Joffrey ever did. You warned me a thousand times never to show any undue interest in them."

"To keep them safe! You as well. How would it have looked if my brother had played the father to the king's children? Even Robert might have grown suspicious."

- Jaime IX, ASoS

"Tommen is no son of mine, no more than Joffrey was." His voice was hard. "You made them Robert's too."

His sister flinched.

- Jaime I, AFFC

Overall, I’m not sure how much Jaime thought about Joffrey as a person, full stop. When he says Joffrey was nothing to him, I think he meant it entirely. What we see at the end of ASoS is Jaime trying to deal with the realisation that he had a child and it meant nothing. His emotional commitment is entirely to his girlfriend, and no further. On the one level, wow uh okay a child is dead and Jaime’s thinking is all about what it means for his own character development. On another, the reflection on his lack of meaningful relationships with people other than his father and siblings is sorely needed. What sort of relationship is this where Jaime has a kid with his long term girlfriend and...nothing?

This is also a point where I don’t think Jaime and Cersei understood the other’s perspective at all. From those last two passages, I think it’s pretty clear Cersei didn’t understand that when she told Jaime not to cultivate a relationship with their kids, that he’d end up not having a relationship with their kids. On his part, Jaime never got the fear that drives Cersei. It doesn’t look like either actually communicated their worries and perspectives to the other. Like the relationship is unhealthy and deeply dysfunctional, or something.

#ASoIaF #valyrianscrolls #jaime lannister #cersei lannister #a storm of swords #a feast for crows

[evandearest]

The Garden of Eden | Part I: Cycles

Pairing: James March x reader (you) |  ~Part: (1/4)~

Summary (Part One): Life with James March involved has had many cycles. In a time long ago, you once flourished. But things don’t always stay the same forever, do they? Will James find his way back to you?

Warnings (in this part): physical / mental / verbal abuse (child and adult), violence, graphic descriptions of murder / blood, dark themes, heartbreak, extreme emotional grief, just overall dark. avoid if any of the aforementioned is triggering.

Word count: 2,223

IMPORTANT Notes: Hello! I’m so excited to start this series that @etoile-writings​ requested that I can hardly type fast enough! lol. I really hope that I can do this justice!

The request was: juxtaposition - (noun) the fact of two things being seen or placed close together with contrasting effect. AND true love over a forced marriage + lots of fun ideas, such as flowers. Read on my blog for more if you want. I also suck at summaries but I thought I’d give it a try.

Speaking of flowers, I just wanted to say specifically to the requester: I didn’t just pick white roses because they are my personal favorite, but also because of their symbolism to the reader character. White roses symbolize purity, innocence, and youthfulness, associating with young love and eternal loyalty, and can also symbolize a new beginning and everlasting love. Just wanted to say that because I found it very interesting and symbolic!

SO... I have a few notes before we begin. 1) This is set before James died, approximately the year 1926. Since this is a fan-fictional story, the events are slightly warped from the show. The main plot of the show still flows, but this is kind of worked in, in a way. So the plot of the show doesn’t really change all that much. The second thing 2) a lot of things in this story will become clear as I post more parts. There will be more flashbacks and the plot will expand drastically. This is pretty much just an introduction. Just wanted to put that out there. And 3) I plan to do four parts, but that may be subject to change.

Some things never change.

That you had found to be true. The cycle of life was incredible. The lessons in life you were meant to learn were imprinted into your being by repetitious events that were sometimes out of your control. You knew that too well.

People had always told you, “God works in mysterious ways.” It hadn’t been so apparent to you until you had experienced that mystery yourself. It seemed that your life had entered its second cycle. It seemed that you had lived this exact moment once before.

Your head was pounding, a moan sounding when his fist collided into your side again. You kept your arms up in defense, as it was the only thing stopping him from hitting your face. That hurt much worse, and it was harder to hide. Explaining to your neighbors why there are bruises on your face was the last thing you would need. You’d already done it last time this had happened. Of course, you hadn’t expected this to happen again. You’d put too much faith into your husband. A wretched sob left your burning throat, your face soaking wet with tears.

“Please stop,” you pleaded, whimpering, while your husband Robert laughed.

“Maybe next time you should just keep your mouth shut,” he spat, sighing as he rubbed his knuckles. A fleeting memory flashed before your eyes.

“Maybe next time you should just keep your mouth shut!”

“I-I’m sorry!” you cried, clutching your jaw as you scrambled across the floor.

“Yeah, of course you are now,” the old man said maliciously, towering over your small frame. He laughed, shaking his head. “You think in vain of yourself. You can’t believe that a man would ever want a woman who talked to him like that. You believe that because you’re so innocent people will treat you as such.” He squatted down in front of you, his face getting closer to yours. “Well, I have something you need to know, young girl. Most of us humans don’t really care about others.” He chuckled again, standing up. “We’re all in it for ourselves.” He shook his head. His fist pulled back again, and you gasped, throwing your arms over your head.

“Leave her alone!”

James came racing into the room, his hands pushing his father’s fist away before it hit you. He shoved him back, and you watched in amazement. You couldn’t believe that he stood up to his father. Just moments before, as he had told you of the abuse, he had been shaking at even the thought of his father hitting him.

That’s what had led you into the conversation in the first place. When James had told you of how his father had been treating him since he was seven years old to now, at almost eighteen, you couldn’t help yourself. You’d thought that confrontation would stop him, or maybe he would realize how wrong it was if you had showed him. You were wrong, and now here you were, your favorite floral blouse torn, your jaw aching from the impact of his father’s hit.

You were wrong, and now James was in another bad situation. You stared at James, wondering why he would ever step in. Why he would ever step in when he knew what his father would do.

“You stupid boy!” The old man yelled, his fist striking James’ face. “Do you just like being beat? Don’t tell me it’s because you love this naïve girl!” James’ glare burned holes into his father’s face, his jaw set firmly.

It clicked behind your eyes. He loved you. He stepped in because he was protecting you, because he didn’t want you to experience what he had.

His father chuckled as he looked between the two of you; James now standing beside your form on the floor. He shook his head, and left the room without another word, although he slammed the door. You jumped at the loud impact, scurrying to stand beside James. There was a moment of silence before you spoke.

“James,” you whispered, studying his face. He didn’t say anything, but you knew he was listening. “Do you believe him? Are all people really that selfish?”

James still remained silent, but that was enough of an answer for you. You simply couldn’t accept that. You couldn’t accept that all people only cared about themselves. Not when you had seen it for yourself, firsthand with James and your family, or even the kindness of strangers.

But you were wrong again. Your own father had proved that to you when he had you married off to Robert Williams for money. It opened your eyes, and only then had you seen everything that people did just to get what they wanted. And now you know that the only person who ever cared about you was James. And you were ripped away from him just before you were able to begin a life with him, all because your father didn’t believe he would be able to take care of you. You’d never even known he cared so much about James’ wealth, or lack thereof.

For a while, that hadn’t been the end of it. You’d still think about James in your every waking moments. Sure, you’d settled into your new life with your new husband. At first, you had even gotten along with one another. You learned how to accept what you had, keep your spirit, and be as grateful as you could for simple things such as safety. But that changed too. The problem arose at the topic of children. To you, the thought of having a child with Robert made you sick to your stomach. You just didn’t want to fake it with him, but you didn’t know how to tell him that. You couldn’t give and raise a child with a man you didn’t love. You supposed it was because you still had hope that you’d see James again. For many years, he had believed your excuses, until he had grew tired of you pushing it off. That’s where the anger and violence had begun. So you ran.

At the very moment that you read about James in the newspaper, you ran. You ran straight to his luxurious brand new hotel. You couldn’t believe it. You couldn’t believe that poor boy you’d left behind all those years ago had turned into such a successful man. You’d just hoped that he still loved you like you loved him; that he hadn’t forgotten about you.

But once again, as life repeats, you were wrong. James’ life was nothing you ever could have imagined. He’d built his hotel from scratch, and that was after he had clawed his way up the chain of command. He was filthy rich, living life in the most prosperous way imaginable, his power undeniable. You were in awe. If only your father could see him now. If only he’d seen what you had in James all those years ago when he had first began his journey to being a self-made man.

But wealth wasn’t the only thing that had changed. James obviously didn’t love you anymore. How could he, when he had a new wife? Elizabeth was her name. She seemed lovely, and it was wrong of you to assume he would never move on from you. Even if you’d never moved on from him.

So you stayed. You had no choice but to at this point. You had no where else to turn, no where else to go, no real life of your own. Just memories of a life long ago to hold onto.

You wept as you curled in on yourself. Your husband stood there, his breathing heavy as he glared at you with the anger of a thousand hurricanes in his eyes.

“You were the biggest mistake of my life,” he snarled, an expression of disappointment settling on his face. “A wife that won’t even give me children.” He scoffed and chuckled dryly. “What a pathetic joke.”

“I’m sorry,” you whispered. You cupped your hands over your face, sniffling.

“Stop saying that!” He suddenly boomed, his fist raising once again. You shouted out in protest at the incoming attack, bracing yourself for the pain.

At what seemed to be the most perfect timing, a knock sounded at the front door.

Robert froze in his place, his fist hovering in mid-air. You sighed in relief, pushing yourself further into the wall, balled up in a fetal position on the floor. He turned, shooting a hesitant look back at you, before slowly making his way to answer the door.

The door handle jiggled as he opened it, and although you couldn’t see, you listened intently from your position in the living room.

“Hello,” Robert greeted whomever was on the other side of the door. “May I help you?”

“Greetings, sir,” replied the voice of a man. You froze. You could’ve sworn you knew that voice. But it couldn’t be.

“Yeah?” said your husband.

“Would it happen that a woman by the name of ‘Y/F/N Y/L/N’ resides here?” said the man. You let out a breath. It was him. It was James.

Robert paused, and you began contemplating revealing yourself.

“She’s busy,” Robert rushed out nervously.

There was another pause, this time from James.

“I’m not sure you’re telling the truth, sir,” said James. “You seem to be quite flustered.”

“She- she can’t come right now,” Robert demanded, “she’s busy. Come another time.”

You panicked. He was going to make him leave! This was your only chance!

“Help!” you shouted, before even having time to think about it.

Before you knew it, the man you had dreamed of for so many years was standing before you. You gasped as your eyes met his, the same dark brown framed by his sharp masculine features. It was as if you had seen the sun after years in the dark. Your eyes took in his features before shifting to look at the object in his hands. A bouquet of white roses lay clasped between his hands; your flowers. He had remembered. He really had come back for you. Finally, you had your James again.

“What is the meaning of this?” Robert shouted as he followed quickly behind James. James’ head turned slowly to look at the man, his jaw locking firmly as his eyes settled on him.

“How about,” James clicked his tongue, pausing for a mere second, “you explain the meaning of this.” He gestured toward you, his head turning to briefly look at you again. Robert crossed his arms.

“I don’t think I’m inclined to tell you anything,” he said, a look of resentment taking over his expression. “In fact, I think you should see your way out.” James stared at the man for a moment before his lips upturned into a small smirk.

“Of course,” he grinned, his accent drawing the words out. Your heart skipped a beat as he slowly began walking towards the hallway to the front door. No, you thought. He couldn’t leave. You thought he had come back for you. He couldn’t leave you, not when you needed him the most. Not when you’d waited this long. 

Just as your hopes had almost been crushed, James spun around. What happened next was hard to process immediately. Blood suddenly covered James’ face and chest, spurting out from Robert’s throat as James’ knife slid smoothly across, the skin slicing like butter. James stood, a look of satisfaction on his face, his eyes settling upon yours. A flicker of what seemed like doubt rushed across his face as you grew silent, your eyes wide and innocent as you stared at him, digesting what had just happened.

“James?” you whispered.

“Yes, dear?” he said smoothly, his jaw moving back and forth slowly as he worked it nervously. You climbed to your feet, padding over to him softly. Your hand slowly came up to rest upon his cheek, thumb softly gliding over the bone there, the blood on his face smearing with the movement. Your other hand gently grabbed the roses from his hands, glancing down at them adoringly, your lips curling into a smile.

“Darling,” James said hesitantly, eyebrows furrowing, “I apologize if I’ve frightened you.” You smiled up at him.

“No,” you said reassuringly. “No, quite the opposite.” You paused, studying James’ handsome features. You leaned in slowly, your breaths mingling. “You’ve freed me.” It was a whisper, barely audible, but at your close proximity, you knew he could hear. You could feel the warmth of his body so close to yours as you moved closer and closer. Your lips met in a passionate kiss, James arms enveloping you, the world seeming to align once more.

It seemed as if you had no worries, no hardships; that all of your anxieties had magically disappeared with his kiss. He’d reset your life. He’d given you everything you wanted just by being in yours. All those years that you had waited for him seemed worth it. All of your blind devotion seemed worth it. James had finally, finally come back to you.

All those people had been right: God did work in mysterious ways. And in that moment, you decided James was your meant to be; your heaven on Earth; your purpose of being. Or further... he was your God.

---

Series Masterlist: The Garden of Eden Series

Main Masterlist

#james march #james march x reader #james march imagine #james march smut #evan peters #evan peters imagine #ahs imagine #ahs #american horror story #american horror story hotel #the countess #hotel #ahs hotel #american horror story imagine #kit walker #tate langdon #kyle spencer #jimmy darling #rory monahan #kai anderson #james patrick march #james x reader #james imagine #the garden of eden series

[faintingheroine]

A Lukewarm Defense of Rebecca de Winter

Look I am not going to argue that Rebecca was actually a good-hearted person. She was a bad person. She traumatized poor Ben and her treatment of Frank can be called workplace sexual harassment.

But I see people depicting Maxim as a poor man trapped in an abusive marriage and I just don’t agree. He had the instinct to kill her as early as her confessing her general sexual behavior to him in their honeymoon:

“She sat there, laughing, her black hair blowing in the wind; she told me about herself, told me things I shall never repeat to a living soul. I knew then what I had done, what I had married.” (...) “I nearly killed her then,’ he said. ‘It would have been so easy. One false step, one slip. You remember the precipice.” (Chapter 20)

Now, I think it is clear that Rebecca didn’t confess to being a serial killer or something. She confessed to being sexually active. Now, what that pertains to can be debated, did she have sex with multiple men, did she have affairs with women, or is it simply her not being a virgin? Either way, Maxim’s instinct to kill her there is horrifying. And it is also horrifyingly realistic, unfortunately.

Then they make a pact. Rebecca never cheats on Maxim, because she never lies to him. And we don’t actually know how much Rebecca was driven to marry with Maxim. She might have strived to marry him but this could also be an arranged marriage where both parties weren’t crazy about it. We don’t know. They make a pact. Rebecca will be able to carry on her affairs in exchange of managing Manderley excellently and putting a good face to the public and Maxim accepts. He isn’t a poor fifteen years old girl forced into an arranged marriage with an abusive man, he had a choice, he could easily divorce her, but he ultimately valued his reputation above his happiness. When Rebecca breaks this contract and brings her lovers to Manderley, he threatens to shoot Jack and ultimately shoots Rebecca.

Yes Rebecca does terrible things like her treatment of Frank, but Maxim doesn’t kill her because of these things. He kills her because she polluted the shades of Manderley by bringing Jack Favell into the grounds and then threatened him with someone who does not have his DNA owning Manderley. He does not shoot her because of jealousy or hurt, it’s an entirely pragmatic murder to prevent this latter possibility from happening. He does bring that gun to the cottage in preparation for an encounter with Favell, this is not a spontaneous crime of passion. And Rebecca manipulated him knowing that it will cause him to kill her, which does not say anything good about his character.

He does not feel one bit remorseful about the murder, he freely admits to that. Despite everything else that can happen afterwards, it was still worth it for preventing her son from owning Manderley. He is motivated enough to conceal the murder to the point of purposefully misidentifying a Jane Doe, which is horrible if you think about it a bit.

Some defenders of Maxim say that we would be ok with the murder if the genders were reversed. When some people defend women killing their abusive husbands those women are often battered wives who fear for the physical safety of themselves and frequently the safety of their children and who can’t walk away from the marriage without fearing for their lives. It is excused when it is regarded as self-defense. If a woman killed her husband for merely being a serial adulterer and having illegitimate children I would absolutely regard that woman as a horrible murderer. Also a simple gender reversal doesn’t work. Women and men are not equal in the society Rebecca and Maxim live in, and the attitudes towards the sexual promiscuity of men and women are absolutely different.

There are some other charges laid against Rebecca. Animal abuse is one of them, it comes from an episode related admiringly by Mrs Danvers of her whipping a horse bloody. This episode is certainly harrowing and is one of the most disturbing scenes in the book, but I think the disturbance is caused as much by Danvers’s admiration in relating it as much as the actual act itself. When put into context Rebecca is actually sixteen when this scene happens. It is also important to remember that hunting is the chief hobby of most of the characters in the book. They are not a class of people super sensitive about animal abuse. The same thing also can be said regarding the “incest” charges laid against Rebecca, these people are British gentry in the interwar period, while being with your cousin was getting less common, it was certainly not considered wildly abnormal, and no one in the book regards it as incest.

Regarding the trauma of poor Ben, this is certainly the worst thing Rebecca has done. And it is the first clue in the book to her true character. Rebecca threatens Ben with sending him to asylum so that he won’t talk about Jack and her being at the cottage. Remember that Maxim threatened shooting Jack if this happens. What Rebecca does is horrible but it is not motiveless cruelty, she does it for self-preservation. It is certainly not excusable and it does not make Ben’s trauma any less real, but it is not a sure sign of psychopathy.

I am not trying to paint Rebecca as a poor little victim, the whole point of the book is that she lived and died on her own terms. But I am very much disturbed by the real-life readers of the book excusing her murder by saying that she was emotionally abusive. My visceral reaction might have been caused by me coming from a culture where femicide and honor-killings are quite common. Many people in my country would still unequivocally regard an adulterous woman being murdered by her husband as entirely just. And there were multiple discussions surrounding femicide prevention about the time I started reading Rebecca, and I’ve seen in real time many men adopting the “emotional abuse by the wife” defense to explain away the prevalency of femicides. I am not joking. So I may be bringing my own cultural context into my reading of the novel. It might strike Western readers as merely a scandalous murder mystery, in my context there is nothing scandalous about Rebecca’s murder, it is a depressingly typical societal ill.

And Rebecca’s life wasn’t as glamourous as people seem to think it is. This is what Mrs Danvers says about her childhood:

“She was lovely then,’ she said. ‘Lovely as a picture; men turning to stare at her when she passed, and she not twelve years old” (Chapter 18)

And this is said by the woman who raised Rebecca. Her beloved cousin attempts to use her murder to get money, and his first response to learning about her having cancer is hoping that cancer is not contagious. Doctor Baker was clearly impressed by her stoic response to learning her illness and it was the most impactful part of the novel for me. She dies quite a bloody death. Rebecca’s life story gets very depressing when you stop to think about it.

I was put off by the possibility that the book might be trying to manipulate us into justifying femicide. But I think the last chapter proves that this was not really the intent. The last chapter was not the melodrama that I was expecting it to be. It was a farce laden with dramatic irony. And the last sentence of the book is “And the ashes blew towards us with the salt wind from the sea”. The sea is Rebecca’s symbol in the book. They murdered her and concealed her murder and they don’t get to live in the house she created.

I am not saying you can’t love Maxim or you can’t ship him with the narrator. You absolutely can. And you can hate Rebecca the character. But I think excusing her murder on the basis of her being emotionally abusive is too much for me.

#Rebecca #daphne du maurier #repost because it does not appear on the tags #rebecca de winter