#i just had a discussion with my sister about capitalism and work abuse | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

pyroclastic727 · 4 years

Text

Owl House said fuck capitalism

So this episode was interesting. Lilith pretty much killed her sister. Why the fuck would she do that?

Even more interesting: why is Belos like that? How did Hooty put his head through one of those guards? Who the fuck is the Titan, and why does everyone like him? And how are these all tied together?

This episode was a metaphor for capitalism

...and another delicious step towards radicalizing the youth into dismantling this fucked-up neo-feudal system.

We’ll start with Belos.

Emperor Belos is a weird name, don’t you think? We all thought it was spelled “Bellows,” but it wasn’t. In fact, it’s five letters, starts with Be, ends with os, and describes a megalomaniac emperor that restricts people’s freedom in order to accumulate wealth for himself.

Sound familiar?

Emperor Bezos Belos created capitalism. He saw the beauty of magic and decided to make himself the most powerful.

Belos created a system that destroys the masses and boosts his power.

I’m dipping into fan theory a little, because the fan theory fits. We know that people get branded with coven magic that makes it so they can only specialize in one area. We know that Belos is the most powerful witch in the Boiling Isles. We know that the excess magic, magic created by restrictions, has to go somewhere.

It’s the same system that many viewers see all the time. A job takes up all your day and tires you for the night, so you can only do one skill for the rest of your life. Jeff Bezos is the most powerful man in the United States. Excess money, money taken by restrictions, has to go somewhere.

The magic goes to Belos, like how the money goes to Bezos. Belos created capitalism, and he won it.

The guards aren’t real.

Look, we’ve never seen their faces. They’re all the same. Why would you work so hard to get to the top, just to become a nameless, faceless killing machine?

Oh, also Hooty stuck his face through one. There is nothing under the armor.

Why? Well, it’s the same reason you see all those celebrities going around flaunting their wealth and bragging about how hard they worked. Like all those songs about how they grind every day and work harder than everyone else while you’re out clubbing, and that makes them dope. And then you take a closer look at them and see that they had a small loan of a million dollars fueling them, or an entire talent agency behind them, or their dad was a famous country star in the 80′s.

They’re fake. They’re hollow. They’re a ploy created by the capitalist emperor to try to delude you into working harder.

Let me put this into perspective. I guarantee that every single one of you has heard stuff like this: “Hard work makes you successful.” “I put in the work, and that’s why I’m successful.” “If you work hard enough, then you can be as successful as Mark Zuckerberg.”

And unless you’re a robot or really lucky, I’m sure all of you have failed at this. Maybe they told you that hard work would make you good at math, so you spent 22 hours a week working on calculus, only to pass it by 3 percentage points and have it destroy your perfect 4.0 GPA. Maybe they told you that if you talked to people enough, then you would make friends, so you spent a lot of time talking to people, only to end up lonely and friendless. Maybe they told you that if you did well in school, you would get a good job, so you spent all your time working hard to be a good student, and then ended up in a soulless, dead-end job.

The guards are there to delude you. Look, who really gains from you being productive? The answer is the ruling class, the CEOs, the government, the bourgeoisie. It has always been that. All you get from working is a paycheck that lets you survive. They get a paycheck that lets them get rich. Just like Belos gets the magic and productivity of the specialized coven witches.

The guards are there to trick you. The truth is that nobody can join the Emperor’s Coven. It’s just there to make you think that hard work will make you successful. Then you spend your entire life working hard, trying to prove to the person in charge that you’re worthwhile. You give your whole life to the Coven, and they give you nothing.

Magic is supposed to be something you pursue for fun. Being skilled at things, being good at something beautiful...that’s supposed to be something you do because you want to. But they took that and made it into a source of productivity. It doesn’t matter if you make good content. All people fucking care about is if you upload the day of premiere, if you make a lot of content quickly, if you maintain a million different conversations with strangers who expect you to be the most interesting person in the room. They don’t care how it hurts you. They don’t care how you crack from the stress. How you cry when you think no one can see you, and then you check your phone and someone can see you, someone did see you, and you have to put on your face and be the charming, magnetic person they want you to be. (oh by the way that’s why I wasn’t online much last week)

And it ruins it. Suddenly you can’t watch The Owl House without being stressed. You can’t make any content. You can’t make spells as powerfully as you want to. Your passion is replaced by perfectionism and insecurity, a voice telling you to keep being the best at what you do, or else they’ll forget you and let you die.

There’s also the Titan.

So nobody has mentioned him before, because in addition to the Boiling Isles being a hellscape full of witchcraft and queerness, it’s also full of atheists.

But suddenly we have people saying all this shit about him? Shit like, he gave witches the gift of magic, and then they learned to use it in a civilized manner, since being uncivilized was disrespectful?

I mean, first off, that’s fucking wrong. The island gives people magic. The island, which just so happened to be shaped like a titan-sized human. But the island/titan gives everyone all types of magic. Hell, even Luz gets to use magic, and she’s human.

It sounds really fucking familiar. (tw for discussion of homophobia and colonialism and misogyny). It sounds like when the news is on and they show some Tr*mp supporter talking about how fetuses have more rights than people and it is their holy duty to take away a woman’s control over her body and force her through unbearable pain and into an 18-year commitment she didn’t want to make. It sounds like all the times people tried to say homosexuality should be illegal, citing a single line in a book written two thousand years ago and heavily edited by a European king. It sounds like all the times people said God wanted them to conquer, to own the entire earth, to force the other races into pain to support them.

This is that bullshit thing people do where they commit awful sins and justify it by citing the will of God.

Or, it’s the Coven using religion as an excuse for evil.

Look, the Emperor’s Coven is clearly colonizer-coded. Saying that people’s original form of magic was wild (and showing a picture with the same joyous, rowdy energy of an 18th or 19th -century Black or indigenous party), and that it was God’s will for them to be “civilized?” Sounds like that thing that powerful white people did where they went and murdered people and forced them into their twisted capitalist system. God, gold, and glory, is what they said, because history books just love to omit the gore.

Lilith is passing the abuse cycle along.

You know, like a good little colonizer. God I fucking hate her. She’s a MILF, in the sense that she’s a Mother I’d Like to Fling off a cliff.

Ah, enough screaming about how much I want to drown Lilith in a tub of Hooty’s mucus. Let’s go into why I want to do that, and how she took the evils of capitalism and just...adopted those.

So, Lilith is sick and twisted for what she did to her sister. But, uhh, that’s the point. You see, there are so many other people out there like Lilith who would do the exact same thing, if given the chance. These are the people who do mean things when the teacher isn’t looking, and then act nice and try to frame you. These are the people who will hate you if you’re better than them. These are people who would do anything to bring you down, if you dare outperform them.

It’s greed, my friends. The mental illness that capitalism blesses us all with.

Lilith herself said it: she dedicated her entire life to the Coven. What she wanted was to be the best. And she almost was...except for her own sister. Someone who lived with her, annoyed her at home, bested her at school. Someone she could never beat, no matter how hard she worked. And her sister was younger than her, too! How insulting was that? Lilith wanted to be the best, and someone in her exact situation did better than her.

Lilith was insecure. And it consumed her.

But why? Why does insecurity consume her? I mean, no one can be motivated by insecurity forever. Well, not unless someone conditions it into you.

The lovely thing about the capitalist system is the morals it teaches you. Things like: “You’re only useful if you’re the best.” “Being school smart makes you smart, while being social smart or sports smart or creative smart or fandom smart is worthless.” “Your worth can be quantified by numbers and is based off arbitrary measures like your income or your grades.” Things that can and will drive us crazy if we let ourselves believe them.

And it did drive Lilith crazy. She got so twisted by a society that said being good at magic is her only worth. Look, Lilith used to be good at things, probably. She was good at sports. At times, she slips up and does an okay job of being Eda’s sister. She has a powerful presence when she’s in a room. And she’s wicked good at manipulating people.

But that didn’t matter. Lilith bought into the lies. She let herself believe that magical skill was the only way to measure her worth. And since she needed to be the best, she hurt Eda for it.

The beautiful thing is, Eda didn’t buy that. "It’s my power, kid. And before you showed up, I spent my whole life wasting it.” Is what Eda said, as she used up the last of her power, the last of her life, to save Luz. In her final moments, she proved that she’s not like them. She’s stronger than them.

None of this matters. Not magical prowess. Not the hierarchy. Not the promise of joining the Coven and having more power than anyone else.

The only thing that matters to Eda is her family. Her real family. Her Luz, King, and Hooty. And by extension, Willow, Gus, and Amity. Those are Eda’s real reason for fighting, for dying: to protect them. Look, there’s no way she would’ve come out of that fight alive. She has a family, and her love for them is stronger than greed or jealousy or capitalism.

Lilith never understood that. She thought the water of the womb was thicker than the blood of the covenant. Or, that the water of the womb and the blood of the covenant are stronger than the bonds of found family. She thought it didn’t matter if Eda loved, her, only if the Emperor loved her. Fucking bitch.

And now, a little something to worry about, before we go. Amity Blight. The girl who wanted to join the Emperor’s Coven more than anything, who dedicated her whole life to doing well in school, to being the best, to being perfect.

And then she met Luz. She fell for Luz. Now she’s in a tricky place, where habit and conditioning want her to join the Emperor’s Coven, but her heart wants her to do the impossible and destroy capitalism.

She wasn’t in this episode. Funny that being injured and unable to work ended up saving her from watching her future mother-in-law die. So she bought some time.

But Luz’s true mom is dead. This is the second mom she has lost, and she’s only fourteen. As powerful as King and Hooty are, Luz needs Amity. Luz needs Amity to support her and help her get back her mom.

So Amity has to make a choice. Fear and insecurity, or love and a high chance of death?

She’ll probably choose death. Because that’s the message that this family-friendly show is giving us kids. Fuck capitalism. All you need in life is to do what makes you happy and be with the ones you love.

3K notes · View notes

creepingsharia · 3 years

Text

“There Was Blood All Over”: Muslim Persecution of Christians, January 2021

by Raymond Ibrahim

The following are among the abuses inflicted on Christians by Muslims throughout the month of January, 2021:

Attacks on Churches

USA: Arsonists torched an Armenian church in San Francisco in a spike of anti-Armenian hate crimes believed to have been inspired by Armenia’s recent clash with its Muslim neighbors, Azerbaijan and its Turkish supporter. According to the Jan. 6 report,

In the San Francisco Bay Area alone, there have been four hate crimes committed against the Armenian community over the last six months including a local Armenian School being vandalized with hateful and racist graffiti, which was followed by an arson attack on St. Gregory Armenian Apostolic Church. There are about 2,500 Armenian-Americans living in the San Francisco Bay Area, so these crimes per capita is a very high number given how small the community is. For a region of the country that prides itself on its progressivism, diversity and acceptance of all cultures, these latest attacks should be a warning sign that hate and violence can rear their ugly heads irrespective of where you may live…. The vandals at the Armenian School in San Francisco spray-painted the colors of the Azerbaijan flag and used threatening language in Azerbaijani. In many ways, these latest hate crimes, coupled with the resurgence of hostilities in the South Caucasus, are a continuation of the Armenian Genocide that is now finding its way to the San Francisco Bay Area. It is often said that those who fail to learn from history are doomed to repeat it. We are clearly seeing these prophetic words come to life for Armenians in the San Francisco Bay Area who have fought for decades for recognition of the Armenian Genocide. As victims of oppression, Armenians see these latest attacks as an extension of Turkey and Azerbaijan’s denial of the 1915 Armenian Genocide and a threat to their very existence.

Sweden: Twice over the course of four days, an 800-year-old church in Stockholm was firebombed. First, on Sunday, Jan. 24, 2021, several Molotov cocktails were hurled at the twelfth century Spånga church, which is located in a Muslim majority area. According to the church’s pastor, “the alarm was triggered when a window was smashed and flammable liquid thrown at the front gate and one of the windows. However, the fire was quickly put out by the police, who used a powder extinguisher.” The same church had been fire-bombed just four days earlier, on Jan. 20, 2021: two explosives were hurled at and smashed through the church windows, and another was lobbed at the church gate. Moreover, according to one report,

Spånga parish has been subjected to attacks on several previous occasions. In December 2018, an explosive device was detonated in the same parish. No one was convicted for the blast.

Hailing from the 12th century, the Spånga Church is one of the oldest in the Swedish capital. It is located on the outskirts of Tensta and is flanked by Rinkeby, both notorious for their heavy presence of immigrants (about 90 percent of the population)… Both areas are dominated by immigrants from Muslim countries and are formally classified as “particularly vulnerable” (which many consider to be a palatable euphemism for a “no-go zone”) due to failed integration and major problems including unemployment, rampant crime and Islamic extremism.

Attacks against churches have become a familiar sight in Sweden. Last year alone, a number of churches, mostly those in troubled suburban [i.e., heavily Muslim migrant] areas, were subjected to various types of attacks and vandalism, including those in Gottsunda, Uppsala and Rosengård, Malmö.

Philippines: An Islamic group consisting primarily of teenage Muslims opened fire on a church. According to the Jan. 8 report,

the Islamic State-linked Bangsamoro Islamic Freedom Fighters [BIFF], a terrorist group based in the southern Philippines, attacked a parish church after conducting a raid on the town’s military and police outposts. After a 15-minute firefight, both the church building and a statue of the patron saint bore bullet holes. Police and military authorities said the BIFF had also plotted to set ablaze Sta. Teresita parish church and the church-run Notre Dame of Dulawan high school in the area. However, their attempt to burn the two church facilities was foiled by policemen and soldiers.

BIFF is an Islamic separatist organization operating in the Philippines; it swore allegiance to the Islamic State in 2014. Right before the church attack, dozens of gunmen from the Islamic group attacked the local police station and burned a police vehicle parked outside. The police attack came after two men connected with the group were arrested and is seen as a reprisal attack against police. Muslim terrorism has been on the rise in the Philippines, the population of which is 86% Christian. According to the report,

In August [2020], pro-ISIS terrorists blew themselves up in attacks that killed at least 15 people … and injured 80 others in the city of Jolo … in the far south of the country, whose population is majority Roman Catholic.

In 2019, terrorists set off two explosive devices at the Our Lady of Mount Carmel Cathedral, also known as the Jolo Cathedral, in the Mindanao region. The attack resulted in approximately 100 injuries and about 20 dead.

In August 2019, pastor Ernesto Javier Estrella of the United Church of Christ in Antipas, Cotabato Province, was shot and killed on the Island of Mindanao.

In June 2018, Catholic priest Richmond Nilo was gunned down in a chapel in Zaragoza town in Nueva Ecija province, at the altar where he was preparing to celebrate mass.

Slaughter of Christians

Pakistan: The bloated bodies of two Christian sisters, who had long rebuffed the advances of their Muslim employers, were found in a sewer in January 2021. Earlier, on November 26, the sisters, Sajida (28) and Abida (26), who were both married and had children, were reported as missing. The two Muslim men for whom they worked had regularly pressured them to convert to Islam and marry them. Even though the young women “made it clear that they were Christian and married, the men threatened them and kept harassing the sisters.” Forty days after they were reported missing, on January 4, 2021, their decomposed bodies were discovered. Their Muslim supervisors, during their interrogation, “confessed that they had abducted the sisters,” said Sadija’s husband; “and after keeping them hostage for a few days for satisfying their lust, had slit their throats and thrown their bodies into the drain.” The widower described the families’ ordeal:

When police informed us that they had identified the two bodies as those of our loved ones, it seemed that our entire world had come crumbling down…. I still cannot fathom the site [sic] of seeing my wife’s decomposed body.

Discussing this case, Nasir Saeed, Director of the Centre for Legal Aid Assistance and Settlement in the UK, said,

The killing of Abida and Sajida in such a merciless way is not an isolated case, but the killing, rape and forced conversion of Christian girls have become an everyday matter and the government has denied this and therefore is doing nothing to stop the ongoing persecution of Christians. Unfortunately, such cases happen very often in the country, and nobody pays any attention – even the national media – as Christians are considered inferior and their lives worthless.

Nigeria: On Jan. 16, Muslim Fulani herdsmen opened fire on and killed Dr. Amos Arijesuyo, pastor of Christ Apostolic Church and a highly respected professor at the Federal University of Technology. “The university condemns in the strongest terms this senseless attack that has led to the untimely death of an erudite university administrator and counselor par excellence,” the university said in a statement. “Dr. Arijesuyo’s death is a big loss to FUTA, the academic community in Nigeria and beyond. It is a death that should not have happened in the first place…. Our prayers and thoughts are with the wife, children and family members of our departed colleague at this difficult period of unquantifiable grief.”

In the two weeks before this murder, Muslim Fulani herdsmen killed 26 more people and wounded three in Christian majority regions. A separate report appearing in mid-January revealed that “More Christians are murdered for their faith in Nigeria than in any other country.”

Finally, in a speech released in January, Abubakar Shekau, the leader of the Islamic terror group Boko Haram, made clear that, despite Western claims that his organization is motivated by secular interests, religion colors everything. According to the Jan. 28 report, Shekau called on the new Chief of Defense Staff, Lt. General Lucky Irabor, a Christian, to “repent and convert to Islam.” He also told the new Chief of Army staff, Major General Ibrahim Attahiru, that, by going against Boko Haram, his behavior is “un-Islamic” and “he is no longer regarded as a Muslim.”

Attacks on Apostates and Evangelists

Uganda: A Muslim man beat his 13-week-pregnant wife, causing her to miscarriage, after he learned that she had converted to Christianity. On Jan. 13, Mansitula Buliro, the 45-year-old woman in question and mother of seven, was preparing for Muslim evening prayers with her husband when she began to have Christian visions. On the following day she secretly visited a Christian neighbor, prayed with her, and put her faith in Christ. Right before she left, a Muslim man knocked on the Christian neighbor’s door and said, “Mansitula, I thought you were a Muslim—how come I heard prayers mentioning the name of Issa [Jesus]?” Then, when Mansitula returned home her husband informed her that he had been told that she had become Christian. “I kept quiet,” Mansitula later explained in an interview:

My husband started slapping and kicking me indiscriminately. I then fell down. He went inside the house and came back with a knife and started cutting my mouth, saying, ‘Allahu akbar, Allahu akbar, Allahu akbar [jihadist slogan “Allah is greater”], I am punishing you to not speak about Yeshua [Jesus] in my house. This is a Muslim home.’

Her screaming caused her two youngest children (six and eight) also to start screaming, prompting neighbors to rush and stop the attack. “There was blood all over from my mouth,” Mansitula said. “My in-laws arrived, and in their presence my husband pronounced divorce: ‘Today you are no longer my wife. I have divorced you. Leave my house, or I will kill you.’” A neighbor took her by motorcycle to a nearby hospital. “I was examined, and they found that my fetus had been affected, and after four days I had a miscarriage…. It is now very difficult to reunite with my family. I am now Christian, and I have decided for Issa’s cause.”

Separately, on Dec. 27, around 7 pm, eight Muslims ambushed and beat Pastor Moses Nabwana and his wife, a mother of eight, as they were walking home from a church function: “They began by beating my husband, hitting him with sticks and blunt objects on the head, the back, his belly and chest,” Naura, his wife, said. “I made a loud alarm, and one of the attackers hit me with blows and a stick that affected my chest, back and broke my hand.” Christian neighbors rushed to their cries, prompting the assailants to flee. Due to the severe injuries they sustained, the wife was hospitalized for five days and her husband, Pastor Moses, was hospitalized for several more days. The assault came after area Muslims learned that an imam had converted to Christianity and joined their church; mosque leaders incited the attack. On that same night, “area Muslims demolished the roof, windows, doors and other parts of the[ir] church building that has a capacity for 500 people, leaving a heap of broken debris… Chairs, benches, musical instruments, amplifiers and other items were destroyed.”

Then, around 4:30 am on Sunday, Jan. 24, while the pastor was still recovering at the hospital, three Muslims broke into their home, again beating his wife, Naura—who was still recovering from her first beating—as well as two of their eight children. “I heard loud noises and plates being broken,” Naura recalled. “The children and I woke up. The attackers had broken the door and entered in. One started strangling me, while another threw one of my daughters outside through the window and broke the skin on her leg.” The Muslims fled before inflicting more damage once they learned that her brother-in-law and his family were rushing over: “The assailants left behind a Somali sword,” she said, “which I think they possibly had planned to use to rape and then kill me.” Naura’s 10 year-old daughter suffered a deep cut on her knee, and her 12-year-old daughter suffered an eye injury. Atop all the injuries she suffered from her first beating, Naura’s neck was injured: “I am still in great pain, and the doctor has recommended that my uterus, which is seriously damaged, needs to be removed,” she said. “This will need a big amount of money.” According to a church leader who visited Naura and her family in their thatched-roof dwelling the day after the attack, “She is still in pain and needs basic assistance in the absence of the husband, the bread-winner.”

Iran: On Jan. 18, the Islamic Republic’s “morality police” arrested Fatemeh (Mary) Mohammadi, a 22-year-old convert to Christianity and human rights activist, on the accusation that “her trousers were too tight, her headscarf was not correctly adjusted, and [that] she should not be wearing an unbuttoned coat.” This is the third time officials arrest Mary. She did six months of prison time, after her first arrest, for being a member of a house church—which the regime recently labeled as “enemy groups” belonging to a “Zionist” cult; she also spent a brief time in jail after participating in a peaceful protest in April 2020. Officials have also pressured her employer, whom she always had a good relationship with, to prevent her from returning to work as a gymnastics instructor; and she was kicked out of her university on the eve of her exams. Reflecting on her travails, Mary wrote that:

Everything is affected… Your work, income, social status, identity, mental health, satisfaction with yourself, your life, your place in society, your independence…. And as a woman it’s even harder to remain patient and endure, in a society so opposed to women and femininity, though crying out for them both.

Attacks on Christian ‘Blasphemers’ in Pakistan

Pakistan: On Jan. 28, hospital employees slapped and beat a Christian nurse who had worked there for nine years, after a Muslim nurse told them that she had said “only Jesus is the true Savior and that Muhammad has no relevance.” A hospital member recorded and loaded a video of the attack on Tabeeta Nazir Gill, a 42-year-old Catholic gospel singer. It shows the woman surrounded by a throng of angry Muslims who slap her and demand she “confess your crime in writing.” “I swear to God I haven’t said anything against the prophet [Muhammad],” the Christian woman insists in the video. “They are trying to trap me in a fake charge.” “Fortunately, someone called the police, and they promptly arrived on the scene and saved her life,” Pastor Eric Sahotra later explained. After questioning the accused, police concluded, based also on the testimony of other co-workers, that “A Muslim colleague made the false accusation due to a personal grudge,” continued the pastor:

Other hospital employees were misled into believing the allegation, so they also attacked Tabeeta…. News of the incident spread quickly through the social media, raising fears of mob violence outside the hospital and other areas.

A Muslim mob later descended on and besieged the police station; this prompted police to register a First Information Report against Gill under Section 295-C of Pakistan’s blasphemy statues—which calls for the maximum death penalty for anyone who verbally insults Islam’s prophet, Muhammad. Last reported, the woman’s two young children were “in a state of shock since the time they saw the graphic video of their mother’s beating,” said the pastor. No legal action was taken against the Muslim nurse who fabricated the blasphemy accusation to instigate her coreligionists. The report adds that,

In Pakistan, false accusations of blasphemy are common and often motivated by personal vendettas or religious hatred. Accusations are highly inflammatory and have the potential to spark mob lynchings, vigilante murders and mass protests. Many of those accused of blasphemy never reach the courtroom; violence has killed 62 accused people since 1990, with few prosecutions.

Separately, hundreds of Muslims descended on the village of a 25-year-old Christian man, and threatened to behead him and torch his and adjoining homes, soon after it became known that he had shared a Facebook post critical of Muhammad. According to the Jan. 5 report, on first learning that Muslims were angry, Raja Warris apologized, pointing out that he had only shared the post “for academic understanding between Christians and Muslims and did not mean to offend any Muslims.” The matter seemed to be closed after that; but then, and in the words of Rev. Ayub Gujjar, vice moderator of the Raiwind Diocese of the Church of Pakistan,

[W]e were informed by our congregation members in Charar that a huge mob had gathered in the locality on the call of a cleric affiliated with the extremist religio-political outfit, Tehreek-e-Labbaik Pakistan [TLP], and were demanding the beheading of the catechist. Fearing violence, hundreds of Christian residents fled their homes while around 400 anti-riot policemen were deployed in the area to thwart violence.

Rev. Gujjar and other Christian leaders rushed to the police station, which was quickly surrounded by Muslims who “chanted slogans against Christians,” prompting police to insist that Warris be handed over. Police then registered a First Information Report under Section 295-A and Section 298-A of Pakistan’s blasphemy laws, which call for up to 10 years imprisonment for blasphemers, and then showed it to the mob leaders, at which point they called off the siege and dispersed. Discussing this incident, Bishop of Raiwind Diocese Azad Marshall said that “Warris is an educated youth who loves to serve God.” Even so,

Christians especially need to be more careful in sharing content, because any faith-based post could be used to instigate violence against the community… We need to understand that Islamic religious sentiments run high in our country, therefore it’s important to carefully analyze the content before posting it online.

General Hostility for Christians and Christianity

Pakistan: On Jan. 5, a Muslim man severely beat his Christian employee because he had taken leave to attend a Christmas Day prayer service. Even though Ansar Masih had compensated for the missed day of work by working on the following Sunday, his manager was abusive. “When I argued with him, he called four other staffers to teach me a lesson for going to church and arguing with him,” Masih later explained. “They abused Christians for their religious practices and said derogatory words when they came to know that I was busy praying at the church.” The Christian man sustained several injuries during the assault and was taken to a local hospital. According to the report, as often happens in such cases,

Police officials and the men that assaulted Masih are now putting pressure on his family to settle the matter out of court. Masih has submitted an application to police regarding the incident, but not action has been taken by officers against Masih’s assailants.

Austria: According to a Jan. 5 report, approximately 40 Muslim migrants rioted and burned down a Christmas tree in Favoriten. On coming to extinguish the large tree, the fire brigade heard one of the migrants yelling: “A Christmas tree has no place in a Muslim district,” even as the raging mob pelted the emergency service officials with projectiles to screams of “Allahu Akbar.”

Raymond Ibrahim, author of Crucified Again and Sword and Scimitar, is a Distinguished Senior Fellow at the Gatestone Institute, a Shillman Fellow at the David Horowitz Freedom Center, and a Judith Rosen Friedman Fellow at the Middle East Forum.

About this Series

The persecution of Christians in the Islamic world has become endemic. Accordingly, “Muslim Persecution of Christians” was developed in 2011 to collate some—by no means all—of the instances of persecution that occur or are reported each month. It serves two purposes:

1) To document that which the mainstream media does not: the habitual, if not chronic, persecution of Christians.

2) To show that such persecution is not “random,” but systematic and interrelated—that it is rooted in a worldview inspired by Islamic Sharia.

Watch video below as Ibrahim describes his monthly report.

youtube

#Islam #Muslim #Sharia #Jihad #Immigration #Legal #Law #News #Media #Politics #Mosque #persecution #Terror #Travel #Religion

28 notes · View notes

treestargarden · 3 years

Text

wonder egg priority, episode 5, “the girl flautist” analysis below the cut

tw: paedophilia, suicide, beauty standards (thinness, fatphobia, colorism/racism, youth)

FUCKING FINALLY WE GET SOME INFO ON NEIRU

neiru’s weapon

so neiru’s weapon happens to be a combination weapon. i’ve discussed previously that the weapons seem to correlate to each girls’ life--i’ve even discussed specifically they could be coping mechanisms.

stay with me here, but i honestly think neiru could be an assassin. we know so little about neiru’s life up to this point, and it was very briefly mentioned how her sister died at the very end of the episode.

as mentioned in the episode, neiru was stabbed by her sister, before she jumped off the bridge to her death. its unknown /why/ this happened, but i have a guess, which will be discussed later.

anyway, neiru’s coping mechanism after her sister’s death has been to fight more. she said specifically she isn’t saving wonder eggs to save her sister, she’s doing it for herself, so she doesn’t have to live with the pain of forgetting about her (literally and metaphorically). the weapon is a combination sword/gun--gun for assassination? and sword to commemorate her sister stabbing neiru.

neiru’s wonder killer quotes

so up to this point, i’ve made it pretty clear that i think even if the wonder killer’s are the wonder eggs’ specific abusers, the killers are also very closely linked to each girls’ own trauma as well. during both of neiru’s wonder egg scenes, there were some specific quotes that caught my attention that could point toward neiru’s backstory a little more and provide motive behind neiru’s sister’s death.

the first wonder killer briefly spoke about the egg’s parents not loving her, and that only he could ever love her (grooming). but this also points to a very specific trauma--possibly neglect for this egg. and as mentioned previously, the girls’ are probably working through their own traumas as they save the eggs. its quite possible that neiru and her sister faced a lot of neglect in the household (which would make sense, considering neiru has inherited a large company--her parents being rich/powerful would be significant support for such an inference). this wonder egg also spoke about capitalism, which i found really interesting, considering much of the stories up to this point haven’t really mentioned... capitalism.

quite honestly, i’m not sure how to take this into the context of trauma, but it could also lead into some of the beauty standards trauma talked about later in the episode. i suppose, though, that this sort of line could point to the fact that beauty standards are very capitalist-motivated. its within the realm of tell women they aren’t good enough naturally, so they must spend all their money on looking young.

now that i think about it, i kinda wanna delve into the beauty standards controversy that’s been going on in the fandom.

neiru’s next wonder egg broaches the subject of beauty standards. in this scene, neiru is being tormented by both the wonder egg /and/ the wonder killer. the wonder egg belittles neiru for continuing to live, when she could die young and beautiful.

i think a really important key word in this killers quote is “fairest.” often, people tend to read it as “most beautiful.” but, given the context of this being in neiru’s scenes who is the dark-skinned girl of the ensemble, its important we read more closely into this quote. what its really asking is “who is the /lightest/ of them all” specifcally to denote that lightness = beauty.

the colorism that /should/ be read into this scene is compounded by the fact that the egg berates neiru for the state of her hair, asking if she does “hair treatments” and that her hair has gotten “damaged.” this could directly point to some other traumas neiru has experienced irl, too. up to this point, no other girls’ appearance has been specifically commented on like this. i want to point out that literally the scene just before this, rika was tickling neiru. neiru’s reaction was to laugh, because she /somewhat/ trusts rika.

the juxtaposition between being touched affectionately, and being touched to be criticized is incredibly important in this scene and can definitely point to some of the background we have yet to uncover into neiru’s past.

in terms of neiru and her sister: my line of thinking is both girls’ parents were absent, but when their mother (specifically mother, because this egg is the one repeating the beauty “advice” rather than a male wonder killer) was around, she probably belittled the girls about their appearances.

i don’t think neiru’s sister’s age was mentioned, but i have a feeling she was older, given there was a lot of emphasis on age in this particular scene with this wonder egg. perhaps neiru’s sister had finally decided 1 of 2 possibilities:

1) enough was a enough. she was miserable and wanted a way out. but this doesn’t explain why she would stab neiru or

2) neiru’s sister was probably of the same mind as this wonder egg--kill yourself while you’re young so you can stay beautiful forever. neiru’s sister was probably so enticed by this idea, that she felt she was doing neiru a favor by stabbing her (hoping it would kill her, too).

the controversy behind the beauty standards of this particularly series is that... everyone is thin, young, etc. And I absolutely agree that is the case for this series. HOWEVER, i do not think its controversial. i think the creators are using a very specific medium to drive home points about racism/colorism, paedophilia, beauty standards, fatphobia, etc. Most of the wonder killers have been... paedophiles to all of the girls in the show up to this point (eggs included). i think this show specifically tackles a lot of the issues people don’t /think/ it tackles.

for instance, the girls are children. they’re small, frail, “helpless”. All of these are characteristics that paedophiles look for in a “victim.” this series specifically calls out the traits in our society that are deemed “valuable” or “attractive” as they are /very/ childish traits (flat chests, thin legs and arms, small stature, meek personality, youthfulness, etc.)

that’s just my 2 cents on the situation though. i think this anime does an incredible job at tackling a lot of these difficult subjects. no it isn’t perfect, but i think that’s actually realistic--real life, real /trauma/ is messy and there’s no one /right/ way to talk about it. i think this anime does a fantastic job highlighting the different ways different people talk about it, excuse it, resolve it, think about it, etc. i think that’s the beauty of healing. the fact that we can all sit here and argue about the validity of what this anime has been illustrating is an act of healing.

anyway, this is long enough and it ended up being more of a neiru character analysis more than an episode analysis, lol. but i really love her character and i can’t wait to see where she goes from here. i am absolutely in love with the mystery of her background.

#wonder egg priority #neiru aonuma #character analysis #episode analysis

27 notes · View notes

justmyimagination92 · 4 years

Text

Why Kylo Ren/Ben Solo and Theon Greyjoy are similar, beautifully grey and real characters that represent overcoming abuse and manipulation and it makes no sense to love one but hate the other, a thread:

*Disclaimer* I have only watched the GoT series & SW movies, I have not read the books or comics for either series but I have done research into both so anything I’m pulling that’s not from the movies or show has been taken from research/information I have gathered from others who have used these sources for their own opinions/arguments/statements as well as from a GoT class I took my senior year of college

Life of Mental/Physical Abuse:

They both had mentally abusive upbringings which is obvious to say has a huge effect on your development and how you perceive the world around you. Theon was the youngest of 4, known to cling more to his mother and not care as much about the ironborn mentality of piracy and raiding as his older brothers did. He was constantly tormented and bullied by them for it as well as feeling neglected by his father for “showing weakness” which made him feel like he didn’t belong and wasn’t accepted in his home. He was then sent off to be Ned Stark’s ward (prisoner) and would be executed if Balon tried to rebel against the throne again. This knowledge is constantly hanging over his head and threatening him even though he makes the best of the situation, especially by finding a brother in Robb. The North and most of the Stark family don’t accept him despite his best efforts in trying to do his best while also missing the Iron Islands and not being able to fulfill his right as the heir to the salt throne

Ben has been mentally abused since he was in his mother’s womb. Palpatine has been in his head since he was conceived, trying to seduce him to the dark because he knew the power Ben would possess from his family. Now were his parents abusive towards him like Balon, Maron, and Rodrik were to Theon? No. But they were afraid of who he could become which definitely drove him towards becoming what they were afraid of to begin with. He felt isolated and alone. Aside from questioning why his parents were afraid of him with no explanation (making him feel like he was some sort of monster), Han was gone the majority of his upbringing and Leia was building the New Republic. He was often left with droids to watch him, further developing his isolation. There’s also apparently an instance where a droid fantasized about killing him and how they’d be able to cover it up? Eventually, L&H sent him off to be trained by Luke due to their growing fear of him becoming like Vader, but he didn’t know because they never told him Vader was his grandfather. He ended up finding out later on when it was announced at a senate meeting that was broadcasted on the holonet. (Keep in mind he’s consistently being mentally tormented and tempted by the dark but fighting it off)

Loss of Identity:

I think you can argue that Theon and Ben have struggled with their identity their entire lives. Before Theon was taken to Winterfell he already felt like he didn’t belong. Then he does his duty as Ned’s ward, placing him in the midst of the rest of the Starks and trying to figure out his place without stepping out of line but also wanting to fit in as best as he can. After Ned dies and he’s at war with Robb he is able to return home to persuade Balon in lending his fleet to help Robb. Balon refuses and now Theon is stuck in deciding if he should help Robb or win over his father and take back his place as a Greyjoy. He leads an attack at Winterfell, betraying his loyalty to Robb, killing two farm boys that all of Westeros believes is Brand and Rickon, which leads to him getting overthrown by the Boltons taking Winterfell back, putting him in the hands of Ramsay who tortures him mentally, physically, and spiritually to the point where he takes on the persona of Reek and truly believes that’s who he is, who he was meant to be and who he deserves to be

Ben has also had this lifelong struggle. He’s tried to follow what his parents have taught him while fighting everything going on in his head. He looked up to his dad and wanted to be a pilot like him despite Han being gone a majority of the time. Not to mention just the pressure he faced with being Han & Leia’s son as well as Luke Skywalker’s nephew. But he could sense and sometimes hear his parents discuss their fear of who he is/who he will be. He was under the impression that they thought he was or could become some sort of monster and gave him no explanation on why they would think that and then was sent off to train with Luke (when there’s no real indication that he wanted that, he just voiced how he wanted to be a pilot) Luke could sense the same darkness in him as H&L but instead of helping him and having a conversation about it he decided to sneak into Ben’s tent one night and kill him before his fears came true. Ben awoke to his own uncle standing over him with an ignited lightsaber about to strike him down. Yes, Luke regretted it the minute he ignited it but it was too late, Ben was awake and betrayed. What he didn’t do (but the galaxy thought he did) was destroy the Jedi temple and the rest of the padawans, a higher power (most likely Palpatine) did and Ben was upset about it and he didn’t want them all to die. He felt like he had nowhere else to go and succumbed to the voice that had been tormenting him for 23 years (but in a way was the only consistent thing in his life) and went to Snoke. He felt unwanted, untrusted, and doomed to become this awful being everyone around him thought he would. He took on the persona Kylo Ren and allowed Snoke to continue to torture him mentally and now physically and spiritually to ultimately turn him into Snoke's chess piece to take over the galaxy

Path of bad decisions driven by the need to please their abuser who gives false hope of a home:

Parts of this are redundant but they both have made some terrible decisions that were heavily influenced by the manipulation of their abusers and a need for a sense of acceptance and belonging. Theon wanted to please Balon and later Ramsay, Kylo wanted to please Snoke and his grandfather (who we later find out was all Palpatine). The majority of deaths that Kylo is blamed for were under Snoke’s orders and Kylo was either unaware they were happening or tried to prevent them and resort to other solutions to get whatever it is they wanted. He killed his father because he was convinced it would make him stronger and reach his potential on “who he’s destined to be” when really it tore him apart and destroyed him,

similarly to how Theon felt after he killed those farm boys and saw what his actions had created for Winterfell and Westeros

Acceptance of “who they truly are” through self-hatred and regret:

Through this they come to terms with their actions and the destruction that has followed from those actions. They believe they deserve the pain and suffering they’ve had their whole lives. Theon is constantly saying how Theon is dead, he’s Reek and he deserves to be. Ben states how Ben is dead, he’s only Kylo now and that he deserves to be seen as a monster.

Needing help to be pulled back to their true selves:

Their inner conflict is clear through both of their journeys and it’s clear that others can see that. They need help to be pulled in the right direction and reminded that they’re not the person they think they are. Yara comes for Theon when everyone else has given up on him. He’s her brother and regardless of what he’s done she still cares for him and believes in him. However, even the love of his sister can’t persuade him or break the abusive turmoil he’s been suffering and he stays with Ramsay as Reek.

Then Sansa comes, someone he has grown up with and cares for. She learns the truth that he didn’t kill Bran and Rickon. She knows who Theon really is and she brings him back, she needs him back and gives him the strength to do it.

Similarly, we see Han trying to bring Ben back in TFA, and like with Yara and Theon, it doesn’t work. He believes Ben is dead, that his family gave up on him and he did too so he can only be Kylo now. And as we see later on, the act of killing Han only made it worse and caused a deeper pain and regret to Ben as well as the conflict on where he lies in the force. In TLJ we see this and how Kylo seems to be chipping away from coming to terms with everything he’s done.

(I would also like to point out that in TLJ Ben couldn’t kill his mother and it’s stated that had he noticed quick enough he would’ve stopped the blasters from hitting the bridge) He gets a connection with Rey, who at first wants nothing to do with him and sees him as the monster he thinks he is. But similarly to Sansa, she finds out the story Luke told her about him destroying the Jedi Temple was a lie and from then on they’re able to console in one another and understand the pain and isolation they’ve both felt their whole lives.

When Luke refuses to go back and help Rey and the resistance she takes it upon herself to go and fight to bring Ben back to the light because she can see that he’s still there.

Taking a stand against their abusers, specifically to help save someone they love:

They both go against their abusers and take a huge leap towards taking back their true selves. Theon wants to help Sansa and she gives him a few chances too, for example with the candle but he ends up telling Ramsay. However when Ramsay is gone Sansa is crossed by Miranda and even though he’s still filled with fear and conflict, he throws Miranda off the ledge to save Sansa and finally defies his tormentor and everything that he’s done.

Kylo retrieves Rey when she lands on the capital ship and takes her to see Snoke. In the elevator they both state how they’ve had a vision of seeing them by each other’s sides. Kylo takes it as Rey joining him in the dark but Rey sees it as him reclaiming who he was supposed to be and even refers to him as Ben which he responds to.

(for the majority of knowing him she called him Kylo, monster, etc but since they touched hands and she saw the conflict she now sees him as a real person and more importantly Ben) Snoke wants Kylo to kill her in order to reach is full potential since killing Han only made him question the path he was going down even more. However, he tricks Snoke and instead kills him instead of Rey, destroying his abuser and saving Rey who is the only one he’s ever been able to connect to.

Reclaiming their identity:

Even though they have someone in their corner, believing in them and helping them to come back to who they are, it takes time. Theon stays with Sansa until they cross paths with Brienne and Podrick and knows she’ll be safe with them. He then heads back to the Iron Islands to join Yara and help her however he can. He still feels as though he’s Reek and doesn’t deserve any redemption or to be trusted/loved.

Overtime those who still believe in him and given time to heal he reclaims himself as Theon Greyjoy, not even the one from before, but a better and stronger man because it’s who he chooses and wants to be. He saves Yara from Euron and goes back to Winterfell to help fight against the dead. He protects Bran at the Weirwood tree bringing it back and trying to rewrite his wrong when he took Winterfell from Bran and caused him to abandon his home. Even though Arya is the one to ultimately save Bran by killing the Night King, she wouldn’t have been able to without Theon and his sacrifice.

Now Kylo’s is a little different and his journey back to Ben takes a few more steps. Killing Snoke was supposed to be him reclaiming himself and finally getting rid of the demons that have been haunting him his entire life. But now we’re aware that Palpatine created Snoke and was the one who has been in his head the whole time so really those voices are still there, abusing and tormenting him to do what they want. Except now he has something more to fight for. He knows Rey believes in him and they have a bond, a force dyad, that hasn’t been seen for centuries. We don’t get to see much of how Supreme Leader Kylo Ren deals with First Order affairs but I would assume it would be different from how Snoke handled it considering (as stated earlier) Kylo tried to get what they needed in the easiest way, preventing as much unnecessary harm or death. (I also would like to point out that at the beginning of TROS we see Kylo in Mustafar and all of the people he’s killing are Vader cultists so they were bad beings) He then travels to Palpatine who reveals it’s been him all along in his head and Kylo threatens to kill him, but then palp shows his army he’s been creating, how it could be Kylo’s, and reveals who Rey truly is. Palp wants him to kill her and he tricks him into thinking he will when really he chases her around to tell her this information as well as see if it’s true and to prevent her from getting killed. They fight a lot but it’s always Rey initiating it and Ben defending himself when he needs to. He gets distracted during one of their fights because Leia is reaching out to him and in the process, Rey stabs him with his own lightsaber (death of Kylo Ren) but ends up healing him and tells him that she did want him, the real him

He then has a vision of Han and basically reenacts what happened in TFA but has it play out how he wished it did the first time. He is now truly Ben Solo and goes to Exogal to help Rey and defeat Palpatine. After Rey kills Palpatine she dies and Ben comes back (he was thrown down deep pit) and transfers his life force to her to save her. Like the situation with Theon, if Ben wasn’t there Rey wouldn’t have been able to defeat Palpatine and save the galaxy.

Only got to live in peace with themselves for like 2 minutes:

They both get complex, intriguing, and beautiful arcs of redemption that represent realistic struggles of life and grey morality that people face throughout their lives. But they both end with a terrible message that the only way to fully redeem yourself from past mistakes, bad decisions (even if it was influenced by a life of mental/physical abuse) is to sacrifice yourself.

Theon sacrificed himself to save Bran and the fate of Westeros and was only able to be at peace with himself for about the last 20 seconds of his life because Bran forgave him, told him he was a good man and confirmed the type of person Theon really is and always wanted to be.

he deserved to feel this way for a MUCH longer time and continue to heal and grow and live a life that gave him much more peace and happiness (preferably with Sansa 😏) but instead he only gets to feel good about himself for the first time in his life and have it only last for a moment.

Once Rey defeated Palpatine it’s safe to say that the voices stopped in Ben’s head. There’s no more tormenting, persuading, or taunting. He climbs out of the pit to find Rey dead (his literal other half) and channels the rest of his energy to bring her back and it works. Similar to Bran, Rey confirms her joy and acceptance of Ben being back

and he would’ve been fully content with that, but Rey kisses him and he smiles for the first fucking time we’ve ever seen. His mind is at peace, Rey is alive in his arms and for the first time he is truly happy. And then he DIES.

Who knows what would’ve happened to him and how the resistance would’ve reacted, but he deserved the opportunity to atone for the mistakes he made, live life with a clear mind, as well as continue to be the other half of Rey that brought balance to the force and galaxy.

Bonus:

They both deserve to be with the only person that fully understands them and their pain and can grow, heal, and live in peace together.

460 notes · View notes

normal-thoughts-official · 4 years

Note

Actually, anti parabatai plot as a criticism of the oppressive regime would have been super interesting. Like they literally perform some magical ritual on minors. Moreover, it’s seen as prestigious and is highly encouraged. Moreover, if children have doubts they can’t even properly discuss them. Notice how in 2x03 Alec is left so alone he only has his baby sister to share his misgivings about the ritual. Moreover, he isn’t even happy about the upcoming ceremony. It really feels like he only ->

-> out of obligation (reminds me of ‘are you happy’, ‘yes, I’m following my duty’). Idk maybe it was indoctrinated that cancelling the ceremony once you gave your word is unthinkable, dishonourable, shameful or some other shit. Anyway, Alec didn’t look enthusiastic AT ALL. We don’t see what role Maryse and Robert played in this but they were probably their toxic selves. Besides, it’s strange to make a team out of two people so different both personality and career wise. And speaking of indoctrination, you can see children getting ingrained with this shit from the very young age. Like little Izzy may not have wanted a parabatai herself but you can see she was still affected. Jace legit said that they were gonna be REAL brothers as if something stopped him seeing Alec as such without a magical tattoo which is major yikes

EXACTLY!!! you get it!!!!!! not only that but the whole "the biggest pain a shadowhunter could ever know is losing a parabatai", "parabatai are the most important people to each other", "parabatai are in perfect tune" etc like so much shit that was straight up NOT SHOWN TO BE TRUE throughout the plot. valentine and luke were parabatai and he betrayed him, jace basically never gave a fuck about alec's wellbeing, he couldn't even tell when alec was literally dying lol also the bond isn't even that strong, like if ur away for a while or try to TRACK THEM it breaks??? and in the books robert and michael were parabatai as well and then they never talked again and robert legit straight up couldnt tell when michael DIED AND WAS REPLACED BY VALENTINE WITH A GLAMOUR like My God

my hc for this whole thing is that the parabatai thing was invented to increase sh loyalty to each other as well as their teamwork, and they made up this bunch of bullshit about it being like family and super important and their pain is your pain and blah blah blah to seem more desirable. kinda like how spartans encouraged relationships between soldiers to make them stronger? or how compulsory monogamy teaches you that the way to achieve happiness is through One Single Person who will be perfect for you always oops

actually o shit there are plenty of parallels between parabataiship and compulsory monogamy and i think i'm gonna go into that now. so mandatory disclaimer that compulsory monogamy =/= your monogamous relationship, just like heteronormativity =/= your heterosexual relationship. okay? okay. if yall come for me screaming that Monogamous People Aren't All Toxic i will ignore you because that's not what i'm saying and i just explicitly stated that. okay? okay

so i’m gonna skip the historical part because compulsory monogamy is very intimately related with the invention of capitalism, private property and etc., and that doesn’t work quite as well in the context of sh since it’s more of a military society than anything, and again, i do believe that it’s more of a “making them more likely to be loyal”/less likely to question missions and stuff thing. but the effects of parabataiship as it is constructed in sh lore are very similar to those of compulsory monogamy in real life:

the whole loyalty thing that can be very easily turned into toxicity/co-dependency/straight up abusive and unequal dynamics. again, i’m talking about monogamy as a system, not saying that all monogamous relationships are toxic, okay? if i sound insistent here, it’s because you wouldn’t believe the amount of times i put 4981749318 disclaimers like that and ppl still got offended on behalf of their monogamous relationships i wasn’t talking about

i’ll go further into that. monogamy ideology, like parabatai ideology, tells us that there’s a kind of relationship that is superior to all others and should be prioritized above all others (romantic relationships for monogamy ideology, parabataiship for parabatai ideology. compulsory monogamy and amatonormativity are more than just intimately related, they are a part of the other). this means that not putting the person you have this kind of relationship with above all others is seen as a crime and betrayal. and i’m not talking about cheating here, i’m talking about stuff such as “would you let your partner go to parties without you?”, seeing you at a place without your partner and asking where they are and why they didn’t come with you/assuming that you must have fought or broken up, considering that a relationship is doomed or not very close if its parts are not literally inseparable, turning the two parts of a relationship into some kind of almost symbiotic creature, where you stop being “A and B” and become “A-and-B” (this exact wording is even a trope in romantic fiction, esp fanfic), “would your missus let you come with us?”, having huge fights because one party wants to go somewhere and the other doesn’t and they can’t come to an agreement on that, etc., i think you get it by now

this mindset that the person you have this particular kind of relationship with should be prioritized above all others, that a part of your sense of self should be merged with theirs, that you essentially have to become a unit, and that it’s hard, but you have to fight to make it work (”love hurts”, “love is tough, it’s like that”, “if you love someone you have to make sacrifices for them”, etc) makes people feel guilty whenever they don’t put that person and their wishes above all else, or even when they want to do something without them, because that is seen as not loving them enough. not only that, but monogamy ideology promises you that once you find The One™ you will achieve a kind of happiness and perfection in your life that you couldn’t get any other way. this means that people are effectively scared of breaking up or of not having/wanting a relationship like that, because it means that they are broken and will never be truly happy (see what i meant when i said that amatonormativity and monogamy ideology are a part of each other?). that’s why you see people saying shit like “my greatest fear is to waste many years on a relationship and break up in the end”, “if you aren’t dating to get married you’re dating to get your heart broken”, etc.

so you see people trying their damn hardest to stay loyal to the relationship even when it obviously doesn’t make them happy, feeling guilty for not being happy, and accepting toxic mindsets and abuse because they feel like they owe it to them. especially the weakest link in the relationship - notably women in monogamy ideology, as monogamy is also inherently linked with the patriarchy and in monogamy ideology specifically a woman in a het relationship is seen as more than just a part of the man she is in a relationship with, she’s seen as his property, but that dynamic can also be inverted or ruled by other factors such as race, sexuality, gender identity, class, etc. - are way more likely to be seen as owing their partners loyalty. not just that, but in particular with people who are otherwise oppressed, being loved is seen as almost a favor, because again, being in a romantic relationship is supposed to be your exclusive golden ticket to heavenly happiness and whatnot, and oppressed people (esp queer ppl and poc) as seen as undeserving of that, and effectively denied that in many ways, so they are more likely to want to stay in a toxic relationship out of fear that they won’t ever find anything better (it’s not a coincidence that “no one will ever love you like i do” is such a common phrase to hear from abusers). also, let’s not forget that even the right to break up in itself is something that had to be fought for. the feminist movement spent years trying to make divorce legal (in the places where it is) and still fights to make it be seen as acceptable. if it weren’t for other pressures trying to change the rules of monogamy, a “breakup” would quite literally not even be allowed, and this always benefits the strongest link

so now that that’s been explained, back to parabataiship. i think the parallels here are very clear - i mean, for one, you can’t really break it up, unless you purposefully use soul tracking or stay away for a long time, so it’s like, old fashioned monogamy. but more than that, breaking your parabatai bond is seen as terrifying. there is a lot of purposeful rethoric that directly says that the pain of the parabatai bond being severed (whether by will or by one of the parts dying) is unmatchable, and that plants a horrible fear into people, to the point where villains use that against parabatai shadowhunters (for example, the owl possessing jace and telling him that it’ll kill alec so he knows what the pain of losing a parabatai is like). this means that loyalty is owed, because even if you just want to be away from your parabatai, this might break the bond and put you through unspeakable pain (in theory. as i’ve been saying, it’s basically been proved that that’s not true, because when jace died that was far from being the worst pain that alec’s ever felt)

moreover: the whole thing about how this kind of relationship is sacred, above all else, and will bring you a kind of happiness that is impossible to achieve otherwise. this is said many times - like you said, parabataiship is seen as something desirable and that brings honor. the vows are very similar to marriage (the highest pillar of monogamy) vows (“your family will be my family, your people will be my people”, “entreat me not to leave thee”), clary is constantly told that she could never understand the relationship jace and alec have because they’re parabatai and being parabatai is special and basically uncomparable to anything else, even by izzy, who never wanted to have a parabatai (and in the end she ends up wanting to, which reminds me of the whole “oh, you’ll want it once you grow up” trope with heterosexual romantic relationships. like, basically, you’ll want it once you find the right person. that is something aro, gay, and non-monog ppl hear all the damn time). the whole thing about how obviously jace is supposed to be the one alec loves the most, they’re parabatai, the whole thing about how “alec would die for me, we’re parabatai” like that is unquestionable; the souls becoming one, the being able to feel each other’s feelings and blah blah blah. in short: sacred, above all else, and, unless you do something very wrong, able to bring you a kind of connection and happiness you wouldn’t be able to get otherwise no matter how strong your feelings or your compatibility is; and once you get it, you can’t get out

and then there’s the imbalance it brings. like i said, notably in monogamy as a pillar of heteronormativity the imbalance lays on women, altho other factors can change that balance or be more prominent. with parabataiship, there’s an obvious trope of queer people getting heterosexual parabatai and being very obviously the weakest link (alec with jace, michael with robert, there are others but i don’t remember. the exception to this is luke, who is written as equally heterosexual and, in the books, equally white, to valentine, but who’s still the weakest link anyway because valentine gains power and prestige luke doesn’t have). again, the whole “alec would die for me” thing tells a lot. he didn’t say “we would die for each other”. he said “alec would die for me”. despite the rethoric being that both parts should be endlessly devoted, the expectation that one should fulfill that obviously falls harder on one than on the other. with monogamy, there’s even a kind of rethoric that you have to work for the reciprocation to be there (for example, victims of domestic abuse being told that if they dedicate themselves to their partners enough, the abuse would stop, like they owe their partners dedication and love and comprehension, and then their partners will give it back only once they get enough of it) that we haven’t really seen with parabatai (at least i don’t remember it) but that i wouldn’t be surprised to see present there. after all, alec can feel it when jace gets a papercut and jace can’t tell when alec is literally dying, and none of that is ever questioned in canon

and then the imbalance is kept because, again, breaking up parabataiship is unthinkable and shameful, not to mention kind of impossible/not allowed to do officially. so the weakest link is basically stuck in this situation of imbalance and, in many cases, toxicity and abuse, but can’t break out of it and effectively feel guilty because according to everything they’ve ever been told, they should be elated that they’ve found their one and they should be happy. if they aren’t happy, then they’re broken, or not trying hard enough, and it’s taboo to even talk about that

again, i’m not saying that all monogamous relationships or all parabataiships are toxic, okay? i’m saying that, as a structurer of our society (and sh’s fictional society) they favor this kind of dynamic, allow it, and justify it through their ideologies. in the same way that heteronormativity allied with misoginy makes it more likely for women to be abuse or r-word victims than men. is every het relationship toxic? no. is heteronormativity toxic? yes. monogamy works the same way

in short, parabataiship is not a relationship model. or rather, it is, but way before and more than that, parabataiship is an ideology that is specifically structured to subjugate shadowhunters, notably queer shadowhunters, and keep their loyalty to each other and to the clave, and most of its rethoric (nothing can ever be stronger than the love for a parabatai, nothing can match the pain of losing a parabatai, parabatai are one and the same and they share a soul) is absolute bullshit built to make it more desirable and make sure that structure is left unquestioned. a plotline that questions the buildings of parabataiship and shows how the whole myth that’s around parabataiship is that, a myth, built to subjugate and control people, would have been amazing, but of course we couldn’t get that so crumbles of meta it is

me: i’m tired of discourse in my blog i’m going to chill for now. me the very same day: what if i went on my first more detailed anti-monogamy rant when that is 100% guaranteed to attract aggressive people who can’t read and also criticized sh fandom’s beloved parabataiship all in one post?

21 notes · View notes

blackswaneuroparedux · 4 years

Photo

Treat Your S(h)elf

The Places In Between by Rory Stewart

“I offered Asad money but he was horrified. It seemed a six-hour round trip through a freezing storm and chest deep snow was the least he could do for a guest. I did not want to insult him but I was keen to repay him in some way. I insisted, feeling foolish. He refused five times but finally accepted out of politeness and gave the money to his companion.Then he wished me luck and turned up the hill into the face of the snowstorm."

- Rory Stewart

Just weeks after the fall of the Taliban in January of 2002 Scotsman Rory Stewart began a walk across central Afghanistan in the footsteps of 15th Century Moghul conqueror Emperor Babur and along parts of the legendary Silk Road, from Herat to Kabul. He'd find himself in the course of twenty-one months encountering Sunni Kurds, Shia Hazala, Punjabi Christians, Sikhs, Kedarnath Brahmins, Garhwal Dalits, and Newari Buddhists. He said he wanted to explore the "place in between the deserts and the Himalayas, between Persian, Hellenic, and Hindu culture, between Islam and Buddhism, between mystical and militant Islam." He described Afghanistan as "a society that was an unpredictable composite of etiquette, humour, and extreme brutality."

The Places in Between is Stewart's account of walking across Afghanistan from Herat to Kabul in January 2002. The book was the winner of the Royal Society of Literature Ondaatje Award and the Spirit of Scotland Award and shortlisted for the Guardian First Book Award, the John Llewellyn Rhys Memorial Prize and the Scottish Book of the Year Prize.

I first read the book as a teenager a few years after it came out when I was spending a few months doing voluntary work for an Afghan children’s charity in Peshawar, Pakistan with my older sister who was a junior doctor at the time.

I read it on the rocky bus ride from Peshawar, Pakistan and into Afghanistan from Jalalabad to Kabul with my sister and her colleagues. I avidly read the book because I already knew the author through my oldest brother but from a distance because of our respective ages. Little did I realise then that I would be back in Afghanistan a few years later but this time in uniform doing my tour in Afghanistan flying combat helicopters against the Taliban.

I had the book with me (but a newer copy) and it took on a greater prescience precisely because as soldiers, even from the most senior officers on down, we privately questioned what the hell were we really accomplishing in a country ravaged by war since the Soviet invasion in 1979 (and that’s being generous given how history has buried empires into the graveyard of Afghanistan as a testament to their hubris).

Maybe it was hubris or perhaps it was that adventurous strain that needs to be scratched that led Rory Stewart to undertake his madcap journey. Stewart did the entire journey on foot, refusing any other form of transportation (and at one point going back and redoing a section of the walk when he couldn't turn down a vehicle ride). He took an uncommon route straight through the centre of the country and the heart of the mountains, instead of the more common route through the south that bypasses the dangerous mountain passes. This choice was partly because it was shorter, partly because the south was still partially controlled by the Taliban, and partly I suspect (though he doesn't say this explicitly) because it's the less-discussed and less-known route, even today.

This is, therefore, a sort of travel book, describing places that 99.99% of readers in the Western world are very unlikely to ever go. It's also unavoidably political, since Afghanistan is unavoidably political. However, unlike many travel books and many books with political overtones, it's carefully observational, documentary, and quietly understated in a way that gives the reader room to analyse and consider. Stewart focuses on his specific journey and concise, detailed descriptions of what he encountered and lets any broader implications of what he saw emerge from the reader's evaluation. He describes how he reacts to the remarkable natural beauty and almost-forgotten ruins that he encounters, giving the reader a frame and a sense of the emotional impact, but he's not an overbearing presence in the book. The story is clearly personal, but he doesn't dominate it. This is a very difficult line to walk, and I don't recall the last time I've seen it walked as deftly.

Instead there is a real sense that the author has gotten over the novelty of travelling and is more focused on the fundamental circumstances he encounters. The book overall is a fascinating read and there is much to be learned about the epistemologies driving the Afghan people and how different interpretations of Muslim teachings (and likewise, any teachings) can create small, but significant differences between neighbours. He has a gift for vividly describing the people and the landscape without injecting himself too much into the scene.

I suspect every reader will take different things from The Places in Between.

For some readers unaccustomed to the culture of Afghanistan, they would find it distressing to read how dogs are treated in Afghanistan. It's said Prophet Muhammad once cut off part of his own garment rather than disturb a sleeping cat. Unfortunately, he didn't feel equal affection for dogs, and they're "religiously polluting." They're not pets, and they're never petted. A quarter of the way in his journey Stewart has a toothless mastiff pressed upon him by a villager and he named him Babur. The evidence of past abuse could be seen in missing ears and tail, and someone told Stewart the dog was missing teeth because they'd been knocked out by a boy with rocks. Stewart found the dog a faithful companion and said he'd call him "beautiful, wise, and friendly" but that an Afghan, though he might use such terms to describe a horse or hawk would never use it to describe a dog.

But I knew all this growing in Pakistan and India as a small girl. Friends would look perplexed that we Brits - or any Westerners - have dogs or cats as pets and even see them as part of the family.

For me though two big themes stuck out when I first read the book.

One of the things that struck me most memorably is the spider’s web of personal loyalties, personal animosities, different tribes and history, and complexity of Afghan politics that Stewart walks through. Afghanistan is not coherent or cohered in the way that those of us living in long-settled western countries assume when thinking about countries. While there are regions with different ethnicities or dominant tribes, it doesn't even break down into simple tribal areas or regions divided by religion. The central mountain areas Stewart walked through are very isolated and have a long history and a complex web of rivalries, differing reactions to various central governments, and different connections. Stewart meets people who have never traveled more than a few miles from their village, and people who can't go as far as his next day's stop because they'd be killed by the people in the next village. It becomes clear over the course of his journey why creating a cohesive western-style country with unified national rule is far less likely and more difficult than is usually portrayed in the Western news media. The reader slowly begins to realise that this may not be what the Afghans themselves want, and some of the reasons why not.

A large part of that recent history is violent, and here is where Stewart's ability to describe and characterise the people he meets along the way shines. It is a tenet of both Islam and the local culture to give hospitality to travellers, which is the only thing that makes this sort of trip possible. Stewart is generally treated exceptionally well, particularly given the poverty of the people (meat is extremely rare, and most meals are bread at best), but violence and fighting fills the minds and experiences of most people he meets. He memorably observes at one point that one of his temporary companions describes the landscape in terms of violent events. Here, he shot four soldiers. There, two people were killed. Over there is where they ambushed a squad of Russians. It's striking how, after decades of fighting either for or against first the Russians and then the Taliban shapes and marks their mental map of the world. It's likely that few of the people Stewart meets are entirely truthful with him, but even that is an intriguing angle on what they care to lie about, what they think will impress him, and how the Afghan people he encounters display status or react to the unusual.

The second big theme that stuck out for me on a personal note was how Stewart respectfully weaves the wonder of history with the sad lament of the destructive loss heritage on his travels. In the book, Stewart followed roughly the same path as Babur, the founder of the Mughal Empire, did in 1504 at roughly the same time of year. He quotes occasionally from the Baburama, Babur's autobiography, which adds a depth of history to the places Stewart passes through. The Minaret of Jam in the mountains of western Afghanistan is one of the (unfortunately rare) black and white pictures in the centre of this book, and Stewart describes the legendary Turquoise Mountain, the lost capital of a mountain kingdom destroyed by the son of Genghis Kahn in the 1220s, of which the minaret may be the last surviving recognisable remnant. He describes the former Buddhist monasteries at Bamyan in Hazarajat (the region of central Afghanistan populated by the Hazara) and the huge empty alcoves where giant statues of the Buddha had stood for sixteen centuries until destroyed by the Taliban in 2001. This book then is full of history of which is described with a discerning eye for necessary detail.

How Afghanistan's precious historical and cultural legacy was being destroyed even back in 2002 is heart breaking to read. I think many Westerners certainly know about how the Taliban dynamited the giant Bamiyan Buddha statues over a millennium old because they considered them "idols." Just as profound a loss is discovered by Stewart in his travels. There is a legendary lost city, the "Turquoise Mountain" of the pre-Moghul Ghorid Empire. Archeologists couldn't find it - but when passing through the area, Stewart had found villagers who had, and were looting artefacts with no care for the archeological context or the damage they were doing to the site, selling the priceless wares for the equivalent of a couple of dollars on the black market. This is what he tells us about his discussion with the villagers about the lost city:

"It was destroyed twice," Bushire added, "once by hailstones and once by Genghis." "Three times," I said. You're destroying what remained." They all laughed.

Even as I write this I can’t help but think this episode eerily echoes the madness gripping us in Britain, Europe, and the US (albeit for different reasons) in defacing and pulling down historical statues in wanton in acts of extreme ideological vandalism.

Overall I enjoyed the ‘peace’ of this book as there is a constant tone of a simple purpose. There are some moments along the way that are quite confronting and even frustrating, but so many that are warm and celebratory of the Afghan belief in hospitality.

Perhaps others will differ but I didn’t find too many irritating passages that wax-poetic on the evolution of the traveller. Stewart’s writing style is clinical; completely void of sentimentality, he never allows his own initial or personal meditations on these places overtake his observations, written with much hindsight. Whether being harassed by local soldiers or struggling through snowdrifts Stewart does not bridge a gap with the reader to really get a sense of who he his, as if his own story would detract from the crucial timing of his recordings of this landscape and its people.

His own biography is something out of John Buchan. The son of Scottish colonial civil servant who was born in Hong Kong and grew up in the Far East (and subsequently the second most senior official in the British secret intelligence) before being packed off back to England to Dragon School, Eton and onto Balliol, Oxford to study PPE. A short stint with the Black Watch regiment (as his father and uncle before him) before joining the British Foreign Office and work in some hot spots of the world, including a stint as deputy governor in the Coalition Provisional Authority in Iraq after 2003. He went on to work at the Carr Center for Human Rights Policy at Harvard before returning to the UK to successfully run as a Conservative MP in his native Scotland. Served as a minister in different ministries under Prime Minister Theresa May’s government and improbably came close to upsetting the coronation of Boris Johnson as the next leader of the Conservative party. He resigned from the party rather than be purged and made an unsuccessful bid to run as an independent candidate for London Mayor. He continues to writer and author travel books and front documentaries. He has a storied background but he wears it very lightly.

Of course there is a conceit to the book which in a sense all travel books of this kind that largely goes unquestioned. I don’t think it’s wrong to question a certain kind of entitlement that pervades these kind of books, no matter how much I enjoy reading them especially about countries you have traveled to and know a little bit about. Stewart after all embarks on a journey ‘planning’ to rely on the proverbial kindness of strangers because that is an Islamic cultural and religious value. Try planning a trip anywhere in Western Europe or the USA and Canada. I cannot imagine anyone walking across America, or England and Scotland for that matter, who would believe that he was entitled to expect food, shelter and assistance because he asked for it.

And he does it - as have countless travellers before and after him. Because Stewart succeeds in his journey, he is evidence of an astonishing degree of Afghan Muslim hospitality and generosity. As a back packer who has done it rough not just in Afghanistan but also neighbouring Central Asia as well as Pakistan, India, and China I can see why it might rub some up the wrong way. But I also think it’s not cultural or some sort of colonial arrogance on Stewart’s part. It’s hard to articulate but it’s really a kind of cultured sensitivity of people and lands you already are familiar with or know well from childhood.

Certainly for Rory Stewart - and myself - didn’t exclusively grow up in England and Scotland but in the Eastern post-colonial countries of the ex-British Empire that afforded a privileged childhood (privileged as in a real cultural engagement and immersion) that left a deep appreciation and respect for those countries cultures and traditions. I believe for the vast majority of Western back packers who take adventurous treks across these lands they do so partly out of genuine respect and understanding of different cultures.

For instance, the legacy of this book has been that Rory Stewart has spear headed a long term project called Turquoise Mountain. Alongside his partners, they have been re-creating the "downtown" river district in Kabul and restoring it to it's former glory. They have opened schools for people to re-learn the ancient arts of carving, weaving, architecture, etc. They have supported efforts to restoring city blocks that have been covered in a mountain of trash, and restoring homes where families have lived for centuries. And all for free. The Afghan have never been sure why someone would be doing this out of the goodness of their hearts, but that the poignant irony is that the goodness began with them through their hospitality of the stranger.

The kindness to strangers is a real thing in this part of the world. Kindness to strangers has it roots in fear that the strangers might be gods or their messengers alongside the pragmatic need that strangers in a strange land might need assistance. I sometimes wonder how is it we cannot show the same unabashed kindness to strangers to our homes?

However you slice it, you have to admire Stewart for his mostly un-aided walk across Afghanistan. It does take a certain kind of ballsiness to do it. He carried just his clothes and a sleeping bag (and money), trusting that the villagers along the way would put him up for the night and feed him. He got very sick (diarrhoea and dysentery), was at constant risk of freezing to death in the mountains, and had some very unpleasant encounters with Afghan soldiers in the last few days, after rejecting very strong advice not to walk through this section.

Strangely though nothing about this book is breathtaking of ‘Oriental exoticism’ beloved of Western imagination. Indeed nothing in this book is romanticised and nothing is placed on a pedestal. Stewart writes openly and honestly of all the people he met, those friendly, and those that would've preferred to rob him and leave him dead in a ditch. He's truthful and humorous, and I found myself walking alongside him, a sort of ghost following his rugged trail through mountains, valleys, and Buddhist monasteries.

Re-reading this book when I was doing my tour in Afghanistan with time to kill between missions, I wished George W. Bush and Tony Blair - and all the other Western leaders since these two - could have taken that walk with Stewart and learned the lessons he did. Stewart gives you a sense of the complexity and diversity of the culture and of Islam - and just how ludicrous and ignorant were the assumptions and goals imposed on the country by the invading Westerners. Indeed at the very end of his walk, Stewart reaches Kabul, the heart of the western intervention in Afghanistan and the place where all the political theorists and idealists came to try to shape the country. He describes the impact of seeing draft plans for a national government, which look ridiculous in the light of the country that he just traveled through.

It's a rare bit of political fire in the narrative that's all the more effective since it's one of the few bits of political commentary in the book. Indeed it’s all the more rich and relevant given its emergent commentary and background for the current war being fought there. Stewart necessarily tells only part of the story of Afghanistan, but he tells far more of the story than most will know prior to reading it. It should be mandatory reading for anyone making decisions about how to proceed in that region.

I would recommend anyone take a walk with Rory Stewart.

#books #reading #bookgasm #rory stewart #places in between #travel #afghanistan #trek #adventure #author #walking #treat your s(h)elf #personal #bio #army

38 notes · View notes

brigade-claire-opinions · 4 years

Text

Day 9: The Haunting of Hill House

Let's talk about this novel and this show.

I already posted a quick review of the novel last year, so I'll briefly plagiarize myself. Please note, however, that I'm adding some significant elaboration to this review, including spoilers. I won't spoil the show once I get to that portion, but if you plan on reading this book, all you need to know is that I absolutely love it - it's my favorite novel about a haunted house and one of the best examples of classic horror literature.

Anyways, onto the review:

The Haunting of Hill House was written by Shirley Jackson and released in 1959. I've been trying and failing to read this book for the better part of two years now. It's always shown up on lists of the scariest books ever written, alongside the likes of The Amityville Horror by Jay Anson and Ghost Story by Peter Straub.

Having finally read (and, ultimately, been severely let down by) Straub's Ghost Story, I picked this one back up. I'm not sure if it's that something changed in me in the past year, or if it's because I was no longer trying to read it before the release of the Netflix "adaptation," but I became enamored with the novel in my third reading and finally, blessedly finished it.

In this novel, Shirley Jackson successfully captured the psychology of living in a haunted house. I fell in love with our central cast: Eleanor Vance, our protagonist who has a history with poltergeist activity, likely stemming from caring for her invalid mother until the latter's passing; Dr. John Montague, a psychologist bent on investigating the scientific angle of the occult and the man responsible for bringing together our ragtag band of misfits; Luke Sanderson, the thieving and charming black sheep of the Hill family and heir to Hill House; and Theodora (or Theo, who intentionally does not have a provided surname), a childish, flamboyant, and likely queer psychic who naively craves the excitement of staying in a haunted place.

Together, these four must brave the throes of Hill House and face whatever remnants of its terrifying history await them. This party is to experience total isolation during their stay, as cell phones weren't common in 1959. They are also to face conditions of "absolute reality," or reality completely unaffected by the subjective perceptions of the human mind. I believe that this is ultimately the narrative's way of explaining that the human mind cannot fathom paranormal activity without prior framework to quantify it, but 1959 was a different time.

What really struck me about The Haunting of Hill House was its lack of empirical ghostly encounters. Yes, the characters have spooky experiences and things happen, but the novel doesn't outright show us a ghost. Instead, it poses a question: is the house truly haunted? Or is the absolute reality that the house's troubled history is affecting the people staying there? Is it possible that Eleanor, with her history of Poltergeist activity, is causing the doors to slam and the writing on the wall? The ending only further adds to the mystery, and the reader is left to ponder.

The Haunting of Hill House has had a troubled history with screen adaptations. Two films based on the novel - both named "The Haunting," - released in 1963 and 1999 respectively, and neither had a particularly warm reception. The 1999 film in particular often appears on "worst of" lists of horror films. Prior to 2018, adaptations of Shirley Jackson's magnum opus seemed taboo, destined to fail.

And that, my friends, leads us to the show.

As you likely already know, the Netflix adaptation of The Haunting of Hill House has VERY little to do with the novel. The eponymous house and some characters are shared, but what we have here is a mostly original story about a family whose lives are still haunted by Hill House decades after they abandoned it.

Our showrunner Mike Flanagan (Oculus, Hush, Doctor Sleep) took Jackson's novel, deconstructed it, and crafted something brand new.

I am exceedingly pleased by what Flanagan and co made for us. The Haunting of Hill House is easily the best thing to come out of the novel since, well, the novel. It's also the only thing on the list so far to have legitimately scared me.

The show follows the Crain family, who move into Hill House in 1992. Olivia and Hugh Crain - the mother and father of the family - are house flippers, and Hill House seems to be their big break. As you'd expect, however, things go awry, and most of the family flees in terror in the middle of the night not long after their arrival.

Along with Olivia and Hugh, there are five Crain children who form our central cast: Steven, Shirley, Theodora, Luke, and Eleanor. The story is told between two eras - in 1992 during the family's summer at Hill House, and in 2018 as the family deals with a tragic loss.

Our cast in this story is absolutely incredible. With one exception, each member of the Crain family is portrayed by two different actors, and each gives it their all.

Michael Huisman and Paxton Singleton play Steven Crain, the eldest of Olivia and Hugh's children. Steven does not believe in the ghostly encounters that the family experienced in their time at Hill House, but that does not stop him from capitalizing on their trauma and writing a book about their experiences anyways, much to his siblings' disapproval. Due to circumstances, Steven is having marital troubles at the start of the series and is separated from his wife Leigh, played by Samantha Sloyan.

Elizabeth Reaser and Lulu Wilson play Shirley Crain, the next oldest, who was named for Shirley Jackson. Depending on how you look at it, Shirley grows up to either have the perfect or most baffling career, as she owns, lives in, and runs a funeral home along with her husband Kevin, played by Anthony Ruivivar.

Kate Siegel and McKenna Grace play Theo (this time with a surname!), the middle child. Theo has a touch empathy, allowing her to experience psychic phenomena when touching people or objects; she wears gloves to help circumvent this. She lives in a guest suite attached to Shirley's funeral home, where we occasionally see her girlfriend Trish, played by Levy Tran.

Oliver Jackson-Cohen and Julian Hilliard play Luke, the older of the twins who make up the two youngest members of the family. Luke, having been severely traumatized by his experiences at Hill House and the way his family was torn asunder afterwards, has a severe struggle with substance abuse. He has a "twin connection" with his younger twin sister, as the two of them have the tightest bond of the entire family.

Victoria Pedretti and Violet McGraw play Eleanor, the youngest of the family and the other half of Luke's twin empathy. Of all of the children, Nell and Luke each had the most traumatic experiences at Hill House; Nell still occasionally sees the ghost that haunted her the most as a child. Nell's story is the most tragic of all of the children as well; I won't say any more than that.

Timothy Hutton and Henry Thomas both put on fantastic performances for Hugh Crain, the father of the family. During the opening of the show, Hugh has to make the drastic decision of leaving Olivia behind as he and the children flee from Hill House in the middle of the night. This, of course, caused a massive rift to tear between him and the children, and they all become estranged.

Last but absolutely not least, Carla Gugino portrayed Olivia Crain, the mother of the family. Olivia has arguably the most tragic story, as a sensitive who becomes increasingly affected by whatever lurks in the walls of Hill House. She still lurks in the minds of the children and Hugh, even after that fateful night.

Flanagan and this wonderful cast knew exactly how to put on a fantastic show. Each role is played pitch perfectly, in both incarnations of the characters. Child actors are known to struggle with putting on strong performances, but none of these young cast members are ever overplayed to the point of being annoying. The stellar writing that these characters have to work with does a great job of bringing the audience in and making them feel like part of the Crain family. We care about these characters and don't want anything to happen to them, and thus we are horrified whenever they are hurt or scared, just as we would be if anything happened to our own loved ones.

The Haunting of Hill House has the some of the most effective scares I've seen in horror. Flanagan knows how to build up tension and when to release it. He knows exactly how to frame a shot and how to use subtlety to his advantage. There are a few jump scares sprinkled throughout the show, but unlike with most other horror pieces, the jump scares are meant for the characters and not for the audience. They have real meaning and serve a purpose and aren't just there as a cheap way to shock the audience.

The score for this show does a great job of underlining the tension, but aside from the opening theme, nothing quite stands out for me. I do want to take a moment to discuss the cinematography, however. Flanagan knows EXACTLY how to frame a shot, when to show something scary, and when to leave something to the audience's imagination. The juxtaposition between the two eras is masterful in its framing and use of colors. The happier childhood era in Hill House is shown in bright, warm colors with some nice bloom effect to display a more innocent time. Shots are more spacious and give the characters plenty of breathing room, and the score is light and almost playful.

In contrast, however, the scarier portions of the childhood era and most of the adult era are filmed with muted colors and cooler, darker tones. Shots are cramped and claustrophobic, and darkness fills corners and swims in rooms. The score for these shots is ominous and quiet, or even non-existant at times, leaving us to wonder what's going to happen.

The Haunting of Hill House is one of my favorite shows. It's fantastic, nearly perfect, in almost every way; I seriously have a hard time thinking of anything I'd change. Over the course of ten episodes, I felt myself moved and swayed and afraid for the members of this family. The show is not for everyone, of course, and I even hesitate to call it an adaptation of my favorite haunted house novel, but its strengths far outweigh anything negative I have to say. If you're looking for a long-form scary watch, I implore you to check this out. I even encourage you to read the novel, as it is interesting to compare the two and look at what few parallels Flanagan drew between them. As of today, the show has a second season. The Haunting of Bly Manor, which is based upon the works of Henry James, reuses much of the Hill House cast in new roles, marking The Haunting as an anthology show.

I'm almost done talking about adaptations for this month. Tomorrow, I return to a film I watched in my youth now that I've read the novel it's based upon...

9 notes · View notes

theda-rison · 4 years

Text

Thursday Night Link Roundup - July 23rd

I CAN’T BELIEVE I ALMOST FORGOT TO PUT TOGETHER THE LINK ROUND UP THIS WEEK. I watched so many good things, way too many for a roundup.

So, I normally put my longest video first. Originally it was going to be the second one in this week’s round up, but this one kind of takes precedence on length alone.

So I’ve been watching the Majority Report for about 5 years now, and one of the commentators died this week. I don’t normally feel really sad or cry about celebrity deaths, most of the time it’s more like “Oh yeah, I’ve seen a bunch of their movies, that’s sad,” and that’s it. Like, I don’t know them, you know?

But this guy - Michael Brooks - I’ve been watching MR with my breakfast for years (and then not looking at any news for the rest of the day because it was making me too depressed >_>) and this guy really broadened my mind as to what’s going on in the world, he let me know that it’s okay to care about other people (which, I live in a really red area and it’s not red because of communism), and that I should care about other people and want to know what’s going on around me. I naturally am curious about everything but it was amazing to hear someone who’s the same and who talks with such passion about wanting to help people.

I think watching him has turned me into a better, more informed person. I had always hoped to meet him just so I could tell him that and pick his brain for a bit, but they stopped doing live shows because of covid. So I’m sad about that too.

Anyway, here’s the memorial stream the show did and all of their friends called in and his sister showed up and it was good.

youtube

I somehow made it almost all the way through without crying… until one of the callers told a story where Michael was at a silent meditation retreat and called into the show and beeped the phone buttons to communicate (which I can’t figure out if I saw when it happened. Someone let me know if someone puts it online.) Once he told that story I started laughing and then just was bawling for like 10 straight minutes.

I guess I don’t really expect anyone to watch that. I put it there for me.

In the spirit of wanting to make the world better for people, Canadian youtubers The Serfs and Marxist economist Richard Wolff take a look at how the future could be made brighter and better through ditching capitalism like the abusive boyfriend it truly is.

youtube

Let’s keep the ball rolling with a video by Hakim, discussing how rich countries routinely ransack poorer countries (which are normally made poor and kept poor by rich countries). “In order for there to be a reduction of misery at home, there must be an export of misery abroad.”

youtube

This is another one from MelinaPendulum about how GOT completely fucked up when it came to race. I’m still mad that D&D turned Daenerys into a White Savior trope when she wasn’t one as much in the books. #stopwhitemenfromwritingeverything2020.

youtube

I’m STILL pissed about what they did to Dorn.

And some good ol’ fashion nonsense from my sister.

My sister: You’re doing a lot of squats to get a bigger butt? Me: Glute bridges and kickbacks, but, yeah. My sister: What about… this! Me: … what the fuck is happening?

youtube

I have to say… it seems like my way involves more work at least…

Songs of the Week

One Winged Angel 세피로스 / 편익의 천사 (파이널 판타지 VII)

In high school I played about 30 minutes of final fantasy 8 at my friends house and was so confused. We were playing it on a little CRT TV while her parents' new gigantic LCD (or plasma?) TV was next to it. I was super confused and then when it wanted me to do something with cards I was like, “I have no idea what’s happening and I hate this game.”

Anyway, One-Winged Angel was stuck in my head all week.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=sh6V1zMmbuU

Oumi Janta Skater Girl from Berlin with Music

I am absolutely in love with Oumi Janta, the Berlin roller dancer who’s randomly became popular on the tumbles. I like the song, n Deep We Trust - Ba:Sen (Pool Party Dub Mix), but could do without all the cheering that’s in the song for whatever reason.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=STMZsfAhxwc

I wonder to what we can attribute the rise of Bardcore. Was it the popularity of renfaires? Skyrim? Dragon Age? The Witcher? Or like, all of them together as a rolling snowball that’s just been going downhill and gaining more snow and getting bigger as it goes on? Anyway, here’s Wonderwall.

I lied, it’s Toxicity - Medieval Style - by Agal the Bard

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=X5d8bnvO2JQ

1 note · View note

theunkillablebitchseries · 4 years

Text

8. Pandemic + Survivorship = All the Feels

So it’s been a really long while. So for anyone living under a rock or on a game show that keeps you in one house. Here’s the news- globally we are experiencing a pandemic of COVID-19 aka the Coronavirus. Supposedly it first popped off in Wuhan, China and then made it’s happy little way to Europe, other parts of Asia and the Americas.

So depending on what day your job decided you could work from home or laid you off because you work in the service/hospitality industry (yay me) and if you are heeding the calls for social distancing (as you definitely should) you are somewhere between day 4 or day 7 of quarantine. Meaning you’re socially isolating as much as possible.

I am on day 5.

Day 1 was fine I could feel some weird anger creeping up on me I didn’t understand.

Day 2 was okay, I tried ignoring the angry but I don’t think I was doing a good job about it.

Day 3 I started acknowledging I was angry.

Day 4 I was so angry I didn’t even understand it. I thought my blood would thicken and burst out of me from how angry I was.

And it did.

Day 5 is better. Now I’m more sad than angry.

But then my angry feels sad a lot of times. I don’t know if that made any sense.

So whenever there was something bad going on in my life, it’d always hit me the worst at night. The lack of sun, and the quiet felt almost suffocating, as though there was no escaping whatever the problem was. I think that’s why when I was sick, the times it’d hit me the hardest were at night.

It’s no secret that when I was sick my most dominant feeling was anger. I was angry I was sick. I was angry to put my life on hold. I was angry that I had to stay home and kind of just watch the world go on without my participation. Kind of like FOMO. I’m finding that that anger is coming back full force right now. I feel like once again my life isn’t mine, that I don’t get to just be.

The thing is that as terrible as it felt to not be able to live my life like any normal 20 year old, there was comfort in the fact that as much as it felt like it to me the world was in fact not ending. People were still living their normal lives, many of them without any real struggles, many of them with that I had no idea about. There was comfort in thinking it’s just me. My friends were fine, my family was fine (relatively), the world was still spinning and the sun would come back tomorrow.

I would go out as much as I could when I was sick, basically until I didn't have a strong enough immune system and I was just too tired to. My outings got less and less. And I just felt angrier and angrier. Defiant might be the better word.

I remember at the beginning of treatment I went to a concert and my oncologist was so annoyed. Not smart but I was so hard-pressed to want to give up my freedom, what felt like my whole life, regardless of how short or long the time was. And as much as my sister and parents didn’t like it, I still went out. At least the weeks when my blood counts were up.

A cancer diagnosis felt like a big fuck you to me. As ridiculous as it sounds, going out and trying to be normal felt like one of the only ways I could say fuck you back. I didn’t want to die so I wasn’t going to deny treatment. Every painful procedure, poke and prod, all the discomfort, I just had to take it. Even though, I know for the most part it was done to get me well, it still felt like abuse. It might sound dramatic but it felt like I was some lamb being led to the slaughter.

My desire to just go out and be normal felt like reclamation, maybe a little reckless but it felt like one of the only ways I could shake my body and remind it,

You are mine.

Do right by me.

Stop.

Be better.

Please stop.

please.

But also going out just reminded me that it wasn’t the end of the world. Mine often felt like it was going under but at least it was just mine. I took comfort in the fact that this wasn’t a big deal to others aside from my friends and family. I don't know how to explain it other than it felt good to go out in the world and see strangers and assume (even if it was wrong) that they were fine, to see strangers and think my blood hasn’t changed anything about their lives, to assume they aren’t trapped or overwhelmed by the same fear as I am. I don’t think I realized just how damaging that time was in this specific way. Social distancing is hard. People shouldn’t say it isn’t. It’s hard and honestly traumatic. I’m feeling so triggered by this need to stay inside and illness being the constant topic of discussion.

So in the wake of COVID-19, and having to stay home to flatten the curve and try not to spread the virus and because my lungs aren’t all that great, I have felt that same sensation of doom, or not being able to escape time x1000. Because now it’s not just me. It’s my family, my siblings and parents and partner and friends and the whole world. I can’t go out and think, “that person probably doesn’t hold the same worry that I do,” because chances are they do. I’m angry at the fact that I feel like a cancer patient all over again, that so many of those familiar feelings of helplessness and sadness are coming back. Because I’ve worked so hard to let those go. And it’s just. A scary time I think. For everyone. But the fact that I can’t wrap my head around seeing this end, at least for my treatment there was some sort of timeline- this on the other hand does not. We just have to ride it out. And I’m hoping it ends soon.

And to get a little more personal, there’s also something to be said about the fact that for so long the only consistent touching I’d get would be from doctors and nurses and not all of it was pleasant. In the end it left me feeling like an exposed nerve, paranoid and willing to lash out at the slightest touch. For a while after treatment I hated being touched, because for so long it felt like I was just meat to be dealt with, with little dignity or gentleness. Socially isolating from someone that’s been providing that for me is strange and just sad.

All the resentment and fear and hurt from my time as a cancer patient is bubbling up, and I’m trying to move through it by having grace for myself, being patient with my feelings and reminding myself the world still isn’t ending. The loneliness is sharp, even with my family under one roof, it’s difficult. I didn’t expect to feel this way, like I was a cancer patient again but I do. And I’m sad about it, and angered. And very much triggered. It’s not pleasant being bombarded in your head with memories and feelings from one of the worst times of your life.

I never really know how to end posts, but to anyone who’s currently dealing with cancer or is a survivor and anything that I said resonated with you just know- I see you. I know. It’s hard. I know this time of quarantine is bringing up so much unpleasantness. Be kind to yourself. Breathe. We are okay. The world is not ending even though it feels like it is. We are still in control of our lives and of our choices. I hope we choose right. To check in with our friends and family. To stay safe and to practice social distancing. For us whose bodies went through some intense cancer shit, for those whose bodies are still going through that intense cancer shit, for those for one reason or another their bodies are fragile, for everyone. Social isolation is triggering and so hard. We deserve and need to care for ourselves and others. We are not alone, sending love and gentleness your way.

Also fuck capitalism and the mess it’s made of this situation and so many others. :)

#hodgkin's lymphoma #theunkillablebitchseries #remission #quarantine #cancer survivor #life #health #community #love #family

2 notes · View notes

an-unknown-writers-world · 5 years

Text

Breakthrough ~ Penetración

Summary: Read comes home to Santo Padre after 7 years away; longtime family friend of the Reyes’ - comes to a fight night/ bonfire with the club. Angel and the reader have a heart to heart about things; she tells him the truth about her being gone and why she came home. (Crappy summary, lol - I swear I’ll get better at these.)

Warnings: Angst, If you squint there is a little bit of fluff towards the end. Heavy discussion of abuse and domestic violence. (crappy writing, maybe?)

Word Count: 4076 (Sorry - it got a little long and out of control)

A/N: I may not keep this story up - This is probably the most naturally flowing story I’ve ever written, probably because it hits too close to home for me. If you are domestic violence survivor I hope you know that you are strong, you are brave, you’re beautiful and you DESERVE to be loved.

The smell of bonfire, tobacco smoke, and barbeque filled the air. You sat next to the fire and sipped on the beer you had been brought by EZ. You’d gotten a call from him asking you to come stitch up Angel after his fight. You’d known the Reyes brothers since you were a teenager but hadn’t been around since graduating high school. You recently moved back to Santo Padre after escaping a bad situation. Momma had sent you to pick up a roast from Felipe one day when you’d first come back to town and that’s where you reconnected with EZ, you exchanged numbers and gave him a lame excuse of catching up after you’d gotten settled. Well it had been two months and you never called him.

EZ had coaxed you here after telling you about the last time Angel fought in the ring and someone stitched him up; he had complained for days that it was the worst stitches he’d ever had and that none compared to yours. Growing up with a brother who was just as reckless as the Reyes boys you often found yourself cleaning up and closing wounds as a teenager. You were nervous to see the older brother; you hadn’t seen him since you were eighteen and bailing out of town. You had a school girl crush on him growing up- he was the older one, mysterious and dangerous. But nothing ever came of it and you were certain he only saw you as the annoying little sister that was always there.

“You aren’t gonna watch the fight?” EZ asked coming to stand by you, a case of beer in his hands.

“Not all that interested in watching Angel get the crap beat out of him.” You said looking up at him.

EZ laughed his trademark smile gracing his face. “He’s not that bad. Better than when we were kids.”

“He must be practicing too much.” You said standing up.

“Come on,” he said, “I’m sure you can throw him off his game some.”

“Oh, shut up, EZ. Your brother doesn’t care that I’m here. I’m the annoying little sister, remember?”

EZ raised his eyes at you in surprise. “That’s not at all how he feels.”

You looked at him completely confused by his response.

“You two should talk before you decide to bail out of town again.” He set the case on the step leading into the building and pulled a beer out.

“How did you know I was planning to leave?” You asked as the two of you walked towards the ring Angel was getting his hands taped in.

“Our parents talk lot.” He said looking over at you. “Were you going to leave without saying anything?” He asked.

“EZ, that’s not,” You started before feeling defeated. “I just,”

“It’s okay, (Y/N). I don’t need an explanation. But he might.” EZ nodded towards Angel who was smiling at you.

You returned the smile. That’s when it hit you like a ton of bricks, when you called your mother asking to come back home all she could talk about was how excited the Reyes family would be. She didn’t say EZ or Felipe who you had been closest to, but the whole family.

You looked on as Angel danced against his opponent in the ring, this night was turning out to be more than you had prepared for.

“I haven’t committed.” You said watching on the fight.

You felt EZ’s gaze fall on you. “Why not? Oregon’s a good place, your mom said something about the capital building or something like that.”

“There is no place here for me. Mom has this whole new life that has no place for me, Felipe has you back, and you and Angel both have the club. Jake is gone – he only calls my mom three times a year, if she’s lucky.”

EZ didn’t respond at first, instead looked on at the fight as he calculated his response. You looked at Angel seeing the damage that had already been done. EZ was right, he had dished out just as much if not more than he’d gotten back. He would definitely need stitches in a few places though. The boys in the ring wrestled around each other, punches being exchanged at one point they were on top of each other on the ground exchanging blows. You weren’t against fighting, you had watched more than your fair share of boxing and UFC matches and enjoyed them. But it felt different when you knew and cared about one of them.

Finally, a gun shot went off stopping the match.

“Time to go to work.” EZ said, “But, (y/n) I want you to know there will always be a place for you here- in Santo Padre, the Reyes family, this club. Always.” He finished before kissing your check and walking off.

You took a deep breath trying to brush off the heavy conversation before interacting with Angel. Him and his opponent hugged it out in the ring as club members hollered different things at them; you tuned out everyone and suddenly found yourself wishing you had drank more before the fight had ended. Angel exited the ring and fist bumped two men you had been introduced to as Coco and Gilly before making his way to you.

“Mi dulce,” Angel smiled as he approached you.

Suddenly you felt it all – those same butterflies from when you were a teenager. His six-foot three-inch frame towered over your five-foot five-inch frame. With no regard to your physical bubble he wrapped his arms around you in a hug and swung you around. You giggled as he put you back down, his hand not leaving your waist.

“EZ told me you were coming to stitch me up.” He said looking down at you.

You smiled looking up at all the damage you were going to have to fix. “Apparently you complained about the last stitch job you got.”

“She certainly didn’t stitch me up like you do. I’m pretty sure I have a scar from it.” He said in a mock annoyed tone.

“Come on, before you bleed everywhere.” You said pulling out of his grasp to walk towards the house.

He followed closely behind you, aside from Felipe and EZ you hadn’t let anyone touch you since you’d been home. Not even your mother, the only reason Felipe and EZ got away with it was because you didn’t want to explain the anxiety their touch caused. As you entered the building with him in tow you realized you didn’t have that anxiety with him, there was no fear when he touched you.

“Baby brother, can you bring me a beer?” Angel asked behind you.

“Sure thing.” He said grabbing one and walking towards where you had just sat down.

The room was fairly empty, at the moment it was just the three of you.

“Do you need anything, (y/n)?” EZ asked.

“Will you bring me another beer too please?” You asked.

“You’re gonna screw up my stitches too, aren’t you?” Angel asked with a smirk as he sat in front of you.

“Har, har.” You said faking a laugh. “Angel, I could stitch you up in my sleep.”

EZ laughed and walked off to get you a beer

“Will you bring me ice for his eye?” You asked EZ before he came back.

“That bad?” Angel asked.

You raised an eyebrow at him, “Like you can’t feel that?”

He shrugged, “I’ve had worse.”

EZ set the beer and ice pack down on the table, “I’m gonna leave you to it. If you need help hiding his body, just let me know.” He said patting his brother on the back with a smirk.

“Thank you.” You said before taking a drink of the beer.

EZ kissed you on the top of the head and walked out. As soon as the door closed it felt like the whole atmosphere of the room changed. Trying to ignore the feeling, you pulled the gauze and the antiseptic from your bag and turned your attention to the man in front of you.

“EZ was right,” You said breaking the silence. “Your moves have gotten better since we were kids.”

He smiled under your hand, “I’ve had a lotta practice in the last seven years.”

“I’ve heard,” I said putting the gauze to the first cut.

He flinched at the contact.

“Your momma said that you had taken up boxing yourself.” He stated

You rolled your eyes, leave it to your mother to share. “Something like that.”

“Why the interest in fighting? You hated it when we were kids.” He asked.

You thought about a way to get out of answering that question truthfully. “I didn’t hate it as a kid. I just didn’t think it was a skill I’d ever need.”

“Why do you need it now?” Angel questioned.

Well, shit, you just opened that door wide open, you thought to yourself. You didn’t answer, instead, you turned back to your med bag and pulled out the butterfly band-aids for the smaller wounds. For the moment Angel didn’t push. He let you apply the band-aids in quiet.

“You know I never thought that I’d need these skills again.” You said with a broken smile as you started to suture his last cut. “Marisol and my mom used to tell me that it would be a needed skill as an adult.”

“How long has it been since the last time you had to use them?” He asked watching you.

“About three months ago.” You replied.

“The month before you came home?” He questioned.

“Yes, around there.”

“What happened?”

“I got clumsy.” You replied instinctively. “Done. Ice please.” You said handing him the ice pack.

Angel took it but searched your eyes before placing it to his own. You were regretting the conversation that just happened. Angel wasn’t dumb, regardless of how he’d like to act sometimes. You stood up and began to clean up the bloody gauze and take it to the trash. Washing your hands in the bar sink you watched the blood clean from your hands as you got lost in a trance. Angel’s gaze never left you as you moved around the room.

You watched the blood clean from your hands, scrubbing at it even after it was gone. You remembered back to the last time you had blood on your hands. It was three months ago when you had stitched up your own cheek and eyebrow. That was the night you had enough and packed a bag in the middle of the night. You were still scrubbing at the palm of your hand when you were startled by someone turning the water off from behind you.

“(y/n),” Angel said softly.

You shook your head pulling yourself back to reality. Turning around you were struck by how close he was to you. Grabbing the towel from the counter you wrapped your hands in hoping he would let it go.

“You’re good as new, you can go join the party now.” You said attempting a cheerful voice. “EZ said he’d take me home when I was ready, so I’m going to go find him.” You stepped out from in front of him and walked towards the end of the counter.

“How long?” Angel asked turning to look at you.

His question caught you off guard, turning to look at him. “How long, what?” You asked pretending to be confused. He wasn’t stupid, but you thought that it would take him a little longer to figure it out.

Angel walked towards where you were now leaning against the counter. He stopped just inches in front of you. “How long did he hit you?” He asked.

You could hear the suppressed rage in his voice, “Angel,” You whispered in defeat. “It’s over, I’m home now.”

“How long?” He pushed.

You hung your head knowing it was pointless to resist if you didn’t tell him it would be a matter of time before he’d ask your mom.

“Four years.”

“Damn it,” Angel shouted slamming his fist on the counter.

You jumped.

“Sorry.” He came to your side. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you.” He huffed out.

You stood there unsure of what came next.

“Why didn’t you call me?” Angel asked.

“I didn’t think I could.” You replied truthfully.

He looked at you, his brown eyes displaying all the emotions he was feeling – anger, ashamed, hurt.

“Angel I drove out of town with no intention of ever coming back. EZ was in prison for the rest of his life, my dad had just died, and I was offered a job eleven hundred miles away. I didn’t even say goodbye to you, Felipe or anyone. I just left one day.”

“I remember.” He said sadly.

“I didn’t mean to hurt you. I didn’t even think you’d care.” You said bluntly.

Shock covered his face, “You really didn’t know?” He asked.

“Didn’t know what?”

“Nothing, it doesn’t matter anymore.” He excused. “EZ said you’re leaving at the end of the week anyways.” He walked towards the table his beer sat on.

Just like that he iced you out. If there was one thing Angel was fantastic at; it was shutting people out in the blink of an eye.

“EZ is wrong, he didn’t have all the facts.” You said turning to watch him walk away.

“What are those facts?” Angel asked picking up his beer.

“I was offered a job in Oregon, I haven’t taken the job.” You shifted on your feet and pulled yourself up to sit on the bar. “There is no reason for me to stay here Angel. My mom, your dad and brother, even you all have moved on with your lives. I have no place here anymore.”

Angel shook his head, not looking at you. You thought about what EZ had said during the fight.

“If I’m wrong Angel,” You started but stopped mid-sentence.

He looked up at you, his eyes giving it all away. “You are.” He answered bluntly.

You said nothing but sat there waiting for an explanation. You couldn’t stay in this town without knowing for certain what you were staying for. Angel closed the distance between the two of you; he came to stand between your legs as you sat on the bar.

“You belong here.” He said softly, “Right here, within arm’s reach. Where I can see you and protect you.”

He turned away and stepped out of your grasp and paced. “Pops said something about when you came home; your arm was in a cast, cuts, and stitches on your face. He said that you told him it was an accident, but your mom shook her head behind you. It bothered him, the look in your mom’s face. He made EZ and I promise we’d keep our eyes out for you.” He paused his pacing and looked at you. “I couldn’t let myself believe that happened to you. You’re the strongest woman I’ve ever met, I couldn’t let myself believe that we failed you and let you be in that position. Or believe that you wouldn’t have called for help.” He took a deep breath as he continued with his testimony. “I should have come to you that day, I should have told you I knew. Told you that you’d be safe here, that I’d never let anything happen to you.”

He came to stand in front of you again. This time he wiped the tears that were falling from your face. “I should have told you before you even left that I love you.”

“Loved.” You said softly.

Angel looked at you confused.

“You loved me before I left.” You let out a deep sigh and closed your eyes, tears still flowing slowly down your cheeks. “You can’t love me now. I’m just shattered pieces of a girl held together by books and booze.”

“That is where you are wrong, mi amor.” He said placing a finger under your chin to draw your attention to him. He held your face in his hands, his thumbs gently wiping at the tears. “You are a survivor, the strongest of the strong.”

“Angel,” You whispered, more tears threatening to brim over.

The front door opened and EZ walked in.

“Oh,” He stuttered. “I’ll leave.”

Neither of you said anything as he turned around and closed the door again quickly.

You leaned your head forward, resting it on Angel’s chest. His arms wrapped around you and his hands splayed out on your back.

“Stay.” He said softly. “I need you to stay.”

Your hands grabbed on to his shirt as you looked up at him. You felt broken to your core, but your heart still longed for the man in front of you, the man you knew and loved as a teenager.

“I’ve loved you since you were a pesky teenager always getting me in trouble.” He said smiling down at you. “Nothing’s changed.”

You reached up and laced your fingers through his hair and pulled his face down to yours. Without a second thought his lips found yours; his lips were warm and smooth against your own. The kiss was deep and full of need and love. Tears continued to fill your eyes, they were joyful for the acknowledgement of the man in front of you and sorrowful of all the misunderstandings between you.

He broke the kiss but kept you held close to him.

“I love you too.” You said softly, looking up at him. “Ever since I was a teenager.”

He smiled and kissed you chastely. You buried your face in his neck as he held you close to him. You wanted so badly to shut him out and run away but you knew it was pointless. No matter how many times you left Santo Padre, as long as Angel was here, you’d come back. You were foolish to have left him in the first place.

“Angel,” You said pulling back to look at him. “I need to tell you this.”

“Anything.” He said looking down at you.

“I’m scared.” You professed. “I’m going to try and ruin it, I’m probably going to say a lot of shitty things when you get to close; at some point, I’ll probably even try to run.”

“I know.” He acknowledged. “That much hasn’t changed.” He smirked.

“Rude.” You said smiling back at him. “But, I’m serious. I need you to know that I want to make this work. But you scare the shit out of me.”

He laughed, “That’s love querida. You can fight and push and even run. I’m still going to be here. But this time if you run, I’m going to come after you. I should have in the first place.”

EZ opened the door again, “I have to interrupt, I’m going to get killed out here if I don’t bring more beer out soon.”

You and Angel both laughed.

EZ smiled at the sight of the two of you interlaced. “I told you to talk to him before you left.”

Angel looked between you and his baby brother slightly confused.

EZ winked at you before opening the door with another case of beer, you mouthed the words thank you back to him.

“What’s that about?” Angel asked.

“Apparently your brother has known we were in love with each other since we were teenagers.”

Angel shook his head. “The kid never keeps his mouth shut, how come he never told us.”

You shrugged. “EZ’s a good kid, probably didn’t want to see either of us hurt. I mean you were kind of a man whore when we were younger.”

“Ouch.” He said.

“Did I hurt your ego?” You laughed.

“Nah, but I had to let you think you did.” He smiled. “Come on, I want to introduce you to everyone.”

You nodded at him, he bent down to kiss you one more time before helping you down off the counter.

You grabbed your beer and walked towards the door with him; your arms around each other and you pulled tightly into his side.

“What are you going to tell them?” I asked looking up at him.

“That you’re the love of my life and I’ll stop being such an ass now.”

You laughed.

“I’ll tell them the truth.” He answered pulling the door open. “You are my love, my life and someday my wife.”

You looked at him questioningly. “Angel you can’t just tell people that.”

“I can if you say yes.”

You were still confused. “Are you saying you want to marry me?”

The two of you stood on the porch of the house, everyone he knew and cared for out in front.

“I’ve lost you once mi amor. I can’t lose you again.”

Your eyes began to water all over again, this time for a whole new reason. You put your beer on the railing and wrapped your arms around his neck and kissed him. It was deep and needy, full of seven years of passion, need, and love. His arm wrapped tightly around your waist holding you to him.

A man cleared his throat next to the two of you causing you to break the kiss.

“Angel.” The man said.

“Bish, sorry.” Angel said pulling back to look at you. “(y/n), this is Bishop, our club President.”

You reached your hand out to shake his. “Nice to meet you, sir.”

“Oh please, call me Bish. It’s nice to finally put a face to the name we’ve heard so much about.” He said shaking your hand.

Bishop looked between the two of you, it was clear by the look on his face that he was questioning the dynamic.

“You can tell him.” You looked at Angel with a smile.

“Is that a yes?”

You nodded.

“Bish, I’d like you to meet my fiancé.” Angels face lit up with pure joy at the word and Bishops face seemed to mirror his own.

The man you just met enclosed you in a tight hug, unsure what to do – you hugged him back. He kissed you on the cheek as he pulled away.

“I’m so happy for you, really.” He said looking at Angel. “I owe the prospect a hundred bucks.” He said smirking.

Angel and I looked at each other. “Ezekiel Reyes! Get your ass over here!” You yelled looking away from the men next to you.

“I like her spunk,” Bishop said to Angel.

You turned to see both of their smiles.

Maybe, just maybe you’d be able to find a fit into this family after all. Besides, what’s meant to be will always find a way to be. And it was becoming evident to you that you were always meant to be a part of the Reyes family.

“I’m going to go find your brother and possibly kill him. Help me bury the body?” I asked with a smile.

“I think Pops might have an issue with that. He loves you, but that’s his kid.” Angel smirked.

“Guess we’ll see.” You turned to walk away but Angel caught your hand pulling you back.

Bishop laughed and disappeared into the house. Angel kissed you.

“I’ve got seven years of these to make up.” He said smiling.

“We have a lifetime to make them up.” You said kissing him again.

“Let EZ live through the night.” He said pressing his forehead to yours. “I have a different idea for tonight.” He kissed you again.

You pulled away and smiled at him.

“Come on.” He said leading you through the crowd and to his bike. You passed a man you had seen a few times who was missing most of his fingers. “Chucky, will you open the gate and tell Coco and Gilly I left.”

“Can dody.” He said cheerfully as he smiled at you.

You made a mental note to ask Angel about him later, but for now, you climbed on the back of his bike and held on for dear life. He started the bike and pulled out slowly as the gate closed behind you. As he drove you through the city you found yourself thinking about how rapidly the night evolved. The man you’d been avoiding since you came home had learned the secrets of your passed and asked you to marry him all within an hour of seeing him. Some may think it’s crazy; but as Angel pointed out – it’s just love.

Thanks for reading!

Also thinking about tagging those who’d like to read regularly. If you’d like to be tagged- send me an ask <3

Work also available on Ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17377004

Current Tag List: @starrynite7114

#angel reyes #angel reyes x reader #Mayans #Mayans mc #mayans fx #mayans imagine #clayton cardenas #this is terrible #i don't know if I'll keep this up #this may have gotten too personal #An Unknown Writers World #An Unknown Writers World writes

416 notes · View notes

pruebopruebapruebe · 4 years

Text

30 days of autism acceptance 2020 part 5

Day 21. Talk about comorbid conditions. Do you have any other disorders commonly related to autism? Were you misdiagnosed as something else first?

Ufff... tbh I think that some comorbid conditions are, in fact, natural responses and adaptations to daily life in todays world. Al final me da la impresión que todo esto consiste más en patologizar a la gente cuya biología le impiden adaptarse fácilmente al sistema de mercado global actual y al estilo de vida social que conlleva.

I am not diagnosed, but probably I got adhd and ocd [déficit atencional y trastorno obsesivo compulsivo].

No exactly, but they diagnosed me with depression... And one therapist hint to bipolar disorder [I told him about autism but I recognized the language he used in next sessions as concepts from bd].

Well I was depressed, but that was just a symptom, I think. They were on the right track, though.

Day 22. Talk about autism parents. How do you feel about this section of the community? Do you feel as if they speak over you? Do you find the term ‘autism parent’ rude or offensive?

I have not come across such kind of people, but I have hear about a problem with parents that make autism about themselves, I don’t know if this question refers to them. If that’s the case, I think this people doesn’t understand autism at all and I even think that some of them and/or relatives must be undiagnosed autistics themselves, because, you know

I can’t answer the two last questions because I don’t have enough sources, but if they are what I just described, then yes, I feel they speek over someone, but not me, I am an adult and have a supportive and educated family, a career, health and resources. I think they speak over their children, and that makes me even angrier, because they are persons, human kids, and depend on these people. I yet don’t understad what does “autism parent” mean as a concept so I can’t comment on that.

Day 23. Talk about your living situation. Where do you live? Do you live alone or with other people? Are you happy with your current living arrangements?

I live in the capital city of my country. I don’t have any problem of housing and I probably would not have never or not for a long time, since both my parents sold their souls to banks to have their own houses (and since they are divorce that’s two houses) and none of them would let me be on the streets even if I were 50 with a kid and unemployed.

I live with my two mothers and one of my sisters.

I am happy, but I know that eventually I’ll need my own place. I would like to buy something from the start instead of renting because at the end is the same money. Also i need a job cause right now I’m not studying nor working. I just don’t now what to do D:

Day 24. Talk about the stereotypes and misconceptions that neurotypicals and allistics have. What stereotypes have you heard about autism? How do you respond to people who have incorrect stereotypes about autism? What kind of things should people not say to autistic people? What’s something you wish NTs/allistics knew about autism?

Today I heard some comments from a friend of the family (who is a doctor) and it was all like “yeah mildy asperger tbh I think y’all are more OCD”.

Stereotypes are bad and lead to harmful stuff like more people going undiagnosed.

I have heard that we lack empathy by default [”yeah and empathy towards us, what about that, u b*tch” are the kind of things I want to respond], that we can not get hints or be social or have a group of friends or “ordinary” special interests, and other stuff like that because at the end it all depends on the person and how they express their interests, personality and ideas through their actions on the environment, and their relationship with others, and all of this under different circunstances and with different sets of habilities and limits determinated my time, space and -overall- chaos.

I try to not get made and not engage in any kind of discussion about the subject.

There are a lot of weird things to say. “You need to behave/control yourself”. No, I don’t “have to” behave/control myself. I have to keep a balance in our interactions and stay in your zone and do the job to bring you to mine and guide you while you stay on your zone without helping me and coming just sometimes to my zone. Idk if that makes sense so I’ll try it again: I have to translate all the time between your language and mine, and you take for guaranteed that I do speak your language and that I do have to speak your language and that is your language the one that’s the correct, good one. In that scenario, "control yourself” is the same as “speak the only language, my language”. Still, I get where this kind of comments come from. I understand. And sometimes these comments are fair. “You always have the last word”, I think this is a mix of an adaptation to abuse through life and the fact that the true and facts are important for us and we need to get the facts straight + maybe some RSD if you got ADHD [or somehing else along these lines], so we fail to come to realize that, in that situation, facts and the true doesn’t matter, but feelings and relationships, so while the other person is fighting over what they felt, we tend to talk about who is right.

They should know that our mind is not defective, but different, and that affects everything.

Day 25. Talk about meltdowns/shutdowns. Do you have them? How often? What are your triggers?

I had some strong meltdowns before knowing about autism and didn’t have a name for them or any clue to understand them and protect myself. I also had shutdowns and even if they sometimes got me in troubles, I didn’t really hate them... It just felt “like me”.

I do have them, both meltdowns and shut downs. I go through meltdowns and it looks like a little crisis and I can hide in my room if is not too bad. I do have shut downs sometimes when I’m tired but tbh i like the feeling of surrender that comes with them.

[Surrender? Is that the feeling? Or it feels “like”, “similar to” surrender?].

The shut downs can be once a week or maybe more, and meltdowns after enough stress to drain my self, and I can’t really give an average for month or year cause it’s more about how much I’m asking my body and mind to go through at the time.

My triggers are usually a hard, long, stressful day that leads to social misscomunications that leads to conflict that leads to me doing some kind of mental short-circuiting which leads to te meltdown.

#30daysofautismacceptance #autism #texto

1 note · View note

connan-l · 5 years

Text

Those Left Behind

Fandom: The House in Fata Morgana Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warning: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationship: Georges Bollinger & Giselle’s Family Summary: Years after his brothers’ deaths, Georges decides to go visit the family of the young woman who had supposedly lived at the cursed mansion with Michel. Why though, he is not sure himself.

Content Warning: Discussion about grief and death. Vague allusions to Michel's past abuse, Giselle's sexual assaults and all the bad stuffs in general that took place in Door 7.

________________________________________________________________

Link on Archive Of Our Own

________________________________________________________________

Notes: I've always been a little disappointed that we know almost nothing about Giselle’s family. I wish we'd been given a bit more information about them... I mean, we don't even know their names. If you named that asshole Amédée, you could've named Giselle's mom and sister too, Novec. I understand that they didn't have as much importance in the narrative as Michel's family, but I feel they still would've been great to flesh out Giselle's character even more. She is the main heroine, after all.

But in any case, I wrote this because I’ve been curious about what must’ve become of them after Giselle took on the role of the Maid. Her mother and sister spending the rest of their lives without ever knowing what truly happened to her is pretty sad…

It was also interesting to write Georges in the aftermath of Michel's death. I made him a lot more... mellow in it, which might seem a bit out of character, but I was thinking that it'd make sense, with him being older and having to deal with his brothers' deaths and his remorses.

There is brief mentions of the short stories The Painting's Ramblings and III. Boy Meets Girl.

Also, this takes place in 1106, so Georges is fourty and it is two years before his own death, and six years after Michel's death.

________________________________________________________________

The streets were pretty empty. There were a few middle-aged women here, some kids playing with a ball there, but otherwise, they seemed almost completely devoid of people. Devoid of sounds. Maybe it was because of the gray sky and the thick clouds that threatened to break down in a heavy rain at any seconds now. It certainly wasn’t a beautiful day at all; not a day anyone’d choose to randomly stroll the capital's streets. Yet, Georges had felt the need to go out now — felt it had to be today, otherwise he’d never do it.

It was a day where he didn't have much to do, anyway. Although, if he was being honest... he had been relatively free since more than a decade already. He still had some work as a painter, of course, but this had diminished with the years, and albeit the fact he was still officially the head of the Bollinger family, it had been a long time since he had actually bothered himself with any business related to it. Instead it was his wife, the beautiful Aimée and her eternal smile, who took care of it — and she had done so ever since they got married about eighteen years ago now. It had been a gradual thing. At first, she would only bring him drinks and give him some advices here and there; then when things started to get too hard or frustrating for him, she'd told him to go sleep and to leave it to her; and before he even knew it, Aimée had the entire control of their family's affairs. Obviously Georges had been reluctant about this at the beginning — he had tried more than once to get things back in his hands, but every time Aimée would assure him that everything was perfectly fine, that she could absolutely handle all of that by herself. And, well, to say the truth... she was right.

Georges may not be the kingdom's brightest person, but he still could easily see how extremely intelligent and clever his wife was. Never had the Bollinger family been as rich and influent than now under her leadership. She was more than capable to be in charge of everything; be it finances, politics or otherwise — Georges would even say she seemed to have been born for that. She was infinitely more skilled and smart than he could ever hope to be — infinitely more than even his father or grandfather had been in her place before her. She had a gift to rule and manipulate people, and if he was being honest, it was a little scary. The only thing holding her back was her gender — and Georges could only imagine how much more terrifying she would have been had she been born a man.

So, after a while he ended up letting her do as she pleased — even if it wasn't actually to the taste of everyone. Although he was technically the face of the Bollinger household, nearly all of the nobility was aware of who was truly pulling the strings, and a lot of them didn't like that. That was only to be expected — a man leaving all of the truly important work to his wife was unthinkable, outrageous. People openly looked down on them sometimes. Georges couldn't even remember the number of inappropriate remarks Aimée had gotten, both subtly and unsubtly telling her she would be better off at home taking care of their children. But Aimée never seemed to mind it — she only smiled politely, and continued to do as usual as if nothing happened.

Georges didn't care much about the condescension either. He had never liked doing all of those boring and annoying family business — always thought Dee would have been a better head for the house, or hell, even Michel. He'd rather concentrate on his one true passion: painting. Which was exactly what he had done for the last twenty years or so. Even if truthfully, painting had actually taken a back seat in the order of his priorities since the birth of his two sons, Séverin and Dieudonné.

Georges had never imagined himself as a father. He always thought the task to be way too hard — here again, both of his brothers would've been much better dads than him. But the day his first boy was born, it had been as if his entire world had been turned upside down. Suddenly, all of his prime concerns became completely dedicated to his children's lives — about what was their needs, their education, their tastes and hobbies.

The day Dieudonné, only three years old, had excitedly showed him his first ever painting — an abstract landscape with all the colors of the rainbow — Georges didn't think he'd ever felt as happy and proud in his entire life, and he had actually started bawling right on the spot while his tiny son had just stared at him curiously.

The boys both had pretty differing personalities — the oldest, Séverin, was a tough adventurous little guy — he loved spending most of his time outside, with a soft spot for animals, and was an outstanding equestrian, despite being only seventeen. The other one, Dieudonné, was one year younger than his brother and had a more gentle personality — while he also loved playing outside, he had taken more after his father, being instead more interested in art. The two of them were pretty close — Georges had made sure that no matter what might happen between them, they always knew they had each other's back. Made sure that they don't make the same mistakes he had made with his own brothers.

In general he spent a lot of time with his kids — maybe it was, in a way, to really set him apart from his own father, who had always been extremely distant and too taken by work to allow himself a lot of time with his children. Aimée wasn't really fond of this, however — she had told him in mutiple occasions that she thought he spoiled them too much, that he was too easy on them — but Georges would honestly rather be close to his sons and "spoils them too much" than the opposite. Even if, lately, he had... some sort of tension with Sév. The boy had started to be quite rebellious and to spend more time with his mother rather than him. Georges wasn't very worried about this, though; he missed his son and the time where he had no difficulty getting along with him sometimes, yes, but he just thought it was something normal. Sév was a young man who was just on the cusp of adulthood, so there was nothing odd about him wanting to get away from his dad.

Georges sighed, his eyes surveying his surroundings. The more he walked through the shopping streets of Paris, the more the sky seemed to get grayer. He honestly worried that at this point it was going to rain soon. He hoped he'd be able to find what he was looking for before, though. Or rather, to find the people he was looking for. He was aware he actually had very little chance to find them — hell, for all he knew they could have moved out of the city a long time ago. From what he had heard, they did have money troubles, after all.

Still, he wanted to talk to them no matter what, so he continued to do his best searching by asking around, talking to all the shopkeepers he saw. He didn't have much chance, until he found an old man with a rough face and two small eyes as gray as the sky.

"Um, hi," Georges greeted him. "Is that okay if I ask you some questions?"

The man first eyed him strangely — probably because of his expansive-looking clothes, which wasn't really something the people here could afford. Georges grinned at him.

"I'm sorry to bother you," he continued. "But do you know if a merchant family lives around here?"

"You'll have to be a bit more precise, my good sir, 'cause that's kind of almost half the families from the area."

Right. It was a shopping street, after all, so of course. "Yeah, um. I think they used to be a family of three ladies: a mother and her two children. One of the daughters was named Giselle."

As soon as Georges pronounced that name, the man's eyes brightened. "Ahh! Are you talking 'bout Margot's daughter?"

"Uh... maybe?"

"That's the only family that fit I can think of. Margot's husband died from a plague almost thirty years ago now, so she raised her two girls alone. She never remarried. The youngest's name was indeed Giselle."

"Oh. Then that must be them, yeah."

"I remember her well, Giselle. A sweet girl, always peppy and smiling. A shame, what happened to her."

Georges raised an eyebrow. "May I ask what happened to her?"

"What? Ya don't know?" The man asked, then scratched his head. "Well, one day she started working for some noble's house and... disappeared. There was a lot of... unsavory rumors about her that spread around a while after that... To tell you the truth, it's a bit unclear what happened to her exactly... Some say she was killed, other that she ran away. In any case, she just never came back home."

As Georges had expected, the man didn't give him much more information than what he already knew, but he still thought it had been worth trying.

"Her mom and big sis live over there, two streets below in a small house," the man said while gesturing to the left. "It's just the two of them ever since Giselle's gone."

He crossed his arms and sighed. "The eldest was supposed to marry some rich guy at one point, but in the end the wedding was cancelled. They both loved each other, but she was just a poor merchant lass and didn't have enough money for the marriage to go through... and with the rumors about her sister... Sad story, really."

"I... see," Georges simply said, as he wasn't sure what to answer to that. "Well then, thanks. Good bye."

He waved at the man, then turned around and started walking again, following the instructions he had been given. He made his way through the city's streets, eyeing the rare passerbys and the modest houses with a kind of nostalgia. It had been a while since he had just strolled through Paris like that — especially since he had stopped taking as much work as before. And even then, the people who commissioned him were mostly just nobles or rich bourgeois, so he very rarely adventured himself in the poorer districts. This part of town was far from being the slums — but it was still a lot less wealthy than what he was usually accustomed to.

In fact, he thought that the last time he came around here was... that afternoon when he was still just a teen and where he had taken Michel outside dressed like a boy, without telling it to anyone, not even to Dee. Georges vividly remembered that day because of the heart attack he almost had when he lost Michel for a few hours. Now that he thought about it, that had been... probably the only time where Michel had went into the city like that, as their mother always refused to let him out of the house. The only other time he had been outside after that was for... going to that mansion. Even though there had been so many other things Georges had wished to show him...

But this peculiar trail of thought tended to send him spiralling into interminable sadness and self-hatred, so he decided to stop thinking about his brother altogether for now.

As he kept walking, the road became more and more narrow, until finally, he managed to reach a house that fitted the description he had been given. Just like the man had told him, it was a small, humble house — not old or decrepit or anything, but certainly far from being a wealthy residence. He thought it looked a little bit cramped to live here for what had initially been a family of four... even though they had only been two for a few years now.

Lost in thoughts, it took him some times to notice he wasn't actually alone here and that there was another presence not far.

A woman was on the porch. She seemed to be at least a decade younger than him — in her early thirties, probably. She had long, wavy black hair tied in a pony tail. She was currently extending the laundry on a small drying rack, plunging in and out of the basket in rhythmic, meticulous movements. Although Georges was only a few meters away from her, she didn't seem to have remarked him at all, being instead too focused on the wet clothes.

Georges watched her for a moment silently. He knew that he should try to talk to her... but he was hesitating.

The reason he was here in front of a strangers' house was because of something that had happened a few months ago. He was with Sév, helping him out with his studies, until he decided to go search an old mathematics book that was in his former father's room to teach his son something. After Antonin's death, Aimée had been the one to take care of his belongings, and she had almost thrown and given away everything. Her cold attitude regarding this had surprised Georges, as she had always seemed close to the head of the Bollinger family. He and Dee had still managed to save a few things, and since then Antonin's room have been left empty, pretty much abandonned. It was only used to stock some things from time to time.

When Georges entered in the dim and dusty bedroom, he started to tamper with his dad's things unceremoniously and inadvertently made an ancient stack of papers fell on the floor. All while swearing, he gathered the pages... and then one of them caught his eyes. It was... a sort of old official document, describing the firing of some maid who had worked for their family because of a mistake she had made. She had been exiled to a mansion to expiate said fault... This didn't interested Georges in the slightest, until he noticed which mansion this maid had been send off to.

It was the same place where Michel himself had been exiled.

A chill ran through Georges' back as he intently continued to read the document. The maid's name was Giselle, and she was a young woman who came from a relatively poor merchant family — unusual thing, as normally the maids working for their family were abigails who themselves came from pretty well-off households. Why would their family employ some run-of-the-mill town lady? There was something off about all of this, but as Georges kept reading, suddenly he remembered.

He didn't think he had ever actually met in person this woman, but he certainly had heard her name a few times before. It had been about seven years ago, maybe — some sort of scandal had blow up within their family. Their father apparently had an affair with a maid. This had been kind of a shock to Georges at the time — even if, retrospectively, it shouldn't have. His parents' relationship had degenerated more and more over the years, until they almost didn't even talk to each other — things having been made even worse with Lydie's illness eating away at her. Rumors of the maid having seduced the head of the Bollinger house while seeking his richesses and status spread around, and so the woman was quickly condemned for adultery — but then Antonin intervened. Instead, she was just sent into exile, at the same mansion were Michel lived — though, of course, that had been something their father ignored.

Georges recalled Dee panicked a little upon learning this, and in the end he told him he had secretly sent a letter to the young woman so that she'd take care of Michel as his servant. And then, none of them heard any more about it — that was, of course, until Antonin died, and that... Michel was sentenced to death. Which Georges only heard all about after everything had been settled. He had learnt about the letter Michel had sent to their mother, the assault on the mansion and finally his brother's death only afterwards.

He hadn't even been able to read that letter — the last letter his little brother had written — until a long, long time after Dee's death. Because everything... was just too painful. He still had it now; carefully folded in a small box in his room, that not even Aimée or his sons had the right to touch. And he had memorized every word drafted on it — Michel's determined claim of his identity, his demand of being accepted as such by them... and him announcing that he was in love with a woman.

He hadn't mentioned the name or any more detail about his beloved, but there was only one woman who Michel could have fallen for — the only other human being who had been sent in exile with him. So it wasn't a stretch to assume that this maid Giselle... had been the one he was talking about.

Georges now remembered the smile that had unconsciously sprout on his face upon reading this, and then the overwhelming sorrow that had followed. His little bro being in love should have been something special; something worth celebrating — and in normal circumstances, Georges would have definitely spent days teasing Michel about it and would have done and said things pretty embarrassing to him. But when he finally read that letter, Michel had already been dead since a long time ago. So instead the only emotions left in him were sadness and guilt. His thoughts then had been full of conflicted feelings and mostly about his brothers, thus that maid had completely faded from Georges' grieving mind.

He didn't think Dee said anything about a woman when he attacked the old mansion with the other knights. He didn't say much about anything, actually — which, given how Georges kept hurling insults at him and practically jumped at his throat, wasn't surprising. But, then...

What had happened to her? Did she ran away somehow? Did she came back home, to the capital? Or did she die there in the mansion with Michel?

For some reason, these questions wouldn't leave Georges' mind. He kept obsessing over this woman — his brother's lover, the last person who had been at his side before his death. So, he decided to make some research about her. He asked the old servants of the house, and when he questioned the head maid who had served them for about ten years now, she grimaced. Manifestly, this wasn't a story she looked back on fondly. Still, she told him what she recalled of this Giselle — about how she was an upbeat and hardworker person, albeit being inexperienced and a bit clumsy. She didn't know what happened to her after her departure, but in any case, it seemed she never came back to Paris. She mentioned that her family kept harrassing the Bollinger house for months afterwards, wanting to know what had happened to Giselle, and they were only given the explanation that she had been exiled for a mistake she made. Although Antonin kept sending some money to her family even after her exile — maybe out of guilt. But they ended up refusing and cut off all ties to the Bollingers, so he still stopped shortly after.

In other words, there was no concrete answers to what had happened to her. It was as if... she had just vanished. Stopped existing. It was kind of a scary thought. But the more Georges learnt about her, the more he wanted to know. He didn't know why exactly he was drawn to her like that. Maybe it was because... he felt that if he could know more about this woman, maybe he could know more about Michel. Maybe he could know more about the life of the brother he neglected for more than ten years.

A part of him thought that he shouldn't do that. That he didn't even had that right.

You abandonned him. You did that to him.

But his curiosity was stronger than that.

And it was how, in this ugly day, he had decided to survey the shopping streets of Paris in search of this mysterious young woman's family. However, he hadn't been able to find much about them; only that they were composed of her mother and older sister, and that they were merchants.

Now, against all odds, he had actually managed to do it. He had been able to find the house of his brother's beloved. And now, what? What was he supposed to do? Talk to the woman on the porch? How? To be honest, he hadn't actually thought that far ahead. He started thinking this had been a bad idea, that he should get back home — but at this moment, the lady raised her head.

As she did, two bright, beautiful jade eyes pierced him.

"Hello?" She said hesitantly.

She was obviously very perplexed by this unknown man who had been staring at her from afar quietly. The last thing Georges wanted was for her to think he was a creep, so he hurried to grin in the most friendly way he could.

"Uh, hi!" He greeted her while scratching his head. "Hey, um, sorry to bother you. I'm Georges."

The woman — who he guessed was probably Giselle's big sister — cocked an eyebrow and crossed her arms. "Okay...?"

"Uh, right. Don't worry, I'm not a bad guy or anything."

"Sounds like something a bad guy would say," she replied without missing a beat.

"I-I'm really not! I just wanted to know... are you, uh, the daughter of a merchant lady named Margot...?"

She still looked intensely dubious and on the fence, but nodded despite it. "Yeah, Margot's my mother's name. What is this all about, Georges?"

"Well... uh..."

Georges sighed. What was that all about? That was a good question. To be honest, he wasn't sure himself. What did he expect to see, coming here? What did he expect to learn? Did he think knowing more about that maid would... give him some closure regarding Michel? Regarding Dee? After all these years, all these mistakes?

How ridiculous. Then again, him being an idiot wasn't something new.

The woman's frown in front of him deepened the more he stayed silent, so he finally started talking again while giving her an awkward smile. "I, um... it's gonna sound a bit weird, maybe, but... I am here because I wanted... needed to know more about someone. Someone... you used to know."

After hearing this, her expression kind of softened and she looked a little less hostile — instead, there was a clear curiosity and surprise shining in her green eyes. She was a really beautiful lady. Georges wondered how much her sister had looked like her. Did she have black hair too? The same pretty emerald eyes? Unfortunately, he doubted he would ever be able to answer these questions.

"Someone I knew?"

"About... seven years ago, I think, there was a young woman who worked as a maid where I live," he continued. "Her name was Giselle."

This time again, the woman's expression changed. But it was a way more radical change — her entire body tensed up visibly, her face lost its colors and her eyes widened.

"How do you know my sister's name?" She exclaimed.

"So she really was your little sister?"

"Of course she was! Th-That's not the point, how do you— Oh, wait... you said she worked as a maid to your place... No way... could it be you're from the Bollinger family?"

She almost spat the name with disgust, and Georges felt a disagreeable feeling engulf him. She was clearly angry — and so for a moment, he thought about denying it. Denying his identity, throwing away his name, running away from this angry, hurt woman who glared at him, getting as far away as he could from Aimée, from his house full of bad memories, from his dead brothers, from the guilt and the self-hatred, from his entire past and life as Georges Bollinger—

But as he continued to stare at the person in front of him, he felt as if her jade eyes pinned him on the spot and gave him no escape.

"I... am," he finally admitted.

It was obvious Giselle's sister already knew the answer before he even said it, but her face still contorted in cold rage.

"I have nothing to say to you," she said in such an icy tone that it sent shivers in Georges' back. "Go away."

She turned around, highlighting her message, and while Georges maybe kind of understood her reaction, he just... couldn't let it end at that.

"W-Wait a minute, please!" He said, grabbing her arm, but the woman brusquely released herself from his grip and glared at him once again.

"Don't you dare to touch me! I don't have to spare a single second for you."

"I-I'm sorry, I didn't mean to touch you," Georges apologized, and he meant it — he always had a tendency to act before thinking. "I just— I just want to talk with you. I won't take a lot of your time, I promise, just a few minutes—"

"Do you not understand what "no" means? I'm a busy woman, and I don't want to associate with you or your family in any shape or form anymore. So scram!"

"I... understand that... But please, at least hear me out first."

The woman's face became red with rage. Her eyes were not only angry now, they were outright hateful, and Georges honestly thought she was going to slap him. It wouldn't have been the first time he got slapped. Or punched. Albeit generally, Dee always interfered before things get too bad, even if he really didn't want to.

Dee wasn't here to save his ass anymore, though.

"I can't believe the gall you have!" She screamed. "Do you realize what you're asking me? You said you weren't a "bad guy," but you randomly show up at my house, want to force me to talk about my sister who disappeared years ago, and for whose disappearance your family is directly responsible! The Bollinger family is the one who took Giselle away from us, so if anything, you should tell us about her! So no, you have no right to ask anything from me, or even to put a single foot into our house!"

Georges felt frozen in place. Her words resonated in his mind, stuck in his brain. None of them were wrong, he knew that. They certainly were the ones who had exiled that maid because of a "mistake," and then made her "disappear" because Michel became inconvenient to them. Although her sister probably didn't know the last part, it wasn't wrong of her to assume the Bollingers were the cause of Giselle's misfortune...

“Clémence? Is everything all right?”

Suddenly, a voice called out from inside the house. Giselle's sister — "Clémence," it seemed — winced, then turned around to exclaim: “Yeah, it’s fine, Mom! Don’t worry!”

She then sighed, glared once more at Georges, and started talking again, this time in a quieter tone in order to not alarm her mother inside. "Now leave. Mom's old and she has a poor health, so the last thing I want is for some fool to stress her out."

Georges stared at her silently. He knew he should listen to her, that he should go. He knew that his family had irremediably hurt these people. That because of them that person had lost a sister. The words of the man he had met earlier came back to his mind, and he realized that she had also probably lost her fiancé too because of all of this. So he was aware that even if he never actually hurt them directly, or never even intended to hurt this woman or her family — the only fact of him being involved with the Bollinger house made him guilty by association.

But, even so...

"I'm sorry," he said.

Clémence blinked, incredulous. "What?"

"I'm sorry... for what my family did to you. For what... we did to your sister."

"And you think some half-assed apologies will make anything better?"

He chuckled lightly. "No, of course not... I know I can't do much to repair the wrong that has been done to you... I can't give you back your sister... but I... still wanted to apologize."

He paused. He didn't really know what he was saying, honestly; he just tried to bare his heart to her as much as he could.

"I had... a younger sibling too. And I made... a lot of mistakes, and did a lot of hurtful things to him... but I was never able to apologize to him for that..." He swallowed loudly. "Nor will I ever be able to."

Clémence looked at him. She was still wary and angry, but looked a bit calmer now.

"So... I'm not saying you have to forgive me or my family... I wasn't expecting it. I just... wanted to apologize. Sincerely."

She kept staring at him in the eyes, her expression unreadable. The cowardly part of me him wanted to look away, but he couldn't bring himself to. It would have felt... rude. Then finally, after some time, Clémence sighed and ran a hand in her black hair.

"They didn't even told us anything."

"Huh...?"

"When Gigi... got exiled. No one came to tell us anything." She snorted. "I guess some lowly merchants like us don't even register in rich nobles' minds, so why would they even bother?"

The resentment in her voice was palpable — and it hurts. She obviously didn't seem to want to tell him all of that, but she kept on talking anyway.

"When she began to work there, we already barely heard from her at all. But she was supposed to come see us during winter towards the end of the year. So when she didn't show up... we got really worried. I came all on my own at your house, and I almost had to fight for anyone to give me any answers as to what happened... and then finally a servant came to me. And you know what he told me?"

Georges didn't, but he could easily guess. Because he had heard all of the rumors that had been propagated about Giselle back then, even if he had paid no mind to it.

"That my sister was a "greedy whore" who "seduced" the head of the family. That she had been "rightly punished" and sent away in a place far away to atone for her "sins"."

She glared at him yet again so fiercely it was as if she was looking at that servant who had told her those things.

"What a load of bullshit! Gigi would have never done something like that. She was such a stupid airhead, never on earth she would've been able to "seduce" anyone! And the guy was going on and on about how he couldn't even tell me where she had been sent, or how I should just be happy that she was even alive at all!"

She was starting to get very worked up, and realizing this, she stopped for a moment, plunged her face in her hands and took a deep breath.

"Mom and I couldn't just leave it at that, though. So we kept coming there every time we could, asking for more answers. But every time we were just met by the same rubbish. Until one day..." Her voice trailed. "One day, about a year later, another guy came to me saying that, apparently, my sister had just... disappeared from the place she had been sent. That she would never come back anymore."

She laughed out loud. "Ridiculous, right? They were the ones who exiled Gigi, and yet they had lost trace of her somehow? They had— lost her? Don't make me laugh!"

Georges recalled the head maid mentioning something like that to him. However, he himself had never heard about merchant women going to visit the household frequently before... Though he guessed that maybe Aimée knew, and that she had just judged it unimportant to tell him, as she so often did...

“Do you know what it’s like?” Clémence asked bitterly. “To have a sister who just… just suddenly disappear? Not dead, not runaway, just… disappear. Gone. Without any explanation.”

He felt his throat tighten even more. He had the reflex to want to reply he knew, actually — that he knew what it was like to lose a sibling. To have a younger brother disappear on him — and an older one too. But he also knew that his situation and Clémence’s were radically different, and he had no right to compare his to hers.

She never actually let her little sister rot locked up in a room for two whole years. She never exiled her all alone in a mansion and then just forgets about her for a decade.

She never indirectly (killed her) caused her death.

“I’ve always known Gigi shouldn’t have gone work there.”

“What?”

“To your freaking household. I knew there was something shady about it. I just felt it,” she said. “I mean, who would propose a job as an abigail to some poor merchant’s daughter? It never made sense. Mom and I were against it at first. But Gigi, she… she was so enthusiastic about it. She kept repeating that it was an ‘once-in-a-lifetime opportunity.’ That ‘with the money she’ll make there, she’ll solve all of our problems’…”

She snorted. “‘Solve all of our problems,’ my ass. She was such an idiot…”

Clémence sniffled and rubbed her eyes with the back of her hand. Despite her harsh words, there was no anger in them, only… sadness. Maybe a bit of resentment, but it was decidedly not aimed at her sister.

In fact, she seemed almost about to cry.

"So, yeah," she continued. "If you ask me if I forgive you, then no, I don't. And I don't care much about your apologies, either. You can keep them."

Georges looked at her sadly. He had already guessed as much already. He realized now that this attempt at genuine apology had problably come off as incredibly self-centered from her persepctive, even though it had never been his intention at all. Georges always ended up hurting others without meaning to, even now that he was a middle-aged man, it seemed...

"Clém, what on earth is taking you so long? Oh..."

Finally, another woman appeared on the porch — the mother, Margot, Georges guessed. She was a small, plump lady who was clearly a lot older; her round face smeared with wrinkles and the few black locks that escaped from under her headscarf had some obvious silver streaks, but otherwise her eyes were of the exact same beautiful jade shade as her daughter’s.

Clémence bit her lower lip and looked annoyed — she manifestly had not wished for her mother to see Georges.

"Oh my... Who is this man, Clém?"

"No one. Just some lost guy. He was going to leave," she said, while glaring at Georges and making him very much understand that his presence was not wanted anymore. "Right now."

And Georges had no intention to protest anymore. He didn't know if he had gotten what he wanted. Probably not. But he felt like if he stayed any longer, it would only add salt to the wound. However, just as he was about to turn around, a hand grabbed his arm.

"Wait a minute, please," Margot said, at the surprise of both Georges and her daughter. "I cannot just let you leave like that... Who are you?"

Georges felt stuck. He threw a desperate look at Clémence, who instantly put a gentle hand on her mother's shoulder.

"I told you, Mom, it's no one. He was just lost."

"Clémence, please. I may not be all that young anymore, but I am not senile either. You've been talking with this man for a moment now, so he can't just be someone asking for his way."

Clémence sighed, understanding that she wouldn't be able to get her way out of this. The older woman looked at Georges and smiled sweetly — and she looked so adorable and charming that he was sure she was the kind of person who could win anyone's trust.

"I'm sorry if my daughter said anything rude to you, she tends to have a bad character with strangers."

"Mom!" Clémence exclaimed, offended, but her mother paid her no mind.

"My name is Margot," she continued in a warm voice. "And you are?"

"I..." Georges looked over at Clémence, as if he was waiting for some kind of permission. But she said nothing, only looking away in annoyance, so he had no other choice. "I am Georges Bollinger."

Margot didn't seem surprised or upset at all upon hearing his name. Maybe she had already overheard them talking before — which wouldn't be surprising given how loud they had argued up until now. But he was still nonplussed that not even her friendly smile seemed unfazed — it was especially jarring considering Clémence's extremely hostile attitude.

"Oh my, is that so," she simply said instead. "I am honored to receive the visit of such a noble person. That is very unusual."

Georges grinned back at her, as her smile was contagious, but in a more reserved way. He wondered if maybe she was being sarcastic, but there didn't seem to have any trace of bad faith in her words.

"So what could bring you here, Lord Bollinger?"

"That's, um..." Yet again, Georges looked at Clémence for some assistance on how to answer, but the woman seemed utterly determined to not helping him out at all.

"I was... I just wanted... to know a bit more about... one of the maids that worked for us some years ago..."

Finally, Margot's smile slipped away from her face and a more complicated expression formed in its stead.

"About Giselle...?"

Her face was painful to look at. She didn't seem... sad, per se. More like wistful. Nostalgic. But something in her green eyes was just hard to watch — it was the eyes of someone who had an old, horrible wound that had just been slowly reopened.

The eyes of a parent who had lost their child and tried to come to term with it, he realized.

This made Georges suddenly think about his boys. About Sév who loved animals so much and spent most of his time riding his favorite horse. About his little Dieudonné whose pale blue eyes shined like jewels whenever his dad would teach him about a new painting technique.

What if, one day… one of them were to get snatched away from him? If one of them were to die, or to just… disappear, like this young woman Giselle? To just vanish without any explanation?

The pain he felt at the idea was indescribable. If something like that were to truly happen, he didn’t think he'd be able to bear it. He loved his kids way too much — the simple fact of imagining them hurt was a sickening thought to him.

Never on earth would he be able to understand the awful way his parents had treated Michel.

Of course he didn’t understand it before either, but now that he was a parent himself, it was even less comprehensible. Yes, there were times where his kids could be annoying brats or act like true little demons, but even then Georges never had the impulse to do anything to cause them pain. How come someone could even imagine wanting to hurt their own child — want to kill them — was beyond him.

And he didn’t think anything could change that. Even if one of his sons were to suddenly tell him he wasn’t a boy, or that they were to do something truly atrocious like murder a person. He just couldn’t imagine stop loving them.

(Though, then again… he did hurt both of his brothers, even though he had never meant to…)

And yet, this was something that had happened to this woman. Seven years ago, her child had been snatched away from her without she had a say in the matter, and she didn't even know what had happened to her. If she was even still alive or dead. The more he looked at her, the more he felt an overwhelming guilt opress him, and the more he felt angry at his father. At himself, too, for never even having heard or dared to learn about this whole ordeal concerning that maid.

Margot's face was hard to look at for all sorts of reasons — but on the other hand, she didn't seem to have any troubles looking at him, as she kept on staring straight into his eyes with an odd persistence — as if she was trying to see something in there Georges didn't know existed. After some time, though, she turned around towards her daughter and smiled gently at her.

"Clémence, honey," she said in a sweet voice. "Could you please give us some moments alone? I'd like to talk a little with Lord Bollinger."

"What?" Clémence almost screamed, her eyes as wide as saucers. "Why would you talk to him?"

"Well, he said he wanted to learn more about Gigi, so I want to tell him about her," her mother answered innocently.

"Mom! He is from the Bollinger family!"

"I am aware."

"And you— you...!"

Georges thought for a minute Clémence was going to punch a wall in frustration — but instead, she just stomped her feet on the floor.

"Sure! Why not! Go talk to the asshole rich boy, whatever!" She yelled, before going inside her house and slamming the door behind her.

"Um," Georges muttered, uncomfortable. "I, uh..."

Margot turned toward Georges and smiled again. "I promise you she is not always like that. Usually she is a very sweet and bright lady, but she tends to get a bit defensive when her sister is concerned."

"I... I see..."

"Now, Lord Bollinger... Would you mind taking a little walk with me?"

Margot extended her hand towards Georges, all while smiling lovingly. Despite feeling a bit awkward and guilty, he still accepted it and offered her his arm.

________________________________________________________________

"Over here."

While elegantly holding his arm, Margot walked in a slow, tranquil pace, her steps soft but firm, and she brought Georges a few streets away from her house. They arrived at a large, clear square, where a small fountain flowed in the middle. It was a pretty ordinary, modest spot, and yet there was a kind of charming, cozy aura to it.

"I used to bring the girls here often when they were children," Margot continued. "I would sat on this bench, and watch them play around the fountain. They always ended up completely soaked at the end of the day!" She laughed softly. "And oh dear, there was even that one time where Clém completely pushed her sister into the basin. Gigi sulked and didn't talk to her for two weeks. It sure was something."

Georges didn't know what to say as the older woman reminisced the past, so he just silently listened to her. She went to sit on the bench she was talking about, and he imitated her.

"Tell me, Lord Bollinger..."

"You can just call me Georges," he instantly told her. He had never liked formality, even less being called "Lord."

Margot smiled. "All right then, Georges. Tell me... Do you have children?"

"Ah... yes, I do. I have two sons. Though... they're soon gonna be grown adults in very little time."

"Is that so... I've always thought being a parent was such a strange experience," Margot mused. "It makes your world suddenly revolve all around these tiny human beings. It's wonderful, but at the same time it can give you so much worry..."

Georges could absolutely relate to this. Becoming a father hadn't really changed his personality per say, but it had certainly shifted his entire life... For a moment, Margot stayed quiet, her gaze fixated on the small fountain. It seemed as if she was lost in her memories, when her daughters were still only young children, he supposed.

"When Hugues... my husband died, at first it was as if the entire world had died with him."

Her voice was suddenly at lot softer. She was almost whispering, but thankfully there was no other noise around and they were the only two people here, so Georges had no problem hearing her.

"My parents died when I was a teenager, and Hugues didn't have any family either, so after he passed away, there was only me. It's funny how when he was by my side, I had almost no anxiety at all as a mother, but as soon as I was left alone, it didn't feel like I'd be able to be a parent anymore. These girls were so young — only six and three years old — so how was I supposed to raise them on my own? How could I feed them and give them a roof over their heads? How could I protect these little girls against this world? It didn't seem feasible. But..."

She took a deep breath. "But then, I still remember it so vividly — that day Hugues died, I turned around and looked at them, and they were both here, standing and holding hands and watching me, and then I understood I wasn't actually alone. I was all they had now too, so I couldn't fail them. I had to manage something, somehow. So I worked as hard as I could, just so they could have a future. So they could live the life they wanted as best as they could."

Her gaze fell on her knees. Georges could only imagined how hard it must have been for a single mother to raise her two daughters alone. As someone who had been born into a rich and noble family and had been blessed his entire life, her situation seemed so far away from his own.

"But at some point, you know, these little girls started to grow up... and I had to realize and accept that it is impossible for me to protect them against everything. That I had to let go of them. This is something every parent have to do, right? It is normal. But even so..."

She swallowed. "Even so, it kills me to know I wasn't able to protect my own child. When I realized I would never see Giselle again... I felt like I had to go through what I lived with Hugues' death once more, but a lot worse. Because this time... it was this person I had raised on my own, that depended so much on me, that I had failed. It is so painful to come to term with the fact... that I wasn't able... to give her that happy life I so wanted her to have..."

Georges looked away, towards the fountain — which was a lot less harder to contemplate than the bereaved woman next to him. He couldn't do or say anything to console her, after all. He never even met the child she had lost. Didn't even knew about her until...

Suddenly, the letter Michel had sent to their mother just before his mansion was raided by the knigts came back to his mind. The last letter his brother had written. Georges still remembered the kind serenity that had emanated from it. Michel's writing had seemed as if... he was at peace with himself. A bit anxious, maybe. But nonetheless determined, sure of his own self, hopeful about his future. Of course, Georges hadn't been able to see him in person so he couldn't really confirm it, but while reading his words... he felt it was the first time he had felt his brother as open and comfortable with himself. And the principal change for that was probably...

The woman he loved he mentioned in the letter. Georges was only making assumptions here, of course; he couldn't assert all of this with certainty — hell, he couldn't even assert that the woman his brother mentioned loving was Giselle. But... it was what made the more sense, and what his heart was telling him too.

He looked over at Margot once again. She was still staring at the fountain, her eyes unfocused. He thought... that if her daughter had truly been Michel's lover before his death... then that it was something that he should tell her. Michel and everything surrounding him had become a taboo no one should mention in his house, and Aimée certainly wouldn't approve of him talking about it. He could still remember the stern talk she had given him when he had started talking to his sons about their late uncles in her presence. But Margot deserved to know — and honestly, at this very moment, he considered this older woman as a lot more important than his wife.

"Margot," he called her softly. "I need to confess something to you."

The woman raised her head and looked at him curiously. "Yes?"

"I... I had a brother," he began. "Heh, heh, well, I had two, actually. An older brother, and a little brother a lot younger than me. We were... kinda close, the three of us." His throat felt tight — but he still forced the words out of his mouth. "But, um... my little bro — Michel, his name was Michel — he was, uh... a bit special. Our parents didn't like that, and so because of this, when he was sixteen, we had to... send him away in a mansion."

Margot looked at him intently. She probably wondered why he was telling her all of this, and Georges couldn't really blame her for being perplexed.

"He lived here in exile for... about ten years," Georges continued.

"For ten years? All alone?" Margot inquired, a manifest concern in her voice.

"Yes," Georges admitted. "Well, that was, until seven years ago... when your daughter, Giselle, was also sent there."

"Ah... I see..." Margot brought a hand to her mouth. "So she had been sent to a mansion... They always refused to tell us where she was..."

"They... lived about a year together in that mansion. And... after our father's death, Michel sent us a letter... saying he wished to come back home. And that he..." Georges looked straight into Margot's eyes. "That he wanted to go home with his lover... a woman he had fell in love with."

Margot gasped upon hearing this, and her eyes widened. "Oh dear... You don't mean..."

"He never mentioned the woman's name, but... I do believe he was talking about your daughter, yes..." He stopped for a moment, hesitating, and after remebering the letter he finally added:

"And I do believe... he loved her dearly."

Maybe it was a bit presumptuous to say this as he had never seen the two of them with his own two eyes... but it was just his gut feeling. Margot didn't reply anything, she just stared at him with wide astonished eyes... and as much as he dreaded this, Georges choose to continue talking.

"However... like I said, Michel was... a bit different. Our mother considered him to be... an hindrance... so instead of accepting their return at the capital, they... we..."

Georges paused a moment, then took a deep breath.

"It was decided to send knights at the mansion to execute Michel."

This admission of the truth still hurts, even after all these years. Georges didn't think it'll ever stop hurting. He could be on his deathbed and still feel his heart ache whenever thinking about this.

Of course, he left Michel's gender issues out of the picture — he felt it would be rude to his brother to talk about it without his permission, and it wasn't a very important detail to mention in this very moment. He also choose to left out Dee's involvement in this — how he had actually been the one to kill Michel — for the same reason.

"I don't know... what happened to Giselle after that," Georges admitted. "According to... the knights who were there, they didn't find any women in the mansion... So maybe she escaped... but it seems more likely that she's also..."

He couldn't bring himself to end his sentence. Margot stayed a moment in silence. Georges wondered if maybe he shouldn't have said that after all, that maybe he had made her pain only worse...

Until he heard a soft laugh.

"Oh... Oh my, I see! So even in this situation... she still managed to find love..." She laughed again, but this time he heard a small hiccup at the same time. "Thank goodness!"

Georges felt lost. He was expecting her to be devastated at those news, but... instead, she seemed... relieved.

"Thank goodness...?" He repeated.

"I always..." Margot sniffled, some tears shining in the corner of her wrinkled eyes. "I always worried about what must've happened to Giselle after she was sent away from the Bollinger house... Wondering if she spent the rest of her life in pain... if she was being mistreated in some way... if she died all alone and miserable..."

She looked up at Georges. Despite the tears in her eyes, she was smiling.

"But you just told me she had a lover, right? If she was able to fall in love with someone, then that mean that even if she went through some hardships... she was still able to find joy. She was still able to find peace and be happy. This is..."

Margot closed her eyes, and brought her hands to her chest.

"This is a lot more than I could've asked for..."

Georges could sort of understand why she reacted this way. It must've indeed be a relief to learn that at least her daughter had been in love and happy at some point. But still, to him... something about this felt off. He didn't comprehend how she could still see all of this in such a positive light. He didn't comprehend why she seemed to have such a good time talking with him... despite him having indirectly caused so much damage to her and her family.

“I… don’t understand,” Georges admitted. “Are you not... angry at me? I just told you that Giselle... had likely been killed because of our family problems... and I am… I mean, I am from the Bollinger household…”

I am one of the people who took your daughter away from you, is what he didn’t have the courage to say out loud.

Margot looked at him and smiled sadly. There was a natural, genuine kindness in her eyes, something so gentle that it could melt his heart.

He felt like crying.

“I do not have the energy to be angry anymore,” she simply answered. “Clém is angry; this is how she copes. I don’t know if one day she’ll stop being angry. But to me, anger would accomplish nothing. I am still hurt, of course. I am still so sorry about what happened to Giselle... and about what happened to your brother, too... I still miss my little girl every day. But…”

She stood up, and looked over at the fountain. As if drawn to her, Georges did the same unconsciously.

"Instead of being angry or mournful, I just want to spend the rest of my days thinking that at least my children had a happy life. And what you just told me about Giselle... that was what I'd hoped hearing for the last seven years."

Margot once again turned towards him... and tenderly, she cupped his cheek in her hand; her smile wide and fond.

"So thank you."

Georges was pretty sure he was going to cry now; but for some odd reason, no tears actually came. He didn't know what kind of expression he had at this moment, but Margot stood on her tiptoes, wrapped her arms around him and pulled him down into a hug.

So he gently returned her embrace in silence.

________________________________________________________________

When he came back home at the Bollinger house, it was late in the afternoon. The sky was just as gray as it had been when he had left; yet there was still no rain. After their weird awkward hug, Georges had escorted Margot back to her home. The woman kept talking about her girls, and she also asked some questions about Michel — Georges assumed she was very curious about what kind of man her youngest child had fallen in love with.

He got another glare from Clémence before leaving, but they didn't exchange any words. She was still very clearly defensive towards him, though Georges didn't blame her at all. He supposed Margot was going to relate to her what he had just told her, and he hoped this would at least bring her some closure. The old woman also insisted for him to come back visit them sometimes. Georges didn't know if he would — but a part of him had already decided he'd try to help them out a bit by giving them some money. He was pretty sure Clémence was going to refuse any money coming from the Bollingers, but he still felt the need to do something for them, or at least try to.

Upon entering his house, he was greeted by a few servants, but saw no traces of his wife or his sons. He had no idea where Aimée could be at this hour, but his kids were probably in their rooms — or at least Dieudonné was. And sure enough, the boy was there, crouched down on the floor with a myriad of colorful paint cans all around him.

"Oh, Dad! Welcome back!"

As soon as he saw his father, Dieudonné smiled and run up to him.

"Where were you?" The teenager continued. "You suddenly disappeared without telling anyone. I was beginning to wonder if something had happened to you!"

Georges grinned and ruffled his boy's hair. "Sorry about that, buddy. I'm fine, I was just out in town. Are you alone here? Where's Sév?"

"With Mother. As usual," Dieudonné said, shrugging.

"I see..."

It was pretty normal for Sév to rotated around his mother lately, so it wasn't surprising at all. But for some reason, this time that worried Georges a bit — though he quickly dismissed these thoughts.

His mind was full of way too many things to concern himself about this for now. He couldn't stop thinking about his brothers, about his parents, about all the mistakes he had made, about this maid he had never met and who he didn't even know the appearance of, about Clémence's bitter glare and Margot's sad, gentle words.

"Dad? Are you okay?"

Dieudonné softly tugged at his sleeve, tilting his head curiously. Georges looked at him. The tiny human being he had raised himself.

And then, just like Margot had done earlier, he wrapped his arms around his kid and hugged him tightly.

"Wow! Hey, what are you doing, Dad?"

The boy seemed startled at first, and tried to get himself out of the embrace. Dieudonné wasn't as repulsed by physical affection as Sév was, but he still was very much a teenage boy and thus was often embarrassed when Georges did things like that. However, he stopped struggling when he noticed his father's shoulders were shaking slightly.

"Dad...? Are you... Are you crying?"

Georges didn't answer anything — instead he just burried his head further in his son's neck. The tears that had threatened to roll during the entire afternoon finally escaped him now. His thoughts went to Michel. To Dee. To the two women he had just met today.

Then an odd thought crossed his mind. What would have happened if, back then, he had learned his mother's intention to kill Michel and had managed to stop Dee? If Michel had came back home with Giselle like intended?

He could have met her in person, he thought. Michel could have met his nephews. He could have married the woman he loved. That meant Georges could have met Clémence and Margot in actual happy circumstances. All of them could have been a family.

Or maybe things wouldn't have gone as well as this. Maybe there would have been other obstacles on the way.

But Georges would never knew, because his brother had died in that mansion and couldn't come back to life. Because his stupid mistakes had also indirectly caused the pain of an entire other family. Because there was no way to go back in time and fix this, because there was even no way for him to just apologize.

Because he had no other choice than to bear the weight of his own sins for the rest of his life.

14 notes · View notes