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moosoobi · 3 years

Text

Battle Royale

(1) Fresh bread, French Prince

G.Lafayette : Hamilton the musical

Sometimes when you work on a project, there are moments when you need to take a break and work on something else. That’s really the case with In The Night, I have all these ideas but sometimes I feel confined to ITN (I literally have not started Chapter 3 when this is posted). And thus this fic was born. I hope you enjoy!

Y/N and Lafayette’s POV

Bridgerton inspired AU (watching the Bridgerton series would probably help in understanding ideas of ‘courting’ and finding a suitors)

Odd social structure (dukes are essentially owners of land which was popularized in London, Washington is considered a president, and Lafayette is now a prince!)

not my cover image 😟

Word count: 4k

Literally the biggest thanks to @deja-you for proofreading and some great feedback, ILY 🧎‍♀️

—-the Washington residence

The dreamy clouds would stream across the sky as Y/N began to read the newest article from Thomas Paine, the most notorious writer known for acknowledging every piece of gossip and whispers among the noble colonists.

The pamphlet felt newly written, as few spots of the odd-smelling ink would smudge. Though Y/N was not awake, a young boy delivered this meticulous pamphlet to the Washington residence before dawn.

As the daughter of the president, being the center of noble gossip was nothing new to her, in fact, gossip was never the center of her attention either. But something about this pamphlet in particular would surely catch her eye.

She began to read:

‘The scene for this courting season is looking quite interesting. Now that these young ladies are finally of age, they will indeed add competition to the scene.’

Ah yes, the annual courting season. A time for women and men to make their move and commence into the adult world. While many aren’t satisfied with their partners, reputation seems to grow higher than feelings.

‘Many pertinent names are included in this season, and I’m honored to document the presence of these people.’

‘The Schuylers: all three of the incredible General Schuyler’s daughters are finally entering the courting scene simultaneously. During the war, many soldier boys would fall head over heels to impress them, and many were unsuccessful. I’m ecstatic to observe the lucky men to take the hand of Angelica, Elizabeth, and Peggy Schuyler.’

‘The Payne’s: Miss Dolley Payne has finally been granted entrance into this courting season. Many theories and speculation suggest that her arrival to the scene at the same time as the other great names was not a coincidence.’

‘And finally, the most significant family joining us this season,’

Y/N sucked in a breath

‘The Washington’s: His grace’s pride and joy, Y/N, will be the most imperative competition this season. The pressure of being the president’s daughter, as well as the stigma of conceiving an heir, follow her wherever she resides. Nonetheless, Y/N Washington is an extraordinary star among the courting scene, and it would indeed be foolish to throw away your shot.’

‘It’s just common sense.’

‘-Thomas Paine’

It would take Y/N a couple moments before her squeals of excitement could be heard across the residence

Shortly after, the rumbles of Y/N racing down the stairs would cause her parents, George and Martha, to take suspicious glances at each other. Y/N finally reached the dinner table where her parents were finishing up their morning tea.

“What’s got you going so early, dear? I usually have to pull you out of bed around this time,” Martha questioned

“Sir Payne wrote about me in the paper! My entrance to the courting scene seems to be the most glittering cluster of ink in this pamphlet” She squealed

Y/N excitedly, yet also harshly, slid the pamphlet over to her parents, moments later they would observe her words to be true

“That’s great, dear” Her father, George, looked up from the paper with a smile. “I know you’ll represent the Washington Family name well, although it’s a shame you’ll have to lose it when you get married” he sighed

“Oh lighten up George, Y/N will be the talk of the town, I’m sure she’ll attract some worthy gentleman”

“Damn right he better be worthy.” His eyes transferred from Martha to Y/N

“Remember Y/N, very few are prepared to handle a Washington, you can even ask your mother.”

Y/N couldn’t hold in a giggle as Martha rolled her eyes. Both Y/N and George watched as Martha arose to place her porcelain dishes in the sink

“Well I must be soo blessed to have to take care of two of them.”

George turned back to Y/N and slid her a letter across the table, keeping another letter in his opposite hand, which was still unopened

“May I ask what this is?” She held up the letter. Even the feeling of the paper could tell Y/N that it came from the colonial gentry. The scent faintly reminded Y/N of champagne and flowers, and the seal was a sparkling coral-pink shade. The letter appeared to be already opened

“The Schuyler’s are inviting you to a small tea get-together, whatever you kids call it.”

Y/N opened the envelope, searching for the details. How exciting was this, to be among the best of the best, especially in the greatest city in the world. Before she could reply, George began to speak again

“I’ve already requested for two escorts to accompany you on your way to the Schuyler residence.” Y/N turned to him in confusion

“Huh?” She questioned “escorts?”

“Now that you’re officially in this courting season, your safety could be potentially in danger. I’m just trying to make you comfortable” He retorted

“Father, I’m sure I’m capable of walking on my own. I mean, the Schuyler residence isn’t even that far and-”

Y/N was interrupted by multiple knocks on her door. She shot a ‘this isn’t over’ glare to her father before wandering over to her front door. She opened the door and found a surprise

The Duke of Monticello and the Duke of Manhattan, my father’s two trusted secretaries. Dropping the formalities, Y/N addressed them by their first name

“Thomas? Alexander? Don’t tell me..” she turned back to her father. Jefferson and Hamilton stood at the doorway, both with flowers and nervous in the presence of Washington

“Father, I’m starting to question whether you worry for my safety, or worry for your pickiness of my suitor.” Thomas and Alex attempted to hold in their laughs as if their lives depended on it

“Of course I do!” He held a hand to his chest as if he was hurt “although I do owe them a favor-” a smirk spread across Thomas’s and Alexander’s face, yet was quickly faded as Washington addressed them

“But no funny business with my daughter. If I hear of any shenanigans from either one of you, you both have serious consequences.” Y/N turned back to the dukes, both of them appearing drained of color.

“Let me get dolled up and we can be on our way” Y/N swiftly ran upstairs, leaving Thomas and Alexander alone in the presence of their boss. Those poor, poor, boys

Five minutes later, Y/N glided down the stairs in her fancier skirt. Her corset gave her an amazing shape, and her hair made her appear to be a celestial being. She caught the dukes’ eyes lingering on her for a little too long. Luckily, Washington wasn’t around. “Let’s keep our focus on what’s really matters, guys” she laughed

“R-right...” they said in unison, both turning away and pretending to be interested in the furniture in the house. Y/N had never seen the two secretaries so calm around each other, it made her realize the power the Washington’s have in the colonies. A simple order from a Washington could probably end wars, especially if it’s capable of making Jefferson and Hamilton contain their pride

“Your graces?” She held out her hands, signifying that she was ready to depart. The dukes held out their forearm and elbows for her to take. Y/N intertwined her arms into theirs, and they headed for the Schuyler residence.

A few minutes down the path and Alexander Hamilton decided to break the silence

“I still can’t believe you’re entering this season, Y/N. I mean, I still remember running around those horrid military camps all those years ago” he chuckled. It’s true, it’s been all these years since the war and so much has changed

“I like to believe I’ve grown into a wonderful, young woman, don’t you think?” I batted my eyelashes towards both of them

“Of course darlin’” Jefferson cut in “but just because we’re your honorable colleagues doesn’t mean Hamilton and I won’t be lining up for your hand”

“Don’t be so sure. I heard this season has a few aggressive competitors on both sides. The Schuylers, the Paynes, even the Madisons! I might have to step up my game. In the meantime, both of you have to keep an open mind.”

Thomas and Hamilton stared at each other, surprised by her response.

“And If I find out that both of you placed bets on which one of you will earn my hand, I’ll be reminding my father to collect both of your heads.”

Their heads hung in defeat “alright, alright darlin’ I think I kind of like my head attached to my body. No need to get violent.”

“Plus I don’t think any of you can truly handle a Washington.” Y/N giggled, her arms still intertwined with theirs

“If Jefferson and I don’t scare away the competition, I’m sure your father will” Alexander chuckled, Thomas visibly reacted to the joke as well

“Oh come on, the two most popular dukes of the colonies have nothing on a suitor that is truly worthy of me” she scoffed

“And where would you find such a worthy contestant? Someone better than a duke?” The three stopped in front of the Schuyler residence

“Don’t kill my hopes, a Washington has her ways” Y/N removed her arms from Thomas’s and Alexander’s, heading for the front door. As soon as she was greeted by General Schuyler herself, she waved goodbye to the clashing dukes

“She’s so mine, Hamilton.” Thomas stated

“I’m sure you should be worried about your tomcat nature, Jefferson, don’t get too ahead of yourself” Alex retorted

Jefferson audibly scoffed before wandering with him into the city

—-France

3 weeks prior to Y/N reading that exciting pamphlet, Marquis de Lafay-- Now Prince Lafayette sat around a table of French nobles and officials. It felt like ages since he’s been in the colonies, and it has only been a few years ever since the French Revolution had ended. Yet instead of abolishing the monarchy system in France as Lafayette promised to the colonies, he and a few other nobles replaced the previous royal family.

Lafayette was later titled as a Prince, as were other leading men of France, but he urged to continue being addressed as the ‘Hero of two worlds’.

But with a new era upon the people of France, came the countless government meetings and conflicts that he had to resolve.

“Your Majesty? Are you even paying attention?” Secretary Robespierre whispered over his shoulder, causing him to visibly straighten himself out.

“O-Oui. Why wouldn’t I be?” Lafayette laughed nervously, scratching the back of his head. Robespierre rolled his eyes before whispering again.

“This is our last meeting of the day. With all due respect sir, can you get yourself together?”

“Okay, Okay.” Lafayette sighed with boredom

He missed the colonies dearly, sometimes he wished he never left at all, but seeing his country yearn for a revolution compelled him to sail across the Atlantic once again. He often daydreamed of his riskier lifestyle with his closest friends and soldiers, as well as the feeling of awe while serving directly under General Washington. Never in his life did Lafayette think he would miss the adrenaline rush of stealing cannons and leading fully arm battalions.

His teenage memories of fooling around in those military camps, wandering the streets of New York City severely intoxicated, and the best memories of all, the memories of escorting the General’s daughter, Y/N Washington, to buy bread and pastries for him and his fellow soldiers.

Oh, what could she be doing now?

If it weren’t for the revolution at hand, Lafayette would’ve surely bent a knee once she set foot onto the military camping grounds. Lafayette held such a high respect for Y/N when they first met, especially since she was the daughter of his most admired general. The women in France just couldn’t compare to her heavenly beauty, and her kindness was unbeatable. She was the greatest treasure that Lafayette had stumbled across during his time in the colonies. Although many noblewomen would attempt to take a bite of him, Lafayette stayed loyal to his non-existent promise to Y/N.

A quick quill-slam to the table, and he was quickly drawn back to his reality. Why should he worry about his previous General’s daughter anyway? Lafayette was now a Prince, he could have anything he wanted. But the moment he set foot in France after the American Revolution, he lost the most precious things he already had. He yearned for glory, but at what cost? The cost of abandoning his bonds in the colonies?

He sighed, standing from the meeting table and wandering to his quarters. Secretary Robespierre followed closely behind him. Sensing an odd tension from Lafayette’s mood, Robespierre attempted to address his situation

“Do you need anything, your majesty?” Lafayette froze in his tracks, weighing his two options

“Actually...” Lafayette turned to face him “Schedule me a ship to the colonies. The earliest one you can find.”

Robespierre tilted his head in confusion, letting the last sentence sizzle in his head.

“I’m sorry, what?”

The prince in distress sighed with fatigue. “I’ve decided I’m heading to the colonies, tout suite.” Lafayette kept his gaze strong

‘B-but sir, you have so much to take care of-” Robespierre was notably panicking at this moment. “-and the recent shortages-”

“Mon Ami, there are at least three other ‘crowned princes’ who are perfectly capable of maintaining this nation. One prince gone won’t hurt the economy” Prince Lafayette stated firmly

Robespierre debated for a moment before confirming his thoughts “Alright. I’ll notify you when the earliest ship can be sailed. But what shall you do about the gossip? Perhaps they will believe you are not responsible enough for this role.”

“Let the people speak as they please. In the end, I’ll remind them who’s in charge.” Lafayette began towards his quarters once again, Robespierre stayed behind to script all of his thoughts.

Finally in his study, Lafayette dipped his quill into the nearest container of ink and started to write.

‘To the Great General Washington, It’s been ages since we’ve last written…’

Maybe Lafayette will be able to have a taste of his old life.

---the Schuyler residence

Giggling echoed throughout the Schuyler residence as the 5 girls enjoyed their tea.

“Have you gals read Payne’s newest pamphlet? We’re the talk of the town as of now” Angelica, the oldest Schuyler, smiled with satisfaction. Her luminous complexion complemented her coral pink gown.

“I never expected our courting debut to be so..” Eliza searched for the right words “..turbulent among the talkers..” she took a sip of her tea

“I’m still stunned by the feedback” Y/N laughed nervously “My father even requested his two most clashing secretaries to escort me here, they didn’t even argue once” she said in awe

The top 5 girls of the season all sat in one room. Though they would eventually become each other's courting competition, they were great friends nonetheless. During the war, Y/N would stay in the Schuyler household while their fathers were out of town daydreaming of being free from the king, attending a few balls together, and watching soldier boys trip over themselves. After the war ended, Dolley Paine became a mutual connection through their high ranking families. The 5 got along way too quickly.

Peggy held up the tea pot “another fill, ladies?” Y/N and Dolley nodded, both taking their turns to fill their cups.

“Awee, look at you Peggy, you’ll make a perfect wife” Dolley teased. The rest of the girls laughed it off, yet Y/N didn’t feel at ease with that statement.

“You don’t actually think we will all get married that quickly, do you?” Y/N looked around to see their confused expressions. “Guys?”

“Well..” Angelica pondered for a moment “I believe that it’s ideal to marry on your first season”

Peggy had to stop herself from spitting out her tea

“That soon? But we’re so young, and-” Eliza interrupted

“And we’re ladies. Society expects us to do nothing more and nothing less with what we’re given” Angelica takes a content sip of her tea once again “I don’t make the rules around here.”

The silence was awfully louder than the conversation.

“Alright.” Dolley smiled “I guess we'll just have to make this next few weeks extra special, right?”

Y/N took a deep breath “the best of the best.” She muttered

Peggy turned to her and nodded, and Eliza was quick to join. Y/N faked a smile at the girls, ‘I guess that’s just how it is’ is what she thought, and Angelica would raise her glass for a toast

“A toast to the best courting season?” The 4 other girls raised their glass as well.

Though many hours were filled with laughter and giggles, Y/N couldn’t help but imagine how much her life would change within the next few months. And just by entering this season, Y/N will give up her youth and give someone her hand to please someone. To please herself? To please the people? To please her parents? She had no clue

She stared out the window, remembering those nights of staying at the Schuyler residence, watching those drunk soldiers stumble across the street. Many of them were her friends, friends she had met through her fathers rank. She smiled at the thought of the most memorable gentleman she had met while at those camps.

‘The French Foreigner’ is what they used to call him, but only before he became comfortable in the colonies. ‘Marquis de Lafayette’ was his title, and Y/N always loved the sound of his name rolling off her tongue.

“I don’t know what my father told you, but I’m sure I don’t need you to accompany me simply to buy bread” Y/N stood stubbornly

Lafayette gently grabbed her hand and raised it to his lips

“I just want you to be safe, mon ange, I wouldn’t be able to live with myself if you got hurt..”

He kissed the back of her hand, maintaining eye contact. Y/N appeared as if she just experienced a revelation “..shall we be on our way, mademoiselle?”

She took a moment to think, her head still in the clouds. Y/N slowly nodded “Alright.” The two intertwined arms and headed into the city

Oh how she missed the old days. Y/N hated to admit it, but she truly believed she met the most exquisite gentlemen during the war. Whenever she’d stay at the camps with her father, a small group of soldiers would always keep her company. A tailor, an abolitionist, two immigrants, the camps were definitely a mixing pot.

At that very moment, Y/N prayed she’d be able to find someone like the men at her fathers military camp during this courting season.

Y/N jumped at the tapping on her shoulder

“Y/N? Don’t tell me you already have suitors lining up out there for you” Y/N shook her head and laughed

“I just spaced out. That’s all.” She attempted to change the subject “What were we talking about?” She questioned

Peggy interrupted “Next week's ball, the first ball of the season. Do we show up in our best, or do we build suspense until the last seasonal ball?” Peggy debated

“Let’s take one ball at a time, shall we?” Eliza proposed her idea

“Well for the first ball, I suggest….” All the girls gathered around Angelica to hear her plan

—-Lafayette’s quarters (France)

Prince Lafayette neatly folded his clothes as he was departing for the colonies within a few hours. He remembers the excitement he felt when he traveled to the colonies for the first time, having to dress like a pregnant woman in order to board the ship, but he still cringes at the imagery.

He elegantly stuffed his belongings into his shoulder bag. He stood back to admire his rushed work, but he felt as if he was missing something.

Lafayette looked around his quarters, his eyes became glued on his treasured gun, gifted to him by General Washington himself. The wooden hilt was stained with god knows what, but the gold trimmings were shining in the afternoon sunlight.

He’d already have French soldiers accompanying him, he was a prince after all. Would he need such weaponry?

“I do not see why not.” He muttered to himself before stuffing it into his bag with the rest of his belongings. Lafayette dusted off his fancy clothing and stood in triumph, well, before a woman cleared her throat behind him.

Lady Adrienne stood at the doorway to his study, her emerald green skirts creased against the doorframe. Lafayette and Adrienne previously courted before he left for the colonies, which ended up being her last straw. Lady Adrienne attempted to stop him, since she was a loyalist to the monarchs of France, but Lafayette refused to listen.

“que veux-tu? I'm busy at the moment.” Lafayette covered his bag with a nearby coat, crossing his arms.

“I heard you’re going back to the colonies. What’s so special across the ocean that you can’t have here? You’re a prince for god sake”

“It’s none of your concern, get out of-”

“Last time you left for the colonies- left me for the colonies- you just weren’t the same when you came back.” she was on the verge of yelling

Lafayette sighed, having already been through this conversation ever since he came back to France.

“This is nonsense. I need to be alone as of now.” Lafayette turned away from her to continue packing his belongings. She had a hurt expression on her face; part of her mind refused to believe he wasn’t her suitor anymore. Ever since he left for the colonies.

She slowly began to advance towards him. “That is no way to talk to your previous courting partner, Lafayette.” Her tone was strong yet unsure.

“It’s Prince Lafayette to you, and there’s a reason why we’re not courting now..” He was notably irritated by her presence.

Lady Adrienne wasn’t leaving his quarters until she was given an answer.

“Was I not enough for you to stay in France…?” she rested a hand on his shoulders, Lafayette visibly cringed. “What’s in the colonies that you can’t have here?”

Lafayette swiftly turned towards her, brushing her hand off of his shoulder in disgust. “I don’t have to answer to you—“ he attempted to retort

“—Don’t tell me you’re still mad that I had more faith in the monarchs of our country rather than you”

Lady Adrienne rolled her eyes annoyingly, Lafayette blood had already begun boiling long ago. She started moving closer to Lafayette, attempting to trap him in his room, and forcing him to stay in France. Although this was her main plan, she wanted an answer, and she wanted it now.

“Your own lover didn’t believe in you. Is that why you’re so upset? It’s quite the reaction for something so minuscule—” she scoffed.

Lafayette snapped

“—as a matter of fact, you weren’t my lover. It’s not you, its...”

Lafayette, clearly frustrated, struggled to hold up under his old friend’s gaze. She saw it in his eyes, the way they lightened when he thought about the colonies.

She saw a similar light in them the day he returned from France. Perhaps it was the praise he obtained for the foreign war, or perhaps some treasures he discovered, or maybe someone.

“Lafayette... Did you find another partner in the colonies?”

The panic was visible in his eyes, but there no was no reason to panic, he thought.

Lafayette brushed up against lady Adrienne, his lips were millimeters from her ear. He began

“Our relationship ended from the moment I set foot on that ship, and I do not regret it one bit..”

He stepped out of her reach and continued to pack away his belongings, Lady Adrienne was frozen with shock.

“My business in the colonies is my business only,” He stated strongly. “And you are free to believe whatever you want, it would benefit me in the least to care about what you think. Am I being clear?”

Lady Adrienne could only stand in silence

“Security! I’d love for you to escort this maiden out of this quarters at once!”

He’d never forget the hatred in her eyes as she was humiliatingly taken away. Lafayette kept his mind on his current task: the colonies await his arrival.

—to be continued—

#alexander hamilton #thomas jefferson #hamilton #hamilton fanfic #hamiltrash #daveed diggs #thomas jefferson x reader #hamiltonau #lafayette x reader #alexander x reader #hamilton masterlist #battle royale #so hyped for this series #sorry to in the night chapter 3 for not starting you HAHA #hamilton the musical #george washington #daveed x reader #somewhat Ig #hamilton musical

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casualmaraudering · 4 years

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Do you have any hcs on Lyall and Hope? I’d love to know what your personal characterization of them is.

Hope comes from a very big family - she has three sisters and three brothers, and she's the youngest of the bunch. kind of chaotic with so many people at home, so she's been out and about the neighbourhood and the woods ever since she was little

Lyall has an older sister, but they're not really that friendly. they are friends, it's just usually they do their own thing without interacting much

they met when they were in their young teens and Lyall hated Hope at first

she was a bit of a troublemaker, she had a skateboard, she was bold and very much out there. Lyall was a quiet boy who very much kept to himself and he didn't appreciate the noise that came with her

ofc that didn't last long. sooner rather than later Lyall would look forward to that noisy girl driving on the pavement right below his window. and Hope loved to throw pebbles at his window just to annoy him

they started dating when Hope was 16 and Lyall 15, and they had Remus about a year, year and a half after that (shit happens, whoops)

Hope actually didn't know Lyall is a wizard until she was pregnant. he kind of panicked and whatnot. she took it well tho (and she took advantage of him having magic, of course. she came to really love that just a flick of a wand did the dishes)

despite being very young parents without much of a plan, Hope was very optimistic about the situation. they lived at Lyall's parents (Hope's family wasn't very happy about her having a baby without being married. they'd only get around when Remus is a couple years old) and yeah it was a bit cramped and a bit confusing, but they were happy together

Lyall took a job with the ministry, and Hope started studying magic theory. not something muggles would usually do, but she couldn't find anything better to do and she didn't just want to sit at home and take care of the baby

and she was quickly very brilliant and the theoretical aspect of magic. Lyall got her books, and was her lab rat in case she needed someone with magic to test her theories, but she was really good at understanding everything. she became very successful at spell creation and modification - kind of a private profession, people would come to her if they needed her services, you know the deal

they had a little secluded cabin in the woods. not that much space, but it was cosy. they had enough money to pay the bills, they weren't exactly Comfortable, but it's not like they cared. they had each other, and that was important

any money to spare, they'd put away for when Remus would be older

Lyall isn't really that good at expressing emotions. he's very much what boys were brought up to be - stern, quiet, doesn't know how to express positive feelings or love. He'd take care of Remus when Remus was a baby, yeah, but Remus would run to Hope first if needed a hug or cuddles or whatnot

but still, he's not a bad dad, he's doing his best ok. he sometimes took Remus to the ministry with him to show him around, and he was always the one to check for any monsters in the closet or under the bed. After the werewolf incident, Remus was afraid of the dark, so Lyall made him a little handmade magical lap (basically lumos in a little cute jar - & Remus added some glitter in there too)

and of course, no matter what, they both really love Remus, he's their pride and joy, despite any hardships

Hope got a motorbike from one of her siblings when Remus is around 5 years old. she loves tinkering with it, riding it (Remus and Lyall were both scared of it) - her dad is a mechanic so she loves cars and bikes. said bike will, one day, be given to a certain boyfriend of Rem's 🤔

Lyall was taught how to knit and sew by his mother and sister, so he's usually the one to fix or alter clothes. (and he'd make baby clothes for Remus sometimes, as a side project)

Hope and Remus are basically best friends. they live in the middle of nowhere so Remus has no one to talk to but his parents, so if he's not out in the woods, he'll be with his mum and dad. when it comes to Lyall, their little activity to do together is being in the woods and trying to catch fairies (usually frogs, but sometimes they'd spot some fun magical creatures)

Lyall is much more distressed about Remus going to Hogwarts than Hope is. the werewolf thing and whatnot, and he's worried Remus won't make friends, and also Remus is a part of their life and now the house will be so quiet and sad.

Remus sends them both letters, though. Hope answers for them both but Lyall keeps Rem's letters and rereads them a lot, especially during the fulls

and they're still quite young, so they also travel a bit when Remus is at school. ofc there's not much money to travel to exotic places, but even just taking hiking trips around the country, or walking through the woods

they buy a dog when Remus moves out. it's huge and white, it sheds like crazy, it barks a lot, but at least it helps a little with the void that is their son being an adult

(the next bit is more specific to my personal rem hcs - trans bi remus - so this is just free real estate for those who like that)

they don't really bat an eye when, after second year, Remus comes home with shorter hair - it's not quite down to his shoulders, but almost there. Remus very excitedly tells them about his friend, Lily who helped cut it. then he asks to be taken to the barber and get it cut shorter - "like a boy's". they don't mind either, it's just hair

Remus never grows his hair long again, and after he's back home before 4th year, he tells them everything. says he doesn't like his old name, that Remus is what he wants to be called, that he doesn't want the girls' uniform or the summer dresses.

Lyall is a bit confused at first - he slips sometimes, but he tries his best. and Hope smacks him if he happens to use the wrong name

Hope goes all out, ofc, she's just that kind of person. within a few weeks, Remus's name is officially changed, all of his clothes are replaced (most of his old ones, he gives to Lily). no matter what, she wants her boy to feel loved at home

Remus dates Lily in sixth year - Hope and Lyall can't be happier. they've both met her plenty of times, she's a lovely girl, would make an excellent daughter in law, all that. sometimes, before going to sleep, they'll jokingly talk about little ginger grandkids

in seventh year, though, Remus dates a boy. Sirius Black, who has long hair and dresses like a punk and has a tattoo and bulky combat boots. he's loud and brash and walks around with far too much confidence in his step

Lyall doesn't like him

and Hope adores him

Sirius, sooner than later, becomes a permanent addition to their little family. Remus makes it clear that they're together for the long run. Lyall doesn't like him any more than at first, but he tolerates him. Hope treats him as her second son, gives him her old bike, jokes about marriage to Remus any occasion she gets

there's plenty of times Hope and Lyall will sit in the lounge, or the kitchen, or talk before bed, and share their worries about Remus. there's just so many hardships for this boy. his identity, being a werewolf, and now dating another man. they sometimes wish there could be something to do to protect him from the world. whisk him away to their little cabin, where no one can hurt him again

but they can't do that. so they just try to be a steady support for him, no matter what he decides to do or who he is

also as much as Lyall doesn't like Sirius - he's enamoured when him and Remus have kids. Sirius has good genes, the babies are adorable with their bushy black hair and Remus freckles and stubborn little chubby faces. you can't not love them

#Lyall Lupin #Hope Lupin #Remus Lupin #Sirius Black #wolfstar #minimal but still there #it turned a lot about Remus dhdkdhdj #trans remus #my tag #headcanon tag #rily #ask tag #anon tag #anyone catches the parallel of hope and Sirius and then Remus and Lyall????

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amydancepants-peralta · 4 years

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take your hands my dear, and place them both in mine

(ch 6 of we’re the fortunate ones), for the B99 2020 Vision Challenge 🚨

On the final afternoon of 2018, as the sky begins to turn soft with the muted pastels of fading sunlight, Amy Santiago watches from her position at the kitchen window while her husband plays with her nieces and nephews outside.

Their squeals of laughter are contagious; the joy obvious as the sound filters through the glass and settles warm against her heart, and Amy can’t help but join in on the mirth as Jake picks up Luisa, carrying her like a superhero as they chase Matthew and Mason around the backyard.

As the sunlight filters through the tall trees, a stray beam catches the stones in her engagement ring, setting off a sparkle that the line along her wedding band is only too happy to continue. Amy watches with a soft smile, moving her hand slowly to continue the show before returning to the task at hand.

Around an hour ago she and her brothers had been relegated to Kitchen Duty, all marching dutifully into place at their mother’s command. Each sibling had been clearly marked on a colour co-ordinated roster alongside a specific set of duties, all very necessary and time reliant, and Amy couldn’t help but notice that none of her tasks involved the actual cooking of the meal.

(Honestly. One time. You confuse salt for sugar one. time. and you get banished. For LIFE.)

After cutting up the beans and preparing the salad (from the ingredients that had been carefully and deliberately placed in front of her one item at a time by Tony, one of his jobs being of course to supervise his sister), Amy had sought out the solitude of peeling all of the potatoes by the kitchen sink. It’s a task that once may have seemed like the worst of all of them - the sniggers of her younger brothers had not fallen on deaf ears - but really Amy knew the joke was on them; because now, she had the best view of all.

Jake and Luisa had caught up to Mason by now and, after giving her the only type of landing appropriate for a superhero, they had immediately begun a tickle fight - Matthew jumping on top of the huddle quickly as Jake takes a step back to take a breath. With his hands on his hips he turns away from the children, looking back towards the house, and as he notices Amy watching from her window he raises his hand in a wave. His smile is wide and bright as he mimes exhaustion, wiping one hand across his brow while the other points at the tickle fight still in progress behind him. And although she knows he can’t hear her, Amy giggles at the sight, dropping the potato peeler into the sink so that she can wave right back.

It had been Jake’s suggestion for all of the family to join together for New Year’s Eve, and Amy knew that it was partially because he was doing his best to keep the peace amongst himself and Camila, after his ‘and another thing’ rant at dinner a few months ago.

Thanksgiving had been interesting, if not a little tense, as her mother continued to give Jake pointed looks from her position across the table. But Amy had stayed right by Jake’s side, resting one hand on top of his thigh whenever his leg started to jiggle with pent-up nervous energy, and by the end of the evening - after a lot of talking - all three were on (slightly) better terms. It may have been an awkward situation, but Amy didn’t regret Jake speaking up for her. Most - if not all - of the topics hadn’t been wrong; and in actuality, it had felt great to finally have somebody in her corner. He was trying, in so many ways, to get her parents to accept him as a part of their family (she had noticed the Duolingo app on his phone last week, and had already thought of some fun flash cards she could make), and it was about time that they met him half way.

She had reminded him late yesterday afternoon, after they’d finally made it to the Santiago home and found refuge in Amy’s childhood bedroom, that he needn’t try so hard to extend the olive branch. And while he had given her his best bashful look before changing the topic by pointing out her adorably hand-made scale of the periodic table, Amy knew that Jake was taking everything she said on board. Admittedly, it did feel kind of amazing to be together with all of her family for the celebrations - the first time in four years - but she wanted her husband to feel comfortable between these walls, for it was his home now as much as it was hers. And someday - perhaps even someday soon - they would be bringing their own children to family gatherings.

Jake blows her a kiss from his position on the lawn, and Amy smiles brightly, crinkling her nose slightly as the joy overtakes her. There was such a stark difference to tonight’s planned festivities, compared to all those years ago when Amy was still very deeply pining for the man she could only call her partner. It was hard to imagine now, standing in the kitchen a newlywed with the feeling of her husband’s kiss still lingering on one cheek, that there was ever a time when Jake didn’t know just how much she loved him. Marrying him had been Amy’s easiest and greatest decision so far, and it seems crazy to her that she once believed that what she felt for Jake was ‘just a little crush that she needed to get over’. Clearly she had been naïve. There was simply no getting over Jake Peralta - her heart knew that now.

With his body still turned towards the window, Jake is completely unaware of his impending attacker - aka a surprisingly quiet Mason sneaking up on him from behind - and Amy can’t react fast enough to warn him as her nephew takes a running leap and knocks an innocent Jake to his knees. With a light-hearted shout of terror Jake lands onto the soft grass, calling out in protest to the mutiny as Luis’s two kids run over to join in on the fun, and suddenly Amy has lost all interest in preparing for dinner. Haphazardly running the peeler over the last few potatoes, she dumps the results in a bowl next to all the other vegetables, begging leave and dashing from the kitchen before her brothers can figure out where she’s going. If she was being honest, it probably was for the best for her not be involved with food preparation - and besides, there was somewhere else she would much rather be right now.

It’s much later in the night before all of the family have come back together, adults and children alike converging on in the yard as Victor organises the fireworks he had pre-arranged (a Santiago is, of course, always prepared). Raising eight children had meant that he and Camila had needed to purchase a larger property than most, and it was times like these with the now extended brood stretched out across the lawn, that paying off their home for as many years as they did had turned out to be advantageous.

Amy shivers slightly as the cool breeze cuts through her sweater, tucking herself into Jake’s warmth as he wraps one arm around her shoulder, an instinctive response to her chill. Feeling herself relax as the scent of his aftershave begins to wash over her, Amy cranes her neck upwards, shifting up to the tip of her toes in order to leave a quick kiss along Jake’s jawline. His lips move to meet hers before she can pull away, and Amy can’t help but smile at the familiar but still wonderful feeling of Jake’s kiss.

She can still recall the moment that she knew that she wanted to marry Jake - and much like his moment with her crossword puzzle, it was as ordinary as any other moment in their day. They had been at Shaw’s, celebrating the closing of one case or another, and she had just set down her glass onto the table, a sudden tiredness washing over as the busier parts of her day finally caught up. She hadn’t said a word, had not even begun to lean her weight against her boyfriend’s steady presence from his position next to her, when Jake was sliding out of the booth, announcing that he and Amy were going to head home. He had stood up and turned towards her, holding out his hand with that beautiful smile of his, and in an instant Amy knew. One day, this man that knew how to read her better than she knew how to read herself, was going to be her husband - and it was as simple and as complicated as that.

Jake knew all of her - all of the tiny details that when pushed together, made her complete - and loved each part wholeheartedly. He laughed at her jokes (even when they were terrible), danced with her at the most dorkiest of moments, and listened to her rant on about molecular theory and Venn diagrams like they were genuinely interesting topics. He made her feel seen, more than Amy had ever felt growing up in a household of ten, and he was her best friend in every possible way.

She leaves a tiny kiss at the tip of his nose as they pull away and his skin turns an adorable shade of pink, just enough for her to notice underneath the garden lights, and she laughs as his arm moves down towards it’s favourite spot along her waist. Opening his mouth to start a retort, his eyebrows raise instead as he looks down to his right, noticing Amy’s youngest niece Nina tugging on his free hand.

“Tío Jake?” Nina asks, her voice sounding so delicate amongst all the adults, and Amy feels a surge of pride at hearing Jake being referred to as Tío. “Will you help me see the fireworks?”

Looking around, Jake notices that all the younger Santiago children have been hoisted onto the shoulders of their parents, sitting tall above the crowd with their heads already focused steadily on the night sky. Nina had the unusual position of being a twin, and with her mother currently in the final stages of growing her little brother or sister, had lucked out on the chance to be on her father’s shoulders. It touched Amy - and Jake, she could tell from his expression - that Nina had turned to him for help, and before another word can be spoken Jake is nodding, stooping slightly to grip the five year old around her ribcage before lifting her gently onto his shoulders.

The rainbow coloured studs that lined the edge of Nina’s impossibly tiny sneakers catch the light as they swing in front of Jake’s chest, and as Victor heads back to his family to begin the countdown, they all join in. “Cinco, cuatro, tres ..”

Amy loops an arm around Jake’s waist, smiling up at him as he counts down with the rest of the family. “Dos, uno!” With everyone cheering around them, Amy moves slightly to stand in front of Jake, pushing herself to meet him for a chaste happy new year kiss as Nina claps above them. And then suddenly, the sky is alight with colour, and the crowd turns silent in awe.

She knows that the first time she called a man beautiful that it was Holt, and it was her overactive brain blurting out words. But she’d owned that phrase since that day, only pulling it out when absolutely fitting, and tonight couldn’t be a better candidate. Her husband, standing tall with her (their) niece on his shoulders, looked beautiful tonight. The colours of the fireworks flash against his skin as they light up the sky, reminding Amy of all the colours he’s brought into her life - of all the ways he’s changed her outlook from rigidly black and white to all the shades in-between.

He was beautiful, for the way his eyes would light up with every whizz of another round hurtling towards the stars. For the smile that grew larger still whenever the tiniest of sparks released a myriad of glittering sparkles, following their trajectory until they’d succumbed to the pull of the night sky and faded away. For the way his hands never loosened their steady grip around Nina’s legs, so determined to make sure that she felt safe as she craned her body higher and higher towards the bright lights above, pointing out the shapes in the sky to any and all who would listen.

The familiar smell of gunpowder begins to fill the air, and briefly it reminds Amy that she needs to go for platinum certification this year, but for now she buries her head in Jake’s shoulder, finding comfort in his presence and hoping that they can stay in this moment forever.

There was so much potential for what this year could bring, and with seven months of marriage under their sleeve and her biological clock beginning to tick just that little bit louder, Amy can’t help but begin to imagine them doing this all again in a few years time - only then, it will be their child sitting on Jake’s shoulders.

Children was still a little bit of an untouched subject for them - and admittedly, this was a massive oversight on her end; but when your boyfriend is given death threats and yanked away from you to live somewhere unknown under witness protection, only to return and get framed for a series of bank jobs, the bigger things tend to fall away and you just want to go and get married before the world can try to split you up again. But watching Jake right now as he reaches gently for Nina’s waist, muscles flexing as he lifts her wriggling body away and down towards the grass again, it’s hard for Amy to see a world where Jake wouldn’t want to be a father.

Now that Jake’s hands are free, they wrap around Amy’s middle, pulling her closer as they stand and watch the last of the fireworks take flight. They breathe in the silence as the rest of the family begins to pull away - for bedtime was most definitely in order for a good percentage of tonight’s guests - taking advantage of the peace to pull each other in for a slightly longer celebratory kiss.

It’s only a week later that they receive a package from Amy’s brother David, the padded envelope holding a beautiful shot of Amy and Jake holding each other as the remaining fireworks burst in front of them (and it’s perfect, because of course David is a perfect photographer as well). And once upon a time, all that Amy would have seen in the shot was another example of how her brother was better than her in everything that he did. But now, as she searches through her storage cupboard to find the perfect frame for the photograph, all she can do is smile at the memory it held.

Perfection wasn’t real, and praise was fleeting. What she had with Jake was that all-consuming, forever type of love - and she wouldn’t change that for the world.

#mine #myfic #in a timeline where casecation hasn't occurred yet #which ... I think I got the timeline right #b99 fanfic #b99 fandom events #b99 2020 vision challenge #hope you all enjoy this #the deadline is really sneaking up on me hahahahah help me

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otdderamin · 5 years

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Transcript: Wednesday Club Ep19: Love is Love

Looking for some good Queer content? The best Wednesday Club was Episode 19: Love is Love! with Marc Andreyko. They talked about the Love is Love anthology made in memory of the Pulse shooting and talked about the history of queer representation in comics.

This is also the episode where Taliesin and Amy came out as bi. It was so soft and empathetic and empowering the whole way through that I think it gave them a push of confidence to say it.

Interesting history, they pulled this VOD after this aired and edited out that coming out. I suspect someone felt they got caught up in the moment and weren't actually sure they did want that out there. But word spread anyway and a few weeks later it was quietly restored.

The only depressing thing about this episode is how hopeful they were for the future and how much everything's gone to shit in the two years since it came out.

Official Twitch VOD, Bootlegged YouTube VOD

If you can handle the sorrow, I really can't recommend "Love is Love" enough. It's one of the most beautiful books I've ever read. A lot of it is heartbreaking, but there are also a lot of uplifting pieces about pride and joy and love, and those were so special.

This episode is so fascinating because there's are dozens and dozens of little ways Taliesin's subtext was "I'm queer," but it was such a surprise for that subtext to be text at the end. I think it's greatly affected how I read his queer coding in acting.

Reading Taliesin himself in this episode of Wednesday Club is a major reason why I feel somewhat confident in my analysis about the queer subtext he shows in Caduceus (and Percy). He's very deliberate about his subtext, I think the joke is always that it's genuine.

"Well, those are then the Schrodinger's representations which are 'Are they? Aren't they? We're not going to say.' [Stage whisper] But they are."

I think about this quote all the time. What he says sideways is deliberate, and something he personally delights in reading into. This is, after all, him playing out people in the way he would interact, not really for other people. We don't ask straight people to tell us they're straight, they just show it and we all assume it's true. I strongly suspect that's a freedom Taliesin looks for in queer portrayal.

One of the dynamics going on here that's SO INTERESTING is how apparent the age gap is between Marc and Taliesin and Amy. I don't know Amy's age, but I'd guess she's a decade younger. Marc and Taliesin are so much more okay with clunky, subtext, and or tragic representation.

Partly this is just a difference of Taliesin liking sad stories & Amy liking happy ones, but the difference is so much more magnified in this episode. Her standards for what makes good representation are noticeably higher, I'd guess partly because she grew up in a better world.

One of the books they mentioned is "My Brother's Husband" by Gengoroh Tagame. there are two volumes and it's such an outstandingly soft story. One of the best comics I've ever read. Yaichi and his daughter Kana get a visit from Mike, his brother's husband, after his brother died. It's about Yaichi trying to get over his homophobia and teach Kana to be a better, more accepting person than he was. Kana just accepts Mike straight away and thinks he's amazing.

Here is a selection of comic picks from the episode (by no means all of them). Here's Amy's crowdsourced queer comics recommendation thread, which is full of excellent reads, some of which they talked about.

4:45 Marc: "I'm glad [the Pulse shooter] is dead because he did a horrible, unforgivable thing, but part of me wishes someone had been there to give him a hug, you know?"

[I've been thinking about this sentiment and grace for two years.]

10:54 Marc: "We need to hold our government responsible with the same passion we do when Marvel has Spider-Man's costume wrong in an issue."

0:16:08 Taliesin: "It is a thing that happens to me occasionally on the internet, and this book brought this back up pretty significantly, and I don't do this all the time 'cause I only have so much emotional energy for a human being, especially, you know, times being what they are. I've only got so much of my brain power before I turn into a quivering mess."

0:16:25 Marc: "I can't wait for the day we can wake up and not be angry."

Taliesin: "I know. I'm so…"

Marc: "I'm so tired of being mad!"

0:16:31 Taliesin: "I take moments every morning, and of course being on the internet you get a lot of- there's hate and trolling that come my way, and a lot of it is nothing I didn't hear in high school, nothing that I'm not use to, you know, I've got a pretty thick skin, and I don't delve into the comments sections of videos or anything like that because I'm, you know, sane. But every now and then some body gets through and I just kind of want to have a moment of, like, I wish- and I want to test the theory that if I just find this person, I grab them for a second, and like, "Dude, are you alright? Like, do you need therapy because I'm in therapy and it's fucking great, and what can I-" I feel like, "When was the last time anyone asked you if you're just okay, if you need something 'cause, like, what the fuck, man?"

…

0:17:18 Taliesin: "I wish I had the energy for all these kids. I mean, like, it's so- and in real life I can do this, and I've had those moments in real life where you see someone losing their shit and you're like, 'Do you just need a fucking drink and someone to listen to you talk about your shit and not tell you that you're being, like-'"

Amy: "Or fewer drinks."

Taliesin: "I mean, like, often times just sit down, and I promise I'm not going to make fun of you, I'm not going to tell you you're being weak, tell me, like, what, man, what hurts?"

0:17:59 Marc: "I don't think most people are evil. I think that there's a percentage of people that occupy the White House that are pure evil…"

Taliesin: "I've had a couple roommates that I'm not even making a joke that are definitely into that spectrum, but most people are just lonely and sad."

Marc: "Well, most people want to live their life, be happy, and be left alone, and I think for me it all boils down to education is the key because when you have- when you're not educated, you're easily scared and when you're easily scared you look for scape goats. It's what one political party has been making their hay on for a number of years."

31:27 Marc: "We're all the same. We come up with things as a species to divide us when we're actually 99% the same. And we just let that 1% get in the way of everything."

36:01 Taliesin: "I started to figure out that this was the beginning of a process. And I was starting to notice, 'This is going to lead to the types of characters I want to see in my fiction. And I started breaking down this formula of there's things that you have to do in the momentum of pop culture to get the kind of characters you want. And this was one of the thing that you have to do. And I broke it down to metaphorical representation with books like the X-Men where there are no—there were almost no gay characters in the X-Men." Marc Andreyko: "Or Peppermint Patty, or Schroder."

Taliesin: "Well, those are then the Schrodinger's representations which are 'Are they? Aren't they? We're not going to say.' [Stage whisper] But they are.

"But we have the metaphorical, we have the Schrodinger, we hate the stereotypes, which are the these are the things people think they know about these people."

Marc: "The gay hairdresser, the black drug dealer…"

Taliesin: "Then you have the buddyism, which is you have the established characters going, 'Some of my best friends.' And then we can just have a character where this is part of the tapestry. Once we've gone through all of this stuff so that everybody has gotten it out of their system, we've kind of sifted the pop culture to the point that now you can just do it."

Marc: "But that's not just limited to LGBT."

Taliesin: "No, that's any."

Marc: You look at female characters, you look at African American characters, and what's interesting about the LGBT experience now is it's taken 100 years for Black characters, it's taken 100 years for women characters, the LGBT representation- In my lifetime- if you told me 20 years ago that the Supreme Court would say that marriage is a right, I would have said, 'No way.'"

Taliesin: "No."

Amy: "No way."

Marc: "If you had told me there was going to be a gay-straight alliance at my high school, where my graduating class was 1000 people, 99% of the them I'd say, 'No.' My high school reached out to me after the book came out to send copies to their library. The learning curve for LGBT- we have gotten the privilege of having a very accelerated learning curve on the backs of other minorities who are still struggling to get ahead."

Taliesin: "We got to live- you actually get to live to see the work pay off. Which is rare in human history.

Marc: "As you say, that's just the way it starts out. It starts with exotic, then it becomes noble savage, then it becomes villain, then it becomes minstrel, then it becomes best friend, then it becomes lead. That's just the evolutionary trail."

54:32 Taliesin: "Culture is not a rocket ship. We all don't get on the rocket ship to the planet culture and go up to the moon. Culture is like life: it is chaotic, it is violent, it is hungry… It is not normal for everything to just keep getting better all at the same time. It's normal for everything to get better over a period of the long game. In any internal point, chaos—"

Marc: "Well, Love is Love, a tragedy made that book come to life."

Taliesin: "That is the soil in which these things get planted, sadly."

Amy: "But that kid who graduates high school [because the book encouraged them when they thought they couldn't do it], who knows what happens."

0:55:04 Matt: "We've got Blackmarket Bingo asking, 'What does Pride mean to each of you individually?'"

0:55:11 Marc: "Well, pride to me is a loaded word because, as a writer, I think 'pride,' I think 'hubris,' I think pride can be a detriment. There's pride with a lowercase p and there's Pride with a capital P. I think, for me, Pride in the LGBT sense of the word is lack of shame, is owning who you are, and not apologizing for who you are."

Taliesin: "Personal honesty."

Marc: "And being a good person who's an honest person. If you're an honest person and you live your life by the only direction we need as people: treat people the way you want to be treated. I don't care if you're gay, straight, Black, white, Republican, liberal, conservative, whatever, if you treat people the way you want to be treated that is living Pride because you should be proud of us not yourself; you should be proud of the change you can affect to make the world a better place. And I know that sounds like fortune cookies or Opera, or Yanla (sp?) changed my life or something like that, but it is very true. So, a lot of these clichés are become cliché because they are very true. And I think if you just try and live your life honestly and be nice to people. Hold the door, let someone in in traffic, you know, talk to the old lady in line at the grocery store, you never know what difference that's going to make. You never know how that's going to change the course of someone's life, so why not?"

…

0:56:48 Taliesin: "The notion of, 'We're all in this together.' And I will say Pride for me has always been about… and I got a lot of, well, for various reason I got a lot of crap as a kid, but one of the things I got crap about was this notion from some people, this was the weird one, that I was somehow putting effort into being this kind of person. That this took effort, that I was somehow pushing forward a pretense, and I just kind of had to do the, "No, this is actually…"

Marc: 'Who has the energy?"

Taliesin: "Who has the energy to pretend to be this weird and awkward! This is just me letting go and if every- like-"

Marc: "I'm not Andy Kaufman, this is all real."

Taliesin: "This is not an act! this is just- I mean, occasionally it's curated, which is different, especially this being the internet, but like, just the notion that if we all are- and the honesty that I was talking about, it was not honesty to other people necessarily, but just waking up that morning and being the person you feel like being and then just treating everybody the way- and just finding that communication between real people, not people trying to live up to some notion of who they think they should be."

0:57:50 Marc: "Well, once again I'm going to circle this back to a quote Patty Jenkins said, she talked about how the word cheesy is banned on her sets because she said, 'When did we become afraid of genuine emotion and sincerity.' And I'm guilty of this; we've all become too cool for school; we've all become the kids in Heathers and all that. And that's kind of why we're at where we're at now: We're afraid to cry, we're afraid to let down our walls, and I can't even read the quote because I start bawling, but she talks about we're in a really difficult place as a species right now. We should be embracing sincerity and genuine emotion and that sort of thing. We shouldn't be afraid of it anymore. And I just responded to her, I tweeted back, 'Fuck yes!'

1:09:28 Marc: "There's something to be said for the hidden and the metaphor, you know?"

Taliesin: "Yes!"

Marc: "It's great that there's so much acceptance for LGBT characters and LGBT people today, but part of me wishes it was still back when I was in my 20s when you would get- you would see someone as a party and be like, [knowing nod] 'Yeah, I know,' and it was just unsaid or your would know that Peppermint Patty and Marcy are going to have a bed and breakfast in Oregon when they're adults."

Taliesin: "Obviously."

Marc: "And all that secret handshake stuff was… It's immeasurably better now and I'm putting this in… I would never want it to change, but there was something that the not knowing, the not having everyone be in on the joke, was nice because it also gave us an ownership of ourselves where it was the club we could control, we were the bouncer at the door of this club, and of course, ironically, homogenization is a good thing and to an extent of everyone being missed up, but there's something to be said about the subtlety of that, and I think a lot of times the subtlety and the metaphors are far more impactful than the direct."

1:15:41 Taliesin: "You have to be open to new ideas and you have to have faith in your ideas, if you think they're good ideas, that they're not… if they're good enough ideas, the world is not going to break them in half. They don't need to have a fence built around them. If you have good ideas and philosophies about the world, the world's not going to break them, it's going to enforce them.

1:20:10 Marc: "'Cause I always say that being gay is a huge part of who I am, but it's also an utterly insignificant part of who I am. We're all, once again, we're all have the same day to day struggles."

1:54:18 Amy: "I don't talk about it much, but I'm the B in LGBT, for the record. Doesn't tend to come up a lot."

Taliesin: "Are we going there?"

Amy: "Well, I am."

Taliesin: "Yeah, I am, too. Fuck it."

Taliesin looked at her with intense trepidation after she said it. Worried about what that step might mean, but also what it said about him if he did that whole episode about Pride and but was too scared to show it. And then wrote it off with a brief shrug and "Fuck it."

If you enjoy my work, consider supporting me through ko-fi, Patreon, or my shop. I'm severely disabled and it all helps justify my time spent on this project. Learn more about how and why to support me, including links.

#Wednesday Club #Geek & Sundry #Wednesday Club Transcript #Transcript #GSA

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fireflyfish · 7 years

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Tano and Kenobi: A Respite from Excitement

Previously on Tano and Kenobi...

Ahsoka Tano and Obi-Wan Kenobi successfully negotiated their freedom from the Ohnaka Pirate gang led by the colorful matriarch Mama Ohnaka. After making the exchange of prisons on Mirial, Ahsoka and Obi-Wan return to Coruscant with the rescued civilian crew and Jedi Master Sifo Dyas.

First | Previous | Next | AO3

“Knight Tano? Padawan Kenobi? Might I have a moment of your time?”

Ahsoka and Obi-Wan looked up from the storage container they were sorting through searching for some extra pillows and blankets. While their cruiser could in theory house up to fifteen sentients, that did not mean the accommodations would be the most luxurious and they were making up beds where they could.

“Of course, Master Dyas,” Ahsoka said, standing up and dusting her hands off as Obi-Wan closed the storage crate and pushed it back under the berth it came from. “What do you need?”

“I would like to speak to you two in private, if I may?” he asked, standing just outside of the doorway. “I understand you were going to turn this room over to Captain Penyo and her crew?”

“They’ll take three of the staterooms,” Ahsoka explained as she followed Master Dyas out into the hallway, Obi-Wan trailing after them. “Obi-Wan and I will double up in a room, which leaves a room for you and Captain Avett and Pilot Lincae.”

Master Dyas nodded as they passed down the hallway, returning a greeting from Joti, who was handing out freshly brewed caf to his crew mates. Ahsoka smiled at the relieved survey crew and Obi-Wan held up a hand as they passed by, taking a turn towards one of the smaller, more private rooms that was usually used for sensitive diplomacy or to negotiate delicate matters.

“Please take a seat,” Master Dyas gestured to the room’s round table circled with four plush chairs. He walked over to a hot water dispenser that was built into the wall and opened up another cabinet that held a collection of blue-grey porcelain cups. “Would either of you care for tea or caf?”

“We’ll take tea,” Ahsoka said, looking over at Obi-Wan, who watched the master with sharp blue eyes. “And honey too, if we have some.”

“No honey but we have some excellent sun nectar from Arcadia,” Master Dyas replied as he finished the preparations for tea and carried over a tray of three warm cups. “Drink up. I imagine you two are exhausted after everything that’s happened to you in the past few weeks.”

Ahsoka poured herself a generous helping of sun nectar before handing it over to Obi-Wan who, in true teenage fashion, gave himself perhaps a bit more than he really needed. “I’ll be happy to return to the Temple, where the most exciting thing to happen to me is deciding if I should run to catch a turbolift or not.”

Master Dyas and Obi-Wan laughed softly at her joke and Ahsoka let out a breath she hadn’t been aware she was holding. “So… what did you want to talk to us about?”

“Two things,” Master Dyas said, smiling behind his tea cup. “First of all, I wanted to tell you both how impressed I was with your handling of the Ohnaka gang out on Florrum. That could have been a tragedy on all sides but not only did you two manage to rescue yourselves and your own crew but you were able to rescue the civilians as well. Captain Penyo has spoken glowingly of your actions.”

Ahsoka felt a proud grin rise to her face and she tried to remind herself that a Jedi should always be humble and that she should present a good example for Obi-Wan.

“I agree,” Obi-Wan spoke up, his eyes glowing. “Master was amazing!”

Well, so much for modesty.

“I only did what any other Jedi would have done,” Ahsoka insisted, giving her padawan a look that said now was not the time to enthuse. Obi-Wan had the good sense to keep his glowing praise of his master to himself but he was ready if Master Dyas gave him another opportunity to expound on the virtues of his master.

Master Dyas smiled, a brief flicker of amusement passing over his features. “Be that as it may, it was not another Jedi that was placed in that situation. It was both of you and I believe I can speak for the whole Council when I say that I commend you for your heroism, not only with the pirates but for your actions on Raxus. You have both done very well.”

Sensing that they should just be thankful and accept the praise, Ahsoka glanced over at Obi-Wan. “I think I speak for both of us when I say, thank you, Master Dyas. We’re just happy to have made it out alive and in one piece.”

“And to have freed the civilians,” Obi-Wan added with pride. “What will happen to them?”

“They’ll be debriefed on Coruscant and given new assignments,” Master Dyas explained, tapping on a datapad to confirm his theory. “I would imagine the Republic will give them something a bit less exciting for their next go round.”

“I think Joti would like that,” Obi-Wan said. “I know I would like a respite from excitement for at least six months, possibly a year.”

This earned a round of laughter from Ahsoka and Master Dyas and it was clear the matter was closed for the time being. They exchanged a bit of small talk, Obi-Wan extolling Ahsoka’s wisdom before he launched into a colorful description of the trash compactor that was Hondo Ohnaka’s bedroom. Ahsoka listened to his story, already catching glimpses of the engaging storyteller her padawan was going to grow into. It was strange to think that her anxious and self conscious Obi-Wan was one day going to grow into the assured and confident master of her own youth but the brief glimpses she got every now and then reassured her. They were on the right path.

She was on the right path.

“That must have been quite frightening to wake up in a cell,” Master Dyas observed, sipping his tea. “How did you manage it?”

“Honestly, Master Dyas,” Obi-Wan said, finishing off his tea with an exhausted sigh. “That wasn’t the weirdest thing that happened to us that day. I’ve quite forgotten what my initial reaction to the cell was, although it might not have been fit for polite conversation.”

Ahsoka giggled at this and stood up to get them all another cup of tea. “Obi-Wan is a stickler for propriety, Master Dyas. At all times.”

Flushing bright red at his master’s teasing, Obi-Wan shrugged a little, his hands folded in his lap. “Being trapped in a pirate’s holding cell is no excuse for vulgarity.”

“Quite right,” Master Dyas agreed with a wide grin. “But I am curious. What was the weirdest thing you experienced if not waking up in a pirate’s holding cell?”

Ahsoka paused at the tea kettle, making sure to steady her breathing and hide her sudden nervousness behind the smoothest and most subtle shields she possessed. It wouldn’t do for Obi-Wan or Master Dyas to notice her sudden anxiety about their conversation and the direction she was almost positive it was going to go.

Not now. It’s too soon! Obi-Wan won’t understand. He’s not ready for the burden. He’s still just a kid!

“Master Ahsoka can tell you more but we experienced a,” Obi-Wan paused, searching for the right word. “A wave of… joy? Emotion? I’m not really sure how to describe it, Master Dyas. At first I thought the Force was trying to drown me or kill me and then I was crying with joy but I didn’t know why.”

Obi-Wan frowned at his hands and continued, his voice soft. “I still don’t know why.”

“Hmmm,” Master Dyas murmured, leaning back in his chair and gratefully accepting a new cup of tea from Ahsoka, who sat back down next to Obi-Wan. “It seems we have experienced the same Force event, young Obi-Wan. I, too, felt a distant but powerful happening in the Force when I was on Mirial.”

Ahsoka and Obi-Wan gaped at Master Dyas, mutual shock on their faces. Ahsoka recovered first, suddenly worried that in the heightened moment of their capture she had deluded herself into thinking she and Obi-Wan had witnessed Anakin’s entrance into the galaxy. “You felt it too, Master Dyas?”

“Yes,” the master replied, rolling one of the wrapped locks of hair that hung in front of his ears between his fingers as he rested his head against his hand. “I believe I mentioned before that I am unfortunately gifted with some amount of foresight, have I not, Knight Tano?”

Ahsoka nodded. “You did. Right before Obi-Wan’s padawan ceremony.”

“What is it like?” Obi-Wan asked, head canted to the side and then seemed to hear his question and shook himself out of his trance. “If it’s not too forward of me, Master.”

Giving Obi-Wan a warm look, Master Dyas assured him he had not been too forward. Relaxing back in his chair, the master closed his eyes and held out one hand as if trying to grasp the image in his mind to properly describe it to Obi-Wan and Ahsoka. “It is like seeing an imperfect picture or a broken holo. Some details are sharp and clear and others fade in and out of shadows. And sometimes my gift is nothing more than sensations, impressions or shadows cast by figures behind me. Honestly, it is more frustrating than helpful.”

“So you think this… Force event was some kind of shared vision of the future?” Ahsoka asked, carefully phrasing her words. “Of Obi-Wan’s future?”

Master Dyas opened his eyes and shrugged. “I do not know. As I said, I only experienced the event from a distance. It is clear from your descriptions that you were much closer to the epicenter of it. Whatever it was, you two are connected to it.”

So it most likely is Anakin, Ahsoka thought with a mix of relief and trepidation.

She and Obi-Wan exchanged glances before Master Dyas continued. “When we return to Coruscant, if it’s not too much trouble, I would like to meditate with you both on the subject.”

Obi-Wan turned to face his master and Ahsoka ran her hand up and down his back before agreeing to Master Dyas’ request. “If it will help you solve the mystery of what we experienced, then we would be glad to help. Right, Obi-Wan?”

“Yes, of course, Master Dyas,” Obi-Wan replied, bowing to the Jedi Master. “If it is from the future, it seems quite encouraging. There are times I think I can still feel it.”

Ahsoka watched as her padawan touched one hand to his heart, the softest smile tugging at the corners of his mouth as their own master-padawan bond gently pulsed with warmth and affection. Master Dyas watched Obi-Wan, his dark eyes narrowed, and the stood up, collecting their empty tea cups. “Well, this is a mystery I look forward to unraveling with you both. Now I think it’s time you two got some sleep. I am sure you are both exhausted or at the very least, in need of some quiet. Grab yourself something to eat in the galley and then get some rest.”

They stood up and bowed as one before Ahsoka stepped back to let Obi-Wan leave first with a promise to meditate on the Force event for Master Dyas. He headed out into the hallway while Ahsoka stood in the doorway, watching the Jedi master carefully wash and rinse their tea cups out in the sink.

If Master Dyas can really see the future, maybe… maybe he can help us?

“Ahsoka?” Master Dyas spoke, not turning away from his washing up. “Whatever it is that is troubling you can wait. You and your padawan are safe. That is all you need concern yourself with at this present moment.”

Ahsoka blinked, surprised, and bowed her head again. “Yes, of course, Master Dyas. I’m sorry. It’s hard to… come down from the excitement.”

Master Dyas smiled back at her over his shoulder, a fox-like expression of understanding. “I know. But it is not yet time for that. You will know when that time comes, won’t you?”

Confused but comforted somehow, she nodded. “Yes. I will. Good night, Master Dyas.”

“Good night, Ahsoka,” Master Dyas said and turned back to the sink.

And with that, Ahsoka headed off to the stateroom she and Obi-Wan shared, heart full of hope that maybe she had found someone who might just understand a bit of what she was going through.

Mace Windu stood next to Master Yoda, the life and activity of the Temple hangar bay humming around them. Pilots and mechanics gossiped in the far corner, currently engrossed in the tribulations of a famous holonet couple as droids walked past the two Jedi masters, pushing a freight sled that was weighed down with goods for Temple operations. There was a pleasant wind winding through the cavernous room, buffeting Yoda’s cloak and tugging lightly at his.

“Late, they are,” Yoda finally commented, opening his eyes and glancing up at Mace. “Talk with them, you should.”

“The ways of the Coruscant Planetary Authority are beyond even our reach, Master,” Mace replied. “And Master Dyas informed me they were going to drop off the civilians before coming to the Temple. I’m sure the Senatorial Census and Survey Bureau had more than a few questions for them. Do you have some place else to be?”

Pointed green ears twitched upwards as faded blue eyes widened in amused surprise. “Ohoho! Enjoying your new position, are you, Master of the Order?”

“Well I’m certainly not enjoying the paperwork,” Mace grumbled, glancing away before something brushed against his senses. “Ah. Here they are.”

A vermillion Republic cruiser slowly hovered into the hangar bay, carefully lowering itself to the ground and venting steam and exhaust as the landing cycle finished. A loading ramp was lowered to the deck and out stepped Master Dyas, followed closely by Knight Tano and Padawan Kenobi.

Mace and Yoda started toward the trio to quietly welcome them home when Mace sensed a presence at a nearby doorway back into the Temple. Yoda carried on ahead as Mace stopped to glance back, frowning at the tall, broad-shouldered shadow there.

What is Qui-Gon doing here?

Shaking his head, Mace put the thought out of his mind for the moment and returned his attention to the returning trio of Jedi.

“Master Yoda! Master Windu! Such a distinguished welcome party,” Master Dyas grinned, bowing low to the Grandmaster and to the Master of the Order. “If I had known you were coming to meet us, I would have polished my boots and worn a nicer cloak.”

“Happy to see you, we are,” Yoda chuckled, bowing his head to Master Dyas before turning his gaze to Ahsoka and Obi-Wan. “Relieved we were, to hear of your rescue, Knight Tano and Padawan Kenobi. Anxious I am, to hear the details of your report.”

“Padawan Kenobi is already working on it,” Ahsoka smiled, putting a hand on Obi-Wan’s back as he held a datapad close to his chest. Mace watched the teen try his best to be humble and modest as was expected by the Order, but he could catch the faintest sliver of a gleam of pride in his aura.

As he had expected, Obi-Wan was thriving under Ahsoka’s tutelage. His emotions were still tumultuous and his anxiety and extreme self criticism had not gone away but there was an underlying confidence that hadn’t been there before. Mace had no doubt that Obi-Wan would have done well under any teacher that would have been willing to take him on, but there was something about Ahsoka’s unorthodox openness and her warm affection that made the boy blossom.

I wonder how Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan would have fared under a similar mission?

“Welcome back, Knight Tano and Padawan Kenobi,” Mace said, finally joining the conversation. “I’m glad to see you emerged from your adventures unscathed.”

“So are we,” Ahsoka replied, sharing a happy look with her padawan. “Thank you for sending Knight Di. We couldn’t have done it without him. Has he already returned to the Temple?”

“Arrived, he has, a few hours ago,” Yoda said, walking over to Obi-Wan and tapping the boy’s leg. The padawan respectfully squatted down and let the Grandmaster climb up onto his shoulder before standing up straight. “Spoke highly of you two, he did.”

“He’s being too kind,” Ahsoka laughed, a little embarrassed as the five Jedi started to walk towards the entrance to the Temple. “It was because of his timely arrival that we were really able to convince Mama Ohnaka to negotiate with us.”

“He tolds us about this… Mother Ohnaka character,” Mace said, his hands clasped behind his back. “She sounds… colorful.”

Ahsoka managed to stifle her mirth as she and Obi-Wan exchanged a glance before Ahsoka gestured for him to speak.

Obi-Wan answered with all the solemnity of a wizened elder. “Master Windu, there are no words to describe Mama Ohnaka. She can only be… experienced to be truly understood.”

Even Master Dyas cracked up at that and Mace got the distinct feeling that he was going to enjoy hearing about Ahsoka and Obi-Wan’s adventures with the pirates. He allowed himself the smallest of smiles as he acknowledged the padawan’s statement. “Then I look forward to hearing all about it in your mission report and debriefing tomorrow.”

“Yes, Master!” Obi-Wan replied with a grin matching his master’s pleased expression.

“Obi-Wan!” came a loud chorus of shouts from the doorway and the group looked up to see a small clutch of padawans clustered there.

Mace noted that Qui-Gon Jinn was nowhere to be seen. Adding that to the unending list of things he needed to think on later, he reached out to touch Ahsoka’s shoulder.

“A word, Knight Tano?” Mace asked. “I’m sure Padawan Kenobi would like a moment with his friends?”

Ahsoka nodded and helped Yoda down from Obi-Wan’s shoulder as he was dismissed to lope over to his friends. Master Dyas took his leave of the group with a warm goodbye, passing the small, excited padawans as he moved into the Temple.

“What is it, Master Windu?” Ahsoka asked.

Yoda hobbled over to Mace’s side, and he glanced at the little green master before addressing Ahsoka. “You did good work out there, Ahsoka. Not just with the pirates near Florrum but on Raxus too. The Council may have had some doubts about your skills before this little adventure but you have gone a long way in proving those doubts were unfounded.”

“Impressive,” Yoda cackled with an emphatic clack of his gimmer stick against the floor. “Very impressive. Proud we are, of you both.”

Mace nodded in agreement. “Yes, and impressed with your diplomacy, as unorthodox as it is.”

Ahsoka blushed and bowed her head for a moment before meeting his gaze. “Thank you. That… That’s very kind of you to say. I was just trying to do my duty as a Jedi.”

“And you did it well,” Mace said, his voice warm, hoping she understood the depth of feeling behind it. He was not given to overt displays of emotion, positive or negative, but it did not mean he did not have those feelings. His padawan Depa understood his quiet ways but that had taken nearly a decade of mentoring and teaching to come to that. “I have to collect my padawan but… Welcome home, Ahsoka.”

Yoda nodded at Mace before he made his goodbyes. He hobbled towards a passing knight and was given a ride on the wookie’s broad shoulders.

Mace took his leave of the knight and her very popular padawan, walking back into the warm and comforting shadows of the Temple.

Ahsoka watched them both go, feeling a little stunned.

Did Mace Windu give her a compliment?

Did he just say he was proud of her?

Did he just smile at her?

I wish I could tell Anakin. Ahsoka mused, a grin hidden behind her hand as she watched Obi-Wan’s friends gasp and exclaim over his adventures on the Outer Rim. He wouldn’t believe me but the look on his face would be hilarious. “No way, Snips! Mace didn’t smile. He can’t smile. His smile was stolen by a Dathomirian witch!”

She was starting to wonder just how much her view of the Council and the Order had been skewed by Anakin’s own opinions of them.

But there would be time to wonder about that later. She needed to extricate Obi-Wan from his circle of adoring friends and take them back to their room to unpack and decompress after a long, eventful but exhausting trip.

“And that’s when Master offered to exchange herself for the pirate matriarch’s son,” Obi-Wan said, as Ahsoka walked up next to him. “Oh! Hello, Master! I was just telling them about the pirates off Florrum.”

“Did you really retake a pirate ship with three blaster rifles?” Quinlan Vos gasped, his eyes round in awe. “All by yourself?”

Ahsoka looked down at the assembled padawans, picking out a young Kit Fisto and Luminara Unduli among the crowd. “Well I had Obi-Wan and the Force so I wasn’t entirely by myself.”

“Is it true the pirates overwhelmed you?” Luminara asked, her blue eyes round. “And that you actually engaged in a lightsaber battle?”

“Yes, we did,” Ahsoka replied, glancing over at her padawan. “And I’m sure Obi-Wan will be happy to tell you all about it tomorrow during your lunch break but unfortunately I need to borrow him. If you all will excuse us?”

“Yes, Master Ahsoka!” the group chorused and waved goodbye to Obi-Wan as he followed after Ahsoka who was heading to their rooms.

“So how upset is Quinlan that he wasn’t the first padawan to face off against brigands?” Ahsoka asked once she and Obi-Wan were in the turbolift back to their quarters.

Obi-Wan let out a yawn. “He’s not too terribly upset. He has instead vowed to be the first padawan to arrest a pirate and thinks it was poor form to let Mama Ohnaka and Hondo get away.”

Ahsoka let out a loud happy sigh, shaking her head. “Well, he is welcome to try. I think I would pay money to see Quinlan Vos try to arrest Mama Ohnaka.”

Obi-Wan thought about this for a moment before replying, “I would bet you dinner at the noodle shop that Hondo would try to hire him.”

“That reminds me,” Ahsoka said as the turbolift doors pinged open and they walked off towards their quarters. “I owe you some celebratory ice cream, don’t I?”

“Yes, Master. Could we go tomorrow after our debriefing?”

“That sounds like an excellent idea, Obi-Wan.”

Ahsoka and Obi-Wan’s notoriety only increased after their successful return to the Temple. Obi-Wan’s agemates were fascinated by his adventure out on the Outer Rim and it only took a few days for everyone in the Temple under the age of twenty to learn the story. Younglings gasped and giggled at Obi-Wan’s passing and outright waved with excited glee if he was in the presence of Ahsoka. There were more than a few impressed head nods from senior padawans and even Depa Bilaba told Obi-Wan she was impressed when she assisted in one of his self defense classes.

“But I didn’t do anything!” Obi-Wan insisted as he carefully and methodically blocked a series of attacks, wondering when his own skill would become as fluid and graceful as the older padawan’s. “I only did as Master bid me and babysat a very talkative pirate who has all the sense of a lothcat.”

Depa laughed at that, shaking her head. “You don’t understand, Obi-Wan. It isn’t what you did but the fact that you did it at all, and at such a young age, is what is impressive. I didn’t engage in an actual battle with Master Windu until was I seventeen, and even then he pushed me out of the way and handled the altercation mostly by himself.”

“Oh,” Obi-Wan blinked, surprised to hear that. Depa Bilaba was someone he and his fellows looked up to. The Master of the Order’s padawan and a quietly impressive young woman in her own right with her shining black braids and her sloe eyes. She had an air of quiet solemnity about her that evaporated whenever she gave the younger padawans one of her impish smiles. To hear that he had done something before her was shocking to say the least. “I hadn’t thought of it like that. Master’s upbringing is so unusual that I was worried I was falling behind, honestly.”

“From what my master has told me,” Depa moved her hands into a position that allowed equally for offense and defense, circling around Obi-Wan and waiting for an opening. “Master Tano is the exception that proves the rule. I don’t think you have to live up to whatever it was she was doing on the Outer Rim before she met you.”

Obi-Wan nodded in understanding and then Depa attacked and he found himself falling to her last carefully balanced but well-placed barrage of strikes, ending up on the mats next to the rest of his classmates.

Time passed, the golden glow of summer making the days long and filled with learning and adventure. Obi-Wan’s age-group went on their first unsupervised visit to the Parks where Padawan Rast and Luminara ended up rescuing a drowning child. After that was their trip to Aurealia and their extended survival workshop. Obi-Wan found that the armored tooka he and his group were sent to chase after was more than fond of him and was prone to escaping from his cage and following Obi-Wan as he went about his tasks on that field trip.

Master Ahsoka found the whole thing hilarious and named the little creature Cody for reasons beyond him.

Time passed and there was another mission, this time to Commenor, to attend a ceremony honoring the planet’s acceptance into the Republic. Things had been routine until Obi-Wan stumbled across what appeared to be an operation trying to smuggle chrysopaz gems off planet. Several exciting and explosion-filled days later, Master Ahsoka and Obi-Wan found themselves local celebrities, being sent back to Coruscant with grand fanfare.

“Does this happen every time we successfully complete a mission?” Obi-Wan asked his master as they flew their light corvette back to Coruscant.

Ahsoka laughed at Obi-Wan’s obvious discomfort with this new round of what he considered egregious praise. “When you uncover a smuggling operation that was costing a planet trillions in lost revenue and putting civilian lives in danger? Yeah, it happens.”

Obi-Wan rolled his eyes and flopped into the co-pilot chair frowning at the controls. “I don’t see what all the fuss is about. I hardly did anything. You did all the work.”

Ahsoka grinned, resting an arm on the pilot console and rest her head on her hand. “Oh really? And who was it that just so happened to stumble upon a crew of smugglers making off with the jewels? And set off the alarm and engaged them in a small firefight before I could catch up to you?”

Obi-Wan risked a glance over at his master and felt his attempt at purposeful Jedi modesty wither on the vine, a slow, secretly proud smile appearing on his face. “Well… I couldn’t let them get away, Master. Those gems did not belong to them.”

“Uh huh,” Ahsoka nodded with fake solemnity. “Your hands were tied, of course.”

“I’m glad you understand my position,” Obi-Wan snickered, relaxing back into his chair. “Where are we going to get ice cream this time? I think we should go to that place that makes Corellian crisped waffles.”

“I think that is an excellent choice,” Ahsoka said as she finished putting the coordinates for Coruscant in the navicomputer, which let out a chime once it was done processing their route back home. She activated the hyperdrive and stood up once the ship had completed the jump, the blue-white swirl of starlight streaking past the cockpit. “I think I’m going to go meditate for a bit. Let me know if anything comes up.”

Ahsoka spent most of that particular ride home worrying about time and how fast it was hurtling forward. It had been nearly six months since their adventure on Florrum, and the event which she had finally decided was Anakin’s birth.

This meant Anakin was still an infant and unlikely to remember whatever hardships he and his mother were undergoing. She had gone over her notes, despairing the fact her master had never been interested in talking about his past. All she had known was that he said he came from Tatooine but she didn’t know if that meant he was born there or simply arrived on the planet before he was aware of the world around him.

And on top of that, who was the current owner of Shmi Skywalker? Ahsoka frowned at the ceiling of her stateroom, trying to piece together the fragmentary nature of a slave’s life. As far as the Republic was concerned, whatever took place outside of their jurisdiction was not to be bothered with. There was a kind of unspoken agreement between the Republic and those who operated on the fringes of the galaxy. Don’t make too much of a fuss and the Republic won’t involve itself, or the Jedi, in the affairs of local systems.

It disgusted Ahsoka on a basic level but her hands were tied. For now.

I will find a way to free you, Master. I swear it.

Another six months passed as quickly as the ones prior to it. Obi-Wan was seventeen and he was growing like a wroshyr tree on Kashyyyk, a few bits of soft blond fuzz appearing sporadically on his chin. He was tall and gangly, not quite filled out yet but the angles of his face were sharpening to the familiar visage Ahsoka remembered from her youth.

Slowly, inexorably, Ahsoka’s padawan was growing up. And she still had no clue how to best go about searching for his future padawan.

It was early one bright spring morning, the stained glass windows of the Northern Solar Room levered open to allow a cool breeze, when an anxious senior initiate interrupted Ahsoka and Obi-Wan’s jar’kai practice. The young Rodian stood on the edges of training area, her hands clasped against her stomach. Neither master nor padawan noticed the young girl until Obi-Wan slid across the room, his sabers behind him and almost scoring the floor with the tips of them.

“Keep your blades up, Obi-Wan!” Ahsoka critiqued as she chased after him, trying to overpower his defenses with both her sabers. “Lightsabers can cut through ship floors and you don’t want to accidentally fall through them.”

“Sorry, Master!” Obi-Wan grunted, managing to deflect his master off his blades and spin free only to find himself blinking in shock. “Oh. Hello there. When did you get here?”

“Ah! Behind you!” the senior initiate gasped, as Ahsoka came back around for another attack that Obi-Wan neatly blocked by crossing his blades over his back.

“Master, we have a visitor,” Obi-Wan said, his voice loud enough to be heard over the happy buzz of four lightsabers.

Ahsoka leaned around her padawan and smiled at the young Rodian before them, who was both awestruck and a little terrified of all that white-hot plasma on display. “Hello! What can we do for you?”

“Knight Tano? I’ve been sent by the Council,” the senior initiate said, standing up a little straighter.

Ahsoka stepped to the side to allow Obi-Wan to turn and face her. Her padawan gave her a salute with his right hand and blade before deactivating them both and walked over to grab their water bottles and towels while Ahsoka talked to the messenger.

“You are to come to the Council Room at your earliest convenience to receive your next mission assignment. And… Master Dyas says it’s all right if you wish to shower first. He had a feeling you were sparring.”

Ahsoka laughed at this and bowed her head to the young girl. “Oh did he? Was that actually included in the message?”

The Rodian held out a small datapad as proof of the accuracy of her missive. “Yes, Master. He did.”

“What’s going on?” Obi-Wan asked, handing over a water bottle to his master and peering at the datapad in her hands. “We have another mission? Where to?”

“It doesn’t say,” Ahsoka answered, handing the pad back to the messenger. “Thank you, Senior Initiate Bani. We’ll be there as soon as possible.”

“I will let the Council know,” the girl replied with a bow before turning around and heading back toward the turbolift.

Obi-Wan took a long drink of water, pouring the last of it over his head. He scrubbed his face and head off with his towel and grinned at his master. “Where do you think they’re sending us?”

Ahsoka pursed her lips as she twisted open her bottle. She took a sip of cold clear water before speaking. “I’m not sure. There’s been some unrest out on Dantooine, but nothing that would require a Jedi. Maybe something on the Outer Rim?”

“I’ve been following the news and it seems there have been a few raids along the Harrin Trade Corridor. Do you suppose it has something to do with that?” Obi-Wan mused as they made their way back to their rooms to shower and change into something more appropriate for a mission briefing. “Given our last encounter with pirates?”

“I doubt it,” Ahsoka shook her head. “Maybe it’s a diplomatic squabble. Or bodyguard duty.”

They were showered and dressed in about twenty minutes, which gave Ahsoka enough time to consult her personal database and nothing came up as pertinent. She also checked the amount of credits she had been able to save for Anakin and Shmi’s eventual freedom, frowning at how it never seemed to grow fast enough. There was no going rate for slaves but Ahsoka distinctly remembered her master bitterly quoting his old owner one particularly dark night. “No pod is worth two slaves.”

After we get back from this mission, I’ll see if I can get permission to take Obi-Wan on a… field trip. Yes, I think that would be a good way to phrase it. I’ll tell the Council I want him to get some experience going undercover and seeing what life is like outside the Republic.

And we’ll go find them.

Confident in her plan of action, Ahsoka met Obi-Wan in their living room, watching him tuck his long padawan braid, complete with silka beads, over his shoulder as he studied himself in the room’s simple mirror. “I think I’ve finally grown into this habit, Master. How does it look?”

For one brief, painful moment, it was as if Master Obi-Wan was standing there, straightening his tabards and smoothing down his collars while he waited for Anakin and Ahsoka to join him before a meeting.

Her little boy was growing up.

“Master?” Obi-Wan repeated, turning to face Ahsoka, his braid and lack of beard chasing away the phantoms of another life. “Is everything alright?”

“Yes, I’m fine,” Ahsoka smiled, calling her robe from a hook by the door and pulling it on as she walked out of their suite. “I was just thinking how tall you’ve grown.”

“Have I?” Obi-Wan asked with a smile of his own as he followed her. “Do you suppose I’ll be as tall as you one day?”

“We’ll see,” Ahsoka chuckled as they made their way to the Council Room.

When the pair arrived, they were greeted by a smaller group of masters than usual because several of them had been called to a meeting at the Senate building that day. The new Chancellor, a man by the name of Valorum, had requested their wisdom on a particular matter and the meeting could not be rescheduled.

“Knight Tano and Padawan Kenobi,” a Council assistant announced as they stepped into the room. The two moved as one to the center of the room, bowing respectfully to Master Ki-Adi-Mundi who was the defacto head of the Council in Master Windu and Yoda’s absence.

“Good morning, Knight Tano and Padawan Kenobi,” Master Mundi began, acknowledging each of them as he spoke. “I hope we did not interrupt anything too important this morning.”

“We were just sparring,” Ahsoka explained. “We came as soon as we could. What is the nature of our next mission?”

“Master Plo Koon has the specifics of your mission,” Master Mundi said and handed off the meeting to the Kel Dor master who held out a datapad for Obi-Wan to take from him.

“We have received a request for aid from Mandalore,” Master Plo began, gesturing with one hand to activate a holo projector that filled the room with the blue-white light of a ghostly planet. “The planet has been embroiled in a terrible civil war for some time now and the Senate has received a request for aid. There have been several attempts on the life of the head of state, Duchess Satine Kryze, a young girl who has recently ascended the throne.”

“Mandalore?” Obi-Wan murmured, watching the planet spin in place. “Don’t they hate the Jedi?”

“The Duchess and her supporters are part of a new movement within Mandalorian culture,” Plo Koon explained, pulling up an image of the young duchess, a young carefree portrait from happier times. Ahsoka watched in a kind of numb shock as the regal woman from her memories stared back at her, her elegant features soft and sweet with youth and innocence. “She is a pacifist. The request came from her supporters and the senator representing their sector.”

“What…” Ahsoka found her throat dry as she suddenly realized how little she actually knew about this particular part of Master Obi-Wan’s life.

She took a deep breath and continued. “What is our mission?”

“You will go to Mandalore and you will protect the Duchess from the insurgents trying to kill her. This is a dangerous mission, Knight Tano, Padawan Kenobi, but the Council is confident you are well-suited for this task. May the Force be with you both.”

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drsilverwoman · 5 years

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My Girlfriend Wants me to be Gay

2011

The most recent articulation of this desire came last night after watching Charlotte York declare that she is becoming a Jew, in order to have a real chance at love with her new man Harry Goldenblatt. Charlotte and Harry are of course characters on Sex and the City, one of the shows that will be part of my dissertation. Chelsea is watching the entire series with me for the first time, and each episode she looks to me in wonderment, is that really what straight women think? Do men really have hairy backs like that? What kind of odd shaped dicks have you seen? What makes a good diamond? Did she really say 14,000-dollar wedding dress?

Last night however, after watching Charlotte’s willingness to convert for the man she loves, Chelsea turned to me and told me “I’d go Jew for you, since you went gay for me.”

Is it by nature of me being a woman and having a sexual, emotional and monogamous relationship with another women, that I become gay? If I have spent most of the last ten years of my life sleeping with men, does all of that disappear as I commit myself to Chelsea? What does it mean for me to be a lesbian?

Chelsea is a lesbian. She is butch, she has little to no relations with men or interest in them, and she only wants to date other lesbians. Chelsea finds no appeal in converting straight girls, or being the fantasy-curiosity in the heterosexual woman’s sexual identity. Nope, she wants full on lezzies in her bed. She wants to be immersed in the lesbian community- one she loves, values, and gets much of her strength from. She relishes in the circle of friends she has made, and next week as we head up to Pride in New York City, the Dyke parade is the only thing she cares to see.

I am not quite there yet, and I don’t know if I will ever be. Last year around this time I began my first relationship with a woman, Chelsea’s nemeses actually. Ali and I met at a Halcyon, the local lesbian folk group’s monthly concert, and dated for about six months. Ali and I were doomed from the start. She wouldn’t commit, I slacked on my work, we resented each other and we fought, a lot. I knew within weeks of dating it should be over. I thought women might be different. I hoped the fighting would go away because we were able to communicate better. But gay or straight, when you fight in the beginning things don’t last too long. Still, I wanted to date a girl. I needed to date a girl. I had been trying for so long that I was willing to take this shitty relationship just so that I could have a relationship with a woman. I wanted to be part of lesbian community, one I had spent so much time on the periphery of, and one that I had so longed to be part of.

I remember in college my roommate Megan was dating a woman named Megan and regularly we would have lesbian, vegetarian potlucks at our small apartment in Montreal. The years of living together had worn on Megan’s and my relationship and so when these women would venture to our home I was cast away at the man-loving meat eater. From the doorway of my bedroom I would watch these women, wanting to be amongst them, while also ridiculing their need for constant affirmation as well as their dietary choices. Years later, when Ali and I began dating I realized why that affirmation was necessary. However, I also continued to ridicule the vegetarian-lesbian connection. A recent convert to vegetarianism, due to her ex-girlfriend’s eating habits and her newfound post-college political awareness, I enjoyed regularly reminding Ali she was not the first woman to give up meat. More so, that I would not give up meat for her, nor would I feel bad about my choice to eat flesh.

“I’m so gay for you,” I told Chelsea a few weeks ago after an amazing hour or so of sex. Relishing the numerous orgasms I had just had, and smiling over Chelsea’s newfound theory that fingers are like dicks with brains (again, after an episode of Sex and The City in which Samantha describes a blow job as a pussy with brain) I really was feeling very mush a lesbian. But thing is, I don’t really know what that meant when I said what I did, and I am still not sure.

The next morning, when I got home from the gym singing along to Fred Durst, Chelsea asked me if I was still going to be gay for her that day. She seems to think lesbians cannot like Limp Bizkit, or that if I am going to like Fred Durst (and Kid Rock and Eminem for that matter) then I need to over emphasize my gayness in other ways. She secretly has a weakness for Toby Keith so I am not really sure about the fairness of this logic. However, I guess my ability to pass and my femme identity, one that always already renders women within the heterosexual male gaze forces me to assert my sexual identity in other ways. So, that day, after the gym, I was sure to file my nails down extra short before I got in the shower, and while dressing I opted for a butchier racer back tank-top over one with skinny spaghetti straps. Ah yes, I thought, today I am gay.

I am learning what it is to be a lesbian, and each day I think I am closer to being gay for Chelsea, but I can’t deny that sometimes when Samantha talks about how much she enjoys giving a blow job, or Carrie exclaims that she will not survive much longer without the weight of a man on top of her, I can relate. Ten years of sex with men, with quite a few I may add, of various shapes, sizes, ethnicities, backgrounds, and in a variety of locations and positions does not disappear in a year. No matter how much I adore sex with women and the intimacy I have found with Chelsea that is unlike anything I have experienced before, I still wonder, am I gay?

I know what she means though when she tells me she wants me to go gay for her, well I know some of what she means. I know that she wants me to stop comparing my sex with her, to sex with men. More then that, she wants to stop comparing sex with women to sex with men. At times I fear she wants me to spend less time with my straight friends and become more a part of her community, a desire I know she has, but fears to express. When men look at me she is intrigued, and often wants to understand how I enjoy it while she finds it threatening. She often asks me about the variety of dicks I have seen, are they really as temperamental as the women of Sex and the Cityclaim? Somehow she wants me to recount dick stories to her and not include the people who were attached. Does she think straight sex has no feeling? Having last had sex with a boy in high school, she knows nothing of the intimacy men and women share together. Nothing of the joy of hands-free sex. Nothing of the ease of just putting it in and both getting off at the same time. And nothing of the amazing sensation that occurs when a man comes inside of you just as you are orgasming.

My friend Ryan has the dirtiest mouth of anyone I know and when he jokes about balls and dicks and asses I laugh out loud, she grimaces and asks me to not make her hang out with him again. When my friend Jess comes over with a weekend full of single straight girl stories of casual kisses and drunken make-outs, I smile and remember the good old days. Chelsea finds her boy-craziness annoying and wonders what about it I can find enjoyable. For someone who studies gender and trans identities, it often amazes me how quickly she places people into a straight gay binary, and within that construct excludes straight men from her world.

But this is not a rant about Chelsea, or her politics, because I adore her and I also know that she is young, still living in a world similar to the one Megan constructed at McGill. One I know women value and maintain, but outside of college we cannot exist in such contained bubbles and Chelsea is beginning to recognize the variety of men and that there are even some she might enjoy the company of. More so, this is not about Chelsea’s politics because it is about me being gay, or trying to be.

What does it mean for me to become gay? For Chelsea to become a Jew there is a process, she would convert. There are ceremonies and rituals and ways of initiating her new identity. I could have a coming out party, we joke about the idea of it, but ultimately it seems to silly to happen. When I am with Chelsea the word sees me as gay. But when I tell me family and friends, the people I have known the longest, about Chelsea they wonder what happened to the woman who for years had relationships with men, and quite a few of them. Although my parents don’t know about many of my partners most of my close friends have an inkling as to my sexual history, and it is vast. I often joke about the need to write a memoir of my sex life, The Biography of my Bed, I want to call it. It would be full of fun tales and silly stories, many involving dick. But dick is taboo in the lesbian world. And this I know, because when Ali and I finally ended due to her reading my emails and discovering my cheating behaviors, the only behavior that ever got back to me was the moment when I described to Jess how nice it felt to once again have a dick in my mouth. My reputation in the lesbian community was momentarily destroyed. And so I found Mallori, got back my lesbian credibility, and then Chelsea (who is also preceded by a bad reputation, although hers has nothing to do with dicks) admitted after months of sitting next to me in class and me telling her I like her, that she liked me. We have been dating ever since, and now I guess I am gay, again.

Ben’s dick, well I did like it in my mouth. And I liked it between my legs. I also liked his hairy chest and his masculine ways of being. I also like Chelsea’s masculine ways of being, her hand between my legs and her clit in my mouth. I hate the term bisexual. It brings up too many negative stereotypes; greedy, promiscuous, undecided, and disloyal, just to name a few. Whereas many straight men may think bisexual women are sexy and intriguing there is no such affirmation within the lesbian community. At best I have found acceptance from those who know better than to judge based on sexuality. Many acknowledge the fluidity of sexuality and recognize the hypocrisy of judging one’s sexuality and using it to think less of them. Too many gay people have had the same tactics employed on them and so in theory they know better than to do the same, but in practice the taboo against bisexual women remains strong and often works as a way to keep people outside of the in group.

Being in that group is such a joy! Don’t let anyone tell you different, there is power in the margins and there is pleasure in living in a semi-secretive world. Whether that counters the negativity many queers face when they daily negotiate the normal world I cannot say, but I do know there is fun found in finding yourself outside the norm.

So what does me being gay mean for my girlfriend? I know that the sex acts between us and the relationship we have, which for most folks constructs us both as lesbians, may not be enough for her. She knows too much theory and too much reality about the lives of sexual beings and so when she says to me that she will go Jew for me because I will go gay for her, what have I done? Well, in jest I have told her that I am gay for her. When I return home from the gym with some angry white boy blaring in my ear I remind her that my bad taste in music has no effect on my desire for her.

Maybe I need a coming out party the same way one goes through a religious conversion process. But the fact is, if Chelsea and I break up I don’t care if she stays Jewish, that is, unless we have kids. Are kids the determining factor? If we were to split, I would want her to continue raising our children as Jews, so it makes sense that she would want to have me continue raising our kids as a lesbian. Can one convert their sexuality the way they might change their religion. Does a Jewish convert ever stop missing Christmas? Do they ever really know what it is like to be born a Jew and be excluded from so many activities as a child? And does a woman, such as myself, who at 30 decides to be a lesbian, ever stop missing the feel of a dick? Do I ever really know what it means to be a lesbian when the thought of having sex with a man doesn’t make my skin crawl?

#lesbian femme #lesbian #femme

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clairedmaddox · 5 years

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The Goose

The following is an excerpt from The Lund Loop Newsletter. To learn more click here.

In one sense, the hole in the television was beautiful, almost artistic.

The impact – from what I first assumed was a broomstick, but later turned out to be a hammer – had punched a perfect circle in the center of the tube, radiating a sunburst of fine cracks towards the edge of the screen.

That it hadn’t exploded in an electric storm of glass shards puzzled me. All the TV’s I’d seen smashed by guitars in bad 80’s music videos had done so. But the lack of dried blood or bits of flesh in the shag carpet in front of the television cabinet convinced me otherwise – and somewhat disappointedly I must confess.

None of my roommates were home to help solve the mystery, but explicitly understanding the dynamics of a house shared by four twenty-something males, I started to backfill a theory as to why the only TV in the house was now inoperable.

And it wasn’t just any TV. It was a 32” Sony Trinitron, arguably the best set you could buy in 1986. And even though my roommate got it for free by pulling a credit card scam at Circuit City, it was still a loss.

Occam’s razor suggested an overly inebriated partygoer had backed into it while playing air guitar with a broom, but that’s as far as I could take my mental exercise as I was tired and numb. To the point that kissing sixteen channels of cable TV goodbye for the foreseeable future didn’t even register.

I had just arrived home after a six-hour drive from Arizona, where my girlfriend and I spent a week trying to make Castaneda-like connections with the spirits of dead shamans, but instead got drunk and crashed in cheap motels.

I was disappointed by the experience, though the fact that Castaneda’s tool of transformation was peyote and ours was Crazy Horse Malt Liquor did not occur to me at the time.

It was upon climbing the stairs to my room that I realized the damaged TV was just the beginning of a tale that would end with the spilling of avian blood and a public shaming, the likes of which Huntington Beach, California had never seen.

—-

The older you get, the more your circle of friends solidifies. Though you still might pick up some acquaintances later in life, it’s very rare to develop true friendships after forty. Rarer still is meeting true friends of your true friends – those whom you’ve never met before. That’s because, by the time you hit forty, you’ve known your true friends for a long time and are much more likely to have met anyone else meaningful in their lives.

Meeting friends of friends is something that happens in your early 20s.

That’s the time when your world is expanding, first by leaving high school, and second by entering college or the workforce. That’s when you first start to meet people who don’t know your parents or siblings, aren’t familiar with your hometown, and don’t share a common history with you.

Meeting a friend of a friend is a dicey proposition when you’re young. They come with implied approval due to their relationship to your new friend, but not a guarantee. After all, you haven’t really known your new friend that long, so how can you be sure they are a good judge of character – present company excepted.

For me, it worked like this…

In my early 20s, I picked up some new friends whom I ran with for a few years. One was from across town, another from one county north, while three or four others were transplants from out of state. Those were the ones you had to worry about.

The transplants were trying to get away from something. Usually a small-town mentality or small-minded people.

But small-minded people aren’t very good at getting the hint, and every spring break or 4th of July holiday a friend of a friend would arrive in town, excited to see what Southern California was all about.

That’s how I first met Snap. His real name was Sean.

Sean was a good guy. A solid guy. He was intelligent and polite, even thoughtful at times. The type of guy you’d introduce to your mom and she’d tell you the next day, “I really like that Sean.”

But Sean was a different person when we went out drinking – which happened quite a bit.

One moment everything would be great. Everybody would be laughing, joking, and having a fun time. Then in an instant, it would all go bad.

Sean would fly across the bar and crack a random guy in the jaw. Or scream “you’re a fucking bitch,” to a girl whose only crime was to order a drink next to him. Often, he’d break down and sob incoherently to his friends, who, while trying to console him, would suddenly be accused of mockery and challenged to a fight.

The worst part was that you never knew when it would happen. On some nights it only took one beer before things went off the rails. On others, he could drink all night long without incident.

But when it did go bad, it always happened without warning. There were never any signs or telltale clues that he was about to go off. He just snapped.

So, we called him “Snap.”

—-

As I came to the top of the landing, I noticed that three of the four doors to the bedrooms were open, an unusual occurrence in our house. Though all my roommates knew and mostly trusted each other, it was best practice to keep your door shut.

And it was no coincidence that the only door that was still closed had a lock on it. Or that it was mine.

Walking past the open doors, more damage was revealed. In my roommate Andy’s room, his pride and joy, a five-component stereo system, had been destroyed.

All the knobs from the tuner were on the floor, and the posts that held them in place bent downward as if hit by a hard object.

Both the windows on the dual-cassette player were cracked, like some solid metal object had been smashed into them.

The five-disc CD player had dents all over its case, the type that would occur if a hammer type instrument had struck it.

Hmmm?

And finally, both speakers had multiple holes punched in front and back, each the same size and circumference as the hole on the TV tube downstairs.

Double hmmm?

Then I passed Greg’s room and saw that the strings on his prized guitar were hanging by the tuners, as if ripped out from the bridge. There were also round impact marks across the face of the guitar which matched up with the stereo and the TV.

I was sensing a pattern here.

My third roommate, Jeff, has a couple of things askew in his room but no damage as far as I could see.

As tired as I was, I couldn’t help but modify my theory. Besides, it was simple.

Andy worked five days a week and had to get up at seven each day. Because of this, he was always in bed by 9:00pm. However, Greg was currently in between jobs, and liked to watch TV downstairs until early in the morning. On more than one occasion – sometimes multiple times per night – Andy would come out of his room and ask Greg to turn the TV down.

Sometimes once was all it took. But other times it might be four or five times before the request was acted on, and by that time they both were screaming at each other like maniacs.

Like I said, it was simple. Andy finally had enough of the loud late-night TV, came downstairs, and in a fit of rage, smashed Greg’s TV screen with a hammer.

Greg then took the hammer, ran upstairs, and went to town on Andy’s stereo system. After he was done, Andy took the hammer and attempted to destroy Greg’s guitar.

My roommate Jeff likely tried to break them up – physically – which is why some of the stuff in his room was knocked around.

Simple.

So I unlocked my door, went into my room, and crashed for a well-needed rest, unaware that the real culprit in this mayhem was “Goose.”

—-

I met Goose for the first and only time when I woke up from my nap. His real name was Eric. I never did get his last name.

He was a friend of a friend – a transplant – who had been hanging out and partying at our house for the last three days.

Our house sat on the corner of our tract’s outlet street, right next to a main thoroughfare. Sitting on our front lawn, you could see a wall across the street which ran along the length of that thoroughfare denoting our neighbor’s backyards.

It was in one of those backyards where a honking sound began on the Saturday night I was trying to commune with dead Indians (sorry, that’s what we called them in 1986).

The sound was made by a goose.

Apparently, Goose – the friend of a friend, not the animal – was in the front yard drinking with my friends and roommates and got annoyed by this sound. So he announced to anyone who’d listen, “I’m going to go over there and kill that fucking goose.”

With that he threw down his beer, grabbed a club out of an old golf bag in the garage – I think it was a three-wood – ran across the street, and jumped the fence into a random neighbor’s backyard.

Immediately, he was confronted by a full-grown male Canadian goose, honking, and using its long neck to lunge and peck at him. According to Eric’s police deposition, he freaked out, took a swing, and despite never having played a hole in his life, connected flush with the head of the goose, immediately silencing it and in the process, separating it from life.

Eric claimed that he never meant to hurt the goose, just to scare it, but when it lunged at him, he panicked, causing him to take the fatal swing.

But that wasn’t the end of it and retaliation was swift. In addition to reporting it to the police, the owner of the goose got his brother and a buddy together, grabbed some tools, including – c’mon, you know where this is going – a hammer, broke into our house when everybody was out, and proceeded to do as much damage as possible to our highly prized consumer goods.

But he didn’t stop there. He also called the local newspapers – when local newspapers were social media – and begin a shame campaign.

So though Eric returned to the shithole from whence he came, never to face justice – or return to HB again, my roomates and I had to endure the scorn that arose from a series of front page articles about the goose murder, each one accompanied by a photo of the neighbors holding up their photo of Susie – their deceased pet goose.

The Goose published first on your-t1-blog-url

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forcri · 6 years

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'They just wanted to silence her': the dark side of gay stan culture

For gay men, ‘stanning’ – being a super fan of – female pop stars can be a valuable part of your identity. But too often this fandom lapses into misogyny and body shaming

Ahead of Britney Spears’ record-breaking show at Brighton Pridethis year, Aaron Hussey noticed a fellow fan wearing a T-shirt emblazoned with a picture of Spears’ nervous breakdown: the 2007 incident when, head shaved, she attacked a photographer’s car with an umbrella. “I think he thought he was being funny,” Hussey says. “He wasn’t.”

“Brightney Pride”, as it has affectionately been nicknamed, was one of the biggest events of the gay calendar – so big that 4,000 revellers were left stranded once the city’s heaving public transport system failed under the pressure. Surely only dedicated Spears “stans” – the most dedicated kind of fan, a portmanteau of “fan” and “stalker” taken from Eminem’s hit about a crazed follower – would have braved these conditions to glimpse their idol. So why the cruel taunt?

Gay male culture has always coalesced around female pop stars, from Judy Garland to Lady Gaga and Ariana Grande. Academics and critics have puzzled over the source of this connection, their often misplaced theories ranging from the outlandish to the oedipal. But gay men and the women they worship are usually happy to bask in the mutual affection. This year, Spears was honoured with an award by the US’s Gay and Lesbian Alliance Against Defamation (Glaad) for promoting equality. She responded by saying the gay community had shown her “unconditional love”.

But “unconditional” is often precisely what this love is not. Scratch lightly at the surface and what flakes off is, yes, reciprocity and genuine affection, but also callous misogyny.

One theory of the gay fan-diva link is that of shared oppression – gay men and women are both ground under the wheel of hetero-patriarchy. Perhaps in that model, the Spears T-shirt could be read as a show of solidarity, a knowing acknowledgment of her pain and our understanding? But there was nothing knowing in the way another gay fan photoshopped an umbrella into his meet and greet photo with the unwitting star and later circulated it online. These actions have a distinct edge of mockery, the air of a joke that their subject is not in on.

Dr Michael Bronski, a Harvard University professor and the author of books on queer history and gay culture says “There is a long history of gay male fan culture latching onto famous women and then turning on them. Queens would come to a Judy Garland concert and then scream at her when she was too drunk to finish it. The women have changed – it’s no longer Marlene Dietrich and Judy Garland. But the dynamic remains in western culture.”

The love-hate dynamic of gay stan culture that Bronski describes is now largely mediated through social media. Heckling in smoky nightclubs has been replaced by “hate memes”, when stans circulate unflattering edited pictures or examples of a star’s least-becoming behaviour, while the cheering has morphed into a lexicon of superlatives and put-downs that may seem impenetrable to the uninitiated: “we stan” favoured female pop stars, they’re “iconic”, a “kween”, an “unproblematic fave”. “She outsold” describes both someone’s commercial successes and a general sense of their superiority. Anyone who fails to meet those standards? “Fat”, “flop”, “failure”.

This online community relies on a dense matrix of references and neologisms informed by everything from drag culture to reality TV. Sami Baker is 21 and a self-professed gay stan – his favourites are Grande, Beyoncé and Charli XCX. He explains that the culture reaches further than many beyond the community might realise, citing the example of the recent avalanche of memes of reality star Gemma Collins. “They originated from gay stan Twitter. The language used within this culture is taken from the same place that Drag Race gets its lexicon, namely the underground subculture where LGBT people compete in various drag and performance categories, documented in the film Paris is Burning, and an inspiration for Madonna and Beyoncé.

For many gay men, Baker and myself included, gay pop stan culture is the distillation of everything meaningful in life. That statement reeks of camp melodrama, but it’s true. To my teenage self, women like Lady Gaga were the only light in a world where my queerness left me feeling like an outsider. As I grew up, the process of connecting my love for them with a wider culture of fandom enhanced my realisation that I was not alone as a queer person. “As I learned more about pop culture and references, that’s when I found people with the same interest,” says Baker. “These same people became my friends, my support network.”

It is hard to overestimate how meaningful the fan-diva relationship is for gay men. What is so perplexing is why this pseudo-religious devotion has always been laced with spite. Earlier this year, pop singer Hayley Kiyoko criticised Rita Ora, Cardi B, Bebe Rexha, and Charli XCX for their single Girls, a song about bisexuality that she, as a lesbian, thought was appropriative. Within hours, stan Twitter had unearthed and circulated incriminating tweets by Kiyoko from nine years ago (when she was 18) in an attempt to “cancel” her – excluding a person entirely from online discourse, except as the target of hate memes – for daring to critique a song they liked.

For Adam Byrne, a 23-year-old gay stan, this was a prime example of gay misogyny: “They didn’t care what she had to say. They just wanted to silence her.”

For him, this behaviour typifies gay stan culture: female artists must obey the rules or suffer the consequences. “A sinister side emerges when their ‘fave’ isn’t giving them exactly what they want,” Byrne explains. “Often jokes made at their expense are said in fun but it’s grim to see the joy [the community] sometimes takes in seeing these women fail: ‘She’s over!’, ‘Flop!’ ‘This era is dead!’ Look at the smug tweets about Nadine Coyle cancelling her tour; the way Katy Perry became gay Twitter’s punching bag.”

Baker says: “I’ve seen stan Twitter make jokes about the Manchester attacks, Demi Lovato’s recent overdose, Beyoncé’s skin tone, Noah Cyrus’s appearance.”

Much has been written about the “queer art of failure” – how queer people are always viewed as failures by heteronormative society, and thus must make a success of their own non-conformity. Perhaps, in this context, it’s unsurprising that gay men seem to revel in the perceived setbacks and shortcomings of their stanned subjects. But the sympathy one might expect to accompany this identification seems absent. The behaviour is less like a playful poke in the ribs, and more like a slap in the face.

Just last week, singer Marina Diamandis – an idol of the gay community – tweeted back to a fan who is part of the gay stan community after he sent her an abusive tweet. “There is a fan culture of degrading people online that I’m really not into. I haven’t been on social media a lot the past 3 months because I suffer from depression and the negative comments really affect me,” Diamandis posted. “Marina omg please don’t take it the wrong way I’m a stan and this was just intended as a harmless joke,” the fan protested. As Diamandis herself pointed out, stan culture can fail to grant humanity to the subjects of their worship.

I think they are real fans. But there is a fan culture of degrading people online that I'm really not into. I haven't been on social media a lot the past 3 months because I suffer from depression and the negative comments really affect me.

Even when gay men aren’t raining outright abuse on these women, their praise can sometimes reveal different forms of misogyny. One recent trend is to laud women by hailing them as “skinny” or a “skinny legend” – a trope that took off with a meme about Mariah Carey. Though it is used figuratively to imply flawlessness, it is revealing that a word historically used to police female physicality has naturally evolved in the gay male vernacular. Can it be anything other than chauvinist body-shaming?

Indeed, “skinniness” is just one of many hyper-feminine traits that gay men seem to prize in our stanned women. Helen Moynihan, 23, is a self-identifying queer woman who says the stanning of Ariana Grandeexemplifies precisely what is problematic about gay male idolatry. “Often I think gay men only see beauty in hyper-feminine, not butch, women,” she says. “It made me laugh when Grande was called a queer icon because she is the least queer person to me: someone who’s always trying to escape hyper-femininity.”

Grande’s blinding highlighter, swinging ponytail and heels are ubiquitous hallmarks of the gay stan hall of fame. Buzzcuts and Doc Martens are few and far between. It’s conditional love again – do we only stan the “right” type of women? Other forms of gay culture are similarly plagued by this insidious heteronormativity – men on dating apps like Grindr use refrains like “masc4masc” to praise masculinity and shun femininity in other men.

It’s important to remember that gay male culture exists at the confluence of many social currents, including wider male misogyny and societal homophobia. It is easy to apportion blame to gay men who are merely trying to find escapism and belonging, and to scapegoat behaviour that is universal. “In our culture of binary, heterosexual dysfunction, men hate women,” says Bronski. “It just so happens that some of them are gay.”

This is an important qualifier. Stanning itself is not exclusively homosexual territory – Eminem, the originator of “stan”, is hardly a queer icon. Dr Lynn Zubernis is a professor at West Chester University in Pennsylvania and an expert in fandom. She says the bullying behaviours found in gay stan culture are common to all fandoms.

“Because the object of a fan’s adoration becomes very important to the fan’s happiness, when there is some sort of disappointment, that brings a strong – and sometimes problematic – response. That is the dynamic behind the ‘mood swings’ you see in fandom, where fans love something one day and turn on it the next. It’s not about misogyny. It cuts across gender, sexuality, type of fandom, even time. Sports fans sometimes turn on star players in the same way. I don’t think it’s a male-female thing or a gay-straight thing. I think it’s a human thing.”

However, not all fandoms operate with the same power dynamics. In football, the vitriol Dr Zubernis uses for comparison takes on a new dimension when it intersects with racism. In gay stan culture, gender does not just occasionally intersect with online hatred – it defines the landscape. The abuse and objectification of these women is distinctly gendered – any man, gay or straight, tweeting “fat!” at a woman is unarguably misogynistic.

Gay men and pop’s women alike benefit from the mutuality of their “special relationship”. Spears is unlikely to have noticed one nasty T-shirt through the love heaped on her that day. But with gay male misogyny being discussed more widely than ever, in terms of our nightlife, queer spaces, and social movements, what does it say when this relationship is often so heartless? What kind of permissiveness are we helping to cultivate around misogyny? Deep down, do we really know what it means to love these women?

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shadowmn214 · 7 years

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Blog 2017/SEP/14 - “New Moon (Reprise)“

- - - And the Day I always wondered if I would see, one that I never really thought would come, knowledge I never thought I would learn. Luna's Explanation, the reason for the rift. It was that we got too close... in a way. She was embarrassed somehow at showing her weakness to me in a quiet moment of tears. I remember it well, her voice over the phone, and her soft sobs. I knew what it was like, to let someone see yourself like that, and while I don't understand why pushing me away completely was the solution, I know the emotions behind it. Ironically I got a refresher course, when I told her that I think I was in love with her back in May. - - I've written about that before, but as I told her, it felt so wrong in a way. I felt exposed and weak for admitting it. Something I was so confident and self assured about, but I never really told anyone, there was never a person on the other end to judge me, and watch my pride crumble before them. And it felt so wrong because all of these fucking blogs I’ve written on the subject, where I express my feelings so well just went to the way side and I practically just blurted it out like a pathetic buffoon. She deserved better than that... not to mention the fact that I was stealing her damn thunder. She worked up to telling me this and coming clean and 2 minutes later I make it about me. What's wrong with me? - - - I'm over it now because I told her that I felt conflicted about it, got it off my chest, and we moved past it. I don't want to hide things from her, ever, period. But I still feel like I did a shit job. I toiled with the thought of it that night on the drive home. I think I legitimately got angry at myself for how I handled it. After a night of sleep and thinking about it some more with some peace of mind I think I found my answer, so why I was so confused and angry with myself. It felt wrong to me because I feel like saying it devalued and cheapened (I guess those are synonymous) my dedication to her as a friend and the things I've done in the name of that friendship, rather than just some chemicals in my brain that were addicted to her and compelled me to act that way. I didn't realize those would be possible interpretations of my confession until it was already drooling out of my mouth. - - - I wrote this a couple weeks ago, intending to record it for her. A project that would entail others in my life, just giving them a video message when I move out into my own house. I thought about it for weeks and wrote it over the same timeframe, editing and re-editing. I think it's a little null now. I might keep some of it to send her a short message when I do start the project, but I think most of it doesn’t need to be said, knowing what I know now. So I'll post it here instead. I put so much thought into this to really try to say what I wanted to say, I don't want it to be unspoken, even if it only speaks to the wind.

============================== - - - So here we are. This is the place I used to come to when I was talking to you on the phone. It's very peaceful. And when talking to you at the same time it was extra tranquil. I mean I found peace within myself a while ago, but you just never know that it could be even better. - - So why am I doing this? I'm just trying to level with you. I want you to know where I am. And of course I want to continue being friends with you. I miss talking to you. I'm doing this because I hope that we can get past this, whatever it is. Because it feels like something is still up. You don't need to, but I encourage you to level with me too, with whatever you can. It just feels wrong somehow, that everything played out this way. And so here me out please. - - - So elephant in the room, or at least in my imagination: I found that I think I did fall in love with you, it crept up on me, it scared me, and I didn’t know it until we already stopped talking. I didn't want to stir the pot especially since you had so much stuff going on, and I didn't want to just be another guy on your list. But you always asked me those questions like if I could ever fall in love with you or if I could be sexually attracted to you. And I'm not saying that was what caused it, but I'm sure it started to get me to think about it and it pushed me further. You know I don't remember if I was ever clear about it, but I'll say it now. If you gave the word, I would have just removed the mental blocks holding those things at bay. I know we frequently had fun friendly fantasies about living with each other, and I even was curious one day and looked up places where I might have worked if I went to visit for an extended stay. Maybe we should have listened to the part of you who was worried about meeting each other so quickly and it all happening so fast. Maybe we wouldn't be in this weird purgatory now. - - - I want to say something and I want you to believe me when I say it: I was never upset at you for wanting space, never then or the other times where you wanted to stop talking for a while. What upset me was that it came out of the blue, at least it seemed that way to me. Sometimes I feel like no one ever tells me how they feel because they think it will hurt my feelings or some shit, it hurts more that they can’t just tell me. Because to me it feels like I'm being treated like a child or I'm weak. That's what I was more upset about, because it has happened for my whole life. I was hoping that maybe you, even if it was a friend, would break that cycle. But they don't call them curses for nothing I suppose. - - I blame myself for that, I showed you a side that no one else really see's, and none of my hardened exterior that everyone else sees. And I'm sure I didn't make things easy for you. I know joking about buying you things came off the wrong way. But I always just said it because I wanted to share in the dream of you having things that you wanted. I loved seeing you light up and get excited about that, that’s why I did it. The only thing I actually considered buying you was a Purity Ring CD, because I still think you'd really like the rest of their music. The Kawaru Statue was because it was cheap, I liked it, and I knew it would bring you joy, even if you never got to have it. And it did, it seemed. - - - I've looked back through our conversation log to see if I could find something that could help me understand THE ACTUAL REASON why you wanted to stop being best friends. I have my outlandish theories but none really stick. None have me sure that I got the reason right. I even thought that maybe this is just you, maybe you have this relationship with allot of people, or maybe this is what happens over time. I guess I can't say I really know you because of the time factor alone. Ironically I don't think I can talk to you about it because whatever it is, I can tell it brings you a bit of pain. And whenever I hint at it or bring it up it gets dismissed, as most things do that bring you pain, Maybe I'm one of them, so you dismiss me. And I've never been around you; I can't really infer any body language. - - - You probably already know this, and I'm saying this for me just as much as I am for you. You’re going to suffer in life no matter what, you don't have a choice, and none of us do. But you can choose the suffering, and this is where it comes down to you. You’re going to suffer if you choose, but it’s more important to think about how much you will if you don't do what you need to do. Life starts whenever you’re ready. And I know you've been ready for a long time. I have faith in you, even if you fail, that faith will not be shaken. There are few things I've been so sure of. And when I think of you, as I've mentioned before, I get this overwhelming feeling of life and truth, and love. What you mean to me aside; I am sure of this. I believe in you, and I don't care if you fail, I care that you try. It looks like you need to start fighting for yourself, treating yourself like someone you love. I think that's what they mean when they say love yourself. Love yourself like you would love a friend, and when your friend is down you find out why and do what you can to make things better for them. - - And I want you to know that I know that I might upset you by saying that. Because I know you know it, and I know you beat yourself up every day for it. But that's what friends do right, isn’t that what they’re there for? They tell the truth even when it may hurt the other person. Tell the truth even if they fall out of good graces. And friends do it because they love each other, like I love you. Friends do it because they want you to be happy... happier, like I want you to be happy, because you deserve it. "Angels with Silver wings shouldn't know suffering" - - - You don't have to be anything for me Luna, just yourself, good, bad, ugly, beautiful. I'm sorry if I ever made it seem like I needed something more than you could give me, because that couldn't be further from how I felt. I counted my stars everyday you were there for me even when everything was perfect. And the 4 Months that I considered you my best friend are and will always be some of my most cherished memories. - - - You were so real to me, and it's no easy task. You more than earned my unconditional respect and love. If I had a woman like you, tell me she loved me, and I knew that when she said it she actually meant it, then I guess I'm doing pretty good in life. - - You were the light I needed, when the night was dark and times were hard. No matter what, you will always be my Moon Princess. Your Friend, Always & Forever, Love, ~Seth ============================== - Luna, if you ever read this, just remember that I'm and idiot and I over think everything, and I'm probably full of myself. I hope I’ll always be here for you, I’ll do my goddamndest. Read the Note I put in book 4 of those PDFs I gave you.

#Luna #Blog #Shadowmn214 #Life #Love #Friendship #overthinking #New Moon (Reprise)

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