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cappymightwrite · 3 years

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What draws you to incest ?

*sighs* Ok, here we go. I'm a real card carrying Jonsa now aren't I?

Anon, listen. I know this is an anti question that gets bandied about a lot, aimed at provoking, etc, when we all know no Jonsa is out here being all you know what, it really is the incest, and the incest alone, that draws me in. I mean, come on now. Grow up.

If I was "drawn" to incest I'd be a fan of Cersei x Jaime, Lucrezia x Cesare, hell Oedipus x Jocasta etc... but I haven't displayed any interest in them now, have I? So, huh, it can't be that.

Frankly, it's a derivitive question that is really missing the mark. I'm not "drawn" to it, though yeah, it is an unavoidable element of Jonsa. The real question you should be asking though, is what draws GRRM to it? Because he obviously is drawn to it, specifically what is termed the "incest motif" in academic and literary scholarship. That is a far more worthwhile avenue of thinking and questioning, compared with asking me. Luckily for you though anon, I sort of anticipated getting this kind of question so had something in my drafts on standby...

You really don't have to look far, or that deeply, to be hit over the head by the connection between GRRM's literary influences and the incest motif. I mean, let's start with the big cheese himself, Tolkein:

Tolkein + Quenta Silmarillion

We know for definite that GRRM has been influenced by Tolkein, and in The Silmarillion you notably have a case of unintentional incest in Quenta Silmarillion, where Túrin Turambar, under the power of a curse, unwittingly murders his friend, as well as marries and impregnates his sister, Nienor Níniel, who herself had lost her memory due to an enchantment.

Mr Tolkein, "what draws you to incest?"

Old Norse + Völsunga saga

Tolkein, as a professor of Anglo-Saxon, was hugely influenced by Old English and Old Norse literature. The story of the ring Andvaranaut, told in Völsunga saga, is strongly thought to have been a key influence behind The Lord of the Rings. Also featured within this legendary saga is the relationship between the twins Signy and Sigmund — at one point in the saga, Signy tricks her brother into sleeping with her, which produces a son, Sinfjotli, of pure Völsung blood, raised with the singular purpose of enacting vengence.

Anonymous Norse saga writer, "what draws you to incest?"

Medieval Literature as a whole

A lot is made of how "true" to the storied past ASOIAF is, how reflective it is of medieval society (and earlier), its power structures, its ideals and martial values etc. ASOIAF, however, is not attempting historical accuracy, and should not be read as such. Yet it is clearly drawing from a version of the past, as depicted in medieval romances and pre-Christian mythology for instance, as well as dusty tomes on warfare strategy. As noted by Elizabeth Archibald in her article Incest in Medieval Literature and Society (1989):

Of course the Middle Ages inherited and retold a number of incest stories from the classical world. Through Statius they knew Oedipus, through Ovid they knew the stories of Canace, Byblis, Myrrha and Phaedra. All these stories end more or less tragically: the main characters either die or suffer metamorphosis. Medieval readers also knew the classical tradition of incest as a polemical accusation,* for instance the charges against Caligula and Nero. – p. 2

The word "polemic" is connected to controversy, to debate and dispute, therefore these classical texts were exploring the incest motif in order to create discussion on a controversial topic. In a way, your question of "what draws you to incest?" has a whiff of polemical accusation to it, but as I stated, you're missing the bigger question.

Moving back to the Middle Ages, however, it is interesting that we do see a trend of more incest stories appearing within new narratives between the 11th and 13th centuries, according to Archibald:

The texts I am thinking of include the legend of Judas, which makes him commit patricide and then incest before betraying Christ; the legend of Gregorius, product of sibling incest who marries his own mother, but after years of rigorous penance finally becomes a much respected pope; the legend of St Albanus, product of father-daughter incest, who marries his mother, does penance with both his parents but kills them when they relapse into sin, and after further penance dies a holy man; the exemplary stories about women who sleep with their sons, and bear children (whom they sometimes kill), but refuse to confess until the Virgin intervenes to save them; the legends of the incestuous begetting of Roland by Charlemagne and of Mordred by Arthur; and finally the Incestuous Father romances about calumniated wives, which resemble Chaucer's Man of Law's Tale except that the heroine's adventures begin when she runs away from home to escape her father's unwelcome advances. – p. 2

I mean... that last bit sounds eerily quite close to what we have going on with Petyr Baelish and Sansa Stark. But I digress. What I'm trying to say is that from a medieval and classical standpoint... GRRM is not unique in his exploration of the incest motif, far from it.

Sophocles, Ovid, Hartmann von Aue, Thomas Malory, etc., "what draws you to incest?"

Faulkner + The Sound and the Fury, and more!

Moving on to more modern influences though, when talking about the writing ethos at the heart of his work, GRRM has famously quoted William Faulker:

His mantra has always been William Faulkner’s comment in his Nobel prize acceptance speech, that only the “human heart in conflict with itself… is worth writing about”. [source]

I’ve never read any Faulker, so I did just a quick search on “Faulkner and incest” and I pulled up this article on JSTOR, called Faulkner and the Politics of Incest (1998). Apparently, Faulkner explores the incest motif in at least five novels, therefore it was enough of a distinctive theme in his work to warrant academic analysis. In this journal article, Karl F. Zender notes that:

[...] incest for Faulkner always remains tragic [...] – p. 746

Ah, we can see a bit of running theme here, can't we? But obviously, GRRM (one would hope) doesn’t just appreciate Faulkner’s writing for his extensive exploration of incest. This quote possibly sums up the potential artistic crossover between the two:

Beyond each level of achieved empathy in Faulkner's fiction stands a further level of exclusion and marginalization. – pp. 759–60

To me, the above parallels somewhat GRRM’s own interest in outcasts, in personal struggle (which incest also fits into):

I am attracted to bastards, cripples and broken things as is reflected in the book. Outcasts, second-class citizens for whatever reason. There’s more drama in characters like that, more to struggle with. [source]

Interestingly, however, this essay on Faulkner also connects his interest in the incest motif with the romantic poets, such as Percy Bysshe Shelley and Lord Byron:

As Peter Thorslev says in an important study of romantic representations of incest, " [p]arent-child incest is universally condemned in Romantic literature...; sibling incest, on the other hand, is invariably made sympathetic, is sometimes exonerated, and, in Byron's and Shelley's works, is definitely idealized.” – p. 741

Faulkner, "what draws you to incest?" ... I mean, that article gives some good explanations, actually.

Lord Byron, Manfred + The Bride of Abydos

Which brings us onto GRRM interest in the Romantics:

I was always intensely Romantic, even when I was too young to understand what that meant. But Romanticism has its dark side, as any Romantic soon discovers... which is where the melancholy comes in, I suppose. I don't know if this is a matter of artistic influences so much as it is of temperament. But there's always been something in a twilight that moves me, and a sunset speaks to me in a way that no sunrise ever has. [source]

I'm already in the process of writing a long meta about the influence of Lord Byron in ASOIAF, specifically examining this quote by GRRM:

The character I’m probably most like in real life is Samwell Tarly. Good old Sam. And the character I’d want to be? Well who wouldn’t want to be Jon Snow — the brooding, Byronic, romantic hero whom all the girls love. Theon [Greyjoy] is the one I’d fear becoming. Theon wants to be Jon Snow, but he can’t do it. He keeps making the wrong decisions. He keeps giving into his own selfish, worst impulses. [source]

Lord Byron, "what draws you to—", oh, um, right. Nevermind.

I'm not going to repeat myself here, but it's worth noting that there is a clear through line between GRRM and the Romantic writers, besides perhaps melancholic "temperament"... and it's incest.

But look, is choosing to explore the incest motif...well, a choice? Yeah, and an uncomfortable one at that, but it’s obvious that that is what GRRM is doing. I think it’s frankly a bit naive of some people to argue that GRRM would never do Jonsa because it’s pseudo-incest and therefore morally repugnant, no ifs, no buts. I’m sorry, as icky as it may be to our modern eyes, GRRM has set the president for it in his writing with the Targaryens and the Lannister twins.

The difference with them is that they knowingly commit incest, basing it in their own sense of exceptionalism, and there are/will be bad consequences — this arguably parallels the medieval narratives in which incest always ends badly, unless some kind of real penance is involved. For Jon and Sansa, however, the Jonsa argument is that they will choose not to commit incest, despite a confused attraction, and then will be rewarded in the narrative through the parentage reveal, a la Byron’s The Bride of Abydos. The Targaryens and Lannisters, in several ways excluding the incest (geez the amount of times I’ve written incest in this post), are foils for the Starks, and in particular, Jon and Sansa. Exploring the incest motif has been on the cards since the very beginning — just look at that infamous "original" outline — regardless of whether we personally consider that an interesting writing choice, or a morally inexcusable one.

Word of advice, or rather, warning... don't think you can catch me out with these kinds of questions. I have access to a university database, so if I feel like procrastinating my real academic work, I can and will pull out highly researched articles to school you, lmao.

But you know, thanks for the ask anyway, I guess.

#cappy's thoughts #I'm still on my break/hiatus #i just had some of this already written #jonsa #jon x sansa #anti bs #grrm and medieval literature #grrm and william faulkner #grrm and the romantics #grrm and tolkein #grrm and old norse literature #grrm and his literary influences #was this petty lmao?

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itonje · 3 years

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people of color in arthurian legend masterpost

hi! some people said it would be cool if i did this, and this is something i find interesting so. yeah! are you interested in king arthur and the knights of the round table? do you like to read about characters of color, especially in older lit? well, i hope this can be a good resource for people to get into stuff like that, especially poc/ethnic minorities who might feel uncomfortable or lonely getting into older media like arthuriana. this post is friendly to both those who prefer medieval lit and those who prefer modern stuff!

disclaimers: i am not a medievalist nor a race theorist! very much not so. i am just a 17 year old asian creature on the internet who wants to have an easy-to-reference post, if i’m not comprehensive enough please inform me. i’m going to stay closely to the matter of britain, as well, not all medieval european literature as a. this is what i’m more familiar with and b. there’s so much content and information and context to go along with it that it would really be impossible to put it all into one tumblr post. (however there’s always going to be overlap!) also, please do not treat me or any other person of color/ethnic minority as a singular all-knowing authority on anything! we’re all trying to have fun here and being made into an information machine on things, especially what is and isn’t offensive isn’t fun. with that out of the way, let’s get into it! (under cut for length!)

part i: some historical context (tw for racism and antisemitism discussion)

fair warning, i’m going to start off with some discussions of more heavier history before we talk about more fun stuff. while pre colonial racism was far more different than how it is today, there still...was racism. and it’s important to understand the social mien around nonwhite people in europe at the time these works were written.

to understand how marginalized ethnicities were written in medieval european literature, you have to understand the fact that religion, specifically catholicism, was a very important part of medieval european life. already, catholicism has violent tenets (ie, conversion as an inherent part of the church, as well as many antisemitic theologies and beliefs), but this violence worsened when an event known as the crusades happened.

the crusades were a series of religious wars started by the catholic church to ‘reclaim’ the holy land from islamic rule and to aid the byzantine empire. while i won’t go into the full history of the crusades, (some basic info here and here and here) its important to understand that they had strengthened the european view of the ’pagan’ (ie: not european christian) world as an ‘other’, a threat to christiandom that needed to be conquered and converted, for the spiritual benefit of both the convertee and the converter. these ideas of ethnoreligious superiority and conversion would permeate into the literature of the time written by european christians.

even today, the crusades are very much associated with white supremacy and modern islamophobic sentiment, with words such as ‘deus vult’ as a dogwhistle, and worship of and willingness to emulate the violence the crusaders used against the inhabitants of the holy land in tradcath spaces, so this isn’t stuff that’s all dead and in the past. crusader propaganda and the ignorance on the violence of the catholic church and the crusaders on muslim and jewish populations (as well as nonwhite christians ofc) is very harmful. arthuriana itself has a lot of links to white supremacy too-thanks to @/to-many-towered-camelot for this informative post. none of this stuff exists in a bubble.

here’s a book on catholic antisemitism, here’s a book on orientalism, here’s a book about racism in history that touches on the crusades. (to any catholic, i highly reccommend you read the first.)

with that out of the way, we can talk about the various not european groups that typically show up in arthurian literature and some historical background irt to that. the terms ‘moor’ and ‘saracen’ will typically pop up. both terms are exonyms and are very, very broad, eventually used as both a general term for muslims and as a general term for african and (western + central) asian people. they’re very vague, but when you encounter them the typical understanding you’re supposed to take away is ‘(western asian/african) foreigner’ and typically muslim/not christian as well. t

generally, african and asian lands will typically be referred to as pagan or ‘eastern/foreign’ lands, with little regard for understanding the actual religions of that area. they will also typically refer to saracens as pagans although islam is not a pagan religion. this is just a bit of a disclaimer. the term saracen itself is considered to be rather offensive-thank you to @/lesbianlanval for sending me a paper on this subject.

while i typically refer to the content on this post as having to pertain to african and asian people (ie, not european) european jewish arthurian traditions are included on this post too. but, i know more about poc and they’ll feature more prominently in this post because of that, lol.

part ii: so, are there any medieval texts involving characters of color?

i’m glad you asked! of course there are! to be clear, european medieval authors were very much aware that people of color and african + asian nations existed, don’t let anyone tell you otherwise. even the vita merlini mentions sri lanka and a set of islands that might (?) be the philippines!! for the sake of brevity though, on this list i’m not going to list every single one of these small and frequent references, so i’m just going to focus on texts that primarily (or notably) feature characters of color.

first of all, it’s important to know was the influence of cultures of color and marginalized ethnicities that helped shape arthurian legend. the cultural exchange between europe and the islamic world during the crusades, as well as the long history of arab presence in southern europe, led to the influence of arabic love poetry and concepts of love on european literature, helping to form what we consider the archetypal romance. there are also arthurian traditions in hebrew, and yiddish too, adding new cultural ideas and introducing new story elements to their literature-all of these are just as crucial to the matter of britain as any other traditions!

when it comes to nonwhite presence in the works themselves, many knights of color in arthurian legend tend to be characters that, after defeated by a knight of arthur’s court join the court themselves. though some are side characters, there are others with their own romances and stories devoted to them! many of them are portrayed as capable + good as, if not better than their counterparts. (this, however, usually only comes through conversion to christianity if the knight is not christian...yeah.) though groups of color as a general monolith created by european christians tended to be orientalized in literature (see: mystical and strange ~eastern~ lands), many individual knights were written to be seen by their medieval audience as positive heroes. i’m going to try to stick to mostly individual character portrayals such as these.

with that all said though, these characters can still be taken as offensive (i would consider most to be) in their writing, so take everything with a grain of salt here. i will also include links to as many english translations of texts as i can, as well as note which ones i think are beginner friendly to those on the fence about medieval literature!

he shows up in too many texts so let’s make this into two bullet notes and start with one of, if not the most ubiquitous knight of color of the round table (at least in medieval lit),-palamedes! palamedes/palomides is a ‘’saracen knight’’ who (typically) hails from babylon or palestine and shows up in a good amount of texts. his first appearance is in the prose tristan, and he plays a major role there as a knight who fights with tristan for the hand of iseult-while he uh. loses, him and tristan later become companions + friends with a rivalry, and palamedes later goes off to hunt the questing beast, a re-occurring trend in his story.

palamedes even got his own romance named after him (which was very popular!) and details the adventures of the fathers of the knights of the round table, pre arthur, as well as later parts of the story detailing the adventures of their sons. it was included in rustichello da pisa’s compilation of arthurian romances, which i unfortunately have not seen floating around online (or...anywhere), so i can’t attest to the quality of it or anything. he appears in le morte darthur as well, slaying the questing beast but only after his conversion to christianity (...yeah.) in the texts in which he appears, palamedes is considered to be one of the top knights of the round table, alongside tristan and lancelot, fully living up to chivalric and courtly ideals and then some. i love him dearly and i’ve read the prose tristan five times just for him. (also the prose tristan in general is good, please give it a try, especially if you’re a romance fan.)

speaking of le morte d’arthur, an egyptian knight named priamus shows up in the lucius v arthur episode on lucius’ side first, later joining arthur’s after some interactions with gawaine. palamedes has brothers here as well-safir and segwarides. safir was relatively popular, and shows up in many medieval texts, mostly alongside his older brother. i wouldn’t recommend reading le morte of all things for the characters of color though-if you really want to see what it’s all about, just skip to the parts they’re mentioned with ctrl + f, haha.

the romance of moriaen is a 12th century dutch romance from the lancelot compilation, named for its main character morien. morien, who is a black moor, is the son of sir aglovale, the brother of perceval. whilst gawaine and lancelot are searching for said perceval, they encounter morien, who is in turn searching for aglovale as he had abandoned morien’s mother way back when. i wholeheartedly recommend this text for people who might feel uncomfy with medieval lit. though the translation i’ve linked can be a bit tricky, the story is short, sweet, and easy to follow, and morien and his relationships (esp with gariet, gawaine’s brother) are all wonderful.

king artus (original hebrew text here) is a northern italian jewish arthurian text written in hebrew- it retells a bit of the typical conception of arthur story, as well as some parts from the death of arthur as well. i really can’t recommend this text enough-it’s quite short, with an easy-to-read english translation, going over episodes that are pretty familiar to any average reader while adding a lot of fun details and it’s VERY interesting to me from a cultural standpoint. i find the way how they adapt the holy grail (one of the most archetypal christian motifs ever) in particular pretty amazing. this is also a very beginner friendly text!

wolfram von eschenbach’s parzival (link to volume 1 and volume 2-this translation rhymes!) is a medieval high german romance from the early 13th century, based off de troyes’ le conte du graal while greatly expanding on the original story. it concerns parzival and his quest for the grail (with a rather unique take on it-he fails at first!), and also takes like one million detours to talk about gawaine as all arthurian lit does. the prominent character of color here is a noble mixed race knight called feirefiz, parzival’s half brother by his father, who after dueling with parzival, and figures out their familial connection, joins him on his grail quest. he eventually converts to christianity (..yeah.) to see the grail and all ends happily for him. however, this text is notable to me as it contains two named women of color-belacane, feirefiz’s black african mother, and secundilla, feirefiz’s indian wife. though unfortunately, both are pretty screwed over by the text and their respective husbands. though parzival is maybe my favorite medieval text i’ve read so far i don’t necessarily know if i’d recommend this one, because it is long, and can be confusing at times. however, i do think that when it comes to the portrayal of people of color, while quite poor by today’s standards, von eschenbach was trying his best?-of course, in reason for. a 13th century medival german christian but he treats them with respect and all these characters are actually characters. if you’re really interested in grail stories (and are aware of the more uncomfortably christian aspects of the grail story), and you like gawaine and perceval, i’d say go for it.

in the turk and sir gawain, an english poem from the early 16th century, gawaine and the titular turkish man play a game of tennis ball. i’m shitting you not. this text is pretty short, funnily absurd, and with most of the hallmarks of a typical quest (various challenges culminating in some castle being freed), so it’s an easier read. it’s unclear to me, but at the end of the story the turkish man turns into sir gromer, a noble knight, who may or may not be white which uh. consider my ‘....yeah’ typical at this point, but i don’t personally read it that way for my own sanity. also he throws the sultan (??) of the isle of man (????) into a cauldron for not being a christian so when it comes to respectful representation of poc this one doesn’t make it, but it does make this list.

the revenge of ragisel, or at least the version i’ve read (the eng translation of the dutch version from the lancelot compilation), die wrake van ragisel, starts off being about the mysterious murder of a knight, but eventually, as most stories do, becomes a varying series of adventures about gawaine and co. one of gawaine’s friends (see: a knight who he combated with for a hot sec and then became friends and allies with, as you do) is a black knight named maurus! he’s not really an mc, but he features prominently and he’s pretty entertaining, as all the characters in this are. i also recommend this highly, i was laughing the whole time reading it! it’s not too long and pretty wild, you’ll have a good romp. this is a good starter text for anyone in general!

i’ve not read the roman van walewein, which, as it says on the tin, is a 12th century dutch romance concerning some deeds of gawaine (if only gawaine was a canon poc, i wouldn’t need to make this list because he’s so popular...). i’m putting it on the list for in this, gawaine goes to the far eastern land of endi (india) and romances a princess named ysabele. i can’t speak to ysabele’s character or the respectfulness of her kingdom or representation, but i know she’s a major character and her story ends pretty well, so that’s encouraging. women of color, especially fleshed out woc, are pretty rare in arthurian lit. i’ve also heard the story itself is pretty wild, and includes a fox, which sounds pretty exciting to me!

now the next two things i’m going to mention aren’t really? texts that feature characters of color or jewish characters, but are rather more notable for being translations of existing texts into certain languages. wigalois is a german 13th century romances featuring the titular character (the son of, you guessed it, gawaine!) and his deeds. the second, jaufre, is the only arthurian romance written in occitan, and is a quite long work about the adventures of the knight jaufre, based on the knight griflet. what’s notable about these two works is that wigalois has a yiddish translation, and jaufre has a tagalog translation. wigalois’ yiddish translation in particular changed the original german text into something more fitting of the arthurian romance format as well as adding elements to make it more appealing for a jewish audience. the tagalog translation of jaufre on the other hand was not medieval, only coming about in 1900, but the philippines has had a long history of romantic tradition and verse writing, so i’m curious to see if it too adds or changes elements when it comes to the arthurian story, but i can’t find a lot on the tagalog version of jaufre unfortunately-i hope i can eventually!

this list of texts is also non-exhaustive! i’m just listing a couple of notoriety, and some to start with.

part iii: papers and academic analysis

so here’s just a dump of various papers i’ve read and collected on topics such as these-this is an inexhaustive and non-comprehensive list! if you have any papers you think are good and would like to be added here, shoot me an ask. i’ll try to include a link when i can, but if it’s unavailable to you just message me. * starred are the ones i really think people, especially white people, should at least try to read.

Swank, Kris. ‘Black in Camelot: Race and Ethnicity in Arthurian Legend’ *

Harrill, Claire. ‘Saracens and racial Otherness in Middle English * Romance’

Keita, Maghan. ‘Saracens and Black Knights’

Hoffman, Donald L. ‘Assimilating Saracens: The Aliens in Malory's ‘Morte Darthur’

Goodrich, Peter H. ‘Saracens and Islamic Alterity in Malory's ‘Le Morte Darthur’

Schultz, Annie. ‘Forbidden Love: The Arabic Influence on the Courtly Love Poetry of Medieval Europe’ *

Hardman, Philipa. ‘Dear Enemies: the Motif of the Converted Saracen and Sir Gawain and the Green Knight’

Knowles, Annie. ‘Encounters of the Arabian Kind: Cultural Exchange and Identity the Tristans of Medieval France, England, and Spain’ *

Hermes, Nizar F. ‘King Arthur in the Lands of the Saracens’ *

Ayed, Wajih. ‘Somatic Figurations of the Saracen in Sir Thomas Malory’s Le Morte Darthur’

Herde, Christopher M. ‘A new fantasy of crusade: Sarras in the vulgate cycle.’ *

Rovang, Paul R. ‘Hebraizing Arthurian Romance: The Originality of ‘Melech Artus.’’

Rajabzdeh, Shokoofeh. ‘The Depoliticized Saracen and Muslim erasure’ *

Holbrook, Sue Ellen. ‘To the Well: Malory's Sir Palomides on Ideals of Chivalric Reputation, Male Friendship, Romantic Love, Religious Conversion—and Loyalty.’ *

Lumbley, Coral. ‘Geoffrey of Monmouth and Race’ *

Oehme, Annegret. ‘Adapting Arthur. The Transformations and Adaptations of Wirnt von Grafenberg’s Wigalois’ *

Hendrix, Erik. ‘An Unlikely Hero: The Romance of Moriaen and Racial Discursivity in the Middle Ages’ *

Darrup, Cathy C. ‘Gender, Skin Color, and the Power of Place in the Medieval Dutch Romance of Moriaen’ *

Armstrong, Dorsey. ‘Postcolonial Palomides: Malory's Saracen Knight and the Unmaking of Arthurian Community’ (note this is the only one i can’t access in its entirety)

part iv: supplemental material

here’s some other stuff i find useful to getting to know knights of color in arthurian legend, especially if papers/academic stuff/medieval literature is daunting! i’d really recommend you go through all of these if you can’t go through anything else-most are quick reads.

a magazine article on knights of color here, and this article about the yiddish translation of wigalois.

this video about characters of color in arthurian legend!

the performance of the translation of arabic in Libro del Caballero Zifar, and how it pertains to the matter of britain

a post by yours truly about women of color in parzival

this info sheet about palamedes, and this info sheet about ysabele-thanks to @/pendraegon and @/reynier for letting me use these!

this page on palamedes as well

this post with various resources on race and ethnicity in arthuriana-another thank you to @/reynier!

part v: how about modern day stories and adaptations?

there’s a lot of em out there! i’m not as familiar with modern stuff, but i will try to recommend medias i know where characters of color (including racebends!) are prominent. since i haven’t read/watched all (or truly most) of these, i can’t really speak on the quality of the representation though, so that’s your warning.

first of all, when it comes to the victorian arthurian revival, i know that william morris really liked palamedes! (don’t we all.) he features frequently in morris’ arthurian poetry, (in this beautiful book, he primarily features in ‘sir galahad, a christmas mystery’ and ‘king arthur’s tomb’. he has his own poem by morris here.)

and some other poems about palamedes, which i’d all recommend.

for movies, i know a knight in camelot (1998) stars whoopi goldberg as an original character, the green knight (2021) will star dev patel as gawaine.

some shows include camelot high, bbc merlin, disney’s once upon a time, and netflix’s cursed, all featuring both original characters of color and people of color cast as known arthurian figures.

for any music people, in ‘high noon over camelot’, an album by the mechanisms, mordred is played by ashes o’reilley, who in turn is performed by frank voss, and arthur is played by marius von raum who is perfomed by kofi young.

i’ve also heard the pendragon and the squire’s tales have palamedes as a relevant character if you’re looking for novels, as well as legendborn and the forgotten knight: a chinese warrior in king arthur’s court starring original protagonists of color!

part vi: going on from here

so, you’ve read some medieval lit, read some papers, watched some shows, and done all that. what now? well, there’s still so much out there!

if you have fanfiction, analysis, metaposts, fun content etc etc about arthurian poc, feel free to plug your content on this post! i’d be happy to boost it.

in general, if you’re a person of color or a jewish person and you’re into arthurian legend, feel free to promote your blog on this post as well! i would love to know more people active on arthurian tumblr who are nonwhite.

this is really just me asking for extra content, especially content made by poc, but that’s okay! arthurian legend is a living, breathing set of canons and i would love love love to see more fresh diversity within them right alongside the older stuff.

a very gracious thank you to the tumblr users whom i linked posts to on here, and thanks to y’all for saying you want to see this! i hope this post helped people learn some new things!

#finny.txt #arthuriana #arthurian legend #matter of britain #medieval romance #arthurian literature #arthurian mythology #<- :/#but necessary #also ITS DONE ITS DONE ITS FINALLY DONE #PLEASEREBLOG THIS WRHSFSHDFDHSFSDF #2K PLUS WORDS..

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ivarthebadbitch · 3 years

Text

Strange things can happen

Chapter 14 summary: Ragnar makes an offer.

Canon divergent, everybody lives, arranged marriage AU after 4x14. Read this chapter on Ao3.

Previous chapters: [1] [2] [3] [4] [5] [6] [7] [8] [9] [10] [11] [12] [13]

On Ao3: [1] [2] [3] [4] [5] [6] [7] [8] [9] [10] [11] [12] [13]

Pairings: Ivar x OC, Ivar vs. basically everyone

Warnings: None

Word count: 2153

Tagged: @youbloodymadgenius @heavenly1927 @nukyster-blog @bae-roman @adhdnightmare @danisnotsosecret (if you would like to be tagged, let me know)

Notes: This week’s chapter is out a little early, BUT I have at last officially fallen behind, so no post for next week. Sorry for the delay, but we are actually closing in on the end here...probably going to end up around 17-18ish chapters total.

CHAPTER 14: A reasonable proposition

Under any other circumstance, Ivar would have been thrilled to be reunited with his father and Ubbe. But from one look at their faces as Aethelwulf hastily ushered them into King Ecbert’s study, it was painfully clear why they had come. As all eyes turned in his direction, it was also obvious that he was in a considerable amount of trouble.

“King Ecbert,” Ragnar acknowledged first with a nod. Then he turned to look at him. “Ivar,” he said in a tone that made his blood run cold.

“Father,” Ivar answered, trying to keep his voice from wavering. He could feel himself shrinking under his gaze.

Ragnar put his hand on his shoulder and squeezed hard enough to make him flinch. “Was there something you forgot to tell me about, boy?” he asked in Norse in a deceptively pleasant tone. “Something important with regards to your marriage?”

He looked away as shame flooded through him once again. Ragnar let out a humorless laugh and slapped him on the back. “I’ll have words with you later,” his father murmured in his ear. “There will be plenty of time for us to talk on the trip back to Kattegat.”

With that, Ragnar turned away to talk to Ecbert, and Ubbe stepped forward with a guilty look on his face. It was obvious what he had done.

“Traitor,” Ivar muttered before his brother could speak, smacking away his hand as he attempted to ruffle his hair. “Fuck you.”

Ubbe looked momentarily wounded, but then he leaned down to speak in Ivar’s ear. “I’m here to help get you out of this mess, you idiot,” he said quietly. “Just go along with what we tell you to do and we’ll all get out of this alive and you can go home.”

“Everything was going fine until you showed up,” Ivar snapped, even though that hadn’t exactly been the case for the past forty eight hours or so.

Ubbe scoffed at him and shook his head in disbelief. “What did I just say? Don’t be stupid. Father and I will sort this out.” Ivar rolled his eyes, but Ubbe was not done. “Really, Ivar? You didn’t tell Father before the marriage?”

“Shut up,” Ivar said through gritted teeth. “Looks like you were happy to tell him, though.”

“I had no choice!”

“I had no choice!” Ivar repeated in a mocking imitation. He leaned forward. “Why are you here anyway? You didn’t have to come with Father.” Then it dawned on him. “Unless…”

Now Ubbe looked especially uncomfortable. He took a step back, but not far enough to put himself beyond Ivar’s reach. Ivar immediately launched himself at Ubbe, sending both of them and the chair clattering to the floor. He managed to get in a couple good punches before Ragnar swooped in and dragged him off, smacking his head against the edge of the table with such force that he saw stars.

He gazed up at his father in a daze as Ubbe got up and brushed himself off, rubbing his jaw where Ivar had hit him. To the side, he briefly registered Ecbert and Aethelwulf staring at him with their mouths wide open before Ragnar grabbed him by the collar of his shirt and pulled him in close enough for Ivar to feel the heat of his breath.

“Control yourself, or I’ll make you wish you’d never been born,” Ragnar snarled. Without loosening his grip on Ivar, he looked over his shoulder at Ecbert and smiled. “King Ecbert, we have important matters to discuss, and my son Ivar is very tired. Perhaps he can take some rest in his room while we talk. He may rejoin us once he is capable of behaving himself.”

“A good plan,” Ecbert said, and motioned for the guards to come forward.

Ivar nearly blacked out as Ragnar relinquished his grip and gave him over to the guards, who draped his arms over his shoulders and pulled him into a standing position. “Father, wait, I can explain—” he pleaded, but they were already hauling him out to the hallway and back to his room with his feet dragging uselessly across the floor.

The room was empty and dark. The guards dropped Ivar on the bed and walked out without a word, shutting the door firmly behind them. He heard the click of the key turning in the lock and his heart suddenly filled with despair. He would be sent back to Kattegat in disgrace and he would never see Aldreda again. She would marry Ubbe in his place and forget all about him. Somehow the thought of that hurt more than anything.

He knew he should be angry with her. She had told Ecbert his secret, after all, and he wasn’t about to forgive her for that. It was a betrayal, pure and simple, and at any rate, forgiveness was something Christians did. He should be furious.

He found he didn’t want to be angry with her.

Ivar sat back on the bed and exhaled slowly. He was used to being angry about all sorts of things, of course. That was the way he had always been, ever since he was a small child. It had never occurred to him that he didn’t have to be. The thought was oddly liberating. He felt the sudden urge to tell Aldreda about his revelation, until he remembered she probably didn’t want to talk to him.

He flopped on his back with a groan and stared at the ceiling. Ubbe was right—he was an idiot, though not for the reasons his brother supposed him to be. He really had made a mess of things with Aldreda. At this stage, it was hard to see a way to fix it, especially with his father now breathing down his neck along with everyone else. For the first time in weeks, he felt unbearably alone. He didn’t want to cry again as he had in front of Aldreda after she told him she asked for the annulment—he was a man, and men were supposed to be stronger than that. But if nobody was around to witness it, then maybe it was all right.

In the fading evening light, he curled up on his side and wept until he fell asleep.

With his wayward son momentarily dealt with, Ragnar settled in at the table with Ecbert, Aethelwulf, and Ubbe. The journey to Wessex had been full of bad weather and various mishaps, and they were fortunate to have arrived intact, if a little worse for wear. He glanced briefly at Ubbe, who was gazing around Ecbert’s study with his mouth hanging open slightly, and he cuffed him on the back of the head. “Don’t gawk,” he muttered. “Pay attention.”

Ubbe rubbed his head. “You know I don’t understand English, Father,” he said reproachfully.

“Pay attention anyway.” Ragnar leaned back in his chair and turned his focus to the Saxons with a smile. “King Ecbert. After I returned to Kattegat, certain information came to my attention about my son Ivar regarding his suitability for marriage to...to…” by the gods, what was the girl’s name? “—your granddaughter. Believe me, I proposed our agreement in good faith and had no intention to deceive you.”

Aethelwulf scoffed and turned to Ecbert, shaking his head. “My lord, you cannot take this heathen at his word.”

“Oh, can’t I? If my friend and ally Ragnar Lothbrok truly meant to deceive us, then why would he return now? Anyway, this confirms what the boy told me.” Ecbert said. He looked back at Ragnar. “Your timing is fortuitous. Just this morning, my granddaughter came to me to request an annulment, citing Ivar’s, ah, difficulty. It is a most unfortunate situation for everyone. If the marriage cannot be consummated, then it must be dissolved so Aldreda can be free to marry another, and Ivar is free to...well, free to do other things. This, sadly, also has implications for our trade agreement.”

“Of course,” Ragnar answered. He gestured to Ubbe. “Fortunately, my son Ubbe has a proposition. In order to maintain our agreement, Ubbe will marry your granddaughter and take Ivar’s place while Ivar returns with me to Kattegat. As you can see, Ubbe is handsome and in good health, and besides, he has many fine qualities.”

Aethelwulf raised an eyebrow. “Forgive my skepticism, but what fine qualities might your son possess? Because I seem to recall being told something similar the last time around.”

“Ah.” Ragnar scratched his head and regarded his son for a moment. “Well, I do not like to speak for him. In time, Ubbe will demonstrate to you his fine qualities. Of which he has many. I assure you.”

“No doubt,” Aethelwulf answered coldly, but Ecbert was already nodding and looking Ubbe up and down in approval.

“I find this to be a reasonable proposition,” Ecbert said at last.

Aethelwulf turned and looked at him in dismay. “Father, surely you cannot agree to this so hastily,” he protested. “Ivar and Aldreda have only been married for a little while, and though I understand your concerns, they are young and there is plenty of time for them to consummate the marriage. It would be less disruptive to simply wait, rather than rushing into things again.”

Ecbert let out a low chuckle. “Why, and here I thought you despised the boy!”

Aethelwulf reddened. “I admit I did not approve of this marriage at the beginning. But I believe Ivar means to do right by my daughter, and it is only fair to give him and Aldreda that chance.”

“Ivar attempted to run away,” Ecbert reminded him. “He suborned a priest and stole your late wife’s necklace in the process. This happened two nights ago.”

“Well, yes, but…”

Ragnar stared at both of them. “I’m sorry, Ivar did what?”

Ecbert waved his hand. “Oh, it’s a long story; I’ll tell you later. The boy was not harmed, I can assure you of that.” He stroked his beard thoughtfully for a moment. “But to return to your proposal, I must say that Aethelwulf has a point. The circumstances that led to my granddaughter’s marriage to your son Ivar were very rushed. I blame myself for this. We were simply carried away by our shared enthusiasm, and this regrettable situation might have been avoided if we had been more deliberate. But now we have the chance to do things properly.”

Ragnar glanced at Ubbe, who was looking back and forth between Ecbert and Aethelwulf with a confused look on his face. “They are agreeable for the most part; otherwise, we’d be sitting in chains in the dungeon right now,” he murmured in Norse to his son. He turned back to Ecbert and smiled. “Yes. Everything shall be done properly,” he agreed. “So long as it is done.”

Aethelwulf drummed his fingers on the table irritably. “I am still of the opinion that Aldreda and Ivar should have more time to work things out between them, but I know my opinion means little in this company. However, before things proceed further, I must insist that certain conditions be met.”

“Reasonable conditions, my son,” Ecbert murmured. “We are all reasonable men here.”

Aethelwulf glared at him. “Eminently reasonable. My lord king.” He turned back to Ragnar and Ubbe. “First, if your son Ubbe is to marry Aldreda, she must find him an acceptable match. I do not wish to see her dragged unwillingly to the altar for the second time in less than two months. My other condition is that I require Ubbe to be baptized before the marriage can proceed.”

Ragnar looked at Ubbe and sighed. “He says his daughter must agree to the match, and that he wishes for you to become a Christian,” he explained.

To his surprise, Ubbe shrugged. “That is an understandable request,” he said. “Tell them I am willing to do it.”

“You’d renounce the gods?” Ragnar asked. “Some might call you a traitor. You’ll never be allowed to return to Kattegat.”

“Well, you were baptized before, weren’t you? The gods haven’t struck you down yet. Anyway, we must demonstrate to the Saxons that we are serious about the alliance.”

Ragnar gave a little sarcastic laugh. “Ah, poor Ubbe. Sacrificing yourself in order to marry a princess.”

That earned him a look of irritation from his son. “Just tell them, Father. We came all this way for a reason. Let’s not throw this opportunity away.”

“As you wish.” He turned to Ecbert and Aethelwulf. “My son agrees.”

Aethelwulf stared at him in dismay. “He...he agrees?”

The stunned look on Aethelwulf’s face almost made the entire trip worth it. Ragnar grinned. “Wonderful. Now that we’ve got that out of the way, perhaps you might introduce Ubbe to your daughter? I’d like to discuss our trade agreement with my good friend and ally King Ecbert. There are a few details I wish to refine…”

#vikings #ivar the boneless #fanfiction #fic: strange things can happen

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stuckinazkaban · 2 years

Text

I like this girl - like a lot a lot. But she’s older and out of my league. And I don’t know if she’s just being friendly or motherly (because I’ve opened up to her about my toxic parents) or if she might like me back…? We work together so I’ve known her about 4 months and I see her once every 2 weeks or so. Or else some weeks I’d see her a quite a lot of times. Just depends on our work shifts. But anyway… She used to make me hot chocolate every time we were working together within some point of the day - I think she came to the (right) conclusion that I like hot chocolate wayyyy more than coffee (we work in a coffee shop). But I think she only made me it to get me to warm up to her, and now that I’m warmed up to her she doesn’t make me them anymore. Instead we talk more like friends - but at the same time she still treats me like a child. BUT PLEASE SOMEONE TELL ME IF ANY OF THESE THINGS SOUND LIKE SHE LIKES ME?!!!!!!!Some of the things she’s done before:

•one time I was steaming the milk and I asked her a question about it. So she came over and put her hands over mine to helped but then it was like she realised what she was doing, went quite and stepped away.

•another time I dropped a cup and it smashed all over the floor. The other workers were laughing and so was I, she was too, but I was also trying to hide the fact that I was almost shaking. I started picking pieces up but she took them off me. I picked up the brush but she also took that off me and brushed it up herself - but like she didn’t want me to have to do it. I dunno.

•every single time I’m in a shift with her, she always touches me some way or another. Rubbing my back, rubbing my arm. Im pretty sure she put her hands on my waist one time but I can’t remember if that was her or this guy we work with. (Our work is really small and there’s no room to move so it is normal to touch each other). As well, every time we’re talking, we are standing so close. She doesn’t move, I don’t move. The other day I remember we were standing along a wall and she even moved closer.

•one time I gave her a demonstration (I hate myself for it now but at the time I was just being socially awkward) of how this guy was acting in a bar with me. And I was really uncomfortable. I showed her how he was leaning on me and as she was leaning with her (so so hot) arms backwards against this sideboard, I meant on her like he did. I basically lay on top of her. And she didn’t even move. She didn’t flinch. I got off her and she laughed like it was normal and funny what I did. But I was so embarrassed.

•one time she asked me if I had eaten, and I lied and said yeah. But she stood there and looked into my soul and said “you’re lying to me. Are you lying to me?” So later on (maybe a week or so later) I told her I have an eating disorder and she said she thought so because she never saw me eat. After this she always took that into consideration and that’s the main reason why I like her so much. She takes what I tell her and she doesn’t rabies it or forget it. She takes it and holds it in that tiny little pocket of information she has of me in her head. One time she wanted to give me this drink but we were in front of people as she was talking about it. She said “look now, look” and quietly pointed to the amount of calories. And then I said okay and she gave me a sip of hers.

•she told me she was bi and then I told her I was too and she said “yea I know”. I’m from a very conservative Christian family so when someone says to you “you look gay” it’s a huge relief. Honestly. She said “you’re just screaming gay. This, this, this.” She was pointing at everything; my black bracelet, my purple socks with check Vans, my nail polish. She said “the first day you came in you were wearing… orange socks and purple crocs and I just thought: ‘this girl is trying to tell me something’. But I didn’t tell anyone like.” I was smiling so much. And btw that “first day” was literally my first day as in an introduction where I was shown the kitchen and then after 5 minutes I left. THATS NOT EVEN A FIRST DAY!!!

•I told her I didn’t know if I was bi or lesbian and she started talking about kissing girls - I am younger and not as experienced so she must’ve thought I’d never done anything with a girl before, but I told her I kissed a girl a couple months ago and she was like “what?!” And stood up from where she was leaning. She said that she felt like she was having a heart attack, and I just said I gave this girl a little peck and it was my first kiss so…

•one time on a long hard busy busy busy Saturday, she was tired and cross and this guy who works with us was really confusing me with what he was saying. She shouted at him - like shouted shouted and then left.

•oh my gosh. And one time when we were on our work night, she bought me a drink. She bought me a drink. SHE BOUGHT ME A FREAKING DRINK. and I offered to pay her and everything but she said no. And she went up to the bar and ordered it and when the girl came down to give me it, I realised that knew her and said hello. She asked if the drink was for me and I just looked at her (the girl I like) and she was like “no it’s for me”. She looked honestly quite cross about it too to be honest. When the girl said goodbye and set the drink down, she gave it to me and asked me “do you know her?” I said yeah. She said “I didnt want her to ID you” (because I’m underage lol) And then I enjoyed my drink. Earlier in the night tho, the guy who was sitting beside her asked her if she liked “that” waitress (the girl I knew) and she said “no she’s not my type.” They don’t know I was eavesdropping. ;). SO WHAT IS HER TYPE?!!! I hope it’s me. She’s my type anyway. Cross. Scary. Blue hair. Nose piercings. And she is just an amazing, gorgeous person. I didn’t think people like that existed were I live.

•this happened last week, and I still haven’t got over it. I had trouble with a costumer at a table and she came over to me and helped sort it out - that was fine. We laughed about how rude she was and all. Then I went back to the till, and she went to tell our manager about what happened, but while at the till these two women began to be so rude to me and they were just horrible after I offered to bring their food down. I was so upset I had to just leave the till, go into the kitchen and began crying. I even hiccuped I was crying so much. My manager was so nice and asking me what happened while hugging me and all. I don’t know what the girl I like’s reaction was because my eyes were just streaming, but she quickly left the kitchen as I sat down with a drink of water. After a moment came back into the kitchen again and said “don’t worry, they’re dead.” And I was so confused I asked her what she meant. “I killed them, they’re dead.” Was all she said, until our manager came back in and she told him she’s going to get into trouble for shouting at that table of the rude women. He asked what she said and she said “she (me) is just a 17 year old girl and you have just made her so upset.” Along with some other words that she didn’t quite tell me. Our manager just rolled his eyes and laughed before he went to talk to the table. Then it was only me and her. She told me that I’m the nicest person she knows, that I have so much going on and I should t let people like that get to me. I literally could t breathe at this point. When our manager came back in she leant backwards on the dishwasher (I swear it was so hot) and said “I was so angry I needed a breathe before I went back out here. I swear I need a drink.” Like as in she was angry because they were mean to me!!! As she said this, she was rubbing my back, and my arm (motherly? I dunno) and I just took that as my chance to wrap my arm around her and then I HUGGED HER. I didn’t know if she wanted that much physical touch but she touches me all the time. She hugged me back, her arms around my waist really tightly. She smelled like cigarettes. She said to me “you need to fight your bisexual side.” Now this is about a month after I told her I’m bi and we hadn’t talked about it since, SO with her bringing it up means she thinks about it!!! Or I’d that me just looking into it?? But anyway… my manager said I could go home (I only had a couple minutes of my shift left anyway) and he asked if I could take the rubbish out on this trolley as I left. The girl I like told him she was coming with me. She took the trolley full of rubbish with one hand and wrapped an arm around me with the other. and then we talked the whole way down to the bins. She asked me if I had pets, asked about my dad, told me I’m an amazing person. I’m so so in love.

#crushes #girls who love girls #strangers to lovers #slow burn #lesbian love #my love #crushcore #girl crush #send help #girl help #help plz #help post

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xxisxxisxxis · 3 years

Text

Gateway Drug | Part Eighty-Six

Words: 3K

Warning(s): explicit language, violence, drug abuse

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The only sound is the clock ticking on our lawyer's desk, and the soft pattering of rain coming down.

"Just sign and initial and we'll get these back to the judge for approval." Nikki's lawyer tells us and I rub my lips together.

We both grab the pens he hands over to us, hesitantly, and Nikki clears his throat, his hand hovering over the first page of lines to be signed.

If he signs them, I'll sign them, I say to myself.

His pen presses to the paper, and it's as if he's trying to force himself to sign them...nothing happens, though.

The lawyer notices this.

"They can't be registered for approval if they're not signed." He adds, looking at the both of us.

Nikki just rolls his eyes and taps his foot, nervously rubbing the back of his neck.

"Are you sure you want to do this?" I ask him softly, hoping to God he says, "no."

"Yeah, Vivian. I'm sure." He states, still looking at the papers, pen still…

I get the "V" of my signature written and he looks down and scribbles across his paper, standing up.

"Fuck this, c'mon." He hisses and I look at him, wide eyed as he grabs my hand and pulls me up.

"W-What?" I ask.

"I'm retracting." He tells his lawyer as he walks out, taking me with him.

"Nikki, what the hell are you doing?" I ask him, confused as we walk down the stairs of the law firm.

"I've broken every fuckin' vow except 'till death do us part' and I'll be fucked to hell if we stuck it out and stayed with each other after the worst bullshit just to fucking divorce." He tells me.

One Month Earlier

I went to see him to try to understand where exactly we were in our relationship, if he even really wanted a divorce or if he was just wanted to start over, but, like always…

"I don't understand why you're being so stubborn, Viv--"

"--Because you want me to sign papers you filed less than 24 hours after you freaking died, Nikki!" I whisper yell.

"I assure you, I'm well aware!" He replies in the same quiet tone. "Sign the fucking papers."

"None of my grandparents ever divorced, my parents aren't divorced, I am not getting divorced. I'm a Christian, we don't do divorce."

"Well, you're not supposed to do sex before marriage or adultery, either, but that sure as shit didn't keep your panties on." He mumbles.

"Do you really bring up who did what because I assure you, your list is a hell of a lot longer than mine." I reply.

"Oh, is it?"

"Oh, it so is and you know it is."

He covers his ears and glare at him, flaring my nostrils.

"Are you serious right now?"

"I can't hear you." He tells me and I reach across the table and snatch his hands away from his ears, scowling.

"You are acting like a child right now!" I scold him.

"Now you know how I feel while trying to get you to just sign the damn papers!" He replies, crossing his arms. "But if you stay like this I might reconsider." He adds, his eyes on my chest where I'm leaning over.

"You aren't even taking this seriously, Nikki." I shove at his shoulder before sitting back down and he chuckles.

"I am, too," He argues. "You just look good."

"You're changing the subject."

"I can't compliment you?"

"Not when it's just to change the subject."

"I'm not changing the subject."

"Just like you to file for a divorce and then not want to discuss it with the woman who's put everything into the marriage you want wiped from existence."

"Now, you're pissing me off."

"You pissed me off when I got those damn papers with no warning."

"That's a lie, Vivian, the past year has been a fucking warning--especially with the amount of times you've thrown divorce in my face if I didn't straighten up. Remember that?"

"That's different. It was incentive to get you to act right."

"I didn't have any 'act right' left in me by that point." He states. "Unless it was for you." He smirks and I kick him under the table.

"Quit being a pervert."

"That's not perverted."

"This is a serious talk, Nikki, and you're trying to get out of it."

He opens his mouth to talk but I cut him off.

"And I swear to God if you say, 'I'm trying to get you out of something,' I'm going to come across this table and make you wish you had died."

"Is that a promise?" He raises a brow.

"I forgot how ridiculously immature sober Nikki is." I hiss.

"No, no, baby, this isn't even 'sober' Nikki. This is 'I don't have even the slightest sprinkle of anything in me for the first time in ten fucking years and I'm slowly starting to lose my fucking mind just a little bit' Nikki. Now just imagine staying married to this." He explains to me and I cut my eyes.

"Why the hell are you trying to convince me to want to divorce you?"

"Because you told me to fucking divorce you, remember?"

I furrow my brows.

"The day I got home and we got into that argument and you told me to just divorce you. So I'm trying to."

"You know that's not what I meant, Nikki."

"What the fuck did you mean, Vivian, because you fucking said, 'just divorce me then'."

"I didn't mean the next fucking day."

"You're crazy." He tells me.

"I'm crazy? I tried to throw myself off of a balcony when I thought you died and you thought it'd be a good idea to break up with me hours later?! Are you sure I'm the only crazy one?!"

"You told me you wanted out--multiple times."

"And you told me you loved me."

"Oh, oh, oh, woah, woah, wait a damn minute, that was a fucking coke binge mixed with alcohol, talking."

"Wasn't much talking, just a lot of crying and begging." I point out and he shakes his head a little, rolling his jaw. "Just for you to come home and file for divorce."

"Fuck you, Vivian."

"Fuck you, Nikki."

We both puff up and pout, arms crossed, glaring at each other with "go to hell" looks.

"...So?" Doc asks us when he comes back to check in on us.

"She's still that bratty little spoiled prude that would argue with me for the hell of it that she was when I first fucking met her." He snaps.

"And he's still Satan's evil Spawn." I bark.

"I'm about to take you to the bathroom." He threatens me.

"I'd rather have sex with Bret Michaels." I shoot back.

"At the rate you're going, I believe it."

"Do we need to talk about the threesome you had with Tansy and Vanity, now, or…?"

"Wasn't Tansy." He states.

"Really? Then who was it with?"

"Let's not do this here." Doc says quietly, apparently we're getting louder than we thought, other visitors and patients glancing at us uncomfortably.

I wanna see them be married to Nikki Sixx and try to handle their shit quietly.

"Sign the damn papers, Vivian." Nikki tells me as I stand up, grabbing my purse and scoffing.

"You and your damn papers can go burn." I mumble to him.

"You know I'm right!" He calls after me, I just flick him off, turning my hand to him as I walk away.

When I get back to the house, I'm faced with the boxes I've got stacked and packed, groaning at the mess I've made trying to get our things sorted out--well, my things.

"Viv?!" Sharise calls from our guest bedroom.

"It's me!" I call back, hearing Whisky running from where she is to me.

"Hey, baby boy." I greet him, patting his head.

"I didn't know what to do with this," she carries down the big white box with my wedding dress in it. "And Sky's asleep, she's had a big afternoon with woof-woof." She states, using Skylar's nickname for Whisky.

"Aww," I say and take the box from her and carry it to the dinner table. "I haven't opened this since we got married."

"I wonder if you could still wear it." She adds and I raise my brows.

"Hell, if I know." I mumble. "I'm not gonna need it anymore."

"Oh, don't say that." She tells me.

"He's serious about the divorce, Sharise." I state.

"He's gone through a lot of stuff, Viv. You both have. He's not thinking clearly."

"Well, I am, and I don't want a freaking divorce."

"Yeah, but that's you." She reminds me. "I'm sorry it's something you're having to go through but you don't need to be with someone that wants to leave the marriage."

"I guess."

"Or you two will work things out and it'll be fine." She says next, optimistic.

"Work it out…"

I'm hunched over the toilet a week later at the house, puking my guts up, trying to take deep breaths as I think I finish, only to be met with another wave of vomit, my throat and nose burning as regurgitated stomach acid stings at it.

"Shit." I grumble to myself, taking deep breaths…

I glare at the positive pregnancy tests--the reason for my nausea, mainly.

"Damnit, Vivian." I say to myself, tiredly, trying not to start crying.

Whisky's standing under me and I just sit on the bathroom floor and cry, hugging the dog when he gets closer to me to run his nose against my hand.

What the hell am I going to do? What the hell am I going to tell Duff? What am I going to tell Nikki? I want him to stay with me but I'm pregnant with a baby that isn't even his. I know he knows about me and Duff, now, but a baby from it would be a constant reminder that, "hey, remember that time you and your wife fucking hated each other and she fucked Duff McKagan while you were overdosing?"

I hit myself internally, wiping my eyes.

I knew this was a risk, so I'm not surprised--just pissed at myself.

I'm not on birth control, I don't like condoms, I'm lucky I don't have an STD but a fucking baby with Duff?

What's my dad going to think?

What's Duff's family going to think, especially if by some miracle Nikki and I do stay together...what will happen with his chance to find someone else. Most women in their 20s in L.A. don't want to play step-mom right now.

The press will have a field day with this…

My mind shifts to Nikki's granddad.

Damn it.

I glance at the clock that reads 1:34a.m. and let out a breath, exhausted, before opening the bathroom drawer and putting the pregnancy test in it, sniffling.

I rummage through our cabinets for something to help me sleep, finding some NyQuil.

I decide to take it since the only reason I had a reaction to it last time was because I mixed it with my antidepressant, and I go lay down, looking at Whisky getting in beside me, laying on Nikki's side of the bed, my mind plucking at a familiar sight not too long ago.

"Where the hell is Nikki at?!" I hear Doc shout over the bustle backstage, and I furrow my brows, stopping my conversation with Tawny Kitaen--who's here with David Coverdale--as Doc looks at me.

"You know where the fuck Sixx is?" He snaps at me.

"No, I came with Sharise and Heather." I tell him.

"Is Nikki even fucking here?!" He shouts next.

"How the hell am I supposed to know, Doc?!" I yell back, getting pissed.

"Maybe because you're his wife?" I hear someone cut in, sounding irritated, and I slowly turn around and see Bobby Dall leaned against an amp, his arms crossed.

"Maybe lick my twat." I snap back, harshly.

"I'm missing a fucking bassist that's supposed to go on in fifteen fucking minutes!" Doc yells over everybody, making me and Bobby shut up our bickering that's about to inevitably start. "Has anybody seen or heard anything from Nikki Sixx?!"

We all glance at each other, not saying a word.

"Fuck!" He outbursts, storming away to call the office back home.

Bobby huffs out a breath and pushes past me and Tawny, while I just glare daggers into him.

It was Day on the Green, a big music festival in Oakland, California, and on the second day, Whitesnake, Poison, and Mötley Crüe were set to perform. But once it was Mötley's turn, nobody could find Nikki. I had come with Sharise and Heather. Nikki had attempted to kick smack, again, so we all thought that's what delayed his arrival...come to find out…

"I've been up three fucking days freebasing, Tommy, alright?" He snaps to a pissed off Tommy and Vince after, "You're fucking shooting up again," leaves Tommy's lips.

The guys are pissed off--the most pissed I've ever seen them at Nikki--and the fans, who've been waiting for nearly an unacceptable amount of time for Mötley Crüe, are bustling with impatience as Nikki steadily drinks from a bottle of Jack to bring himself down some.

He glances at me and snarls.

"Get her outta here. I can't do shit with her looking at me like I'm dead." He snaps to Fred and I roll my jaw and leave him be.

By the time the show goes on, it's so obvious that Nikki's out of it, his eyes wide and wild, his brain fried…

Once the part of the show happens where Vince brings out bottles of Jack for Nikki and Tommy to chug on stage, I feel my eyes water, seeing Nikki scrambling to get up where he threw himself down the stage, to grab the fifth of Jack from Vince.

He chugs half, Tommy chugs half, and when Nikki comes to grab some water to try to keep up and finish the show as strong as he can, he takes two big gulps of water and hisses a bit of it back up, coughing and hacking.

I'm assuming he grabbed Micks straight vodka by accident.

The show ends soon, and Nikki's slobbering drunk, looking tired and worn down.

"I'm fuckin' going home." He tells Doc, pushing past him. "Vivian, baby, c'mon." He tells me, surprisingly gentle, slurring and taking heavy breaths.

I think he's just that damn tired.

"You don't want to stay and try to sober up some?" I ask him, calmly.

"No, I just wanna go home." He repeats.

I tell the girls and boys, 'bye,' right before Doc hammers us with when we need to be at the airport to leave for the next shows on the tour.

I can see Nikki being bombarded with Doc, bitching him out for being late while simultaneously threatening him if he doesn't get his shit together before they do the next line of shows...his eyes growing more and more distant with each word.

"You know how many fuckin' people you disappointed tonight, Nikki?" Doc asks him next.

"Doc, he gets it, alright." I interrupt since Nikki's not saying anything to him. I take Nikki's hand and pull him to the door.

"He obviously doesn't get it, Vivian." He bites at my heels, following after us.

"I get it, you're pissed, but can we please do this another time?" I hiss, snapping around to him, glancing around at the different roadies backstage, some of the members of other bands and their girlfriends and wives looking uncomfortable with Nikki getting his metaphorical asshole torn into a million pieces by Doc.

"You've both been saying that for the past year, Vivian, so no. We can't do this another time." Doc tells me, fed up.

"Well, me and him are." I argue, turning back around and grabbing Nikki's arm to keep walking.

Nikki's not even here mentally. It's like he's sedated.

"Just go ahead and enable him, Vivian." Doc outbursts to me, still behind us with each step, and I turn and throw my fist to his face as hard and fast as I can, hearing a satisfying crack in his cheek.

Eyes widen around us, Fred is rubbing his face as he steps to us, Tommy, Vince and Mick glaring at me...they can all think Nikki Sixx married a batshit bitch.

I don't care anymore.

When we get on the plane Nikki flew in on, he sits down and stays quiet as I sit across from him.

The only thing he tells me the entire hour and a half worth of flight is, "I've fucking done it again," I'm assuming in reference to messing things up.

He locks himself in the closet when we get home, and I spend the night wide awake, staring at Whisky where he's laying on Nikki's side of the bed.

"You and me again." I say to him, reaching out and rubbing his head as he stretches.

I blink the memory back, still looking at Whisky.

"You and me again."

#gateway drug #nikki sixx #nikki sixx x oc #nikki sixx fanfiction

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moodyblues93 · 3 years

Text

Dear LGBTQ Community

I am so incredibly sorry is the only right way to start. This post comes from a lifelong conservative, homeschooled Christian. I never stood on a street corner with a sign that said ugly things about you, and whenever I met someone who was gay (or I suspected they were), I tried very hard to treat them the same as anyone else and not hold them at arm’s length; nevertheless, I made some disparaging remarks within my circle of likeminded people, and I most definitely saw you as being in the wrong. I didn’t hate you- I felt sorry for you, and found myself wistfully thinking how nice it would be if being gay wasn’t a sin, and we could all just get along then…but ultimately I had to shake my head and say, “well, the Bible says it’s a sin, so that’s the end of the debate.”

Having now been out of my (incredibly controlling and right-wing extremist) parents’ house for seven years now, I’ve made a lot of progress in finding what I believe is a proper middle ground for my beliefs and overall worldview. Every New Year’s Day, rather than make a resolution, I have a long talk with the Lord and ask Him to please make me more like Him in the coming year and draw me closer to His heart; I can honestly say that every year this prayer is answered, and I continue to become a more loving and understanding person (though I am far, far from perfect). This year I have become increasingly aware of how ugly a lot of my conservative, supposedly Christian friends behave at their cores, and how so many of the things they claim they’re saying in love sound a lot more akin to hate, pride, and bigotry. By May, I was so disgusted by their words and actions, I came back for a Part 2 to my prayer. I asked God to reveal to me the things in my beliefs that I had accepted as truths that are in fact lies- whether in part or in whole -and vice versa; I asked that He help me be willing to reconsider my stance on any and all issues where I was wrong, and to give me the courage to take the steps necessary to change.

I kid you not: within two weeks of praying that, I was struck out of the blue by a thought I had never dared even entertain in jest in my entire life. Why is being gay a sin? I froze in my tracks and my heart stopped. Having thought this forbidden sentence, my mind raced ahead before I could catch it.

Why should it be a sin?

I understand that the very first couple was a man and a woman, but they HAD to be in order to continue the human race.

If there’s one thing I’ve known from an early age, it’s that God is a God of logic. He has a reason for every commandment/rule, and usually that reason is very self-evident. Adultery is breaking a promise and brings devastating hurt to others and yourself. Stealing is taking something that you have no right to take, and again, you’re harming someone else one way or another. I already know AIDS isn’t the exclusively “gay cancer” televangelists claimed it was in the ‘80s, so I can’t even use that as the reason behind why gay relationships are forbidden.

I stood there in the kitchen, stumped. I could not think of a single actual reason why being gay could be considered a sin, aside from citing “because God said so,” which is not an actual argument; God never lays down arbitrary rules like that, and even the passages about “it is an abomination” suddenly didn’t make sense to me. Okay, but WHY is it an abomination? Circular reasoning didn’t sound like the God I’ve come to know so well over the years. The notion gnawed at me all day, and I could hardly focus on anything else. I prayed almost continually for the next two days on the matter: I asked that if my heart was deceiving me and I was being sucked into the “liberal Christian” mindset after too long away from the influence of a super strict church, that God would save me from my error and show me the why behind this commandment so I wouldn't stray. I also asked in no uncertain terms that if the church is in fact wrong and being gay is NOT a sin that God would give me peace about the whole matter and help me to find good, thorough resources that could dismantle the arguments I’d been supportive of all these years.

None of this stemmed from a guilty conscience needing to find justification for a beloved family member’s lifestyle, or even my own: as far as I know, everyone in my immediate family is hetero, and I myself am ace. Nor did this come from the desire to be as opposite of my strict parents as possible, to rebel and go nuts now that they no longer control my life. I am a person who always wants to know the why and how behind every rule and process, to understand as much about my surroundings as a human can, and to champion the truth in all things- even when that truth makes me uncomfortable.

I spent copious amount of time over several months researching this subject from multiple viewpoints, devouring articles and lectures, and praying for guidance with every new piece of information I uncovered. By the time I’d finished, I was left with a deep conviction that we have been wrong all this time; the arguments the church has used are based on a mix of mistranslations and cultural practices that are irrelevant to our society today (for anyone who wants to know more on this, I cannot recommend enough Walking The Bridgeless Canyon by Kathy Baldock, and God and the Gay Christian by Matthew Vines, because there isn’t room in this post to explain it all. You need to read both books for the full picture).

I’m sorry for how long this post is, but since you don’t know me, I’m trying to convey to you just how significant it is for someone like me to have come to this conclusion. I’ve been a dyed-in-the-wool conservative Christian my entire life; I literally don’t even remember my conversion because of how young I was when I came to faith. For those who are skeptics concerning if homosexuality and the like is a sin, I hope this has prodded at your conscience and will push you to start looking into this for yourself.

But my main purpose of this post is to address you, the LGBTQ community. One person’s apologies, no matter how sincere, cannot begin to make up for or repair the damage done to you. As I was studying all this, the more horrified I became as it hit me that there are countless souls the church turned away because they were told Jesus wasn’t interested in a relationship with them, and consequently, most of those people likely then didn’t want to have anything to do with a Jesus like that. The thought completely broke my heart for you, and all I want to tell you now is that regardless if someone has said to you that you cannot enter the kingdom of Heaven as long as you are a practicing homosexual/bisexual/etc. or anything else along those lines…PLEASE listen to me instead.

I love you. I accept you as you are and I am not going to ask you to change this aspect of your life. Far more importantly, Jesus loves you as you are and He wants to have a relationship with you. If the only thing that’s ever held you back from looking into Christianity is believing your sexuality won’t be accepted, know that there are churches out there who will gladly welcome you (Google ‘open and affirming church near me’).

I’m making an iron promise to you that I’m going to attend my local rally every June from now on; I’m going to hug you and remind you that it’s okay to be who you are without having to fear eternal damnation for it. I can’t say enough how sorry I am for everything that has been said and done to you, all supposedly in the name of love- a love that has been hideously misunderstood and twisted to fit a human agenda of our own making. Please give God another chance. Let Him show you just what love really and truly is, and I guarantee you will find it’s nothing like what you’ve been told.

I know you don’t know me, and you have no reason to believe me, but please take this as a hopeful sign for the future. If I can come to this conclusion, then surely the rest of the world can’t be far behind me. We will make this a safe and accepting place for you, where contemptuous glances and ugly words are no longer slung across the dividing line, because there will no longer be a line- it will no longer be an Us vs. Them, because there will only be Us. Thank you for your persistence through the decades to not deny who you are, because your endurance will help keep the door open for this and future generations to come to a true understanding.

I hope a lot of people see this. I don't know much about how Tumblr works, I'm hardly ever on here, but I sincerely wish for many people to see this and smile by the time they're finished.

Red and orange, yellow and green, blue and purple, black and white, we are precious in His sight.

#lgbtq #lgbt pride #apology #love is love #god is love #true christianity #change the world #can i get an amen

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footballfanfictions · 4 years

Text

Think that I like her - Phase Three

Mason

It has been three weeks since Molly declined his proposal and I haven’t seen her since. I can’t even remember what phase two of my marvellous plan had even been because the proposal had completely blown everything. I had been so sure that she was going to say yes that my confidence had really been knocked.

‘Bud!’

I didn’t look up, not sure whether Ben was talking to me or one of the others.

‘Hello, Mason...you in there?’ Ben asked.

I looked up at him then, and by now the guys must have known that I wasn't ok, I was very visibly sulking.

‘Your mate has been blowing up your phone’ Ben pointed out the flashing screen that could be seen through the pocket of my jeans.

‘Yeah it’s Kara, her flatmate is that girl I was telling you about’ I explained.

‘Invite them both?’ he suggested. ‘Doesn’t then seem like you’re singling her out because she’s now single. Tammy’s girl is coming over and bringing a few of her mates so they won’t be the only girls or anything.’

I knew what Ben was angling for. He was single too and he was looking to hook up with someone. He had been complaining of blue balls all week in training.

‘Eh go on then, I’ll text her though’ I shrugged as I pulled my phone out of my pocket. I did feel guilty that Kara had been calling but I just didn’t really feel like speaking to her. She had tried to help me since Molly’s break up but I just felt awkward even thinking about talking to her when her break up was so fresh. I wasn’t looking to be anyone’s rebound.

I had just finished typing my text to Kara when a sheepish looking Christian came over and sat next to me, clutching a nonalcoholic budweiser in his hand.

‘I just heard who you were inviting. Ben is excited that your friend might be fit. What does that mean?’ Christian asked.

That actually made me smile. I liked it when Christian didn’t get english terms or slang, it was kind of funny. ‘It means that he wants to know if she is attractive’ I explained.

Christian’s face fell. ‘I don’t want him to think that!’ he said in a hushed tone, leaning closer to me while he spoke. ‘I fancy her.’

‘I know!’ I laughed. ‘Wait where did you learn that term? You don’t say that in the US do you?’

Christian shook his head, laughing.

‘Oh man, I hope she isn’t Ben’s type.’ I mumbled, knowing full well that girl was Bem’s type, especially as he was feeling lonely after the lockdown.

‘Do you think he would be much of a threat?’

I looked at Christian and then over at Ben, considering which one I thought might be more of Kara’s type. ‘She has dated a few tall guys and he’s taller than you so he has that but… she is a big sucker for dimples so you win on that one and she liked your accent. The one thing he does have you on though is that he is really confident and girls really like that.’

‘Ok well what does that mean for me?’ Christian was looking really nervous now and I knew I had knocked his confidence a bit which wouldn’t be good if he was about to try to talk to Kara.

‘It just means that if he likes her he is really going to go for it and do more than just kind of stare awkwardly at her, and he will actually flirt really obviously’ I explained.

Christian stood and I laughed, looking up at him. ‘Where you going?’ I asked.

‘To swap this for a real beer. I need all the confidence I can get because tonight I’m telling her that I fancy her’.

As quickly as he came over he was gone again and I sighed. My phone had pinged a few times while I had been talking to Christian but I had been ignoring it up until now trying to counsel him on how to pull a girl as if I were some kind of expert myself.

Kara

Molly took ages getting ready. She had carefully styled her hair into big bouncy curls and applied a heavy amount of make up.

‘Are you sure you want to go out? We don’t have to go you know. Mase will understand’ I assured her.

She shook her head, spraying a large cloud of hairspray and declaring she was ready. ‘I want to see Mase, I missed his cute face. He’s going to cheer me up and I want a drink!’

I rolled my eyes.

We arrived at Mason’s friends flat in just under 20 minutes, with it being only four tube stops away. Molly had smuggled a bottle of pre-mixed lemonade and pink gin with her in her bag and had been chugging it both while we waited for the train and while we were on it and was slightly tottering on her high heels, linked arm in arm with me which was just about holding her up.

We knocked and a good looking guy with dark brown hair opened the door. I had been guilty of not watching many Chelsea matches since the restart because my job had been so busy so I didn’t recognise him.

‘I’m Ben’ he said with a smile, stepping aside and allowing us entry to the flat.

‘I’m Molly and this is Kara’ Molly said, flashing a smile and holding out a shaky hand. Ben missed her hand and pulled her into a hug.

‘Mason is sulking over there’ Ben laughed, pointed Mase out to us.

‘Thanks’ I said, catching Ben’s eye. He gave me a little look up and down and smiled at me and with that I steered Molly over to where Mason was sitting.

‘Mase!’ she cried, plonking herself down onto Mason’s lap, making him jump a little as she wrapped her arms around his neck and starting hugging him.

Mason looked over his shoulder at me with wide eyes and I shrugged and then mimed a bottle being drunk. He nodded to show that he had understood me and I sat opposite them, smiling at the pair of them as Molly cuddled into Mason and started to tell him about the proposal and how it had been the most mortifying moment of her life.

I felt slightly uncomfortable being in such close proximity to them while they were acting rather coupley and shifted uncomfortably in my seat, looking around the room to see if there was anyone that I knew. That’s when I spotted Mason’s team mate Christian who I had met before. He was probably the only member of the team, besides Ben now, that I actually had met.

He was stood across the room from me chatting to two other guys who i assumed played for the team too. One had dark curly hair and the other was tall, blonde and shy looking. I caught Chritian’s eye and gave him a little wave. He grinned and waved back at me before gesturing for me to go over.

Gladly I got up and left Molly and Mason to talk, walking over to where Christian and the other guys were.

‘Hey nice to see you again’ Christian greeted me, putting his arm around my waist and squeezing me against his side briefly. I blushed like mad, enjoying the feeling of his arm around me. No one had been intimate with me in any way for a long time and his arm around me had felt really comforting and nice but he quickly withdrew it to introduce me to the other two.

‘Kara this is Kai.’ The tall dark haired one. ‘...and this is Timo our new striker’ the blonde one smiled and gave me an awkward little wave as if he were nervous and muttered a quiet ‘Hi’.

‘Are you both new?’ I asked, looking back to the curly haired one and trying to work out if I had seen him before.

‘Yes’ he responded in very good but thickly accented English.

‘They used to play in Germany’ explained Christian.

‘Oh like you? I try to follow Dortmund but even following one team is hard so I kind of haven’t kept up with them in a long time.’ I said, smiling at both of them.

They both laughed and started shaking their heads. ‘No...No Dortmund!’ the blonde one - er Timo said.

‘Oh oops, you guys played for other teams right? Shit, sorry, put my foot in it’ I laughed and then spoke directly to Christian ‘I don’t know what phase of Mason’s plan we are on but it’s working tonight’.

Christian looked over at Mason and Molly who were still talking on the sofa, their heads very close together. ‘It must be that couch. Ben said that’s where he hooks up a lot’.

I laughed, trying to avert my eyes from Christian who I would very much like to snog, eer.. hook up with and bit my lip.

As if I had given them some sort of signal both of the germans shuffled off to speak to other people and left me and Christian alone.

‘So how are you enjoying London? Or is that a silly question as you’ve technically been here over a year now’ I asked.

‘That is true but I’ve hardly seen any of it. We were locked down and I didn’t have anyone to show me around’ he grinned, rubbing the back of his neck. I ran my eyes from his elbow upward, admiring his sleeve of tattoos distractedly.

‘Remind me to have a word with Mason about that then, he should have shown you around when you got here.’

He looked between me and Mason as if he were trying to decide whether to do something or not before he spoke. ‘I think you would make a much prettier tour guide’.

Christian

I had felt stupidly confident after a couple of beers, asking her to show me around London. I couldn’t believe that she had agreed and insisted that we leave Ben’s immediately because so much of London was better at night. I didn’t object of course, just downed the rest of my drink for courage and followed her out of the flat onto the street.

I was slightly regretting it now that I was fifty feet up in the air on the London eye, or whatever it was called now. I wasn’t the biggest fan of heights, but we had one of the huge bubbles all to ourselves and the view really was incredible.

Kara stood with her back to me, leaning against the rail which gave me a really great view of the curve of her ass, causing me a great amount of distraction from the landmarks that she was pointing out to me.

‘Over there is the new Wembley stadium. I don’t really know what was wrong with the old one… ooh and you might be able to see the Olympic stadium from here too. That one is West Ham’s now’. She was pointing now, the tip of her finger grazing the glass as she pointed out the stadiums.

‘This was a great idea, thank you.’ I said.

She turned slightly then and looked at me. ‘Can I confess something?’

I nodded and she blushed, a hint of pink gracing her cheeks.

‘I don’t really like heights but I thought I would come up here for you so that you could see everything. I’m glad we did this rather than the cable car though, that looks way more unsafe’.she blushed again as she spoke, her words were coming out faster and faster and she was starting to babble, definitely at least half as nervous as I was.

That’s when I decided that I was going to try to kiss her. Even though if it went wrong or if she didn’t want to we were pretty far off the ground and there was no getting away from each other.

Even so I took a step closer to her and put my arms around her waist, mumbling softly ‘come here’ as I pulled her against me.

She smiled at me shyly as she put her arms around my neck and I could tell that she quite liked how assertive I was being.

‘I think you’re more beautiful than any of the sights out there’. I said, gently tucking a strand of hair behind her ear before I put one of her hands on the back of her head and leaned in. I paused for a moment, with our lips about half an inch apart hoping desperately that she wouldn’t pull away and when she didn’t I pressed my lips against hers. At first it was just a light brush and I felt giant butterflies erupt in my stomach. I was so nervous and the alcohol really hadn’t helped with that. I started worrying about how bad my breath might be and how that might put her off, but she started to move her lips against mine and pushed a hand up into my hair, grasping a handful of what was left of it after I had cut it short.

I could feel how fast my heart was beating as I held her slightly tighter and pressed her back against the railing, slipping my tongue into her mouth where it met hers.

I had never really kissed anyone with as much passion as this, let alone a first kiss and when I pulled away I looked away for a moment before I could bring myself to look at her, for some reason expecting some sort of rejection.

‘Wow’ was all she said but it had me blushing.

‘Yep’ was all I managed in response and I felt like such a doofus. ‘Sorry’.

‘Never apologise for that. I’ve never been kissed like that before.’

#christian pulisic fanfic #christian pulisic #mason mount #football fanfiction #think that I like her #ben chilwell

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alyss-not-cis · 3 years

Text

My Oppression as a Pansexual

Hi there! My name is Alyss, I'm a bigender pansexual, and I'm a Christian.

Being a Christian, my family is extremely conservative. Like, Ben Shapiro conservative.

I was adopted when I was 10, and started homeschooling in a Christian community when I was 11 because I was being bullied in my public school. During that time, I was undergoing a lot of depression and guilt because I realized I started liking girls (this was before I identified as bigender).

In our community, homosexual acts and feelings are considered demonic, as well as mental health issues. I was struggling with both, and became overwhelmingly suicidal because of that guilt. I attempted suicide twice at the age of 11 and my parents never did anything to help me. I was terrified of coming out to them about my feelings towards other girls, so only tried to talk to them about my mental health. They believed that there was a spiritual problem with me, and instead of taking me to a therapist or looking more into the problem, they had family pray over me.

I felt like the black sheep of the family, and stayed in the closet battling my sexuality for years after. Then, when I was 14, I accepted my sexuality as bisexual. I had a few flings with both men and women in the Christian community, and tried to help as many people in the LGBTQ+ Christian community as possible because I had also endured their feelings. Then, at the age of 15, I started my sophmore year in a Christian highschool.

In this highschool, you don't celebrate Halloween, you can't show your knees or shoulders, baseball caps are a sin, etc. I had found a group of LGBTQ+ allys and members in the school and we became amazing friends until my senior year. I had switched my label to pansexual because I had a small relationship with a nonbinary on Instagram (who is still one of the nicest people I have ever met), and had a few fellow bigender partners. By this time, I was at the beginning of my senior year and a lot of people in the school knew I was pansexual.

The school had a VERY strict rule against LGBTQ+ to where you weren't even allowed to talk about it without receiving academic probation. The second quarter of that year, I had a failing grade in Chemistry, so my mother and I were called into a meeting with the school's director and my chemistry teacher. I had already been through this process before, but I had a terrible amount of disrespect for this chemistry teacher. Not only did she make the class about politics (not chemistry, which is what we were PAYING for), but she made extremely offensive comments about the LGBTQ+ community in the class (I was the only student in the class who wasn't straight, and almost everyone in that class knew except for her).

During the meeting, the director had decided to bring up a couple of complaints she had heard about me. One was the fact that I came to school in a onesie (it had footies that were against school policy), and I had worn "dark" make up. Then the last was that I was claiming I was pansexual.

I thought my heart had stopped, and my face went pale. Neither of my parents knew I was pansexual, and now I was being outed at my school in front of my mother and homophobic chemistry teacher.

The next half hour was spent listening to lectures about how I was giving a bad influence to the younger, more impressionable kids at the school and that I needed to seek help. My mom tried to defend me, saying "Well, I'm sure she didn't mean what she said. Right?" And she looked at me. I said no. I meant what I said, and you know what? I was proud of it.

I had to sign an agreement saying I was on academic probation for breaking the rules for the next coming quarter. I was crying my eyes out the whole day, sobbing my eyes out in front of anybody and everybody (making my one-on-one tutoring session VERY uncomfortable for my pre-calc teacher). My parents had now found out I was pansexual.

That night, I had sent out a text to my group of friends about what had happened, trying to seek comfort. They were incredibly supportive, yet very hostile towards the director. I had laughed it off as a joke, and sent a text saying "Put the snitch in a ditch." A very immature comment, and I do agree that I shouldn't have said that.

The next morning, my mother had received a phone call from a detective saying I was under investigation for death threats against the director. I was immediately expelled breaking the probation by saying I was pansexual. All of my friends in that group chat were also expelled and under investigation.

I'm now not allowed to speak to any of them, and was forced to tell my parents I was straight because I was about to be kicked out. I'm now paying for my own education to complete my senior year and have lost connection to almost every person I was once friends with.

My point here is; being a part of LGBTQ+ in a Christian community as a minor is terrifying. I'd heard of many coming out horror stories from people I was close to, and hated seeing them suffering like I did.

I do consider myself a Christian, but you can be a Christian and not be this hateful.

The Bible says "You have heard that it was said, ‘You shall love your neighbor and hate your enemy.’ But I say to you, Love your enemies and pray for those who persecute you, so that you may be sons of your Father who is in heaven. For he makes his sun rise on the evil and on the good, and sends rain on the just and on the unjust. For if you love those who love you, what reward do you have? Do not even the tax collectors do the same? And if you greet only your brothers, what more are you doing than others?" Matthew 5:43-48.

Even if we, as members of LGBTQ+, are enemies to these conservative extremists, this behavior is unbiblical. The comment I made in the group chat was hateful, and I repent of my actions. I never should have said that, and I have learned from my mistakes. With that being said, it doesn't excuse the efforts of this school. I still love the people there, and am willing to treat them with respect, but I am not going to ignore discrimination.

My parents have even more oppressive. Whenever I'm around, they throw slurs at homosexuals on T.V., and they make fun of me openly behind my back in front of my younger brothers. They even accidentally sent a message in a group chat that I was in, making fun of the fact that I supported trans rights. And when they found out I could see those messages, they said they were entitled to what they said because it's "unnatural" and my feelings didn't matter.

This past week has been the worst so far with their homophobic and transphobic comments, it's gotten to the point where I can't even wear a hat backwards without my mom breaking down.

With that, I wanted to make this post as a safe space for anyone in a similar place and say that you're not alone. You are valid, you are not "filled with demons", and you are beautiful. I know that pain you're feeling, and I'm offering to help comfort and support you. God LOVES you, no matter what any Church Karen says.

Even if you don't believe in God, you're valid and safe here. You don't need to harbor any guilt for who you are, and you are gonna come out of this a strong, admirable warrior. I love you all, and remember to love yourself too.

Thank you for reading this, and remember to stay safe,

-Alyss

#lgbtq #lgbtq rights #lgbtq+#oppression #story time #funny

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fiery-assassin-arc · 3 years

Text

꧁༒☬𝓒𝓵𝓸𝓼𝓾𝓻𝓮 –𝓘𝓻𝓲𝓼’𝓼 𝓟𝓞𝓥☬༒꧂

He remains still, not wanting to attack. Hands behind his back. Gentle smile. I am still holding the fire poker in my hands, aimed at him. Part of me wants to attack, but he knows I wouldn’t. I was blinded by rage that day.

He knows I’m haunted by what he did.

I wonder if he had time to reflect.

“Put that down, Phoenix.”

“Why are you in my home?” I accuse, taking a step closer, placing it by his chest. “How are you in my home?”

“I’m the Grandmaster of lock-picking as well as the Lin Kuei.” He explains, raises his eyebrow ever slightly. I should have known. “As for the why,” He looks at the fire poker, me, then at the improv weapon again. “I would like to talk it over with you, if you’re willing to listen to me.”

I chew the inside of my cheek. Contemplating my options. I could listen to him, or get him out of the house. I never did listen to him that day. Even at the pyre, I stood far away from the others as they mourned. I was angry, but how I had to force his hand to have Frost be buried along with the others… I don’t know if I can forgive him. But I’ve also grown so much with him, he’s helped me slowly overcome my fear of the dark (managed, not completely eradicated).

I put the fire poker on the rack, and gesture him to the kitchen. “Hungry? I’m sure you’ve had a long journey.” At his shrug of indifference, I make my way to the kitchen, checking to see if he follows.

Just because I’m angry at him, doesn’t mean I no longer respect him.

He sits on the bar stool, looking uncomfortable as I grab ingredients for colcannon. Potatoes, kale, butter, heavy cream. His cold is familiar I clear my throat, hoping it could ease the tension here. “How are things?”

“The temple has slowly come back to normal. Some new recruits have joined.” He tells me, looks at how I cut the potatoes. Even, use the knife to peel the skin carefully. “Some of the other members miss you, Phoenix. I have missed you.”

The knife slams down on the cutting board, remembering the name I gave myself. It was the rebirth from the ashes. But now I am ash, nothing to spark me. “I don’t know if I can come back stronger like last time.” I say to him. I continue cooking. Boiling the potatoes.

“I have watched you go from a little, barely sparking ember on wood to a forest fire. Destructive, powerful, confident. You have grown in the past five years. Whatever ails you, you will overcome.” There’s pride in his voice, a gentle smile that I haven’t seen in a while.

“Yeah, but now I’m back to where I started.” I argue, before chopping up the kale. “You never did answer my question on why you’re here.”

“I know you have taken a leave of absence. Because you are upset with me.” Sub-Zero sighs, and his hands slap his thighs. “On that day, I thought I could possibly disengage her thoughts, put her in temporary rest. But Raiden decided that it was best to eliminate her entirely. And I’m sorry I couldn’t stop him in time, or didn’t say anything to prevent it.”

I look over at him. His ocean eyes show an amount of regret. I never did look at him that day. All I say was someone who indirectly took something most important from me.

“You both had such a powerful bond, the same Hanzo and I once had. When she challenged me, I made the choice of exile because I would not, could not kill her; deep down I cared for her like one would a daughter to a father. Same with you.” He sighs, and I pass him the bowl of potatoes, and the masher. He chuckles. “What’s this?”

“Mashing potatoes is better than hurting yourself. Trust me. Do it.” I offer, leaning on the kitchen counter.

“That won’t be left unchecked.” Sub-Zero says, and proceeds to mash the vegetable, continues. “I was angry with her when I found she had allied herself with Sektor. I did not hold her back, she simply needed more guidance, even though she was Chief. And I remember how you were hurt by my choices, yet you remained loyal. Why?”

Why. That’s what it all boils down to, does it? Everyone has a why, but do I? I sigh, crack my knuckles. “I did what I thought was right that day. I argued with her earlier that it was foolish to do so, but she didn’t push me to join her.” I look into the bowl of potatoes—looks good enough. But he’s still mashing them in a clockwise motion. “I trusted your judgment, in the end. And I believed, maybe, maybe she’d come back to us.” To me.

“I remember you told me Frost didn’t cyberize you. She set you free.”

“She did. But we fought before that. I don’t know what provoked her, but I noticed her movements…” Sub-Zero pushes the bowl to me, and I prepare the rest of the dish. Adding butter, cream. “It was if she held some sort of restraint. Not completely, but enough to overpower, and get a chance to escape. It was before you and Master Hasashi arrived.” I add salt and pepper. “I think then, she still protected me.” Toss in the kale. Get some bowls for us.

“At least there were still parts of her that were human. Her love for you never left her even when she changed.” He reaches a hand over, hesitant. I slowly take it, embrace the chill. “I hope what I said is enough for closure.”

I feel a lump in my throat, unable to melt with the heat, and I feel tears burn my eyes. Second time today. It’s nice to hear how he really felt that day.

“It’s a start, but it doesn’t mean I’ll forgive you right away. I may need time.”

“That is something I will accept, Phoe—Iris.” He sends me a crooked smile. It’s a comfort to me. “And know, you will always have a home at the temple.”

“And you have a place to stay at the palace,” I offer. “But why do I sense there’s something else…”

Sub-Zero presses his lips into a thin line. “What you said earlier. About cooking is better than hurting yourself. The way you held the fire poker, I notice a look in your eyes: fear.” When I eat as a distraction, he goes on. “Something happened to you, did it?”

I swallow, my food suddenly bland in my mouth. “Grandmaster . . .”

Sub-Zero takes a deep breath, gently pats my shoulder. “I won’t make you tell me, but when you get the chance, you know I’ll be lending an ear.”

I nod. “I appreciate it. You should eat your colcannon, it’s going to get cold.”

“I’m sorry—my what?”

“Colcannon. It’s potatoes with a green vegetable in it. It’s really good.” I gesture to his bowl. “Try some.”

“I guess I will indulge.” Sub-Zero takes a spoonful of the dish, his mouth twisting into a frown. “It’s . . . good.”

“Do you not like the food or my cooking?”

“Erm..”

“You’re a shit liar, Grandmaster Sub-Zero.” At that, we both chuckle softly, the fireplace our music as we try to reform a bond like a lost father and daughter.

This is something. Not like therapy. Or maybe it is. Because a slight weight is off of my chest.

Bend the knee. Lift the leg, Stretch. Repeat until it does something. My pointe shoes are almost ruined, the dirt under the padding and blood seeping at the toe. But it shows dedication, it shows my determination.

I landed the role of the Black Swan, and I’m doing my best to make my moveset more . . . seductive. I would have once gone for the White Swan, but shockingly enough I landed a role that was new to me. I’ll take it.

I walk to the center of the room, and start the dance, Christian screeching words of encouragement with Wren watching. I made one of my rooms a makeshift ballet studio. “Thanks buddy.” I say softly.

“How does it feel being the Black Swan instead one of the little swans?”

“It feels great.” I say, doing a pirouette. “It was fun being the cute swan, but now, being kind of like the bad guy, I’m enjoying it.”

Wren smiles, and lightly coughs into her hand. That’s the second time today. And earlier this morning at brunch. “Let’s hope you won’t become like that ballerina in that movie. Don’t overwork yourself, and don’t stress.” Wren reassures me, shaking off an invisible feeling.

“Do you want some tea? You’re acting like you have a cold.” I stop my practice, and lean against the bar. “Please don’t tell me you caught a cold.”

She scoffs. “What are you worried about? You don’t get sick.”

“Not often. But it’s annoying when the symptoms pop up. I’ll get chills instead of fevers.” I shudder, before redirecting our conversation back. “But you’ve been warm. Your temperature is higher.”

“Maybe I am catching a cold.” I take a step back in fear. She scratches her head. “Or the flu. I’ve been a little nauseated.”

“Have you? For how long?”

“A few days.” Wren sighs. “I’m pretty sure it’s nothing. Now, you’ve made me your ballet coach. So I say we keep going. Come on, show me . . . something alluring.”

I laugh, turn the music back on. I arch my back, my hand floating above my head, spinning on my toes. I make my movements fluid, but sharp. As I look at Wren, I notice how she almost looked a little tired than usual.

Ever since the marriage between her and my brother, Wren has been like a big sister to me, making me laugh and giving me advice, especially when it came to dating. Being myself. But how can I, now? When I no longer know myself?

I spin in a flurry, going at least five times. Stopping once and going once again. Looking at the mirrors. Then I see her.

Someone who died years ago.

The vibrant red hair. The ember eyes, red from angry tears. A bruise under her eye. Blood on her lip. The dress she’s wearing is black. Darkened by obvious stains.

It’s a younger version of me.

I trip my spin and fall on the ground, pain radiating up my leg. My breathing is fast. My heart hurts. What the—why am I seeing a young version of me?

Christian screeches in worry and flies over to me. His head touches my cheek. “I’m okay, boy.” I tell him. Wren looks at me with concern, helping me up. “No, really I’m fine. Let’s keep going, yeah?”

“…Are you sure? That was a nasty fall.”

“I’m sure. And turn up the music louder.” I say, and practice on the other side of the room. Making sure not to look at any mirrors.

#tw blood mention #tw death mention #Of Embers and ashe #{{ Oops

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quidfree · 3 years

Note

For prompts: any OCs, maybe something like fake relationship? Sorry if you don’t have OCs I’m curiois

i have so many ocs for my original projects that narrowing it down for this was a nightmare buuut here we are anyhow- something v short and dumb

“i just don’t see why van and viv couldn’t have done this,” joa says for about the thousandth time when they get there, aware that he’s been stuck on this refrain since two weeks ago and that his partner is near his boiling point but entirely unable to stop complaining. it’s like something in him thinks if he just points it out one more time someone will take notice and put an end to it.

“van and vivienne could have done this,” ezra says, in the voice he uses when he thinks he’s being extremely patient and long-suffering. “but this was your mission, and if you would have preferred to be here with fucking corlett it is not too late for me to trade places.”

“dude,” joa says. ezra shoots him a look.

“you can’t call me dude. we’re madly in love, if you’ll recollect.”

ezra is funny like that; the pissier he gets the more clipped his vowels get, like those rich new england types that had sometimes swung through california on holidays, all east coast condescension. privately joa thinks ezra has more in common with that crowd than he’d care to admit.

“dude, even if we were really-” he waves his hand vaguely “-i’d still call you dude.”

“you call your girlfriends dude?” ezra inquires, shrewdly.

“thought the whole point was the not being a girl thing.”

“corlett,” ezra threatens, so he shuts up. normally ezra wouldn’t do that to him, or at least would never concede defeat, but when ezra’s really angry there’s no scruples to his revenge plans. as much as he feels ready to drink himself sick with nerves and discomfort at the two of them crashing this stupid wedding, having corlett on his arm instead would ensure he died of liver failure before the bride even hit the aisle.

he doesn’t like how antsy this has made him. ezra doesn’t say it but it’s obvious he thinks joa takes some issue with the gay thing, which isn’t true- he’s normally the most adaptable of them to whatever era they get stuck into; he was the first to know about van, and that’s a whole different ballpark. it’s not the couple he cares about, it’s the acting.

all the lying, sneaking bits of the job- subterfuge, vivi would say- he gets it, but he doesn’t like it. even when it’s shit he knows, is good at, like charming strangers or blending into groups, he feels bad for the people he involves. he knows it’s stupid- it’s not like he’s usually hurting anyone, and the whole point is that they’re helping. van finds the whole exercise fun, and vivienne thrives in it; even ezra, who never does anything but play himself, commits to the bit unflinchingly. he’s the only one who gets nauseous each time they make him do some extended charade. he doesn’t know why they couldn’t just go around killing people without lying about it to boot.

normally ezra knows this kind of thing about him, but if ezra has one fault it’s that thing about missing the forest for the trees. when he’s prickly about something he loses his usual invasive-cum-insightful observational skills. that this particular bout of acting is making him more nauseous than usual is neither here nor there.

despite what viv claims, joa is not entirely convinced that ezra can’t read minds, because just as he thinks this, his hand is grabbed with all of the affection of a snake winding around his arm to cut his circulation off.

“c’mon, suck it up.”

he only just manages to turn his wince into a half-assed grimace, which earns him a foul look.

“i can’t feel my hand.”

“shut up and look like you love me, bride number one is heading this way.”

she is, inexplicably, looking delectable in a pearly white gown, blonde hair piled in curls atop her head. once their presence registers she smiles at them distractedly, eyes scanning them without recognition. it kicks him into work-mode, smile blooming wide and familiar as he extricates his hand from ezra’s to clasp hers.

“miriam! i’m joa, elena’s cousin- tia grassi’s son? and this is my partner ezra. it’s so nice to meet you, you look beautiful.”

“oh, joa, of course,” miriam says, warmly, relaxing as she gestures them in. “it’s a pleasure to meet you too.”

“i’m surprised they have you manning the door,” ezra comments, gesturing to the entrance they’re stood under. “thought that was what the guys in suits were for.”

“sure, sure,” miriam laughs, self-effacingly. “i’m not really playing valet. it’s just we’ve been waiting on the last cake delivery and i’m trying to get the guy through to the back before anyone accidentally tells elena. she’s convinced something’s going to go wrong.”

“sounds familiar,” joa says, with a knowing smile towards ezra, who just about curbs his eyeroll. “also sounds like something you shouldn’t be worrying about on your wedding day. where should we direct him?”

miriam’s brows raise in surprise; he tries to broadcast sincere helpfulness her way.

“oh- really? you’d do that?”

“of course. i know how elena gets.”

this sells it; she sighs a little in relief, shakes her head. “you’re a savior. the hall, through the back- it’s just down the ramp and to the left. are you sure?”

“what’s family for?”

only once she’s out of earshot does ezra shoot him a look, eyebrows quirked with amusement.

“what’s family for?”

“fuck you, it worked.”

“your customer service act gives me the hives,” ezra says, although he’s smiling even as he reclaims his hand in an only marginally less painful grip. joa’s stomach re-knots itself.

for all that he hates the lying the job involves, there’s something especially discomfiting about roles like these- ones where they keep their names intact, where the stories they construct keep big chunks of their lives unaltered. to the wedding guests they’re still joa and ezra, longtime friends and constantly travelling free-lancers; they may not be time-travellers and there may be some additional intimacy implied, but this joa and ezra have the same back and forth, the same inside jokes, the same dynamic. it makes the lines even blurrier and the lies even more uncomfortable.

“you look like you’re about to hurl.”

“maybe i am.”

“you’re not. you’re a consummate professional and there’s an agency supervising us and also if you do i’m throwing your mini-fridge out of a window.”

“you wouldn’t like me sober.”

“you wouldn’t like anything sober. i’d tough it out.”

“remind me not to ask you to host my bachelor party.”

“i hate weddings,” ezra says, sourly. joa grins, heartened by his bad mood. viv calls them bad friends for always cheering up at each other’s misery. van calls them disgusting.

“hey, c’mon. this might be fun.”

“oh, sure. i love spending an entire evening pretending to care about two strangers’ impending divorce.”

“oh, c’mon. what about your moms?”

“they’re divorce lawyers. they’re outliers.”

"okay,” joa draws out, just to make him scoff. “themed missions, though. exploding wedding cake? that’s fun.”

“it’s also one of fifteen assassination attempts we’re handling tonight.”

“glass half full, honey.”

ezra flushes an unflattering but extremely charming shade of splotchy red. “half full of arsenic, if case files are to be believed.”

joa sighs, rocking back onto his heels. “talk about cliché, dude. even the cake bomb is more original.”

“messy, though.”

“hey, you love buttercream icing.”

“not mingled with my intestines, i don’t.”

“here comes the truck. are we doing salt lake city sixty five?”

“you read my mind,” ezra agrees, smile curling at the edges of his mouth. “you want the driver?”

so maybe this whole thing won’t entirely suck, joa thinks, smiling back. when ezra’s distracted his hand’s not even that bad to hold.

by the time the afterparty is in full swing, he’s kind of having a good time. foiling assassination attempts always puts him in a good mood, and the service was nice, for what it’s worth- he’d wondered how it would work with two women, but it was sweet in the end, just a couple of tweaks to the sermon and a lot more bridesmaids. he’d cried. ezra had hidden a laugh and complained at length about christianity. dinner had been nice too, although he’d had to eat in quick bursts what with the constant leaving to go thwart ploys to kill the bride. they’d done it under the guise of sneaking out for quickies, an excuse which had earned them surprising amounts of goodwill at their table. gay weddings, and all that.

regardless, they’ve handled attempts numbers one through fourteen and he’s feeling good. the work balances out the awkwardness- sure, he gets queasy when ezra is calmly explaining their meet-cute to strangers, but five minutes later he’s holding a stall door shut while ezra knocks someone’s face into a toilet and it calms his nerves. besides, whoever organised the wedding decided on an open bar for the night, and he’s been downing his fair share of drinks while ezra’s back is turned, which has pushed him into bright magnanimity. ezra will cover for him if he overdoes it, anyways- he still owes him for how coked out he got at that disco in the seventies.

ezra has launched into a spirited debate of twenty-thirties midwestern politics with some elderly relative; he sips his rum and coke, tuning out the familiar fast-paced scratchy speech to gaze around the room. the music is nice, for the era. so are the brides, currently waltzing merrily around the room and blissfully unaware that this night’s happy ending will set into motion a series of events leading to the discovery of the cure for cancer, or that someone with a penchant for theme has employed fifteen different mediocre hitmen to stop that from happening.

the little themed cocktail umbrella would make a sweet addition to his collection of mementos. as he twirls it he thinks that he was expecting this to be harder, or worse, the whole couples pretence. really dating ezra has just been the exact same as not dating ezra, with some additional niceties thrown in for their audience’s sake. he doesn’t mind the niceties- ezra’s hard to be nice to on the regular, so it’s neat to have him cornered, and besides watching him struggle not to break composure throughout is fun. it’s weirder when it’s ezra’s turn, because ezra’s lying is always half true by default, and it makes him wonder which parts are the lies.

he’s a little cold in his linen jacket and his drink is gone, so he follows his thoughts and drifts back towards ezra, drapes himself over his back. ezra stiffens like a corpse but doesn’t miss a beat in his sentence, because of course he doesn’t. he’s warm, though, and besides they’re playing pretend boyfriends, so he thinks he’s entitled to some shared heat without it being weird.

“maybe joa could be of use,” ezra is saying currently, obviously trying to throw him under the bus. “joa, do you remember who it was we saw that time with cousin esther at the thing in santa monica?”

“oh, sure,” joa says amiably, chin now resting on his bony shoulder. “rafael.”

the middle-aged couple make noises of recognition; ezra snorts in silent laughter, the movement making his shoulders jump. it’s a lucky guess primarily founded upon the statistics in his actual family. his cousins have shit luck- three of them with the same name has left them with some abominable nicknames. his previously name-dropped tia grassi is the only person stubborn enough to call them all rafael, just in different registers of disappointed suspicion.

ah, his tia grassi. funny woman. mildly terrifying. her fourth wedding had been an event, though he can hardly remember the second half of it, seeing as she’d refused to cater to the child-havers amongst the family and not left any of the punch alcohol-free. all he really remembers is her wedding dress, the cream-coloured version of her default pantsuit with the horrible bow. it’s funny- from where he’s stood there’s a woman right in his line of vision dressed in an orange abomination that looks exactly like the kind of thing only his tia grassi would subject some distant relative to on the day of their wedding.

wait. fuck.

“corazon, my tia grassi is here.”

"no, she’s not.”

“i’m serious, she’s walking right towards us. lady in the orange. fuck, she must be pushing a hundred.”

“shit,” ezra curses, sparing a nod for the couple he was talking to. “excuse us.”

“she’s following,” joa warns with mild fascination, as they bee-line towards the garden.

“great,” ezra says, glancing disbelievingly over his shoulder. “why the fuck is she following? and why is she even alive in this decade? how old is that woman?”

“ageless, i don’t know, she probably thinks i’m family,” joa mutters, glancing back. “which i am. just deceased family. she’s not gonna let up, you know.”

“you and your fucking bloodhound relatives. look, we can’t leave, they’re still going to try and do the thing with the fireworks.”

“well, we can’t stay either, or i’m getting marty mcfly’d out of existence, and i’m kinda partial to existing.”

“how is she even following us? scent alone?” ezra mutters, just a shade hysterical, as they wind their way past the bar. “we might have to pull a vermont.”

“oh, dude, no way,” joa says, immediately nauseous. “c’mon. it’s a wedding.”

“you were fine with it when you were beating that guy’s face in with the floral arrangement earlier!”

“yeah, and he was trying to ruin the wedding. this would be us, ruining the wedding. we would be the wedding ruiners.”

“we could choose someone neither of the brides like! they’d be grateful!”

“dude, i am not killing any guests at this wedding.”

“the only other option is worse!”

“no option is worse than murder, ‘zra, that’s kind of murder’s whole thing.”

“yeah? you rather kill hitler or fuck him?”

“always with the ultimatu- woah, woah!”

his second woah gets swallowed, which is probably for the best; ezra’s planting one on him with real determination. his brain short-circuits a bit or something; he doesn’t think to push him off, just lets him at it. it’s usually what works best when ezra’s on a mission, and also as it turns out ezra’s pretty good at the whole kissing thing, and also his nerves are singing and his blood is boiling and he is maybe, potentially kissing back, distractedly and then with intent, their bodies slotting together against the tacky fake rosebush as plastic thorns dig into his back and ezra’s sharp-nailed fingers dig into his shoulders. alcohol has made him warm and fuzzy, but there’s nothing drink-sloppy to it- just continuous, almost familiar ease, and his heart pounding painfully in his chest.

ezra pulls off first, with a nasty sound, head whipping around wildly as joa registers absently that the fireworks were going off in real life too.

“i can’t believe that actually worked.”

“three cheers for latent latin homophobia,” joa says, on auto-pilot, because right, his aunt, and time travel rules, and something. maria joseph and jesus, he’s just kissed a man.

“that and you not being violently sick on me,” ezra says, turning back to face him with his usual frown slotting absently into place. he looks awkward and irritated with his awkwardness and also extremely well-kissed. joa is struck with the realisation that he is entirely fucked in the head, because he finds the picture supremely enticing.

“dude,” he starts, because to be honest they have been skirting around this particular issue for a while and it’s hard to find a time and place to discuss it when it’s not weird or a capital offence. ezra is all narrow-eyed suspicion and coquettishly heaving breaths, which is not helping him focus but definitely helping convince him to labour the point. “i think we should probably- oh, shit, wait, the fireworks.”

he’s running before ezra can so much as cuss, and he gets there just in time, tackling the man right into the bushes and out of harm’s way, voice raised to an apologetic, casual slur even as they grapple for the gun.

“oh, my god, i’m so sorry, i must be drunker than i thought-“

the element of surprise wins him the fight; he manages to slam the guy’s forehead onto a marble lion a couple of times, sound drowned out by the fireworks above.

“honestly,” a slightly out of breath ezra is reproaching nearby, all fond reprobation, and then again once he’s shoved through the bushes himself, losing the affect. “honestly.”

“it’s fine, it’s fine,” joa says, wiping bloody knuckles on the guy’s shirt. “that’s fifteen, right?”

“it’s not fine, it’s fifteen minutes early. if coda is going to send us on these chickenshit gigs you’d think they’d get the fucking timings right.”

“it’s fine, he’s out,” joa repeats, shoving upwards and brushing bits of bush off his clothes. “viv’ll be angry about the suit though.”

“right, like she’s in the costume dep’s good books either after that stunt she pulled with the velvet dress,” ezra snorts, abruptly the voice of reason. “i can’t believe he was fifteen minutes early. that’s twice this week they’ve done this to us.”

“maybe we threw it somehow,” joa defends, rolling his shoulder. “you know the timeline warps the calculations.”

“we didn’t throw anything. twice in a week, seriously. what the fuck do we pay fees for if they can’t even get the timings right? this wouldn’t happen if we had a union.”

“‘zra, there are only ten of us. we are the union.”

“isn’t that a depressing thought. what were you saying earlier?”

“oh, that,” joa says, and then feels sick again. “hey, are you thirsty? i’m pretty thirsty actually.”

“don’t be an asshole.”

“i don’t know, honestly.”

“you’re not doing so hot on the non-asshole front.”

“oh, madre de dios, stop channeling your mom.”

“tu puta madre. i’ll give you passive aggressive.”

“fine,” joa breathes, in one big burst, annoyed and queasy and charmed all in one. “are we- like- ugh, dude, you know what-“

“specify.”

he pauses, exhales. “well, it just feels like maybe we should-“

“probably not.”

“right, but you’d like-“

“does it matter?”

“well, yeah, obviously. it’s just with work, it’s like... you know?”

“sure.”

“not that i...”

“sure.”

“although i don’t actually know if...”

“sure.”

“only then it’s like, overall- i think i want to kiss you off-duty.”

“mazel tov.”

“but would you mind?”

“did the tongue-fucking earlier not broadcast that enough?“

“jesus, dude, we’re at a wedding.”

“a lesbian wedding. that’s their expertise.”

he considers this point.

“hey, you wanna...”

“well, the body,” ezra says, albeit reluctantly. he doesn’t like mess.

“oh, sure,” joa says, thinking. “i guess maybe newark ‘02?”

“yeah, whatever,” ezra shrugs, but there’s a suppressed pleasure in the way he clears his throat. “blue’s your color, you know that?”

“my mom used to say. can you take his feet?”

“jesus, the shoes. hey, did you have some of that cocktail thing earlier?”

“yeah, a couple. there wasn’t extra poison again, was there? because last i saw the res-mac the mormons had it and i so do not want to go to their rooms again.”

“watch the stairs. no, and fuck those guys. i could just taste it earlier. the sour cherry’s not bad but the sugar in this decade tastes weird.”

“the rim is the best part, what the hell?”

“your palate is deranged.”

“you eat pickled fish, jackass.”

“fifteen minutes early. what a schlep.”

“kvetch.”

“vete a la chingada.”

“don’t i have you for that now?”

“jesus, dude, we’re at a wedding.”

“funny. so, bar?”

“you have blood all over your cuffs.”

“like anyone’ll notice. dude, you know they do 360s on ice in this decade?”

“no shit.”

“yeah, right?”

“why the hell are we still standing around not drinking?”

“viv is going to be so mad she missed this.”

“good for her. i’m still pissed about the fucking plath thing.”

“oh, my god, dude. you’re such a hypocrite.”

“name one time-”

“seriously? abbie hoffman?”

“fuck you.”

“holy shit, i think i see my aunt again.”

“are you kidding me? is she part-K9?”

“you’re supposed to be cute about it and kiss me again.”

“i’m not going to be cute about it, i hate that woman. you kiss me since you want to be so cute.”

luckily for the both of them, joa has bad taste. he complies.

#qui ecrit #ocs #tt #qui repond #anon

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raz-b-rose · 4 years

Text

So someone said something earlier today that I have honestly been thinking about for the last few hours. They said I am worshiping my religion and not God. (they deleted the post so I assume they also want nothing to do with this either so I wont tag them)

Am I doing that? What does that look like? Have I not been who I thought I was?

I thought I was teaching and admonishing in love. (biblically I am called to call out sin, in love, to those who call themselves fellow believers. and only fellow believers)

I am still new to all of this. Standing openly as a Christian. And thinking on it honestly I have made the mistake that everyone has when they first start this journey.

I got too emotional. I behaved desperately. While my actions were guided by love, my words came out too direct. I pushed too much, desperate for them to know. Desperate for them to see God. Desperate for them to love Him as I love Him.

I let my fear, of people I have access to not knowing God and spending eternity away from Him, fuel my actions.

People want to ignore the part of Christianity that speaks of unrepentant sinners spending eternity in hell, because it makes us uncomfortable and angry. But please understand the intense fear I feel that my friends and family will end up there. I became so afraid today that I lashed out. If I feel so strongly for those closes to me, how much more for strangers? My stomach gets twisted into knots, and I start to choke on my fear if I think about it too much.

God knows every person who is going to surrender to Him. He heartbreakingly has the knowledge of who is going to be with Him in heaven. I am to plant seeds and leave it at that. That is all I am to do. I have no control because I am not God. I say it all the time but I forgot today; People have free will for a reason.

I let my anger fuel me. Anger that people who claim to know God were making Him into a false god. Making Him into something He isn’t. Twisting His character to satisfy their own guilt. Something we have all done at one point, and I acted out in self-righteous anger. Unjustified anger. God doesn't need me to defend His character in such a way. He needs me to worship Him.

I let my pride get the better of me. I was so desperate to correct that that I went about it the wrong way. What I said was true, but I didn't say it with the right heart or with the right words.

Today I was human. I felt my emotions too strongly. I reacted without praying. Today I made a mistake. Today I sinned. I played God. Today I let my flesh get the best of me.

I am trying to learn how to speak in love. I thought I had been, but perhaps I wasn’t. I am still reading and praying about all of this. Asking God to teach me and guide me. I was trying to do things in my own power and for my twisted sense of, I guess, gratification. I wasn’t letting God have the spotlight.

So am I worshiping religion?

No I don't believe I was. I think my vison was too hyper-focused on my desires for everyone to know God, and for people to know who he really is, not what the world wants to make Him out to be. I pushed my way to the front of Gods plan and tried to take control.

I still love God. I still love His word, and look to it constantly. I still want everyone to know Him. I want so badly for everyone to know Him. But no amount of me pushing that fear onto others is going to do anything.

I’m praying, waiting on this path for God to lead the way. I know He has a plan for me, and I foolishly thought I wouldn’t make any mistakes.

But here I am. Broken and human. Choosing to be like Him, eager to see how He uses this experience to grow me. I know this sounds fake and like I’m trying to ride myself of negative feelings. But I needed to address my wrongs, be open about them. I’m not going to pretend this didn’t happen or that I am anything other than a sinner, saved but still human. I wont hide. I am not perfect.

#christian #honest #open #mistakes were made #not perfect #learning #Godisincontrol #not me #teach me Lord #just want everyone to be saved #still feel like im posting this too quickly

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nxrdist · 4 years

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𝕺𝖆𝖙𝖍𝖘 𝖔𝖋 𝕷𝖔𝖞𝖆𝖑𝖙𝖞||TLK Fic|| FinanxOC||Three

AN: Hey! I just want to give a big thanks to everyone who has left feedback and read so far! Sorry that there’s not a whole lot of Finan in this chapter. I’m trying to bridge the gap between the end of Season Two and the beginning of The Burning Land here. I hope we're all staying safe and healthy :)

Taglist: @lauwrite1225 let me know if you wanted to be tagged for updates!

||Masterlist||

Summary: Tove chose to surrender rather than be killed, after Sigfried was defeated at Beamfleot, giving herself up to the mercy of the Saxons. Thanks to Finan’s intervention, her life is indeed spared and she is brought into Uhtred’s service. With the sting of defeat fresh on her tongue and her new life fighting for the Saxons secured; Tove is left wondering what tricks the Gods have in store for her next.

chapter warning: minor description of ancient medical practices

Words:2471

-----

It turned out Finan was correct in his thinking that the bandages had been wrapped too tightly. In the morning, her side ached something fierce and the bruising had darkened to a near black. It was impossible to say whether the healer who had wrapped the wound previously had simply made a mistake or if their actions had been motivated by general hatred of the Danes. Either way it was of no consequence because when Finan came with Uhtred to check on her they both agreed; she would need further treatment. What neither of them spoke out loud was their uncertainty as to whether she would be able to travel with them in a few days’ time.

Tove sat half propped up by pillows when the healer Osferth fetched was led into her room. Even with the war paint washed from her face, the expression of frustration on Tove wore was intimidating as she fixed her gaze on the short man. In addition to a healer, he was also apparently a priest which was denoted by his robes and the sizeable wooden cross which hung around his neck. A short and wiry man he became uncomfortable under the weight of Tove’s gaze. Wringing his wiry fingers nervously, he could not meet her eye. Instead his watery eyes flicked from his clearly displeased patient to her Lord who stood leaning against the far wall arms crossed.

“W-what appears to be the issue, my Lord?” he inquired in a painfully squeaky voice, his question was not directed at Tove but the Lord Uhtred.

“Am I the one lying in a sick bed?” Uhtred responded flatly, though it was clear he gleaned a certain amount of amusement at furthering the healer’s discomfort.

“O-oh no, no of course not my Lord.”

Hesitantly the healer turned and approached Tove’s bedside. He hovered there for a moment. Until finally, with a dramatic sigh Tove rolled up her tunic to reveal the dark bruising that painted the side of her ribcage. As though woken from his nervousness suddenly by the sight of her wound, the healer drew closer to examine it. Her eyes followed his every move as he probed around the edges of the bruise and hummed thoughtfully to himself. Every prod of his fingers caused her to tense with pain though she made no sound.

All the while, out of the corner of her eye Tove could see Uhtred and Finan waiting patiently against the far wall. Uhtred merely watched with interest as the healer examined her. Meanwhile, Finan seemed somewhat tense at the sight of the damage he had caused. No one spoke until the healer sat back on his stool with a determined expression on his face.

“Well?” Tove asked expectantly.

“Well…,” began the healer earning an unimpressed look from Tove. Though, despite it he managed to push on. “I do not believe the bones are broken, Praise God. Though, it does appear the wrapping has served to deepen the bruising…causing blood to collect under the skin. Minor bleeding and holy water may alleviate your pain and aid in the healing.”

The squeaky quality of the healer’s voice and his heavy accent caused her to furrow her brow in confusion.

“What?” she asked.

Uhtred cut in though before the healer could attempt to explain himself further.

“He wants to bleed you,” Uhtred said in Danish. “And pour their Christian magic waters over the wound.”

Tove’s eyebrows shot up. “Magic waters?”

“Yes, they say it is blessed by their God.”

The healer waited as Tove considered the treatment. When she finally nodded her assent, he reached into a satchel and brought out the necessary implements. A small flask filled with clear water, a knife, and some cloth.

Bleeding, though unpleasant, was not an unusual treatment for such a wound. So, with that agreed upon the healer ushered Uhtred and Finan from the room to do his work. Despite the routineness of the procedure it did take some time to complete as all the bad humors had to leave the body through the blood. The healer made two medium size cuts across the bruised area and allowed the blood to flow until it was little but a trickle. Then he splashed the area with his magic waters said a prayer and pronounced the treatment complete. Though she was dubious of the effectiveness of the waters Tove gave a nod of thanks to the man as he rewrapped her ribs.

When he was gone Tove allowed herself to fall back into a light sleep which lasted for several hours before a knock came at her door. In her grogginess she only managed a grunt in reply. Though it was clearly enough for the door opened a moment later to reveal Lord Uhtred with a pitcher of ale and a platter of food.

“My Lord,” she said, attempting to push herself up into a seated position.

“Rest,” Uhtred said simply indicating there was no reason for her sit up. “I am only here to bring you some food.”

“Thank you.”

“And to discuss our impending journey to Lunden,” he added.

Her stomach sank.

“I will be well,” Tove said firmly.

Uhtred looked at her for a long moment.

“The healer does not advise you to travel on horse back for some weeks,” Uhtred said finally.

“My Lord!” she began to protest.

“So, I’ve arranged for you to ride in a cart. As I imagined you would not like to be left here until you were fully healed?”

Tove’s eyebrows rose in surprise. It was apparent the Lord had anticipated her fear of being left behind. A wave of gratitude swept through her causing a smile to spread across her face. Traveling by cart was certainly not ideal and indeed a tad frustrating for a warrior, but better to concede than to not be allowed to travel.

“Thank you, my Lord!” Tove exclaimed vehemently. “You are a good man.”

Uhtred chuckled. He patted her shoulder lightly and then made to excuse himself. At the door he left her with the firm order that she should take as much rest as she could in the following days.

-----

Their journey to Lunden was longer than the one to Wintenchester and though Tove would have rather enjoyed it from horseback she felt somewhat grateful for the cart. Her ribs had begun to heal properly after the intervention of the healer’s treatment, but she was still sore. The cart jostled somewhat along the road at times though the driver did his best to keep from going over any great bumps. Overall, it was a comfortable and relaxed journey.

As they rode, she heard about the fate of the Lord Odda and learned about what they would be doing in Lunden. Apparently, the Lord had decided to take his own life rather than allow himself to be executed. It was speculated by some of the men that the Lord had done it as a kindness to his friend the King. He had not wished Alfred to be forced to order his execution. She found it somewhat sad. An opinion that was not shared by some of those in their party. They explained to her that Christians believed to take one’s own life was a sin and that the Lord Odda would now be burning in hell for this sin. Like the crime he was to be sentenced for this made little sense to Tove; it seemed Christians loved to punish themselves.

What a strange God these Christians have.

The topic of their duties was however much more interesting to her. Since arriving in Britain she had spent much of her time at Beamfleot where the Lady Aethelfled had been held. She knew the Thurgilson brothers had held Lunden briefly and used their advantage there to capture the Lady, but Lord Njal’s crew arrived too late to see that city. It was said that the place thrived with trade and life even more so than Wintenchester despite having switched several times between Saxon and Danish hands.

Half the place was built by an ancient people called the Romans who had, similarly to her people, invaded Britain hundreds of years ago and that their buildings were made of the same great stones as the palace in Wintenchester. Though, as Uhtred put in much of the stone was in decay and Saxons did not often inhabit the Roman buildings for fear of their ghosts. Much of the population lived within the old Roman walls but had instead decided to live in their own wooden structures.

It would be Lord Uhtred’s job to see to the security of that city. Now that it was back in Saxon hands, particularly Mercian hands, Alfred wished for it to stay that way. So, he had given the city to Lord Uhtred which was interesting to Tove as Mercia was supposedly ruled by a Lord of Mercia -Aethelred. Regardless she was pleased to be there and excited for what awaited them.

When they arrived, they were met by a Saxon called Bishop Erkenwald who did not look overly pleased to be receiving them. The Bishop greeted Lord Uhtred begrudgingly and led them into the city. Inside the gates another man, a priest by his look, was instructed to show the household warriors to their lodgings. All of which were situated in the Roman quarter of the city near their Lord’s home that looked out onto the river Temes. It was late afternoon when they arrived, and they were left much to their own devices as their Lord attended a meeting with the Bishop.

That suited Tove well enough as she was eager to settle into her new home. It was a small place, but that made no difference to her. She did not need a lot of space and a larger home would have made her miss her family too much. During their journey she had had plenty of time to think about her family and it saddened her to do so. Kåre’s child had likely been born some time ago. She wondered if it was a boy or a girl. But thinking about that only led her to wondering how Inga was doing and whether her sisters were helping which left her with a deep ache in her chest. It was likely that after not returning she would be eventually presumed dead since she had no way to send word to them.

So, instead of allowing those thoughts to seep in she cleaned the new place as best she could. There was still some mild pain in her side that made stooping difficult, but she managed to sweep the floors of dust and organize her meager possessions. When all that was complete the sun had sunk fully below the horizon. Despite her desire to explore the city, Tove decided she would have an early night and went to sleep after a small meal of bread and hard cheese.

A few weeks after their arrival, Tove was finally allowed to join the men in the training yard. After having been stagnant so long she was eager to get back to what she did best. It had been enjoyable getting to know the wives of Uhtred and Sihtric, but housework was not for her. She was a shield maiden.

“Don’t go easy on me,” Tove said firmly to Osferth as she tossed him a sword.

Admittedly she had been looking forward to sparring with Finan since the battle at Beamfleot, but he was not there. Apparently Uhtred had required the Irishman’s presence on some errand elsewhere in the city. So, Osferth would be her sparring partner for the afternoon.

“Yeah Osferth. Best not let yerself be beaten by a girl,” Sihtric jeered.

“Careful Sihtric or you’ll be next on my list for humiliation,” she joked.

Sihtric snorted. She turned back to Osferth who held his practice sword at the ready. A small smile played at Tove’s lips as she surveyed him. Osferth was too good of a man. Many others would have taken advantage of her distraction to begin the fight and so catch her off guard, but not Osferth.

“When you’re ready.”

Tove did not wait. Immediately she went for the opening she saw in his guard, but Osferth parried knocking her blade away. Gritting her teeth, she went in again and again she was parried away. Five or six strokes in Osferth began to make his own attacks which Tove parried with just as much practiced ease. It went on like that for some time. Both their faces glistening with sweat, grunting, and becoming tired with the speed and intensity of the fight.

Until she saw it. The same opening Osferth had shown when they began -except this was not so intentional. The young monk knew where his weaknesses were, and he had shown them to her to draw her in. But now he was tired, and she was wagering he would not be able to react so fast as before. So, she went for it lunging blade first she poked him in the stomach with the dull tip of her blade just hard enough to make him double over.

“Dead,” Tove proclaimed with a heavy exhale and a wide grin on her face.

-----

Up on the balcony of Uhtred’s house stood Finan and the Lord himself surveying the training yard with interest. They had had an errand to run earlier in the morning, but on its completion Uhtred asked Finan to observe the training yard with him. Uhtred knew it would be Tove’s first day back to train and he was interested to see how good she was -as the only direct witness he had to her skill was Finan. Though, he did not want her to know he was watching thus the balcony.

“Seems you were right,” said Uhtred as they watched her ‘kill’ Osferth.

“Seems Osferth still needs work on that guard Lord,” Finan added mildly.

Uhtred nodded. Out of the corner of his eye, he was watching Finan watching Tove. Back in top health, Uhtred would not deny that Tove was a beauty. Had he not been so deeply in love with Gisela he might have wanted her, but nothing could turn him from the love of his wife. Still, he recognized the gleam of interest in Finan’s eyes and he had seen his friend’s discomfort at the sight of her wound back in Wintenchester.

“What made you spare her at Beamfleot?” Uhtred asked suddenly.

Finan’s brow furrowed at the question. Turning his eyes away from the training yard below, he only managed a shrug.

“Ya wouldn’ have killed someon’ who yielded would ya Lord?”

“No,” Uhtred said. “Still, you couldn’t have known if she would give her oath.”

“I had a feelin’ Lord.”

#finan #finan fic #tlk #the last kingdom #tlk fic #fanfic #the last kingdom fic #finan the agile #ool fic

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soulvomit · 4 years

Text

I really struggle with all discourse about children’s works, but ESPECIALLY The Giving Tree. It’s like having an opinion about a culture you weren’t raised in and ALL you can ever have is an outsider view.

One of the reasons I’m struggling with Giving Tree Discourse has to do with the way I was raised with regard to children’s works. In my own house - the assumption would have been that any books that are ambiguous, that bring up lots of different feelings for lots of different people, would be discussed, and the feelings that they brought up, would be discussed. And this was just assumed to be... all books? I was taught early that EVERYTHING is Your Mileage May Vary? My parents were actually aggressive deprogrammers when it came to messages that I took away from media. Mainstream media often made me feel shitty, ESPECIALLY because of legacy 50s programming on network tv, and because of 80s programming about Perfect Happy Families. My parents were *always* pointing out that stuff I read about or watched, wasn’t real life... from day one. Also, partially due to atheist upbringing, there are very few instances in which I experienced any one book being forced on me as any kind of required foundational pedagogy. There is NO book that I was required to read. (Part of this is that I loved to read so much that I just read a lot of stuff on my own. I did not really get into fiction until my vocabulary and reading abilities caught up to classic fiction and adult works, and my adult figures’ whole focus of teaching me how to read was about getting me up to speed to at least read Steinbeck. Children’s literature *only existed for purposes of teaching reading and grammar* and wasn’t an end to itself, and was supposed to be a temporary, transitory phase until my reading skills got better.) For whatever reason - The Giving Tree is a book that neither upset me, nor particularly appealed to me. It’s not my favorite Silverstein work by a long shot. The one that always spoke to me? Powerfully? The Missing Piece. (I don’t have much experience with Silverstein being rammed down my throat or spoonfed to me, in any case. NO BOOK WAS.)

Like a lot of children’s books, I was neutral on The Giving Tree. There are a whole lot of semi-contemporary kids’ works (as in, written in the 1960s-70s) that just totally missed me.

And I didn’t really come to appreciate Shel Silverstein’s broader oeuvre until adulthood. The only thing I was ever given anything resembling “classical pedagogy” on, was math, because it’s the one thing I wouldn’t study on my own. I was basically encouraged to just study whatever I wanted and if I had a particular interest, my parents got me books on it (that were often above my grade level) and encouraged me to read them and ask questions, and they taught me early on to look up words I didn’t know. Almost all of the books that I liked reading were for older kids (and later, adults). I was actually exposed to classic fantasy work and Grimm’s Fairy Tales before any of the Bowdlerized versions. Because of my limited contact with other children, I just didn’t even know that other kids weren’t being raised in the same world that I was raised in, or reading any of the same material. I only knew that I was different from other kids in ways that made their parents uncomfortable.

My parents were very, very specifically opposed to certain things that are in standard public school pedagogy, and felt that those things destroy children’s minds. Somehow my household managed to not rear me on 20th century children’s material almost at all and barely even any postwar or later 20th century adult fiction (before my dad got me into sci fi). Somehow fairy tales seemed to just... miss me. They weren’t interesting especially because I KNEW they were Bowdlerized, and my parents didn’t push me to read stuff I wasn’t interested in. (But I liked Disney movies for the drama, the songs, and the fancy dresses.) My parents' thing was to let me read whatever I wanted - they simply wouldn’t keep books in the house that they didn’t want me to read - and to make themselves available to any questions I had.

My schooling experience is weird, too. When I was in school (before middle school, because I WANTED to go to middle school), it wasn’t with a lot of consistency, so - whatever social noise was going on between teachers and students, *shrug.* Lots of it missed me. My parents provided a lot of buffer between what was going on at school, and my home life. Anything that got discussed in school, was being countered by my parents’ own programming. So... The thing with books like The Giving Tree is that I’m not used to them being *taught out of.* This is not how my parents used fiction books, and I wasn’t in very many environments consistently enough for the schools to do that, either. I’m not used to any particular book being forced on me as a training manual. That was my parents’ job and their job only and that was a rule in my house. They didn’t rely on media to teach me sharing, that was *their job* and it wasn’t via abstract “let’s have a lesson about sharing.” (Very few things were “lessons” or taught “school style” that weren’t specific academic topics. My parents were into reinforcement and modeling.) Sharing is something that was modeled at the dinner table, for example. Also my mom is a hardcore rationer, and my family was poor for the first half of my childhood, so my understanding of sharing was rooted in pragmatic sharing of resources, as opposed to kids sharing their toys. I was even raised *not to eat in public* because it was rude to eat in front of people if you weren’t sharing your food. And I really feel that a lot of The Discourse around kids’ media comes from the broader culture and its institutions, relying upon mass media to model for kids what parents and schools are no longer able to model. This is the framework everyone is approaching this book from - not as a book on its own merits, but pro-con in terms of its use as an instrument of pedagogy and social modeling that is totally alien to how I was raised to approach any book. They wanted me to question everything I read. I was actually much more reinforced to read science and history material. Another thing is that as an advanced reader, I didn’t enjoy reading children’s work, and came to despise children’s media BECAUSE of the overbearing modeling in it. It was transparent to me and put me right off, and... lots is aimed at middle class WASP kids’ life experiences, in ways that most people don’t realize. (Sometimes I feel like a lot of standard pedagogy, and standard American kids’ writing, is about SLOWING KIDS DOWN and rationing the amount of information they have access to.) And I’ll say that class is actually a big issue. I lived in a poor urban area and was an advanced reader, so the material dangers presented in a 19th century or early 20th century work were actually more relatable to my real world. I FUCKING HATED POSTWAR PERFECT HAPPY FAMILIES CRAP. My family was weird as fuck, and lots of my family was poor as fuck, and all of us were dysfunctional as fuck. This meant I found mainstream shit TOTALLY ALIENATING AND OTHERING and it only reinforced to me how abnormal my family was. (In fact, I didn’t come to discover how normal we really were for a long time... that most families are “dysfunctional” - and that what’s being measured as “normal” is 100% specific to the propagandized optic of middle class white Christian families.) Mainstream children’s work only made me feel bad about my family and about myself, and I started shunning practically anything that other kids were into, or even discussing. Mainstream kids’ works made me feel suicidal, whereas adult works made my imagination soar. (The irony is that Shel Silverstein is one of the few writers that I actually felt *got* me on some level. I think there is a way in which I picked up on the author’s own “otherness” and connected it to my own.)

This is a case where my background is so different from most people’s that even approaching this discourse, is like trying to discuss specific American problems from the inside, when you were raised outside and have no idea what half of the discussions even are. And when I discuss the kids’ books that people are talking about, it’s not even possible for me to come at it from the viewpoint other people do, because that’s not the way ANY book was ever presented to me... and furthermore, my parents felt that it’s parents’ job to teach their children and model social behavior to them, not schools’.

I am just so outside of this discourse that I don’t even know how to approach it. I also don’t know how I feel about the fact that many people are being traumatized by his work because they were forced to read it as Christian-reared children who took different messages away from it than I took, as a secular Jew reading a secular Jew’s work. That makes me have really strong feelings about removing his work, tbh. I don’t know how to feel about this at all. Is there a way that we have to write for children who are Christian-reared, because they will parse some things traumatically? Where does this leave Jewish writers, or outsider writers? Do only specific people get to write for children? This. is. so. complicated.

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militant-holy-knight · 4 years

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Castlevania Season 3 Review: Ellis is Gonna Ellis I Suppose.

Warning: Massive spoilers ahead because I don’t give a shit anymore so scroll down really fast if don’t want to get spoiled

Being a Castlevania fan is pure suffering, man. Not only is the video game franchise being put on ice by Konami at the time of writing, but your only form of enjoyment is a hit-or-miss Netflix Original written by a guy who admits never playing the games. I tried to enjoy the first season despite it being only four episodes long, and same thing with the second one which was longer but had a plethora of issues. Now it’s the third season, which took a year-long break to be made, and I am absolutely sorry to say it’s the absolute lowest point of the show: not only repeating the issues from the previous season, but amplifying them and failing to do anything interesting with anything new that is given. I will elaborate why I think so in this review.

So after Season 2, Dracula has been destroyed, our heroes have split up with Trevor and Sypha going their own way while Alucard has stayed behind in his father’s castle overlooking the Belmont Hold. Carmilla and Isaac have survived and are preparing to build an whole new army, the former to establish a new empire and the latter to get his revenge on her for betraying Dracula.

Even though the stakes are lower than the possible extinction of the human race which was the (possible) outcome from Season 2 which never actually came into fruition, you’d imagine they would do something inciting with this new status quo... But you’d be wrong. This season as a whole felt like padding in all conceivable manners. Not only was the pacing atrocious (which I will get into a minute), but really, nearly all of the events that occurred could have been omitted and the storyline as a whole wouldn’t have been affected somehow.

The pacing was the worst problem in Season 2 since you had the protagonists locked down inside a hold to do research on how to kill Dracula and endless exposition among the bad guys that some defenders call “vampire politics’ which ultimately went nowhere. The pacing in Season 3 is even worse since not only is it longer (10 episodes this time), you have more storylines now but each of them move at completely sluggish pace with a disproportional large amount of exposition and comparatively few action.

The Castlevania games were level-based games which had you visiting several distinct locations whether if it was inside or outside the castle. An adaptation series of Castlevania would make more sense if it was episodic in nature, perhaps even with monster of the week formula. It would have been better off for it, but the show is attempting channel Game of Thrones with an over-aching arc with sprawling individual storylines whose episodes are build up for an epic confrontation at the end, but it fails in that regard.

Trevor and Sypha’s storyline was absolutely pointless - they have no idea of the larger threat brewing with two demonic armies about to clash against each other, but they are stuck doing what basically amounts to a sidequest, investigating a evil cult operating in a small town which takes a needless long time to conclude. They completely fail in saving the townsfolk from being sacrificed and end up discovering that one of the characters that has been helping them is actually a monster all along. This only serves to make their effort completely pointless and leave the pair absolutely bitter and angry.

Not that there is any urgency in stopping Carmilla or Isaac since they come nowhere near close to trading blows to one another. In fact, Carmilla doesn’t come anywhere close to achieving her goal of raising an army of demons with Hector (who has been enslaved by her for this purpose) and it’s actually one of her lieutenants Lenore that solves this problem at the end. On the other hand, Isaac gets the closest thing to an highlight in this season by experiencing something of an character development since he is questioned by several characters that maybe humans aren’t so bad as a whole. The problem is that his development becomes inconclusive since he doesn’t learn to be anymore different than he used to.

Alucard gets sidelined like you wouldn’t believe. He spends the entire season in his castle now with two new characters, Japanese twin hunters that seek to be training so they can free their people from the vampires... Aaaaand they try to fuckin kill him, which comes out from nowhere specially after an extremely uncomfortable threesome between him and the twins. And just in case you thought the previous season was depressing enough with Alucard breaking down in tears completely alone in his castle, this one ends not only with Alucard still alone, crying, but now emulating his dad by leaving the impaled corpses of the twins in the castle’s entrance to scare off any trespassers which is the closing shot of this season.

But for me, the biggest letdown has to be Hector. He was one of my favorite characters from the games, having starred his own entry Curse of Darkness for the PS2 where he actually turns on Dracula on behalf of humanity and pursues Isaac for murdering his wife. Here, he does absolutely fuck all during the entire season except being bossed around by Carmilla’s sisters. The guy had such cool powers of summoning Innocent Devils and wielding all types of weapons (including a lightsaber) is reduced to a whimpering slave, whom I have absolutely no hope of seeing in his absolute glory. The worst part is that it was very predictable - the moment I saw Lenore saying that both her and Hector should flee together, I knew she was gonna screw him in some way. The irony is that unlike the other storylines which pull some kind of mean twist in the last second, here you already can tell what is going to happen next.

The new characters frankly do nothing for the story. The aforementioned Carmilla’s sisters are pure window-dressing and only Lenore gets the shit done by herself might I add completely independent from the others and specially Carmilla herself (who does nothing). A video game character actually does get featured - Comte of Saint-Germain, who is some kind of magician in search of his loved one who got lost in another dimension. Another step down from his video counterpart who is a time guardian that preserves the cosmic balance (though it seems they were channeling the historical figure rather than the character that happens to share the same name given their ignorance for the source material).

There are of course those typical Warren Ellis moments like three mentions of bestiality (and one goatfucking as usual) and anti-Christian commentary, though it seems to be sending some kind of mixed messages this time: in one hand Sypha comment that while she hates God, she at least admires Jesus because of his sacrifice which can be considered one of nicest things that atheists can comment about Christianity... And then the next episode features an demon that used to be a Greek philosopher who lived during post-Constantinian Roman Empire and was persecuted by Christians because of his intellect. Oh dear. With that said, it’s rather odd this guy became a demon so maybe he had it coming?

Overall, this season is a lot more weaker and lacking than Season 2, which at least had the climax in Episode 7 which some people were willing to forgive the dullness from that season. But Season 3′s climax is completely unfocused, interlaced with unnecessary and uncomfortable sex scenes and doesn’t even feature classical music from the games, which was the saving grace from the last time.

So did it have any upsides? I guess so if you look hard enough like Isaac’s schizophrenic “should I hate all humans or not” dillema which goes unresolved. Hardly anything that elevates the season or make it redeemable in some way. To be perfectly frank with you, I don’t know if I have any interest in keeping with this show. It blew away any good will Season 1 and 2 did, it barely moved the plot forward (and that if it has an overaching plot at all), the protagonists being disconnected to the main threat at large and quite frankly, none of the antagonists are as interesting as Dracula, I just don’t care what happens next. Specially if the pacing and exposition remain in place. In theory, if the series was restructured to be episodic instead of trying to be Game of Thrones, my interest in the show would have been renewed but it’s too little too late.

I guess in retrospect I should be grateful that Season 1 was so short had I knew later ones would be so tedious. There is so very little to do with Castlevania: Dracula’s Curse when you already got rid of the main villain and you don’t move the plot forward. If they want to regain my interest, do a Leon Belmont season that is episodic or heck anything else, but I don’t see them doing this because they have to give closure to this story arc, which already grew past it’s welcome and wasted everyone’s time with a season that amounted to nothing more than filler. Well, my patience has been worn thin.

#Castlevania #reviews

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danyka-fendyr · 5 years

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The Big Bad BAU

Hey yo waddup it’s me your girl and a couple of you beautiful people wanted to see a Spencer Reid Fairytale AU and BOY do I have great news for you because this is it. I’m going to stop talking now because you did not come here to listen to me ramble. Enjoy! Or don’t no happiness under duress in my good Christian household.

Warnings: Well this is the BAU so cannibalism and definitely some strong overtones of creepiness

Wordcount: 1820

Taglist: @thisiscalm-andits-doctor

Permanent Taglist: @rhabakoli @dreamwritesimagines

The coat that hung around your shoulders was bright as blood. You kept catching glimpses of the hood dangling down into your face, and every now and then it frightened you, convinced you that you saw something out of the corner of your eye. It was just your imagination though.

You kept trudging along the trail, frozen puffs of your breath drifting up to the sky as your boots tracked a path through the mud. Your car had broken down on the side of the road about half a mile ago, but you were in the middle of nowhere and only about a mile from your Grandma’s, so you figured you might as well just walk it like you had so many times as a kid exploring the forest.

You heaved your basket up again. This walk would be so much easier if you’d decided that it wouldn’t be super cute to bring the meal you’d made in a picnic basket. You were about to just drop this thing and leave it for Yogi, but you were almost there. You just had to get over the river, and then you would be able to see your Grandmother’s cabin. Why she insisted on wintering here, in a cabin of all places, was beyond you, but it made her happy.

You heard a twig snap and whirled around, looking for the source of the noise. You were pretty sure you’d heard on the radio on the way here that there was some kind of nutter on the lose. But wasn’t there always? It was probably a deer. Probably.

But then again, maybe not.

“Now, miss, what are you doing all the way out here?”

The voice was a low growl that nearly made you jump out of your skin. Definitely not a deer.

“I’m sorry, sir, do I know you?”

You aren’t sure why that, of all things, was the first thing you said. I mean, truly, what kind of idiot were you? Hello strange man in the woods, what is your name and would you like to sit down for a cup of tea so we can trade amusing childhood anecdotes?

“Well since you don’t exactly look like you’re from around these parts, I doubt it. Name’s Nathaniel Wolffe.”

“Pleasure to meet you Mr. Wolffe. To answer your question, I am walking.” You picked up your pace as you said it, getting over your momentary shock at the company. “I have an appointment to keep.”

“In the middle of the woods?” Of course, the creep doubted you.

“Yes. I’m going to see my grandmother. Hence the picnic basket.” He hadn’t stopped walking by you, and he was giving you really bad vibes.

“Your granny lives all the way out here?” He smiled, but it looked wrong.

“Yes. Do you have a problem with that?”

“Oh, none. None at all. I’m sure your meal will be delicious. I hope you have a great day, miss...?”

You ignored his silent request for your name and just kept power walking through the forest.

“You sure you know where you’re going?” He called after you. “Wouldn’t want you to get lost!”

“Just over the river and straight ahead!”

And with that, you continued on to grandmother’s house.

“Alright, so we know that our unsub likes preying on his victims in remote locations,” JJ said, staring at the board with her hands on her hips.

“I mean, it makes sense. If you were going to cut someone to pieces and then eat them you would probably want a certain amount of privacy for that,” Morgan pointed out.

“But he also likes to attack in homes. This is cabin country, and our unsub’s got cabin fever. That’s three different victims, all with cabins out in the woods here,” JJ said.

“Yes, but what doesn’t make sense is his targeting of the elderly.” Reid’s hands gestured wildly as he tried to make his point. “Logically speaking, if you were going to eat someone you would want someone younger. The elderly would be old, tough meat.”

“Yeah, but it’s easy prey. All of these cabins out here are owned by retired senior citizens” Rossi said.

“But not every one of these cabins can be inhabited by an elderly citizen.” Hotch finally spoke up.

Morgan asked the question on all of their minds. “So...what happens when he finds a young person?”

The rest of your treck to your grandmother’s cabin was uneventful, and you breathed a sigh of relief when you finally got there. But...the door was ajar. That wasn’t right.

With bated breath, you pushed open the door a little further, wincing at the creak it made. “Grandma?”

There was no reply, so you headed further into the house. Because what could go wrong with that?

“Grandma?”

It all happened so fast. One moment you were taking a careful step further into the house, the next you were unconscious without so much as a chance to see your attacker.

When you came to, your head hurt pretty badly. It was hard to see, everything still a little blurry. Until it came into horrible focus.

Your grandmother was sat across from you, tied to a chair and still unconscious. You were gagged and tied to your own chair, panic quickly finding its way into your heart. Then he came back. The same guy from the woods, the one who had given you bad vibes. Very accurate bad vibes, as fate would have it.

He chuckled low, under his breath. “You know, when I first found you in the woods I was tempted, but then...Then you presented this golden opportunity. Not just you, but your grandmother as well. I’ll have her first, of course. Have to eat your vegetables before dessert.”

Oh gosh. He was talking about eating you. You were going to vomit.

He gave you a feral grin, raising the knife in his hand to your cheek and gently stroking the cool metal across the skin.

“My, what big eyes you have. Are you scared?” He seemed pleased by the idea.

You thought you heard a noise in the back, and you turned your head. The walls of the cabin were no longer comfortingly familiar. Now, they seemed like just another part of the trap. You tried to scream, hoping to make enough noise through the gag to alert whatever hunter might be out there.

“And what big ears you have too,” he growled. “Unfortunately for you, there’s nothing out there but the wild animals.”

You tried so hard to make any kind of noise in blind hope.

“Scream all you want, there’s no one to hear you. In fact...” He ripped the gag off, staring at you in a way that made your skin crawl. “My, my, what a pretty mouth you have.”

When you thought you couldn’t take it anymore, someone burst into the room. Multiple someones, actually.

“FBI! Drop the knife and step away from the girl!”

Despite your situation, you couldn’t help but notice that the man speaking was very attractive. If it were any other time, you might have hit on him. But now was really not the time. You were a little preoccupied with the fact that this dude was definitely trying to murder you.

“Please help me!”

“We will.” His brown eyes flashed, jaw working in his determination.

He seemed to be the one in charge, the tall, fit man behind him following his lead for now. You watched as his eyes darted around the room, taking in the situation. You could see the gears turning in his head if you looked close enough.

“I don’t see any reason why I should step away from her,” Wolffe said. “It would take a whole lot to get me to abandon such a pretty young lady.”

“Nathaniel, you don’t have to do this,” the brunet said.

“Oh come on. You know as well as I do that she’s no better than chattel.”

“You know that’s not true Nathaniel.” He looked at you. “I’m Spencer. What’s your name?”

“Y/N.”

“It’s nice to meet you Y/N.” He smiled, and it almost made you forget your imminent demise.

“N-nice to meet you too.”

You weren’t sure what this was, but you had faith that he was going to get you out of this alive. He seemed like he knew what he was doing. Not that you had another option if he didn’t.

“I don’t want to know her name,” Wolffe snarled.

“Why? Does it make you uncomfortable that she has one? That these are people you’ve been killing, Nathaniel? Does it remind you of-”

With a roar, Wolffe charged at Spencer. Several things happened all at once. You screamed, the man behind Spencer fired his gun, and Spencer got the heck out of the way.

Wolffe hit the floor, and you couldn’t help your cry of relief. Immediately, Spencer was there by your side helping to untie you as the other agent attended to your grandmother who was regaining consciousness. You fell forward and he caught you, his grip surprisingly sturdy for someone with admittedly a bit of a beanpole figure.

“Thank you.” You couldn’t take your eyes off of Wolffe’s body on the floor, liquid the same color as your crimson coat pooling around him.

“I’ve got you. You’re safe,” he said, his voice quiet and calming.

He stayed with you while the EMTs checked you out, which you were grateful for. He didn’t seem to find it odd, your attachment to him that you were trying desperately to hide. Logically you knew the feelings were probably just because he saved your life, but it didn’t help that he was kind of cute too.

While the EMTs checked you out, he talked to you, helping keep you calm. You two ended up having a whole conversation, talking about his job and your lives, everything from how you liked your eggs in the morning to how to avoid this ever happening again. He was a fascinating man, and the more you talked to him the more you wanted to know about him. It seemed like there wasn’t anything he didn’t know.

“Thank you so much, Spencer. It really means a lot to me,” you said as they were finishing up.

“I’m glad I was able to help you. And hey, if you uh...ever need to talk or anything, you can just call this number.” He pulled a business card out of his pocket. “Just in case you ever need help again.”

You smiled. “What if I need help drinking coffee?”

He laughed a little bit. “Trust me, if there’s one thing they train us how to do in the BAU, it’s drinking coffee.”

“Lots of late nights?”

“Like you wouldn’t believe.”

“Well, then I guess we have a date, Spencer.”

“I...guess we do.”

His pleased smile was the last thing you saw before you had to go.

#spencer reid #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid oneshot #dr. spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid fic #criminal minds #cm #criminal minds:ff #matthew gray gubler #matthew gray gubler x reader #mgg #mgg x reader

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