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women-loving-art · 3 years

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Alice Pike Barney Natalie at Seven, 1883 / Natalie and Missa, 1890 / Natalie Barney in Fur Cape, 1896 / Natalie with Necklace, c. 1900 / Lucifer, 1902

Some of the paintings that Alice Pike Barney (1857-1931) made using her daughter, Natalie Clifford Barney (1876-1972), as a model.

“As the year [1900] closed, the fallout from Quelques portraits-sonnets de femmes [Natalie Clifford Barney’s lesbian poetry collection] caused a major break in the Barney family. It had taken months for word of the book to develop a strong buzz, but by now many people had read or at least heard about it.

Natalie had been dropped by a few Washington society matrons, meaning that they refused to receive her in their homes. At least one family friend approached Natalie that summer, begging her to give up, for the sake of her parents, the course on which she was headed.

In response to her critics, Natalie claimed that she didn’t care whether or not Madame so-and-so deigned to greet her on the street. As she once said of Colette’s first husband, Willy, “Not everyone is capable of knowingly creating a bad reputation for themselves.”

There was a certain hypocrisy to the way Natalie was treated. [...] Discretion (or, if you prefer, sexual hypocrisy) was considered a duty. Among Natalie’s past and future conquests were socialites who, though they preferred the embraces of women, led ostensibly “normal” lives. As long as they married, had children, did charitable work, and managed fine homes, nobody much cared what they did behind closet doors. In the end, Natalie’s greatest sin was not that she was a lesbian, but that she refused to be quiet and ashamed about it.

One day, Albert Barney [her father] picked up the society gossip journal Town Topics and read a small but fatal headline: Sappho sings in Washington. With that single headline, his world exploded. Highly intelligent and far from naive, his suspicions about his beloved daughter had long ago turned to certainty.

The Town Topics piece, entwining his daughter’s name with that of a perverted Greek harlot, fulfilled his worst nightmares of scandal. The fact that his wife had contributed the artwork to Natalie’s book [three of the four women who modelled for her were her daughter's lovers] constituted a double knife thrust to the heart. How, he wondered, would he ever live this down?

The timing and exact circumstances of what happened next are impossible to pinpoint. The entire episode wasn’t one that anyone in the family wished to remember, let alone document. It’s telling that Alice, who scissored from the newspapers each mention of her girls for permanent inclusion in her scrapbook, didn’t bother to keep the big Sappho Sings article.

What is true is this: Albert stormed into the editorial offices at Ollendorff in Paris to buy, and then destroy, the remaining copies and all printing plates for Quelques portraits-sonnets de femmes. His action doubtless accounts for the book’s extreme rarity today.

He then brutally pulled the blinders from Alice’s eyes about the meaning of the poems in Quelques sonnets. He berated her ceaselessly, and would until his death, for having so naively contributed paintings of Natalie’s lovers to the book.

The revelation about Natalie’s sexuality stunned Alice. The evidence had been there for years, obvious to all, but she had been in complete denial. Now, forced to accept the truth, she was shocked and sickened. For perhaps the first time ever she was unable to apply the laissez-faire philosophy that had defined her approach to life.

In early January 1901 the Barneys boarded a ship to New York, leaving Natalie behind. Though weakened by illness, he constantly lambasted Alice, enumerating her countless sins, the greatest of which was the evil inherent in Natalie’s character. As usual, she endured the abuse by politely ignoring him. Deep within, however, she was awash in conflicting emotions. She loved and admired her daughter, but was horrified by her lesbianism. Late in January, she made her feelings clear in a letter that must have devastated Natalie:

It has come at last. Your father is quite crushed by this and really very pathetic. How perhaps you, through your disregard for us and your callousness, may remember my disgust when you would speak of this forbidden sin—and realize that every right-minded decent person is condemning you and us—as they would of the greatest evil... I am too sick and ill to write more. I used to feel sorry for Mrs. Hoy when people said things of Mattie—and how small her sin was—if true—compared with yours, which you broadcast about, as if being evil is not bad enough.

But you must in every way, to every person, make yourself a horror and a danger... Your only chance to redeem yourself is to change your life and writings and remember that in no way can you defend yourself—or reply to this [Town Topics] article... For there is not the slightest loophole. You have closed every escape. [...] You have done a bad thing—a sin against law and mankind and I can only hope that your ideas have shocked and horrified instead of converting.

It took months for Alice to accept Natalie’s nature, but eventually the truth brought mother and daughter closer. No longer engaged in subterfuge and lies, Natalie’s new relationship with Alice was easier, friendlier, and more honest. After her initial repugnance, Alice tried to see Natalie’s sexuality as simply part of her nature—a nature similar in many other ways to her own. “How much of myself I’ve passed on to you,” she wrote years later. “You’re cultivated and I—not—but we’ve got the same traits, grabbing here and there, dashing from this to that. So much of the monkey in us.”

There would be many times in the future when Natalie and Alice didn’t get along, but at its heart their relationship remained strong and loving. Each took pleasure in the other’s accomplishments. “I’m terribly proud of you,” Alice would write; or “I can’t express my admiration, my child.” They would collaborate in writing plays, visit each other, and always, no matter where they might be, there were the affectionate letters.

Only once, many years later, did Alice reveal the pain that Natalie caused her. It happened when Natalie made a casual observation. “Mother,” she remembered saying. “You have so happy a temperament that I cannot imagine anything that has ever been able to cause you more than a passing sorrow.”

Alice drew back as if struck. She appeared embarrassed, and looked away. Natalie laughed, curious to know what could possibly have shaken her mother’s legendary equanimity, but Alice remained stubbornly and uncharacteristically silent.

Growing uneasy, Natalie pressed for an answer. Alice hesitated, gazing back over the years to a moment of sorrow so great that it obviously pained her to recall it now. And then, slowly, she faced her daughter, staring with profound sadness into those ice-blue eyes. “You,” she muttered, almost as if speaking to herself. “You...’”

— Suzanne Rodríguez, from Wild Heart: A Life, Natalie Clifford Barney and the Decadence of Literary Paris

#sorry i couldnt make this shorter #Natalie Clifford Barney #artists #can you imagine your mother painting you as lucifer... after all /that/ happened....#suzanne rodriguez #Wild Heart: A Life Natalie Clifford Barney and the Decadence of Literary Paris

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animepopheart · 3 years

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Wonder Egg Priority, Episode 11: “The Temptation of Death”?

Wonder Egg Priority is a beautiful, uncomfortable, moving and confusing series that starts out engaging all the things we don’t talk about—self-harm, abuse, rape, bullying, gender dysmorphia, and homosexuality, to name a few. Our silence and blindness to these issues have a weight and pressure to them, and WEP shows how this reinforces the isolation and hopelessness of the young women of the “eggs” who turn to suicide for relief. The first ten episodes have been exhilarating and exhausting alike.

And then there is Episode 11. This past week, the series took a bit of a turn, leaning hard into the sci-fi-philosophical, with appearances from Greek gods, a murderous artificial intelligence, and really, really disturbing insect girls, one of whom, despite being a brutal killer, is apparently a vegetarian. Has the show gone off the rails? Has it lost its way in departing from the familiar procedural approach of engaging a differing social or mental health issue with each episode?

Such a critique is perfectly legit, but before you write off the penultimate episode of WEP, just hear me out on why the abstract, meta turn in episode 11 may just be the most valuable thing this series has to offer so far.

Before we begin though, a little recap of what we learned this week. In episode 10, we hear the eggheads, Acca and Ura-Acca, discuss the need for warriors of Eros to battle Thanatos. This is our first hint that things are about to get lore-full and maybe a bit weird. Eros and Thanatos are of course gods in the ancient Greek pantheon, Eros being the god of love, and Thanatos, of non-violent death. Within the first minute or so of episode 11, it’s clear that the eggheads’ hope is now focused on Ai becoming the long-awaited warrior. At this point though, rather than continuing with Ai’s story, the episode shifts into flashback mode and we are finally introduced to the villain, an artificial intelligence created by the eggheads back when they were still human. Their lives gradually come to revolve around her: She is the fulfillment of their obsession to create life, and she is good.

Frill is associated with hydrangeas, which symbolise heartlessness and pride in Japanese flower language. But is it her heartlessness and pride, or that of her makers?

(Atelier Emily has done an outstanding series of posts on the flowers in WEP. Check it out!)

Only, it turns out she doesn’t play so nice when others join the happy family. After killing Acca’s wife, and putting the life of the unborn baby at risk, the AI—who named herself Frill—is unrepentant, all traces of her seeming humanity now revealed to be illusory, a mere affectation. Acca locks her away in a hole in the cellar. Years pass. The baby, Himari, grows up and is a ray of sunshine. But after effectively confessing to her ‘uncle’ (why does anime always do this?), she commits suicide. Ura-Acca discovers that Frill is still very much alive and active from her hole in the cellar, having powered up all the discarded monitors and laid down reams of electrical cables—to what end, we do not yet know. Though Ura-Acca surmises that she has somehow influenced Himari to take her own life. How else would the girl have known about Ura-Acca’s admiration for her mother? Where else would she have learned to make what will forever be to me now that uncannily sinister popping sound?

Here’s where it gets weirder. Unlike the suicides of subsequent egg girls, there is no indication that Himari, Frill’s apparent first victim, struggled with any mental health or other issues that would motivate her to take her own life. Indeed, her ‘uncle’ did not even reject her confession. (Again anime, why you do this thing?) Instead, the eggheads explain Himari’s suicide as being on account of the “temptation of death.” What now?

This is implying that death is somehow attractive, not just to someone facing overwhelming brokenness, trauma or pain, like the egg girls we’ve met so far, but to someone on the verge of stepping from a (relatively) happy childhood into young adulthood, with the promise of potential love to look forward to; someone who has not known suffering, but rather only smiles and cake. (To be fair, it is always possible that she experienced trauma in the womb, or was more deeply affected by her father’s sadness than Ura-Acca’s memories belie.)

That’s my question too, Ai.

The notion of death as somehow attractive or even beautiful is rather alien to Western culture. Certainly, there will always be some who romanticize death, à la star-crossed lovers (Shakespeare, I’m looking at you). But in general, Western culture views death as something ugly and frightening, something to avoid until it is staring you directly in the face, and even then, closing your eyes in denial is a perfectly reasonable response. Death is one of those things we don’t talk about. In my experience, Anglo-American culture is not very good at even mourning death. We lack the grieving rituals and observances of other cultures, and instead seek to confine death to the sealed, sanitized spaces of hospitals, care homes, and funeral parlors. We keep it shrouded tightly in silence. How could there ever be anything like the “temptation of death”? How could we ever consider death to be something desirable? Are the eggheads or CloverWorks simply aestheticising suicide and death here to make it sound deep and philosophical?

No, I don’t think that’s it. Instead, Acca and Ura-Acca are doing what all good researchers do—and indeed what all Christians, as believers in an unseen spiritual reality, are also called to do: They are looking more deeply into phenomena that seem, on the surface, to already be explained. The two idol fans were consumed with their obsession, so when their idol killed herself, they followed suit. The young woman whose identity was wrapped up in her own appearance ended her life to preserve her beauty. The abused gymnast saw no way out, no hope in ever living free from torment. Some explanations may be more sympathetic than others, but they all possess their own internal logic. Contemporary society is full of a vast array of pressures and stresses and each one, taken to breaking point, can result in death. Case closed. This might very well be our conclusion from the first ten episodes.

Only the case isn’t closed. Because there is a question that has pervaded every episode until now, but has remained unspoken: How is it that death could even become an option for the egg girls? Why does reaching a breaking point trigger suicide? What made death seem like a savior to these girls? This is the question that episode 11 tackles, in its own admittedly obscure way. The eggheads are focused on the underlying, deeper reality that unites all the eggs’ stories, as disparate as they are—the common thread, which is the idea that death is a release, a rescue, a beautiful ending, and as a result, it is tempting.

“But we wondered if there could be another push that drove them to suicide,” explains Ura-Acca.

This is a really important question for us to be asking. Because it’s not just these traumatized, vulnerable girls who fall for the seduction of death. We do, too.

Just ponder for a moment: Have you ever anticipated how wonderful it will be when, in heaven, you no longer struggle with that particular temptation? When your temper is no longer so short, when you’re not afraid of being hurt anymore? Or maybe you think about how one day, on those gold-paved streets, you won’t have to worry anymore. All your hard work coping and just keeping it together will finally pay off and you’ll cross that finish line and heave a sigh of relief, knowing that you made it in the end. Have you ever contemplated these kinds of things? I know I have.

But here’s the thing: When I expect my liberation to come only after I die and not right here, right now, then it is not Jesus who is my savior, but death. I am waiting for death to free me from temptation and sin and fear and brokenness, and usher me into eternal life. I make Thanatos my god.

The temptation of death is not limited to the drastic act of suicide, but also permeates all the accusations and fears that inspire us to put off living the fullness of life in Christ here and now. It’s the temptation to believe that it is death that will ultimately solve the more difficult and painful problems in life.

Acca and Ura-Acca seek to create a love that suits their ideals, just to relieve their stress.

The source of this “temptation of death” in Wonder Egg Priority is Frill, the AI. That is, a man-made, artificial version of love—with ai meaning “love” in Japanese. According to Ura-Acca, they made her “just for fun,” as a way of dealing with the stress of their enclosed lives. They designed her to suit their preferences, to make it easier to love her and forget that she was artificial. In this sense, Frill is the fruit of their self-centeredness, her every characteristic designed to satisfy their own ideals of how a daughter and woman should be. And this artificial love born of selfishness brings death into their midst and beyond, spreading it through the horrendous deformities of girlhood that she in turn creates, in imitation of her fathers. (Only perhaps her creations are less deceptive than theirs, wearing their monstrosity plainly on the outside…)

Frill’s creations. We’ve met Dash (right) and Dot (center), but who is that on the left? And is her name Morse??

To counter her destructive influence, Acca and Ura-Acca need true love, a genuine love. They need Ai, a messy, at times very weak human being, but one who nevertheless is willing to fight to live up to her name and maybe, just maybe, become a warrior of Eros.

There is also a deep, underlying force at work in our world, one that connects all despair and the actions born of it. A wide range of social issues, traumas and mental health challenges can and do trigger suicide, but they do not explain it fully. The deeper reality is the existence of an enemy who seeks to manipulate us into believing our true savior can only be death, whether it is right away by our own hand, or more subtly, decades from now by natural causes. But this is a lie, and it is one that we can combat. Just as I’m sure we’ll see in the final episode that Ai is equipped to wage the coming battle in WEP, so too are we armed, here and now, with the power to overwhelm the enemy’s “temptation of death”—we possess already the words of life, given to us by our true savior.

Jesus began his ministry with a public announcement that he had come to heal heart wounds, comfort those in pain, fill broken lives with beauty, and wrap those in despair with reasons to praise like a warm protective blanket, so that they might celebrate with joy once again. He came to bring freedom to prisoners and captives alike, giving a fresh new life to those locked up because of deeds done wrong, and those punished and injured at the hands of others. He came to take the outcasts, the weak, the traumatized and broken and transform them into mighty oaks, clean and strong; into people with the vision and skill and compassion and fortitude to rebuild a broken world (Isaiah 61:1-4, Luke 4:18),

He came to rewrite and restore our experience of life here on earth, and through us, to redeem our communities, cities, nations, and the world. God does not withhold the fullness of life from us until we finally make it to him in heaven. No, instead he moved heaven and earth to get right up close so that he could pour his own life out into us, even going so far as to breathe his very spirit into our hearts and bodies and minds. We don’t need to wait for death’s rescue—our hero has already come. But we do need to remind each other and ourselves of this truth pretty often, and let it work down deep into all the cracks and bruises in our souls until it strengthens all our weak spots.

In Deuteronomy 30:19, God tells the Israelites that he has given them the authority to choose between life and death. But he also tips the balances in their favor, urging them to choose life. In Jesus, he comes to tip the balances even further, making it possible for us to step into eternal life here and now, immediately and forever. So let’s do it. Each day, through each struggle we face. Let’s choose life and not death.

Warrior of love? And is Ai’s himawari (sunflower) related to Himari somehow?

Join me (in spirit) for the final episode on Tuesday to see Ai’s love triumph! (At least, I really really hope that’s what happens!)

#wonder egg priority #wep #wep frill #ai ohto #Christianity #blog #NOT by me but rather by one of our other writers: cajk2

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ahgaseda · 4 years

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aura | one

driving me crazy, look in my eyes, follow me, come here, dance with me now, I’m gonna make you feel like that...

summary : back again at a camp for kids that can’t behave, you are still brokenhearted over your ill-fated romance with Jaebeom, until your friend Jackson offers to help make your ex jealous in exchange for helping him land the most unattainable girl at camp.

warnings : strong profanity, explicit dialogue, recurring alcohol or recreational drug use, graphic sexual content, brief mentions of illegal activities, potentially triggering elements involving toxic relationships and emotional manipulation, etc.

miniseries chapters : one / two / three / four / five / six / seven

The sun was too bright. Rays pierced the gossamer curtains and shone into your eyes. You vaguely recollected your mother bursting in and throwing the windows open, ordering you to get up. Now, the sun had risen and you were cutting it close.

With a grumble, you threw the blanket over your head and rolled over, eager to sleep the day away. And maybe tomorrow, too.

Being in a constant state of denial and dread was exhausting.

Slowly, you drifted back into a dream. Well, maybe less a dream and more a memory. Perhaps it was all a fantasy at this point, the way you recounted it, lingering on only the good parts.

You remembered every insignificant detail of that night - the night you reached your greatest high and deepest low in the span of an hour. The moon had been full and the crickets were singing. The air had cooled from its typical summer heat, but the dirt was warm beneath your bare toes.

Sneaking off in the middle of the night with a boy. You would have never in your wildest dreams done something so reckless.

But he said he wanted to watch the stars and kiss you beneath the moonlight. Endlessly. You escaped with him down the beaten path, his hand wrapped tightly around yours. Then, he backed you against a tree and kissed you like he had completely run out of patience.

You remembered smiling against his mouth, giggling when his tongue teased your bottom lip. Your hands were on his shoulders while he cradled your face. At some point, you broke away and he stared at the sparkles in your eyes.

“I love you,” was all he said. The first of many lies.

You followed him. It didn’t matter where he went, you were ready to follow him off the edge of the earth if he asked. Jaebeom held you so tenderly, yet tight and secure. You had no hesitations and certainly no regrets when he laid you on your back, kissing you restlessly.

But it was a lie.

You moaned his name when Jaebeom pressed his lips to your neck. You could still remember how your heart thundered uncontrollably whilst he tongued his way between your breasts. You had never wanted someone as badly as you wanted Jaebeom. The boy who made you fall in love with him.

But it was all a lie.

Even the way you whimpered when he took you was a persistent echo in your mind. The noises he had drawn from you were carnal, to say the least. His skin was hot beneath your fingertips, his hair damp when you tangled your hand through his strands, and his naked body heavy on top of yours. He kissed you with such gentle affection when he buried himself inside you.

But it was still a lie.

You truly believed he was making love to you, every last inch of you. He was all you knew in that moment. With Jaebeom, you lived like there was no tomorrow. And you would never forget the way his face tensed with ecstasy, how he groaned your name when he filled you. All you cared about in that moment was his pleasure - his love. It was all you ever wanted.

But it was his biggest lie.

You opened your eyes, tears escaping down your cheeks, and forced away the bitter memories. Every beautiful moment spent with Jaebeom kept coming back and you wanted to set them all aflame until you forgot every single fucking detail.

You remembered how he smelled, how he felt. How his arms flexed around you when he hugged you close. How he smiled when he made you laugh. How he kissed your hand at the most random of times. How he whispered his love into the sensitive skin beneath your ear.

Your heart couldn’t take it anymore. What was once sugar on your tongue turned to ash and dust in your mouth. You didn’t think you were capable of this much pain.

Jaebeom had taught you a very hard lesson. And yet, though you would never admit it to anyone, you still loved him.

Suddenly, the door to your bedroom burst open and a familiar voice announced, “Rise and shine, dear!”

It belonged to your best friend, your childhood rival, and most inconveniently, your next door neighbor.

“Jackson,” you groaned, muffled against your pillow. “Not now. Go away.”

“Baby, you know we on a schedule,” he chirped with the speed of a man who had already ingested too much coffee, grabbing your comforter and ripping it off the bed without mercy.

You cried out at the unexpected cold on your bare legs, curling into the fetal position to try and trap some warmth to your body. You then bounced lightly on the mattress as Jackson leapt into the air and landed on your bed in the most spectacular fashion.

His face moved predictably before yours, inches away, and he was sporting a grin that could be filed under Jackson’s trademarked twisted delight. “It’s camp day,” he said excitedly.

You blinked. “I know.”

Jackson sat up and reached over to smack your butt. “Get up,” he yelled, sidling off your bed. “Breakfast will get cold.”

You huffed profanities under your breath and clambered after him.

Downstairs, your mother and stepfather sat at the kitchen table. Maids attended to them, waiting on their every move. Such was commonplace in the penthouses of preternaturally wealthy people.

“Ah, I knew you could handle it, Jackson,” your mother crooned.

Jackson plopped down at one end of the table, opposite your stepfather with his nose buried in a newspaper. You finished tying the knot of your fluffy bathrobe and took the empty seat across from your mother.

“Everything is packed and loaded in the car,” she informed, her tone a little harsher where you were concerned.

“I promise, Mom,” you began, eyes cast downward. “I won’t go back there again.”

It was true. You were so caught up in negative ways of coping that by the time you realized you were going to get yourself sent back to the one place you would be forced to see Jaebeom again, it was too late.

“Well, if only you had found that resolve last year,” she chided, stabbing a piece of melon with her fork.

You clocked a glance at your friend. Jackson happily stuffed his face, eating everything in sight. Despite living in the penthouse next to yours, with his equally wealthy parents, Jackson opted to eat at your table more often than not.

Preferably so he wouldn’t have to listen to his parents fighting.

“Can we expect the same promise from you, Jackson?” your mother asked, as if she were speaking to her favorite puppy.

She always did love Jackson. He was like the son she never had. Although, in her defense, it wasn’t hard to love Jackson. He was the golden child that every mother’s wet dream was made of.

“Absolutely not,” he retorted politely, grinning from ear to ear. “Some of my closest friends are at that camp.”

Your mother chuckled, having expected as much.

Your stepfather finally lowered the corner of his paper and called your name sternly, as if oblivious - or uncaring - to the conversation taking place.

You glanced up.

“Eat your food. It’s a long drive and I’ll hear nothing of you getting faint on your first day.”

Jackson and your mother both looked to you expectantly.

You flashed him a soft smile and said, “Yes, sir.”

Stepfather number three, despite having more money than God, was surprisingly kind and considered you one of his own. There was a time you overheard him say you were the daughter he always wanted. His three sons had far surpassed mischief and landed in deviance, always on the hunt for his money.

The maid offered sweetly to make you some breakfast, whatever you would like, and you accepted. Jackson swiftly reached over and pinched your cheek in approval.

Most respectable parents would never be so lenient toward a friendship between a girl and a boy, but you knew your mother was hoping you and Jackson would get together. It would be a fine match in high society, given the status of your fathers.

Matter of fact, when she walked in on the two of you eating chocolate and watching movies while cuddled in bed, she was thoroughly disappointed you weren’t having sex.

When you finished eating, you dragged your feet upstairs to your room to get dressed for the trip. Jackson took a few extra minutes to clear his plate and then joined you.

Standing in front of three full panel mirrors in your bra and underwear, you alternated holding skirts up to yourself in the reflection. Jackson folded his arms and leaned against the doorframe.

“What does one wear for total humiliation?” you asked dryly, meeting his eyes in the mirror.

“Plaid probably,” he quipped, uncrossing his arms and slipping into your closet.

You turned, brow furrowed, and waited for him to come back.

When Jackson finally emerged, he tossed you a t-shirt and jeans. Casual at its finest.

You caught the clothes and surveyed them in surprise. “Really?”

“Put ‘em on,” he said, clapping his hands. “Let’s blow this town.”

You pulled the extra tight jeans on, fastening them with a huff, and pestered, “Do you have to be this excited?”

Jackson came close, taking your face between his hands and pushing your cheeks together. “The sooner we get there, the faster we can get drunk.”

You snickered, rolling your eyes.

The two of you came thundering down the stairs, reminiscent of times you and Jackson slid down the banisters as noisy kids. Your mother waited stiffly at the door, almost cracking a smile when you galloped into the kitchen and pressed a kiss in farewell to your stepfather’s cheek.

She may have been after his money like a cat on a mouse, but she inadvertently found a decent father for her only daughter.

Jackson said his hurried, loud goodbyes and slipped through the open door. You slowed down long enough to take your jacket from your mother’s waiting hand and endure one last scrutinizing gaze.

“Is he seeing someone?” she asked softly.

“Nope,” you chuckled, having expected some backhanded remark about your outfit.

Your mother spoke like she read a whimsical poem, “The two of you would make the most perfect couple this side of the Hudson.”

“Love you, too, Mom,” you teased, pecking a kiss on her cheek and trotting out the door.

The limousine rolled out onto the busy streets of New York City and you peered through the tinted windows. You watched as the looming skyscrapers turned to towering green trees.

As the drive went on, your nerves only grew.

With misplaced optimism, you turned to Jackson and said, “Maybe he won’t be there this year.”

Jackson didn’t even look up from his magazine and droned, “He’s been there every year since he was seven.”

You slumped in your seat, defeated. Clapping a hand on your forehead in self-chastisement, you groaned, “I should have been better, not worse.”

Jackson shifted, leaning back against you and resting his head on your chest. “I’ve never seen you so out of control,” he exclaimed, turning a page in the magazine. “And that says a lot.”

It said plenty. Jackson had warned you about Jaebeom many, many times. Though you held his opinion in high regard, you didn’t listen. You were blinded by love and had no one to blame but yourself.

You grabbed a handful of his brown hair and tugged playfully, earning a tiny whine. “Yeah, well,” you murmured, acerbic. “He stole all of the goodness out of me.”

Jackson scoffed and his tone became stern, “Don’t give him so much credit. And don’t put all of your goodness on your virginity, for fuck’s sake.”

You sighed loudly, thinking about Jaebeom and how he made your pulse race, how he sent fire racing down your spine. The thought of him made you want to cry and you quickly clenched your jaws.

“It’s true though, isn’t it? I’m a bad girl now,” you countered, draping your arm over his chest. “I surrendered my virtuous flower to a boy who added another notch to his bed post.”

Of your memories with Jaebeom, and they were countless, among the stolen kisses and soft touches and sweet words, one stood out above all the rest. The last time you saw him - when he told you it was all a lie, just a game.

That he never loved you.

Jackson sat up, setting down his magazine and facing you. He could feel where your thoughts had wandered, screaming at him to ease the pain despite no words leaving your mouth. Meeting your eyes, Jackson wanted you to hear him even though the two of you had been over it many times already.

“You loved him,” he said, sympathetic but firm. “And he made it a good experience for you. Take that away from it.”

“You’re right,” you replied with a nod, holding back the tears and the quivering of your lip. “I need to let it go.”

Jackson cocked his head and pressed, “But?”

He knew you too well.

“But I can’t,” you whispered, lowering your head to hide your face in shame. “I can’t get over being in love with someone who never - not even for a moment - loved me back.”

Jackson balled his hands into fists. It had taken every inch of his goddamn restraint not to hop a plane, show up at Lim Jaebeom’s house, and beat the living shit out of him. You and his mother were the only people he was willing to go to jail for.

Swallowing the lump in your throat, you wiped away the one tear that had escaped. You hated Jackson having to see you like this, staring at you like his precious wounded puppy. With a shrug, you gave a scoff and said, “I wonder who he will have his eyes on this year.”

Jackson frowned and settled back into his seat, shaking his head where the likes of Jaebeom was concerned. He knew three months of unadulterated fun for him were going to be total misery for you. For days he racked his brain over what he could do to help you get over Jaebeom.

Then, the metaphorical light bulb clicked over his head. Who would Jaebeom be pursuing this year? With you crossed off his list, there were simply no more challenges to be had.

Jackson smirked. The solution to this problem was clear as day. He would have to make Jaebeom chase you again.

“I have an idea,” Jackson muttered under his breath, eyes gleaming with devilish intent.

“Oh, boy,” you laughed, recognizing his telltale mischief.

Jackson faced you, propping himself on hands positioned at either side of your legs. “You help me bag Yeona and I will help you make Jaebeom jealous,” he said, letting his tongue linger at the corner of his mouth.

Your expression registered nothing but surprise. Yeona was the bane of Jackson’s romantic skills and the eye of his conquests for years. She was the only girl at camp not the least bit impressed with him and that drove him crazy.

At that thought you realized the similar dynamic. “Do you think that would work?” you asked curiously, piqued.

Relieved to see your approval, Jackson nodded. “He’s like me. He wants what he can’t have.”

To some degree, Jackson added in his head. He and Jaebeom had totally different motivations for stealing hearts.

You questioned in disbelief, “So… what? We just walk around making out all the time?”

Jackson snorted. “Within moderation, obviously. Don’t want to completely turn off either of our targets.”

One of the main reasons you never hooked up with Jackson (on more than one occasion you had been tempted) was to spite your insufferable mother after what she had put you through. That being said, you had kissed him more than once. Usually when dared to do so at parties or during sleepovers when you bared your deepest, darkest secrets to each other. It was always innocent, but this felt forbidden and impure.

You loved the idea.

“Hm, okay,” you said, noncommittal. “At this point, I’ll do anything to make him as miserable as I am.”

Jackson grinned and chuckled. “Take my word for it. There is nothing more miserable than blue balls.”

You pursed your lips, mulling, “He’s already had me. He won’t want me again.”

“I’ll convince him you’re worth having,” Jackson replied, his voice a deep rumble in his throat. “And you’ll do the same to Yeona about me.”

“What makes you think Yeona will be that hard to get? You’ve never really pursued her before.”

Jackson slid to the edge of the seat and reached for a bottle of alcohol currently sitting on ice. “She doesn’t believe in sex before marriage.”

That explained why he threw in the towel so quickly. You cocked a brow and chuckled, “Really?”

Jackson nodded, popping open the bottle of champagne and grabbing two glasses. “Yeah, even wears a promise ring.”

“Wow, that’s commitment,” you smarted, taking the flute of bubbly he extended to you.

Jackson glanced up briefly before pouring his own glass, hair falling in his eyes, and said, “Don’t wallow in self-pity again.”

You rolled your eyes and quickly defended, “No, I’m not. It’s just… I wasn’t saving myself for marriage, but I was saving myself for someone that loved me.”

Jackson exhaled loudly.

You hated hearing his disappointment and ranted irritably, “I don’t know what all the fuss is about. It wasn’t even good. There was no leg shaking orgasm. It was messy and uncomfortable and whatever.”

“That’s because it was your first time,” Jackson said, putting the glass to his lips.

You took a sip. “Yeah, I guess.”

Jackson leaned on his side, sizing you up. His eyes drifted up and down your body. He hated seeing you bent out of shape over a boy, least of all hot garbage like Lim Jaebeom.

After a pause, the following words dripped like honey off his tongue, “We could fool around, you know.”

You almost choked on your champagne, wondering if you heard him clearly or if it was a figment of your imagination. You exclaimed, “What?”

“You and me,” Jackson continued, sidling closer. “I could show you what all the fuss is about.”

He sounded so smug when he said that, his voice even deeper. You swallowed at the offer and asked, “Would that be awkward?”

“No, it would just be sex. No strings attached.”

The knife in your heart twisted and you peered at him. “Could you make me forget about Jaebeom?”

Jackson leaned in. “Baby, I could make you see stars.”

Heat flushed behind your cheeks and you glanced away, faltering under the sudden tension in the limousine. “I’ll think about it,” you finally told him.

Satisfied, Jackson grinned and made himself comfortable, opening the magazine again and proceeding to read.

You surveyed Jackson out of the corner of your eye, lingering on his thick thighs. Years of fencing had built him strong, sturdy. When Jackson said he could make you see stars, you were inclined to believe him.

Especially since the vast majority of his exes tended to brag about how good he was in bed.

You thought about Jaebeom. You wanted him to go crazy at the sight of you in Jackson’s arms. You craved revenge, to serve him a taste of his own medicine, no matter what it cost.

The car eventually came to a stop on the gravel road. Attendants were ready to unload your luggage and transport it to your respective rooms. It may have been a camp for unruly brats, but said brats came from very affluent parents.

An older woman stood by the gate, black hair glistening a little too fiercely in the sunlight. Clearly she had sprayed dye on her graying roots.

“Ah, you two again,” she grimaced at yours and Jackson’s approach.

You took the keys from her outstretched hand and continued on your way without a word. Jackson on the other hand, leaned in with puckered lips and jeered, “Always a pleasure, Miss Hamm.”

“Hmph.”

You continued on the path with your best friend in tow. Your cabin was in sight, on the bluff beside the lake. Jackson’s was adjacent, slightly lower down. Your parents made sure you had the same spots each year, always furnished and equipped with everything you needed.

Some of the campers lived in bunkhouses with other roommates, but not you. Your first year, you swore to your mother if you were forced to bunk with other girls you would not stop until you got yourself sent home. It was an easy compromise to make. She loved traveling during the summer with stepfather number two.

You stopped and pivoted to Jackson, saying, “I’m gonna go freshen up.”

“Alright,” he replied. “Meet at the mess hall?”

Naturally his mind was on food, you mused. “Of course.”

Jackson looped an arm around your waist and pulled you in for a hug, whispering in your ear, “Don’t hide in there from him. Remember - I got your back.”

You nodded, leaning in to kiss his cheek in gratitude.

The two of you broke away at the fork in the road, taking opposite paths to your cabins.

Dropping your purse, you plopped down on the brand new mattress, gripping the sides and looking down at your shoes. The air conditioning had been turned on, the cabin had already cooled off. You would never know how hot it was outside whilst inside your pink-themed prison.

The camp was meant to reform. It didn’t matter that you were a legal adult, you still belonged to a rich and influential family in high society. It was like the parents knew their spoiled, entitled children would indulge in bad behaviors, therefore it was best they did so in controlled environments.

You already imagined the endless nights of booze and debauchery awaiting you for the next three months. Maybe it was time you embraced the darker side of life like you used to, rather than wasting away and pining over a boy.

Rising from the bed, you approached the nearby bathroom and braced your hands on the sink. Studying your reflection, you wanted to curse. You looked like a shadow of your former self.

The girl you knew was confident, vivacious, and a rebel to the core. You were quieter now, tempered. An experience like last summer had opened your eyes to how cruel the world really was.

Still, you were ready to buck up. Jackson had a plan and you were willing to execute if it meant you would have some kind of absolution. Splashing water on your face, you dabbed your cheeks with a cloth and headed outside.

The largest of the buildings, the mess hall was loud and chaotic. The majority of kids went straight to the line for food, hungry after a long trip. The place was alive with a hundred different conversations, varying levels of chatter. Friends reunited dramatically in the aisleways.

You searched for a friendly face, desperate to avoid Jaebeom for now, and spotted a head of platinum hair. Approaching the scrawny boy, you grabbed a handful of blond locks and teased, “Bam, I thought you were gonna let your poor scalp breathe?”

Bambam didn’t flinch at the brief tug on his head and turned to meet your grin with one of his own. “Hey, beautiful,” he exclaimed, leaping up to envelope you in a warm hug. “Thought you were gonna try and avoid this place for once?”

“Yeah, well,” you said coolly with a shrug. “Bad behaviors are hard to break.”

“You’re telling me,” huffed Bambam as he lowered back onto the row with you at his side. “I landed myself back here in the first week of the semester.”

You laughed, smoothing down where you had disrupted his hair. “I expect nothing less.” Looking across the table, you met eyes with Bambam’s best friend and partner in crime, Yugyeom, and greeted, “Hey, Yugy.”

“Hi. I’m glad you came back! Well, not glad, obviously, but…,” Yugyeom rambled, cheeks reddening. “Happy you’re here. You know, it wouldn’t be the same without you.”

“Thanks,” you replied shyly.

“Any sign of Jackson?” Bambam asked, glancing around. “Don’t you always come together?”

Yugyeom kindly pushed his plate of fruit in your direction and you thanked him. “Yeah, we did. He was supposed to meet me here,” you answered, popping a grape in your mouth.

“Probably sneaking a smoke with Mark,” Bambam grumbled quietly under his breath.

Yugyeom cleared his throat loudly, looking at something behind you.

Just as you turned around, brows stitched, someone sat at your side.

It was Jaebeom.

He didn’t face the table like the rest of you, he straddled the seat, squarely in your direction.

“Hi, baby girl. Imagine my surprise when I heard about all the trouble you got yourself into,” Jaebeom taunted, clicking his tongue in feigned reproach. His fingertips came to your temple, slipping through your loose hair and tucking it behind your ear.

You couldn’t breathe and you certainly couldn’t think. Your heart was pounding in your chest. He smelled so good. The mere touch of his fingers made you freeze in place. You wanted nothing more than to throw your arms around him and bury your face in the crook of his neck.

“I…,” you trailed, hesitating, lost for words. What the hell were you supposed to say?

I love you, but I hate you.

“What’s the matter, baby?” Jaebeom cooed, stroking a finger over your cheek. “Cat got your tongue?”

You could feel the tears gathering in your eyes. Even Yugyeom seethed at how Jaebeom was toying with you.

This was the humiliation you had been anticipating and dreading. You knew Jaebeom wouldn’t pass up the opportunity to remind you that he stole your heart and your virginity and left you with nothing.

The whole camp knew that you had given it up. That you had been such a fool to believe for a second that Jaebeom loved you.

Blind. Blind. Blind, you chanted in your head.

Jackson appeared out of thin air, grabbing Jaebeom’s wrist and pulling him from you. “Can I help you find something?” your best friend snapped.

Jaebeom rose, agitated at being challenged. “The fuck are you doing, Wang?”

Jackson drifted closer to Jaebeom, aggressive. “Keep your hands off my girl.”

Jaebeom’s eyes widened. “Your girl?”

“You heard me,” Jackson hissed, turning to you.

You remembered the game. Jackson’s eyes were expectant.

Finding your voice, you took a breath. “I’m so sorry to break the news to you, Jaebeom,” you began softly, rising from your seat and backing into Jackson, who didn’t miss a beat in wrapping his arms possessively around you. “I’ve moved onto bigger and better things. And I mean much, much bigger.”

Bambam beat his fist on the table, cackling wildly.

Jaebeom scowled, but there was skepticism bold in his eyes. Jackson promptly wiggled his brows and stroked his hands on your waist, intentionally making your shirt ride up.

“Now, if you’ll excuse us,” you sang, interlacing your fingers with Jackson’s underneath the hem of your shirt. “We’re gonna go make out in the hallway. Seeing Daddy get territorial really does it for me.”

Jackson wagged his tongue at Jaebeom, gladly laughing at his expense, as you squeezed his hand and proceeded to drag your best friend behind you into the hallway.

Jaebeom watched you go, eyes narrowed. Something didn’t sit right with him. He had known you for years, Jackson too. He couldn’t imagine driving you into Jackson’s arms. Not with how fierce and loyal your friendship was.

He didn’t believe it for a second.

Once in the clear, you backed against the wall and giggled. “Oh my god, did you see his face?” you exclaimed, covering your mouth as you chuckled.

Jackson tickled your sides and joked, “Look at your little sick and twisted self. I’m so proud.”

The door next to you opened and like clockwork, Jaebeom stepped out.

The grin vanished from your face in an instant and you quickly grabbed Jackson by the collar, yanking him forward. Jackson collided into you none too gently and grunted, silenced only by your lips suddenly on his.

Jaebeom could hardly believe his eyes. There you were, swept up in Jackson’s arms with your tongue down his throat. He was green with fucking envy. It had taken him a whole summer to open you up and now you were throwing yourself at Jackson of all people.

Jackson slipped his hands beneath your shirt and roamed his hands up your sides, giving Jaebeom a glimpse of your soft skin. You overlapped your arms around his head, making little noises in the heat of his kisses.

Jaebeom felt a twitch in his pants at the sounds you made. That was supposed to be him. You were supposed to be in his arms, kissing him like he was all you had thought about every day since he ripped your heart out and crushed it in his hand for all to see.

“Pfft,” Jaebeom snorted, hiding his jealousy. “Glad I could break her in for you, Jacks.”

Neither of you heard him, which was lucky for Jaebeom because Jackson would not have hesitated to beat him to a bloody pulp.

Jaebeom cleared out. He couldn’t stand to watch anymore. Not when he had spent every day wondering if you would forgive him. Jaebeom shook his head as he continued down the hall, reminded what a stupid fucking mistake he had made.

Kissing Jackson made you forget what you were doing, where you were, and basically any and all information you were meant to be processing at the moment. Finally a sense of clarity hit you, though you had no earthly clue where it had come from.

Breaking away, you panted, “Okay, if we’re gonna do this, we have to lay down some ground rules.”

Jackson kneaded your waist and nipped at your lips, ever flirtatious. His voice came out a rasp when he said, “Give ‘em to me.”

“No sleeping around,” you told him sternly. “I’ve never had a sexually transmitted disease and I’m not starting now.”

Jackson bobbed his head, eager to kiss you again. “Deal.”

“When you get Yeona or I get Jaebeom, what’s between us is done.”

“Agreed.”

You softened, pulling him close for a brief, innocent peck on the lips. It wasn’t the first time you had kissed Jackson and it wouldn’t be the last.

But you realized when you were kissing Jackson, you forgot about Jaebeom and your feelings.

And that was dangerous.

“You’re my best friend,” you whispered delicately, tracing hair from his brow lightly with your fingers. “If either of us starts getting feelings, we shut this down.”

Jackson studied you a moment. He knew he loved you. He had loved you a long time. But it was an innocent love, not a complicated one. You were the only person he trusted with his heart. The only person he knew would never hurt him.

He wouldn’t catch feelings for you, would he? It wasn’t in his nature. He didn’t allow himself to get attached romantically. He hated the idea of commitment or monogamy, after seeing what his parents’ marriage had devolved into.

“Got it,” Jackson finally said, offering a gentle smile.

You swallowed, putting a hand on his chest and pushing him back. Jaebeom was gone. There was no one to convince anymore.

Jackson let his hands slip from your body. “We should go back.”

You nodded. “Yeah, just give me a second.”

Jackson noted the heat on your face, the glistening of your lips and the twinkles in your eyes. Forget making you see stars, Jackson knew in that moment he could absolutely ruin you.

He gathered you back in his arms, pulling you flush against him, and as you peered up at him confusedly, Jackson growled, “Let’s go to my cabin.”

A long, heavy silence wrapped around you and him. The weight of what you were doing landed squarely on your shoulders. And despite that, you found yourself not giving a damn.

Lips tugging in a smile, you purred, “Show me what I’ve been missing.”

But even as Jackson led you by the hand out of the mess hall, you glanced over your shoulder, looking for Jaebeom.

Wanting him to see. Wanting it to hurt him. Wanting to make him crazy.

But mostly, just wanting him to love you.

next chapter →

Hey there, beautiful! If you enjoyed this, please leave a like or reblog or follow me! Or maybe buy me a coffee so I can keep writing? Or check out my masterlist here for more stories! Thanks for reading :) - Katya

This work is fictional and for entertainment purposes only, but is licensed and protected under a creative commons attribution-noncommercial-noderivatives 4.0 international license. Any instances of plagiarism will be dealt with accordingly. Do not re-post or translate without my permission.

#got7 fanfiction #got7 smut #jackson smut #jaebum smut #jackson wang smut #im jaebum smut #got7 fanfic #got7 fic #got7 au #jackson wang fanfic #jackson wang fic #jackson wang au #im jaebum fanfic #im jaebum fic #im jaebum au #got7 scenario #got7 reaction #got7 imagine

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ivarthebadbitch · 3 years

Text

Strange things can happen

Chapter 4 summary: Ivar supplements his diet. Aldreda delivers an ultimatum.

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

Previous chapters: [1] [2] [3]

On Ao3: [1] [2] [3]

Pairings: Ivar x OC, Ivar vs. basically everyone

Warnings: None

Word count: 1739

Tagged: @youbloodymadgenius @heavenly1927 @nukyster-blog @bae-roman (let me know if you’d like to be tagged)

CHAPTER 4: Matthew 6:9-13

Ivar had a pair of unwelcome visitors the morning after his father had left. Aethelwulf, with a skinny and rather nervous-looking priest trailing behind him, had interrupted him in the middle of his chess game and sent Alfred out with a few words. Then he took a seat across from Ivar and folded his hands.

“I will speak plainly with you,” his father-in-law began. “I did not approve of this marriage. I do not like your father, and I do not like you. But the king has made his decision and you are lawfully married to my daughter, and I will abide by it. However, if you are to live among us, then you must conform to our way of living. It is no fault of yours that you were born a heathen, but now you have the opportunity to learn the true religion.”

Without waiting for an answer, he beckoned for the priest to come forward, and then stood up and gave Ivar a hostile smile. “This is Father Wilfred. He is to give you your first lesson today.”

After Aethelwulf was gone, the priest took his seat and handed Ivar a small book. Ivar frowned and flipped through the pages, skimming past indecipherable writing and small pictures of rather miserable-looking saints. He had learned everything he needed to know about the Christians and their false god from Floki and his mother, but he had never held such an object before. He was not particularly impressed.

“I brought you a prayer book,” Father Wilfred said in fairly good Norse. “I know it means little to you now, but in time you will learn and we may read it together. I thought to begin with the Lord’s Prayer from the Gospel of Matthew, chapter six—”

Without breaking eye contact with the priest, Ivar took one of the pages and slowly tore it from the book. Then he stuffed it in his mouth, chewed a few times, and swallowed. It tasted absolutely horrible, but the look on Father Wilfred’s face was worth it.

“...chapter...chapter six—uh, verse nine…” he trailed off. He stood up abruptly. “Maybe we should revisit the lesson later. You can keep the book.”

Once the priest was gone, Ivar tore out a few more pages and scattered them on the floor just because he felt like it. Aethelwulf could pick them up if he wanted. Then he turned back to the chessboard and began plotting out his next move for whenever Alfred returned. This time, he would win for sure.

***

Aldreda had never held great hopes for a romantic marriage. Even as a child, she had understood her role as a princess of Wessex: she would marry a man of her grandfather’s choosing in order to secure an alliance, and then she would have his children—preferably male, and preferably many. Whether there was love between her and her husband was of no particular relevance. The most she had dared wish for in a husband was companionship and mutual respect, and that he would not be forty years her senior.

For the moment, the main point in Ivar’s favor was that he was not forty years her senior. In all other matters, he had been less than impressive, especially after a few nights of lying next to him in bed in total silence. Still, her grandfather had been right to say that it would take time for them to get to know each other. Perhaps she just needed to reserve her judgment for now and give him another chance.

Aldreda tried to hold that thought as she joined her family for dinner that evening. She smiled at Ivar as she took her seat beside him. He gave her a look of sheer misery in response, and her desire to be more gracious towards him immediately evaporated. He didn’t have to pretend to be wildly in love with her, but it was no excuse to act like this. Fine, she told him in her head. Sulk as much as you want.

He couldn’t have been that sad, though. She watched as his eyes followed a servant girl around the room. He motioned her over, holding out his cup, and as she poured him more wine he reached out with his free hand and groped her with a sly grin on his face. The girl turned bright red, pressed her lips together, and walked away quickly.

Aldreda glanced around the table to see if anyone had noticed. Her stepmother was talking to her grandfather, and Aethelred was in the middle of a conversation with their father. Only Alfred was staring at her and Ivar with wide eyes. She shook her head at him and then looked over at Ivar, who was happily drinking his wine. She had done her best to be tactful and courteous and accommodating. Now her patience was at an end.

So she waited until everyone was done eating and the plates had been cleared away. Her father took Aethelred and Alfred out to the yard to train before it got too dark, and her grandfather went to his bath and her stepmother to the library (and possibly later to the bath to join her grandfather, Aldreda supposed, but she wasn’t supposed to know anything about that).

Once they were all gone, she got up and motioned for the guards to take Ivar and follow her back to their room. She waited until the door was fully shut and then she stood there and watched with her arms crossed as he made his way over to the bed, heaved himself onto it, and started undressing for the night. In the beginning, they both had been somewhat embarrassed to undress in front of each other, but after a couple days they mutually decided to simply pretend the other person didn’t exist.

He finally realized she was watching him by the time he had unstrapped the leather braces he wore around his legs. “What?” he asked her sullenly in English. It was the most he had said to her in days.

“If you touch a servant girl again,” she said in Norse so he could be sure to understand her, “I will—” what was the word for annul, did the Northmen even have such a concept? “—finish the marriage.”

Even if her accent was poor, the meaning must have been clear enough, because Ivar looked startled. “I will say—” she began once more in Norse, and then switched to English. “I will tell everyone you were incapable of doing your duty as a husband, and you will be free of me and I of you.”

He stared at her with wide, panicked eyes. “No!” he snapped. “You can’t.”

“I can,” she said. She leaned back against the door. “You can tell them whatever you like, but I’m the granddaughter of the king, and they will believe my word over yours. It won’t even be a lie. In the beginning I thought perhaps you did not understand what was expected of you, or maybe even that you did not like women at all, but now I think that isn’t so. I think you won’t do it with me because you can’t.”

From across the room she could see his expression darkening, and she was suddenly glad for the space between them. “Shut your mouth,” he muttered at her in Norse, but it was clear that no denial would be forthcoming. Instead he fixed his gaze on the floor.

“I have a proposal for you,” she said, softening her tone slightly. “I will let the marriage continue and I will say nothing. In return, you will never tell me what to do or where I can go. In any disagreements with my father or grandfather, you will always side with me. You will never lay a hand on me without permission. And you will not bother any of the serving girls ever again. Do you agree?”

He gave her a fierce glare, but then his shoulders slumped and she could see he had no real will to fight her. “Yes,” he answered in English after a long moment. “I agree.”

After another moment, she finally crossed the room and took a seat on the bed beside him. “Does anyone else know?”

He glanced at her and then quickly looked away. His cheeks were red. “My brothers,” he replied. “I try—tried with a serving girl. But—”

“Your father didn’t know.”

He shook his head. “He left when I was a boy, and I hadn’t seen him in years,” he explained in his own language. He looked down, picking at a loose thread on his pants.

“And you didn’t bother to tell him before marrying me.” She had given up trying to communicate in Norse with him by now, but in fairness, he wasn’t attempting English anymore either.

He glared at her once again. “They laugh at me already. If you were me, would you give them another reason?”

“I suppose not,” she had to admit. “But it does not give you the right to behave as you have behaved. You are like a child. Is this how you act at home?”

“You have no right to lecture me. I am your husband.”

Aldreda raised an eyebrow. “I seem to recall that we came to an agreement about that just a few minutes ago; have you already forgotten?”

He rolled his eyes at her but did not contest it, and after a moment, she sighed. “I will refrain from lecturing you,” she said. “But you will hold up your end of the bargain.”

He gave her a thoughtful look. “You have an easy way out of this,” he observed. “Why would you want to stay married to me?”

She shrugged. “A daughter must do as her father says until she marries, and then she must do as her husband says. I did not expect to marry you—no more than you expected to marry me—but I would rather come to an arrangement with you than take a chance on another husband who would be less accommodating. And besides, you might decide to become a Christian in time.”

Ivar actually laughed at that, and despite it all, she could not quite stop herself from smiling. “Or you may become a heathen, and together we will make sacrifices to Odin in your grandfather’s hall,” he said with a grin. “Who knows? Strange things can happen.”

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

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life-just-as-it-is · 4 years

Photo

“Maybe because I’m very much the same. Sometimes I’m blamed for being too open, too forward, and then for being too guarded and withdrawn.” (p. 10)

“It’s just that the magic of someone new never lasts long enough. We only want those we can’t have. It’s those we lost or who never knew we existed who leave their mark. The others barely echo.” (p. 11)

“Perhaps I preferred to doubt rather than know.” (p. 14)

“‘Maybe you’re not the kind who opens up to people.’ ‘But I'm speaking with you.’ ‘I’m a stranger, and with strangers opening up is easy.’” (p. 14)

“Aren’t those the absolute worst scenarios: the things that might have happened but never did and might still happen though we’ve given up hoping they could.” (p. 21)

“I’d begun to nurse the impression that in her eyes mine were just as beautiful.” (p. 24)

“‘I get, I get it.’ Replied the father, who rested a palm on his daughter’s face in a gesture that spoke all the love in the world.” (p. 36)

“‘I think people our age should be allowed to live out the term of their life as they wish. Depriving us of what we want at death’s door seems pointless, if not totally evil, don’t you think?’ ‘I think one should always do what one wants.’” (p. 39)

“As a French poet once said, some people smoke to put nicotine in their veins, others to put a cloud between them and others.” (p. 43)

“I just hope there is more than the day-to-day stuff. But I never found it, maybe because finding it scares me.” (p. 43)

“‘I hate that word: closure.’ ‘Maybe because you leave doors open everywhere’” (p. 47)

“‘I put so much stuff between me and life, you have no idea. But then all this is probably over your head.’ ‘No, it isn’t. I know some of it.’ ‘Oh? Like what?’ ‘Like… do you really want to know?’ ‘Of course I want to know.’ ‘Like I don’t think you're a very happy man. But then you're a bit like me: some people may be broken hearted not because they’ve been hurt but because they've never found someone who mattered enough to hurt them.’” (p. 54)

“I think the love I once had has run its course. What remains is just placebo love, easy to mistake for real love.” (p. 59)

“Everything in my life was merely prologue until now, merely delay, merely pastime, merely waste of time until I came to know you.” (p. 82)

“I shouldn’t tell you but I must tell you something I’ve never ever told anyone because I never met the one person who wants me as I am or, rather, as I’ve become.” (p. 83)

“Of course I have a secret. We all do. Each of us is like a moon that shows only a few facets to earth, but never its full sphere. Most of us never meet those who'll understand our full rounded self. I show people only that sliver of me I think they'll grasp. I show others other slices. But there’s always a facet of darkness I keep to myself.” (p. 84)

“... because I want the world to know us for who we are together. Otherwise there’s no point.” (p. 89)

“I want it to be with you. If those we know won’t have us the way we are, let’s get rid of them. I want to read every book you’ve read, hear the music you love, go back to the places you know and see the world with your eyes, learn everything you cherish, start life with you. When you go to Thailand, I’ll come along, and when I give a lecture or a reading, you’ll be there in the last row, just as you were today… and don’t disappear again.” (p. 93)

“You do make me love who I am.” (p. 94)

“She’s not all she’s cracked up to be, you know. She’s impulsive, and there’s always a tempest brewing inside her head, but she is more delicate than the most friable china. Please be good to her, and be patient.” (p. 100)

“Love is easy. It’s the courage to love and to trust that matters, and not all of us have both.” (p. 113)

“‘If I spoke to this wall, it would speak back.’ ‘What would it say?’ ‘What would it say? Simple: Look for me, find me.’ ‘And what do you say?’ ‘I say the same thing: Look for me, find me. And we’re both happy.’” (p. 115)

“Perhaps he’d seen that sometimes it’s better to stop things when they’re perfect rather than race on and watch them sour.” (p. 136)

“Maybe because I never really let go or lose myself with others. After an instant of passion, I always fall back to being the autonomous me.” (p. 141)

“De que serve ter o mapa se o fim está traçado. De que serve a terra à vista se o barco está parado. De que serve ter a chave se a porta está aberta" (p. 153)

“(...) he never really died for me. He’s just absent. Sometimes it’s almost as though he might change his mind and slip in through a back door somewhere. Which is why I’ve never really mourned him. He’s still around… just elsewhere.” (p. 170)

“I suspect we have first selves and second selves and perhaps third, fourth, and fifth selves and many more in between.” (p. 182)

“Which was when he had a stroke of genius, and used an expression that had become a catchphrase between the two of us: ‘I want to make you happy’.” (p. 198)

“(...) my mind drifted elsewhere, as it always does when I’ve had a bit to drink and hear a piano cutting through an ocean and seas and years away to and old Steinway played by someone who, like a spirit beckoned by Bach tonight, hovered in this barren living room to remind me: ‘we’re still the same, we haven’t drifted.” (p. 233)

“Find me, Oliver. Find me.” (p. 233)

“Perhaps, says the genius , music doesn’t change us that much, nor does great art change us. Instead, it reminds us of who, despite all our claims or denials, we’ve always known we were and are destined to remain. It reminds me of the mileposts and things that mattered despite our lies, despite the years. Music is no more than the sound of our regrets put to a cadence that stirs the illusion of pleasure and hope. It’s the surest reminder that we’re here for a very short while and that we’ve neglected or chatead or, worse yet, failed to live our lives. Music is the unlived life. You’ve lived the wrong life, my friend, and almost defaced the one you were given to live.” (p. 238)

“‘And I want to see the boy.’ ‘Did I ever tell you his name? My father named him after you. Oliver. He never forgot you.’” (p. 246)

“‘(...) regardless of where we were, who we were with, and whatever stood in our way, all he needed when the time was right was simply to come and find me.’ ‘And you did.’ ‘And I did.’” (p. 260)

#findme #find me #andre aciman #andreaciman #andréaciman #andré aciman #callmebyyourname #call me by your name #elio #oliver #timotheechalamet #armiehammer #timothee chalamet #armie hammer

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dwellordream · 3 years

Note

Hey, I don't know if you are in the mood for such frippery, but would you do a director's cut on chapter 69? That is one of my most reread chapters of h/h, and not simply because Nell and Harry are arguing in church.

It’s been a long time since I did one, but I can try:

Nell starts off the chapter believing the Neck’s mystical reputation and location as the entry to the North is responsible for the return of her cryptic dreams.

She attempts to rationalize her old dreams of her mother and Sara Snow by telling herself it was just the subconscious manifestation of her insecurities and fears and guilt over her childhood, and also tries to dismiss the creeping sense that Robb and Grey Wind were linked from the very start, in a supernatural manner.

She also expresses worries and fears over the fact that Robb’s health has not improved during their travel north, and he and Grey Wind continue to avoid each other, whatever bond they had mangled. Meanwhile, Harry has confided in her his fears that they will start losing large numbers of men to desertion, as they enter the North and with the winter weather only worsening.

Nell acknowledges Harry’s more practical concerns but admits all she can focus on is getting Lysara back, and then goes into her latest nightmare. While pregnant she dreamed of a son leading her through a peaceful, sunny Riverrun. Now she’s left Riverrun, perhaps permanently, and dreams of an older Lysara leading her through the dungeons of the Dreadfort, the exact inversion of her old hopeful dreams.

Nell acknowledges that they are down in the crypts near her dead siblings, and is alarmed when Lysara runs ahead, leading her straight to a flayed figure. Nell initially believes the person is Bethany, then realizes in horror that it’s actually herself, comforting Lysara. Nell reacts furiously to her almost-dead self, commanding the figure to release Lysara; instead the flayed Nell begins to strangle her own child.

On the one hand, this dream expresses a very literal fear of her own father and brother; if captured by them her fate is likely to be gruesome. On the other hand, this dream also reflects Nell’s childhood dread of her home- the place she should have felt safe, but never did- and the lost potential of a home with Robb and Lysara, as well as guilt over losing her daughter and blaming herself for the possibility of Lysara’s death.

It also acknowledges that Nell would rather Lysara be dead than grow up abused and terrified of Roose and Ramsay, something she cannot admit in real life, that she would rather Lysara have a quick death than a lifetime of suffering.

Upon waking angrily, Nell rejects her Bolton heritage and the Dreadfort’s claim on her once again, thinking that her only pride was always in her mother’s legacy, not her father’s. She trues to convince herself Lysara must be alive and unharmed, but admits she never believed Roose would betray and murder Robb, either.

Nell reflects on the crannogmen’s isolated existence; like the mountain clans they prefer to marry amongst themselves, as their insular, hard lifestyle is very hard for most outsiders, even fellow northerners, to adjust to.

Arden Greengood shows up to inform them that his father Karl Greengood has notified Greywater Watch, who is coming to them, rather than them trying to find it. Now the army just has to wait, not exactly a comfortable experience in the middle of the swamps and marsh.

Arya feels suffocated because she doesn’t have any child companions since Harry sent him back south to Starfall, judging the travel north too dangerous for Edric and that his aunt Allyria must be worried sick about him. Nell is sympathetic but unwilling to let Arya wander, after having just reunited her with her mother.

Nell also knows that Oldtown is in danger from Euron’s fleet, but is privately relieved the Ironborn are not trying to attack the North again for the time being.

Arya expressed worry for the former household of Winterfell, and wants to rescue whoever is still alive, remembering them all by name, to Nell’s surprise. There also seems to be a massive wolf pack following the army north, though Nell doesn’t connect them to Arya.

Nell wants to sacrifice a goat to the old gods for their continued safety as they travel north. She is unnerved by Robb’s disinterest and refusal to participate, not because he disagrees with sacrifice but because he is now apathetic towards the gods, and frightens Nell by telling her he didn’t feel them when he died, or like he was going to any kind of afterlife. He only felt the painful, horrifying sensation of his soul being unwillingly forced back into his corpse.

Nell argues that the gods meant to help them by returning Robb to her, and that they must have some great purpose for him. Robb denies this, and reacts angrily, telling her he doesn’t feel or think all the things she believes he should. He remembers he loves her, but that’s it, and blames himself for being ‘weak’ and not seeing the betrayal coming, which Nell rejects, calling himself a failure.

He reviled the fear he felt when Roose killed him, and tells Nell he no longer fears, so he won’t fail again. He wants her to give the goat to Grey Wind to eat instead, as hunger is one of the few things that matters to him anymore. Nell is distraught and refuses, telling him to go see Catelyn, who still loves him, even if she is afraid.

We then get to the infamous godswood scene. The godswood in the neck are all tiny islands and islets, not proper sprawling gardens. The baby goat obliviously accompanies Nell, and when she kills it she almost breaks down into tears at its trusting innocence. Despite this, Nell still arranges its entrails and prays, hoping the slaughter of the innocent goat will appease the gods, who, ironically, she views as hungry and unfeeling as Robb himself.

Harry then shows up to interrupt her alone time, much to her annoyance. They speak about the coming fight for Moat Cailin and he warns her that the North may not automatically flock back to Robb’s cause, and that Barbrey may sell them out. Nell is infuriated and insists Barbrey is only going along with Roose to protect Lysara, while Harry warns her not to depend on House Dustin or Ryswell for support, especially after the execution of her uncle.

This then devolves into a general fight over Robb. Harry flat out tells her Robb is dead, never getting better, and that most people know it. He also insinuates that while Robb can still fight, he could never rule as king again after this. Nell is incensed and accuses Harry of speaking treason, which he ignores, insisting she is in denial. He also accuses Robb of being a warg, which Nell takes as him calling Robb a heartless monster.

Nell calls him a power hungry fool blinded by his own fear, which be explodes at, reminding her that he helped get them this far in the first place, and reunited Arya with her family. If he wanted power he could have easily killed Robb (again) and left Nell to her fate. This is somewhat ironic as we later find out that Harry almost did kill Robb when he was being revived.

He reminds Nell that his family line descends from the Starks and that they want the same thing, while Nell realizes, despite her fury, that he is isn’t lying or trying to manipulate her. She almost feels she can read him better than she can Robb, which frightens her. This sense of intimacy with Harry is disturbing as Robb slips further and further from her.

Finally, Nell admits that Robb may not be able to rule after they take back Winterfell, but won’t consider what might happen to him, just insists that Lysara is still his heir and will someday be queen. She wants Lysara to be loved and respected, even if the North never loves Nell herself as her family’s actions.

Harry admits she will never be publicly loved, but points out the first Starks were not loved after conquering the North, either, even though they viewed their actions, like all conquerors, as part of the greater good. However the Stark name is still beloved now, even though they were hated by many at the start of their dynasty.

Harry warns her again against putting her faith in Robb’s rule, and that’s that.

Nell admits that what she and Harry just discussed was treason, and that she can no longer confide in Robb. He has no more room for nuance or understanding of these things and would kill Harry immediately. She also finally admits to herself that he is actively dying. Despite her desperate prayers, they will never live a long and happy life together, even if they get their daughter back. She is going to lose him again, and doesn’t know if she can go through the grief again.

Lying awake with Robb that night, he surprises her by asking about the color of Lysara’s eyes. Nell admits sadly that she doesn’t know, it’s been so long. Ruefully she asks what color he’d prefer, which he can’t answer. They fall asleep together dwelling on their loss, and in the morning Greywater Watch arrives.

#ask #haunt/hunt #anon

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missnmikaelson-main · 4 years

Text

A Year to Eternity - Chapter 3

Elena’s eyes darted from Caroline to Klaus curiously before settling on Elijah’s confused expression; he had no idea what his brother was doing at her house either.

“What’s going to be amusing?” She pressed a hand to her back, applying a light pressure to the ache near the base of her spine and mentally scolding herself for leaping to her feet so quickly.

She focused her gaze on Klaus, turning to face him fully. “What are you doing here?”

She thought she did an astounding job of keeping any and all accusations from her tone.

“Perhaps you could invite me in, love,” he pushed a hand against the barrier, “so I’m not speaking across the length of your house.”

“Are you going to threaten to burn my house to the ground if I don’t?” She arched an eyebrow, hearing the snide inflection in her voice.

The baby tapped out a staccato rhythm on her ribs.

As much as she wanted to deny him entry and step outside for whatever conversation he had in mind she decided against it, knowing she would live to regret her impulsive decision made by tired limbs.

“Come on in.”

He stepped inside and moved to the living room without pausing to look around.

“What do you want Klaus?” She crossed her arms over her stomach, feeling suddenly like a beached whale.

“What I want is your blood.”

Elena clicked her tongue. “Saw that one coming from a mile away.”

“I need it for a spell,” his jaw clicked. “Bonnie Bennett will only do it if you give your blood willingly.”

“You expect me to give you my blood for another spell?” Heat rose in her cheeks, but with it came a powerful sense of control. “You murdered my mother and my aunt, you indirectly killed my father, terrorized my town, used me as a human blood bag and you were going to kill me again. Do you really think I’m going to give you anything you want?”

“I’m sorry...”

She cut him off with a wry laugh. Her words came out sharp, ringing with a truth they all knew. “Oh please, we both know you’d do it again in a heartbeat without batting an eye.”

“You’re right,” he nodded solemnly, “I would, and I regret nothing with the exception of your aunt. That was an unfortunate necessity to draw you out after Damon’s interference.”

“That interference saved Tyler and Caroline.” His eyes widened. She wondered if he had ever known the first vampire Katherine provided him was Caroline. Would he have been able to kill her, or would he have been as captivated that first night as he was when he couldn’t let her die from Tyler’s bite?

From the corner of her eye she watched Caroline perch on the arm of the sofa and motion with her hand. A sharp backwards jab that Elijah steadfastly ignored. She felt his presence at her elbow.

Klaus shifted closer, staring into her hard eyes.

She knew he didn’t regret it. He would never regret it. For a thousand years he had been cut off from a part of who he was, denied his heritage. A piece of him had been missing and in a weird way she got it. Maybe if he had gone about things differently, asked for her help and provided Elijah’s elixir, she might have participated willingly - so long as nobody innocent filled the other roles: Kai Parker would have made an excellent candidate; she couldn’t say the world would have been worse off without him.

Of course nobody could ever hope to know.

The past was past.

“Elena, please?”

Her name sounded as foreign on his tongue as the show of manners. ‘Love’, ‘my lovely’, ‘doppelgänger’ and ‘my girl’ were his preferred monikers for her, but ‘Elena’ had only crossed his lips once. She remembered it clearly, the cold night, the lick of fire, and the numbing emptiness as Jenna’s death sank in; the sincerity with which he had thanked her remained nothing short of shocking. It was one of the few moments she had ever seen him vulnerable with his emotions laid bare.

She tried not to show how much her name affected her.

“She and Kol have found a way to save my daughter, and it requires your blood, willingly given,” he took a deep breath to help force out his words. “I’m here to ask for your help.”

She gripped her upper arms and narrowed her eyes at the man who had blown into her life and laid it in ruins at her feet. Every death caused by his siblings and even Katherine could be linked back to him and his curse breaking crusade. The sorrow he had caused still hit her from time to time at the oddest moments.

And now she had the opportunity to give him a taste of his own medicine. The life of someone he loved rested in her hands.

She imagined saying no and the rush of power that would give her. None of her friends would blame her for the decision; Elijah wouldn’t begrudge her for the choice, despite what it would mean for his family.

“I need your help, Elena, please?” She could have sworn she saw moisture in his eyes.

She was well within her rights to say no.

She had earned that no.

And then there was the flip side. Klaus might be a dick, and the evil hybrid who destroyed her sleepy little town, but his daughter was innocent. Hope Mikaelson was a fifteen year old with her life ahead of her and a father who loved her more than anything; the man had been willing to sacrifice his life so she could live.

And she’d already lost her mother.

Not that Elijah had any intention of letting her lose her father too.

“I’m begging you.”

She knew she couldn’t say no.

++++

Elena shivered in the blast of cold air and leaned forward to close the vents. The swell of her belly made the motion awkward and knocked her purse to the floor. She blinked down, between what she could see of her feet, considered bending to retrieve it and came to the decision neither she nor the baby would enjoy the experience.

“You know,” she walked her fingers across her stomach, earning a kick with every touch, “my car has the ventilation perfectly set, and my stomach doesn’t get in the way of driving.”

“Yes, but if you were in your car, driving by yourself, I would be returning to the school with Klaus and be unable to grill you with questions.” Caroline signalled to turn. Her eyes drifted to the rearview mirror for a glimpse of the Bentley’s headlights where two Originals followed them close enough to hear; she flipped on the radio. Jazz filled the car. “You really disappointed me back there.”

Elena adjusted the seatbelt, stopping it from digging into her windpipe.

“You thought I’d refuse to help Hope?” Her brows rose into her hairline, nearly disappearing behind her side swept bangs.

“Of course not,” she scoffed, rolling her neck around for Elena to see her expression.

“I knew that you’d help. She’s just a kid, so you were obviously going to help her. I just figured you’d make Klaus work for it a little more. Is it wrong that I was looking forward to watching him beg, and seeing you deny him? I thought for sure we’d have to utilize Elijah’s persuasive skills at some point.”

Caroline slowed for a stop sign and checked both directions before rolling into the intersection.

“I thought you’d be tickled pink by the thought of Klaus incased in concrete somewhere at the bottom of the ocean.” Her jaw clicked.

“You really think Elijah would have let him go through with it?” She braced her forehead on the window and caught a glimpse of his dark outline in the mirror.

Her breath fogged up the glass: “stupid, freaking, martyr.”

“I’m gonna let that one go,” Caroline glanced over.

Elena flushed and blamed the pregnancy hormones for her next words because she refused to be the only one blushing in the car.

“If you’re so eager to hear Klaus beg for anything, I’m sure you could think of something else that will have him pleading harder with each subsequent denial.”

Caroline’s alabaster cheeks burned red.

Elena smirked. “You’ve thought about it,” she tittered, “minus utilizing Elijah’s persuasive talents.”

“You’ve thought about Elijah’s persuasive talents,” Caroline shot back.

It made little sense in terms of what they alluded to, but Elena understood the middle school comeback, so rather than burst into giggles her flush deepened; she cursed the day she told Caroline about her recurring dream that had only gotten steamier with the addition of hormones.

“You’re cruel,” she ducked, hiding her embarrassed grin.

“You started it,” she tossed her hands up from the wheel for a second in a shrug. “What was Elijah doing at your place?”

“Catching up.”

“Not turning your fantasy into a reality?”

“Of course not!” Her heart thundered loudly in her ears. He had of course fulfilled one of her dreams, but since the domestic fantasies had never been shared with Caroline her words remained true.

“So, Elijah decides he’s gonna play self-sacrificing big brother and instead of spending his last hours on earth with his family he goes to visit you?” Caroline leaned against the headrest.

“What’s your point?” Her nails scratched the seatbelt, catching in the tiny grooves.

“You haven’t psychoanalyzed that yet?” She fluttered her lashes.

“I only found out a few minutes before you arrived, and I was too busy yelling at him because there was no way in hell I was letting him go through with it.” Pressure built in her chest. “And now all I can think about is the spell Kol helped Bonnie make, and how I’m a central part of it.”

“I guess that means you also haven’t considered why ‘there was no way in hell’ you weren’t letting him do it either?” She tapped the wheel.

“Have you thought about why you wouldn’t let Klaus do it?” She countered.

“I know exactly why and if he were actually going through with plan A then I might even tell him, but we’re not going through with that so I don’t feel the pressing need to reveal the inner workings of my mind.”

Elena twisted to look over her shoulder and through the window.

“He knows,” she sighed, “even if you can’t say it. Deep down, he knows.”

She found Caroline’s soft eyes on her, all teasing gone from her face. “He knows, too.”

Before she got a chance to dispute that, the entertainment system dimmed for an incoming call. Caroline used the controls on the wheel to answer.

“Hey, Bonnie.”

“Hey, are you on your way?”

“Yeah, I’ve got Elena with me,” she flipped her turn signal, skirting the town square.

“Hey, Bonnie,” she raised her voice to reach the speaker.

“Hey. I have a confession to make.”

“You’re having a steamy affair with a Mikaelson,” Elena breathed.

“Wow, you really need to get laid.”

“Elijah would probably oblige,” Caroline smirked.

“Whats the confession Bon?” She glared at her friend.

“It’s about the spell. Right now your blood is tainted by the cure which makes it less… reliable.”

“I think I know where this is going,” she sighed, turning her attention to Caroline. “You want it?”

“Not even a little bit,” her nose wrinkled.

“Didn’t think so. Pull in here,” she nodded to a charcoal awning. “I’ll take care of it Bonnie.”

Caroline ended the call and put the car in park. She eyed the darkened window, momentarily illuminated by Elijah’s headlights.

“What are you gonna do?”

“Potentially put myself into early labour.” She pushed open her door and stood, feeling her back pop.

“At thirty-seven weeks you’re gonna induce,” Caroline shook her head. “Technically you’re at term.”

She dug through her purse for her keys and sorted out the ring until she had the right one. “Do I need to tell you who to call?”

“I think I got it,” she nodded, already flicking through her contacts.

Elena left her to her devices and moved to the building. A fine layer of dust clung to the office, mocking her neglect of hard to reach corners on the desk. She made a note to ask the cleaner to come in twice a week instead of one.

That was if she didn’t ultimately decide to shut down and sell the practice.

Dr. Elena Gilbert once held a nice ring to it, but long ago it began to feel like someone else’s vision of her life. She wasn’t sure she wanted to make a career out of another person’s dream. Maybe she would write or teach, or do any number of things that wouldn’t turn her into her dad.

She loved him, and she missed him everyday, but there was no denying that Grayson Gilbert missed a lot of his children’s lives.

She didn’t want her daughter growing up to wonder when Mommy would be home from work, especially without a daddy to fill in the gaps.

But she shook off those thoughts. The clock ticked; she would have time to think later. Fetching a couple of syringes, she walked back onto the street before Klaus could race in and demand to know what the hold-up was.

++++

Rebekah met them at the front door, bouncing from one stiletto to the other. Kol stood at her side, dark brows drawn over darker eyes.

Her stomach twisted. The last time she had seen that type of intensity on his face he had been driving a railing through her body. Her baby kicked the throbbing spot, somehow managing to touch every place the wood scraped.

The set of his mouth appeared more urgent than murderous, so she took a deep breath to relax as she opened the door.

Elijah’s hand appeared before she could command her legs to move, and she took it, enjoying the brief contact. It lasted only as long as it took to stand and refocus her balance.

Then she had the privilege of watching Kol’s eyes grow wide and his mouth pop open. She let herself enjoy the moment for a second and then focused.

“Does Bonnie have the spell ready?” She hooked her purse over her shoulder.

“She and Freya are putting the finishing touches on it,” Rebekah nodded, “they just need your blood.”

“Where are they?” Caroline moved towards the school.

“In your office,” Kol moved with her, eyes darting back to Elena.

She hoped he felt little to no residual, well deserved, rage because she suspected Elijah would place himself between her and potential danger to her child, and she had no desire to kick off another feud between brothers.

She glanced at the spell, arranged in an ash circle before the sister she had never met. The complexity laid beyond her level of magical comprehension, and she lacked the time to ask. At least she assumed she lacked the time based on the patient.

Hope reclined in a red leather armchair, eyes closed and extraordinarily pale.

She took the desk chair and rolled up her sleeve.

“Does anyone else know how to draw blood?” She brought out the neatly packed syringes and a tourniquet, finishing off her supplies with an alcohol swab.

“After a thousand years we are rather proficient,” Klaus murmured, laying the back of his hand on Hope’s brow; she shifted, but didn’t open her eyes.

“I meant with a syringe,” she rolled her eyes. “I was a vampire for a few years and once the cure is gone those years will catch up. I don’t know how fast it will happen, but there is a decent chance that I’ll be inducing labour and I’d rather not give birth with a stinging vampire bite or a large cut on my arm.”

“I can do it,” Rebekah picked up the tourniquet. She tied off Elena’s arm, and swabbed the vein; she had the syringe in place before addressing the surprised looks. “I did spend a year as a nurse; I had to do this a few times.”

Elena watched the clear tube fill and stopped Rebekah before she could clip the second in place.

“I think that has to be taken first,” she frowned, directing her gaze to Bonnie.

“Better safe than sorry,” she nodded, raising an eyebrow at Freya.

“I’m of the same mind,” she poured black sand around the knife.

Elena turned her attention back to Rebekah, expecting her to inject the cure without a second thought. It was the only thing she had wanted her entire life from the moment she learned what her mother had truly done to them. Yet hesitation turned her pretty features as she glanced from the blood to the left, half-turning to look towards her brothers.

“Rebekah!” Klaus snapped, but she wasn’t looking at him.

Her eyes were focused on Kol between glances towards the syringe.

“Did I miss something?” Elena whispered, finding Elijah’s gaze; he shook his head and shrugged.

Kol swore under his breath, almost too quiet for her human ears, before plucking the syringe from his sister.

She turned back towards Elena.

She watched the soft play of emotions as Rebekah’s stiff shoulders quaked. The dejected sigh went straight to her heart. The sound cut off in a strangled gasp; her eyes darted to the syringe in the blonde’s neck as Rebekah’s lashes fluttered when she fell.

Cold rushed through Elena’s body, pouring over her head and racing up from her toes. It poured from the pinprick in her forearm and she swore she saw a wave leave her body, crashing onto Rebekah’s falling form.

Kol carried her to a short sofa and stretched his sister out.

Elena squeezed her eyes against nausea and exhaustion. She peeked out through her lashes when large hands covered her thighs; a little more energy and she might have flushed at finding Elijah on his knees in front of her.

“Elena?” His thumbs drew circles atop her leggings.

“I’m good,” she swallowed, “pass me the other syringe?” Her fingers shook.

Elijah took over, taking the needle and slipping it into her vein. He filled it with blood, tossed the second syringe to Freya and untied the tourniquet.

He attempted to place a cotton swab on the dot of blood.

Elena’s fingers twisted, digging into his hard biceps. She breathed fast through her nose and clenched her jaw tight against the contraction.

There was a specific way to breathe. How was she supposed to breathe?

Blood stained his shirt sleeves when she let go.

“Is that enough for the spell?” She blew out a fast stream of air.

The pads of her fingers replaced her sharp nails, but if she left bruises instead of cuts she would never know because Elijah voiced no complaints. She wasn’t sure she would have heard it anyway, too busy clenching her teeth against the pain.

Shouldn’t the contraction end at some point?

Precipitous labour, her brain supplied. Should have seen that one coming.

“We’re about to find out,” Bonnie muttered.

Elena blinked, catching movement as the witches joined hands. She felt the static charge of magic in the air, pulling towards the knife as they chanted.

“Are you going to release Elijah, darling?” Kol drawled, carefully pulling blonde hair from Rebekah’s mouth.

“Nope,” she went for a head shake, but the motion made the pain worse. She couldn’t see what Kol did, nor hear what he muttered. Whatever it was proved enough to earn a sharp reprimand from Elijah.

She felt her hands tugged away and squeezed hard enough to break Elijah’s fingers.

“Is that enough blood?” Elijah reclaimed one hand and shifted, carefully maneuvering to rub the small of her back.

“Yes,” Bonnie looked up from the knife.

“You don’t need anymore?” Urgency laced his tone. “You’re certain?”

The conversation flew back and forth. She needed a hospital. Bonnie needed to put the final seals on the spell with Freya. Caroline needed to bring the girls. Alaric needed to hover and make sure the twins remained safe, not the he could have done anything if they weren’t.

And then she knew what it was to be weightless in Elijah’s arms as he carried her to the car and placed her in the passenger seat.

“I’ll ruin the fabric if my water breaks,” she flushed.

“You have more important things to think about right now,” he fastened her seatbelt.

++++

The full moon’s light filtered through the blinds in the large window, making it a few inches into the sterile space; florescent lights drowned out the celestial event.

She couldn’t see where it was, but she suspected it had risen beyond its apex.

Her fingers curled around the bed rail.

Tired eyes flickered from the cupboard holding her clothes to the well worn visitor’s chair and her concerned visitor. He appeared at once comfortable and out of place.

“How do you feel?” Elijah tilted his head.

“I just had a giant needle jabbed in my spine,” she hummed, “I feel numb.”

She allowed herself a moment to close her eyes as the drug worked its magic. It had the added benefit of cutting off their eye contact. He grew up in a time long before the existence of the epidural when women felt every contraction. His mother did it seven times. Tatia and Katherine both did it without aid.

She lasted an hour, less when she took begging for the drugs the moment they were inside, into account.

“Do you think I’m weak?” She directed the question to the IV.

“Why would I ever think that?” His brows drew together.

“Giant needle…” her lip curled.

“I think,” he began, unbuttoning his jacket, “that you were in tremendous pain and that if you gave me a month I could provide you a list a mile long of women who would have jumped for an epidural; including your own ancestor.”

“Tatia?” Her eyes narrowed. She pushed her head into the pillow. “Seriously.”

“You could hear her screams from the falls, and I am not speaking figuratively. I had taken Rebekah and Henrik swimming, ten and six at the time, when Niklaus heard the first scream. I had to strain to catch the sound. We thought the village was under attack.” Nostalgia graced his smile, tinted with sadness. “Mother gave us an earful for leaving a thirteen year old Kol in charge of our younger siblings.”

“Irresponsible?” She guessed, glancing to the machine keeping track of her contractions.

“Poor swimmer,” he chuckled. “Rebekah had a habit of swimming under the falls.”

“I used to do that,” she sighed, tightening her arm over her stomach, “there’s a little cave back there.” She blinked back tears as a contraction tore through the pain meds.

“Little more than a ledge, I’d say.”

“You’ve been?” She drew in a sharp breath.

“I did grow up here,” his smirk turned serious, “you’re not weak, Elena.”

“Thanks,” she smiled, fiddling with the hospital bracelet. “You don’t have to stay, you know? I’m okay, and I’m sure you’re dying to check on Hope.”

“Hope is surrounded by family who will immediately let me know if something goes wrong,” he reasoned. “And I do have to stay. I won’t leave you here alone.”

“I should probably get used to being alone,” she chewed her bottom lip, chomping down hard enough to bruise. Her hand curled over her belly as she sighed. “Sort of alone.”

He reached out and placed his hand near hers on the rail, not quite touching her fingers; the heart monitor jumped.

“You should never get used to being alone in any capacity.”

“I don’t see another option right now.” She tried for a wry smile.

“Aren’t you the one who was screaming there’s always another option?” He teased.

“That was different,” she shook her head. Her eyes widened when he covered her fingers.

“You gave me an option Elena, and now I’m giving you one. Now that I have the time, since I won’t be sinking to the bottom of the deepest ocean, I would offer you my support.” He gently squeezed her fingers. “You have it Elena, whatever that may entail; be it help in the dead of night when she won’t sleep, or finding out what the hell happened to you.”

Her breath caught in her throat.

“Or overhauling that nursery so you don’t have to be confused every time you put her to bed.” His thumb rubbed her wrist. “Whatever you need Elena. I give you my word.”

“Elijah,” she choked on his name and blinked back tears that she blamed on her hormones. Her sparkling eyes flicked, searching his gaze for honesty just for something to do; she knew he was honest, and that he would keep his word. “You knew it was me in Willoughby?”

“Yes,” he nodded.

“Why?” Her chest rose and fell with shaky breaths.

His eyes fell to her hospital bracelet and back to her face.

“Because I’m a very selfish man,” he sighed, “and if I thought for a second that I could get away with it I’d do it again, but that’s not likely to happen.”

Her mind flashed back to the gazebo. She felt his strong hand on her jaw and the slant of his hungry mouth; soft, exploratory and oddly gentle with a tongue that whispered sinful promises.

The question travelled up her throat and sat heavily on the tip of her tongue: ‘what if that’s what I need?’.

The door burst open before she could ask and she was forced to break their heavy stare to watch Caroline and Bonnie skid across the linoleum.

“We’ve got it from here,” Bonnie reached for her hand as Elijah let go.

“How’s Hope?” Elena blinked, swallowing her question; the moment had passed.

“She’s fine,” Caroline directed the response between them.

Elena wondered if she had been listening.

“The vessel held?” Elijah’s fingers brushed her arm.

“Yeah,” Bonnie nodded, “Kol’s keeping it safe for the time being.”

“Klaus is seeing Hope through the transformation,” Caroline explained, “and Rebekah is getting a full physical from a compelled doctor in 402.”

“I suppose I’ll go check on her.” He locked eyes with Elena on his way out, and she understood that he wouldn’t go far.

@elejahforever @elejah-wonderland @naughtynecromancer @ethanjwillis @cry-btch@geekofmanyfandoms @morsmornte @xanderling @bellemorte180 @iw1shiknew@blndbandt@petrova-banz @bulldozed88 @njeancastro316

#elejah #klaroline #Klaus mikaelson #Elena gilbert #Elijah mikaelson #Caroline forbes #freya mikaelson #rebekah mikaelson #kol mikaelson #bonnie bennett #kennett #klaulena

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ajedisith · 5 years

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An Equal Relationship

The topic of romance in Little Women has been one of much contention since the novel’s conception. Ironically, decades later I venture on a journey to write about Jo March’s love life when Louisa May Alcott would probably have preferred literally any other topic about the character. But I’ve never viewed the novel or Jo’s story as a “romance,” but more so a story about four sisters with romantic subplots.

Little Women takes place in the mid-19th century amidst the backdrop of a divided America recovering from the harsh realities of the Civil War. Most women’s lives during this period are tied to the home “with little opportunity for outside contact” or most other kinds of experiences. The promise of women’s suffrage and higher education is still on the very distant horizon. Even when they are admitted to colleges, educators fear “their health [is] threatened” if they follow the “intellectual rigors of the male curriculum.” The “Cult of Domesticity” plays a significant role in shaping the lives of women as homemakers and child bearers (Hartman).

Louisa May Alcott’s deeply rooted connection with the Transcendentalist movement and its most prominent thinkers influences Jo March’s relationship with Friedrich Bhaer and how she describes him in the novel. Alcott’s progressive father was consumed by an unorthodox passion to educate his daughters at a time when a woman’s educational opportunities were limited. Her family lived near brilliant Transcendentalist reformers of the day, such as Nathaniel Hawthorne. She received lessons from Ralph Waldo Emerson and frequented Henry David Thoreau’s library to read great works of literature that sparked her interest in writing creative stories to support her family. Her early exposure to progressive ideas about the value of individualism had a significant effect on her writings, including the themes about family and ambition presented in Little Women.

Some speculate that Alcott may have based Friedrich Bhaer off of the Transcendentalist thinkers whose ideas so intimately spoke to her feminist perspective. For example, in the novel Friedrich is described as personable with an ability to attract people with his unique charm. Similarly, although Thoreau’s historical image is that of a hermit, he actually entertained guests, visited friends, and frequented the nearby town. In her journals, Alcott describes her admiration for Thoreau’s philosophies, calling him the “the man who has helped [her] most by his life, his books, his society” (Rogers). Furthermore, Emerson’s kind presence, musical voice, and commanding style of speech during his philosophical lectures captivated audiences. His 1838 speech at the divinity school in Cambridge was a passionate speech about self-reliance and religion (Brewton). Comparatively, Jo’s fascination with Friedrich’s impassioned speech about religion at the symposium is due to his “honest indignation” and “eloquence of truth,” which makes “his broken English musical and his plain face beautiful.” Additionally in the novel, Friedrich is described as having “a sympathetic face” and kind eyes. Alcott derives many of Friedrich’s tenderly masculine traits -- introversion, compassion, soft-spoken charm -- from the very men who were close family friends and who shaped her own philosophical views. Friedrich Bhaer is an unconventional romantic interest just as the men who shaped Alcott’s life were unconventional intellectuals.

Louisa May Alcott believed that most women were marrying for economic reasons. She loved luxury, but “freedom and independence more” (“Alcott”). In Little Women, Mrs. March believes that “[m]oney is a needful and precious thing,” but it isn’t “the first or only prize to strive for.” She would rather see her daughters as “poor men's wives,” if they are happy and content than “queens on thrones, without self-respect and peace.” Alcott herself never married -- perhaps because she could never find anyone who sympathized with her strong feminist ideals -- and the passage emphasizes the notion that marriage for the purpose of economic stability is a restriction and that marriage is not the end all and be all of a woman’s existence. Alcott uses the theme as a backdrop to Jo’s dynamic with wealthy socialite Laurie and penniless intellectual Friedrich. She emphasizes both characters’ social statuses throughout the novel to highlight more important distinctions about their personalities and their distinctive interactions with Jo. Where Jo and Laurie’s friendship represents a connection of two like-minded yet strong-willed young people trying to seek belonging in one another, Jo and Friedrich’s dynamic is one of equals in which Jo is challenged to push her limits and grow intellectually and spiritually.

Jo March is an ambitious, independent, strong-willed tomboy who wants to be a famous writer and seeks a life of deeper meaning than simply conforming to societal traditions of marriage and domesticity. Jo’s most passionate hobby is reading and in many ways it influences her intellectual curiosity about 1860s society. One day, Meg finds her sister “eating apples and crying over the Heir of Redclyffe;” it is Jo’s “favorite refuge.” Additionally, she somehow puts up with her job as Aunt March’s companion because the moment Aunt March is asleep or distracted, she devours “poetry, history, romance, [and] travels like a regular bookworm,” but she has to “leave her paradise” when she is called to do her duties.

Jo’s tomboyish nature and views against love depict her desire for non-conformity because to her conformity is synonymous with a broken family, loneliness, and the denial of her intellectual pursuits. She hates to think that she has to “grow [to] be Miss March, and wear long gowns” because it’s “bad enough to be a girl [...] when [she likes] boy’s games and work and manners.” Her insecurities about womanhood are emphasized when she tells Meg she wishes she could be a child for a long time. She observes that “Margaret [is] fast getting to be a woman and Laurie’s secret [that Meg and John Brooke are in love makes] her dread the separation that surely must come.” Nonetheless, she responds erratically when it becomes evident that John will take Meg away from her family -- she’s incredibly rude to John when he visits Meg, but she’s extremely ecstatic to see the regular ole’ postman. Jo wishes that they would hurry and get married because she’s uncomfortable with the idea that “Meg is not like [her] old self, and [seems] ever so far away from her.” Jo knows how things will eventually turn out, so she wants to make it a brief, sentimental separation for herself, instead of a drawn out, painful one.

Given Jo’s strong views on womanhood and her curiosity about upending social norms, she dreams of intellectual pursuits far removed from what is expected of mid-19th century women. Her ambition is to “do something very splendid,” but her “sharp tongue and restless spirit” are constantly “getting her into scrapes” when she ventures out into the world, removed from the comfort of her homely upbringing. She even admits that “her greatest fault is her temper” and “her greatest ambition is to be a genius.” It is precisely her restlessness that makes her happy and content when she is “doing something to support herself.” Furthermore, although long locks are the tradition for 19th-century women, Jo cuts hers to financially support her family. This illustrates the depth to which she is willing to go for her family in a desperate financial situation, but more importantly it emphasizes her continued disregard of social norms about physicality in favor of what she believes is right.

Jo and Laurie’s dynamic is characterized by childhood and innocence; he illustrates a brotherly figure who compliments her views about non-conformity while she represents the feminine presence he craves in his own life. Interestingly, Laurie admits to Jo quite early in the novel that he feels envious about the sisters’ bond with their mother. The motherless boy’s “solitary, hungry” look in his eyes affects her and she is glad to share her richness of “home and happiness” with him. This forms the foundation of Jo’s strong feminine presence in his life – he looks to her for affection and she responds with compassion. An important distinction between Jo and Laurie’s intellectual values is their contrasting views about education. Jo wishes she can go to college and notes that Laurie doesn’t look like he’ll like it. He agrees that he hates it because it is nothing but “grinding and skylarking” and he would rather enjoy himself in his “own way.” Jo desires a life of meaning to pursue her passions; she is intellectually curious and admires scholarly pursuits, whereas Laurie takes his intellectual opportunities for granted.

Although Jo and Laurie share some similar characteristics, such as their strong wills and quick tempers, they also have strong conflicting personalities. For example, Laurie complains that he feels like he’s living in the shadows of his grandfather's wishes and therefore has little motivation and is too lazy to try anything else. In response, Jo suggests he ‘“sail away on one of [his] own ships, and never [come back] until [he has] tried his own way.” While Laurie does eventually sail away for a time with his grandfather, he also goes to college beforehand to fulfill his grandfather’s dreams, not his own. On the other hand, Jo is rebellious and self-motivated from the beginning. She refuses to simply marry out of convenience and leaves her hometown the moment she realizes there isn’t much left for her there.

Jo wants to keep Laurie close to the family because she sees in him a kindred connection of masculine identity. This is one of the reasons she is constantly trying to match him with her sisters. When it becomes clear that Meg and John will be betrothed, Jo is frustrated because she “hates seeing things get all crisscross [...] when a pull here and snip there would straighten [things] out.” Jo’s reaction highlights her fears about a broken family and loneliness. Her plan to marry Meg to Laurie emphasizes the desire to keep her family together by marrying her sister to a friend, someone nearby who she deems trustworthy and complementary to her association with masculine identity. But, once Jo realizes that Laurie is getting too fond of her, she decides to pack up her things and travel to New York because she doesn’t believe they are suited for one another. Mrs. March is relieved and agrees that they “are too much alike and too fond of freedom,” not to mention their “hot tempers and strong wills,” which would thwart a relationship that needs “infinite patience and forbearance.”

Jo and Laurie’s clashing stubborn personalities are illuminated during the confession scene in which Jo insists she can’t be with Laurie while Laurie continues to badger her. After Jo admits that the main reason she went to New York was to get away from Laurie’s growing sense of attachment, he admits that it only made him love her more. He gave up “everything [she] didn’t like, never complained,” and hoped she would come to love him. Laurie’s confession is similar to that of a guy friend who has a crush on a friend and hopes that he will get her simply by being nice and hopeful. Furthermore, he tells her that if she says she loves the Professor, he will “do something desperate,” as if threatening her will convince her to love him. He then promises Jo that if she loves him, he would be a “perfect saint”; however, Jo rejects him because of fundamental differences in compatibility more so than his lack of saintly characteristics. Laurie continues to implore her to reconsider because “[e]veryone expects it. Grandpa has set his heart [on] you, your people like it, and I can’t get on without you.” It’s selfish that he insists she settle for what others wish for her than what she wishes for herself. If she followed his suggestion, it would negate her character as someone deeply rooted in individualism and upending societal expectations. Jo actually says as much in her response, “It’s selfish of you to keep teasing for what I can’t give you.” Laurie eventually travels to Europe, but not before sulking in his home while playing the piano tempestuously, avoiding Jo, and staring at her from the window with “a tragic face that haunt[s] her dreams.” Laurie’s attraction to Jo is natural, but his behavior after the rejection is self-destructive. He continues to make Jo the sole reason for his happiness. It’s the kind of response that hinders productivity and enjoyment of life, but also makes the other person feel guilty about their decision.

Unlike most of the other men in Jo’s life (of which there are very few as she hasn’t had much experience with men in general), she describes Friedrich’s physicality in greater detail and relays much of it in letters to her family back home. For example, early in their acquaintance, Jo hears him singing in German and notes that has the “kindest eyes [she] ever saw” and a “splendid voice that does one’s ears good,” but there is not a “handsome feature on his face.” Nonetheless she states that she likes him because “he [has] a fine head” and “[looks] like a gentleman,” alluding to her attraction to him being more cerebral than corporeal. When Friedrich advises Jo to study people’s characters to get a better sense about writing fiction, she studies his physicality and how it relates to his character -- she notes that he seems to “turn only his sunny side to the world,” that “time seems to have touched him gently” because of the kindness he bestows upon others, the “pleasant curves” around his mouth are due to his many friendly encounters and laughs with others, and “his eyes [are] never cold.” She thoroughly enjoys checking him out. Jo values character as a “better possession than money, rank, intellect, or beauty.” She ponders that if the qualities of “truth, reverence, and good will” are ‘great’ qualities, then her friend is “not only good, but great.” Her resolve on this matter strengthens every day and she values “his esteem, she [covets] his respect, and [she wants to be] worthy of his friendship.” When Friedrich later visits the March family, Jo notices that “he is dressed nicely and wonders if he is courting someone.” But realization soon follows her curiosity and she “[blushes] so dreadfully” that she “[drops] her ball” and goes after it to “hide her face.” Jo has progressed as a character by this time because the idea of Friedrich courting her does not disgust her as it once would have; instead, it makes her naturally self-conscious and fidgety.

Furthermore, it’s important to note how much of Friedrich’s tender masculinity aligns with Jo’s values about character. When Jo first notices Friedrich in the boarding house, he carries a “heavy hod of coal” all the way up the stairs for the servant girl and leaves with “a kind nod.” Jo likes such things and agrees with her father that such “trifles show character.” He leaves a good first impression on Jo; it also shows sincerity of character because he doesn’t know that she is observing him. At first she is perplexed why people admire Friedrich because he is “neither young nor handsome,” neither “fascinating [nor] brilliant,” and yet he is as attractive as “a genial fire” and people seem to “gather around him as naturally as about a warm hearth.” She concludes that it is his charisma, positivity, and good nature, not the superficiality of his looks or wealth.

Jo is reflective about society’s restrictions on her individualism and Friedrich is a natural companion because he represents the mentor figure who encourages her to think more deeply about her views. Friedrich’s philosophical background compliments Jo’s unique sense of feminist individuality. She greatly admires intellect and is proud to know that he was an “honored Professor in Berlin.” She observes that his “homely, hard-working life” beautifies the “poor language [master’s]” character much more in her eyes because he never speaks of his former esteemed life. Additionally, their shared sense of intellectual curiosity is illustrated during a moment on New Year’s Eve, when he gifts her Shakespeare’s works to study characters. She admits that “she never knew how much there was in Shakespeare before, but then again she never had [someone] to explain it to her.” One interpretation of this small moment is that it illustrates how much Jo has yet to discover about storytelling.

Moreover, she is entranced by Friedrich’s speech at the philosophical symposium as he defends religion and blazes with “honest indignation” and an eloquence that makes his “broken English musical and his plain face beautiful.” As he finishes his speech, she feels as if she has “solid ground under her feet again.” Jo not only agrees with Friedrich’s philosophical views, but is captivated by his delivery as well. It is a moment that coincides with her strong belief in individualism; she too wants to speak at this debate, but instead Friedrich gets the courage to do so and he speaks to her soul. Moreover, Friedrich reveals his strong distaste for sensationalist literature because he believes it sets a poor precedent for young people. Although he has a suspicion that Jo writes in her free time, he doesn’t know that Jo writes sensationalist literature or that she herself is uncomfortable about it. She doesn’t tell anyone about it for a long time. In order to publish her work, she is required to cut her sensationalist writing to one-third its original length. It receives mixed reviews after publication and she is generally jaded by the experience; she regrets not publishing the novel in its entirety. Jo is persuaded by Friedrich’s opinion on sensationalist literature and decides to stop writing pieces for the newspaper in pursuit of more principled stories. Soon after, she discovers that her passions lie with writing literature rooted in realism. There are some who would argue that Friedrich is patronizing here, but Jo also feels the same way and she discovers that she has more to offer the world than outlandish tales with no moral themes precisely through her interaction with him. Her efforts writing such stories are soulless and provide little personal meaning in her life and Friedrich’s strong opinions help her overcome her thankless endeavors.

Friedrich’s version of courting Jo is characterized by level-headed steadiness because he is unaware of her emotional and physical availability. Initially, he is suspicious that Jo and Laurie are more than friends when she wishes to introduce them. That night, he searches about the room “as if in search of something he [can] not find,” but he is still there to see her off at the train station the next morning. Although he likes Jo at this point, he does not act impulsively on his feelings because he is not sure about her feelings or her relationship with Laurie. Moreover, when he visits the March family after he realizes that something is amiss through Jo’s writing, he has a misconception that Jo and Laurie are a couple and “a shadow [passes] across his face” as he looks towards them. Friedrich’s realization is painful but he somehow manages to hide it and behaves amicably towards Jo and her family, which illustrates maturity and self-control. Additionally, he is confused by Jo’s “contradictions of voice, face, and manner” and her “half a dozen different moods” when he tells her that he is moving west. He doesn’t understand if she likes him or not and it’s only when she reveals her feelings that he also confesses he “waited to be sure if [she] was something more than a friend.” Jo confronts him about why he didn’t propose sooner, so he tells her that he thought she was betrothed to her friend, but he also wanted to have enough money to offer her a comfortable living. Friedrich’s courtship of Jo March is slow, steady, cautious, and level-headed. Due to his observant and compassionate nature, he is able to extrapolate Jo’s aversion to romantic pursuits and thus he approaches her mindfully with his own reservations.

Jo’s friendship and eventual romantic dynamic with Friedrich illustrates a relationship of equals in which she is able to fulfill her intellectual ambitions and overcome her fears about love and companionship. Their dynamic is set from their first interaction in which she unconventionally travels to New York alone as an unmarried woman. He then has a suspicion that she writes in her spare time and inspires her growth as a writer of passion instead of profit. Jo is captivated by the intellectual charm of such a man who delivers impassioned philosophical speeches at symposiums, who lives with integrity as a poor scholar in a foreign land, and has a unique charisma that attracts others to his presence. In return, Friedrich doesn’t expect anything to become of their friendship, even when he thinks Jo and Laurie are not a couple or when he’s confused by her contradictory range of emotions after he tells her that he’s leaving New England. And, neither does he feel threatened by her unique sense of ambition at a time when men’s ambitions are taken more seriously. He courts her like a patient and observant gentleman awaiting the final verdict about a woman’s romantic feelings, as if he is afraid to impulsively ruin a dearest friendship.

Friedrich Bhaer is no romantic, but neither is Jo. He is not one for passionate phrases about love, but Jo wouldn’t be impressed by such a companion. He has little wealth, yet Jo has lived her whole life in poverty so she is used to hard work. With the professor, Jo is able to live a life dedicated to her ambitions, where the social constructs of marital life need not necessarily apply, while also conquering her fears about love –that it doesn’t necessarily have to be about an unequal dynamic where the woman succumbs to a meaningless life of pure domesticity. Her dynamic with Friedrich is about being with someone who treats her as his intellectual equal, a kindred connection with someone outside of the loving but splintering family she was afraid to leave many years ago. In other words, it's hard to imagine a free-spirited woman like Jo, who has lived her whole life in the seclusion of her hometown with the safety and security of her family, not being captivated by an intellectually forward-thinking mentor type figure like Friedrich Bhaer. It is fitting that a woman so radical for her day forms a companionship with a charming, progressive intellectual.

Friedrich is Laurie’s foil in both his life experiences and characteristics. Laurie is an extroverted, wealthy socialite who has the privilege of pursuing intellectual interests, but would rather spend his time pursuing other things. He is impulsive and persistent in his pursuit of Jo. On the other hand, Friedrich is the poor scholarly professor in a foreign country who is soft-spoken and charming. He spends his time pursuing intellectual hobbies like attending philosophical symposiums. Both characters represent different aspects of Jo’s personality. Laurie represents her naiveté; he embodies her past and her too comfortable homely life. In contrast, Friedrich represents Jo’s growth into womanhood and a life away from the luxury of her comfortable home where she undergoes a feminist awakening about the kind of writer she can be. Her time with Friedrich also represents the challenges she is forced to confront regarding her own perspectives about the world and how she doesn’t necessarily have to forego love to life a fulfilled life. She can have both her intellectual ambitions and a companion who understands her.

Many have suggested that Laurie is a better companion for Jo. For example, some suggest that Jo and Laurie are good friends, have good chemistry, and know each other well. He wouldn’t constrict Jo’s ambitions, and therefore he would make a good life partner for her. While this is true, having good chemistry doesn’t necessarily translate to a successful romantic partnership. There are many people who we have good chemistry with in our lives, but that doesn’t necessarily mean they would be great life companions. Although they know each other well, Laurie doesn’t completely internalize Jo’s unromantic, stoic personality; he reveals this when he complains that she “won’t give anyone a chance” and “doesn’t show the soft side of [her] character.” He is needy for attention and love while Jo is more of an independent, free-spirited person who wouldn’t be able to provide that kind of love for him. Furthermore, just because he wouldn’t inhibit her ambitions, doesn’t mean that her ambitions wouldn’t be thwarted by marrying him and fulfilling her marital duties in wealthy society.

Another perspective is that Jo would have been better off single because she is a strong, independent woman and Friedrich was simply shoved in so Alcott could fulfill a romantic subplot. Although being single is what Alcott preferred for Jo, it contradicts Jo’s characterization in the novel. Jo is strong-willed, independent, and extremely ambitious and while all these things are great reasons for her to have a fulfilled life without the construct of marriage tying her down, she is also extremely averse to love and marriage because she fears the loneliness that it brings. She’s seen what these institutions do to her family -- they break it apart and it can never be completely repaired again because all of the fragments (the married sisters) are in different places (their married homes). By the end of the novel, Jo’s reality is one of loneliness and isolation -- the very things she feared all along. The inevitable happens. Moreover, Jo is in search of a belonging where she is able to be herself completely, but not feel the burden of societal normativity upon her shoulders. With Friedrich, she gets the best of both worlds -- she is able to pursue her intellectual passions as a writer because he is also passionate about philosophical ideas, they share similar world views about individualism, and she gets to have him as a friend, lover, and companion.

Alcott didn’t focus much on Jo and Friedrich’s dynamic, but she also didn’t focus much on the romantic stories of the other sisters as well. Romance was always going to take a back seat to the strong themes about family and womanhood presented in the novel, but it’s disingenuous to claim that because Alcott was required to pair Jo off with someone at the end, she decided to simply insert Friedrich as a subplot device and thus their relationship is random and forced. Regardless of whether or not one believes that Alcott succeeded in illustrating a believable romantic storyline, she did create a distinct character who compliments the unconventional heroine in many of the subversive ways a unique dynamic like Jo and Friedrich could have been depicted. She addresses Jo’s ambitions, her fears, her indifference to marrying for wealth or power, and her deep sense of intellectual curiosity -- in other words, it’s hard to imagine how such a radical character like Jo (for the times that she represents) could have ended up with anyone other than an intellectual type, someone who could continuously challenge and inspire her (as Friedrich does with her sensationalist writing, which inspires her to find where her passion lies). By introducing Friedrich’s character, Alcott wanted to make a bold statement and subvert societal expectations about what a potential romantic interest could look like. Therefore, it’s quite possible that she spent more time crafting his character. In fact, she seems to have thought about the character quite purposefully and thoughtfully.

Although Alcott didn’t intend for Jo to be paired off at the end of Little Women, it’s unlikely that she would half-heartedly insert a romantic interest in order to fulfill a requirement. By making Friedrich Bhaer a counter stereotypical character, one who subverts conventional stereotypes about masculinity, she was very intentional in the kind of lesson she wanted to impart about social class, intellectualism, unconventional romances, and a relationship founded on equality. Jo’s dynamic with him represents the subversion of societal norms; they are intellectual equals. With Friedrich, she remains an ambitious, impassioned individual with greater clarity about how to focus her passion for writing. On the other hand, Laurie represents Jo’s innocence and comfortable family life. They are two stubborn and alike individuals who seek a belonging in each other – Laurie seeks her feminine presence while Jo wants to live vicariously through Laurie’s masculine energy. Alcott never married, but she created a romantic interest who understood Jo while many others stood by shell shocked. It’s through Friedrich Bhaer that Alcott revealed a part of herself and her ideals.

**A special thanks to @fairychamber for the thought-provoking discussions and review of this piece.**

Sources

“Alcott: Not the ‘Little Woman’ You Thought She Was.” NPR: Morning Edition. 29 Dec. 2009.

Alcott, Louisa May. Little Women. DigiReads Publishing, 2015.

*Azelina. “Louisa May Alcott’s ‘Moods’ and Transcendentalism.” Wordpress. 2012.

Brewton, Vince. “Ralph Waldo Emerson (1803-1882).” Internet Encyclopedia of Philosophy.

*Campbell, G. Jacqueline. “Gender & The Civil War.” Essential Civil War Curriculum.

Hartman, W. Dorothy. “Lives of Women.” Conner Prairie.

Rogers, Olivia. “Louisa May Alcott’s Transcendentalism.” Live Ideas Journal. 19 Mar 2019.

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bornpariah-a · 4 years

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@inquistior : also smile —— WORD PROMPTS

❝ ——— Dominic, do stop trying to set Alannah’s hair on fire, would you? You can hardly summon a flame, let alone set something alight, ❞ he speaks without looking away from Darcy, who’s head turns sharply, a gleeful expression on her face as laughter bursts from the small collection of children that he has around him at the moment. Dominic, a precocious ten or twelve year old ( dorian hasn’t the slightest clue and is guessing, and hardly knows how to guess children’s ages beyond the fact that he’s taller than a small child but not yet grown ) looks utterly sullen, a moue forming on his face, which is rather hilarious sight for all that Dorian doesn’t laugh. Instead, he straightens with his hands on his hips as the six children around him, minus Dominic, laugh. Alanah looks positively triumphant, and reaches out to magickally shock the boy, who jumps with a yelp. ❝ Impressive, but we have spoken about using magick on each other in lessons, ❞ he can’t quite keep the humor out of his voice, never could, his mouth curving, though he thoroughly serious and they are all aware of that.

Both children apologize, head ducking and feet kicking at the dirt.

The sun beams above them and this corner of Skyhold is not quiet ——— it can’t be, considering that he had rounded up the children near the ramparts, not in the shade but in near full view of the entire courtyard. He wholly lacks self—consciousness and children, being children, lack it for the most part, and where better to practice? To teach them : how to utilize their magic and not be ASHAMED OF IT as many would prefer them to be. There are eyes on them, watchful and sharp and distrustful, he knows, ex—Templars lurking and Chantry members whispering behind their hands. It’s always something of an event, when the mage children manage to corral and drag him into teaching a lesson ( which isn’t to say that he minds, he patently doesn’t ) and an event requires an audience, he supposes. They’re waiting for him to summon a demon to possess one of the children, he knows, or to teach them blood magic or something similarly absurd ——— but he pays it no mind.

❝ Come here, ❞ he gestures to Dominic, pouting still, and the boy shuffles over to him as the rest shift, making room for him to move. “Try again, Dominic,” he does not speak gently ( dorian’s never been well versed in gentleness, never quite learned how ) but there is no jest nor irritation in his tone. Rather : PATIENCE and ENCOURAGEMENT, gazing down at the boy as he appears to flush, faintly pink, and hold out his hand, eyebrows furrowing. He’s straining, the Veil reluctant to move beneath his grasp, and Dorian grasps his wrist gently, shifts his fingers, murmurs instructions, and steps back as fire bursts on Dominic’s palm. A small flame, but a flame nonetheless, which Dorian passes his hand through and is content with the heat that it produces. ❝ There ——— much easier, yes? ❞

A grin splits across the boy’s face and Dorian’s neck prickles, hyper aware as his gaze lifts and he looks around / skips over the people lurking but attempting to be SUBTLE ABOUT IT, as if he wouldn’t take notice. Lands upon : a familiar form, broad and tall, his attention immediately latching onto the smile which is curving at the mouth Dorian knows so well ——— ACHINGLY TENDER, half lost to shadow as Halwn’s head ducks, as his head tends to duck when he smiles in such a way, eyelashes fanning across his cheeks. The Inquisitor is halfway across the courtyard, quite the walk away, yet Dorian ( as ever ) finds himself ensnared in his attention, brows raising as their eyes meet properly and there is something brightly adoring in Halwn’s gaze. Brighter than the sun above them / the snow around them : beautiful.

Dorian, helpless, can’t help but smile back in return : equally as soppy, he’s abruptly aware, and infinitely revealing. His stomach twists / heart lurches / nausea swelling yet it’s as if the frenetic energy of his body is a SECOND THOUGHT, distant and far off as he looks at Halwn / several seconds too long.

Laurie pulls at his sleeve and his reverie is broken, attention splitting from the Inquisitor to the children around him as a question is posed and he continues / the ever dutiful teacher.

( ... )

He doesn’t think of them as their quarters for all that he stays in them more frequently than his own, now ——— a fallible form of self defense, he knows, useless in the highest caliber when he’s already submitted himself to the impossible tide and pull of THIS and IT and whatever you may wish to call it, but. It remains to be said that in the privacy of his own mind he thinks of these rooms as the Inquisitor’s quarters, utterly absent of himself, for all that his own clothes are folded into the drawers and he has, imperiously, chosen a side of the bed, though he ends up draped over Halwn or, otherwise, pulled into his arms so it’s all moot fucking point.

Well. That’s neither here nor there.

He walks into the Inquisitor’s quarters, rubbing his wrist absently as he goes, dispelling his own enchantments about himself to alleviate any sharpness that may arise from the anchor and its close proximity ——— already he can feel his magick flaring as he turns into the room and their eyes meet, compulsive and automatic, as Halwn looks up from his desk. Dorian can feel himself SMILING AGAIN, and thinks vaguely of when Cole had told him he looked happier. Of when Cassandra commented that he had been smiling more, recently.

The smile is returned and something within his chest, unsettled and disquiet, sighs. A heaving sort of thing / to accompany the lurching of his heart. Closing the distance is easy enough, Halwn remains seated, the weight of his gaze remaining on Dorian as he crosses. ❝ I saw you watching my lessons earlier, Halwn, ❞ he speaks rather tartly, as if they weren’t both aware that they had ACKNOWLEDGED EACH OTHER for far too long, across the courtyard, heavy with something that he could only label yearning. ❝ You seemed as curious as the unwashed masses, though marginally less furious with the gall of the evil Magister intent on poisoning the minds of vulnerable and impressionable children, ❞ a grin plays on his mouth as he leans his hip against the desk, eyes peering over the papers scattered along it, somewhat curious but setting it side.

All day he has been ——— alight? Wondering. Wanting. Et cetera, pointless things and useless things but effervescent things which lay heavy in his chest. The weight of that stare. The meaning thereof. The way that Halwn had been watching him ——— it was with WANT, openly so, that yearning that Dorian had labeled it, not something so base nor primal as carnal desire ( which would have been disturbing and ill—placed given the setting ) but something far simpler. Yet far more complicated. To look at him like that while he interacted and taught children could only mean ———

Dorian does not think of the future. Not in any concrete terms. The future is amorphous and strange and ill shaped, impossible to pinpoint and impossible to ponder in any meaningful fashion. Today he lives / tomorrow he may be dead / likely he will be dead before the end of this conflict, of that he has no doubt, but ——— it’s fucking difficult to avoid thinking of the FUTURE when you’re in love, he’s come to realize ( and, in hindsight, that really should have been a sign, shouldn’t it. ) When you, in spite of all sense and reason, crave a future with another. When you, through denial and self—rejection and morose acceptance, cannot imagine a future where you both live and you are not together.

He imagines Halwn with children. Plenty of them, at least two though perhaps up to five ——— there’s no conceivable future where he wouldn’t have children, where he wouldn’t gather them around a piano and play or laugh with them or boost them into the air, swinging and screaming and joyous. It’s a thought that he keeps well preserved and well wrapped and well hidden, tucked into the recesses of his mind, furtive and wanting. Dorian’s not surprise to find that he wants. Not in the least.

❝ If you were hoping to join I may be able to handle another student, ❞ he continues talking as he’s wont to do, mirth sparkling in his eyes and there’s that softness that descends upon Halwn’s expression, the richness of his eyes, the curve of his mouth, the brief tip of his head as he does smile, amused by Dorian’s antics. Dorian, for his part, twists upon the desk and shuffles closer, papers crinkling carelessly beneath them as he props his foot between Halwn’s knees, balancing on the edge of his chair. ❝ Yes, yes, I know : you are not a mage, though basic magickal theory could prove helpful with the Anchor. Where better to start you than with the children? ❞ he grins, teeth flashing as Halwn chuckles and hands curve around his hips, always reaching. Always touching. Loving. Always loving. Damned to love.

All day he has been ——— alight? Lovesick, feverish thoughts tripping in his mind : he imagines Halwn with children.

Dorian wonders how long he’s wanted to have children with him. To have a ——— family, daughters and perhaps one son, to build a life together somewhere where the sun is bright and a lake is nearby, where his beloved can work the land and he can organize a mass collection of books in a sprawling library that he’ll demand, where children can run rampant on the grounds, laughing and screaming and tumbling, joyful and loved. Loved, and sheltered, and adored by their ——— fathers.

He doesn’t think he wants to know just how long he’s craved that. Finds the answer lacking. Instead : he curves and kisses Halwn hello and i love you and i want to be with you, forever. His heart constricts, terrified. Dorian drags his hands through Halwn’s hair, grounding, smiling against his mouth. ❝ Though I suppose we could organize some... private lessons. ❞

#inquistior #[ i lost my Fucking Mind while writing this ]#[ i'm not proof reading ]#[ when do i ever sdkgjsn ]#[ here take this... gay... disastrous... mess ]#[ local idiot realizes he wants to build a family with the love of his life and is ]#[ distracted and lovesick and freaking out for the rest of the day ]

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aethelfleds · 5 years

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Victims of the Childbed - Isabella of Aragon, Princess of Asturias and Queen of Portugal

The complicated life of Isabella, eldest child of the Catholic Monarchs. She represented a future for the ruling houses of Castile and Aragon that would never be fully realized after her early death.

Her full story is long, so I put it below the cut:

Princess Isabella was born on October 2, 1470, two weeks before her parents’ first wedding anniversary. Isabel of Castile and Fernando of Aragon welcomed their first child and she was well loved. Politically, however, the birth of a son would have won support for their cause. At the time of Isabella’s birth and for the first four years of her life, her parents were at odds with her maternal uncle, Enrique IV of Castile. Enrique was enraged at Isabel for marrying Fernando without his permission. Tensions between the royal siblings were high and worsened as Isabel contended with Enrique’s young daughter Juana de Trastamara (called “la Beltraneja”) for the position of heir to Castile. A baby boy would have strengthened Isabel’s claim. Nevertheless, Isabella was a fine, healthy child and spent her early years at her parents’ court.

In December 1474, Isabel ascended to the throne of Castile upon King Enrique’s death. As she was an only child, little Isabella seemed to be her mother’s heir apparent, though this was a contentious issue and would arise again over two decades later. She was joined by a brother, Juan, Prince of Asturias, in 1478. Isabel’s succession was not smooth. Almost immediately after she was crowned, the War of the Castilian Succession broke out between Isabel in Castile and Afonso V of Portugal (husband to Juana de Trastamara). At one point during this war, seven-year-old Isabella was staying in Segovia when an uprising broke out. The young princess was trapped in a tower of the Alcázar until her mother retook Segovia.

The war with Portugal ended in 1479 with Isabel emerging as the victor and her niece Juana being banished to a convent. With the birth of her son and heir, Isabel’s power was consolidated. The Treaty of Alcáçovas was signed and settled the conflict between Afonso V of Portugal and the Catholic Monarchs. Included in the treaty was a contract for Isabella’s marriage. To cement the new peace with Portugal, eight-year-old Isabella was betrothed to King Afonso’s grandson, Prince Afonso, who was five years her junior.

A year later Isabella left Spain for Portugal with a generous dowry, though she was sent to Portugal as part of a semi-hostage exchange to ensure adherence to the treaty. She and Afonso were not to marry for some years, but Isabella was regarded as the future queen of Portugal and was educated as such. After spending three years in Portugal learning the language and customs of her future subjects, Isabella returned to her family. There was a gap of eight years between Isabella and her brother Juan, but following his birth three sisters arrived in quick succession- Juana, Maria, and Catherine in 1485. Isabella and her siblings would have had a unique education at their mother’s court, and as the eldest daughter and only son, Isabella and Juan were particularly close to their parents.

Isabella would have observed the partnership between her parents, both being rulers in their own right. The five children of the Catholic Monarchs grew up in a court that was intellectual and artistic as well as intensely pious. Though Isabella saw the return of order and strict rule of law to Spain during Queen Isabel’s time, her young mind was also undoubtedly shaped by the most unsavory aspects of her parents’ reign. She was a child when the Spanish Inquisition was established. The persecution of Jews by means of expulsion, forced conversion, and execution was not altogether new in medieval Europe. Being brought up in a vehemently devout Catholic family, the ideas of the Inquisition were justified to Isabella from childhood. She would go on to retain such views in her adult life. A considerable amount of time during the reign of the Catholic Monarchs was spent on campaign, namely the Reconquista; the conquest of the remaining Muslim territories occupied by the Moors. Isabella was present alongside her parents at the surrender of Almería in 1489, and saw the fall of Granada, the last Moorish territory in Spain, later in 1492.

By 1490, Prince Afonso was fifteen and considered mature enough for marriage. Now twenty, Isabella returned to Portugal that November, where her marriage was solemnized. The couple soon proved to be a love match and were “all happy and content.” Afonso and Isabella’s happiness was short-lived. Tragedy struck in July 1491, after eight months of marriage, when Afonso died in a riding accident. Her husband’s sudden death left Isabella shocked and bereft, and perhaps left a lasting effect on her mental health. She blamed Afonso’s accident on God’s displeasure at Portugal for accepting Jewish refugees fleeing from Spain. At this point in her life, Isabella turned to religion, taking the devoutness instilled in her by her mother to obsessive levels.

Vowing to never marry again, Isabella returned to her family a changed woman. She regularly scourged and starved herself. To modern eyes, her actions might be seen as self harm instead of religious devotion. Though she would have preferred to spend her remaining days in prayer and self-denial, Isabel and Fernando had other plans for their daughter. When Isabella’s former father-in-law, João II of Portugal, died in 1495 he was succeeded by his cousin Manuel. The new king became a suitor for Isabella’s hand and while her parents tried to persuade him to accept her sister Maria as a bride instead, Manuel insisted on Isabella. A battle of wills ensued for a year while Isabella continually refused to marry and her parents pressed her to accept Manuel. Finally in 1497 Manuel’s proposal was accepted on the condition that he persecute and expel all Jews from Portugal for Isabella could not marry into a country where they were at all tolerated. Manuel, also quite devout and probably already planning to do so, agreed and they were married in September 1497 in a ceremony that was quiet and sober in accordance with the bride’s wishes.

Just before her wedding, unbeknownst to her, Isabella’s brother Juan suddenly fell gravely ill. He died on October 4 to his family’s grief. Soon afterwards his wife, Margaret of Austria, miscarried their child. With these calamities, Isabella became heir apparent to Castile and Aragon. She was made Princess of Asturias and was recognized with Manuel as her mother’s heir, but the Aragonese were not keen on the idea of a female ruler.

Soon after being declared heir, Isabella became pregnant. It was hoped this baby would be a son who could inherit the crowns of Castile, Aragon, and Portugal. While staying with her parents in Zaragoza, Isabella went into labor. She had become very thin, weakened by constant fasting and frequent travel. It was a long and difficult labor. On August 28, 1498, Isabella gave birth to a baby boy. There was immediate rejoicing at the birth of an heir, but her family’s joy soon turned to sorrow. Isabella was now weakened beyond repair by a hemorrhage and died within an hour of the birth, with her parents at her side. Her last wishes were to be buried in a nun’s habit at the Convent of Santa Isabel in Toledo.

The son of Isabella of Aragon and Manuel I of Portugal was called Miguel de Paz and he was the only consolation to Isabella’s bereft parents and husband. But Miguel too died just before his second birthday. With Isabella and her son died the plan for the union of the kingdoms of the Iberian Peninsula under one crown.

References:

Kirsten Downey, Isabella: the Warrior Queen

Manuel Fernández Álvarez, Isabel la Católica

Damlão de Góls, Chronica de Felicissimo Rei Dom Emanuel

#for better or worse here it is #really in comparison to some of her siblings #there's relatively little known about her #I think she had a quieter existence in her adult years #Isabella of Aragon #house of trastamara #Spain #Portugal #victims of the childbed #art #my art #inquisition apologists dni #cannot believe I have to say that

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marquisoforder · 5 years

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“A ghost can be a lot of things. A memory, a daydream, a secret. Grief, anger, guilt. But, in my experience, most times they're just what we want to see.”

-Steven Crain (The Haunting of the Hill House)

Based on this lovely post

The boy in the mirror looks the same as any another boy his age. A little taller perhaps, and a little paler, but there’s nothing that sets Alec Lightwood apart from any other fourteen year old boy one might come across on the streets.

But that was not in fact, the case.

Alec Lightwood was different and he didn’t know what to do about it. You see, he didn’t want to find boys more attractive than girls. He didn’t want to have this irrational and wrong crush on his parabatai. Everything he had been taught everyday by everyone, suggested how the way he felt was wrong. It was suffocating, maddening truly. And right now as he stares at the thin and pale reflection on the mirror that stares back at him with doleful blue eyes, he finds himself to be nothing more than a stain on the good name of Lightwood. An unforgivable, unworthy and unnatural boy who’s not worth the great legacy his ancestors had left him.

Or so he thinks.

Anna Lightwood on the other hand, would beg to differ.

She didn’t enjoy afterlife as a ghost, to be quite honest. She had no intentions to be sent back at all. But the Universe seemed to have different plans. Plans that included the young boy who was beating himself up about something he should not. Something Anna could help with.

She knows that the boy is named after her baby brother, little Alexander with his blue eyes that this young boy has clearly inherited. But apart from that, he looks eerily similar to Anna herself; high cheekbones and pale yet smooth skin with facial features that she knows will grow into a perfectly chiseled face once he outgrows the childish smooth roundness very soon. He looks like uncle Will, Anna thinks and smiles to herself. Certainly not as aware of his good looks as Uncle Will, but the coloring is there and if you look close enough you can catch glimpses of that Herondale stubbornness shining through once in a while.

Also that Herondale tendency to dramatically find fault in themselves. Even when there’s nothing out of the ordinary to blame themselves for.

Tonight Anna watches as the boy makes his way from the mirror to his bed, dejected and hunched. She doesn’t know what happened today to make the boy particularly upset, but whatever it is, it seems to be a big deal since the boy tosses and turns for hours, unable to fall asleep at all.

Anna’s heart goes out for him. There’s no one who knows about feeling like an outcast, fearing exile from the loved ones just because you don’t fit the other’s narrow definition of normal. She recalls a time when she had been as young as Alec and had spent sleepless nights trying to sort out her feelings about girls that she knew she shouldn’t like. Hours spent dubiously staring at her closet where among a dozen dresses that she was bound to wear even though they suffocated her in more ways than one, was hidden a suit she had put together haphazardly with clothes she had “burrowed” from Christopher. She knew better than anyone else under the New York Institute’s roof, how it felt to be alienated in her own skin, feeling as if your true self would be something that your loved ones would not be able to truly love.

So when she hears the first little sniffle, she makes up her mind to finally make an appearance. Sometimes comfort came from places where no one would expect to find it.

‘’Hello, Alexander!”

Alec literally jumps out of his bed with the speed of a startled antelope and gracelessly stumbles around for what Anna guesses is a Seraph blade but with no luck of finding any.

“Who are you? How did you get in here?” He demands and Anna notices with interest how easily he falls into a fighting stance, almost subconsciously. It’s the shadowhunter training shining through and Anna can see this boy growing into a skilled fighter, but her thoughts are interrupted when he tilts his head to the side and furrows his brows. “And why can I see through you?”

“Because I’m a ghost.” Anna smiles with ease but it does not seem to put Alec at ease. “Anna Lightwood, at your service, Alec.”

“Lightwood?” The boy asks, confusion clear in his voice. “Anna Lightwood as in Gabriel Lightwood’s daughter?”

Anna nods, pleased that this boy recognized her. “Oh, I’m glad you know my father. Do you know you are named after my little brother?” She inquires and the boy nods.

“Mom made Izzy and I remember the family tree, Izzy thinks Gabriel is hot.” Alec discloses and Anna has a moment of confusion as to what is the most appropriate reaction to one of your descendants thinking your father, their ancestor is hot. She decides to stay silent but offers an awkward smile instead.

“I know you must have quite the number of questions but before you say anything, let me tell you this one thing:” At the awkward pause that follows, Anna takes the chance to change the topic into something he really wants to talk to him about. “There is nothing wrong with you. Everything you feel is completely normal.”

The boy goes pale like a ghost (And no, the irony isn’t lost on Anna) and he stands very still. “I don’t know what you are talking about.” He says finally, his voice rigid and cold, an icy wall of denial already forming up around him.

“I think you do, Alec.” Anna speaks softly, remembering her mother’s sweet words that had caused her immense relief as Cecily Lightwood promised that no matter who Anna thought was her best self, her mother would always be there to support her unconditionally. Alec had not told anyone yet, but Anna knows how secrets could eat away at one’s heart if buried too deep. “There’s no shame in it, trust me I know.”

The young shadowhunter heaves a sigh that no child his age should have causes to heave. His eyes focus on Anna’s shimmering figure for a second before he sits on his bed and puts his head in his hands. Anna knows she’s not tangible enough to hug the boy, but she feels a searing need to hold him and tell him that she is telling the truth and one day he will truly understand it.

“It’s not as easy as that,” Alec finally speaks up. “This is not normal. I am not normal.” He says without looking up from his hands. “They won’t like me being like this.”

“What ‘they’ like doesn’t matter.” Anna moves to sit beside the boy. “I know it is very hard to think that you are fundamentally different from the person you were supposed to be, Alec. But sometimes who you truly are is something so much better than what they expect you to be. Their standards of normal don’t apply to you, so what? It’s not your fault; it’s them who have to adjust their stupid little window they view the world from.”

Her voice is strong and stable as she thinks back to a time when she had desperately needed to hear this and her mother had come through to be her strength. Alec hadn’t yet come out to his mother but he needed someone to tell him that he is perfect just the way he is. And if none of his living relatives were going to do that, (though Anna suspected his sister might have told something along these lines to him too) Anna Lightwood sure as Hell was going to cross the realms of realty to show this brilliant boy that he was nothing less than perfect.

“I don’t know any other gay shadowhunters,” The boy lies back on the bed, his hands folded under his head. “What am I supposed to do?” He turns to the cross legged ghost floating a foot or so above his bed. “What if I’m the only one?”

Anna scoffs and the young shadowhunter boy frowns. “What?”

“Alec you are gay, not a singular miracle of nature.” She rolls her eyes in the same way Alec is used to seeing Izzy does. “Of course there’s going to be more shadowhunters like you. There were, there is and there always will be. Which is kind of the point I’m trying to make here. That you are not alone nor are you a freak. You just haven’t met other people like you. And to be fair it’s not like you’ve traveled a lot or met a lot of new people.” She shrugs, knowing herself to be correct.

“Fair enough,” Alec admits after a moment of silent consideration. “Do you think it will get better one day?” He asks, a little doubtful perhaps, but Anna recognizes a hint of hope in his question as well. “Or will everything go to hell in a hand basket for me?”

“What a peculiarly specific way to go to Hell…” Anna muses out loud for a second. “I personally would prefer a chariot drawn by fire breathing horses, but each to their own I suppose.” She smiles mischievously at the boy who sighs and rolls his eyes and for a second Anna sees herself in that tiny, sarcastic gesture. “But yes, all jokes aside, I do hope everything will be just fine, Alexander.” She offers him a genuine smile and this time he returns the favor, even though his smile is a little slow and reluctant to form.

“Everything will be just fine.”

#this one's for the gays yall #happy pride 🌈#can yall belive that i ACTUALLY FINISHED WRITING THIS?#cause i sure as hell can't #also bye bye writer's block #Alec Lightwood #anna lightwood #tsc #tlh #tmi #gotsm #dee’s drabbles #fanfic #pride 2019 #cog2 #chains of gold #malec #every exquisite thing #izzy lightwood

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christianvbennet · 5 years

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&&. word has it ( christian bennet ) was just spotted around the city. ( he ) is a ( 34 ) year old affiliated with ( the nypd ). it’s been said that ( he ) resembles ( ben barnes ). ( he ) has been said to be ( loyal & hard-working ) but also quite ( uncertain & introverted ). ( he ) is currently serving as ( a detective for the organized crimes unit ).

— ❝ it matters not what someone is born, but what they grow to be.❞

( hi there, kiwi here! this is the official intro for christian bennet, a detective for the nypd working in the organized crimes unit. my quintessential “good guy”, i’m really excited to see where this group takes christian. please let me know if you’d like to plot; i’m available through both the group’s discord and tumblr ims. ♡ )

name: christian james bennet

birthplace: savannah, georgia

birthday: june 11th | thirty-four | gemini

scent: vanilla and caramel

appearance: 6′3″; tall, broad, all-around large. christian is almost comically the exact opposite as far as build and form goes from his younger sister, emmaline. christian could be described as the very definition of a gentle giant; though he is strong, muscular, and toned from years of training to be a detective, he’s genteel and caring with everyone he meets. christian has a mop of dark brown hair, eyes so dark they’re nearly black, and prefers to keep a full beard (nice and groomed, of course!) at all times.

christian tends to wear button downs, slacks, and suits at work; outside of work, though, he tends to be much more laid-back. sweaters, v-neck shirts, jeans, and jackets are his go to. he’s humble to the core, primarily from the way his parents taught him to cherish and appreciate the little things in life.

personality: loyal, hard-working, kind, introverted, uncertain, determined, ambitious, giving.

biography: christian bennet was born to two lovely, humble parents in savannah, georgia; farmers who sold their produce to local grocers and at stands in farmer’s markets. christian spent most of his childhood wrapped in the embrace of these two loving, gentle-hearted southerners; his father was intelligent and capable, his mother strong and productive, but neither ever saw the need to live beyond their means; rather, they were content to sit and use his abilities to protect and provide for their loved ones. as he grew up, Christian’s mother told him that no gift in the world was greater than kindness; that he ought to treat others with warmth, compassionate, and kindness--as if they were members of his own family. eventually, the two had a second child, a young, doe-eyed girl named emmaline…and christian loved her with the entirety of his heart.

christian’s family was warm, welcoming, and wholesome; he grew up, graduated high school, and was planning to attend university to work towards a degree in criminal justice and forensics. however, when christian was nearing nineteen years old and ready to fully immerse himself into his studies, his world shifted and shattered beneath him. his parents had gone out on a date one evening, leaving his younger sister in the care of a sitter; christian received a phone call hours later that his mother and father had been in a terrible accident, and both were declared dead at the scene. suddenly, christian’s wholesome family had broken and cracked apart, leaving him and his baby sister, still in her toddler years at this point, orphaned and alone. christian abandoned pursuing university full-time and instead worked hard through two jobs, adopting emmaline into his care and raising both of them on the small inheritance their parents had left behind for them. he worked part-time as a server as he put himself through the police academy, eventually becoming a rookie cop. still, he worked tirelessly to provide for his sister, making sure she had the love, support, and financial security any parent would have been able to provide for her.

eventually, christian was able to work his way up the ranks, attending night school to receive the diploma he had originally sought after, and he was informed by a friend--a retired cop who had moved to new york to be with his own ailing father--about an opportunity to join the organized crime bureau in new york city, providing he had the experience and records to prove he was worthy. so, by the time christian was twenty-seven, he had applied and been accepted as a fledgling detective in the nypd, and he and emmaline packed their belongings and moved to the great, wide city of new york to start a new life together.

christian soon became consumed by and dedicated to his job. with a rigid sense of morals and ethics, christian is determined to help reduce crime in new york and dismantle the threat that organized crime leaves for civilians.

eventually, christian had a fateful encounter with a young investigative journalist who was busy poking around in business related to a homicide christian was investigating. he ended up saving her from getting involved in the crossfire, and despite the fact that becoming involved with a member of the media was strictly against the code of conduct, christian ended up falling head-over-heels in love with lilianna shu lei. the two became inseparable; christian loved her for her strength and character, for the way she treated his younger sister (whom christian definitively thought of as his daughter at this point), and for the fierce and devoted way in which she tended to all things she loved and cared for in life. she eventually moved into the brooklyn flat he and emmaline shared, becoming an integral part of his life. christian had rebuilt the perfect little family for himself, he thought; though he missed his parents every single day, he had a woman he loved and a family in his younger sister.

but then one day, everything changed. and christian’s life cracked apart once more.

emmaline had been acting strangely; more distant than he remembered her ever being. and then one day, there was a report--there had been a fire, and emmaline had been involved in it. she was declared dead at the scene, and christian could barely hear the words of condolence and sorrow people offered him through his own grief. he completely shut down, rejecting anything and everything around him. no one believed him, but christian was determined that his sister had not been killed; her body had never been found--no body easily identified had ever been found--and christian was skeptical. he grieved the way a parent would for their child, but he also became consumed with a conspiracy that his sister was alive somewhere, taken by one of the mafias as punishment for him investigating them.

christian began to behave more recklessly than he ever did before; he started investigating mafia hangouts and dens off-duty. he knew that he was becoming obsessed with the world of organized crime, perhaps more than he had ever been professionally, but his grief and denial had completely taken over his life. he felt guilty for his grief; he blamed himself for the way he had pulled away from everyone in his life--including lilianna--and felt guilty for his sister’s disappearance to begin with. christian did not think he was worthy of his badge or the honor of being emmaline’s guardian or even lilianna’s lover. he told lilianna that he didn’t think he was equipped to be in a relationship, despite the way it broke his heart, and felt grief overwhelm him like a cloud.

but he was lost, he was alone, and the last person he wanted to hurt by being a failure was the one woman he loved more than anything in the world.

it’s been a few months since emmaline “died”, and christian still believes (much to the dismay of his partners at the nypd, his friends, and even lilianna) that his sister is out there, alive somewhere. waiting for him, perhaps. he and lilianna remain best friends, though she no longer lives with him. he misses her every single day and wishes he could tell her he still loves her. but after the way he failed emmaline and then, consequently, failed lilianna emotionally, christian doesn’t think he’s quite good enough for anyone.

#tdrintro #lionheart: ( bio )#death tw #murder tw #ptsd tw #grief tw

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sweetimagines · 6 years

Text

Desperate Measures - Part 3

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4

Pairing: Poe Dameron x Reader - Reader x Ben Solo/Kylo Ren

Description: A victory that almost doesn’t compensate its loss.

Warnings: Death and angst.

Word Count: 2593

A/N: Mixed up a bit of Bloodline and one little mention from Last Shot into it but completely out of the canon timeline.

I’m sorry about the hiatus. First I moved, then was out of wifi for 2 weeks until it was set up on the new place then writer’s block... Hopefully I got my mojo back.

Tag: @kyber-hearts-and-stardust-souls @cobalt-one @peches-et-lait @giggleberts

Y/N spaces out for a moment while Snap’s briefing everyone about his extremely dangerous reconnaissance mission on Starkiller Base.

Her mind wanders to the past, even though she’s retaining every piece of information Snap has to give and anything said in the strategy center.

Leia always had a stronger connection with Ben - maybe because she carried him in the womb or something to do with the force, perhaps even the fact that it was Han who found and chose to raise Y/N rather than her - not that she didn’t love Y/N, but it didn’t come naturally to her, the way it did for her husband.

Ben fought - from a young age - to bond with Han the same way. Always trailing his father, saying he’d grow up to be a pilot like him. Y/N and him would play pretend on cardboard boxes. He was Han and she was Chewie and they were on space adventures.

Han tried - exhausted every attempt within him in order to express his feelings right - but there was a barrier between them. As much as either loved the other unconditionally, it was as if something was holding them back. (Snoke!)

It was simply easier with Y/N. There wasn’t any pressure to mess her up as with his son. She’s not really his daughter and it’s obvious since she never took his last name - or Leia’s, for what’s worth - no matter how many times he offered.

Y/N used to feel intimidated by Leia when she was growing up. The Organa name carries weight and demands respect. Also, it didn’t help that Leia was so vastly knowledgeable and accomplished. The little girl never thought she would compare to her mother.

Despite their preferences, the best of times for all of them was always when they were together. It was rare, with Han’s flying and Leia’s senatorial duties, but whenever they had a moment, it was perfect.

Now - after so long - she has both her parents in the same room. Her mind doesn’t seem to believe her eyes and, even discussing war, she has a shy smile on her lips.

They’re only missing one person for the family to be back together. That seems just as unrealistic to happen as Han getting back in the fight with the Resistance... and yet, here he is. It makes Y/N hold onto the blind hope that maybe so will her best friend, bother, Ben Solo.

It truly feels like home when Han suggests blowing something up. Y/N chuckles quietly while they figure out a way to make it work with all the defensive shields around that blasted thing.

“I’m coming with you.” She affirms, just after they found a way to disable the shields.

Solo’s familiar smug grin curls his lips in pride and Organa’s disapproving eyes flash on him. Y/L/N really feels like their youngling again - Han always leading her into danger and Leia trying to keep her safe - only now it’s her decision and neither can argue. The biggest difference this time, though, is that she has someone new looking at her with worry.

Poe doesn’t quarrel against it - even though he’d like to - because he understands the need to take action and part of him likes seeing her more involved with the Resistance. For what is worth, he’ll be right along, waiting to blast Starkiller to pieces the second they get the shields down.

Before the meeting is wrapped, Y/N steps up. “Even if we destroy their base, they still know our location. We must start evacuating.”

Leia smiles at her daughter and instructs Lieutenant Connix to reach out to their ally planets and create and evacuation plan.

Y/L/N walks along Dameron to the open hangar. BB-8 and BB-6 rolling by their heels, chippering about how they’ll be up in space together and that can be considered a romantic date. Only droids can find a battle romantic.

“Nervous?” Poe tangles his hand on hers, trying to get as much contact as they can before takeoff.

“Me? I’m cool as a dead star. How about you, Flyboy?” Y/N teases, knowing their both a bit apprehensive.

“Just glad you decided to ignore DJ’s advice and join.” He chuckles as she mock slaps his chest.

“Neutrality in the face of such evil is compliance.” She kisses him hungrily as they reach Black One. “May the force be with you, Commander Dameron.”

He pulls her in by the wrist before she can walk away and connects their lips one more time. “Come back to me, sweetheart.”

She nods with a smile. “You’re not getting rid of me so easily.” BB-6 beeps her goodbyes and rolls over to Jess’ X-Wing.

“Hauling Rathtars? On the Eravana?” Y/N asks half way into the lightspeed jump to Starkiller Base, leaning against the back of the pilot chair.

Chewbacca growls they smuggled worse in that freighter. Han just shrugs, keeping his eyes on the dashboard.

“Yes! He’s insane.” Finn’s overreactions amuse Y/N. He’s a sweet guy despite being an ex-stormtrooper. He’s been catching her up on how he saved Poe, found Rey and BB-8 and eventually ended up with the Resistance.

“If you think that’s crazy, wait until you hear about our landing at lightspeed.” Y/L/N teases, chuckling.

Finn looks like he could faint at the idea. Y/N, on the other hand, has full confidence that if anyone can pull this off is Han Solo.

Y/L/N wraps herself in a sythfur long coat, only way to survive the walk to the base in the snow. Finn seems to be comfortable only in Poe’s jacket, but he did work on Starkiller, so he’s used to the cold. Chewie growls about the weather reminding him of Hoth.

The revelation about Finn being a genitor, not knowing how to disable the shields and only being there to find Rey almost makes Y/N choke him on the spot, thinking he’s a traitor. She contains herself - barely - both because he saved Poe and he knows the base. He’ll help them even if she has to hold a blaster to his head.

Lucky for him, he’s the one holding a blaster to someone’s head, Captain Phasma’s, making her disable the shields and eventually dumping her on a garbage shute.

Despite all odds, they find Rey and head to Pricinct 47 to blow up their oscillator.

Han instructs Finn and Rey to set the explosives in the upper floors while Chewie, Y/N and him take the lower ones.

“Be careful.” Han holds onto Y/N’s shoulders for a second before they split up to cover more ground.

Y/N set the half dozen bombs she was handed and is already on her way up when a sudden scream echoes in the room.

“Ben!” She hadn’t heard that name coming from Han’s voice in so long.

Her eyes travel around the room trying to find them. Han’s walking over the narrow platform to the other side where his son stands.

Y/L/N hurriedly and recklessly climbs the last few steps to the floor Han was in and jogs to catch up with them. Solo doesn’t need to turn around to knows she’s there and motions for her to stay her ground.

She can’t hear what they’re saying as shock has muffled her ears, but she can see Ben remove his mask.

His long hair falls from the mask, framing his face. It looks just as soft as she remembers, except now he’s a man, not a boy.

Y/N knows that the man before her is Kylo Ren, not Ben Solo. However, that doesn’t stop her eyes from closing and her mind from taking a trip down memory lane.

Ben’s leaving so he can train his powers with his uncle Luke. Y/N’s going with Han to work on the five sabers.

He had already said his farewell to his parents so it’s just his friend - best friend - left and this seemed harder. They had grown up together and he despises the prospect of growing away from her.

They stand in front of one another for what feels like forever. This is a turning point on their lives and they both know it, but neither dares voice it. Almost as if it not being said can prevent it from happening.

Y/N moves first, leaping into Ben’s arms for one last embrace. He wraps his arms around her softly - against his wish to hold on as tight as possible - resting his chin on top of her head. Even though they are both eleven, he’s already much taller than her.

“You won’t miss me too much with all those races.” Ben jokes, not letting his true feelings out.

“You won’t even remember me while learning all those Jedi tricks.” Y/N teases back and they both laugh, finally letting go of each other.

“Promise you’ll come find me when you’re a Master, so you can show off your lightsaber skills?” Her eyes are foggy with forming tears, but she’s trying to stay strong.

“Promise.” He kisses her forehead and they go their separate ways. He wants to turn around and run to her, tell his parents, again, that he wants to be a pilot, not a Jedi, that if he could trade his power, he would. Instead, he follows his uncle, unwillingly leaving his friend behind.

Y/N looks back before entering the Falcon, but Luke’s transport is already in the air. “Bye, Ben.” She waves at the disappearing ship, watching it vanish into lightspeed.

Han gives a sympathetic smile, but there’s pain in his lopsided grin, and even an eleven-year-old, not force sensitive can see it. She takes the copilot chair that used to belong to Chewbacca - before he returned to his family in Kashyyyk - as her father sets the coordinates to Theron.

Y/L/N’s eyes open, fogged by forming tears. She spots Ren’s mask on the ground and Han face to face with his son.

The faint sun light that was creeping in from the openings disappears completely and the whole room glows red. This is it, the First Order can fire at any moment and wipe out the Resistance.

That seemed like the worst thing until the tip of Kylo’s lightsaber is visible through Han’s torso all the way through his back.

Cries in denial echo on her ears until her eyes catch up to the act. Before she can do anything, Solo is already falling from the bridge.

Ren drops to his knee in weakness. Y/N runs into the platform but stops as he stands up. He towers over her, not only in height but in power.

“How could you?” Her voice filled with heartache and disappointment.

Kylo takes a moment to recognize her. He had been suppressing childhood memories for too long and she’s grown out of the little girl he knew. A hint of remorse hits him at seeing her face wet with tears. He ignores it.

Ren swallows dry as Y/L/N raises her blaster at him. She doesn’t get the chance to fire as his reflexes are quicker than her finger on the trigger. In an expert movement of his hand, he’s got her in a force hold.

“You don’t understand.” In this moment, he doesn’t either. He expected the conflict within him to cease after ending his ties to Han Solo once and for all. Yet, they remain, growing even, and he feels unstable as if an important part of him is lost forever.

Chewbacca shoots at his abdomen with his bowcaster, making him release Y/N involuntarily. He already witnessed his best friend murdered by his own son, so he refuses to watch him do the same to whom was once his sister.

The Wookie bellows for her to run because he’s gonna detonate the explosives.

She blasts the stormtroopers blocking her way, catching up to Chewie. They escape the crumbling building just in time.

Y/N’s hit with a wave of emotions - guilt, regret and gut-wrenching sorrow - upon sitting on the pilot’s chair in the Falcon. She takes off the ship with Chewie as a copilot. He turns on a spotlight so they can find Finn and Rey in the forest.

She stays in the cockpit while Chewbacca carries an unconscious Finn inside. Her eyes fill with tears but they don’t even have time to fall before the Falcon is in the air, flying away from the exploding Starkiller base, missing one member of it’s crew. It’s Captain for so many cycles but not enough.

Poe does his job without hesitation, but his heart skips a beat - many, actually -, until he sees the Millennium Falcon join the X-Wings in space. That doesn’t exactly guarantee Y/N’s safety, but it brings him some comfort.

He watches his command and the Falcon disappear into hyperspace, following after every other ship has jumped. He doesn’t even realize he’s holding his breath until he lets it go when he reaches D’Qar, refilling his lungs with recycled air as he lands.

Y/L/N flies mostly on muscle memory because her mind is using all its power to try and make sense of Ren’s action, to no avail. Her brother, Ben Solo, is dead, and the man who took over murdered Han Solo. She fells pain like never before, not even Terex’s torture hurt this bad.

First thing she does after touching down on the Resistance base is running back to the Pursuit. She knows Chewie and Rey will take care of Finn.

Poe sprints after Y/N as fast as his legs allow, not even close to her speed. By the time he reaches her ship, she’s on the ground of her chambers by a pile of burning flimsi.

He puts the flames out before it gets to the wires and causes the ship to blow up. His hands instinctively cup her cheeks as he hears her weeps. He searches for wounds and is slightly relieved not to find any.

However, she’s still crying helplessly over something - like she never did before. He holds her tenderly while she sobs in his arms, rubbing circles on her back and gently rocking them back ad forth.

Y/N didn’t know then, when Ben and her were saying goodbye, but he placed with the force a handwritten letter on her robes. After that, he continued sending more, until he vanished and the jedi temple burned.

The first one was telling her to be strong, some were updates on his training and asking her about flying; others, rants about his frustrations towards being away, but all ended with his signature: Your soul brother, Ben Solo.

She held onto to them fondly all this time in hopes that he’d find his way back, but now she wants him to be lost forever. There’s no forgiving what he did. She wants to forget everything about Ben Solo.

Dameron’s humming the words of a Yavian lullaby. He doesn’t know what caused this, so all he can do is try to soothe her. “What happened sweetheart?” His tone is soft but filled with worry.

Y/L/N sighs and grabs his collar tightly, trying to make sure he’ll stay with her. She’s manages to speak, voice coarse and breaking. “He’s gone. Han’s gone.”

#Poe Dameron #Poe Dameron x Reader #Poe Dameron Imagines #Star Wars #Star Wars Imagines #Poe Dameron Imagine #Star Wars Imagine #Poe Dameron fanfic #Star Wars fanfic #Ben Solo #Kylo Ren #Commander Dameron #fanfic #imagine

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