#anyway sorry for once again posting something only british people will understand. the situation called for it | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

anoutlandishfanfic · 4 years

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Metamorphosis Chapter 25: In the Womb of the Earth.

*waves at all y’all collectively* I CAME BACK LIKE I SAID I WOULD!!!

So, I started this chapter way back in November/December (read: after the previous chapter posted) and then everything fell apart. My health took a nosedive (I’m having surgery day after tomorrow) and I was literally focused on getting thru the day and surviving work and my brain couldn’t function on the level I needed it to to write this chapter. Things have gotten a little better (soon to be a LOT better) and I managed to crank this one out!

Special thanks to @thefraserwitch for the constant stream of texts that inspired a whole heckuva lot and to @diversemediums for being the confirming POST IT voice that I seem to always need in my life. Y’all rock.

BUT ANYWAY HERES THE DEETS

The Premise: What if Claire had conceived on her wedding night to Jamie?

You can find the previous chapter here (Part One / Part Two) if you need to catch up (I wouldn’t blame you). You can also find the master list of the whole fic here on Tumblr or its also current on AO3.

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February 20th, 1744; The Abbey, Scotland.

“I’m fine,” I glared at Jamie and pointed to our chamber’s door for good measure, insisting, “Go.”

He made no move to do so, his auburn brows bunched together in concern instead as he observed, “Ye’re lookin’ a bit green aboot the gills, Sassenach.”

“I’m just tired,” I hedged.

It certainly wasn’t a lie.

We’d sail with the next morning’s tide and the knowledge had everyone on edge. No one had slept well the night before, nor had anyone high hopes of the day passing quickly. Time seemed to stretch on forever now that the end was in sight and my husband’s nervous presence — though well intended — was becoming insufferable.

“Can I help ye back into bed, a’ least?” he offered. “Do ye think you could sleep a wee bit?”

I contemplated this, then turned my gaze to my usual chair by the fire. It was a worn out sort — overstuffed to the point that it made reclining bliss — with a low footstool to accommodate my swollen ankles.

Did I want to lay down completely… or just sit a while?

A wave of bone-aching fatigue washed over me, but my brain rattled off all the things that still needed to be done before we left.

How many more linens would Brother Erastus let me turn into nappies?

Brother Nathaniel said he’d see to the food stores for the journey, but I wanted to inspect them yet today… so I’d have time to repack should I need to.

Come to that, were our things packed?

I winced, knowing I’d think of a dozen more things my weary mind had forgotten once I got started.

Maybe I would just sit a bit.

A decidedly Scottish noise broke into my thoughts as a warm hand slipped around mine, gently leading me towards the edge of the bed.

I opened my mouth to protest but stopped as he eased me onto the soft mattress, swinging my feet up and helping me roll onto my left side. I grabbed for all the available pillows — gleefully seizing Jamie’s — and was soon completely ensconced.

Bloody hell, this feels amazing.

I heard a rumble of laughter from above me and lifted my face for a kiss, Jamie happily obliging.

“Sleep well, my hen,” he crooned, his thumb gently stroking my cheek as his lips hovered just above mine.

I realized that I really must look something like a mother hen tucked up in her nest and a slow smile spread across my face as I kissed him again.

“I willna be gone long,” he assured me a moment later when we came up for air. “Jus’ to see Murtagh about the carriage, aye?”

“Take your time… I’m not going anywhere.”

…

Jerking awake to the sound of the door bouncing off the wall, I caught a rather undignified squeal of alarm just before it left my lips as I was yanked from a deep, numbing sleep and thrust unceremoniously into the land of the living.

I lifted my head from the pillow and discovered I was no longer alone in the room, but now in the middle of a veritable bear pit. Loud, male declarations of Herself’s safe arrival and that there’d been nae trouble aboot the matter at all only muddied the waters as I blinked groggily, hastily looking for my husband amid the array of kilts and breeks.

“Aye, place it there,” came his voice, followed by a muffled thud as they did so, and I dropped my head back down onto the pillow.

He was here. He obviously had things — whatever the hell they may be — well in hand. If I were needed, he certainly knew where to find me.

My hand slid up between the sheets and I lifted it to my face, rubbing my heavy eyes as I tried to place what on earth they could be talking about. Why they couldn’t use proper nouns in this godforsaken country like any other civilized people was beyond me.

The movement accomplished nothing except to wake the rest of my body up, settling a dull, pulsating throb in the depths of my skull and my hip to aching with such a veracity that I could have sworn my fall in the Theive’s Hole had been yesterday, not four months ago.

“Jamie?” I called and the room fell instantly silent as they all quite suddenly remembered my presence.

My voice had sounded pitiful, even to my own ears, but I didn’t care. I needed him to explain what the hell was going on and get the rest of these men out of my room… and he’d better do it quick.

“Och, I’m sorry to be wakin’ ye, lass!” Willie’s voice was the first to profess from somewhere at the back of the crowd, “Tis only tha’ we thought ye’d be wantin’ to ken wha—“

But Jamie immediately pushed through the throng and succinctly cut him off, his face drawn with concern as he nearly threw himself onto the floor at the side of the bed. I reached for him and he bent over me, kissing my brow softly as he apologized profusely, “Christ, I’m sorry, lass!”

My abject confusion over the situation must have been evident, for he continued on without letting me speak.

“Lady Drummohr sends you her good wishes, mo nighean donn… She says she hopes she’ll see you at dinner but understands if you dinna feel up to it… Says she remembers bein’ this far wi’ her own bairns an’ wouldna blame ye if he didna leave yer chamber this evenin’... I’ll give her your thanks, aye?”

I shook my head, dismissing both the notion that I was so feeble that couldn't leave my room and the cancellation of the opportunity to see a real, bonafide mother in the flesh for the first time since arriving at the abbey ten weeks ago.

“What is that?” I scowled vaguely in Murtagh’s direction, where a good sized trunk lay at the man’s feet. He stood beside Jamie with the barest hint of a smile beneath his heavy beard and I knew something was up.

I may have a name to go with the who but I still hadn’t the foggiest idea of the what.

“Aye, tis from the Lady,” Jamie continued, his face brightening with excitement. “She said she didna ken how much you were able to take awa’ with you, so she brought some things you may be needin’ for yourself an’ the bairns.”

“Oh, Jamie…”

All of the air left my lungs in a mighty whoosh as everything came rushing back to me.

We would, indeed, be sailing to France, but first we would have to successfully make it aboard the ship.

There were at least half a dozen of His Majesty’s finest dragoons stationed in the village just outside the abbey and positioned at strategic points between here and the harbor. We would need to fool every single one of them… and Dougal had found a perfect cover for us in one Lady Margaret Grant of Drummohr. Hailing from Dalkeith, a good three days' ride away, she would not be recognized as anything other than a traveling woman of good repute.

I could then take her place with a nom de guerre of my choosing, with Jamie and Murtagh trading places with two of her footmen, and we’d safely ride to the harbor in our luxurious borrowed carriage. Should we be stopped leaving the abbey — and heaven forbid we would — I could explain in my blatantly British accent that I was sailing for Le Havre where I would be meeting my merchant marine husband.

But I hadn’t counted on Lady Margaret being generous above and beyond her arrangement with Dougal.

My free hand lifted to my lips, my fingers trembling as Jamie undid the latch and opened the trunk. He lifted out a small quilt and placed it on the coverlet before me, then froze as he spotted the fragile contents below.

“Oh God, Claire,” Jamie wheezed, immobile at the sight of four tiny baby gowns.

I reached out blindly through sudden tears, needing to touch the garments — to touch him — and was rewarded with both. His arms wrapped around me again, his head dipping into the curve of my neck as the tips of my fingers reverently traced the swirls of thistles and leaves around the neck of one gown.

“I don’t... I didn’t have any clothes for them,” I swallowed hard, trying to tramp down the feeling of complete and utter inadequacy, “Jamie, I barely have nappies for them to shit it, how the hell am I supposed to be a mother to them?!”

His head lifted and his blue eyes — so completely calm, damn him — focused on mine, one corner of his mouth lifting in a slight smile as he assured, “We’ll manage it, mo nighean donn… There’s the both of us, aye? I’ll no’ be lettin’ ye fall.”

I kissed him then, pulling him closer in desperate urgency. His lips met mine and anchored me to him, holding me fast as I tried to make sense of the storm building around me.

“I’ve got you,” he crooned, pressing my head against his chest when we came up for air.

I concentrated on the sound of his pulse, the rhythm of his heartbeat against my cheek, and slowly felt clarity return to me.

“What else is in there?” I sniffed.

His arms loosened around me and he peered over the edge of the trunk a moment.

“More wee things for the bairns… but I think this one’s for you, Sassenach.”

With this he let go, retrieving a bodice and woolen skirt dyed a deep navy blue from the depths of the wooden chest.

“Well, it certainly wouldn’t fit you,” I grinned and took it from him.

He grunted good naturedly at my jest and obediently bent his head for a closer look when I shoved the bodice back into his lap, cheering with delight.

“Oh, aye,” he nodded appreciatively, yet his voice held that hollow tone of disproportionate earnest. “Tha’ll do verra nicely for you, Sassenach.”

I rose one brow at him, “You have no idea why I’m excited about it, do you?”

“Aye, well… tis a new frock, isn’t it? An’ a bonnie one a’ that,” his grin turned sheepish as he confessed.

I lunged for him, meaning to poke him between the ribs, but he caught my hands well in time and I laughed.

“The boning, the lacing of it,” I nodded towards the bodice, “It’s made for mothers!”

“Oh, aye?” his brows shot up at this and he dropped my hands in order to take a second, proper look.

I began to examine the waistband of the matching skirt as he did so and very much liked what I found.

“So’s this,” I continued. “I can wear it now and continue to after they’re here.”

He handed it back with a greater appreciation, his gaze growing wistful, “Did Jenny’s gowns have such things?”

I nodded, fighting back my gut-wrenching yearning for Jamie’s elder sister. It was always there, brooding under the surface as I contemplated our life to come. I didn’t have much of anything in the way of worldly goods, but what I did have, I’d gladly give to have her with us.

“We may be leaving Scotland at dawn,” I whispered hoarsely, then swallowed hard in order to continue, “but I know we’ll be back… I just know it. You children will see their birthright. I promise you.”

He leaned forward and kissed me softly, the promise of his body, of his protection and undying love echoing my own.

Leaning back after a moment with a sigh, his gaze fell on the tiny baby gowns and his eyes took on a light of complete wonder.

“I havena held a bairn in a verra long time,” his voice was deeper than usual, husky with longing to take his own children into his arms. “I ken they’ll be wee… but, a dhia, Sorcha, I forgot just how much so.”

I draped the gowns over the swell of our children and brought his hand to the place where one insisted on causing a disturbance within me.

Nodding, I pressed hard against them, urging them to respond to us, “But they’re strong.”

“Aye,” he brought his lips to mine as his children proved my point emphatically, “Just like their mother.”

…

Later That Evening

Dinner had been delightful, though we’d still excused ourselves as soon as was appropriate, citing our early departure.

But in truth, I had only one destination in mind.

The hot spring.

I shut the door of our chamber behind us with a grin and leaned against it, insisting abruptly, “Take off your clothes.”

Jamie started visibly then burst out laughing as he sat down hard upon the bed.

“Oh, aye?” He rose a brow when he could finally speak, his shoulders still shaking, “Is tha’ how it’s goin’ to be?”

Heat rose to my cheeks as I shook my head in mock derision, reaching over to the nearly empty chest of drawers and withdrawing two homespun robes of a deep chestnut hue. I tossed one to him and his amusement turned to curiosity.

“I want to show you something,” I blurted, not wanting to give away the surprise and yet needing to get him out of the room somehow.

Both brows rose nearly to his hairline as he looked at me skeptically.

“An’ I must wear this?”

I undid the lacing of my new bodice, commenting, “We both are.”

“Ye’re delirious, Sassenach,” Jamie shook his head. “Ye canna be tellin’ me ye mean to wander about in nothin’ but that?”

“Well,” my blush rose considerably and I wished he’d just put on the damn thing and be done with it already, “it covers more than you’d think… and I stick to the shadows.”

“Ye’ve done this before?!”

The incredulity of the idea had him back on his feet in an instant, a fire burning bright in his eyes.

“I have,” my chin rose defiantly, “and I plan on doing it one last time before we go.”

A slow grin spread across his face, the indignation in his eyes melting into unfettered requirement.

“With me?”

“Of course with you,” I snorted, shoving his robe against his chest. “Just put the bloody thing on, will you?”

He did so immediately, then helped me in turn, all the while his grin permanently splitting his face in two.

“Good,” I appraised him, adjusting the belt around my waist more securely.

“Shall we go, then?”

Jamie rose a brow at this and opened the door, bowing low over his hand as he gestured into the deep shadows of the hall.

Slipping my hand into the crook of his arm, we made our way wordlessly along the dark passageways. We turned this way and that, the slope of the floor slowly dipping as we got closer. Finally reaching the door to the passageway, I opened it and sighed with relief as I found the sconces already lit.

We continued on for some time and eventually had to walk single file as the tunnel narrowed.

“Are ye sure ye ken where we’re goin’?” Jamie asked skeptically from behind me, his frown evident in the darkness.

I suppressed a laugh and brushed the tips of my fingers along the solid rock wall, “Well, there’s no chance of us taking a wrong turn, now is there?”

The tunnel was dimly lit and full of twists and turns, but held no offshoots or forks of any sort. It simply led to our destination, which was the only reason the brothers let me travel to and fro unattended. There was absolutely no chance of me getting lost underground as I traversed completely naked beneath my borrowed robe.

Brother Jeremiah had introduced me to the abbey’s restorative hot springs during the long weeks of Jamie’s recovery. I could slip away and find relief for a few hours as Murtagh watched over our beloved charge. The warm buoyancy of the water relieved the pressure of the lives within me, rewinding time to give my body back to me. The quiet solitude soothed my frazzled nerves and slowly healed the mental and emotional wounds inflicted by the horrible ordeal we had all just gone through.

The heat of the spring wafted towards us quite suddenly and a shiver of excitement ran up my spine, raising gooseflesh in its wake.

“We’re almost there,” I assured him unnecessarily.

The light of the cavern was discernible before us — bless the brothers for preparing it for us — and Jamie now could see it for himself. We continued on a few paces more and then we stood in the midst of the gaping cavern. Sconces were positioned here and there between us and the shore, attempting to illuminate the void, but great gaps of darkness stood beyond and it was clear that the space was a good deal larger than either of us could imagine.

I let out a sigh of absolute delight, so relieved to finally be here, and asked, “Do you like it?”

Jamie didn’t answer but looked around with his mouth agape. I knew the feeling fell, but my eagerness to be within the pool had me disrobing before my poor husband knew what was happening. I had one foot in when his voice stopped me.

“Christ, Sassenach,” he burst in delight, “‘tis a hot spring!”

I laughed and continued my descent down the carved stone steps.

“Oh, you do. Good,” I grinned and reached the bottom. “Do come in, then.”

Jamie shed his robe, but kept a firm hold of his skepticism, asking from the top of the stairs, “How hot is it? Should ye be bathin’ in it in yer condition, Sassenach?”

I shook my head, my curls splaying this way and that on the surface of the water, and I rolled my eyes.

If he only knew how bloody amazing it feels in here.

The muscles of my lower back had immediately relaxed upon contact with the water, my hips loosened and my breathing eased. They seemed to like it too, for they tumbled with delight at the first and then settled into a blissful slumber. I could walk slowly about, stretching my long limbs without the strain of gravity. Or I sometimes lay my arms on the stone ledge of the shore, resting my head atop them as I let my legs float out from beneath me… levitating weightless in the water.

“It gets hotter the further out you go,” I assured him, gesturing vaguely into the darkness. “I stay over here in the shallows and I’m just fine… it's like a splendid bath that never grows cold.”

He continued in, the water slowly swallowing him up as he joined me. The awe was back in his eyes, now seeing and feeling for himself what a splendid thing this was. He wiggled his toes in the clean, black sand at the bottom of the pool, sending pulsating currents over my own. The surface looked deceptively still, but there were small currents here and there if you knew where to find them… the pulse of the living, breathing spring.

Jamie turned to grin at me in the darkness, his teeth flashing white in the sconces’ flickering light.

“Christ, Sassenach,” he repeated and shook his head, completely at a loss.

I laughed, “You approve, then?”

“Oh, aye,” he insisted, looking ‘round excitedly. “I do, indeed.”

Jamie bounced on his toes slightly as he squinted out into the darkness.

“How far does it go?”

“I’m not sure,” I shrugged. “It got too hot for me.”

He nodded with an adorable sense of determination and I knew he was out to explore this oasis I had just introduced him to. He started to move away but I touched his arm, stopping him for a moment.

“Be careful, alright?”

His face melted and he leaned back in for a kiss, nudging my nose with his, “Aye, I’ll keep an eye for any wee beasties.”

“Any big ones too.”

“Mmm,” he kissed me again, “I think we’re quite safe, m ’ionmhas. Though, tis a shame we left our pet selkie behind, hmm?”

I laughed and shoved him away, letting him explore to his heart’s content. I could hear him splash this way and that, muttering to himself, but was surprised when he returned shortly after he left.

“Nothing out there?”

He snorted, “Entirely too much that I canna see… and you’re right, tis a good deal hotter out there.”

His skin was delightfully warm as I slipped my arms around his neck with a sigh. Resting my cheek against his chest, I let my feet float out beneath me. He towed me slowly around the edge of the pool, the water rippling over my legs and abdomen feeling remarkably like his caressing hands. I became warmer and more aroused by the moment, the tips of my sensitive breasts brushed against his chest and set off fireworks deep within me.

He found the man-made niche cut into the wall that I liked to frequent and sat on the wooden bench, pulling me to sit sideways on his lap. I knew there was plenty of room for both of us on it and pushed him backwards as I moved to straddle him. The eager glow in his eyes set me afire as I settled myself more comfortably, treasuring him for a moment before guiding him home. The accompanying inrush of hot water surprised me for a brief moment, but I soon found it incredibly exhilarating and settled myself with a sigh of pleasure.

“Oh, I like that one,” he purred.

I blinked at him stupidly and asked, “Like what?”

“That sound you made,” he explained, the delight evident in his eyes, “the wee squeak.”

I didn’t think it was possible to blush — I knew my skin was already flushed to the point of beet red — and I found myself dropping my gaze, hoping my hair would fall in my face and hide my embarrassment.

“I’m sorry… I didn’t mean to be noisy.”

Jamie tipped my chin up, brushing the curls from my brow as he insisted gently, “I said I like it.”

I nodded, not entirely sure what to say to that and found I didn’t have to, for he continued.

“And I do… ‘tis one of the things I like best about bedding you, Sassenach,” he grinned, “the small noises that you make.”

He cradled my head in his hands, kissing me with an urgency that made me forget myself once more, and shifted his hips just so beneath me. I half stifled a gasp and he commented softly, “Aye, like that.”

“That's what I thought most about,” Jamie murmured, his hands slowly caressing my back, curving around to cup my breasts, to frame the swell of our children.

“In prison, at night… chained in a room with dozens of other men, listening to the snoring and farting and groaning. I thought of those small, tender sounds that you make when I love you… and I could feel you there next to me in the dark, breathing soft and then faster, and the little grunt that you give when I first take you, as though you were settling yourself to your job.”

My breathing was certainly coming faster now, my head light. Had it not been for my rather firm hold of him down below the surface, I was sure I would have floated far away into oblivion.

“Even better,” his lips brushed against my neck, sending a shiver of delight up and down my spine, “when I come to you fierce and wanting... and ye wimper under me and struggle as though you’re struggling to get away, and I know ‘tis only that you’re struggling to come closer... and I’m fighting the same fight.”

His hands sank to my hips, slipping between us to caress the stretched and yearning point of our joining. I quivered and my breath went from me in an unwilled gasp.

“Or when I come to you needing… and you take me into you with a sigh and that quiet hum like a hive of bees in the sun,” a sweet smile played at his lips, “and ye carry me into peace with a little moaning sound.”

“Jamie,” I hoarsely whispered, my need nearly strangling me. “Jamie, please.”

He kissed me soundly as his hands settled around my waist, slowing me until I groaned around his lips.

“Not yet. We’ve time, mo chridhe,” he calmly answered. “I mean to hear ye groan like that again… to moan and sob, though ye dinna wish to, for ye canna help it… I mean to make you sigh as though your heart would break and scream with the wanting... and at last to cry out in my arms… and I shall know I’ve served you well.”

With that, my release overtook me, shooting like a dart into the depths of my belly. It loosened my joints so that my arms slipped limp off his shoulders, Jamie’s steadying hands all that kept me from drowning.

Resting my head against his chest, I felt boneless as a jellyfish. I didn’t know — or care — what sort of noises I’d been making, but felt incapable of coherent speech.

That is, until he began to move again... strong as a shark under the water.

“Oh God, no,” I protested. “Jamie, no. I can’t bear it like that again.”

The blood was still pounding in my fingertips and his movement inside me was an exquisite torture.

“You can… for I love you,” his lips brushed against my neck. “And you will, for I want you… but, dinna fash, for this time I go with you.”

Bloody hell, you’re coming with me, I vowed.

I lifted my hands to his chest and splayed my fingers wide, still trembling as I pressed my palms against his slippery skin. Sliding my hands up, I took hold of his shoulders and shoved him the couple inches backwards into the stone wall of the niche with all the strength I could muster.

Jamie’s eyes flew open in surprise and the arousal I found there was the second wind I needed.

His brows rose suggestively and I sat back — settling myself to my business, as he had so eloquently stated before. His hands settled at my waist, curving round to clenching my buttocks tightly as I rode him towards oblivion.

A low groan rumbled within him and I cupped one hand beneath his head, pulling back up to me by the scruff of his neck. I was rewarded with a Christ, Claire and kissed him hard as I sank even deeper. It wouldn’t — couldn’t — be long now for either of us and with that knowledge, I tossed restraint to the wind.

“You are mine,” I repeated, the final vowel twisting into a cry of pure ecstacy.

I heard his own cry and I knew I had served him well.

#outlander #outlander fanfic #Metamorphosis AU #chapter 26 #in the womb of the earth

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melindacoulson4 · 4 years

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By her side

AOS started with the death of a hero. The Tahiti project was created to bring back a fallen hero. And so the cycle continues....only this time it isn't Phil Coulson. Daisysous fic. Post-finale.

THIS IS WILD. PREPARE FOR FEELS.

She jerked awake. Her eyes automatically looking to her right for the man in the chair. He was there, watching her closely. It took him a minute to react. He froze sitting up quickly, mouth falling open. "Hey. Hey. You're awake." He stood up and moved to her side quickly.

There was a beeping. Her body hurt like someone had thrown her off the side of a building. At first glance, she saw nothing but white. White walls. White blanket covering her body. White bandages over her arms. Several things ran through her head at once. Miles was always telling her that she needed to cool it with her speed. That her van would turn into an accordion against any vehicle with substance. A car accident that had to be how she'd wound up in here. And this guy at her side was some nice citizen. A witness that had come to make sure she'd be alright.

He completely surprised her when he grabbed a hold of her hand. "Skye," he whispered.

He knew her name. "Huh?" She said. The way her voice sounded startled her. It had come out scratchy and deep, leaving the inside of her throat aching.

"Are you okay?" He looked down at her full of concern.

No. Most definitely not okay.

She tried sitting up. And that brought a spike of pain that went rolling down her spine but she continued to try anyway.

"Hey. Hey. Hey," he protested. "Take it easy," he said, laying a gentle hand on her shoulder. "What is it? What hurts?" He asked, slowly transitioning to a seated position at the edge of her bed.

The overwhelming sense of unknown threw her into a panic. "Everything. I. I. I..." She stuttered. "What's happening?" Against her will, her eyes watered. She didn't want to appear weak or fragile but it was kind of hard not to in this situation. It couldn't be helped.

"You were in an accident," he told her, rubbing his thumb against the top of her hand. He was gentle in the way he touched her.

An accident. That was acceptable, but the thing that scared her most. That had her palms sweating under the knit white blanket and her breathing picking up was that the last thing she remembered was white sand. Had she nearly drowned? Or worse, attacked by some stranger?

"Breathe. Just breathe. D- Skye. Look at me." It was a request, not an order. "Breathe with me, okay?"

Eyes swinging back to him, she nodded. His presence was calming. She blew a breath out. Her heart continued hammering away.

"Slow...in and out," he coached softly.

His chest rose and fell rhythmically. She did her best to mimic it. "Okay. Okay," she whispered. Feeling rational thought return. Things were okay. For one, she was alive and two, this man was here. As she knew he would be....somehow.

Sensing her need for space again, he backed up slightly, but didn't go far. He stayed an arm's length away.

Her mouth was so dry. Like someone had shoveled a truckload of sand into it while she slept. "Water," she requested.

A styrofoam cup with a bendy straw appeared in front of her. She swallowed it down greedily, finishing it in three long gulps. His eyes never wavered from her face as he held the cup in place for her. When she found her breath, she asked, "Not to be rude or anything but...who are you?"

He looked down, swallowing hard. "James." It was not what she expected him to say. "You like calling me Jim though." He said, attempting to smile, but it failed to reach his eyes.

"Jim," she tested. It felt weird, but she nodded anyway, wanting to make him feel better as he just did with her. His clothes were rumpled. Dark circles seemed engrained on his face like he hadn't slept in weeks. Several stacks of newspapers sat on the window ledge. He'd been sitting by her bedside for a while then. And it looked like he'd been in the same accident as her. A long, odd looking bruise lined his jaw. Several small cuts were sprinkled over his face. There was a black sling around his neck, cradling his entire right arm.

Her eyes dipped to the hand he had near hers on the bed. No ring. So they weren't married. Given the hand holding and lack of ring there were only a few options. "Okay. Jim. Um. What are you to me?"

She expected pain to cross his face or more realistically anger. Forgetting him entirely wasn't exactly a nice thank you for him sitting by her bedside. But he remained straight-faced, almost stony. "Your boyfriend," he said.

Should she apologize? Hey Jim, you seem like a swell guy, but I have no memory of our time together at all. "I can't remember anything," she whispered, sounding small.

He nodded. "That's okay," he answered, calm and collected. Not anything like his world had just been flipped upside-down, which lead her to suspect that he'd anticipated this.

There was a cot pushed against the far wall. She had no roommate. A blanket was thrown over the back of his chair. A tower of books were stacked off to the side. She read the spine of the thickest one. "A concise history of the 20th century". He'd been bored enough to read something like that. Just how much time had passed? Long enough to accumulate these things to keep himself occupied. She was afraid to know the answer, so instead she asked, "What happened to us?"

He looked her right in the eye. "Helicopter crash."

That did not sound right at all. "A what?" She blurted, doubt clouding her mind.

"There was a helicopter crash. We were...in Tahiti." He shook his head as if recalling something painful. "It completely shattered your left shoulder blade. You had a concussion. Ten broken ribs..." He trailed off.

Come to think of it she did feel different somehow. Like she'd been torn apart and then put back together again, piece by piece. She expected some other explanation. Maybe it was the disorientation of the memory loss. Either way it was a deeply odd feeling to have.

"Believe it or not you were lucky." His face shadowed over like he'd seen too much. Witnessed too much. "We...were lucky," he amended.

And others not so much, her brain finished for him. "People died?"

"Yea." A haunted look crossed his face.

It made her uncomfortable, so she didn't look at his face. He caught her staring at the rest of his body. "I have a broken arm, but it's healed well. It was in a...cast. But now I have this." He gestured to the sling.

The door opened. A young woman walked in, shuffling papers and watching Jim. The doctor, Skye suspected. The woman smiled at Jim like they were on friendly terms, familiar with each other. "Ma-

"She's awake," he said, interrupting her.

The doctor turned to her, shocked to her core. "You're awake," she repeated Jim, almost in disbelief.

"I am," Skye confirmed, then felt stupid.

"How long have I been here exactly?" She asked, changing the subject.

The doctor stood in place, still staring at her, stunned that she was even speaking. Skye had never seen a doctor so thrown by a patient waking up.

"A while," Jim answered. His eyes flickered away.

That scared her.

He seemed to detect her fear because he reached out and touched her fingers. "It was bad. I thought you were gone."

"You're a fighter," the doctor said. Skye felt that she could trust her. There was a genuineness about her. A face that you'd want to tell anything to.

"Not literally though. I work with computers for a living," Skye said almost on automatic. The words felt true though. Keyboards and screens. She remembered that. "Right?" She looked to Jim for confirmation.

There was a long pause. Jim seemed almost mournful for a moment, then he smiled. "Yea. Don't ask me the details though. I don't understand the first thing about those things."

Both he and the doctor laughed, but it failed to truly reach either of their eyes. They both seemed worn down. There were more lines on Jim's face than she remembered ever being there.

"I'm feeling...." Skye trailed off, thinking about what to say. Claustrophobic. Locked up. Trapped in a bubble. "Could I maybe take a walk?" She asked the doctor hesitantly. She wasn't really in great shape, but she needed to move.

When no answer came, her eyes flickered to the doctor. She seemed trapped in some sort of trance, staring down at the papers in her arms.

"Doctor?"

The woman blinked, coming back from where her mind had been. "Sorry. What did you say?"

"A walk. Do you think I could take one?"

The doctor opened her mouth, denial clearly on her tongue.

"Please," Skye added quickly. "Please," she begged, meeting the doctors eyes. She seemed like a good person. Human and able to work with a patient.

The doctor swallowed past a lump in her throat. "That can be arranged for you," she stated quietly.

It wasn't until she and Jim made it into the hall that Skye realized she never caught the doctor's name. The woman wore no nametag nor white lab coat. But it had been obvious who she was by her caring demeanor. As she'd fiddled with the machines and disconnected the IVs, Skye felt a healing energy around the room. She wanted to ask the doctor where she was from. The accent was British and could hardly be missed, but the doctor had grown skittish towards the end. Like something was deeply upsetting. Jim had stepped in to help her stand from the bed. The doctor had made herself scarce after that.

The going was slow. She kept her eyes primarily on her feet. One foot in front of the other. She couldn't ever remember having to use crutches before. There had been the time in middle school when she'd fallen over a soccer ball. On the landing there had been a distinct crack from her leg. She didn't dare say anything to her foster parents. All they needed was one excuse to be rid of her. That's how they all were, so she'd walked with a pretty profound limp for a while. And that marked the permanent end of her sports career.

During her time in the bed, her muscles had grown weak. Her body itself seemed to be in relatively okay shape for a woman who'd had so many injuries. As she lifted the crutches, she wobbled a bit.

"Woah. I've got ya," Jim said with a supportive hand at her back.

She believed him. She knew it was true down to her core. He would always be there to pick her up. Or not let her fall in the first place.

It was quiet out here. So much so that her crutches seemed a thousand times louder than they truly were. When she tapped them on the tile, the noise seemed to echo all around them. She had the suspicion that this hospital was really small. There was barely any activity around. No nurses hustling around. No other patients. Maybe she'd seen too many movies. At this point she was kind of desperate just to see different people around. Just when she was about to ask Jim where they even were in terms of a city, she saw actual people.

They passed a small waiting room. It was an open area filled with chairs and tables. She saw a middle aged-man and woman sitting side-by-side. Clearly a couple by the way they leaned on one another. The man wore a white checkered shirt that was tucked into a pair of khakis. Dark rimmed glasses rested on the tip of his nose. He had a book in hand, halfway finished by the looks of it. The woman wore a light purple sweater and a necklace. Her dark hair was pinned back. Her arm was threaded in the man's. They looked like old sweethearts.

The woman caught Skye looking. They locked eyes and Skye felt her chest tighten. The woman smiled politely, but it was a facade. Putting on a brave face, Skye thought. There was a deep sadness to her. She clutched at her husband's hand. They both appeared tired and worn down, like they'd received bad news or were waiting on news of a close family member. At least they had each other. She hoped things would work out for them.

One of her crutches caught on the tile floor. She found that she could no longer lift it. Her breathing had kicked up. Heart beating erratically. Sweat had broken out under her arms. She could scarcely hold onto the rubber grip attached to the crutches. She halted in place, feeling like she couldn't move forward. There was something deeply wrong...but her mind blanked.

"You okay?" Jim asked from her side, but he sounded far away. So far away.

The world was spinning fast, intending on hurling her off somewhere that she didn't know. She'd never felt so lost before. Her eyes squeezed shut as she tried to fight it all off. Parents. The word had entered her mind from nowhere and spread out like wildfire. Even though she was an adult she wished she knew who they were. It hardly mattered at the moment. She couldn't understand why this was happening now.

"Skye, can you hear me?"

Jim. Jim was still here. And just like that everything was okay. When she opened her eyes the world had grown still once more. Normal. Things were normal. He was at her side and he wasn't going anywhere.

"What just happened?" Jim questioned, clearly distraught.

She didn't want to worry him. She wanted to see him happy. A smile on his face, that was something she could remember. When he chuckled he looked so damn endearing and genuine. So she put on a brave face. "Just out of breath for a sec," she told him, brushing her panic away.

"Maybe we should go back." His warm hand settled against her shoulders.

Nothing seemed real in here. Like she might be dreaming. She wanted to see birds flying through the air, feel wind on her cheeks, and hear the sound of traffic. What she didn't want was to keeping breathing stale, recirculated hospital air. "No way I want some fresh air. Just needed a breather is all. I'm good now. Promise," she said, determined to finish this.

So they continued on.

Something flew across the floor, bounced off the toe of her shoe, and came to a halt about a foot away. A green dot. It was tiny, not even the size of a penny. The word pebble popped into her mind, but it wasn't right. That was a stupid thing to think. Pebbles weren't lime green. It was a piece of candy. She stepped over it easily.

The proof came a few feet later. A man had a red baggie in his hand. He was busy tossing skittles and catching them in his mouth. And from the looks of him, he was terrible at it. But luck seemed to be on his side, most of the candies had wound up in his lap so he could try again. Best two out of ten, she thought.

There were several candy and chocolate wrappers on the empty next to him. She counted at least three lemon head baggies. Clearly he had a sweet tooth. He upended the Skittle bag into his palm. It was red. He looked about ready to prepare for the next toss, but stopped short. Wondering what the hold up was, her eyes ran up to his face. She was almost taken aback by the way he was staring at her. His eyes were blown wide, like a deer caught in headlights. She'd always heard the expression and had used it herself sometimes, but now she was seeing it in its truest form. If a giant bulky alien popped up and punched him in the face, she didn't think he could look anymore shocked than he did right now.

The woman next to him seemed to notice his rude behavior, turned and elbowed him in the gut. He flinched, dropping that last Skittle. His head swung towards the woman. "Ow!" He complained, outraged.

"Pendejo," the woman said.

The two began bickering back and forth like siblings. Clearly they had a familiarity with each other. Neither one looked at her again.

Completely thrown by the exchange, Skye's brows furrowed. Both of them were purposefully not looking at her. A terrible thought crossed her mind. Had she been disfigured? A face transplant. Or skin graft. Helicopters could explode and Jim never gave her the details. All the terrible ways someone could be hurt in a crash ran through her mind. "Is something wrong with my face?"

"No," Jim said quickly.

"Don't lie to me," she warned.

"I would never lie to you about something like that," he said seriously. "Besides a few gnarly scratches and some bruises your face is perfect."

Perfect. Where did she find a man this nice? She didn't think she'd ever heard someone call her face perfect. Caring. Supportive. Nice. Attractive. She patted her past self on the back for choosing him.

A large guy, built like Dwayne "the rock" Johnson coming down the hall.

"Holy God. That guy is big," she murmured.

He was stacked with muscles, but slim. He had a cardboard carrier in each hand. Both completely full. There were four coffees in each carrier, each of varying sizes. One was even a frappuccino.

"How many coffees does one guy need?" She whispered, trying not to stare.

"When you're that big, I guess eight," Jim responded.

She chuckled. They kept moving and when they passed the coffee man he actually met her eye without reacting like she looked like a leper. He nodded politely as he passed. She smiled and did the same.

There were pictures all along the walls of different landscapes. She stared at them and wondered where her home was. She had no idea. The only thing she knew was that Jim was in her life. That felt right.

To fill the silence, she asked, "So what were we doing in Tahiti anyway?"

"Taking a long deserved vacation. Which is what we're going to continue doing until you're all healed," he said.

A vacation from what? She tried to picture herself living with Jim. Maybe having dinner ready for him just as he set foot in the house after a long days work. She couldn't picture it. She wanted to know what he did for a living. Then she realized that she didn't even know what her own job was. So many questions and not enough answers. She didn't want to hurt him, but she could barely remember anything. The last thing she remembered was the pain. She'd fought so hard to live. Several questions bounced around her head about the accident. She wanted to know more, but thought back to his reaction in her room and decided she could wait. She didn't want to upset him.

They made it outside without even having to use an elevator. Apparently her room was on the first floor, the only floor. Weird hospital. This must be a really small town or some private place for rich people.

Jim lead her over to a bench and helped her sit. The black metal had a soothing warmth to it from soaking up all the sunshine. It was a welcomed difference from inside the hospital. The sun felt nice on her arms. Most of her arm was bandaged up, but the skin that she could see was pale. So she held out both arms as best she could, enjoying the heat that soaked into her.

Jim's hand rested on her thigh, barely there so as not to hurt her. But enough so she could feel his presence. Because of him she felt warm inside too.

She didn't know how much time had passed, but the next time she opened her eyes a little girl had appeared. Merely a few feet in front of her stood a small girl, no more than five. She had blonde hair that was almost white and was wearing the biggest smile on her face that Skye had ever seen.

"Hi there, cutie," Skye said, smiling back. The little girl's happiness was infectious.

She felt Jim sit up straighter.

"No no no no." A man came over in a rush and completely out of breath. "Over here, sweetie," he said, directing the little girl away.

He had an accent. Just like that doctor. What were the odds of that? Small odds. Waking up from a coma? Also small odds. Maybe the universe was trying to tell her something. She should go buy a lottery ticket.

The girl proved to be a stubborn one. She plopped down right in front of their feet, unwilling to budge. The man scooped her up. "I'm so sorry," he apologized to her and Jim, barely sparing them a glance.

"Don't be," she said, smiling at how sweet the girl was.

No response came from the man. In a rush of nervous energy, he booked it away from them. Almost as if he couldn't get away fast enough. Like he thought they had some disease. Odd.

A heartbroken cry echoed.

Skye looked to their right. The little girl had her arms stretched out, reaching back. Her face was very displeased. That was when Skye saw a small plastic monkey toy discarded on the sidewalk.

The man seemed to notice too. Grudgingly, he backtracked his steps.

"What's her name?" Skye called out to him, desperate for conversation or something else she couldn't figure out.

The man looked at her, startled. "Uh um," he fumbled over his words. He had a young looking face, but the beard and mustache combo mad him more distinguished. Avoiding her eyes, he grabbed the toy, then paused like the ground had suddenly cracked apart and was about to suck him in. After a long pause he finally spoke. "Dandelion....Dandy for short." Without waiting for her response, he spun around and took off like a fire had been lit under his ass.

Weirdo...

People these days were weird. Not only his reactions, but that name....dandelion. What happened to boring, normal names like.... Melinda or something? "Remind me that when we have kids not to name any daughter we have after a flower," she said to Jim. He stayed quiet and her brain caught up to what she'd said. She shut her eyes in exasperation. Idiot.

"I'm sorry. Was that too soon? I actually have no idea how long we've been dating."

"Dating," he said as if the word were foreign to him.

Oh god, he wasn't one of those kind, was he? Afraid of any commitment. Worry settled in the pit of her stomach. "That's what we're doing, right?" She asked, confused now.

He leaned towards her, quickly grabbing her hand and meeting her eyes. "Yea....yea...of course...I just....I like calling it....going steady," he said almost nervously.

That made her laugh. "What are you? Ninety years old?"

He chuckled and there was that happiness from him that she loved to see.

She turned, searching for the little girl again, but she and her father were long gone. "That was weird, right? That guy. Acting like we were going to steal his kid or something..." She looked at Jim for confirmation that it wasn't just her that thought so.

He nodded. "It was weird. Maybe he's just paranoid."

"Speaking of weird. In that hospital room, when I first woke up...even before I opened my eyes, I just knew that you would be there. Like I had this sixth sense of you sitting by my bedside or something," she told him.

"Maybe you heard me talking to you," she said and she could feel the rumbling in his chest as he spoke. "Telling you I needed you to come back to me." He took her hand, threading their fingers together.

"Maybe." She smiled. It felt good to just sit and not have any commitments. To not have to rush to respond to something. To what? She didn't know, but either way she was going to take advantage of this.

She stared up at the sky, still lost in thought of the image of him asleep in a chair. In her mind he was wearing blue and he looked damn good.

"Someone's getting tired," he observed.

"Sorry. Yea, I think I am." There was a pounding going on in her head that she didn't like.

"Let's go back in. I don't want you pushing yourself like you always do," he said.

"Okay," she agreed. Anything to make them get back to her bed faster. This whole thing really had tired her out.

Everything was going to be okay though. She felt safe. She felt at home. Jim was with her.

//end//

#daisysous #sousy #dousy #daniel x daisy #fic #agents of shield spoilers #maybe? lol

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monster-mum · 4 years

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The Stories we keep

One thing I would say I am good at is remembering stories and anecdotes from throughout my life. All types of stories from my past are easily called upon when needed, I am always amazed at the details I can recall. A friend once told me that I have a story for everything. That doesn’t mean I am wiser, it means I have done more stupid stuff in my life, something which seems a consistent theme, even today.

Recalling stories from my life is enjoyable and it gives me a sense of nostalgia. This love for reliving past times has made me someone who is very interested in other people and their stories. People are incredibly interesting and have wonderful stories to tell. I often tell my friends and family about my “plane” friends, “boat” friends or “train” friends. Whichever mode of public transport I take I end up chatting to whoever is unlucky enough to be sat next me. I have heard lovely, funny stories, and I have heard sad and tragic stories. All are stories that deserve to be heard. Sometimes I think people just need to talk, to share something about their lives to a stranger, someone who doesn’t know them and probably won’t see them again. Anonymity holds a certain type of freedom for many, without someone to judge you from your life, who is unlikely to repeat the story to someone you know, it can be an incredible lifeline to many who are bursting and needing to speak to someone.

I have always asked a lot of questions. Maybe that is why I felt Journalism was to play a part in my future. I have never been very good at judging which questions are appropriate and inappropriate though. My Dad used to tell me I was tactless, but he was forgetting I am a mix of my Mum’s interest and intrigue in others and their wellbeing, and my Dad’s Glaswegian abruptness.

I can remember one time on a flight to San Francisco I was sat in the window seat, on a row of three, with two men. I was very excitable as I was heading over to see my best friend, so was naturally a bit hyper. The two men and I began the small talk that most British people will do when they are placed in a situation with those they don’t know. It is like a weird impulse for us Brits. “Right, I don’t know you so I have to say something to prove this isn’t an awkward situation.” It usually starts with something like “can you believe the weather?” British people are always surprised by the weather and can rarely believe what it is doing. It doesn’t matter if it is raining, sunny or snowing we can never believe it, and we are never 100% happy with it. We would then ask if they’re heading away for a holiday? Etc etc. The conversation takes off from there. This time though I had a bit of a shock when I asked what I though was a simple question, only to be told it was a personal question. Then followed a conversation where I was educated by both men on what all women are like.

Me: “So, you heading to the states for a holiday?”

Man 1 (sat by the aisle): “No for business. I am heading to the gaming convention there to represent the company I work for. It was a last-minute thing, they didn’t book my ticket until last night. Do mind me asking how much you paid for your ticket? I’m just interested in the price difference on the tickets.”

This surprised me as I thought that question would be considered a personal one. I responded with how much I had paid. We discovered that his ticket was around £1,000 more expensive than what I had paid. Can you believe that!

Anyway…

Me: “How about yourself?” referring to the man in the middle seat.

Man 2: “I am also heading to the convention. I am a game designer.”

The two men then discussed some stuff to do with the companies they worked for, and what games were in the pipeline etc. Then the conversation moved on to where in England we all lived and our lives etc. I mentioned I was married with two children and that led on to me asking:

Me: “Are you married?”

Man 1: “That’s a very personal question.”

Me, very confused: “Is it? Sorry, I didn’t realise.”

Everything then goes quiet for a bit, then:

Man 1: “I’m not married, but I have a girlfriend who I have been with for about three years. We don’t live together. I think she is wanting me to propose at some point.”

Me: “Oh, okay. That’s nice. So, you guys are happy, that’s good.”

Man 1: “Happy? I don’t know about that. I think I am going to break up with her when I get back. She’s in her thirties now and you know what that means…”

At this point he nudges the guy next to us and they both share a knowing smile.

I have absolutely no idea what this means. I, also a woman in her thirties, had no clue as to what they were talking about.

Me: “What does that mean?”

Man 1 smiles in a patronising manner at me. I pretended not to notice.

Man 1: “Well, when a woman gets to thirty she wants to settle down and get married and have children. In fact, (Here he looks at Man 2 and they, again, share the same look as before) when any woman gets into a relationship for three years or longer they put pressure on their partner to get married. All they can see is marriage and babies. All women are like it. I’m not ready for that kind of thing yet. It would’ve been the same for you and your husband. I bet you were the one talking about marriage and children. I bet from a young age you were dreaming of your perfect wedding day.”

Again, he looks at Man 2 who nods in agreement.

Meanwhile I am sat completely surprised at this man’s ability to bunch all women into a group of being one track minded individual’s wanting marriage and babies, but also that this “philosophy” of his was something random Man 2 also seemed to be aware of. I had heard of these kinds of “understanding the opposite sex” assumptions before but only on sitcoms like Friends and Frasier etc. I was very surprised to find not one, but two men who seemed to be aware of this.

Putting aside the blatant sexism I was shocked that he had made some pretty incorrect assumptions about me and the kind of woman I am. Anyone who knows me, and knew me growing up, knows that I have never been the kind of girl to dream of her wedding day, or Prince Charming, or even children. It wasn’t until my Goddaughter was born that I even entertained the idea that at some point, maybe, I might have a child. I was never very keen on children, I found them loud and dirty and annoying. I certainly did not push Chris into proposing. It actually took me about fifteen minutes to process what he was asking me and then say yes. Chris is a very patient man, I am sure I have mentioned this several times in other posts. Anyway, I am not a future planning type of person, I am very much a day to day kind of girl.

Me: “Oh okay. Well, no I didn’t push my husband into proposing. It was something we had discussed, like making sure we were wanting the same things in the future. No point either of us wasting time on a relationship that wasn’t heading in the same direction. It was a mutual discussion with no pressure applied. I wasn’t looking for marriage and children any time soon but I knew one day I would and he was the same. If anything, he was keener on the marriage thing than I was.”

At this point Man 1 and Man 2 laugh.

Man 1: “Okay, but check with your husband. Ask him when you get back home and see what he says. I bet he felt he had to, to keep you happy. Women are all the same that way. Marriage and babies.”

The conversation then drifted on to other subjects. All I could think was how sorry I felt for this poor woman back in England. Part of me hoped that they would break up and then she could meet someone who didn’t talk about her that way.

I know many of you readers will be wondering why I didn’t argue my point, or try and reason with these men. You just have to choose your battles. Male, female, whichever you identify as, there are always those people who are so in tuned with their own thoughts and beliefs, no matter how ignorant they are, sometimes there is just no point arguing and trying to correct them. He had come to this conclusion based on what had happened in his life, we are all products of our environment. Right or wrong isn’t so black and white when you become an adult. I try very hard to see both sides of the story and even though I certainly did not agree with his surmising and was offended and hurt by the patronising tone, I continued to talk to him for much of the flight. He was actually a nice guy, maybe a bit misguided in some of his understandings of “all” females but nevertheless he was alright. Just as the plane landed he asked how I was getting to my friend’s house, I said that they were picking me up at the airport. I think it suddenly hit him that I was a female travelling alone. He offered to help me with my suitcase and asked me if I wanted him to escort me to arrivals to meet my friends. I didn’t find this patronising or an affront to my feminist rights. I found it comforting and kind. Yes, he was likely doing it because I was a female and there are many traditional beliefs and values that lead many to think we are safer with a man to protect us, but I have offered the same to other women and men. How does his kindness differ from that of me offering?

What is the point of me telling you this story? Well, to be honest I could take it in many different directions. This interaction I had to many would’ve seemed like nothing special, just another awkward stranger conversation. To me though it is a story that I can retell in many situations to others which may make them laugh, be outraged, be comforted or even inspired by. It is so important to hold on to the stories of how you have become you. It is the happy, the sad, the angry, the shocked, surprised, tragic and embarrassing moments that add to building of who we are. They shouldn’t be devalued and certainly not forgotten. I believe everything happens for a reason. Whether you believe in a God or Karma, or even just hope, knowing that these interactions and experiences amount to me makes me want to remember them more because one day, one of these stories of mine may well be the very thing that helps someone. Everything for a reason, a type of hope.

#blogging #parentblog #travel #stories

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imaginexxharry · 6 years

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Prince Harry (part 5)

Part 1: https://imaginexxharry.tumblr.com/post/168129211274/prince-harry-in-which-yn-is-the-princess-of

Part 2: https://imaginexxharry.tumblr.com/post/168266725854/prince-harry-part-2

Part 3: https://imaginexxharry.tumblr.com/post/168407263609/prince-harry-part-3 p>

Part 4: https://imaginexxharry.tumblr.com/post/168653174274/prince-harry-part-4

In which Y/N is the Princess of Scotland and Harry is the Prince of England. They have both been engaged to marry ever since they were young, as part of an alliance between both countries. But prince Harry might now be as welcoming to the idea of marriage. When danger strikes Y/N must go to England, and be with Harry. The weight of two kingdoms are on Y/N and Harrys shoulders.

(I just started watching this show called Reign, so this story is kind of based off that. I would recommend watching it!!)

Sorry for the delay! But I made it extra long to make up for it! GET READY FOR SOME DRAMA AND A BIT OF SMUT

Also thanks so much to @eversince-kiwi282 for helping me with ideas for the story, you guys should check her out she’s a great writer!

Harry’s POV:

Last nights fight with Y/N was constantly replaying in Harry’s head. No one has ever tried to challenge his authority before, let alone a women. Being a prince he is constantly put under criticism and called out on things. But Harry has learned to not think anything of it because in the end their opinions don’t really matter. But what’s different about Y/N is that her opinion of him she says to his face and Harry isn’t use to that. Usually he hears rumors about other people bashing him, but no one has ever dared to say it face to face. Y/N was different,she wasn’t afraid to speak her mind, and that’s something Harry didn’t particularly enjoy.

Without a doubt Y/N is the most complicated women he has ever met. Even when she was younger he noticed it. But even though time has passed, and he has changed since those years. Y/N is just like he remembers her, but just older and more attractive.

“Don’t you touch me Harry. I might have had respect for you once, but after what you did I don’t.”

After hearing Y/Ns final statement and watching her turn her back to him, and walk away was odd. No one has ever walked away from Harry, it was usually him leaving them, or him dismissing them himself. He knew Y/N was clearly upset with him, and a part of him was saying to run after her. But then he realized that a prince doesn’t chase after someone, so he didn’t. Also if he was being honest he didn’t want hear her say how much she had lost respect for me again, it didn’t sit well with Harry.

Thinking back to the party that was probably why Y/N left without telling him, because of what she saw. Obviously it wasn’t intentional for her to see him kissing someone else, but he honestly didn’t think it would matter. Did she expect him to not be with anyone else, just because they are engaged for all these years. Obviously he didn’t.

But Harry knew he wasn’t overreacting about Y/N’s guard. He didn’t like him and didn’t want him around Y/N ever. The way he was looking at her was a way that a guard shouldn’t look at a princess. And seeing him touch Y/N like that made Harry’s skin crawl, he didn’t like it at all.

Y/N was his, and he had the right to do these things.

So Harry was determined to talk to her today, if she allows it. But he knew he could just demand she talks to me. Even though his conscious was telling him that wasn’t a good idea. But most of the time Harry barely listens to that side of him.

The sun was now rising through the windows in his chambers. Harry didn’t realize but he was up all night thinking about Y/N. He didn’t know why she was on his mind, her actions shouldn’t have affected him this much. But Harry didn’t like being disrespected in anyway.

He tried to shake that memory away as he got ready for the day. He was going to train with his acquaintances. As he opened the door to leave his room one of his guards was directly outside the door. Harry greeted them a good morning, before starting to leave but a guard stopped me.

“Prince Harry the King and Queen want to speak with you in the throne room, it’s an urgent matter they said.” One of his trusted guards informed me.

“Alright thank you, I’ll head there now.” Harry said as he started walking down the corridor to the throne room. Maybe training has to wait, Harry thought.

—

When Harry entered the throne room his parents were whispering to several guards who all seemed distressed. These guards were people Harry has never seen before, and growing up in the castle he has met everyone one of the guards that served his family. When he closed the door to the throne room, everyone looked up and his father cleared his throat.

“Harry, so great of you to finally join us.” The King said as he stood up from his seat.

“My guards told me you needed to talk to me, and it was a urgent matter. So I got here right away.”

“These are guards from Scotland.” The King said as the guard stood up and bowed to Harry. Why were more guards from Scotland in the British compound? And the King answered, like he read Harry’s mind.

“They are here because there’s been some updates on Scottish territory and The Queen of Scotts.” The Queen said chiming in. Harry nodded for them to continue and Harry’s father motioned for the guards to speak.

“We are trusted guards of the Queen of Scotland, and she wanted us to come to deliver a message that the kingdom is surrounded by French soldiers. We thought we could contain them at first, but there are way more than expected. The Queen is still safe and heavily guarded. But it’s a matter of time before they try to strike, and take over to bring Scotland down.”

“How could this happen, why aren’t the Scottish soldiers fighting back to get them away from the kingdom?” This is very unlikely that the French could take over and surround Scotland in such a small period of time. The Scotts have a good army, not as good as the England of course, but good enough.

“it’s unclear how this happened so quickly. But I guess we underestimated the French and their will power. They’ve been growing in size in secret all these years.” The King said.

“Also we believe there are several French spies throughout Scotland and even England, who are gathering information to help them. We don’t know what exactly they are searching for but they are eager to find it.” One of the Scottish guards added.

“Well send some of our troops there to fight with Scotland and defeat the French, and this will all be over.” Harry suggested. It seemed pretty logical to help Scotland.

“We can’t.” The King said firmly.

“What? Why I don’t understand we have an alliance with Scotland for times like this.”

“We don’t want to be involved directly with French because as of right now they don’t want to attack us. But if we send our troops to side with Scotland, wee are starting a war against the French, that we don’t want.” Harry’s father explained to him like it was such an easy thing to understand.

Harry looked around the room, to see if anyone else was puzzled by what the king wanted to do with this whole situation. His mom was silent but he knew she would never disagree with her husband. Even the Scottish guards didn’t object. Thinking about Scotland made Harry come to the realization that Y/N wasn’t even here to discuss this matter.

“Is that why Y/N isn’t here?” The King sighed.

“She is the princess of Scotland, she has the right to know what is going on in her country.” Harry told him, this was ridiculous. Especially when her own mother’s life is at stake.

“We do not want to worry her, it’s all going to work out, eventually.” He said nonchalantly. You looked over at your mom for some help to try and convince her husband, the king to change his decision. When she avoided eye contact from Harry, he gave up.

“You can’t mention this to Y/N, or she will try and do something drastic that could not only hurt Scotland even more, but England too.” The King said while standing up to get his point across.

“I can’t just-“ Harry tried to object before he was interrupted.

“Do you understand, my command Harry?” The King spoke sternly. It was times like this that made Harry realize that the king is his father. But being a king comes first than fatherhood does. His father’s duty to the country was above his duty as a father. Which is something Harry hated as a child and even now.

The room was dead silent before Harry responded to his King.

“Yes I do, sir.” Harry said, because he couldn’t refuse.

“Good, Harry. We have to do what’s best for England, and this is. It is something you’ll come to learn once your king.” The King said.

Which is a day Harry wasn’t eagerly waiting for. Harry knew it will happen in the future, and he’s been trained for it from the Day he was born. But it still wasn’t something he thought he would ever be ready for.

“You are dismissed now, you can leave. Guards lead Harry out” The King said sending Harry away since he wasn’t needed anymore. The king stood up and so did the Queen, and left to attend to other matters, that were more important than their own son.

Harry shook his head and clenched his jaw. Sometimes he resented his own father and how he used him when he needed him, and than after he was done he did not speak to him for days. Harry understood he was the king and was extremely busy. But he was his father too.

But Harry always had to remember that he was a King first, before he became his father.

The guards opened the throne doors, to escort Harry out. Harry was fuming with anger, and he needed something to let out his steam. Harry knew only one way to do that. Without thinking he turned to the guard to tell him them a order.

“Tell Emily to come to my chambers immediately.”

—

The sound of Emily’s moans and whimpers echoed in Harry’s chambers as he pounded into her. This was exactly what Harry needed to make himself feel better from the events of today.

“Harry, yes! Right there!” Emily screamed as he pushed in and out of her in pleasure. Harry connected their mouths together to keep her quiet as he continued to go in deeper, causing both of them to let out a moan.

Harry knew exactly where to touch Emily to get the sort of reaction he craved from her. So when he brought his fingers to her clit and started playing with it, he knew she was getting close to her end. Her body jerked underneath him as he kissed between her breasts causing her eyes to roll.

“I’m so close” she told Harry as she squeezed her eyes shut in pleasure. Harry was close too. So when he gave one last thrust they both came. They both collapsed on top of each other, breathing heavily.

“You seem extremely stressed today.” Emily said as she laid beside Harry as both tried to catch their breathe. Harry closed his eyes in annoyance, he didn’t like how she would try to talk to him after they had sex. Harry wanted to escape his problems not talk about them.

“Aren’t I always?” Harry told her as she moved closer to him and placed a kiss on Harry’s lips. Harry thought both of them were just going to lay there until she left. But Emily had other plans.

“Then let me help you out more.” She cooed at him as she lowered her kisses lower to his neck, chest, stomach, and than his waist. Emily peered up at Harry as she got closer and even though Harry was still sensitive he didn’t object.

She pulled the cover away from Harry’s waist, fully exposing him. She licked her lips right before she took him in her mouth. Harry groaned in pleasure as she touched his balls, making Harry lose his mind. It just felt so good he didn’t want her to ever stop. This is why he calls Emily because she gives the best blowies.

“Go deeper… yes like that.” Harry told her and she didn’t disappoint. Her mouth worked wonders on Harry, and he loved it.

He couldn’t help grabbing onto her bright red hair and making her take him even further, which she took like a pro. All of Harry’s worries and stress dissolved into nothing. Emily knew she was doing a great job as she tried to hide her little smile forming on her face, for all the praise Harry was giving her.

“So so close. Just don’t stop.” Harry wished he could last a little longer. But from their previous activities a few minutes ago he knew he couldn’t. So with one more lick of Harry’s head he came in Emily’s mouth, and she swallowed.

Emily wiped her mouth after she was done, and pulled the cover over her and Harry as she laid back beside him.

“Better?” Emily asked Harry as he still is trying to catch his breathe.

“Yes, much better.” Harry tells her as she kisses him.

“So are you gonna tell me what’s wrong?” Emily persisted again. Harry rolled his eyes and sighed in frustration. Couldn’t she just get him off, and not talk afterwards. He hates it when she wants him to open up more and tell her about his life. First off he couldn’t tell anyone about what goes on while he is a prince, and second he doesn’t want to. Sure he likes Emily physically, but that’s it. He had no feels for her whatsoever. She was just someone he went to when he needed a quick fuck if he’s being honest.

“You know I can’t tell you stuff like that.” Harry said as he got up and put his trousers on. Hoping she would get it as a sign for her to put her clothes on too, and leave.

“Come on Harry, you know I wouldn’t tell anyone.” Her annoying voice pleaded with him. Harry didn’t trust her, but he didn’t trust most people so it wasn’t anything personal. Even his own family it was hard to trust at times. So there’s no one in his life where he would tell his secretes to, and he wasn’t gonna start now.

But Emily was clingy as hell. Like on the night of the party he didn’t intend to go off with her and leave Y/N all alone. But she was so persistent and following them the whole night, so he had to. He even told her to wait until after the party but no she didn’t listen at all to that. Harry thought many times to just leave Emily, but who else would he call when he needed to get off.

“I said no.” Harry told her firmly and she huffed in annoyance, and started to gather her clothes and put them on.

“I was just trying to help, you don’t have to be so rude.” She told him as she pulled on her gown.

“You already did, and I don’t want to talk about my problems. So stop asking me-“ Harry was interrupted with people talking outside his door. It sounded like his guards were trying to talk with someone, but the voices started to increase.

“He doesn’t want any interruptions.” Harry heard his guards say to someone.

“I don’t care, I need to speak with him.” Someone said, but the voice was muffled so Harry didn’t know who it was.

“Move out of my way!” The realization of who it was hit him, but before he could even process it his door swung open and hit the wall with a bang.

Y/N stormed in as two of my guards followed swiftly behind her. Y/N had never been in Harry’s chambers so she was amazed at how big it was. When her eyes finally landed on Harry, it took her less than a second to see Emily.

Harry saw her expression on her face that was first determination to try and speak with him. Than it changed to shock and a flicker of sadness flashed through her eyes. But that went away when she tore her eyes away from Harry’s and she balled her hands into a fist.

“We are sorry sir, Y/N just barged in.” One of your guards said out of fear that they would get in trouble for not following orders.

“It’s fine, I was done now.” He said about Emily. Who was standing awkwardly on the other side of his bed not really knowing what to do. Her hair was a mess and her gown was wrinkled. Harry knew he didn’t look any better with just his trousers on.

“Emily you can leave now.” She nodded at Harry and quickly gathered her things to leave. When she went passed Y/N She bowed her head, and squired away.

“Guards, you may leave now.” Harry told the guards who were still standing behind Y/N, and they left and closed the door leaving Y/N and Harry alone.

Y/N just stood there staring at the floor like she was trying to remember why she was even here. Harry was surprised she would even visit him after what she said to him last night. Especially seeing Emily he couldn’t imagine what Y/N was thinking right now since she was clearly upset when he saw her the other night.

“So what did you want to speak with me about, that was so urgent.” Harry said as he slowly started to walk towards her away from the bed.

Y/N finally got out of her trance when she felt Harry’s presence come closer to her, and she slowly backed away. She looked up at him and realized Harry still wasn’t wearing a shirt, which he noticed got a reaction out of her But she shook her head and cleared her throat before she spoke.

“When were you going to tell me about Scotland?” Harry stopped walking towards Y/N, and swallowed slowly, trying to figure out what to say.

Y/N looked angry as she waited for his reply.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about?” Harry said trying to be oblivious.

“Don’t lie to me Harry, I know you know.” Y/N said while crossing her hands over her chest out of anger.

“How did you know about that?” He just found out a few hours ago, and only few people actually know about it.

“One of my ladies, Ava got word from her dad back in Scotland and sent her a letter. Saying that my mother sent word to England about the situation in Scotland. Were you just gonna lie to my face and pretend everything was ok?” She asked him.

“I was ordered by my father not to tell you. I didn’t have a chose.” Harry said.

“You always have a chose Harry, you could of come to me right after he told me. But instead you were off… you…” Y/N tried to find the right words. But Harry knew what she was talking.

“Well I’m sorry but I can’t do anything to help you Y/N.”

“Why can’t you? My mothers life is in danger and my country, harry. I can’t sit back and do nothing. We need to send them English soldiers to help them against the French.” Y/N said coming up with ideas.

“We can’t do that Y/N.” Harry said, but you didn’t listen.

“Why can’t we? That’s what our alliances is for isn’t it to help each other in a time of need!?” You yelled out in frustration.

“My father won’t allow it to happen because it would put England in bad standing with the French. Trust me I already tried to convince him, he won’t send help.”

“Than what’s the point?! What’s the point of all this, about us?” Y/N said using her hands to motion the space between them.

Harry knew she was talking about the alliance, and especially their engagement. Harry knew it was good for political reasons, trading, land, and many other things. But Harry knew his father was a selfish man and only wanted what was best for him and his country. Obviously Harry thought it was wrong of him to leave Scotland to fend for themselves. Even if Harry and Y/N aren’t on great standings he wish he could help, but he can’t.

Harry’s silence made Y/N even more upset, so she decided to put matters into her own hands.

“I refuse to marry you if this is how you all are gonna treat me and my country then.” Y/N said firmly as she got up to leave. Harry’s father knew that Y/N would do something drastic if she found out the news and she was doing just that.

“Y/N, stop wait.” He quickly got to Y/N before she left to try and stop her.

Before she opened the door Harry grabbed her by the wrist and spun her back around to him. Y/N’s face was pure anger as Harry tried to stop her, and she tried to wiggle out of his hold but he was stronger than her.

“Let go of me Harry, now!” She yelled at him but his arms didn’t budge. Y/N was now pushed up against the door as Harry held her to try and get her to stop fighting him. They were so close now, that Harry could feel the anger radiating off Y/N.

“Y/n, stop you can’t do that. The alliance is too important to break, my father wouldn’t allow it.” Harry tried to talk her out of it.

“Too important for you and your country, not for me! You treat me like I’m just a piece in your game, Harry. And the alliance won’t even help Scotland. So don’t give me that awful excuse because all the alliance helps is you and England!” Y/N screamed at Harry and this was the first time he has ever heard her raise her voice this high at him.

“Why does it even matter so much to you? If the engagement is off you can be with the person you actually want.” Y/N tells Harry which made him frown in confusion.

“And who would that be?” He asked leaning closer to Y/N.

“You know, the red head girl, who was obviously in your bed before I came.” Y/N said avoiding eye contact. He could clearly see that him sleeping with someone else had upset her.

“I don’t like Emily like that, she’s just a… friend?” Harry said unsure of what to call Emily.

“Whatever…” Y/N said trying to move the conversation elsewhere.

“Why? Does our friendship upset you?” Harry said making Y/N sigh in annoyance.

“Just let me go Harry… please.” Harry looked at her and saw that her anger slowly dissolved to sadness and pain. Her eyes began to get glossy and Harry knew she was on the verge of tears but tried to keep them in. So he let go of her finally, but still was standing right in front of her as he watched her crumble under his gaze.

“You clearly don’t care about anyone but yourself.” Y/N insulted Harry, which he didn’t like.

“You obviously think our relationship is a joke, so me coming here and this conversation is useless.” Y/N adds on.

“That’s not true.” Harry said to Y/N.

“Which part? That you think I’m a joke or talking is useless.”

“Both.”

“Than if you don’t think of me like that, help me. Please Try Harry, I’ve been trying so hard to make us work. But I can’t do it all by myself. Just try and show me you don’t just think about yourself.” Y/N pleaded with Harry hoping he would have a bit of compassion in his heart.

“It’s my mom Harry… I can’t just watch her get hurt, or…” Y/N shuddered at the thought and a small tear escaped eye. Harrys heart felt a wince of pain when he saw the tear fall from Y/Ns eye.

“I know, I know… I’ll talk to him, and try to convince him to change his mind.” Harry told Y/N as she wiped the tear from her eye.

“Are you just saying that, so I won’t ruin the alliance?” Y/N strong voice became but a whisper now.

“I’m doing it for the alliance, for our two countries, and you.” Harry knew his duty to his country was a priority. But he believed that what his father was doing wasn’t right. And maybe in the end hurt England even worse by showing they betrayed an ally. But also a bit of Harry didn’t want Y/N to be worried about her country or her mothers life. Also he wanted to prove to her that he wasn’t as selfish as she made him out to be. He didn’t know why, he didn’t need to prove himself to anyone but he wanted to with Y/N.

—-

Harry opened the door to his father’s chambers, without knocking and him and Y/N stormed in and was met with his father looking down from his desk.

“Harry now is not a good time.” The King said as he scribbled words onto a document and read papers on his desk from noblemen.

“I think now is the best time.” Y/N said and the King looked up rather quickly hearing Y/N’s voice, not knowing she was with Harry.

“You can’t do this to Scotland.” Harry said getting right to the point, and the King looked over at his son.

“It’s already done. I told you not to speak of it again.”

“But it hasn’t been discussed with me yet? The princess of Scotland, the next heir to its throne.” Y/N spoke with authority and pride for her country.

“Princess Y/N the stakes are too high to bring English soldiers into Scotland to fight the French, it could cause a war we are not fit for.”

“My engagement to your son Harry, and Scotland’s alliance with England is the one thing that can help us in situations like this. If we band together we can defeat the French.” Y/N said.

“If we fight them now, then they will be weak and not have enough men to even come to England. We can attack them, and they would back down seeing Scotland and England as one against them.” Harry chimed in trying to convince his father.

“We can’t risk lives of our men on hypothetical situations. There is not guarantee that the French will back down.” The King said while standing up.

“There’s never a guarantee, all you have is hope. And I have hope that if the British and Scotland army band together we can get rid of the French. And no more blood will be shed.” Y/N said faithfully.

The King stood there listening to Y/N and Harry speaking as he tried to collect his thoughts.

“If you have no interest of your side of this alliance. Then I refuse to marry Harry, since clearly Scotland means nothing to you.” Y/N said challenging the King. Harry was a bit taken back and so was the king.

“Father how would it look if England sat aside and watched a country get slaughtered by the French. When there was something in our power that we could do to stop it.” Harry said to his father.

“Imagine the King you would be in history, who helped Scotland and strengthened the alliance of two great nations.” Harry said as he encouraged his father to do the right thing.

The King sat back down and looked between Y/N and Harry who were eagerly waiting for his response to their proposal.

"I have listened to your proposal, and I have weighed the pros and cons on what you are asking of me.” The king said as he came out from behind his desk.

“And what is your decision?” Harry asked. While both Y/N and him were holding their breath waiting for his decision.

“I will help Scotland.” The King said and Y/N broke out into a smile.

“I’ll tell the guards to send British soldiers to Scotland right away.” The King aid while getting up and motioning for one of his guards to come, so he can give him his order.

“Thank you so much, your highness. On behalf of Scotland and I We are forever thankful.” Y/N said as she bowed to the King.

“This is but a favor I am doing for Scotland, but you will still take my sons hand in marriage to keep the alliance strong and thriving.” The King ordered.

Y/N didn’t say anything, because even if she wanted to disagree she knew she couldn’t. Harry watched her as she just nodded to her father and bowed. Y/N knew it was her duty to marry Harry, and Harry knew it was his duty to marry Y/N. Y/N knew that without the help of England her mother and Scotland could of been in great danger. So she was happy with the outcome of today, no matter what she had to do to get it.

Harry and Y/N walked out of the Kings chambers and started to head back to their own chambers to sleep. Today was a long day Harry thought as he brought Y/N to her room before going to his own. The castle hallway was dark and quiet, because of the late hours. So it was only Harry and Y/N alone.

They both stopped at Y/N’s door and stood their waiting for the other one to say something.

“Thank you, for helping me tonight.” Y/N said as she leaned her back against the door of her room.

“No problem, it was the right thing to do.” Harry said as he looked down on Y/N. The only light they had was from the moonlight from the window across the hall. The light was illuminating Y/N’s face perfectly. And Harry couldn’t help himself as his eyes stared at Y/Ns plump red lips.

“I apologize for calling you selfish, I was angry and upset and shouldn’t have been so rude.” Harry was surprised at what she was saying, because even though Harry hated to admit it he was selfish at times.

“You’re not wrong…sometimes I am selfish.” Harry leaned in closer to Y/N as he places both of his hands behind the door she was leaning on.

“Sometimes I want too much for myself…” Harry whispers as he looks over Y/N’s face to see that she is breathing heavily as he comes closer.

“ I don’t think about how my actions affect others.” Y/N and Harry were centimeters apart now.

“Or I abuse my power.” Y/N’s eyes quickly looked down at Harry’s lips, and he took notice even when she tried to pretend that she didn’t.

Y/N’s breathe got caught in her throat as she saw Harry leaning into her, she didn’t know what to do. She couldn’t run because she was against the wall and his hands were keeping her trapped. Harry could feel her breathe on his own lips, which drove him crazy.

“Sometimes I just can’t help myself.” Harry whispers as she brushed his own lip against Y/N’s, causing Y/Ns breathe to hitch in her throat. Harry pulled back a bit to see her reaction before leaning in to finally kiss her.

But once his lips were almost on hers, Y/N quickly turned her head to the side. And Harry’s lips connected with Y/N’s cheek.

“I’m rather tired, I should go to bed.” Y/N said as she turned her back to Harry trying to hide her red face, as her shaky hands tried to open her chamber door. When she finally got it open she went inside, but before she closed it she looked back at Harry, who was still shocked at the kiss they almost shared.

“Goodnight Harry.” Before he could say anything Y/N closed the door in his face.

Once she was alone, she leaned against the door where harry was still standing behind, and let out a sigh of relief. Y/N was unsure what even happened out there. But Harry tried to kiss her, for real this time. Not in front of other people, but just with her.

But Y/N wouldn’t allow him to kiss her, no matter how much she wanted to. Harry could not be with someone else, and than steal kiss from Y/N whenever he pleased. He had to make up his mind, on what he wanted. No matter what Y/N’s feelings are for Harry. Harry had to figure out what his feelings were for Y/N.

As Y/N closed the door on Harry’s face, he was utterly shocked. No woman has ever rejected Harry in that way. By not kissing him or even Inviting him back into their chambers. Y/N was playing hard to get which surely got Harry’s attention.

Harry really wanted to kiss Y/N since the day he saw her again arriving at the castle. He knew Y/N was attracted to him, and he was to her. But she was so damn difficult at times. One second she’s yelling at him, the other she is apologizing to him and almost letting her kiss him. But then she’s running away and slamming doors in his face. Usually women are eager to be with Harry, but not Y/N. Even though Y/N is Harry’s fiancé after all. As Harry walked away from Y/N’s chambers he was eager to continue to pursue Y/N, no matter what.

Harry wasn’t discouraged because he was determined to have what was rightfully his.

Wow what just happened??!! Harry is so confusing! What do you think about this chapter?? I’m sorry if the smut was horrible I’m not really good at writing it, but I’m trying haha! WHO WANTS A PART 6?! Tell me in my inbox it really motivates me to write the next one. Also sorry this is so late I had so many complications and I was traveling.

#harry styles #harry styles smut #harry styles one shots #harry styles one shot #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles fanfic #harry styles fluff #harry styles preference #harry styles preferences #harry styles imagines #harry styles imagine #harry styles stories #prince harry #royalty harry #prince harry styles #royalty au

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orionsangel86 · 7 years

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Part 1 - Episode Review of 12x14

I have written my reviews of 12x14 and 12x15 together for the sake of a quick catch up. 12x15 will be posted in part 2 which will be shortly after this post.

Firstly, I skipped full reviews of these episodes and 12x13 because of my tumblr absence. 12x13 was goddamn awful thanks to bucklemming being the most incompetent writers of all time and only still working on the show thanks to NEPOTISM. The only things I took away from 12x13 was that Mary finally told the boys the truth about working with the BMOL (though the best parts of that conversation were handed over to Berens because Andrew Dabb is a smart man) and Dean’s face when Gavin and his ghostly girlfriend disappeared in a glowy light together which screamed of LONGING for another character who just the episode prior to that one went all glowy for a bit. Ahem. Rowena was also awesome but not written as well as usual. That’s all your getting from me on 12x13 I’m afraid. Moving on.

12x14 was a great episode for Sam content, finally pulling him back into the game and making him “pick a side”. Sam chose the BMOL. He killed the alpha vamp like the BAMF he is and basically owned the episode whilst Dean spent it either being emotional or being seduced by Ketch. (no seriously that was the ONLY way to read that scene). I also loved 12x15 mainly thanks to Cas and Crowley but I’ll talk more about 12x15 in part 2, firstly my main points from 12x14.

Dean and Mary

One really great point to take away from 12x14 was the conversation with Mary at the beginning. Dean is finally being open and honest about his feelings and MY GOD how long has it taken to get to this point?

DEAN “How about for once you just try to be a mom”

MARY “I am your mother, but I am NOT just your mom, and you are NOT a child”

DEAN “I never was”

AAAHHHHHHH this is the CLOSEST we have come to discussing John Winchesters abuse and what it did to Dean and OH MY GOD I NEED MORE! I do hope we see the continuation of this honest dialogue between them in the future, the final scene where Dean and Mary talk again kinda fell a bit flat to me compared to this moment because I think I wanted that conflict to last longer than just one episode;

DEAN “it’s not your job to make my lunch and kiss me at night. Were adults you gotta make your own choices even if I don’t like them, even if I really don’t like them. That’s just something I’m gonna have to get used to. Okay mom”

I guess another reason it felt kinda flat was because it wasn’t an apology. There is still conflict between Dean and Mary and I think that will continue. I doubt he will forgive her so easily for risking Cas’s life (especially since it was risked for a gun which the BMOL had no idea how to work until Sam showed them anyway).

Dean is basically controlled by his emotions. I talk about this a bit more in my Sam point below, but Dean is struggling with Mary due to the fact that she isn’t the idealistic fantasy mother he put on a pedestal when he was 4 years old any more. Even young Mary being a hunter didn’t really break down that fantasy for him as she was going through the phase of wanting to be a mother and housewife at the time. This Mary is a struggle for Dean to accept, far more than Sam, because of that fantasy. This is made even clearer when he calls her “Mary” instead of “Mom” and kicks her out. He is hurting, and when Dean Winchester is hurting, he gets kinda spiteful. But this was understandable in this moment. Though, as I mention below, Dean’s reactions are not at all based on her working with the Brits, but with a whole build up of other stuff based on the breakdown of his fantasy mother. Sam doesn’t act nearly as bad as he does, and as this episode showed, that really pissed Dean off too.

Sammy the Man of Letters

Sam’s choice to work with the BMOL has probably been greatly debated about on tumblr, though after 12x15 I think we are all pretty much in agreement that he is playing it straight right? I did wonder whether his intentions were to infiltrate but I now think he genuinely wants to help them, and set them on the RIGHT track. This is how I see it all going anyway. Sam was told to pick a side instead of playing middle man. He has unfortunately been kept on the sidelines in the season so far, not really having his own character arc in play and I am glad we are now seeing some more action from Sam. For years in the destiel fandom at least, we have been saying how we see a future for Sam as a man of letters, he has the intelligence, the love of the lore, the desire to do good. It is a perfect fit for him and it makes sense that Sam would jump on board before Dean. If only Bucklemming hadn’t butchered Toni’s character in 12x02 and ruined what could have been a really exciting story for Sam from the start, because now his working with the BMOL still puts a bad taste in my mouth after his torture and abuse. I just can’t see Sam Winchester forgiving that kind of treatment. HOWEVER…

Something that always interests me with the brothers came to play in 12x14 with Dean’s “pick a side!” that I want to mention, we have discussed it before as well in the latter part of season 11. Dean is the emotional character. He wears his heart on his sleeve no matter how much he tries to bottle up his feelings and his emotions tend to control his decisions and actions. This is extremely evident in his interactions with Cas through the entire series. Season 6 is a great example of Dean not believing his own eyes thanks to his emotions getting in the way and Season 8 also plays on this concept. The latter half of season 11 is glorious for this reason, showing Dean’s anguish over Cas’s possession by Lucifer.

Now, we are seeing this again with Mary. Dean is overly emotional, and as I have mentioned before, is struggling to deal with his idealised version of his mother being ripped off of her pedestal. He is struggling to accept the real Mary into his life.

Sam however, is completely different to Dean. He internalises his emotions so much that it is sometimes hard for the audience to understand him. This ‘playing the middle ground’ all the time isn’t Sam wanting to keep on everyones good side, as Dean implies, its him trying to remain objective about each situation as they crop up. He is also clearly hurt by Mary’s betrayal, but he shows it differently. Sam is incredibly unselfish in how he puts his own needs and own emotions aside for the greater good literally ALL THE TIME (except for in season 10 but then everyone’s characterisations were destroyed in season 10) Sam didn’t have the memories of a perfect mother that Dean had for Mary to subvert. He isn’t ruled by his emotions either. He is the far more logical brother, hence his decision to work with the BMOL. Sam is more emotionally intelligent than Dean, he is able to put aside his own feelings to see the bigger picture. This was clear in season 6, it was clear in season 11, and it is clear now, because between the two of them, it is Sam who has far more of a reason to hate the BMOL than Dean does. But Sam gets to see what a shambles their operation really is. They NEED his help, because without it, innocent people may get hurt. I don’t think that Sam planned to infiltrate them to destroy them at all, I think he planned to make them BETTER and to bring them around to his way of thinking.

That topic leads me onto my next point from 12x14:

The British Men of Letters

In 12x14 we were shown just how poor the American operation was for the Brits, Mick clearly means well, but he isn’t doing so great when it comes to the big guns. Yes they may have been able to wipe out most of the vamps in the Midwest region, but that caught the eye of the Alpha vamp which lead to the death of over half his team. The majority of their success came from Ketch and Mary, but after this episode Ketch seems like a loose canon compared to the rest of them.

I think Mick will come around easily to Sam’s way of thinking, that they could even be friends and work together well. Mick may not have any field experience but he is motivated by a desire to do good. Unlike Ketch. When Sam finally realises just how black and white the BMOL currently are, Mick will be the first person he is able to convert. Ketch will become a problem.

12x14 went out of its way to show us how awful Ketch is, that scene of blatant sexism towards his female colleague was just the start. When he beat up that vamp girl it was difficult to watch, filmed in a way that the audience was clearly supposed to recognise how wrong it was. Especially since we never see the vamp girl being a monster, or hurting anyone. The entire episode she just seems scared and frail. This was done on purpose. Ketch’s treatment of her was uncalled for.

I am sure we are all joking about Ketch’s seduction of Dean, because I can still hear his moans of pleasure drinking the scotch and seriously, that was hella sexualised and kinda made me cringe. Sorry buddy, didn’t you know that Dean is taken? :P anyway, what struck me about this is that with all their flashy tech and toys and impressive monster killing stats, Ketch goes with the Scotch and tries to seduce Dean by comparing how alike they are. What intel does he have on Dean exactly? (sometimes it seems like everyone in this show knows he is in the closet except for him).

What has greatly interested me was his line “You’re a killer Dean Winchester”. This is the second time in the space of a few episodes that this has been said to Dean and I am just WAITING for the third. Because I fully expect the third time to be answered with “no, I’m not. I may be a hunter, but my first job is to save people. All people.”

I can really see it coming down to Mick and Sam, and Dean and Ketch. With Mick choosing to stand by Sam and Ketch fighting Dean. I am also very interested to see how Cas comes into all of this, since my money is still on Ketch wanting to pin him to his wall like one of those butterflies in Catrina’s box in 12x11. Ever since we saw those butterflies I got a sinking feeling in my stomach because we were saying after Ketch’s introduction to Cas in 12x09 how it looked like he wanted to put Cas on his wall like Magnus with his Supernatural zoo… then came the butterflies and urgh I just don’t see that as a coincidence.

But anyway, overall it was a good episode, I liked the return of the Alpha vamp but in a way I’m kinda annoyed that he died. Sam got the main kill which I see being an ongoing trend all of a sudden in recent episodes. Sam took out the Hellhound in 12x15,he took out the Alpha Vamp in 12x14, he completed the spell to stop the ghost in 12x13, and he killed Ramiel in 12x12. Interesting... They keep calling Dean the killer, but its Sam who is in killer mode at the moment. Where will this go? We shall have to wait and see.

Part 2 for 12x15 posting shortly.

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filmbrainbmb · 7 years

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Back to Work

As you likely know by now, I had a bereavement in the family earlier this week, and have been taking some time away from videos to get my head together. I had announced on Friday January 27th that I was taking a hiatus while I rushed to join my family before the passing, which has helped me cope with what has just happened. Since I got back home, I've mostly been taking things easy, and I was preparing to get back to work soon, since this is a very busy period for me.

What I will say is that the uploads may be a little intermittent, since events are still ongoing. I could put out loads of videos at once, or be away for over a week; I can't be sure at this point, but I mention it just in case.

I think the first video I will likely have out is a Projector for The LEGO Batman Movie at some point in the next few days, since I wanted to review that and it's likely going to be an easy one to get me back into things. I've also got to catch up on T2 Trainspotting, as well as reviews of A United Kingdom and Ballerina (AKA Leap!) that I didn't manage to do before these sudden events unfolded. One that will probably be shelved for a while is a review of Mum's List, a small British film that deals with the issue of bereavement and cancer, which you can understand why I don't want to talk about that at this present moment.

I am going to do a Bad Movie Beatdown 2016 video, but it will not be a full "Review Of..." video like previous years and simply a "Best and Worst" video. This is partly because the longer retrospective takes a very long period to make that I simply don't have at this moment with all my other projects and it's just not realistic to start doing such a video in February (some of my patrons may recall that I didn't post a single video in January 2016, which is because the "Review of 2015" video took so long to make). It will still be the same format, but without the looks at specific events in the year, and my apologies to anyone who is disappointed by this. I should have started writing it earlier, but work got on top of me somewhat.

Speaking of Bad Movie Beatdown, there is another episode in the can that still needs to be completed - namely, Leap Year, which has now taken an entire year to come to fruition (it was scripted last February). This episode was filmed in August 2016, but because of preparations for ALcon and my trip to Chicago in September, which led to me trying to catch up on my backlog (again, my work getting on top of me), I never got around to recording the voiceover narration. Now I'm in a somewhat awkward situation because the opening link has me reference that I'm recording the episode in an actual leap year (2016), which no longer makes sense unless I insert a title card there, or I reshoot the link to mention I will be releasing the episode in February. Either way, apologies for not getting this one out sooner, and if it seemed like I was little grouchy when people were asking me where episodes were, that was the reason.

On a related note, you may have noticed that there have been more episodes of Bad Movie Beatdown going up on YouTube these days. This has been deliberate: I've wanted to get more of the vintage videos back on my main YouTube channel where people will be able to see them. These videos do require re-editing, further than I did when I re-edited them for DailyMotion (which mostly tightened up the editing and removed some inappropriate jokes), which is necessary anyway because they need to comply with UK Fair Trading, which is different from US Fair Use (you'll note that many of my videos now have captions listing film clips with their directors and owners, and this is why). I've been gradually drip-feeding them alongside my new content so there's not big of a lull in content; I spent part of the week before the call to visit my family re-editing these old videos so I had a backlog of work to put up should something happen. The only episodes that I am currently not taking a chance on right now is anything held by Fox, who I have had struggles with on YouTube before, which is unfortunate because of how many of my most popular videos are films by them (I wanted to re-upload Alvin and the Chipmunks 2, for example, to coincide with the Nostalgia Critic episode, but it was globally blocked outright moments after it was uploaded).

Also intended to be out soon is another Patron-requested retrospective video, this time on The LEGO Movie. This is something I've been excited to cover, especially because you'll get to see me talk about my days before That Guy with the Glasses and Channel Awesome, where I used to be part of the Brickfilming scene, so this one will be a little more personal. I was glad about the positive feedback to the one for Doctor Mordrid, and this format will likely be how I handle requests that don't fit into the Bad Movie Beatdown mold. Speaking of which, I intend to do my first Patron-requested Beatdown video on Branded, that I've been wanting to do for quite some time - if you're the person who requested this and you're reading this, please get back in touch, and I'm so sorry it's taken this long to fulfill your wishes but I've not forgotten it.

There's also some additional crossovers that you will see in the future. I recorded another review with Diamanda Hagan at ALcon that I had to resend the narration for because I sent her a silent audio file the first time (d'oh!), and there's another video from my Chicago trip that will be quite fun too, so these again should tide you over should things mean I need to take another break.

I think that should cover everything for the next month or so. It's going to be hectic, more so than usual (and some of the blame for that goes to me, outside of what has just happened), but we'll see. I hope you keep on enjoying my work, and thank you once more for all your continued support and well wishes, especially after the news broke. I couldn't ask for more gracious and understanding fans, I love you all.

#film brain #tgwtg #channel awesome #bad movie beatdown #projector reviews #status update

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airoasis · 5 years

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The danger of a single story | Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie

New Post has been published on https://hititem.kr/the-danger-of-a-single-story-chimamanda-ngozi-adichie-17/

The danger of a single story | Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie

I am a storyteller. And that i would like to let you know just a few personal studies about what I prefer to name "the chance of the only story." I grew up on a school campus in jap Nigeria. My mother says that I started studying at the age of two, despite the fact that I suppose 4 is as a rule virtually the reality. So I was an early reader, and what I read have been British and American kid’s books.I was also an early writer, and after I began to write down, at about the age of seven, reports in pencil with crayon illustrations that my bad mother was once obligated to learn, I wrote exactly the forms of stories I used to be reading: All my characters have been white and blue-eyed, they performed within the snow, they ate apples, (Laughter) and so they talked lots concerning the weather, how beautiful it was that the sun had come out. (Laughter) Now, this although that I lived in Nigeria. I had certainly not been external Nigeria. We did not have snow, we ate mangoes, and we never talked about the weather, given that there was no need to. My characters additionally drank quite a lot of ginger beer, when you consider that the characters in the British books I learn drank ginger beer. On no account mind that I had no idea what ginger beer used to be. (Laughter) And for many years afterwards, i would have a determined want to style ginger beer. However that is one more story. What this demonstrates, I believe, is how impressionable and inclined we’re in the face of a narrative, in particular as kids.Considering the fact that all I had read had been books where characters were international, I had come to be satisfied that books via their very nature needed to have foreigners in them and needed to be about matters with which I could now not in my view determine. Now, things converted once I found out African books. There weren’t a lot of them to be had, they usually weren’t rather as convenient to find as the international books. But considering the fact that of writers like Chinua Achebe and Camara Laye, I went through a intellectual shift in my notion of literature. I realized that persons like me, girls with dermis the color of chocolate, whose kinky hair would no longer kind ponytails, would additionally exist in literature.I started to write about matters I famous. Now, I adored these American and British books I read. They stirred my creativeness. They opened up new worlds for me. But the unintended end result was once that i didn’t comprehend that individuals like me would exist in literature. So what the invention of African writers did for me was once this: It saved me from having a single story of what books are. I come from a conventional, middle-classification Nigerian household. My father was once a professor. My mom used to be an administrator. And so we had, as used to be the norm, reside-in home aid, who would most commonly come from neighborhood rural villages. So, the year I grew to become eight, we got a brand new house boy.His identify was once Fide. The only thing my mother informed us about him used to be that his loved ones was once very negative. My mom despatched yams and rice, and our ancient garments, to his loved ones. And when I did not conclude my dinner, my mother would say, "finish your food! Do not you understand? Humans like Fide’s loved ones don’t have anything." So I felt big pity for Fide’s household. Then one Saturday, we went to his village to consult with, and his mom confirmed us a superbly patterned basket product of dyed raffia that his brother had made. I was once startled. It had no longer came about to me that anybody in his loved ones would really make anything.All I had heard about them was how poor they were, so that it had grow to be inconceivable for me to see them as anything else but terrible. Their poverty used to be my single story of them. Years later, I concept about this after I left Nigeria to head to tuition in the USA. I used to be 19. My American roommate was shocked through me. She asked where I had realized to speak English so good, and was once confused after I stated that Nigeria happened to have English as its professional language.She requested if she would hearken to what she referred to as my "tribal music," and used to be hence very disillusioned once I produced my tape of Mariah Carey. (Laughter) She assumed that i did not be aware of learn how to use a stove. What struck me used to be this: She had felt sorry for me even earlier than she saw me. Her default position toward me, as an African, was once a variety of patronizing, good-that means pity. My roommate had a single story of Africa: a single story of catastrophe. On this single story, there used to be no possibility of Africans being similar to her in anyway, no likelihood of emotions extra difficult than pity, no likelihood of a connection as human equals. I have to say that before I went to the U.S., I failed to consciously establish as African.But within the U.S., every time Africa came up, folks became to me. On no account intellect that I knew nothing about locations like Namibia. But I did come to include this new identity, and in lots of methods I believe of myself now as African. Although I nonetheless get quite irritable when Africa is referred to as a nation, the most up to date instance being my or else unusual flight from Lagos two days in the past, in which there used to be an announcement on the Virgin flight about the charity work in "India, Africa and other countries." (Laughter) So, after I had spent some years in the U.S. As an African, i started to fully grasp my roommate’s response to me. If I had no longer grown up in Nigeria, and if all I knew about Africa have been from general portraits, I too would believe that Africa used to be a place of beautiful landscapes, gorgeous animals, and incomprehensible persons, combating mindless wars, dying of poverty and AIDS, unable to converse for themselves and ready to be saved through a sort, white foreigner. I’d see Africans in the equal manner that I, as a little one, had seen Fide’s family.This single story of Africa eventually comes, I suppose, from Western literature. Now, here’s a quote from the writing of a London merchant known as John Lok, who sailed to west Africa in 1561 and saved a exciting account of his voyage. After regarding the black Africans as "beasts who don’t have any residences," he writes, "they are also men and women with out heads, having their mouth and eyes in their breasts." Now, I’ve laughed every time I’ve read this.And one have got to admire the creativeness of John Lok. But what is fundamental about his writing is that it represents the beginning of a way of life of telling African stories within the West: A lifestyle of Sub-Saharan Africa as a situation of negatives, of difference, of darkness, of people who, within the phrases of the unusual poet Rudyard Kipling, are "half satan, half of child." And so, i started to comprehend that my American roommate ought to have for the period of her existence noticeable and heard distinctive types of this single story, as had a professor, who as soon as instructed me that my novel used to be no longer "authentically African." Now, I was once rather willing to contend that there were a quantity of things unsuitable with the radical, that it had failed in a quantity of locations, however I had not quite imagined that it had failed at achieving something called African authenticity.In fact, i did not know what African authenticity used to be. The professor advised me that my characters were an excessive amount of like him, an educated and core-type man. My characters drove automobiles. They weren’t starving. Consequently they were not authentically African. However I have to swiftly add that I too am just as guilty within the query of the only story. A couple of years ago, I visited Mexico from the U.S.The political local weather in the U.S. At the time used to be hectic, and there have been debates happening about immigration. And, as customarily occurs in the usa, immigration grew to be synonymous with Mexicans. There have been unending reviews of Mexicans as people who were fleecing the healthcare approach, sneaking across the border, being arrested at the border, that kind of factor. I remember going for walks round on my first day in Guadalajara, watching the persons going to work, rolling up tortillas available to buy, smoking, laughing. I do not forget first feeling moderate surprise. After which, I was once overwhelmed with disgrace. I noticed that I had been so immersed in the media protection of Mexicans that they had come to be one thing in my mind, the abject immigrant.I had purchased into the one story of Mexicans and i would now not were more ashamed of myself. So that is easy methods to create a single story, show a individuals as one thing, as only one thing, again and again, and that’s what they emerge as. It is unimaginable to speak concerning the single story with out speakme about energy. There’s a phrase, an Igbo phrase, that I believe about every time I suppose concerning the energy buildings of the world, and it’s "nkali." it’s a noun that loosely interprets to "to be better than a different." Like our fiscal and political worlds, reviews too are outlined via the precept of nkali: How they are advised, who tells them, when they may be told, what number of reports are instructed, are really elegant on vigor. Power is the capability not simply to inform the story of one other man or woman, but to make it the definitive story of that character.The Palestinian poet Mourid Barghouti writes that if you want to dispossess a men and women, the easiest strategy to do it is to inform their story and to start with, "secondly." begin the story with the arrows of the Native americans, and now not with the arrival of the British, and you’ve got an totally special story. Begin the story with the failure of the African state, and now not with the colonial construction of the African state, and you have an totally special story.I lately spoke at a university where a scholar told me that it was any such shame that Nigerian men were physical abusers like the father persona in my novel. I instructed him that I had simply read a novel called "American Psycho" — (Laughter) — and that it was once such a shame that young american citizens were serial murderers. (Laughter) (Applause) Now, surely I said this in a match of slight inflammation. (Laughter) but it will by no means have occurred to me to think that simply on the grounds that I had read a novel wherein a character was a serial killer that he used to be somehow consultant of all american citizens. This isn’t seeing that i’m a better character than that scholar, however considering of the us’s cultural and economic vigor, I had many experiences of the usa. I had read Tyler and Updike and Steinbeck and Gaitskill.I did not have a single story of the united states. When I learned, some years ago, that writers have been expected to have had relatively sad childhoods to be positive, i began to consider about how I could invent horrible things my parents had carried out to me. (Laughter) but in fact that I had an awfully happy childhood, stuffed with laughter and love, in an awfully shut-knit household. But I additionally had grandfathers who died in refugee camps. My cousin Polle died considering he could not get enough healthcare. One in every of my closest neighbors, Okoloma, died in a airplane crash considering that our fire vans didn’t have water. I grew up underneath repressive navy governments that devalued education, in order that oftentimes, my dad and mom were not paid their salaries. And so, as a little one, I saw jam disappear from the breakfast table, then margarine disappeared, then bread became too pricey, then milk became rationed.And most of all, a kind of normalized political worry invaded our lives. All of those reports make me who i am. However to insist on handiest these poor stories is to flatten my experience and to miss the many other reviews that formed me. The single story creates stereotypes, and the problem with stereotypes shouldn’t be that they’re unfaithful, but that they are incomplete. They make one story come to be the one story. Of course, Africa is a continent full of catastrophes: There are colossal ones, such because the horrific rapes in Congo and miserable ones, corresponding to the truth that 5,000 men and women observe for one job emptiness in Nigeria. However there are other stories that are not about disaster, and it is vitally principal, it is just as major, to talk about them. I’ve perpetually felt that it is unattainable to have interaction correctly with a situation or a man or woman without attractive with all of the experiences of that position and that man or woman.The final result of the one story is this: It robs individuals of dignity. It makes our consciousness of our equal humanity problematic. It emphasizes how we are different as an alternative than how we are equivalent. So what if before my Mexican shuttle, I had adopted the immigration debate from all sides, the U.S. And the Mexican? What if my mother had instructed us that Fide’s loved ones was negative and hardworking? What if we had an African tv network that broadcast numerous African experiences all over the place the sector? What the Nigerian writer Chinua Achebe calls "a stability of experiences." What if my roommate knew about my Nigerian writer, Muhtar Bakare, a superb man who left his job in a financial institution to comply with his dream and start a publishing residence? Now, the conventional wisdom was once that Nigerians don’t learn literature.He disagreed. He felt that individuals who might read, would read, for those who made literature low priced and available to them. Rapidly after he published my first novel, I went to a television station in Lagos to do an interview, and a woman who labored there as a messenger came as much as me and mentioned, "I rather favored your novel. I didn’t just like the ending. Now, you have to write a sequel, and this is what’s going to happen …" (Laughter) and she or he went on to tell me what to write within the sequel. I was now not most effective charmed, I was very moved. Here used to be a lady, part of the normal lots of Nigerians, who weren’t purported to be readers. She had now not simplest learn the booklet, but she had taken possession of it and felt justified in telling me what to put in writing within the sequel. Now, what if my roommate knew about my pal Funmi Iyanda, a fearless woman who hosts a television exhibit in Lagos, and is determined to tell the reports that we prefer to overlook? What if my roommate knew about the coronary heart procedure that used to be carried out in the Lagos health facility final week? What if my roommate knew about trendy Nigerian tune, proficient men and women singing in English and Pidgin, and Igbo and Yoruba and Ijo, mixing influences from Jay-Z to Fela to Bob Marley to their grandfathers.What if my roommate knew in regards to the feminine legal professional who just lately went to court docket in Nigeria to assignment a ridiculous law that required ladies to get their husband’s consent earlier than renewing their passports? What if my roommate knew about Nollywood, filled with progressive persons making films regardless of best technical odds, movies so general that they fairly are the first-rate example of Nigerians drinking what they produce? What if my roommate knew about my wonderfully formidable hair braider, who has simply began her own trade promoting hair extensions? Or in regards to the hundreds of thousands of alternative Nigerians who businesses and often fail, but continue to nurse ambition? At any time when i am residence i am confronted with the typical sources of inflammation for most Nigerians: our failed infrastructure, our failed government, but also by using the brilliant resilience of people who thrive despite the federal government, rather than seeing that of it. I educate writing workshops in Lagos each summer, and it’s robust to me what number of people follow, what number of individuals are eager to write, to tell experiences. My Nigerian publisher and i have just began a non-revenue called Farafina trust, and we have now big dreams of building libraries and refurbishing libraries that already exist and providing books for state colleges that would not have something in their libraries, and in addition of organizing lots and plenty of workshops, in reading and writing, for the entire men and women who are eager to tell our many reviews.Experiences matter. Many studies matter. Studies had been used to dispossess and to malign, however stories can also be used to empower and to humanize. Stories can spoil the consideration of a persons, however reviews may additionally restore that broken dignity. The American writer Alice Walker wrote this about her Southern family who had moved to the North. She offered them to a ebook about the Southern life that that they had left in the back of. "They sat around, studying the guide themselves, taking note of me read the ebook, and a type of paradise was regained." I wish to finish with this thought: That after we reject the single story, once we recognize that there’s certainly not a single story about any location, we regain a kind of paradise.Thanks. (Applause) .

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batterymonster2021 · 5 years

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The danger of a single story | Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie

New Post has been published on https://hititem.kr/the-danger-of-a-single-story-chimamanda-ngozi-adichie-17/

The danger of a single story | Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie

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anautisticdragon-blog · 7 years

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I Love The McElroy Bros

I'd like to launch off of my last post by talking about men who occupy both ends of the sociopathic spectrum. Those who embrace the virtues of toxic masculinity and all those iconic ideas of maleness, and those who just eschew them in favour of something better, all the while giving absolutely no damns what others think.

This harks back to one of those hallmark periods of my life which serve to remind me of why I'm so jaded today, why I've such a very low opinion of humanity in general (though that's mostly focused at both extraverts and straight men, if I'm honest). It was a time when I was struggling with my autism, due to my identity, trying to figure everything out and looking for support.

I was part of a community called Rock, Paper, Shotgun. It's a British gaming site devoted to video games journalizm (yes, that kind). I didn't know any better than to not be there at the time, I didn't know why I should avoid places like that in favour of more inviting locales like Polygon. It was very much a British boys gaming club, for boys, with very few gurls allowed. I remember how they even had to bring on a handful of women due to rumblings about how the site was a cavalcade of never-ending sausages.

A sausage fest, you might say.

Of course, they didn't do that until much later. And one of the first women they brought on board was incredibly masculine and all about that toxic masculinity anyway, so... Not a great change for them.

I'll stop ragging on them for their maleness and get to the meat of this.

I'm sorry. I'll also stop with the sausage jokes.

As an autistic person who's experienced a hell of a lot of prejudice, I bond easily with creatures that don't share a human appearance, who will often be the target of human hatred, violence, and atrocity. Orcs, gnolls, werewolves, dragons, et cetera. What I find interesting is that amongst my gal pals, this love of 'friendly creatures that toxic males perceive to be monsters' is absurdly common???

My lady friends love talking deathclaws almost as much as I do. They love Beast, of both Grant Morrison's X-Men and the original Disney animated film, they're fond of dragons and they'll note that it's unilaterally always going to be sausage fest of 'heroes' they're being assaulted by. Heroes who're just there for the loot, really, who'd certainly never -- not under any circumstances -- ever investigate to discover a "vile dragon's" supposed guilt.

Or lack thereof.

And whilst that sounds sarcastic, I mean it unironically. How often do heroes actually do detective work to find out if that dragon they slew was actually responsible for the atrocities blamed upon them. Do they have evidence? Or is this just toxic masculinity's Vigilante Justice 101? And that's not everyday vigilanteism, mind you. No, not at all. Even Batman is a detective!

But then, hilariously, Batman doesn't buy into toxic masculinity so much. Anyone who's ever seen the DCAU version of him knows exactly where I'm coming from with this. He can actually be quite sensitive, understanding, and perceptive. Not exactly the hard-nosed, right wing conservative that the right wing proponents of toxic masculinity seem to need him to be, eh?

Anyway, the point is is that as an autistic person I could easily see unfounded prejudices. Against gender, colour, or even fantastic racism in video game settings. It all got under my skin a little since it all normalised prejudices, and as a mentally disabled person who's often shunned for 'behaving differently than the norm,' I'm all too familiar with how much of a living taboo a person can be.

So, at this boy's clubhouse of toxic masculinity known as Rock, Paper, Shotgun, I'd ask the simple question, plaintively "Why can't we try just attempting to communicate with them first, just to see if we can find out their side of the story?"

And here I was. The sensitive, mentally disabled gay boy ruining the manly men's toxic little clubhouse with a spash of reason. Unthinkable! I'd ask this every now and then, whenever I saw a game whose focus was purely beautiful, extraverted, sociopathic humans slaying creatures I guess we were supposed to assume were "evil monsters" despite a lack of evidence. I just wanted to try talking, is that so completely wrong of me?

They thought so.

I was harshly mocked for over a year (I'm not kidding) about this, until the joke got old. When it finally did, when my amusement value to them had passed, I was banned. It just sort of came out of the blue. What really stung was that Alec Meer, the self-designed autocrat of RPS who banned me, actually saw fit to make fun of my autism publically.

That post is long gone, sadly. I didn't think to make an archive of it at the time because I was so upset. I couldn't understand why they hated me so much for simply wanting to try communicating. I do now, of course. It's all down to toxic masculinity and I was 'taking the fun of their mindless slaughter away with my pansy, sissy-minded, gay empathy.' Which is why RPS Is still mostly a sausage fest.

It was worse for me, too, as someone with bodily dysmorphia. I've been so scarred by humanity that I've been at odds with my outward human appearance for what feels like decades now. Unless a piece of entertainment manages to connect with me emotionally, I'll only enjoy stuff with non-human characters in it. And if there are humans it'll mostly be cartoons just so it's detached enough from what -- to me -- is the monstrous aesthetic that's hurt me so much over the years. The RPS thing is a minor blip in comparison to most of the things I've endured, but I mention it because of what this is all about.

You see, I'm probably what most people would consider the bad kind of "furry" for this reason. Even though I'm not sure if I identify as furry, as much for their sake as my own. I'm just a guy with bodily dysmorphia who'd rather be a shapeshifting robot. Admittedly one who'd often take on the appearance of a werewolf, but still.

So this year of being made fun of -- and I don't know why I stuck around, really, other than hoping they'd actually see that they were being genuinely horrible people -- cut me a little. I became a running joke, a meme. The autistic guy that everyone laughs at for being... hm, how would they always put it? Wrong-faced? Yes. Absolutely lovely turn of phrase to use on someone who's also physically disfigured.

Yeah, my life has sucked. Sorry. I'm a bit of a quasimodo, it's why I don't really go outdoors.

All this because I wanted to communicate. I saw prejudice, I couldn't not. I realised it, I called it, and I questioned it. I asked whether the game might be more fun if we could talk instead.

Apparently most people just want to run around gutting things. It explains the popularity of Fallout 4 over Fallout New Vegas to some crowds, I suppose. One game is one where you can talk yourself out of damn nearly every situation without any violent confrontations, and the other being one where you're given one shopping list of targets to murder after another. Those who've played both will know which is which. Or even those who've played one of them.

I'm just a talker. I'm the kind of person who realises that if we ever met aliens, we wouldn't want to send the extraverted sociopaths who'd try to manipulate them by shaking their hands and putting their backs without realising that they don't have hands to shake, or backs to pat. That this effort might even be seen as hugely offensive.I've always found that when it comes to extraverts -- especially those who're weighed own by toxic masculinity -- their strong suit isn't ever really introspection, is it?

So, the McElroys, then.

I think most people might think that the reason I'm saying this is because of their stance on furries. Oh, sure, that's a part of it. Perhaps it's due to their view that being inclusive and permissive is better (and funnier, due to those who it offends)? And that's part of it, too. Once again, though, it's not why I was inspired to write this thing up.

I listen to The Adventure Zone.

Justin tried talking to the giant crystalline creature. It might've been a joke, but he tried.

More impressively, and the part that really hit home with me, Travis wanted to try talking with the voidfish. Travis has always struck me as a giant baby who'd rather talk, given the opportunity. It's funny that he's playing some kind of beefcake warrior (perhaps somewhat ironically) in The Adventure Zone because of how feminine and sensitive he is. Which I very, very much support. Oh how much I do.

He wanted to try talking with the voidfish. He was excited by the prospect of talking with such an inhuman entity and I'm actually trying not to cry, now. I don't know why this is all making me so emotional but god damn it Travis...

And then Griffin, god fucking damn it, had to actually go and include the rest of it. I actually had to mute while I was listening to this with my partner because I started crying, I'm a huge baby. I know it was as much for the humour as anything, but it still really got to me. The hand on the glass, the jamming session that followed, it was all really powerful stuff for me.

And you know roughly where I am in listening to The Adventure Zone right now, eh?

I need to stop crying.

Anyway... I've always been ousted and shunned because of my disability. Mental disability is a weird thing. It's an invisible prejudice, in a way. I should be in a position where I'm privileged, probably. Except due to how I behave, how I talk, how I hold myself, my body language, and everything else? I'm shunned, I'm often ostracised. People find me strange and undesirable. I'm a living taboo.

I think a lot of very autistic people feel this way. As I said, due to this along with my physical disfigurement? It's why I haven't left my house in decades. The biggest event in my life has been trying to get my partner a fiance visa lately so that we can be together in the UK, we spent five months together and those were the most amazing I'd experienced.

The only memories I have that can match those are the times I've enjoyed spending with dogs. Dogs are a bit too physical for me a lot of the time, their games and ways are very overloading, but I still love them and I enjoy being around them.

I don't know where this is going any more.

Anyway, Travis? Love ya, man. You too, Justin. And Griffin. Even you, Clint. Sorry. That's probably weird.

The thing is? I'm just that sensitive to prejudice. So even obvious fantasy prejudice gets to me and gets me down, I can easily see when it's just a stand-in for the real thing in a fantasy world, it's there to normalise prejudices and give people with a prejudicial mindset a very safe, happy place to be where they can be bile-filled sacks of sheer hatred and never, ever be challenged.

That's what RPS wanted, until I ruined their little boy's clubhouse. With my undesirable empathy. What a shitbag I am. A waster, an intolerable douchefuck of a loser who wants to talk to non-human fantasy creatures. Who wants to do that when we could jam our phalluses in them and make them dead with our magnificent maleness?

It was just... It was so cathartic that Travis unironically wanted to try and communicate with the voidfish. That and the wonderful way they handled Klarg the bugbear, their 'hugbear.'

I just love you guys. It felt oddly vindicating that a group so popular doesn't go for the whole toxic masculinity thing. It's nice.

Thank you.

I'm a neurotic fucker and most of my memories are of hurt, betrayal, pain, and suffering. It's sucked. Like I said, being mentally disabled is one of the worst things you can be because no one seems to recognise the prejudice you have to endure. And I've had to endure some fairly terrible shit. To the point where it's genuinely, desperately difficult to have any faith in humanity in general. I'm not a misanthrope, as I'd never want to see my worst enemy suffer. I'm just...

I'm tired of our species' crap. Frankly. We always think we're so great but we should be judged on how we treat those who aren't like us. Which is probably why we haven't been visited by more advanced life, eh? Anyway, I won't get maudlin on you, the melon collies can back right up a bit...

Thing is? You guys managed to touch me with your shenanigans. So I really do mean it when I say thank you. Sometimes, people like you are a bit of a beacon of light in what, for me, is a very dark, hopeless world.

Now if I could just stop bloody crying.

Why am I like this on Tumblr?

Regardless, thank you.

#the mcelroy brothers #the mcelroys #thezonecast #the adventure zone

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