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haddonfieldwhore · 4 months

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clandestine - will borgen

will borgen x younger!beniers! reader

summary: when visiting your brother for the holidays, you realize just how attractive his roommate is

warnings: ~ 6 year age gap, mention of past injury, a few uses of y/n, if you prefer you can read this as matty being like a brother rather than a biological sibling; just ignore a few words

word count: 3.6k words (i got carried away)

you shivered from the cold december wind as you knocked on the front door, smiling when a familiar face appeared as it opened.

“hey, you made it!” matty smiled as he stepped aside to let you inside his home. “it’s so good to see you,” he said, pulling you into a hug. it had been a few months since you had last seen him, and you were excited to be spending a few days at his place in seattle over the winter break.

“your hair is getting long,” you commented, looking at his dark hair that peeked out from under his baseball cap; so grown out that is had begun to look wavy. “and i think you’re taller than the last time i saw you,” you pouted. despite the fact that you were the same age, he had always been a few inches taller than you as kids. now, he stood a solid 6 inches over you, even without skates.

“mom always did say i was still growing,” he laughed.

“speaking of mom,” you laughed, reaching into your bag and pulling out a tupperware container of baking. “she sent some cookies for me to give you,” you presented the box to him, and he took it from your hands.

“thank you! i’ll make sure to text her and tell her you didn’t keep them for yourself,” he teased, and you slapped his shoulder.

“just for that i should have.” you rolled your eyes. the two of you were walking into the kitchen, when a tall brunette man with cinnamon coloured hair peeking out from underneath a beanie came down the stairs. you recognized him as one of matty’s teammates, and you were pretty sure his name was -

“will,” matty smiled at his housemate.

“did i hear someone say cookies?” he asked, his eyes bright as he noticed you standing there. “oh, hey. matty told me you’d be staying here for a few days,” he held his hand out for you to shake. “i’m will.”

“i think we met once at a practice, but hi, it’s nice to formally meet you,” you introduced yourself, trying to ignore the funny feeling in your stomach when your hands touched; the way his eyes quickly looked you up and down going unnoticed by both beniers siblings.

“and the cookies are for me, by the way,” matty teased, and will grabbed him playfully in a headlock, and the two kraken players tumbled to the living room. you sat down on the soft grey sofa facing the tv, and matty grabbed a nintendo switch controller.

“do you still think you can beat me at mariokart?” matty asked you, and you scoffed.

“i know i can,” you corrected, as he held up the game. you hadn’t played the most recent one that much, but you were sure you had enough practice with the previous ones to beat him; you always were better at the video game, but you hadn’t played in a while.

“you’re on. loser buys dinner?”

“deal,” you agreed. “are you in?” you asked will, who sat in the arm chair next to the couch.

“no, i’ll just watch,” he shook his head, and you shrugged it off with a smile.

“suit yourself.”

•

it was currently a very close game, you and matty fighting back and forth for the top spot on the leaderboard. it was down to this last race, and you were starting your final lap around the track.

“maybe you should spend more time practicing driving in real life, i think you’re better virtually,” you teased, and will laughed.

“damn,” he smiled, and matty shook his head.

“you’re just mad that i’m winning,” he smirked as his kart passed you.

“shut up,” you pouted, once again not noticing that will was watching you, rather than the tv.

you were about to lose, both of you nearing the finish line, when you felt the couch dip next to you, and you looked to your right in surprise. wills hands were over yours, his arm reaching around you to hold the controller as he got an item from the box and fired the green shell straight at matty, knocking him off the kart and driving your kart across the finish line.

“that’s cheating, you said you weren’t playing,” matty protested, and will chuckled, his breath hitting your ear from how close he was sitting, and you noticed he smelled faintly of vanilla and mint.

“i’m helping,” he challenged. the points were tallied up, confirming that you had won, and you cheered as matty tossed his controller down on defeat.

“i feel betrayed,” he held a hand on his heart jokingly. “i still think that outsider interference should be a disqualification, but a deal is a deal. there’s a great restaurant not far from here, but they only do takeout. i’ll go grab it if you guys don’t mind hanging out here without me?” he offered, and you nodded.

“we’ll live,” you teased. “thanks matty.”

“thanks man,” will patted him on the back as he walked by, before matty grabbed his things and slipped his shoes on, heading out the door with a wave.

“thanks, i owe you one,” you smiled at will as he set the controller down, leaning back against the couch cushions with his arm over the back of it.

“no problem. i didn’t want to listen to him brag if he won,” he joked, a cute smile on his face.

“i can’t even imagine,” you shook your head. “i don’t know how you live with him. i mean i had to but not by choice,” you laughed, and will could tell you weren’t serious. matty had been great to grow up with, all in all a very sweet older brother, and despite what you said, you did miss having him at home.

“he’s not that bad. plus, we’re on the road a lot of the time,” he took off his beanie to run a hand through his light brown hair, before returning the hat to its proper position. you cursed yourself for thinking that his hair looked really soft, and that part of you wished you could trace your fingers through it. “did he show you where the guest bedroom is?”

“no, i had just gotten here when you came downstairs,” you explained. will stood up from the couch, stretching his arms above his head with a slight groan. you tried not to stare as his fawn coloured hoodie rode up slightly, exposing the waistband of his boxers and a sliver of his skin, before he lowered his arms.

“come on, i’ll give you the house tour. hopefully he won’t be too mad that he doesn’t get to show you around himself,” you both laughed, and you grabbed your small suitcase from by the front door. you followed after him as he showed you the kitchen, which you had seen, followed by where matty’s room was, the hallway bathroom, and finally the guest room, which was -

“it’s right next to my room. so if you need anything, just knock,” he offered, and your heart skipped a beat.

“thanks, i appreciate it.” he just nodded in response. there was a comfortable silence for a moment as will leaned against the doorframe, his eyes trained on you as you wheeled your suitcase into the guest room, throwing your phone on the nightstand, before turning back towards him. as your eyes met his, he snapped out of it, clearing his throat softly and looking at the floor, and will hoped he wasn’t blushing.

“matty should be back soon, we can go wait in the kitchen,” he nodded his head in the direction of the staircase.

“okay,” you smiled, and he stepped aside to let you through the doorway.

“do you want something to drink?” he offered once you were back downstairs, opening the fridge to reveal not much inside. if you can imagine the fridge of a couple of college students (mostly soda, a few takeout leftovers; not a vegetable in sight), that is what you were looking at, but you supposed they ate out or ordered food most of the time.

“sure, thanks,” you nodded, looking at the options. “a grape soda if that’s okay.” he passed you the purple beverage, and you felt that same funny feeling in your stomach as his fingertips briefly brushed yours. i should not be feeling this way about your brothers teammate, you thought. you watched him as he reached in to the cupboard and got out plates for the three of you, and you noticed a large scar across his neck.

“can i ask a question?”

“how did i get the scar?” he smiled, turning his attention back to you, and you instantly felt bad.

“sorry - i’m shouldn’t have asked,” you apologized, but he just laughed softly.

“it’s okay, most people do. or sometimes they just stare at it and don’t say anything, which i think might be worse,” he said. “i got cut with a skate blade at hockey camp when i was 17,” he explained.

“wow - that’s a little…”

“terrifying?” he laughed. “yeah, it was.”

“how do you get back on the ice after something like that?” you asked, bewildered at how someone could want to keep playing after something so scary happening, but he just shrugged.

“i don’t know - i missed the game i guess. i’ve always loved hockey so the thought of not playing it again never really crossed my mind. it’s been almost 10 years since it happened, i kinda don’t think about it too much anymore,” he admitted, leaning on his elbows on the countertop. you did the math, deciding he was probably around 6 years older than you, and that shouldn’t have made your heart beat faster, but it did.

“well i don’t know what it’s worth, but i’m glad you’re okay.” you offered, still feeling bad for asking about it, even though he didn’t seem to be bothered by it.

“thank you. and besides, i’ve heard some girls dig scars, so maybe it’s not a total loss,” he laughed, that cute goofy smile spreading across his face again.

“i’m sure you do alright on your own,” you said, definitely having meant to think it, rather than speak it aloud. his eyes rows raised slightly before furrowing together in confusion, not sure that he’d heard you correctly. because if he had, that meant you found him attractive, and that idea only made the butterflies in his stomach worse every time he looked at you.

“what does-“

he was interrupted by the sound of the front door opening, and you shifted your position on the barstool you sat on, not realizing how close towards eachother you had been leaning. will glanced at you one more time before walking over to help matty bring in the food, leaving you cringing at yourself in the kitchen.

“whatever that is, it smells amazing,” you commented, shaking off the embarrassment as matty and will carried the food into the kitchen, placing it on the island in front of you.

“i hope you guys weren’t too bored without me,” he joked, and you and will both looked at eachother, the shared glance going unnoticed by your brother.

“not at all,” will smiled.

•

you had successfully made it through the rest of the evening without sticking your foot in your mouth again. will thankfully hadn’t brought up what you’d said, especially not in front of matty, but that didn’t stop the two of you from stealing glances at eachother for the rest of the night. you had caught him only once, as you looked up and found his pale green eyes already looking your way. matty had thrown on a movie, but admittedly, you weren’t paying too much attention; instead the only thing on your mind was the kraken defenseman sitting in the chair next to you. you took note of the way his knee bounced occasionally, and wondered if he was nervous for some reason - though you doubted it.

the guys were playing call of duty downstairs, and you could hear their voices faintly as you got ready for bed, changing into some pyjama shorts and a tank top. you were sitting in bed scrolling through your phone, when you heard footsteps up the stairs, followed by a knock at the door.

“come in,” you answered, and matty peeked his head in.

“i’m heading to bed, you all good in here?” he asked, and you smiled.

“yeah, thanks matty,” you said, and you wished eachother good night, before he left to his room down the hall.

about fifteen minutes later, you heard will come upstairs, followed by the sound of his door shutting. you stuck your head out into the hall, checking to make sure matty’s light was off. it was, meaning he was likely asleep as you snuck downstairs before you could talk yourself out of it. you grabbed a small plate from the cupboard and opened the tupperware container you had brought. after placing two of the cookies on the plate, you shut it again before tiptoeing back up the stairs, pausing in front of wills bedroom.

taking a deep breath, and despite knowing it was probably a bad idea, you raised your hand to softly knock on the door. seconds ticked by, feeling like hours as you panicked, rethinking your decision to bother him.

“hey, everything okay?” he asked, a concerned look on his face as he opened the door. he had changed out of his hoodie into a t-shirt and some flannel pyjama pants, his beanie gone and his hair slightly messy as he ran his fingers through it. yeah, this was definitely a bad idea, you thought, wondering how he looked so good doing such a simple action.

“yeah- i uh - everything’s fine,” you stuttered, tripping over your words as you felt his eyes trail up your bare legs, and you realized how little you were wearing. “i owe you one for mariokart, so if matty asks you can blame me for these going missing,” you managed to say without stammering, holding the plate of cookies out to him. he smiled, taking the plate from you, and this time you swore he intentionally let his hand brush yours.

“thank you,” he walked over to the dresser and set them down, leaving you standing awkwardly in the doorway. “matty went to bed already?”

“yeah, his light is off,” you answered, shifting your weight back and forth between your feet as you crossed your arms over your chest.

“..do you want to come in?” he asked hesitantly, but not in a way that gave you the impression that he didn’t want you to.

“i think that would be a bad idea,” you answered honestly.

“sorry - yeah you’re right,” he replied, his face scrunching as if he was kicking himself for asking. you took a deep breath, looking down the hallway one more time, telling yourself that matty was for sure asleep.

“i didn’t say i didn’t want to,” you clarified, and you found it impossible to lift your gaze off the floor in front of you. your heart pounded against your ribcage as you waited for him to say anything, and finally you looked up at him, to find him for the thousandth time today, already looking at you.

“jeez, i’m a terrible friend,” he mumbled to himself. “i shouldn’t have invited you in, that’s not fair of me.”

“even if i wanted you to?” you challenged, taking a daring step into his room, and he sighed.

“your brother is my best friend, he would never forgive me if he knew what i was thinking right now,” he said softly, and you knew he was right. you definitely shouldn’t be sneaking into his room while your brother slept down the hall, but that didn’t stop you from quietly shutting the door behind you anyway.

“what are you thinking right now?” you asked, walking closer to him, only stopping when he stood up straight, facing his body towards you; you hadn’t realized how tall he was.

“about how much i want to kiss you right now,” he whispered, looking down at you as your eyes locked.

“will…”

“no one can know,” he shook his head. “i’m sorry, i don’t want to hurt you.”

“please,” you reached for him, his hands wrapping around your wrists to stop your hands from grasping at the material of his shirt.

“if we do this - we have to be so careful,” he spoke softly, his forehead resting on yours.

“i know. we’re both risking a lot. but i just really, really want you to kiss me right now and-“

his lips were on yours before you could finish your sentence, and you melted into him, his hands releasing their grip on your wrists and allowing you to snake your arms around his neck. his hands went to your waist, fingertips digging into your skin softly as his mouth moved against yours, his lips softer than you’d imagined. you separated to catch your breath, as he walked you backwards until your legs hit the end of the bed.

“do you want to stay?” he asked, and you smiled.

“another bad idea,” you both giggled, his cheeks a light shade of pink from the kiss. “but yes, i would like that.”

“matty usually sleeps in a bit on our days off, so i’ll set an alarm so you can sneak back to your room,” he offered, and then shook his head with a dry laugh, as if realizing what he had said. “i am so not getting the friend of the year award.”

“i’m sorry,” you looked down, but he tilted your face up to kiss you again, softer this time.

“don’t apologize,” he pleaded. “let’s go to bed.”

you slid your legs under the covers as will walked around and go into the other side of the bed. he laid down, and opened his arms for you to crawl into. “come here,” he mumbled sweetly, his voice sleepy as you wrapped your arms around him. you allowed your legs to tangle with his under the blanket as you kissed him on the cheek, a smile blooming on his face in response.

“goodnight will,” you hummed, and he rubbed your back, a million thought running through his mind as he started to drift off to sleep.

“goodnight.”

•

there is a first time for everything, and today had to be the first time that matty was awake early. luckily, will had woken up to the alarm he had set, a little disoriented to be waking up with you in his bed. he smiled down at you in his arms, and shut off the alarm, deciding to let you sleep.

he heard matty’s door and panicked slightly, but breathed a sigh of relief as his footsteps passed his own room and thumped down the stairs. will combed through his hair quickly before heading downstairs after him.

“morning,” he mumbled, rubbing his tired eyes as he wondered why his housemate was awake so early.

“morning,” matty smiled. “i didn’t think you’d be up yet. i wanted to go for a run early today; that way i’m not really ditching you and y/n,” he explained. “i feel kinda bad for leaving them stuck with you last night.”

“ouch,” will faked offence, but judging by the fact that you were currently asleep in his bed, he figured you didn’t mind being left alone with him after all. he smiled to himself as he poured himself a cup of coffee from the kettle, thinking of the stolen kisses from last night, but his smile faltered slightly as he remembered that is was his best friends little sibling he had been kissing.

“i’ll be back in a little while, try not to be a good host if y/n wakes up.”

“alright buddy,” he laughed at the irony, as matty put in his earbuds and hurried out the house. as the door shut, will exhaled deeply, running his hands over his face, feeling incredibly guilty for betraying his friend. he set the coffee mug down on the counter, padding back upstairs to his room, the guilt being replaced with butterflies in his stomach as he looked at you, tangled up in the sheets of his bed. the sun peeked through the cracks in the curtains, illuminating the parts of your skin that it fell upon, and he sighed happily.

will walked over to the side of the bed and sat down next to you, unable to stop himself from gently running his knuckles along your bare arm. you mumbled incoherently, still half asleep as you rolled over towards him.

“hey, sleepyhead. matty went out, but you should probably get up before he gets back,” he explained, and you nodded sleepily, reaching out towards him and grasping at his shirt.

“lay with me,” you murmured, and he couldn’t stop himself, sliding under the covers with you as you curled into him, waking up slightly as he leaned down to kiss you. you returned it, reaching up to cradle the side of his face in your hand as his hands slid up your back, holding you tight. he leaned against the headboard as he maneuvered you into his lap, and you pulled back slightly.

“i guess this means you don’t regret.. this?” you laughed nervously, and he smiled.

“i don’t regret it,” he pecked your lips. “i did feel guilty facing your brother though.”

“i’m sorry,” you mumbled, looking down at your lap, but he tilted you face up gently with a finger under your chin.

“you don’t have to be sorry,” he shook his head. “come on, let’s get out of bed before matty comes back and then we really have to apologize,” he joked, kissing you one more time before helping you crawl out of his lap.

“how many days are you staying with us again?” he asked, as you walked towards the door to head back to your guest room.

“why? you like having me around?” you teased.

“something like that,” he blushed, and you smiled at how cute he was.

“at least three or four,” you replied. “but i think i could be persuaded to stay longer.”

disclaimer: all screenshots, events, and/or interactions depicted in this are a work of fiction. i have no association with any parties mentioned

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morrowmuse · 3 months

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Borgen Blvd

My knees are sore and my back hurts,

i have woken up at 2:30am the last several weeks

unblinking

if i just clean one more room

empty one more closet

hang one more prized possession that you have kept in a ripped folder in a water damaged box in

the way you keep things you love

things you hoard

things like me

but while i am organizing

my brain can be quiet and i can catch up on my remaining three hours of sleep

two rounds of dreams for me that will die as hallucinations

and cannot be remembered

you rely on that

remembering

you have weaponized nostalgia to tell me that things were better than i am imagining

but they were not

you enslaved time, and forced it to do your dirty work

you scrubbed the oil and soot out of our history and regurgitated your facts

you think if you just drink from the new one, everyone will forget you poisoned the well

but i was there, the soot is still in the laces of my shoes, the poison on my tongue

i wish i could remember my dreams again

but i cannot let you forget your transgressions

M.A.Morrow

#poetry #amatuer poet #self reflection #vengeful #anger #relationship #gaslighting

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beetlemancy · 3 years

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finally getting to the latest ted episodes and any commentary i would have had was completely blown out of the water by seeing SIDSE BABETT KNUDSON'S NAME in the credits! i'm assuming she's Sharon's therapist - what a fascinating choice for a voice-only role, and a choice that makes me think she'll make an actual appearance. i hope so!

#ted lasso #sidse babett knudsen #trying to imagine ted lasso with borgen energy #i'm struggling i'll admit but i'm excited nonetheless #i thought i recognized the voice but never in a million years did i think #it would be HER

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isagrimorie · 4 years

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I’ve been reading She-Ra fic, and I’m glad I took a pause reading because now that I’ve returned to it most stories are finished and/or have built up chapters to read.

Anyway, I’ve also been thinking of canon!Adora and how she really is like Amy Santiago without the ambition. Or, not the kind of ambition Shadow Weaver pushed on her, all Adora ever wanted was peace and be with Catra and her friends.

And there was Catra, there was a post I can’t remember which, that said they didn’t believe Catra would give on her ambitions so easily in season 5. But I don’t think Catra is that ambitious either, just like Adora it’s all external.

Catra never wanted to be the Leader of the Horde. She wanted it because she thought Adora wanted it, it was the Rule Together part she was after.

When Scorpia offered her the same thing, she hesitated, unsure, because it didn’t mean anything without Adora.

And then, when Adora left Catra wanted to rise through the ranks because in her mind it would make her untouchable. No one would dare hurt her anymore but also she wanted, more than anything, was Shadow Weaver’s validation even though Catra knew she shouldn’t care. Catra also wanted recognition because growing up Adora, through no fault of her own, overshadowed Catra.

It’s why Catra needed to rise as high as she did, practically ruling the Horde, because without that Catra will always wonder if she could. This way she did rise, higher than even Shadow Weaver and realize doing so tasted like dust in her mouth.

Catra is a great strategist, and when not mired by her issues, a good leader. But she hated the paperwork. You know who loves organizing and paperwork? The Amy Santiago of Etheria, Adora of Grayskull.

Adora is a book learner, who has an encyclopedic knowledge of everything she learns. If only people will give her a dictionary. I can imagine Adora loving George and Lance’s library once the Peace really settled in.

But also, can you imagine the resources Glimmer has in her kingdom? An advisor who knows the ins and out of State craft (Catra), and a Nerd who would love nothing more to organize and do paperwork (Adora)?Brightmoon is going to be the most efficiently run kingdom in Etheria.

Also, Adora is amazing at forging alliances, she knows instinctively who to form alliances with and how they can help. Bow would be great at maintaining those alliances. And Glimmer, having learned from her mistakes would do a great job leading and delegating.

I bet Catra and Frosta would have a lot to bitch about running a State when most people treated you like a kid or someone inconsequential.

It’s not gonna happen but boy would I love a West Wing/Thick of It/Borgen style story about Brightmoon.

#thinky thoughts #netflix: she ra #catra #adora #glimmer #bow

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visionsofelizabeth · 4 years

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✖ ▒ OH, WHAT A COINCIDENCE! i was just thinking of [ ELIZABETH OF YORK ]. most swear their resemblance to [ KEIRA KNIGHTLEY ] is unmistakable, but she has been around since the [ LATE MIDDLE AGES ]. it is rumoured that the [ CIS FEMALE ] was born in [ LONDON, UNITED KINGDOM ] in the year [ 1466 ], even though they don’t look a day over [ THIRTY ]. what a shame, though: they were once famed for being [ AMBITIOUS ] and [ STEADFAST ] ; yet now, they seem more and more [ STUBBORN ] and [ INTERFERING ]. but while [ ELIZABETH ] spends their days working as [ A POLITICAL AIDE ], they are already notorious around town for [ CRAFTING PRECISELY THE RIGHT WORDS AND FITTING THEM INTO SOMEONE ELSE’S MOUTH; METICULOUS & BEAUTIFUL PENMANSHIP; “ANCESTRAL” HALLS SHORTER-LIVED THAN YOU; THE CENTURIES’ OLD GLEAM OF A CROWN; A WAY TO WIN ON EITHER SIDE OF THE BATTLE ]. when you live forever, you might as well make the most of it. ( shannon. 20. bst/gmt+1. she/her. )

MUN STUFF:

hello hi there, friends! i’m shannon, i really hate ( most of ) philippa gregory, and this is the historical love of my life, elizabeth of york. i hope i make you all love her as much as i absolutely adore her. if you’re invested in the experience, i recommend listening to ‘the tower’ by ludovico einaudi while reading about her because it really helped me get my feelings about her down onto paper.

BASICS:

FULL NAME: her majesty queen elizabeth of england.

MONIKER / NICKNAME: lizzie; the white rose of york ( nicknames. )

TITLES: queen consort of england ( 1486-1503 ), princess ( 1466-1483 officially; regarded a princess by some after this date until her coronation as queen consort in 1486. )

GENDER && PRONOUNS: cis female && she/her.

DOB && AGE: eleventh of february, fourteen sixty-six ( age five hundred and fifty-four; immortally thirty. )

PLACE OF BIRTH: westminster palace, london, england.

ZODIAC SIGN: aquarius.

ETHNICITY: white.

SEXUAL ORIENTATION: bisexual

ROMANTIC ORIENTATION: biromantic

PHYSICAL APPEARANCE:

FACE CLAIM: keira knightley.

HEIGHT: 5 ft 7 in (170cm)

PHYSICAL BUILD: slim, rectangular.

EYE COLOUR AND SHAPE: brown; deep-set.

HAIR COLOUR AND STYLE: brown; varies.

USUAL EXPRESSION: neutral.

ACCENT AND SPEECH STYLE: received pronunciation; measured speed.

DISTINGUISHING MARKS / CHARACTERISTICS: pierced ears & an outline of the rennes cathedral tattooed on her wrist that she got done ten years ago.

CLOTHING STYLE: varies heavily; in her job, she likes suits now.

JEWELLERY AND ACCESSORIES: she still wears her wedding ring from the 1480s, and possesses earrings in the likeness of the tudor rose, though she can so rarely wear the latter.

FAMILY:

FATHER: edward iv of england

MOTHER: elizabeth woodville

SIBLINGS, IF ANY: nine full, two half.

EXTENDED RELATIONS: cecily neville (grandmother) && richard iii of england (uncle.)

SIGNIFICANT OTHER(S): henry vii of england (husband, 1486—, legally ended upon her “death” in 1503). there has and will be no one else.

CHILDREN: seven or eight, including henry viii of england.

HOUSEHOLD PET(S): none; they die too soon. she used to keep greyhounds in her heyday.

FAVOURITES:

COLOUR: red && white; the colours of lancaster and york.

WEATHER: when it is overcast but comfortably so, and rain is on the horizon so the air is refreshing when it caresses your face. quintessentially english.

FOOD ITEM: the christmas roast. it reminds her of raucous and happy times with her family.

BEVERAGE: burgundian wine.

TIME OF DAY: just before dawn, when everything is peaceful & the world could just seem... perfectly endless, and yet, so small.

TELEVISION GENRE: drama. political & nordic noir. think borgen & the killing.

FAVOURITE ERA LIVED: 1486-1503; the years of her marriage.

PERSONALITY:

HOBBIES: gambling & music & reading & dancing & writing & watching theatre.

PET PEEVES: people who chew loudly. tardiness.

ALLERGIES: none known.

MBTI TYPE: estj-a.

ENNEAGRAM TYPE: type one, with a two wing: “the advocate.”

SLEEPING HABITS: restless. not as regular as they should be.

OLDEST BELONGING: her wedding ring from the 1480s.

HOME: chester square, belgravia.

DAUGHTER, SISTER, NIECE AND WIFE

No one else will ever be all four to kings ( Edward IV, Edward V, Richard III, Henry VII ) but that distinction — much like your life — is marred by instability, grief and strife.

Your father became sick: whisperings of poison persist, and you must admit you are not sure of the truth. Your brother disappeared to the Tower: whisperings of murder exist, and you must admit you are not sure of the truth. But you are sure that your uncle met his end upon Bosworth field, and on the matter of your husband you are sure that you love him.

At first you were not sure, at first it was not easy, but such is love.

Sweet Elizabeth, daughter of scandal: the fairest of her father’s children by his second marriage to Elizabeth Woodville. They call her ‘common,’ though she is beautiful; they are not audacious enough to call you half-common, because it is only descendancy from the God-chosen King that matters to them.

There would be more daughters before Elizabeth Woodville gave unto her husband sons, and by then they are talking.

THINGS I PROBABLY DON’T NEED TO WRITE CREATIVELY BUT YOU DO NEED TO KNOW, A SAGA:

Elizabeth of York was the first-born daughter of Edward IV and his wife Elizabeth Woodville; she was widely believed to be the fairest of his children. She had two older half-siblings from her mother’s first marriage, and would have nine full-blooded siblings: Mary, Cecily, Edward (V), Margaret, Richard, Anne, George, Catherine, and Bridget. Bold denotes the two ‘Princes in the Tower’ and italics denotes siblings who died in infancy.

In childhood, she was betrothed to the future King Charles VIII of France, but the French failed to keep to their end of the agreement & it was called off. Previously, she had been betrothed to a noble’s son, but this too was repudiated after the father rebelled against Edward.

The former King Henry VI was briefly returned to the throne when Elizabeth was but four years old. Elizabeth, her siblings, and their pregnant mother lived under religious protection until Edward was restored in 1471.

In 1483, Edward IV died, and the unexpected nature of this death & the age of her brother — also named Edward — combined by the ambition for power held by her uncle the Lord Protector ( Richard, Duke of Gloucester ) threw the succession into doubt. Once again, they were forced into sancturary.

Ultimately, both Edward V and the younger Richard disappeared shortly after her uncle took the throne as Richard III, known as the Princes in the Tower, with much credence lent to the theory that they were murdered; the Titulus Regius, in declaring the late King’s controversial — as Elizabeth Woodville was a ‘common’ widower and the marriage secret — marriage invalid, bastardised their children and robbed Elizabeth of York and her siblings of status & rights to succession.

When whispers began of an effort against Richard for the throne, the strongest claim was undoubtedly Elizabeth of York’s own. But there had been no queen that ruled in her own right, and would not for some years, and so Elizabeth Woodville arranged for her to marry the Lancastrian claimant Henry Tudor, who traced his line through a legitimised bastard line.

It was illegal for a Beaufort to take the throne, but it was agreed that they would support his efforts, perhaps due to Elizabeth’s vitriol toward Richard for the disappearance of her son. Henry vowed to marry Elizabeth in 1483.

Henry Tudor won the battle of Bosworth Field and was crowned Henry VII: he married Elizabeth in January 1486, their first child, Arthur, being born that autumn.

The marriage initially was politics-born, but they came to love one another deeply, and there is no evidence of the king having kept a mistress.

FROM DEATH TO “DEATH”

18 March, 1496

The eighteenth of March, fourteen ninety-six, is immortalised in your mind as the day that you died. You were thirty that day — giving birth to your fifth child, Mary — and you are thirty now, utterly untouched by the centuries.

The death must have lasted mere moments; no one beyond your attentive husband noticed, and it was some time beyond then that the both of you began to believe it.

It was the tallest of the tales your mother told you in her confinement at Bermondsey before her death four years ago. But when they told you she was dead ( perhaps of plague, demanding a rushed & private ceremony ) it would take a fool not to wonder whether the machinations of Elizabeth Woodville, the queen dowager, would continue from beyond the ‘grave.’

( The Reaper himself surely could not stop so ambitious a woman: and were it not for the king’s mother, perhaps you could have been more like her. You wonder whether you would want to be. )

Time passed, and yet none upon your face. Henry holds you close in anxious murmurings of what they will do to you if you are discovered; whisperings between kisses of witch-burnings.

You know, though you wish that he was not, that he is right to be afraid.

4 April, 1502

For all the world and time, no worse news could be imagined; the existence of those without faith is one without pity or mercy & you have always tried to keep your love of God intact, but it is oh-so-difficult when the world itself is so malignant as to take your little prince away.

Why is it, then, that you must live and yet bury your son? Why must his wife live on and yet he must die? You are not a spiteful woman. But even you, in this all-consuming grief, must be allowed your bitterness.

You remind your husband of the grace of God: it does not help you believe it.

You remind your that you have a son and two daughters, and that Arthur is with God, and it does not help you believe it.

You remind your husband that you are both young and have time enough yet.

It does not help you believe it.

As soon as you are gone from him, having remained strong for Henry’s sake alone, you buckle, and you wail, and you scream in defiance; it is hopeless, of course, for you to have insisted on sparing him your grief. When you need him, he will always come, until he can no longer.

10th February, 1503

Your newborn daughter Katherine stopped breathing, and something trapped the scream in your throat like a reassurance: some hand over your mouth whispering wait, until the baby girl wailed and began to move again.

She is too young to have the burden of forever on those tiny shoulders, you think, but did any of you ever get a choice in whether or not you wanted to be Time’s Atlas? You say nothing of the occurrence to anyone bar your dearest beloved, who you trust with an implicitness thought impossible the day you married him.

How could one of the white rose trust one of the red?

Your blood still mars the bedsheets, too much of it, dark & damning; they thought the sanguine waterfall would never stem, skin growing paler and paler, until you were a paper ghost. Of course, you knew that you would not die. The doctors didn’t: they call you a miracle. The bells are rung for joy, but when they are gone, there is rue upon your husband’s face. Not long ago, they began to comment upon your unchanging visage, like an ever-fresh flower, and you both knew.

“It won’t be long before—” You press your finger gently to his lips, and he moves it away. “It’s time.”

“I know.”

11th February, 1503

The tower is just barely lit by the sun; you have been here many times before — a highlight of the fact the world still thinks the reality of childbirth, the suffering that comes with a miracle, to be a matter of shame — and he has always hated the separation from you, but this time, in the eyes of the nation ( he will deceive even his mother ) you will not leave it alive.

Cast your gaze back over your shoulder, and ask the most natural question of the immortal race: how did you get here?

To this liminal space, this balancing-act, between the past ( for this home of yours will be your past, your life with him will be your past, but your love for him will be your present, your tomorrow, and your always ) and forever? Can you process the endlessness of it — of forever — my love, where so many empires, overestimating their longevity, have failed; can you understand, darling, that you will watch the crumbling demise of so many more without him?

( When you see his vision misted over with tears, is your husband still the most beautiful, lovable thing you have ever beheld? He is. He is, and no matter how the centuries pass — no matter how many kings, queens and vagabonds you lay eyes upon — he always will be; they will brand him a penny-pincher and a miser as loss haunts him, but you will remember him like this, in the most pain he has and will ever be in, but selfless anyway, because here’s the kicker they all forget: he loves you. )

“My Lizzie,” he murmurs to you, kisses the backs of your fingers, and it is a vow. Even in the depths of his pre-emptive sorrow, he looks up. His mother always says he was God-chosen to be king, but it has always been you who puts him on his knees. “Happy Birthday.”

You promise yourself then — ruminating on the fact you have never had an unhappier birthday than this — that you will never forget it.

LIFE AFTER “DEATH” ( POST-1503 )

As is hinted, Henry knew of Elizabeth’s immortality & assisted her in faking her “death.”

Elizabeth has had a long time to live.

The sole large expense never recorded in the royal books by Henry was to send her away and give her a life of means: the most painful act her husband ever undertook, but which he did because he loved her so dearly. Henry never remarried: though he spoke of it ( had to, because his wife was ostensibly dead ) he staved it off with the instructions he gave to those searching for a second wife.

Hint: they perfectly described Elizabeth.

For some time, the parted couple sent letters, before they deemed even that a risk to their wellbeing.

Elizabeth was once a pious woman. She is not, anymore: an eternity of time and of watching all die around her will rob any woman of her faith. She was renowned for gentleness and generosity, and that is not entirely lost upon her, but the same grief that forged the Winter King from Henry has touched her, too.

She is more cynical, more bitter, but she is still trying. It was necessary for her to change: even at first, knowing she had forever to live, she had to force herself to accept the life Henry gave her & not bequeath her money to others who needed it more, as suddenly she needed it to maintain her own life throughout the centuries.

Throughout her life, though, this attitude has meant she has built up enough money to both give comfortably and be comfortable. For example, now, she is both heavily charitable but lives in Belgravia.

Many lives have passed: in just one, for example, she has been a teacher, just as she was to her son Henry. She has settled in this life on a political aide, so she can more obviously move the world.

The years have made her more ambitious.

She just hopes she will find hope — and her husband, because she knows that if he were dead he would feel it in her heart — before she indelibly becomes the Winter Queen.

TRIVIA ( some things I love & a note on some I have elected to ignore )

Obligatory note that I would sell my soul for someone to play James McAvoy as Henry VII.

Among other things, the Queen from “Sing A Song Of Sixpence” is reportedly Elizabeth of York, and Henry is the King counting his money.

However, Henry’s penny-pinching nature only blossomed after Elizabeth’s death ( or in this case ‘death’ ) and prior to that death he was very liberal in spending money upon his wife and family.

Elizabeth may also have inspired the Queen of Hearts on modern-day playing cards.

She was particularly tall for Tudor women — perhaps inherited from her father — as most were much shorter than five-foot six or seven.

History believes Elizabeth had little political influence, but that perhaps is not so true as they believe.

It is true that Margaret Beaufort exercised a grand deal of influence and was loudly opinionated, but Elizabeth was able to influence matters through gentle whispers in her husband’s ear, and through love. She did not live for the applause: never had done. Elizabeth was known to be heavily charitable. So why would she make fanfare of her achievements in her husband’s court?

I know Henry VIII isn’t allowed, but Elizabeth would bitch slap him. She would. It has to be said.

#qismat.intro #qismat.task

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dweemeister · 4 years

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Ordet (1955, Denmark)

By the 1950s, Danish director Carl Theodor Dreyer had made eleven films. However, his last three works were victims of circumstance. The Passion of Joan of Arc (1928) consistently ranks high in film critics’ lists of the greatest movies ever made, but it offended ardent French nationalists who resisted the idea of a Dane directing a movie about one of the nation’s secondary patron saints. Vampyr (1932), in its stillness and languor befitting its disturbing atmosphere, was despised by audiences – including a riot from Viennese moviegoers demanding a refund – expecting more action. Day of Wrath (1943) released a firestorm of controversy in Nazi-occupied Denmark because of its allegory about living under an authoritarian regime. All three of these films were commercial failures. All three of these films are today considered cinematic exemplars.

Danish movie producers might have sneezed, claiming imaginary allergies, at the notion of financing the next Dreyer film, but the Danish government decided to reward Dreyer – struggling with finances after World War II – with a lifelong lease to the Dagmar, the state arthouse movie theater. With a morsel of the Dagmar’s profits, Dreyer sought a project he could make on a shoestring budget. Dreyer’s twelfth film would be Ordet (“The Word” in English), based on a play of the same name by Lutheran pastor Kaj Munk. Ordet is a severe film that never loses hold of an attentive viewer. It contains a provocative ending that cannot (and will not) be spoiled, and it is an ideal follow-up to The Passion of Joan of Arc and Day of Wrath in that this piece examines the nature of faith. Instead of probing why the film’s characters believe (or don’t believe) in God, its focus is instead on how the characters express their belief.

In the autumn of 1925, widowed Borgen family patriarch Morten (Henrik Malberg) is a devout farmer soon to be busy with doting on his third, incoming grandchild. Morten has three sons: his eldest, Mikkel (Emil Hass Christensen), is agnostic, married to Inger (Birgitte Federspeil), and the couple have taken care of Morten’s two grandchildren; middle son Johannes (Preben Lerdorff Rye) went mad studying Søren Kierkegaard’s texts and now believes himself to be Jesus Christ; and youngest son Anders (Cay Kristiansen), the center of the film’s attention for a plurality of its runtime, is lovesick. The entire Borgen family lives under the same roof – creating tension, but Morten is nevertheless proud of “Borgensfarm”.

Anders and Anne Petersen (Gera Nielsen) wish to marry. Anne’s father Peter (Ejner Federspiel), is the local leader of the conservative Inner Mission sect of Lutheranism; Anders and Anne correctly believe he will oppose the marriage. Peter’s standoffish rejection inspires Morten – also originally in opposition – to change his mind. He stomps over to Peter’s residence, arriving mid-sermon, and failing to sway his friend. Peter’s telephone rings as they argue, and Peter must bear news of a family emergency at Borgensfarm.

Pacing and an intricate plot are of no concern to Dreyer. For the film’s opening two-thirds, Dreyer – who wrote the adapted screenplay – takes all the time needed to let the audience know the lives of the Borgens. The love shared between all three generations of the Borgen family is never questioned, although their understanding of and relationship with God differs. Because of my lack of religious belief, I do not know how to accurately describe Dreyer’s comparison of Morten and Peter other than the former is less beholden to religious dogma than the latter. The agnostic Mikkel believes God as essentially dead, forsaking long ago the children of Earth to the kindness and cruelty of their neighbors. No one in the Borgen household condemns or lampoons Mikkel for not believing. Certainly not Inger, who sympathizes with this struggle of faith. Not even Johannes, the most difficult son to truly understand. Johannes, speaking Jesus’ words from scripture and words that one could imagine Jesus might have said in rural 1920s Denmark, appears as a cloud-gazing, simply-clothed itinerant by day. His words are lofty, his speech deliberate, his empty gaze distancing him from those who surround him. He asks others to pray and believe, never wrathful if they do not listen or heed his advice. By night, he returns home as he always has done. Though he no longer addresses his father, brothers, sister-in-law, and nieces as his father, brothers, sister-in-law, and nieces, they still treat him as family – even though they do not accept him as Christ. For Anders, he is obviously preoccupied with the woman he loves.

Ordet is structured around the domestic lives and habits of its characters – it is akin to free verse poetry, resisting any attempts at novelistic analysis. Characters fully express themselves, and dialogue never overlaps between speakers (even in argument). There is silence after completed statements of opinion and revelation. In that silence, Dreyer’s camera captures the listener’s reaction (except for Johannes, who does not visually react): contentment, disbelief, amusement, concern, horror, understanding. This is executed in the mostly empty spaces of the Borgen household, against clear backdrops. In the dialogue pauses during and between conversations, all one can hear is ambient noise: the floorboards creaking as a character is making their way across the room, the clock ticking in the parlor room, someone shuffling positions in their chair. Cinematographer Henning Bendtsen (1959’s Boy of Two Worlds, 1991’s Europa) keeps his camera distant – of Ordet’s 114 total shots (averaging more than sixty seconds each between cuts), only three are close-ups. It is as if there is a presence accompanying the characters even in the most ordinary scenes, but that presence is something unknowable, something beyond an individual’s understanding of God.

Bendtsen’s mastery of mise en scène (a concept that is generally defined as the combination of set design, shot composition, and actor placement to empower cinematic or theatrical art) culminates when Mikkel’s oldest daughter, Maren (Ann Elisabeth Groth), walks into the parlor room to see her uncle Johannes waiting in the dark. Inger has gone into labor; her pregnancy endangering her life. Maren has overheard how perilous her mother’s situation is from the adults and cannot sleep.

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She asks Johannes if her mother will die soon; he responds, “Do you want her to, little girl?” The camera cuts. “Yes, because then you’ll bring her back to life, won’t you?” It is a curious response that raises unanswered questions how Mikkel’s two girls view Johannes as an uncle and as a self-proclaimed Christ. The others will not allow me to perform this miracle, notes Johannes, as the camera begins to slowly revolve around them. Maren and Johannes have a late-night conversation about what happens when a mother goes to heaven and miracles. The gradual dolly shot going across Johannes and Maren’s front sides display the empty depths of the parlor room, suggesting something there. Again, it suggests something beyond our conception of God. Maren and Johannes’ conversation adds to this, as Johannes comforts Maren, imparting that mothers will be with their children even in death, without the stress of other things during the day. In three minutes, a creaking floorboard, ticking clock, Johannes’ blank face, and the familial tenderness between the two actors have encapsulated what Ordet conveys to open-minded viewers of all faiths.

All of this is demanding, in different ways, for the acting ensemble and the audience. In many films (especially today’s cinema), editors will cut quickly from reactions to dialogue or during dialogue – serving to either undermine an actor’s ability or conceal their shortcomings. Because of the camerawork and minimal editing, there is little room for any mediocre acting to hide in Ordet (which contains stellar performances from its ensemble), a production that asks its actors to inhabit their characters for lengthy stretches without a cut. In a way, this harkens to Ordet’s background as a stage play, but the film adaptation does not feel stage-bound. For the audience, the barely moving camera and thoughtful pace can be an impediment to the impatient. But I suspect many viewers – as I did – will have difficulty unpackaging Johannes. Johannes, with all credit to Preben Lerdorff Rye, seems like he accidentally walked onto the wrong movie set and began acting thinking he was shooting for that other production. That last sentence could be construed as disparagement, but it is not – Rye’s performance befits the character, and Dreyer’s intention to perplex viewers with Johannes’ presence is controlled and purposeful.

Johannes’ presence in Ordet strikes at unsettling ideas for Christians and non-Christians alike, and these conflicting ideas are integral to the film’s controversial final ten minutes. In contrast to Morten’s comfortable, undemanding religiosity and the Inner Mission’s stringent emphasis on dogma, Johannes’ claims to be Christ is unnerving. The New Testament is filled with parables, gospels, and miracles told and performed by Christ. The Borgen family and the Inner Mission sect adherents would rather Jesus be dead, with God’s physical embodiment and judgment removed from the corporeal world humans share, than believe Johannes to be the son of God. Every character in Ordet except Johannes believes that the days of God’s miracles have passed; to some viewers, the film may seem to endorse this view. But Dreyer’s intentions are not to evangelize on behalf of any Christian belief – Dreyer, according to film critic Jonathan Rosenbaum, was not religious and his occasional visits to a French Reformed church were attempts to familiarize himself with Christian colloquialisms for his film projects. Dreyer wants to understand how religion plays a role in the lives of the Borgens and the film’s secondary characters and how they express their faith. He succeeds.

By the time Ordet’s final act begins, the viewer is probably still wondering how such an apparently simple film that may have bored them in the opening half-hour has convinced them to finish it – barreling into the thickets of one’s soul with unexpected force. Dreyer and the actors have outlined their characters completely, allowing observant viewers intuit each character’s reactions to the mundane and the sublime. The film’s paradoxical and transcendent conclusion provides these characters and the audience an ending that we desperately desire, but also challenges that desire to question our faith.

For the first time since the silent era, Carl Theodor Dreyer had made a film that was instantly acclaimed by critics and audiences in Denmark and abroad – including receiving the Golden Lion at the 1955 Venice Film Festival and a joint Golden Globe Award for Best Foreign Film shared with four other movies. Despite Ordet’s success, Dreyer would continue to struggle in finding funds to make another film. Dreyer made only one more film in Gertrud (1964), and a long-gestating project about Jesus (no surprise that Dreyer would consider making such a film) never came to fruition, although a manuscript outlining the film was published in 1968.

As someone who was never raised with much of an understanding of the Abrahamic religions, I nevertheless find films commenting about the nature of religious belief fascinating. Almost all these films, due to demographics and religious history, have been within Christianity’s folds. Too often faith is held as a nightstick for comic or dramatic purposes in narrative art – and this sort of art is neither challenging nor rewarding for anyone. In recent years, I have found glorious exceptions from Old Hollywood and in non-English-language cinema that put to shame the evangelical-specific, exclusionary present of the American Christian film industry. Ordet is arguably one of the most exacting and illuminating religious films ever made. Late in Ordet, Dreyer’s film finds itself in a wallow of despair and ends with spirits exultant. Its ending – one that I desired – still leaves me uplifted and horrified.

My rating: 10/10

^ Based on my personal imdb rating. Half-points are always rounded down. My interpretation of that ratings system can be found in the “Ratings system” page on my blog (as of July 1, 2020, tumblr is not permitting certain posts with links to appear on tag pages, so I cannot provide the URL).

For more of my reviews tagged “My Movie Odyssey”, check out the tag of the same name on my blog.

#Ordet #Carl Theodor Dreyer #Henrik Malberg #Emil Hass Christensen #Birgitte Federspiel #Preben Lerdorff Rye #Cay Kristiansen #Ejner Federspiel #Gerda Nielsen #Henning Bendtsen #Kaj Munk #TCM #My Movie Odyssey

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