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kohanayaki · 3 years

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.:Time and Time Again:. (Marauders Era x Reader) Ch 7

Severus looks back on everything that went wrong.

tw: non-consensual kissing/harassment, trauma responses

LINKS: CH 1 CH 2 CH 3 CH 4 CH 5 CH 6 CH 7 CH 8

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Ch 7 .:Things Unforgivable and Things Left Unsaid:.

Graduation day at Hogwarts was supposed to mark the beginning of a new adventure for you. Instead, it marked the day you decided that whatever it was between you and Severus Snape, friendship or otherwise, it was over.

Or at least that's what you had thought. Of course, the universe just loved making things more complicated for you. You were working with Charlie in Romania when you had gotten word that Severus defected from the death eaters and was now working as a double agent at Dumbledore's behest. He continued teaching Potions at Hogwarts, and was even indited as a member of the Order. If anything, that only solidified your decision to go to America instead of staying in London. You didn't even know what to think. Of course you trusted Dumbledore, confusing as the man was, but you didn't know if you could really trust Snape again. You had worked towards forgiving him; over time you moved past what happened, but it was difficult to really say it was 'resolved' when you quite literally haven't spoken a word to each other in over a decade. You didn't even know where to start.

For the entirety of your seventh year, you didn't speak a word to Severus. It was hard to imagine that such a tight knit trio like the one you, him, and Lily had formed could crumble in an instant, but that's exactly what happened.

The end of your sixth year at Hogwarts was a quarter Snape would never forget, no matter how hard he tried. It was when everything fell apart. . .

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 1976 ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“James!” you yelled, running to the top of the hill where he and the rest of the Marauders had Snape held upside down.

“What are you doing?” you said, immensely hurt and trying to keep your voice steady, “You said this would stop, you promised. . . you swore.”

“(Y/n), I. . .” James trailed off, immediately feeling guilty. As he turned to you Snape dropped to the ground, attempting to scramble to his feet but finding his ankle twisted.

Sirius moved towards you to say something but you put your hand up firmly.

“No,” you said, “not a word out of you, Black.”

Sirius stared at you, wide-eyed, shrinking back as you called him by his last name for the first time in a long while. Not Sirius, not Pads. Black. As if your whole friendship had just been reset.

“And you two,” you said, addressing Remus and Peter, “how could you let this happen?!”

All four boys looked at you in shame, none of them daring to verbally respond.

Suddenly, Lily came running up the hill, having fallen behind you in your quick pace.

“Severus!” she panted, rushing over to him, “are you alright?”

Snape was in an angered daze, not even registering the words being said around him. The blood rushing through his veins felt like lava, his heart pounding in his ears, his chest, his tongue. His face burned with humiliation and hatred. Pure fucking hatred for James Fleamont Potter. For Lily to see him like that. . . for you to see him like that, pathetic, helpless, in need of your help once again. He wouldn't have it. He was a master of the dark arts now, he didn't have to fucking take this. He would curse Potter into the next century, he would—

“Severus!”

Snape's eyes snapped open, not even realizing they were closed. The world came rushing in around him and he was suddenly acutely aware of Lily's hand on his arm. He reeled back at her touch as if he'd been burned.

“Don't touch me!” he screeched, startling the redheaded girl. Her eyes were filled with concern, but all Snape could see was pity.

“Sev—“

“I don't need any help from you, you filthy Mudblood!”

And everyone in the clearing stilled.

The color drained from Snape's already pale face as he realized what he'd just said.

“Lily. . .” Severus whispered; pleading, desperate.

“Don't come any closer,” Lily said, her voice stone cold as tears welled up in her eyes.

“I'll kill you,” James said lowly.

“Prongs, no—”

“I'll kill you, you slimy bastard!” James growled, Remus moving quickly to hold him back.

You stood in the middle of it all, staring at Severus. Severus, who'd always told Lily that blood status didn't matter. Severus, who you and Lily always stood up for no matter what. Severus, who you thought you had feelings for up until this exact moment.

Without even thinking you stepped forward, grabbing Lily's hand.

“Let's go, Lils,” you said, your expression unreadable as you looked down at Severus. Lily squeezed your hand back gratefully, fighting the sobs racking her chest as she turned around and took off with you.

“(Y/n), wait—” Snape tried to get up but found himself shoved back down to the ground by Sirius.

“No,” he said sharply, “you don't get to say anything to either of them, you hear me?”

“I—”

“What?” James spat, “you're sorry? Well sorry doesn't cut it! You say a word to her after what you called her and you'll wish you'd never have been born.”

Snape's head hung low, that wish already present in his mind.

“Leave him,” Remus said, this time not out of mercy, but malice; letting Snape wallow in his own misery as he left with his friends, looking for you and Lily.

Soon, Severus was left alone. Just as he began, and just as he should have never hoped for anything different. Was this it? That's how it was going to end? One mistake, and the only two people he'd ever cared about were ripped away from him.

No. He decided he had to apologize properly, consequences be damned. If those Marauders wanted to beat him to a bloody pulp afterwards, that was fine by him. He just needed to talk to Lily one more time. To tell her how deeply sorry he really was.

He took off down the hill, sprinting towards the castle and completely ignoring the burning pain in his ankle. He rushed through the grass, ignoring the looks he received from the other students walking by. He ran past the oak tree, through the castle gates, flying through the corridors and cutting across the courtyard when he skid to a stop at what he saw.

Lily and James stood in the center of the garden, her arms wrapped around his neck, pulling him closer as his lips captured hers. Her eyes were still wet with tears, the tears that he had caused. Severus didn't do a thing. His presence remained unknown to them as he slunk away back to his common room, heart silently breaking.

He was too late.

Nothing was the same after that.

Lily insisted that if you wanted to remain friends with Snape, as she now referred to him, she wouldn't hold it against you, but she made it very clear that she would never forgive him herself. But it wasn't as easy as wanting to stay friends with him or not; he'd changed that day.

After some time to let things settle down you tried to approach him, but he only became more and more hostile towards everyone, including you. You hardly saw him anymore. The only time you occasionally spotted him was when he was walking around school with Malfoy, Mulciber, Wilkes, and Avery, unable to look you in the eye lest you see the utterly crushed expression on your face as he fell deeper and deeper into the dark side.

You held your books tightly to your chest as you made your way to Hagrid's hut for one of your last Care of Magical Creatures class. You were being paired up with a few lower classmen to teach them the ropes for feeding all the creatures Hagrid kept in the meadows. You were a tad late, having been preoccupied at lunch, speedwalking to try and arrive on time when you saw a flash of silver-blue light emit from inside the forest. You could hear warbled shouting and laughter coming from the same direction, and your instincts told you to run.

However, because your nerves were on high alert, that also told you someone in there was in danger, and you couldn't just walk away from that. You drew your wand, abandoning your books by a rockface and moving towards the commotion, the distorted shouting soon becoming words.

“Oh come on, you little runts, you lot can do better than that!” you recognized Mulciber's voice.

A young girl shrieked as a giant acromantula barred its fangs at her, its front legs raised and poised to attack. Her friends were huddled in a corner, more students who couldn't have been older than second or third years, being forced to watch by Avery and Wilkes.

“How's this for Care of Magical Creatures, eh?” Mulciber taunted as he walked over to the other students, pulling a young boy out from the group.

“No!” the girl cornered by the spider cried, “please, don't!”

“Aw, how cute,” Mulciber drawled, “is this your little boyfriend, huh? Shame.”

The boy screamed in fear as he was suddenly lifted into the air by his ankles, forced to hover right above the spider just out of its reach. You wanted to wretch as you watched the scene unfold, unable to keep yourself hidden any longer.

You leaped into the clearing, a quick flick of your wrist relieving Mulciber of his wand. You did the same to Wilkes as he turned to you.

“Well well, why am I not surprised?” Avery scoffed. Right behind him stood Severus, his expression vacant.

“Grab this, and get to Professor McGonagall immediately,” you shouted to the younger Gryffindor students, tossing them a gold galleon. As soon as they touched the coin, the portkey shot them all back to the castle.

“Why are you always the one spoiling our fun?” Mulciber sneered.

“Someone's gotta do it,” you said, putting up a brave front although you were under no illusion as to your situation. You weren't fourth years anymore, and you were alone this time. They'd been studying the dark arts for the past two years. You knew you were outmatched, even with your dueling skills.

“Oh, come on, (Y/n), don't be a bore.”

You turned around at the sound of the familiar voice to see Rosier, an easy grin set into his face. Your heart dropped.

“So you too, huh?” you chuckled bitterly, “and here I thought you were one of the few good ones left.”

“You're not really that naive, are you?” he tutted, “you had to have known I would be inducted eventually. Might even get Barty to join us, even if he is a little nutty.”

You went for a stunning spell but found your wand spinning out of your hand before you even saw him move.

“Not so fun to be on the receiving end, is it?” Rosier said, “you're not the only one versed in non-verbal magic, (Y/n). In fact, I'd even go so far as to say we've surpassed you. Lucius will be furious, but I like you a lot, so I'll re-extend his old offer for him. Join us.”

You had no wand, no backup, no way out of this, but you stood your ground nonetheless.

“Eat shit,” you seethed. Rosier glowered at you, taking a few menacing steps forward. He grabbed your jaw firmly and you grit your teeth.

“I don’t think you heard me—”

He reeled back as you spit right in his face,

“You bitch,” he growled, wiping his face in disgust, “clearly no one ever bothered to train you.”

Without your wand you were really only left with one option, ready to defend yourself by revealing your animagus form, but you never got to take the first step forward.

“Imperio!”

You stopped in your tracks as a veil of what could only be described as pink fluff drifted over your mind. A smile immediately appeared on your face, and a giggle rose in your throat.

Severus looked at Rosier with horror, the rest of his crew looking among themselves uneasily.

“What do you think you're doing?” Snape hissed, “are you trying to get us all expelled?”

“So what?” Rosier said, “we've used the killing curse loads of times.”

“On insects, you loon,” Snape shot back, hoping his concern for you was masked enough.

“Don't worry, I'm not gonna hurt your precious (Y/n), Sev.”

The nickname made his stomach churn. You used to call him that. Lily used to call him that. No one else did. No one else got to.

“Release them,” he said, raising his wand, “now.”

“Put that away,” Rosier's eyes narrowed, a smirk sliding back onto his face as he got an idea, “hey, (Y/n)?”

“Yes?” you answered, your voice dripping with honey.

“I don't think Severus likes you being under this spell,” Rosier said, “but you like it don't you?”

“Mmm hmm,” you nodded, your head feeling like it was floating, “it feels so nice.”

“You know what else would feel nice?” Rosier goaded, “if you gave our friend Sev here a kiss.”

Severus' heart dropped to his stomach.

“You're sick, Rosier,” Snape said, his voice close to tremmoring.

“You don't have to act like you don't want it,” Evan chuckled, “we've watched you putz around (L/n) like a fool for years. Besides, they want to. Isn't that right, (Y/n)?”

“He's right,” you said, your voice deceptively melodic, “I love you, Severus. I've always loved you.”

And in that moment, Snape had never hated himself more. Because he didn't care that Rosier was making you say the things you did. He didn't care that you were under the influence of a curse. All he could hear was the words he longed to hear spill from your lips, over and over like a skipping record.

I love you, Severus. I love you, Severus. I love you, Severus.

He played the words on repeat in his head. His heart was beating almost painfully in his chest, so much so that he hardly even noticed you slowly walking towards him, wrapping your arms around his neck like Lily had done to James. And when you leaned forward to kiss him, his selfish desires held him in place.

It had lasted a fraction of a second, but he didn't pull away. It was the greatest regret of his life that he didn't walk up to Rosier, break his nose, and curse every single person in that clearing instead of doing nothing, knowing full well you had no control over your actions.

When his eyes drifted open and met yours and his stomach twisted into ugly knots, fear and panic wracking through his spine. Your eyes were completely empty, irises a vacant white, and in that moment it felt as if he were kissing a corpse.

Suddenly the color returned to your eyes, and fear immediately filled them. Snape grunted as he was shot away from you, unable to move when he hit the ground. The other Slytherins looked around for the assailant, but they had no time to react when every single one of their wands was pulled from their hands. McGonagall stood there, expression the same as ever but clearly brimming with fury.

“(L/n), come,” she said, ushering you over and taking you protectively in her embrace, “we'll get you to Madame Pomfrey.” Her eyes narrowed dangerously as she regarded Snape and the rest of their group, “As for you,” she said, “Mr Filch, secure them in the dungeons until the Headmaster calls for them. And put all of their wands in the lockbox.”

“With pleasure,” Filch said, almost blending in with the trees behind her.

“Are you alright?” McGonagall asked you as she helped you back towards the castle.

“No,” you said, honestly, “n-no, I don't think I am.”

“No amount of apology could ever equate to the remorse I feel that this happened to you, (L/n),” she said earnestly, “I am truly sorry. This was completely unacceptable, and I will see to it that the proper measures are taken for their punishments. Expulsion would suit just fine, but even if the Headmaster disagrees, I will personally ensure you never come into contact with any of those boys again.”

“Thank you,” you said, your voice sounding hollow in your own ears.

You didn't remember walking the near half-mile to the infirmary. Madame Pomfrey's words felt so far away, as if she were speaking underwater. You just remembered laying down in the hospital wing bed as she checked you for any lasting damage, and as soon as she'd turned her back you'd just wept.

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That night, Snape found himself in the Prefect's bathroom, leaned over the sink and watching the water rush into the drain. His hands clutched the marble sides of the basin so hard his knuckles turned white, every breath catching painfully in his chest before he forced it out to take another shaky inhale. He was an idiot, he knew. There was no fixing this. Not really. First Lily, now you. Was he just predestined to lose everyone in his life?

He paused. No, he didn't deserve to think like that. Everything that had gone wrong was his own doing.

When he heard the door to the bathroom open he whipped around, ready to curse whoever dared to interrupt him until he saw you standing there, your eyes red from crying and the Marauder's Map clutched in your hands like a vice. He was half certain you were a hallucination, but as soon as he pulled himself to the present, he rushed to apologize. You had to know how horrible he felt about what he did, even if you would never forgive him. He made the mistake of being too cowardly to properly apologize to Lily, he wouldn't make that mistake again.

“(Y/n), I'm—”

“I know you're sorry,” you said callously, “and I know you mean it. That's not the issue.” you took a breath to collect yourself before you continued. This was so much harder than you thought it would be. Maybe this wound really was too fresh right now. You thought you'd be able to handle this conversation, but your prior feelings weren't making this any easier.

“Why did you do it?” you asked quietly, “Better, why did you do nothing? You were my friend, Severus.”

Whatever was holding back the flood of emotions in him, it snapped at your words.

Were. Past tense.

“I don't know what I was thinking,” Snape said in exasperation, though it came off more as anger directed at himself. His hands threaded through his messy black locks, his eyes nearly manic. You'd never seen him unravel quite like this. He was desperate to fix this, to keep you in his life. “No, I wasn't thinking at all, (Y/n). I couldn't, not when you were . . . not when I. . .”

Don't say it, don't say it, don't say it—

“Not when I've fancied you for years.”

Snape knew immediately that he had made a mistake. The expression on your face made his stomach twist, and he knew there was no taking back what he said.

“No,” you said, tears welling in your eyes, “Severus Snape, don't you dare say that. What, do you think that just makes this all okay? You're an oblivious idiot, you know that?”

Your heart ached so bad it felt as if you couldn't breathe.

“Do you know how many times I wished you would have kissed me?” you said shakily, not bothering to hide the hurt in your voice.

Snape was sure his breathing had stopped, eyes wide with shock. He couldn't have heard that right. Did you really feel the same way about him? But reality hit him in the face when he saw your expression. This was no heartfelt confession on your part.

“For you to just. . . for it to happen like that,” you said, still struck with betrayal and disbelief, “If you've ever respected me, you never would have let that happen. I was under a curse, Severus. And you took advantage of that— of me. All because you were too much of a coward to just tell me how you felt. And then you go on and say you've liked me this whole time as a last ditch effort to save our friendship? How the hell did you expect me to react?”

He had nothing to say to that. He blamed himself entirely. Every verbal blow you struck he gladly took, he would have sat there still as stone if you hexed him, but you refused to draw your wand at him. You just stood there, staring straight through him with unbelievable hurt in your eyes.

“I can't do this, Severus,” you said, “please, just. . . just leave me alone. I'm not saying I'll never forgive you, but right now I can't even begin to think about that. Not now.”

You looked like you wanted to say something more, but your mouth snapped shut, and Severus saw the finality in your eyes. He stayed glued to the spot where he stood long after he watched you leave, his eyes trained on the door you'd slammed shut.

If you thought Snape had made himself scarce after what he said to Lily, after what he did to you he practically vanished. He no longer sat underneath the tree that had become so symbolic of your former trio. He no longer roamed the Slytherin common room, or even the Great Hall for meals. Instead he would walk through the forbidden forest alone, or hole up in some empty corridor purposely hiding but hoping you would walk up to him. You never did.

The people who did find him in the few days that followed were the newly named Marauders, though incomplete as they arrived without you. As he glanced down at the parchment in Lupin's hand he had no questions about how they'd located him. Snape grimaced, not bothering to get up from his seat beneath the stone pillar. Anything they did to him was what he deserved.

James stepped forward from the group first. His expression was unreadable, but Snape saw the way his jaw was set firmly in place, fists clenching and unclenching at his sides. The Slytherin had expected Potter to come at him guns blazing, sending a flurry of verbal attacks and hexes his way. However, James Potter simply stared down at his former enemy with a look that met in the intersection of barely contained anger and utter disappointment.

“You didn't deserve them,” he said coldly, his voice oddly level.

“I know,” Snape glared, but not feeling very self-righteous.

“No, you don't,” James said, his voice rising steadily, “you will never know what you put them through. You sat there while your lunatic friends used an Unforgivable Curse on them, and you took advantage of them. I don't care if you know, I'm going to throw it back in your face, because it's what you deserve.”

“I think it's clear that (Y/n) doesn't wish to speak with you any longer,” Remus said, “if for some inconceivable reason they want to in the future, they'll approach you. Don't you even think about going about it the other way around before they're ready and willing to talk. If they ever are.”

“It's settled, Severus,” James said simply, “you're officially not worth our time anymore.”

Snape blinked up at him, trying to recall a time when Potter had ever called him by his actual name.

“Don't get us wrong,” Sirius glared, “the only reason we aren't throwing you to the Womping Willow is because we know the last thing (Y/n) would want is her friends getting expelled because of them.”

“We'll leave you alone now,” Peter said grimly, “just like you've always wanted.”

And they were telling the truth. They left him completely alone, not speaking a word to him after that; 'they' now including you and Lily, which destroyed him more than any amount of bullying had before. He watched from afar as you grew closer and closer to the Marauders. . . no, you were a Marauder. It was only natural that you became almost like a family in your seventh year. You, James, Peter, Sirius, Remus, and Lily had become as inseparable as Snape thought you, him, and Lily were, but he'd ruined that. He had ruined every good thing that had ever happened to him and pushed away every important person in his life.

The last time he saw you was graduation day. Everyone was running around excitedly, dressed in the ceremonial jewel-toned robes of their respective houses as they awaited Dumbledore's speech. You had been sitting with your group as usual, now having carved out your own spot at the Gryffindor table, when you noticed that Snape was nowhere to be found.

You frowned, wondering why he of all people had to slip into your mind on a day like today.

“You alright, Fangs?”

Sirius' voice snapped you out of your thoughts.

“Yeah, I'm fine. . .”

His handsome features contorted in concern, but that easy grin slid back onto his face as he nudged you with his shoulder.

“What, you worried you're gonna miss us?” he smirked, “this isn't goodbye, you know. We'll all see each other at the Order meetings—”

“Which you always seem to talk about at an extraordinary volume,” Remus shushed him pointedly. Sirius brushed him off with a roll of his eyes.

“(Y/n), are you sure nothing's wrong?” James asked from across the table.

“I'm alright, Prongs,” you said, “I just. . . you know what? I just remembered I left something in my dorm, I'll be right back.”

Your friends exchanged worried glances as you got up from the table, taking off towards the Slytherin common room. It wasn't a total lie, but your intentions went against your better judgment. After today there was a very, very good chance you would never see Severus again. What he did wasn't okay by any means, and it would take more than an apology or a simple conversation to forgive him, but you needed closure at the very least. Not for him, but for you. You deserved that much.

You swiped the map off your bedside table and opened it fully, your eyes quickly picking out Severus' name near the cellars only a few rooms away from where you were. You took off quickly down the hall, reaching the intersection where all the dungeon's corridors converged when you spotted him. Your heart stopped.

His left sleeve was rolled up to his elbow, as was the person's standing across from him, their back to you. Even though you couldn't see the second person's face, you recognized who it was immediately.

Evan Rosier.

He wasn't on the map before. . . how had he gotten in?! He'd been expelled after the day he cursed you. Did he somehow find a way to bypass the anti-apparition charm?

You felt your breathing hitch, fear creeping under your skin. There, on both of their arms, was a tattoo of a skull, a serpent weaving its way through the mouth and eye sockets in an undeniable pattern. You stopped breathing all together. You knew Severus had fallen into the dark arts, but to actually be a death eater? To be proudly showing off that awful display of radicalism along with the person who had used an Unforgivable Curse on you, who had invaded your free will and taken over your body. . .

Severus must have felt you even from the opposite side of the hallway, because something pricking at his skin told him to look up, and when he did he wished he never had. You were looking at him for the first time in over a year, your eyes full of terror. Rosier followed his gaze, but when he looked over his shoulder there was no one there.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Severus sighed, trying to push the less than pleasant memories out of his head. He knew by now he was likely the last person left in the house besides you, Harry, and Sirius who were all staying here. Something like hope had sparked in his chest when he saw the faintest ghost of a smile on your lips as you saw him for the first time since graduation. He wanted to talk to you, to tell you he knew he deserved nothing from you, but he would spend the rest of his life trying to make it right if you would only give him a chance after all this time. In truth, he missed his friend. With Lily gone, you were one of the closest things he had to that left.

Against his better judgment, Severus made his way up the stairs, silent as a thestral as he headed for your room, but he stopped in his tracks when he reached the top. Sirius' door was cracked open the slightest bit, and what Snape saw inside made his blood run cold. You were sitting next to Sirius on his bed, your head resting gently on his shoulder. As you craned your neck to look Sirius in the eyes, that's when Severus saw it— the way the Marauder looked at you. The way his face seemed to light up, the spark that returned to his gray eyes, the utter adoration in them.

And just like that, Snape was a seventeen year old boy again, transported right back to that courtyard garden, watching Lily and James share their first kiss on the day he had made one of the biggest mistakes of his life. His heart shattered silently, though his departure was not so quiet as he took off down the stairs as quickly as he could. He grimaced at his own feelings, ones he knew he had no business owning.

As he was about to open the front door to leave, his instincts suddenly screamed at him to turn around, and he was just barely able to cast an invisibility charm as you began to come down the stairs. He held his breath as he looked at you. He knew he had no right to think so, but you were still beautiful like this; dressed in pajamas, hair disheveled, eyes still sightly puffy and red. He saw you look around, knowing you had no doubt heard his rather noisy descent of the staircase, and he cursed himself for not leaving sooner. Your eyes searched what should have appeared to be the empty space in front of you, but he saw you look him in the eyes, and he knew that you knew.

“Severus?” you called his name out softly, and the sound felt like a strike to his face.

He wanted nothing more than to say something to you, talk to you, hold you. But his mind flashed back to the way you had been with Sirius, and his words died in his throat. He said nothing, trying to remain unphased at your hurt expression as you turned around to walk back up the stairs. As soon as your back was turned to him, he left, unable to bring himself to do anything more.

Once again, he was too late.

Read chapter 8 here!

Taglist: @sleep-i-ness, @blackpinkdolan, @parker-natasha, @ornella0910 @undertaker1827 @thatwierdo-koemi @nxstalgicnxbxdy @calaryssia @aleksanderwh0r3 @juggysgirlfriend @beautifulsweetschaos @kattirin @mialupin1 @crazy-obsessed-fangirl, @youcantbesirius

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eleanor-devil · 3 years

Text

Boruto: Sacrifices [Remade] | Chap.1 - The Attack

Written by: Eleanor-Devil & @mirage-05

Prologue | Chap.1 - You’re here

Seventy-Two Hours Before... Blood-chilling screams filled Konoha's still and warm air as the unmistakable power of an explosion shook the ground. It was supposed to be a peaceful night for the Hokage. His duties for the day didn't involve anything that demanded his immediate attention, so he actually wanted to spend a normal, stress-free night with his family. His relaxed mind immediately snapped to business mode as he sprinted from the place he sat next to his wife in their cozy living room. Vaguely registering his son asking him whether he could help or not, he stepped out of the house. And was immediately rushed to by a jounin. "Where?" he asked curtly in form of greeting as the two of them started running side by side. "The orphanage," the ninja gasped out, at which Naruto increased his speed. The kids... There were kids under attack. Kids, who were under his protection... Kids, who are the future of the villages... "Kurama!" he shouted through gritted teeth, and felt the presence of the giant fox materializing right beside him. "About damn time." he hard him growl as a blood-thirsty smile flashed a set of pointy teeth. "Not now," Naruto hissed as their chakras merged. A familiar surge of power engulfed him and he hastened his pace as houses, nature, everything flew past him. With the added speed, he was able to reach the outskirts of the town in mere minutes. What he saw, however, made him come to a sudden stop just a couple of kilometers away from his destination. The whole building was in flames. The black, choking smoke rose high into the air, which was full of panicked, terrified screams, and a horrid smell. Among the flames and smoke, he could just barely make out the heads of one, two... three snakes, snapping around the air at what was undoubtedly attack after attack sent to them from every direction, their tails swirling around. "Snakes...?" he mumbled in shock, as it only brought one person to his mind, and he felt his hands curling into fists unconsciously.

"Are you gonna just stand there and stare all night, boy?" Kurama hissed. "Let's go make some snacks out of those creepers!" And just like that, they were off, joining in on the chaos. Naruto let Kurama go, he needed him to hold off the snakes as he barged into the institution to save those he could. It was not easy. First, the institution was really quite big, he would be confused if he didn't come in an emergency, too. He could use a water release, but it was too hot here, so he wasn't sure if that would help. An air release might make things even worse, spreading the fire. And, strategically speaking, he didn't know if any of the children were evacuated, either. None of that mattered then, though. Calling forth his shield, he raised his voice above the crackling flames, hoping against hope that someone would hear him - and answer. "Is anyone here? Can you hear me?" ... Kurama rose high above the sky with a mighty roar. Hearing this, all the snakes turned their heads at him, one by one. They hissed when they saw the giant beast. "Oooh, look, brothers," said one of them, baring his fangs. "The Hokage's pet comes out to play." "It should be a shame, really," the other one hissed. "Was it really you who once terrorized this pathetic village?" "Bet you get rusted without all the action." teased the last one, the red light of the fire glinting off his glassy eyes. Kurama grinned maliciously as he bared his claws. "Talk all you want. We will see whose head goes down first." With that, he attacked. ... That... was a close one. Just when he was headed to the stairs to go up, he had seen movement out of the corner of his eye, and found a group of children hiding under the stairs, shivering in fear, too afraid to move. Naruto ran to them, just as a rubble fell from above. He did a quick count. There were... ten children here, four of them the Shin clones who were brought here a little more than a year ago. Them and the other kids were huddled up, eyes huge, and he saw tears shining on some of their faces. His expression softened, and his voice took a gentle quality. "You can run out to the front door. The shield will provide you safety." The children feebly mumbled thank you before they turned away. Naruto caught the arm of one of them gently. "Is there anyone upstairs? Do you know?" The boy was one of the Shin brothers. He tried not to gulp when saw tears brimming the edge of the scarlet sharingan eyes. He was no different than the other kids. Scared. In need of an assurance that everything will be okay. "Yes," the boy whispered, and avoided his eyes. "My brothers... Most of us stay there." Feeling as though his heart had just skipped a beat, Naruto nodded. "Go." As Shin made his way towards the door, Naruto turned and ran up towards the stairs, as fast as he could through the black smoke that shortened his sight. ... Kurama quickly stepped aside as one of the snakes snapped at him, and grabbed the snake's head, crushing on it with all his might. The snake sputtered and tried to take a bite, but to no effect. The fox lifted him high above the ground and threw it as far away as he could. He felt something collide to his back and without looking, he spun around and kicked. The second snake dodged his attack, coiled on the ground and struck once again. The five-inch long fangs that would have been deadly in another situation embedded themselves into the outstretched arm of the fox, who just shook it to get rid of the snake. Both of the snakes then rose to their full height on either side of him, baring their fangs, and then... Kurama saw, out of the corner of his eye, a yellow flash momentarily, through the landscape, far away from the eastern border of Konoha. Something the humans on the ground possibly can't see. If he wouldn't know better, his best guess would be a lightning bolt, but it seemed unlikely. More like this was meant to be seen by... The snake on his right drew his head back in, suddenly wary. "Here is the signal. Let's draw back." "Let's." the other hissed. "You're not going anywhere!" the fox roared and leapt forward, but the snakes easily slithered away from his crushing grasp. "That was easy. Maybe you should practice a little bit more." one of the snakes shouted back tauntingly. "You..." the fox began, ready to follow after them, but a deafening rumble caught his attention. ... Naruto was just escorting a third group out of the building when it happened. "Naruto!" he heard Kurama yell. "The ceiling is coming down, get out of there!" But there were still kids inside! Naruto left the kids with the ninjas outside and immediately turned back, about to rush in once more, when the whole building collapsed and he was pushed back by Kurama. And then... there was nothing but dead silence. Naruto jumped to his feet once again, and even the scene of the orphanage's ruins didn't stop him from running towards the rubbles, searching, in vain, for someone who might still be alive. ... The toll was greater than they imagined. "Thir... ty?" Naruto whispered, unable to believe his ears. The ninja who was in charge of the operation until he came nodded sadly. "My lord, the upper floor... It was as if they knowingly targeted there. And the children, they were sleeping..." The Hokage closed his eyes for a moment, as if to wish all these didn't really happen, all these innocent children didn't just die. When he opened his eyes once more to the bitter reality, the sad look in his eyes had hardened into a determined, grave look. "Do we have any leads for the culprit?" "Do we need leads?" a kunoichi spoke from the gathered group. "Lord Seventh... we only know one person who uses snakes who will attack Konoha. Orochimaru." Orochimaru. The legendary Sannin that everyone in Konoha feared, if not so openly, so much so that his name had been a taboo for years. The name he had first come up with when he saw the snakes. The one... former enemy, that they haven't heard from in a long time. Why now...? "We need more evidence to jump to that conclusion," he said at last, also implying that he's not completely disregarding the theory. "That won't be necessary." From the back of the crowd, Kabuto, the director of the orphanage, came forward in his wheelchair. One look at his face, and Naruto couldn't help but feel sorry for him. Kabuto really, truly loved the kids here, and such a huge loss had taken its toll on him. He seemed to have aged during this short period of time. Before Naruto could say anything, Kabuto looked up with a fierce expression in his eyes. "I saw the man behind this attack just minutes before the explosion. And he wore the curse mark on his neck."

#boruto:sacrifices #boruto #naruto #mitsuki #orochimaru #boruto fanfiction #naruto fanfiction

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halothenthehorns · 3 years

Text

First Time in the Shrieking Shack

Excerpt from my Marauders prequal; We Were- Chapter 3: Brothers

"You know, I'm starting to think Remus was right," James sighed as he shuffled through his own stack of notes that were the size of the book he finally declared he'd finished.

"I do that from time to time, you lot always seem so surprised," Remus agreed, not looking up from his chess game with Peter.

James ignored the ingrate and resisted chucking the book at him. "I've read this thing cover to cover, I've looked up everything I can think of, but the only passing mention is that a werewolf bite wouldn't affect animals. How is that helpful, we already know werewolf bites don't ruddy hurt werewolves! You can't be a were-werewolf."

"Might be kind of cool though," Sirius said as he continued trying to stack a deck of exploding snap cards on his head, despite the fact the last two had nearly blown his face off. "Think you would change even more frequently, or be like some giant sized werewolf!"

James couldn't fight the impulse that time and actually threw it at him, causing a miniature explosion as he fell off the bed and nearly set his sheets on fire. Considering it had taken until just this month for him to stop avoiding the common room, James considered it a successful rehabilitation he flipped him off while doing it rather than looking likely to pass out.

"I'm glad you lot think this is so funny, really I do," Remus was biting his lip to stop himself laughing.

Peter was doing no such thing and fell off Remus' bed doing so.

"Guess we will have to try something else though, I'll just return it Monday," James grumbled, flopping down in bed and ignoring Sirius' cussing as he stamped out the fire. "Found anything in all those potions books Pete?"

"A gruesome thing here and there about body transformation," Peter agreed as he finally made his next move. "Nothing Remus would want to go through that even resembles a cure. There was this one kind of promising one that would give him a brand new body."

"Sounds kind of cool," Sirius grinned. "Make yourself look like someone other James' ugly mug."

"Sure," Peter's face crinkled in disgust as he recalled, "all you had to do was submerge yourself in this diamond encrusted cauldron on the 24th of June, but the ingredients are insane. Blood of the enemy, bone of the father, and you don't want to know the last one."

"Yeah, no, I'm good," Remus chuckled.

"Well at least we have Hogsmeade tomorrow!" Sirius reminded eagerly. "It's the weekend before Halloween, and nobody's going to be miserable about it if I have to curse you all!"

"We're so scared," James snorted. He'd been as good as his word, Sirius had shown him a copy from the only letter he had from his dad, a very cold and impartial statement to a Quidditch Little League coach from a long ago summer camp about the ineptitude of the man not putting his son in the Seeker position.

"The only time he's tried to vouch for me, and I don't even like that spot," he'd rolled his eyes as he showed it to James, but he'd still seen red as he mocked the jagged letters. McGonagall at least didn't bat an eye as she took it along with the rest of third years the previous class.

Sirius had been doing a very good job of not acknowledging Regulus since the start of term feast, and nobody had brought him up since then thankfully. It was easier than ever to keep him from his mind without glimpsing him around every corner as they passed Filch, and finally walked right past Hogsmeade station into the village proper.

The four were still arguing about which place to visit first as they passed the little sign declaring it was founded by Hengist of Woodcroft in 1714 right before the first few houses, they'd all heard so many mentions from older students it seemed impossible they'd see everything by seventh year, let alone in just one day!

Wide streets, worn dirt road, and shops all had a different, homey feel than Diagon Alley, and they were still bickering which to enter first when they'd finally traversed far enough to scent the air of the best place in the village regardless, and not another protest was heard when the door to Honeydukes was nudged open.

It had to be, rather than slammed by the enthusiastic boys, because the place was crowded wall to wall with not just students but people from all over traveling here for some of the unique sweets.

Mrs. Flume stood at the counter, all fingers as she constantly dealt out transactions from the never ending line, while her husband Ambrosius Flume was practically running a marathon dipping below for more boxes and resupplying the shelves, his thin brown hair plastered to his scalp with sweat. The four were shuffled this way and that, drooling a bit as they couldn't stop eyeing one thing for long.

James and Sirius finally forced their way through, and by the time they left practically had their own year's supply of everything, their bags literally overflowing with zero regrets.

"Merlin I could die happy in there," Sirius moaned as he tried to shove yet another everlasting gobstopper into his mouth, he was going for a dozen and had only gotten to eight.

"I'd give anything to transform in there once a month," Remus agreed as he chose carefully before selecting a different part of his chocolate skeleton. He was devouring it from the toe-phalanges up, and every new bone was a different flavor. He hadn't even known caramel chocolate was a thing, but he was salivating at the chance to get to the femur and find out and pacing himself. The skull promised to be a mixture of the entire thing!

"I can imagine," James said delicately, "but I'll bet anything's better than a hole under a tree. I still want to ask Madam Pomfrey about that, it sounds cruel."

Remus coughed and nearly dropped his sweet in surprise, Peter only just catching it before the skull cracked open.

"Wha, wha id e 'ay," Sirius disjointedly demanded, he was up to ten.

"Well, erm, it's not a hole in the ground," he said distractedly, eyes now on the horizon. "It's, you know, a building. I have a little room to stretch, I even went in there my first night here to see it," he stopped, but sucked in a breath and forced himself to say, "but I kind of regret knowing what it really looks like, keep having nightmares of the place and you lot."

"Ah, Remus," Peter rubbed at his back with a sorrowful face mirrored in the others, and Remus' twisted stomach eased slightly at finally admitting that aloud.

"I ant elev rs a ol ildin r aree?" Sirius slurred, but he was forced to stop his attempt as he lost a gobstopper in his efforts to speak and it landed in the dirt, the drool leaking out of his mouth was taking more effort to wipe away constantly than enjoying himself anyways and he began swallowing them.

"Care to repeat that?" Remus smiled.

"He said what kind of building, or where's this building, one of those," Peter rolled his eyes.

"I said," Sirius huffed, still smacking his lips, "I can't believe there's a whole building under that tree! That's kind of cool, like a reverse Hogwarts!"

"Oh no," Remus corrected, "it's a tunnel, and the building's at the end. Above ground, I imagine, but it was too dark to see outside the window, and it's all boarded up anyways. Magically too, of course, so I can't get out from there. I supposed it's somewhere in the Forbidden Forest and we just haven't found it yet, or maybe it's invisible."

"Maybe you could show us sometime," James grinned at the new idea.

Remus shivered, and it had nothing to do with the chilly breeze. It was over a year since they'd figured out his secret, and he still couldn't believe how casually they all were chatting about this.

"Not during a full moon, obviously," James corrected with an eye roll. "But like, tonight. I'll bet if we bring some of these snacks and spend the night even, it would start feeling like the dorm, maybe get rid of those stupid nightmares." He finished with complete confidence, like Remus would ever hurt them no matter what body he was in.

Sirius and Peter at once agreed enthusiastically. Remus didn't exactly agree, but he couldn't think up a reason to talk them out of it either, and the subject was changed anyways as they came across yet another brilliant shop, Zonko's. James and Sirius' money bags seemed to have no limit, and they came away with yet another treasure trove of things, still laughing hysterically the rest of the day as they finally followed a popular throng to a place called The Three Broomsticks, and were all treated to a Halloween tale by a local man who regaled them with stories of the Shrieking Shack. Ever since its resurrection a few years back strange noises had been echoing from the place, people were already calling it haunted and nobody seemed quite sure why it had been built at all, or even who had, seemingly popping up one night with the screams of its victims echoing in the village ever since.

Nobody exactly led the way confidently that night, even as they all ducked low under the cloak without protest. Every time one of them hesitated too long the others just kept moving, and the four continued this odd shuffling pace until they stood just out of reach of the tree once more. James and Sirius' heritage was starting to rear up despite themselves as they eyed the hole they'd seen Madam Pomfrey once emerge from with an almost dead looking body, and Peter was instinctively shying away as well, but right into Remus without even thinking about it.

Remus did not want to be the one to raise his wand and still the tree, berating himself with mutters under his breath for encouraging them even this far, but it was this familiar habit of his talking to himself that finally kicked Sirius into squaring his shoulders and proving him wrong that they knew exactly what they were getting themselves into that had him mimicking what the school nurse once had, "Wingardium Leviosa," and watching carefully as the little branch rose a few feet, and at the flick of his wand, flew too fast for any of its alive brethren to stop it.

James easily crawled in first, Peter right behind him. "Get on then, my arm's getting tired," Sirius flashed him a smile, barely visible in the thick cloudy night and absent moonlight, so Remus forced himself to swallow and go through once more.

His nose dilated upon the familiar puff of dirt as Sirius plopped in behind him. His eyes adjusted the quickest and traced easily the uneven floor. His body ached oddly, as if it was already trying to tense up for a transformation to come, his fingers even twitched as if he should be removing his clothes from habit.

"Well, this isn't getting any less fun," James still had the gall to say cheerfully as he went off, his hair barely scraped the low ceiling. Sirius had to prod him in the back to get him moving.

After a few moments James began humming to himself out of boredom, and Sirius quickly caught on with the tune and sang some nonsense words off the top of his head, a game they'd been doing since their very first night. The familiarity of it caused Remus and Peter to start chuckling in surprise and even applauding the two, the trek that usually felt like hours were gone by the time they'd wrapped up and James stopped with a curse as his head smacked against something.

The hatch swung up easily, he nearly kicked Peter in the face as he hauled himself up before offering a hand down, but Remus still hesitated taking the now two offerings. Them being in there would only give the nightmares validity surely...

He made a squealing noise of surprise when Sirius grabbed him from behind, actually holding his waist and trying to force him up while saying, "get on then, I don't want to stare at your ass all night!"

Remus had no choice but to grab ahold of James and Peter and look around once more.

It was even worse than he could have imagined. His face quickly flushed with shame, he usually didn't give himself time to really see it, keeping his eyes closed as long as possible until the pain became unbearable and he knew no more. Now he was forced to see years of his handiwork, the torn furniture, gouges and straight chunks missing from the walls, the pitiful shack looked exactly like a wild animal had attacked it, because he did. Only the lack of excrement held him back from bursting into tears, and he vowed he'd have to go up and thank Madam Pomfrey, or Dumbledore, or somebody for clearly having a foresight he'd always lacked in at least semi cleaning this place up.

James whistled as he turned slowly on the spot and took it all in, while Sirius peered around in the gloom with a very curious look in place.

"Damn Remus," Peter said in close to awe, "how big do you get?" He had to crane his neck up to see the ceiling where the chandelier was twisted and torn, all candles long absent, only hanging on by one lone, rusted bracket. Who had even put that in here?!

"I, err," Remus couldn't answer, his chest swelling painfully, he just wanted to crawl back in that hole and die now.

Sirius suddenly took off, and the other two followed, Remus still dragging his feet as he spotted the staircase and slumped up it. There were three doors, James found the one on the left to be a bathroom, Peter's was a broom closet completely bare and empty, and the one directly in front of them on the tiny landing Sirius shoved open looked like a palace in comparison to the rest of the place.

Remus had only been in here the one time, that first time, but he couldn't help but appreciate all over again the forethought Dumbledore seemed to have put into this as a king size four poster bed sat proudly intact against one wall, but it was dusty with disuse, and the lone window was indeed still boarded up and ruined the kind décor.

"You've been plaguing us with your snores when you had a whole house to yourself!" Sirius accused as he made a running jump before bouncing on it, causing even himself to cough and sneeze as much as them but refusing to stop.

"Couldn't say why, can't be the company," Remus finally said, his chest starting to hurt just a little less.

"Flatterer," James scolded as he went to peek out of what little space was available, but still coming up empty. It was just too dark to get a proper sight of anything beyond.

"Didn't Flitwick say something about Undetectable Extension Charms in our seventh year last class?" Sirius suddenly said as he did a belly flop onto the bed. "Maybe we could give this place a little more room."

"This place is weirdly small," Peter agreed, waving his hand in front of his nose still. "Better than the hollow I was picturing before, but no offense Remus, I've seen animals at zoos get more space than this."

"None taken," Remus shrugged, it's not like he was going to disagree. "I don't think it would make a difference though if they'd made it the size of Hogwarts, I'd still take it out on myself all night."

"I've never been to a zoo," James suddenly pouted, "but I'd come see you Remus," he quickly added on. The two started laughing in surprise, and that was all it took. They just hung around talking endlessly about anything that came to mind the rest of the night, tromping up and down the stairs at their pleasure without having other students poke their head out and yelling at the restless bunch to get to bed. This was their place now, and nobody was going to bother them here.

#Harry Potter #fanfiction #Marauders #shreicking shack #James Potter #Remus Lupin #Sirius Black #Peter Pettigrew

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dramionediscussion · 3 years

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I honestly believe that antis don’t know what dramione is actually about, and believe we just ship a bully with his victim–and refuse to deviate from their reasoning.

But dramione is NOT about that, because literally NO ONE in the dramione fandom (except a few bad apples) would ship a childhood bully draco with hermione. We understand that yes, doing that would make it toxic/abusive.

draco’s racism was taught to him, just like the weasley children were taught that muggles and wizards and muggleborns were equal. the first eleven years of his life, he grew up with lucius malfoy as a role model–one of the chief blood supremacists. we know that canonically draco worshipped his dad. he learnt that muggleborns were scum of the earth. why would he question that? when we’re kids, we don’t question what our parents teach us–we just assume they’re right and that’s how the world works.

the same concept applies to his classism. the first thing he said to ron was “red hair. hand-me-down robes. you must be a weasley.” now, keep in mind that this is the first time draco is meeting ron. how is an eleven-year-old who’s never met the other child before, know exactly who the child is, and how the child would look?

again, the parents. lucius malfoy worked with arthur weasley in the ministry. he would obviously go home and complain about the “blood traitor and his poverty” to narcissa, and draco would probably overhear, and assume that that’s how you treat the weasleys, because they’re “bad people” in his father’s book, and by extension, his.

the second book: at the start, lucius puts draco down because his marks were lower than hermione’s. draco is obviously put off, but he understands why–he’s a pureblood. he’s a malfoy. he’s supposed to be doing better than the muggleborns, because according to his father, they don’t deserve to attend hogwarts. later, he calls hermione a mudblood–again, where would he learn that type of language? definitely not the internet, because that didn’t exist. that takes us to his parents.

now, the question probably is why wouldn’t draco see other non-racist people in school and change? because he didn’t hang out with other houses. slytherins are very isolated, and usually pitted against the rest of the school. draco’s friends, children of death eaters, were probably raised in the same way he was. if his parents taught him pureblood supremacy, and his friends’ parents taught them the same thing, why would he think to question it?

draco malfoy was taught right from wrong, but those values just happened to be the opposite of what everyone else, like the weasleys, was taught. but just as the weasleys went in knowing that draco was wrong for believing in them, draco went in knowing that the weasleys were wrong for believing in theirs.

in the third book, I think the whole buckbeak incident was realistic. if a child provokes a dog, and the dog bites it, the dog is the one that’s put down no matter what the child did. I’m not saying it’s “right”–I definitely thin draco 100% deserved to be punched by hermione–but it’s how the world currently works–maybe it will change later but for now, it’s reality.

and as for the slytherins’ hatred towards hagrid–I’d say it was justified, because hagrid himself was no sweetheart to them. don’t get me wrong–I love hagrid, but he didn’t like the slytherins–you can see this when he talks about them in the first book. again, the books are from harry’s pov, so even if hagrid didn’t like the slytherins and said something about them, it would be biased. but yes, the slytherins often took it too far.

the fourth book–draco’s bullying wasn’t even that bad. he actually warned hermione to get away at the world cup, in his own twisted way. he accidentally hit her with a curse meant for harry. he made “potter stinks” badges–juvenile things.

now for the fifth. let me get this absolutely straight: I hate umbridge. I hate the inquistorial squad. I hate that the slytherins joined them.

but we have to go back to slytherin inequality for this. the slytherins are booed at quidditch matches. the whole school, including most of the teachers and their headmaster, are against them. in fact, I could say that the only teacher that favoured the house was snape, and have canonical evidence. it’s basically the slytherins vs the rest of the school.

now, comes along a lady that actually seems to favour slytherins. for the first time, they’re made to feel important. she wants to form a little group to catch their worst enemy in an illegal act. who would say no?

but again–the golden trio was no less. they purposely excluded the slytherins from the DA. forget malfoy and his cronies. not EVERY slytherin would be devoted to umbridge/malfoy. but the trio didn’t invite ANY of them–and not all their parents were death eaters.

now, put yourself in their place. imagine your school formed a club excluding your house. why would you protect them, instead of catching them? they had no reason to protect the DA, so they didn’t.

in the sixth book–I think at this point, draco’s grown out of his blood prejudice and realised that it isn’t a game. his father, probably the person he expects the most to protect him is in azkaban. voldemort has his mum, and will kill her if he doesn’t murder the wizarding world’s most powerful wizard. but why did he continue his discrimination?

do you really think that draco malfoy, bully and blood supremacist for five years, suddenly stopped bullying muggleborns, that word wouldn’t reach his house? his friends/housemates would tell their death eater parents, and somehow, it would reach his father, or worse–voldemort, who would just find it an excuse to kill his mum.

but admittedly, he didn’t bully the trio that much that year, and I think he called hermione a mudbblood only once–at the top of the astronomy tower, when he was trying to kill dumbledore.

also dumbledore KNEW that draco malfoy had been ordered to murder him. he knew who had been making those attempts the entire year. and then five minutes before the death eaters got them, he offered protection. draco was expected to make a life-changing, life-threatening decision in five minutes? when he didn’t even know whether he could trust the order? for all he knew, they could hold his family hostage to draw voldemort out.

but even then, he began to lower his wand, but it was too late.

IMHO, I think draco only referred to her as “mudblood granger” at that time as a last-ditch attempt to constrain to his father’s beliefs–which would be VERY advantageous to him at that point, because then he would be able to find a reason to murder dumbledore. but we all know he wasn’t able to do it.

in the seventh book, he refuses to identify harry, even though it’s obvious he recognises him and his family could gain EVERYTHING–but that’s a flimsy redemption arc at best. he stands by while hermione’s being tortured, yes, but that’s because it’s bellatrix lestrange–probably the most feared death eater of all time. would you do anything? I think not.

draco malfoy was brought up in a different way, having different beliefs ingrained into him. do you actually blame a child for doing what his father said, when the child should have been old enough to make his own choices? do you still blame that child for having been exposed to only one sort of right their whole lives, and having a biased opinion because they were never taught to see from a different perspective? and do you still blame that boy, despite everything he’s faced, that he never went through with it?

people who say “draco had a choice and he made the wrong one” are just wrong. what kinda choice would they make if a genocidal maniac was sitting at their dinner table, holding their mum hostage, until they killed the president of their country?

to me, I think draco and ron were both very insecure people, though for different reasons, and just had different ways of showing it. ron cut people off when he thought they were going to succeed without him, and draco made comments about the other person’s insecurities, probably to make himself feel better. ron was insecure about harry’s fame, but since he was harry’s best friend, he just had to put up with it (until the 4th book). draco had no such obligations.

and to say that draco malfoy isn’t redeemable, is saying that people who mess up when they’re kids, will remain that way for the rest of their lives. it’s sending a message to all young people out there telling them the consequences of making a mistake–no one will like them.

I’m not “excusing” draco’s racism. he was a piece of shit, plain and simple. but I’d say 98% of that is because of the way he was brought up.

also isn’t it the whole point that we want people to wake up and realise their mistakes? half of america would have LOVED for donald trump to get up one day and realise that he’s a racist misogynist. ofc it wouldn’t change the past, but it would change the future.

now, onto the dramione argument.

first off, saying that hermione wouldn’t forgive draco for the past is going against every aspect of her character. she had a soft spot for kreacher, the house-elf that grew up in a racist household and was therefore racist and called her and ron “mudblood” and “blood traitor” (quite similar to draco, actually). she understood where he was coming from, and why he was the way he is, and ultimately didn’t care. after that, how can you say that she wouldn’t forgive draco for having beliefs and values ingrained into him from when he was a child?

second, who is the real enemy in HP? yes, you could say voldemort, but it’s more about what he represents, which is prejudice. having draco, a former blood supremacist and the son and nephew of death eaters, getting together with hermione, a muggleborn girl, would show that he’s thrown his beliefs out of the window. it’s his character growth and how he matures through the war and its aftermath.

putting draco and hermione together as kids without any change to their characters is toxic and abusive, no doubt about it. but that’s not what dramione is about.

even in hogwarts fics like isolation, what the room requires, and clean, the authors make sure that he repents. they make sure to explicitly write his character arc, and to show that he is no longer a bully or blood supremacist.

hermione is NOT draco’s redemption, since canonically he shows signs of awakening, if not actual repentence. she’s the conclusion of his redemption. it’s officially showing the world and society that he is no longer a blood purist.

dramione isn’t about crazy fans thinking it’s adorable for a bully and a victim to fall for each other.

dramione is about change. and if you believe that people can’t change, that’s on you.

———-

Edit:

I agree with most of the points you’ve made except for the second paragraph. The majority of Dramione fans do indeed ship Hermione with redeemed Draco, but there’s nothing wrong with reading fics in which their relationship is toxic (I do that every once in a while) because neither Hermione nor Draco is a real person and you can put them in all types of circumstances. They’re both fictional characters and thus can’t be hurt.

- AgnMag

#dramione #HP Fandom #submission #injailoutsoon12

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lighthouseborna · 3 years

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mmkay so you know how the doc has this thing about killing people / he prefers to distance himself from it in a "it was out of my hands" sort of way, he tells the racnoss "then what happens next is your own doing" before he commits genocide, he won't pull the trigger but he will "get worse. Trick people into [pulling it themselves]", he likes to have a technicality where he can say That Wasn't My Fault, I Had No Choice. would henry's 'they're a monster' fall under the same category or would it be ... like his killing, would it be His Killing or would it be the 'natural course of events', they're a monster and therefore they Have To Die OR they're a monster and therefore I Will Kill Them. i don't know if this question is coming across but it's interesting to me so here i am

Ok so Ingrid's asking about (this post and its tags) for context and for the sake of answering this for my HC tag I'm also going to try to. Explain what (I'm pretty sure) this question is in case it's only clear to me because I speak Ingrid:

Like (character we're both familiar with I won't write the name of because tumblr's search function is too powerful), when Henry is [theoretically] pushed to killing, does his mindset shift the blame of the act to either the killed or some greater force, either way, in service of absolving him of responsibility for their death? Can he handle/confront murder as a personal action, or is his nature to find a way to separate it from himself?

And you know it's a good question because I have been noticing some common threads lately there are some real similarities that have cropped up and either they're written with a similar feel or I just accidentally assigned him the similarities lol, and then there's also the matter of how I phrased it, and... yeah it's a good question.

Especially considering -as I said- there's this line in the sand for Henry (which really comes down to my writing; there is..... a hint of it in the novel, I didn't pull it from nowhere, but I do feel I've exaggerated it) I was talking about where he goes from 'this is a person that I do not agree with and who is doing things that do not fit my definition of good' which may or may not warrant stopping them but ultimately just mean he considers them a very dark or different person from himself, to... 'this is not a person. People do not behave this way.' Granted, so far Salazar is... the only person he's actually met who he has categorized this way, probably. And his mental perception of Beckett and Jones would be similar, but only because they were often his childhood-story villains, so, while obviously dislikable, their villainy has been exaggerated to Henry by his own childhood imagination. Outside of these figures, two being aided by imagination and the third by a literal trauma response, he's never gotten to this point of thinking. It takes a lot. Honestly, he's old enough now that Jones and Beckett may not fall into this category the same way anymore, though you'd have to call his attention to that fact for it to be properly acknowledged. This was not the question - I was building to it but now I've lost how, the point is:

No. No I don't think he would.

You know he's not. He's not an accidental person. He's chaotic, and he's impulsive, and optimistic and so lucky so often. Be he doesn't... he doesn't nudge one thing for the sake of watching where the momentum carries the chaos, he charges for what he wants, does what he believes will set those things, specifically, in motion. Obviously not everything is going to just happen the way he wants it to, of course everyone experiences consequences they did not anticipate. But those random things aren't where he lives, he lives in intention. In drive. In doing. Do- is this making sense about how I feel it's connected? Like. Ripple pattern, butterfly effect, etc. sure that's just... part of making your choices but he makes his choices. And in this instance, that's... that's just what it is.

If Henry is at a point where his thinking becomes "this is not a man, this is a monster" it is not to say and so have killed themself by being one it is to explain "and that is why I have done what I have done." A justification, to be sure, and a fascinating peek at the way he otherizes what is contrary to him (why can it not just be a man who is evil, Henry? Why must something be inhuman to be dark? ((It's quite beautiful in a bad-thinking way, though, really. 'Humans are not this dark' you sweet, sweet summer child.))) but, ultimately, full responsibility. I don't think for a second he'd try to say there was no other path - too often the truth of life is that there are many paths you do not see until after something is done, and he knows this. I do not think for a second he'd try to remove something he did from himself - even if it's unpleasant, even when it is hard, and sometimes horrible, he did it, and that is as important to him when he doesn't like his choices as when he does. There may come a day when he disagrees with his past self, but nevertheless, he is him and he will not hide from himself. That's not his way. He does not bluff.

And ... I don't know if that he could get to this point, where he felt compelled to kill, without someone he cared about and/or himself being under active threat. Like you could be a nega-Henry, a person who believes in everything he does not and makes every choice he would never, but as long as that was just like. Existence for you? And didn't hinge on hurting his people? ... I mean he'd absolutely scowl and argue and fight but I don't think it would come to killing, from his side. Not at origin.

And it's not nice. It's not flattering. It's not enjoyable to do or pleasant knowledge to have of yourself, that there is a point at which you can kill. ...But I'm not even sure he's properly aware of it, at this juncture? While I fully believe he was, effectively and applicably, at this point with Salazar, he didn't reach immediately for it because it's not his first or even fifth or seventh or- nature, and more importantly (dynamically, thematically, etc.) he didn't have to. Jack and Barbossa saw to that (parents_defending_their_children.pdf). Salazar is dealt with without Henry having to step to that he could have been the one to do it. I'm not saying he wouldn't have I'm just saying this is also very important to the truth of Henry Turner; he is not alone and the people around him, for all his defense of them, for all his fighting on their behalf, will defend him so fiercely. too. And if he had stepped to this, and done what he believed to be the thing to do in that moment (Salazar does not stop unless he is dead - and even then......) it's important to note the way he would not expect it to change the defending. And that may be a large part of why he has no need to remove it from himself.

After all, he is His People First; if they could not handle Henry as capable of killing, I think he'd be far more likely to find a way to slough that responsibility - for their sake. But... I mean, he's a pirate. They all are.

#☩ there's a light that never goes out ( HEADCANON. )

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fields-of-ink · 3 years

Text

Magicians of Sky and Sea PPT Intro

seriously guys ever since I’ve joined writeblr I wanted to make one of these so i’m very happy

The image descriptions are under the cut!

[Image Description: a power point presentation, there are eight sliders in total.

First slide: “Magicians of Sky and Sea - a WIP by fields-of-ink” is written at the center. Around the title, there are other quotes: “Magic exams!” “Characters who have no idea what they’re doing!” “Talking animals!” “A happy magic-filled field trip!”.

Second slide: the title is “What’s it about?”. The bullet points are: “There are two worlds: Atosk and Esner.” “Both of them are very magical.” “Magicians from Esner go to Atosk in order to pass an exam and become Full Fledged Magicians™” “Magicians from Atosk also go to Esner for their exam but this the matter for another story hint hint”

What happens when a bunch of young Magicians are THIS close to failing their exam? But of course! They decide to have fun while at failing, trying to salvage their exam.

Third slide: The title is “The Worlds”. There are two lists of bullet points. The first one reads “Esner”, and the bullet points are: “Home of the humans, the quorri (anthro frogs), and ranje (wolfpeople).” “Magic is innate, every Esnerian can manifest their thoughts into illusions and their emotions as enchantments on items.” “Some™ people go overboard with it, acquire an Animal Companion and become Full Fledged Magicians.” “Pretty similar to our world, technology-wise.” “Please imagine a zoom meeting full of people doing illusions kkthxbb” “It’s a fun world” “But not where the story is set.”

The second bullet point list is titled “Atosk”, and the points are: “Home of the navari (fluffy giants), torenden (dragon people), and kreknas (birb people).” “Also Swamp Dragons.” “Magic is also innate! But Atoskians can manipulate the Magical Energy™ to alter reality to a certain degree” “There’s also a floating island here” “The world isn’t as technology-advanced as ours but they’re pretty fine with it” “But some of the inhabitants do miss the internet from the days of their exam” “This is where the story is set.”

Fourth slide: It’s titled “Other Important Things”. There is a bullet point list, that reads: “Since I can’t create a story without putting spirits in it somehow, there are Spirits here too” “Three types! World Spirits are deity-like, and oversee the natural cycle of the world” “Each world has its own World Spirits” “Some of them like spending time with mortals, they’re quite friendly tbh, except for the Spirits of the Stars” “We don’t talk about the Spirit of the Stars” “Also about the Spirit of the Sky, he’s grumpy”

The World Spirits are (the list is divided in two smaller lists of six names each): Spirit of Fire, Spirit of Earth, Spirit of Water, Spirit of Wind, Spirit of the Sun, Spirit of the Moon, Spirit of the Flora, Spirit of the Fauna, Spirit of the Sky, Spirit of the Sea, Spirit of the Stars, Spirit of Thunder. In smaller letters, around the lists there are the writings: “look how nice in groups of six”, “Spirit of the Sky and Spirit of the Sea get it”, “also what if I told you there were four more Spirits but nobody knew about them”

Fifth slide: It’s titled “Other Spirits”. There are two paragraphs. The first one reads: World Spirits can create other Spirits called Emissary Spirits. Emissary Spirits are always linked to an element and act as the eyes and ears of the World Spirit. These ones are especially friendly towards mortals. In smaller letters, there’s a writing: “Literally Zephyr learned how to play card games with one of them”. The second paragraph reads: Then there are the Minor Spirits. They are born when a certain amount of magical energy is in one place and it births a creature, who may or may not be linked to a certain element. Most of the time they’re pretty animal-like.

Sixth slide: it’s titled “The Main Cast (originally spelled as cats)”. There are six bullet points lists. The first one reads: “Zephyr!” “The main character!” “A Floral Magician” “Literally an hurricane” The second one: “Gale!” “Zephyr’s talking gryphon” “Loves reading and peace but the second one is hard to attain” “Grumpy lionbirb” The third one: “Floria!” “A non-Magician who wants to meet the Spirit of the Stars” “She literally brok the law for this” “An aspiring violinist” The fourth one: “Sorun!” “A Ranje Magician” “An Animal Magic expert” “Very Chill” “Provider of Common Sense” The fifth one: “Scarlet!” “A Wind Magician” “Born deaf” “Her dragon, Orba, can change colors at will” “She won’t back down from a fight” “The only one who is doing her job tbh” The sixth one “Sylvan!” “A Magician who still didn’t find his talent (or did he?)” “Has a giant bird, Garun” “Cocky and arrogant” “He can do the *raises glasses* anime thing”

Seventh slide: it starts with “There wasn’t enough space for Belfi so here he is”, and a bullet point list underneath. “Belfi!” “A Quorri Magician” “A Thunder Magician” “Has a flying lizard (not dragon) called Azmer” “He’s royalty but he does a very bad job at keeping it a secret” “One of my followers pointed out to me he’s a literal frog prince” Then there is a line that reads: “Since there’s still space, here’s a bunch of secondary characters”, followed by four bullet points lists. The first one reads: “Volani!” “A navari from Atosk” “She did her exam a very long time ago and misses the internet each day of her life” “Skilled in Wind Magic” “She’s what we’d call an anthropologist” “Her dream is to write down a written compendium of the Swamp Dragons’ oral stories” “She can canonically ride a motorcycle” The second one: “Kantam!” “A navari who is studying to be a priest” “Therefore he’s allowed to have long fur and that makes him pretty fluffy” “A cinnamon roll to be entirely honest” The third one: “The Spirit of the Flora!” “Looks like a fox, acts like a fox” “They love playing pranks” “They don’t speak, preferring to send mental images instead” The fourth one: “The Spirit of the Fauna!” “Basically a Grandpa™” “Loves inviting people over for tea and chat” “The reason the Atoskians avoid going into the forest” “Looks like an anthro deer with glasses” “Talks a lot”

Eight slide: it’s titled “Other Stuff”, and there are different writings: “Different Schools of Magic with different mindsets!” “Each Atoskian race interpreted the ideas of “change” and “movement” differently!” “Lots of flying scenes!” “Nature and its cycles play a very important role!” “The Esnerians’ magic system heavily relies on meditation and respect of nature!” Then, in smaller letters: “If this story isn’t memable it means I have failed!” “This is my first time doing one of these but ever since I saw them on tumblr I wanted to make one so now I have an excuse to” End Image Description].

#wip: mosas #magicians of sky and sea #writeblr #fantasy #power point intro #comic sans intro #writeblr community #i hope the image description is fine!#long post

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jamestaylorswift · 4 years

Text

1 different interpretation of “the 1”

A companion piece to this.

When I first heard “the 1,” I got a rather intense musical itch. Consider this essay to be me scratching it. Enjoy, or don’t, and thanks for reading!

Note: I’ve tried my best to simplify some technical parts music theory, but my sincerest apologies in advance if the translation still seems clunky. My hope is that if this essay doesn’t make musical sense to you, it will at least make linguistic sense. The only prerequisite knowledge you need is that scales exist and a song is made from minor and major chords.

——

There are a shocking number of connections between “peace” and “the 1.” One of my favorites is a very subtle musical one. Like “peace,” I propose that “the 1” could be imagined as a conversation. The difference in perspective is again telegraphed by what the piano and bass are doing.

Here are some musical facts about ”the 1:”

This song is in the key of C major, which means that the C major chord is the sonic ‘home base.’ It is is the chord to which every other one ‘resolves,’ or quite literally returns. (In fact, this chord accounts for exactly half the chords in the song.)

The verses and prechoruses are constructed with two alternating chords, (1) either F major or D minor, and then (2) C major. This creates a kind of ‘push and pull’ effect, of harmonic tension and release. (You don’t need any musical training to feel this effect. Just focus on the first 10-ish seconds of the song.)

All of the chords in the song are made up of three notes. The F major and D minor chords share two of the same notes; both chords are thus as similar as two chords could be. Substituting one for the other is a very common trick. These chords are similar enough that Taylor wouldn’t need to sing different notes over them to sound good. Indeed, she doesn’t, and several chord substitutions in “the 1” sneak by as Taylor goes on her merry melodic way.

In “the 1,” the substitution of D minor for F major does not happen at the same point in the verses/prechoruses. The D minor to C major progression happens in the seventh and eighth lines of the first verse, but the fifth and sixth of the second. It also happens in the third and fourth lines of the first prechorus. The second prechorus is only long enough to allow the F-C progression.

Chord substitutions exist mostly to make music interesting. If they do exist, they usually follow predictable patterns. The last observation above is…itchy.

Most people are taught that chord quality is emotive: major chords are happy and minor chords are sad. Perhaps Taylor is trying to highlight that the lyrics with substituted chords are especially sad. Here are the lyrics associated with the F-C progression:

I'm doing good, I'm on some new shit

Been saying "yes" instead of "no"

I thought I saw you at the bus stop,

I didn't though

I hit the ground running each night

I hit the Sunday matinée

I guess you never know, never know

And if you wanted me, you really should've showed

I have this dream you're doing cool shit

Having adventures on your own

You meet some woman on the internet and take her home

You know the greatest loves of all time are over now

These are the lyrics with D minor instead:

You know the greatest films of all time

Were never made

And if you never bleed, you're never gonna grow

And it's alright now

We never painted by the numbers, baby

But we were making it count

These lyrics are sad, but I don’t see why these lines would be picked over others. All of the lyrics are pretty depressing. Plus, if Taylor really wanted to make the song sad with minor chords, she would have added a lot more.

Emotion doesn’t explain the different positions of the minor chords in the verses. What could?

Recall “peace.” Observations about the bass and piano in that song, especially their musical independence/interdependence with respect to lyrics, led to the conclusion that the piano represents Taylor and the bass represents Karlie. These instruments also suggest two perspectives in “the 1.”

However, “the 1” is more sonically dense than “peace.” The arrangement of “the 1” makes perspective shifting more complicated than ‘the piano plays independently here, therefore Taylor is talking.’ Instead, we discover perspective shifts when considering deviation from the harmonic ‘norm’ of the song. (This is not a real musical term, but rather an English approximation of how our brains/ears interpret the chord progressions of “the 1.”)

The chord substitution is the first example of deviation from the norm. F major and D minor function differently in harmonic progressions because the bass note changes (from F to D). The effect of substituting D minor for F major is that the release of harmonic tension, the ‘pull’ or resolution back to C major of the first chord’s ‘push,’ is less satisfying. That is, a bass note of F exhibits a stronger ‘push,’ so the ‘pull’ back to C is far more compelling to the ear. (Look no further than terminology for an explanation. F major to C major is an example of the beautiful “amen” cadence, a chord progression so nicknamed because it’s found at the end of many hymns.)

Per the lyric split above, Person One gets the F-C progression while Person Two gets the D-C progression.

The second example of deviation from the harmonic norm is the movement of the bass note in first and second halves of the chorus.

Consider the first half of the chorus. The bass note follows the chords at the beginning of this section. The first two chords are A minor and C major, so the bass plays A and C. Like in the rest of the song, the chords in the rest of this section alternate: F major, C major, D minor, C major. (The notes aren’t really that important, just the back-and-forth behavior.) This time, however, the bass note doesn’t hop around with the alternating chords. It walks down part of the C major scale: F, E, D, C. (Again, the notes matter less than the movement. This is a part of the song where the bass doesn’t do what the piano is doing.) The bass movement in the first half of the chorus is summarized as ‘hopping, then walking down.’

The second half of the chorus features a bass that just walks down the C major scale: A, G, F, E, D, C. The only difference between the halves of the chorus lies in the first two chords, A minor and C major. This time the bass plays A and G, not A and C.

This bass line appears in only the second halves of the first two choruses, but the entire bridge and last chorus.

The difference between the two halves of the chorus is simple in alphabetical terms but sneaky to the ear.

The alternating chords throughout the song make C major a strong sonic home base which the ear absolutely does not want to leave. (Pretend the ear is a person who doesn’t like to stray out of their comfort zone.) The bass has to leave C to make the music interesting at all, so it facilitates a sonic reward system. The first half of the chorus offers almost instant payoff for straying from the key’s chord: A is immediately followed by C. This placates the ear, if you will, and makes the walk down the scale more acceptable. The ear gets tricked into believing it will get to return to its comfort zone, to C, if it just waits a little while while the bass walks. So consider this first section the bass’s way of expanding the ear’s comfort zone.

The bass then can be a little more audacious. It walks down the better part of the C major scale in the second half of the chorus. Even though the chords above the bass line alternate with our home base chord of C major, the bass takes the long, long way back home to C. (Essentially, this harmonic progression is a tease because it takes its sweet time to fully resolve.) Still, this walking line isn’t as jarring as it could have been, because the bass eased the ear into accepting a long walking line during the first half of the chorus.

Remember that the walking bass line is ultimately what separates the bass from the piano. The long, meandering bass line in the second half of the chorus therefore constitutes deviation from the harmonic norm.

We apply this idea to the lyrics. The chorus is first Person One’s question:

But we were something, don't you think so?

Roaring twenties, tossing pennies in the pool

And if my wishes came true

It would've been you

And then Person Two’s answer:

In my defense, I have none

For never leaving well enough alone

But it would've been fun

If you would've been the one

In summary, the harmonic progression of “the 1,” defined more by the bass line and not the piano chords on top of it, splits the song between two speakers. The verses and prechoruses are split unevenly. The first two choruses are split in half, with Person One speaking first and Person Two following. Person Two sings the bridge and last chorus.

I’ll be the first to concede that using an observation about “peace” to prove the same thing about “the 1” might be circular logic. It’s crucial, however, to recognize that all of this musical magic is very, very sneaky and probably not accidental—especially because deviation from the harmonic norm of “the 1” does not follow a simple (i.e. localized) pattern.

Who is Person One and who is Person Two?

Perhaps Taylor is Person One because the “new shit” is the “shit” she talks with her friends in “peace.” Perhaps she’s Person Two, who “never [leaves] well enough alone” in both “the 1” and “ME!” (This depends on your interpretation of “ME!” though.) If Karlie is the bass, does that mean she’s talking when the bass is doing something normal or something different? I have my own opinion, but in the spirit of the song, I’ll leave it open for your own interpretation.

The takeaway from this exercise isn’t that the novelty of a song increases because there are multiple perspectives in it. Many of Taylor’s songs allow room for interpretations of just one perspective as well as many. (I adore “the 1” as a solo breakup song.) Nor must all songs featuring piano and bass be conversations. The bass is critical for the style of “Lover,” for example; most people, myself included, regard that song as from Taylor’s perspective. To me, “peace” and “the 1” simply highlight one interesting, beautiful way of telegraphing multiple perspectives. Taylor has introduced multiple perspectives by creating lyrical connections and collaborating with artists who trade verses with her. Just as literal voices clarify who is speaking, it seems reasonable that instrumental voices could too.

One final thing. The melody and chords of a song bounce around a scale, which establishes the key of the song. In this case, the melody and harmonies are all made of notes in the C major scale; the song is ‘in’ C major. Different combinations of notes in the scale make different chords, like F major, D minor, A minor, and of course the C major chord, home base. Each chord can be represented by the single scale note upon which it’s built (e.g. F, D, A, C). This note is called the ‘root.’ It’s usually (though not always, as we saw) what the bass plays.

Scales are ordered. Musicians like to label chords with numbers based on where the root note falls in the scale order. The chord made from the very first note of the key—in this case, the C major chord, the thing to which Taylor always returns—is literally called “the 1.”

——

Things that I think are neat but that probably only exist because the songs aren’t boring as hell:

The bass walk down in the chorus of “the 1” is the same as the bass movement in the “peace” second verse/quasi-bridge

The “amen” cadence makes an appearance for the lyrics “the devil’s in the details but you’ve got a friend in me”

The coincidence that this essay is about?? Idk man maybe I was just supposed to be content with a lifetime of itchiness

#kaylor #gaylor swift #folklore analysis #music analysis #my post

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rwmhunt · 3 years

Text

Leviticus, Chapter 25

1. It is fair to say that a poet Doesn't know their audience, When after 3000 years, a poet Doesn't know their audience. And here we've struck against the base Of our own Biblical Mount Sinai, where God, inside of the mountain, Could be locked therein for ever, yet, From an ocean of unconsciousness, hath he Up and telt this 'bunch of stuff' unto Moses-

2. Promises, promises, lo, My sabbaths; remember them? To summarize- whence Heading out of Exodus, Toward the underground city of Fuckinghell, God continues to remind the Israelites, How it were he who has them here, At assay in an escape of Egypt, As they go totalitaring across a plain, The which of is hardly considered In their headlong rush to go slow.

3. Six years sowing of land That you havn't got yet; So god gets Moses to Shovel it into the frontal lobe, Repeating things unto his pals, So sets off an imflammatory cascade, The old Israelites; a retinue, A ruptcy, @chemical riot, And that bunch of other stuff, You know this, but I'm reminding.

4. A seventh is a sabbath year- A sour, sownless, Pruneless kind of a year, You see it here, for Books are about power And bitter in at least two obvious ways- They first reflect the writer’s yearn For the acquisition of it, And then the mimic, With his fangled state therein, Of playing it.

5. Like most of us who are in this, Moses don’t have alot of power And less need to publish the fact- But speaketh of his learned scree- 'You write wrongly glib and varicose; aye, Where such be the matters I chose; As predisposed to distraction bade" He tries, talking withdrawl, In matters of affect- 'Your sentinels have rafted georgic, Whilest the staid remainder are discovered as wizened, and Departing from the liturgy, though heretical, You largely eschew the regular criticisms leveed agin the book.' But no, I didn't understand where this is coming from; to iterate, sometimes It's only a miracle that a meaning shouldst fall out of anything we find to say at all. Then, no gather; give solemn leave for the land Whence voice-bearers dwelt in rest, Yet as you read this, You are entering the prism of My power fantasy, And as I told you, you know this; So the dogmae live loudly in you. Woof.'

6. Connecting all these sentences, It becomes difficult- for thee, As we carry on recounting, As for thy servant, thence, for thy maid, For thy hired hand and for the settler Who, by thy side, sojourns amongst y'all; Where unto, to place the implied “because”? For lo, Power is versatile like that, And says things that send a spider sense a-creeping- So the sabbath of the land shall fall from thy alms as thy alimony, let Words be tools for regulating bodies, And say things that send a spider sense a-creeping-

7. Twill be a meat-based year For living on thy laurels with- A trope within a spectrum of abusive behaviours Alleged against the rhyzome Are scrutinising the system, where The fad prov'd trite, so I bade glib, Lo! Then terse, or droll, the dearth, I, gauche, give, both brash and stout, That it be I that is trite as it was glib For, wersh, I am not done with it- The rhyzome.

8. Muster seven sabbaths unto thee, Seven sevens be four and nine, see? From here to here, horizontally, The complete ribosomal pattern hath Codage for associative amino permutations, As universally preserved in the life taxa of all Babel, where the such displaces a lot of linear ideas, and, Lo fate, hallowed, Where hallowed is to be, For I warned thee; Go then, living as the rhyzome.

9. And make proclamation with the blast of the horn, For tis the day that it was once, hence, they Differ only in terms of the number of variables present, The coding of existing relations between the variables, And with regard to the presence or absence of an 'eigendynamic', Thus, can therefore be distinguished thither, As according to complexity, Based on these individual characteristics- As was once so it is differently, lo- Tis Yplangenday, and living is the rhyzome.

10. Round the ordinal up to L and proclaim liberty The bell, so thither, you have time's jubilee, Then let there be untethered utter manumission And flights of immigrant fantasy To whence-so-ever they think to have come. And breathless, Leviticus hath inferred That he was working unto A duel purpose- Firstly, his own double, As for control- To take the world and limit it, Or, extend it, unto his own end; And the other is to commune With the old world, the denied world, The general world; and to influence it, After his own.

11. So, la-la, be jubilee, As wild, As heady as happy can once a life, Or twice with once a memory of the other- And the pneuma of animula blows among the manna A numina, where the lord is the longest polymer chain.

12. So it is; then, Go eat the increase out of the field. But here are we levered; For it might be seen that there is a division second That can be put as of two spheres of imagination- Where firstly, there is that which is unbeknownst unto the beholder, and then also that which is consciously constructed, And yet, there is also the kingdom that lieth between, Which is a land of disconcerting paranoia and deviance, And where we must not lay with pneuma, nor numina As among the manna in the morning.

13. Yet lo, There's no point talking about it Unless you can talk about it; unless- Unless you can create enough updraft anyway; Lo! Then talk about it if you can't And I shall listen for what isn't there And look elsewhere for kennings after, And build about your unsaid vestige A most pious desire to expression; That which might uphold my feeling; No, there's no point talking about it Unless you can talk about it.

14. Barter or borrow and, For one damned year, just Don't get deceitful or try to get one over. Blindsided by the partisan nature of corporate consensus That I saw distort through the Furore Mirrors; There are many hands here, unto mine eyes, But, I don't trust the self who works emotional metaphor, So I won't continue to what I'm talking about.

15. Carry on trading way beyond, It's the local TA. Thus resides in per kilowatt hour, But what are we burning? Outside- I think it's a diesel generator; I hear it rumbling through my days Kept in the playground The fumes form long polymers, Amid the upper atmosphere, Clade with agricultural chemicals, They make headway Amidst our every organ; So be our dearest sacrifice.

16. And the market shall rise and fall With the arbitrary number of years, And whence far enough away, Return to your sarcky disposition- So what are we burning? In the tent, There's a wood burner, but, Really, detritus; Mose never minded, So any old when we run short, Mostly plastic bags; Leviticus has a fit When the smoke's building up, Talks about thousands of parts Per million.

17. To be fair, be fair, be fearful, Still me, remember? There was a grate, clarted up, That took of an outflow as from the tent, Of whatever swarf got sluiced, Unto wherever it went; the rest Were ushered up and borne out- So Terpsichore, laden with ashes, Went abroad one day, far enough That the gall and dust would not Be thought as being that of the tabernacle, Whence, dispensed, ashes and Hunks made boon to the earth's Mutable constant.

18. But the bible's broke and lost with the river That flow in serial and, as sevred, the chronicalers gone. Its belief's a decree you shall not leave me among, Nor make its fuzzy undercurent wash, Wherefore, the doing of statutes, The keeping of ordinances as them too; Though I concider, I cannot.

19. Land's a woman that yields So eat and dwell secluded therein. Love is not a symptom of time, Power is- time takes power, takes time. And you implicitly know this, so Don't think about it. Good girl Jade, who be it, That dwell in the land As declare of it a safe space?

20. And if you should be so bold as to wonder What to eat the year there's nothing, Know, that I'm not in a good mood today, Well yeah, you can say that again, so I said I'm not in a good mood today; As in; best not to press me on it, and Yeah, I heard you the first time.

21. Then sat in our suffering, Stuck in this wilderness, Black is the offering; No good for nothing, this, Left with our echo as Cut from our people. Lo, but, I'll give you a bumper crop From the previous year, and Lo! You're massive, gamesmaster. Ok, so, no worries, bonanza time; Brother, I never steer you wrong.

22. And damn it, Keep at the old store, Through the eighth, All the way into the ninth, Til your ship comes in; O Stop collapsing; Well done, men. It is not wise, it is quite unmeasured, to bait divinity With common hands, to scale Sinai, wild at heart, While sporting ultimatums of, Forgive me lord, Or I shall sin and the like- I said bring me the head of Martin Elginbrod.

23. And the land shall not be sold in perpetuity; For the land is Mine; as ye be strangers and settlers unto Me. So his own words, official words and the words of his advocates Hath set off an imflamatory cascade across hours of solid crowds. But not feeling seriously affected by the articles braught against it, He here found some unexpected allies among the Aaronide, Who, on hearing what he was proposing, Got on the blower to Moses too, and the results May be found between the leaves- as With the vertiginous chicanery they built A plutocratic sanctum of the unthinking overvue And with the allowance of themselves there to continue, Undeposed.

24. And lo, the land of our possession, Shall grant a redemption for the land itself, - So then, young people, said Tokata Iron Eyes, - I feel like we have eachother's future back; This is such a third fire that might save of us all. It won't ofcourse, but it's good to try; ...Shall granteth of us our memories; Let it be said that I so arose...

25. O forgotten brother, How came ye come so waxen poor As to prowleth these leaves, Having pawneth'd off of your possession, With I, as thy kinsman, that is next here unto thee, and Who hath come to redeem thee thy birthright Which ye hath verily, venally squandered? - Lo, for it is that I've been inside, for that I started fires; As I don't know what was wrong with me; I won’t be buccaneering with people’s lives any more, for I've come to agree 'That man should solve every problem that it hath the wit to so recognise.' And Mose rose while yet he held a look as in his eye.

26. For if a man hath no one to so redeem it, and he be waxen rich And findeth of sufficient wit to himself of it redeem; but 'You're talking into a vacuum about an unknown, So it's unlikely to feel definite.' Would you be the vacuum? 'Yes; for that I would, And yet, I am not what I meant- I mean the bit of your mind that doesn't know.'

27. Let him count the years, And restore the overplus, And get him out of hock, By the strange effect of the interaction That ends with the death of an animal; The flicker of even a spider drain, if There was an action to attain the weird, Folding-in unto an unknown metaphysical, As to return to in the everyday, and then, After a while, a bestial satiation, then, Ritual slaughter be your go-to profession- So make thyself mint.

28. And if it don't work out, well Jubilee, and all shall be returned, For that's the thing- if Fate needst me to, It could put me places No questions asked. And the thing with him, And the thing about such an interpretation As for him, is that it shouldst be of one's own- That it wasn’t wrong of Words but rather, that to Interpret was of a fault, And the problem is with your audacity in feeling uncomfortable, But, alas, tis Jubilee, so all of this is as a bridge under the water.

29 . Vicarious is my favourite word, said Leviticus, - The closest living thing to magic; Words themselves are a kind of vicariousness; And he drifted into another republic. So to the ease or otherwise of obtaining wall, if Erotion could walk by herself; it was difficult. Redeem your house for a year In a city, at zero percent and no questions- Always fair and square, aren't they? The begetting of a room advise Gleaned from passing strangers, Jade, why'd you hide your head?

30. And walled cities are a surety in Jubilee, and their tide go not out in perpetuity. There was a guy who used to draw his dreams, Because he believed them to be previsions For a future. He'd go with his opus to the local bank To have it date stamped in a photograph He'd get taken there, beneath the calendar clock. They were, at best, inconclusive, while he wouldst have Lived thither, as among his creations; - I don't know if there's a structural system in the universe; If i am a fractal of greater or lessers in a relative manner.

31. But should I find a rock Who believed a lampost to be a god, Then, verily should I be impressed with that rock; And daresay wouldst I subscribe Unto a new-found regard For the lampost to boot; so aye, All things can be called relative, By which, if you havn't a wall, You're reckoned with the field, And bailiff time be Jubilee; Now, take this learned decree hence, And be away from my townhouse.

32. I keep telling you- I don't have a favourite, And I don't think you believe me, So I keep telling you that I don't have a favourite, But if I did, it would be you, Though I treat you like shit. Oh, but you, here you can appropriate thus- Make manifest destiny through city or plain, And do not swerve for the biome in the rhyzome; That you havn't a head for mandelbrot sets.

33. It's getting technical, and tainted; Lo, forthwith, the rhyzome acknowledges That these claims about the claimants Be unclaimed, And we retract and withdraw the clause And undertake not to make repeat of them, And that means being open, Transparent and respecting The decisions made in this tent, By strangers in secret.

34. So in our submission, when one looks At our learned judge’s direviction, Freedom is an interface, A phantasmic discrepancy- You are doing as you're impelled to do, And you shalln't believe it so, And don't go selling off land.

35. Let anima be the trick That creates the illusion of life, And also that by which To behold it. And if thy brother be waxen without, And his means fall in with thee; Then thou shalt uphold him: As a stranger and a settler, So shall he live among thee. See? All's equal. And by this drystane dyke he Mopeth that fate shouldst be A fickle star, And got on, Uninterested in the plain.

36. Take thou No interest of him either, Ask not - 'Why your god?' Answer not - 'Because it's yours,' Nor - 'And how do you feel The palace of swords wouldst heareth you speak Your truth today?'. Yet there be, still, Within the arc- A falling.

37. Give him no cash Nor victuals against profit; Let him tarry and know Your god is yours alone; Is interstical and Is cut off from all other gods.

38. Else, in thy virtue, how much virtue, Meaneth you your virtue to signal? Me? I saved you, got you this place You havn't got yet; likewise, see? Manifest Destiny fell among the rationale Which led us out of Egypt in the promises, We can but carry it upon our bondsfolk.

39. And here doth he speake Of his mind As alike a torture chamber that hath Gone about something so insane As to totally overwhelm background processors; Thence, pressed into abandon, and A resultant neglect unto the congregation. Each layer, a further latent lexical signifier, And a broader drain on bios, all Ultimately, of it's own derivation, so, You might as well just assume, Where the real answer Is very close To the wrong answer.

40. The book, behoven As logistical playground, Finally spoke its silence, So I take this cardboard box for Some kind of underwater spaceform, As early evidence of animal oblation At the end of the copper age, As serve ye so until Jubilee. Don't be angry with me.

41.Lo, could I do it again And bury the text A full five times deeper yet, Then go out, to my own, And unto, such paternal possession Rest with him and ‘Hmm,' He’d say. - I’ll learn Hebrew, why not?’ and then, -'But I only know of the letters yet.'

42. My servants, as I so rescued ye, So shall ye not be drawn back to slavery Through the study of the methods of history (Historiography) Or the study of historical persons (Historicity) Where, the first few characters are my laws (Halakha) For how to make of a sacrifice, (Qorban) That a standard historical practice, (Ordinal propriety) Differentiating between what happened And what was hearsay is evinced essential, Lo, for as to a poetical artist, the difference is Negligible stroke incommodious, (Unwelcome) and, as Anytime was closer to history than this one, What do you know?

43. Let not some pious forgery Rule o'er your own with a rigor, But fear such a god who, unreasoned, Would teach the people How to eat right and be clean- Denying the biome is within the rhyzome, For, tis naught but an intolerable Bit of shuffling and roguery In the Jerusalem game of the ‘curios. Whence, various colonial archaeologists Would espouse of an erasure That it goes without saying And is thus worth pointing out- Where the particles of rust Were once elementally a part Of the thing which you are oiling, The particles of rust Were once elementally a part Of the thing which you are oiling.

44. Thus, reality, patterned, Might be applied unto, Whereon the actual engaged Behaviour hath gone and is lost; So take the over-arcing Frame, and know, Thither, it is a recreation, And, probably wrong. Then hold for thy merrye bondsmen and bonnymaidswomen, As of whom thou mayest have gained a fancy hereunto; From the nations that are round about thee, Them, shall ye buy of, that they be thy merrye bondmen and maids.

45. Lo, where each of the laws are windows Into the day of their inception, tis Hard to avoid seeing ancient archetypes at work, for- Who shouldst create a law Where there is no need for a law? Moreover, of the children of the strangers That do sojourn amongst you, Go get 'em cheap; tis my land, so your land, Tis usufruct thither, with they as thy possession.

46. And ye may make these folks into hand-me-downs: For them may ye forever take up as your bondsmen and merrymaids; But ever over your brethren, the children of Morningside, Shall ye not rule, as one over another, as with rigor. I'm not seeing the symmetry of central planning here; But lo, for in the game of one-upmanship Thus bade between the Morlocks and Moses; I'd give it to the Olmecs, Then return it to the virus. For the rest, Leviticus decryeth more fraff On how to pink the codes of holiness with examples, So, still I'm rerecounting-

47. In Exodus, God telt Mose how to build the tabernacle As a tent of meaning, Then it was that Leviticus got involved with God's teaching, As Mose blustered about over the lot and set forth his sacrifice From the land over which he cared not a jot, But to extend the part that is virgin and thus, Easily burned, as where, Maybe you left thinking Such be an example of how to priestlilly keep of your offerings, But we're still here, Positing queries to the tabernacle, Of the ways to behave in an uprightly if convoluted manner; And what am I going to do with this story Of a fellow who did all these wonderful things, Sweet hermit, who was a lion,

48. So let it be said, that Moses sacrifices Aaron to God: Leviticus doesn't remember it like that, But this's what is written, thus, will it be brought to happen. And should a strange settler do as you'd do, But to an offshoot of the rhyzome, then Redeem him damn it, you be a branch and brethren; I'm not spilling of what that means. But, Note well what he tells that isn't of story, For, as being without the narrative, So becometh it boring; Except where it's left, Both latent and loaded, With anecdote of sin or else, Suggestion of a fearful violation, As so be set to go off, though not Suchwise, as if left only unto itself- For there be the dispersal of power.

49. And lo, you can ever redeem of yourself with a flip, For poetry is forced, Forced as a rhubarb That I'd rather have, But, de gustibus, no, You shall not take My heart out To dine.

50. And that I shouldn't choose to be The appropriating, racially charged, Misanthrope that I am; which, By dint of a social education, I know, By the pointing out, I'm ok to carry it on, So giveth unto myself the blank slate- As I'm nearly finished anyway.

51. Some reckoning of years tallied by the sevens, As if it, you know; So as not to give him the pleasure... And if that doesn't work, Mathematically, put a fix in. As levity is a sacrifice That relegates the ur-text, So you will understand me; I pretend not To be the inventor Of anything;

But laughter is not so bad.

52. Lo. the corollary- - If I didn't write all this, Then somebody else would, I read, as I read back across it, And my eyes closed, And my head rolled. I've got to stop it.

53. Here watch the usurpation of another, Distastefully, and to yourself. - Sir, you keep your contempt On a high simmer Throughout your every engagement, And turn it up further Wherever you feel opportunity to do so, Whether it should be used thus or else let pass- And done so as to besmirch the other, all because You've the competitive streak that must Be made manifest among such others equally; First to sate, then, take beyond.

54. Otherwise, Jubilee, Else it is up with me on all sides. So it was with Leviticus, Who never said he were a poet, Only that his dreams Meant more to him Than they realistically Should have, and Though he drempt in such a way That he never thought he knew As to where he was, Thus it was always insubstantial, Yet such needst be enough; And that, atleast, he thought he knew.

55. Then find a man Who speaketh of people By their purpose, Himself as his own singer; Whose openness to wisdom Left him always Half an idiot, Where QED is our bible, Where holy might only Fall down to one's discretion, And use its fatal nature To activate the future, as I told you this already. Tis done.

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juniperwindsong · 4 years

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Dragonology 101 (10/10)

Summary: There's no fanfare or applause, no sudden beam of light that shines down onto Felix as he makes his decision; the way such a life-changing decision really deserves, he thinks. There's just the instant when he knows what he's going to do, as surely and with as little wonder as if he had made the choice long ago and only just now remembered to inform himself.

"Last minute cramming, Rosier? Most unlike you!"

Felix looks up from the letter he's engrossed in, startled by the voice of the girl perched on the very edge of the bench beside him. Her hands wring together in her lap nervously, and her lips twitch in the rough facsimile of a smile. But, like all the other seventh years waiting to take their Defense Against the Dark Arts practical exam, it's an expression she's almost forgotten how to make. The faces in the small room run the spectrum from anxious to down right terrified, and the girl next to him isn't the only one whose hands are shaking.

Tilting the parchment away from the girl's prying eyes, Felix makes a vague sort of grunting noise hoping to dissuade any further questions when he hears his name called from the doorway. He re-folds the letter carefully along its well worn creases, and slips it into the pocket of his trousers where he imagines he can feel its slight weight against his leg. Standing briskly, he and four of his classmates follow the wizened NEWT official into the Great Hall.

It's lucky he's excellent at practical examinations, Felix reflects, as he's never revised so little for a test in his life. In spite of the fact that he has not practiced or even opened a book in the last two days, the counterjinx he casts is flawless and receives an enthusiastic nod from his suitably impressed examiner.

Kettleburn assures me you excel under pressure...are uniquely qualified...asserts that you subdued the Common Welsh Green practically single handed... One of his favorite phrases from the letter drifts through Felix's mind, and he swells with pride, deflecting the examiner's hex with such force the man stumbles.

"Well done, Mr. Rosier!" the NEWT official gushes after the exam has concluded. Felix thanks him with as much modesty as he can muster. "I must say, I've rarely seen anyone so composed during a NEWT. May I ask what career path you are planning to pursue?"

Felix's self-satisfied smile withers as nerves attack his confidence for the first time that morning. He mumbles something noncommittal and scurries away from the hall as quickly as dignity allows.

Students are milling about just outside the entrance, rehashing their performance and comparing comments from their examiners. Felix skirts the edges of the crowd to avoid being hailed by anyone he knows and makes a beeline for the open castle doors. The grounds are full of laughing underclassman, unburdened by exams, basking in the warmth that has finally arrived after the unreasonably long, cold winter. Students lay sprawled out on the grass, propped under trees, or splashing each other merrily at the edges of the Black Lake, but Felix passes them all without seeing, focused entirely on the letter he's retrieved from his pocket and unfolds carefully as he walks.

The letter arrived two days before, and since then Felix has carried it with him everywhere. He's afraid to leave it in his room, cannot bear to keep it even as far away as his school bag, for fear it might vanish. No matter how real the now well-worn parchment feels in his hands, part of him is still convinced it's a figment of his imagination.

Felix's legs move without guidance from his brain, which is just as well since his brain is too preoccupied at the moment to be bothered with anything quite so trivial as where he's going. He's peripherally aware of sloping, uneven ground under his feet, and the sounds of merry laughter behind him growing fainter. He scans the cramped, uneven handwriting, searching feverishly for that line he has memorized and yet is compelled to see in print every few minutes.

"...my pleasure to offer you a position as my junior field assistant on an expedition the Reserve is sponsoring in Peru..."

A joke, Felix thought the first time he read it; it's someone's horrid idea of a joke. Only who could have thought up such a thing? No one except Kettleburn and Juniper knows about his adventure of the last term, and the letter references the Common Welsh Green and the Reserve specifically. He's considered more than once whether this might be some misguided attempt of Juniper's to trick him into pursuing Dragonology. But that's quite the elaborate scheme even for her. And besides, it isn't her handwriting. He's double-checked.

Felix thrusts aside branches and skirts clumps of overgrown grasses, dimly aware of a change in the light but unable to ascribe any meaning to it. The letter is real, then. It has to be. As unbelievable as it seems, he's spent two days considering every other possibility and nothing else adds up. He holds in his hand a real opportunity to study dragons out in the field. A once in a lifetime offer from a respected Dragonologist who chose him without an application, without NEWT scores, without even meeting him. Just based on Sparky's now legendary origin story and Kettleburn's recommendation.

It's everything Felix has never let himself even hope for; a longing relegated to the deepest recesses of late night fantasies; a very literal dream come true. And yet, Felix vacillates between overjoyed and overwhelmed. Because the choice it requires of him is so daunting it leaves him dizzy and weak in the knees.

Felix picks his way through the tightly intertwined branches without conscious effort, as though it were second nature. Which it is. He realises where his feet have led him only when they stop just at the edge of the valley where he spent half of the last term. The best half, he thinks. Maybe the best part of the last seven years. He drops to the ground, suddenly exhausted, and surveys the ditch in front of him. With the dragon gone, it seems so much larger.

How can he accept? How can he not accept?

For a moment, Felix permits himself to imagine what it would be like to say yes. He swings his legs over the side of the ledge, allowing a thrill to course through him at the thought of making his dream a reality, living out a true adventure. He tries to picture himself deep in the wilds of a South American rain forest, tracking the Peruvian Vipertooth with nothing but his wits and his wand, but fails entirely. He has no frame of reference for this. Even after pulling down every book on geography the library contains (astonishingly few), his only impression of Peru is a small dark green space on an old fashioned map.

Felix wonders briefly if the library at home might have anything more informative, but that thought sends his heart sinking into stomach. Because equally hard to picture as life in Peru is the conversation it would require with his father. It wouldn't even be a conversation, he thinks, kicking restlessly at the earth wall beneath him. It would simply be his father's deadly quiet voice and his swiftly drawn wand reminding Felix who is his and where he belongs, and Felix passively accepting this the way he always has.

The writhing in his stomach at the thought of his pre-destined future is horribly familiar, but now it's accompanied by something different, something stronger: a wave of grief that breaks over his head with such intensity it forces his eyes shut. Felix grips the grass beneath his fingers tightly. He knows what loss feels like now. He didn't before. Can he live forever with the loss of this? Everything's he's ever dreamed of handed to him so perfectly?

He can't decide. He's run through these arguments so many times the last few days they feel as creased and faded as the letter itself. Felix wishes there were someone he could talk to about it who could offer perspective. He knows Juniper would listen, if he managed to track her down, but the last thing he needs now is for his awkward feelings for her to over-complicate a situation already fraught with difficulty. Besides, Felix knows exactly what she would say, can even picture how she would look saying it. The voice in his head urging him to go sounds remarkably like hers. And the other voice is his father's. He needs a new voice, someone whose answer isn't predetermined.

Glancing back down at the letter, Felix's eye is caught by that phrase, Kettleburn has assured me....

Felix treks out of the forest and toward the Care of Magical Creatures paddock just as a group of third years are finishing their final exam. Students in red and green ties run frantically about the enclosure attempting to round up what looks like a small army of nifflers. He can see Barnaby Lee toting an armful of the struggling creatures toward a large open box, and Liz Tuttle balancing a niffler on each shoulder, plying them with treats. Grinning slightly to himself, Felix wonders if this is part of the exam or merely another creature prison break. Kettleburn stands off to the side, laughing heartily, which offers no additional insight.

Not wanting to be recognized by anyone, Felix takes his time approaching the paddock. He waits for the teenagers to deposit their nifflers, then gather up their things, laughing and chatting happily with each other as if they haven't any real cares at all. It's like looking through a window into a different world, Felix thinks wistfully, one where the weight of the entire future isn't hanging ominously over anyone's head.

"Well, if it isn't my aspiring Dragonologist! How are you, lad?" Kettleburn exclaims jovially as Felix clambers over the perimeter fence and enters the paddock. A few lagging third years look around to see whom Kettleburn is referring to. Felix feels his cheeks heat up, and he tugs at his collar in a hopeless attempt to shield his face from recognition.

"Fine, Professor, thank you," he answers uncomfortably. He shoots a look at the now clearly eavesdropping third years, so curious to know what could bring a seventh year out of the library on NEWT week. Kettleburn follows his gaze, then gestures at the gaggle of students as if shooing them away.

"Go on, you lot, off to dinner then!" Reluctantly, they hoist their bags onto their shoulders and trot back up to the castle.

Kettleburn twists from side to side to make sure there's no one else still hanging around before saying in an unnecessary whisper, "If you're here about that dragon, I can tell you he is doing swimmingly at the Reserve!"

For the first time in two days, Felix finds something to distract him from the letter. "Have they been able to fix his wing, then?"

"Not to my knowledge no," Kettleburn's moustache droops a little as he frowns, "But he did have his first flame a week ago! Very momentous occasion, so sorry you couldn't be there. Though from what I hear, you'll soon be seeing as much dragon-fire as you could hope for. Congratulations, by the way!"

"Oh..." Felix flounders for something polite to say that won't betray his indecision. "Yes. That is - thank you, sir."

"Well, was there anything I could do for you, lad?" asks Kettleburn. "Not harboring any other dangerous creatures are we? Haven't perhaps found that old yeti of mine?" He sounds rather hopeful, but Felix shakes his head.

"No sir. I...I actually wanted to ask you a question about the letter I received from the Reserve-"

"Hang on," Kettleburn interrupts, limping quickly around Felix to where the box of nifflers has begun to shake alarmingly, the creatures inside working together to capsize their prison. The professor steadies the box before it tips and places his hand firmly against the top to prevent any nifflers from popping up that way.

"Mischievous little blighters. Hate to keep them cooped up, but they're in time-out you see. Gnawed through my favorite leg when I wasn't watching." Kettleburn casts a glance back at Felix, hand still keeping the protesting box as still as possible. "What were you saying, lad?"

"I was just saying..." Felix struggles to regain his train of thought. "The letter I received mentions that you recommended me personally."

"Of course!" declares Kettleburn proudly. "Never met students could handle a dragon the way you and Miss Windsong did for so long with so little disaster! I had a hard time convincing anyone at the Reserve I wasn't exaggerating!"

Felix watches as tiny fingered paws begin to poke through the cracks at the top of the box, and he has to work hard not to crack a grin, the tension constricting his chest easing slightly.

"Yes sir, but...before that."

"Before?" repeats Kettleburn distractedly as he pokes the nifflers' paws back into the box one at a time.

"Before you found out about the dragon," clarifies Felix. "When I asked you if you had any contacts in dragonology, you said... you thought it was an excellent career choice for me?"

Kettleburn finally draws his wand and flicks it toward the top of the box wordlessly, making it go still. He straightens up, brushing off his kilt.

"I did indeed."

"But...why?" Felix asks unable to keep his voice casual or unconcerned in the face of the question he's been dying to know the answer to since November.

"Why?" Kettleburn fixes his one eye on Felix in a critical stare, as if deciding whether or not he's joking. But Felix has never been more serious in his life. "Do you know what most dragonologists have in common, Mr. Rosier?"

Felix shakes his head.

"Well, they all look a good bit like me." Kettleburn waves his replacement arm up and down the length of his body, indicating his many missing limbs. "You see, wizards who work with dangerous creatures generally have an excess of enthusiasm but lack what you might call self-preservation. You need a decent bit of both to be successful, but Magizoologists, and Dragonologists in particular, tend to put a premium on the former. We're a passionate bunch - have to be! But it does tend to shorten your life span and your number of natural limbs," Kettleburn concludes almost wistfully, regarding his own wooden leg which Felix notices is riddled with tiny niffler-sized toothmarks.

"But you, lad!' Kettleburn adds, pointing his claw at Felix. "You have something else."

"What?" breathes Felix, eager as a child on Christmas.

"Why, a good bit of common sense!" Kettleburn exclaims, arms spread wide as if this were the most obvious thing in the world. "Let me ask you, what do you think would have happened to Miss Windsong had you not been there to assist her with that dragon?"

Both the professor's answer and his follow-up question surprise Felix. He casts his mind back to the previous term, trying to imagine what each interaction with Sparky would have been like for Juniper alone. She did visit the dragon on her own for nearly a month before he joined her. And she was admittedly, more careful when approaching the dragon than Felix had ever seen her with anything else. But what would have happened once she decided Sparky needed exercise? Felix had orchestrated every successful part of that plan. Would she have tried to shrink the dragon like she first suggested? He doubts she could have managed it on her own, but if she had, if she freed Sparky from the ditch and led him to the grasslands by herself? Felix remembers the murderous look on the dragon's face and he feels suddenly queasy.

"I gather that you were rather the sensible one between the two of you," Kettleburn asserts. "And a dragonologist with a degree of sense is a rare find indeed. It would make you an impressive addition to any team. Not to mention increase your chances of survival by a good deal."

Felix turns this over in his mind. It's a perspective he hasn't considered. As much as he loves dragonology, it hasn't occurred to him that he might bring something unique and necessary to the profession. It makes his decision somehow bigger than just himself and his family.

Kettleburn limps toward Felix. "Dragonology isn't exactly a glamorous career, lad. It's dirty and tedious and pays precious little, and you'll see more than your fair share of danger. And it isn't the sort of thing you can change your mind about halfway through. You have to be determined, dedicated, able to withstand a great deal of hardship." The tall professor claps his good hand to Felix's shoulder encouragingly. "But it seems to me that a young man who's spent half a year secretly caring for a dragon with no hope of any reward but a great deal of risk including expulsion, on top of a seventh year's class schedule and NEWT studies- that's a person who's positively born for dragons. I can't imagine you won't make a name for yourself."

There's no fanfare or applause, no sudden beam of light that shines down onto Felix as he makes his decision; the way such a life-changing decision really deserves, he thinks. There's just the instant when he knows what he's going to do, as surely and with as little wonder as if he had made the choice long ago and only just now remembered to inform himself. He isn't going home. He isn't going to worry about what his parents want him to do or become. He's going to Peru to be a dragonologist, to make a name for himself, and start making the people who actually care about him proud for a change.

Kettleburn stands back and surveys Felix, slightly concerned. "Not having second thoughts, are you lad?" and Felix smiles, a real, joyful smile with no hint of a smirk, like the sun emerging from behind clouds.

"Not at all, sir. Thank you. For everything."

An easy decision, then, in the end. Felix crafts his acceptance letter flawlessly in one draft, as though he's known the whole time what his answer would be and has been composing the reply in his head. He sends the letter off the same day, and as he descends the owlery stairs, he feels like a brand new person.

Much less easy is the letter to his parents. An hour after Felix begins, the floor is littered with parchment and his hair is on end as he struggles to find a way of explaining what to them will be brand new and bizarre information. Nothing he writes will make them understand, he's sure of that. It's quite possible they won't even believe it. He imagines his father's indignant reply will accuse him of some NEWT induced madness, perhaps even in the form of a howler in an attempt to scare him to his senses.

Eventually, Felix writes the simple facts of the matter and seals the letter before he can reconsider. There will be fallout, he has no doubt. But somehow, now that he's made his decision, that knowledge is less frightening than it used to be. It's simply another hurdle in the way of his goal, one that he will inevitably overcome.

Only it's not a letter or a howler that arrives at school the morning Felix prepares to sit his final NEWT in Potions. As he makes his way to the Great Hall along with the other seventh year Slytherins, all quizzing each other frantically in hushed tones, he hears a voice saying his name from somewhere behind him. The voice isn't loud, but it carries with ease over his classmates susurrations. It's a quiet, deadly voice that Felix would recognize anywhere, even if he's never expected to hear it here at Hogwarts before.

Felix whips around in thunderstruck horror to find his father. He stands outside the door to Snape's office, the professor himself hovering just behind him. Felix notices distantly that his head of house seems even more displeased than usual and he addresses Felix's father in his most politely venomous tone.

"Mr. Rosier, your son is due to sit his final NEWT momentarily. Surely, this can wait."

"Absolutely not." His father's voice does not increase in volume but broaches no argument. Students around Felix are turning to stare and he can feel a heat rising in his cheeks that would keep a salamander content.

Snape's eyes flick once to the hallway around Felix before saying smoothly, "Then this conversation should be moved elsewhere." He jerks open the door to his office and waits pointedly beside it. Felix's father gives his son one last empty-eyed stare before stalking into the room leaving Felix to follow.

Felix uses the dozen steps to the dungeon to steel his nerve against the rise of instinctual panic within him. He's faced down a dragon, he reminds himself fiercely, why is his father so much more frightening? Kettleburn assures me you are excellent under pressure, he repeats like a mantra. But for some reason, he cannot harness that acumen that has brought him so far. He has no plan of attack against his father, no way to defend. He never has.

"What is this rubbish?" His father murmurs dangerously as soon as the door snaps shut behind Felix. He brandishes his son's letter in two fingers as though it were something filthy.

Felix takes a deep breath. And then another. Kettleburn assures me...

"It's a letter," he says simply. He doesn't intend this remark to sound as sarcastic as it does, but his father's eyes flash with fury and his hand creeps toward the pocket of his robes. Felix suppresses his involuntary twitch.

"No. It isn't," his father contradicts. "It's raving nonsense is what it is. 'Dragons and South America'," he utters contemptuously, glancing down at the offending words. "You consider this some sort of drollery, I assume? Perhaps if you tell me the name of the person who put you up to such a joke, you might be spared the more severe repercussions."

Snape doesn't keep chairs or sofas in his office for students to sit on leaving a large amount of open floor space, yet Felix's father seems to fill up the entire room with his presence, trapping Felix against the door. His heart is pounding so loudly he cannot hear himself think.

"It's not. A joke," he stammers. The weakness in his voice feeds the cold fire in his father's eyes. Deep breath. Focus. "As I explained in my letter, I received an extraordinary offer to accompany a highly respected Dragonoligist on an expedition in Peru. This offer is time sensitive and rare. I would be amiss not to accept it."

In almost eighteen years, Felix has never once seen his father speechless. Furious and raging, yes; cold and deadly, often; but never with his dark, empty eyes so round and wide, and his mouth hanging slightly open like a fish. It changes his father's aspect entirely. And Felix can hear Juniper's voice in his head, He's just a parent. He's not infallible. And he feels the fear begin to leak slowly from him like air from a balloon.

"What...is this madness?" Felix watches his father struggle to collect himself, can see wheels turning behind his eyes as he tries to regain control of the discussion. He suddenly turns and jabs a finger toward Snape, seemingly desperate for someone to whom he can attribute blame. "Where have you been in all this?"

Felix is impressed to find Snape entirely unintimidated by the fuming man in front of him.

"This is as much news to me as it is to you, Mr. Rosier. Your son has never confided in me any particular interest in Dragonology." Felix notices his father is several inches shorter than Snape. In fact, Felix thinks his father might actually be an inch or two shorter than himself. The image of his father in his head has always been like a statue, towering over him from a height Felix will never reach. It's strange to realize how small he actually is.

"No, I haven't. But it isn't new," Felix declares, his voice stronger. Both men turn to stare at him. "I've always been passionate about dragons. And this year I had the opportunity to interact with one and discovered I have quite a talent for it." He does not neglect to infuse his voice with the pride he feels is justified. "Professor Kettleburn was suitably impressed and recommended me to a friend he has at the Romanian Reserve. They believe I am uniquely qualified, and I was offered the position personally without an application or test scores. I've decided to take it."

Felix's father begins that slow saunter forward that Felix knows so well and alarm bells sound in his brain. But now he can see that his father is just another beast, his calculated steps merely an intimidation technique. His father's hand flicks lazily to his wand, but Felix can focus through the fear. Excellent under pressure...uniquely qualified. He tenses his muscles precisely, ready to dodge whatever spell his father chooses to throw, the same way he's dodged the snapping jaws of a dragon.

"You listen to me." His father's voice is barely a whisper. "This is a childishness I believed you were finally above but I see I have overestimated you. You are far too old to play these games-"

"You're right," Felix interjects calmly. He can hardly believe himself, because he has never done that before. Never even considered doing so. But like every other new and dangerous thing he's done this year, it comes with an incredible rush of excitement. "I am a legal adult now which means you cannot keep me from accepting this position. I can make my own decision regarding my future, and this is what I've decided."

His father might have turned to stone, he's so deathly still. Felix wonders if it's the confidence infused in his tone or simply that his father hasn't been contradicted by anyone in recent memory. Felix sets his face with grim determination, like a certain fourteen year old he knows so well. It's a look that doesn't yell or threaten, simply refuses to be cowed. But he's still himself, and so there's a smirk in it as well.

"Obviously, I would prefer that you see how this can be mutually advantageous. A position like this takes our name out of the spot light, yes, but it's still a position that carries prestige. It might be everything we need to repair the damage to the family reputation you caused." His father blinks, the first sign of life from him. "But if you cannot see that, nothing changes. This is what I've chosen."

Something shifts in the elder Rosier's face. The frozen features seem to melt slightly and a look that Felix recognises crosses his face briefly. He's seen his father look that way at Evan many times, but it isn't a look he ever seen directed at himself. It's respect.

"Well," his father pronounces finally, face now a careful mask. "I suppose congratulations are in order." He gives his son an infinitesimal nod, and if Snape suddenly began singing Celestina Warbeck in the background it would not have surprised Felix more. "It seems you've found yourself a bit of power. You might not be the waste of a name I considered you." His eyes meet Felix's in the closest thing to approval that Felix has ever experienced from him as he closes the distance between them.

"I will allow you to have your lark, for now. But know this, Felix," and he sets his hand briefly upon his son's shoulder. "Power without direction is meaningless. And often disastrous. The time will come when your power will need to be harnessed to a cause greater than yourself. And far more important than dragons."

And with that final pronouncement as his only farewell, his father sweeps from the dungeon, leaving Felix to somehow right the world from where it's been turned upside down. Felix is as dazed as if his father had hit him with a stunning spell, and he would be mortified if he had any concept of the slack-jawed expression of disbelief on his face.

"Mr. Rosier," Snape's voice drifts toward him from somewhere faraway. "You will need to proceed to your potions NEWT if you do not wish to receive a failing grade."

Felix nods dazedly, and exits the office as if he's floating. He wanders up the passage, legs moving of their own accord as his brain tries to comprehend the last ten minutes. In seventeen years of seeking his father's approval, is it possible he's found it by standing up against him?

Once again, Felix is thankful that he tests so well, because he has never been more distracted during an examination.

Click. Felix shuts the door to the horseless carriage carefully behind the last of the excitedly chattering first years. He scrutinizes the thinning crowd of students waiting to be ferried to the Hogwarts express to be sure he hasn't missed anyone, when he hears his name being called. Felix turns to see Barnaby Lee practically falling from the window of a nearby carriage in his attempt to flag Felix down.

"Felix, over here! Please?"

Shaking his head ruefully, Felix makes his way to the carriage and clambers in, settling himself beside Barnaby, much to the younger boy's obvious pleasure. It isn't until he's already seated and the carriage has begun to move that he realises the opposite seats are filled by Rowan Khanna and Juniper Windsong.

"I can't believe you won't be back next year," Barnaby laments, his face, always full of exactly what he's feeling, now the picture of dejection.

"Slytherin has other prefects, Barnaby. They'll help you with anything you need, that's their job." Felix tries to sound reassuring, but he can't focus properly. It's the first time he's been this close to Juniper since they said goodbye in the common room weeks ago, and he's acutely aware of her eyes on him.

"Yes, but not like you," Barnaby objects. "You never call me stupid or complain when I don't get things right away, like the other ones do. I don't know how I'll pass any of my classes now."

"You can revise with us!" Rowan blurts out, leaning forward excitedly in her seat.

"You wouldn't want to revise with me," replies Barnaby, sadly. "I'll just slow you down. I never understand anything. It used to drive Merula mad."

"There's nothing wrong with taking it slow, " Juniper chimes in. "Everyone struggles with something. Rowan's no good with creatures and I'm rubbish at Transfiguration. But we help each other. No matter how long it takes."

"Really?" Barnaby's face reflects earnest curiousity.

"Of course," says Juniper with a light, good-natured laugh. "That's what friends are for." And Felix has no time to glance away from her before she catches his eye, as if searching for his approval.

Felix feels like he might burst from the swell of pride and fondness he feels for her. He nods very slightly.

"Looks like you're in good hands, Barnaby," he says, giving the other boy a small smile of solidarity. "But if you ever need any particular advice, you can always write me."

Barnaby's face lights up again. "Really? Are you staying in London, then? You could come visit us sometime!" The younger boy is nearly bouncing in his seat with the force of his excitement. Felix has to work immensely hard to keep his smile from growing out of control.

"No actually, I have a job lined up in Peru," He says this casually, flicking back a loose piece of hair from his forehead and basking in the impressed looks on everyone's faces. Including Juniper's.

"What's that?" asks Barnaby confused.

"You mean 'where's that?' and the answer is it's a country in South America." Rowan answers promptly before anyone else can get a word in.

"But...that's so far away!" Barnaby exclaims, his eyes wide with concern. "What are you doing there?"

Felix takes a moment to savor his next words. "I'll be joining a team of Dragonologists working with the Peruvian Vipertooth. They're the fastest breeding dragons and they terrorize the locals if left on their own, so there's always a small team there responsible for keeping the population in check. Should be a good experience."

There's a brief silence before Barnaby and Rowan jump in with half a dozen follow-up questions, each talking over the other and eager to hear more. Felix answers them non-nonchalantly, explaining that he's meeting the expedition team at the Three Broomsticks instead of taking the Hogwarts Express back to London, all as if they were discussing nothing more exceptional than History of Magic homework. He keeps his eyes firmly fixed on the two of them, refusing to glance at Juniper except from the very corner of his eye. She's too blurry to read an expression from, but the silence she maintains is not like her at all.

They reach the station in what feels to Felix like record time, and as he climbs out of the carriage he feels nerves begin to buzz within him pleasantly. He watches the students around him rush for the idling train, calling to friends and searching for empty compartments, and feels a pang of homesickness for this moment he will never have again.

Then Barnaby pulls Felix into a crushing hug from behind, and he can't stop himself chuckling. The boy is four years younger than Felix, but just as tall and already broader. There are tears in Barnaby's eyes when he pulls away which alarms Felix slightly, so he turns to wave and nod at Khanna already making her way toward the train to save seats. Barnaby follows her, lifting their collective trunks easily.

Finally, Felix has no choice but to turn his gaze to Juniper. She's still standing by the carriage watching him, face entirely unreadable, which is odd in and of itself since Felix now considers himself an expert in interpreting her expressions.

"Well, farewell then," is what Felix begins to say before Juniper cuts him off.

"Felix, are you serious? You're really going to Peru? To study dragons?" It's that chaotic way of speaking she resorts to when she can't string a full sentence together. And there's no way he can prevent his smile from broadening now.

"Yes. Kettleburn's friend from the Reserve made me an offer."

Juniper simply stares. Then she crosses the distance between them in the space of a heartbeat and flings her arms around Felix's neck, pulling him into a hug with much the same force as Barnaby's in spite of the fact that she's half as wide and nowhere near as tall. Felix is overwhelmed by her scent, and the feel of her closer to him than she's ever been. But before he can begin to think what to do next, before he can even hug her back properly, she's let go.

A heat like dragonfire radiates from Felix's cheeks. "What...was that for?" he slurs dazedly, rubbing the back of his neck.

I"m just..." Juniper breaks off, shaking her head. She seems as overwhelmed as Felix feels. "I'm just really, really happy for you." The grin plastered to her face is so wide she has to hide it with her hand.

And Felix smiles back, still red but now betraying some of the building excitement he feels for what's ahead. If there's anyone who truly understands what this means to him, it's Juniper. And in spite of his promise to himself that he would keep his distance from her until he left school, he's glad she knows.

"Will you write?" asks Juniper, "When you can, I mean. I know you'll be busy, I'd just... like to hear about it."

"I'll try," Felix replies noncommittally. Juniper nods as though she understands the reason for his reticence, but she can't possibly. He hopes.

"You're going to be great," she declares simply, and Felix's smile morphs into his customary smirk.

"Of course I am."

Juniper rolls her eyes. "Of course," she agrees, only half mocking.

Rowan calls down from the train, now billowing steam back across the nearly empty platform, and Juniper starts. She sprints toward the train, stopping at the stairs to shoot Felix a final lop-sided grin before climbing into her compartment. The three newly graduated third years wave down to Felix as the train begins to move and he waves back, the lump in his throat surprising him.

The earth-shattering excitement of the last weeks has prevented Felix from really processing that this is it; he's truly leaving Hogwarts forever. He's no longer a student, no longer a child, but a fully-grown wizard about to begin his real life. Felix has spent most of the year picturing this moment with dread, but everything's changed now. The next stage of his life is no longer a black spectre looming ahead of him, but an adventure the likes of which he never thought he'd see. He can feel that tremendous pounding of his heart in his chest that means he's about to attempt something new and dangerous and incredible. Felix lets the familiar sensation wash over him, and he smiles as he takes his first step toward the Three Broomsticks and into his new and unexpected future.

A/N: Thanks for reading! If you enjoyed this story, I’d love to hear it. If you want more Felix and Juniper, check out the sequel, Necessary Monsters, or view my HPHM Fanfiction Masterpost here.

#Felix #felix rosier #felix x mc #felix rosier x mc #felix rosier x jacob's sibling #juniper windsong #hogwarts mystery mc #hphm #hphm mc #hphm fanfiction #fanfiction #hogwarts mystery fanfic #fanfic #dragons #Dragonology #dragonology 101 #common welsh green #hogwarts mystery

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beneaththetangles · 4 years

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Easter: Ten Anime for the Ten Commandments (II)

Happy Easter again! As most of us remain locked up tightly at home, like the Disciples at the first Easter, we may still hope that Our Lord will pass from time to time through the walls. Yes, and eat a good plate of fish with us to prove that He is not a phantom as we stare at Him with our Nichijou faces.

A new kind of life, as Nicodemus learnt, means to be with Christ in entirely new ways, to let us be guided by Him through circumstances one could never have anticipated. After all, He is the One who makes everything new. “The wind blows where it wishes, and you hear its sound, but you do not know where it comes from or where it goes. So it is with everyone who is born of the Spirit.” Life becomes kind of like baseball, or perhaps kind of like Haruhi Suzumiya´s brand of baseball.

Anyway, in my last Easter article, I commented on that promise of Ezekiel concerning the Law being solidly written in the heart of the People of God, which will be then a heart of flesh and, by the obedience of the Son, defeat evil and darkness, participating in the victory of Christ. It is a prophecy which brings me great joy, perhaps because at heart I cannot help being a Izuku Midoriya, a fan of the triumph of the superhero. One of the consequences of this newness of the Easter mystery is precisely that now Christ is living in us without destroying or denying us, for God has not come to Earth to destroy His Creation, but with a thrilling plan to save it.

And just as Boku no Hero Academia´s world needs a Symbol of Peace at its center, and a received gift in the heart of such a hero to carry him beyond his limits, so it is with Our Lord, Crucified, Resurrected and Alive, and us. Our union with Christ will not be completed in this life, requiring as it does to go through death and beyond when the time comes. But such is the wonderful, strange hope of the Christian. Back to the Ten Commandments, then, to that intimate, deep and heroic path at the heart of God´s creation, and at ours! A path that is both a prophecy and a spiritual portrait of sorts of our human and divine Messiah, and of which anime can offer some glimpses.

“Thou shalt not bear false witness against thy neighbor” implies the prohibition of a human reality as commonplace and everyday as is lying. It is a striking Commandment: after all, as quite a few of us are uninteresting jerks at least most of the time, wouldn’t that be a little dull, sometimes unsafe and even depressing? Yet, many of us recall the anguish, the burning feeling of being confronted with a world of lies, and have felt the thirst for truth, for authenticity, and the intuition that others can lead us to deeper dimensions of both themselves, us and the world. Only in time, we came to learn that others, even among our loved ones, deceived us intentionally or unintentionally, and that we ourselves were often deceivers even as we tried not to be. Oregairu, a very rich show we have commented on a number of times here at Beneath the Tangles, is just about that discovery, that path and that feeling, and something more. Lies, the difficulty of truth, no doubt, but also the world beyond, what may be at the other side. “Sagashi ni yukunda soko e”| “I’ll head over there to search…”

The protagonists, Hachiman Hikigaya, “Hikki,” and Yukino Yukinoshita, are clever teenagers who see the world, not without reason, as a playground of liars, and who try to cope with it while remaining true to their respective characters. After a rough middle school in which both experienced the injustice and the superficiality of their classmates in different ways and for different reasons, they have fortified themselves using their intellects as a defense, which provides viewers a ton of hilarious monologue and dialogue. But this starts to change, little by little. Quite appropriately, in the first season they live in a cartoonish world and are drawn like caricatures of themselves, while in the second season, under the direction of Studio Feel, the world has gained in beauty, human-like characters, and beautiful colors. And each of the characters has given the rest something valuable and difficult to put a spin on.

Hachiman, in particular, reminds me of my teenage self. He is just as self-satisfied, defensively analytical, socially awkward and comedically philosophical as I was, plus a reformed chuunibyou, all while harboring a deep thirst of real, meaningful human contact. After his experience during middle school, he surely thinks of youth and society as an elaborate setup, a game of phonies for power, and of himself as an uninteresting jerk. And yet (minor spoilers for the first and second seasons of Oregairu), he bears such a thirst, even if it is shameful, even if he knows it is out of the question, even if he honestly thinks that communicating with others and getting to know them is impossible in the real world. Recently I have come across the translation of the second opening, Harumodoki (“False Spring” or “Imitation Spring”). It is beautiful, and also well worth a read:

“I don’t want this replica I’ll only be satisfied with something I can call the ‘real deal’ I’ll head over there to search…

“But that’s like a time-old fairy tale”

I gaze at the empty space where my answer has disappeared It should have been filled in But however hard I try, I can’t tell for sure”

Hikki has a good head, for sure, but that can be a disadvantage as much as an advantage in trying to find the truth (after all, it is easy to cleverly deceive ourselves for us intellectual types, and we should learn from the Gospel that the wise of the world are in danger of hiding the important things from themselves). But he also has the integrity of the people he admires, even if it is not always bulletproof; the good instinct of friends and relatives, even if they sometimes cannot really argue with him; the wisdom and advice of patient mentors, even if he is a hard student; and most of all, the flawed, extraordinary humility and hope of my favorite character (because, I´m sure, these are the two essential requisites for aspiring to truth), even if… I will let it at that. And so he comes to be able to do soul searching when he is trapped in his own lies.

And, as he fights his inner shame, his lack of hope, the lies of the world and his own carelessness, he will try to say what he really wants to say. To express this desire: the hope of truth, even bearing with the unavoidable ugliness of something genuine. He wants to deepen the conversation, to go on. And this, in itself, opens the door to this whole new world where anything may happen, hard and difficult, for sure, but also increasingly authentic, and truly helpful. Because every word, when spoken with deep sincerity, has true power, and is a true vehicle of communion between the speaker and the one who hears. Not immediately, perhaps, but it will be. We are starting to see the fruits, and I hope that the third season may show us more of them. After all, “Tooi tooi haru wa/ yuki no shita,” |“The distant, distant spring is/ Underneath this snow”.

If we go on and on with this part of vulnerability, openness and wisdom, it will ultimately lead us to God. Because Christ is the Truth, and every particular truth, every intimate truth, every ray of meaning we may discover on this Earth, is connected in some way to Him, to the truth of the Bible, and is some kind of sign of the Kingdom of Heaven. And God is truthful. He is truly in His Word. When Christ speaks, His words transcend time and place, and bring us to Him and to others, more solid that the heavens and the Earth, each of them a prophecy, each of them a sign of hope, a step closer. Harumodoki expresses our character´s fear that “However hard we try, things that can’t be seen/ Will end up fading from our memories.” But only He can assure us that “The heaven and the earth will pass away, but My words shall not pass away”.

Hikki, Yukino and Yui are starting to struggle for to learn to express our reality and the reality of the world; to be increasingly informed by it; and to help others towards the meaningful, ever-expanding, personal but solid truth. In the Bible, we translate the word “jada” as “to know,” and that´s what it means, but jada also implies “to deeply experience the truth of something,” as in “and they shall know that I am God,” “if you knew the gift of God,” “and no man knows the Son, but the Father; neither knows any man the Father, save the Son.” We cannot imagine yet what knowing this means, but hopefully we will. Our Lord is the Word of God, always sharing the truth with us, with every action, every conversation—always in conversation.

Hachiman invents new ways to get to the truth of the matter, overcoming this lie or that lie the others will not acknowledge. Christ does it better: He may be pretending to walk away in disguise so the disciples of Emmaus invite Him to dinner, letting Bartimaeus scream a little more before turning to him, rebuking a Pharisee, and laughing with Lazarus or chatting with His Mother, but He will be entirely in every single word, freely communicating Himself, the saving Truth of God, and searching for a way into our defenses. He is the True Witness. Through Him, we will get to know one another and the Father, and to communicate the living truth, ours and His at once. He finds our personal truths interesting and wants to speak with us. He wants to go deeper. And He has many things to tell us, things that will bring us closer and closer to whom we really are. “Arigatou chiisa na me mitsuketekureta koto/ kimi wa tsubuyaita,” |“Thank you, for finding this tiny sprout/ You whispered.”

For the Seventh Commandment, “Thou shalt not steal”, I have chosen instead One´s Mob Psycho 100. The art is quite ugly, the main character is overpowered, the humor is somewhat hysterical, but in this particular show, these are not flaws. Imagine having supreme psychic powers (of a non-realistic kind), from telekinesis and super strength to levitation, and living in what seems to be a cramped world of screaming, vulgar nobodies. With such an insane range of abilities, so different from those of the rest of mortals, you can get what you want with a snap of your fingers, full of power and beauty they will never experience. You may feel that you don´t have to work to earn your part. You may ever think that this is the natural balance of things, and that the rest of the people work because they are either not so gifted, or maybe stupid, unimaginative or not strong enough to do otherwise. So you, the powerful one, the clever one, take what you want.

But the thing is, if you fall into this temptation and start bending the world to your will, exploiting others, you are impoverishing your world and that of others. Precisely when you think of yourself as a powerful, terrible force of nature, you are in fact choosing to become a parasite, a nuisance, a burden on the shoulders of those you are abusing. And that, when you could be someone who helps in building the world, a valuable part of the team, with whatever talents you have, is sad. It is a waste. By commuting injustice, I rob the talents I have of their proper glory, their goodness and role in the world. The thing is, most valuable things in life and society take work and coordination, often a lot of work and coordination. And after the Fall, work became hard and tiresome, and feels a little like death. The path where, in deep alliance with the world, you come to master the ability you need and put it to good use, and learn its wisdom, has become hard. The temptation of taking shortcuts and simply getting what you want, measuring the world according to your desires, is strong. And almost every character in Mob Psycho 100 falls into this temptation, whatever their ability.

But Shigeo Takeyama, Mob, the protagonist of the series, insists on doing the opposite, again and again. He may be the most powerful of psychics, but he will not be blinded by this fact. He knows his limitations. He wants to be physically strong, so he will train to exhaustion with those who are strong. He wants to be popular, so he will try to learn social skills, talk to girls, and even try to be school council president. He may be immensely strong, but is wise and humble enough to understand that he depends on others, and also that he needs to put it to constructive use and follow the natural rhythms of things and people. And he does that, again and again. He does his work, or tries to. And he repeats this lesson to every rival, with humility and strength.

And we come to see it. Those who have built their lives on their own power and domination are ultimately childish and immature, even if they think of themselves as threatening, powerful, and imposing. To be truly strong, you train your body, and artificially inflated muscles will never be the same. Can you make glass? Grow food? Put it into a can? Distribute it through the country? That is a wonder, achieved by coordination and hard work. If not, when you break the showcase of a commerce to take it with your psychic powers (or whatever), when you try to get what you have not earned by shady means, when you slack off and bury the talent you could put to good use, when you take what is not yours without doing your part, the world is all the less rich for that, and what you are becoming is the work of those whose part is solving these kind of injustices, like Mob. But if you work, you will slowly come to grow, enrich the world, help others, and learn that you need the work of others as well. You will build and mature. And hey, maybe these people are not so ugly after all, and maybe they can help build the world, or they are already doing so in one way or another.

Mob knows this. It is like the definitive anti-Matrix: forget all the anti-social coolness, the black clothes, the disdain for the lives of the non-redpilled, learning to pilot a helicopter in a minute and the Chosen One distorting the everyday world, and think about the valuable things around you, and how they got there, and how you can contribute. And Our Lord knew that, too. He told the Apostles that the leaders among the nations behaved like tyrants, and the great became oppressors, but that it must not be so among them. Instead, the great must serve, and the greater they are, the more they must serve. We will only be happy, mature, and grow when we are able to do so. And He Himself, the Lord and the Master, washed their feet, the humblest of labors, to show them that He has come to our world to build, to serve, for He loves us, for He wants a world of justice. He was not a burglar or a mercenary. He worked in our salvation everyday, with effort and humility everyday. God´s unlimited power, infinitely more vast than Mob´s, was, and is, used to serve us.

When we come to be able to imitate Him, every power, every talent, every strength, every leadership is a blessing for the world, ourselves and others, and thus true to its deeper meaning. And He, knowing that we need one another, also gave us the Church and the communion of saints, in which we share the goods He gives us. By praying for others, receiving help, offering up our sufferings, and taking care of the materially and spiritually poor, we are doing the same things for Him, for he identifies with those in need, the hungry we can feed, and the thirsty we can satiate with our talents and riches, which will then be glorious, shining treasures of Heaven in this anodyne world.

And lastly (for now), there is the Sixth Commandment, “Thou shalt not commit adultery.” I have commented on the beauty of chastity before, but it is much harder to do so while maintaining the “minor spoilers” profile I have chosen for these articles. Unless, of course, I use the one romantic comedy series that starts with the protagonists going out in the very second chapter, and goes on from there: I´m referring, of course, to Ore Monogatari, literally “My love story.” This is a very wise show, one which I really wish I had watched before having a girlfriend for the first time, and whose solid Austenian ethics and character comedy have also been brilliantly commented here by our writer Annalyn a number of times, saying, among other things, “Also, everyone should watch Ore Monogatari.“ I concur.

If the first thing which makes Ore Monogatari different from your standard romantic comedy is how fast the protagonists come together, the second is undoubtedly the protagonist, Takeo Gouda. The guy is a beast! Seriously, he is huge! He is fiery, clumsy, loud—a teenager who looks like an adult, and is questioned by the police if he waits in front of the school, bigger than everybody else, compared by others (and by the opening) to a gorilla! And he is impulsive, too: He shouts, he cries, he laughs, he gets angry, and he falls in love every year. When he eats, he devours. And yet (minor spoilers ahead), his new girlfriend, Rinko Yamato, is small and delicate, timid and a good cook of small and delicious sweets. Her friends are absolutely flabbergasted, even worried. What is this red ogre going to do to her?

But Yamato´s friends are wrong. Because Takeo, for all his strength and threatening face, has the virtue of subordinating his strength, his fire, and his powerful body to his will, for taking care of others and to sacrificial love. He is very able to appreciate things, to be able to show delicacy. And we come to understand what Yamato has seen at first glance: That his enormous body can and does convey his kindness, his forbearance, and both his strength and his vulnerability as he opens to her. That, even if he looks scary, he would never harm her, and she is safe with him, no matter how strong his feelings for her. That, even if he is strongly attracted to her (or maybe precisely because of that, because she is a precious woman to him, and dear to his heart) he will only touch her, or take her hand, when he is convinced that she wishes him to do so, and will understand it as a sign of love and intimacy. That he is a true man, and for Yamato as a woman, also an attractive one.

Of course, the desire to love another person right does not automatically solve the complicated problems of relationships. From minute one, there is a misunderstanding when he thinks he is being pure and protecting her by avoiding physical contact, when she wishes that he would take her hand, and in time come to kiss her. But that is what allows them to enter this new adventure in such a way that every gesture, every look, every touch, every feeling (or so they intend and fight for) matures in the heart, sometimes refined with fire of passion and tenderness and, without losing any of its strength, to be personal, intentional, meaningful, directed to the specific person that they love. Takeo Gouda. Rinko Yamato.

So we will see them explore, in the midst of their everyday lives, with deep emotion and care, how to make this person happier and more of who they are: affectivity, corporeality, personal biography, defects, learning, the struggle to be better, social and family life, dreams and hopes. The deep, strange, personal realms of the heart, which have been waiting for “the man” or “the woman,” will open from the inside, one by one, and ignite in new light: That between them, who would let the other suffer alone if that was the best for him of her, there will be something new, complementary, shared, stronger because they are together, in increasingly deep communion. Maybe including, eventually, everlasting commitment, sexual union and new life, reflecting the always deeper, always more alive, always more intimate, always more rich love that God provides each of us, a generous, personal love which brings new life to us and the world.

And the body is important, as part of us as the soul. We are incarnated spirits, one being, as Serial Experiments Lain shows it in a powerful way. Our bodily reality was intended by God, and all of it is meaningful in some way, even if veiled by our scars, deformities, and wounds, for ourselves, and for others. God chose to take flesh, to Incarnate too, and he decided that His steps would be the steps of God, His eyes, the eyes of God, His hands, the hands of God. He gave us His body and blood at the Last Supper, and the communion he established with us that way goes even further than that of the husband and the wife, which while retaining its intrinsic goodness and its character of path to holiness, in a way is a prophecy for it, as St. Paul notes. And this is also hopeful, because He will save and complete the person we love in a way we cannot. As Ore Monogatari shows, when you truly love someone, this becomes a major issue: Some things are out of our reach, the loved one suffers in ways we cannot understand, we inadvertently hurt the other. But God can do what we cannot, and in Him, our communion will be greater. He truly gives us the hope of a pure bridge, and of a happily ever after.

And yet, Our Lord was and remains virginal. This has a powerful meaning, too. Chastity is not only for the married, but for us too, because our body is also a part of our relationship with God, who loves us in body and soul, and how we relate to our intimacy and our impulses is a part of learning to be gradually closer to Him. Impurity leads to blindness. As Annalyn brilliantly (and enlighteningly) pointed out, Suna, the friend, the third character on this trio, is an example of this celibate love. On Earth, the celibate keep company to the married, aid them in their struggles, struggle themselves to deepen their intimate relationship with the Lord, and remind others and themselves that there are other possibilities, and that our body ultimately points to Him, in whose image and likeness our full being was created. They are friends of the Spouse.

And this is it for now. Next time, I´ll go for the Fifth, the Fourth and the Third Commandments. Stay safe!

=====

Oregairu, Mob Psycho 100, and Ore Monogatari can be streamed on Crunchyroll.

#Anime #Christianity #Oregairu #Mob Psycho 100 #Ore Monogatari!!#Easter #Holy Week #Yahari Ore no Seishun Love Come wa Machigatteiru.#My Teen Romantic Comedy SNAFU #My Youth Romantic Comedy Is Wrong as I Expected #My Love Story!!#10 Commandments #Articles #Author: Gaharet

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chrysalispen · 5 years

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viii. the eternal reciprocity of tears

alsdjfasdf god this one was a pain. i hate chapters that feel like they’re just bridges to something else but it couldn’t be helped

AO3 Link

Another morning broke, grey and dimly lit.

Light had finally filtered its way through the heavy blanket of clouds sitting low in the sky, driving forth the last vestiges of the storm that had spent its rage upon Mor Dhona and passed along its way north and west into Coerthas. Gradually, the sun -- what little of it that could be seen behind the sickly purple haze of unaspected aether forking its way through the clouds like lightning-- rose over a vast graveyard of men and machina.

In daybreak's wake had come reinforcements: what few conjurers could be spared, descending the cliffside alongside reinforcements from all three of the Grand Companies as part of an organized rescue effort. Now that the rains had cleared and smoke and fog had faded, it was safe to navigate the sheer drop to the plains below, and in short order the parties had coordinated their searches by the marked quadrants the adventurers' units had left in place.

The entire day had been spent searching for survivors that might yet live, who could not be rescued in the inclement weather that had plagued them for two days. No stone, corse, or machina was left unturned, and in their wake traveled Kan-E-Senna's people with their white magic to provide what aid was needful.

Now the sun was setting again, and the Elder Seedseer felt as though barely any progress had been made. So many had been beyond her aid.

Currently she stood watch over a contingent of Serpents as they carefully extracted a very young man - a boy, really - out from beneath a reaper that had turned on its side and crushed him in its fall. Kneeling next to the mangled figure in scarlet and black, she stretched forth a hand to lay upon his brow. Aether poured into his body in a torrent of healing power and little by little the twist of agony in his face eased.

Satisfied that the lad was out of any immediate danger, the Padjal extended a hand towards the waiting Serpent, and with his support regained her feet, bracing her weight against the sturdy heft of Claustrum as she did so. "He will live."

"Yes, my lady. If you'll permit, I believe the adventurers in the nearby encampment have a holding area that-"

"No." Her tone brooked no argument. "See that he is brought to the rearguard for succor and nourishment. Gridania will not consign any of the Empire's conscripts to a prison cell or anything resembling such. They are to be treated as any of the other wounded found in the retrieval effort."

The man before her, who had so recently been willing to kill an unconscious boy, nodded slowly, his gaze not meeting hers. "At once, my lady."

With a gesture to his fellows, the injured imperial soldier was hoisted upwards to be carefully carried to the rear as ordered. Kan-E-Senna did not watch them go. She was surveying the grim scene before her: watching brightly colored coats picking through the rubble, checking for signs of life amongst the bodies of the fallen. This had all happened at her behest.

None of these people would have died here if not for me.

Out of all the city-states within Eorzea, Gridania had been the most exposed: perilously close to imperial territory, little more than a stone's throw from Baelsar's Wall. All that protected them from invasion was the Twelveswood itself, and though the Garleans harbored a healthy caution for it, their ignorance had hardly proven to be any sort of deterrent to venturing beneath its boughs. Castrum Oriens sat on the edge of the Shroud on its Gyr Abanian side, and there had been numerous forward scouting units they'd caught in the East Shroud- too close to the city for anyone's comfort.

She had seen the writing on the wall almost immediately. Nael van Darnus and Gaius van Baelsar had already taken Mor Dhona. She was not naive; she had known then it was but a matter of time before the Empire set its sights on Gridania, perceived as the weakest of the three nations. If Gridania fell, thus fell all of Eorzea. Divided, none of them would have been able to stop the VIIth Legion.

Knowing this, she'd sent missives to Merlwyb, to Nanamo and Raubahn, to Archbishop Thordan, in the hopes that a united front might give the Garleans second thoughts about their campaign, or even deter them altogether.

The people of Gridania and its surrounds were reclusive out of necessity; they had learned long ago that there was a price to live in harmony with nature, for the elementals would not abide them to dwell in the Twelveswood otherwise. And yet, she could not well ignore an impending Calamity, any more than she could ignore the steel boots and metal airships on their doorstep. Given even the smallest chance tragedy might be averted, she had tried.

And failed. Despite their best efforts, the Seventh Umbral Era was upon them.

"Seedseer?" a familiar voice rumbled, intruding upon her grim thoughts. "You look like a lady with something on her mind."

"Yes," she said distantly, gazing back in the direction of the interim camp at the edge of the field. "I am overseeing the rescue efforts. Was there aught you wished of me?"

"We're about to head over to the interim camp and see to the prisoner transport there. Merlwyb is waiting for us."

"General Aldynn, I cannot well leave when-"

"They too have folk that will be in need of succor from the Conjurers' Guild," he said. "I'm told they have an infirmary in operation and none too many healers to work it, though it seems they've lost surprisingly few souls thus far, all considered. Come. Your people know what they're about. It can keep for a bell or two, and then I'll let you right back at it if that's what you wish."

The Padjal squared her shoulders and lifted her staff, tucking it over her shoulder, before folding her hands over the front of her robes. "Very well, but only if I am allowed to tend to the prisoners. I can't imagine many have had their hurts addressed."

"I'm sure there will be no objections," he said with a weary smile. "Shall we?"

Kan-E-Senna answered him with a smile of her own, but she couldn't help one last glance over her shoulder at the wasted remains of the field -- and the movements of the rescuers still searching for survivors -- before she turned to follow.

~*~

Aurelia had registered the entrance of another person into her immediate range of perception almost as soon as the oilcloth partition shifted on its rope. She didn't react or respond at first, assuming it was either one of the other medical staff or the next person in line. They could wait another five minutes or so for her to finish her examination of the young soldier perched on the edge of the table.

She was fighting not to fall asleep on her feet, truth be told, but there was little to be done save recuse herself from further surgeries. The enhancer injection she'd given herself was quickly losing its effects. There were more in the field kit Sparrow's friend had found, but more than one infusion in a twelve-bell period was ill advised.

Besides which, they were highly addictive, and she had no intention of falling prey to that trap, either.

She rubbed her eyes and turned her waning attention back to the Lalafell sitting patiently in front of her. Like most of the other Eorzeans she'd seen, his attitude towards her was some mixture of fear, mistrust, and a wary sort of respect for her skills - Garlean or not, it seemed, in a situation like this her presumed allegiances were less important than her ability to provide aid.

Once they realized she had no intent of performing nefarious experiments upon them or harming them, the injured here had taken her presence more or less in stride. That said, she still wasn't quite certain if their reticence stemmed from her clearly visible third eye or from her profession. Really, it could be both. But she wasn't going to waste her time or theirs asking; it hardly mattered now.

"The head wound looks far worse than it is," she judged, using her index and middle fingers to lift his chin and tilt it gently from side to side. There had been a small penlight in the kit, which she used now to check his eyes. "Move your eyes with the light."

"It was bleedin' bucketfuls when me mates and I first came here."

"Scalp cuts tend to bleed quite a bit. It isn't deep at all, shouldn't need more than a cleaning." Setting the implement aside, she gently reached for the bandaged hand in his lap. He flinched, but didn't push her away. "I'm more concerned about this hand of yours."

"It hurts, miss. Please don't t-"

She winced at the smell, when she opened the soiled dressing. Two of the fingers on his hand had turned black.

"Miss," he began, but Aurelia was already shaking her head.

"With better facilities, perhaps, but with what's available to us now there's no saving them."

The soldier sighed. "The conjurers can't... you know...?"

"Unlikely," she said, "as far gone as it is now."

Before Castrum Novum had deployed her cohort to the staging camp, Aurelia's late commanding officer had taken her and some few others aside, those who had never before seen serious combat engagements, to forewarn them that the battle was going to be ugly and bloody, and they were like to be taking more limbs than they saved.

He'd said it was just the unfortunate nature of such things, and even the most advanced medical practices couldn't fix everything. But it was very different to hear "you'll become more familiar with amputations than you expected" than to actually tell someone to their face they were going to lose a limb. Witnessing the grief of the soldiers was a gut punch to her conscience.

And just as it had been with the last dozen or so who had come to her with spreading rot in their limbs, it hadn't lessened a whit. She swallowed down the guilt and continued her speech.

"For what it's worth, you do have my utmost sympathies," she said quietly. "I have a salve I can use to numb the area so the work can be done, or I can speak with Captain Brudevelle and have the conjurers put you under."

The small shoulders slumped. "I'd... I'd rather not be watchin' you take off me fingers, miss. No offence."

"None taken." Aurelia resisted the urge to offer any further platitudes, knowing it wouldn't be appreciated. She reached for the crutches leaning against the table, braced herself, and carefully rose from the stool, leaning her weight into the walking aids so that the bulk of it wasn't on her working leg, and turned around to see who had entered while she worked. "Pray give me a few moments and I'll speak with the Capt- oh."

A very tired and grim-looking Edwin stood at the entrance to the partition. His face was calm, but his eyes were very solemn.

"Captain Ahrmbraena's asked me to come and fetch you," he said.

She felt her heart drop into her stomach.

"I have a patient," she said, a trifle unsteadily. "I cannot well leave him as he is."

"That won't be necessary. I'll take over."

"Have you even slept?"

"I've had more sleep than you," he retorted, and Aurelia couldn't help but flush at that. "Go. Take the back way so you skip the line and the mud. We'll have to change out your dressings after."

"They'll need changing anyway." She glanced over her shoulder at the disconsolate-looking young man sitting on the table. "Pray be gentle with him. The fourth and fifth digits are lost and he's taking it about as hard as one would expect."

"I told you, I'll handle it. Now hurry and go."

There were a few glances her direction as she made her painful way out of the tent and back towards what passed for the medical bay, but most of the initial surprise at her third eye was gone by now, and the attention she received was perfunctory at best, the casual curiosity of onlookers wanting to see who had passed them. She limped to her destination as fast as she could safely navigate the deep and muddy ruts in the pathways, grateful that no one remarked upon her passing.

~*~

An empty stool awaited her at Sazha's bedside.

Bryngeim Ahrmbraena occupied the other. The Roegadyn lifted her head wearily to look at Aurelia as she seated herself, her eyes red-rimmed, deep and hollow shadows carved in half-moons below them, her face pale. Aurelia wondered if she had taken any rest at all, or if she had been here the whole time.

"Edwin says he's going," she said, in a low, rough voice. "I hope you weren't overly busy."

"I had a patient, but he traded places with me. The poor boy lost two fingers, but he'll live." Aurelia looked down at the dying man on the pallet. His breath rattled in his throat, harsh, slow sighs that were very loud in the dark quiet of the tent. The only other sound was the captain's soft sniffling. "Thank you for having him fetch me."

A halfhearted shrug. "Was the least I could do; Sazha said you two meant something to each other once. And... I wanted to apologize to you."

"No, it's-"

"It's not all right. That's what you were going to say, isn't it? It's not all right. You've done naught to merit my rudeness." She sighed, wiping at her eyes with her fingertips. "At first it was down to you being an enemy. But then it became clear he and you- that you- and I was jealous. He told me I had no call, that you and he..."

Aurelia thought about her strange dream, and decided it would be best to keep that to herself. No need to make the woman think she was mad on top of aught else.

"As I said before. Childhood friends," she said quietly.

"He is very fond of you."

She took the limp hand at his side, tightly bandaged, with great care, knowing how damaged it was. "As I was - am - fond of him."

"I don't know what I'll do," came the soft, choked response. "He was- we'd meant to settle. There are folk that would object to us being together, him being a Miqo'te and all, but no one whose opinions we'd mind. He had no family that I knew of, and mine... well, the less said the better. None of import to gainsay us, and we're adventurers, and... it's expected for us not to follow tradition, you know."

Aurelia nodded. She understood that notion quite well.

"But... we had all these plans. Everything we'd do... and now- it's not fair, it's just not fair-"

What was left of the captain's composure finally crumbled, and she doubled over the pallet, sobbing, her hair draped over L'sazha's shoulder.

Aurelia felt a deep-seated sense of discomfort playing witness to the woman's meltdown, unsure what course of action she should take and feeling as though she probably hadn't been meant to see such a private moment. Her countrymen were a very reticent people, and while Garleans were as subject to intense emotional outbursts as any other Spoken race, they took pains not to express those emotions in public if possible.

In the end she chose to offer silent comfort. She reached over the pallet and braced her hand, gently, against the woman's shoulder. Captain Ahrmbraena didn't speak, but she didn't push her away, and after a moment one of her hands came up to wrap around Aurelia's wrist. She didn't remove it; she simply held onto it as she cried.

For that moment at least, their respective allegiances were of no import. They were simply two people in a moment of shared grief.

As the bell wore on those breaths grew louder, harsher, slower and more torturous, as if every lift and release of his chest was made through terrible agony. Aurelia sat up, removed her hand from the captain's shoulder, and laid her palm once more against the unburnt patch of skin over his brow, to stroke through what was left of his hair. Captain Ahrmbraena watched with anguished eyes, still clutching his other hand, but said nothing.

Aurelia leaned over and kissed his good ear. It was soft and cool, and didn't flicker in response beneath the heat of her breath.

"I love you, old friend," she whispered. "I wish we could have met again in happier days. But it-... it's all right for you to let us go. We'll be fine."

You always tried to protect me, but you don't need to do that anymore.

She had heard, once, that people in comatose states could still retain some of their senses, though she didn't know how much of her words would have reached him in this state. And she didn't know if it was that reassurance or if her timing had been prescient, but after another small series of loud and tortured breaths there was a soft, long sigh from his chest, a soft click in the back of his throat-

-and that was all. There were no more breaths. He lay on the pallet, his body now just an empty shell.

Aurelia heard a loud, strangled sob, as if someone had knocked the breath from the other woman's lungs.

She took a moment to reflect; her own grief was much quieter, a small shower rather than a storm. Her best friend was gone and with him the girl she had once been, and Aurelia thought to herself she might be grieving for that loss, as well: for the sweet and sunny and outspoken little girl who had rescued her first and only friend from an imperial patrol, done what she could to help him. Stolen treats from the kitchen together, learned their Eorzean letters together, climbed trees together.

It felt like the closing of a chapter, the final death of her childhood. Truthfully, she knew that her old self had been doomed to such a fate when she had set foot on the transport back to the capitol seven years ago. But the last rattling vestiges of that life had now passed for good, and her old dreams had died along with it.

Her body felt heavy with sorrow. She was crying herself now; she could feel her tears dripping from her cheeks and into his hair.

And it was to this scene that a group of four Maelstrom soldiers arrived, flanking her on all sides. She tensed at the overwhelming impression of their presence, but she couldn't summon the wherewithal to move herself from her friend's corse long enough to retain even a shred of her dignity. Captain Ahrmbraena was likewise stirring from across the other side of the pallet.

"We've come for the prisoner," a quiet voice spoke, somewhat awkwardly, into the silence. "Admiral's orders. Conscription's been overruled, now the Conjurers' Guild has people here. She's been relieved of her duties and you're to remand her to our custody."

With some effort Aurelia forced herself to sit upright, tried to speak in her defense.

"I was told my skills were needed to-"

"Not anymore. Your reprieve's over. It's to a gaol with you. Transport leaves today." This from a second man, the curt tone marking him as the officer in charge. "Put your hands out."

She blinked at all of the Eorzeans in turn, half-blinded by her tears. There were no kind or helpful faces here; these were the cool, remote expressions of soldiers who looked upon her and saw only a faceless enemy, and somewhere through the grief, she felt her stomach clench with apprehension. There would be no understanding conversations or common ground with them.

"Damn you, I said give me your swiving hands," the man spat when she did not react right away. He grabbed her with such abrupt ferocity that the violent movement jostled her still-healing leg, smacking it painfully against the side of her wooden perch. Aurelia let out a gasped cry despite herself. It was all she could do not to fall from her perch when her wrists were yanked forward and the cold irons were slapped upon them. "Get up. Now."

"Are you lot blind?" Captain Ahrmbraena snapped, surprising Aurelia out of her partial stupor. "Look at her. She can't bloody stand, never mind walk."

"Then we'll drag her," came the sneered response. "I don't give a shite about an imperial's godsdamned comfort and nor should you, but if you're so hellsbent on taking her part then you can carry her yourself."

The Roegadyn said nothing, only fixed the man with a cold glare until he could no longer look her in the eyes. Finally she turned her attention to the bewildered young woman who now sat with her head bowed, staring with empty eyes down at the metal hasps and chains that bound her once again. Her blonde hair had come partially loose from its coiffure over time, and tumbled over one of her shoulders in a tangled mess.

Sazha's friend, she thought, and likely the only person who understood - and felt - the depths of her grief. She felt a surge of pity and anger.

"Come on, then," she said gruffly. "Arms about my neck, unless you'd like them to make you crawl through the mud. Don't worry about the crutches. I've got you."

"Captain-"

"It's Bryn, Garlean," Bryngeim replied as she hoisted Aurelia's weight into her arms with a soft, cracked grunt, her voice still hoarse from crying. "Just Bryn."

#reborn by fire #aurelia laskaris #wol origin story #garlean warrior of light

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happymetalgirl · 5 years

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Rammstein - untitled

As soon as it was confirmed for 2019, Rammstein’s seventh studio album was always going to be one of the biggest metal releases of the year, if not the biggest, and it was actually nice to see the band use that to their advantage and give the album a worthily ceremonial roll-out. The promotion alone was a welcome return to times when big artists generally put more effort into their album promo cycles. I get that it got a little overdone in its time, and I get that not every artist has at their disposal the means to give their upcoming records the kind of red carpet treatment that Rammstein has given theirs. And sudden/short-notice, unprecedented album drops have been a cool way for artists to show their confidence in their work and reputation to build their own hype on exactly that suddenness. But in a day and age where sudden project releases carry much less surprise factor now and seem more to be symptomatic of short attention spans and capitalizing on a trend, Rammstein's more magnificent promotional phase for their first album in a decade was a nice change of pace, for me at least. From the incrementally released trailers and teasers for each song, the big broadcast of the single "Radio", to cryptic early social media messages and the delay of the very reveal of the title (or lack thereof) and cover art, Rammstein did a lot to take advantage of their ability to give their album a more committed old-school promotion when few else were doing so. Whereas the once brave, sudden nonchalant album drop has now grown dejected and taken on a possibility to be interpreted as nervousness to hype what might not live up to such hype (it can't disappoint and not live up to the hype if you don't give it any hype), a big roll-out like this has once again become a real sign of confidence in one's work, and based on their seventh album’s roll-out, Rammstein knew they had put together a hell of a comeback album. And that became incredibly clear as soon as the band released their most monumental combined visual and auditory statement to date with the music video for the first single and opening track "Deutschland".

The song itself is a sobering, grand, sorrowfully heart-wrenching cry for the band's homeland and its long, tumultuous struggle to overcome its infamously dark history. It's the kind of tough, honest, and well-timed critical look that I must give Rammstein respect for making, and the huge production and ambitious concept of the music video directed by Specter Berlin do justice to both the song and its uneasy (to say the least) subject matter. It's the kind of biting commentary that the video for Childish Gambino's "This Is America" was so revered for last year, though I honestly think that the Childish Gambino song itself has been largely overrated outside the context of the video and that "Deutschland" is an even more fearlessly convicting song and its video and even more artistically accomplished national critique (as it should have with its evidently bigger budget). But to get into the song itself since it’s on topic, “Deutschland” is a conflicted cry for the band’s homeland and the aftermath of its darkest days it is still struggling to overcome. The lyrics highlight Germany’s pride in its achievements and its unyielding ambition, but how that pride and ambition has been twisted into a kind of malignant narcissism to produce some of history’s most despicable atrocities (with the band not at all coy about the history they bring up, with the reference to Übermensch and the former national anthem line “Deutschland Deutschland über allen”). The instrumental of the song is dynamic and rides in tune with the lyrics’ heaviness perfectly all the way through, and the resounding bellow of the chant, “Deutschland”, provides the burst of sonic and poetic intensity that makes the song such a standout track. And the sorrow and sincere wish to love this complicated and slowly healing Germany is conveyed magnificently in Till Lindemann’s subtly heart-wrenching vocal performance. If it’s not already obvious from the preceding verbiage in this paragraph, “Deutschland” is undoubtedly going to be near or at the top of my song list at the end of this year.

Moving on from my favorite song of 2019 so far, the second single and second track on the album, “Radio”, which had a similarly big release, is possibly the catchiest song on the album with its groovy guitar riff, its keyboard sprinkling on top, and its fittingly infectious chorus. The song is another example of what I think is one of Rammstein’s most overlooked traits, and that is Till Lindemann’s lyricism. The song deals with an escape from life and a finding of pleasure through radio, as is pretty apparent by the title. The lyrics carry a good deal of sexual overtones, and though the line translates to putting one’s ear up to hear the radio, I’m pretty sure Lindemann chose the wording of “Mein Ohr ganz nah am” to resemble “my orgasm”. To possibly look way too deep into this and link it to German history, the band members grew up in the part of Berlin in East Germany, which was basically an impoverished hell hole under Soviet rule, and the band have expressed before their frustration with the forced insulation of the old regime. The radio referred to in the song is specified to be one the picks up international broadcasts, the wonders of which I imagine Rammstein and other Berliners in East Germany were depply inspired by and longed desperately to get any taste they could of (which the voracious appetite the women had for the radios in the music video and the revolt it led to supports).

Third in the track listing is the song “Zeig Dich”(meaning “Show Yourself), whose orthodoxical introductory chant opens the heavy quick-rhythm-driven guitar riff base of the song and its religious critique excellently. The quick calling cards the lyrics bring up to identify the subject of the song as the Christian church aren’t really much more than that, but the fact that the invocation of child abuse and the forbidding of contraception immediately brings to mind an organization meant to promote moral, Godly living is reflective of so many things wrong with the church. But the song seems to be a flustered insistence for the church to reveal its true and conflicting intentions: for its own sustenance through its authority over its followers and their passing down and around of the doctrine. The poetic technique is audibly impressive, but lost in translation, as the verses are loaded with mantras all tagged with the prefix “ver-”, which doesn’t really have an English equivalent, but serves to make more extremein some way the verbs being modified, which could be interpreted quite a few ways in the context of the song’s religious critique.

The fourth track, “Ausländer”, was a bit off-putting to me at first for its dancy beat and pitch-shifted backing vocal sample, but its lighter attitude compared to the surrounding tracks was probably a good move by the band and its cheeky fun has helped it grow on me a bit. The song is a kind of comedic suggestion to travelers to learn to speak native languages because the opposite gender loves to hear a foreigner speak their tongue, with Lindemann dropping all these overly dramatic romantic pleas in Spanish, French, and Russian. It’s kind of tongue-in-cheek, but the concept of cultures mingling and the language through which it happens is certainly something that could be read into even deeper here, but I feel I might be getting in too deep to this album’s lyrics as it is. Fun song! It strikes me as this album’s “Haifisch”.

The sixth song is called “Sex”, and it is one of those universally understood words that needs no translation. Rammstein have never been shy about putting all the raunchiest and most intentionally provocative aspects of the universal pleasure into song (Till Lindemann’s 2015 solo album also was largely about his many sexual fantasies and aspirations). But on this song, Rammstein finally tackle the queasy feelings of rising sexual attraction and the intense urge to bask in its pleasure with another. The lyrics come off, not so much as creepy or filthy, but rather as profoundly horny (a phrase I never thought I’d type, but here we are), with Lindemann singing “Wir leben bei sex”, which means “we live during sex”, which could be interpreted as an ode to the pleasure of the act of reproduction. The boisterous vocal delivery of the titular refrain gives the already heavy, groovy, and provocative song a different primal energy, and it makes the desire spoken of in the lyrics evident and real. And speaking of powerfully primal vocal performances...

The song “Puppe” has justifiably gained a lot of attention for Till Lindemann’s scathingly rough and chillingly tortured vocal delivery in its second half, which was the first thing that caught my ear too when I gave this album its first spin. Delving into the lyrics the song reveals itself to be about a child who is kept comforted (or even medicated to a degree) by a doll while this child’s sister goes off to work, which is revealed to be only in the neighboring room and is likely to be prostitution. The song eventually reveals that the child finds the sister dead at the hands of an assailant during her work, driving the child to bite the head off the doll, which could have a variety of interpretations regarding this already unhinged character’s stability, killing the assailant, destroying the comforting object and thus shedding all childhood innocence completely at the sight of such trauma, or simply a deranged, destructive breakdown. Personally, I think the lyrics suggest that the child rips the doll’s head off in an act of traumatic realization of the world’s cruelty and a refusal to accept being sheltered from it, with whatever actions following being very up in the air. Either way, how the band builds up the the climax of the child biting the head of the doll off and explodes into vibrant heaviness provides the perfect backing for Lindemann to play this character phenomenally.

The soulful metallic ballad “Was ich Liebe” is probably the most flat-out depressing song on the album, and despite the simplicity of its lyrics, its conflict with its speaker wanting to love but also feeling that doing so is futile and that all pleasure is fleeting is well expressed, and an interestingly stark contrast to “Sex”, wherein the raw, physical lust brings about divine, life-affirming pleasure and whereas “Was ich Liebe” details perhaps the comedown from the high of sexual fulfillment to a life viewed through the most hopeless lens in which all pleasure eventually rots and everything loved dies. The song itself doesn’t actually reference sex at all, but it is perhaps its very absence and the vagueness concepts the speaker laments over that suggest that perhaps the speaker doesn’t even know how to find the lasting forms of love sought through sex. Then again, I could just be reading into Rammstein’s trend of often writing about sex. Sonically it provides a break from all the extreme energy leading up to it,which is nice in the track listing, but the woeful lamentation makes it come off as a bit overly dramatic. Given the whiny, defeatist subject matter though, perhaps that was intentional.

The very next song, “Diamant”, is an even more stripped back acoustic breather track supplemented with weeping vibratto strings for an intentionally melodramatic effect. It's a somber love song in which Lindemann compares his allure to a beautiful person to that of a diamond, struggling with an infatuation that he knows is soul-sucking and something he should avoid, concluding his comparison of this beautiful person to the beautiful jewel in dejection, saying it’s only a stone.

The song “Weit Weg” is probably the album's low point both lyrically and musically, being a less tangibly performed song of unfulfilled longing for a far away woman with some juxtaposition between feeling close, but oh so far away too, which Lindemann has written about before much more convincingly. And the somewhat slow pace and minimal energy of the whole band's performance kind of just makes it drag on. It's not the worst song, but by Rammstein's standards and this album's standards, it's only distinction from the other songs on the album is its lack of much melodic or lyrical distinction.

“Tattoo” thankfully brings back the energy of the band's signature industrial metal groove for the album's last minutes. It definitely hearkens back to Reise Reise musically, and it's a fine offering of their more groovy old-school style. The song is about the literal act of tattooing a lover's name and contemplating the pain and permanence of it all to express the significance of their love in the speaker's life, ending on the somewhat tongue-in-cheek contemplation that if they ever split up, then the speaker will have to find someone else with the same name. Lyrically, it's very direct, but also colorful and a fresh angle for this topic.

The album closes on perhaps the most haunting and unsettling note (rivaled only by "Puppe") with “Halloman”, a song about the luring of a young girl by the titular "Hallomann" (who is suggested to be part of the Catholic church when the girl is revealed to be dancing while wearing a rosary) into a life of sexual servitude. It's a disturbing and genuinely mournful song, and the band handles the seriousness of the subject matter well both lyrically and musically with the pleading sorrow in Till Lindemann's performance conveying the gravity of the all too common story of childhood stolen and butchered by depraved opportunists who prey upon the vulnerable. I'm glad Tue band saved this song for the end because I can't imagine its eerie realism anywhere else in the track listing. It's an incredibly emotive, but chilling finish to the album, and it does a fantastic job bowing out for the album.

And that's it; that's Rammstein's long-awaited seventh studio album. In many ways it is Rammstein simply getting back on track after their long creative break after Liebe ist für alle da, but it does also feel like a well-rounded set of songs that take a lot from the band's whole career, and the songs do mostly seem very well nurtured. And while this album probably didn't need ten years to make, I'm certainly glad it's here now and I hope it helps Rammstein get back into a more consistent creative cycle. If there’s one thing that dampens the album’s experience, it’s perhaps the decrease in energy and the reversion to some of the band’s more typical tendencies without supplementation during the second half. But the brightest moments on the album definitely outweigh the duller ones, and the dynamic excitement of the album's experience certainly stems from Rammstein smartly placing their confidence in the progress they had made with their sound rather than trying to make a disingenuous rehash of Sehnsucht or Mutter alone (though the elements they bring in from those albums do serve to bolster this one). And through it all, Rammstein stays true to the focus on tight, efficient composition that has made every album of theirs so engaging and digestible. I'm glad they're back.

Willkommen zurück/10

#rammstein #neue deutsche härte #industrial metal #heavy metal #deutschland #radio #new music #new album #album review #metal

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alecbangkok · 5 years

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WeLearn & Why I do What I do

When I wrote this, I was trying to figure out my response to people who ask me “What is this WeLearn thing you’re involved with anyway?” and I think I’ll start by describing why I became involved with, and believe in, WeLearn.

To know a little bit about my background is probably necessary to understand my response, so here goes:

When I was in third grade, my parents moved me from my rather traditional (mid-1970’s) elementary school to the Riverside Open School, an experimental public school in my hometown of Schenectady, New York.

I had always been identified as gifted, and placed as such in all of my classes, and things went well in Grades K-2, when I had teachers who were relatively young and dedicated to their students’ growth, and weren’t afraid to try new-ish things (again, for the time) to keep us engaged. However, my first teacher in Third Grade was not of the same mold. She was “old-school,” and didn’t like independent-minded students. We did not get along. Complaining to my parents did her no good. My father was himself a relatively young and dedicated, progressive-minded high school physics teacher in a neighboring district, and my mother was the product of fairly liberal parents herself. Both understood that education was not achieved through obedience and rote memorization, and didn’t appreciate my teacher trying to turn us into little robots. Thankfully, my second-grade teacher was also teaching third grade that year, and my parents were able to get me switched back to her, so that year looked to be salvaged. Still, there was no doubt that fourth grade would bring me into contact with Robot-Lady, which led to my parents exploring alternative options to keep me engaged with my education. That’s when they found Open School, and, after some research, transferred me there.

I was extremely fortunate; my family didn’t have much money (high school teacher father + stay-at-home mom with major health issues = limited resources to say the least) and wouldn’t have been able to afford a private Montessori or Waldorf school. The fact that there was a public school that embraced a similar philosophy and was located in Schenectady, NY, was almost miraculous. That it was a perfect fit for me, even more so. My two and a half years, from the middle of Grade 3 through the end of Grade 5, were far from utopian, but they were wonderful. I still experienced the feeling of “otherness” that I would feel for the rest of my school years, not to mention adulthood, and had to deal with that, but being treated as an individual, rather than a strangely-shaped cog that didn’t fit into the existing machinery according to the instruction manual, meant that I was mostly accepted by both the teachers and the other kids, even if they didn’t understand me sometimes.

Some learning was done at least partially as a class, differentiated for the different levels of understanding, but much of what we did was project-based learning. Keep in mind that this was the mid-to-late 1970s, and both PBL and differentiation are only now beginning to creep into U.S. public school classrooms 40 years later, and you’ll understand just how progressive this school was for its time. Still, not perfect. I didn’t succeed at everything I tried, and my independence still crossed a threshold that sometimes made me a pain in the ass for those around me, but each failure and/or difficulty was treated as an opportunity to learn for the next time. My teachers communicated regularly with my parents, as they did with all parents, who also were part of many activities both in and out of our classrooms, creating a feeling of community. To that extent, my education was very much what it should have been. If only it had continued that way.

Schenectady’s school system divided grades on a Middle School model, meaning that Elementary was K-5, Middle School was 6-8, and High School was 9-12. Open School was an Elementary school, which meant that once Fifth Grade was complete it was time for Middle School, and there was no counterpart to Open School for upper grades. Luckily for me, I would be attending Woodlawn Middle School with all of my friends from my neighborhood, so I wouldn’t be coming in as a stranger without a social structure. I think I handled the division of learning into subjects pretty well, and generally had good teachers in my classes. I was back to being separated out of the pack into the GT group, which had both benefits (learning how to perform a Japanese Tea ceremony, for example) and costs (magnified “otherness” at the same time we all started going through puberty and I began to discover some extra “otherness” that I didn’t quite yet understand). So overall it was a big switch, but not life-shattering. That would happen the following school year.

While I was going through Sixth Grade, my father was granted a sabbatical year from his school district which he used to complete and defend his doctoral dissertation. This resulted in his receiving his Ph.D. in Theoretical Physics, which in turn resulted in his looking for jobs where we could pull ourselves securely into the middle class. Ultimately, the job he found was with a defense contractor in Santa Barbara, California. We were mostly excited about the change and the cross-country road trip, and my dad was especially excited about being able to do interesting research for a living.

We arrived, found a house, and I began school at Goleta Valley Junior High, in a new place, with a new culture in which kids were considerably less sheltered, knowing no one and realizing more clearly than ever that I was far more attracted to the other boys than the girls, which I dared not mention let alone think of. Without the safety net of kids with whom I had been friends for the better part of my lifetime, my “otherness” made me an outlier worthy of notice to the other kids in school. This was not a good thing. I did everything I could to be the same as everyone else (in Junior High School, this is a matter of survival as much as anything else), but there was always something that made me noticeably “other,” and, therefore, a target.

Add to this the school itself, which looked like a prison (I could never tell whether the high chain-link fences topped with barbed wire were to keep bad people out or us in), as well as teachers who valued uniformity over interest, and I felt like I was in hell. Honestly, I can remember teachers from all of my K-12 years except for the two years at GVJH. It’s not a matter of positive or negative; they were all so unmemorable that I can’t see more than my Seventh Grade English teacher’s skunk-like hairdo. But I do remember some of my fellow students and how they treated me. Fortunately, I was able to make friends with some of the other nerds, and that provided the partial security of safety in numbers, but even with them I spent a lot of time feeling “other,” and still felt isolated despite my best efforts. This was not helped by my developing severe allergies and asthma, which meant that when I got sick, it was rarely just a cold. I would spend weeks at a time home sick; weeks that were stretched considerably longer than they needed to be as a result of my feelings toward school.

Apart from contempt, familiarity breeds peer groups of a sort, and even if I spent a lot of time feeling “other,” at least I had people I could hang out with by the time high school rolled around. That, plus the acquisition of our first home computer and its included word processor, made things a bit less miserable. Why a word processor? Because it showed me that writing could be accomplished without the physical pain and graphite-smudged fingers us southpaws tend to endure. Once I realized this, I started to enjoy writing and realized I was actually pretty good at it, despite my Tenth-Grade English teacher who thought purple hair made her edgy even though she couldn’t tolerate a lack of servile conformity in her students.

I mention my Tenth-Grade English teacher and her purple mane to illuminate the stifling atmosphere that was high school. Again, with the exception of scattered teachers such as my 11th Grade English teacher Peg Harris, whose passion for writing helped shape my own, it was a lot of assembly-line providers who diminished my passion for learning with every passing period. Band, orchestra, then choir when I’d had it with the clarinet, and Junior Statesmen of America, were the only things that kept me interested. By the time 12th Grade rolled around, and we moved to Virginia, much of my love for learning and creative fire had been stifled by subjugation.

High School in Northern Virginia was a mixed bag. On the bright side, I discovered theater and had a new outlet for self-expression, if only for a short time. I lost weight, made friends relatively easily, and was just happy not to be in SoCal any more. I still felt “other,” but that was kind of drowned out in a school where I was one of roughly 5,000 students. My graduating class was close to 1,000, so I guess people were too wrapped up in their own groups to spend too much time harassing outliers. Either that, or with numbers that large we had someplace to hide. However, Fairfax County Schools took themselves really seriously (I think they were #1 in the country at that point), which in the late ‘80s meant really pushing students hard to achieve the district’s desired outcomes (not necessarily the student's). This, in turn, meant making sure everything and everyone conformed to the standards they felt led to those desired outcomes. NoVA is the home of, among other things, the Pentagon, so as you can imagine conformity was a pretty big deal with so many parents who were current or former career military officers. That meant that I went from a lot of dual-credit college classes with adult students to The Land of Educational Robotics. To give you an idea, when the admissions decisions for the service academies came out, the suicide rate spiked…significantly.

I’m not going to get into college and grad school because this is about my elementary and secondary years and how they relate to WeLearn.

I honestly didn’t think I’d be writing quite so much backstory. I guess there must be some therapeutic value in cataloging all of this educational nonsense…which leads to why I’m involved in WeLearn, as well as what we do that makes me so excited about it.

I don’t want one more student to need to find therapeutic value in cataloging educational nonsense. I want to create a student-centered educational environment, that is process-focused rather than outcome-driven, that educates instead of indoctrinates. I want students who feel “other” to embrace their “otherness” rather than fear the results of it showing, because, to some degree, there’s “otherness” in all of us. Education should be about inspiring discovery; first and foremost the discovery, exploration, and focusing of each student’s passion. At the same time, students need to learn the skills that will make them good human beings: collaboration, an ethical compass, leadership, conceptualization, emotional literacy, and a continued love of learning no matter their chosen subject or field. Maybe a fanatical devotion to the Oxford Comma. It’s a given that we really have no idea what jobs people will be doing twenty years from now - automation and AI have seen to that - so I want students to have the tools to mold an unknowable future.

I think the best way to do that is to build a community of learners, using the best tools, technological and otherwise, that are available to us. Give the community a space where they can explore those tools to learn holistically, to make their passions conflagrations rather than having them snuffed out of existence. Give them what they need to learn how to shape the future rather than be victimized by it. I believe I’ve found a team of visionaries who share what I see for the future, so it’s not just what I want; it’s what we want.

We don’t just want them to be learners; we want them to be WeLearners!

#education #edtech #futurista #project based learning #personalized learning #lgbtq youth #education reform

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reaperofangelsao3 · 5 years

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Spin the Bottle Scene

So contrary to popular belief, I do write more than Harry Potter and Miraculous Ladybug fics. I’ve been working on and off on a book for about 5 years now and while I really just need to get my crap together and write it, I still need to get a proper feel for the characters since I never actually took the time to do that?

Anyway, this is just something I thought up while I was in the shower. It’s short and sweet, so I hope you enjoy.

You can also read this on my Ao3, here.

Also, this, and any other sub sequential writing Prompts I post for this will be under the tags “Academiae Wisp” (the title of the book) and “Academy Wisp” “Wisp Academy” because I can’t expect you people to remember how to spell Latin words since I can barely do it on a good day.

Thomas chuckled as he watched his friends whoop and holler and run around like animals. It was well into the summer at this point and he along with a decent group of students decided to stay on campus for the holidays, and they were all partying and drinking like soldiers come home from the war with the promise of not going back.

To say that they were completely out of control would be a gross understatement, but it was controlled chaos. They had spelled an area in which they had to stay in and even set up tents and everything, with spells to keep the girls in their tents and the boys in theirs. They only had about six acres of land they could royally fuck up, and had yet to do that five hours in, so that was at least a good sign, right?

They had had dinner, so people weren’t too drunk yet, but Thomas imagined that most everyone would be drunk before the end of the sixth or seventh hour, which would probably be coming faster than it seemed it would. It was a party full of magic-wielding teenagers, after all. It was hard not to have fun just watching them go nuts.

Thomas, though, soon noticed someone who really didn’t look like she was having fun. Someone he had gotten to know pretty well over the past few months, if he did say so himself, and yet somehow she still held back something that she didn’t seem willing to share with him, or… anyone else for that matter. Her friends seemed to know, but they wouldn’t tell him either.

So he walked over to the red haired beauty who was sitting with her knees pulled up to her chest, and sat down right next to her. The girl flinched a little and looked up at him with those striking green and gold eyes, staring up at him.

Thomas felt his voice get stuck in his throat for a moment. This was happening more and more frequently around her, he found, and it was a little disturbing to him. He had never lost his voice around girls before, or even guys for that matter. What made her different, aside from the fact that she was meant to be the new Lady of Time? No, that couldn’t be it, anyhow. He didn’t really get nervous around the Time Lord, after all.

“Hey, Rosetta. What are you doing here, sitting all alone? I thought you would be hanging out with Ed? Or Elina and Cassandra? Maybe even your brother?” He asked curiously, then looked over, spotting Will among a crowd of people near immediately. Will never got drunk, and now wasn’t an exception. He was probably the most sober person here, even if with the fumes from the magical drugs people were using to get high, since Guinevere didn’t have the proper conditions to grow pot or make the more dangerous variety of drugs on Infante or Florentia.

He looked further, and saw Cassandra, who looked drunker than anyone else there (that was saying something) with a glass of wine in one hand and clinging to Elina with the other, who was helping her stay up right, looking a little exasperated.

Ed was nowhere to be seen. He had a tendency to disappear at events such as these.

“Well, I would, but as you can see, I think they’re a little… uh… busy.”

“I do see that.” Thomas chuckled at her meek, quiet voice, the voice he could barely hear over all the racket, yet his hearing seemed to hone in on just naturally. “What do you think of this mini riot?”

“It’s... active.”

Thomas snorted. “Why so unenthusiastic, my Lady of Time?”

Rosetta’s face turned a little red and she shrugged, looking out over the crowd of dancing children. “It’s just sort of tame, you know?”

Thomas barked out a laugh. “No, I don’t. Enlighten me.”

“Well, I-”

“HEEEEYYYYYYYY!”

Rosetta and Thomas looked over at the sound of a girl yelling and saw one of their classmates, Heather, he believed, who was grinning and holding up a bottle of Serpent’s Venom Rum, the deep purple glass shining with the colors of the fire. The party quieted down a little and the majority of people looked over at her.

The brunette smirked, her hair bouncing a little as she hollered. “WHO WANTS TO PLAY SPIN THE BOTTLE?!” She yelled, and nearly thirty people cheered or whooped in response, which left less than half of the other students who weren’t in the game.

Thomas looked at Rosetta and smiled shyly before getting up and jogging over to join the game, knowing if he didn’t play, he would probably get heckled by the other students.

He hadn’t expected Rosetta to follow him, but when he saw her sit at the opposite side of the circle next to her brother, he figured she had. She smiled up at her brother, who smiled back, looking excited. Figures. Will was always excited for stupid drunk games.

Heather smiled and spelled the bottle, then had it float to the middle of the circle. A light shone from the bottle like a laser, pointing to her. “Okay, everybody got their wands?”

The students pulled out their wands in response.

“Good. Okay, this is how this works. There’s too many of us to reach and spin it, so we’re all going to use our wands to spin the bottle, no tricks to make it land on the person you want. I added a light to the bottle so we can see who it stops on. Now, some special rules!” She yelled, grinning. “Everyone knows the basic rules of Spin the Bottle, but just in case - your task is to spin the bottle, duh. You spin the bottle and whomever the bottleneck points to, you have to get up and go kiss that person. As for the special rules…

“First! Since we happen to have students who have siblings in this circle, if it lands on your sibling, you can either pass with a kiss on the cheek or you can respin. You can decide on this however you want.” She looked pointedly at Rosetta and Will, then at Thomas and glancing to his brother, who was also in the circle.

“Second! If you spin it and it lands in between two people, you gotta kiss them both! No playing favorites or this-person-isn’t-as-bad-as-the-other!

“Third! If it lands on the same gender as you, you still gotta kiss them, whether you happen to be straight or gay or indifferent!

“Forth! If you are absolutely adamant that you are not going to kiss whomever your spin lands on, or whose spun landed on you, you can roshambo it. If you win, you go scott free, but if you lose, you gotta do a dare that the winner gives you. You can only use this privilege three times! Everyone got that?”

Everyone looked at each other and there was a quiet murmur before all the students gave a vague nod.

“Good. Now, since I was the one who suggested it, I’ll nominate someone.” Heather looked among the other students for a candidate, smirking at a blonde fairy who was sitting a little too primly for her taste.

“Oh, Ver-oooonnn-i-caaaa.” The girl sang, and the fairy, Veronica, perked up, then sighed.

“Merlin, save us.” She mumbled. “Okay, Duke, geez.” The fairy said and pulled out her wand, waving it in a simple motion, and making the bottle spin in a frenzy, but staying glued to its spot on the ground.

And it all went downhill from there.

Veronica was made to kiss some guy names Kurt, then Kurt was made to kiss one of the boys from the soccer team, who then somehow won a round of roshambo to get out of a kiss from Angelica, who was known for being extremely lucky when it came to chance games. Angelica didn’t seem too phased when her spin landed on another girl and, in fact, kissed her quite vigorously, which surprised more than a couple people. That girl was forced to pass because she was too frazzled to spin the bottle correctly, so it went to the girl next to her, who spun it and got it on Will. Will had managed to get away with a light peck, as the girl didn’t seem too interested anyway.

When Will spun, and it landed on a boy, though, the boy suddenly looked a little nervous. It was obvious that boy had never had any intimate experience with anyone, but when Thomas saw the seemingly innocent smile on Will’s face, he was suddenly regretting it very much that he was sitting right next to said boy.

Thomas shifted away from the boy uneasily, and so did the guy on the boy’s other side, as Will stood up and stalked over to the boy. The poor guy fidgeted in his seat, looking nervous as all heck, as Will moved to stand over him, sitting down, straddling the boy’s lap.

“You look nervous.” He commented, and the other nodded a little quickly, which made Will snort softly. “Then let me help take the edge off.”

He grabbed the boy by his collar and kissed him, and Thomas was surprised to see the boy instantly relax, and he heard multiple girls squeal and cheer.

Will got up seconds later and went back to his seat by Rosetta, who was gagging playfully, to which he laughed at.

“Aw, what is it, sis?”

“I never needed to see my brother kiss another person, like, ever, in my life. I think I would have preferred to see you makeout with a toad than ever have you put me through seeing you kiss another human being.” She gagged again, but Will only laughed harder.

It went on like that for another couple rounds, with cheers and laughter and squeals all being shared, until Rosetta had to roshambo out of kissing some guy who looked all too happy to have gotten her as his spin, and she made him spell himself into a feather suit and do the chicken dance around the fire.

All eyes were on her now as she pulled her wand out, looking at the bottle like it was the bane of her existence.

He glanced over and watched as Heather muttered something under her breath and Thomas rose a brow, wondering what she could be doing, then heard cheering.

He glanced down and saw Rosetta staring right at him with Cassandra, Elina, Will, and quite a few of the other students cheering and yelling loudly. He wondered what for, then glanced down, and saw a shining red light on him.

Thomas felt his face heat up like a volcano ready to burst, and he looked back up at Rosetta, who was still sitting down. Will was laughing and nudging her to get up, and people started cheering her name.

“Go, Ro!” “Go get ‘em, girl!” “You can do it!”

And then gone was the shy girl he had come to know.

Gone was the meek, timid girl who liked to saunter during their recess period.

Gone was the girl who stumbled over herself whenever someone got her face to go pink like it was right now.

No, she stood right up, the flowers weaved into her braid, the ones that Cassandra had put in her hair before the poor Elf got drunk off wine, blooming brightly in her hair as she walked right up to him, and Thomas felt himself grow nervous. His heart started beating erratically, and he felt like a fox torn between getting the berries or going for the plump field mouse.

Rosetta got on her knees in front of him and started inching closer, and Thomas was stuttering out words he wasn’t thinking about nor sure he meant before he could stop himself. Why was she looking at him like that? Her emerald eyes were so big, so focus, watching him like hawk.

“R-Ro, you kn-know you don’t have to do this, r-right?” He stuttered out as she got closer, now practically in his lap, one knee on either side of his own knees as they lay stretched out on the ground, his back to the fire. He couldn’t even lean back of her because of that damned fire.

She didn’t say anything and just inched closer, now straddling him properly, her knees on either sides of his thighs, and her arms lifting up a little.

“I-I mean, I know that you don’t really like me like this, s-so you don’t have to kiss me or anything if you don’t w-want to-”

Her hands were on his shoulders and fucking fuck her eyes were distracting and her breath on his lips was making his head spin.

She did pause, though, looking a little confused as she glanced into his eyes once more.

“Now, Thomas, what would give you such a silly idea?”

That was all she said before her lips were on his, and her arms had slid up from his shoulders to trace over the sides of his neck, and all the tension left him so quickly he nearly fell back into the fire.

He now understood how the boy next to him had relaxed so quickly. If Will was as good as his little sister at this, then it was just too easy to just let go and kiss back. Her lips were so soft, and it was like she knew exactly where to touch to make shivers go up his spine and force his heart out of his chest and into the clouds. His brain had melted somewhere in between the beginning of the kiss and when she had slide her hand up into his hair and put the other around his neck, until he was just putty in her hands.

And then visions started filling his head, ones he didn’t understand. They weren’t of either of them or any of their friends. They were visions of complete strangers.

He watched as couples square danced at a wedding, with the bride laughing and desperately holding up her dress as she danced with her new husband. He heard fiddles and flutes, all playing some tune he didn’t recognize. Sure, he knew it was some folk or high-paced Celtic tune, but he hadn’t ever heard it in his life.

Soon there was cake, and the bride had grabbed a handful of it and pushed it into her groom’s mouth before kissing him like the pastor had just allowed it for a second time, and then there was more dancing, and laughing, and playing silly games. Dogs ran around and barked and hopped around the celebrating families, who fed them and played with them. Children were running around playing random games that probably didn’t make sense to anyone other than them, and at some point the bride and the groom had managed to sneak off, going deep into the woods and dancing in silence among a prearranged area, quiet and happy and exchanging silly sweet-nothings and kisses until night fell upon them, leaving them with fairy lights and fireflies to light up the forest around them.

Thomas was used to giving people happiness, not the other way around. Everywhere he went, people couldn’t help but be happy, and the only people who had any sort of defiance over that were the Council members and heirs to the Council. People couldn’t just make him happy, couldn’t just turn on the ‘joy’ switch inside his head like his presence did them.

But the scene of the wedding that flashed through his head, that made him so inexplicably happy. He couldn’t even tell you why. It’s not like he knew them. But the pure, raw happiness that the wedding just oozed was infectious and honestly, Rosetta’s kiss just magnified it several times.

So he was disappointed but still incredibly light-hearted when she pulled away, and he knew his eyes were shining just like hers were.

She smiled at him, and that’s when he registered that everyone around them was cheering. Her hand was still in his hair.

“That’s how I know this party is tame.” She whispered, grinning at him before getting up, turning around and swaying back to her spot next to her brother, who was laughing and cheering for her just like the rest of them, and he heard Angelica laugh loudly.

“Look at that, Ro! You kissed him so good, he’s staring after you like a lost puppy!” She laughed and tumbled back onto the ground.

Rosetta turned her head and winked at him playfully, causing his face to heat up, and he was sure from the increased volume, he was blushing.

Thomas decided it might be best he take a break to get himself back under control, but of course, when he got back in the game, it landed right back on Rosetta.

He was going to have a lot of things to remind him of this night, wasn’t he?

#original writing #prompt #ao3 #kissing #Academiae Wisp #Academy Wisp #Wisp Academy #Wisp

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