#its so emotionally complicated it makes me nauseous
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immediately after the black mass, there's an interesting parallel at the end of astarion's dialogue
ascended:
spawn:
#spawn astarion is going to (on some level) regret this decision for the rest of his life. fuck. Fuck!!!!#its so emotionally complicated it makes me nauseous#i'm sure someone else has noticed this but whatever#i reloaded my old evil save to see if i was remembering the convo correctly and i dont know what to think#astarion#bg3 spoilers
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Shit I’ve Been Winding Up For A Long Time Now But Am Very Aware Will Probably Hold No Relevance Should I Actually Go Into This More--
This is about Bhunivelze.
I.
You know, when I was chilling out, on my bed, that evening on that half term in early June, deciding to check up on ClementJ64′s FF retrospective because-- Hey! It’s been awhile, I wonder if he’s got around to doing the final bit of the FFXIII saga --You know, I was there, chilling, just for a laff. Just a laff.
The rest of that week was spent spiralling into a hyperfixation I absolutely did not anticipate in any way, shape, or form, because the way they introduced that character was “wwhdhfjjhHJDFJKHKJHW H A T??”
That retrospective and a good amount of wiki-scrounging is all I have as a basis for this. This is not a coherent character analysis-- Though I might tag it as that for ease of access. This is not, by any means, the thoughts of someone deeply familiar with FFXIII on the whole beyond plot synopses and overarching themes.
I don’t think I’m brave enough for that.
Reading the vast yet surface-deep lore on those wiki pages on my birthday while in a delirious state of mind was enough to make me somewhat nauseous.
Do you think I’m going to go through all of that in real time?
(Someday, someday.)
Ugh, I don’t know how to begin, but let us, I guess. I’d recommend you read this church-mime-demiurge’s FF Wiki page if you want the same level of base-knowledge I had, and maybe the aformentioned retrospective if you want the experience, because I don’t think I have the wherewithal to get into all of that from the bottom-up.
I am also, so, so fucking sorry for any remaining FFXIII fans in advance. There is like, a good chance I may be butchering the characterisation completely, so bear with me here.
With that... we begin?
Where do we even start with this guy?
How on earth to you begin to explain the absolute monolith you’ve constructed from crumbs of a Guy, some material no doubt spliced in from the Pale King, Sephiroth, y o u r o w n G o d O C and other characters, and the mountains of religious trauma you carry around at all times that is probably the only reason you’ve been able to latch on as hard as you did?
I’m going to try.
What gets me, in summary, about Bhunivelze is how he’s a prime example of how love and concern can become deadly forces if in the wrong hands. His first acquainting with human emotion was by deceiving and possessing Hope, reverting his body to a teenage state, and planning to live among humanity through him. He sees human sorrow and suffering, and decides that, to End This(because it must be ended, you see) he’s going to destroy all the souls of the deceased that make up the Chaos that’s been eating this world for the past five-hundred years so they all forget and Are Happy. :).
Capital G God here hasn’t been present for the vast part of human history because he’s hidden himself away from Everything due to paranoia from killing his own mother and throwing her body into the Cosmic Basement, THEN creating the beings that would come to create humanity and OTHER beings because he didn’t have the keys to the cosmic basement. And also he believes death is a thing because she’d’ve somehow cursed all things to pass(including him) out of Spite.
Which explains why he’s so fucking averse to it and anything to do with it.
Bhunivelze, to put it lightly, is Shit at stepping into others’ shoes and Getting their experiences-- All the FalCie in FFXIII are, but him especially. It’s clear(again, in the f u c k i n g JP--) that he makes attempts to sympathise with them and does what he can to help, but it’s with such a loftiness and a complete inability to Understand why anyone would want grief, The Worst Fucking Experience In Existence, and even less why they’d be willing to Go Up Against Him And HisThe New Perfect World just for it-- And what would it matter, anyway, forgetting their loved ones. It’s not like you can grieve lost memories, right?
Right.
It reminds me of when at the end of the story of Job in the Bible, where, after putting this man through hell on earth, God rewards Job by giving him ten new children to make up for the ones that he lost. I. And that’s fucked! Nothing can replace the sheer uniqueness of each individual person you loved so dearly! But if you were a nigh-omnipotent deity high and mighty, with a cursory, almost mechanical knowledge on the functionings of the human psyche, that would seem adequete; enough.
Bhunivelze is doing that on a cosmic level.
I now want to get onto the romance: that being, his affections for Lightning. I don’t know how much I’m going to say, but it’ll probably be alot. It’s something that hits very close to home.
There is this... thing, within certain branches of Christianity, perhaps even in those of various Abrahamic faiths, where God’s love is posited to be the love-- The ultimate, most-fulfilling, all-encompassing love you could ever imagine --Because, well, he is love, so the story goes, and so often the best way to convey that is through the imagery of...
Marriage.
Giving up yourself so completely, to serve, to be the Bride; to be bound by him for all eternity; and for there to be no higher bliss than this.
This angle is pushed on young girls and women the most; from the mere parallels to the woman’s role in marriage, all the way down to downright-horrifying ultra-Evangelical purity pacts. With men, God is your dad, your best bud and confidant, your boss, your king, your this, your that, and the ‘marriage‘ as it were is relegated to a sort of half-thought; a metaphor.
For me, God was an attempt at all that, and my arranged groom.
(It was almost incestuous; was incestuous, that my own Divine Father would reach for my hand in marriage.)
Bhunivelze experiences Emotions™ for the first time through Hope, experiences Hope’s sheer overwhelming admiration for Lighting(whether there were any baby-crush feelings mixed in, I can’t say), and promptly falls into a nigh-romantic obsession with Lightning, deciding that she will be Etro(his all-but daughter)’s replacement, will be his Goddess of Death to-be-- He even calls her as such, before the final boss-battle--
...In the JP.
What happened in localisation, probably due to a number of factors, all the way back in early 2014, was that everything emotionally challenging about Bhunivelze was scraped off, like it was extra fat, and tossed aside, leaving us with the bland, clichéd shell of a foe-god we’ve seen time and time again. And I mean everything. I mean his very love for humanity; the fact his ploy was, in his eyes, to save them. Because if they’d left that all on, then it would raise the question of even if there was such a seemingly pure, all-knowing, loving being hell-bent on setting things “straight,“ would they truly be unquestionable? Would we have the right to fight for our humanity in the face of the Creator of the Universe?
To reject a love so personal?
That’s what gets me about FFXIII’s tackling of God, no matter how hackneyed and poorly-executed. It’s personal.
It’s from a feminine experience.
I know that terming is... vague, and problematic, but the way Christianity and much of the video game industry handle femininity itself is weird and problematic, so as it stands, I’ll have to simplify it. Apologies.
What sets FFXIII’s Let’s Kill God™ plot aside from most JRPG Let’s Kill God™ plots is that with our protagonist being a woman, and one who is very in touch with her femininity alongside her sheer strength; often, in these stories, God is reduced to Yet Another Foe, expected or unexpected, and you are tasked with taking him down unquestioningly for the Good of Mankind-- You will fight God, because you are right to, and you will go man-to-man-to-however-many-men you decide to bring along for the bloodbath.
And that just, doesn’t speak to me.
Even as an Extian.
Especially as an Extian. And an AFAB one with a deeply complicated experience with my gender, at that.
Leaving Christianity was painful. Questioning God was painful. Coming to terms with the fact that I had been mentally, emotionally, and spiritually traumatised under the guise of All-Encompassing Love was so, so fucking painful. I had been taught since I was five years old to devote myself to him, spent my life desperate to feel something, anything, to stay connected because I just, I never could Feel It on a deeper level, never could Give Up Myself, all I was, couldn’t Die A Spiritual Death And Be Reborn As His Eager Vessel, thus deeming myself to be worthless and a broken vessel for years and years on end... And for all that to have been... Nothing.
Lightning is hollowed out, the shards of her dead sister ripped from her in-stasis, leaving her emotionally numb for the majority of the game, Bhunivelze sweeps it under the rug, pretends he’ll perform a miracle and return Serah to life in exchange for her compliance, then sends her on her way to do his work, all the while knowing he’s going to pull said-rug from under her and elevate her such dizzying heights in the aftermath--
That he’ll deny her humanity.
Sand down all the rough edges that make her her, and polish her up afterwards, gild her as he is gilded, make her a Goddess.
And he’ll do it all because he loves her.
You can’t fight God like you can everything else. To fight It is the fight Existence Itself; FFXIII even conveys that by making Bhunivelze’s model part of the arena; it’s baked into the fabric of the game, no matter how minute.
While Lightning Returns is far from perfect in its execution of this concept, and that in itself makes me wince, not even taking into account the horribly botched excuse for a localisation Bhunivelze endured, it speaks to me more than anything else I’ve seen so far.
And it’s helped uncover some things within me. Helped me untangle them, just a little more.
So, yeah. I have alot of Thoughts on Bhunivelze, I want to share them, and I’m kinda really sad I have no one but my currently-absent friend Vee to share them with. I could get into alot more, like his very Fucked relationship with familial bonds, and how Lightning’s role as saviour so deeply parallels the overwhelming panic and never-ending guilt of Evangelical proselytisation, but I think I’ll leave those for another time.
In short, Bhunivelze is the epitome of Divine Love gone deeply wrong; on all fronts.
And if all of that isn’t enough to intrigue you, then, in Vee’s words, Lightning and Velze are literally canon endgame Sefikura lmaOOOOOOOOOOOOOO--
#ffxiii#lightning returns#bhunivelze#analysis#scrawny speaks#scrawny rambles#this was written on and off over the course of a couple months#i know this will only get two notes#if even that#but fuck it i love this guy and i'm going to puke words for his sake#religion mention
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Born to Make History Pt.2/3
A Geraskier Ice Skating Fic (with Yuri on Ice Influences) - On AO3
Previous
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Geralt couldn’t seem to calm his heart and it was fucking annoying. He’d managed to watch Jaskier in secret for years, ever since Yen had become his coach. He wasn’t sure why today had been any different. He couldn’t be angry at Ciri for letting slip that they’d been to a few of Jaskier’s performances when their schedule allowed. With any luck Jaskier would assume it was for Yennefer.
But it was Jaskier.
It had always been Jaskier.
He’d first seen Jaskier skate three years ago when Yen took over as his coach. He’d popped into the rink to collect Ciri. The rink had become a neutral spot to handover without Ciri getting upset as she loved to watch the skaters, even as a baby. So he’d snuck into the end of Yennefer’s session to find the most beautiful man gliding around the ice. He was in training gear but it was still tight enough that Geralt’s could see the firm muscles of the figure skater. Geralt’s mouth had gone dry and he’d been completely entranced. There was no music in the rink but Geralt could hear it anyway as the man had glided and danced and leapt around the rink.
Until he’d seen Geralt watching him. At that point he’d tripped over his toe-picks and fallen flat on his face. Geralt had been so embarrassed that he’d grabbed the two year old in her pram and fled from the rink before the skater could regain his composure.
It happened almost every time after that. If Jaskier spotted Geralt whilst he was skating then he would trip or mess up. So Geralt tried to keep his distance. He didn’t want to be responsible for Jaskier injuring himself. He couldn’t have that on his conscience not when Jaskier clearly had a glittering career in front of him.
Except for today Jaskier hadn’t spotted him until the end of the routine and Geralt hadn’t run away. They’d had a conversation, they’d even skated together with Ciri acting as a sort of buffer between them. Geralt still kept his distance, preferring to watch as Jaskier taught his daughter the basics of figure skating.
Geralt almost wish he’d brought his old figure skates with him instead of his hockey ones. He reckoned he could still do a double toe loop maybe even a triple. He doubted that he would have as much grace as Jaskier whilst doing it though. He was built for hockey and he was out of practice. He could lift Jaskier though, the figure skater was almost as tall as him and well built but Geralt was strong enough that, if given the chance, he could definitely lift him.
Not that he’d thought about it.
Much.
And now they were getting coffee. It wasn’t a date. Geralt kept telling himself that but Jaskier’s hand was gripping his arm as he laughed at some joke he’d told that Geralt’s hadn’t heard. Ciri was holding Geralt’s other hand and chattering happily with the figure skater. Geralt was stuck between the two of them feeling like he’d walked out of one of his dreams, a dream he hadn’t even allowed himself to imagine.
“Geralt?” Jaskier’s hand squeezed his arm and he looked up to find Jaskier’s beautiful cornflower blue eyes looking at him.
“Hmm?”
“Are you alright?” Jaskier frowned and licked his lips.
God, Geralt wanted to kiss him.
He nodded. “Yeah.”
Jaskier flicked his fringe from his eyes and chewed on his lips again. It was fucking distracting. Did he even realised how much Geralt wanted him? Geralt would have to get him some lip balm to try and stop the never ending lip licking. Otherwise they would never get through a conversation without Geralt’s brain cutting out.
“How do you have your coffee?” Jaskier sang as they entered the rink’s coffee shop. Geralt noted his often sang random sentences. He recalled that Yen had said Jaskier had composed his own free skate music.
His free stake music was ridiculous but catchy. Geralt had caught himself humming it more than once during practice. The song just wriggled its way into your head a refused to leave. By the end of the first week of the figure skating season, the whole hockey team were singing it. Jaskier could have easily become a musician if he hadn’t fallen in love with skating.
“Black.” He grunted.
Jaskier made a face and wrinkled up his nose. “Oh god, really?”
Geralt chuckled. “No but that’s what people assume.”
Jaskier rolled his eyes. “That is not the question I asked. Come on, let me get you coffee, as a thank you for catching me earlier.”
“Caramel latte.” Geralt mumbled. “I need the sugar for training.”
Jaskier laughed and god even that was beautiful. “You and me both!” He strutted up to the counter to order whilst Geralt found a table with Ciri.
She sat opposite him and watched him intently, her chin resting on her hands.
“What?”
“You like him.” Ciri stated. It wasn’t even a question.
“Hmm.” He hummed nonchalantly. His daughter was perceptive but he wasn’t ready to admit it just yet, not aloud, not where Jaskier could potentially hear him. He glanced over at Jaskier who was busy flirting with the barista and Geralt’s heart sank.
Definitely not a date then.
He pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed. Why had he let his hopes get up? What would Jaskier see in him? His grey hair made him look decades older than he really was, his eyes were a weird yellow colour, nothing like Jaskier’s gorgeous cornflower blue eyes. He had less grace than a new born giraffe and little to no musicality. He was in so many ways, Jaskier’s opposite, but then again, they did say opposites attract and fuck was he attracted to Jaskier.
The object of his desire laughed at something the barista said and then he turned to face Geralt with a dazzling smile. Geralt returned the smile weakly, still feeling a little nauseous from having his crush to close to him and yet so unobtainable.
“Why don’t you tell him?” Ciri asked, her nose scrunched up as she tried to figure out why Geralt was being a coward with his feelings.
“It’s more complicated than that.” He muttered and ruffled her hair.
She shook his hand off and pouted. “Why?”
“Just is.”
“Yeah but why?”
Geralt sighed. “He won’t like me back.”
“How do you know?”
Geralt groaned. Bloody children and their endless curiosity. “I just know.”
“Know what?” Jaskier asked as he passed Geralt a large coffee cup. He put the coffee carrier down on the table and carefully handed Ciri the smaller of the two. “Careful, sweetheart, it’ll be hot.”
Ciri rolled her eyes and gripped the cup between her little hands. “Duh.” She muttered.
“So know what, Geralt?” Jaskier asked again as he bit his lip. They was chapped from too much time spent at the rink and Geralt couldn’t stop himself from staring.
“Hmm?” He replied, blinking as he vaguely registered Jaskier’s question.
“Dad said he knows that you won’t like him.” Ciri stated matter-of-factly and Geralt’s brain suddenly snapped into gear.
Shit!
Jaskier choked on his drink and Geralt almost knocked his all over the table. “I’m sorry what?!” Jaskier shrieked.
Geralt groaned and hid his face in his hands. “Ciri!”
“What?” She snapped. “He asked!”
“Go find your mother.” Geralt muttered sharply. His hands were shaking and Jaskier was just staring at him with his radiant blue eyes. “Now. Ciri.”
“But—”
“Now.” Geralt insisted and pulled out his phone to send Yennefer a quick heads up before sighing and turning towards Jaskier. “Sorry. She’s just a kid.”
“Geralt, I—”
“No, it’s fine. I understand. I’m just sorry you found out.” He cut Jaskier off before he could hear the words that would break his heart.
“No but Geralt I—”
“It’s fine, Jaskier.” Geralt reassured the skater. “I can stop coming to your performances.”
Jaskier stood up with a wave of his arms. “Geralt, would you just listen to me, you emotionally constipated himbo?!” Jaskier yelled and Geralt’s mouth snapped shut.
Fuck.
Jaskier put both hands on his hips and glared at him. “You’ve seen my routine?” Geralt nodded but didn’t say anything. “Have you worked out the story yet?”
Geralt frowned. “Eros, sexual love?” He grumbled.
Jaskier chimed a laugh. “The story of seduction, Geralt. I am the seductress trying to woo my playboy lover.”
“Playboy lover?” Geralt repeated.
Jaskier tossed his fringe from his eyes. “Famous hockey player who could have anyone he wants, formerly married to the most successful and most beautiful female skater of our generation?”
Geralt felt his cheeks heat up. “I’m no playboy.”
“No. Perhaps not, but my story was better.” Jaskier shrugged and licked his lips. His cheeks were as red as Geralt’s felt.
He furrowed his brow. “You were trying to seduce…me?”
Jaskier scratched the back of his neck and smiled sheepishly. “Well I didn’t think it would ever work. God, Geralt you are way out of my league!”
Geralt laughed. Out of Jaskier’s league. It was Jaskier who was out of Geralt’s league. The way he skated was absolutely breath taking, if he good just manage to land all of his jumps and maybe increase the difficult of his routines he would be dominating men’s skating. There wasn’t a single skater in the Grand Prix final that could out perform Jaskier. Yennefer would and had disagreed but none of the others were able to enchant Geralt the way that Jaskier could, and fuck, his Eros routine plagued Geralt’s dreams.
How many times had he dreamed about peeling off the sequinned black outfit? The skirt that flick up to reveal that little tease of blood red. Fuck. It was hot. It drove Geralt mad and the way Jaskier licked his lips at the start of routine and winked at the audience.
Out of his league.
It must be a joke. How could Geralt even begin to compete with his beauty?
“Geralt!” Jaskier whined, snapping him out of his Eros fuelled daydream. He refocussed on the real Jaskier’s face. The skater was pouting at him and it took every ounce of Geralt’s self control not to kiss him.
“You think you’re out of my league?”
Jaskier nodded and Geralt just laughed again.
“God, I’ve wanted you for years, Jask.” He admitted with a shake of his head.
Jaskier’s jaw dropped. “No.”
“Yes.”
“You mean we could have been…?”
Geralt nodded. “Yes.”
Jaskier groaned and flopped back into his seat. “Fuck me.”
Geralt took a long sip of his caramel latte as he watched Jaskier despairing over the potentially lost time. He hummed. “Normally I would ask you to dinner first.”
Jaskier’s eyes snapped up to meet his gaze. “Geralt!” He was blushing brightly but a playful smile danced on his lips. “How about I ask you to dinner?”
Geralt smiled and nodded, today was suddenly seeming a lot brighter. “Dinner it is.”
Jaskier reached across the table and Geralt took his hand. It was warm from where Jaskier had been holding onto his coffee, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. Geralt was still reeling over the fact he was allowed to hold Jaskier’s hand, after so many years of watching him on the ice. He’d always seemed so far away. A joyful presence in both Yen and Ciri’s life but never his, and for some unknown reason Jaskier had wanted him.
“Why?” He asked.
Jaskier raised an eyebrow and tilted his head. “Why?” He repeated the question.
“Why did you think I was out of your league?” It wasn’t exactly what he’d meant but repeating Jaskier’s earlier words were easier than trying to think of his own.
Jaskier laughed and squeezed Geralt’s hand. “Because look at you!” He gestured with his free hand. “You’re bloody gorgeous.”
“So are you.” Geralt mumbled.
That seemed to give Jaskier pause as his mouth opened and shut a couple of times. “Yeah. Well. You’re more gorgeous, and you’re this famous ice hockey player, Captain of the Kaer Morhen Wolves, ex-husband to the Yennefer Vengerberg, the Ice Queen. Father to the sweetest most adorable little five year old. You have everything. Why would you want me?”
Geralt felt his expression soften as Jaskier’s gaze fell to the table. “Because you make me hear the music even when there’s none playing.” Jaskier frowned and chewed on his lip. Geralt sighed and ran his thumb along Jaskier’s bottom lip, pulling it free from his teeth. “You keep doing that. It’ll start bleeding.”
“Yeah well.” Jaskier muttered breathlessly.
“Being famous means shit all.” He sighed as he pulled away from Jaskier’s face. “No one gives a fuck about the person underneath. I’m just the ice hockey hero.”
Jaskier scoffed. “Well, then, Mr Ice Hockey Hero. Who is Geralt Rivia?”
Geralt chuckled. “You sound like press.”
“You don’t mind if I record this do you?” Jaskier teased and moved the small pepper pot to sit in the middle of them. “It’s easier than taking notes. I’d rather this just be you and me, without a notebook.”
“Jaskier!” He growled.
“Now, we’ve all heard about your skills on the ice, tell me…” Jaskier paused dramatically and licked his lips. “do those skills transfer to the bedroom?”
Geralt barked a laugh. “I wish I could say I’ve never been asked that in an interview before.” He groaned.
“No!” Jaskier giggled.
“Hmm.” He agreed. It had been just after his divorce with Yen and the press were trying to market him as the next playboy bachelor.
“Don’t think I didn’t notice that you dodged the question, Geralt.” Jaskier teased.
Geralt tilted his head and smirked. “If you win the Grand Prix final, maybe you’ll find out.”
Jaskier gaped. “Geralt!” He groaned. “That’s just not fair. I’ll never win.”
Geralt just shrugged.
“You’re joking right. God please tell me you’re joking.”
Geralt didn’t answer.
“Geralt!!”
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Next
#the witcher#geraskier#ice skating au#figure skater!Jaskier#ice hockey player!Geralt#modern au#geralt of rivia#jaskier pankratz#born to make history#wolfie's witcher writing
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A little rambling:
on grief; and grieving a dog, a cat, an unborn child, and pieces of me that got hurt along the way.
2300 words under the cut.
It’s a very gloomy day today. I don’t usually mind; I like rain. But on a bad day, or a bad week, it only seems to insulate me in my own dark thoughts. That’s what today seems to be. I’ll work on fixing it later-- getting some exercise, sunlight if the clouds clear, making some tea. Should’ve done that already, but I forgot. Ate half a banana, at least.
As I’ve complained about a few times lately, I’ve just not been doing especially well. When and why did it all start? It’s hard to say, but this ‘unwellness’ spell seems most potent starting April 11th (my anniversary, unfortunately, which is why I can remember it), when I came down with a gruesome stomach bug. Really haven’t been feeling right since. I’m really bad about being sick; it scares me and I handle it badly. I assume that’s part of what has messed me up.
But grief is the other part, I think. Grief, and my being scared and worried that what caused it could strike again at any minute. Look, I’m... 32 now, and I’m sure that most people by this age have experienced profound loss. I’m probably not unusual, and I’m certainly not alone, but I think all the loss I’ve experienced is just piling up on me now, like there wasn’t enough time to process the new fresh ones before newer fresher ones came on, and so now even the old tough scars are aching.
When I was a teenager, my parents died. They were old, and it was health problems. It was not a surprise, but that didn’t make it easier to deal with in freshman year of high school. (What made it easier to deal with? Rabidly cleaning out the fridge and watching Lord of the Rings tapes the neighbors lent me. That’s all I did for three days after my mom died.) It’s been a long time-- more than half my life ago-- and I do feel like I’m ‘over it’, but sometimes it just wells up, tears from nowhere. Maybe that’s just how grief is.
A certainly had a good decade of my 20′s. I got married at 19, and had a pretty uneventful set of years. That felt normal to me. I do think, though, that the loss of my parents haunted me in that time, quietly. It influenced everything I did; it probably still does, if only because it changed the person I have become. But other than that, things were good, I think.
My dog Roxy died two years ago, when I was 30, not long after I got back from seeing my siblings for the first time in ages. She was violently ill, and died right in front of us as we were getting ready to take her to the vet. I think I’ve written about it. In fact, the next day I wrote a depressing fanfic piece, certainly as a coping mechanism. (It made people cry, so, mission accomplished, I guess.) I think that helped a lot. A few months later, my in-laws’ dog died too, while mom-in-law was on vacation, and that was rough as well. I wrote another sad fanfic about death. I really like both of these pieces, because they mean something, and they’re very raw. Furthermore, I’ll always have them, as tokens for Roxy, Ginger, and the little pieces of me they crushed when they died. I don’t know if the exchange is worth it, but it’s what I have.
My grief over Roxy was gentle, as time went on. It didn’t bother me. I think I’d processed it well. I’d written out my feelings. I held her body in numb arms as my husband dug her grave. It was okay.
In early 2020, basically on my 31st birthday (and right as Covid was happening), I found I was pregnant. Long story short, those were the densest two months of my life, where everything seemed to change so quickly. My thoughts and feelings could fill so very many pages; this is not the place I’ll leave them. The point of this particular story is that it didn’t work out. The baby ‘died’ not terribly unlike Roxy had-- violently ill, in front of me, with far too much blood. I passed out three times-- the real start of this current fearful nature, because I cannot overstate how very much I felt like I was going to die. I went to the ER; it was miserable, an ordeal I could say quite a lot about. I won’t, though. I have before, and I likely will again, elsewhere.
This... This grief... I think I still don’t know what to do with it. I don’t think I ever will. Months later, I started writing a fic to deal with my feelings, though it took 90k words and many months before I got to the part where I could really delve into my trauma. And it has helped, I’m sure. I’m really sure. And I care about this fic so much, because like the others it is raw and real and it’s something I’d never have if not for my experience. Again, it may not be a fair trade, but it’s what I have.
I don’t grieve for the baby. It didn’t make it far enough to even have a heartbeat. It doesn’t have a name, a gender. It doesn’t have a grave. We let the hospital take care of it. But I still grieve. I’m sad. Wrecked. I grieve what it could have been. I grieve the hope that was spent and lost on it, a precious resource that will take a long time to grow back, if ever. I grieve over not only my own disappointment, but my husband’s, and my in-laws. They’ve never pressured us to have kids, but they’re in their 60′s now, with no grandchildren. I think they feel... lacking, in a way. I understand. I feel the same (though different). I wanted to give them that. I wanted to have that.
I still....?
I can’t say. I don’t know what I want. The event complicated my already complex emotions. I’m still waiting for them to simplify. Maybe they will, or maybe they won’t.
I was alright for a while. Stressed enough because of Covid and family’s declining health. Then in early April 2021, just a year after the miscarriage, I got badly sick. Gross, but not what most people would call a real issue. But only a year after the miscarriage, when my body betrayed me and I was at its horrid mercy, this felt like too much. Again I felt like I was going to die. A week of near delirious fever and nausea; I’d have handled it badly enough in any other circumstance.
As expected, I got through it. A horrible week, but just a week (or so). And then my dog Tobi died, just days later.
This is it. This is the one I... I’m speechless about. The one I... maybe haven’t processed enough. I was just back from the edge of being badly, violently ill. I didn’t have the energy to write, physically or emotionally. And that just made it worse. I love writing. It’s my outlet (surprising, I’m sure). I wanted to write. I thought I ought to write. I needed to write. But I couldn’t. I couldn’t muster the words. I still... can’t.
Tobi was... my baby. Not literally, of course. I didn’t conflate him with my lost child or anything. Tobi was 14. I’d had him since I graduated high school and got an apartment. Adopting him was one of the first things my husband and I did as an established adult couple, before we were even married. He was there, at my wedding. The photographer took a cute picture of me holding him before the ceremony. He was 11 months old at the time. Still had all his brown spots before they turned tan, then later white. He was there; he was always there. He was my entire adult life. And now I’ve lost him, the pup I had longer than my marriage (though soon we will outlast him). He was the big brother to all my other pets. He practically raised all the cats, and they adored him. (Tobi was a chihuahua, so they might have thought he was just another cat.)
He was a sweet boy, who loved his mom and dad first and foremost. When he was little, he was scared of everyone else. Eventually he warmed up to strangers and friends, and in his old age he mostly liked to nap somewhere on his own. He was silly and playful; he always chased the cats when they wanted to be chased. It was a game they all loved.
The vet... well, we took him in when he started to cough badly. He’d had a cough for a few months, but it wasn’t constant and didn’t seem to be affecting his quality of life much. But that day it was bad, so we took him. (We can’t afford frequent vet visits, so this was clearly desperate.) The vet took him and put him on oxygen. We had to stay in the car because they weren’t open for human guests. Then she came and told us a scan had revealed cancer, marbled through his lungs. He was suffocating. In fact, he wouldn’t likely even make it home, not even the two mile drive. We had to put him down. My husband and I cried like babies. We’d never put an animal down before. Generally speaking, we don’t really ‘believe in it’, if that makes sense. But faced with this situation, we had no choice.
I didn’t see him again. I think that’s the worst part, though it would have been equally bad to see him, I think. And it was all so sudden. He was playing and chasing the cats the day before. Begging for treats of human food. Barking at the Roomba. And then I had to pay hundreds of dollars to say goodbye to him. It felt so unfair. I cried all day. My husband and I, we just went home and laid down and wept.
But I still haven’t written about it, not in the way that I wrote about the others. For all that I wrote here, it doesn’t begin to encompass my deeper feelings on what it means that he is gone, and how I felt to have to make that decision. I have ideas. I think I know what I would write, if I could, but writing... still mostly eludes me. I may try. I probably should.
I take a deep breath. I know I should sum this up and take care of myself, but there’s yet a little more to say.
I think Tobi’s death is a large part of what affects me still, but several weeks ago I had what I could only call a panic attack. In the middle of the night I awoke, my heart beating rapidly, a horrible feeling of dread like certainty that all I could possibly do was die. It took over two days for me to feel mostly normal again, and then I still felt vaguely nauseous for two weeks. Then, just a few days ago, it happened again, but this time before bed. I could feel it rising in me, this indescribable sickness. It took several days ago before I felt normal. And this is where I am now.
Sadly, a little while after the first panic attack, my husband and I failed to save a malnourished feral kitten. It was not a surprise, but yet one more reminder of the fragility of life, and how little I can do to keep death away from those I care about. This poor thing, it was so desperate to live, but nothing we could do could save it. I could have poured all my time into trying, could have scrounged up money to take it to the vet (when I should take my own cats, who all have colds), but I know better. I know... so much of the time, there’s nothing you can do. And now I’m trying to help what might be its siblings, a few cute feral kittens nearby. My favorite seems... a little lethargic, and not very interested in eating the wet food and meat scraps I sometimes bring by. I don’t think there’s anything I can do, if it ends up being sick, if it ends up being malnourished. I can’t bring it inside when it could infect my own cats. I have to care for them first.
But knowing that it could die... it bothers me.
And knowing that I could die. I could die. I’m too aware of that, on top of everything else. I hate doctors, so I never go. (Also I’m poor.) This toothache? Could be a terrible abscess. My brother went to the ER for sepsis from an abscess tooth recently! That’s probably what caused the panic, to be honest. But then... why have I felt so week? Is there a problem with my blood? Am I sicker than I know? Do I have breast cancer? My grandma did, and I know I should get it checked out, but it’s just ONE MORE THING. It’s always like that.
And that’s... how I feel right now. Covered in ‘one more thing’s on rainy days and night-work schedules. Trying to take care of myself but not always knowing what that means. Lacking the inspiration to do the things I know I enjoy, because worry and apathy holds me back from everything.
I’m okay. Really. No day of mine is ever entirely without merit, and I have plans to do most of the things that should keep me healthy. But the day is short when my needs and long, and the day is long when I’m paralyzed by apathy.
So. I’ll just take it a moment at a time. And when I can, I’ll try to keep writing.
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A girly chat
Summary:
Ginny and Hermione meet casually in the school halls after curfew. The situation is getting more complicated and. . . some things must be said, once and for all.
The copyrights of the characters belong to their creator J. K. Rowling.
A girly chat
If the renowned Hogwarts School of Magic and Sorcery has a thousand years of tradition, there is possibly another tradition that is even older than Hogwarts. In fact, it is probably as old as it was when the first boarding school that took in teenagers of both sexes for almost a whole year was set up.
Into the shadows, Ginny Weasley carefully scrutinized the last stretch of corridors to the staircase that finally led to the Gryffindor common room. A couple of hours ago the curfew had come into effect and now her only concern was to be able to reach the safety of the common room before some particularly fussy prefect, or worse, a teacher, discovered her returning late to her tower.
She had split up with her boyfriend Dean a while ago after a not too satisfying snogging session and her mood was particularly irritable.
Lately, things between the two of them haven't been working out as they should for a couple of girl and boyfriend. She was aware that there was an imbalance in the relationship. She liked Dean, that was indisputable and she would never have agreed to have a relationship if there was even the slightest interest on her part.
It was one thing to have a very satisfying intense and passionate snogging session in the heat of the moment and quite another to maintain a relationship with another person with nothing more than the purely physical. Not that she was against it. In fact, some of her classmates had that kind of relationship, “a term flirt", they called it. The kind that start a few weeks into the school year and end up back home for the summer holidays with some of the Hogwarts Express carriage suspiciously isolated from the rest with silencing spells, door locks and a few imperturbable ones too. It was simply that this type of relationship was not for her and the point was as time passed, the relationship with Dean seemed to slide dangerously towards that way.
She was fully aware that Dean was the one most emotionally involved in that relationship. In fact, Ginny was beginning to suspect that Dean was genuinely falling in love with her, and while it was true that she was attracted to the bloke, it was even more true that she was nowhere near as attracted to him same way.
To make matters worse, Dean was developing a somewhat overprotective feelings about her and, without intending to, was overwhelming her with all his solicitous displays of attention. She knew that he didn't mean to do it on purpose, but for a country girl who had to deal with six older brothers, two of whom were the biggest and most terrible pranksters in the history of the school, another who had the dubious honour of being the biggest blind stubborn who ever walked the face of the earth, one leading member of Dumbledore’s army, one sneaky fighter in the mystery department and owner of the most terrifying bat-bogey hex known, all those attentions were, to put it mildly, a pain in the ass.
To add to all this the growing, even at the end of February, level of anxiety that every fifth year student experiences as the dates for the OLWs tests approach, the initial appreciation that Ginny's mood was particularly irritable tends to fall short and, if by the hands of the devil, we add as the last ingredient to the potion the Weasley name and its legendary explosive temperament, it is not necessary to have an NEWT in potions to discover that we are faced with the perfect elaboration of the “Weasley Wrath” potion trademark and, only a fool, a suicidal, a desperate person or someone absolutely unaware of the delicate boil that was cooking in the small body of the redhead, would think of taking it out of the pot.
Ginny Weasley wasn't the only one wandering the halls at that hour. Also on the way to the common room, Hermione Granger was returning from one of her lonely prefect patrols. For months now, she had avoided patrolling with the other prefect of Gryffindor, so she simply left the common room early and made an erratic patrol of the castle in a desperate attempt not to find him in her path. If she had met him or anyone else, they would have immediately noticed her swollen eyelids, her red eyes and the soft sob that escaped from her mouth. Normally she would try to hide these already constant features on her face through some make-up, glamorous charms, impeccable uniformity and an apparent indifference to what was going on around her, but today she was too hurt, despondent and tired to realize her real look.
Having spent more than half of her shift in a secluded corner blowing off steam in her crying, all she wanted was to reach the quiet of her bed, cast an imperturbable spell and keep crying until the tiredness overtook her and she fell asleep.
It had been months since Ronald Weasley had started dating Lavender Brown and contrary to what might have been expected, the pain of heartbreak had not diminished one iota, quite the contrary. As the weeks passed, it was manifesting itself in all its majestic and vileness.
It was simply agony!
Her daily routine had become an unconscious attempt to avoid him for any means. Waking up even earlier, skipping meals, going to classroom for unusual routes, prolonging her library study hours beyond what was customary there to her. . . every conceivable means had been used by her to avoid him, but it had not been enough. Somehow, as always with Ron, it was never enough.
She couldn't avoid him completely, whether it was in classroom, in the common room, at her frugal meals or even in the library, where he would go when he had no choice but to complete his schoolwork and even though she tried so hard not to notice him when he was in those risk areas, it was so unlikely that she thought the expression “ignoring the elephant in the room” was an understatement and should be replaced for “ignoring the Ronald in the room”, because a redheaded lighthouse more than six feet high was frankly impressive and even harder to avoid.
To her greatest misery, where her brain was plotting escapes, her treacherous heart longed to see the one responsible for her misery and more than once she surprised herself looking for in the direction she knew the insufferable redhead was. The problem was that usually the image her hungry eyes encountered was not that of a lonely, bucolic Ron pining for her, but of a nasty Ronald Bilius Weasley who seemed to have attached with a permanent Sticking Charm to Lavender Brown's mouth.
Those were the worst times for Hermione, except for the nights when these images of constant kissing were repeated incessantly and while part of she was disgusted and nauseous at such sexual display, it was no less true that another part of she, most of she to be honest, desperately wanted to tear Lavender from her face and transfigure her into a couch on which to throw Ron so that she could measure his tonsils with her own tongue. That was the moment when the tears came to his eyes uncontrollably and the need to take refuge somewhere isolated arose.
So, the lonely prefect rounds were in a way a blessing and a curse.
Blessing because she was allowed to hide in any of the school's classrooms where she could vent her tears sometimes, sometimes with a brief burst of anger. Curse, because in the lonely rooms of the castle, that was when her brain was at its most tortured and that night, the memories had been particularly painful.
Without pretending to rejoice in her grief, she had gone back in time, remembering the happy moments with Ron, especially after the incident, saved by the skin of her teeth, from the Mystery Department. Even before, she had felt that something was changing in their relationship as friends, as for example, when she discovered that Ron had given her a bottle of perfume, but it had never been so evident until after the disastrous raid that had taken Sirius ´life.
The point was that ever since she woke up with the ugly scar on her chest, she shuddered at the memory, Ron had been with her all the time, comforting her and even, in a moment of weakness she had, making her feel that the imprint had not diminished in any way how beautiful she might look to a man. Quite the opposite. It was proof that she was a brave woman willing to face any manifestation of injustice and evil and if any man was not able to see it, then he would not be worthy of her love.
“If I knew a woman who was willing to fight like that for me. . .“, he had started with a dreamy look, “...I'd be in love with her forever and someday I'd make her my wife“. Causing her to fall on his own arse if she hadn't been lying on one of the beds in the school infirmary wing, at the same time that she becomes a puddle of drool.
She had barely been able to stop herself from grabbing his shirt, drawing him in front of her and facing his eyes, telling him:
There's one who's been fighting for you since the bloody second year and you still haven't noticed, you stupid idiot! and then kissed him like there's no tomorrow.
Instead, she'd babbled something unintelligible, burst into moan, and then she'd taken refuge in his chest and burst into tears.
Great, Hermione! She thought as she banged her head repeatedly against the nearest wall. You had your chance on a silver platter and you chose that moment to show yourself as a weak, crying damsel. You are mum Myrtle pride.
Previous times, during the summer, she had gone to The Burrow like so many others and had to admit that there had been a change in Ron's behaviour. Somehow, he seemed to be more solicitous of her without that meaning the end of his usual discussions. It simply seemed as if it was easier for them to be together without provoking each other for trivial matters, at least until “Fleeeerg" with her stunning beauty and “teggific" accent, made her presence felt in the vicinity, at which point Ron seemed to be slightly dazed and in spite of everything, she had to admit that this daze lasted for only a moment before he pulled himself together. Sometimes Hermione helped him with a particularly hard and cruel slap, on the other hand very satisfying for her, on the back of his neck. Anyway, his reactions to Fleur's presence weren’t more that a brief stunned. Just the opposite to the pitiful sight of the fourth year.
In short, his behaviour in the hospital wing, The Burrow and the first months of the term at Hogwarts did not bode well for what was to come. In fact, she thought they were taking steps in the right direction until after she invited him to Professor Slughorn's party and perhaps that was the final reason she felt so broken. She had been brushing against happiness with her fingertips so close that she could almost feel it and suddenly found herself touching. . . nothingness.
Thus she was immersed in her own reflections and returning to the stairs leading to the Gryffindor Tower when she seemed to perceive the movement of a shadow lurking in the darkness of the corridors.
Surely if she had been sufficiently rested and clear-minded her reaction could have been better, but for someone who is personally, emotionally exhausted, and with Hermione Granger's history of unpleasant encounters, this was perfectly understandable:
“IMPEDIMENTA!”
It had been like suddenly hitting an invisible wall. Convinced that the path between her hiding place and the stairs leading to her target was free of obstacles, she had launched herself into a swift race towards the stairs and, at a stroke, bounced back.
If the initial impact had been brutal, falling to the cold, hard floor of the school in an uncontrolled manner had not been a piece of cake either, but if she had learned anything from her recent fight it was that pain could wait. Because in the time it takes to complain about the wounds, a spell with very, very bad intentions can go after you and that is definitely much worse than the pain itself. So as soon as she had finished bouncing around on the floor of the corridor, she threw herself to the side as she wielded her wand to confront her assailant and found herself facing another wand, behind which were astounded and very familiar brown eyes.
“Her. . . Hermione?”
“Ginny?”
They were both so bewildered that they forgot to lower their respective wands, which continued to point at each other like a mournful omen, until the prefect of Gryffindor surrendered hers while offering her other hand to help the friend with the sore arse.
“For God's sake, Ginny”, she scolded her as he helped her up. “You scared me to death. What are you supposed to be doing at this hour outside your bedroom lurking in the school halls?” She finished.
“Oh! I don't know”, accepting help meanwhile she rubbed her bruised arse with her other hand and giving her friend an unfriendly look, the redhead's response was not long in coming. “Maybe wait until a hot wand witch was encouraged to use me as a target for her shooting practice”, she said sarcastically.
“You know that's not what I'm asking you, Ginny”. Hermione ignored the little voice at the back of her head which told her to answer with the same irony, an instinctive reflex, and the fruit of the continuous and biting training that she practiced daily with the youngest of Ginny’s brothers.
That was before, she corrected herself. We are even talking to each other anymore, she told herself and after all, Ginny was her best friend. The one who had been supporting her in her worst moments making imaginative descriptions of her stupid brother to try and cheer her up.
“Okay, okay. I've been spending some time with Dean”, she explained as she dusted off his uniform. “Far from prying eyes, Hermione. Is that good enough for you, or would you prefer me to give you more details about our business?” She ended up with a smile that had nothing innocent about it.
“Save me the nauseating details please, I have just finished my dinner and I would like to keep it inside my stomach, thank you very much.”
A nasty expression was drawn on her face and the youngest Weasley didn't know for sure if it was more fake than real. What if it was completely real is, that it was the most blatant lie Hermione Granger had ever told her.
“Hermione”. She paused for a brief moment thinking of how to approach the subject. “I didn't actually see you in the big dining room during dinner so, I'm wondering if you had anything to eat?”
“Well. . . er. . . me. Yes”. . . She stuttered. “I was actually late while completing my homework, so when I realized this, I spent a moment in the kitchens while making my rounds.”
“Hermione. . .”
“Giiiinny?”
All right, the gentle approach didn't seem to yield the desired result, so it was time to tighten the screws a bit. Ginny had a genuine concern about Hermione's health. She was aware of how little she ate and of the use of glamorous charms on herself. Not for nothing, she had been her only real friend and confidant.
“Hermione, don't try to hide it”, her voice took on a tone of harshness necessary to provoke her friend reaction. Hermione tended to ignore all the negative things said about her and the requirements that displeased her. That doesn't mean it didn't hurt, like when Draco Malfoy constantly insulted her, but making a habit of it, she tended not to give it much of her attention at the moment.
“It's because of my arse of a brother, isn't it?”
The prefect's expression of pain and the sinking of her shoulders confessed exactly what Ginny had suspected.
“Hermione, this has to stop now”, she continued, looking into her eyes. “He is a perfect prat, we know it but, look at yourself. Your eyes look like they've fallen victim to the conjunctivitis curse and you’ve been crying so much that even the tiny amount of makeup you do wear got smeared’. You don't eat. You don't rest. I doubt you're even getting enough sleep. You can't keep hiding it with glamour charms. You have to talk to him.”
“I don't have anything to talk to that. . . that. . . lubricious dog”, Hermione said, her body went rigid at the mere suggestion of talking to Ron. Under no circumstances would she stoop to talking to him.
“Hermione…” Ginny was patient enough to confront her friend. Sometimes she was surprised at how damned stubborn she could be and how much she and Ron were alike in that. “Right now you're being miserable and stupid too. Yes; stupid. Don't look at me like that”, she defended herself when the brunette frowned at her. “Think about it. Since you stopped talking to him, you don't have him like your couple or like your best friend anymore.
This does not mean that you have stopped nursing a broken heart, or that have you forgotten him. You’ve closed off any chance you might have had from making him realise he’s a right tool for dating Lavender because he can’t already to notice how extraordinary you are. How's he going to notice if you aren’t anywhere near him?
Ginny knew it was her turn to tell a big lie. Ron already knew how extraordinary Hermione was. During the summer holidays of the fourth year, Voldemort's return had been a constant topic in family conversations, but the other big topic had been Ron's monologues explaining how damned cool Hermione was and that a certain Bulgarian “pumpkin head” didn't deserve her at all. They used to end with the twins placed one on each side of a red Ronald in rage, while imitating a pair of languid-looking violinists, playing a romantic tune.
“Don't go down that road, Ginevra. As far as I'm concerned, your brother has ceased to exist. I'm not going to let him keep hurting me one way or another”, Hermione interrupted her as she proudly raised her chin and passed a sleeve of his school sweater over her face to clean it. “He was the one who started treating me like dragon dung after I invited him to the Slughorns party and I don't even know why. I can't remember anything I could have offended him about and I don't care anymore. As far as I'm concerned, he can take Lavender and do whatever he likes with her.”
Ginny could hear the tremor in Hermione's voice when she made her last statement, but she couldn't tell her that not for a moment had she managed to fool her with that bombastic claim that she didn't care at all what Ron and Lavender did together, because a feeling drowned out her own voice. A feeling called. . . remorse.
“In fact. . .” Her words escaped in a whisper from between her lips as her gaze rested on her own shoes.
Hermione stopped her walk when she saw Ginny to stop. Even through the veil of tears that covered her eyes, she could sense that something was wrong with Ginny.
“Ginny, what. . . ?”
“In fact”, She took every ounce of courage to lift her eyes off the ground to face her friend's, knowing that what was coming now would have frightening, unknown, and possibly disastrous consequences. “I think you should know that not Ron’s entire fault.”
For months, Ginny had been carrying guilt about what happened between Hermione and her brother. She knew that Ron had processed in the worst possible way the information that she had let slip. No doubt her passionate brother was ultimately responsible for the entire aftermath, yes, but there was no denying that her indiscretion had been the trigger for everything that had happened afterwards.
“Ginny. What do you mean?” Something shook in Hermione's gut. Something dark and slimy, like a premonition that something terrible was coming, something that made her afraid to know the answer.
“Hermione… you see… a few months ago Harry surprised me when I was snogging Dean behind a tapestry.”
“Well”. For a moment she hoped that that awful feeling of apprehension was just her imagination. “I don't think Harry liked that very much and I understand that you felt uncomfortable, but I don't understand how. . .” but when she saw Ginny Wesley’s serious face, that hope vanished like sea foam.
“Ron was with him.”
A freezing cold ran down Hermione Granger's spine, making her wince while her heart seemed to have missed a beat.
“Wh-what else happened, Ginny?”
“Ron… well, you know how overprotective he is… he burst into a speech about my reputation, what everyone would think of me, and practically called me a scarlet slut”. Ginny blushed furiously as she remembered the whole incident. “I finally told him there was nothing wrong with it. I made fun of him that he wished Fleur would kiss his cheek and that his best kiss had come from Aunt Muriel”. Her voice seemed to raise an octave at a time as she was telling it, as if the memory were recreating the anger she felt against her meddlesome brother at that moment. “That everyone was doing it and enjoying it except him. I teased him and told him, if he kissed Pigwidgeon, Harry kissed Cho, and you. . .” Ginny was interrupted at that moment when she realized the look full of pain and betrayal that Hermione was giving her with all her intensity.
“Say it, Ginevra Weasley”. An acidic poison filtered through her words as she waited for the statement that would confirm what her heart already knew.
“You kissed Viktor”, she finished, in a whisper.
And there it all was. Hermione felt her eyes fill with tears as her tiny body shook with rage. The ultimate reason for her broken heart and her pain, for her frustration and her bitterness, for the caresses and kisses that were denied her and given to another, for the worst months of her live in short, was finally before her.
Feeling the bile rise in her throat she began to turn around to run to a toilet where she could vomit when she felt her elbow being caught as she listened:
“Hermione, I. . . I'm sorry.”
That was already more than he could bear.
“Are you sorry? You, who call yourself my best friend, do you feel sorry?” For months she had been containing all her feelings of pain, resentment and hate under a seemingly flawless facade, but Ginny's confession had caused a rift and all that steam that had now found a weak spot was uncontainable. “And what exactly are you sorry for, Ginny? Are you sorry you didn't tell me so I could have tried to fix it at the time? Or are you sorry you to stole my hope and my chance for happiness? Or maybe are you sorry you didn't keep Dean's tongue inside your big mouth and avoid destroying everything”, she said as he trembled with anger and pain, feeling the magic crackling between her fingers, asking for permission to claim her wand and curse the redheaded traitor.
“You knew how I felt about your brother”, her face reddened with pure fury, as her eyes filled with the tears of broken hope. “You knew I was afraid of how Ron would react if he found out about Viktor. I begged you, I pleaded with you to keep it a secret“, her voice began to break. “I supported, comforted and suggest you when you were a nervous wreck with Harry. I defended you so that your brothers would not leave you behind and take you out of danger like a weak little girl unable to defend herself. I put my heart in your hands and my trust in your silence and you… you betrayed it all because you couldn't control your temper when they stopped you having a goddamn shag with your boyfriend?”
Okay. Hermione had overstepped the mark. Ginny wasn't a Weasley for nothing. She understood that she was broken by the pain, but it was also true that she needed to learn something and, by Merlin! She was going to learn it! Even if it meant casting a full-body binding spell on her! The pain and remorse for the involuntary betrayal of her friend was not the only thing on Ginny Wesley’s conscience. There was also something else, and it was time to bring it out into the open.
“It was your fault that you and Ron never got anywhere too, Granger! I'm sorry, but that was”. Hermione felt as if the previous insult had been added to a slap. Not only was the charge harsh, but Ginny had used her last name, something that only happened when she was particularly angry. She wanted to answer, but she didn't have time to reply before the temperamental redhead started talking again without taking her eyes off the stunned prefect.
“Do you ever really wonder why he's with Lavender and not with you? Have you ever really tried to put yourself in his shoes to understand what he saw in her or what she offered him and that you never gave him?”
Hermione felt again the taste of bile rise in her throat and only the anger that burned inside her like hellfire prevented her from vomiting right there.
“Sex! That hooker is shagging him. . .” escaped between her teeth in a hiss so low and so loaded with hate and contempt that it seemed pure poison.
“For Merlin’s beard!” Hermione was surprised to find Ginny who rolled her eyes in obvious disbelief. “Do you really think Ron's with her because they're fucking like rabbits, Hermione? Merlin! I knew Ron was a tough cookie, but I think you could give him a run for his”. Her eyes fell back on the increasingly stupefied, frizzy-haired witch.
“And, when were they supposed to start ‘copulating’, Hermione?”Ginny made an obscene gesture with both hands and a finger. “He was stuck with you from the time the course started until the day you decided to stop talking to him. You shared classes; you shared patrols around the school. He had the quidditch training sessions. When he was in the common room he was joking or slaughtering Harry at chess and when it was neither of those things, he was with you in the library begging you to help him with his homework. So unless he has a time-turner or is sneaking out at night, can you tell me what time of day he takes to sneak out and to shagging Lavender into the wall?” Ginny thought her explanation had made the point, but as she watched the brunette's frown grow into a gesture of intense concentration she could not help but be horrified.
“I can't believe it!” She raised her arms to the incredulous sky. “You're really considering what I said? Well, I have to tell you something, genius! Two people are needed for that activity. Did you ever see Lavender mysteriously disappear before all this mess and, come back dishevelled, with hickeys or looking appropriately fucked?”
Ginny was reassured to see the light of sanity in Hermione's eyes again, but this was quickly replaced with a deep sadness that obscured her gaze.
“So, if it wasn't the sex, I don't know what you mean, Ginny. I understand what he sees in her. Lavender is everything I'm not physically, but I've been her friend since first year. I thought he would appreciate that much more.”
Ginny's disbelief in Hermione's blindness was reaching cosmic proportions.
“Exactly! That's what he sees. To a woman who offers him the attention of a friend and sometimes less than that. He has never seen from you any attention or, Merlin, not so much as a compliment’ that reflects more than friendship for him, Hermione!” she spat while the other girl seemed to look like a victim of a stunning spell, but Ginny pressed on, determined not to give Hermione any chance to replicate.
“You never told him he was worth it! A mention at the end of the third year after Sirius broke his leg, and little else! Never as quidditch player. Damn it! You didn't even see him in his victory last year, when he was the star of the game without being, for once, under Harry's shadow, grounded by the disgusting toad. No. You left with Hagrid. You ignored him again. He understands you putting him behind Harry, but Hagrid? For Merlin’s sake, Hermione”, the temperamental redhead put her hands on her hips, meanwhile she went back to her bewildered friend again. “You've seen his performance in DA. He's the best duellist after Harry. He only fails when he's confronted with you. The poor jerk is not even able to hold his wand properly when he has your image in front of him. . .” a mischievous smile slips on Ginny's face for the first time. . . “in your presence, at least.”
Hermione's jaw dropped and her eyes opened wide as a furious blush covered her cheeks at the prying comment of the meddling sister, and her heart seemed to go crazy in her chest when she wonders what she meant and one, not at all honest, image of Ron “wand in hand” seems to venture into her mind, causing a shudder in her belly.
But before she can revel in it, the truce given by the youngest of the Weasleys concludes.
“Did you ever tell him he was a good wizard? No; not like a friend, not like a partner, but a WIZARD. Did you ever really fight for him?”
Ginny was sorry. It really pained her to yell at her best friend that way, especially when she saw Hermione’s face in pain. It was one thing to launch an offense of the moment and quite another to proceed with a full-blown assault, but it was too late. A dam had been broken and the torrent was already uncontrollable, moreover. Some things needed to be said and done, no matter how much they might hurt and perhaps make them look.
“Lavender did it! She noticed a wizard she liked, she found him funny, she found him fanciable, handsome, worthy of being shown off as her boyfriend and who knows what else in my dumb brother, and she showed her! That's why you lost him. Because you drowned in your own insecurity and fed his! And it won't be because you didn't have more than one warning!” Her eyes narrowed as she stared at her know-it-all friend.
“Do you really think that Padma Patil, proud Ravenclaw and one of the most beautiful girls in the whole school, didn't have other suitors for the Yule Ball? Or... Are you seriously going to argue that you didn’t notice how Luna was staring at him all of last year?
It was as if Hermione had been hit with a stinging spell. Of course! She had noticed the sustained glances the grey-eyed blonde had given Ron and the conversations she seemed to be looking for when the meeting was over. Although compared to what she felt against Lavender it was a trifle, that time was definitely when she felt the green-eyed monster establish a permanent camp in his heart.
“You can be thankful that he's completely clueless, or he could’ve ended up giving his heart to someone a long time ago”, she said with a suggestive eyebrow.
“But no. You decided to stay in no-man-land, with no initiative, ignoring warnings. Perhaps thinking… no, hoping… that no one else would notice him. Obviously, he won't have a second look from Madame Rosmerta right now and you might even find it comical to remember the Yule Ball incident with Fleur, but if you took a moment to reflect on who Fleeeeeerg's fiancé is, you might find out what another Weasley looks like”, she said with an eyebrow raised again as one of the corners of his mouth seemed to rise in a mocking smile. “Maybe if she hadn't met Bill and Ron had gotten a couple more years to grow up. . . Well, Gabrielle is a Delacour too, is veela too and she's pretty cute, don't you think?” Ginny's smile looked awfully similar to George and Fred's when they were preparing some of their shenanigans against Ron. “Really I don't know, though. After all, my brother seems to have a thing for women “older..." with her fingers, she simulated the quotation marks“...that him.”
If Hermione's brain seemed to have been blocked with the information overload, her heart, which had seen all the signs! It seemed to have been used as the model in one of Professor McGonagall's classes and transformed into an angry hummingbird that buzzed in her chest protesting that it'd been silenced for so long and shouting I told you so!
“Maybe, deep down, you're still seeing the eleven-year-old boy you met on the train”, Hermione’s shoulders sank in resignation, “and you didn't realize that boy is long gone! Someone's here! Someone claimed him as her own! And now, you're learning the lesson he learned in fourth year: that one day someone could come along and take him away from you... FOREVER.”
That had been overwhelming. Hermione felt as if she had been caught in an avalanche and it was dragging her helplessly down the mountain, unable to resist its uncontrollable power.
“B. . . Bu...” she stuttered as she tried to pull herself together. “But I… I gave him clues. I invited him to Professor Slughorn's party; I kis... kissed him before the game. . .”
“On the cheek, damn it!” Ginny blew up, interrupting her. “Like if he was just a brother or a baby boy!”
“He hasn’t ever implied that he has any other interest in me”, her voice fell in a whisper that did not even seem to have the strength to convince herself. “H... He called me a nightmare once.”
“Merlin’s beard, Hermione! He was an eleven-year-old boy who was overwhelmed by a girl who had read and memorized all the books of the first year before starting school and who in her first class of spells, casted a perfect spell on her first attempt when she didn't even know she was a witch until three months before.”
“Is that it, then?” If there was a daze before, it was now as if she were in the presence of a boggart facing her worst fears. “He thinks he must be with a pureblood because I am a freak who should have been a pitiful witch for being mugg-muggleborn and...” Her thoughts died on her lips when she suddenly found herself at the other side of Ginny's wand.
“Don't even complete that sentence, Granger,” Ginny's face had become so red that it was practically purple. “Don't even think about completing it”, she hissed. “Ron may be too blind to see what's right in front of his eyes, but I won't have you insulting my brother like that”. Her voice is practically vibrating with wrath. “You didn't see him completely devastated at your bedside after the raid on the mystery department, nor when he came, every night! To watch over you when the basilisk petrified you, back in your second year!”, Hermione's eyes open wide as a moan escapes her chest at the revelation, but the redhead is not finished with her.
“Did you know he confronted McGonagall and Mrs Pomfrey when they wanted to force him to stop visiting you? That he fought a giant spider for you? Don't you remember when he spent an afternoon throwing up slugs for you? Yeah. He may be a more of an oblivious prat than anyone else I know, but his heart has always been in the right place. Maybe the problem is that there's more than oblivious prat round here.”
“You always told him that Krum was just a friend, but you never told him that you did NOT love Viktor and you didn't know or didn't want, to caught him between the rock and the wand and ask him: Why are you jealous? and force him to confess. With all the stupid fights you have all the time! The most important was the one you didn't provoke it, when you know, Ron works best with a direct approach and is very insecure under the shadow of his brothers, but there are more so”.
“Your pride got the better of you and you never told him you were Krum's Yule’s Ball partner. If you had told him, he might have had more time to deal with it. But you didn’t. Without wanting to, you rubbed it in his face and you never stopped to think that when he saw you on Krum’s arm, before the jealousy, he must have felt that you didn’t trust him.”
“You didn't realize, I'll give you that”, she raised her hand before Hermione can even hear the whole sentence, “you were always comparing him to Harry. . . Harry, the handsome one. . . Harry, who grew up so much last summer. . . Harry, with his manly scars. . . Harry, the bloke... Harry, the fanciable one. . . Harry, the great teacher. . . Harry, who kissed Cho “in a more than satisfactory way. . . Harry, who you never accused of being an insensitive wart or of having the emotional range of a teaspoon. . . even though Harry is as blind and made the same mistakes, if not bigger, about girls, as Ron”, the redhead's voice broke for one moment.
“Yes. You invited him to Professor Horace's party, but do you remember how you did it? You didn't tell him that you want to go with him, but, that guests were allowed to bring companions and that you had planned to invite him. How do you think that sounded to him? Perhaps, like an act of mercy towards the mediocre friend of The Chosen One and The most brilliant witch of her generation, The Slug Club’s honour guests?” Ginny questioned Hermione with a look. “You told me how excited you were to have quality time with him at Grimmauld Place before Harry came, remember? You told me and only because I had you over a barrel, but did you ever tell him? How happy you were to be able to share some quality time, you with him? Have you realized that he always invited you to our home, but you never invited him to yours?”
“And finally”, Ginny's pupils were so high that it looked like her eyes were going to roll back on themselves, “the icing on the cake. Instead of telling him he wouldn't have needed the Felix potion, because you were sure he would be able to play an extraordinary game on his own, you attacked him for using it. A perfect continuation of what happened in the summer before fifth year. Who was elected prefect, Hermione? It was Harry, wasn't it?”
Hermione felt as if a stone had been tied to her feet and thrown into the coldest dungeon. Ginny had laid out the facts in a cold, one-on-one manner, as if she were a court prosecutor giving her an overview she had never acknowledged before. But of all that, what hurt her most, it was the mention of Ron's prefecture. She would have been happy to give up her soul in order to correct that terrible mistake and, even then, the implacable redhead did not seem to have finished with her.
“And you can still be thankful he doesn't know what you did with McLaggen in the keeper trials”. As soon as she heard her, she was no longer hopelessly abandoned in a dirty dungeon, but her hands were tied behind her back, a bag was placed over her head and she was thrown into the sea as she sank irretrievably into an abyss that did not allow her to breathe. “Harry just used a mind trick on him. He made him to think he was invincible because Harry had cheated, but. . . YOU DID IT! Can you imagine what it'd do to his self-esteem if he found out about that? That would make him see that you see him as useless. Like a snotty baby who needs to be helped to walk, unable to do anything good by himself. . .”
“IT'S A ROTTEN LIE!” The burst of the heartbreaking scream gave way to uncontrollable crying. The grief that had gradually set in Hermione's chest could no longer be contained and she could no longer bear it. “It has never been like that”, a whiny whisper escaped her lips before she put her hands over her face and felt herself falling to her knees on the cold stone.
“It's never been like this.” If seeing Ron with Lavender had been like having her heart ripped out of her chest, Ginny had ripped her soul out like a dementor leaving her hollow, empty inside. In the last remnants of her sanity she wondered if all the Weasley siblings had the gift of cruelty.
“He's extraordinary”. She sobbed. “He doesn't realize it, but he is and that frustrates me so much”, she confessed. “He doesn't realize it, but I see it. I've been watching it ever since I saw that long and gawky redheaded guy with dirt on his nose. He was adorable when he tried to do magic with Pettigrew trying to turn him yellow. Why do you think it hurt me so much to be called a nightmare, when I had been called worse things in my old muggle school?”
Now the surprise had changed sides and it was the redheaded Weasley who was left with her eyes wide open as she felt the longing in her friend's voice.
“Because it was him who told me!” She almost screamed, raising her face to the sky to confront her inquisitor. “I wouldn't have cared if the insult came from anyone else! I was already ignoring the “know-it-all”, “cactus-head” and “beaver-toothed” comments that some were giving me, but I didn't care about him. I wanted to be his friend. His friend! That's why I was willing to lie to McGonagall!”
The crying had finally stopped and as she focused her inflamed, red eyes on her best friend, they began to glow with the passion behind them.
“Do you really think I don't see the kind of extraordinary wizard. . .? NO!” She interrupted herself and there was real pride in her voice now.
“Not because he's wizard! It would be exactly the same if he were muggle. Do you think I don't see the kind of extraordinary MAN he's meant to be as long as he has a little more confidence in himself?” She had raised her chin now when pride in her best friend had surged over her chest threatening to pop the buttons on her shirt while, the vocal inflection she imprinted when she referred to him as man made a chill run down Ginny's back from the back of her neck to where her back loses its honest name.
No. That was not desire only. It was much more! It was a wild wish. Primary and possessive like the predator that stalks its prey. Ginny had no doubt that if at that moment her carefree brother had turned up there; despite her anger, despite her spite, Hermione would have cornered him against the wall and ridden him like a wild beast marking him as her own forever, and yet the temperamental redhead grasped something else. Underneath that entire wish, there was something else. Something she knew but had never understood in its fair measure until then.
Love.
A love so immeasurable and desperate that it could consume all the lives that Hermione Jean Granger could live.
“Do you think I haven't seen how loyal he is? Do you think I don't see the gratitude he professes for Harry since he chose him over Malfoy before he was classified?” Hermione had lost all inhibition and stood proudly on the ground. She had been accused without knowing the fullness of her feelings for Ron. Good. So be it. In return, she would bare her soul and burn everyone who saw it with the burning radiance of her love for him.
“Ronald would be able to go down to hell with one arm tied behind his back if Harry asked him to. Yes, that's right. I didn't know about the acromantula affair or his confrontation with the teachers, but knowing that doesn't change what I feel, because that's not the fear that nests in my heart. No”, she said as she nodded her head. “My terror is not to know what or how many more times he's done it. I saw him standing front of Sirius, battered, bleeding, with a broken leg,... no wand and willing to be an insurmountable wall between Harry and me. Willing to drop dead rather than let him pass”, his proud pose now cracks and for a moment his body trembles, but she pulls herself together. Her face hardens again and her gaze returns to her best and most painfully sincere friend.
“No Ginevra. That's not what grips my heart and squeezes it like a black claw. I am not afraid of all he has done, because he has done it, it is past and now he is here, safe and with me. What terrifies me is what he will do”, an atom of understanding appears in the eyes of the redhead what is quickly replaced with fear when she comes to understand all the consequences of Hermione's point. “I know it. One day he'll come between me and a deadly curse and he will be taken from me by it, Ginny. He'll be ripped away from me and there's nothing I can do to stop him”. There was so much love in Hermione's eyes, so much devotion, so much pride and so much despair that Ginny's heart trembles as she notices the moisture flooding her own eyes.
“And I don't need that to love him. I used to do it before all that. It just makes me love him even more. With such intensity and such desperation that it hurts Ginny. It really hurts”. Tears now roll freely down both women's faces.
“Do you think I don't know that he sees himself as stupid, ignorant and mediocre in everything? But I've seen him beat McGonagall when he was twelve. I have seen him develop a brilliant strategy to protect Harry and me with the cost of his own life on a deadly chessboard”, again her voice trembled, as she relived in her mind that horrible scene of Ron being brutally beaten by the queen while for the second time, the youngest of the Weasleys regretted opening her big mouth and how similar she was to her closest brother.
“You're saying I don't realize his magical abilities? That, I can't see that he's with the same level as Harry? But have you noticed how much better a wizard he is than I am?” Hermione has a dark satisfaction in watching Ginny's wide open eyes. She, who has accused her of despising her brother, is not innocent of the same sin.
“He hardly studies. He falls asleep in all the history of Magic classes, is always late to write his essays. . . So what? He is able to perform any spell once he has seen the technique; he doesn't even need to study it. I can’t see it before, but I understood it at the end of last year. He doesn't give a damn about any data or magic that has no practical application. Now he causes hilarity because in class of transformations he invoked a huge moustache when the spell failed”, a sad smile comes to her face when she remembers the scene. “But when he finds out how useful they can be in hiding from the Deatheaters, to do body transformations will be like breathing for him”. Hermione pauses for a moment, as if needing to rearrange his thoughts after his vehement exposure, and on his serious face, an ironic smile is drawn.
“So, how did he feel overwhelmed by me when I levitated a quill at Professor Flitwick's class?” And now it was the fire of defiance that burns in her eyes when she turns to Ginny.
“He used ‘Wingardium Leviosa’ to knock out a mountain with its own club in the middle of a combat to death” And just in that moment, Ginevra Molly Weasley realized that in front of her was not a haughty Hermione Jean Granger, but the still unconscious Ron Weasley’s wife in fiery and proud vindication of her husband.
“The only problem is his damn insecurity”, there was a hint of sadness in her voice now. “He feels so inadequate under the shadow of all of you that, God! Sometimes I feel in my fingers the magic to curse all of you for having contributed to that. But when he is safe, when he is calm, when he does not feel the need to prove himself to anyone, when he does not have time to think or when no one sees him, he is amazing. I. . . I only cause him to he see himself as he is, as the others see him, as Luna see him!” She sobs. “There's not a more beloved prefect in the whole school! Every time a student has a problem, they go after him. It doesn't matter what house they are. Everyone knows they can count on him. Did you know that I learned the names of all the students of Gryffindor from him, Ginny?” Surprised, she shakes her head without saying a word. She was intensely aware that she shouldn’t interrupt Hermione's cathartic process now. “He knows the names of all the students in the lower years of Gryffindor. I imagine that even the sixth and seventh years and everyone goes to him when they have a problem in their real life or get into a mess. Not like me, they only come to me when they have problems with their homework and they do it not because he is soft or he will not punish them. I've seen him put such imaginative and appropriate punishments that would make McGonagall want to adopt him! No, it's nothing like that. It is because he understands them and helps them when they really need it, but he is so convinced that he is mediocre, he is so afraid to fail that he simply suffocates herself and slips up because of it”.
“That's why he didn't ask you to be his date at the Yule Ball”, Hermione is surprised when Ginny takes the floor again. There's no reproach in her tone now, just warmth. “That idiot, he was dying to invite you. Believe me, I know”. Ginny raised her hand gently to Hermione's threat of interruption, who had opened her mouth to give her the counterpoint.
“But he was terrified, Hermione. He couldn’t just see you as his best friend anymore to become someone he likes in the romantic sense of the word. The poor idiot wanted to hide it saying those silly things about going with the prettiest girl, or that since you both didn't have a partner you could go together and all that dragon shit”, she said, raising her hands and rolling her eyes at the same time, “and you saw how it ended that night. He went with one of the two most beautiful, exotic and noticed girls in the school, but he didn't dance her, he didn't give her a compliment, he didn’t give her a glance, because of how jealous he was of Viktor Krum.”
Ginny had taken the hand of the brunette with the furious hair and red eyes in front of her. All the initial frustration had faded as she discovered the intensity of Hermione's feelings for her brother, and now she just wanted to give her the comfort she really needed. To be the friend she was supposed to be.
Hermione, on the other hand, was devastated. If physically this confrontation added to her exhaustion from the last few days, emotionally she was a broken doll, and the tears that ran down her cheeks were the irrefutable proof of that. She felt her legs fail her and let herself slide down the wall of the corridor until she was seated on the hard floor of the castle. In a moment of rage and pain, she had opened the doors of her heart wide to her best friend. She had taken out of her chest all that anger and pain that she had been feeling for months and now, instead of a little peace, what she found was an immense emptiness, a darkness so dark that she was surprised that her heart continued beating, because seemed that it was only fed with that anger and now, in its absence, it found no sense to continue beating.
Her silent crying was interrupted for a moment when she felt her friend sit beside her and wrap her in a warm hug. There was no hostility there anymore, just warmth and an offer of comfort that she accepted crying out loud.
“I had bought a new dress for the slug meeting”, she whispered between hiccups and sobs after a moment. “Since I couldn't have that ball with him, I wanted, oh God!” She sighed. “I… I really wanted to have a real first date with him that was perfect. I even intended to be much more aggressive...”, a sad smile escaped her lips that broke Ginny's heart when she saw it“... with him that night. I even thought about having a couple of drinks to loosen up a bit and make it easier”. The longing in her eyes made the youngest of the Weasleys understand the double meaning of the phrase when she heard it. “And, what happened, Ginny? I missed his first kiss and I lost him.”
“Then you know what you have to do when that pair of squids break off”. The freckled redhead had genuine love in her eyes when she said it and gently pressed her hug when the brunette looked at her with a face of disbelief.
“Oh, come on! Don't look so surprised, Hermione. That relationship won't last. Ron is not comfortable with Lavender. It's true that she has improved his self-esteem, but he doesn't love her. There's got to be a lot more than kissing in a relationship with Ron. He needs passion, vehemence, fire. There has to be someone to incite him, to challenge him, to cause him to be better, do you remember?" She said, raising his eyebrows as she wrote “quotations marks" with her fingers.
“He needs you.”
That says it all. The two join into a comforting embrace, each resting her head on the other's shoulder, and while the only daughter of the Weasley clan feels the moisture seeping through her sweater and the tremor of her disheartened friend, this one can barely hear the “stupid blindness” that Ginny mumbles.
“Miss Weasley, Miss Granger! What are you supposed to be doing at this time outside their common room?”
Sitting on the floor, Ginny was stupefied for a moment and then, the next moment, she burst out laughing uncontrollably, causing her hands to fall to her ribs as she rolled on the floor in a very undignified position, seeing how “by magic", the “perfect prefect” seems to have apparate standing next to the head of the house, defying the rule that she has repeated countless times, ‘No one can apparate at the Hogwarts grounds...’
“Miss...Miss Weasley! Just what is so funny. . . ?” But the redheads uncontrollable laughter interrupted her.
Meanwhile, at the same time Ginny tried to point her trembling finger at one Hermione Granger, who seemed to have inherited the Weasley superpower to redness to the point of spontaneous combustion.
“Miss Weasley”, without losing her composure in the face of the unusual scene, Minerva McGonagall tried to take control of the bewildering picture, although in reality she didn’t seem in the least surprised. “Please pull yourself together, stand up! I hope you have a satisfactory explanation for your behaviour.”
“Prof... Professor” , Hermione's timid attempt is again interrupted, with another roaring laugh from Ginny, who can barely stand on her shaky legs as she kept pointing at her friend and her face seemed to be about to split in two for a grinning from ear to ear.
“Shit on it, Hermione! For Merlin's sake. . .”
“Miss Weasley!”
“Just a moment ago...” Ginny seemed to ignore the presence of the transformation teacher as she continued her jocular chatter “...you were talking about how to try and relax, so you could have the courage to face Ro. . . the ‘asshole’ and do what you want and, as soon as Professor McGonagall appears, you jump up and down and get stiff as if a stick had been shoved up your arse? What. . .”
“MISS WEASLEY!” At this moment the teacher's face looked absolutely horrified with the colourful language from the youngest of the Weasley family.
“Ginny. I sincerely believe that this is not the time. . .”Whispered a brunette with her hair more frizzy than ever, as she threw an Avada Kedavraish look at her shameless friend who, seemed to have either uncontrollable verbal incontinence or an unparalleled suicidal wish. Meanwhile Ginny continued to talk without realising it.
“Are you going to be just as stunned when he freezes and a trickle of slime when you “turn more aggressive with. . .”
“ENOUGH!” Raising both her voice and her hand in an energetic gesture that cannot be replied to Mc Gonnagall interrupted the diatribe and laughter of the fifth year student, who finally seemed to notice the presence of her teacher. “I don't really care anymore why you are out of their rooms after curfew and not even what it was all about”, she said, as she puts two finger to the bridge of her nose as if she had a terrible headache. “The point is that you both are contravening the rules of the school and therefore both deserve a detention”, provoking the immediate face of terror of the sixth year prefect.
“Miss Weasley. It's not just the fact you are wandering around the castle after hours, doing who knows what? But I will not consent to the use of such vulgar and rude language in my presence. So, next Friday, you will report to Mr. Filch who will tell you which toilets to clean. . . no magic.”
“As for you, Miss Granger; I really cannot understand why you did not immediately accompany Miss Weasley to Gryffindor Tower neglecting your duties as prefect. Do you have anything to say that might excuse you?”
“Actually, I think I can, Professor McGonagall”, which provokes a gleam of curiosity in the glances now directed at her, from the punished student and the Transfiguration Professor simultaneously. “But it's not in my defence”, she says, looking up from her shoes, “but in the case of Ginevra Molly Weasley”, a perverse smile hints at Hermione's face that quickly becomes sweet, when she see a grimace of annoyance at her friend's as soon she was called with her full name. “Actually, I was having a problem focusing on one of my assignments and she offered me a new perspective”, she says just at the instant she turns away for a moment her eyes from her favourite teacher, to offer a warm smile to the stubborn redhead.
“Well, that's a commendable attitude no doubt, Miss Weasley”, for a moment the latter of them thinks she detects the flash of a smile on the teacher's face, but it's so fleeting that she thinks she's imagining it. “But both of you will understand that the corridors of Hogwarts at dawn are neither the place nor the time for such things, for which the sanctions are still in force. Are you both aware of this?”
“We are, Professor McGonagall.” They both answer together.
“Good. Gryffindor will be deducted ten points for each of you for being out of the common premises after curfew and Miss Weasley will be deducted another five points for inappropriate language. I would recommend that you do not reply, Miss Weasley”, she adds, seeing like the redhead was making the attempt to protest, “and thank Miss Granger for her defence. Initially I was planning to deduct another ten points.”
“I'll thank you very much, Hermione”, she mumbles in a buzzing tone that makes the target of her gratitude shudder imagining the kind of thank you that must be planning to give her the explosive temperament of the redhead. “All right. I think it's time for us to get back to the tower and get some rest for the rest of the night”, she says in a breath.
It was at the moment when both students have turned around and started to withdraw in the direction of Gryffindor Tower when:
“By the way. . .” the voice of the head of Gryffindor house forced them to turn around to face her again and find her with her back to them.
“I think that change of perspective will be very useful to you, Miss Granger”, she adds as she turns his head and stares over his glasses at the surprised prefect.
“Wha..Yeah?. . . err. Yes. I. . . I think it’ll be, professor. Yes, I'm sure it will be. Thank you very much”, stutters the dazed brunette meanwhile Ginny bit her hand in a desperate attempt not to burst into laughter once again.
“I expected no less from you, Miss Granger. You're dismissed.”
And so, while the two students of the renowned Hogwarts School of Magic and Sorcery, one of them in a state of shock and the other one barely able to contain her laughter, headed back to their tower, Professor McGonagall finally headed for her own quarters, the beginnings of a smile on her face:
“Fifty points for Gryffindor...” to his mind comes, the memory of the great dining room adorned in green and silver, while a venerable aged man with white beard speaks and one chubby and fearful child, listens astonished his words. '. . . It takes great courage to stand up to our enemies, but it takes the same courage to stand up to friends. . .' "Miss Weasley.”
The End.
Notes:
I would like to thank to the incredible @headcanonsandmore, for her invaluable help in completing the English version of the text. Without her, it really wouldn't have been possible. I think this is, so far, my best work, and if there's anyone it deserves to be dedicated to, it's you. Again, thank you very much for your help.
This is the work that, I really would have liked to present at the @romioneficfest 2020, but it turned out to be a bit long. . . more than 10 times longer, but... a lovelly Dragon, gave me a chance.
:)
Thanks to read.
#Romione #Hermione Granger/Ron Weasley #Hermione Granger #Ginny Weasley #Ron Weasley #Luna Lovegood #Mental Anguish #Love Confessions #True Love #Friendship #Missing Moments
https://archiveofourown.org/works/25513438
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Books that remind me of Jude from A Little Life
I’ve been wanting to do this for a while now, but I’ve always felt like I haven’t read enough to make a proper list. Then I realized that I will always feel like I haven’t read much and it is as good a time as any to do it. I have decided to create lists of books that remind me of certain characters-characters that I love, characters that intrigue me, characters that I can’t seem to forget. I decided to come up with these lists because it has been so difficult for me to find books that are similar to the books I loved or similar to the characters that I loved and I feel like this is a good way for me to keep track of these books and for other readers to find books that are similar to their favourite books and characters. These books can be similar in terms of the character’s personality, the character’s past, the character’s relationship with the people around them, about anything really. The similarities might vary, some books might be more similar than others. After all, reading is a subjective experience and no two persons ever experience the same book. Therefore, what I find is similar to my favorite character might not be the same for you. Please just keep this in mind before you get your hopes up. Also, recommendations are always welcome!
My first book list is about Jude from A Little Life by Hanya Yanagihara. Jude is the main protagonist from A Little Life and the book focuses on his relationships with his three closest friends and other people whose lives have interwoven with his life-directly and indirectly but mostly, it focuses on his relationship with himself-his mind and body. A Little Life examines Jude’s life-a character study of what makes a person the way they are, how much hardship a person can endure, what makes and breaks a person and how a person makes the best out of their life even in the midst of suffering. Jude is a complex character-a character moulded by trauma and the kindness of his loved ones-and he is very very precious. Fellow A Little Life lovers would know how difficult it is to find books similar to A Little Life, never mind finding similar characters to Jude.
TW: Almost everything-A Little Life and these books are very triggering because of the heavy subject matter and graphic scenes so please make sure you’re in a good place emotionally and mentally before reading my post (it has some quotes which might be triggering to some) and before checking these books out.
Spoilers: I will only provide the book synopsis (based on Goodreads). There will be spoilers from the description of the similarities between A Little Life and the other books on the list.
1) Edinburgh by Alexander Chee
“I wanted to wake up and not feel. My life would have been acceptable, I felt, if someone had come in and in the night severed all my nerves where they attached at the skin. If I was numb, then great. More life for me, another helping, please.”
This is the latest addition to my list having only finished it three days ago. It is a book about Aphias “Fee” Zhe, a Korean-American boy who has to come to terms with the sexual abuse he experienced at the hands of his choir director who also abused his fellow choir friends. This explores the aftermath of abuse-the difference ways abuse can shape a person, the coping strategies of the victims which can be quite destructive and how different victims deal with abuse differently. It is a very triggering book and it is very draining. My emotions were all over the place and Alexander Chee writes the book with such a raw and unflinching honesty that you can’t help but absorb all the emotions. This book reminds me of Jude in the way that it follows a victim of abuse through his self-destructive years, his achievements, his relationships with his loved ones and the complicated feelings he has for his abuser which he feels both disgusted and protected by. This book also portrays the human condition as beautifully as A little Life did and Jude and Fee both have the same outlook on life. The writing is simply gorgeous. Besides, Alexander Chee and Hanya Yanagihara are close friends in real life and she helped him a lot with this book. Both authors are really good at wrecking people.
2) Imagine Me Gone by Adam Haslett
”What do you fear when you fear everything? Time passing and not passing. Death and life. I could say my lungs never filled with enough air, no matter how many puffs of my inhaler I took. Or that my thoughts moved too quickly to complete, severed by a perpetual vigilance. But even to say this would abet the lie that terror can be described, when anyone who’s ever known it knows that it has no components but is instead everywhere inside you all the time, until you can recognize yourself only by the tensions that string one minute to the next. And yet I keep lying, by describing, because how else can I avoid this second, and the one after it? This being the condition itself: the relentless need to escape a moment that never ends.”
This is about a family wrestling with mental illness and how mental illness affects the family and their ability to care for a person with mental illness. John suffers from severe depression and his marriage with Margaret gave him three children, one of whom suffers from depression and anxiety. What follows is years of anguish and suffering as Michael (the son) gets worse and the family tries their best to save Michael. This book asks the same questions as A Little Life-what makes a life worth living, how much a person should have to endure before it becomes acceptable for them to end their life, what right does someone have to force another person to live against their wishes even if their intentions are good, is it cruel to require someone to stay alive just for the sake of staying alive. It is brutal in its questions and it will force the readers to think about the consequences of their actions done with the intention of caring for their suffering loved ones. Jude is very similar to Michael even if their personalities couldn’t have been more different. Both were shaped by their suffering and by the suffocating love of their loved ones. Too much expectation and hope were placed on them both, neither of which they were ready to fulfill and give. It also offers insight into the feelings of the family members-how helpless they feel in not being able to heal Michael, how difficult it is to care for their loved ones while having a busy life themselves, how some family members are more gentle and patient than others.
3) The Lesser Bohemians by Eimear McBride
“It was the very worst moment of my life and after it, everything soft in me slowly turned to bone.”
This book follows an 18-year old Irish girl (the characters are unnamed for the majority of the book) who goes to London to pursue acting. She meets an older man and begins a relationship with him and this is a story of their relationship and how it’s affected by the man’s traumatic past. This is a very disturbing book as the abuse in this book is very graphic, similar to A Little Life and their relationship can be toxic at times. While reading this book, I felt like I was walking on eggshells and it was not a pleasant experience. The anticipation of what was to come was almost worse than reading about the abuse itself. Both Jude and the male protagonist are very damaged characters, they are betrayed by the people who were meant to protect them and the extent of abuse experienced by both of them are very extreme. Both characters are self-destructive in different ways and they both HATE opening up to the people they care about and end up hurting the people they care about. I would also like to mention that while a huge part of this book is about the abuse and its aftermath, it also focuses a lot on the couple’s relationship and there are a lot of sex scenes-A LOT (I thought it’s worth mentioning in case some people are not comfortable reading about sexual scenes). The book is written in stream of consciousness style so every feeling goes straight to your brain without any filters, making everything raw and heightened.
4) A Girl is a Half-formed Thing by Eimear McBride
“You’ll give her name. In the stitches of her skin she’ll wear your say.”
This is another novel from Eimear McBride that was an absolute pain to read. I still am unsure as to which of the two books I loved most. This book follows a young girl (unnamed again, but now throughout the book) and her relationships with her unstable mother, her brother who has brain tumour and her uncle who she has a complicated relationship with. This book is also about her sexuality and how a loveless upbringing and abuse can affect a child and her outlook on life. This book is BRUTAL, in many different ways, and I would say that it is more brutal than The Lesser Bohemians which is already very brutal and raw to begin with. The atrocities in this book make me nauseous and it requires a huge deal of commitment and masochistic tendencies to brave through this book. Some people might feel differently, some might feel that the other books in this list are more brutal than this one and they are right too. At the end of the day, it all comes down to who you are as a person and the limits of what you can see and endure. Again, both Jude and the protagonist are hurt by the people who were meant to protect them, people who are capable of so much love but chose hate instead. Both are very self-destructive even if they’ve managed to find their place in the world by their own terms. Both also have complicated feelings for their abusers.
Those are the books that reminded me of Jude and A Little Life. Hope you guys like these books as much as I did. On a side note, there’s a book called On Earth We’re Briefly Gorgeous by Ocean Vuong and like its title, it is a really gorgeous book. I would have added this book to the list but it didn’t remind me of A Little Life and Jude in any way other than its overall tone and writing. It is both sad and hopeful and I personally like these kinda books so if you are interested, please check it out!
#jude st francis#a little life#hanya yanagihara#edinburgh#alexander chee#imagine me gone#adam haslett#the lesser bohemians#a girl is a half-formed thing#eimear mcbride#book recommendations#literature#literary fiction#beautiful quotes#reading#book quotes#love for books#abuse#me
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Pesterquest -Jade’s route and first quadrant of volumes, The End
Aw man, how long I waited for this picture to show up, not only because I’ve been awfully spoiled on Twitter, but also because!!!! They’re together, and happy!
And I have many feelings right now!
Let’s first take a look at the Victory end panel, then have a general talk about the whole 4 volumes:
Among all those pillows, plushies and squiddles, our four friends are having a good time, the best of times.
Rose is painting John’s nails, which is adorable and nice. Painting someone’s nail shouldn’t be a gendered activity. I liked to do it before, but I’m kinda allergic to some of its chemical products :/ But look how John is surprised and delighted! :D
Bec is snoozing, all peaceful and watching over them.
Jade and Dave have a great time drawing and talking about their fursonas! Omg I’m so glad that Pesterquest made true the one thing that missed in Homestuck’s canon, dave’s picture of his fursona, Awkete Purrmusk. It’s magnificent and I’m very grateful. Thanks to Courtney Brendle for Rose’s and Jade’s ending illustrations :)
So, those four volumes.
I wouldn’t say that John’s volume was plain, more like innocent and lighter. It made me realized that I missed John cheerfulness and naïvety a bunch. Dave and him pestering each other was really nice and a nice touch in this volume. And even though! The “Vague existential crisis” end felt a bit heavy. Making us vaguely uncomfortable. It’s a call back to John’s mussing at the beginning of Homestuck. This feeling of emptiness, like it was missing something. A slight approach to John’s depression, which was sadly left unexplored. Everything linked directly or indirectly to the epilogues make me feel nauseous and wary. So it was a nice call back and it prepared us for the next volumes’s themes. A well-balanced story.
Also, I wish that John could be more careful with strangers, a lesson we have all to learn u_u
Rose’s volume was already more deep and into delicate matters, such as child neglect and alcoholism. We didn’t fixed the problem, but making Rose talks about it did her good. It taught me a lot about Rose. The way to win her heart (friendlily) wasn’t to talk about her interests but rather go straight to the subject, but letting her initiate it. It’s complicated and fascinating, exactly fitting for Rose. And I think it was a good introduction of her issues and personality for those who started with Pesterquest without having reading Homestuck beforehand. And!! We’ve got to see the mutant cat (McWhiskers) and adult Roxy! And I was so glad!! Her route was short but enough by itself, with nice references and realistic pictures! A well-balanced volume too!
Dave’s volume was the first well-crafted one. A huge row of applauses for James Roach, who is usually a composer and did an incredible job writing Dave’s route. It felt emotional, real, unnerving, funny, sad, and overall very satisfying. Different but interesting themes were addressed. Bro’s overprotective behavior and abuseness, toxic masculinity, internalized homophobia and denial regarding sexuality. The environment was there, it was palpable. I felt so many things and it left me with a temporary crisis, but it was worth it! I was rooting hard for Dave and was very invested in the story. Good job! Also the “Get that bread, son” end was mmmmmmmm, delicious! Unexpected but very welcome!
Now Jade’s volume, it’s the one that shook me the most emotionally, it took my heart, make it vibrated slowly but sharply enough to make me puke (not literally don’t worry). It was a very long road, full of roller coasters, up and down. It was traumatizing, I was already sick so it wasn’t really a good idea to Liveblog for ~5 hours ^^’ It addressed many good things, Jade’s distress, her bottling up things for way too long, her heroin complex and sacrifice/suicide ideals, and her dark side including her hysterical behavior, that can be briefly seen in Homestuck. It hit me hard, I was about to give up but then I remembered two things, that I didn’t give a fuck about rules and that I wanted to make her happy. I did so she could open her eyes and allow herself to be happy. Her being with her friends, seeing the whole gang reunited was just perfect. I wouldn’t have it any other way. My canon.
And it was good. Very moving and long. If you can handle it emotionally, then it totally recommend y’all to play it. 9.5 because Cal was there. But otherwise chief kiss mouah~
I’ll post the credits on the next post!
[Click here for the Chumroll bonus and the credits! =>]
#Pesterquest#Homestuck#pqmioletsplay#pqjadepath#The End#Good end#Best end for the four of them#after route talk#long comment#take a gander if you're feeling it!#:)
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sometimes, I feel like I dont want to say what im truly feeling out loud cuz I dont want those thoughts to manifest. but the way ive been tryna ignore my feelings hasn't been helping me at all. I feel so so anxious and have been getting bad headaches and been feeling nauseous. granted, I was on my period this week so there's that. it just doesn't help that my mind is constantly going and going. im trying to stay positive, but I feel so helpless right now. I feel like I dont know who to turn to. and when I do reach out for support, its not what I need. and its just hard to voice what you rly need when 1. you're not sure yourself and 2. everyone around you is also going thru their own shit. sigh. I know its selfish to expect people to be there for you at your own time, I just hate feeling so isolated. like im on an island. like im the only one in the world who feels this way. ever since my last day, I feel like my anxiety has gone thru the roof. all the what ifs just keep running thru my head and it doesn't make me feel at ease. ive spent some time with people and ive chatted to people about it, and it feels good at the moment.. but then im back to having to listen to my own thoughts afterwards and think of every possible scenario go wrong lol. sigh, why am I like this. I feel like I just want things to be okay already. I just want things to work out already. I want to stop stressing about everything. I want these people to get back to me when it comes to housing!! I want to be able to find a place already!! sigh. sometimes, im like do I make it difficult for myself? do I always have to complicate things? could it be so simple.. idk. I guess I just dont know where to start first. like am I trying hard enough? am I not trying at all? idk, sometimes my fear just hella overcomes all my thoughts and I dont know where to start or what to do. another thing thats been weighing heavily on my mind is not working right now and waiting for people to get back to me. ive always been so used to doing something and having a routine/set schedule and now that I have all this free time, im like.. I dont want it lol. feels like im just wasting my life away, even though I know its not true. I was thinking about why I have to determine my worth based on my productivity level. ive always wanted rest, but when I got it, I was like what am I supposed to do? I felt like sucha loser. like I didn't know where my life was going. like I should be doing something. like I shouldn't have quit. even though I know I didn't see all these things coming (omicron variant, classes being virtual for the first couple weeks, covid in general). I know I shouldn't be so hard on myself, but I really cant help it. im so used to doing something. shit, doing everything. and now that things are at a pause, it just feels so unusual. like I dont know what to do. sigh. maybe this was necessary for me tho. maybe I needed this time to reflect. shit, maybe I needed this time to really sit with my feelings and actually face them instead of tryna keep myself busy. god I really crack myself up tho. I work all these jobs and do all these duties and I cry. I have nothing to do and I cry. like there's no balance. I wonder if I’ll ever find that balance.. sigh. I really wanna process these feelings out loud with someone but I dont know who to talk to these days. or I dont know what I can say. its also not fair to just emotionally dump on people these days. maybe thats why I need to do the inner work right now so when I am feeling better, im able to express it clearly. sigh. I have literally cried every damn day lol. for so many reasons. for feeling like this, for knowing that I have to let go, for knowing that I cant stay in my comfort zone, shit. dont get me wrong, people have been giving me words of encouragement and im so grateful. I guess I just wish I could see physical results already. but I know shit doesn't happen overnight. and I have to trust the process and be patient with myself. hoping I can find a place in socal soon thats within my budget and fits all my needs. hoping these jobs get back to me with good news. I hate the waiting game cuz it just increases my anxiety so much more. but I have to remind myself that those thoughts are just that. thoughts. it does not mean they're true. it doesn't mean theyre facts. and it doesn't mean that the worst possible scenario is gonna happen. I know I need to transform these feelings and redirect this energy into something productive. sigh. this is probly the first time Ive been honest with myself these past two weeks. I hate how I was on such a high and now I feel so low. its been hard having to uplift and empower myself. but I know I have to keep trying. and I know that this feeling cant last forever. everything goes. hoping and praying for better days, always. figuring out how I can change my pain into power and passion. and help me feel like myself again. I know I cant give up on myself either. I just wish things weren't so hard right now. in so many ways. hope that things will look up soon. hope that I'll be able to feel okay again. hope that things will work out and will fall into place. they always do. reminder to myself that things will work out and I will be okay. despite how im feeling right now. I am okay. I am strong. I am happy. I am loved. deep breath in, deep breath out <3
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Vincent And The Doctor - Doctor Who blog (People Like This Episode?)
(SPOILER WARNING: The following is an in-depth critical analysis. If you haven’t seen this episode yet, you may want to before reading this review)
Oh I hate talking about these kinds of stories! The ones that receive critical acclaim and are adored by fans because of how deep and meaningful they supposedly are, and then I have to come along and explain why those episodes are nothing but pretentious, patronising bollocks.
Okay. Two disclaimers. I’m not very fond of Doctor Who’s celebrity historical episodes because they’re usually just an excuse for the writers to wank themselves silly to a famous historical person as opposed to telling a compelling story (see The Unicorn And The Wasp and Victory of The Daleks), and I’m not a big fan of Richard Curtis. I do like Blackadder for the most part, but his other stuff I just don’t care for. (I don’t even like The Vicar of Dibley very much, which is positively sacrilegious I know). If you’re into either, fair enough. They’re just not to my taste. But the thing to bear in mind is my hatred for Vincent And The Doctor goes beyond personal taste issues. Not only do I think this episode is monumentally crap, I also found it to be extremely insulting, and I’ll explain why in a bit.
In the previous episode Rory was erased from existence, which means Amy can no longer remember him, although she still feels occasionally sad without knowing why. To cheer Amy up, the Doctor takes her to an art gallery to look at Vincent Van Gogh’s painting. This surprised me ever so slightly. I honestly didn’t think Amy would be the type to be into all this artsy fartsy stuff, but that’s only because we’re 10 episodes in and I still don’t actually know anything about her. Think about it. What have we actually learned about her? How has she grown since the first episode? First person to come up with a satisfactory answer wins a fiver.
It’s almost as if she’s suddenly obsessed with Vincent Van Gogh not because that’s part of her character but because the plot requires her to be. Also, since Rory was erased by the light shining out of Moffat’s crack (teehee), Amy seems to have been reduced to a wide-eyed, innocent little bunny rabbit in this episode. I can’t help but feel sorry for Karen Gillan. She’s a good actor, but Moffat rarely gives her any good material to work with.
Anyway the Doctor spots some weird creature in one of the paintings and decides to travel back to 1890 to meet Vincent Van Gogh, played by Tony Curran who admittedly does a marvellous job with the material he’s been given, although the less said about his awful pantomime-esque performance when he’s required to fight the invisible monster, the better. Here’s the problem with celebrity historicals, and I mentioned this in my review of The Unicorn And The Wasp. Usually these episodes are only entertaining to those who are interested in the historical celebrity. To everyone else, it’s just monumentally dull. I’ve never been that interested in Agatha Christie, so having to listen to the Doctor constantly talk about what a great writer she is made me feel a little bit nauseous. I’ve seen Van Gogh’s paintings. They’re okay. I’m not that much of an art lover, so I can’t really comment further, but to listen to the Doctor and Amy talking, you’d think Van Gogh was the reincarnation of Christ. It all feels utterly self indulgent. Like with Agatha Christie and Winston Churchill in their respective episodes, there’s no effort to actually explore what his life was like or anything. Instead we’re given this romanticised version of him that Richard Curtis can spend 45 minutes pouring his admiration over. It’s fine if you like Van Gogh, but spare a thought for the uncultured swines like myself who have to suffer through this too.
‘Oh look! There’s all his famous paintings! And they’re still wet! Oh no! Don’t put the coffee pot down on them! You’ll leave a stain! How can you not see how utterly perfect and amazing you are Van Gogh?! OMG! Look at his bedroom! Just like the painting! (Even though the bedroom wasn’t actually in that town. Also have you noticed that they built the bedroom to look exactly like the painting to the point where the proportions look really weird when the Doctor walks around in it?). Oh did you hear that? He doesn’t like sunflowers! How hilarious! And he fancies Amy! How sweet! Go PondGogh!’ And so on for another 40 excruciating minutes.
For the record, I don’t buy Van Gogh and Amy’s feelings for each other even for a second considering that they’ve only known each other for a day. Plus the whole thing feels less romantic when you remember that Van Gogh most probably had syphilis at the time.
But wait. This is Doctor Who, isn’t it? Better shove a monster in for no reason. What do we have this week? The Krafayis. An invisible monster that only Van Gogh can see and resembles a giant, mutant CGI turkey. Not exactly one of Doctor Who’s best monsters, now is it? So how’s the Doctor planning to see it? With some tech of course. But not something sensible like a pair of goggles or something. No. Instead he uses this awkward looking harness thing with a rear view mirror attached so that the only chance you can see the Krafayis is if it’s standing right behind you. What a stupid idea!
But as I said, this is all a taste issue. If you like it, good for you. I’m glad someone does. Where I absolutely draw the line however is when Richard Curtis starts giving us his patronising views on the blind and the mentally ill.
Yes the big twist is that the Krafayis is blind, and in one fell swoop it goes from being a savage creature of hate to being a cuddly little bundle of joy in its condescending death scene. They also perpetuate the age old myth that blind people have excellent hearing (which is not true by the way. it’s a lie created by the sighted to make themselves feel better). Oh and the reason why only Van Gogh can see him? Because he’s mentally ill and therefore can see things other people can’t.
How anyone can find this episode to be anything other than insufferable I don’t know.
There’s been a lot of debate as to what kind of mental illness Van Gogh may have had, but Curtis decides to go for bipolar with a touch of synesthesia. This is very dark and sensitive territory for Doctor Who, but with careful handling it could potentially be emotionally rewarding, spreading awareness to important issues surrounding mental health. This is not the case here. Curtis’ portrayal of mentally ill people consists of nothing but patronising and insulting cliches. He’s bipolar, which means he’s fine now even though he was sad a few minutes ago. Being mentally ill makes you a genius. Being manic makes you a loveable eccentric. Having mental health problems allows you to see the wonders of the world in a way ‘normal’ people can only dream of.
For those of you who don’t know, I suffer from manic depression. Do you see now why I might have a bit of a problem with this? Yes there’s a correlation between those with mental health problems and those who enter creative fields like art and writing, often because art and writing are an excellent way to express ourselves and to make sense of the world around us. I myself am a writer and have had a lot of time to refine my craft. Spending nearly three years stuck at home whilst recovering from alcohol addiction gives you a lot of free time to do such things. But I absolutely resent the idea that artists, writers and other creative people are good at what they do because of their mental illnesses, as though it’s some special gift bestowed upon us by the Art Gods. People who think that are either ignorant, pretentious or stupid, and I would be more than happy to give those pricks my mental illness so they can see what it’s fucking like to be me. I can assure you it isn’t pleasant.
But wait! It gets worse!
It’s tragic that Van Gogh never knew just how successful he would become, right? if only we could tell him or show him how famous and well regarded he would be. That in my opinion is all the more reason not to do it here, but Curtis just can’t help himself at this point. The Doctor and Amy take Van Gogh to the art gallery in the future, they all stand on this turntable thing as Van Gogh cries while Bill Nighy talks about how not only is Van Gogh the greatest artist who ever lived, but is also the greatest, most awesomest person ever born in the entire universe, all while some awful pop ballad plays in the background to drown us in slush.
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Good God, this is fucking awful! Who the hell thought this would be a good idea?! Talk about over-egging the pudding.
And then, big shock, Van Gogh kills himself. Amy is surprised because she thought showing him the future might inspire him to keep working. Me? I’m not in the least bit surprised. He gets taken into a blue box that’s bigger on the inside than the outside and travels to the future where he sees all the success and fame he will never get to experience in his lifetime. That’s more likely to cause his suicide than prevent it, if you think about it. And I HATE the Doctor’s speech about how life is split into good things and bad things. What is he, a fucking primary school teacher now? Depression is a little bit more complicated than that. But then again this is written by the same fucking moron who believes being mentally ill makes you a badass painter, so I guess I shouldn’t be too shocked.
Richard Curtis clearly thinks he’s written a sensitive and sympathetic tribute to a renowned artist who tragically took his own life due to mental health problems. I think Curtis royally fucked up with a paper-thin story that’s both patronising and insulting. And remember I have mental health problems, so according to Richard Curtis, I’m a genius. So basically if you disagree with me... you’re wrong :)
#vincent and the doctor#richard curtis#doctor who#eleventh doctor#matt smith#amy pond#karen gillan#steven moffat#bbc#review#spoilers
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22/05/20
1 year and 2 months.
it took me 14 months before i broke all kinds of self defences and decided to seek refuge here. i love being at home, i really do. i dont have to force myself to talk to people, dont have to get tempted by food outside, dont have to exhaust my emotions, i dont have to put on makeup, i dont have to think of what to wear and regret it later for looking too fat and ugly, dont have to disappoint anyone and dont have to feel disappointed by anyone.
but being at home starts to feel overwhelming at some point. its not that i crave physical interaction or that i miss my friends (do i have any, really?), or the boi for that matter — i just get really afraid of myself. you see, once i start sitting down with myself, i dont ever get up.
i dont even know where to start... is life falling apart? not really. yes, we’re living in the middle of a pandemic. but i am blessed alhamdulillah to have a roof over my head, for my family members and for a s/o. but this period of being at home and everyone having so much time on their hands... really puts certain things into perspective. for instance, with so much time everyone has to offer now that we’re all confined to the comforts of our own four walls, how come not a single soul that i once called my friends have reached out. yes! i had 3 so far... in the span of 2 months. that’s a great feat, i aint gonna deny. but you see, the people i thought who could give 2 shits abt apparently rather give 2 shits to other people instead. so that makes me think — where do i stand in your life? how do i emerge from this quarantine and what do i make of our relationships after this? pretend like we totally know whats happening in each other’s lives via superficial and menial social media updates that you selectively show after having retaking them 100s of times or do i act all weird bec literally, i do not know whats happening to who anymore. this is simply bec im not talking to anyone. if i dont initiate a conversation, no one comes to me. im really not that interesting of a friend and not that exciting to have me around. i just float and exist... hence my insignificance in their lives. at one point, i guess it was just out of convenience that we were friends. & now due to circumstantial factors, it is not convenient or important having me around anymore.
yes i do have friends. yes we havent spoken in months. on some days though... i get really glad that my social circle has reduced to almost nothing. but on some days... i realise that im just not that strong after all. i want to be ok, i want to learn how to be ok. but how do i? how do i come to terms with the fact that either im a girl who turned all her friends away from her bec she thought she was too good for them or that her world too accelerated too quickly to revolve around her boyfriend that now she forgot how having friends ever felt like.
the people whom i thought literally saw me grew up are now too busy mingling amongst themselves and themselves only. they do make the effort to send one text message in 6 months... but the lack of sincerity is more than just apparent. there is 0 effort to even keep the conversation going and no matter how hard i once tried, i cant find it in me to be as giving anymore.
to my best friend that i lost, im just taking things in my stride. every single day you never fail to exhibit the love you’re constantly being showered with (without me in your life anymore). im happy that you’re in a place where you get to shine in the spotlight given and that your circle of friends has expanded to one that drowns me out. maybe im also too exhausted and found myself to be too demanding for you to fit me anywhere in your life anymore. im just a puzzle piece that was forcing to fit till early this year. maybe now i really am prepared to want to let it all go.
i lost a workplace buddy recently. as much as i know that maybe this is for the better of him, a part of me still wishes we could maintain the same co-worker relationship and we can keep this friendship going. we have too many similarities and interests and it hurts to know that things will never be the same again. i have teared about it but i think one day these feelings are going to come charging at me in full force that it might be too late to calm those emotions down by then.
this quarantine period has also cost me lots of fights in my family. every single day i urge myself to keep the anger down and not get so agitated but i still fail. i disappoint myself time and again. i dont know how to fix this, neither do i see the light at the end of the tunnel for this. the ability to be so fucking patient with the useless beings i deal with at work and the inability of me being tolerant of my closest and most loved ones, appalls me the most. i am the biggest hypocrite i know. i fought with my beloved grandma. i was planning to check in on her but i never did and before i knew, she ended up in the hospital and i found myself sinking in knee-dip into a bottomless pit i knew i was sooner or later, doomed for.
the holy month is about to come to an end and i see people achieving milestones in their life as they close this chapter but this year feels just about the same as another. and i only have myself to blame and hate for it. i could have done so much more. coulda started on the quran, coulda been more consistent, coulda been more committed but i let it all slip in front of me and before i know it, it’s too late to do anything about it anymore. i am my biggest disappointment. i only seek for your forgiveness la Ya Allah.
i have no qualms about the person i call my partner. but having an anxiety attack all bec of him... it has truly been a long while. i wanna blame it on the period. i wanna blame it on the fact that i have too much time and too many emotions too feel, too sensitive. i wanna blame it on his lack of awareness for his surroundings and the people around him. i wanna blame it on his immaturity and ego. but i think we all know, it is ultimately just me. the same issues... over and over again. is it a lack of interest or understanding? i sincerely wonder. i want to work this out, but it gets really hard. sometimes i just want us to stop hurting. how is it that we dont get by a week without fighting? how is it that you still have issues understanding me why i get hurt even after repeatedly explaining myself? how is it that you still talk in a way that annoys the fuck out of me sometimes? i know you dont mean it. but are you really that wrapped up in your head to not notice all these things? everything’s either a fucking joke or too complicated for your brain to even process. i dont wish to make the situation bigger than what it is, but i never felt truly at peace at emptying my emotions to you. when was the last time you were keen about me and my mental health? then again, not everything is about me. and you didnt seem to understand so i backed off. i dont want to find fault in a situation that you dont want to help yourself in. why is that you can bear to part hours of your day to game but not spare 10 minutes of your time to ask me how im feeling lately. or spend 10 minutes of your time looking up what anxiety really is. i tell you im fine and you really think im fucking fine. if that was really all it took to cure my fucking anxiety m8... i’d be bloody Gandhi by now. i want to give all my love to you. but at times i cant even be truly happy for people by my side, sometimes i feel like i still have a lot more to learn before i deserve true happiness in my life. you dont always have the best words to say, but i know you do try.
i started working out but i still dont like what i see. the more time i spend at home, the less i want to see myself in the mirror. its been 2 weeks and my arms are still so fucking flabby,,, my thighs are gigantic it can choke and the rolls on my tummy makes me nauseous. i pray to God seeking for strength every single day but i still cant find it in me to want to embrace the now me to pursue the version that i eventually want to be. the internet is not making my head a better place but it does remind me that im fat and that i deserve less and less food each day. i dont know why i allowed myself to get this obese but i am truly regretting every second of it.
in conclusion... am i falling apart? maybe. am i losing myself? maybe. do i have friends? not anymore. and do i hate my s/o constantly reassuring me that i have friends that even i dont know the existence of? maybe. do i hate myself for being a dick to my own family? maybe. do i blame myself for being an incompetent and emotionally worrisome partner? maybe. do i blame myself for having a body as big as mine? maybe. ultimately... am i drowning myself in a bottomless pit of self loathe as i swim in self-pity? hell mother fucking yes.
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