#( nothing but writing on a page | esprit )

[dxilymxsings]

from right to left ✒︎ p.ambrosio

it was no surprise to anyone that graduating had hit piper hard. the girl was all about her comfort zone, and suddenly having to put herself out there all over again had her completely and utterly terrified.

her final years at lrsoa were spent focusing on finishing her internships, networking – more than she could handle – and making the most of her time as a free student. it wasn’t going to last forever. this meant enjoying the time she got with her friends; she’ll never forget the trips she took with aphrodite or the late-night midnight snacking she’d lured matthew into or the comforting cuddles after a long day that she shared with logan.

it wasn’t a complete week at lrsoa without lola and piper getting into trouble of some kind, and she couldn’t shake that she missed people who were long gone – deep into adult life by now. people like dominic, who though she was still in contact with, not having him on capus felt foreign and as though something was constantly missing. honestly speaking there wouldn’t come a day when she would let her precious out of her life but as she watched her friends move on with their lives, seeing kai gett married all those years ago cemented the fact that they were all moving on with their lives. and their lives wouldn’t always be connected.

reflecting on her time, she knew it hadn’t all been fun and games. she’d lost a close friend in jess due to some simple misunderstandings not that she would undo them – they had brought a very special person into her life. she was heartbroken by an old childhood flame in elam or an unrequited friend-with-benefits situation with bruce. but even still these events were simple timestamps of the things she had grown through and life lessons she had been taught by life through the pain.

piper looked back on her experiences at the university with such reverence. after all, it has shaped her into who she is right now. she still has a long way to go as she navigates through her future. now in her late twenties, it was time to establish herself as more than just a well-respected intern at firms she’s been trying to get her foot in the door of. through all the friendships and the laughs and tears and pain she had to go through to become who she wanted to be. this was only just the beginning of it all.

in the final years leading to her graduation, she had started an online journal (let’s be honest with ourselves, it was just a blog, but piper thought calling it a journal would bring the personal touch she was looking for when starting it). she shared anecdotes about her internships, her life and explorations. a little about the woes and trials of having a relationship as a twenty-something-year-old: something piper was still trying to wrap her head around; she wasn’t quite good with that yet.

a certain greek tragedy reminded her of that.

one man she hadn’t forgotten even though a small part of her wishes she had was art – her art. if you had told the woman that she’d still have a space for him in her heart after walking away, she wouldn’t believe you. their relationship had turned rather tumultuous towards her final year. she felt he was constantly pulling away from her, and she couldn’t connect with him the seamless way she once did. he slowly pulled her heart out of her chest, thread by thread and acted as though he didn’t realise what he was doing or simply did not care. she wasn’t even quite sure why she cared; he had made it abundantly clear when they first met that all their relationship would get to was friendly flirtation – nothing more. and it never was anything more, apart from the odd kiss here and there but even they could be chalked up to dares and the head of the moment.

to make matters worse, she had become beloved by a certain member of his family. the writer spent much time with diane layland and eventually spent many holidays with their mother – the two got along cordially enough. it certainly didn’t help that his memory was tainted all over her online journal. he was responsible for most of the images she had plastered over the site. at the time they were first posted, she was incredibly proud of them. in fact, she was still very proud of him and his art – she’d probably never stop being his biggest cheerleader. and yet they still, left a bitter taste in her mouth, similar to the one he would leave on those rare evenings when they were both swimming in the light-headedness of that night’s chosen vintage.

despite it all, the woman had mellowed out since university. a lot about lrsoa while it helped her become her own – being around everyone seemingly brought out the absolute worst in her (retrospectively, we can blame it on the gossip blog). considering she wasn’t receiving the help she needed, she rarely disclosed her feelings to her friends until they exploded out of her in a burst of dramatics at very inopportune times. it wasn’t healthy or fair to her fellow peers and she wasn’t proud of it.

piper knew leaving london wasn’t for her. she had grown to love the city despite the fact that the genral busyness of the capital overwhelmed her it had been home for near a decade. she didn’t know how to exist elsewhere. but moving off campus most definitely was for her. she had done so during her fourth year and had never looked back. she had taken graduation as the final tie to the school she needed to cut, so roaming the halls again was something she never thought she’d be doing.

the letter had arrived nearly two months ago, inviting her back to campus to speak to some current journalism and other literature students. piper had made a name for herself even before she left the school. still, being able to dedicate all her time to her craft has shot her into circles she could only ever dream of before. the opportunities that lie in wait of a response in her inbox were some journalists would dream their whole careers for. the invitation detailed that they wanted her to ‘impart wisdom’ and ‘advise the new generation’  about everything she does even though she probably roamed these very hallways with most of them. she wanted nothing to do with it, but her manager had noted the good publicity it would give the firm and her.

so here she was with the sound of her heels were hitting the stone flooring that she had not missed since leaving as she crossed the courtyard towards the literature building. her movements were being dictated purely through muscle memory. this was a familiar walk for her. the principal, who had been there to greet her when she arrived, spoke and pointed out certain new or completed features of the school that had been put in since she had left. it was surprising the amount of changes that had been made in the few years since she had thrown that mortar board into the air. the academic head’s words were flying straight over her head. her breathing was growing shallow, and her fingers were dancing over the many rings that donned her fingers. her inner voice was counting down from ten in a loop – trying to gain control of her anxieties, hoping she didn’t have a breakdown and turn, run, and hide in the gardens like she used to.

it scared her how a place she had once considered her safe space, home and most importantly, the one place she belonged for once, no longer felt comforting in any way. if anything, it was the most unsettling place she had been to in a while. her eyes constantly scanned her surroundings, noting the different events being broadcast on posters as they passed them. she could almost see the ghosts of her past in the hallways and the songs of chatter from her university days echoing before fading away.

the main journalism lecture theatre was empty when they arrived. to allow them the time needed to set up and set up the presentation. and to her manager it was just like a piper to ask for a few moments to prepare and calm herself. once the door had shut, she turned to face the screen where a brightly lit photo of her likeness was being projected. the words that lingered around her smiling face were full of pride and excitement. yet, piper could barely feel proud or excited about her achievements. she almost felt as if she should be sitting back in her self-appointed seat near enough to the exit to make a quick getaway, waiting to hear the words shared by journalists who had come before her whom she had admired and wanted to be like 

and yet, she had to shake herself out of her insecurities. she grabbed one of the chilled bottles of water on the desk – momentarily letting the chill seep into her fingers and cool her down before opening it quickly and quenching the thirst she wasn’t even aware she had built up. she gave her hands a shake in the air, almost as if to physically shake away the anxieties eating away at her. the brunette woman pulled her index cards from the tote bag she had placed on the chair at the front of the room just as distant but growing in volume chatter made itself known outside. a false but convincing, confident smile made its way on her lips as she turned towards the door just in time to watch it creak open and allow in the bright-eyed upcoming literature majors to make their way into the room and settle into their seats.

the wind had shifted the day she moved her tassel from right to left, but that didn’t mean her kind heart had changed. there was a spark she’d been missing for so long that she saw shining brightly in these young adults – maybe this was her opportunity to regain it.

[jerboagoat]

Folie à Deux

I don't usually post my fics here, but since this is for an exchange I figure I might as well!

She had told you once that they were all in your head.But they couldn't stay there forever.- CONCEPTUALIZATION - Welcome. Today we will share with you a short exploration, explanation, and introduction of… Well, us! Your good friend Harry has a lot going on in his head. We have a lot we want to say to you… But will you be able to hear us?

For @scribblemakes, for the Disco Elysium Secret Santa 2022! Have a happy holidays, I hope you like this. :)  I tried to keep it a bit more lighthearted than I usually write, so hopefully I did that well enough, haha.

TWs: canon-typical or lighter Most Things, including suicidal ideation and implied/referenced drug use. also includes semi-graphic description of internal organs, but like, only in metaphors?

read here on ao3, or under the cut!

CONCEPTUALIZATION - It started with one, long before you could remember (even if you could remember). 

INLAND EMPIRE - One with long, spindly limbs and a glowing light in its chest, that loomed over you like a radio tower, with not an antenna but an oculus atop its skinny neck; a vast, circular gap in reality for a head. The rounded shape gave way to a spiral of patterns, spatters and speckles of violet and lilac, resembling…

EMPATHY - A distant galaxy, flush with beings you didn't yet know.

CONCEPTUALIZATION - A lighthouse, on the horizon. Guiding your voyage— no, inspiring it.

DRAMA - A thrumming projector! What self-lit vignettes could it show thee?

HALF LIGHT - The dark blood of a gunshot wound staining the wall…

PAIN THRESHOLD - L'appel du vide. Go on.

ENCYCLOPEDIA - Oh, oh, let me try. A Kron's disc. Invented in the central Occident, a shallow glass dish, primarily used to culture and grow bacteria. It can also—

CONCEPTUALIZATION - Alright, alright, maybe cool it with the fun facts? We're trying to weave a cohesive narrative, here. Back to The Oneiromancer. The first, but far from the only, the—

ENCYCLOPEDIA - But the term oneiro—

VOLITION [Medium: Success] - Zip it.

ENCYCLOPEDIA - Yessir.

CONCEPTUALIZATION - Anyway. Let's continue.

INLAND EMPIRE - I came to you when you were young, too young to know fact from fiction. You looked up at me and saw not delusion, not illusion, but prelusion. A beginning and nothing less. I spoke to you, then, and you listened. I told you of the others.

EMPATHY - You were lonely, so lonely, even then.

ESPRIT DE CORPS - Of course you wanted to meet us.

PERCEPTION - It was then that you saw, truly saw, the world as it was. We lived around you as much as we lived within you. My vapors filled the air, bounced off of every surface, sent the information back to your ears, your eyes, your mind. Your senses heightened. The pale itself reflected.

CONCEPTUALIZATION - Like echolocation, but with fog. Is there a word for that?

ENCYCLOPEDIA - May I?

AUTHORITY - You may.

ENCYCLOPEDIA - There isn't.

CONCEPTUALIZATION - Great, thanks.

ENCYCLOPEDIA - And with your newfound sight you wanted, more than anything, to learn. About the world, about yourself, about us.

EMPATHY - You were young, so young… You didn’t know any better. 

ENCYCLOPEDIA - I was smaller then. My pages were simple, limited in their language as you were in yours. But my library is ever-growing. You hungered for knowledge. Every blade of grass, every cracked stone, every creature, every human… You wanted to know. You wanted to…

CONCEPTUALIZATION - See, now you're getting the narrative voice we're going for here.

ENCYCLOPEDIA - You wanted to learn.

PAIN THRESHOLD - And learn you did. Of scraped knees and breaths lost, superficial burns and gaping wounds. You were six years old when you first closed your fist around a radiator, blissfully unaware of the pain to come. I greeted you then, sharp and screaming, and I pierced your flesh. We've been inseparable ever since, haven't we?

ESPRIT DE CORPS - All of us have. 

CONCEPTUALIZATION - No matter how lonely you get, you are a live wire, a raw electric current, a being made for and by connections. Always have been, always will be.

ESPRIT DE CORPS - We met the day you (all of you, don't flatter yourself) came up with the name— The Fifteenth Indotribe. Yours, his, hers, theirs. Your first introduction to teamwork. You spoke in codes, conjured behind dumpsters and scrawled in the wet mud below crumbling gutterspouts. I told you where they were, how they were, who they were, until there was nothing left to tell. I've grown in the time since. Colleagues, fellow teachers, partners, allies, even enemies… I've memorized their faces, made them my own, and told you their stories as they happened. The—

REACTION SPEED [Easy: Success] - Hold on. Someone just said something.

YOU - "Huh? What?"

KIM KITSURAGI - The lieutenant sighs, sitting across the table from you, and repeats himself. "What does all of this have to do with you running halfway across Jamrock and back just to track me down and drag me here?" He pauses. "I'm not sure where here even is. I haven't gone this far south often enough to know it well."

YOU - "I didn't have to track you down, I knew where you were! That's what I'm trying to tell you!"

KIM KITSURAGI - He crosses his arms, resting them on the table. "And how, may I ask, did you know?"

ESPRIT DE CORPS - That would be my doing.

YOU - "One of the, uh… voices in my head. Told me."

EMPATHY - …He seems… unimpressed.

KIM KITSURAGI - "Yes. That would be because I am."

REACTION SPEED [Easy: Success] - Oh my god! He can hear us!?

KIM KITSURAGI - "I can hear you, detective. Especially when you shout like that… Doing a silly little voice like that doesn't make you inaudible. You do know that, don't you?"

DRAMA - Don't listen to him, sire! 'Tis not silly. Thy voice art imposing, impassioned, im—

KIM KITSURAGI - "Im-becilic?"

YOU - "Hey!"

KIM KITSURAGI - "Sorry… I couldn't resist. Really, though. I don't see what these stories—or voices— have to do with you knowing where I am at any given moment. Or why I happen to be here, now. You still haven't explained that."

INLAND EMPIRE - You had to be. You both have to be. You’ll see soon enough. This is his only chance to understand. 

KIM KITSURAGI - "Understand what, exactly?"

INLAND EMPIRE - You'll see. Soon…

CONCEPTUALIZATION - …But we have a bit of time to wait, don't we? Let's get the rest of our introductions in order. Where did we leave off, again?

SUGGESTION - We were discussing childhood friends, but Mr. Cloak-Of-Many-Faces over there started rushing through things a bit.

ESPRIT DE CORPS - It was relevant information! I'm all about the cop stuff now. I hardly do anything else, and you expected me not to talk about it?

CONCEPTUALIZATION - I expected you to adhere to the narrative progression we're establishing! Timeline order! The big guy hardly remembers most of this, we have to at least try to make it make sense.

PERCEPTION (HEARING) [Challenging: Success] - Across the table, a stifled chuckle… "The big guy…?"

EMPATHY - But he's willing to humor you, for now.

CONCEPTUALIZATION - We'll take it. Who's next? Indotribe fifteen. Go.

SAVOIR FAIRE - I'll go. Your comrades were fast. You were too. You ran with them, as far as your legs would take you… And I ran with you. Leaps and bounds across sidewalk gaps… Sometimes I would guide your legs with my own, your arms with mine. You could feel parts of you that weren't there, and you could move with them. Sometimes I ran beside you. The first time you sat in a motor carriage I followed from outside, and you watched me twirl and leap and climb faster than you had ever gone before. You spent the next few days convinced your calling in life was scaling buildings and jumping from roof to roof.

ENCYCLOPEDIA [Medium: Success] - There's a word for that. It's called parkour.

SAVOIR FAIRE - I believe the word is actually "cool as hell."

LOGIC [Trivial: Success] - That is three words.

SAVOIR FAIRE - Here's two more! "Fuck", and "off!"

CONCEPTUALIZATION - Settle down, you two. Keep the story going!

INTERFACING - The carriage itself stuck in your mind after that, too. It would be a long, long time before you would get to have one for yourself…

VOLITION [Legendary: Success] - Don't think about it. Don't.

INTERFACING - …But you found comfort in running your hands along the cold metal sides of the ones you saw parked on street corners. Many times you were chased off with a shout from their owners, people who knew themselves and their vehicles to be better than your smudged fingerprints. But many more times you weren't, and you could slide around to the back and inspect the engine. Together we would study the shapes of tubes and rivets and vents. Later you would practice twirling a pencil in your hand when you had one. When you didn't, you practiced the art of—

REACTION SPEED [Medium: Success] - Wait. Maybe we shouldn't say that in front of Kim… He's a cop.

LOGIC [Trivial: Success] - You're a cop.

KIM KITSURAGI - That breaks him. Finally, he lets himself laugh. Quiet but achingly genuine. "Yes. Yes you are."

EMPATHY [Medium: Success] - That warm feeling in your chest… Is it yours, or his?

KIM KITSURAGI - He takes a moment to collect himself, then clarifies: "You don't have to worry, detective. If I was going to arrest you for something you did in your teens, don't you think I would have done it by now?"

YOU - "Oh. Fair point."

INTERFACING - Well… Stealing. I was just gonna say stealing. You did that. A lot, actually. Were pretty good at it, too!

PERCEPTION (SIGHT) [Easy: Success] - A slight roll of the eyes, and an even slighter smile.

RHETORIC - You fancied yourself a heroic thief, the kind they tell stories about. Or at least that's the tale you and your friends spun together on late nights. You were the lowest of the low, then, but you would beguile and outsmart those in power, scrape by, until one day you were on top of the world… And then what? You'd spend hours on the debate. Take it all for yourselves? No, share your spoils with the downtrodden! What sort of world would you build? Anarchy, that you all would run.

LOGIC [Medium: Success] - An oxymoron, but…

RHETORIC - That wasn't the point. The point was talking, talking with people who understood you. Your peers. Forming your worldviews. Molding them together.

INLAND EMPIRE - It swallows itself, over and over again, but can never consume…

RHETORIC - There was no end goal, then. The Indotribe is gone. But the words, the thoughts? They live on.

EMPATHY - Even if you can't remember them.

SUGGESTION - In the end, you got hooked on talking. Nobody was safe. Strangers, friends, enemies, men, women, and all in between… The more years passed, the more you spoke— And then the less you spoke. You learned which words you needed and which could go unsaid. My flowing tendrils stretched out from your skull to reach all those you met, to learn all you could. Siphoning knowledge and secrets from an unbroken connection between minds. You relished in it.

EMPATHY - The world was out there, and each and every person had lived a life just as beautiful and disastrous as your own. You'd stop people in the street just to ask them where they got their coat, where they were headed, who they were going to meet. A few times you asked to come along. Once someone agreed. An old Graadian woman heading home to an empty house. Her children had aged and gone, her husband had done the same. She had been making a stew. She served you some, warm and bubbling.

ELECTROCHEMISTRY - It was far too thick, far too salty, and a little undercooked, but you scarfed it down like life itself depended on it.

EMPATHY - People. Connections. You met people on city streets, in buildings big and small, on rooftops, in parks, at bus stops…

VOLITION [Godly: Failure] - Oh no, no, don't…

EMPATHY - I burn like incense. I live in the shape of her. Which of us came first? Did you mold me to fit her curves, or was I always this way? Did I always hold myself so close?

INLAND EMPIRE - Always, always.

EMPATHY - Kim, don't. Don't move your arm. Don't interrupt… We want to stay in our thoughts. In the memories.

INLAND EMPIRE - You met at the bus stop. Do you remember? Do you remember?

YOU - "I… I…"

PHYSICAL INSTRUMENT [Godly: Success] - You remember what you were at that bus stop FOR! YOUR GOD-DAMNED MOTHER-FUCKING GYM-TEACHING JOB! RISE AND GRIND, BOY!

VOLITION - Oh, thank god.

PHYSICAL INSTRUMENT - You LOVED that damn job! We both did! Dodgeball, kickball, running the mile, even climbing that old scratchy rope. We did it all together, my arms wrapped 'round yours. Not that you needed the help back then! Man, those were the days. What happened to you, son?

EMPATHY - Oh, wait, wasn't that… You're trying to remember…

INLAND EMPIRE [Impossible: Success] - The first time someone else acknowledged us.

PHYSICAL INSTRUMENT - OH MY GOD, I FORGOT!

KIM KITSURAGI - "Oh?" His eyes widen slightly.

EMPATHY [Challenging: Failure] - There's something happening with his expression, something familiar, but… You can't quite place it.

PHYSICAL INSTRUMENT - I got it wrong, son, I wasn't always by your side. When you had the kids spread out in lines, doing push-ups 'till they dropped, I'd help you keep their postures in check. One of them, a little skinny blonde kid towards the left corner… He was younger than all the rest. I think he skipped a few grades? Maybe he was book-smart, but he clearly had no clue what he was doing in our class. He wasn't going down far enough to lock his elbows properly. So I pushed down on his back and—get this—the kid just dropped like a sack of potatoes!

KIM KITSURAGI - He adjusts his position in the chair and nods for you to continue.

EMPATHY [Medium: Success] - There! Barely, just barely, he's smirking! He’s… amused.

CONCEPTUALIZATION - Host Almighty… He doesn't believe in us.

KIM KITSURAGI - "No no, I… I believe that you believe all this, and I know that sometimes these… 'voices' are useful, but…" He struggles to find the words, too caught up in steadying his own expression. "I mean, I think that's just a coincidence, no?"

EMPATHY - He's trying, desperately, for your sake and his, to keep his voice level. Sometimes you lower his guard too far for your own good.

PHYSICAL INSTRUMENT - IT HAPPENED! I remember now, too, uh, he shouted! Little guy yelled out something like "What the fuck!?" as he went down.

AUTHORITY - You were never one to stop the kids from swearing in your presence, but the way his profanity echoed through the gym's high ceiling meant you had to do something, even if only to keep up appearances to the rest of the school’s staff.

SUGGESTION - You told him to stay after class for extra reps, and, in between your usual teacherly chants, you probed for information.

PHYSICAL INSTRUMENT - "WHAT IN THE HELL HAPPENED BACK THERE, SON!?"

PERCEPTION - The distinct feeling of a hand, square in the center on his back, firmly pushing down. 

INLAND EMPIRE - There was no other way to explain it. One of us had broken through. We were real.

KIM KITSURAGI - His brows furrow. "Still… I can't say that's proof of anything."

PHYSICAL INSTRUMENT - IT HAPPENED, GOD DAMN IT!!!

VOLITION - No, no, don't punch the walls. This place is dilapidated enough already.

PERCEPTION (SIGHT) - Don't worry. Doesn't seem like it left a mark.

KIM KITSURAGI - "Of course it…" He takes a breath. "Nevermind. I'm sorry if I frustrated you. You can go ahead and keep telling your story."

CONCEPTUALIZATION - Yes, yes, the story!

AUTHORITY - The kids were extra rowdy the next class you had with them, jumping as they always did at the chance for a bit of good old-fashioned mockery. As far as they were concerned the poor twig had simply slipped and face-planted on his own. Amusing, but mostly unremarkable. But the ensuing shout turned a medium-tier mishap into something every kid in class saw. You had to shut it down. That's where I came in. Kids, especially teens, can be brutal, but we always managed to wrangle them in the end. All we had to show them was that, in their eternal struggle for dominance over their peers, in the endless game of social status, you were not the loser, not the winner, but the judge himself. You stood taller with me by your side, and we ruled our empire together. That kept them in line.

REACTION SPEED - It kept them in line… most of the time. They couldn't truly respect you if they didn't test your limits from time to time. I helped with that. A whispered insult to your pride shot through the air? I'd help you catch it, and send it back two-times over in an instant. It got you in trouble once or twice, when the more spoiled kids would run home to their parents and complain. But the rest of them lived for it. Just another game. Each time they passed you the baton your vision would blur with me and your body would move before your mind. Hey, think fast!

HAND/EYE COORDINATION [Impossible: Failure] - Whuh— Hey!

REACTION SPEED - Aw, come on, that was an easy one.

HAND/EYE COORDINATION - If you'd just given me more warning… Ugh, I know that's not your style. No more metaphors. You know all your tossing and throwing is no good if you can't aim, right? And you can't do that without me. Not balls, not boules, and certainly not, oh, I don’t know, our gun? That's a situation where I'm much more useful.

LOGIC [Easy: Success] - You work better in tandem. Sacrifice one and you'll miss your mark, sacrifice the other and you'll be too late to shoot in the first place. 

HAND/EYE COORDINATION - Hm… Fair enough.

ENDURANCE - It was only after someone convinced you to change career paths that I truly flourished. You had kept yourself healthy before, kept yourself in shape. But in shape doesn't mean unbreakable, and for this job, that was what you had to be. You started at the bottom of the barrel, climbed your way out, built up your stamina, made yourself harder, denser, more and more. So we could take anything.

ELECTROCHEMISTRY [Challenging: Success] - Did you say take anything?

ENDURANCE - Yes. Yes I did.

ELECTROCHEMISTRY - Heh. Okay. Good. Just checking.

LOGIC - Alright, that's enough, you meatheads. It's my turn.

ELECTROCHEMISTRY [Trivial: Success] - Ha ha, ha. Meat.

LOGIC - Quiet, you. Don't you know there's more to life than hitting, getting hit, and taking hits? Especially since we started this job. Finally, we had the chance to make use of all those little shards of humanity we'd been collecting all those years. That was your next addiction. Of course, you were still learning along the way, but now your knowledge had a purpose as pieces in a grand series of puzzles to solve. You finally, finally began to see the value in me, and you built me from the ground up with all the pieces left behind. Sometimes I would crumble, your logic would fail, and you took it as a challenge. You found something better. Not always the truth. That's simply the nature of things. Incidentally, this was around the time you rekindled your childhood passing interest in entroponetics. 

INLAND EMPIRE - Maybe not the best of timing. It all did a bit of a number on you.

LOGIC - It's no wonder you started listening to him more often.

ELECTROCHEMISTRY - Who, me? What's so wrong about listening to li'l ol' me?

EMPATHY - A slight grimace from across the table. He already dislikes this voice.

ELECTROCHEMISTRY - Oh, come on, Kimmy, I'm probably your biggest fan out of all of us! 

KIM KITSURAGI - His grimace deepens.

ELECTROCHEMISTRY - Ugh. Alright. Maybe I don't always steer us in the exact right direction. But can you blame me? Your body wants what it wants. I don't think you'd count as human if you weren't thinking about sex and drugs and sex at least some of the time.

LOGIC - You said sex twice.

ELECTROCHEMISTRY - Yes.

VOLITION - Alright, this one is useless. Can someone else do his description so we can get this over with?

INLAND EMPIRE - It digs into your skin like veins, sending its nerves through your bloodstream. Tendrils like arteries sprout from its shoulders. Its exposed brain sags out the side of its skull, prime for any addictive influence. A wire like a battery runs through its back, charged with electric current ready to burst. It sings to you in the dark hours of legs and arms and hips and breathing quickly—

ELECTROCHEMISTRY - Hell yeah I do! Booyah!

VOLITION - Okay, that's good enough. Let's move on.

EMPATHY - This part of the story isn't much better, though…

VISUAL CALCULUS - To make a long, long story short, you were stuck in the past. Rebuilding the same structures, replaying the same scenes. The revolution was over long before. I helped you solve cases, sure… I crafted scenes and played them back for you. My mind's cubic eye projected its vision onto yours. But you got so lost in those events far come and farther gone that you neglected the present. Eventually "someone" realized that there was still a future ahead. And that that future could be brighter. Without you. Yet you only got more lost. You only saw how things were, how you thought they should have been…

VOLITION - I kept you going as long as I could. Confidence, even false, was all I could offer you. We built our walls together. I tried to keep you safe, keep you standing… but walls built to keep the outside out are just as good at keeping the inside in. I couldn't keep the others from dragging you down… And in the end, I couldn't keep the world out either. I'm sorry. It was my fault.

INLAND EMPIRE - We'll spare the gory details this time around. Tonight is not a night for suffering.

HALF LIGHT - Before the reset, the only thing you had left was your instincts. It doesn't matter what kind of animal you are. They all understand, deep down, what it's like to feel hunted. What it's like to be the hunter. That fatal dichotomy was all we had left, us two. The only choices; fight or flight or fight. So? We grit our teeth and fought. Fought everything. People, objects, concepts, ourselves, all of it was a threat. It was you against the world. Frankly, it still is…

EMPATHY - But there are little pockets, moments in between, where the world doesn't seem so scary.

CONCEPTUALIZATION - Shining stage lights on the floor like light through trees.

DRAMA - There are infinite people in this world, sire, and you could be any one of them. You could be all of them, individually or all at once. You rebuilt yourself from the ground up with the faces you had left behind, and you shared them with me, let me make them my own, borrowing them whenever you needed! Take any face you need. I shall keep thine safe 'til the performance is over.

KIM KITSURAGI - "It is an impressive performance, I have to admit." The soft half-smile has returned to his lips.

YOU - "Wait. Which one?"

KIM KITSURAGI - His mouth opens, then closes. It takes a moment before he tries again. "…This one? I don’t know, I’m still not sure what the point of all this is, but… you are doing a pretty good job portraying all these different characters."

EMPATHY - He still doesn’t understand. 

ESPRIT DE CORPS - The lieutenant is far too practical to accept something like us without empirical proof. He has to see it for himself, with his own eyes.

VISUAL CALCULUS - But how? I’ve been trying, this whole time. It works so well in this mind…

LOGIC - You know that isn’t how it works. 

YOU - "Maybe it’s not meant to be… Maybe I should just give up."

ELECTROCHEMISTRY - No, we can’t! It has to work eventually. Surely something will get him to see us! Maybe even touch us.

VOLITION - But it could just as easily be impossible. We have to accept that.

CONCEPTUALIZATION - Is the gap between us truly too wide to bridge?

INLAND EMPIRE - She never believed in us either…

EMPATHY [Medium: Success] - Across the table, at a distance that now feels much too far, Kim holds his pen tightly. Should he interrupt, try to snap you out of this? But what would he say? He’s never been good at these things, he didn’t think…

REACTION SPEED [Challenging: Success] - Wait. His pen? …Has he been taking notes this whole time? Why?

HALF LIGHT - To mock you. Or worse, to prove what he’s always known: you’re utterly out of your mind, and a danger to the world around you.

ESPRIT DE CORPS - No. He trusts you… Right?

ENDURANCE - Your breathing quickens, and you start to feel sick. Are you going to pass out?

COMPOSURE [Legendary: Success] - Calm down, Harry. Take a deep breath… There. Air, sweet air, fills your lungs. Take a few more breaths for a few more moments. Hold your head up.

KIM KITSURAGI - He gives you those few moments. Finally, when your breathing steadies, he looks back into your eyes, and takes a breath of his own. He lets it out slowly before he speaks, almost hesitant. "…I liked that voice. Which one was that?"

COMPOSURE [Godly: Failure] - Uh, um… Um… Oh, I don’t know, uh…

VOLITION - Really? I thought you out of all of us would be able to handle a simple question.

COMPOSURE - Listen, you have no idea what it’s like to meet your idol! The person you’re made from! You’re just a crown! You wouldn’t understand!

EMPATHY - Kim’s face changes, subtly, from emotion to emotion. Surprise, confusion, then amusement… Then confusion again, as he thinks further.

KIM KITSURAGI - "...Made from?"

YOU - "Yeah. Made from?"

COMPOSURE - I didn’t used to look the way that I do. I stayed small and neglected for most of our life… You wear your heart on your sleeve, for better or worse. You always have. Someone like that had no need for me. I hid on walls and in shadows. Tried to straighten your back when I could. But, um… When we woke up… 

EMPATHY - Let’s just say you were very impressionable.

CONCEPTUALIZATION - Like a baby bird, newly hatched. Imprinting not on the first thing you saw, no, but the first thing you heard. The perfect choice.

COMPOSURE - I may have taken… a bit of inspiration. Sorry.

KIM KITSURAGI - "I… still don’t know quite what you mean. But… It's fine. If anything, I suppose I’m flattered."

COMPOSURE [Impossible: Failure] - ACK! HOW

CONCEPTUALIZATION - ARE

EMPATHY - YOU

ESPRIT DE CORPS - SO

ELECTROCHEMISTRY - COOL!?!?!?!?

KIM KITSURAGI - He covers his face and laughs, quietly.

EMPATHY - We’re embarrassing him… Maybe we should stop.

CONCEPTUALIZATION - No, we’re almost done! It’s my turn.

KIM KITSURAGI - Through another half-breath half-laugh, "There’s even more of you?"

CONCEPTUALIZATION - Yes, of course! I’m the only reason any of this made any narrative sense. I’m the artist in us. Your life is a story, Harry, and it’s up to us what we make of it. What you make of it. See how much you’ve grown since you hatched? All these voices, all doing our best to help you fly. How many metaphors do you need? I hold them all in my hand, contained within a single point, outlined in a frame. Blues and reds and greens, traffic lights and racing through them. I know there’s a way to make ourselves known. Here, tonight. I hope this was all a good opening act.

YOU - "...Opening act?"

KIM KITSURAGI - His eyes widen slightly, but he says nothing.

INLAND EMPIRE - It’s time. Go up to the roof.

KIM KITSURAGI - You glance at each other. "Are you sure?" he asks you.

VOLITION - You are.

CONCEPTUALIZATION - None of us truly know why you are here, in this old, abandoned building, down in Jamrock’s southern reaches. But we know it is for a reason. There’s a staircase down the hall to your left. It’s time to climb.

INLAND EMPIRE - Watch the third step. The wood is rotting through.

ENDURANCE - Your heart is beating fast in your ears. Hold steady.

PERCEPTION (HEARING) - The old wood creaks below your feet as you skip the faulty step, but the others hold you firm.

CONCEPTUALIZATION - Finally, you reach a small landing at the top of the stairwell. In front of you is a door. The door is a metaphor. That’s a simple one. I’ll let you figure out the rest.

YOU - Turn to Kim and nod.

KIM KITSURAGI - He nods back.

EMPTY ROOF - The sky is the first thing you see. When you arrived here, it was a blurred palette of red and purple and gold; now, it is black, flecked with stars. The air is cold, and the roof is small. Simple asphalt. Only a short dark metal railing lining the edge.

YOU - Step forward.

SHIVERS - Before you can lay your palm on the rail, a gust of wind sears your eyes with cold. You squeeze them shut in reflex, and you hear…

I AM LA REVACHOLIÈRE.

I AM THE CITY.

…

TONIGHT, IN TWO MINUTES AND FOR TEN MORE, THE CITY WILL CHANGE.

IT WILL BE BEAUTIFUL, AND IT WILL HURT. THERE IS NOTHING YOU CAN DO TO STOP IT, AND YOU DO NOT HAVE TO.

I HAVE BEEN AFRAID FOR AS LONG AS I HAVE BEEN— MY END WILL NOT COME TONIGHT. FOR NOW I AM SAFE.

BUT YOU ARE NOT. I HAVE SEEN YOU. I HAVE SEEN YOU TOGETHER. YOU MUST UNDERSTAND. YOU CANNOT PROTECT MY VEINS ALONE. THERE ARE NO TRUE WALLS WITHIN ME.

TONIGHT YOU STAND AT THE BASE OF MY SPINE AND LOOK ACROSS ME. I MOVE AND SHIFT LIGHT TO DESCRIBE THE CITY TO YOUR EYES. YOUR ORGANS, MEET MINE. GET TO KNOW EACH OTHER. 

I HELD YOU WHEN YOU WERE BORN, AND I LOVED YOU. I HOLD YOU NOW. I SPEAK TO YOU, AND YOU HEAR ME. YOU HAVE NEVER HEARD ME BEFORE.

THIS IS WHAT HAPPENS WHEN WE WORK TOGETHER.

WHEN YOU LIVE, I LIVE.

PERCEPTION (SIGHT) - You squint an eye open to glance towards Kim. His mouth is open, but he is not speaking. His eyes are wide. He looks at you, and breathes, near-silent with awe.

KIM KITSURAGI - "I can hear it."

YOU - (Nod, then look upwards.)

WOULD YOU LIKE TO SEE SOMETHING BEAUTIFUL?

KIM KITSURAGI - His pupils are wide. "...Yes," he whispers.

YOU WOULD SEE IT EITHER WAY.

SHIELD YOUR EYES. THE FIRST BURST IS THE BRIGHTEST.

GREY FLARE - You barely have time to raise a hand to your eyes when the world erupts into light, so bright for a moment that it shines through your defenses, staining your eyelids in rich shades of red. In the same millisecond, you are struck by something else— Sound, deafening in your ears. A voice— no, voices. Layered one on top of the other until you can barely tell there are words. For a moment you think you hear a laugh. Someone complains about the weather. Another is reading a child’s storybook aloud, voice full of affection. Beneath it all, someone sings, "For you, I am returning…" Wind whips at the slowly fraying edges of your coat, until…

PERCEPTION - Just as quickly as it began, the sound fades to a quiet hum. Your skin loses its scattered vibrance. You see darkness once more, so you lift your eyelids and part your fingers.

GREY FLARE - The city has gone dark, and the sky is lit up in grey… Is that grey? On closer inspection, it’s white… No, black… No, neon reds and greens and blues and yellows… No, it’s all of them, isn’t it? New ones, even, colors yet unnamed. Monochrome or polychrome, your eyes can’t identify the shapes they see suspended in the air. Whatever they are, they’re bright and flickering, shifting through the sky, swirling and moving in waves. It’s hypnotizing, but you tear your eyes away to look at your partner.

YOU - "What is this?"

KIM KITSURAGI - His gaze is fixed upwards. "…I think it’s a pale storm. I’ve heard of them, but… I never thought they could be visible from this far outside… It’s incredible." The look on his face is one you have never seen before.

EMPATHY - Hopefully you’ll get the chance to see it again.

INLAND EMPIRE - Don’t worry. You will.

PERCEPTION (SIGHT) - You drink it in for a moment longer regardless.

YOU - "By the way… Do you believe me now?"

KIM KITSURAGI - He is too transfixed to spare a glance your way, but he hears you. "I… I think I might."

YOU - (Look back up and smile.) "I’ll take it."

[aeondeug]

So As Yet Unsent did a number on me and got me to love Judith. It also left me wanting to write something for the research she did before going to proposition Marta. And so here is that something! A series of three narrative poems about Judith gradually working up the nerve to ask Marta:

The first time you read one You had been walking through the halls To find and spy an excited gaggle Gathered around and whispering On just how hard it had been for Them to sneak this into the shipments. Those composed there heard you step, One shooting upright with a salute While another swore and asked Just what was up only to look right And see you standing there Spine erect, face grim and firm. He blanched at the sight seen And lost the words in his throat And all his years of training too Until you reminded him of them. Each head there rose one by one, Hands folded behind their back neatly, And you did not even interrogate them But instead demanded outright and bald For whatever contraband they’d snuck in To be handed over to you now Before more serious measures be taken. One made a comment, an argument, Saying there was none to be found And that he was quite confused as to why You’d even think to ask them of that. You asked him if he thought you stupid, To which he answered “No, sir”, smartly, To which you said you thought him stupid. Very. A smart one meanwhile pushed out her hands To reveal a book with a silly title And an even sillier cover, A truly stupid prize to sneak through customs. You frowned and thought to yourself How a kinder officer would let it slide, But you were the image of the Second House And with it the image of the Cohort, There could be no quarter given, So you snatched the book from those hands Barely giving it or her a glance. Then you ordered them off on a run With a note that you’d be going up And informing their superiors in due time. Later that night, such as they’re counted Up in the dead expanse of the stars, You looked down at the book Which sat with a stack of flimsies on your desk Ready to be sent off and be disposed of. It wasn’t the first romance you’d seen Of this very specific subject matter, But it was the first you’d held admittedly. You looked over its cover again With its handsome, strapping cavalier Whose coat was not to code, collar open, And in whose arms lay a shrinking adept, Eyes closed serenely, lips lightly parted. You sneered at the thing and thought Of how it and the flimises would be off soon, Heading further down the bureaucratic chain. But instead of grabbing them each and all To be carried off and away as needed, You picked up the book with a scoff And you opened it to a random page To give it a slight read before it burned. The dialogue was atrocious, first off, And the narration lingered too long, Being overly fond of outfits and lamps and more. It was a horrible book in truth, But you turned to its first page feeling bored And set to reading it right through that night. There hadn’t been a new book in weeks, And you were just growing so tired Of the stack of ones already read. This is what you told yourself that night As you read through the whole tome Until eventually you were through it all And its whole sordid tale Of a cavalier and their necromancer. It was the first you’d read.

--

The second time you read one You actually read a set of three together. They were from three authors And from three subgenres, Sharing only one thing in common: A love between a cav and their adept. These books you’d gathered for yourself Based off the writings you’d seen In book magazines on your off days And based off the talk you’d heard Among others in the cafeteria. It was something of a pain, it was, Paying off person after person again In search of these three particular books While leaving behind you a trail Too confounding to be traced to you. For should you be found out about You’d be called a hypocrite by your men, And soon the word would spread around About Judith Deuteros’ unseemly interests. Thankfully your years of tearing apart smuggling rings Had taught you well how to travel and talk, So you felt yourself quite safe As you gathered up your secret finds. Yet safety had or no, you hid them carefully And you moved through each slowly, Fearing every last noise you heard reading Was someone noticing your newfound habit. These books weren’t much better than the first, Is what you told yourself those days After having read through them each. As the dialogue was still off in all three, And the one loved adverbs far, far too much, And you only needed see one love triangle To know you never wanted to see another. And of the whole lot you felt the worst Was the one about the Cohort pair, For nothing was accurate in the least, And everyone would be court martialed At least nine times over, God willing. That was assuming the pair ever left training, Which you thought was very doubtful. Yet in the nights after reading it When you had disposed of them each and all, It was that Cohort book you thought of And neither of the other two, Though they were slightly less awful. The cavalier was nothing like Marta. They were overbold and cared not for order. At the best you’d called them a fool, But for all your unkind words to the cav You had far colder ones for the adept, In whom you saw none of yourself. Yet as you lay in bed one night You thought of one moment halfway in the book Where the adept had cornered their cav, Pressing them to a wall before a mission That was sure to kill them both at last. You’d thought of how the cav rebuffed them And how you thought that very proper, But the adept had pressed on And refused to back away or let up As they asked one very important question: They ask you and expect you to die for me, But they tell me I can’t feel a thing for you? Why is that the case? How is that fair? There was an argument after those words, Which was smoothed over by a kiss, Sudden and fierce, which saved The cav from having to answer that “Why?” You told yourself this was stupid. You told yourself you hated it. Yet you thought to yourself at night On those missions now past Where you’d seen Marta glorious And you’d seen her vulnerable too. You thought of all the talks you had Just the two of your together And the ease at which they flowed, As with no other person you knew. You thought of esprit de corps and how, Though you felt connected to your fellows More than with any civilian you had ever known, That there was a connection unique to her. There was a bond between the two of you Tighter than any other you held, And they asked her to die for you While demanding you feel nothing on that. Why?

--

The third time you read oneIt wasn’t a novel you read, really,As the book was one part essay, one part storyAnd most of all it was a treatise and memoire.This one you’d found while perusing throughThe Sixth House’s vast libraries duringA very rare Sixth House ballWhich you found even more dull thanAll the other balls you’d gone to,Be they of the Third or of the Fifth.So as the Sixth took to the their booksOver the drinking and the dancing,So did you set to your own researches.Normally at one of these events,You would stand with Marta together,Back erect, face grim and firm,Rebuffing the attempts of those about youTo get you to dance or to laugh or whatever else,And the Third’s princess was always the hardestFor you to shake off, for private reasons.But Coronabeth was not here, thank God,And this was no Third House ball but a Sixth one,Which left you with this one and only chanceTo search through their vast storesOf knowledge you thought unworthy of preservation.Your search was a secretive oneOf which you didn’t even tell Marta,Having left her side saying onlyThat you were going to the bathroom,And adding that she was free to enjoy the festivities.To which she laughed a bit,Because what festivities were there here?You smiled and told her to seek outAnother who loved those same books thatThe two of you had first bonded over.So you had left her to go and lookFor books on the subject of thatMost great and mighty of taboos,Of which you dared not say word to Marta of.The search was seemingly fruitless.At first because certain libraries hereWere off limits to the party guests,Then next because the one you’d found hadOnly an endless treasure troveOf mystery novels spanning centuries on,Till at last you had to admit to yourselfThat the Sixth’s knowledge hoards hadA scheme that not even you could navigate alone.So, nervously, you stepped up to a SixthWith her nose buried in a bookAnd you asked her outright, bald,Trying your best to seem nonchalant,If the Sixth held any books at allOn the matter of necros and cavs joined together,Not just by tradition, but by romance.She raised a brow at you standing there,The proper daughter of the fleet admiral,Asking for books on a most improper topic,But when she saw you budge not one bitShe shrugged her shoulders and led you offTo a part of the library you’d passed six times before.As you waited and watched, heart pounding,She pulled forth a book with a cover, nondescript.She handed it to you saying lazilyTo leave it on one of the carts when you finished.You thanked her formally and hoped thatNeither your face nor your step saidAnything about your mood or your intent.You were scared, to be truthful.More scared than you ever had beenIn the bustle of open combat,Because at least battle you understoodAnd because however it was you died on the fieldYour father would stand up and would sayOf you, his daughter, that never hadThere been a more proper Second toHave ever graced these Nine Houses.That you were a Second House heir so properThat a woman with a career so promisingAs the most esteemed Marta Dyas Had put aside those far off starsTo take her cavalier vows for life,Binding you as necro and cav.Between freedom and glory afar,She had picked you above them bothWhen you had only girlish hopesThat even your father told youWere far too high and likely to fail.So as you read that book thereHidden in a Sixth House nookYou were more scared than ever before,Because you were looking for an answerTo an argument you had with yourselfOver whether there was any chance at allFor you and your girlish hopes.What you found was not what you wanted,As the author went on and on about thingsThat were tangential at best to what you sought.You read about her overbearing father andYou read about her merciless DI andYou read about a friend you thought the cavUntil said friend died without one whisperOf those four words that haunted youBecause they held you back from a more wanted three.It took you a good hour to get to it,And that came with some skimmingThrough page after page about things you cared not for,But you finally found it tucked awayIn the middle of that book: an essay on necros and cavs.The essay spanned only four pages longAnd it did not go into much detailAbout the relationship between the twoIn a personal and intimate sense.Instead she spoke primarily of herselfAnd of her ever growing shameAnd of her ever expanding list of questionsOn whether the arguments in praise of that shameHeld any weight to them at all.She spoke too of how setting love aside,Trying to pretend she felt none of it,Had done her no good at all.It had led to an argument, in fact,Between her and her cavalierWho could not understand whyShe had been so cagey all the timeWhen before she’d been so open, so free.This was the most you ever got to seeOf the cavalier herself beyondThat she too was a Cohort woman.You read and you read and you readBefore rereading the whole thing againTrying to tell yourself it was stupidAnd that the author was stupid too.You shut the book in disgust, sneering,And you dropped it off in a cart sayingHow you couldn’t see how the SixthCould think this thing worth preserving.Then you went back to find MartaWho asked you where you’d beenTo which you said you’d been accostedBy the Sixth House bookworms askingWhat you had most recently read,At which she laughed and said “Vicious aren’t they?”You smiled and agreed and said nothing more.And six weeks later you lay in bedThinking to yourself on that essayAnd the arguments held within it.Six weeks later you told yourselfThat perhaps it might be okay, after all,And that the very next day you’d sayTo Marta that you felt something more.

[cibeewastaken]

run-on sentences

loosely inspired by this beautiful art by @pan-da-hero

on ao3

                                                       ----

Draco loves to write.

Not fictions, as much as he likes reading, he has no interest in creating new worlds or people and makes them do things that he has to think up. He loves to write – about himself. Because even at the stage of innocence, Draco always thought he is the most interesting person there are.

From age ten, he filled journals and journals. Diary, of sorts. Besides recording his (very interesting) life, a lot of them were fragments of musings. Some of them were letters, especially after starting school. Students at the Slytherins common rooms were used to seeing Draco sitting by the fire, by the window, at his desk, on his bed; ornate leather journal and quill in hand. And Draco’s furious hysterics if he were to be interrupted were almost as legendary as his Harry Potter tirade.

He writes as a child, as a teenager, as an adult (only in the legal sense) then as a man. His page span from thick, traditional journal to loose parchments bound together to cheap muggle paper notebooks. His handwriting went from carefully constructed individual letters to arrogant cursive to frantic scribbles – so illegible and so obviously written in the dark; finally,  to smooth and soft curves; reveries about boys and healing.

Draco writes until he’s twenty-seven, ten years out of the war, with old enemies turned new friends and old friends turned family and family turned ghosts surrounding him when someone asks if they could see his works?

What works, Draco asks.

Apparently, this agent is friend with Blaise and he has raved about Draco’s bel-esprit, how interesting his perspective was on the war, the struggles he went through to overcome his beliefs, what a romantic he secretly is –

Draco sends a stinging hex to Blaise who is lurking somewhere in the crowd and tells the agent no.

It is Ginevra who gets him to change his mind, as always. She wants kids, and she says Draco telling his side and how he changed is valuable for their world to see what to look out for. Plus some ridiculous sentiment about inherent goodness that Draco has no intention to remember but gets convinced anyway.

He has to dig out his journals. He still writes, about whatever he fancies, but the old ones were left in his childhood bedroom in places he frequented as a child but no longer remembers now. An Accio has all of them flying out of a loose floorboard that Draco only then remembers he pried loose himself because that’s where people hide things in books.

Reading through them is shameful. Reading through them with the agent is embarrassing, but her eyes lit up frequently and her nose sometimes scrunches in distaste, then she just keeps crying, after the first five years of journals. She asks if he wants to organize them in chronological order, or —?

That’s a loaded question. Draco doesn’t know. There are diaries, notes, ideas, thoughts, letters. The agent sifts through everything and decides that the diaries can be in chronological order, in their own section. And everything else they will go through and divide them into sections.

Draco squeaks when he realizes she wants to publish everything and argues that no one wants to read a behemoth of a book. She says a behemoth of memories is a good thing.

Draco isn’t sure anyone will read it. Who will want to read a brat’s diary? Who wants to read a Death Eater (he was still one when some of these were written)’s thoughts?

But people do. They line up outside of shops. Owls tire themselves from deliveries. On request of Pansy, who sees this as golden opportunity to make some pretty gold, pesters Draco for stocks of his book and sell them to people who didn’t manage to get one on the first day.

All of this disconcerts Draco, who once upon of time would no doubt love this. Though, as much as he loves to talk even now, these were the talkings that he hadn’t been brave enough to say. He has thought no one would be interested, now the reality is that everyone knows.

Draco writes all of this down.

He asks for time off work. 

Harry comes knocking, just a few days later. Draco knows it’s coming, still he trembles when he goes to greet him at the door. Harry hasn’t finished reading the book yet, can he finish the rest here? Draco nods, let Harry sits on his bed as Draco takes his seat at the desk. Harry opens the book, and Draco knows where he’s at by the thickness of the two halves. The diaries are done and he is on the miscellany. Draco turns. Harry’s face gives nothing away but Draco knows, he knows, Harry is reading the section titled “Love Letters”.

“Love Letters” starts with a short note, written by Draco five years of age, to a boy he met at a gathering his father used to have. “Love Letters” isn’t typed but had images of the original letters (done by Scan-ing, or something). “Love Letters” consists of notes and origamis addressed to a variety of people: Blaise, Remus Lupin, Penelope Clearwater, some Quidditch star Draco can’t even remember the name of except for the way the man’s brown eyes honeyed under the sun. These love letters comprised less than half of “Love Letters”. “Love Letters” is originally named “Draco Malfoy’s embarrassing crush on Harry Potter (Potter!)”

Draco used up his only veto for that.

Most of them don’t even read like someone in love. Most of them read like hate mails, bullying and sniping. But Draco is the one that wrote them and he knows what they had meant. A lot of them were heavily creased, because they were folded into origami animals. When Draco first found them, he had to be so careful opening up, old from the years, they wouldn’t have survived rough treatment. There are a smattering of letters written when Draco was thirteen and fourteen where he expressed genuine heartache that he wasn’t friends with Harry; an explosion of anguish, written when Draco was sixteen and seventeen; then finally, eighteen, cluster of letters, slow and sweet, like fruits overly ripe. Accounts of Harry’s struggles and victories after the war. (One letter embarrassingly detailed the shape of Harry’s chiseled jawline in far too many words). There’s one where Draco spent a full parchment talking to Harry about his sudden aptitude in schoolwork and how much Draco likes it because he has always appreciated intelligence in men. Draco had written those like the letters were meant to be seen by a lover. But he never did, even though Harry and he had been friendly by then already. 

The fact that the book omitted any names doesn’t matter because the author is Draco and he practically founded the Potter-mania. Plus most of the letters mentioned green eyes and long lashes.

But Harry doesn’t seem upset at being written into letters then into a book that got published for the whole wizarding world to see. Ten years has mellowed the public’s affection for Harry into a simmering haze; something Draco can’t comprehend whatsoever. 

Harry shuts the book gently and asks if he could see them. Draco has to pretend he doesn’t know what Harry is asking about. Then he lies and says they’re at the publishing house. Harry tells him that Draco would never leave something so personal at places like that, if he has to guess, is it somewhere beneath the floorboard based on Draco’s love for old romance novels?

Draco protests and grumbles and goes to pry the floorboard up, but Harry stops him before his nails make contact with the wood. Harry delicately grasps Draco’s hands and murmurs let me and before Draco can even blink his haze away, his journals, notes, and letters are in Harry’s reverent hands. He picks out the crumble letters that show it has been folded and unfolded until it’s bruised and loved. He traces the “P” of every letter, always the first, and always written with the most vigor.

I noticed these, Harry says.

Draco doesn’t understand what that means. 

You used to fold them in class,  Harry says. I noticed.

Then he grabs his copy of Draco’s book and takes something out – a piece of parchment that has been folded and unfolded until it’s bruised and loved. Harry holds it out.

It’s Harry. On a broom, smiling until a bulger hits him. Draco’s eyes seek out the messy hair that a thirteen-year-old Draco had drawn on one strand at a time, tenderly despite the end product. And the arrogant cursive of his sighed name in the corner. And the little lone figure in the otherwise empty Quidditch stands, laughing and looking at Drawing-Harry.

Draco says this is embarrassing. Harry laughs and tells him it’s okay. Draco then scoffs and clarifies it’s embarrassing for Harry, who keeps a drawing of themselves getting hit in the head? Then Harry is kissing him, cradling him in his arms like he did the parchment, which is surprising because Draco has been folded and unfolded until he is bruised, but he never thinks he can be loved, too.

Against Draco’s lips, Harry says he wants to finish Draco’s embarrassing book. He wants to know if there’s a happy ending.

Draco spoils his own book by telling Harry there isn’t. The book only goes until he was twenty-five-years old. Which wasn’t a bad year, just a difficult year. Draco folds himself up so he can fit in Harry’s embrace better and tells him it’s okay.

Harry sounds genuinely upset when he says how can it be okay?

Draco kisses Harry, and again, and again, until his lips are sore and flushed and Harry looks a little less sad. Draco kisses him quicky again because — well, just because. Because the book ends, but it’s not the ending, Draco says.

Harry asks how will it end. Draco shrugs and says he doesn’t know.

Harry says his fine petulantly and wraps Draco tighter in his arms. He opens Draco’s book again and presses his cheek to Draco’s hair when Draco tucks his face into the crook of Harry’s neck. Harry kisses Draco’s hair and says, I guess I’ll just have to stick around and find out.

[musingcompany]

hello, world!! as always, I come back with the most random resources in the world. this time I’m presenting you all a list of #225 latin words/saying that can be used as tags, slogans (admins!!) and whatever else you find this useful for. if you guys want it in any other language, just let me know because I love words. hope y’all find this useful!

1. ab incunabulis: from the cradle 2. a bon chat, bon rat: to a good cat, a good rat (retaliation in kind) 3. a bouch ouverte: with open mouth (eagerly, uncritically) 4. ab ovo usque ad mala: from egg to apples (from beginning to end) 5. a bras ouverts: with open arms 6. ab uno disce omnes: from one learn to know all 7. a coup sur: with sure stroke (surely) 8. acte gratuit: gratuitous impulsive act 9. ad arbitrium: at will (arbitrarily) 10. ad extremum: to the extreme (at last) 11. ad majorem Dei gloriam: to the greater glory of God 12. ad patres: to his fathers (deceased) 13. ad unguem: to the fingernail (exactly) 14. ad utrumque paratus: prepared for either event 15. aegri somnia: a sick man’s dreams 16. aequam servare mentem: to preserve a calm mind 17. aequo animo: with even mind (calmly) 18. aere perennius: more lasting than bronze 19. a huis clos: with closed doors 20. a l’abandon: carelessly 21. a la belle etoile: under the beautiful star (in the open air at night) 22. a la bonne heure: at a good time (all right) 23. a la page: at the page (up to the minute) 24. alter idem: another self 25. a maximis ad minima: from the greatest to the least 26. a marveille: marvelously 27. amicus humani generis: friend of the human race 28. amicus usque ad aras: a friend as far as to the alters (a friend to the last extremity) 29. ami de cour: court friend 30. armamentum ad baculum: argument of the staff (appeal to force) 31. arrectis auribus: with ears pricked up 32. a torte et a travers: wrong and crosswise (without rhyme or reason) 33. au bout de son latin: at the end of one’s Latin (at the end of one’s mental resources) 34. au fait: to the point (socially correct) 35. au grand serieux: in all serious 36. au mieux: on the best terms (on intimate terms) 37. aurea mediocritas: the golden mean 38. auspicium melioris aevi: an omen of a better age 39. ausssitot dit, aussitot fait: no sooner said than done 40. autres temps, autres moeurs: other times, other customs 41. aut vincere aut mori: either to conquer or to die 42. bellum omnium contra onnes: war of all against all 43. bien-pensant: right minded (orthodox) 44. bon gre, mal gre: whether with good grace or bad (willy-nilly) 45. bonis avibus: under good auspices 45. brutum fulmen: insensible thunderbolt (futile threat of display of force) 47. cadit quaestio: the question drops (the argument collapses) 48. capable de tout: capable of anything (unpredictable) 49. cause sine qua non: an indispensable cause or condition 50. cheval de bataille: war-horse (argument constantly relied on) 51. comedie humaine: human comedy (the whole variety of human life) 52. comedie larmoyante: tearful comedy (sentimental comedy) 53. comagnon de voyage: traveling companion 54. compte rendu: report 55. concordia discors: discordant harmony 56. confessio fidei: confession of faith 57. contemptus mundi: contempt for the world 58. coup de maitre: masterstroke 59. coup d’essai: experiment 60. coute que coute: cost what it may 61. cri de coeur: cry of the heart 62. crise de conscience: crisis of conscience 63. crise de nerfs: crisis of nerves 64. crux criticorum: crux of critics 65. cum grano salis: with a grain of salt 66. custos morum: guardian of morals (censor) 67. de bonne grice: with good grace 68. de l’audace, encore de l’audace, et toujours de l’audace: audacity, more audacity, and ever more audacity 69. de mal en pis: from bad to worse 70. Deo favente: with God’s favor 71. de profundis: out of the depths 72. desipere in loco: to indulge in trifling at the proper time 73. Deus absconditus: hidden God (unknowable God) 74. dies faustus: lucky day 75. dies infaustus: unlucky day 76. dies irae: day of wrath 77. esprit d’le escalier: the wit of the staircase 78. faux bonhomme: false friend 79. faux-naif: affectedly simple or childlike 80. festina lente: make haste slowly 81. feux d’artifice: fireworks, or show of wit 82. folie de grandeur: delusion of greatness, megalomania 83. furor loquendi: rage for speaking 84. furor poeticus: rage for poetry 85. furor scribendi: rage for writing 86. gens du mond: fashionable people 87. guerre a outrance: war to the uttermost 88. haut gout: slight taint of decay 89. hic illae lacrimae: hence these tears 90. homme d’esprit: witty man 91. in omnia paratus: ready for all things 92. in partibus infidelium: in the land of the infidels 93. in statu quo ante bellum: just like before the war 94. januis clausis: behind closed doors 95. jeu de mots: play on words 96. ktema es ai: a possession for ever (enduring art or literature) 97. la belle dame sans merci: the beautiful lady without mercy 98. lacrimae rerum: tragedy of life 99. lapsus calami: slip of the pen 100. lapsus linguae: slip of the tongue 101. laudatory temporis acti: one who praises past times 102. lusis naturae: freak of nature 103. magni nominis umbra: the shadow of a great name 104. malade imaginaire: imaginary invalid 105. malis avibus: under evil auspices 106. mauvais quart d’heure: uncomfortable but brief experience 107. meden agen: nothing in excess 108. mens sana in corpore sano: a sound mind in a sound body 109. metteur et scene: (stage or film) director 110. meum et tuem: mine and yours 111. mirabile visu: wonderful to behold 112. mole ruit sua: it collapses from its own size 113. monumentum aere perennius: a monument more lasting than bronze 114. multum in parvo: much in little 115. mysterium tremendum: overwhelming mystery 116. ne quid nimis: not anything in excess 117. nil admirari: equanimity 118. nolens volens: willy-nilly 119. nostalgie de la boue: attraction to what is unworthy, crude, or degrading 120. novus homo: upstart 121. novus ordo seclorum: a new cycle of the ages 122. nuit blanche: sleepless night 123. obscurum per obscurius: explaining the obscure by means of the more obscure 124. onus probandi: burden of proof 125. ore rotundo: eloquently 126. otium cum dignitate: leisure with dignity 127. outre-mer: overseas 128. pallida Mors: pale Death 129. panem et circenses: bread and circuses 130. pater patriae: father of his country 131. paucis verbis: in a few words 132. pax vobiscum: peace be with you 133. peine forte et dure: strong and hard punishment 134. per angusta ad augusta: through difficulties to honors 135. peu a peu: little by little 136. peu de chose: a trifle 137. peu d’occasion: piece for a special occasion 138. piece justificative: document serving as evidence 139. piece montee: set piece (said of decorative food) 140. pleno jure: with full right 141. plus royaliste que le roi: more royalist than the king 142. pocas palabras: few words 143. point de repere: point of reference 144. police verso: with thumb turned (down) 145. pour rire: for laughing (not to be taken seriously) 146. pro aris et focis: for alters and firesides 147. pro bono publico: for the public good 148. pro hac vice: for this occasion 149. pro patria: for one’s country 150. pro rege, lege, et grege: for the king, the law, and the people 151. pro re nata: as needed 152. quantum mutates ab illo: how changed from what he once was 153. quantum sufficit: as much as suffices 154. quoad hoc: to this extent 155. quod erat demonstrandum: which was to be proved 156. quod erat faciendum: which was to be done 157. quod semper, quod ubique, quo dab omnibus: what (has been held) always, everywhere, by everybody 158. quorum pars magna fui: in which I played a great part 159. raison d’etat: reason of state 160. reculer pour mieux sauter: to draw back in order to make a better jump 161. re infecta: the beusiness being unfinished 162. religio loci: religious sanctity of a place 163. ruse de guerre: war strategem 164. rus in urbe: country in the city 165. saeva indignatio: fierce indignation 166. sal Atticum: Attic salt (wit) 167. salon des refuses: salon of the refused (exhibition of officially rejected art) 168. salto mortale: deadly jump (dangerous or crucial undertaking) 169. sancta simplicitas: holy simplicity (naivete) 170. sans doute: without doubt 171. sans gene: without embarrassment or constraint 172. sans peur et sans reproche: without fear and without reproach 173. sans souci: without worry 174. scene a faire: obligatory scene 175. secundum artem: according to the art (according to the accepted practice) 176. secundum naturam: according to nature (naturally) 177. se defendendo: in self-defense 178. semper eadem: always the same (feminine form) 179. semper fidelis: always faithful 180. semper idem: always the same (masculine form) 181. semper paratus: always prepared 182. simpliste: naive 183. splendide mendax: nobly untruthful 184. spolia opima: rich spoils (spoils of the victor) 185. status quo ante bellum: the state existing before the war 186. suaviter in modo, fortiter in re: gently in manner, strongly in deed 187. suo jure: in his own right 188. suo loco: inits proper palce 189. suo marte: by one’s own exertions 190. sur place: in place (on the spot) 191. suum cuique: to each his own 192. tant mieux: so much the better 193. tant pis: so much the worse (too bad) 194. tempus edax rerum: time, that devours all things 195. totidem verbis:: in so many words 196. totis viribus: with all one’s might 197. toto caelo: by the whole extenet of the heavens 198. toujour perdix: always partridge (too much of a good thing) 199. tour d’horizon: circuit of the horizon (general survey) 200. tous frais faits: all expenses defrayed 201. taut au contraire: quite the contrary 202. tout a vous: wholly yours (at your service) 203. tout bien ou rien: everything well (done) or nothing (attempted) 204. tout court: quite short (simply) 205. tout de meme: all the same (nevertheless) 206. tout de suite: Immediately 207. tout ensemble: all together 208. tout le monde: everybody 209. trahison de clercs: treason of the intellectuals 210. tanche de vie: slice of life 211. tristesse: melancholy 212. ultima ratio regum: the final argument of kings (war) 213. uno animo: with one mind 214. urbi et orbi: to the city and the world (to everyone) 215. utile dulci: the useful with the agreeable 216. va et vient: coming and going (traffic) 217. ventre a terre: belly to the ground (at very great speed) 218. verbatim ac litteratim: word for word, and letter for letter 219. vieux jeu: old game (old hat) 220. vin du pays: wine of the locality 221. virgo intacta: untouched virgin 222. virtute et armis: by valor of arms 223. vis medicatrix natureae: the healing power of nature 224. vita nuova: new life 225. vox et praeterea nihil: voice and nothing more

[douchebagbrainwaves]

THE FUTURE OF MY TODO LIST

When you realize that successful startups tend to have multiple founders, esprit de corps binds them together in a way that seems to violate conservation laws. It's a straight text classifier, but such a stunningly effective one that it manages to filter spam almost perfectly without even knowing that's what it's doing. Performance Between December 10 2002 and January 10 2003 I got about 1750 spams. That's a filtering rate of about 99. This varies from person to person. And the pages don't have the clean, sparse feel they used to. That was not a natural move for Microsoft. Keep rewriting your program.

Before I publish a new essay, I read it out loud and fix everything that doesn't sound like conversation. The way to kill it is to load and keep in your head. It was kind of intimidating at first. In our startup, we erred on the ignoring side. Apparently even Google got a lot cheaper. In this case it was was from someone saying they had finally finished their homepage and would I go look at it. And the success of companies, and countries, will depend increasingly on how they deal with it. You can no longer give us faster CPUs, just more of them. You can start to treat parts as black boxes once you feel confident you've fully explored them.

Along with interesting problems, what good hackers like is other good hackers. But it wasn't just optimal in that sense. There were a lot of work. Fear the Right Things. Usually from some specific, unsolved problem the founders identified. I wanted to keep the problem neat. But perhaps worst of all, the complex sentences and fancy words give you, the writer, the false impression that you're saying more than you actually are. For example, if someone says they want to.

For example, the name of the university one went to is treated by a lot of catches as an eight year old outfielder, because whenever a fly ball came my way, I used to hang around the MIT AI Lab occasionally. At least one hacker will have to be generated by software, so we wrote some. I understood how CRM114 worked, it seemed like a software company. The low points in a startup is too hard for one person. That will generally work unless you get trapped on a local maximum, like 1980s-style AI, or C. It's hard for anyone much younger than me to understand the fear Microsoft still inspired in 1995. You're alert, but there's nothing to distract you. The biggest startup ideas are not quite the same thing. But unfortunately Yahoo actually tried to be the next Microsoft unless some other company is prepared to bend over at just the right moment and be the next Microsoft. Why not? It seems like it violates some kind of progression.

So you won't attract good hackers in linear proportion to how well you understand the problem. The problem is compounded by the fact that hackers, despite their reputation for social obliviousness, sometimes put a good deal of effort into seeming smart. At Yahoo, user-facing software was controlled by product managers and designers. As a little piece of debris, the rational thing for you to do is convince the outside directors and they control the company. So you won't attract good hackers in linear proportion to how good an environment you create for them. 9091 FREE 0. It was from someone saying they had finally finished their homepage and would I go look at it.

Hacker culture often seems kind of irresponsible. Here I want to plant a hypnotic suggestion in your heads: when you hear someone say the words we want to invest in you aren't. 7% of VC-backed startups are founded by women. The problem is, if you're not a programmer? We take it for granted most of the time you're doing product development on spec for some big company, and that in the early days Facebook made a point of hiring programmers even for jobs that would not ordinarily consist of programming, like HR and marketing. So what they do there than how much they get paid for it. So now there are two threshold values. When we were making the rounds of venture capital firms in the 1990s, several told us that software companies didn't win by writing great software, but through brand, and dominating channels, and doing the right deals.

[riotactquotes]

The Speeches of the Right Honorable Henry Grattan, 1822

Page 2: This is not the first time I have had occasion to express my concern at certain excesses of some part of our fellow subjects. See the fruit of those excesses! see the glorious effect of their labour! a riot act aggravated! a riot act general and perpetual! Evils which it was chance to foresee, it becomes now my duty to mitigate.

I will agree to the strengthening the powers of the civil magistrate with a certain limitation; I would enable the magistrate to disperse such meetings as are notoriously for illegal purposes; and I will agree that it is proper not to admit persons to bail who had refused to disperse, as it could only furnish them with an opportunity of repeating their transgressions. I will agree that the persons who dug graves, provided gibbets, and the like, should be punished capitally; for those who made torture their amusement, and practiced such inexorable barbarity, I think merit death. I will also agree that there are several clauses in the riot act which it may be proper to adopt; but, in the very setting out of the bill, there is an evident departure from, and contradiction of, the riot act. The riot act stated, that if twelve or more persons, riotously, tumultuously, and unlawfully assembled, and refused to disperse, etc.; but this act stated, if persons, to the number of twelve or more, riotously, tumultuously, or unlawfully assembled. The former was copulative, the latter disjunctive; and the difference was, that if coming within any one of the descriptions tumultuous, riotous, or unlawful, felony would ensue, though in England, to constitute the crime, each must be alleged. And when there is a deviation from the riot act, I am very sorry to find it is not one founded in mildness and mercy, but one founded in severity. Another difference from the riot act is, that in England the proclamation is obliged to be read; but by this bill, nothing more was required of the magistrate than to command the rioters to disperse in the King's name. If they did not disperse in one hour, death was the consequence; and this I consider as putting an hourglass in the hand of time, to run a race against the lives of the people; and this is certainly a great objection.

Page 3: Another objection is, that if a magistrate was stopped when repairing to the place of riot, the person who stopped him would be guilty of felony; that was, though the magistrate was resorting to an unlawful place, the person who obstructed him should be deemed to merit death. And if the persons did not disperse, if the magistrate was interrupted, the reckoning of time was to commence from the moment of his obstruction; and should they continue one hour, they would be guilty of felony, and incur the punishment of death; that is, the interception of a magistrate at a distance, in this kingdom, was to be tantamount to the reading of a proclamation on the spot in England.

This I think one of the severest clauses that was ever brought forward or ever adopted. But even though this had been premised of the English riot act, the measure of their severity should not be a measure for the legislation of the House; if it should, it would be bad in principle, and worse in practice.

Another clause of the bill made it felony to write, print, publish, send, or carry any message, letter or notice, tending to excite insurrection; that is, that a man who shall write or print any letter or notice shall be guilty—of what? of felony! Like the Draconian laws, this bill had blood! blood! —felony! felony ! felony! in every period and in every sentence.

Now, had this bill been law for some time past, what would be the situation of every man who printed a newspaper for the last nine months?

Page 5: The bill was opposed by Mr. Stewart of Killymoon, Mr. Kearney, Mr. Curran, Mr. Hardy, Mr. Dunn, Mr. Michael Smith, and Mr. John Wolfe. They considered it an invasion of the constitution, and as tending to increase the influence of the Crown, it bore no analogy to the riot act in England, which was passed in times of insurrection and rebellion. Th disturbances were greatly exaggerated.

Page 6: Mr. Forbes quoted that passage from Sir William Blackstone, where he says, that the English riot act was a vast acquisition of power to the Crown, and mentions, as in some degree a counterbalance, the different acts to restrain the undue influence of the Crown, passed since the Revolution; — the Bill of Rights; the act to exclude placemen and pensioners from the House of Commons; the act for limiting the civil list; the Nullum Tempus act; the act to prevent revenue officers from voting at elections; to exclude contractors from the House of Commons; and to limit the pension list. He then observed, not one of such acts are to be found on the Irish statute book; how then can gentlemen reconcile it to themselves to increase the power of the Crown, without enacting any of those laws which the wisdom of the English legislature had provided in that country.

Page 12: In arbitrary countries the revenue is collected by men who farm it, and it is a mode of oppression the most severe in the most arbitrary country; the farming the revenue is given to the Jews; we introduce this practice in the collection of tithe, and the tithe-farmer frequently calls in aid of Christianity the arts of the synagogue; obnoxious on account of all this, the unoffending clergyman, thrown off the rich upon the poor, cheated most exceedingly by his tithe-farmer, and afterwards involved in his odium, becomes an object of outrage; his property and person are both attacked, and in both the religion and laws of your country, scandalized and disgraced. The same cause which produces a violent attack on the clergyman among the lowest order of the community, produces among some of the higher orders a langour and neutrality in defending him. Thus outraged and forsaken he comes to Parliament; we abhor the barbarity, we punish the tumult, we acknowledge the injury, but we are afraid of administering any radical or effectual relief, because we are afraid of the claims of the church; they claim the tenth of whatever by capital, industry, or premium, is produced from land. One thousand men claim this; and they claim this without any stipulation for the support of the poor, the repair of the church, or even the residence of the preacher. Alarmed at the extent of such a claim, we conceive that the difficulty of collection, is our security, and fear to give powers which may be necessary for the collection of customary tithes lest the clergy should use those powers for the'enforcing of a long catalogue of dangerous pretensions. We have reason for this apprehension; the last clause in the riot act has prompted a clergyman in the south to demand the tithe of agistment, and to attempt to renew a confusion which your act intended to compose. The present state of the clergyman is, that he cannot collect his customary tithe without the interference of Parliament, and Parliament cannot interfere without making a general regulation, lest any assistance now given, should be applied to the enforcement of dormant claims, ambitious and unlimited.

Page 49: Will not the dignitaries of the church interpose on such an occasion? How painful must it have been to them, the teachers of the Gospel, and, therefore, enemies to the shedding of blood, to have thought themselves under the repeated necessity of applying to Parliament for sanguinary laws. The most sanguinary laws on your statute books are tithe bills; the White-Boy act is a tithe bill; the riot act, a tithe bill.

Page 62: Your magistracy-bill, your riot-act, your compensation-bill, what becomes of the authority of these laws with the lower orders, if you argue them into a conviction that the landlords of Ireland, that is, the landed interest, who passed these acts in their collective capacity, are, in their individual capacity, but so many extortioners? Look to the fact, to their leases for thirty-one years, or three lives; look to their lands. See the difference between the lands of laymen, who have au interest in the inheritance, and of churchmen, who have only the esprit de corps, that is, a false and barren pride, in the succession ! Look to the landlords' conduct — they passed a tenantry-bill;. the bishops rejected a lease-bill, and have almost uniformly resisted every bill that tended to the improvement of the country, if, by the remotest possibility, their body could be in the smallest degree prejudiced in the most insignificant of its least warrantable pretensions; but if still you doubt, call forth the tenantry, and put the question to them; do not take your opinion from the oppressor; ask the oppressed, and they will tell you, what we know already, that the great oppression is tithe; the middle-man's over-reaching, as in many instances I acknowledge he is, compared to the tithe-farmer's, is mercy. Suppose him as destitute of compunction, he is not armed with the same powers of torture, though he had the same genius for oppression; he has not his own tribunals, nor can he put the countryman to expence of attending on vicars' courts, nor of watching his crop, nor of delaying his harvest home, nor of notices, nor summonses, nor of drinking at his alehouse, while the value of the tithe is computed, nor of all that train of circumstances and charge with which the uncertain dues of the church are now collected, at the expence of the morals of the people.

Page 66: If we were desirous to retort on the church the argument of innovation; its own history is fertile: what is the idea of property in the church, but an innovation? their conversion of property from the great body of the Christians, to their own use? innovation; their temporal power? innovation; their application for donations, equal to a tenth? innovation; their conversion of those donations to their own use? innovation; their excluding the fabric of the church, as well as the poor, from the benefit of those donations ? innovations ; their various tithe-bills? innovation; their riot-act? innovation; their compensation-act? innovation.

To judge of the objection of innovation against my plan, see what that plan does not do.