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sgt-mark-smith · 1 year ago

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And now I get to write about my devout baby, my strange fish, and the current love of my life. Big time spoilers under the cut!

So obviously the first thing we need is a little eye candy!

All right, meta time, here we go!

By far my favorite character, and tied with his sister for the most interesting, Manaaki Kokiri was made in a blender to be my kryptonite. He’s got the religious conviction, the layers of guilt, the war trauma, the sincerity, the dumbassery, the ‘oddness,’ the sad eyes, he’s got it all and I love him. I’m not the only one either; he seems to have a way of winning the hearts of the white people around him without even trying.

(Unless they’re clearly being framed by the text as Bad News like Miss Violet here, of course!)

Of course I have to talk about the religiosity first, because where else would I start, right? Characters with religious convictions, especially male characters with religious convictions, are irresistible to me, and here comes Bible-totin’, Scripture-quotin’ Manaaki, on an errand from his Prophet (I’ll talk a lot more about Manaaki vis-a-vis the Prophet when I get to the speculation at the end). Like I said, I don’t know exactly where under the Christendom umbrella his religious beliefs are, but he’s got them!

And even when his life upends and he clearly can’t go back to the home where his religious self was born and nurtured, he still holds onto that religiosity because I think it’s the closest thing to ‘home’ he has left - though the pitch of that religiosity shifts, has much more gravitas by the end.

(I can’t do gifs, screengrabs are the best you’re going to get.)

And I don’t know how much of this is actually in the script and how much of it is the acting, but he’s just. he’s so. I know I can’t keep just slapping the autism label on every character I come across, but look at him! He normally takes care to be polite (when he’s not furiously trying to shame his sister) but seems to need minor social nudges - Charlie has to tell him to take off his hat inside the hotel, and both Cissy and Will Chambers call him ‘odd.’ He also has a very sincere manner - whether as a result of writing, direction, acting choices, or all three - but I find it very sweet.

And he’s a dumbass! Awa told him in no uncertain terms that she didn’t want to go back to the compound, that she didn’t want to be tied down as some man’s broodmare, and yet the moment she showed up all wide-eyed claiming that ‘oh I said I was leaving my director and he frightened me 🥺” he totally believed her!

Also, stereotypes about violent brown men are bad and harmful, but at the same time, brown men should get to be a little feral sometimes as a treat. Awa obviously knew Manaaki had it in him, what with the way she turned him loose against Alonso, even if it did end up majorly backfiring on her. And of course that feral side came allll the way out on the war front. Such are the things that happen when we go to war, you know.

(We’ll come back to No Man’s Land, don’t you worry.)

He’s as sexist as any other of the other dudes around him, of course, to the point that he has no problem being a judgy bitch to the sister who literally raised him. He obviously thinks the best treatment you can give a woman is to lock her down into marriage and see that she’s materially provided for. He clearly doesn’t get what Bea means when she says ‘women aren’t horses,’ and even refers to Cissy as a ‘pretty mare.’ (I’m gonna say more about Manaaki and Cissy in another meta, because boy do I have a lot to say about that pairing!)

We’ve gotta talk about Harry. Oh boy have we got to talk about Harry! I’ve already made this clear in the screengrab posts, but to me Manaaki and Harry are the show’s real gay soldier ship, so much so that one of them even dies - in combat, no less! (This in contrast to the canonically gay twinks that, to the show’s credit, do both make it out of the war alive and back into each other’s arms. Like, this show purposely avoided the bury-your-gays with its actual gays ... only for Harry’s death to feel like a bury-your-gays!)

Let me just give you a few screengrabs.

Please watch the show, you really do just have to see them together. The chemistry is. Wow.

And of course a major part of the appeal is that they’re so opposite, character-wise. Harry, a gamblin’ good-for-nothing shit-stirring contrarian scalawag, and church boy Manaaki (wink at @vintonharper). And even in the field, it’s Harry who’s running a little black market on his own while Manaaki’s out here Scripture-checking the chaplain and disobeying orders (technically) to avoid using a gun, at least the one time. And Harry gets Manaaki to drink, to accept black market ... onions, I guess, little things. You’ll never convince me they didn’t explore each other’s bodies at least once offscreen.

And I’m not going into detail about That Moment, or about what Manaaki did, because I have nothing to say. Nothing. It wrecked me, okay?

But the larger effects of the war on Manaaki are actually why I would argue that WWGTW is really his story. This is where the arc really takes shape. “Does the Bible not say it is a sin to kill?” he asks at the Smiths’ dinner table with all the certainty in the world. Then comes the death of Alonso, and the text really leaves it up to the viewer as to how much responsibility Manaaki actually bears for it, and it shakes him up; he initially goes to war desperately trying not to actively shoot anyone ... and then this moment.

There’s a breath, after the gun goes off for the first time, and then the switch happens, and he’s a sniper now. Later when the detective first comes by and he runs to Awa in distress, he calls himself a murderer - “I’ve killed many men!” - and tells Cissy that he feels like a corrupting influence. And when Detective Blaine asks him directly if he would kill again? He nods. And later he goes back to the war front.

(Now this is where the show is handicapped by how short it is, because there isn’t time for Manaaki’s church boy half and traumatized killer half to really integrate so that he can become a whole person. It feels a little rushed, watching Ghost-Harry vanish into the night during the evacuation; it doesn’t feel quite right, watching him read Cissy’s letter and smile while the framing implies that he’s going to go home and start co-parenting his son soon.)

And the way he essentially falls into the arms of the Smith family after Harry’s death can be read as slightly unhealthy, their glomming onto him as a repalcement son/brother when he’s at his most vulnerable, and yet.

That traditional greeting/farewell that Manaaki gives Bea especially, with the warm glow of the sun over their shoulders, absolutely wrecked me and I love it with all my heart. God, the feels it gave me! That ‘smith family loving manaaki for 1000 minutes’ tag exists on my blog for a reason, and I wouldn’t give it up for the world. Awa might prefer (or just have gotten accustomed to) a life of emotional reticence, but Manaaki doesn’t seem built for that.

(That there autism, see. Contrary to popular belief, we’re usually deeply social, we just need people in our lives who are kind to us when we’re not masking.)

Okay, time for some speculation!

I have a theory that the Prophet was a major father figure to Manaaki after the departure of the elder Mr. Kokiri. The bright-eyed reverence with which Manaaki refers to ‘my Prophet,’ the fact that the Prophet clearly knows he can deploy Manaaki to bring Awa back, the way Awa talks about how the Prophet intends to reward him - there’s a relationship there, and it didn’t happen overnight.

This relates to what I theorized about Awa and why she fled, because it sounds to me like the Prophet seized on the opportunity to groom two orphans, and Manaaki was young enough to be successfully molded where Awa wasn’t. Which also suggests that Manaaki’s growing closeness to the Prophet was a big wedge between them, and that the Prophet perhaps leveraged that closeness to get at Awa. Thus her (likely) cutting off direct contact with Manaaki after she left (“You found me, you clever bugger.”).

I don’t know how big a role the Prophet plays in Manaaki’s spirituality, though. He continues to be actively religious even after he’s lost the chance to go home. Clearly the Prophet gives himself leave to all the sex he wants, but Manaaki is pure as the driven snow when he meets Cissy, which is hardly the norm for young men who grow up with that kind of religious entitlement.

Because the Prophet clearly shaped how he views women and sexuality, Awa included; he reacts to the loss of his virginity with guilt, and yet he doesn’t seem to think less of Cissy for her clear desire for him. (Although I could be giving him too much credit, and the lack of conflict around Manaaki losing respect for Cissy could just be another result of the absurdly short runtime.)

Well, there’s more I could say and will say about Manaaki, but I think I’ve hit a lot of the highlights. He’s an amazingly layered and complex character, performed to perfection by Alex Tarrant.

#when we go to war 2015 #when we go to war miniseries #wwgtw spoilers #wwgtw meta #manaaki kokiri #the big manaaki meta #elvella rambles #alex tarrant #alex tarrant rules me #my devout baby #he's a strange fish that one #the smith family loving manaaki for 1000 minutes

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higher-noon · 11 months ago

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I ealized that i don't follow christianity for the same reason I don't follow Marvel.

Hear me out

Originally, I was very interested in the Christian canon. I grew up in Utah, almost everyone I knew had some sort of connection to the church. Everyone knew each other from there, everyone had events and connections and stories that I never did coming from a more Celtic family. It was isolating in a very real way to be the only non-mormon kid in a classroom. I went to church several times and even had one on one lessons with missionaries for a fee months before giving up.

It's not that I don't like a lot of the concepts in Christianity- a lot of the imagery is very powerful and at its base a lot of the story has genuinely interesting structures, even if the actual wording is pedantic and dull.

(Its at this point I tell you that I was never at any point interested in Christianity as a religion, I just wanted context for what was going on in the world around me. I view the Bible and basically any other holy texts as fundamentally no different than the illiad or Romeo and Juliet- an old book that a lot of people have really complicated feelings about, removed from its original context but telling some sort of narrative that is still valid in the current cultural zeitgeist.)

That said, at some point so many people had so many different opinions that different authors (scribes, prophets, whatever) started writing their own versions of each of the texts, retconning characterizations and events and entire fundamental mechanics of the story that in some ways it became completely unrecognizable. Then, at some point down the line, someone decided to try and "reset" the canon, taking all of the most popular versions of the story and condensing it down to the least common denominator, creating "non-offensive", white bread characters to avoid telling anyone they are wrong. They stripped the story down from some breathing, beating thing and made a cardboard cutout of the original, and THEN stuffed it with enough propaganda that it nearly collapsed under its own weight.

And Marvel comics do the exact same thing, almost word for word.

And I hate it. I hate seeing something get so big because it resonates with an audience in a way that it wriggled into their very being, changing the way people define themselves and how they see the world around them, only for that success to trap it in an inescapable web of manipulation and greed that changes it irreparably.

I felt like I had something more poignant to say, but despite living over 20 years in the Mormon state, I never actually managed to learn that much about the religion itself, so anything else I say can't really be backed up... Still, for something that I can't go more than 20 minutes without being dumped in, Christianity is very boring and sterile.

#christianity #heresyposting #heresy #marvel #marvel movies #jesus christ

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translations-by-aiimee · 3 years ago

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The Husky and His White Cat Shizun - Chapter 11

Original Title: 二哈和他的白猫师尊

Genres: Drama, Romance, Tragedy, Xianxia, Yaoi

This translation is based on multiple MTLs and my own limited knowledge of Chinese characters. If I have made any egregious mistakes, please let me know.

Chapter Index

Chapter 11 - This Venerable One Wants His Family to be Happy

"Yes, it's me!" Madam Chen sobbed, "But I didn't write this spiritual tablet! How could I curse my child? I—"

"You wouldn't have written it while you were awake, but not necessarily while you were asleep."

Chu Wanning said. He raised his hand, picked up the spiritual tablet, spiritual energy pouring out of his palm. Suddenly, a distant and piercing scream erupted from the spiritual tablet, followed by a stream of blood gurgling out of it.

The sharp gleam in Chu Wanning's eyes was bitterly cold, and he harshly said: "The arrogance of this creature; it dares to make trouble!"

Because of the great spiritual power in his palm, the writing on the tablet was forced to retreat little by little amid the screams, becoming fainter until it finally disappeared completely. Chu Wanning's slender and cold white fingers clenched and the whole tablet shattered!!

The Chen family looked stunned from behind him. Not just the Chen family, even Shi Mei was stunned.

He couldn't help sighing: "That's amazing."

Mo Ran also couldn't help but sigh inside; he really was so powerful.

Chu Waning turned his handsome and clear face sideways. There was no expression on his face, only a few spots of blood splashed on the side of his cheek. He raised his hand and carefully examined the bloodstains remaining on his fingertips. He said to the Chen family: "All of you will stay in the courtyard today, don't go anywhere."

At this point, none of them dared disobey and they quickly agreed: "Okay! Okay! Whatever you say!"

Chu Wanning strode out of the temple, unconcerned with wiping away the blood on his face. He gestured at Madam Chen: "Especially you, don't fall asleep. To keep that thing out of your body, even if you get tired, you need to stay awake."

"Yes. . . yes yes!" Madam Chen replied repeatedly. With tears in her tears, she asked in disbelief, "Daoist Master, my son. . . is. . . is he alright?"

"He's fine for now."

Madam Chen was startled: "For now? Not always? Then, how can I save my son's life?"

Chu Wanning said: "Catch the demon."

Mrs. Chen was very anxious and couldn't help but be a little rude. She couldn't care less about being polite and asked urgently: "When does the Daoist master plan to catch it?"

"Immediately."

Chu Wanning said. He glanced at the Chen family and asked: "Who knows where the red coffin was dug? Come and lead the way."

The eldest son’s daughter-in-law was named Yao. Even though she was a woman, she was tall and looked somewhat good-looking Although her face was filled with fear, she was calmer than the others. She spoke up: "My late husband and I picked out the land. I know the location. I'll lead you there."

The three of them followed Chen Yao all the way north and soon arrived at the land the Chen family had bought.

Martial law had been set up there, and there are no one around. The dark hills were overgrown with trees, not a single sound of insects or birds singing.

Climbing up the mountainside, the view widened over the scene. Chen Yao said: "The three Daoist masters are here."

The place where the red coffin was dug out still had a tombstone stuck over it. Mo Ran laughed: "What's this broken stone supposed to be used for? It looks like an amateur put it there. Move it."

Chen Yao was a little flustered: "The gentleman in the town said that the evil creature is being suppressed by it and can't get out."

Mo Ran chuckled: "He must be really capable."

". . ." Chen Yao said, "Move, move, move!"

Chu Wanning remarked icily: "No need." After he said that, he raised his hand, and golden light glowed from his fingertips. Tianwen listened to his command and appeared in his palm. As soon as he flicked the willow vine, the headstone instantly shattered into pieces! Chu Wanning walked over expressionlessly. He stood on the pile of ruins, raised his palm again, and said in a deep voice: "What are you doing hiding in there? Get up!"

There was a strange noise underneath the earth, and suddenly, a 12-foot-high thick wooden coffin broke out of the ground. The sand and mud rained down and dust was flying everywhere.

Shi Mei exclaimed in surprise: "This coffin is surrounded by such evil energy!"

Chu Wanning said: "Stand back."

After that, with a backhand draw, Tianwen slashed across the welded red coffin. Golden sparks shot in all directions. After a few moments of silence, the coffin lid exploded with a bang. The billowing smoke dispersed and the thing inside it was revealed.

Lying in the coffin was a naked man with a straight nose and a handsome face. If it weren't for his pale skin, he would look like he was simply sleeping.

Mo Ran's eyes flicked down to what was under the man's waist: covering his eyes and said: "Oh, don't wear skimpy pants, you skunk."

Shi Mei: ". . ."

Chu Wanning: ". . ."

Chen Yao cried out: "Husband!" She moved forward to rush towards the coffin. Chu Wanning stretched out his hand to stop her. He raised an eyebrow and asked: "This is your husband?"

"Yes! It's my husband!" Chen Yao was devastated. "Why would he be here? He was already buried in the ancestral grave. He was also wearing much nicer funeral clothes. How could he. . ."

Halfway through speaking, the woman began to weep, pounding her chest, "How could this happen! How tragic - so awful! Husband. . . Husband!!"

Shi Mei sighed: "Madam Chen, please keep it together."

Chu Wanning and Mo Ran didn't pay attention to the crying woman. Chu Wanning was not good at comforting people, while Mo Burning was totally compassionless. They stared at the body in the coffin.

Since Mo Ran had lived through this in a previous life, nothing unfolding was a surprise to him, but he still needed to put on an appearance, so he touched his chin thoughtfully: "Shizun, something's wrong with the corpse."

Chu Wanning: "I know."

". . ."

What he had said was exactly what Chu Wanning had said during this conversation in his previous life. In this life, he wanted to use it to shock Chu Wanning. He did well, and yet he only threw out a simple "I know" as a result.

Shouldn't a shizun encourage his disciple to speak his mind and give him praise and reward??

Mo Ran pretended that he hadn't heard him say "I know", and continued: "This corpse has no signs of decay. It's been more than half a month since the accident. Based on the current climate, it should have festered and rotted. A layer of fluids should have built up in the coffin. That's the first strange thing."

Chu Wanning gave him a cold glare with a look of "Are you done fooling around?": ". . ."

"Secondly." Mo Ran was unmoved, continuing to recite Chu Wanning's words from the previous life to solve the puzzle. "Before the coffin was opened, the evil energy around the red coffin was dense, but after it was opened, it dissipated. And there's a minimal evil aura around the corpse, which is also very abnormal."

Chu Wanning: ". . ."

"Thirdly, did you find that from the moment the coffin was opened, there was a sweet smell in the air?"

The scent was so delicate, if you don't pay attention, you wouldn't notice it at all. When Mo Ran pointed it out, Shi Mei and Chen Yao realized that there really was a faint sweetness in the air.

Shi Mei: "Indeed."

Chen Yao's face changed when she smelled it, "This scent. . ."

Shi Mei: "Madam Chen, what's the matter?"

Chen Yao’s scared voice changed: "This scent is my mother-in-law's hundred butterfly fragrance powder!"

No one spoke for a while. The prophetic sign in the ancestral hall that read "Master Yang, Chen Sunshi" appeared in front of him again.

Shi Mei asked: ". . . Could Madam Chen really have done this?"

Mo Ran: "It doesn't look like that."

Chu Wanning: "No."

The two spoke almost at the same time and glanced at each other after speaking. Chu Wanning's face didn't waver: "You speak."

Mo Ran said nonchalantly: "As far as I know, the Chen family made a fortune and relied on the old lady's hundred butterfly fragrance powder. Although the powder's formula is a secret, the finished product isn't difficult to get. Five or six of ten girls in Caidie Town use this fragrance. Not only that, but we investigated before we came here. Mr. Chen himself seems to like his mother's butterfly fragrance powder very much, and he often mixes it in his bathwater so it’s not strange that he has this smell on his body, the strange thing is. . ."

He said, turning his head again to the naked man in the coffin.

"This person has been dead for half a month, and this fragrance smells like it was just applied. Am I right, Shizun?"

Chu Wanning: ". . ."

"Just praise me if I'm right."

Chu Wanning: "Mmm."

Mo Ran laughed: "What a waste of words."

He didn't have a chance to laugh again. Suddenly, his robe flew to the side, Chu Wanning pulled him back a few feet, the golden light of Tianwen in his hand was shining, dancing like flames.

"Watch out."

The smell of the butterfly fragrance powder in the air suddenly grew stronger. As the scent drifted away, a white mist appeared between the grass and trees, which began to diffuse at an alarming speed. Instantly, it turned the entire mountainside into a sea of mist, and all of a sudden, he couldn't even see the hand in front of his face!

Mo Ran's heart lurched.

An illusionary world appeared.

"Ah!!!" In the thick fog, the first thing that rang out was Chen Yao's screams, "Daoist Master, help—"

Before she finished the last word, everything went silent.

Chu Wanning's fingertips lit up with a blue gleam, and he slapped a tracking spell onto Mo Ran's forehead: "Be careful, I'll check it out."

After he spoke, he followed the voice and quickly disappeared into the thick fog.

Mo Ran touched his forehead and chuckled in a low voice: "Well, even the position of the spell is exactly the same as in my previous life. Chu Wanning, you really haven't changed a bit."

The fog came quickly and dispersed just as fast. It didn't take long for the fog to disappear without a trace. However, the scene in front of him was even more surprising than the fog. Mo Ran was really shocked, at least he was in his last life.

After the fog cleared, the originally desolate and overgrown mountainside had disappeared.

Instead, there was a vast and elegant garden, pavilions, waterfalls, curved corridors, rocky gardens and jade trees, and pebble paths as far as the eye could see.

Mo Ran took a look at the surroundings and immediately wanted to roll around in joy.

This rogue hooligan spent all day thinking about this illusion. In his previous life, they were similarly lost in it. First, Mo Ran ran into Shi Mei, and under the compulsion of the illusion, he kissed the other for the first and only time in his life.

It's a pity that Shi Mei was terribly frightened when it happened. He let go of Mo Ran, turned and ran away. He wasn't given the chance to take a second bite of the swan before it was taken off his plate, which was really unfortunate.

After the illusion was broken, Shi Mei never brought it up. The kiss in the illusion was treated as if it hadn't happened, and no one mentioned it again. Sometimes when he dreamt at night, Mo Ran wondered if he was obsessing too deeply over something he imagined.

But whether he imagined it or not, Mo Ran licked his lips. He thought this time he definitely wouldn't let Shi Mei run away from him that easy! One kiss wasn't enough!

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#2ha novel #2ha translation #2ha #the husky and his white cat shizun translation #the husky and his white cat shizun #chinese bl #chinese novel #english translation #yaoi novel #yaoi #danmei novel #danmei #chu wanning #mo ran #ranwan

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draculeo · 4 years ago

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As a muslim Iraqi American with a significant tumblr following, I feel as though I should let it be known exactly where I stand when it comes to Riordan’s statement about Samirah. I have copied and pasted it down below and my reaction to it will be written down below. This will be the first time I have read it. If you want to engage with me or tell me that I’m wrong, I expect you to be a muslim, hijabi, Iraqi American, and from Baghdad. If you are not, I suggest you sit down and keep quiet because you are not the authority on the way I should be represented.

Like many of my characters, Samirah was inspired by former students of mine. Over the course of my middle school teaching career, I worked with dozens of Muslim students and their families, representing the expanse of the Muslim world and both Shia and Sunni traditions. One of my most poignant memories about the September 11, 2001, attack of the World Trade Center was when a Muslima student burst into tears when she heard the news – not just because it was horrific, but also because she knew what it meant for her, her family, her faith. She had unwillingly become an ambassador to everyone she knew who, would have questions about how this attack happened and why the perpetrators called themselves “Muslim.” Her life had just become exponentially more difficult because of factors completely beyond her control. It was not right. It was not fair. And I wasn’t sure how to comfort or support her.

Starting off your statement with one of the most traumatic events in history for muslim Americans is already one of the most predictably bad moves he could pull. By starting off this way, you are acknowledging the fact that a) this t*rrorist attack is still the first thing you think of when you think of muslims and b) that those muslim students who you had prior to 9/11 occupied so little space in your mind that it took a national disaster for you to start to even try to empathize with them.

During the following years, I tried to be especially attuned to the needs of my Muslim students. I dealt with 9/11 the same way I deal with most things: by reading and learning more. When I taught world religions in social studies, I would talk to my Muslim students about Islam to make sure I was representing their experience correctly. They taught me quite a bit, which eventually contributed to my depiction of Samirah al-Abbas. As always, though, where I have made mistakes in my understanding, those mistakes are wholly on me.

As always, you have chosen to use “I based this character off my students” in order to justify the way they are written. News flash: you taught middle school children. Children who are already scrutinized and alienated and desperate to fit in. Of course their words shouldn’t be enough for you to decide you are representing them correctly, because they are still coming to terms with their identities and they are doing this in an environment where they are desperate to find the approval of white Americans. I know that as a child I would often tweak the way I explained my culture and religion to my teachers in order to gain their approval and avoid ruffling any feathers. They told you what they thought you’d want to hear because you are their teacher and hold a position of power over them and they both want your approval and want to avoid saying the wrong thing and having that hang over their heads every time they enter your classroom.

What did I read for research? I have read five different English interpretations of the Qur’an. (I understand the message is inseparable from the original Arabic, so it cannot be considered ‘translated’). I have read the entirety of the Sahih Bukhari and Sahih Muslim hadith collections. I’ve read three biographies of Prophet Muhammed (peace be upon him) and well over a dozen books about the history of Islam and modern Islam. I took a six-week course in Arabic. (I was not very good at it, but I found it fascinating). I fasted the month of Ramadan in solidarity with my students. I even memorized some of the surahs in Arabic because I found the poetry beautiful. (They’re a little rusty now, I’ll admit, but I can still recite al-Fātihah from memory.) I also read some anti-Islamic screeds written in the aftermath of 9/11 so I would understand what those commenters were saying about the religion, and indirectly, about my students. I get mad when people attack my students.

And yet here you are actively avoiding the criticism from those of us who could very well have been the children sitting in your classroom.

The Quran is so deep and complex that its meanings are still being discovered to this day. Yes, reading these old scripts is a must for writing muslim characters, but you cannot claim to understand them without also holding active discussions with current scholars on how the Quran’s teachings apply today.

When preparing to write Samirah’s background, I drew on all of this, but also read many stories on Iraqi traditions and customs in particular and the experiences of immigrant families who came to the U.S. I figured out how Samirah’s history would intertwine with the Norse world through the medieval writer Ahmad ibn Fadhlan, her distant ancestor and one of the first outsiders to describe the Vikings in writing. I knew Samirah would be a ferocious brave fighter who always stood for what was right. She would be an excellent student who had dreams of being an aviator. She would have a complicated personal situation to wrestle with, in that she’s a practicing Muslim who finds out Valhalla is a real place. Odin and Thor and Loki are still around. How do you reconcile that with your faith? Not only that, but her mom had a romance with Loki, who is her dad. Yikes.

First of all, writing this paragraph in the same tone you use to emulate a 12 year old is already disrespectful. “Yikes” is correct. You have committed serious transgressions and can’t even commit to acting serious and writing like the almost 60 year old man that you are. Tone tells the reader a lot, and your tone is telling me that you are explaining your mistakes the same way you tell your little stories: childishly and jokingly.

Stories are not enough. They are not and never will be. Stories cannot even begin to pierce the rich culture and history and customs of Iraq. Iraq itself is not even homogenous enough for you to rely on these “Iraqi” stories. Someone’s story from Najaf is completely unique from someone from Baghdad or Nasriyyah or Basrah or Mosul. Add that to the fact that these stories are written with a certain audience in mind and you realize that there’s no way they can tell the whole story because at their core they are catering to a specific audience.

Yes, those are good, but they are meaningless without you consulting an actual Baghdadi and asking specific questions. You made conclusions and assumptions based on these stories when the obvious way to go was to consult someone from Baghdad every step of the writing process. Instead, you chose to trust the conclusions that you (a white man) drew from a handful of stories. Who are you to convey a muslim’s internal struggle when you did not even do the bare minimum and have an actual muslim read over your words?

Thankfully, the feedback from Muslim readers over the years to Samirah al-Abbas has been overwhelmingly positive. I have gotten so many letters and messages online from young fans, talking about how much it meant to them to see a hijabi character portrayed in a positive light in a ‘mainstream’ novel.

Yeah. Because we’re desperate, and half of them are children still developing their sense of self and critical reading skills. A starving man will thank you for moldy bread but that does not negate the mold.

Some readers had questions, sure! The big mistake I will totally own, and which I have apologized for many times, was my statement that during the fasting hours of Ramadan, bathing (i.e. total immersion in water) was to be avoided. This was advice I had read on a Shia website when I myself was preparing to fast Ramadan. It is advice I followed for the entire month. Whoops! The intent behind that advice, as I understood it, was that if you totally immersed yourself during daylight hours, you might inadvertently get some water between your lips and invalidate your fast. But, as I have since learned, that was simply one teacher’s personal opinion, not a widespread practice. We have corrected this detail (which involved the deletion of one line) in future editions, but as I mentioned in my last post, you will still find it in copies since the vast majority of books are from the first printing.

This is actually really embarrassing for you and speaks to your lack of research and reading comprehension. It is true that for shia, immersion breaks one’s fast. If you had bothered to actually ask questions and use common sense, you would realize that this is referring to actions like swimming, where one’s whole body is underwater, rather than bathing. Did you not question the fact that the same religion that encourages the cleansing of oneself five times a day banned bathing during the holiest month? Yes, it was one teacher’s opinion, but you literally did not even take the time to fully understand that opinion before chucking it into your book.

Another question was about Samirah’s wearing of the hijab. To some readers, she seemed cavalier about when she would take it off and how she would wear it. It’s not my place to be prescriptive about proper hijab-wearing. As any Muslim knows, the custom and practice varies greatly from one country to another, and from one individual to another. I can, however, describe what I have seen in the U.S., and Samirah’s wearing of the hijab reflects the practice of some of my own students, so it seemed to be within the realm of reason for a third-generation Iraqi-American Muslima. Samirah would wear hijab most of the time — in public, at school, at mosque. She would probably but not always wear it in Valhalla, as she views this as her home, and the fallen warriors as her own kin. This is described in the Magnus Chase books. I also admit I just loved the idea of a Muslima whose hijab is a magic item that can camouflage her in times of need.

Before I get into this paragraph, Samirah is second generation. Her grandparents immigrated from Iraq. Her mother was first gen.

Once again, you turn to what you have seen from your students, who are literal children. They are in middle school while Samirah is in high school, so they are very obviously at different stages of development, both emotional and religious. If you had bothered to talk to adults who had gone through these stages, you would understand that often times young girls have stages where they “practice” hijab or wear it “part time”, very often in middle school. However, both her age and the way in which you described Samirah lead the reader to believe that she is a “full timer,” so you playing willy nilly with her scarf as a white man is gross.

For someone who claims to have read all of these religious texts, it’s funny that you choose to overlook the fact that “kin” is very specifically described. Muslims do not go around deciding who they consider “kin” or “family” to take off their hijab in front of. There is no excuse for including this in her character, especially since you claim to have carefully read the Quran and ahadith.

You have no place to “just love” any magical extension of the hijab until you approach it with respect. Point blank period. Especially when you have ascribed it a magical property that justifies her taking it on and off like it’s no big deal, especially when current media portrayals of hijab almost always revolve around it being removed. You are adding to the harmful portrayal and using your “fun little magic camoflauge” to excuse it.

As for her betrothal to Amir Fadhlan, only recently have I gotten any questions about this. My understanding from my readings, and from what I have been told by Muslims I know, is that arranged marriages are still quite common in many Muslim countries (not just Muslim countries, of course) and that these matches are sometimes negotiated by the families when the bride-to-be and groom-to-be are quite young. Prior to writing Magnus Chase, one of the complaints I often heard or read from Muslims is how Westerners tend to judge this custom and look down on it because it does not accord with Western ideas. Of course, arranged marriages carry the potential for abuse, especially if there is an age differential or the woman is not consulted. Child marriages are a huge problem. The arrangement of betrothals years in advance of the marriage, however, is an ancient custom in many cultures, and those people I know who were married in this way have shared with me how glad they were to have done it and how they believe the practice is unfairly villainized. My idea with Samirah was to flip the stereotype of the terrible abusive arranged match on its head, and show how it was possible that two people who actually love each other dearly might find happiness through this traditional custom when they have families that listen to their concerns and honor their wishes, and want them to be happy. Amir and Samirah are very distant cousins, yes. This, too, is hardly unusual in many cultures. They will not actually marry until they are both adults. But they have been betrothed since childhood, and respect and love each other. If that were not the case, my sense is that Samirah would only have to say something to her grandparents, and the match would be cancelled. Again, most of the comments I have received from Muslim readers have been to thank me for presenting traditional customs in a positive rather than a negative light, not judging them by Western standards. In no way do I condone child marriage, and that (to my mind) is not anywhere implied in the Magnus Chase books.

I simply can’t even begin to explain everything that is wrong with this paragraph. Here is a good post about how her getting engaged at 12 is absolutely wrong religiously and would not happen. Add that on to the fact that Samirah herself is second-generation (although Riordan calls her third generation in this post) and this practice isn’t super common even in first generation people (and for those that it DOES apply to, it is when they are old enough to be married and not literal children).

As a white man you can’t flip the stereotype. You can’t. Even with tons of research you cannot assume the authority to “flip” a stereotype that does not affect you because you will never come close to truly understanding it inside and out. Instead of flipping a stereotype, Rick fed into it and provided more fodder to the flames and added on to it to make it even worse.

I would be uncomfortable with a white author writing about arranged marriages in brown tradition no matter the context, but for him to offhandedly include it in a children’s book where it is badly explained and barely touched on is inexcusable. Your target audience is children who will no doubt overlook your clumsy attempt at flipping stereotypes.

It does not matter what your mind thinks you are implying. Rick Riordan is not your target audience, children are. So you cannot brush this away by stating that you did not see the harm done by your writing. You are almost 60 years old. Maybe you can read in between your lines, but I guarantee your target audience largely cannot.

Finally, recently someone on Twitter decided to screenshot a passage out-of-context from Ship of the Deadwhere Magnus hears Samirah use the phrase “Allahu Akbar,” and the only context he has ever heard it in before was in news reports when some Western reporter would be talking about a terrorist attack. Here is the passage in full:

Samirah: “My dad may have power over me because he’s my dad. But he’s not the biggest power. Allahu akbar.”

I knew that term, but I’d never heard Sam use it before. I’ll admit it gave me an instinctive jolt in the gut. The news media loved to talk about how terrorists would say that right before they did something horrible and blew people up. I wasn’t going to mention that to Sam. I imagined she was painfully aware.

She couldn’t walk the streets of Boston in her hijab most days without somebody screaming at her to go home, and (if she was in a bad mood) she’d scream back, “I’m from Dorchester!”

“Yeah,” I said. “That means God is great, right?”

Sam shook her head. “That’s a slightly inaccurate translation. It means God is greater.”

“Than what?”

“Everything. The whole point of saying it is to remind yourself that God is greater than whatever you are facing—your fears, your problems, your thirst, your hunger, your anger.

337-338

To me, this is Samirah educating Magnus, and through him the readers, about what this phrase actually means and the religious significance it carries. I think the expression is beautiful and profound. However, like a lot of Americans, Magnus has grown up only hearing about it in a negative context from the news. For him to think: “I had never heard that phrase, and it carried absolutely no negative connotations!” would be silly and unrealistic. This is a teachable moment between two characters, two friends who respect each other despite how different they are. Magnus learns something beautiful and true about Samirah’s religion, and hopefully so do the readers. If that strikes you as Islamophobic in its full context, or if Samirah seems like a hurtful stereotype . . . all I can say is I strongly disagree.

I will give you some credit here in that I mostly agree with this scene. The phrase does carry negative connotations with many white people and I do not fault you for explaining it the way you did. However, don’t try to sneak in that last sentence like we won’t notice. You have no place to decide whether or not Samirah’s character as a whole is harmful and stereotypical.

It is 2 am and that is all I have the willpower to address. This is messy and this is long and this is not well worded, but this had to be addressed. I do not speak for every muslim, both world wide and within this online community, but these were my raw reactions to his statement. I have been working on and will continue to work on a masterpost of Samirah Al-Abbas as I work through the books, but for now, let it be known that Riordan has bastardized my identity and continues to excuse himself and profit off of enforcing harmful stereotypes. Good night.

#*#og #rr crit #samirah al abbas #rick riordan

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the-marsh-harrier · 3 years ago

Text

Who was Orion Black? (Pt 3) Orion Black x Female!Reader

***WARNING - symptoms related to a panic attack are featured in this part just under the "Keep Reading" tab - it has been highlighted in red so if you don't want to read this part, please skip ahead***

A/N: I wanted to explore Sirius’s childhood more in a non-traditional sense and give Orion and Walburga some interesting character development. This takes place after Sirius has broken out of Azkaban. Although this is a reader insert in parts, it is not the main focus and some chapters will have little or no mention of the reader. I have also altered the year Walburga was born to be 1940 instead of 1925 as it states in cannon (this is my fanfic and I’ll do what I want with the characters that are in it). Similarly, in some of the chapters to come, I already know I will upset some people with the way I portray Sirius and Walburga’s relationship - remember everyone is entitled to portray fictional characters as they want in their fanfics and if you disagree, please write your own. JKR's bigotry and opinions are not welcome here nor supported.

Finally, I am hoping to get Part 4 out this week as well as a sorry for missing last week's post.

Masterlist Part 1 Part 2 (Part 3) Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9

Sirius thought he knew who his parents were, but did he really? After returning to 12 Grimmauld Place after his escape from Azkaban, he uncovers secrets that he never would’ve imagined

The Elf, The Key, and The Pensieve

As the night dragged on, Walburga’s portrait eventually passed out with her face rested against the frame. The repetitive nature of her snoring droning on throughout the parlour drove Sirius out of the room. Sirius found himself lost within his drunken thoughts and questions. It was during this internal monologue that he found himself aimlessly staring down the hallway toward the front door. The more he focused on it the more the chatter and noise from the outside world seemed to grow louder, voices from the past that were encapsulated in the walls began echoing back at him, footsteps that once graced the stair of 12 Grimmauld Place creaked back to life… and then as if a song reaching its crescendo… it all stopped... nothing but silence. Pure, unadulterated silence spoke louder than it ever had to him before; and at that moment, that singular moment, Sirius realised that he was alone. He was alone. No one knew where he was, despite a very small select few but they didn’t come too often nor stay too long. They all had their lives, they had their houses full, they had their homes, they had their lives. They had a life that Sirius knew he would never be able to possess. The silence in 12 Grimmauld Place had never spoken to Sirius in this way before, so cruel and haunted; jaded with time and loneliness as everything held in within its walls became. There's a dark force that seems to suck the life from everything within its grip, so much so that even the silence could be disturbed by the house's own hideous nature.

A tightness began to take hold of Sirius’s chest as tears began to swell in his eyes. Was this all he was ever meant to be? Surely not. What sick prophet would lay out a life like this before him? The tightness in his chest only grew and Sirius found himself braced against the wall for some sense of steadiness. Pain shot through his core like a white-hot poker as all his limbs turned an odd prickly sort of numb. He felt hot and cold at the same time. Like up was down and down was up, like left was right and right was left, like the world was still and he was spinning out of control.

He found himself sliding down the wall until he hit the ground. His hands gripping opposite shoulders as his body began to rock and shake uncontrollable like his breath escaping his nose. Both of his lips were drawn into his mouth as he bit and chewed on them to achieve some level of comfort, but it didn’t come. The feeling of dread and anxiety only rose with each tear that he shed. He felt himself falling deeper and deeper into a pit of anxious thoughts until there was a new sound… it was faint at first but the more he focused on it the easier it became to breathe. It was the piano in his father’s study, a mere twenty feet away. A soft melody that was all too familiar and comforting at the same time. One of Orion’s compositions danced from the study; one composition that he had written for Sirius when he was younger titled Merci, Mon Fils in Db Major.

The song continued until Sirius could breathe and the physical pain subsided, but the tears continued to fall. It was as if a new wound ripped open within him that was patched over a long time ago. A rusted pipe that finally bursts through the layers of paint and plaster that he had used to disguise it. Flashing images of his father’s face looped through his mind; knowing he’d never hear his voice again, never watch him play the piano again, never hear him open the door to check on him at night before… before everything happened, and it got so much worse. Never hear his father’s barking laughter when Sirius got back from Hogwarts and told him about all the pranks he had pulled. As much as Sirius hated to admit it… he missed his father, he missed him more than he thought possible… twenty years of pain, resentment and mourning hit him… that was until he heard the piano again… and it was all replaced with rage.

The only living thing in this house, aside from Sirius, was that elf. How dare he play his father’s piano? How dare he manipulate a song that meant so much?

Blind, drunken anger carried Sirius toward the warm orange glow that framed the door to Orion’s study. The keys of the piano moved quicker and more furiously as Sirius got closer. Stumbling over his own feet like a crazed bull, he threw himself toward the door that was slightly ajar.

“Where are you?” Sirius hissed through gritted teeth. “How DARE you use my father’s study for your own sick amusement?”

Kreacher’s sobs could be heard emanating from under Orion’s desk. Sirius ran around the back of the desk and ripped the chair out from behind it as he bellowed “OUT HERE NOW!”

Kreacher managed to shimmy his way out from under the front panel of the desk so he could escape from his new master. “What have you been doing in here?” Sirius screamed as he watched the elf run under the piano stool. “Play me another tune! Get out and PLAY!”

“I didn’t do anything, Master! The piano played on its own. I was dusting the shelves.” Kreacher croaked from under the stool.

“Oh, yes! So believable!” Sirius’s voice was like venom. “Why that song? Huh? Kreacher! Why did you play that song?”

“I am only permitted to touch the piano to clean it, Master! Late Master Orion would not allow for anyone other than yourself to play his piano.” Kreacher justified.

“Oh, I see! I see what you’re doing! Very clever!”

“Late Master Orion cared deeply-” Kreacher was cut off by Sirius drunken screaming.

“You think the old git cared about you! You think he would save you! You think he would help you! He hated you! He hated you!” Sirius continued. “The only thing that man loved was a bottle! He never cared about you!” Sirius swept his arms across the copious shelves still filled with rows of bottles and decanters alike, so they’d shatter on the floor. He braced his arms against the shelving unit for a moment watching the broken glass roll across the floor before looking back up at the shelf when he heard a gentle clinking. The shelves were replenished as if brand new. A frustrated cry left Sirius and rebounded through the house.

Marching over the elf’s hiding spot Sirius began to interrogate Kreacher. “What is it about this room that you cling to so much? Huh?” Sirius booted the stool from over the top of the elf before crouching down and grabbing him by his cloth smock. “You hated the old git! He used to boot you round like a ball when he was drunk while I was here.” Sirius caught a glimpse of himself in Kreacher terrified eyes and what he saw made his stomach turn – the likeness was uncanny. You could think that a drunken Orion was staring right back at you and this knocked Sirius back to reality and made him drop the elf.

Kreacher retreated toward the door as Sirius seated himself on one of the plush, dark green velvet armchairs. His elbows rested on his knees; hands buried in his hair while his nails softly scraped against his scalp. Sirius began to wonder if his monologue was really about the elf or about himself. "Kreacher," Sirius called out more softly than he had ever spoken to him.

Whether it was out of duty, fear, or a mixture of the two; Kreacher's whimpers could be heard reapproaching the room but he did not enter, opting to remain in the door frame. “Kreacher lives to serve the noble house of Black. What do you require, Master?”

“I want you to answer my question.” Sirius exhaled before forcing his drunken eyes to focus on the elf. “Why do you cling to this room so much?”

“Late Master Orion used to play every night after Master Sirius left. Late Master Orion used to get Kreacher to sit on the stool next to him as young Master Sirius had and watch him play. Oh, how Master Orion cried for young Master Sirius when he left. Master Orion used to hug Kreacher, wishing young Master Sirius would return.”

Sirius was taken back by this but managed to whisper. “He did what?”

“Master Orion struggled greatly after you left, sir; he insisted that he couldn’t lose you, he was desperate to get you to return. The arguments between him and Mistress when you had been burnt off the tapestry were… so destructive and violent. It took Great Master Arcturus and Master Alphard to resolve the situation. Master Orion set the whole tapestry alight saying if his son was not welcome on the family tree then there should be no tapestry.”

Sirius did not know how to process this. “But the tapestry is still hung in the house, Kreacher. Do not lie to me.”

“Great Master Arcturus and Master Alphard made it anew. That is why there are so many skeletons on the tree where neither could remember the relative face. They burnt every member that was not deemed appropriate. The faces were scorn from the tree once more.” Kreacher finished. “Is there anything else you require, Master?”

“Yes, actually. There is one more thing. The tapestry doesn’t note Orion’s first wife, Y/N L/N. I wish to know why.”

Kreacher’s eyes bulged from his head. “Kreacher is forbidden to say those words.” Kreacher put forward his arm to display an unknown sequence of ancient runes. “If Kreacher does, he will die and no longer be able to serve the noble house of Black.”

“You will tell me, Kreacher!” Sirius banged his hands off the armrest and stood up making the elf flinch. Kreacher meekly entered the room, quickly darting behind the door to Orion’s coat stand and pointed toward Orion’s jacket pocket.

“Kreacher cannot speak it. However, there is another way to find the answers you are looking for.” Sirius stumbled to the jacket and felt the pockets. He felt something hard within one of them. When he reached inside, he found a small ornate silver key. “Perhaps, Master can show you himself.” Sirius turned to Kreacher to see him pointing toward one of Orion’s untouched bookcases where one solitary cigar box was placed. “As Master aged and his alcoholic affliction worsened, Master couldn’t remember his life very well, so he began to store his memories as to never forget them. Kreacher was to tend to them and ensure their safety for Master.”

Once opened, Sirius realised it was a miniature Pensieve; miniature was a stretch – the box had been charmed to hold a large number of memories from his departed father’s life. Sirius summoned the memories about Y/N L/N. This was one secret Sirius wasn’t prepared to let the Black family keep any longer. He had to know who she was and why she was so important to Orion. Why did Arcturus refuse to let anyone say her name? Why wasn’t she on the tree or at least scorched off? When did Orion marry Y/N L/N? Why did she die? How did she die? Was her death linked to the reasoning for the marriage between Orion and Walburga so rushed?

Orion’s choice of labelling was rather simple yet personal fashion, with each vial associated with the names of his work and date. For a second, it felt wrong to go through all of Orion's memories but how else would Sirius find the answers he needed?

Sirius charmed the piano to play through his father's best pieces which matched with the associated memory. “How better to get to know you, dad?” Sirius bitterly thought aloud. The piano began to play a beautiful cacophony of notes which form The First Dance in C minor.

Pouring the memory into the Pensieve, Sirius dove headfirst into his father’s life.

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sapphirelass · 4 years ago

Text

Oh, darling... - Remus LupinxDaughter!Reader, Harry PotterxReader

Hiiiiiii😊

Hey, would you look at that! It’s only been a week since last time! So, this might be a bit confusing if you have read “Deal?” and “I’ll be by your side”, but hear me out: “Deal?” is still part 1, but since “I’ll be by your side” takes place after this one, that will now be part 3, and this part 2. Does that make sense? I hope so :) That means that this takes place between OotP and the Battle of Hogwarts, but I’m sure you’ll understand! :)

Deal? (Part 1) | Oh, darling... (Part 2) | I’ll be by your side (Part 3)

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

Please note:

1: I don’t own any of the gifs used, nor any already established characters, so credit to the authors and original creators - You have done a phenomenal job :)

2: English is not my native language, as I was born and raised in Sweden. I have, however, studied English for almost a decade, so I don’t think it’ll be a problem, I just thought I’d let you know ;)

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

You probably already know this, but still:

Y/N - Your name

Y/N/N - Your nickname

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

Word count: ≈ 5,5k (Ohhh, you’re in for a long one!)

Warnings: Blood, Torture & Capture (Malfoy Manor scenes from DH, not very descriptive, but consider yourself warned!), Greyback (both being violent and... intrusive?), use of the more offensive word for ‘Muggle-born’, angst, Bellatrix

And in case you were wondering, yes I did look up lunar charts from 1998 when writing this XD

Enjoy! :)

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

Oh, darling...

“He’s abroad! He’s still looking for the wand, I knew it!”

“Harry-”

“Come on, Hermione, why are you so determined not to admit it? Vol-”

“HARRY NO!”

“-demort’s after the Elder Wand!”

“The name’s Taboo!”, Ron bellowed, leaping to his feet as a loud crack sounded outside the tent. “I told you, Harry, we can’t say it anymore! We’ve got to p-”

“Shhh!?”

(Y/N/N) had appeared behind Ron and put her hand over his mouth.

“Ron, our chances are gonna be even slimmer if you keep howling!”

The redhead nodded to confirm that he had understood what his friend had whispered, and she removed her hand. For a few *wonderful moments* the four of them thought they had made it! They waited in complete silence - Harry standing protectively in front of the others with his wand in a firm grip.

“Come out of there with ye’ hands up!”, came a rasping voice through the darkness. “You’ve got half a dozen wands aimed at ya’ and we don’t care who we curse!”

Harry turned around slowly and noticed Hermione and (Y/N) coming to a silent agreement. He was just about to ask the others what they thought they should do when Hermione aimed her wand at his face. There was a bang, a burst of white light and Harry buckled in agony, unable to see, as heavy footfalls surrounded the gang.

(Y/N/N) let out a small whimper as someone grabbed a fistfull of her hair and pulled her out of the tent. Harry, Ron and Hermione were wrested outside as well, and all four of them were restrained to prevent their escape. (Y/N) and Hermione both got their wrists bound together, but they stood next to each other while the snatchers questioned the boys.

Harry suddenly let out a distressed shout, because Scabior had smirked evilly and made his way closer to (Y/N/N).

“Don’t touch her! Don’t you dare!”

“Fine”, he said. “I won’t”

He turned back towards the girls, raised his wand and a swift movement caused (Y/N)’s legs to give in. She fell to her knees, her hands still tied behind her back. Harry opened his mouth to say something, but Scabior got there first.

“Ey, like I promised, I didn’t touch ‘er.”

He took a few threatening steps towards the girls and stood towering over (Y/N) as she was forced to kneel by the snatcher’s feet.

“And your name, girly?”

(Y/N/N) swallowed nervously before answering.

“Katie Bell. Halfblood.”

Scabior smiled again and walked over to Hermione. He was just about to ask her the same question when another snatcher approached them from behind.

“That’s a lie”

“What?”, asked Scabior. “What ‘ru on about?”

“I might not remember every single one.”, said the voice. “But when people are bit as revenge, I tend not to forget their name… or smell”

Fenrir Greyback stepped into the moonlight looking absolutely wild. His dirty hair was full of leaves and small sticks, and he had dried blood on his hands.

Scabior grabbed (Y/N)’s hair again, pulled her to her feet and pushed her towards Greyback. Harry struggled ferociously against the snatcher holding him, but it was no use. This gang might not be the smartest, but they were big, and strong. The situation seemed oddly familiar to Harry, and he realized that it remembered him of the few times Dudley’s friends had caught him and held him back while Dudley himself put his boxing skills to ‘good use’. This was worse though, and he kept fighting to get out of the snatcher’s grip despite knowing that it was impossible.

“Don’t touch her! Back off!!”

Greyback didn’t seem to hear Harry’s protests and roughly seized the collar of (Y/N)’s torn, dirty shirt. She tried to push him away, but without the use of her hands that proved to be very difficult, and Grayback pulled her closer instead. He grabbed her by the throat, and, because the werewolf was so tall, her feet no longer touched the ground once he could look her in the eye.

“HA!”

Greyback laughed darkly and threw the girl to the ground.

“Lupin…”, he muttered. “Didn’t know that traitor had a pup. You think daddy would like you to join or… pack?”

He bent down to his knees and dragged a sharp claw along her neck, forcing her to lift her head.

Both Harry and Ron had, at this point however, had enough and were just about to shout again when Scabior spoke up.

“C’mon Greyback. We’re wastin’ time. ‘m sure the ministry will let ya keep ‘er if the others are valuable enough. You take the halfbreed and we’ll bind the rest to the other prisoners.”

Greyback grabbed hold of the rope securing (Y/N) hands behind her back, and Scabior turned towards Hermione again.

“And you, love? A name? And blood status if you’d be so kind.”

“Penelope Clearwater, halfblood.”

“Easy enough to check.”

Someone yanked Harry, Ron and Hermione up by the hair, dragged them a few feet, pushed them down into a sitting position, and started binding them back to back with some other people.

A few snatchers went into the tent, presumably looking for anything of value, and the others kept a close eye on the bound prisoners. The group seemed to be getting ready to leave, but suddenly Scabior approached, a copy of the Daily Prophet in his right hand.

“Ang on a minute, Greyback! Look at this, in the Prophet! ‘Ermione Granger, mudblood known to be travellin’’ with ‘Arry Potter.’”

Greyback lifted Hermione’s head using his boot and said, “You know what little girly? This picture looks a hell of a lot like you.”

“It’s not me!”, said Hermione, “I swear it’s n-”

“Well this changes things, doesn’t it?”, whispered Greyback. Harry could still barely see, but noticed (Y/N) trembling as Greyback tightened his grip around her wrist. She stumbled slightly when the werewolf took a few steps towards Harry and bent down to get a closer look at his face.

“Oi, Vernon, what’s that on ya’ forehead?”

“Don’t touch it!”

“I thought you wore glasses, Potter”

“I found glasses!”

Another snatcher came running from the tent and seconds later Harry’s glasses had been rammed back on to his face.

“It is!”, howled Greyback triumphantly. “We’ve caught Potter!”

“So? To the ministry?”

“To hell with the ministry. I say we take them directly to You-know-who. Let’s take the boy to the Malfoys’ place”

“‘ru completely sure? Cause-”

“Who’s in charge here?”, roared Greyback. “I say it’s Potter, that’s 200000 galleons, and with any luck I’ll get the girl thrown in.”

The prisoners were dragged to their feet.

“I’ll get Potter too”, said Greyback while grabbing a fistfull of Harry’s hair. He wasn’t overly excited about standing so close to the vicious werewolf, but felt somewhat relieved when he was held right by (Y/N)’s side and she carefully leant her head on his shoulder. The small action gave him a sense of comfort despite the danger and seriousness of the situation.

“1, 2, 3…”

They disapparated.

~~~~~

“I know ‘e’s swollen, ma’am, but it’s ‘im.”, Scabior said. “If you look a bit closer, you’ll see his scar.”

“Bring them in.”

Harry and the rest were brutally shoved and kicked up broad stone steps into a hallway lined with portraits. Two figures rose from chairs in front of an ornate marble fireplace as the prisoners were forced into the room by the snatchers. Lucius Malfoy took a step forward.

“What’s this?”

“They say they have got Potter”, answered Narcissa coldly. “Draco, come here.”

Draco approached the prisoners apprehensively, but claimed not to be sure whether it, in fact, was Harry.

“How ‘bout them others, then?”, growled Greyback while pushing Ron, Hermione, (Y/N), Dean and Griphook forwards. “‘tis at least one mudblood, a Weasley and an Order member’s kid - recognize either?”

Draco still didn’t know, however Lucius Malfoy felt sure enough, and was just about to call ‘The Dark Lord’ when Bellatrix Lestrange entered the room and walked up to the captives. She began arguing with Lucius, but stopped abruptly when noticing the sword of Gryffindor being held by one of the snatchers.

Bellatrix went to attack, but changed her mind once Greyback told her that they had found the sword in Harry, Ron, Hermione and (Y/N)’s tent. Narcissa, who seemed increasingly worried as her sister attacked various people in the room, turned to the group of ‘kids’ again.

“Take these prisoners down to the cellar, Greyback”

“Wait!”, screeched Bellatrix. “All except… except the girls.”

“NO!”, exclaimed Harry just as Ron, struggling violently against the ropes that bound him, let out a loud roar.

“NO! You can have me! Keep me!!”

Bellatrix simply cackled evilly and said, “If one of them dies under questioning, I’ll take you next. Mudbloods, offsprings of Halfbreeds and blood traitors - they’re all the same to me. Greyback, take them downstairs and make sure they’re secure. But don’t do anything else. Yet...”

She grabbed both (Y/N) and Hermione by the hair and dragged them into the middle of the room. She let go and they both fell face first into the hard, dark floor with a crack. With a swift wave of her wand, thick ropes wrapped themselves around the girls’ ankles, effectively preventing them from escaping, and she then turned towards Greyback.

“Hurry up! Get them down quickly and you can have the Halfbreed. ‘m sure her screams will be enough to keep you entertained for a while?”

Greyback forced the rest of them into a dark passageway, his wand held out in front of him, projecting an invisible and irresistible force.

“Reckon she’ll let me have a bit of the girls when she’s finished with ‘em?”, Greyback crooned as he forced them along the corridor. “I’d say at least a bite or two each, wouldn’t you, boys? I think I’ll save the Lupin girl for Saturday, huh? I bet the full moon will make her taste even better, don’t you think??”

Both Harry and Ron were shaking in anger, but the invisible force kept them all in place. They were forced down a steep flight of stairs, still tied back-to-back and in danger of slipping and breaking their necks at any moment. At the bottom of the stairs was a heavy door, and Greyback opened it, pushed them all inside and slammed the door shut, but just as they hit the ground, a loud, panicked, heart wrenching scream was heard from directly above them.

“HERMIONE!? (Y/N/N)!?”

~~~~~

“I’m going to ask you again! Where did you take this sword? WHERE?!”

“We found it! - We found it! - PLEASE!!”

“You’re lying, you filthy mudblood, and I know it. You have been inside my vault at Gringotts! Tell the truth! TELL THE TRUTH!!”

“It was my fault!”, cried (Y/N) desperately, hoping that Bellatrix wouldn’t be as harsh on her since she was a half blood. Deep down, she knew that this was highly improbable, but she couldn’t stand watching Hermione writhing in pain. “I found it, Hermione had nothing to do with it! Leave her alone!”

Bellatrix dropped Hermione, and (Y/N) was pulled off the ground for the umpteenth time that day.

“Don’t you worry. You’ll get your fair share too - Ah!”

In just that moment, Greyback walked the last few steps of the stairs and entered the big room.

“Right on time, Grayback! Do what you want with this one.”

She threw (Y/N) into Greyback’s arms and turned back to Hermione.

“See if you can get anything of value out of her first, though. If her father is part of the Order as you say, then surely enough… persuasion… should give us something.”

Greyback dragged (Y/N) by the hair so that they were a few feet away from Bellatrix, and bent over the girl standing on all four. His wild face was merely inches from hers, and she flinched involuntarily feeling his warm breath on her neck. The werewolf stroked his hairy hand across her cheek, and (Y/N) closed her eyes, desperately trying to imagine being somewhere else. She was, however, fully aware of the fact that this was only the beginning. Greyback was famous for his savagery and brutal methods, and her father had once told her the story of their first encounter. Remus had told her how her grandfather, Lyall, had insulted the werewolf, who would later take his revenge by biting Lyall’s son.

Suddenly, a burning sensation spread from her neck down to her waist - causing her to let out a pained scream. She had been so lost in thought that she failed to notice Greyback raising his hand, with nails like claws, and slashing it across her body. Her thin shirt went from light green to red in a matter of seconds and she scrambled to get away from him - ultimately failing when he caught some of her hair between his hand and the floor.

“You know”, growled Greyback. “I told Potter and the blood traitor I’d save my sample of yourself for Saturday but… why choose?”

He grabbed her hands and held them far away from the rest of her body, giving her little to no chance of protecting herself, bent closer and sank his sharp teeth deep into her shoulder.

(Y/N) let out yet another bloodcurdling scream and thrashed violently, which only caused Greyback to scratch his claws across her face before swiftly standing and landing a rough kick to her stomach.

She coughed slightly and tried to get up, but it was then Greyback finally seemed to remember the fact that he owned a wand.

“What do ya’ think you’re doin’? Stay on the floor, where ya’ belong! CRUCIO!”

(Y/N) began writhing in pain, just like Hermione had earlier, but the sheer strength of the curse combined with previous pain, blood loss and the mental trauma of having been bitten by a werewolf - though not transformed at the time - was enough to make her stop fighting. She didn’t fully pass out, but lay limp at the floor.

Bellatrix had bound Hermione to a pillar near the fireplace and was instead questioning a goblin about the Sword of Gryffindor.

“No”, said Griphook. “It is a fake”

“Are you sure? Quite sure?”

“Yes”

“Good”, she said, and with a casual flick of her wand she slashed another deep cut on the goblin’s face. “And now - we call the Dark Lord. I’m sure we can dispose of these two”. She used her foot to turn (Y/N) over and studied her broken being with a sly smile. “Keep ‘em if you want, Greyback!”

“NOOOOOOOO!”

Ron and Harry dashed into the room, Ron disarming Bellatrix and Harry catching her wand while simultaneously stunning Lucius Malfoy.

“STOP OR THEY DIE!!”

Harry and Ron both looked at Bellatrix who held a struggling Hermione in one hand, and used the other to press a silver dagger to her neck - all while resting a high heeled boot millimetres above the throat of (Y/N)’s now unconscious form.

“Drop the wands, or I won’t hesitate to let them both die covered in their own filthy blood. I said DROP THEM!!!!”

The boys threw the wands to the floor and Draco, after being told to, picked them up. Harry could feel Voldemort approaching, and the situation felt quite hopeless… None of them had a wand, he and Ron stood with their hands by their shoulders and wands pointing in their direction, and Bellatrix - who had already taken Sirius from him - had both the girls in her grasp.

“Now, I think we ought to tie these little heroes up again.”, said Bellatrix softly. “While Greyback takes care of Miss Halfbreed. I suppose you could have the mudblood too, if you fancy it. I’m sure the Dark Lord won’t begrudge you that after all you have done tonight.”

Her speech was interrupted by a peculiar grinding noise from above. All of them looked up and noticed Dobby on the chandelier. Bellatrix dropped Hermione and jumped out of the way - the chandelier falling on top of Hermione, (Y/N) and Griphook. Harry took the chance and pulled their wands out of Draco’s hand and then joined Ron in trying to get the girls to safety. He pointed all the wands at Greyback at the same time and shouted “STUPIFY!”, before picking (Y/N/N) up into his arms. They all stood surrounding Dobby who apparated them all out of there.

~~~~~

A soft knock caused (Y/N) to immediately look towards the door, but she breathed a sigh of relief once realizing that it was safe. She had been rather jumpy since their capture, and she hated feeling so… weak? Fragile? Hopeless?

“Hey, you doing alright?”

“Hi, Bill. Yes, I’m good. How’s Hermione?”

Bill smiled. “She’ll be fine. I’m sure it must have been horrifying for her, but trust me, we’ve seen worse. With both Fleur and Ron by her side I can’t find a reason to be worried. Honestly, I’m much more concerned about you.”

“Bill, I’m f-”

“No, see, I don’t think you are. Purely based on what the others have told me, you’ve gone through both physical and mental torture beyond what even the least decent person should consider ‘acceptable’. Your silence, constant twitching and rapid breathing further supports that theory. We just want to help.”

“Look, I appreciate that, I really do bu-”

“Do you want me to send word to your dad?”

“I- Wha- No! No, I’ll manage. A day or two to rest and a chance to process all that happened should get me back on my feet. I don’t want to worry him… Please, Bill, do-”

“Okay, I won’t write”, said Bill hesitantly. “But then you must promise to let us help. And if Remus contacts us asking whether we know anything about the four of you - I won’t lie. He’s done that roughly twice a week since November, though weirdly enough not the last couple of days, and there’s a bond of trust there, (Y/N/N). I trust you can understand that?”

“Of course”, she said, managing a weak smile. “But surely you, if anyone, would understand that you have to move on. I mean, you were attacked in essentially the same way last year and you sti-”

But Bill just shook his head.

“No, (Y/N/N), they’re not ‘essentially the same’. Not at all. When Greyback-”, (Y/N) flinched at the name and Bill put a hand on her shoulder. “When he attacked me, it was quick. Sure, it hurt like hell, but it was over in less than a minute. And I know you won’t like me saying this, but I suspect that was the case even for your dad. What he’s had to endure since that night is a whole nother story, but the actual moment? For the two of us, he was out to kill, and thankfully interrupted before he got the chance, but in your case I wouldn’t call it an ‘attack’ but rather… An intrusion, or violation if you will. (Y/N/N), what you went through, I can’t even imagine.”

Bill could tell the young girl didn’t know what to say, so he simply pulled her in for a gentle hug.

“Do you want me to ask Harry to come up?”

“What are they doing? I don’t wanna interru-”

“Just having dinner. We’d have brought you downstairs too, but you were still unconscious or sleeping half an hour ago. Fleur didn’t feel the need to drag you out of bed then.” He paused and examined her for a moment before standing.

“I’ll get him, give me a minute.”

~~~~~

“Harry, what if Dumbledore wanted us to work out the symbol in time to get the wand? What i-”

“Ron, I-”

Their conversation was interrupted when Bill entered the kitchen.

“Harry? She’s up.”

Harry turned to his best friend’s brother, a look of utter confusion on his face.

“I.. Wha- How is she? Can I-”

“Go. She’s trying to be strong, of course, yet there’s something more there. Her bravery is admirable, but I don’t think it’s very healthy to keep it all bottled up. If anyone could get her to let it out it’d be you. Go.”

~~~~~

Harry carefully pushed the door open, and his eyes immediately found hers. They had been friends for so many years now, that reading each other’s thoughts was considered ‘normal’. Harry was instantaneously relieved when she didn’t jump, flinch or move away from the door. He walked over to the bed and was pulled into a loving hug before even sitting down. That was not what he had expected…! Sure, he had hoped that she wouldn’t be completely broken, but considering everything he - they - had been through, he hadn’t dared to imagine any best case scenario only to be completely crushed by the truth.

“(Y/N/N)? How a-”

But that was all it took - for him to say her name. She wasn’t sobbing, just crying silently - tears falling freely from her eyes.

“I’m sorry… I’m so sorry, Harry. Crying’s not going to help anyone I just-”

“(Y/N/N), don’t apologize, please. Just let it out, you’re safe. I’m here and I’m not leaving you again, okay? You’re safe now. You’re sa-”

There was a loud ‘BANG’ on the front door. Harry grabbed his wand and took a few careful steps down the stairs, constantly making sure that (Y/N/N) was right behind him. He grabbed her hand tightly and watched as Bill, with his wand pointing towards the door, made his way from the kitchen to the hallway.

“Who is it?”

“It is I, Remus John Lupin. I’m a werewolf, married to Nymphadora Tonks, and you, the Secret Keeper of Shell Cottage, told me the address, and bade me come in an emergency.”

“Lupin!”

Bill ran to the door and wretched it open. (Y/N/N) looked over Harry’s shoulder and saw her dad stumble over the threshold before standing up straight and exclaiming “It’s a boy! We’ve named him Ted after Dora’s father.”

“Wow, that’s amazing!”, sad Bill sounding uncharacteristically nervous as he met Fleur’s gaze. Tonks having her baby would explain Remus’ lack of messages for the past few days, and Bill was starting to regret not letting him know about his daughter’s condition as soon as she had arrived.

Remus seemed to calm down slightly as well, and suddenly noticed Ron, Hermione, Dean and Luna at the dining table

“Wha-”, he began, but Bill just nodded towards the living room.

“Remus, look, I think you better sit down and I-”

But the older man didn’t seem to agree with whatever Bill was going to suggest.

“What happened?! When?! And whe-”

He didn’t get to say much more before two arms wrapped around him from behind. He knew, given the current state of the Wizarding World, that he should grab his wand and push them away, but he already suspected who it was. His theory was confirmed by a hoarse whisper:

“Dad.”

It was such a short word, but her voice broke nonetheless. He began turning around, desperate to get a good look at his daughter after over eight months apart, but she struggled against him.

“(Y/N/N), let me look at you?! Stop- NO, stop it I-”

He might just have travelled through a storm, but was still the stronger of the two. Physical strength would, however, prove to be essentially worthless, and the Marauder fell to his knees as soon as he laid eyes on his only daughter. He forced himself to look at her, but it must have been one of the most challenging things the man had ever had to do.

She was covered in deep wounds & scratches from head to toe. Her wrists were bloody and bruised and at least a few, red bite marks stood out against her otherwise pale skin. Her eyes were red, and her face was still covered in wet tears. She was trying her best to stand up straight, but no one knew (Y/N/N) like her father did - not even Harry - and Remus immediately sensed that something was wrong. She was crouching down ever so slightly - almost as if she had been curled up or forced into a fetal position for way too long.

“Oh, darling…”

Those two words were the only ones he managed while his mind desperately worked on processing the sight in front of him. He had come with the intention of sharing some joyful news, but this - what had happened instead - was way beyond his worst nightmares. His boggart had been the full moon for as long as he could remember, but he was quite sure the silvery orb would not glide out from the cupboard the next time he had to face one.

“(Y/N/N)?”, mumbled Harry. “Do you want some help upstairs? I feel like you two could use some privacy..?”

She nodded, and Harry, who had now also noticed her unusual posture, placed her right arm over his shoulders and helped her back up. Her father - naturally - followed closely behind.

~~~~~

(Y/N/N) sat back on the bed from before, her gaze focused on a particularly interesting spot on the floor. Her father sat down next to her and gently placed an arm around her small body, expertly avoiding the many red or brownish lines. She wanted to look back at him. To put her arm around him and return the hug, but she couldn’t bring herself to do it. Sure, he did promise her not to blame himself for whatever fights she chose, but this was different. She hadn’t chosen this one, and her wounds were far worse than anything Umbridge had ever accomplished. Just the thought of having to tell him who was responsible and what he had said frightened her. Not that she was scared of her dad, but she knew he would claim that everything was his fault. She couldn’t lie, though. Not this time. He deserved to know exactly what happened.

“(Y/N/N)? Darling? Are you okay? What happened?”

His voice was now extremely gentle, which was comforting for (Y/N) too. She took a deep breath and turned to face him. She spoke barely above a whisper, her neck still bruised and sore from the countless times she had been grabbed and held by it.

“Yes. Yes, I’m good. Or fine at least.”

“I assume you understand that I want to hear the full story, but I must ask - when?”

He reached towards her shoulder and gently brought his hand over the bite marks.

“‘round Easter, I don’t know exactly… seventh? eight? ninth? Not the eleventh though, I’m sure of that.”

His facial expression went from terrified to slightly calmer as he rubbed his temple.

“Okay, that’s… that’s good. Given the circumstances, I mean. And you’re absolutely positive? Because sometimes traumatic events can make you forge-”

“Dad, I’m sure! If there’s one part of me that’s in prime condition it’s my memory...I- I remember every second.”

She shuddered at the thought of if all, and quickly added, “He wasn’t transformed…”

Remus looked at her sadly, the truth, or at least parts of it, now clear to him.

“Not Gre-”

“DoN’t! Please...”

She put her head on his torso when he pulled her closer.

“Please, I can’t-”

“Breathe, Darling. You’re safe. I’m sorry I… Blimey I should have guessed. Took me months and I was barely five… C’mere.”

They sat like that for a while, Remus resting his head on his daughter’s while humming quietly. He eventually decided he couldn’t take it anymore and cleared his throat to catch her attention.

“(Y/N/N)? You have to tell me what happened. Have you gotten these wounds treated? They don’t look very good…”

“Trust me, they were much worse back then. I think Fleur did her best to heal them. She’s really goo-”

He looked away and took a deep breath. “You’re avoiding the question, (Y/N/N)…”

“Dad, I do-”

“YOU PROMISED!”

He slammed his hands down on the bed as his voice grew angrier.

“(Y/N), you promised me you’d never hide any kind of pain from me ever again?! I-”

He suddenly noticed his daughter desperately cowering away and lowered his voice.

“I’m sorry… I’m sorry, but I trusted that promise! And don’t even try to tell me how ‘you’re fine’ or ‘it’s not really even hurting anymore’. (Y/N/N), I have known you your whole life, let me help. You must te-”

“I know. I will. I know you deserve that, just… I don’t know where to start? A lot has happened… And I also need you to know that I didn’t break my promise. Bill and Harry told me I’ve been drifting in and out of consciousness for days. I only properly woke up an hour or so before you came and haven’t had time to send a message.”

He looked at her, and she moved closer again.

“Sor-”

“It’s good, dad. We’re good, don’t worry about it.”

Then she told him. The entire story - starting with breaking into the Ministry and then everything about Godric’s Hollow, The Lovegoods’ house - but came to an abrupt stop after that. She took a moment to collect her thoughts, but then shared the events of the past two weeks as well. She told her father all about Harry accidentally using You-Know-Who’s name, the group of snatchers surrounding them and their decision not to try to fight their way out.

“We were outnumbered, and had to hide the fact that they had just caught Harry. Hermione used a stinging jinx which, naturally, worked perfectly - they didn’t recognize him at first. They tied us all up and started asking questions about names, blood status and so on. None of us gave them our real names of course, and it worked well until… until he… until he stepped out of the shadows and told the others that the name I had given them was false. It took him a minute or two, but he claimed to… ‘recognize my smell’ - your smell, I suppose.”

“(Y/N/N), it’s m-”

“No! You can’t blame yourself. That was your part of the deal, remember?”

“Well, this time it seem like it actually was-”

“not your fault, exactly. The snatchers found some photographs in the Prophet, Harry’s glasses and a bunch of other stuff and kind of made the connection themselves.”

She explained how they were taken to Malfoy Manor. How Bellatrix had ordered everyone apart from the two girls down to the dungeons. How she had bound them even tighter before taking care of Hermione, and later Griphook, herself and leaving (Y/N) defenceless to deal with Greyback.

“Do you know what the worst part is? I barely even tried to defend myself. Merlin, I just felt so... weak!?! So worthless. He just stood there - right by my face - breathing and”, she shuddered again, “‘petting’. Then he hacked, and slashed, and bit, and kicked and pushed. Eventually realized he was in possession of a wand and… It was unbearable, I-I-I can’t even... ”

“Shhh, breathe, Darling, breathe! Easy there…”

He pulled her, if possible, even closer until she sat in her father’s lap. (Y/N) used to fall asleep in his lap when she was a little girl - the warmth and comfort calming her down - but it had been years since… She was, after all, a young adult now.

“Listen, and I need you to understand this because it is very important - you are not weak! Far from it! In a situation like what you have just described, if you are wandless and unable to practically defend yourself, coming with sly remarks and trying to argue with the one in possession of the wand would not only be dangerous, but also rather careless. If there was anything I could do to change what happened, then believe me, I would, but don’t for a second beat yourself up over your decisions.”

Remus looked at (Y/N/N), but chuckled slightly when he noticed his daughter slowly drifting off to sleep. He decided to shake her slightly and wake her before it was too late.

“(Y/N/N)? Don’t you think it’s better if we go home? You can go to sleep there instead?”

“What?”, she mumbled. “But, dad, we’re not done yet? Harry, Ron and Hermione-”

“-Will just have to do without you for a while. Listen to reason, darling. You are injured, shaken and can barely stand up straight - which is perfectly understandable! I’m just saying, the best thing you can do is probably to rest and let them go on for now. Who knows, maybe you will be able to go back after healing?”

Remus made a mental note to keep his daughter close to him from now on, and NOT to let her throw herself back into the war, but felt like this was the best way to convince her right away. He had missed her every minute since they had parted ways back in August, and dreamt of the day they’d reunite, but never had he imagined he’d find her in such a state. He swore to himself that he would always try to keep her safe.

His daughter

His darling

His (Y/N/N)

Never again…

~ L

Part 3 I’ll be by your side

Masterlist

#remus lupin x daughter reader #remus lupin x reader #remus lupin x daughter #harry potter x reader #harry x reader #lupin x reader #harry potter imagine #hp imagine #marauders imagine #deathly hallows imagine #torture #malfoy #bill weasley imagine #ron weasley imagine #hermione granger imagine #remus lupinxdaughter!reader #harry potter angst #creative writing #harry potter fan fiction

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kemetic-dreams · 4 years ago

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Trying to make African people and culture evil

Early Jewish interpretations

The Torah assigns no racial characteristics or rankings to Ham. Moses married a Cushite, one of the reputed descendants of Ham, according to the Book of Numbers, Chapter 12. Despite this, a number of early Jewish writers have interpreted the Biblical narrative of Ham in a racial way. The Babylonian Talmud, Sanhedrin 108b states, "Our Rabbis taught: Three copulated in the ark, and they were all punished—the dog, the raven, and Ham. The dog was doomed to be tied, the raven expectorates, and Ham was smitten in his skin" (Talmud Bavli, Sanhedrin 108b). The nature of Ham's "smitten" skin is unexplained, but later commentaries described this as a darkening of skin.

A later note to the text states that the "smitten" skin referred to the blackness of descendants, and a later comment by rabbis in the Bereshit Rabbah asserts that Ham himself emerged from the ark black-skinned. The Zohar states that Ham's son Canaan "darkened the faces of mankind."

Some Biblical scholars see the "curse of Ham" story as an early Hebrew rationalization for Israel's conquest and enslavement of the Canaanites, who were presumed to descend from Canaan.

Many pre-modern Christian sources discussed the curse of Ham in connection with race and slavery:

For the Egyptians are prone to a degenerate life and quickly sink to every slavery of the vices. Look at the origin of the race and you will discover that their father Cham, who had laughed at his father’s nakedness, deserved a judgment of this kind, that his son Chanaan should be a servant to his brothers, in which case the condition of bondage would prove the wickedness of his conduct. Not without merit, therefore, does the discolored posterity imitate the ignobility of the race [Non ergo immerito ignobilitatem decolor posteritas imitatur] (Homilies on Genesis 16.1).

The Eastern Christian work, the Cave of Treasures (fourth century), explicitly connects slavery with dark-skinned people:

When Noah awoke…he cursed him and said: "Cursed be Ham and may he be slave to his brothers" … and he became a slave, he and his lineage, namely the Egyptians, the Abyssinians, and the Indians. Indeed, Ham lost all sense of shame and he became black and was called shameless all the days of his life, forever.

Ishodad of Merv (Syrian Christian bishop of Hedhatha, ninth century):

When Noah cursed Canaan, “instantly, by the force of the curse… his face and entire body became black [ukmotha]. This is the black color which has persisted in his descendents.”

Eutychius, Alexandrian Melkite patriarch (d. 940): “Cursed be Ham and may he be a servant to his brothers… He himself and his descendants, who are the Egyptians, the Negroes, the Ethiopians and (it is said) the Barbari.”

Ibn al-Tayyib (Arabic Christian scholar, Baghdad, d. 1043): “The curse of Noah affected the posterity of Canaan who were killed by Joshua son of Nun. At the moment of the curse, Canaan’s body became black and the blackness spread out among them.”

The Syrian Christian scholar Bar Hebraeus (1226-86) writes: “‘And Ham, the father of Canaan, saw the nakedness of his father and showed [it] to his two brothers.’ That is…that Canaan was cursed and not Ham, and with the very curse he became black and the blackness was transmitted to his descendents…. And he said, ‘Cursed be Canaan! A servant of servants shall he be to his brothers.’”

According to Catholic mystic Anne Catherine Emmerich, "I saw the curse pronounced by Noah upon Ham moving toward the latter like a black cloud and obscuring him. His skin lost its whiteness, he grew darker. His sin was the sin of sacrilege, the sin of one who would forcibly enter the Ark of the Covenant. I saw a most corrupt race descend from Ham and sink deeper and deeper in darkness. I see that the black, idolatrous, stupid nations are the descendants of Ham. Their color is due, not to the rays of the sun, but to the dark source whence those degraded races sprang."

Pre-modern European interpretations

In the Middle Ages, European scholars of the Bible picked up on the Jewish Talmud idea of viewing the "sons of Ham" or Hamites as cursed, possibly "blackened" by their sins. Though early arguments to this effect were sporadic, they became increasingly common during the slave trade of the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries.[6] The justification of slavery itself through the sins of Ham was well suited to the ideological interests of the elite; with the emergence of the slave trade, its racialized version justified the exploitation of a ready supply of African labour. This interpretation of Scripture was never adopted by the African Coptic Churches.

The curse of Ham in the Latter-day Saint Movement (Mormon)

The first recorded indication of Joseph Smith's adoption of the doctrine of the curse of Ham is found in a parenthetical reference as early as 1831.

After the death of Joseph Smith, Brigham Young, the church's second president, taught that people of African ancestry were under the curse of Ham. Young also taught that the day would come when the curse would be nullified through the saving powers of Jesus Christ.

In addition, based on his interpretation of the Book of Abraham, Young also believed that as a result of this curse, modern people of African descent were banned from receiving the Priesthood (although they were allowed to join the Church). Young believed the curse remained in people with even a single black ancestor.

However, every President of the Church from Joseph Smith Jr. to Spencer W. Kimball stated that the day would come when the Priesthood would be available to all men. In 1978, after much prayer and fasting on the matter, President Spencer W. Kimball of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints received a revelation which officially extended the Priesthood to all worthy males.

The curse of Ham in Black Hebrew Israelite and Nuwaubian teachings

The Nuwaubians, and certain Black Hebrew Israelite sects such as Yahweh Ben Yahweh, reversed the typical racial slant of the curse of Ham. In their teaching the curse was leprosy, which in its extreme form whitened the skins of the Canaanites.

Islamic interpretations

Prophets of Islam are generally considered by hadith to have kept Islamic law, even before Islam existed; the belief is that God's universal will guided them in the same way as Muhammad, and their habits simply were not accepted by others nor written down. As Islam discourages the consumption of alcohol, this means that the story could not have happened as described in the Torah, as Noah would never be drunk. Instead the story of Noah's nakedness is sometimes explained as the result of the wind blowing off his cloak. Nevertheless, the story of the curse is not part of Islamic scripture.

Early Islamic scholars debated whether or not there was a curse on Ham's descendants. Some accepted that there was, and some argued that it was visible in dark skin. According to David Goldenberg,

Just as in Jewish and Christian sources, so too in Islamic sources do we find that it was not Canaan who was cursed with slavery, but Ham instead of or in addition to Canaan. So, for example, Tabari (d. 923), quoting Ibn Isaq (d. 768), Masudi (tenth century) and Dimashqui (thirteenth century). Ham appears as the recipient of the curse so regularly that the only Arabic author Gerhard Rotter could find who specifically limits the curse to Canaan is Yaqubi (d. ca 900). In all others the descendants of Ham were enslaved.

Goldenberg argues that the "exegetical tie between Ham and servitude is commonly found in works composed in the Near East whether in Arabic by Muslims or in Syraic by Christians." He suggests that the compilation known as the Cave of Miracles (Abrégé des merveilles) may be the source. This text states that "Noah cursed Ham, praying to God that Ham's sons may be cursed and black and that they be subjected as slaves to those of Shem."

In the book, One Thousand and One Nights, there is an argument between black and white concubines about which color is better. The white concubine tells the story of the curse of Ham, saying that Ham was blackened because he ridiculed his father, but Shem was whitened because he refused to do so. The black concubine replies with the argument that whiteness is associated with death and leprosy.

#african #kemetic dreams #one thousand and one nights #arabs #curse of ham #ta meri #egyptianart #talmud #egyptian mythology #kemet #ham #hamitic #hamitic people #arabic #shem

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jjfics · 4 years ago

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Room 19 ll 01

ship: Harry Potter x female!Reader

summary: Harry and the reader both work at the Ministry and are sent together on a mission. their feelings for each other start shifting as they arrive at the hotel.

author: Jane Jack aka your girl JJfics

word count: 2050

a/n: i usually like writing established relationships so this is something new to me but it is a trope i have always enjoyed so i hope you will too. i was on a phone call with my best friend while writing this and they said, and i quote, i dropped my french fry, on the couch

Dragging a suitcase full of clothes can be very exhausting when you are not allowed to do magic. While you could theoretically obliviate all the muggles that happen to see you two, it would be a waste of time. You and the oh-so-famous Harry James Potter were placed together for this mission by the Ministry of Magic, and so far it has been going great. If not talking to each other unless you had to is considered great.

You had expected him to be cockier and pretend to know everything. It’s what the Daily Prophet says anyway. But he has been very silent around you and even though you would never admit this to anyone, especially to him, you have been wondering if he is like this with everybody or if this is about you.

You were supposed to pretend to be a muggle couple who goes on vacation while investigating the activities of some suspicious wizards. Those wizards and witches you were assigned to keep an eye on live somewhere in the countryside of Scotland. No train and no bus could take you this far.

You were currently on a deserted road with Potter on your right checking a map as you did your best to not kick the suitcase that contained both of your clothes out of annoyance. You hated having agreed to take turns with it but at this point, you wanted to give up.

It has been an hour since you last turned left on this road. There was a village somewhere ahead but it seems so far away you might as well just sleep right here. Stargazing with Harry Potter did not sound like a bad story to tell your friends later, but you had to remind yourself how awkward that would turn soon as he refuses to talk to you at all.

“We should be there in about half an hour,” he said suddenly. Oh, so now he talked, good to know.

“Okay,” you sighed.

“What?” he looked up from the map in his hands to face you.

“I don’t even know… Can’t we take a break? We’ll get there eventually.”

“No, y/n. There is a perfect timing at which we have to be at the hotel. We have to arrive at the same time as the group. Is something you would have known if you actually read the instructions we were given before this trip,” he furrowed his brows and said with exasperation latched in his voice.

“You think you’re the only one who cares about this mission? Not everything is about you, Potter,” you said with a cold voice. Maybe he hasn’t been talking to you not because he doesn’t like you personally, which you would totally not even care about, never, but because he was too obsessed with himself to acknowledge anyone else.

“I never said everything is about me!” Harry shouted back at you. “I don’t even want it to be. But I do want this mission to go well, specifically.”

“Why?” you let the suitcase fall on the ground completely moved closer to him.

Potter looked over your head at the road, avoiding eye contact. “It doesn’t matter,” he said and he hated it because his voice sounded a bit unsure. “It doesn’t matter” he repeated.

You rolled your eyes and took a step even closer. “Then why do you care? I bet you didn’t even want to be placed with me, did you?” you shouted back with pain. “You think I’ll screw this up for you, don’t you, Potter?”

“No, y/n, God, just shut up!” he grabbed your arm and pulled you off the road. You were both so concentrated on getting the stress of the trip out on the other that you didn’t even hear a car coming down the street. Its speed slowed down as it approached you and the driver rolled down the window.

The man inside looked you up and down and then stuck out his hand. “Ben Nelson.” he introduced himself.

Potter shook his hand and gave him a small and awkward smile. “Harry Campbell,” he said. He nodded his head in your direction and added shortly “And y/n Campbell.”

The driver laughed stiffly and raised his eyebrows. “And what might you kids be doing here alone?”

“We were just trying to get to the village, not too far away from here,” Potter told him.

“Ah, that’s where I’m heading… yeah… well, come on, do you want me to help you put that trunk of yours in the back?” the man chuckled.

“What?” you asked, confused.

“Yeah, I’m taking you there, come on.” he took his seatbelt off, but Harry held his hand up.

“Thank you, sir. We can put the suitcase ourselves.”

“Okay, but hurry up you. I don’t have all the time in the world like you young ones.”

Potter smirked at you, and you tried to hide the way you blushed by bringing your hands up to your hair to tie it back before dragging the suitcase once more and closing the trunk loudly. You and Potter got in the backseat together, just to make it clear that you were a couple, you thought; he probably wouldn’t sit next to you otherwise.

“You two have been together for long?” Nelson asks.

You are still very mad at your partner, but you have to put on an act. You are not y/n y/ln anymore. Now you are y/n Campbell. “One year,” you falsely giggle. “But it has been the best year of my life” you put your arm on Potter’s thigh, and you could swear he stopped breathing for a second.

“My wife and I have been together for 30 years. Met her when I was young like you… Good times, good times.”

You got to the hotel way faster than you had assumed at first, making your argument from earlier look stupid now. You didn’t apologize though, and neither did he. As you entered the hotel you left Potter in the hall with the suitcase and handed him your ugly muggle coat (you missed your soft travel robes a lot) and headed to a toilet.

After fixing yourself in the mirror, trying to delay having to talk to him again, you finally exited the restroom and looked for him in the cold entrance hallway. There he was in a corner, with your coat over his shoulder and his arms crossed, making you wonder how even women’s clothing looked this good on him. He had a frustrated expression on his face as if something was bothering him a great deal.

“Where are my clothes?” you asked.

“Our clothes are in room 19. A kind person offered to take them there for us while I waited for you. Let’s go.” It didn’t make sense. What was his problem now? You arrived early; everything went as planned.

He walked in front of you through the large lobby of the hotel to the stairs like he knew the way already. The woman must have shown him where the room is. He didn’t stop until you reached the second floor. There were many tall brown doors down the hall but you kept passing them. The numbers on the wall next to them kept increasing until, at last, there was 19.

Potter reached in the pocket of his pants for a small golden key to open the door. Inside it smelled like old wood and fresh air. It was truly a beautiful room that reminded you a bit of your own at home. Everything had a nostalgic feeling to it that made you feel welcome. But there was one small thing you didn’t realize at first. One small problem.

There was only one bed.

A big bed with white sheets stood in the corner with your suitcase underneath. Your tired feet begged you to jump on it and immediately fall asleep, but your brain would not let you. Because Potter must have wanted to do the same, but none of you moved.

“I will sleep on the floor,” you said quickly.

“No, it’s okay. I’ll do it. You have to rest.”

“Listen, Potter, I know you want to be a gentleman for once, but I’m not that tired.” Lie. “You can take the bed."

“But you carried the suitcase; you deserve this more” he scratched the back of his head. Did he believe you to be weak?

“I will sleep on the floor” you hissed and walked over to the bed to take one of the pillows.

The watch on your hand told you it was 1 am when you woke up on the hard wooden floor. Your back and feet hurt like crazy and you regretted being the brave one more and more. All you wanted now was to lay on the soft bed next to Potter. His breathing was even as his chest rose and fell back slowly. His hair was messy, his lips parted as he slept. He looked peaceful like this, almost like someone you could suffer being around.

You didn’t bother to turn on the lights as you crossed the room to the bathroom. The moonlight which came through the window was enough to guide you.

You tried falling back asleep after, but woke up disappointed at 3 am again. You searched your entire memory for any Sleeping Spell but you couldn’t remember any. Perhaps Potter would not even know what had happened to you next morning when he couldn’t wake you up and worry.

You did not want him to be worried, ever, so you stopped trying. You sighed and looked over to the comfortable bed once again. He was still in the same position. Nothing was bothering his perfect sleep.

He would not mind, after all, would he? If you just got 3 hours of actual sleep and then moved back on the floor in the morning? He would not notice your presence. He did want you to take the bed, so why not do it?

You hugged your pillow close to your chest and watched him in case he woke up as you made your way next to him. Doing your best not to touch him you stood as far as possible on the bed. He rolled over and you could not tell if he was awake for his face was turned to the wall. Anxiety was flowing through your veins but only for a moment. Who cares if he woke up? He would say something if it really bothered him.

You fell asleep quite instantly. Even though it was more like a short nap it was the best sleep you had ever had in your life. So warm and comfortable. It was a refreshing dreamless night. You yawned softly before opening your eyes and you wanted to stretch your arms, but you found that you couldn’t. Something was restraining you.

And then you realized that it was a bit too sunny inside the room for it to only be 6 am as you had planned.

You opened your eyes slowly only to be met with Potter’s face very close to yours. His eyes were still closed and he looked very content with the position you two were in: cuddling with his hands around your waist and your head previously on his shoulder. You found yourself not wanting to move or disrupt him. You wanted to stay there forever. He was more than just sufferable like this.

But you did not want him to know about this, that is, if he still didn’t. So you attempted to get off the bed. It was almost painful, leaving him and the bed, but you had to get ready for the first part of the mission today. He smiled in his sleep as you sighed, wondering what he could have been dreaming about that made him happy.

He woke up 15 minutes later when you were already dressed. You made sure to return your pillow to the cold floor and hoped he didn’t realize what happened during the night. With the wands hidden in both of your coats you made your way to a cafe in the village for breakfast, where, according to the instructions from the Ministry, you should observe the group of wizards from afar.

#harry potter #hp #harry potter x reader #harry potter imagine #harry potter fanfiction #hp fanfic #hp fandom #hp imagine #hp fic #harry james potter #harry potter fandom #harry james potter x reader #harry potter golden era #harry x reader #harry fanfic #harry imagine

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teenyweenynightghost · 3 years ago

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The Fluffiest Alliance Chapter 1

A/n: So, I finally managed to write the first chapter. A round of applause please. I would like to say that I may have possibly ignored certain parts of the form i posted, but that doesn't matter. Enjoy <3

Warnings: None

Word Count: 3.3k

Pairing: Nothing explicit yet but it's fem OCs

Taglist: @fuckim-so-gay @ginny-lily @cheese-toastie-11 @messyhairday-me @wannabemarlenabutiscoraline @simp-per-ethan @maneskinrollercoaster @superchrystaldrug @immrbrightsideeee @shehaddreamstoo @tiaamberxx @victoriadeangeliswifey @bidet-and-legolas @makapaka11 @juststalking @electra-phoebe

Efthalia woke up startled by the continuous knocking on the door, accompanied by muffled chatter. The sun peeked through the curtains, illuminating the room as well as her messy bed. She let out a deep sigh and stretched her arms, before sitting up against the bed frame.

“Come in!” She shouted out, mentally preparing herself for the day.

“Good morning, your highness.” A servant bowed, entering the room with a few other girls carrying food platters and amphoras filled with water. Every morning was the same, she would eat while her hair was being done, followed by clothes and makeup.

Today they had picked out a more elegant gown made out of blue silk. It had a boat neckline, falling down to Efthalia’s waist, where an embedded belt tightly accentuated her figure. It was one of her favorite dresses, as it brought out the few bluish specs in her eyes.

“I would like to know the schedule for today.” She queried Aethra, who nodded slightly before beginning to speak.

“His Royal Highness has decided upon the terms of the alliance with Lesbos, and he wished to announce them to you. Lord Ameinokles has also sent an invite regarding a joint participation to Elusinia.”

Efthalia pursed her lips and exhaled loudly through her nose, thinking about that damned man who wouldn’t leave her alone. Nonetheless, she had to remain calm and poised, so as to not cause any conflicts.

“Please tell the lord that I will be attending the festival, however I wish to respect the presence of Demeter and remain solitary.” She answered, coming up with an excuse.

Aethra nodded slightly before exiting the room, leaving the girl alone with her thoughts.

Heading to the balcony, she grabbed a lyre and began playing.

***

Walking down the empty hallways of the castle was never one of Efthalia’s favourite activities, especially not when she was surrounded by guards. The sun was in the centre of the sky, indicating that lunch was quickly approaching, however her father had called her in to discuss the alliance.

Having reached the entrance to the throne room, two guards dressed from head to toe in armour opened the doors as she made her way inside.

“Ah! My beautiful daughter, there you are.” King Iatragoras exclaimed, gesturing for his generals to exit the room.

“I would like to know about the alliance, father. Was it successful?”

“Not so fast, Αγαπημένος (sweetheart), trust doesn’t build in a day. Which is why-.” He took a deep breath, thinking of how he could formulate his words. “Which is why King Hyllus of Lesbos has required you to move there.”

Her breath caught in her throat, thinking about going to a foreign island which she has only recently had any contact with. Eftalia’s body heated up and mind went blank, as her hands started fiddling with the loose material hanging over her chest.

“I’ll be sending Lord Ame-”

“Don’t you dare say his name. I’m going alone If the only option is going with him.” The girl interrupted, horrified at the prospect of being stuck on an island with that stubborn cow.

He nodded his head slightly before raising from his throne, heading towards her.

“I know it is difficult, περηφάνια και χαρά μου (my pride and joy), and I know I am asking a lot of you, but this alliance will be difficult as it is, and we will all try to make it successful. Besides, I heard there are quite a few monarchs over there who could be considered...προβληματιστές (troublemakers). Who knows, you might get along.” He smiled, his heart breaking at the mere thought of sending his daughter away.

“Everything will go well, I can assure you of that, father.” She murmured, enveloping him in a reassuring hug. The king leaned into her embrace, the memories of the two of them throughout the years filling his mind.

She slowly pulled apart, sending him another smile before leaving the room.

***

The room was filled with an all too knowing voice, light and singsong, as Aethra grabbed a few glass jars from the mirror before her.

“The King told me about the alliance as well.” She informed Efthalia, while grabbing her chin and raising it, the mirror being filled with her soft reflection. The princess admired her own plump features as Aethra applied a reddish liquid to her lips. The scar tainting the lower part was prominent, even after years of having received it. She was a curious child, so, upon finding a shorter tree in the castle's garden, she attempted climbing it and hurt herself after she slipped. It brought back pleasant memories, those of a time when she had no worries, when her mother would cuddle her at every possible occasion.

“I have some news for you.” Aethra's voice brought her back to their world, as she met her gaze in the mirror.

“Oh?” A cunning smile forming on her face, being mirrored by the girl.

“Upon hearing your comment about the Lord may we not say his name,” she mocked, earning a chuckle from her, “the King has requested for me to join you in Lesbos.”

She shot up from the chair, turning to her, more excited than ever before, as she hugged Aethra so tightly she feared she would break.

“Oh gods, I’m so heavenly grateful for that!” Efthalia beamed, finally letting go of the woman to let her breath.

“My sentiments were the same as yours, your highness.” She bowed slightly, making her frown and pull her up by the shoulders.

“Enough with the reverencies. We are now official Travel Cronies, and we will address each other as such.“

The older woman chuckled, shaking her head at her foolishness before speaking again. “As you wish. Though I must say, I would rather be caught dead than be called a travel cronie.”

Efthalia snorted and rolled her eyes, heading towards a rack with a few dresses hanging from it. “We’ll find a name later. Point is, no more your highness or extreme politeness. For all I care, you can gossip about everyone in the castle with me.” She turned around at her words, sending Aethra a devilish smirk.

“Oh you have no idea how much of that I have.” Aethra began, dragging her by the shoulder and sitting her down again.

“Well please do share!” Efthalia inquired, but was shot down by Aethra’s strong glare.

“Once we get on the ship, and away from this island, I’ll tell you everything. But for now, you must act like a royal.”

Efthalia scoffed and rolled her eyes, continuing to look in the mirror.

Five years ago, when she was 13, her mother was struck by a dangerous disease, leaving Efthalia and her father alone. That was when Aethra came into her life. She was working as a servant, even though she was only two years older than her. They chatted a few times, growing more comfortable together each day, until, eventually, they became good friends. Aethra was like a sister to her; despite not looking similar at all. Efthalia was tall and curvy, long brown hair reaching down to her waist and bright green eyes placing their gaze on everything there was to see in this world. Aethra, on the other hand, was short and lean. Her dark skin was contrasted by her numerous scars. Efthalia had never dared ask her where she got them, but she could never help but gape at them. Her knuckles were the most bruised, almost white, and other large bruises on her shoulders. A shiver went through the girl as she imagined where she could have possibly gotten them.

“So, when are we leaving?” Efthalia wondered, breaking the silence.

“Tomorrow.”

“What?!” She screamed, her eyes widening in horror. Aethra stared back at her, amused, and continued braiding her hair.

“You see, the alliance was made one week ago. The fact that your father has only now mustered the courage to tell you is a different thing.”

Efthalia gasped, and sent the other girl a mock offended gaze, earning a smirk from her.

“Gods, Aethra, I did not know you could speak like this.” She laughed, faking a posh gesture.

“Oh you have no idea.”

Both girls kept laughing and chatting, as the sun slowly descended, being replaced by the luminous moon and trillions of stars.

Efthalia let out a melancholic sigh, now alone in her room, and took a seat on the balcony railing.

“Hear me, oh Hermes, the messenger of Zeus, the son of Mea, you that has a powerful heart and are inside all fights, leader of the people, lively, you that has many thoughts, director, killer of Argos with the winged sandals and friend of men and prophet to the people, you that gets joy from struggles and the targeted tricks and holds the snake in your hands, you are the one to explain it all. Hear my prayer, and give us safe passage on the voyage, and guard us once in Lesbos.”

She blew out the candles laying on the floor and shut the blinds before returning to her bed and falling asleep.

***

“Efthalia!” A loud voice shouted from on top of her, startling the poor girl awake.

“Gods! What?!” she shrieked, before seeing Aethra’s familiar face and calming down.

“Time to go, princess. You slept in while everyone got the luggage packed onto the ship, but now you have to get ready.”

Efthalia groaned, rolling her eyes and grumpily getting out of bed. She wasn’t interested in appearances at the moment so she sat down at a table and began devouring some fruits.

“Slower. You might eat me too.” The older girl chuckled, brushing out her hair.

“Shut up.” Eftalia answered, her mouth half full. Aethra braided the girl’s locks into a simple crown and decorated it with golden leaves.

Once she was done eating, she moved on to her makeup, applying some shimmery powder to her eyelids and a red cream to her cheeks and lips.

“Which dress do you want?”

“The lightest.”

Aethra scoffed and headed towards the rack, picking up two, and holding them up for Efthalia to see.

“One is opaque, one is short.” She informed her, raising her eyebrows.

“Short.”

In only a few minutes, Efthalia was fully dressed and prepared to leave. She was nervous, there was no denying. Her hands were shaky, she couldn't help but play with the few loose strands framing her face and her gaze scanned every single bit of her surroundings.

“Hey, It’ll be alright.” Aethra’s soft voice reached her ears, as she placed a reassuring hand on her shoulder.

“I know. You’ll be here with me.”

The two girls smiled at each other as they made their way to the docks, where the king was waiting, along with his generals.

“Father.” “Your majesty” They both spoke at the same time, sending each other a squint.

“Aethra, my daughter.” He responded, bowing his head to them. “I would like to thank you for helping the alliance. I will be sending messengers every week to check on you, and I hope the gods will protect you wherever you may go.” He spoke softly, addressing the two girls who had already become teary-eyed.

With another nod, they turned around and walked up the bridge, entering the ship. It was large and filled with sailors, as well as guards.

A loud sound coming from a horn filled the air, and the vessel rocked before beginning to move, leaving the island behind.

“I’ll bet you twenty gold coins he’s crying.” Aethra whispered in Efthalia’s ear, earning a snort from her.

“He most definitely is.” She answered, before looking out to the sea. It was calm. Peaceful. Perhaps it was the god’s sign that they will be safe.

Each wave passed the boat, replicated by thousands around it, forming a united outlook of the endless blue. Efthalia admired the sea, for hours on end, as the sun’s reflection on them kept changing angles, and occasional sightings of fish and birds reflecting on the surface of the water.

“Hey you.”

“What is it, Efthalia.” Aethra answered the girl.

“Nothing, I’m just bored.”

The older girl snorted and turned to look at her, her muscular arms crossed over her chest.

“Oh is that so, princess. You can sit in silence for hours, and now, when we have barely a quarter of the trip left, you decide to annoy me?”

“Oh. You think this is annoying? Just wait until you s-”

“Enough!” Aethra laughed, pushing the girl’s hands away, interrupting her from whatever attempt she had to mess up her hair.

“Fine. Tell me palace gossip.”

“No.”

Efthalia puffed and grunted, pretending to flip her hair over her shoulder and slumping forward.

“Oh how merciless. You promise me scuttlebutt and then refuse me. I am truly hurt and offended.”

“Oh poor princess. What will you ever do?” She sighed, looking into the horizon. “Efthalia look!” she exclaimed, pointing to the approaching land.

The princess gasped loudly, a hand covering her mouth, as she couldn’t help but light up in excitement. “Oh my gods!”

In front of them was a large island, bigger than theirs, that was for sure. Hundreds of boats were anchored around the shore, tiny specks scattered all around the platform, waving and cheering for them.

“Oh gods. That many people were waiting for us?” Aethra squealed, not yet believing her eyes.

“Oh no. That’s a tad too much socialization for me.” The other girl complained, causing Aethra to shove her slightly.

“Right, right princess. I’m sure that you, who has to be carried away from parties forcefully, will have a lot of trouble chatting with these people.”

“Oh shut up.” She scoffed, rolling her eyes.

A sudden screech accompanied with the boat slowing to a stop interrupted the girls from their banter, bringing their attention to the guards, who were now speaking to them.

“Come with us, please.”

The two girls obeyed, following them down the bridge and on the platform, where they were greeted by a man and a woman; their guess- the king and queen.

“Welcome, your highness, to Lesbos. We have been awaiting your arrival.” The man said, bowing to Efthalia along with his wife.

“It is a pleasure to arrive. Your island is truly a glorious place.” She responded, earning a chuckle from the queen.

“Oh, the sunsets are miraculous. You arrived just in time to catch them. My name is Adeia, I am the queen of Lesbos, and this is my husband, Hyllus.”

“It is a pleasure to meet you. My name is Efthalia, and this is my most trusted companion, Aethra.”

They continued formal chatter, everyone saluting each other, as they slowly made their way up a hill, entering a temple, which had a large table in the middle, filled with food, drinks and candles.

“Now let us dine!” The king called out, as everyone sat down.

Efthalia couldn’t help but notice that four seats across from her were empty. She wondered if that was where the troublesome monarchs her father had mentioned sat. Her question was soon answered as four people entered the room, laughing loudly and soaking wet.

“Uncle!” One of them called out, a charming smile appearing on his face. He was well built, a facial structure anyone would kill for, and dark brunette curls falling to the middle of his ears.

She saw the King sigh loudly, shaking his head and gesturing for them to come over.

“Damiano. This is Princess Efthalia, and her πιο έμπιστο φίλο (most trusted friend).” He said, gesturing over to the two girls. Damiano made his way around the table, holding Efthalia’s hand as he bowed and kissed it, repeating his actions to Aethra.

“It is my absolute pleasure making your acquaintance, ομορφιές (beauties).” He purred, winking at them both, earning a blush from Efthalia.

“Stop, you dramatic ass, it’s my turn.” A deep, feminine voice came from behind him, and Efthalia couldn’t help but look at the owner of the voice. A gorgeous, blonde girl stood before her. She was short and petite, her piercing blue eyes checking Efthalia out shamelessly.

“My name is Victoria, but you can call me yours.” She winked towards the princess, enveloping her in a hug. If it weren’t for the closeness, Victoria could have seen just how pathetically Efthalia’s knees trembled at her words. When they pulled apart, she was at a loss of words, so she sent her a shy smile.

“Well, that didn’t take long.” Aethra muttered from behind them, a cheeky expression on her face.

“I’m Thomas! It’s lovely to meet you both!” Another boy talked, this time capturing Aethra’s attention. He was tall and slim and had the puppy-est eyes she had ever encountered.

“I’m Aethra. I love the hair.” she complimented, grinning when she saw his shaven cheeks enveloped in a lovely red color.

“Thanks. I like- umm, I like yours too.” He quickly responded before going to sit down at the table, followed by the two other people.

“I must apologize for my friends, your majesties, they are not usually like this.” A tall, brunette man informed them, sending the girls a polite smile and a bow.

“Oh it’s alright. They’re cute anyways.” Aethra answered, making sure Thomas could hear what she said, and taking pride when she saw him fiddle timidly in his chair.

The man let out a short laugh before nodding and heading to the seat himself.

“Now that you’ve met the troublemakers-” The King began speaking but was interrupted by a scoff.

“I’m sorry, your highness, but I truly do not remember a single time in which we caused any form of chaos!” Vic defended herself, proudly shaking her nose.

“Last week you descended from the mountains in a barrel and knocked over the fences to a chicken coup, thus forcing every single guard in town to go around and catch them all.” The Queen deadpanned, making everyone at the table laugh.

The girl’s cheeks heated up slightly before she leaned back down and picked up her half empty glass.

“If my memory serves me right, It was Damiano’s fault.” she stated, lifting her hands to prove her innocence.

“Oh hold up a second. The moment you get blamed for something you instantly turn into a saint, but whenever you’re with us you brag about being the most troublesome??”

“Indeed. Your perception skills have improved, I see. Must have been since that time yo-”

“Don’t.” He interrupted the girl with a stern voice, leaving no space for arguments.

Efthalia couldn’t help but enjoy their playful banter. Every once in a while, her gaze fell upon Victoria’s dress- white silk, she could bet, a fine material, clinging to her body due to the water still dripping out of it.

“Hey princess, my eyes are up here. If you want to undress me that much we can meet up after dinner.” She spoke, making Aethra choke on her drink.

Efthalia, on the other hand, was ready to sink into the chair and let it engulf her alive.

“I didn’t- I me-mean I wasn’t...no, not like thAT I me-” She kept stuttering while everyone stared at her, clearly interested in what she was about to say.

“I suggest you make a decision quickly, because everyone seems to be done with dinner.” Aethra spoke up, elbowing her lightly.

“I suppose she is right. The whole town is to your disposition, but for tonight I’m sure these four little devils would like to give you a tour.” The King said, rising from his chair along with his wife, before leaving the temple, along with the other guests.

The only people left in the room were Efthalia, Aethra, Victoria, Damiano, Ethan and Thomas.

“So, where shall we start?” Damiano asked, grinning towards his friends.

Taglist:

@fuckim-so-gay @ginny-lily @messyhairday-me @cheese-toastie-11 @wannabemarlenabutiscoraline @simp-per-ethan @maneskinrollercoaster @juststalking @superchrystaldrug @immrbrightsideeee @shehaddreamstoo @tiaamberxx @bidet-and-legolas @makapaka11 @electra-phoebe @makeavvish @perfectlyunbiasedobservation

Lol I actually wrote this a long time ago i just forgot to add a tag list

#maneskin fanfiction #maneskin x reader #maneskin fic #maneskin #victoria x reader #victoria de angelis #thomas raggi x reader #thomas raggi #ethan torchio #damiano x reader #damiano david #ethan x reader

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morimakesfanart · 3 years ago

Text

Sindria's Prophet #14

[1] [2] [3] [4] [5] [6] [7] [8] [9] [10] [11] [12] [13]

[AO3]

~POV Mori~

I woke up when it was still dark out. Only the faintest light came in my windows.

I hadn't done anything yesterday. Just laid down and rested for the first time in a long time. The doctor's were convinced I needed one more day of rest, but I knew I was already better. When was the last time I had just let my body rest like that when I wasn't sick? I couldn't remember. This peace was nice.

The quiet of sunrise was only broken by the faint sound of bird calls in the distance. I sat up and closed my eyes. I focused everything on my other senses. I couldn't hear the ocean easily from here. I had wanted to use the sounds of the waves to meditate, but I would just have to do without.

It had been a few days since I last checked in with myself and really focused inward. I could still feel them, all of the Black Rukh that had merged with me back in Balbadd. They were much calmer than before. And they felt like a part of me now, like I might be incomplete if they were suddenly gone. I knew each one from the dreams too. Their lives were mine and each also now knew my life as their own.

Going through all of their lives on the ship would have been painful even without being sick. These were angry souls and they did not welcome the inner peace I was offering easily, but a person's Rukh doesn't lie. After reading this world's truth through my memories they all calmed.

All of us lived lives of loss and poverty and trauma. That must have been another part of why we were able to fully merge in such a short time.

As Black Rukh they couldn't return to the Great Flow where the rest of their loved ones were, but they at least had each other within me.

It was a very strange feeling.

And along with their lives and Rukh, their magoi was also now mine. What had felt like a small pool now felt like a large lake. I had a lot more magoi at my disposal now that they were fully integrated with me.

The Great Bell range and I grounded myself in the present.

Only then did it occur to me that I was probably sick, and suffering from the influx of Rukh separately at the same time. It had been both all along. Whatever illness I had was worsened by my situation with the Rukh. I hadn't lost my magoi manipulation during it, but it was probably learning it ahead of time that had saved me. There's no way such a large amount of Rukh entering me wouldn't have made my body unstable.

Would the doctors understand if I explained it to them? I should ask Sinbad before saying something unnecessary.

The dim light from my windows called to me. I got out of my bed, put on my glasses, and sat on the sill of one them at the encouragement of the waves.

Like this, I could look down and see the Palace court yard. On the other side of the court yard were the Silver Scorpio (martial arts training), and Black Libra (libraries & schools) Towers, behind them to the left was the Red Cancer Tower (military) and fully to the left was the Purple Leo Tower where Sinbad lived. Since I was on a high floor I could easily see all of the towers of the Palace from my windows -all except the White Capricorn Tower where Ja'far does most of his work since that building was on the other side of this one.

It was so strange. Looking at all this made it real that I was really here. How many times had I reread or rewatched scenes wondering what it would feel like to be here?

I rested my head on the window frame as I watched the growing light from the sunrise.

The guards changed.

The sun was fully risen. Ja'far would be waking up Sinbad soon if he hadn't already.

Two people walked out of the Purple Leo Tower -a guard and a woman. She wasn't wearing a uniform. In fact she was wearing less than the citizens I saw the other day.

"Oh, right."

Sinbad has a call girl see to him after Ja'far wakes him up.

I had the 3rd fan book for the anime which contains a day-in-the-life for a bunch of the main characters. It was only in Japanese, but I had learned enough (and could look up what I didn't know) to at least read his schedule.

The direct translation was for a "temporary woman" which from what I've found is the Japanese term for a fem sex worker. I've seen some translations for Magi's extra material refer to them as "call girls" so that was the term I chose to use.

The franchise used the word "harem" in a bunch of places, but purposely didn't use it here. That combined with an omake of Sinbad having a nightmare about being married and having a harem made it clear that Sinbad did not have a harem; he had the whole red-light district of his country to choose from.

Hold on... That book wasn't supposed to reach my house until after I had Isekaied so how did I know it's contents? There were barely any scans or photos of pages online-

*Knock knock*

My thoughts

were cut off when breakfast arrived -with more medicine of course.

---

~POV Sinbad~

Nearly a week had passed since King Sinbad had arrived home. There was a lot to catch up on. As much as he wanted to finally relax after everything that happened in Balbadd he didn't really have the time for it. Even after catching up he would still have to prepare for his trip to the Kou Empire. And Ja'far wasn't letting him forget either responsibility.

None of this stopped him from having his slow mornings. He at least gave himself that little slice of heaven.

This was business as usual -at least it was supposed to be- but Sinbad couldn't shake a growing feeling that he couldn't name. It was making him unsettled. The waves didn't give him any answers and drinking hadn't made it go away. It felt similar to missing important.

He wasn't missing any paperwork. There had been an issue with one of their supply ships going missing, and another being delayed, but he had already decided how to proceed. He was definitely interested in the progress the Black Libra Tower was making with testing Mori's theories, but the experiments would take time and they had already scheduled a meeting for an update. The new guests were still settling in. Alibaba was a mess and Aladdin was only marginally better the last time he had visited, but Morgiana was fine and already training with Masrur regularly. According to the doctors reports, Mori would be better in another day or so, and the reports he got from the maids said she was resting every day after giving that partial scroll.

Maybe this was impatience. Aside from his paperwork, everything interesting was either done or waiting for the next step.

Sinbad often walked his country in the evening, but there was no reason he couldn't check on things now. He didn't have time to go for a walk at that moment, but he could spare the magoi needed to use Zepar and fly around the country using the bird he had possessed with the Djinn's power. This wouldn't be the first time he'd done this while working on paperwork.

The bird was sitting on a railing in the city center when Sinbad took over. From this spot he could make some quick rounds in the city and then maybe make a stop in the Black Libra Tower to get a sneak peak at what they had found out so far.

The same old gossip filled most of the streets. Some price complaints, who just had a child, how work was going...

"You're serious? A prophet?”

"My husband saw the scrolls she made from her visions with his own two eyes."

Now that was new gossip.

Sinbad had the bird land near by the two women.

"Oh? What was in them?"

"He said it was like reading secrets of the world."

"Really???"

"Mhmm." She nodded. "Not everyone believes it though so they are all working to test her writing."

"Didn't you just say she was brought in by our King? Do they really think he'd be fooled by some false prophet?"

"I said the same thing! And you know what my husband said? He said that they need to find proof even if they believe the Prophet because otherwise we won't be able to prove it to our allied countries."

"I guess that makes sense..."

"Yeah, I guess so."

"Oh! I think I might know what she looks like!”

"What? How? You only learned about her just now."

"When King Sinbad came home, there was a girl on some magical flying cloth, remember? That has to have been the Prophet!"

"I think you're right!"

To two moved on to some other gossip and King had the bird fly towards the Palace. Listening to talk about his Beautiful Prophet reminded him of his mission to peek at what was happening in the Black Libra Tower. Being able to bypass the stairs and the gates made the journey much faster.

The Sun was already in the western side of the sky. Shadows were cast onto the court yard from the Black Libra Tower. The stone of the Green Sagittarius Tower was nearly blinding white from the direct light. Color flashed in the corner of his eye as the bird flew past the upper levels of the guest tower. Before his thoughts had fully registered the familiar shade of nearly black indigo, Sinbad was guiding the bird to investigate. He landed on the railing of one of the windows and looked at the young woman resting against that same window's frame.

Mori looked just as surprised to see a bird land right in front of her as he was to be there. Sinbad had purposely been avoiding using Zepar to spy on Mori since she somehow knew that he had eavesdropped on her before. It had been days since he last saw her, so when she was suddenly an option-

"Heh hehe"

Mori's chuckle and smile took his full attention. He didn't know what had made her laugh, but he hoped she'd do it again.

"Sir, are you aware you are a bird?” After the words passed her lips she was struck by a giggle fit.

Sinbad had no idea what she was thinking or why she had said that to a bird, but he was hearing her voice for the first time in nearly a week so he'd worry about figuring it out later.

When Mori finished laughing at her own joke she leaned her head to the side and watched him. Her hair shifted and another lock spilled over her shoulder. The sight brought attention to the low neckline of the dress she was wearing. If Sinbad was there in person he would have brushed her hair out of the way just to have an excuse to touch her.

"Did you miss me that much?" Her voice was soft and a bit playful. "You didn't have to use Zepar to visit me."

Mori knew it was him! Sinbad jolted and his head hit the back of his chair in his office. How could she tell? Only magicians could see magoi and Rukh to see the spell active on the bird.

"Sin, is something wrong?-” Ja'far had just entered the room to give his afternoon report.

King Sinbad raised a hand for him to be quiet and tapped Zepar's ring to explain the situation. He didn't want to talk and miss something Mori said or did.

The General's expression turned serious and nodded as he went quiet.

When Mori didn't get a response from the bird she added, "Are you surprised that I knew it was you?" Her smile was warm as the sun. "I have read your Fate many times, so I will always recognize you, my King."

Normally, the idea that someone could see through Zepar's magic would concern him, but this didn't. It strengthened his belief that Fate had guided Mori to him.

And the affectionate way she said "my King" at the end made him smile. The waves had moved like this a few times like the last time he had seen her in person, and when he learned she could also feel the waves. The Great Flow of the Rukh was guiding them to the Fate he could see, the one where she lived the rest of her life by his side.

Ja'far sighed. "Just let me know when I can give you my report."

Mori whipped her head towards the door to her room. "They're here early."

There were the sounds of people walking in the hallway, but no voices to denounce who, or their destination. All the same, Mori got up and walked to the door. She opened it before the doctors had a chance to knock.

"How did you...?" One of the doctors asked.

"I recognized the sound of your footsteps," was her answer.

"I see.... And how are you feeling today?"

Mori walked into her room, and spared a glance at the bird still watching her from the window. "I feel fine. Just like yesterday." She turned back towards the door and sat on the edge of her bed. "So can I finally leave this room?"

The doctors were understanding but they still were going to do a full check up first.

Even without the waves it was obvious that Mori was going to be marked as full health. Sinbad would prefer to go see her immediately and give her a tour of the Palace personally, but he was still a King with responsibilities. "Ja'far, Mori has just been declared healthy. What do you think of everyone having dinner together to get everyone better aquatinted?"

"I didn't hear anything about-” Ja'far started and then cut himself when he realized. "Were you just using Zepar to spy on her??"

"Of course not." Sinbad said with all of the confidence of the King he was. "I flew directly to her and she recognized me instantly. I wasn't spying at all."

"She recognized you??" Of course he'd be shocked.

King Sinbad laughed. "She did. Though she was surprised to see me."

"I bet she was surprised to suddenly see a bird in her room. What made you think to use Zepar instead of visiting her in person? You're already getting regular reports on her condition." Ja'far always acted as a buzz kill.

It didn't stop Sinbad from laughing at the situation before finally asking for that report he postponed earlier -conveniently avoiding answering Ja'far's question.

The magician in Mori's room was talking. "Would you be interested in visiting the Black Libra Tower with us? We can show you how the experiments are going. And if possible, would you be willing to answer some questions?"

That was an understandable request, but it could wear her out.

The Prophet was facing away from the windows so Sinbad couldn't see her expression. "I'd really like that actually." But he could hear the excitement growing in her voice.

"Let me get changed real quick." Mori disappeared behind her folding wall and emerged in the outfit he met her in.

Sinbad did not drop control of the bird, but he also didn't follow Mori out of her room. Instead he waited in the window sill until he saw her enter the courtyard and then had the bird fly to the Black Libra Tower.

---

As soon as he finished whatever last minute things Ja'far was about to add to his pile, Sinbad would go to the Black Libra Tower and surprise his Beautiful Prophet in person.

~POV Mori~

In the manga and in the anime the only areas shown of the Black Libra Tower were Yamuraiha's office/lab and one of the libraries. I was more than curious about the rest of the facilities.

The first room seemed to be a reception area and had a map of the tower. I only got to glance at the separations between the libraries, offices and class rooms before a tall and lanky magician walked up to us.

"Is this her??” Her short ponytail bounced as she looked between me and my guides.

Isa, the magician who had been taking care of me the past few days, introduced me. "This is Lady Mori, the Prophet!” He acted like he was showing off the coolest toy on the playground.

The tall woman got right up in my face. "I knew she had to be the Prophet! The Rukh don't normally move this way around people."

Before I got to respond she started rambling comments and questions that covered everything in maroon and peacock blue getting sponged across a cream canvas. I stepped back and Isa cut her off. "Lady Mori will be answering everyone's questions in time. We were just on our way to see Yamuraiha so I can show her how everything has been coming along. You are welcome to join us."

She definitely joined us. As did many others who spotted us or were called over by others in our procession.

We walked through a few library areas, and up a few flights of stairs. As we passed various rooms and areas I was told what or who would be inside, but I wouldn't remember any of the specifics until I had a chance to use the space and explore on my own. What did stick was that most of the classrooms were next to the libraries and the labs were near the offices.

Yamuraiha must have heard our group from down the hall because her head popped out from one of the rooms ahead of us. "What is going on out here??” Then she made eye contact with me. "It's you!!"

That made me smile. I fought back responding 'it's me!' like I would with my friends. "I'm Mori. I'm glad I'm finally getting the chance to meet you, Yamuraiha!” I stopped walking when I got 3 yards/meters away.

She immediately pulled her staff against her chest with both hands. Her shoulders tensed but she had an enthusiastic smile. "The pleasure is all mine!"

Yamuraiha was amazing, smart, and endearing. I really wanted to be friends with her.

I out stretched my hand to shake hers. "I'm really excited to work with you, and learn more about magic even though I'm not a magician."

"The feeling is mutual!” She took my hand more than matching my excitement. And when she released it said, "Since you're here, would you like to see what we've been working on from the scrolls you gave us?"

"Yes please!”

---

The lab she lead us to was a little down the hall. All of my scrolls were spread out on one table and a bunch of notes and different materials were on an other.

Yamuraiha pulled out parchment that had a complicated magic circle written on it. "We can't do much yet, and it still takes a catalyst and many magicians at once to control the amount of magoi safely but our alchemy magic has made a breakthrough from your writing."

She asked a few of the magicians that came with me to join her. They pointed their staffs and wands at the magic cycle. A large crystal in the room started glowing, and the Rukh lit up the space from within the circle. Specks were pulled out of the pile of ingredients nearby -dirt, scraps paper, a small potted plant- and gathered at the center of the circle. The light got too bright for me to look straight at it and when it faded there was a small dark grey cube in the middle of the circle. It looked like a die with no markings.

Yam explained. "After reading about 'atoms' and 'bonds' in your scrolls it was like finding the missing piece. It will still be a long time before we can perfect the process, and we still can't make anything bigger than this yet, but soon we will be able to make anything we want!"

((In the future I intend to: reference more old memes, describe more of my experience with synesthesia, and explain more basic history and science. SO you all have been warned lol))

I had to respond; I couldn't just continue staring in awe. When I tried to answer I ended up gasping since had forgotten to breathe. I chuckled at my own shock as well as the situation. I looked up at them. "You're all amazing to be able to develop this already from the little I wrote!" I looked back at the stone. "I knew I wrote the keys to Yunan's signature alchemy magic in those scrolls, but to think you've already gotten this far with it -its amazing."

With this -when developed farther- we could make certain materials without having to worry about the pollution, and break things down easily so we won't have to worry about garbage piling up everywhere.

"Did you say Yunan? The Magi, Yunan?" Yamuraiha looked at me with wide eyes.

"Yes." It was my turn to explain. "Yunan is able to use alchemy magic like this on a grand scale. In the Fates I read he will have reason to visit Sindria in about 2 years. He creates a cabin and food in the middle of the Palace court yard so he has somewhere comfortable to stay."

The bird in the window ruffled it's feathers.

"Yunan explains the basic concept of how that magic works when asked, and since I know the science of the physical world I know the details to what he was talking about." My smile widened. "I hope my notes were easy to understand. Please let me know if you have any questions."

#magi prophet fanfic #magi fanfiction #magi fanfic #sinbad magi #king sinbad #magi sinbad #sinbadxoc

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fe-semi-decent-scenarios · 4 years ago

Note

Hey! I wasnt the one who requested it, but I loved your how would the Blue Lions react to killing their SO! May I ask the same but for the Golden Deer if its alright?

{That was actually one of my favorite requests to write! It’s been a long time so I might be a bit rusty, but let’s give this a shot :)}

Claude:

He had accounted for the possibility of you betraying him. Your disappearance had not been something he took with ease, yet the lack of contact or declaration of death for so long had him thinking

Emotions are fleeting...the human mind was complex. Your loyalty was never something he wanted to question but he could never put his complete faith in you

Even when you stood at his side protecting the crests, befriended his people, treated him as a true partner...he just couldn’t completely put his faith in you. Not with so much on the line

He wonders if that’s where he went wrong. Heavy rain clouded his sight but the sound of your voice rang dominant across the field. As you stand at Gronder with your weapon focused on his friends- your friends; Claude could not help but momentarily reminisce over the times you instead showed him your smile. The one that temporarily alleviated the weight of his dreams and expectations from his shoulders

He would be the one to get it back. The professor had already converted other students to their side so there was a chance

One you didn’t want, as you aimed at their head with tears pricking your eyes. He dismounted his wyvern instantly

“Was it all a lie? Tell me...is this what you want for your home (Y/N)? Come fight with us” He slowly begins his approach, but the words die out as you attack him this time

A shrill battle cry is all he hears before he watches an axe lodge into your side. He’ll never hear the answer, but he didn’t need to. It finally clicked

White hair

You planned to die

His brows pressed in further as Lysithea gasped at your fallen form. Before he would have killed to know more about the hidden experiments going on in the empire, but not like this. They’ll come to collect the body before Hanneman can conduct any research, but he’ll give them more. Much more

Raphael:

Raphael doesn’t like to think on the battlefield. It’s not that he enjoys pummeling people without a glance, but if he looks back then he won’t look foreword. He’s confided in Ignatz many times after being scolded for running ahead, but when thinking can cost you your life he prefers not to waste the effort

Especially because he takes longer to process complex emotions and thoughts compared to the others. He trusts them to be tactical while he uses his muscles to save the day

Back in the day he had a perfectly reliable head to think for him. He cleared their path and they took care of all the important business. The classic ‘brains and brawn’ duo that no one would expect to ever find genuine interest in one another. Aren’t they stereotypically supposed to fight and be at each other’s throats? Not in this case

“Haha! THAT WAS GREAT! Nice Job (Y/N), I hope today’s menu has meat because you need brain food and I need to feed my muscles!”

You knew Raphael and how to predict his movements, and he had complete faith in your judgements. Even at the monastery you both made the most efficient team to do chores

Instead of trying to change him, you worked to match his pace and became his partner. On the field and in life. Raphael knew he didn’t have to second guess with you at his side, and he felt what he wanted to feel.

He loved you. Your brains, your laugh, your heart, your cooking no matter good or bad...you. It was an emotion that came easy to him.

Though sometimes he berated himself for not thinking. Sometimes you’d get in trouble if he broke equipment or did something else out of line. Yet you remained patient and calmed him down at the same time.

It was difficult to adjust to fighting without his partner. He essentially had to relearn everything through experience, but he had full hope that you’d come back

That hope clouded his judgement when he saw you conversing with the professor at Aillel. He was so overcome with joy that he mindlessly pushed aside enemies to get to you without actually examining the scene

His fury took over when the professor’s sword went straight through your stomach. He tackled them to the ground and it took both Lorenz AND Hilda to pry him away.

“You idiot! They’re the enemy!” Hilda shouted at him as he settled down. He couldn’t process it. They wouldn’t hurt their family, him.

Yet, they wore red. Red that grew darker as their blood seeped in

Ignatz:

“Can you paint my portrait?” You asked him one evening long ago. After a particularly grueling training session with the rest of class he had snuck off to sketch the trees by the market. The year was young and he still wasn’t too familiar with all his classmates

You were new and he had took to your appearance instantly. He could replay your introduction mentally over and over. Your smooth words, slight bow, and the way your feet glided effortlessly to the closest seat you could get to the window. He was of course too shy to approach a new student since he wasn’t the social sort, but luckily he did not have to do much.

You took the liberty of following him to his painting spot. He was flustered at being found, but you merely plopped at his side and began to eat your lunch. Where you had it stashed beforehand? He still doesn’t know

He had never been more aware of another’s presence, and his art showed it as the paper crinkled in his grasp. Yet somehow you seemed enamored at the picture forming on the page, so much that you asked to model

He grew anxious instantly and decided to head back for his own meal. With no given answer you had left the topic behind, and from then on he began to find you nearby often. From acquaintances to friends, and from friends to ‘lovers without definition’. No confession was ever spoken but he knew you made decisions easier, life joyful, and the rest of his peers agreed as much as he.

He drew that portrait. He drew it over, and over, and over, and over because he refused to forget your face. He would remember you and fight twice as hard to make up for what you couldn’t give. He swore that to Claude and everyone else when you were pronounced missing in action.

and now? His eyes glisten as a body fitted under a white tarp lays yards away. You hadn’t tried to harm him but you were healing the enemy. It was decided that you were not with the Empire, but instead travelling through and became swept in the battle. Perhaps you didn’t know? Perhaps you simply decided to help whoever needed it no matter their side?

He clutches his bow to his chest. One arrow, and you were down. He didn’t know

He didn’t know but the pictures would never let him forget. The pages never felt the same from then on

Lorenz:

Relationships should never be formed unless you have something to gain

It is a nobleman’s duty to protect the weak, the poor, the sick; yet, there must always be distance.

A nobleman must always carry themselves with a sense of professionalism. They must not display weakness, and a true leader is born of being able to separate their personal affairs from that of those they govern.

One day Lorenz will be the head of the Glouscer territory, and soon the Alliance as a whole if he has his way. Death must not phase him and he must be willing to sacrifice everything for the sake of his people

He follows the laws of a noble. He knows them on paper, but not in practice.

Only as he grew during an age of dispute and fighting did he begin to learn that actions differ from voice. All that he pledged as a young man held no meaning, because gradually he began to realize that he is not the most fit to govern Fodlan. He was incapable of completely tossing aside his personal desires or making the best decisions with certainty. Yes, he was well educated and would make a great right hand

Yet the title of leader would never be his. Why? Because he is a noble by definition

The professor was a noble by heart. A true leader who let actions speak for them and selflessly protected the entirety of Fodlan instead of one singular portion.

Lorenz is a noble in name, but in nature he is a man. He is a solider, a son, a friend, a politician...a human. One not immune to temptations or the grievances of loss no matter what face he may display for the public eye.

There was a soul he once found vibrant. They were a mere commoner yet full of dedication. He placed a barrier around them immediately, one he was not allowed to cross no matter how tempted. They did not fit the criteria he sought

Yet the night of the ball he allowed “them” the curtesy of a dance. Their warm hand on his own, their body held tightly in his embrace, and lighthearted small talk being tossed between quips about their poor dancing skills

They left his mouth dry as he bid them farewell to their next partner. He allowed the barrier to resurface as he went his own way

“You must rethink this (Y/N). How could siding with the empire lead to any promising future/ They will kill us all and then themselves in the process! Please, join us”

“Spoken like a true noble, Lorenz. This social hierarchy has divided people for too long and you would realize that if you’d only look beyond Alliance borders!”

If only he had grasped their hand longer- listened. They were the first to show him a world beyond his bubble, if only he popped it sooner.

Hilda:

You really annoyed her in the beginning. The way you carried yourself like some kind of prophet, or how you’d question everything the professor taught. Was it so hard to just do what was needed and move on? Even with something as simple as weeding the courtyard you always had to add your own two cents

It was like always being under analysis. She got that enough from Claude and didn’t need two people trying to read her. On many occasions she tried to gain traction over you, but somehow her efforts never bore fruit

For a try-hard you were very accepting of her shortcomings. So long as what you were tasked with got done, the performance of others was never a secondary priority

If only she could be that carefree about other people’s opinions. Maybe then living would be easier?

Perhaps you were what she wanted to be? Satisfied with who you were enough to question the world around you while remaining secure with what you had

Someone with the ability to step beyond your comfort zone and make your own decisions. Respected, knowledgeable...loved for who you are. Maybe that’s what drew her to you and lead to her envy forming into adoration

and that adoration being trampled by sorrow

“I still love you so no hard feelings, okay? I can’t back down” is what she told you. It was a taunt, but she did not expect your smile

“Of course. I’m glad you’ve decided to show your backbone, just think of this as a spar like old times”

The casual talk did not fit the clash of blades that followed. Nor did it suit the battle roaring nearby

A spar- just like old times. It was a familiar battle but this time her axe did not halt before delivering the deciding blow.

Her hands shook as your body fell, yet you still appeared at peace despite the gash adorning your back. Perhaps you knew this would be the outcome before the day even began

Hilda did not cry, but asked for you to be buried on alliance soil. If anything she owed you that curtesy

Leonie:

She would never forgive you. Not today, not ever.

How dare you choose to side with the people who killed the captain? He never did anything to anybody, and if you chose to betray everyone than Leonie would return the favor

She decided that any history between you two was nonexistent the moment you lifted your weapon. Mercy was a word you forgone long ago when instead of defending Garreg Mache, you slaughtered it’s inhabitants

She thought you felt the same as well. Yet, fate always liked to twist in ways to hinder justice

She watched from a distance as the professor approached your fallen form. They had insisted on trying to sway her old classmates, but she scoffed at the mere thought

What made them think traitors would be good allies? Did they want to be stabbed in the back like their father?...like the captain

She ignored the sting in her chest as you swatted their hand away. You had some nerve to reject their kindness and it pissed her off. She wanted this entire situation to simply end but-

Her feet moved on their own

“Why are you such an idiot? Were you always this irresponsible?” her words cut deep, clearly shown by how you turned away. She could only grit her teeth at the stubbornness and reach for her lance

You made your choice, and clearly it was up to her to deliver justice if no one else would

So she did what she’s always had to do, the brunt work. With one swing it was over and you were just another count among the others

She doesn’t know if the captain would praise her for remaining strong or scold her for remaining indifferent

Lysithea:

Everything always boils down to one thing: people cannot be trusted. Each and every time Lysithea has allowed someone close it has blown up in her face

and somewhere deep down, she knew this situation wouldn’t have ended any differently. The world always found new ways to crush what she cared for

The only question that remains is how much longer will she have to endure? How much longer did she have to fight?

because now she had to fight for two. She had to find a cure or die trying

During the battle for Garreg Mache many had been taken prisoner. She hadn’t the empire to conduct unethical experiments; maybe torture, but nothing like what she was witnessing.

It was a fever dream one couldn’t fathom, but the mindless husk killing without remorse kept her in reality. What had they done to you?

She noticed the white hair in an instant. One of her worst fears had come to life seeing you at the death knight’s side, but the way you hadn’t even flinched when she called your name made her terrified

Not even a whack of thoron could snap you out of it. She began to lose hope...were you even there anymore? Is this what they had planned for her if she didn’t flee?

“Say something you jerk! Don’t tell me you’re letting some petty magic keep you grounded, fight it!”

No matter what anyone said it did nothing. When moral dwindled the only solution left was to free you through other means

The death knight escaped after you fell. Next time...next time he would die at her hand.

Lysithea instantaneously moved to further her research after your burial. Not for herself, but to find out if you were gone long before they found you. She needed to know if your death was peaceful, if you could see that she tried

If you would forgive her

Marianne:

“This is Nova. I have to leave for a mission, would you watch him for me Marianne?”

Bright blue eyes bored into hers as she gingerly took hold of the bunny. It’s fur was soft, well groomed. She took notice of how it snuggled into her arms as if it feared no human. Marianne knew instantly that the animal was well loved and cherished. The though made her almost refuse the favor in fear of hurting it, but her classmate’s insistence wasn’t something to fight.

Despite her warnings (Y/N) never listened, and at some point Marianne gave up on pushing them away. Their company was appreciated yet she would never say it, and the cuddly creature in her arms truly proved their trust in her

She could only nod in agreement as they skipped off to prepare the bunny’s necessities to bring to her room. Marianne hoped she could care for the animal properly, and that nothing would happen to it

She worried for the wrong reasons, as (Y/N) never returned home. They were sent to face Solon and avenge the death of the Professor’s father. Marianne was asked to remain and help in healing injured soldiers from the most previous confrontation.

·If she knew that would have been the last time (Y/N) would show up in her room, she--no, she wouldn’t have done anything. She may have tried to convince them to stay home but Marianne knows she would have not confessed anything

Not that she valued their friendship or that she worried for their wellbeing. Not that she was grateful they trusted her with Nova, or that they help her care for her horses. She wouldn’t have even thought it.

She didn’t think of it afterwards either. Her fondness for her deceased friend wouldn’t have been noticeable at all if not for the bunny. Despite everything she cared for it as if it were (Y/N) themselves.

When she sees a familiar figure take charge at Gronder, time freezes. She remembers the bunny sitting in her dorm without an owner. She wonders how abandoned it must have felt to never see it’s best friend again. She feels for the bunny because it’s how she felt.

Without thinking she shoots a blast of magic their way and watches them crumple on the floor

Why did they abandon their precious bunny? Did they give up on it? Did they give up on her?

Did you...finally realize you had befriended a monster?

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