#and the english lit teaching looks phenomenal

[wings-of-angels]

WOOOOOOOOO JUST CAME BACK FROM A UNI OPEN DAY

[darkstar225]

Twice's 10th member acting as the villain in a drama

A/N: Heyyy, I'm alive! Sry for taking so long to post but finally the semester ended :D I hope the anon that gave me this idea on Tumblr likes it! :)

The request: Hello! Can I ask if you can make Twice reacting to 10th member acting as villain in drama/movie? Sorry my English not good😅

PS: Tysm for everyone that reads what I write, I hope I can bring a smile to your faces every time I post! I'd like to thank whoever sent me this idea 'cause I loved to write it <3

__________________________________________________________

In the bustling city of Seoul, TWICE, the world-renowned K-pop girl group was taking a well-deserved break from their busy schedules (please give our girls a break). The members had gathered in their cosy dorm to catch up on their favourite dramas and movies. Among them was their youngest member, Y/N, who had recently taken on a challenging acting role as a villain in a popular drama series. As the group settled on the couch, with bowls of popcorn in hand, the drama started playing on the large TV screen. The screen lit up, revealing TWICE's honey captivating presence. She portrayed a complex character with depth and intensity, leaving everyone in awe. Nayeon couldn't contain her excitement as the oldest and one of the moms from 3mix, she maintained her eyes glued to the screen. 

Nayeon - Our cutie pie is so talented! Look at her! She's nailing every scene.

Jeongyeon nodded in agreement while speaking. 

Jeongyeon - She's killing it! I can't believe our baby is playing such a convincing villain. She's a natural.

As the drama unfolded, Y/N's character revealed her cunning and manipulative nature, captivating the viewers. Momo, who loved dance and performances, was the first to speak up about how this one was incredible. 

Momo - The kiddo is so grown-up and mature in her acting. She's only going to get better with time. I can't wait to see what she does next!

Sana squealed in delight as she took note of how time was passing faster than they could see.

Sana - Our sugar is growing up right before our eyes! I'm so proud of her. She's like a little sister to all of us, and she'll always be our child, even when she's 40.

As the drama reached its climax, the maknae's character delivered a monologue that sent chills down the viewers' spines. Dahyun was moved to tears seeing her little sister being so mature and talented. 

Dahyun - Our lovebug is such a versatile actress. She's not just our maknae, she's a force to be reckoned with in the entertainment industry! Slay, sis <3

Jihyo couldn't agree more, with a motherly smile on her face she spoke about the youngest as her own child. 

Jihyo - Y/N's acting is so captivating. She's proven that she has the talent and charisma to take on any role. I'm excited to see her grow as an actress alongside her music career.

Y/N - Thank you, mama :D

Jihyo - Stop, you're gonna make me cry, bae!

Y/N - Fine... I'll shut up (for now)

The drama concluded, and the screen faded to black. The room erupted in applause and cheers as the members expressed their admiration for their sister's performance. Y/N, who had been watching their reactions with a mix of excitement and nervousness, blushed at the overwhelming praise making Chaeyoung grin mischievously. 

Chaeyoung - Darling, you were amazing! Can you teach me how to be such a convincing villain? Maybe we can even do a skit together.

Y/N chuckled, grateful for the support and love from her fellow TWICE members. 

Y/N - Of course, Chaeyoung unnie! We can practice whenever you want. But remember, I'm still your baby *pouts*

Mina spoke next, her voice as soft as a feather filled with sincerity. 

Mina - Love, you have truly grown into a phenomenal young woman. We're proud to have you as our maknae and even prouder to call you our sister.

The room fell into a comfortable silence as the members reflected on their kid's journey and their bond as a group. Tzuyu broke the silence with her signature smile. 

Tzuyu - No matter how successful you become, kiddo, we'll always be here to support you. We'll be your family, your unconditional support system, even when you're 40 and beyond!!

Y/N's heart swelled with gratitude and love for her TWICE family. She couldn't have asked for a better group of people to share her dreams and aspirations with. Their unwavering support made her feel invincible. Determined to express her gratitude, the youngest stood up and walked over to each member, hugging them tightly one by one. As she embraced each member, she whispered words of appreciation and love into their ears:

Y/N - Dahyun unnie, thank you for always making me laugh and bringing light into our lives.

Y/N - Nayeon unnie, thank you for being our fearless oldest and believing in me from the beginning while treating me as your child.

Y/N - Sana unnie, thank you for your infectious energy and for reminding me to always stay positive!

Y/N - Momo unnie, thank you for being my inspiration in dance and pushing me to explore my potential.

Y/N - Jeongyeon unnie, thank you for your honesty and straightforwardness. Your words always help me when I need to make a decision.

Y/N - Chaeyoung unnie, thank you for your creativity and for challenging me to step out of my comfort zone.

Y/N - Jihyo unnie or mama (:P), thank you for your guidance and for showing me what it means to be a strong and passionate leader.

Y/N - Mina unnie, thank you for your calm presence and for always being there as a shoulder I can lean on.

Y/N - Tzuyu unnie, thank you for your unwavering support and for being my first best friend in this family.

The room filled with warmth and affection as TWICE's petal heartfelt words resonated with each member. Tears of joy and love were shed, solidifying the unbreakable bond between them. As the night drew to a close, the members of TWICE gathered in a circle (not in a ritual way, just cute lol), their hands intertwined. They made a promise to continue supporting and encouraging each other, no matter what challenges lay ahead.

The maknae looked around at her family, feeling overwhelmed with gratitude as she gave her thanks again. The room erupted in cheers and laughter, their spirits lifted by the unbreakable bond they shared. They knew that with each other by their side, they could conquer any obstacle that came their way. And so, as Y/N's acting career soared to new heights, she carried the love and support of her TWICE sisters with her. With each success and achievement, they celebrated together, always reminding her that no matter how much she grew and matured, she would forever be their baby, cherished and loved. As the years passed, TWICE continued to dominate the K-pop industry, achieving new milestones and touching the hearts of millions. And through it all, Y/N remained their youngest member, a shining star who had proven her talent, versatility, and maturity time and time again. Together, they faced the world, armed with love, friendship, and unwavering support, forever embracing the bond that made them TWICE, the group that always makes their maknae think:

I love my dear unnies.

A/N: I apologise for any errors, English is not my first language. Pls, let me know if there's something wrong, ty for reading <3

[summersnow82]

The Scent of Roses - Part 8

Fanfiction_X-Men

Fictober 2023_Prompt 31: “It’s not your fault.”

Author's note: A kind anon let me know my posts weren't showing up in the tags recently. Here's hoping that'll change. Thanks for sticking with me.

.....

Sabrina had been right: her class was not ready to discuss And Then There Were None – which was a shame because it’s a phenomenal read. Instead they had questions, concerns, fears to address, and a nasty rumor about Rogue Sabrina intended to nip in the bud immediately.

“Quiet down, quiet down!” She called, gaining her students attention. “Now let’s be clear here – there’s enough bickering outside these mansion walls. It will not happen in my classroom, understood?” The students all reluctantly nodded. “And further more,” she looked directly at Rogue who was staring at her desk a bit too intently. “Rogue did nothing wrong. Rogue.” The young woman looked up, surprised she was being called out so directly. “It’s not your fault. I made a choice, and some of my team were unhappy about it.” She turned to look at the other students, taking the time to meet their eyes. “I made the choice. Me. So if you want someone to blame look right here.”

Sabrina sighed, raking a hand through her hair. She hadn’t had time to put it in a French twist or a high ponytail like she preferred. She’d barely had time to grab a suitable outfit, but the blue and white polka dot midi dress with a flared skirt, short white gloves, a pale pink cardigan, and navvy ballet flats would have to do for now. She’d deal with her hair later. She moved to the front of her desk, perching on the edge to survey her class. “We’re going to use this class to talk about your concerns with this cure. Your hopes, your fears, all of it. So,” she stood, flashing them a smile, “let’s move these desks into a circle, shall we?”

….

His political appointment as Secretary of Mutant Affairs left Hank with little free time, and for this reason he’d resigned as a full time teacher at Xavier’s school. Still, when he was home he would often take three or four students under his wing for mentoring and academic expansion. Charles had also given him a small drama class to conduct, which oftentimes paired with Jean’s public speaking class. He’d yet to speak to Charles about his news from the President, and to his credit, the older man had let Hank marinate in his thoughts without prompting. But he’d had his cup of coffee – more than one, actually – and time to mull over a number of rising concerns and issues, and now he needed to find his old friend.

And probably take care of some hygiene issues on the way. He glanced down at his rumpled clothes and grimaced.

Xavier’s school had a number of classrooms, but not all of them were presently being used. Several teachers had resigned or left, which wasn’t uncommon. Hank and Sabrina had both left at one point or another, as had Warren and Kurt. Logan consistently behaved as if the front door were a revolving door. Their staff numbers were currently lower than ever, and many teachers were taking on several classes to make sure the students educational needs were being met. Logan was tackling history and shop class; Jean had genetics and public speaking; Sabrina was teaching English while acting as the guidance counselor; Storm had environmental sciences and art; Scott had mathematics and physical education; and the Professor was teaching ethics and psychology. Each adult was part of a rotation for the Danger Room training for the older students, and they were always paired up differently. Hank would need to check his schedule again and see if he needed to trade shifts.

His thoughts consumed him as he headed towards his room, and he didn’t realize he was passing Sabrina’s classroom until he was walking by the doorway. His eyes tracked the way her hair fell around her shoulders, how her eyes lit up as she spoke to her students, and how her lips always seemed to have a touch of a smile as she engaged with them. “All these feelings and thoughts are completely valid, guys,” she said, looking around the room. “We’re in uncharted waters, but I promise you there’s no one better to navigate this than Professor Xavier and Dr. McCoy. You have the best of the best looking out for you.”

Hank couldn’t help himself. He turned on his heel, propped himself up in the classroom doorway, and crossed his arms across his broad chest. “Do you really think so, Professor Snow?” His deep baritone made everyone look his way, but none looked more startled than Sabrina herself. She hadn’t realized she had an audience for her class. A chorus of cheers went up from the students – Hank was arguably one of the more popular teachers at Xavier’s school – and with his political position he was currently a hot topic on campus. Hank regarded the students warmly before turning his attention back to Sabrina. “I apologize, Professor Snow. I didn’t mean to crash your class.” He held her gaze as he spoke, watched her take a deep breath before she forced a smile.

“Nonsense. You’re always welcome here.” Her tone told him he was actually not welcome at all, and a few of the students exchanged glances.

“Professor Snow, can Dr. McCoy join our conversation, too?” Kitty Pryde asked, glancing between the two of them. The younger woman was notably observant and direct.

Sabrina faltered for a moment, but then her mouth quirked up in a small smile. “Of course, Kitty. But I’m sure Dr. McCoy has many pressing items on his schedule. He probably doesn’t have the time.” She shot him a look that expressly told him to take the out she was offering. Instead, he all but smirked, pushing away from the door jamb and striding into the classroom like the cat who ate the canary. With amazing ease and grace he leapt in the air, somersaulted over the students heads, and came to stand next to Sabrina who was perched on her own desk.

“I’m never too busy for you,” he said to the class, but his eyes were on Sabrina’s. There wasn’t much she could do in front of the students without causing a scene; Hank knew it, she knew it, and he intended to take full advantage. “Now,” he said, projecting his voice and turning to face the kids. “What would you like to know?”

A number of hands shot up, and Hank chuckled. “What about you, Bobby?”

The younger man lowered his hand almost reluctantly, then said, “Are you going to get the cure, sir?”

Hank should’ve expected it, but he’d been too busy showboating and teasing Sabrina to consider the ramifications of this very serious topic. He probably looked as stunned as he felt, and for just a ghost of a moment Sabrina placed her gloved hand on his arm. “Bobby, that’s a very personal question,” she said gently.

“Yeah, but it kind of matters, right?” Kitty said. “I mean, if the teachers we’re learning from are considering getting it then maybe there’s some merit to it.”

Hank drew his mouth in a tight, firm line, and glanced over at Sabrina. “That’s a very good point, Kitty,” he said, rubbing his jaw. “If I’m being honest, I’ve thought of it, yes. I suppose every mutant with a visible mutation has considered it. It can be difficult when you can’t pass for a human. However,” he raised a finger. “There is still much we do not know about this so called cure. Will it last? Are there side effects? What else might it do to us?” He stepped away from the desk into the center of the desk-formed circle. “This cure has been released without – to our knowledge – long term testing, and perhaps questionable methods. I have been tasked with answering these questions, and more, and I will be leaving in a few days time to do just that.” He turned back to Sabrina, all seriousness and sincerity now. “I was hoping you might accompany me, Miss Snow. A talent like yours could prove invaluable to our team, and you have the credentials to back you up.” Sabrina’s eyes widened and her mouth dropped open for a moment before she clamped it shut. He gave her a small, genuine smile. “Something to consider, of course.”

More hands shot up in the air. Hank took his time answering a number of them, some technical, some incredibly simple, but all important to the students before him.

“What if they come for us here?” A young girl by the name of Jenna asked. Jenna was relatively new to the school, and still finding her voice, figuratively and literally.

The room got very quiet, and Hank rose to his full height. “Then I assure you, dear girl, that would be a most grave error on their part.”

“Professor Snow?” Rogue had been quiet for most of the class, but now she raised her eyes and looked Sabrina in the eye. “Are you going to get the cure?”

Hank turned to see Sabrina take a deep breath, let it loose, and hop down from her perch. She moved around the desk to the black board and began writing. “Anthony Smalls. Three years old. Taken from his home for a million dollar ransom.” Her hand moved quickly as she spoke, the clack-clack of the chalk the only sound other than her voice. “Violet Henries. Six years old. Taken from her school to sway a jury. Jonathan Edwards. Three months old. Taken by a jealous ex-wife. Julietta Gonzalez. Twelve years old. Taken for trafficking. Robert Sweat. Thirteen years old. Also taken for trafficking.” She continued on with a list of names and ages accompanying them with a reason for the kidnapping. The class was quiet as she worked, and Hank watched her as a new level of comprehension descended upon him.

Sabrina didn’t stop talking until the chalkboard – at least what she could reach of it – was filled with names. She turned back to the class. “These aren’t even half of the children I’ve been able to return to their homes and families alive because of my abilities. Another dozen were found postmortem, and the ability to bring their loved ones home offered the families a sense of closure.” She put the chalk down, dusted off her hands, and walked around her desk. She removed her gloves as she did so, securing them in her dress pockets. “I cannot touch anything or anyone,” her finger trailed over a desk causing her eyes to faintly glow. “Without taking something away. Memories, thoughts, emotions. In some cases, even talents and abilities. This makes relationships difficult.” She brushed by Hank as she spoke, and he tracked her path with curious eyes. “I walk into a room and I immediately can sense the atmosphere. This makes crowds difficult. I can’t go to concerts or movies on opening night or many special events. But I can assess danger quickly, read a person’s intentions, and bring children home to their families. Our lives as mutants are not easy ones; I know Professor Xavier has drilled this into you in his Ethics class. Oftentimes what we think is a curse is actually a gift. Maybe not for us, but for someone else.” She pointed at the chalkboard. “If I can do that, what can you do?” She turned to Rogue. “I won’t be getting the cure, no matter how much I might be tempted. Someone has to keep the real monsters at bay.”

[zeus-japonicus]

hey nemo, congrats!!! i’ve been thinking a lot about trice for gender and linguistics reasons. i took a course called global englishes a few semesters ago — about the way that english has spread and evolved around the world and in many cultures, with some haunting discussion about language death. the same professor also teaches queer lit, so i’m going to try and convince her to give it a listen (at least to some of below decks, hopefully the whole main series though!) because i think she’ll be blown away by the care that you and your team put into your research and portrayals. she loves incorporating all types of media into her curriculum. i’ve listened to podcast episodes for her courses before. so i’m just saying 😌 maybe in a year or two, trice will be introduced to a whole crop of uni students over here. i really hope so.

but anyway— finale was so good, it broke my brain. i haven’t thought about much else all week. as a writer, i’m so impressed by that scene with the whole crew AND gammon AND mary, that’s SO many characters to be handling in one very emotionally charged scene and you did such a phenomenal job!!!

-tony

Hi friend tony,

when i was a kid, i was nerdy enough that my lofty idea of what success looked like was these assemblies we had where adults who went to our primary school came to talk to us about what they did for a living... I feel like you've just given me the equivalent of this childhood goal, and that, yeah, in 2025 some uni kid is going to be pissed at me for writing the show because now they have to write an essay about it 😂

And as for the writing - boy, it really was the scene in the show I was the most worried about - so I really appreciate the compliment. Assisted in no small part, by the way, by very clever editing and an excellent director.

Thank you again for the kind words, and for passing the podcast on to others!

[anna1306]

Sorry, I just had to get it out, it's a little bit personal, but I had to 😭

Poly!Lost Boys x Russian!Reader

- Of course they noticed you on the Boardwalk, where else. You were cursing at some... Strange language, but based on Dwayne's lit up eyes, David sighed. Russian. The brunette was attracted to it for some reason,so much he even knew language a little bit.

- Marko was interested in you, as he had rarely seen this fiercy character there. Paul just whistled at this, while David examined you. You were interesting to all of them, even if for different reasons. So he went there, wanting to see more. Will you mumble and curse at him too if anything happens?

- Surprisingly not. You apologized and asked if he was alright. He turned on his charmer side and tried to lure you in, but...

- Look, I'm not five. I'm not going to follow you to the alone dark place just because you are pretty. Good luck, - you clapped him on the shoulder and just went around him.

- The amount of jokes and crap guys gave him was phenomenal. David snapped at them couple of times, but it still didn't calm them down.

- The next one to try was Paul. And he almost succeeded. But you still refused to go with him alone, telling him the address of the nearest strip-bar, if he needed to flirt that much. Now it became more of a challenge to them. They sent Marko, he was still not-successful, with you playing with him and winning him over in some arcade, your wish was for him to leave you. Dwayne... That was other story.

- He approached you like others did, and you were sceptical. But he was calmer than them. Plus, you could see his interest, pure and genuine. Plus he spoke Russian. Just a little bit, but that was enough for you to warm up to him.

- As he managed to get you to talk, managed to take you to some food stand to have a bite, but then... You both disappeared. They felt that he was okay, but where he was they couldn't say, and that was very disturbing for them. Where could he be?! What did you do?!

- He returned in couple of days, strangely satisfied and well. And along with you. In the cave. At first boys were shocked that he returned like nothing had happened, then that he managed to get you to the cave.

- So... Bloodsuckers living in the cave? Really? I hope coffins are just this... How do you say it in English, черт (shit), fantasy, there you go! - you plopped on the couch. The boys looked at Dwayne questionably, David even irritated a little. He shrugged.

- The talk just lead to this theme. And they believed it. Said it's not surprising and there are tons of different stories from her place.

- I am here just because I'm interested in how you are different from our stories and... Things I saw back there, - you added, sitting on the couch very freely, seemingly not scared of anything. - And I'm not afraid of you, I drank holy water and have a cross.

- The talk was for almost the whole night. After that you decided that the boys weren't so bad to have around you. They were funny, still strange, but... You could live with that, though in emergency you should have holy water. Who knows... They decided that you were strange enough to hang out with them. You weren't scared of them, you knew funny story and interesting legends of yours and Dwayne was more than interested in you.

- With time they all became more interested in you, but you still were very careful around them, as... Vampires? Really? Four, more so? Wanting relationships with you?! It was very new and confusing for you, but with time you agreed to try it. It worked out better than any of you expected.

- Dwayne is the first one to grow closer to you. He's interested in history of Russia (especially, in USSR), you often teased him for being a communist. He absolutely adores your accent, which still slips through your not so bad English. He even asks you to teach him Russian, some of it. More than once the boys entered when you were cuddling, Dwayne laying on top of you and listening to you, murmuring something in Russian. He just loves the sound of your voice with this words he couldn't understand. He is learning it secretly from you, just to write you cute notes. He still calls you princex or моя любовь (my love). He has a terrible accent, but at least he tries and does it from his heart.

- Paul, surprisingly, listens to you. You have something about you that just keep him in bay. One look from you and he just smirks, instead of witty remark. You put your hand on his shoulder and he stops every flirting or teasing he does, shutting up. He still is horny, he still wants you, but... It's only for you now and... More than normal, not very outgoing on other people. Though he still lures the girls and some boys in. He especially loves your unpredictability. One day you just entered the cave with the demand of turning you, because you felt sick a little and found out how much would it cost to go to the hospital. Paul laughed the whole night at your angry and confused face, while Dwayne reassured you. He was all down for your turning, but your sudden outbursts is everything for him.

- Marko loves how you are easy to do whatever he wants to. He could wish to go for the most adrenaline ride and while you wouldn't be a fan of it, you still support him. You either go with him on this ride, or just stand and wait for him and than just discuss everything and how dangerous that one turn was, "how is he not afraid". And you didn't think standard. If he had some artist block or just some question that need solve, you just advice him something strange, but... that works out somehow? Plus it seemed you were very protective of your loved ones and he just melted the second you defended them or him in particular. The contrast between rough you and soft you is even cuter. As after the fight you cuddle with him and the plushie he got you. And yes, he got tons of those.

- David is the most wary of you. How did you know about them? What did you know about them? Would you be dangerous for them? What do you know about vampires? What is out there?! With time you reassured him that you just believed in old legends and he was just as content with you as the others. Still didn't believe you fully, but you just ignored his questions about you seeing other vampires. So this little shit loves to tease you, to get you out of your shell as a revenge. He took you to some markets around to hear your irritated mumbles about pricing and portions of food. He showed you their "kitchen", just to hear you swears about this mess around. But he is the first one who saw you not so strong. He is the first one to just hug you and let you get it all out. He is closed person himself, so he understands how it feels - to be always cold, calm and stoic on the outside, but have too much on the inside. So he lets you get it out of your chest. Scream in the middle of nowhere, cry or just hug him for however long you want to and however strong you hold him. He can be grumpy after that, but he is there for you.

- They adore you can't understand some things. Like the medicine incident or just overall. Why are people so smily or on the contrary so rude. "We are equally shit in home." Or when you can't remember the word you need and just try to replace it with something absolutely ridiculous (dry potato as in chips, or piggy fat as in bacon). Or just became so fidgety about it that they just want to hug you and calm you down.

- Your cooking is a little strange to them, these... Porridges, strange soups that seemed like it had almost everything in it, or fried... Raviolis? But they tried it (Paul tried it, because he had the stone stomach) and fell in love. Marko's favourite is your steaks, Paul adores your cakes (I believe he has a sweet tooth), Dwayne's all for your "fruit drinks", and David would eat just whatever. He's not a big fan of human food, but he loves the effort behind it.

- Even if you are completely different, not just in mortality question, they love you and adore your little shenanigans, like spit across your left shoulder when you say something that you don't want to happen. They think you are cute with all your superstition. You think they are cute with all their "tough guys" appearance, when they are the most considerable and softest persons you ever met. They are still teasing you for your accent, but... They are soft idiots. Your soft and cute personal immortal shits.

[purplepri]

My Drarry fanfic Masterlist

I've been meaning to make this list for a long time now, but my laziness didn't let me. Well, better later than never, so there it goes.

Disclaimer: this fics are from my personal taste. Many of them came from the always fabulous @drarryspecificrecs and @drarryspecificrecsdaily, so make sure to look their recs since it's more diverse. English it's not my first language, sorry for any mistakes. And I will do my very best to not spoil any of it, so my summaries are going to be short.

Long-fic

A Biding Promise by emeraldvssilver [E, +18]

“I choose you Harry. I’m yours. I think… I think I always was. Never could quite stop looking at you, or thinking about you.”

“Draco, I promise you I will protect you. With everything I am, and everything I have, I will protect you.”

Harry's power was an immovable force of nature, and Draco's magic parted for it like it was welcoming an old lover back into it's warm embrace. The Oath took root around Harry's core as he unwittingly bound himself to Draco, and bound himself to his promise.

It's hot, and cute, and I love the magical bond trope so much!!!!

Secrets by Vorabiza [E, +18]

Beginning with Draco's unexpected arrival at the Dursleys, Harry's summer after sixth year becomes filled with activity and many secrets. As his summer progresses, Harry generates several unexpected allies as he finds himself actively becoming the leader of the Light side.

I can't start to describe this one. I've read it instead of the book I was supposed to read for lit class, and I seriously don't regret it. The best of the best!!!!!!!

Safety by vivi1138 [M, +18]

Cedric Diggory is dead, Voldemort is reborn. Narcissa Malfoy knows what this means for her son, and she will not let him be Marked. Even if it means fleeing Britain.

With Amelia Bones' help, a safe haven welcomes six teenagers who have no wish to bow to Voldemort. The only catch? They'll need to adapt to a Muggle lifestyle.

With private teachers to continue their schooling, isolated from the rest of the world, they certainly don't expect to enjoy themselves, especially after Harry Potter himself joins them.

A story where Umbridge wreaks havoc on Hogwarts and Harry is not there to see it.

Good lord, this one. It's a-fucking-mazing in every point, I love this one with all my heart... So beautiful...

The Chamber of Secrets and Half the Adults are Idiots by Des98 [M, +18]

"Harry Potter AU where Harry is hiding in the cabinet in Borgin and Burkes. And he sees Lucius grab Draco with his cane. And he hears the hiss, “What did I tell you?” And he hears the quiver in the blonde boy’s voice, “Don’t touch anything.”

And Harry knows.

Because he’s used the voice that Draco uses for the past twelve years.

He knows.

Because now that he’s lived with the Weasleys for over a month, he knows that that’s not the way that a father’s voice should be.

He knows...

All I can say it's that Harry it's a cinnamon roll, everybody gets called out for their bullshit, and this series just makes me so happy that finally every abuse Harry's been through is addressed and cared for!!!!!!

Finite Incantatum by Alysian_Fields [E, +18]

It’s the autumn after Dumbledore’s death, the Death Eaters are steadily gaining power, and Harry and his friends are desperate to find the remaining Horcruxes. But then Draco Malfoy arrives at Grimmauld Place, traumatised, starved and drained of all his magical ability. It falls to Harry to show the Slytherin how to adapt to his new way of life, never guessing that Draco has a few things to teach him in return.

This one it's phenomenal! Draco needs to learn how to deal with not having magic anymore, and Harry's the one that teaches him. It's so gooooooooood

Harry Potter and The Bound Prince by slashpervert [E, +18]

In HBP, there is a pivotal moment where things could have gone very differently for Harry and Draco. In the bathroom sixth year, Draco is upset that Harry has caught him crying and throws a hex. It escalates and ends in blood, with Harry nearly killing Draco by accident. In this story, instead, unvoiced attraction to Harry motivates Draco to take a chance and kiss him. Once sparked, their mutual desire and exploration becomes the driving force in the alternative ending to the series. Draco's "mission" from Voldemort turns out to be more complex than that presented in canon and their solution even more difficult.

Let's just say that the author's name is very fitting for the content they wrote... But, yeah, there's a lot of smut, but gods if the plot isn't amazing as well...

Dark Wizengamot by Emerys_Potter [T, +13]

Preparing to head to his hearing, just before his fifth year at Hogwarts, Harry learns quickly that Sirius' plans tend to get complicated. In a matter of minutes Harry becomes a Lord of the Wizarding World and in so doing learns that not all his friends are on his side.

Watch as Harry stands up for himself and shakes the Wizengamot, Dumbledore, Hogwarts, Voldemort and the Wizarding World at large for a spin.

Shout out to everyone who loves a good Dumbledore!bashing, Slytherins are people too, BAMF Harry Potter!!! I see you and I love you, please read this fanfic, it's going to worth it!!!!!

Easy as Falling by Lomonaaeren [T, +13]

Harry doesn’t really like the way things are going in the wizarding world. But who’s going to do something about it?...Him, that’s who! (Or, how Harry became a Benevolently Snarky Dark Lord).

I can't. I love Dark!Harry, it's just so EXCITING for me to see someone that was a light symbol fall into the dark and find strength and power there...

Short-fic

Harry Potter and the Sentinel Phenomenon by elissblair [M, +18]

Everything changes the summer after fifth year. Draco refuses to take the Dark Mark and must deal with leaving behind the life, friends and family he's always known.The Dursley's abandon Harry alone in the woods for a week, triggering his Sentinel gifts and leaving him hurting and in need of a Guide. Can two rivals put aside five years worth of antagonism in order to work together to save Hogwarts and each other?

I don't know what to say about this one... So cute and well written, I love this so much, OMG...

The Devil's White Knight by orphan_account [E, +18]

When Harry wakes up in an alternate timeline--a timeline where Voldemort was defeated long before the first war--he discovers everything is different. His parents, his godfather, his friends--and him. Harry must deal with the consequences of who he would have been if he had been raised by his parents, and figure out where he stands with his casual hook up, Draco Malfoy.

I love this one so much and often read it again just for the sake of it. Family it's a complicated matter, isn't it?

Azoth by zeitgeistic [E, +18]

Now that Harry is back at Hogwarts with Hermione for eighth year, he realises that something’s missing from his life, and it either has to do with Ron, his boggart, Snape, or Malfoy. Furthermore, what, exactly, does it mean when one’s life is defined by the desire to simultaneously impress and annoy a portrait? Harry has no idea; he’s too busy trying not to be in love with Malfoy to care.

Alchemy, apprenticeship, mentor!Snape... What a ride this one is! But it's amazing, ugh!

One-Shot

Changeable Weather by tigersilver [E, +18]

They should be studying for their exams, but it's too hot, so everyone is just hanging around by the lake in various states of undress. Draco cannot cope with all of Harry's exposed skin.

You know... Summer vibes, beach(it's the lake of Hogwarts), Harry being all good-looking and that's it.

Breaking the Curse by GatewayGirl [E, +18]

At first, not being able to hire Slytherins didn't seem too bad, but now Auror Potter is taking it personally. If only Draco Malfoy didn't keep cropping up in his investigation.

There's a curse at the Ministry and the former Slytherins can't get a job in there. Of course auror Potter needs to be the one who breaks it, huh? And of course it's sex magic, huh?

Buy a Heart by xErised [E, +18]

Draco's cock hardens as he looks at the invitation to the charity auction; his golden ticket to one wild night of desperate sex with Potter to get rid of this inexplicable obsession. His heart whispers that one night will never be enough, but Draco is beyond caring. All he knows is that he will pay any price to have Potter over and over again.

Harry being a size queen it's my smut pet peeve, I'm not going to lie. But yeah, very hot sex all around the hotel room. That's it.

Crush by MissyMallow [T, +13]

Harry Potter; one gorgeous specimen ever created. Draco Malfoy’s crush.

This one made me so happy while I was reading! It’s amazing!

[limejuicer1862]

Wombwell Rainbow Interview

I am honoured and privileged that the following writers local, national and international have agreed to be interviewed by me. I gave the writers two options: an emailed list of questions or a more fluid interview via messenger.

The usual ground is covered about motivation, daily routines and work ethic, but some surprises too. Some of these poets you may know, others may be new to you. I hope you enjoy the experience as much as I do.

Amy Shimshon-Santo

a writer, educator, and urbanist, believes the arts are “a powerful tool for transformation,” both socially and personally. She connects the arts, education, and urban planning in her work. Holding a PhD and MA in urban planning from UC Los Angeles, an MFA in creative writing from Antioch University Los Angeles, and a BA in Latin American studies from UC Santa Cruz. Amy is an associate professor at Claremont Graduate University where she heads the Master of Arts Management program. She has been recognized on the National Honor Roll for Service Learning. Amy lead the ArtsBridge program for UCLA Arts and her efforts provided the foundation for the University of California’s first visual and performing arts education degree in the state. Amy represented the State of California at the National Endowment of the Art’s Education Leadership Institute, where she was a founding member of Create CA. She has been nominated for a Pushcart Prize in creative nonfiction and Best of the Net in poetry. Amy’s essays have appeared in Entropy, and have been published by SAGE. Her work has also been published by University of California Press and State University of New York Press, and can be found in Rose Quartz Magazine, Public, Teaching Artist Journal, Tiferet Journal, Critical Planning, Entropy, Yes, Poetry, Zócalo Public Square, and Lady/Liberty/Lit, and more. Her book of poems, Even the Milky Way is Undocumented, is forthcoming with Unsolicited Press in 2020. Amy is found on www.amyshimshon.com

shimshona4@gmail.com Twitter: @amyshimshon IG: @shimshona http://www.amyshimshon.com/

The Interview

1. What inspired you to write poetry?

Poetry was my first (written) language. I intuitively wrote with line breaks since I was a girl. I didn’t call it poetry, but it was how I wrote. A kind of birth mark.

What has changed in my relationship to poetry is how I read, and my entanglement with editing. Writing is natural. Editing is more like design, or how I imagine carpentry. My brother is a carpenter. My grandfather was too. I just build things with different materials and tools. Words instead of wood. Punctuation marks instead of nails. When I edit, I want the poems to look me in the eye, sound good on the tongue, and tell some kind of story.

Essays are another matter. I know precisely when that started. I had to write an essay to apply to college. It felt like ice skating in outer space. Complicated, maybe even impossible. Now, I’ve grown to appreciate the process of writing essays, and am almost always tinkering with one. They help me observe and think. Essays are architectural, 2D dwellings for bigger ideas and worlds. I see a light and run into them without a plan, get lost in the chaos of the experience, and finally figure out what wants to be said. I feel a sense of wonder and satisfaction when they are done.

I write poems every morning, and whether they are “good” or not, they’re my medicine for living. They are my thermometer for authentic living. They help me know myself, and seek freedom despite whatever may be limiting me in the material world.

2. Who introduced you to poetry?

The first poet I remember hearing was Maya Angelou. Listening to her wasn’t just witnessing a vocalist and spoken word master, it was witnessing a woman being phenomenal herself. That’s what I remember first and foremost — “Oh! Look, a woman! Maybe I can be one too!” Hearing her made me feel like it was a good thing to be a woman. She was tall, with a wide arm span, and a voice that commanded attention. She took up space, but trampled no one. She wrapped her hair in stamped cloth, and wore canvas cargo pants. Her poetry was music, a polyrhythmic bumpa-dee-bump-dance of living. She baked Quiche Lorraine. I went home and found a pair of canvas cargo pants my own size. She’s been a lifelong inspiration.

I studied in Nicaragua and Mexico in my twenties, and dove into works of César Vallejo, Nicolás Guillen, Pablo Neruda, Roque Dalton, Ernesto Cardenal, Claribel Alegria, and Giaconda Belli. I read their poetry aloud to myself. That was how I developed an intimate relationship with Spanish, and, later, Portuguese via capoeira music. I was raised in California, and heard Spanish on the yard in school. Eventually, I picked it up, and poetry helped. The poet Francisco X. Alarcon welcomed me into his Spanish for Spanish Speakers class, and poetry came flooding in. Reading aloud, I loved the sound on my lips. Learning a language is a kind of love relationship. This happened to me in three languages (English, Spanish, and Portuguese).

My mother’s first language was Hebrew, but my dad was monolingual English. He lost his mother’s native Russian, and I lost my mother’s Hebrew and Yiddish. I wish I’d learned the languages of my own origins (Hebrew, Yiddish, Russian), but I picked up the ones that loved me back, the ones I lived with.

3. How aware were you of the dominating presence of older poets?

I don’t want to feel dominated by anything, even great poets. If anything, poetry is about freeing myself from all kind of domination. I don’t seek to dominate or be dominated. I seek equilibrium and honesty. I seek wonder and gratitude for living.I am grateful for the presence of older poets. Since I am getting older every day, even my silver hair is a flag to the aging process. Thich Nhat Hanh said, “I am of the nature to die.” I watch older poets to see how they navigate living, and, also, aging. How can we live and write well at every stage of life? How can we be creative at every stage? I read and listen to ancestral poets, and I embrace my relationship to the archive. I feel them as extended family — people who were whispered into, just like me. Adrienne Rich. Mary Oliver. Toni Morrison. Zora Neale Hurston. I don’t compare myself, I just feel related. Living well is not a competition. I’m not trying to achieve or prove anything, just take advantage of being alive.

Unlike Bob Kaufman, I don’t want to disappear when I die. That is not because of ego, it’s because I want to remain in relationship with other writers always, whether I am living or not. The archive has unfathomable dimensions.

Intersectional women deserve to be in there along with everybody else. I want to be a part of that, even if I am just one tiny blue-green thread, or a strand of red-tangerine.

4. What is your daily writing routine?

My knee jerk reaction to that question is, “If I told you I’d have to kill you.” I guess I’m protective of the creative process. It’s a mysterious thing, not something you can just pick up in a supermarket by the dishwashing liquid. Although, maybe that could make a good grocery shopping poem.

I have daily and seasonal writing routines. As a working person, and head of household, I start my day early with writing and ashtanga before work. With limited time, I accumulate small pieces of writing throughout the academic year and rely on the slower summer months to piece mosaics together. I value my job, but my writing life needs time too. So, when other folks dream of summer vacations, I long for stretches of quiet time off the grid. Nine months a year belong to my students. The summers are mine, and I am loyal to them because writing is a necessity.

5. What motivates you to write?

I have a writing self that wants to be expressed. It is my duty to care for her by letting her write whatever she wants. I write to fumble around in the dark and pull out stories. I write to face these times, and shine some light on living in the 21st century. Writing satisfies my adventurous spirit, and helps me feel less powerless as a woman, as a single mom, as someone from an immigrant family where many of us have gone unnoticed, injured, or completely erased. I write to be surprised. It’s the shake-shake-shake of a brown paper sack with something hidden inside. Once I was in Panama working on a popular education project. There was a carnival tradition that involved a pillow case. You fumbled your hand around inside, landed on an object, and pulled it out. Jumbled inside the sack were everyday items and things that were taboo (For example, an enormous blue dildo). Face the mystery. Take a risk. Laugh. Gasp. Weep. Feel something. Write.

6. What is your work ethic?

Fierce. I’ve been called a work horse, and I think that’s pretty accurate. Maybe a work centaur. I write every day, even if it’s just 20 minutes of jottings, so that I know how I am, and what I am thinking about on a deeper level. If I did not need a job-job, I would wake up, do yoga, write all day, and take a walking meditation at night. My idea of a good time. Throw in some dancing and we’re set. Because of writing, even if one “job” ends, I’ll just return to my real-forever-job which is stringing words together. Writing gave me my life back. Wouldn’t you work hard for something that gave you such a gift?

7. How do the writers you read when you were young influence you today?

The books that I read to my children when they were young influenced me as much as those I read when I was a child. They gave me a second childhood, perhaps one I never had. I collect books and try to adopt their courage. The stacks are to get lost in. Find a stool and pull out a book. This also applies to music and dancing. This applies to visual art and film. This applies to ferris wheels and lagoons. It applies to public libraries and the internet.

8. Who of today’s writers do you admire the most and why?

I spent months this year in the clutch of Toni Morrison’s On Self Regard, before she passed. Her intellect is expansive. Just. Expansive. Among the living, I am enriched by the enthusiasm of local writers Adrian Ernesto Cepeda, Genevieve Kaplan, and Ikia Noel because they are great practitioners, advocates, and instigators of writing. Gayle Brandeis, Deena Metzger, and Dan Bellm are guides for me toward how to write and be an upstanding human. I delight in the work of Gloria Carrera, Natalia Toledo, Aracelis Girmay, Ross Gay, Tiana Clark, Natalie Diaz, Nikky Finney, Naomi Shihab Nye, and Yusef Komunyakaa. They crisscross different cultures and languages. Their sentences break things open. They inspire me.

9. Why do you write, as opposed to doing anything else?

I used to be a dancer and choreographer. Dancing required having a big open space, limber bodies, music, costumes, lighting, gels, sound equipment, a van, crates of costumes props and instruments. I needed 30 minutes to an hour just to warm up, and then hours for rehearsal.

Writing is a creative practice that is accessible to me at this stage of my life. All I need is a pen and notebook. With those two things, I can go anywhere.

10. What would you say to someone who asked you “How do you become a writer?”

Write. Read. Observe. Express. Welcome the sound of your voice. Listen attentively to the world. Truth is a good pair of shoes. Don’t be afraid to put your work out there. Leap.

11. Tell me about the writing projects you have on at the moment.

My debut poetry collection EVEN THE MILKYWAY IS UNDOCUMENTED will be coming out in 2020 with Unsolicited Press. My son and I just recorded an audio book version and I’m excited about that. Recording that was memorable. I sat down at the microphone with him at the console. Yikes. Then I realized what I was about to do and what he was about to hear. “I am sorry. Some of this is hard,” I said. “I am honored,” he said. Just wow. Spoken word is a very particular kind of conjuring that I enjoy. Not enjoy. Adore. I don’t sing, but I will seduce the fuck out of the world with a sentence. It’s good fun. Serious magic.

I completed a collection of essays that is under review, have a new essay in the brain-que-que, and a collaborative poetry book on the horizon. I don’t want to say more until they are fully formed, but I’m really glad that writing keeps coming. That’s the whole point of completing things — make space for what wants to come next.

Wombwell Rainbow Interviews: Amy Shimson-Santo Wombwell Rainbow Interview I am honoured and privileged that the following writers local, national and international have agreed to be interviewed by me.

[drjacquescoulardeau]

NATALIE DIAZ – WHEN MY BROTHER WAS AN AZTEC – 2012

 This is an important collection of poems from an Indian woman. Important because it is poetry. Important because the poet is a woman. Important because the poetess is Indian. But we do have to get into it a lot deeper.

 The opening poem that gives the title of the collection is describing this brother as a pure Aztec god, Huitzilopochtli, performing Aztec human sacrifice, morning after morning, on his own parents, ripping their hearts out of their chests over and over again. The poem also introduces another theme at the end:

 “My parents gathered

what he left of their bodies, trying to stand without legs,

trying to defend his blows with missing arms, searching for their fingers

to pray, to climb out of whatever dark belly my brother, the Aztec,

their son, had fed them to.”

 This sacrificial dismembering will come later with another meaning than this Aztec ritualistic perspective. And it is this crossing of an old heritage and a more recent curse that is essential in this poetry.

 The first part is centered on the author’s vision. Her menstrual periods are seen as a metaphor of alienation as a woman, as an Indian and as a human being. This alienation of the Indian human being is then evoked as a legless man in a wheelchair. It is clear that this leglessness is the result of the colonial genocide of John Wayne’s movies. And yet the survivor, “the Injun That Could” survive in fact as a “Guy No-Horse” after the passage of the cavalry and you cannot be surprised by the fact the cavalry is running in his veins, in his blood, in Indian blood shed to the ground by cut up bodies trampled by the horses of General Custer and consorts, many consorts. Rivers of blood.

 A legless woman can then intervene and this leglessness is the result of having committed the sin of accepting to be deculturated in order to be acculturated into the white skin of a soulless Indian. The worst crime is then not to kill millions of Indians, but to force the survivors out of their culture (no dancing, no drums, no music) into the white culture (short hair, proper clothing, brush your teeth, use the toilets, speak English, think normal, that is to say submissive and humbly crawling on the moral floor of the White God’s religion and principles). Be poor and rejoice in the great salvation God will provide you with after your death, of hunger if necessary.

The present curse is phenomenal. Grandmothers have danced the legs of the people off. Indians live in permanent dimness. Indian history is nothing but a collection of debris collected in some museums for the entertainment of white people. Indians went through a genocide that is unrecognized and unrepaired. Indians have to stop talking, meaning their languages, because “language is a cemetery.” The only hope of Indians is in tribal dentists who will restore the teeth of Indians and then teach them to bite back and bite first. Don’t expect anything but devouring biting molasses on the white side. Bite first and you may have some future. This collection can be summarized in these four words: BITE BACK! BITE FIRST!

 So imagine Mojave Barbie meeting with white Ken and she “peek[ed] at Ken’s hard body and naked Mojave Barbie gripping his pistol, both mid-yenni and dripping wet.” A famous Yenni has become more than infamous on January 17, 2017: “The FBI has been looking into allegations that Jefferson Parish President Mike Yenni sent sexually explicit texts to a 17-year-old he first noticed at a high school function last year, in the middle of Yenni’s successful 2015 campaign for one of the region’s most powerful political offices.” The poem becomes then very explicit about how Mojave Barbie was abused and guess who is expelled? Or are we speaking of mids, mid-grade marijuana?

 The life on the reservation is then described, touch after touch, to reach the blackmailing of white entrepreneurs towards Indian starving workers to start shoveling on an infrastructural project across a field that reveals itself to be a cemetery of Indian babies and infants. The Indians then refuse to work anymore and they are rejected morally as lazy, and Indians are rejected as barbaric since they bury children, infants and babies in baskets. Then the only thing left for Indians are prayers understood as being oubliettes, deep chasms in which Indians can starve to death and be completely forgotten. These oubliettes will come back twice more.

 The second part concerns the ordeal of the author’s brother, the Aztec of the title. His drama is that he got addicted to methamphetamine. She attempts to penetrate his psychology and she describes the supportive love he can enjoy till his death. She captures the hallucinating fake vision he experiences, the fact that life is for him some kind of disguise of human beasts that are just some Halloween parade. This brother reenacts the Indian alienation by embodying, impersonating Judas, the traitor, and his thirty silver pieces, and he becomes the Judas of the Indian people in the very Christian reference the disguise carries.

Twenty years ago the brother was a normal teenager. But Indian alienation came bringing the brother’s addiction that brings the Indian dedication to death that leads the brother to destroying all sources of light (lamps, bulbs and others) and the parents out of love and support accept to turn their home into the funeral pyre of their own son in order not to embarrass him, though he is destroying the family temple, the only thing that should be sacred to him. That naturally leads to the evocation of Thais: “Thaïs was a famous Greek hetaera [a type of prostitute in ancient Greece] who lived during the time of Alexander the Great and accompanied him on his [colonizing] campaigns. She is most famous for instigating the burning of Persepolis. At the time, Thaïs was the lover of Ptolemy I Soter, one of Alexander's generals. It has been suggested that she may also have been Alexander's lover, on the basis of Athenaeus's statement that Alexander liked to "keep Thais with him", but this may simply mean he enjoyed her company. She is said to have been very witty and entertaining. Athenaeus also says that after Alexander's death Ptolemy married Thaïs, who bore him three children.”

 And the contact between the brother and this Thais, or rather the fire she represents since she is “an ember” that makes the brother “hard” and tonight he is going to “love [whatever he may think of] into blaze” and into “ash.” In the morning the “fields too will go to smoke.” And the brother like some “lamp-lit moths” will die but “gleaming with sex.”

 This meth-addicted brother splits his own father into two different fathers, “one who weeps” and “the other who drags his feet down the hall.” And “the audience” can only dream the “doves [her] brother made disappear” may come back “like angels” to take her brother to the other side of this life, as psychopomps they are. But for the time being the brother is coring “not just an apple but the entire orchard, the family, even the dog.” This apple metaphor is going to come back with another meaning.

 The author calls then Antigone to her help, “the daughter/sister of Oedipus and his mother, Jocasta,” and this Antigone “is the subject of a story in which she attempts to secure a respectable burial for her brother Polynices, who by decree of the uncle Creon is not to be buried or even mourned, on pain of death by stoning.” And this ancient metaphor is crossed with Jesus after his resurrection and the holes he has in his palms. The stigma in the right hand is a chasm in which the brother drops a knife and a candelabra, whereas he licks the stigma in the left hand and finds it “tastes like love.” Explicit though morbid metaphor. Then Antigone does not bury her brother but the horses the white European settlers and their cavalry have brought to America, thus symbolically getting rid of the whites. But that is another oubliette for Indians:

 “We aren’t here to eat, we are being eaten.

Come, pretty girl. Let us devour our lives.”

The ultimate curse of Indians devouring themselves by accepting to be buried in the Christian oubliette of Jesus’ stigmata.

 Then the brother can finally be buried, and yet he comes back as a revenant, a ghost, a haunting presence the author will never be able to get rid of.

 “My brother finally showed up asking why

he hadn’t been invited and who baked the cake.

He told me I shouldn’t smile, that this whole party was shit

because I’d imagined it. The worst part he said was

he was still alive. The worst part he said was

he wasn’t even dead. I think he is right, but maybe

the worst part is that I’m still imagining the party, maybe

the worst part is that I can still taste the cake.”

 Speaking of Post Traumatic Genocide Stress Syndrome, this is a fabulous demonstration of how the damage of a genocidal trauma is inerasable in the mind of a victim, not to mention a collective victim.

 The third part is the author after her brother’s death. She explores her lesbian orientation and brings all types of metaphors together.

 Love is like eating an apple and she wants to be that apple in order to be devoured by the woman she loves. To be cored out of love, because of love, submissive to this voracious love.

 Love is war and the scene ends with her mouth on her lover’s thigh ready to bite and devour the person she loves. Loves is some cannibalistic war. If I accept what some psychiatrists say about drug-addicts, that they are cannibals to the people who try to help them, she has transferred the main characteristic of her meth-addicted brother onto herself in her lesbian love orientation.

 No surprise that love is like an oubliette in which you get lost. And this oubliette is of course also a symbol of Indian alienation through genocide and colonization, Christianism and drug addiction. Can love regenerate this alienation?

 Love is fire in the middle of the night and this love is reduced to ash at sunrise in the morning like so many lamp-lit moths.

Love then leads nowhere. The tongue with which she loves, with which she speaks is heretic in all the hateful rejection it contains, rejection of the dominant faith and rejection by the dominant faith. And her heart is like a red dress, the red dress of desire and prostitution. Love cannot be permanent and can only be some kind of episodic adventure.

 Love is her Indian alienation and she loves in direct descent from her great grandmother who got her legs amputated, who, as we have seen, danced herself legless, who got amputated when the white victors imposed a total ban on dancing and drum playing. Then the tongue was the heretic of this rule because Indians could still sing.

 Love is a mouth, which is a cathedral, with a vaulted ceiling, and its maxilla and mandible are the flying buttress of this cathedral. And this mouth of love is embodied in a zoo lion who out of boredom devoured a member of the audience who woke him up. Love is taming the devouring other into a cage but if you wake it up you will be devoured because love is a mouth against a thigh, ready to bite, and the lover has learned how to bite back and to bite first. And this mouth, this devouring love is also the fate of Indians in the hands of the cavalry and at the same time the future of Indians in their own hands when they have finally learned how to bite back and bite first.

 A beautiful poetry of liberation for Indians who can only get out of the PTGenocideSS if they find the tribal doctors who will teach them to bite back and bite first. This call for liberation and historical healing can only come from a woman because Indian women have lived two traumas, first to be reduced to inferior women among Indians though historically they were equal in their tribes, and then to be reduced to surviving slaves in the post-colonial American society that is still entirely living on this colonial – and slavery – heritage.

 It will take many people, voices, heretic tongues and tribal doctors to finally push aside this heritage of slavery and genocide in the psyche of whites, blacks and Indians equally, because they all share the traumas, as victims or as victimizers, and of course as descendants of victims and victimizers.

Dr. Jacques COULARDEAU