#but i got sidetracked and it became kinda like a character study???

[billi-mausi]

Mary MacDonald.

Now she is THE Casanova of the tower

Babe had it rough too (don't worry) okay so she was muggle born so she was already a minority yk, when she had first gotten her letter she was so excited because she thought she would now be in a place with people who are all like her , somewhere where people won't judge who she is based on her color or who her parents are, she thought she would be free and herself

But coming to Hogwarts was so much but not that, while in her world she was excluded because of ber color, at Hogwarts she was excluded because of who she was born to. It didn't matter that she was, if not better, but just as good as Sirius Black (a pureblood) in charms, no, what mattered was weather or not her parents knew how to use a stupid piece of woodstock and produce sparks from it. Her first year was bad, she hated the magical world, she wanted to leave the school next year

But one time while sitting in the common room Mary had told a joke, everyone around her had laughed Sirius had exclaimed "oh we are going to be great friends MacDonald!" Lily had laughed out "Oi Black, are you trying to steal my bestfriend?" James has chimed in with a smirk "Oh you guys stop fighting, Mary obviously likes me the best."

This, this was the moment Mary felt like she truly belonged somewhere

Mary felt loved and included and respected , she believed she was something other than a color, a race, a status and that changed everything

Mary grew into herself, she became proud of herself, she became unapologetically herself, she had her moments of doubt still, but her confidence overshadowed all

She wasn't afraid to take leaps and jumps not because she know whe won't fall, but because she knew that if she did there would many a people to break her fall and then raise a platform for her to jump again.

And a Mary MacDonald who wasn't afraid of people of herself? Pheww

Her sheer confidence and flirting could bring a grown AND gay man to his knees

So yes, Mary MacDonald, the myth, the legend, the rizz master, the absolute queen, was the Casanova of the Gryffindor Tower.

Thanks for coming to my Ted Talk.

Remus Lupin the Casanova of gryffindor tower? Oh darling no! My boy was a 6ft something werewolf with NO social skills with a deep rooted sense of self hatred and doubt. Initially he didn't talk (forgot about flirting?) with anyone other than the Marauders, (and even with the Marauders he tried everything to push them away but those boys attached themselves to him like leeches and never let go)

He was so shy and insecure and a professional overthinker that after every conversation with a stranger he was so afraid to turn his back to them with the fear of them talking about him, anytime he entered a room and people were whispering he would immediately make it about his scars (even thought they kids were discussing about James Potter and Regulus Black being the next IT couple)

My boy was just so scared to talk to people

He wasn't mysterious, merlin no, he wasn't sly (almost the entire Hogwarts 6th and 7th year student body and the entire gryffindor tower knew about him being a werewolf because obviously?? Like his nickname was MOony?? His family member was always sick on the full moon?? He had visible big scars on his face??? No one said anything because honestly no one cared?? What harm could this boy with an obsessive choclate and old jumper addiction do??) He was just a tall awkward nerd with the comfiest sweaters and a melted chocolate always in his pocket.

The point is, my boy, my darling, my lovely, my moon, Remus Lupin? He was NOT the Casanova of the gryffindor tower.

Now Mary MacDonald on the other hand-

[strrne]

Give Me a Signal, Ch.8

Chapters: 8/?

Word count (so far): 21220

AO3  Ch.1 Ch.2  Ch.3 Ch.4 Ch.5 Ch.6 Ch.7

Summary: When Padmé Amidala is unable to contact Coruscant while negotiating a loan on Scipio, the Senate suspects trouble, and sends Anakin Skywalker to go check on her. Of course, the resourceful senator isn’t really in any trouble – don’t flatter yourself, Rush Clovis – but there’s definitely some brewing.

(or; rewrite of the tcw S6 Clovis arc; anidala + gen)

”A little bird tells me you're planning to do something 'ill-advised'. Would this be a Geonosis, or rather a Vanqor kind of ill-advised?”

Anakin did not much enjoy being forced to guess which one of his consecutive mess-ups Obi-Wan meant by 'Geonosis', and why he seemed to think that his apprentice had at least made slightly better decisions on their plentiful misadventures on Vanqor. Should he take this as a compliment? Well, he didn't have time, and that was not the point anyway.

”I'm going back to Scipio,” Anakin answered truthfully, whirling around on the ramp to the Twilight. ”Right now.”

Obi-Wan nodded. ”So… the Scipio kind.”

”Very clever, Master,” Anakin sighed. ”Are you not going to ask why? Try to stop me… do what you do best.”

”Oh, I find that what I do best is give you advice.”

Anakin nodded slowly, drumming his fingers against the box of supplies he was holding, then gesturing with his other arm towards the ship.

”Can't you tell me on the way? The more the merrier. We can be arrest buddies again.”

Of course, the two of them had been arrest buddies plenty of times, but somehow, in the Scipio-gate, Obi-Wan's brief arrest had become a mere footnote, while Anakin's extended one had ended up the talk of the town. Curiously, Anakin no longer blamed his Master for the incident – having recently been made to face how his own boiling anger often contributed to situations escalating.

”I'll respectfully decline your kind invitation.”

Anakin narrowed his eyes at him. Obi-Wan appeared to be in a strange mood – he sounded almost jovial – as though he was, for once, feeling optimistic about something. Anakin was almost sorry he could only give him a tired look, preparing to sit through whatever wisdom the older Jedi had to provide today – and risk being found out before he could set off. But he could do this much for Obi-Wan.

Obi-Wan's features suddenly grew tenser.

”I sense so much anger in you. You know what Master Yoda says about that.”

”Fear… suffering… bad feelings. Bad things,” Anakin listed wearily, with somewhat loose vocabulary. He was suddenly starting to miss going to missions with Obi-Wan, and listen to his nagging about the immediate danger they were facing, instead of Anakin's character flaws. ”First thing he ever said to me.”

”And you remember what I usually tell you?”

”Harmony… control… I know the teachings, Master.”

”And you know what I'm telling you now?”

Anakin gave him a scowl, not greatly appreciating the structure of this conversation.

”What, Master?”

Obi-Wan pressed a thoughtful hand to his beard, casting Anakin a long gaze. There was something of a softness in his eyes.

”That perhaps… what you're feeling is not just anger.”

Anakin shifted. That was something new – and it seemed to strike something of a chord with him. His shoulders relaxed, and he inclined his head with cautious curiosity.

”Perhaps it is just what you said… a bad feeling.”

Anakin studied his master.

”Kinda like the one you had?”

”Yes…”

”And did that pass, Master?”

”Yes,” Obi-Wan said slowly. ”But only after it became reality.”

Anakin looked away. If Obi-Wan meant what he thought he meant, it wasn't something he had expected his Master to have sensed. The worst part was, Obi-Wan didn't know the details – Anakin didn't know the details. He must have only sensed his murderous rage, his darkness.

”The curious thing is,” Obi-Wan went on, ”I thought I felt something bigger – of greater consequence – than merely… whatever you did to that poor man.”

Anakin swallowed, as Obi-Wan mumbled something about Clovis still being alive, at least. Obi-Wan then hurried to clarify, as though it could help Anakin feel better, ”I only sensed your regret afterward. I was on my way to see you–” he momentarily stumbled upon his words. ”I know something happened. But I was not spying on you.”

But he had been on his way to see him on that day – apparently moments before Padmé had appeared and claimed first turn. Something of a bad feeling, indeed. Anakin tried to imagine how differently things would have played out if it had been Obi-Wan running into Clovis in the hangar and Obi-Wan staring at the busted control table.

”I'm getting sidetracked,” Obi-Wan said apologetically. ”What I'm saying is, I think this is something else. I can't seem to get a grasp on it… because, I think, it does not directly involve me. While you, the Chosen One,” he said the last words with an affectionate sneer, his tone strangely cheerful again, ”can feel the full impact of whatever will soon come to pass. But due to your… immaturity, you're mistaking it for anger at this person who has done very little to you.”

Anakin opened his mouth to speak, but Obi-Wan wouldn't let him.

”Yes, we all know he has caused plenty of trouble for your wife.”

For a second, Anakin started, before remembering he had risked everything in a throwaway joke not too long ago, and now Obi-Wan was at the very least in a position to give the two of them heart attacks for the rest of eternity. And again, he had no time for this.

Anakin rubbed his forehead, confused like never before.

”Let me get this straight. I am, once again, feeling too much for Jedi standards… but for once it's also good, because you think it's some kind of premonition?”

Obi-Wan paused. He seemed to be considering just how comfortably what he had said, and what Anakin was suggesting now, fit into the Jedi principles, and Master Yoda's views on premonitions and visions. Then he got on the ramp and walked over to Anakin, to place a gentle hand on his shoulder and look him in the eye.

”Search your feelings, Anakin. And if you can… do channel them into something good. Don't settle for just anger and fear. I know you're better than that.”

Anakin stared at him.

The Jedi Master then whirled around with one final look at his apprentice, and left without waiting for a response.

-

Padmé had often been accused of being a workaholic, but this time around she had thought she’d enjoy the bit of respite that her stepping down from the negotiations would bring. Instead she found herself quite uneasy after her call with Clovis, and not even 12 hours had passed before she contacted Bail again. The call barely got through, and she nearly had to press an ear to the speaker of her holo projector to be able to make out the familiar voice.

Bail spoke first, and with some rare, thinly veiled urgency.

“Padmé, I am so glad you called. I couldn’t get through to you from here. Padmé, something very odd is going on here. It has been two days, and we have yet to be presented with the new loan agreement. There is a very shady Separatist Representative staying at the–“

“What?” Padmé echoed. “The new Separatist contract is being negotiated at the same time?”

Bail nodded, almost drowning into the gray, rasping rain of interference.

“Yes... I was willing to let that – there is something – Representative Clovis does seem troubled – I wish I knew what it –“

With that, the signal was dead, and Padmé’s resurrection attempts proved futile.

Suddenly she felt guilty – she should have gone to Scipio. She would have gotten through to Clovis, whatever he was hiding. Hiding…

Padmé bit her lip. She had had enough of hiding. It was time for the truth to come out.

Teckla came in with some tea and imported Nabooian biscuits. Her expression indicated that she had overheard the conversation.

”My Lady…”

”I know, Teckla. Something very strange is going on.” The Senator gave her a trusting look. ”I know you're always up for another adventure, Teckla, but I'm sorry, I'm going to have to ask you to stay behind instead, and cancel all my appointments for the next few days. If it's urgent, please have Representative Binks cover for me.”

”Right away, My Lady.” She gave a bow and a warm smile. ”Good luck.”

-

”Anakin!” Padmé sprinted into the hangar, looking around for her husband’s freighter. She was surprised to find Anakin on his way to meet her. “Oh, I'm so glad you're still here,” she sighed, clasping both his hands in hers.

”I was about to take flight,” Anakin explained, ��but then I sensed you… like really sensed you. Your urgency…”

”To come with you,” Padmé announced. “No, scratch that, to kidnap you.”

”Kidnap me?” Anakin echoed with sudden curiosity, smirking as though he had never heard of an idea more wonderful.

”Yeah, come on,” Padmé hurried, grabbing his wrist like a proper crook should, still panting. ”To my star skiff.”

”Wait, wait, wait –”

”I don't care what kind of lousy plan you've come up with. Mine is better. And frankly,” she gestured towards whatever barely functional scraps were left of the Twilight this week, ”so is my ship.”

”You'll… smuggle me to Scipio? Why? I thought you disapproved,” Anakin reminded her, following her outside and to her skyspeeder.

”I changed my mind,” she explained. ”I'll explain it when we reach hyperspace. And smuggling is the right word, yes.”

”What do you mean?”

”Well,” Padmé said, shoving him onto the speeder and grabbing the yoke, ”have I mentioned there is an anti-thermal-scanner compartment in the back of my ship?”

”What?” Anakin uttered. ”Why haven't you?”

”Now that I think of it, you specifically told me never to introduce you to any more of my ship's special features… after – ” She turned towards him momentarily, flushing and chuckling, ”ahem, do you remem–”

”Oh, that.” He gave a laughter, his nose scrunching up with either disgust or delight. ”No, that's not what I said.”

-

In hyperspace, Anakin listened to Padmé’s recount of the situation, her concerns, Bail’s messages and Clovis’ odd behavior - without interrupting, still a little incredulous that he was actually taking this risky and nonsensical trip with Obi-Wan’s blessing and his wife for company. But once she’d finished, he found himself only vaguely worried about the bigger picture - there was only so much room in his brain for politics and finances - and left with that one name he so despised.

“So… you’ll probably cross paths with Clovis again.”

Padmé did not look happy with his response.

“Anakin, it is my intention to ‘cross paths’ with Clovis – and demand answers."

Anakin gave a vague nod.

“And I need your help,” she then added, to Anakin’s surprise. Padmé momentarily took her eyes off the display screen and focused on her words. “Something for your own little excursion. Look, I don’t know much about these things, but since you are breaking into their holo tower… would you maybe be able to… spy on any covert networks?”

Anakin gave a nod again, an enthusiastic one. If there were any covert networks to be found, he had doubt in his ability to hack into them.

“Again, I thought you disapproved.”

Padmé shook her head.  

“I’ve been a major hypocrite, Anakin. You said it yourself. I do this all the time – unauthorized missions, breaking less than useful laws in the name of justice. And since it doesn’t look like there is going to be any new contract for you to ruin–“

“Hey!”

They gave a hearty laughter in unison, and Padmé playfully struck him on the arm, rather more forcefully than needed.

A long silence followed, and the air between them tightened again. But Anakin knew it was mostly the Force radiating off him and his darkened thoughts. Darkened – but no longer dark.

”Padmé,” Anakin said in a quiet voice, ”You know what I was going to ask of you?”

”What, Anakin?”

He shifted in his seat.

”To…” He looked away. “If I… If I'm ever about to snap again, and you happen to be there, to… give me a signal. To make me stop.”

Padmé was silent. Engine sounds filled the cockpit.

“But now I understand…” he drew a deep breath, feeling like he had already forgotten whatever Obi-Wan had said to him this morning. “I can’t ask that of you. You might not be there. And a Jedi is supposed to be able to control his emotions."

Keeping her eyes on the screen, but gently stealing a glance at her husband, Padmé softly laid her hand on his shoulder, gliding it along the side of his arm.

”Let me teach you an alternative to that Jedi philosophy of 'controlling your emotions'. You see, the emotions are always going to be there. But you can control your impulses. Your actions are never an inevitability."

She smiled at him.

"Too lecture-y?"

"It's a nice change of pace from Obi-Wan."

-

This time, it was Anakin's turn to that fall asleep on the journey. Padmé was reminded of Obi-Wan’s extended nap on their first fateful adventure on the banking planet. Before she had married Anakin, she had actually been under the impression that the Jedi did not sleep. Even now - it was a strange thing to witness. Chest moving up and down on his seat, Anakin looked almost too tranquil and innocent to be a General of the Grand Army of the Republic.

Nearing the end of the hyperspace journey, Padmé’s holo projector activated. Bail appeared as a bare wavering outline to inform her that the signal was currently so unstable, he’d have to keep this brief. He had just notified the Supreme Chancellor that the new loan agreement was a complete disaster – with increased interest rates for the Republic, as well as completely unreasonable terms and conditions. Meanwhile, the Separatists were to be given a contract with decreased loan interest, and complete forgiveness for their past transgressions, and – something that Padmé could no longer make out, as the connection shut down with a scratch.

Padmé took her hand off the yoke and plunged it into the ornate composition on her head, scratching at her scalp. This was worth ruining a perfect hairstyle for.

What in the world was Rush Clovis doing?

[dragonsbl00d]

I am a writer. The second I stepped out of infantile amnesia and embraced my offical, conscious mind, I started considering myself a writer. The next thing I remember considering myself as was a total loser, especially once I entered my hometown’s school system. I had wanted to go to Co-op since I received an NHPS flier in fifth grade, and when I was finally done with middle school and could apply to enter for 9th grade, I didn’t get in. Clearly, that was a mistake on the universe’s part, because by the end of my freshman year, I was sat in a dimly lit woodshop-classroom-turned-study-hall in a moldy wing of an ancient high school, playing crazy eights with my fellow students. They were an unsavory version of The Breakfast Club, comprised of a heroin addict, a neo-nazi, a chemically dependent woman of the night, and a rapist. I may have jumped to conclusions, but I’m pretty sure that’s not where my life path was supposed to take me. A few days later, I received a text from my mother letting me know that I had won the registration lottery and could enter Co-op for my sophomore year. Being able to transfer felt like what I’ll bet Anakin Skywalker felt after winning the podrace and being freed from slavery. Now, three years later, in my senior year, I feel more like Padme. I conveniently explained why in my college essay, which I will share the opening paragraphs of with you now:

I have the same scars as Padme Amidala.You know, in Attack of the Clones, when she was trying to escape the Nexu in the Petranaki arena, but it managed to claw her back pretty badly? Yeah, I’ve got those same marks.

Padme earned her scars at a very significant time in her life. She had just become the senator of Naboo and suffered several assassination attempts because of it. I earned my scars at a very significant time in my life as well. It was right at the end of my freshman year, just after I’d had my first run-ins with death and loss and existential crises.

Several of my closest friends, the most important people in my life at the time, took their own lives after a long battle with depression and anxiety. The combination of depression and anxiety I began to struggle with as a result was crippling. Not that I didn’t have an anxiety disorder before hand, but I no longer had my source of comfort, consolation, happiness, inspiration and light, and I was left more defenseless than usual.

Anyway, to sidetrack a bit, I think it’s fair enough for me to give some context to my whiney “finding my place in Connecticut school systems” story before I go further. A lot of my friends, like Jazmine for instance, are constantly saying that I am incapable of being serious. About anything. And that made me think about the reputation I built in my circle of friends. I’m the snarky one. I’m the sarcastic one. I’m the one that makes jokes in every circumstance, whether it’s to lighten the mood or to be insensitive. And I’ve realized that’s a defense mechanism and not how I necessarily always view the world. My other defense mechanism, when I’m separated from my friends, is to be as silent as I possibly can, so I don’t draw any attention to myself. This quiet-as-a-mouse defense is something I’ve had pretty much my entire life. So, despite everyone telling me that I should do a… “funny” (i.e. impersonal and superficial) capstone, I’ve decided to try and say something important for once in my life, like the things I think about when I’m pretending to be mute and trying to avoid eye contact with my teachers. Therefore, my capstone is about my voice. It’s not about finding or discovering my voice and it’s not about developing my voice, it’s about the fact that I have a voice, despite my anxieties and introversion and reservedness… and superficial jokes.

I started off with the beginning paragraphs of what was once my “college essay��� that is now nothing like what I sent to that one college I applied to before deciding to take a gap year. I have now devolved my happy-ending, picture perfect vignette back into how I usually tell stories… by jumping from one point to the next and pretending it all circles back to one cohesive point even though it rarely ever does. The only literary device in this is really just a ton of exposition.

My decision making became cloudy. (Or, maybe it was already cloudy, since I was only 14 years old and was still using emoticons as punctuation, but I digress.)  So, to fill the new hole in my life, I fell into a toxic relationship, becoming fast friends with the human equivalent of cyanide. This resulted in emotional and physical abuse I was forced to juggle during the academic year. This stupid twelfth grader’s toxicity became entirely consuming and it took a long time for me to pull myself out of it. (And when I say a long time I mean it took me until October of 2014 to completely remove this guy from my life.)

So, in my freshman year, when I was fourteen years old, the eighteen year old in my study hall got mad at me for “being a tease” by repeatedly telling him no, so he walked to my house when he knew my mom wouldn’t be home and he raped me, and then he left. In response, I pretended like it never happened. I mean, I didn’t even admit what happened to myself, let alone tell someone else about it. I suppressed this for two whole years, until I was surrounded by so many amazing friends that I only have in my life because I decided to go to Co-op, and I started to open up to them, and they helped me build up the confidence to start really getting into advocating for social change and women and against rape culture. But it meant so much to me that my friends and even some of my teachers were there for and supportive of me that I started focusing on them a bit and how much they mean to me, so I wrote this next piece about them. This is called “Astronomy” because all of my titles are cop-out titles.

They are the sun. They are bright and beautiful and larger than life. Their heads are huge and full of gas, but Earth and all of the other planets in the galaxy revolve around them. When they get burnt out, they explode into a fiery, destructive mess and collapse in on themselves, leaving a black hole in their wake. Their light shines so bright that it reflects off all of the moons.

They are the moon. They’re a large piece of Earth that had broken off many, many years ago but is still caught in its orbit. The oceans’ waves are contingent upon their moods. Their terrain is rough and parts of them are even sunken in. Other parts are scarred by the footprints of humanity after they treaded on and scuffed them like doormats. They shine even in the darkest of nights, but there is always a part of them that remains dark and cold. You feel weightless in their presence.

They are the Earth. They carry the weight of all humanity in their minds and their hearts. They build mountains for every little thing they’re passionate about, and fill rivers, lakes, and oceans with the salty water of their tears to wash away the ash if their joy crumbles down around them. Their tectonic plates grind violently together, wrecking buildings and lives with no warning, sometimes for no reason at all. They could drown millions of people with just one of their tsunamis. Their cores pump blood as hot as molten lava throughout their every vein, right into their souls.

They are the planet I call home and the star my life revolves around and the satellite my tides are influenced by, and they’re just kids my age.

Humans are made of the same materials as the stars and the seas are made of, and this rule does not exempt my friends, me, or anyone. But the stars and the seas and they run infinite, whereas the rest of humanity could never.

So yeah that was kinda just about the people that mean a lot to me and my mostly unconditional love for them whether they’re sad or mad or happy and excited. Also, I focus heavily on dialogue in most of my writing so I tried to step away from that and focus on things like imagery and analogies. Oh, and two of my other major personal and writing influences are my mother and Mr. Brenner because they’re always honest with me about my writing and I look up to them intellectually so they mean a lot to me and impact my life decisions as well. As far as influences specific to this capstone, I owe it all to anyone that disapproves of people wearing their personal experiences on their sleeves, because after suffering in silence for years in fear of the consequences rape victims face in this culture, I can tell them, with confidence, to shove it.

So, with that, I wrote a children’s book in Mrs. Katz’s class in my sophomore year that I ended up turning into a “children’s” book recently, where the main character is modelled after me, and I focused on trying to show the faults in my own logic, as well as the faults in the people around me’s logic. I affectionately named this one, “Tiberius the Lion”.

Tiberius was a lion. Not that he ever called himself that or anything, since the politically correct term is panthera leo, but fine, Tiberius was a lion.

"Go outside and play with the other cubs!" his mother would say every morning when she came to pry him out of bed to prevent him from sleeping until the late afternoon.

In response, Tiberius would simply roll over and sigh deeply, explaining lazily, “Mom, what’s the point of going through all these motions in life if we’re all just going to die anyway? I’d much rather stay here in the shade and at least find some enjoyment in this hellhole, thanks.”

But his mother, fearing her son was depressed, forced him to go outside and play with the other cubs anyway. The young lions became increasingly uncomfortable around him, as all he seemed to do was stare at his reflection in the waterhole trying to decide if his fur was golden like his mother’s or just a dull tawny like his father’s. They began to avoid him at all costs.

"Tiberius is so weird," they’d whisper as he sauntered by them, dressed in all black, his face lacking emotion and his eyes vacant of any joy.

"I heard he’s gone vegetarian," they claimed when he stopped helping them hunt, and instead spent his time skateboarding.

Finally, Tiberius decided that everyone else was the problem and that he was doing absolutely nothing wrong and that everyone was just against him for no reason, so he remained  in his den, sprawled out on a nice cool rock for quite a few days, until his mother began to nag him to do something with his life. At that, Tiberius rolled his eyes, grunted, and stomped outside reluctantly, muttering various insults under his breath.

With a quick flash of his middle finger and an annoyed “screw you guys,” Tiberius walked right by the other lion cubs and headed out to explore the savannah alone.

Along the way, Tiberius caught sight of a cheetah crouched in the grass, getting ready to pounce on a grazing zebra. Without much of a thought, Tiberius let out a mighty, deep roar. He made a mental note to become the lead singer of a death metal band as the cheetah hightailed it out of there.

To his surprise, the zebra didn’t run at the sound of his roar. Tiberius approached him.

“Yoooo, little homie, peace and love, man, I ain’t lookin’ for trouble,” said the zebra slowly, the whites of his eyes red from… “allergies”.

“Nah, I don’t eat zebra, don’t worry. Scout’s honor.” Tiberius gave his most sincere smile.

“Radical, man,” the zebra folded his lips into a grin and nodded his head. “Name’s Zed, man.”

“Aye, I’m Tiberius. I really like your mohawk, bro, do you think you could give me one?”

“Of course, little dude, step into my office.” Zed waved vaguely to nowhere in particular.

Tiberius’s mother, who’d been out hunting antelope, saw the two together and immediately ran home to her husband to alert him that his son was making friends with prey instead of sinking his teeth into their jugulars like a proper young boy.

"What’s this I hear about you hanging out with zebras?" his dad asked one night after dinner.

"They’re cool, dad. One gave me this punk rock mohawk.” He shook his trimmed mane.

"Why won’t you hang out with the other lions?”

Tiberius rolled his eyes. “They’re lame.”

“How do you know?”

“They don’t like me, all they do is tell me I’m weird and stuff.”

“You’re a lion, aren’t you?”

“Duh, Sherlock.”

“A king of the jungle. The most courageous cat of all.” continued his father, getting slightly irritated with his son.

“Um. Yeah.”

“So, you need to have more pride in yourself. Lions have mighty roars for a reason, you should go show them what you’re made of. They’ll really appreciate you then. Once you establish your dominance as a true lion, they’ll be like putty in your paws.”

Tiberius sat up straighter and cleared his throat, taking what his father said into consideration for just one second. “Get out of my room, Dad.”

His father stood up and fiercely smacked Tiberius upside the head with his powerful paw. “Don’t talk to a lion like that,” he said, while stomping away. Right before he left, he turned and added, “See? Like that.”

The next day, Tiberius decided to take his father’s advice. He went down to the tree where the other cubs were playing and shook out his mohawked mane.

“Hey, Tiberius,” the crowd sighed and nodded in his general direction.

“Where’ve you been these past couple weeks?” one cub asked.

Tiberius let out a casual roar as he yawned, “I’ve been busy, scaring cheetahs and stuff.”

“Ew, what the hell, Tiberius, you’re so weird, go away,” an older cub said, and the rest of the group rolled their eyes in agreement.

Tiberius, taken aback by how his peers did not immediately bow down to his clear superiority, said defensively, “Shut the fuck up, Nero. Why don’t you go take care of your flea problem?” and stormed away angrily.

So yeah, I went and turned a children’s book into a hyperbolic mockery of the existential angst I had in junior year, because what I’ve found in my other introverted friends is that we’re quiet because we’re filled with anger and anxiety, not because we don’t have interesting personalities or things to say. I didn’t explore it in Tiberius because children’s books don’t really have deep, insightful character explorations, but there is a lot of soul searching involved in the forming and dismantling of defense mechanisms. Anyway, back to my college essay:

The toxic relationship became entirely consuming and it took a long time for me to pull myself out of it.

But I did pull myself out of it. Back in October, I worked up the courage to stop allowing him to affect me emotionally and told him, using my favorite inappropriate-for-school words, to…  “go away”. I then began to focus on finally allowing myself to grow as a human being as a result of the inner turmoil he had spent three years drowning me in.

Where Padme’s scars are fictional and the makeup that created her injuries was wiped off before the next movie, mine aren’t and mine won’t. Her scars “didn’t define her character” and her character died. My scars define my character and I will not go down without a fight. My scars are my survival story and I’m allowed to be proud of them.

The last paragraph was just all lies about how the next “obstacle” I would “set my mind to” would be college but that has no relevance so I cut it out for this.

But in conclusion, I think maybe our present is defined by our past. But that doesn’t mean anything to the future, and no matter how difficult life becomes, or how many obstacles are put in our paths, we should never give up, especially if we had tripped over them. Those who are still suffering from their past in silence shouldn’t be made to feel like they have to keep their experiences bottled up. I learned the hard way that shaming people for being open about their personal experiences is absolutely soul crushing and I’ve decided it’s time to make people realize that silence is not the way to fight injustice. I didn’t fight with my fists when I was raped, but I am going to fight with my words, and encourage others to as well, for the rest of my life.