#do we know how old he is when she dies???????????? i am inventing: YOUNG because i don't know lol

[hidey-writes]

six sentence sunday

The apartment is so quiet without his mom there. He’s pretty sure his dad has work, but Gu Yiran thinks he might be home anyway. He can’t tell. When his dad was home before, Gu Yiran always knew, because his mom would talk more, would laugh more, even in his room doing homework or reading he could hear the musical lilt of her asking a question, and more faintly the occasional low rumble of his reply. She used to sing in the afternoons, when it was just her and Gu Yiran at home, waiting for his dad to come back, We’ll drink a cup of kindness yet, for the sake of auld lang syne, her favorite song, his voice wobbling up to meet hers in the melody. But without her, Gu Yiran can’t tell; he can’t hear him.

since every episode of this show has a cute little snippet of thing before the title credits, i've decided i want to pay homage to that in the structure of this fic. behold: me deciding gu yiran is a mama's boy, and also that there's Personal Significance to him singing auld lang syne on his birthday, because it hurts my feelings the most hehe

[cellarspider]

3/30: Meet David

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We return to the movie I want to bite down on with all of my teeth, Prometheus.

This time, we meet a man so bored he has invented new solo sports and started doing his hair like his blorbo, T.E. Lawrence. 

Meet David (Michael Fassbender). He’s implied to be a little over two years old, and he’s been completely alone for the vast majority of his life.

Actually, I lied. The movie first wants to throw another small strain on our suspension of disbelief: David has a VR visor he can use to view the dreams of the human crew in suspended animation. This is technically a plot point, and thus it is delivered with all the grace of this deer.

I cannot emphasize enough how clunky the movie becomes when plot or deliberate character arcs are being communicated through dialog scenes. 

We find out from dream-peeping that Elizabeth Shaw’s father (horror actor Patrick Wilson) was a devout christian of some variety, possibly a missionary, and her mom  died when she was young. She was given a cross necklace, which we see in blurry montage-o-vision before David wanders off.

We see David’s routine: Pick up tiny specks of dust, send out first contact messages and receive no response, perfect the lonely sport of solo bicycle-riding shootout, eat android breakfast and take a Proto-Indo-European language lesson, watch Lawrence of Arabia (1962) while dying his roots, quote the most Definitely Not Suffering line to himself over and over again as he does his hair like Peter O’Toole and wanders the halls, waiting for something to happen. “The trick, William Potter, is not minding that it hurts.”

David is going to later profess to have no emotions, but I think that given the chance, he would at least admit his enclosure needs enrichment.

This is one of the strongest scenes in the movie. David is a novel creation of humanity, and he has been left alone, with only the memories and dreams of humans to extrapolate off of. He has been abandoned without thought for his needs, stuffed down into Plato's Cave. We don’t know yet whether the people on the ship see him as a person, but we know they’re thoughtless in how they’ve treated him. He’s bright, he’s inventive, he’s chosen a way he wants to be seen, but he’s seen by no one. 

I’m sure this is going to turn out great for everybody.

And as a side note, while I didn’t know it at the time, David’s language tutor is the actual historical linguist that they employed for the movie, Anil Biltoo. His and Fassbender’s pronunciations were strong enough that even a hobbyist in linguistics could tell that they were really, really trying to get it right. They even reference Schleicher’s fable, the first piece of text anyone ever created from reconstructed Proto-Indo-European. This level of nerdy detail made me excited.

Side note to the side note, Biltoo also has an introductory textbook on Sanskrit you can buy, if you’re a maniac like I am.

This scene kept part of me hopeful for the rest of the movie, because it’s so strong. The “not minding that it hurts” line is a little on the nose, but overall it has the feel of something that could be expanded into an extremely melancholy short film. Or, hell, a Tarkovsky-esque feature film. Moon (2009) could be another point of comparison. In any case, this scene gives you a little space to feel all the quiet suffering of David’s existence. 

But unfortunately for the movie as a whole, this sets David up as the most sympathetic character. I personally had already been drawn in by the promotional “advert” for the David-8 model android (see part 1). Now I was invested in this particular David’s story. The rest of the film didn’t manage to yank back much sympathy for anybody else. 

Because the general vibe I soon picked up from the rest of the crew was that they were absolute hooting jackasses.

⛬

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⛬

Sources alt-text facts:

1. https://www.denofgeek.com/movies/how-ron-perlman-nearly-ruined-the-alien-resurrection-basketball-shot/  2. https://www.imdb.com/name/nm0766970/?ref_=ttfc_fc_cl_t50

[jacksgreysays]

Ever since you mentioned Tim I've been rolling around how one could do a crossover with Shikako like a bouncy ball at the tips of my fingers.

And I've got it! ✨️Due to Trigon's Jashin vibes he accidentally pulls Shikako off course mid-dimension travel to Titans' Tower and due to Jason's post pit vibes Shikabane-hime is pulled to a certain time. Add Tim's pov and we've got a viable crossover. :p

Not a prompt/request; just a fic idea logistics ask. ✨️

I think if we’re going specifically for a Tim & Shikako crossover fic with either Tim POV or eventual friendship then the most direct route would be to set it during Tim’s first year as Red Robin when he’s specifically looking for evidence of space-time shenanigans with bat symbology. Like, yes, it’s aimed at Bruce. But that could also be Shikako. And given his big bad during that terrible, horrible, no good, very bad year is Ra’s who is, if not the master of the Lazarus Pit, then the person who has used it the most that’s doubly a more direct connection.

If we want her to show up earlier than that, while he’s Robin proper and not Red Robin, I think it depends on the vibe/energy of the fic we’re going for.

Like, if we want it to be a meditation on the nature of life and death, love and grief, we could maybe lean into the Shikabane-hime = Shinigami and if instead of going for cloning, Tim went for necromancy/magic rituals ala spqr’s The Next Life. We could go for that stretch of time in which Tim’s dad, Kon, Bart, and Stephanie were dead or—a little less bleak, and slightly less soul crushing, but still similar vibes—would be when his mom dies/dad is in a coma and he doesn’t want to be adopted by Bruce so he invents a FAKE UNCLE. So, like, necromancy isn’t too much of a stretch for that boy.

Alternatively, if we don’t feel like breaking his heart first, given how his parents were doing “obscure/random archaeological digs” there could be a “mystical artifact” that the Drakes send home that summons Shikako? Or, given how wacky the original comic run of Young Justice is, it could be from that stretch of time, like one of their quirky one shot type of missions. And, well, they did have a literal ghost on their team so a interdimensional ninja isn’t too off base. There’s also Klarion the Witch-boy who Tim is, if not loosely allied with, then occasional tolerated acquaintances with I think? And he does interdimensional stuff so it’s not like that’s entirely outside the realm of possibility—although that’s maybe moving too far away from the Tim-centric vibe we’re going for.

I’m also just like… Janet Drake is straight up a mystery. She’s so infrequently seen canonically as opposed to Jack who has a personality and a character arc (even if it is small) that it’s easy to attribute any AU-ness Tim may or may not have to her. Like maybe she has a family heirloom necklace that we know is actually Shikako’s Gelel stone. Or she’s made some kind of faustian bargain with the non-Shikabane-hime Shinigami and then X years later, Shikako is there to collect on the Shinigami’s behalf (knowingly or not.)

I mostly bring it up because I do love how malleable Tim Drake is (he’s so fun to throw into AUs!) and the earlier in his Robin career—or even before he becomes Robin—he meets Shikako the more she can do to either prepare/divert him from his very sad, all-the-people-you-love-are-dead fate. Like… instead of Tim being sent abroad as a 13 year old(?!) to learn from some of Batman’s old teachers and then getting found/mentored by Lady Shiva instead, it would be cool if Shikako was there also. Like either as an occasional partner to Lady Shiva, or a similarly temporary student, or something similar. Or maybe instead of Lady Shiva if we want to streamline?

Although I am now recalling many moons ago that my last "in which Tim is trained by Lady Shiva post but NOT to be Robin" was a sneaky Assassin's Creed crossover and given that the Isu in Assassin's Creed are the gods of mythology, it would be interesting if Shikako's in to this world was as a theoretical (actual?) corporeal Isu against Ra's League of Assassins (who are actually Templars who have nearly wiped out actual Assassins and have taken the title for themselves)

But… yeah… most Occam’s razor version is her showing up during his year from hell finding Bruce in spacetime and fighting a creepy immortal man. Most fun version is her showing up when he’s younger than her apparent age (of… 15?) and then these two weird teenagers, one of whom is mentoring the other in techniques/abilities previously unseen in this world, are just… absolutely bewildering the superhero world.

[ishalltakeyourknees]

My original name is Gaius Marcius Atellus. I was born in 450 CE, 26 years before the fall of the Roman empire. At the age of 20, I received a blessing from a priestess of Juventas. At the age of 26, as the empire crumbled around me, I foolishly prayed to whoever would listen that I would never die until I saw the Roman empire rise again.

Sitting on a bench in Central Park, I breath out a curse towards my younger self. Today I go by Rowan Medows, and I work at some company or another, in the IT department, I believe. Truthfully, I don't need the job. In the seventies I went through a phase where I bought shares in several companies because I had accumulated a lot of money that was just sitting in different bank accounts, and the money I had "inherited" whenever I "died" was partially in those, but most of it I kept as a nest egg in my apartment. I've lived through too many economic collapses not to keep cash handy.

In the 1500-odd years I've lived, I've met a lot of people. Some good, some bad. It turns out you only have room in your brain to remember so many things. I no longer know what my parents looked like. I do, however, remember a few people here and there. I served with the Rough Riders, I've worked in a few mines, I spent many years in prison, although not concurrently, I contributed to a few people losing their heads in the 1780s, I spent some time as a pirate in Asia under a wonderful captain, folks were always surprised she was so good with a sword. The most important person, though, was named Andreas.

I met Andreas in 1312. At the time, I was a Benedictine monk somewhere in France or Germany. He was 24 years old, and perfect. He had dark hair and eyes, and striking features. At the time I was called Brother Luke. We joined at around the same time, and we became fast friends. Then after a couple years, we became a bit more. He was the only person I told my real name after I changed my identity for the first time. He was the first person I told about my condition. He was the first and only person I've ever loved.

Then, of course, people began to notice that Brother Luke hadn't changed in a few years, and I had to die. Over the years, I learned how to enter a meditative state so deep, that without medical equipment that would not be invented for hundreds of years, anyone would say that I was dead. Andreas told everyone I had suddenly died in the night, and Brother Luke was no more. After my burial, very late at night, he dug me back up again, and after a tearful farewell, we filled the grave in again. I haven't seen him since 1316. According to reports, he died in 1320 of the bubonic plague. I think of him every day.

I am shaken out of my reverie by the feeling of someone sitting next to me on the bench. I glance over, and the young man looks oddly familiar.

"Do you still think of me after all this time, Gaius?" It can't be.

"Andreas?" I whisper, looking at him. He hasn't changed a bit.

"Who else, dove?" The language has changed, but his name for me hasn't.

"How are you here?" God, I missed his eyes, so warm and dark.

"Do you remember telling me about your prayer about your empire?" I nod. "When you left, I spent days in my cell. Everyone thought I was ill, and I suppose I was. But most of those days, I was praying for you. The last day, I begged God to make it so I would not die before you. And so here I am. But you haven't answered my question, dove. Do you still think of me?"

"Every day."

It’s been many years since you’ve stopped aging. You’ve seen nations rise and fall. Met, and forgotten countless people. One day, as you’re resting your eyes in a park, dreaming of a love long past, the person on the bench next to you speaks. “You think of me after all this time?”

[dreadwhoop]

Reviewing the All Elite Wrestling personnel 2023 Edition (Part 2) -

PUSH -

The Most Wanted. A wrestler I look forward to seeing on TV every single time which is a rarity in AEW these days. He's incredible! Yes I imagine his lack of promo deflates a full-on title push but this is why managers were invented. Put him with CJ Perry and let him chase the TNT title. Bandido. TNT. See how effective this all sounds? His win-loss record is criminal - I would protect this guy as a serious project to develop.

Likely the prime choice to be the next AEW Champion all things considered. He's clever to protect his spot. Call it akin to Hogan or Cena or anybody politicing in the back the guy must have a silver tongue backstage. Not to bash Adam Cole once again but the moment I saw Jay White I asked out loud what was the point of Adam Cole now? We can clearly see, unlike Adam Cole, Jay White welcomes the promo battles with MJF because he wants to be considered as good and, yeah, MJF smoked him with the 'Tofu' line but you know I've seen Tofu survive a Zombie Apocalypse with only a knife so color me interested at the success he's getting.

A dark horse in AEW's future success. Transplant Jay White's goatee onto him and you've got a serious contender for future AEW Champion. Also can't speak a lick of English hence Don Callis. Nothing much more can be said. He's got size, impression, and time on his side. He isn't being made into some gimmick joke character so they must think highly on the guy. A time will come when one has to ask who people see doing well when they're not in AEW. Relatively safe and solid worker.

Aah yes a favourite of mine. Should of been everything Sammy Guevara could of been and, hopefully, more. Santana is one of AEW's most missed opportunities and it's obvious he tried to go to WWE but got rejected so could never debut on the Puerto Rico event. A shame. It's a risk to invest in him but it's worth taking if it pays off - the guy is easily able to hang with the established main eventers and future stars if he can finally detach himself from the chains of Ortiz.

I debated this one for a bit. On one hand it's frustrating how badly they've booked big men in this company. Lance Archer. Powerhouse Hobbs. Wardlow. Miro included, but Miro still gets attention because of the absurdity of his story. The right thing to do with him is to make him a chaser who keeps having obstacles put in his way. A "12 Labours of Hercules" kind of deal. Miro is a long-term push who, on his way up, can highlight other talents too.

A 11th hour success story - the BCC, JAS, and Outcasts have been insufferable drains on television time - non-story factions who pick fights which mean nothing to serve the cause of one person - Moxley, Jericho, and Saraya (dis)respectably. Put some AM Radio filters on her promos and even during the intro for the commentary, pull out a red carpet with photographers when she wins the Women's Title and have her kiss a plastic baby held by Gene Snitsky before he punts it. Have Toni Storm stalk Darby Allin thinking he's pining for the "good old days" whilst Danhausen stalks her like Nosferatu. Have Hikaru Shida do something with her Kurosawa style…it's endless…dare I say…Timeless??? People naturally knew to clap her instead of cheer. This is how you get OVER.

Would of included her last year but official roster candidates qualify so here she is now. She's someone who I can count the number of moves she does yet every move she does counts. Special mention to Brody King who has been a beacon of inspiration for her and championing her cause. She should be the next TBS Champion but not yet do it next year. All she needs is a broader moveset and she'll soar to new heights in her young career what most veterans never see at all. Great finisher. Great theme song too.

In many ways the contrast of Julia Hart in the sense of being a fantastic veteran who has always had the look of a serious competitor and the attitude of a rugged badass. AEW has always flirted with the idea of Mercedes Martinez for some time and it seems like the time has come for her to go full mercenary and take everyone and anyone out before she's out of opportunities.

Speaking of Latina latents, Thunder Rosa is due for a return and it should be a monumental one building up to feuds with Jamie Hayter (when she's ready) and Britt Baker (if she's still here). Or why not Taya too…actually where's Deeb? One of the biggest mysteries is Deeb's disappearance. Anyways Thunder Rosa is a complete flavour of work, look, and promo it's just not everyones' taste. She's been doing Vlogs so it's not like she's missing just not being used. Why?

Every year I seem to nominate at the end a former AEW Champ to get rid of so, for a change of pace, here's a former AEW Champ to push. Kenny Omega is still a viable draw when you detach him from all the stupidity associated with his personality. The Cleaner needs to find a way to make AEW's faithful more than just hanger-ons and return to being the franchise player where he can mix with any style. Keep his work inside the ring, build psychology, wrestle fundamentals, and revise his goals to humble his way without gimmicks or stipulations. Make him just WRESTLE and let time speak for it.

[missdawnandherdusk]

Beautiful Ghosts

Ghost!Reader X Draco

Summary: Request: @sydthekid1518​: I had an Idea for a draco fic, where y/n is a ghost that’s fairly popular with the students and staff, and draco falls for her and stuff? And then maybe y/n and Harry create a plan that would allow reader to come back to life and stuff and be with draco.

A/N: Happy spooky season to all and to all a good night filled with Draco Malfoy. I’m so excited about how this turned out and that I got it done before Halloween because the odds weren’t looking to hot not gonna lie, but here it is and it’s beautiful. As always, let me know what y’all think,,,

“Y/n, please don’t disturb my students,” Snape droned with a monotone voice.

“You’ve got no power over me, Severus,” I laughed, ghosting away from his Slytherins working on Polyjuice potion.

“But I do have control in this classroom, dead or not Miss Y/n, this is my domain,” Snape argued, ruffled.

“I’m eternally bonded to this school. It’s my domain more than it is yours,” I countered, perched on his desk.

“Blasted ghosts,” A boy muttered, catching my attention, “No respect for authority,”

Tilting my head, I made my way over to him, studying the young Slytherin. He was about the age that I was when I had died, moved on, crossed the veil—whatever. His steady grey eyes and twisted sneer told me all that I needed to know about him.

“Another Malfoy,” I mused. “Interesting... And where’s your respect for the dead Mr. Malfoy?”

His eyes went wide at the idea that I was addressing him at all. Like I spooked him. Imagine that, a ghost spooking someone.

“Enough Ms. Y/n. Kindly refrain from scaring my students if you must stay,” Snape intervened. “I’m not scared,” Malfoy shot back.

“Boo!” I teased before passing through the walls of the dungeon and into my favorite spot in the entire castle, even living: the library.

I never had so much time on my hands before being dead, and now I could just take a book and read. Pince had been able to enchant them in such a way that I was able to hold them and turn their pages still. I was in the middle of a riveting tale about a boy who never grew up and had his destiny forced upon him and could fly. Perched on one of the tops of the shelves, I was lost in another world of magic.

“I didn’t know you could read,” I heard the same condescending voice from Severus’ potions class earlier that day.

“Little Malfoy,” I smiled down at him, closing my book. “And why would you assume that? I don’t look that stupid, do I?”

“Well, no,” He fumbled. “But you’re a ghost, you’re dead,”

“Yes, and I like to read, anything else?” I raised an eyebrow at him.

“Don’t call me little Malfoy. My name’s Draco,” He huffed.

“But it annoys you,” I mocked a pout. “And you are a little Malfoy, a bit taller than your father, but young all the same,”

“Who are you calling young? We’re the same age,” His voice raised enough that Pince had to shush him.

“I was born in 1776, I think you’re a little young,”

“1776!?” Draco’s eyes bulged. “But... how? You’re...” Pince hushed him again. I floated down and perched on the desk, trying and failing to contain my laughter.

“Oh, so now you care little Malfoy?” I teased lightly. “What happened to your dismissal of spirits not hours ago?” He didn’t have an answer for that. He just stared and didn’t dare to meet my eyes. “If you really want to know, I’ll tell you some time, but you’re going to be late for McGonagall if you don’t get going,”

Flustered, Draco headed out of the library and I watched him go. Knowing that Remus had a class this hour with the infamous Harry Potter, I headed over and perched on a desk in the back.

“Miss Y/n,” Remus acknowledged, “Perhaps you’d like to aid us today as we learn about ghosts and spirits?” Even though he had grown quite a bit over the years, there was still the same shine in his eyes when he was able to teach—even if it wasn’t a rag-tag group of marauders.

“So... you’re a ghost?” A young Hermione asked, a girl who spent a lot of hours in my library.

“Yes,” I smiled at her. “There are different types of ghosts however,”

“Oh, yes, Poltergeists, Funnels, Whisps, Orbs, and Shades,” She said matter-of-factly.

“Exactly, and Hogwarts has them all,” I looked to Remus who nodded for me to continue. “Most of you know that Peeves is a Poltergeist, a trickster loud ghost. Sometimes they were loud and violent, sometimes... well sometimes you have something like Peeves.” The class laughed.

“I’m sure you all have heard of the Grey Lady?” Remus interjected. “Helena Ravenclaw was murdered by the Bloody Baron and spends the rest of her days here at Hogwarts, they are both what we classify as Funnel ghosts. Ghosts who visit loved ones or loved places,”

“What about Whisps?” An intrigued Weasley asked.

“Well, most others are Whisps,” I explained. “Nearly Headless Nick, the Fat Friar, and most others you see strolling about. There is no strict reason that they’re here, other than they chose not to move on, or felt their work on earth was not completed.”

“Orbs are normally the spirits of animals or humans travelling about,” I continued, “They mainly show up in photographs. It wasn’t till after I died that cameras were invented, and they were found,”

“Any what kind of ghost are you?” A shy kid in the back asked. The class of kids turned to me, all expectant.

“I’m a Shade,” I explained. “It means that when I died, I wasn’t meant to. My soul knowing that, remained, and here I am,”

“Shades are very rare in the Wizarding World,” Remus cut in, “Not many are killed before their time, and many of them are very young,”

“Aren’t Shades allowed to come back though?” Hermione asked. “Because they were wrongfully killed? Doesn’t fate allow them another chance?”

Remus and I shared a look. I remembered when he had asked me that same question when he was no more than a third year as well. There was a solemn sorrow in his eyes.

“Yes,” I answered hesitantly. “There is a possibility, but the odds are almost impossible. Most of them have to do around prophecies.”

Class had ended, and Hermione waved as she went to leave. I lingered behind a bit with Remus for old times’ sake. He was one who had always been kind to me. I was one who never judged him for being a werewolf before he found his marauders.

“Sirius escaped from Azkaban,” He whispered softly, his gaze fixed on the papers on his desk. “I... I thought I was over it. Over him. He had my best friends killed,”

Pity flooded my chest as I hovered over to him, my hand ghosting above his.

“That wasn’t your fault Remus...” Was I going to give away the truth that I knew? Or would I keep it a secret? “And it wasn’t Sirius’ either,”

“How can you say that!” Remus slammed his hand on the desk. “He gave away Lily and James’ location! Then he killed Peter!”

“Remus,” I shook my head. “I can’t tell you everything, because it’s not in the stars, but... your friend isn’t who you think he is,”

A quiet moment passed between us and rather than get upset at me like I had thought he would, he spoke softly and surely.

“You’re... you’re saying there’s hope?”

“There’s always hope,” I offered a soft smile. “For all of us... even me,”

“How are you doing with that? The prophecy?” He asked.

I sighed and shook my head. “I might really be stuck like this for the rest of... forever...” 

“Is there anything...?”

“No,” I denied softly. “Interfering with a prophecy can ruin it,”

“Can,” Remus stressed. “Not that it will,”

“But is it worth that risk?” I countered. “I could lose my one shot to come back. To be human again,”

“If I could be human again, I’d take any chance I could,” Remus’ eyes held a sadness that very few could sympathize with. One of those was me.

“Perhaps you’re right,” I murmured and let him be, drifting around the halls for a bit then back to the library to think some more and maybe find the right answer.

What I didn’t expect to find however was Draco, fast asleep where we had spoken earlier, draped over a few books and handwritten notes. I hadn’t noticed the late hour, sometimes time did elude me, and the days seemed to run together.

I didn’t want to wake the young Malfoy, instead, I peered at the books underneath him. Potions books, it seemed. Supposing that a Slytherin might have a partiality to Snape’s class, there was no need to question why he’d rather work on this subject than the others. Knowing Pince would chase Draco out of the library if he didn’t wake, my notion to not disturb him fell to the wayside.

“Malfoy!” I whispered loudly. “Draco, wake up!”

It was useless to try and shake him awake, I wasn’t able to. I could however pull the book out from under his resting head. So, I did.

“Bloody hell,” Draco grumbled, rubbing his eyes. “What’d you do that for?” 

“You fell asleep?”

“And that was the only way you know how to wake a person?” He snapped, blinking into consciousness.

I gave him a flat look and reached out to touch him. He shied away, but it was in vain because my hand passed right through his material body.

“Oh,” He muttered. “But you can touch the books?”

“Pince and I worked on that together,” I informed him. “Did you think I would spend eternity and not figure out how to read?”

“I... uh,” He stammered, blushing a bit. “How come I’ve never met a ghost like you before?” 

“And that means?” I pressed, perching on the desk.

“Well, all of the other ghosts are... I don’t know... stuck in their ways? Not sad about being ghosts? Haven’t kept up on things like reading?”

“You think I’m sad about being a ghost?” I mused.

“I... you—I mean,” He stammered, looking down in embarrassment. “You just seem... optimistically hopeless,” It was almost mumbled through his exhaustion.

“You know those words have opposite meaning, right?” I teased softly. “And... I’m a Shade. I doubt you’ve met another before like me,”

“A Shade?”

“Do you not pay attention in Remus’ class?” I raised an eyebrow at him.

“I don’t have his class until tomorrow,” Draco dismayed. “And it’s a stupid class anyway,”

“Defense against the dark arts isn’t stupid,” I refuted. “Especially with Remus teaching it,”

“You knew him then... when he went here. Professor Lupin,” Draco noted.

“Yes,” Lost in thought, a quietness passed before I spoke again. “When you learn what a Shade is, you’ll understand,”

“You could just tell me,” Draco whined, listlessly tired.

“But then you won’t pay attention in class,” I smiled. “Go on to bed, Draco. I’m not going anywhere,”

____________________________

Draco sulked in bed that night, thinking about you. Thinking about what a Shade was. Of course, he didn’t wait for class in the morning, instead he took out his DADA book and began to read up on ghosts. And he read. And read. And read. And barely found anything about what a Shade was. All that he knew was that you died when before your time. Maybe that was why he saw the sadness in your eyes.

He had every intention to be at Lupin’s class that day, but having Mythical Creatures beforehand, things hadn’t gone as planned.

“There’s always one,” Your voice sounded amused. “Why am I not surprised it was you, Little Malfoy?”

“It was the bloody hippogriff,” Draco snapped back.

“And somehow I don’t think that’s the entire truth,” You mused, hovering at his bedside. Until Pomfrey gave him the clear to leave, he was stuck with you.

“Won’t you just leave me alone?” He groaned, closing his eyes and laying back on the lumpy pillows of the hospital cot.

“Did you not want to learn about Shades? You’re going to miss Remus’ class after all,” The smile he heard in your voice made him look over to you, skeptical.

Your offer was tempting. Very tempting. He didn’t care much about magic other than excelling at it, therefore things that didn’t pertain to his advancement—mythical creatures and the like— held no inkling to him. And yet, you were a mystery he didn’t mind learning about. He wanted to know more about you. And you specifically.

“I guess, since I’m stuck here,” He tried to play it off as nonchalance, but you raised an eyebrow at him, seeing right through his charade.

“Well, Little Malfoy,” You hovered and perched on the end of his bed. “What do you know?”

“I... uh. Shades are people who have died before their time,” He stammered, not sure why he was so nervous.

“Quite,” You nodded. “Anything else?”

“Our book didn’t have anything else,” He admitted.

You went pensive a moment then nodded. “I suppose that you’d learn more about me in Divination than the Dark Arts,”

“Divination? You’ve got to be bloody joking! That class is a circus!” Draco exclaimed, wincing when he moved his arm too much.

“Perhaps,” You didn’t berate him, but seemed to be lost in thought once more. “But all Shades are tied to prophecies.”

“All of them?” Draco pressed.

“The fates understand that these souls left before their time, and give them another chance, a prophecy... to come back and live one more time.”

“So, you have the chance to live again?” His genuine curiosity seemed to shock both of you. “How?”

“If the prophecy is fulfilled, then I get to live again,” You said it as if it were obvious. 

“So, why haven’t you, I don’t know... fulfilled it?” Draco asked.

You laughed something sad and soft. “Don’t you think I’ve tried? I’ve read every prophecy, every book, every scribble. I’ve tried everything... after so many centuries, you give up hope and accept your fate,”

“But this wasn’t your fate,” He argued back. “You were meant to live, back then, whatever that life was,”

“Do you know what happened when I was young, before I died, Little Malfoy?” You spoke, and he could hear the age in your voice though you liked no older than he was. It was your sorrow that aged you. He waited for you to continue. “I was born in 1776, the year the Americans went to war with the King of England. At the time we were living in the French countryside with my aunt because my father had gone to fight in the war. He was a general,” A smile ghosted your lips. “My father died in the war... the battle of Yorktown... that’s what it’s called today. Back then it was just a letter and inheritance money that went to my brother,”

“Hang on, you’re saying that your father fought in the American War of Independence? Under the king?”

“So, he can be taught,” You smiled at him. “Yes, the king at the time was a wizard and until parliament and the ministry were born and declared that muggles and wizards should rule themselves. Of course, the ministry was formed in the beginning of that century, but it took the war for them to call the final straw.”

“So, your father died in the war, that doesn’t explain what happened to you,” Draco pointed out, deeply invested.

“Well, tell me, what happened in France after that war ended?”

“The French Revolution,”

Your warm smile had the same effect as the sun. “Yes, and as I said, I was in France at the time, being tutored at home for the summer. Muggle girls weren’t allowed to go to school back then... I travelled to Hogwarts to receive schooling and even then, I was only allowed to learn Herbology and Potions. At least those two classes stayed the same,” You sounded sad and wistful. “But the revolutionists were going for the rich, any sort of rich. And at the time, they saw knowledge as wealth and power, and I had a reputation for being able to read and attending a private school out of the country and well...”

“They killed you because you knew how to read?” Draco distressed, sitting up, enraptured by your tale. “That’s so... stupid,”

“It was. But perhaps it was my own fault, I wouldn’t deny that I could read. I was proud.” Your smile faded again as melancholy settled on your face. “Now it seems that’s all I do. Fate is funny like that...”

“You’re free to go Mr. Malfoy,” Madam Pomfrey’s voice seemed to draw you both from whatever world had been created with your words.

He had to blink a few times to come to grips with the fact that he was currently in the hospital wing at Hogwarts, and not centuries behind, trying to imagine death for the reason of knowledge. There was an awkward moment between the two of you as you both seemed to realize that you were no longer int eh late eighteenth century. You offered a smile and left without another word, a curious look on your face as you left.

That was the last time he saw you that day, and that week for that matter, but he always wondered what you were doing. What were you reading today? What was your prophecy? Was it really as hopeless as you said it was? Was there a reason that he found himself caring?

______________________

“Oh, hello Harry,” I stood from the corner of Remus’ office, intrigued that the young Potter had come. He looked so much like his father that my heart ached for Remus and to imagine what he felt when he saw Harry.

“Y/n,” Harry seemed surprised. “I... uh... you know Professor Lupin?”

“Well I was here when he went to Hogwarts himself, so yes, I’m quite fond of him if you can believe it,” I smiled as Remus eyed the situation.

“Is there something that you needed Harry?” Remus asked, trying to sound professional, but I could hear the sentiment in his voice.

“The map...” Harry turned slightly pink.

A smile grew on my face. “You have the Marauder’s Map?” I almost laughed. “How in the world did you get that? Oh, if your father knew,” I did laugh this time.

Remus shot me a sharp look and Harry looked at me in wonder.

“My father? You knew my father?” The realization seemed to dawn him.

“Yes, well,” Remus interjected sharply. “Don’t get caught again Potter,”

“Why haven’t you told him?” I demanded as soon as Harry left. “Remus, come on, that’s not fair to Harry,”

“I’m not the one to tell him though! I can’t be!” He protested and I could hear the anxiety in his voice.

“Remus, I’ve known you a long time. And I’ve known James and Lily. They would want you to talk to him. They would want you apart of his life,” I argued, or perhaps encouraged softly.

“Maybe you’re right,” Remus mumbled.

“Of course, I am,” I smiled. “It’ll work out Re, with Sirius, and with Harry,” 

“I hope you’re right,”

I left him to his thoughts and on my way to the library, I was ambushed by the younger Potter. Not that I wasn’t expecting it, I knew that Harry would have questions for me as soon as he knew I knew his father.

“Hello Harry,” I smiled.

“You know about my dad,” He burst out, hope in his eyes and tone.

“And your mother,” I smiled and perched on the windowsill nearby.

“Can you tell me about them? Please?” His eyes went glossy with tears that he blinked away.

“Your mother was bold, but still kind and gentle. She looked out for the little guy. She rooted for the underdog and protected the younger years of any House. She was always kind to me. Her and Remus both.” The memory was fond, if it was a memory. Did ghosts have memories after they were dead?

“And my dad?” He clung to every word.

“He... was a bit like you. Always finding trouble whether it was his fault or not. Totally deserved to be smacked a few times... but the war changed him. He grew up rather quickly. Into a protective caring young man. Almost everyone had eyes for him, but he only saw your mother,”

“Do... you think they would be proud of me?” His gaze dropped to his beat-up sneakers. 

“Harry,” I called his attention. “You’re their son, they’ll always be proud of you,” 

“But—”

“No buts,” I interjected. “That’s all it takes for you to make them proud, I promise,”

He nodded and mumbled a thanks before taking off toward the Gryffindor dorm. Finding solace in the library, I began to read again. Maybe a week had passed. Perhaps two. I wasn’t sure. I was so wrapped up in my books that I became lost to time. Until a blond-haired boy came in, his nose stuck in a book.

“I was wondering when I’d see you again Little Malfoy,” I smiled, from my perch in the library. He didn’t acknowledge me, causing me to frown. “Draco?” I ghosted down and perched on the table next to him. “Are you ghosting a ghost?”

Though he ignored me I could see the smile that twitched at his lips. That gave me little hope. “Is everything alright?” I asked, genuine concern coloring my voice.

“Ask Potter,” Draco snapped. “You seem to fancy him lately,”

“Excuse me?” I was taken aback. “Harry? He just wanted to know about his parents, that’s all,” 

Draco frowned at this and he finally looked at me. “His parents?”

“Yes,” I rolled my eyes. “It’s not like he has a lot of people who know his parents and are willing to tell him anything. Dumbledore has made almost everyone vow not to talk to him, but what good is a vow to someone who’s already in the grave?” I shrugged. “Poor kid knows nothing,”

“I...” Draco didn’t seem to have the words. Instead he looked back down at his book. I smiled and rolled my eyes at his antics.

“If you care that much, you are still my favorite Little Malfoy,” His cheeks tinged pink and I laughed. “You’re something else Malfoy, you know that?”

“Says the girl who died for admitting that she could read instead of lying,” He raised an eyebrow at me. I chuckled and shrugged.

“Says the boy who avoided me for what, two weeks, because I talked to a boy about his dead parents,” I mused.

“It wasn’t two weeks,” Draco grumbled. “Nine days,” 

“Oh, forgive me,” I laughed. “Nine days.”

He smiled and looked back down at his notes. I think it was the first time I had ever seen him smile and not sneer.

“So, nine days,” He prompted. “I assume you haven’t left the library... read anything interesting?”

I laughed and somehow the hours passed as Draco and I spoke about books and stories we had read as kids, and the ones we were currently invested in. It shocked me to know that he was an avid reader, of fantasy novels, nonetheless. Though I had read just about everyone that he had mentioned, there were a few that I added to my mental list of his that I said I would check out. He seemed sincerely happy at my interest of the books he read.

“Father thought they were childish,” He muttered when I asked him about it. “Fairytales and fantasies,”

“That’s stupid,” I scoffed, and Draco gaped at me, aghast that I would dare to call something his father said ‘stupid.’ It made me pause. “You... you know you don’t have to always agree with your parents,”

His gaze cast downward. “I don’t want to disappoint them,”

My face furrowed. “You’re they’re son, that’s enough for them to be proud,”

“You don’t know my parents,” He scoffed, leaning back in his chair. “I think the last time they were proud of me, is when I was sorted into Slytherin.”

“I’m sure that’s not true,” I protested.

“You don’t know my parents,” Draco argued again.

“I do,” I retorted. “Or I did,”

The notion seemed to dawn on Draco as he stared up at me with wonder in his eyes. 

“You did,” He realized. “Can you tell me about them... have they always been so...” 

“Strict?” I offered.

“Suffocating,” Draco supplied.

I pressed my lips together and thought a moment.

“Your father, perhaps. I never spoke to him much, and he never paid me mind. But you mother,” I smiled at the memories that came flooding back. “She was bold, cunning. She loved her sisters with a fierce passion.” My smile. “The three of them were some of the brightest witches I’d ever seen,” I glanced over to him. “You have her eyes, her same spirit,”

A smile drew on his lips as his face turned a soft shade of pink. “Do you know that because you’re a ghost?” He mused.

“No, I’m just a girl who can read character pretty well. After seeing so many faces pass through here, and reading so many stories, there are those who stand out and stay with you. Your mother... she stood out to me. And I can see her in your eyes,” My demeanor softened as I realized the words I was saying and if I could have, I would have blushed.

“Thank you,” He whispered as the clock chimed a late hour.

“You should head back,” I sighed softly. “Get some rest,”

“Why don’t I ever see you near the Slytherin dorm?” Draco asked, gathering his things. 

“I’d rather not cross paths with the Baron,” I admitted.

“The Baron? Why?” Draco frowned; his bag slung over his shoulder.

“Never you mind,” I smiled. “Get to bed Little Malfoy,”

“Don’t call me that,” He grumbled, trudging out of the library.

The night progressed as did the month and I went from one book to another, soon searching for a book I hadn’t in a long time. My diary from when I was alive. Published as its own book that I had found a few decades ago. Tucked into the pages was what held my fate. My prophecy.

I went to the shelf in which I knew my book had its home, but it wasn’t there. Instead a sliver of time carved away by my missing book. Drifting over to Pince I asked her about where my book had gone. She told me that Malfoy had checked it out and had it for about a week—since the day we spent in the infirmary together.

For the first time in a long time I felt... embarrassed that my story and thoughts were on display for anyone to read. I never cared before, but this felt different.

Cursing the late hour, I knew that there was no way to get to Draco now. The Bloody Baron was protective about other ghosts coming into the Slytherin dorms. I’d have to find him in the morning then. I considered loitering outside the Slytherin portrait, but I also did not want to go anywhere near the Bloody Baron. I had heard and read enough.

So instead I headed to the Astronomy Tower to watch the stars again, having silent conversations with them, wondering if they’d ever grant me life again.

“You’re glowing,”

The voice startled me enough that I actually jumped. The irony of scaring a ghost. I turned to see Draco behind me, his eyes glued to my shimmering skin.

“Yes, all ghosts do it under the moon and stars,” I noted. “By the way, can I have my book back?” I stood, going over to him.

“Your book?” He questioned.

“My book,” I restressed. “My diary? That you have from the library? The one that has my—” I stopped myself.

“Your prophecy.” Draco finished, offering me the book that he had drawn from his robes. “Yeah, I know.”

I stared at him curiously, pulling the book back into the security of my arms, where it belonged. That uncertain feeling returned to my chest.

“You know it’s rude to read a girl’s diary,” I retorted, defensive.

“It’s a published book in the library, anyone can read it,” Draco rolled his eyes. I gave him a flat look and he shifted his weight from one foot to the other. “So, have you figured out what it means?”

I sighed softly and shook my head in defeat. “The only thing I’m sure of is the great star is Sirius,”

“Sirius, like Sirius Black? Escaped Azkaban criminal?” Draco exasperated.

“Well, the star is his name sake. But I’m sure you of all people know that Draco,” I raised an eyebrow at him. “Your family has a knack for celestial namesakes. If I remember correctly, Sirius is your mother’s cousin,”

“What?” Draco demanded. “No! There is no way!”

“Draco,” I reached out for him in vain as he paced in anger and confusion. “Draco will you calm down?” I nearly shouted.

“Calm down!? How can I when I know that I’m related to that criminal!?” He demanded.

“Sirius isn’t a criminal!” I argued back. “He didn’t kill Peter or those people!” I gasped, covering my mouth in shame, my eyes wide. That was a secret that I wasn’t supposed to tell.

“What do you mean he didn’t kill those people?” Draco sneered, stalking up to me.

“I—I’m not supposed to...” I took a step back, ghostly tears welling in my eyes. “I wasn’t supposed to... Merlin,” I cried, sliding to the ground.

Draco’s demeanor changed from anger to worried and concerned. Not that I noticed through my distress. I felt as if I had just betrayed one of my best friends.

“Y/n, what... what in the world are you talking about?” Draco asked sitting beside me, a failed attempt to reach out and comfort me.

“I promised. I promised I wouldn’t tell what I knew until the time was right,” I sobbed. “Bloody hell, he’ll never trust me again,” I squeaked.

“Who?” Draco demanded.

I looked at him, wide eyed with fear, shaking my head softly. “I... I can’t. I’m sorry Draco,”

I dematerialized and rematerialized in a quiet portion of the castle grounds, away from the rest of the students, among the woods. The trees welcomed me and the further I walked in, the less tied to the castle I felt. I came to a lake and sat beside it. Crying tears that would never fall in my undead state, I stared at the water and my lack of reflection.

“I’m so sorry Sirius,” I wept softly. “I didn’t mean to tell him... I was just defending you,”

“I’m surprised you kept the secret this long,”

Again, I jumped, startled by the voice behind me.

“Hey there Spooks,” Sirius gave a lopsided smile, the years in Azkaban resting in his eyes and in the lines on his face.

“Sirius,” I gasped. “What are you doing? It’s not safe here!” I protested.

“I couldn’t leave my girl to cry, now could I?” He smirked, before his expression sobered.

 “You should,” I sniffed. “I’m so sorry Sirius, it slipped out,”

“I know,” He held his hands up in a calming effort. “I knew it would, and it’s okay. Who did you tell? It wasn’t Moony was it?”

“No,” I looked down. “But you need to tell him Sirius, he deserves to know,”

“He won’t even talk to me. He thinks that I betrayed James and Lily and killed all of his friends,” Sirius toed at the dirt—the same tick he had in his Hogwarts years when he had been caught in a lie or prank.

“But you didn’t,” I protested. “He still loves you Sirius, I can see it in his eyes and when he talks about you and James...”

“He—no,” Sirius shook his head. “That’s not for you to worry about,”

“Do not make me mother you,” I threatened. “Talk to Remus,”

“I will,” Sirius sighed. “When the time is right,”

“As a girl who’s waited for centuries for the right time... talk to him as soon as you can,” There was a pity-filled look on his face that I brushed off.

“Any luck with that? Your prophecy?” He seemed almost hopeful.

“No,” I sighed. “But there is one who took the time to ask this year. Like Remus did his first year,” The memory was a soft spot for both of us.

“You were his first friend,” Sirius smiled at the same memory. “So, who is it this year?” 

“Little Malfoy,”

Sirius snorted. “We both know you don’t have a sense of humor, drop the act,”

“I’m ser—” He gave me a look and I paused to rephrase. “I’m telling the truth. It was Draco who asked, who read my diary, and knows about the prophecy,” I hesitated. “He’s also the one I told,” My gaze dropped to the ground waiting for the backlash.

“Malfoy!?” Sirius demanded. “You told Malfoy!?”

“I’m sorry! I told you I was sorry!” I shouted back, bristling, feeling my body shudder. Sirius seemed to notice and took a few paces away and composed himself.

I dared to speak. “All he knows is that you didn’t kill Peter. That’s all. I’m so sorry Sirius,” I turned, and he was gone. “Fine! Leave!” I shouted. “Like always... like everyone...”

I let out a scream of frustration that was carried away with the wind. Letting out a sigh of defeat I wandered up to the castle again.

“Y/n?” For the third time tonight, I jumped at the call of my name. It was Draco again.

 “Draco, look,” I started. “I...”

“No,” He stopped me softly. “I’m sorry... I...” He shook his head and took off down the hall towards the Slytherin dorms. Chasing after him, he was too far gone, and I was face to face with the Baron.

“Oh, could this night get any worse?” I shouted to no one in particular. “I don’t mean to trespass, apologies.”

“Stay out of my territory and away from my students, you little harlot,” The Baron sneered. 

“Gladly,” I growled back. “Arse,” I muttered as I ghosted back to the upper levels of the castle.

Utterly lost on what to do, I found myself by the Black Lake, staring up at the moon and stars. I stayed there until the sun rose over the dark waters, painting the valleys in a golden light. I remained there, watching the sun and moon dance in the sky in an unchangeable waltz that continued for eternity.

“They said you were out here,”

I didn’t jump this time at the sound of his voice as the moon rose to her duet again.

“Hello, Draco,” I murmured softly. “Come to watch the stars with me?”

“Sure,” I could hear the smile in his voice as he sat beside me on the bank of the lake, the only sound was the music of the night, the lake lapping at the small beach, and his gentle breaths.

“I... I’m really sorry,” He murmured softly. “For that night, I didn’t mean to get so angry. I wasn’t upset with you...” Silence fell softly between us. “My parents never told me... I wrote to my mother...” My eyes widened as I gazed over at him, his pale skin almost having the same affect that mine did in the moon light. “I never knew...”

“I’m sorry,” I offered.

“Merlin don’t apologize to me,” He laughed hopelessly.

“Well I did sort of freak out on you, so... sorry.”

He shrugged and his gaze fixed on the moonlit water. “My father thinks it’s absurd that I’m talking to you... and I think my mother is slightly worried about me for it,”

“Any particular reason?” I mused.

“Father has always been against those different than him in any way... my mother probably worries that I’m not making friends...talking to ghosts...” A smile toyed at his lips at the mention of his mother.

“Are we not friends then?” I teased lightly, causing him to laugh.

“Sure,” He rolled his eyes at me, this time causing me to laugh. “Do you miss them?” He asked after a quiet moment.

“Who?”

“Your parents... your family?” He seemed almost afraid to ask.

I pondered the question. “Yes, sometimes... but I’ve spent a lot of years wasting tears that will never fall over people I can never see again... you move on and learn to live after a while... well as much as a ghost can live,”

“You can’t cry, can you?” He came to the fact easier and saner than most did.

I shook my head. “I can feel bitter sorrow, the worst loss, but I can never shed a tear,” I chuckled humorlessly. “The irony, I have the most to mourn and I can’t even cry,”

“I’m sorry,”

I shrugged. “I’ve lived a long time without being able to cry... just reminds me that I’ll never be quite human again,”

“But you could be,” He had more hope than I ever had about the fact. 

“Yeah,” I scoffed. “That stupid prophecy,”

“I don’t think it’s stupid,”

“You’ve haven’t spent centuries wondering what it meant,” I argued back:

“In the days when evil lurks around every corner; 

The condemned will become innocent; 

And the innocent will become condemned; 

True love can reanimate a deceased heart; 

Under the star of Great Dog; 

She will become alive as time is altered; 

Two souls will be set free that day as the star takes her place.”

“True love,” I scoffed again; my lips pressed together. “Like some sort of stupid fairytale,” 

“I thought you said that fairytales weren’t stupid,” Draco raised an eyebrow at me smirking.

“They’re not,” I rolled my eyes. “Believing that there’s true love out there to save me? That’s stupid,”

“Then maybe there’s no hope for any of us,” Draco sighed. “If someone like you can’t find true love, where’s the hope for the rest of us,”

A smile ghosted me lips at his words as I looked over to him, his eyes still trained on the water.

“You’re really sweet sometimes, you know that Malfoy?” His eyes darted to mine as his cheeks tinged pink.

“Will you come back inside?” He asked softly. “The library isn’t as interesting without you there,”

“Sure,” I smiled warmly at him.

Fall turned to winter turned to spring, and Draco and I spent a lot more time together than I cared to admit. He was almost easier to talk to than anyone else I had met. And that was saying something, because I knew Remus Lupin, who was fascinated with my fascination of the young Malfoy.

But all the same, I found myself crave Draco’s company more and more and cursing the Baron for not letting me see him while he was in his dorm. It was rough when he came down with a cold and I wasn’t able to see him for a week. No number of books could distract me from the fact that he wasn’t there to talk to. That he wasn’t here to talk to me. I had never missed anyone like this before.

But when he felt better, we’d press curfew to mere minutes just to get another word in with each other. Then he’d have to be human and I’d have to remember that I didn’t belong in his world and never could. It didn’t stop me, however, from finding and talking to him the next day. Or the day after that. Or the day after that.

Then there was a day in late spring that caught my attention as Sirius had finally gotten to Harry and his friends, but things had gone from bad to worse as I watched the scene unfold, doing the only thing I could think of, I spirited away to find Remus. He would know what to do, he would know how to help.

After I had explained what I had seen, Remus grabbed his wand and took off towards the Whomping Willow. I followed him, and as soon as I left the castle, I felt the dark presence of the dementors around me.

“No!” I shouted, going up to meet them, and for the first time in a long time gave into my spiritual power, long enough to hold them off and let Remus pass through safely.

I hovered over the Shrieking Shack, keeping the dementors as bay, away from Sirius, away from Remus. They didn’t dare to go near my pure light that was amplified by the full moon. Soon I saw the three of them emerge, Peter in chains, when the light of the full moon hit my little Remus.

With a cry of desperation, I did my best to keep the dementors away as I watched the horrors unfold before me before I couldn’t take it any long and chased after Remus, who was not a wolf into the wood.

“Remus!?” I shouted; my voice lost with the wind. “Remus, it’s me! Please come out!” I caught sight of Hermione and Harry and gestured that they should leave, and quickly. “Remus!?”

I heard a growl and turned, seeing golden scared eyes. 

“Hey,” I cooed softly. “You’re alright, you can’t hurt me,” 

A pained howl left his lips.

“I know,” I replied. “But you’re going to be alright, let get you back, yeah? To Prongs and Pads, they’re waiting for you.” Tears I wanted to cry weren’t shed at the pitiful heartbreaking whine that left his lips.

But he let me lead him back to the Shrieking Shack all the same. I stayed with him until McGonagall and Dumbledore came. There was a soft thank you from the both of them. I drifted back to the castle, pacing in anxiety.

“Y/n?” It was Draco’s voice. I turned.

“Draco, it’s not safe!” I squeaked. “What are you doing out of bed!?”

“I had to see you,” He confessed. “There are rumors, about Black and Lupin... I thought you’d... Are you alright?”

“Draco, really,” I glanced around, cursing that I couldn’t drag him inside to where it was safer. “It’s not safe for you out here,”

“Bloody hell, Y/n, what about you!?”

“I’m already dead! So, unless you’d like to join me!” I shouted, realizing after the fact what I had said. “Draco, I didn’t mean that,”

“You’re keeping things from me,” It was a broken accusation. “About Sirius, about Remus,”

“Draco, please,” I pulled away. “I... I have to go, I have to make sure that he’s alright,” My eyes trailed up to the top of the tower, knowing that I may have been the reason that Sirius was in chains again.

“No!” Draco shouted, drawing my attention.

He had never demanded anything of me before, not like this. It wasn’t the fact that he told me to stop, it was the notion that he had found his own voice in it that caused me to pause. I waited for him to continue.

“I’ve spent all year, all of my three years here, knowing you, and getting to know you and I’m not going to let you walk away again! I want to know! I don’t want this you can’t tell me act. If anyone, you can tell me. Can’t you trust me? Please,” His voice broke, unshed tears in his eyes.

“Draco,” My non-material heart broke a bit as he stood before me, vulnerable. Shaking and terrified I nodded. “Remus... is a werewolf. Sirius is an Animagus. Peter betrayed the Potters, and Sirius went to confront him. Peter faked his death and killed all those people and it was blamed on Sirius...” In my nervousness I began to ramble:

“...and Sirius and Remus confronted Peter tonight and Harry and his friends were there and I had to fight off dementors so that Sirius would be okay because I couldn’t bear to see him get hurt for something he didn’t do and then I had to go and help Remus because it’s a full moon and he won’t hurt me but for the love of merlin he will hurt you so will you please go inside!”

Draco gaped at me, in utter disbelief.

“Please Draco, go inside,”

“Only if you come with me,” He recovered.

My thoughts for Sirius were forgotten as I took a step closer to him. Instead, all I could see and focus on was the heartbreak on his face and the hand that he held out for me. A hand that I wanted to accept but knew that I couldn’t because I would phase right through him. Never had I loathed being dead so much but in that moment when all I wanted to do was comfort him.

For the first time in almost two hundred years, tears slid down my cheeks. I barely noticed. 

“Please,” His voice shook as did his hand as it remained extended to me. “Please, Y/n,” 

The moon fell behind the mountains as the sun shed her first light onto us.

And with reckless abandon, I reached out for him, for his hand. In desperation and false hope, closing my eyes, knowing my heart would never break more that in the next few moments for not being a part of his world.

Then my hand felt softness and warmth.

I gasped and jerked back, and Draco seemed to realize this as I did.

“You just...” He stammered.

“I...” Trembling, I held my hand up, the sunlight no longer passing through it but refracting off of it. I finally reached up and felt the wetness of tears on my cheeks as I gasped in pure joy.

“I’m human,” I laughed, “I’m human!” I marveled at my rosy skin and the soft green fabric of my dress as I felt the grass beneath my feet. After a moment, I, at last, looked to Draco, who seemed to be frozen in a state of wonder and disbelief, and almost... scared.

“Draco,” I called softly, “It’s me,” I offered my hand to him, the grin not leaving my face. 

“You’re... and...”

I nodded and smiled, taking a step closer to him. “Not scared of ghosts, are you?” I teased softly.

He finally laughed and took my hand, pulling me close, into the comfort of his arms. I began to cry again because for the first time in two hundred and fifty years, I was hugged. I clung to him, my fingers marveling at the softness of his shirt, trailing up into his hair.

“Merlin,” Draco pulled away softly. “You have no idea how long I’ve been waiting for this,”

Before I could ask him what he meant—or argue that I had been waiting longer than he ever had—he pressed his lips to mine, and in that moment, I swear I could have died all over again in his arms.

.

In the days when evil lurks around every corner, 

The condemned will become innocent,

And the innocent will become condemned.

True love can reanimate a deceased heart, 

Under the star of Great Dog,

She will become alive as time is altered; 

Two souls will be set free that day as the star takes her place.

.

masterlist

.

more like this:

beautifully beastly

hufflepuff series

.

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[anhed-nia]

Spoilers be here

The more I think about this movie the less I like it. Under the veneer of competence and sentimentality there may be nothing but a gimmick, and it's an old gimmick too: "What if we made a zombie movie but with REAL human drama instead of all that horror bullshit?" It feels like someone has to ask this question every few years and everybody treats it like it's a really novel idea, even though George Romero was immediately doing Real Human Drama when he invented the zombie subgenre as we know it, and he never stopped. I'm not really doing any kind of good or responsible film analysis here, I'm just venting about this personal pet peeve that won't die (ahem). But this is why I didn't like The Walking Dead (comic or show), because of all this posturing on the part of BOTH the writers and their audiences suggesting that it was really brave and sophisticated of them to have psychological realism and character deaths, and to say "This is NOT a story about scary monsters, it's REALLY about human nature etc" when they're really just imitating what Romero perfected decades earlier. And I mean it would be foolish to insist on originality in any case, but your familiar, derivative thing still needs to be good, it's not enough to just be very serious and self-satisfied. I'm not so sure that HANDLING THE UNDEAD is anything more than just very satisfied with its own seriousness.

Another thing I don't like so much here is also a reoccurring issue in modern horror cinema, and it is also supposed to confer instant sophistication onto a film without the hassle of good writing: that thing of being deliberately ambiguous with your story. I happen to have a very high tolerance for this, in fact I am less tolerant of movies that bend over backwards to rationalize and explain themselves; I mean film is a visual and atmospheric medium, you should be able to tell me a complete story without trying to convince me that it happened in real life. But if you're going to do that thing where some facts are deliberately left in shadow and there are no easy answers etc, there should be a real motivation for it other than just trying to seem smart and artsy. Like in TROUBLE EVERY DAY, which feels like it has about twelve lines of dialog, you don't need any more information than what you get in order to feel fully involved with the story, and in fact more information might have just made the film feel bloated and defensive. But some filmmakers seem like they've decided to be withholding as a stylistic gesture--like they're doing it because they saw Claire Denis (or someone) do it. They don't know why Denis does it, they're just jealous of that bewitching power she has, so they're going to leave stuff out too. But if you don't know what you're doing, this can be really detrimental, for instance:

Some of the characters in HANDLING THE UNDEAD have some sort of troubled past that is not explained. An angsty young burnout doesn't resolve whatever-the-problem-is with her mother before the mom gets zombified, and this is supposed to make their situation extra fraught...but in reality the conclusions are all the same as with all the other characters, "It's really sad when someone dies, you can never go home again, etc." Meanwhile in another segment a woman and her father contend with the re-animation of her five year old son, which raises huge questions not the least of which is "How does a five year old die?" I mean this isn't the dark ages, they don't just expire from obscure weaknesses. And there's this unexplained enmity between the woman and her father, and it's impossible to tell if they're just "dealing with grief differently" or if one of them is specifically culpable in the child's death or what...but once again none of this impacts the answer to the movie's central question, once again it all just boils down to "It's really sad when someone dies." Which frankly is something that nobody really needs to be told. But I think if you propose but refuse to answer a question that is way more intriguing than the central question that you do answer, then that's a big problem and you should rethink why you're doing things the way you're doing them. The End.

HANDLING OF THE UNDEAD (Hanteringen av odöda)

There's a certain common experience of comic awkwardness--actually there's even a Mr. Show sketch about it, if I remember correctly--where, after bidding a sincere farewell to someone at the end of an enjoyable night out, you make the unfortunate realization that you're both walking the same way home. Emotionally you are both somewhere else now, "the night" is conceptually over, and now you're trapped together without a script. Although Thea Hvistendahl's feature debut HANDLING THE UNDEAD probably has nothing else in common with Mr. Show, they both ask this same basic question about closure and the persistence of the past. The film concerns three families of the recently re-animated; there's a sort of will they/won't they tension regarding the obvious question of whether these zombies will behave in the traditional manner, but the focus is more strongly on the emotional problem of accepting that things will never again be as they once were.

I think this film is really going to do it for modern horror fans who have come to expect direct explorations of tough topics like grief and trauma. For me personally, I found it highly competent, but a little flat; yes, it is sad, it is VERY sad, it is VERY, VERY SAD, and what more can one really expect? At my screening director Hvistendahl was available for questions, and she candidly confessed that she didn't have any personal experiences with grief to which she could refer--a fact that had no impact on the amount of sniffling in the audience. She inherited the project from others, after a few false starts over the last decade; it is adapted from a novel by John Ajvide Lindqvist, better known for LET THE RIGHT ONE IN, and the writer really did have a powerful reference point for grief. According to Hvistendahl his father was literally defaced in a hideous boating accident and, despite the warnings of morgue workers, he insisted on viewing the body. The filmmaker says that her own reference points lay outside her life; that she drew inspiration from others who'd had closer encounters with death.

Personally, I started thinking about people I've known who died early in the film, and then I just couldn't stop. I wondered what would happen if various people came back. The basic assumption might be that it's usually desirable to have somebody back, if you missed them. But I feel like things are likely to be more complicated, especially if the living have already gone some distance through the grieving process--potentially accessing feelings that were too hard to face during the deceased's lifetime.

I thought about a much-admired friend, somebody who was kind of my hero and who was adored by everyone who knew her, who killed herself. The main initial reaction among her closest loved ones was rage. People were so, SO angry with her for leaving them, or not allowing them to save her, or maybe for forcing them to feel as sad and lonely as she felt, or for whatever other things seem to piss people off so much about suicide. I don't know what would happen if she came back to life. I mean probably a lot of people would lay down their arms and try to be grateful, but who knows. That kind of really personal anger can be hard to come back from.

I also thought about a couple I know well, the wife was extremely well-loved by many people, all of whom were devastated when she was diagnosed with terminal cancer. The painful, protracted illness made the loss all the more awful, and it fell to her surviving family members to preserve and sort of reenact her memory for everyone else. But the reality was that things were not so perfect at home--not to suggest anything really dark, but the couple would have been divorced had she survived. So then she died and her widower was left holding the proverbial bag; he could never have the personal satisfaction of separating from someone who was not right for him, and criticizing her would be unthinkable. If she came back to life...sure, they might divorce, but it's just as likely that he would suffer public pressure to honor and keep her in a more extreme way than usual for the rest of his life.

Finally I thought about a friend of mine who was murdered. I watch a lot of slasher movies, and whenever I hear the criticism that horror lovers must all be desensitized or delusional about real violence, I think about this person who was senselessly killed by a random psychopath at her sister's wedding. It shattered our circle of friends and I cannot imagine what it did to her family, especially her sister. I mean even if they were to do another wedding, it would be impossible not to think of the murder the second time. It would be permanently associated with the new couple. It's hard to even wrap your mind around all the effects of this event. In this case--setting aside the problems of zombies, which I have left out of my meditation--I can only think that having my friend back really would fix things for everyone.

So maybe ultimately I'm saying that HANDLING THE UNDEAD would be a more interesting movie if the losses in it were a bit more complicated in some way. However, I can't ask one film to be all things to all people, and surprise is a particularly difficult thing to achieve. But if you like John Ajvide Lindqvist and you want to be surprised, I strongly advise you to watch BORDER. You will see some stuff in there that you will never see anywhere else in your life, and it probably won't bum you out too much.

[karanna1]

AU - Lena Luthor Saves Krypton

Lena is somehow sent back in time and finds herself on Krypton 30 years before the planet explodes. Kara doesn’t exist yet. Krypton has no idea what’s about to happen to them.

Lena realizes that with her knowledge of what’s to come and intellect to devise a solution, she can do two things. One, she can save an entire species from near extinction. Two, she can save Kara from ever having to experience the pain of losing her family, her home, and being abandoned. Kara could live a happy life and never know the burden of Supergirl or being the last daughter of Krypton.

So instead of trying to find a way back to Earth, back to her own time, she settles into life on Krypton, becomes fluent in Kryptonese, and sets about with a spectacularly single-minded focus of changing the future - to save this dying world (and Kara).

She succeeds...mostly. They can’t fix the damage that’s already been done to the planet. Their sun will die and destroy Krypton still, but with Lena’s help they’re able to locate a barren planet in another system that has a white star. It’s brand new, strong, and will live for untold trillions of years (provided Kryptonians didn’t try to harness its power again).

They terraform the planet and create “New Krypton” using the dome concept that Zor-El invented fused with Coluan bottling technology. All Kryptonians are instantly transported to their new home that’s identical to the old one save for one difference - the white sun grants them god-like powers that are beyond what Lena ever saw Kara and Clark capable of on Earth. Kryptonians are overwhelmed en masse by these powers. Some go power mad and attempt coups and form radical sects. Others realize the gift they’ve been given and, with Lena’s guidance, Kryptonian society develops under a new mission - to travel the galaxy and offer help to all those in need. Not just offering knowledge and technology this time, but themselves with their newfound powers.

Lena keeps her distance from the House of El as much as she can. It’s nearly impossible considering their standing with the Kryptonian High Council. Lena has to work very closely with the Council. Jor-El and his brother, Zor-El, are brilliant scientists and statesmen. Alura In-Ze is a rising star in the judicial system. Her marriage to Zor-El, second born son of the House of El, caused quite a few waves, but when Lara Lor-Van, a brilliant biologist and prominent noble of the House of Van, agrees to marry Jor-El, it’s all anyone can talk about. All 4 of them live very public lives due to their professions, their positions on the High Council, and their nobility.

They’re ever so fascinated by Lena Luthor, the human from Earth that appeared one day to save their entire planet. Their savior. The one their people have named “The New Dawn”. Lena wants nothing to do with the House of El. It’s too much. She can’t bear to be so close to Kara’s family without Kara. It feels wrong. Unfortunately, with how much Lena tries to avoid them, the 4 nobles think they’ve done something to offend her, and constantly attempt ways to make amends. It only makes Lena’s life that much more difficult.

But she still knows the exact date and time that Kara Zor-El steps into existence. Later, she will know the moment Kal-El is born (mostly because Lara’s natural birth is all anyone can talk about).

Lena meets Kara on New Krypton entirely by accident one day when Zor-El brings his brilliant young daughter, a prodigy in the Science Guild, to see Krypton’s finest laboratory entirely unannounced. The same laboratory that Lena founded and runs. She’s stricken, having tried to avoid this moment for as long as she could, knowing that eventually she’d have to see Kara as child, which would spell the end of every fanciful dream or slightest hope she had of a chance that someday she would find Kara, her best friend, again. Seeing the reality both warms her heart and breaks it all the same. This bouncing bundle of joy and inquisitiveness has the same blinding smile, in all its purity, with that same head of golden hair.

“You’re THE Lena Luthor?”

She kneels before her so they’re at eye level. “I suppose I am. And you’re THE Kara Zor-El?”

The ten year old gasps. “You know who I am?”

“Of course. I know all the important people. And you are a very important person, Kara.”

“I am?”

Zor-El interjects. “I’ve told Lena all about you, my dear. I’m sure she’s grown tired of my endless babbling about my wonderful daughter and her keen scientific mind.”

“Not at all,” Lena replies a bit flatly and tries to tune him out as she focuses on the young girl who will one day be a most extraordinary woman. “Do you enjoy the Science Guild, Kara?”

“Yes! I love to learn new things. As many things as I can! Sometimes father asks me to work with him in his laboratory at home and I help him with his projects!”

“That does sound like fun. I enjoy creating things as well.”

“You’re the most brilliant bio-engineer on Krypton! I’ve read all about you! You saved us.”

Lena shies away from the praise and instead fumbles her way forward, uncomfortable under the scrutiny of Zor-El, whom she’d never given the time of day until he walked in with his daughter.

“Tell me, Kara, do you like other subjects besides science?”

Kara fidgets, a little confused. “Well, I don’t...they don’t give you much time for other subjects. I-I do try to read about other things like art and history when I have free time, but I’m not really allowed—“

“She’s a hard worker and a wonderful student,” Zor-El interrupts again.

Lena ignores him. “Do you enjoy writing, Kara?”

“Writing?”

“Creation comes in many forms. I enjoy being able to create things with my hands. Machines. Technology. Things to help people. Science is my passion, but there are many other ways to help people. Ways that I’m not very good at, but others are. Writing takes a curious mind, creativity, and a way with words. I believe you might have a gift for that.”

“A gift for words?” Her little brow crinkles as she considers it.

Lena nods. “A writer can do a great many things that a scientist cannot. They are equally as powerful and important. What matters is doing what you love most, what inspires you most. You’re going to do great things one day, Kara. Maybe with the Science Guild, maybe with something else... The future is limitless for you.”

“You really think I could be that important someday?”

“You already are.” Lena smiles and breathes deeply. “Do you know what your name means where I come from?”

She shakes her head. “I have read about Earth. It’s very far away and my Aunt Astra says their civilization is primitive and filled with savages. They have my name there too?”

“Daughter, do not speak—“

Lena waves off Zor-El’s warning without looking at him.

“That’s not an unfair assessment of Earth compared to Krypton, but I do believe humanity would surprise a great many Kryptonians, including your Aunt. In my native language, Kara means ‘beloved friend’.”

Kara beams in a way that is so achingly familiar. It’s like an echo in Lena’s memory. Not exact, not complete, but the beginning of what it will become.

“I like that. Does that mean I’m your friend?”

Lena feels it in that moment. The melting warmth simultaneous with the absolute shattering of what was left of her heart.

“I will always be your friend, darling. Always.”

Kara leaves with her father and Lena’s coworkers are concerned when she goes off planet for an impromptu holiday without notice. She returns two months later and picks up as if she never left.

It’s around that time that one of the people she’s befriended in her years on Krypton remarks at how ageless she seems for a human that supposedly has a short life span. It sparks Lena’s curiosity. Indeed, it’s been nearly 30 years since she traveled back in time and found herself on a new planet. Yet you’d be hard pressed to find a single physical difference. Kryptonians aged slowly under a red star, and even slower still under the white star, but Lena was human. Her body wasn’t designed to accommodate solar radiation the way Kryptonians did. She was over 50 years old now, yet she still didn’t look a day over 28.

More years pass and New Krypton thrives. The galaxy is brought together through New Krypton’s diplomacy and thousands of planets and species are united under a banner of peace. There are always dissenters, but happiness and prosperity is widespread. Lena finds joy in friendships and attempts romantic relationships, but nothing ever really takes. Still, she’s content. She misses Earth, of course, and hopes to return one day before she dies, whenever that will be, but she’s found peace in knowing that she is able to be the one thing she’s always wanted - a force for good.

She’s at dinner with coworkers one night when Lara and Jor-El spot her. She sighs and straightens, preparing for their next attempt to get in her good graces.

“Do they never desist?” One of them mutters next to her ear. “Surely they’re intelligent enough to know when they’re not wanted?”

“Don’t be unkind, but help me keep it short if it goes on too long.”

“Lena! It’s wonderful to see you,” Lara says.

“You as well. How are you?”

“Very well, thank you.”

Lena’s table has gone conspicuously, and therefore awkwardly, silent.

Lara and Jor-El look around at the group uncomfortably.

“We were wondering...well, our niece is being inducted to the—“

“The Science Council as First Order,” Lena finishes for her. “Yes, I’m aware. It’s a great honor. I’m sure the House of El is quite proud.”

“Indeed we are,” Jor-El jumps in. “She’s a most remarkable young woman and we couldn’t be prouder of who she’s become.”

“We are holding a celebration to mark the occasion and were wondering if you might honor us by attending? It will be quite the event.” Lara does a slight eyeroll. “Jor is insisting on all the fantastical things.”

Jor-El nods enthusiastically. “My brother isn’t one for celebrations so I’ve taken up the mantle. Kara deserves all the praise she’s earned with her hard work and dedication.”

“You’ll have to forgive my mate’s enthusiasm. He’s quite invested in Kara since she can share his passion for his life’s work while our son is—“

“Disgustingly hopeless,” Jor-El grumbles.

“Oh?” She raises an eyebrow. “A great disappointment he’s been then?”

“Goodness no!” Lara shakes her head and shoots a warning look at her husband. “Kal is a fine boy. Just...a little lost.”

“Perhaps he is simply in need of a different path than the one his father has in mind,” Lena finds the words tumbling out of her mouth without thinking twice. The couple stares at her agape, but she continues without care. “I can certainly sympathize with the need to step out of the shadow of a family’s overbearing legacy.” She sighs. “While I thank you for considering me, it’s simply not possible with my days usually booked from dawn to dusk. Besides, parties have never been altogether pleasant endeavors for me.”

The disappointment on their faces isn’t what changes her mind. It’s that as soon as she says the words, she regrets it. She’s, of course, kept up with Kara’s doings and was concerned when she heard about the recent move in the Science Guild. Was journalism just a secondary passion since she couldn’t truly use her mind on Earth the way she could on Krypton? Or was this a woman just following in her family’s footsteps because she believed it was the right thing to do? Lena hadn’t seen or spoken to Kara in 16 years. Not since the day Zor-El brought her to the lab.

In the end, it’s Lena’s concern and curiosity for Kara’s well being that wins out. Though she very well knows that the woman that existed in another life, on another planet, is not the woman who lives here now on New Krypton. Even if she shared the same name and the same face...maybe even the same bright eyes and sunny smile. Even then.

“Send me the invitation. I’ll see what I can do,” Lena says, to the surprise of everyone at her table, including the two standing next to it.

They nod, stunned but pleased, and say their goodbyes quickly, walking away.

Lena’s coworkers all turn to her in surprise, but she refuses to answer their questions and excuses herself early for the evening.

She doesn’t show for the celebration. She torments herself for a week coming up to it and can’t bring herself to go. The fear of the past and her memories being trod upon are too strong. But somehow she finds herself in the Starling Grove anyway, just as it comes to an end. The evening is late and guests slowly make their exit after the long day of partying. Lena practically sneaks in, staying in shadows, not knowing what she hopes to find or what she could see that would make all her fears come true.

Is it any wonder that fate would intervene? That there would be no circumstance in which Lena could fly so close to the sun and not be touched?

“If avoiding people is your specialty, you’re very skilled at it.”

It’s almost terrifying to hear her voice again. It’s a different language being spoken, but the voice is the same. As if it’d been snatched from the deepest recesses of Lena’s memories, of a different life and a different world, and brought to the present in flesh and blood with a bolt of lightning.

She turns and it’s Kara smiling at her. Not the sunny smile. The soft, tender, reassuring one. The one that she used to share with Lena when she had one of her harder days. Kara was no longer the small and precocious child she met all those years ago, the one that she could almost convince herself was a complete stranger and that there was no connection between the child and the woman she knew. But that was gone now. The Kara standing before her was the same one she’d left behind on Earth. The one she’d given up in order to save her. The one who walked into her office so many years ago, trailing behind her cousin, and Lena knew she was done for. 

Her eyes were so blue as she looked at her...bluer than Lena remembered and it seemed so impossible. Perhaps it wasn’t real. Perhaps she was dreaming. But she wasn’t...was she?

“My skills must be rusty since you were able to catch me.”

Kara put a finger to her smiling lips. “Shh. Finding people is one of my untold gifts.”

“I imagine you have a lot of those.”

Kara looks pleasantly flustered and she stammers over her words in a way that Lena knows so well that the sound of it squeezes her heart in a vise like grip.

She’s not the same person. She’s not your Kara. Your Kara doesn’t exist anymore. Over and over she repeats this in her head.

“Wait...” Kara finally collects herself and peers at Lena more closely. “You’re-you’re Lena Luthor! My Uncle said you might be here, but I never thought...”

“On my home world, they like to say it’s fashionable to be late. However, tonight was just a tad bit too far. I...I simply wanted to stop by and wish you well. A-and to congratulate you on your achievement.”

Did she manage to say that with any passing conviction?

“Thank you. That means a great deal coming from someone like you.”

“Are you happy?” She blurts before her good sense can kick in. “This life...does it make you happy?”

Kara looks at her oddly for a long moment, clearly thrown, but not put off. Lena doesn’t know what else to say that could fix her blunder. 

“Yes,” she says, a serene smile creeps across her face. “I’m very happy. I love my family and my friends. I enjoy my work. I hope to have a family of my own one day, but I don’t mind waiting for the right person. Everyone always wants to rush me into something, telling me that I shouldn’t be alone, but I don’t mind it. When it’s right, I know that it will be worth the wait.”

Lena’s heart stutters and freezes. “I-I’m glad to hear that. Truly. I shouldn’t take up anymore of your time though. I’m sure you have somewhere to be and it’s late so I really should be going anyway.”

“Oh! Um. Yes, of course.” She looks disappointed, but Lena can’t think about that. “Thank you for being here.”

Her legs feel as though they’re weighted with cement as she walks away. Her mind screams at her to run, but her body doesn’t seem to get the message. She doesn’t want to leave Kara’s side. Not like this. Not after she’s found her again.

But it’s not her. Not really.

“My Lady?”

She turns around at once. Kara stands there, fiddling with her hands, her head tilted to the side.

“Apologies. I-I remember reading that you never liked that title. You prefer...what was it...” She closes her eyes as she searches for it. “Oh!” Her eyes fly open again. “Miss Luthor. I should have addressed you as ‘Miss Luthor’, yes?”

The ‘Miss’ was heavily accented and sounded nothing like how she used to say it, but it still tore Lena apart.

“I never forgot what you said.”

The voice in Lena’s head screams again for her to run, but instead she draws closer. She needs to hear it. 

Her Kara.

No, it’s not her.

“What did I say?”

“I was a little girl. My father brought me to your lab to show me around.”

“I remember.”

Don’t let her do this. Don’t let her pull you in again. You can’t. For both of your sakes, you can’t.

“You talked about different ways of creating. Of passion. It’s silly, I know, and I’m sure you say it to all the children who read about you in school and have a serious case of hero worship, but...you told me I was important.”

“You are.” 

It’s a reflex. She can’t help it.

“And you said that I had a gift for words. I never understood why you would say that. How you could know...”

Lena chuckles awkwardly. “Looks like I was off the mark since you’ve just joined the Science Council.”

“But you weren’t.”

Lena’s breath hitches.

“I’ve never told anyone else this...” 

Kara steps closer, sharing a secret that Lena doesn’t know she deserves to hear. She wonders if she still knows how to breathe with Kara being this close after so long...so many years gone... 

“I started writing that day. That very night I went home and I tried it. I never stopped. I’ve never been happier than when I’m writing. Imagining stories or just writing my thoughts, putting memories into words, keeping a record of each day and what I’ve done, who I’ve seen, what my first thought is in the morning and my last thought at night. All of it.”

Kara was so close. She could smell her. Nothing like what she remembered. It was something altogether new and still...still... Lena’s heart beat so loudly, she was sure every Kryptonian within miles was wondering what that raucous drumming noise was. What must Kara think? Surely she could hear it. Lena was embarrassing herself.

“You inspired me.”

Lena doesn’t know how she manages it, but she somehow strings together coherent words. 

“But you continued to pursue...”

“The Science Guild, yes. I’m very good there. It comes easily. It makes my family proud.”

“It’s not your passion though.”

Kara shakes her head gently.

“What stops you?”

“Well, what if I’m not really good at writing after all? I’ve never told anyone about it. I’ve never let them read anything... What if I make a terrible mistake and humiliate myself and my family?”

“Following your heart isn’t a mistake.”

“That’s not a very Kryptonian sentiment.”

“No, but it is a human one.” Lena sighs. “I tried so hard, for so long, not to listen to mine. But it won out every time. Despite all the pain it brought me...I remind myself that it’s what brought me here. To this planet. To this time. To do good. To be good. Following your heart is the most terrifying notion, but in my experience, it has also led me to the greatest moments of joy and love that I’ve ever known.”

Kara stares at her in wonderment. Her long blonde locks flow over her shoulders. Her dress is white and flowing, almost luminescent under the glow of the evening flowers blooming in the garden. It became quickly apparent how very alone they were, the last guests and servers from the party were gone. The torches were still lit, but it was their own world.

Wasn’t it always?

It’s not her.

“I don’t think I could be as brave as you.”

“You have always been brave and I know that you are capable of the most extraordinary amount of courage...courage and boundless hope. You are the one who inspires me, Kara. You always have.”

“Me?” She replies in the softest utterance. “But I haven’t done anything nearly as incredible as you.”

“The kind of person you are is far more important than any sum of career achievements. Don’t let fear make you hide in the shadows, Kara. Step into the sun. You’ve always belonged there.”

“What about you?”

“Me?”

“When will you step out of the shadows, Miss Luthor?”

A voice calls for Kara in the distance. It’s jarring and breaks the spell that seemed to lock them together in time suspended.

They step away, now acutely aware of how close they’d been this whole time.

Kara blushes and opens her mouth to say something, but Lena can’t bear to hear it.

“Goodnight, Kara Zor-El. I hope you enjoyed your party.”

Another voice joins the first. Two people are calling for her now. Kara seems frustrated and turns back, yelling to them that she’d be there soon.

She turns back. “I—“

But Lena’s gone.

She leaves New Krypton again. Journeys to other planets under the guise of a holiday and scientific exploration. She wonders if now is the time to return to Earth. She can’t even call it home anymore, but it’s home...isn’t it? 45 years could be enough to make New Krypton home and maybe it was. Maybe it was more of a home than Earth. But New Krypton had spectres walking among the living. Lena’s past had caught up to her here as well. She was no longer alone. Would Earth be any better with a reminder at every street corner? A certain smell. A park bench. A pair of glasses. Food. All of the food on Earth. She would never truly escape there either. It has to be a different planet. Not New Krypton, not Earth, something else entirely. 

She searches across galaxies for it. Finally, one appeals to her. She can see herself settling down there. She can make a new life for herself...again. She returns to Krypton with determination. She resigns from her position, ignores the High Council’s pleas, ignores their more pointed demands, and even their attempted orders when it appeared that nothing else was working. She packs her things and bids farewell to her friends. They’ll visit now and again, but soon she won’t be seeing them at all. It doesn’t bother her all that much. She’d find replacements eventually. No one had ever been like... Well, she’d never let anyone get close enough to try.

She was walking out of her building for the last time, her luggage already sent ahead, and was headed to the transport when she heard her voice again on the wind, calling her name. Of course she would hear her now. This was exactly why she needed to leave this place. The sooner the better to end this torment.

The transport doors were nearly closed when a hand shot between them. The metal alloys were crushed in a powerful grip and the doors were jerkily pried open again.

Kara stood in front of her. Her hair windswept, almost what it used to look like when she would fly to Lena at breaking speed to rescue her. Did she fly here? Was she really here?

“Kara?”

“Lena, don’t go.”

“What are y—?”

“That’s government property!” someone shouts at Kara from further away. 

A Kelex zooms in beside her. “And you were flying within city limits which is strictly prohibited. Unfortunately, Lady Kara, this means we must place you under arrest.”

A patrolman, the one who shouted, walks up behind Kara, nodding his head in agreement.

“Arrest?” She rolls her eyes at the Kelex and turns to the patrolman. “The doors were an accident and sorry about the flying thing. I’ll pay the fines. I doubt Alura In-Ze will take kindly to you dragging someone in for petty infarctions, let alone that someone being her daughter.”

Lena finds herself walking out of the transport, entirely of her own volition, and watches it leave without her. Kara is arguing with the patrolman over what her fines should be, but suddenly Lena feels someone take her hand. She looks down and sees that indeed there is another hand holding hers. She drags her gaze up to find those blue eyes again. A ghost. A spectre. Everything she was trying to escape.

“I’m sorry to just...burst in on you like this. But you’ve been gone for months and I only just heard that you’d come back, planning to leave New Krypton for good. I didn’t...”

“You didn’t what?”

“I don’t know.” Her brow furrows in frustration. “I didn’t plan this. I just...when I heard, I felt like I had to stop you.”

Lena pulls her hand away and crosses her arms. She needs to get ahold of herself. This was all so out of control.

“Why?”

Kara is just as bewildered as she is. “Well, I...I’m not sure. But we’ve only just started.”

“What?”

“Don’t you feel it? I know you must.”

She swallows thickly. “Kara, I...”

“I think there’s a lot you haven’t told me. A lot that I hope you will tell me. You promised me once that you would always be my friend. Please, Lena. We both know that this...it’s not supposed to end here.”

“When is it supposed to end?”

“I hope not for very long time.”

“I’ve lived a lifetime already.”

Kara grins. “Then what’s one more? Should be easy if you’ve already done it.”

Lena shakes her head. “You don’t know what you’re saying.”

“Somehow I do...and I don’t. I know it’s strange. I know what I sound like. But I think you understand. Don’t you?”

“Kara...”

“Are you hungry?” She interrupts. “I’m famished. The flying thing is really fun, but I always get so hungry after. How about it?”

“I’m supposed to be boarding a ship in 20 minutes.”

“We can eat fast!”

“I know you can eat fast, that’s not the point,” she mutters. “I have to go.”

“But you see? You say things like that. Like it’s normal to just know these things about me, but it’s not. How do you know? We’ve only met twice and both times it feels as though you know everything about me.”

“Everything?” She scoffs. “No. Never.”

“Well, the important things anyway.”

Lena falters.

“Please? Just...for a little while? There’s always another ship if you really must go.”

No.

No, I’ve been through this before. I saved you. I saved your people. You’re happy. I don’t belong here. I’ve never belonged. This is your world. I don’t belong anywhere. I did what was right. I helped people. I still help people. But I won’t do this again.

“I’m pretty sure you know that a Kryptonian can tell when you’re lying. The white star brought us untold abilities. And the longer I’ve lived here, under this new sun, I’ve discovered more abilities. Would you like to know about them?”

Lena can only stare.

“If I’m close enough...and I concentrate hard enough...I can feel what you’re feeling. It’s not mind reading exactly, but something deeper. I can feel you right now.” She swallows hard. “What have I done to cause you such pain, Lena? I never thought that... If you have to go, I won’t stop you. I just thought...” She sighs defeatedly. “I don’t know what I thought. But it wasn’t this. It wasn’t pain. Or anger. Or betrayal.”

Lena’s eyes widen at the same time as Kara’s. She seemed to realize it only as she spoke the word aloud.

“Betrayal?” Kara whispers, half to herself. “I don’t understand.”

“There’s nothing to understand.”

“You’re lying.”

“Stop it.”

“I can’t! Tell me what’s happening. How can you be so angry with me, but also feel...like this...when we don’t even know each other?”

“But we do.” 

At last she admits it. 

In the quietest whisper. 

“We did. Once. In another life.”

Kara nods slowly. “Where?”

“On Earth.”

“I’ve never been to Earth.”

“Not in this time. But in another...you were Earth’s Champion. Our Protector. The Paragon of Hope.”

“As you are the Protector of Krypton? Our Salvation. The New Dawn.”

Lena shrinks uncomfortably under the titles.

“Will you tell me more?”

“You believe me?”

“Of course I do. You’re Lena Luthor. Also, with my powers I can sense you’re telling the truth, so...” She shrugs lightly at that, a sheepish smile.

“Right. Well, I admit I’m still a bit resentful that after everything I’ve been through, I still didn’t get even a hint of those powers.”

Kara takes her hand again, tentatively this time. She probably thinks Lena will pull away.

She doesn’t.

“There’s been a rumor for ages that you’re immortal. Are you saying that’s not true? From what I’ve read, humans have a shorter life span than us. Your species only live about 85 years or so.”

“I’ve heard the rumor and, yes, the average human lifespan is shorter than a Kryptonian’s.”

“You look pretty darn good for your age if you’re preparing to join Rao in a few cycles.”

Lena has to laugh. She lets Kara lead her away from the platform and down to the street. They walk hand in hand.

“So you’re not immortal?”

“It remains to be seen.”

“Then maybe our white sun did give you a hint of something after all.”

“Maybe. I have yet to ascertain the cause.”

“I could help you with your study, should you choose to explore it further.”

“You want to study me?”

Kara blushes. “I...I didn’t mean it like that. I only meant—“

“I know what you meant.”

Silence falls between them.

“You’re still holding my hand.”

“You’re still letting me.”

“It’s strange.” She stares. “You’re different. You’re so different than you were before, a completely different person, but somehow...when I look at you, you’re exactly who you’ve always been.”

“Are you different now too?”

“Yes.” She shrugs. “I think so anyway.”

“But we’ve still found each other. That means something.”

“Are you sure you want to hear this? You might be angry with me. I...I made choices that changed your life. A great number of lives.”

“I want to hear everything. But even if I do get angry, I won’t leave. I promise.”

Lena starts at that. How could she know exactly—? The realization hits her. 

“My fears...you feel them right now, don’t you?”

Kara nods. “I won’t betray you, Lena. Whatever mistakes I’ve made before...in that other life...I won’t make them again.”

“You’ll make other mistakes.”

“Of course!” She laughs. “I’m gifted, but hardly perfect. You’ll make mistakes too, even if you are the Great New Dawn.”

“Two prodigies...” Lena raises an eyebrow. “I don’t know how people stand us. We must be insufferable to be around.”

“I can’t be held accountable for the jealousy of others.”

Lena chuckles. “Good to know you’re as competitive as ever.”

“And you? Are you competitive as well?”

“On occasion...when it comes to the right things.”

Kara grins. “Tell me more about Earth.”

“Earth or...you on Earth?”

“Both. Or just one. Whatever you like. We have all the time we need. We’ll get to it eventually.”

“Kara?”

“Yes?”

“What do you want?”

“You.”

“How do you know that?”

“I just do.”

“You’re not afraid?”

“Of losing you? Yes, I’m afraid. I thought I did when you left me in the Grove that night.”

“It’s different this time though.”

“Different how?”

“You were afraid before. O-on Earth. So you lied to me. Hid things from me. You were afraid I’d reject you.”

“So I lost you anyway?”

“For a while.”

“I know who I am and I want to share all of that with you. I’m afraid I’ll lose you if I don’t. Do you think that means I learned my lesson with a second chance?”

“Even though you don’t remember the first?”

Kara tilts her head thoughtfully.  “Are you familiar with the theological concept of reincarnation?”

Lena nods.

“Many species and cultures detail it differently, but the belief that a soul does not reside in an afterlife fascinates me. The idea that one could instead be reborn and is destined to learn new lessons with each life that it failed to learn in the last. Maybe we found a way to do that without needing to die at all.”

“Are you sure you’re the First Order of the Science Council? Because that sounds an awful lot like preaching I’ve heard from the Religious Guild. You’re in the wrong profession.”

Kara rolls her eyes. “If anything, I should have joined the Artisans. But it’s too late for that.”

Lena’s quiet for a moment. They’re walking along streets she’s never seen before and doesn’t care. It doesn’t matter.

“I think I’m learning...” she says softly, “that it’s never too late. If you want something enough, it’s never too late.”

“I hope you’re right.”

Lena looks around. “Do you know where you’re going?”

“No, I thought you did.”

“No. I guess we’re lost then.”

Kara shrugs with a charming, sunny smile that lights her whole face. It’s the one that Lena hasn’t seen in over 40 years and it takes her breath away.

“Oh well.” Kara squeezes Lena’s hand happily. “I suppose we’ll find our way together.”

[inessencedevided]

Wei Wuxian enters the Underworld Chamber with several scrolls clutched in his arms, struggling to keep them all together but he is able to settle them down on a table next to the one that is holding his client with a great clatter. For a moment he entertains himself with thinking what the Second Jade who was known to be very rule abiding would say to his general … everything. He would probably have those straight, black eyebrows furrowed and reprimand him with a single word.

“Let’s see what we’ve got here, hm?”, he offers and sifts through his collection of scrolls from the library of the Lan sect. “Your older brother gave me access to some very interesting scrolls, you know?! Your sect is famous for musical cultivation, he told me that you were on your way to become the best guqin player, close to Lan Yi. Fascinating stuff, this. Inquiry. Talking to the dead through the means of music. Maybe this will help me before I use Empathy. Which is a method I invented.”

He does this a lot, chattering away at people to break the ice. There is not a lot of ice to break because the person he is talking to is dead but it still feels nicer than to be completely quiet. And according to ZewuJun, his brother is still here, so maybe he will feel less alone like this. So he shuffles over to the guqin that seems to have been repaired. There is still some brownish-red residue on the wood and he knows that it only can be one thing. Blood. “Alright. Let’s do this,” he says softly. Carefully, he follows the movements that are described on the page, lets the notes ring out, waits for an answer in the dark.

There is silence for a moment and he is afraid he played so badly that the ghost is somehow offended and doesn’t want to come. But then, suddenly, there is an answer. No unnecessary embellishments, played slowly so he can understand but still so beautiful that he knows who it is. Who it only can be.

Who are you sings the instrument and he makes an excited sound, shuffling even closer. Wei Wuxian he answers, carefully playing out the notes. Your brother. Asked for help. he answers haltingly. It is almost like learning a new language. I go through memories. Am I allowed? There is another moment of silence, then he swears the answer sounds almost surprised. Yes. You may, Wei Wuxian. He giggles and bites his lip. “Call me Wei Ying,” he tells the room before remembering that he should have used the guqin. The instruments sings out, completely unprompted. Wei Ying.

His grin threatens to split his face and he gets up, walking towards the body, taking in the serene face, the inky hair, the creamy skin. He really is a beauty. “Just a moment,” he tells him and pats his hand, walking to the door and calling Lan Xichen in, who comes without any further prompting. “He gave me permission,” Wei Wuxian explains and then hands the sect leader a Clarity Bell, a thank you from Jiang Yanli for helping her sect when it called for it. “Ring this when things get sticky or I do not wake up. It will call me back.”

ZewuJun nods, taking the Bell, settling in, watching them both with a worried expression but Wei Wuxian just smiles and kneels next to the body, taking his hands, noticing how cold and yet soft they are, callouses at their fingertips from playing the guqin. “Lan Wangji,” he whispers. “Show me. Show me what is keeping you here.”

The memories feel like the first snow beneath naked feet, dropping into a body of cold water but also like standing on a mountain and letting the winds rush by. They start with a little boy kneeling in front of a house surrounded by gentians, clad in the same white the whole sect wears. He is six at most and why this memory is shown, Wei Wuxian doesn’t know but he keeps concentrating, diving deeper. He sees a strikingly handsome teenager studying in the library, copying old scrolls, playing quin and sneaking vegetables to the back hills where white bunnies roam. The images flash by, a lecture with disciples from other sects, Wen Chao and his entourage arriving and making a scene.

One moment stands out. The same teenager who must be Lan Wangji catches a young female disciple roaming the back hills, a Wen from the red of her robes. He walks away with her and the scenery shifts. They are in a building that is most likely the home of the sect leader, ZewuJun and his brother who stands next to him, straight-backed and breathtaking. He can hear voices, hears them talking of something Wen Ruohan wants, that he will raze the Cloud Recesses to the ground for it. The Yin Iron. Part of it is hidden away here. They will need to prepare for the worst.

The scene shifts again, to Caiyi and Lan Wangji walking through the busy market, holding his sword in his hand, one hand in a fist behind his back like a proper gentleman. He can hear crying and both of them look for the source of it, Wei Wuxian constricted by the limited sight he has. It is little girl with braided buns, crying heartbreakingly next to a stall with animals made from colourful cloth.

The cultivator with the severe face and the countenance of a remote, snow-capped mountain, kneels next to her and hands her a bunny rabbit made from colourful cloth, just purchased apparently, waiting for her to talk. “I lost my gege,” she sobs and shuffles closer, hugging him, getting his white robes dirty. He does not seem to care, instead looks at her and gently lays a hand on her shoulder. “I have a gege as well. I would be scared if I lost him in the crowd,” he says and oh, his voice. It’s calm and deep, trying to settle the little girl. “Shall we look for him together?”

She sniffles and nods, taking his hand in hers, looking up at him in awe and Wei Wuxian can relate. After just a moment, they have found her big brother and the little girl runs to hug him with a shriek of delight. He can see the corners of Lan Wangji’s mouth tilt up into a soft smile, barely noticeable but it is there. He seems to be content with a job well done.

Another shift. They seem to come quicker now, more talk of the Yin Iron, someone he recognises as Lan Qiren taking stock of their most valuable scriptures, letting it be taken away. It is terribly busy but Lan Wangji is a mountain in a rushing stream, carrying what he can with his impressive arm strength.

Yet another and the Cloud Recesses are burning. The disciples are running, many of them armed, some carrying instruments. Caiyi is in disarray as well, people barricading their homes, locking up their animals. Lan Wangji is making a sweep through town, his immaculate robes already stained with soot. The little girl from before runs towards him and hugs his leg, tearful and scared but she knows she is safe with the young cultivator. He gently pats her head and does the same to her rabbit doll.

Then, his face grows serious and he kneels down to look at her, reaching up and undoing his ribbon that falls into his hands, carefully tying it around her wrist. “Keep this safe. Go and take your brother, your parents and look for a grey mountain with yellow veins. This will give you free passage through the secret entrance. You will be safe,” he tells her gently and gets up. “Look for a man who looks like me but older. Lan Xichen.”

Another shift. This one seems to be the last. Lan Wangji is riddled with arrows, bleeding profusely, staggering but still standing upright. His forehead is bare, his hands around the hilt of his sword are bloodied but he carries himself with grace and sheer bullheaded stubbornness. What was that saying again? No matter how the wind howls, the mountain cannot bow to it. He is so very brave. Wei Wuxian can feel his need to protect the ones who are hidden in the cave behind him even at the cost of his own life.

He seems to have set his mind on something, following Wen Xu, even as another arrow buries itself in his back and a voice cries out “A-Zhan! No!”. A sharp crack, bones crunching. His leg is broken but Wen Xu is dead, staring into nothingness. Lan Wangji does not cry out, instead uses his sword to get up again, breathing hard, spitting blood but still, there is a defiant light in his eyes. Someone trips him up and he falls to his knees, his head held high, his guqin on the ground next to him, strings bloodied. As the sword finds its mark, Wei Wuxian does not look away. Dares not look away. Lan Wangji stays proud and brave until he crumples to the ground and stops breathing.

Ringing, silvery and gentle, pulls him out of the cold waters, guides him back into his own body. As he comes to with a gasp, he notices that he has been crying. He wipes his eyes and looks at the body in front of him, at this brave and stubborn man who died defending those he cared about. “You were so good. So good, Lan Zhan,” he whispers, the personal name slipping out as he squeezes the cold hands, looks into his serene face. “The best.”

He turns to Lan Xichen who looks like he has been crying as well. “He died with the deep wish to protect still ingrained into him. He wants to make sure you are alright. And… he is guarding something. I… you spoke of the Yin Iron.”

The way Lan Xichen pales is answer enough.

- 🍄 anon

(Part one for all who didn't read it)

Omg!!! You sent me through every feeling IMAGINABLE 🍄 anon 😭😭😭

That line about there being a lot of ice to crack made me laugh and then you just came at me like that with feelings about lwj dieing! Not. Fair. 🥺

And lwj + little kids = love :D

[mde1011]

when i got into the dsmp i started a note and wrote down any quotes or moments i thought were funny, and im bored at 3 am so enjoy some of them

how is being arrested real? just walk away!!!”

⁃ “once an american always an american. go...go protests masks...or something”

⁃ “...yEAH BUT DID YOU HAVE WAP” “what’s...whats wap?” “...WORSHIP AND PRAYER”

⁃ “HOW DO YOU LIKE POLITICS MOTHERFUCKER”

⁃ “i’m naked” “...no you’re not” “i can be...”

⁃ “uhhhh i’m in a high stress situation....i deal with these poorly”

⁃ “i should go first i’m naked”

⁃ “yEAHHHH WE KILLED AN OLD MAN WITH HEART PROBLEMS”

⁃ “what are you going to do?” “i...have no idea i think i’m gonna start out by punching a tree”

⁃ “tOmmy...did i just hear you say shit ass looking mofo?”

⁃ “i aM gOinG to gEt nAkeD to iNtiMidAtE HiM”

- “...i want freedom !” “you want BALLS.”

⁃ “...down the line. yeah that’s where we discover the art of cannibalism” “oh it’s an art?” “it’s an art”

⁃ “oh there’s some logs here. wonder what they’re saying to me. uh huh. uh huh. oh yeah that’s very racist” “tommy you gotta burn those logs.” “burn ‘em before they spread their racism to other logs”

⁃ “are you pooing?” “*whisper* i’m charging up-““ “he’s ejaculating on the tent.” “he’s WHAT?”

⁃ “he’s sPEEDING. LOOK HOW FAST HES GOING” “i’ve taken so many drugs. someone tell badboyhalo”

⁃ “we should make a pact. and that pact is, uh, we make a book...and in that book...we declare that saying ‘muffin’ is a, is a slur”

⁃ “i was thinking what if one day your bladder just,,,,stopped working.....AGGGFFFFF i was tHINKING ABOUT THAT THE OTHER DAY IVE GOT TO PREPARE IVE GOT YO PREPARE thisiswhydiapersaintthatbad”

⁃ <sapnap> i think i was ordered to um

<tommyinnit> boobed

<sapnap> kill you

<tommyinnit> boobs

<sapnap> if this happens

<tommyinnit> think about boobs man

<sapnap> tsk tsk tommy

<tommyinnit> iM DISGRUNTLED

⁃ “why is this deadman so good at making drugs”

⁃ “i just learnt that a girl hero is called a heroine and it freaked me out”

⁃ “memento memento me-“ “that’s actually the worst word i know so you can’t keep saying that” “oh, really.....? have you ever heard the term ‘racist’?”

⁃ “the person who invented the phrase ‘be yourself’ hadn’t met you!”

⁃ “you seem like the type of guy whose dad would throw him overboard as a joke but he would just drown”

⁃ “shout out to dream for twerking!”

⁃ “let’s talk......let’s talk about sex” “wonderful. what do you think about sex, lazarbeam?” “i ain’t saying SHIT in front of a sixteen year old”

⁃ “what the- i think i’m seeing things” “....tommy i told you not to drink the sea water” “well i DID drink the sea water because it TOLD ME TO”

⁃ “it’s like the movie when that guy gets stranded on an island and has sex with a coconut” “whAT?? dream- dream, you vastly misinterpreted this” “it one hundred percent does”

⁃ “oh mastICATE.....isn’t that when a fish turns inside out?”

⁃ “what are some bad words YOU know, clay?” “i don’t-“ “what about ‘terrorist’?”

⁃ “my mind has to be on the same frequency as jesus when he walked on water”

⁃ “you wanna know why i was late?” “no i really do-“ “i was having a MASSIVE poo. really just a HUGE poo”

⁃ “jUST CUZ YOU TALK ABOUT POO ONCE AND THEN YOU SEE A BIG GREEN BASTARD AMD YOUR LIFE IS FLASHING BEFORE YOUR EYES AND THEN YOU CANT REMEMBER- YOU CANT REMEMBER IF IT WAS YESTERDAY OR TOMORROW YOU HURT THAT WOMAN”

⁃ “i love america. mmmmm patriotism

⁃ “LIFE IS NOT A HAPPY SONG KERMIT THE FROG”

⁃ “please stop taking the cock”

⁃ “two four six eight who do we appreciate? not the government let’s gooooooo”

⁃ “oooo look at the dogs😍” “wHAAAAAT. WHAT. THERES ACTUALLY LIKE. A MILLION DOGS HERE. WHAT THE HELL.”

⁃ “yeahhhhh bitch i stab- i don’t stab women-“ “woooooooah tommy you stab women?” “heyyyy sapnap”

⁃ “do you know what happens whne you reach the top of the ladder? there’s only one place to go.” “.....side to side😨” “down.” “...i really thought you were gonna say side to side🥺”

⁃ “one last time.” “just like in hamilton😓”

⁃ “you don’t know how many times i’ve mistaken trees for hot women”

⁃ “ i don’t feel better i just destroyed penis”

⁃ “i’ve never seen a snail with bad morals”

⁃ “awwwwwwww😢 i’m doin’ drugs🤧 just like the good ol’ days😓” “.....define the ‘good old days’” “back when i did drugs”

⁃ “have you ever fought a baby? i have and it was trivially easy to defeat, phil.”

⁃ “the only other i egg i know about was the one i learnt about in school....not allowed to say which one....”

⁃ “did you know one of my new years resolutions is to be more like 2010 justin bieber?”

⁃ “apparently cats don’t lay eggs”

⁃ “thinking about trees- if i saw a tree with a beard mmmmmm...holy shit id hit it”

⁃ “we’re in hell dude. science doesn’t matter here”

⁃ “i cant die i cant die i’m GOD”

⁃ “hey pig your letter is the same as pussy, hmm?”

⁃ “are we cool are we COOL guys? CRYSTAL COOL like CRYSTAL METH”

⁃ “he- he’s crying because - because i killed his mother isn’t that right? mother dearest mother deadest mother gonest”

⁃ “bro ive been drinking since i was six and let me tell you...it’s not good to be drinking that young. led to some poor life decisions when i was 8” “what did you do” “i cant say” “...who did you hurt” “....only myself”

⁃ “je suis” “ay i know what that mean you prick” “what does it mean” “it means you’re racist dickhead”

⁃ “i’d never poo in the presence of a women- which is why i’m scared to get a girlfriend i think i’d just explode”

⁃ “biff tannen is one of my idols”

⁃ “black widow died and i thought ‘wow it should’ve been the man’ because he’s a man”

⁃ “there’s a character called captain america and i think he’s stupid”

⁃ “i’m a GOOD LAD i’ve got GOOD MORALS and if i’ve DONE SOMETHING WRONG it WASNT MY FAULT I JUST GOT A LITTLE EXCITED”

⁃ “sam....what’s the longest you’ve ever wiped your arse? for me it’s 48 minutes”

⁃ “why are you standing in the shitter?” “....that’s a SINK” “uhhh welllll” “hAVE YOU SHAT IN THE SINK?????”

⁃ “you’re like a living ghost” “...i think that’s called a human, tubbo”

⁃ “maybe i accidentally kill ranboo and we just never see him again *laughs* ay? and then i go ‘april foooools!!!’ and then i kill their child. i kill him”

⁃ “you built a penis” “it’s a PENIS OF SAFETY”

⁃ “i saw the penis of safety and i pressed mouse button four my friend”

⁃ “the penis on the other side of the river is larger” “ive heard that before....”

⁃ “you’ve turned the penis into a wall” “a wall of safety is better than a penis of safety” “i think the penis was better”

⁃ “if you wanna make a penis i know where we can make a penis and i know how big we can make it”

⁃ “i don’t conceptualize death but i think i just saw it!”

⁃ “yeah i- yeah i know i’m- my first impression on eret was making him read a shrek fan fiction so- i’m not one for first impressions”

⁃ “i-i’m scared for him- i’m scared OF him. yknow the first thing he did when he saw me was imMEDIATELY strip down then jump off then immediately die?”

⁃ “where are you?” “getting stabbed, one second”

⁃ “you’ve seen the joker?” “yea-“ “i resonate a lot with that man” “...oH. oh. that’s- that’s not-“

⁃ “he bURNT DOWN MY HOUSE” “out of LOVE”

⁃ “ohhhh my god stop making me play with the neighbor kid” “o-okay if you don’t go play with him i’m kicking you out of the house-“ “wHAT THE FUCK???”

⁃ “there’s a STRIP CLUB” “oh yeah for wood!” “are you into strippers?” “i mean all it does is make the wood look different so....yeah it doesn’t really do much”

⁃ “no no we have categories, we have the poo-saster- you might have to take a shower after-“ “no, no i’m gonna stop you right there”

⁃ “as i was saying you can have a 1-to-3 wiper, that’s an A-tier poo, my friend”

⁃ “i want you to eat your sock”

⁃ “you know i’m a child- i’m a minor” “sO AM I DICKHEAD”

⁃ “everyone is calling you dresus” “yeah i am”

⁃ “ayyyy ayyyy los DROGAS LOS DROGAS” “no no big q- she’s thirteen- how does this happen with every 13 year old girl you meet?”

⁃ “my poo has muscles like i do”

⁃ “i cant hear the words among us without crying they’ll say there are aliens among us and in the back youll just hear me *choking noises*”

⁃ “tubbo...tubbo is like...tubbo is like mary” “.....did you just call me the Virgin Mary?”

⁃ “i’m just saying, have you ever seen me and jesus in the same room?”

⁃ “do you smoke sam” “all the time”

⁃ “i thought you were talking about the- the speeeeed drug”

⁃ “have you ever sold drugs to kids sam?” “......no”

⁃ “we can’t let the girlboss rule because she will gatekeepe my feelings” “that would not be good”

⁃ “THEY DIDNT INVITE ME TO KILL ME???? NOW I HAVE FOMO”

⁃ “you have obviously taken part in scientology-“ “i have not-“ “you’ve donated to tom cruises cult shit”

⁃ “....am i worse than david dobrik?” “are- are we worse than david dobrik?” “oh- oh god”

⁃ “he has broke one of the rules of the hit best seller ‘the bible’- this kind of looks like a cock”

⁃ “well i’ve moved now, KING”

⁃ “what is an angsty teen and am i one? because when i USED to hang out with my friends they use the word angst a lot”

⁃ “yeah yeah yeah i bench”

⁃ “sam i think i’m angsty i think i’m an angsty tik tok teen looking for a community to help me out”

⁃ “i don’t think you’ve followed the train of logic all the way-“ “there’s a TRAIN INVOLVED????????”

⁃ “i’m like the orange fucker from that animated rom com”

⁃ “i’m under the influence of big cock”

⁃ “it’s meeee big cock man”

⁃ “i cant look away” “sam please use your twitter alt for this” “he’s horny on maaaainnnnn” “and what’s wrong with that?” “.......”

⁃ “you’re a FUCKING IDIOT” “IM NOT A FUCKING IDIOT, BIG COCK”

⁃ “i’m gonna call you ‘cockity’ big cock” “sHUT THE FUCK UP SHUT THE FUCK UP-“

⁃ “STOP LOOKING AT IT” “ITS SO VIBRANT”

⁃ “at least this guy doesn’t have a cock-“ “itS NOT A COCK” “horny on main jesus-“

⁃ “is that a cock” “SHUT THE FUCK UP”

⁃ “.....i wanna see the inside of it again do a split”

⁃ “okay sam-“ “tommy that guy wants your cock-“ “no- no he doesn’t sam”

⁃ “sam, sam and i need you to hear this....dont. act. up.” “i don’t act up-“ “you were acting up-“ “i-“ “you were caught in 8k.” “but- but we both agree it’s not a tie-“

⁃ “please don’t tell me to kill cockity i am overwhelmed”

⁃ “why is there an anus in my tie?”

⁃ “what are the legal implications of this?” “...i mean besides hell you’re good”

⁃ “whatre the legal implications?” “i mean usually that’s a no-no but today, today it’s fine” “yeahhh lets go murder his family”

⁃ “i’d be an antivax landlord”

⁃ “jesus never does drugs” “well- well you turned water into wine king and wine is alcohol”

⁃ “can you put on pants i can’t- i cant stop looking at it- sorry tommy i know you said-“ “yeah sam i know you tried-“

⁃ “you know i fuck with satan”

⁃ “i’m sorry jesus lucifer is just such a good man-“ “oh you- hold me BACK FROM THIS FUCKER HOLD ME BACK ILL SEND HIM TO HELL YOU LIKE HELL-“

⁃ “are you jesus or just a man who grew a beard and put on a suit?”

⁃ “even the guy with his cock out is telling you to stop-“ “oh jesus, and i mean jesus-“ “shUT THE FUCK UP MAN”

⁃ “the best best way to slander him is to stop his offspring; we need to kick him the balls.....no? not a good....? alright us four each take a ball-“

⁃ “......why did jesus give him four scrotums man🙁🙁”

[brightly-painted-canvas]

TOG fandom - Italian swear words! (a little help for fellow writers)

Hi fam! As I’m falling more and more down the rabbit hole of The Old Guard’s fics and arts, I am noticing that, after the partial success of this post I wrote about Italian terms of endearment and some other posts from other lovely Italian users (like @giotanner for example :D ), we now might need a specific post about Italian swear words or at least something to enrich the vocabulary of the characters in your fic (I know you like that!). After all, aren’t swearings and insults the first things one learns when approaching a new language? ;D

Here’s how to swear like a sailor in my beloved mother tongue! (NOTE: this is modern Italian so of course keep in mind that some of these words may not work for Nicolò or Yusuf if you’re writing something historical and you’re concerned about it being as accurate as possible)

(let’s see if this gets flagged for inappropriate language shall we lol)

cazzo! = fuck! this one’s easy. We use it as an exclamation if something is going/went badly. In my household is mostly used when the cat breaks something of I suddenly realise I’ve forgotten something important: ‘Cazzo! Ecco cosa dovevo fare!’ = ‘Fuck! I was supposed to do that!’. Literally it translates to dick/cock cazzo di... = fucking... ‘Where is my fucking pen?’ = ‘Dov’è la mia cazzo di penna?’; ‘shut your fucking mouth!’ = ‘chiudi quella cazzo di bocca!’; ‘i’m so fucking hungry’ = ‘ho una cazzo di fame’ fottuto /a/i/e (adj) & fottutamente (adv) = (also) fucking... I enjoy using this (both the adverb and the adjective form) more that the other common forms, but it is rarely used frequently because it tends to sound... off. Like a bit old, archaic. Which may work for us! 'it’s fucking annoying’ = ‘è fottutamente fastidioso’; ‘where’s my fucking pen?’ = ‘dov’è la mia fottuta penna?’. (NOTE: remember that Italian changes suffix depending on genders and numbers. La fottuta penna, le fottute penne, il fottuto gatto, i fottuti gatti... make sure you use the correct form when translating an article/noun/adjective, ecc.) merda! = shit! similar the French word, of course. Still an exclamation and the literal translation is exactly shit (easy peasy!) di merda = fucking yup, that works too! ‘Where’s my fucking pen?’ = ‘Dov’è la mia penna di merda?’ and so on, still does the job perfectly bastardo (/a/i/e) = bastard/s imho works better in a historical context, it’s a word that sounds ‘old’ (PRO TIP! Try ‘fottuto bastardo’ = ‘fucking bastard’ for when crusader!Nicolò wants to insult someone. It has the nice sound of something with the right meaning, but that isn’t much used anymore in modern Italian) stronzo (/a/i/e) or pezzo di stronzo/merda = piece of shit coglione = asshole this is a bit tricky because asshole in Italian is ‘buco del culo’, but we don’t use it as an insult (in the Roman dialect is used, I believe, as an exclamation about luck as in ‘sono stato fortunato! bucio de culo!’ = ‘i’ve been lucky!’ but I am not that familiar with the dialect - I’m from northern Italy - so maybe I’ve got it wrong... in the rest of Italy saying ‘che culo!’ as in ‘that was lucky!’ works, tho). The ‘coglioni’ are the balls, but when you want to say balls you usually use the word ‘palle’, so coglione/i stays weirdly in that limbo where the word has a meaning but then it’s used in some other way... (interesting fact: star sulle palle means hating someone’s guts. You can use it like this: ‘mi stai sulle palle’ = ‘I hate your guts’. Also, ‘che palle!’ = ‘boring!’) a quick list of other fairly used insults: testa di cazzo (dick head), figlio di puttana (son of a whore), imbecille or deficiente (moron), idiota or cretino or scemo (idiot), cornuto (cuckold, literally ‘with horns’) (feel free to add to the list or to ask if you need something more specific you can’t find)

Now on to something that’s rather a delicate topic (and the main reason why I felt the need to write this long post): le bestemmie (profanities). In Italy, profanities are spread and common, but still highly frowned upon. They are part of almost all local dialects (frequently used mindlessly as ‘intercalations’ between words when speaking) and lately they are also part of young people’s slangs, but still they are considered ‘wrong’. An example? If a footballer is caught saying blasphemy on the pitch, they can be expelled or (with camera proof), sanctioned. Italy is still a highly religious country and there’s sensibility on this topic so please, refrain to make your characters speak blasphemy. It is somehow cringy, especially in written form. And also think about Nicky: he may not be the pious God fearing man he once has been, but I don’t think he would have gone as far as starting to speak the Lord’s name in vain? Avoid combining words like Signore (Lord), Dio or Iddio (God), Gesù (Jesus), Cristo (Christ), Maria/Madonna (Mary) with all the above mentioned words (like bastardo or cazzo) and with other commonly used words for profanity (like cane = dog or porco = pork). (NOTE: Dio/Iddio, Gesù and Cristo can be used as exclamations, just like in English) What Joe says in the movie (”Santa Maria madre di Dio!”) is accepted as he is basically quoting the Hail Mary, which is commonly done as exclamations (another one I adore is saying “Gesù, Giuseppe e Maria!” which my math professor did every time someone made a huge mistake during exams). I can gift you my favourite exclamation ever: oddio!/mioddio! (basically a crasis between ‘oh’ and ‘God’, ‘oh my god’ = ‘oh mio Dio’) which is fairly safe and in my head works perfectly as something Nicky might frequently use: ‘Mioddio, Joe! Non è il momento!’ = ‘My God, Joe! Not the time!’, ‘Amore, guarda che carino quel gatto!’ ‘Oddiooo’ = ‘Love, look how cute that cat is!’ ‘Oh myyyy!’. It is clean and also sounds a bit cute. NOTE: my sister @gaiayukari85 forced me to add her own favourite exclamation which is ‘cristiddio!’ (crasis between Christ and God) she often uses when I do something that exasperates her :)

I will stop here but remember that we only scraped the surface of a whole sea of swear words and insults we Italians produce and invent on a daily basis... that’s how we roll. Remember that if you’ve got questions or want to ask about something more specific, my ask box is always open! :) Have fun writing Italian dialogues for our favourite immortal husbands!

[jasontoddiefor]

at what point does eirtae realize that vader was having her teach luke things like politics because he was going to be made the emperor?

Anon how does it feel to be singlehandedly responsible for me updating this story again despite wanting to finish ALttCe first?

Luke was a sweet child, all of Padmé and Anakin’s eagerness and thirst for knowledge. He wasn’t necessarily a fan of sitting still for a prolonged time, but that was easy enough to accommodate. Eirtaé had never seen herself as a teacher, but she and Luke learned how to make it work together. Despite his young age, Luke could teach her plenty about making do with machinery and Eirtaé, in turn, taught him how to perfect his penmanship and grow plants from seedlings. She wrapped otherwise dry lessons up in stories of Padmé and invented ten new games a day to keep Luke interested, occupied, and away from Vader’s planning.

The man hadn’t involved himself too much in Luke’s education. In fact, he seemed to take very little interest in any aspect that didn’t pertain to the Force. He’d outright forbidden Eirtaé from even just mentioning the Jedi, but other than that, there were no instructions for her. Needless to say, it was unsettling. Eirtaé could think on her own, so she put together Luke’s lessons from typical children’s school plans and what she remembered from her own childhood. That it had been over two decades ago since she’d seen the inside of a school and had been training to become Queen at that point seemed to matter little.

So Eirtaé did her duties without knowing what such were. The longer this uncertainty lasted, the more aggravated did she become. It also didn’t help that Luke, ever inquisitive, asked her why he needed to learn a particular subject. Trying to elaborate on politics and law only worked by constantly reminding him that Padmé had been interested in politics. His disinterest wasn’t too surprising. Law mattered little on Tatooine, but Eirtaé would prefer it if she had a concrete answer for Luke besides a “because your father is a prick and won’t tell me why” hidden behind a smile and another anecdote of Naboo’s court.

When one Benduday proved to be the awaited opportunity with Vader appearing in a less awful mood than usual, Eirtaé seized her chance. She planted herself right in front of him, separating him from Luke, who was sitting at his desk.

“For what purpose did you bring me here?” Eirtaé asked without much preamble, staring directly into the dark lenses of Vader.

“Move,” Vader ordered, not particularly impressed, but Eirtaé wasn’t deterred.

“I asked you a question, My Lord.”

She said my Lord as one would say you bastard and hoped it wasn’t too noticeable, not that Vader didn’t deserve it. What wouldn’t she give to look at Anakin’s open face again, see all his micro-expressions.

“You are to teach and guide Luke. I assumed you had understood that.”

The man looked at her like he expected Eirtaé to move out of the way, cease being a nuisance and get back to her job. Luke was distracted still, doodling away in the room behind them. Eirtaé was smart enough to know that his nearby presence was the only reason that this wasn’t already escalating into a repeat performance of the first time she’d confronted Vader about his past. Much like Anakin, he didn’t take well to pushing. Unlike Anakin, he lashed out violently. Eirtaé had yet to carry lasting bruises, but it was only a question of time until she misstepped. It didn’t take a genius to figure out that Vader’s patient was thin on a good day.

“I can teach him. I am teaching him,” Eirtaé replied. “But I don’t know to what end. You could have hired any droid to teach Luke mathematics and as neurotic as Threepio was—” and as insane as Artoo had become while flying with Anakin, “—you easily could have built a droid like him to teach Luke. You don’t necessarily need me here.”

It was a dangerous admittance.

One of the first things she’d been taught in her training had been to make herself valuable. Naboo’s handmaidens were favored kidnapping victims as they almost knew as much as their monarch but weren’t special otherwise.

They were replaceable, and so they had to make themselves special and worth the hassle of keeping around. To tell Darth Vader that she wasn’t an essential tool to his son’s education, the one thing her life currently depended on, was a gamble.

Eirtaé had never been fond of games of chance, but she was running out of cards to play.

“I need to know what I’m preparing him for or I will fail regardless of what I am teaching him because it might not be the lesson he truly needs,” Eirtaé finished her argumentation.

“He is my son,” Vader said as if that were an answer.

Eirtaé wanted to scream in frustration. She wasn’t Padmé, who had mastered the art of reading her husband within a week, or Kenobi, who’d been able to predict Anakin’s every step right up until he hadn’t.

“That is a statement, not an answer I can work with. What exactly do you want for your son?”

She got the sense that he was narrowing his eyes at her, torn between just pushing the nuisance out of the way and giving her an honest reply.

Luke is there, she told herself. As long as Luke was within reach, he wouldn’t hurt her, too afraid of what his son would end up thinking of him for hurting his beloved aunt.

“Luke is the son of your Queen. You are meant to protect him.”

“Protect him from what?” Eirtaé hissed, ensuring to keep her voice down so Luke wouldn’t hear their argument. “Because I was also meant to protect my Queen and we failed because we didn’t know enough. I am loyal to my Queen and loyal to the Royal House of Naboo and that includes the child sitting behind me, but you cannot ask me to act on my loyalty and let me risk failing again at the same time.”

She didn’t think she’d be able to bear it. Eirtaé had been the first to understand why Padmé had been so foolish, for she loved the same way as her dear husband did, completely, entirely.

There were no fleeting crushes, no slow descend into love. It was a fast-paced rush. It had taken so much out of her to warm up to her Queen when she’d entered her court, jealousy still running through her veins, but once Eirtaé had been attached, she’d remained, unable to let go, to risk disappointing her Queen. Anakin Skywalker was just the same, as fiercely attached as Eirtaé could be and as Vader that quality only seemed to have twisted even more.

“You will not fail,” Vader said. “For now, teach him that he is the brightest star in the galaxy, that he was meant for all and everything there ever was and will be.”

All and everything, what a terrifying prospect from the Emperor’s enforcer—

Oh.

Eirtaé paled.

Nobody truly knew what Vader’s relationship to the Emperor was. The Emperor had no heirs by blood or adoption, and their Empire was too new to have established any kind of representative line in writing. Its form was not finished yet and Eirtaé dreaded the day it would be.

But Anakin Skywalker had spoken fondly of the Chancellor, his mentor. If Vader mentioned the Emperor at all in her presence, he called him Master and hissed that title in disdain. It did not resemble the love or adoration it used to carry when speaking of Kenobi.

Eirtaé also knew that it frustrated Vader to no end that he had to keep running missions for the Emperor and leave the two of them alone on Mustafar with nothing more than an upgraded droid squadron to protect them. Certainly, if the man knew that Vader had a child, a potential heir, he would give the man more time away.

Or he’d insist on raising the child himself, in the palace, far away from Vader’s influence and paternal care.

Eirtaé stepped aside, let Vader walk to Luke. The boy immediately perked up when he saw his father. Within the blink of an eye, he was out of his seat and had thrown himself at his father, blabbering away about his day and all he had learned today.

Did Luke know what Vader planned?

As soon as the question arose within her, Eirtaé discarded it. If he knew, he would have said something, made allusions to it. The boy was entirely clueless and for all sense and purpose, Anakin had never been a patient man and Vader wasn’t either.

He wouldn’t wait until the Emperor died of natural causes, he wouldn’t wait until his child was old enough and could understand the burden placed on his head.

He wouldn’t hide Luke away for a moment longer than necessary because his son was his sun, everything he loved and adored, the one pure thing in this galaxy.

Eirtaé swallowed as she watched father and son play, levitate little objects around the room.

All Hail His Imperial Highness, Luke Skywalker.

The Emperor.

[dangerously-human]

🎶, 🧐, 🤗, 💞, 🧠 (john from sga). also ✨✨✨ :)

🎶 Do you listen to music while you write? What song have you been playing on loop lately? I don't often listen to music WHILE I write, but I plan my writing while listening to music. I create a good number of fandom/writing playlists and listen to them whenever I can't be actually engaging in my latest special interest (assuming said special interest is fandom-related, since it usually is), and that helps spark the happy brain juice and sometimes I get some writing inspiration out of it, too.

🧐 Do you spend much time researching for your stories? Not as much as I used to. For most things, the bulk of any "research" time is checking over episode transcripts and maybe fandom wikis for accuracy of dialogue or backstory. When I'm writing for something that's more grounded in reality - Endeavour comes to mind - I tend to do more history checking, like when certain names were popular or whether something I want to mention was invented yet.

🤗 What advice would you give to new fanfic writers that are just getting started? I could say a lot of things, I guess... Write oneshots, small little things that give you a sense of victory in completing them. And don't feel so pressured to write all the backstory and context your oneshot would need to fully make sense, you can just pop that in the author notes and that's all your audience needs to follow along. (This is also a callout @ myself, tbh.)

💞 Who's your comfort character? Gotta be honest, I don't think I fully understand the concept of a comfort character. Is it the same thing as a blorbo? A favorite character you identify with? Is it something else? I guess my favorite blorbos right now are John Crichton and John Sheppard; I don't know if that counts.

🧠 Pick a character, and I'll tell you my favorite headcanon for them. Well, conveniently, I could talk about John Sheppard all day long, as you know. For an angsty little turn today: I don't actually remember how much we know in canon about what happened to his mom - is it canon or fanon that she died of cancer when he was young? Or is that something I dreamed up entirely? I'm sure other people know but it's not something I do off the top of my head. Anyway, I headcanon that he was pretty young when it happened, old enough to remember her but just barely, and it had a pretty negative impact on his relationships with his father - who withdrew emotionally and got a lot stricter about A Good Admirable Future for the boys - and his brother, who was older and resented John for like, still needing more attention and also insisting that John couldn't possibly remember their mom because he was too young. And that is why Above the Clouds of Pompeii is one of the most-played songs on my SGA playlist, even though it hasn't come up in any fic (yet).

✨ Give you and your writing a compliment. Go on now. You know you deserve it. 😉

Well, since you gave me three of these: 1. I think I can tell a pretty solid story in a relatively condensed space. I'm even getting the hang of drabbles, I think! 2. I think I am getting better at writing the unspoken/implied/understated. 3. I think I'm finally getting the hang of writing flirting pretty well, and it's a very fun dynamic - not least of all figuring out how it would look different for each ship I write for.

[bloody-bee-tea]

JC Love Month 2020 Day 12

Ego and Inflexibility

Day 12 of JC Love Month brings some more Lan Qiren feelings, who is most definitely fed up with JFM's shitty parenting and he is so over it that he forgets all of his manners. It's exactly what Jiang Cheng deserves.

Jiang Cheng isn’t sure what they are waiting for—in front of Lan Qiren’s personal quarters no less—but Jin Ling is inside and so Jiang Cheng waits, Wei Wuxian and Lan Wangji right by his side.

���Do you know what this is about?” Wei Wuxian asks him suddenly, clearly fed up with waiting already. “A-Yuan is inside, too, but he wouldn’t say what’s going on.”

“Same with Jin Ling,” Jiang Cheng says with a sigh and pinches the bridge of his nose.

He would accuse the juniors of shenanigans, but Lan Qiren is involved, so clearly it cannot be that bad. He would have told them to stop otherwise, Jiang Cheng is sure of that.

Lan Wangji doesn’t actually contribute anything to the conversation but Jiang Cheng gets the distinct impression that he’s not liking this, either, but then the door opens and the juniors and Lan Qiren step out.

“What is going on here?” Jiang Cheng asks and keeps his gaze on Jin Ling, because he’s bound to break first under his glare.

“I told them not to do it,” is the first thing Jin Ling says, and he does seem strangely guilty, but then Lan Sizhui speaks up and Jiang Cheng turns his attention to him.

“So, here’s the thing,” Lan Sizhui starts, clearly nervous and when he can’t seem to find his words, it’s Lan Jingyi who speaks up.

“We brought back your dad for you,” he says and when Ouyang Zizhen elbows him in the side he let’s out a pained noise.

“We brought Jiang Fengmian back for you,” Ouyang Zizhen clarifies and Jiang Cheng’s mood plummets faster than it has in years.

“Why the hell would you do that?” he demands to know and Lan Jingyi waves his hands at him.

“We didn’t actually bring him back,” he tries to reassure them. “We just called his spirit here and gave it a more solid form, so you can talk to him for the day. Uncle Qiren made sure we did all of it correctly.”

“Uncle,” Lan Wangji chastises him, way too mildly if anyone were to ask Jiang Cheng, but Lan Qiren only strokes his beard.

“There’s some catharsis to be found in this, I am certain,” he says and Jiang Cheng takes a deep breath.

He doubts catharsis is the thing they will find here, but it seems like no one cares about his opinion.

“Uncle Fengmian is back?” Wei Wuxian says and he sounds doubtful, but Jiang Cheng knows him well enough to hear the hope in his voice.

“For the day,” Lan Sizhui says. “You always talk so fondly of him, and we thought it would be good for you to talk to him again. And Sect Leader Jiang, he’s your father, we thought you’d like to speak to him, too.”

“I told them they were being stupid,” Jin Ling grumbles and Jiang Cheng has to bite back a small smile.

“We already caught him up on all major events, so you can jump straight in,” Lan Jingyi says excitedly and now Jiang Cheng is glad that Lan Qiren was there all along, because at least like this Jiang Fengmian got the right version of events.

“Fine, let’s do this, it’s not like we’re getting out of this,” Jiang Cheng says with a sigh and starts to walk up to the room, when Wei Wuxian stops him.

“Are you sure you’re alright with this?” he lowly asks, and even though they are still mending their relationship, it’s nice to see that they still understand each other like this.

“No,” Jiang Cheng answers honestly but with a shrug. “But there’s nothing to be done about it now, is there? I’m not actually so unfilial as to leave a ghost hanging,” he says and it startles a laugh out of Wei Wuxian just like he hoped.

“Alright, let’s go,” Wei Wuxian suddenly cheerfully says, and leads the way into the room.

Jiang Cheng is surprised to notice how much he forgot about his father in the past twenty years and it’s like a punch to the gut to see him again, unchanged and untouched by time.

Well, being dead will do that to you, Jiang Cheng guesses.

“Uncle Fengmian,” Wei Wuxian yells once inside the room and Jiang Fengmian looks Wei Wuxian up and down with a smile.

“You really do have a new body,” he says, as if Lan Qiren would lie to him about that. “But you’re still unmistakably my A-Ying,” he then adds and Jiang Cheng chooses that moment to step into his sight as well.

“Jiang Cheng,” his father says, looking him up and down much more critical than he had Wei Wuxian. “The spitting image of your mother I see.”

“Thankfully,” Jiang Cheng bites out and sits down, ready to get this over with as soon as possible.

There’s a very small part of him that hopes that he interpreted his father’s actions and words in his childhood wrong, but with how this started, Jiang Cheng knows it’s a foolish hope.

His father is exactly like he remembered him.

“Why are you not wearing purple, A-Ying?” Jiang Fengmian asks Wei Wuxian who throws a love sick look at Lan Wangji.

“Because I’m no longer a disciple of Yunmeng Jiang,” he answers, and while it still stings, they are making their way back to that.

Wei Wuxian forgot Chengqing in his old room last time he visited Lotus Pier and Jiang Cheng dares to hope that it means something.

“And why is that?” Jiang Fengmian asks, sending a sharp look at Jiang Cheng.

“Because I married Lan Zhan,” Wei Wuxian cheerfully says—too cheerfully, if you ask Jiang Cheng—and he throws himself at his husband who catches him easily.

“I see,” Jiang Fengmian says with a small smile. “What a wonderful match.”

“It is,” Wei Wuxian agrees and then Jiang Fengmian turns to Jiang Cheng.

“Are you married?” he asks and Jiang Cheng shakes his head, expecting the sour look on his father’s face.

“I never quite found the time for it,” Jiang Cheng easily says because he long stopped being bothered by that fact.

“Ah, yes, I heard about what happened,” Jiang Fengmian gives back and turns his attention back to Wei Wuxian.

“You invented a new cultivation style. I am very proud of you,” he says and Jiang Cheng can’t help the snort he lets out at that.

“Do you have something to say to that, Jiang Cheng?” Jiang Fengmian demands to know and Jiang Cheng clicks his tongue.

“His new cultivation style killed over three thousand people before it eventually claimed his own life. I’m not sure that’s something to be proud of,” Jiang Cheng says, with an apologetic look to Wei Wuxian, who nods along.

“Yeah, it cost too much. It’s not actually something good, you know,” Wei Wuxian agrees but Jiang Fengmian shakes his head.

“But you did it because you gave your core to Jiang Cheng and didn’t have another choice, right? I’d say that’s a sign of true strength.”

“Wow,” Jin Ling mutters behind Jiang Cheng and Jiang Cheng is inclined to agree with him.

“And you lost your core in a reckless move, did you not?” Jiang Fengmian asks Jiang Cheng next and by now everyone in the room seems uncomfortable, even Lan Wangji.

Jiang Cheng has to give it to his father, he has quite the talent.

“Clearly,” Jiang Cheng bitterly says, but he does feel vindicated when he realizes that his father is just as bad as he was in his memory.

“What did you do while A-Ying learned to master his new life and got a family on top of that?” Jiang Fengmian asks and by now everyone in the room is holding their breath.

“You mean what did I do while Wei Wuxian was dead?” Jiang Cheng corrects him and then goes on without actually letting Jiang Fengmian speak. “I was building Lotus Pier back up, that was completely destroyed in the attack,” Jiang Cheng says, and he says it with pride, too, because he managed to do what people thought was impossible. “I raised my nephew and brought my Sect to greatness again.”

“By taking in everyone you could find,” Jiang Fengmian spits out. “Being a Jiang disciple used to mean something, once upon a time. And now look at who you are taking in. I hear your right hand used to be a servant.”

“As your right hand used to be, if I remember correctly,” Jiang Cheng sharply says and Jiang Fengmian’s eyes apologetically dart to Wei Wuxian, who is clenching his hands on his thighs.

“Listen, father, I don’t know what you remember, but when you and mother died, so did the majority of our people. Thousands of disciples were killed that day. They didn’t even spare the kids, did you know that? There wasn’t all that much left, after the Wens were done.”

“Still, you should have kept some priorities.”

“My priority was to rebuild my home,” Jiang Cheng shoots back but he knows that it’s futile.

It doesn’t matter what he says to his father, it won’t make a difference, because he is not Wei Wuxian.

“And yet you couldn’t even protect your family,” Jiang Fengmian bites out. “Yanli died, and for what?”

“For protecting Wei Wuxian, so really, shouldn’t you be proud of her?” Jiang Cheng says and Wei Wuxian makes a wounded sound next to him.

“It was my fault,” Wei Wuxian lowly admits. “I lost control and everyone wanted to kill me, and shijie only died because she tried to protect me.”

“Like family should,” Jiang Fengmian says and Jiang Cheng had enough of this.

“I think we’re done here,” Jiang Cheng says and it’s clear that Jiang Fengmian wants to say more to him, but it’s surprisingly enough not his voice that rings out.

“Sit back down,” Lan Qiren orders him and Jiang Cheng is surprised enough to simply do it.

“Wei Wuxian, do you have something to say?” Lan Qiren asks Wei Wuxian, voice softer than Jiang Cheng remembers ever hearing it, and Wei Wuxian nods so vigorously that his hair flies.

“You are a shitty father,” Wei Wuxian says then and Jiang Cheng sits down more firmly, because that he has to hear.

“Wei Ying!” Jiang Fengmian admonishes him but Wei Wuxian clearly doesn’t care.

“No, you are! Jiang Cheng survived a war! You died in the first wave of attacks and he survived all of them and he led a destroyed Sect to boot. He was thrust into the position as Sect Leader so young, but he did it, and he did it more than well. And he didn’t survive just one war, he survived my armies of undead as well.”

“You would have never hurt him,” Jiang Fengmian defends Wei Wuxian, even now, and Jiang Cheng huffs out a bitter breath.

“I would have,” Wei Wuxian argues and makes a grimace at Jiang Cheng, clearly apologizing for that. “I lost control, much earlier than people think, and there was nothing I wouldn’t have done. And I died for my sins.”

“But you did the impossible and came back,” Jiang Fengmian says and Wei Wuxian glares at him.

“I am back because poor Mo Xuanyu was harassed so much that he thought suicide would be better than living on. I was summoned back as a vicious spirit. There is nothing admirable about that,” Wei Wuxian vehemently says but Jiang Fengmian doesn’t seem like he is very much interested in how  Wei Wuxian is not the amazing guy he still seems to believe he is.

“Still,” Jiang Fengmian says and looks back at Jiang Cheng. “You don’t seem any closer to understanding the Sect motto than you were when I was still alive,” he says, and Wei Wuxian’s eyes flash red.

Jiang Cheng doesn’t actually want him to attack his father, even though it would be quite the sight to behold, but before he can do anything to stop Wei Wuxian, Lan Qiren speaks up.

“You egotistical, inflexible piece of shit,” Lan Qiren says, and it takes Jiang Cheng a moment to realize that those words really came out of Lan Qiren’s mouth.

But when everyone is staring at him, their mouths mostly open because no one heard Lan Qiren talk like that before, Jiang Cheng comes to the conclusion that it must have been really him.

“Qiren,” Jiang Fengmian starts, but Lan Qiren seems absolutely ready to tear Jiang Fengmian a new one.

“Do not speak to me like that,” Lan Qiren says. “You are a disgrace to your Sect. You never even attempted the impossible, because you were too mellow to ever take a challenge at all. And you can’t even recognize great men, because your son is sitting there after he achieved the impossible time and time again and you have nothing but contempt for him.”

“You shouldn’t speak on family matters,” Jiang Fengmian tries but clearly Lan Qiren is not done.

“I have more right to speak on family matters, than you do,” Lan Qiren says. “Especially when it comes to your son, who you so clearly think the worst of. You hold your son in so little regard that you really believe him to be so stupid as to lose his core in a reckless move? Seriously, out of the two, you’d think Wei Wuxian would be the one to do that, and yet you can’t even be bothered to question it.”

“What?” Wei Wuxian asks and Jiang Cheng desperately wonders why he never learned the silencing spell the Lans love so much.

It would come in really handy right now.

“Wait, what?” Wei Wuxian says again and looks back and forth between Lan Qiren and Jiang Cheng. “Say that again.”

“I think that’s enough,” Jiang Cheng says, but now Jin Ling chimes in for the first time.

“No, I think Teacher Qiren should speak,” he says, clearly remembering that moment after the whole temple mess. “I think this needs to be said.”

“And I think I’m going to break your legs,” Jiang Cheng hisses, but Jin Ling only smiles at him.

“Jiang Wanyin!” Jiang Fengmian yells. “How dare you speak like that to your sister’s son.”

Jiang Cheng has a few choice words for that, but before he can articulate them, Jin Ling gives him his best glare.

“He’s my jiu-jiu and he can speak to me however he wants,” Jin Ling tells him with more bite than Jiang Cheng expected and it’s almost enough to derail the previous conversation.

But only almost, because Wei Wuxian is worse than a dog with a bone.

“Wait, let’s go back, what was that about Jiang Cheng losing his core?”

“It was nothing,” Jiang Cheng says, mostly because he doesn’t want to do this in front of his father.

If the truth comes out—and it seems more than unlikely that he can keep it a secret for much longer—then he doesn’t want to hear what his father has to say to that.

It will probably be the only time he will praise Jiang Cheng, because he did it to protect Wei Wuxian, and Jiang Cheng couldn’t give less of a fuck about that.

“I think it’s time for you to go back now,” Jiang Cheng says with a meaningful look to Lan Qiren, who thankfully seems to understand enough to undo the summoning circle without a second thought and Jiang Fengmian vanishes before he can say another word.

“If you think that gets you out of telling the truth, you’re mistaken,” Wei Wuxian says to Jiang Cheng, who only shrugs, because he knows when he’s being beat.

“Fine, whatever,” he says and motions for Lan Qiren to speak.

“You’re not so stupid to try and get your parent’s bodies back, no matter how much you’re grieving. So there must have been another reason you got captured,” Lan Qiren says, and Jiang Cheng didn’t know he thought so highly of him.

“Maybe I am just that stupid,” Jiang Cheng tries, but Lan Qiren sends him such a sharp glare that Jiang Cheng flinches.

“Tell the truth, Jiang Cheng. What did you do?” Wei Wuxian whispers, though Jiang Cheng can already see understanding dawn on him.

“You were buying medicine for A-jie,” Jiang Cheng says after a long moment, and he looks down at his hands, because it feels safer than looking at Wei Wuxian. “Wen soldiers were coming up behind you, and they wouldn’t have passed by.”

“And then they got distracted,” Wei Wuxian mumbles, “by you. Why would you do that?” he wants to know and at that Jiang Cheng lifts his gaze.

“I just lost my entire family, my home. Do you really think I could have survived losing someone else?” he wants to know and it stuns Wei Wuxian into silence.

“You distracted them to safe my life,” Wei Wuxian says and Jiang Cheng clicks his tongue.

“They would have killed you on the spot or tortured you. Wen Chao hated you enough for both, so I had to do something.”

“And then you got tortured,” Wei Wuxian cries, and Jiang Cheng is acutely aware of all eyes on him.

“Not in front of the kids,” Jiang Cheng hisses out, but before he’s even done, Wei Wuxian has thrown himself at Jiang Cheng.

“I love you, too,” he sobs out and Jiang Cheng’s eyes are burning enough that it’s safer to just hide his face in Wei Wuxian’s neck.

“Yeah, yeah,” he awkwardly says around the lump in his throat. “I love you, too.”

There’s a long moment of silence, before Lan Qiren clears his throat.

“Now that this unpleasant situation is over, everyone is free to leave.”

Wei Wuxian only reluctantly parts from Jiang Cheng, but when Jiang Cheng smiles slightly at him, he seems to understand that there will be time later.

“Lan Qiren, I didn’t know you held my shidi in such high regard,” Wei Wuxian says, clearly not done with the unpleasant situation and Jiang Cheng wants to strangle him.

“Sect Leader Jiang is one of the bravest, most capable cultivators and Sect Leaders I ever had the honour to teach and I will not stand for any slander against him,” Lan Qiren says, very deliberately not looking at Jiang Cheng, who is glad about that.

Because his eyes are burning like crazy again and he doesn’t actually want Lan Qiren to see him cry.

“He took his Sect and his Sect’s motto to heights that were never before reached and he should be held in the highest regard by everyone,” Lan Qiren mercilessly goes on, and Jiang Cheng only doesn’t burst into tears, because Jin Ling presses into his side.

“He’s right,” Jin Ling says and all the juniors agree.

“Absolutely,” Wei Wuxian predictably says, but when even Lan Wangji makes an affirmative noise, it all becomes too much for Jiang Cheng.

“Alright, stop that, enough,” he snaps out, his voice only barely shaking and everyone laughs at him.

Even Lan Qiren’s face softens.

“It’s only the truth,” Lan Qiren says and Jiang Cheng gives in to the fact that his dignity is a lost cause today.

He does burst into tears, but it’s not at all bad, because Wei Wuxian is the first one to hug him and he’s crying, too.

Jiang Cheng thinks it’s only fair that they both lose face like this in front of the kids and their teacher.

Link to my ko-fi on the sidebar!

[ladyonfire28]

Came back from my little break for that new article ! Here is the translation of Adèle and Aïssa’s interview for Libération. It’s a very long, but very interesting one. So i recommend to read it. There may be a lot of incoherencies so please tell me if something doesn’t make sense ! 

Aïssa Maïga and Adèle Haenel : «Finally there’s something political happening»

They stood up together at the César and have since been striving to invent a common front against all forms of discrimination. For "Libération", actresses Adèle Haenel and Aïssa Maïga retrace the journey of generational awareness.

Some kind of symbol. A large mural, in tribute to George Floyd, a 46-year-old black American who died on 25 May when he was arrested by a white policeman, and to Adama Traoré, who died at the age of 24 on the floor of the "caserne de Persan" (Val-d'Oise) following an arrest in 2016, was painted at the beginning of the week on the façade of a building in the 10th arrondissement of Paris. Close by, the Adama Committee organized a press conference on Tuesday. Words, demands and the announcement of a new march to fight against police violence. It takes place this Saturday in the capital, from the Place de la République to the Place de l'Opéra. The organizers dream of seeing a huge crowd come together. This demonstration comes at the heart of a tense period. Young people are demanding answers and action, while many police officers feel that the Minister of the Interior is letting his troops down in the face of the scolding.

In the street, we will find associations, politicians and many people. Adèle Haenel and Aïssa Maïga will be there. Not a first. They were already present on  June 2nd at the rally in front of the Paris high court. The actresses didn't really know each other before the last César ceremony, marked by the speech of one and the shattering departure of the other. Since then, they have never left each other. Both describe the moment as a "turning point". The fights converge.

When the idea of a cross-exchange came on the table to put words to their commitments, they did not hesitate. On Thursday, in a roadstead near Belleville, Adèle Haenel arrived first, followed by Aïssa Maïga. They are not of the same generation, the journeys and paths are different. The styles too. The one who got up at the announcement of the prize awarded to Polanski goes up and down, talks with her body. The one who, at the same ceremony, invited to count the black people in the room appears calmer, stays seated on her chair, speaks in a low voice. Adèle Haenel and Aïssa Maïga complement each other.

From where are you speaking?

Adèle Haenel: I speak from my personal political background, rooted in feminism, a background that is shaken by the worldwide movement around police violence and by the French movement around the Adama Committee. I would say that taking charge of my own history has given me the ability to deal with other broader issues that do not immediately affect me. I'm talking about a kind of political awakening. This desire to show my support for the families of the victims, for the political movement against racism and police violence in France, and for the actors who take a stand. I'm thinking of Omar Sy, Camélia Jordana and you, Aïssa.

Aïssa Maïga: This intersectional awakening evoked by Adèle is a place where I have been for a long time without necessarily being able to name it. For a long time, the racial question in cinema was so pervasive in my life that it cannibalized everything else. I felt that it was less difficult to be a woman, in a world that discriminates women, than it was to be a black woman. The work done by Afrofeminists in France and abroad put the words in my mouth that I didn't have because I didn't have that heritage. I am speaking from a place that is on the move and that is not made up of certainties, that is made of interrogations, especially about the fact that I can implement changes on my own scale. And I'm also speaking from a place that is purely civic and is tinged with various influences. I didn't grow up in a poor suburb, I didn't live in financial precariousness, I come from a rather intellectual middle class, it gave me certain tools, and yet I haven't escaped this very French thing, a soft racism, rarely seen but which is haunting... because it's omnipresent.

Why did you get involved with the Adama Committee?

A.M.: Because this is a fight for justice. It was Assa Traoré who came to meet me during the release of the collective book Noire n'est pas mon métier ("Black is not my job"). I knew her from afar, I knew her struggle, and she appeared. The support became obvious and it has really taken shape in the last few months. I was immediately impressed by this woman, her quiet strength, and this ability to forge a bond, to think of her family drama in political terms. Her voice matters. She's not just an icon: she allows a movement to emerge.

A.H.: For me, it's even more recent, I had to go through a problem that was going through me, that involved my body in discrimination in order to mingle with other injustices. I was listening to what Assa Traoré was saying and I was struck by her determination and intelligence. But it is only very recently that I also became physically aware that I could not fail to support this woman and the whole fight against police violence and racism, in the same way that I am taking up the fight for feminism and against sexual violence. I can't have it two-tiered.

On June 2nd, more than 20,000 people gathered in front of the High Court of Paris, at the request of the Adama Committee. An unprecedented turnout, with many young people, why?

A.M.: The Adama Committee saw very well the link between George Floyd's drama and their own. The death of Adama Traoré, choked under three gendarmes, was materialized before our eyes with the unbearable images of Floyd's death. The French youth who look at these images cannot fail to make the connection, it is obvious. There is also a form of accessible activism that is developing via social networks. Activists will involve others through simple, accessible sentences: if you are not a POC, you are still involved, it is your responsibility to listen and take an active part, at your level, in the fight for equality. There is also the idea that we need to establish a link between police violence, the racism that can be found in other social spaces, the issue of gender equality, the environment, and the urgency of dealing with these problems now. There is also a form of anxiety among young people: they are told that in fifty years' time there will be no more water. And finally the feeling of injustice, which is omnipresent and linked to the circulation of images on social networks. Police violence follows one after the other, and this creates an accumulation effect. It is not just a dogmatic political vision, but a reality that is lived or perceived as real.

A.H.: There is a turning point in the effectiveness of the movement as well. This feeling carried by Assa Traoré that we are powerful. It's not just ideas that go around the world, it's ideas that make the world happen. It gives hope and responsibility to a whole generation.

During Aïssa's speech at the Césars, in which she confronts the profession with the near-invisibility of actors, filmmakers and producers from French overseas territories and African and Asian immigrants in French cinema, you are in the room, Adèle. You don't know each other yet. Do you understand her speech immediately?

A.H.: It's obvious, but it's not immediate, it takes a little time to understand the extent of the racist mechanism when you, yourself, haven't been forced to see how it works. I was brought back to particular assignments, but not to this one. So it takes a long time before it becomes unbearable evidence. When Aïssa takes the floor, it's courageous because the room is very cold and it's making it even colder. I thought it was funny and I thought "finally, something political is happening".

Did you both understand that people find it violent to count black people in the room, and even that they might find it paradoxical to split the audience?

A.M.: Counting isn't splitting, it's measuring the gap between us and equality. When it comes to inequality, to be blind to color is to be blind to the social burdens that come from our history and the imagination that flows from it. I am fighting for art and culture to deconstruct racial fictions. In our field, cinema, there is a tendency to believe that when a few exceptions appear, the problem of racial discrimination is solved. I do not think that my presence, that of Omar Sy, Ladj Ly or Frédéric Chau, Leïla Bekhti, for example, however gifted they may be, exonerates French cinema from an examination of conscience. There is always an over-representation of people perceived as non-white in roles with negative connotations - and it's not me saying this, it's the CSA, through its diversity barometer. There are still too few opportunities for younger people, who today in 2020 deplore what I deplored when I was starting out. Still too few non-whites behind the camera and almost no one in decision-making positions. I started this job when I was 20 years old. I am 45. A generation, not a few exceptions, should have risen. It hasn't. And it's unbearable as a citizen, a mother and an artist.

At the César ceremony, I deliberately used a inflammable symbol. If we refuse to measure differences in access to opportunities in terms of racial discrimination, perhaps we are accepting the status quo. Today, we need concrete action by decision-makers and numerical targets in order to measure progress. A few personal successes, however brilliant they may be, cannot justify the violence of large-scale unequal treatment.

A.H.: The substance of what Aïssa said to the César is relevant, it speaks to the moment, and being shocking has the virtue of awakening. The criticisms that followed were "I agree but"... In fact, it means that even when the substance is right, the form is never the right one. It's a form of censorship, there are people who have the right to speak and others who don't.

A.M.: Allowing oneself to express anger head-on is taboo because we are actresses and we are supposed to preserve the desire that others project on us. And also because it highlights the precarious nature of this profession: are you able to overcome your fear, to express your opinion, with the risk of losing something?

A.H.: From my point of view, that of a white woman - forgive me for putting myself in this position, but it's still unfortunately an assignment - I see that when I spoke about what happened to me personally, I received a lot of support, especially from people who are not especially on our side. However, as soon as I spoke up, politically, to say that giving the prize to a rapist fleeing from justice was an insult, all of a sudden I was really overstepping what I was entitled to do, what I could interfere in...

Do you think there's a "white privilege"?

A.M.: Words are so tricky...

A.H.: When Virginie Despentes uses the term "white privilege", it's a bit related to Aïssa's gesture when she counts the black people in the room. It's a question of pointing out, by calling up words that should be those of the past, the gap between the evolution of universalist ideals and the facts of manifest exclusion at work. Provocation points out this flaw and invites us to close it.

Is there state racism?

A.M.: I don't know about "state" racism, it would have to be written into the laws to say that. The right word is systemic: it means that there is something that does not allow for real equality, something in the established rules that allows a small number of people to discriminate without being worried. What also raises the question is the inertia of the state in the face of the continuation of systemic inequalities.

From what you say, we are at a turning point in the struggle against racial, gender, social and other forms of discrimination...

A.M.: I felt the turning point in 2018 with #MeToo, Time's Up, and when I saw all these women from such diverse backgrounds (in the streets) after Trump's election. It was an image I had never seen before in my generation. It was in the United States, and yet something happened to me in France, because I had been dreaming of this convergence for a long time. I'm not here to defend my chapel. I'm not going to be satisfied with a breakthrough if blacks have more roles while Arabs and Asians are still in a degraded situation in French cinema. The convergence I'm talking about didn't quite take place at the time of #MeToo, which quickly became a white women's movement in my eyes. In French cinema, there is also the "50-50 for 2020" movement [collective for parity and inclusion founded in 2018, editor's note] that I saw coming like the guerrilla movement we had been waiting for for a long time, pragmatic, quick, positively impatient, very constructive. The work done in favor of parity is colossal. On the other hand, I regret that diversity is the next program. But it cannot be the next program for me, that is the mistake. I've talked about it very openly, and frankly in a fairly relaxed way with some of them.

A.H.: Much more relaxed than I was, by the way!

A.M.: And then I said to myself that the battles are progressing on different levels and that we're going to have to find some kind of alignment. The fight for women's rights is not just a women's issue, it's a men's issue, just as the fight against racism is not just about POC. And it wasn't until 2020 and the murder of George Floyd that there were those voices, especially white voices, that said, "This is my problem too." Including in France, where this awakening of consciousness is made possible by the work done by the families of victims of police violence.

A.H.: In my political journey so far, I had forgotten to understand the places where I am not just in a situation of domination. I am also, as a white woman who is not in a precarious position, in a dominant position in certain aspects. Understanding that, feeling that, is essential. My political agenda was focused on feminism, and I didn't realize that it was implicitly white feminism, unintentionally excluding. What Aïssa says seems fundamental to me: the agenda that would order one cause after another is not conceivable and leads to inertia. It leagues us against each other in identity issues that are sterile, since they reiterate the terms of oppression. This is a major issue in the effectiveness of political struggles: how can we mobilize without reiterating the categorization we are fighting against? This implies understanding that there is a deep articulation between all systems of domination and that there is a need to defend these causes in a cross-cutting manner.

Aïssa's speech on June 2nd, during the demonstration initiated by the Adama Committee, called for a fair, dignified and positive representation of minorities in the media. But who can judge what is dignified and fair? Only the ones who are affected ?

A.H.: Today, in France, female characters in films are implicitly white women: I have a much wider range of possible jobs than that offered to a black actress. But in my field of so-called universal women, very often, women are offered satellite roles around male characters. These roles take up what is considered to be the normal white female nature, of restraint and reification. What appears natural here is a cultural construction of identity that is done precisely through stories. This is one of the reasons why the political stakes of representations in the cinema are so important.

Is this a criterion for assessing or rejecting a work? What should be done with existing works that have been reassessed as problematic?

A.H.: Works must be recontextualized. They are not created out of nowhere, out of time. Let's question them! That doesn't mean that we stop watching them, but that we ask ourselves what their political substratum is and what they convey. Questioning representations is a sign of vitality. And that does not mean that we would no longer have the right to see these works.

A.M.: With this waltz of statues of slavery figures in the United States or in the French overseas departments at the moment, the citizens gives their answer. Either the work must be contextualized, in a museum or in a place with a historical explanatory note, or it must stand out.

Is it women, more willingly than men, who carry this convergence of fights ?

A.M.: I feel a change in the scale of our lives, a major turning point in the way we perceive each other and allow ourselves to hybridize in these battles. Regarding the massive presence of women from cinema in front of the High Court on June 2, I wonder. In particular about my own capacity to build bridges... while guaranteeing the visibility of the fights against discrimination against women or POC. How do we ensure that the fight against discrimination, for equality and equity, is as visible as the rest? I am not at all sure how to do this. But it has to be done. When, the day after the César, I received a text message from Adèle, even though we don't know each other, and she writes to me to say "I heard you. I'm here. Let's meet", it can be as simple as that.

Why did you send that text?

A.H.: Because of the solitude in this room. And the brave gesture of saying what she said on stage. We'd met the same evening and maybe I hadn't caught the moment, I was captivated by our own event... That is, what had happened after we'd, let's say..., gone to get our coats a bit earlier in the dressing room... (Aïssa Maïga laughs) And I thought, let's not forget the constructed gesture, the political intentionality of Aïssa in there. I wanted to get closer to her courage. So I think that we shouldn't talk about masculinity by saying "men", that we should consider masculinity as a field of organization of power with its own complexities, and its intersectional repercussions. I refer to Angela Davis' book, Women, Race & Class, on the issue of the difficult articulation between the civil rights movement in the United States and the emerging white feminist movements where there was a lot of racism. Why don't we think of ourselves as spontaneous and necessary allies between categories of discrimination, racial, social and gendered? We need to take the history of this division seriously in order to work on it and overcome it. As Assa Traoré does in an ultra-intelligent way when she says "Whatever your religion, your sexual orientation, wherever you come from, whatever your skin color". It is an invitation to self-criticism of our own movement. This is my discovery at the beginning of this year: the self-criticism of my history as a white feminist.

When you get up during the César, is it thoughtful or impulsive?

A.H.: This award was a claim to the right to do whatever you want as long as you are at the top. That is to say: rich white men who don't feel concerned when we talk about violence. What it means beyond sexual violence is that there are people to whom repressive laws do not apply. It's as if the police and the laws shouldn't act against them, but around them... And that's what you feel in that moment in the room. What happened on César night was a dissolution of the status quo. Now it's either you stay in the room or you don't stay in the room.

A.M.: And it was important to be there at the César, because I read a lot about boycotting that evening, but for me there was no question of backing out. A boycott is not just staying at home behind your television, not being there without anyone really noticing. It was important to say that the home of cinema is also our home, our space, our place of expression. We are in a position to speak out and for that to have the virtue of provoking discussion. When that person wins that award, it's the time of the turkey, where someone praises the rapist grandfather, when everyone knows. And you're breathless, you can't move, time becomes elastic, everything is extremely heavy, it's unreal. You enter another dimension. And the fact that a person manages to regain possession of time, to become master of their time and master of their body by standing up and saying no, it put oxygen back in, it woke us up. Adèle and I looked at each other two or three times during the evening, we knew we were together. There was something like a physical experience. We boarded the ship together.

We're spotting the allies.

A.M.: That's right. And time returned to normal when Adèle, Céline Sciamma and others, including me, got up. It was a coherent political gesture in which many people recognized themselves.

Do you think that your political positions, formalized at the César, can have an impact on your career?

A.M.: The question is how do you break a family secret? Festen is one of my favorite films. (Laughs) I wasn't born at the time of the 2020 César, it's the result of a personal journey and a legacy. Others before me have spoken, for example Luc Saint-Eloy and Calixthe Beyala on the same issues at the Césars in 2000. When Canal + and the César invited me to come and give an award, I said "yes, but I want complete freedom". Blowing up a family secret is a movement for self-liberation, it's an essential meeting with yourself. Choosing to be on the side of silence, of the status quo and therefore of injustices with full knowledge of the facts is something I was quite incapable of doing. The consequences for one's profession are not that one doesn't care, but spitting out what one has to say is a top priority. The question of what it is going to cost behind it is resolved by the feeling of freeing the word, provoking debate, making a generational contribution to the fight for equality, which in essence concerns us all. I have an appointment with myself around 60, 65, the age when my children will be about the same age as I am today. There is something about transmission. I want to be able to look at myself in the mirror. I don't want to tell myself that I haven't taken advantage of my little privilege of being a POC exception in French cinema to the detriment of all those young people I meet on the street, who aren't white and who say to me with fear in their stomachs, "Do you think I can still do this job?"

What about you, Adèle?

A.H.: The message that was sent to me very clearly by a casting director is that I will never work again. Obviously, this person was very sure of himself, since he wrote it in print capital letters about a dozen times. What do you say when you ask for respect and silence? They say, "Don't speak out politically because it's not your role". But also: "Don't take the lead artistically either because you're an actress, you have to follow the genius of your director". This whole structure is part of this culture where you shouldn't listen to yourself but to submit. I don't know what the consequences will be for my job. What is certain is that I will never regret it. We did something that night that freed the voices of a lot of people. That is worth much more than all the threats to my career, which in any case is always fragile, because it is a precarious environment. If I totally respected the rules and said, "Yes, yes, you have to separate the man from the artist", that wouldn't stop me from being able to get out of the game. It's as much about inventing one's life as trying to open up the future.

Written by Cécile Daumas , Rachid Laïreche and Sandra Onana. Photo by Lucile Boiron

[dennou-translations]

Violet Evergarden Booklet 1

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That day was a special one for me, but to the rest of the world, this was not the case.

   Ann Magnolia and Her Nineteenth Birthday

   There was a number of things I had to do on the special day called today.

I would wake up in the morning and check the weather. As if a tale were beginning, I would turn the curtains over and look outside the window.

The radiant daylight shone on my eyes. Today was sunny. Knowing that made me happy. That I had woken up enveloped in sunshine. That I didn’t have to worry about my letter getting drenched in rain. It was almost as if the truth of these facts was blessing the day.

——I’m happy.

Very happy.

I didn’t usually say this, but I felt like saying it today, so I whispered as I laid back down, “Good morning.”

Husky with wake, my voice echoed through the quiet bedroom. I wandered around in search for someone to have a conversation with from the words “good morning”. However, I couldn’t find anyone to hear them, so they pointlessly vanished somewhere.

If you were just by yourself, words would die as soon as they were born. I knew that as the truth of this world. Like flowers that withered without changing colors, like small birds that couldn’t endure the coldness of midwinter, my words would promptly die. After all, words were tools for people to communicate their intentions. So if there was no other party, they would all but die. That was evident.

There was no one who would reply to me with a “good morning”. There was no one in this house that would do a morning greeting, so if anyone were to say that this much was obvious, it sure was. But in my memories, someone whose voice I had already forgotten would return my words. In a warm and soft voice that was probably how my mother sounded, they would be returned to me.

“Good morning, Ann.”

——Good morning.

“Today is a special day, huh.”

——I know; I’d been counting them with my fingers.

“Your long-awaited birthday.”

With a nod, I stood up.

Today, I was turning nineteen. Twelve years had passed since I had been left all by myself when I was seven years old. I reflected thoroughly upon that reality alone and proudly.

I left my bedroom still wearing a negligee, heading to the spiral staircase. There were portraits hanging in rows from the staircase’s wall.

“My, you’re going outside dressed like this just because you’re at home?”

Decorated with pictures of family members, the wall used to be terrifying for me when I was a child, but it became less so after my mother was added to them. I would go up and down those stairs countless times every day, but the only spot that I would end up directing my gaze to for a few seconds was the portrait of my mother and my childhood self.

If, by any chance, there was strength to the thing called “love”, I thought, if there was a force residing within love, wouldn’t this image start moving one day, since it was the only one I looked at as if I were yearning for something?

I would end up embracing such fantasies.

“I won’t change, no matter how much you stare at me. By the way, doesn’t my complexion look a little bad in this portrait? I should have had more paint put over it.”

Of course, it was just a fabrication.

Having come down the stairs, I went to the front entrance, its door a little worn-out. I should call a repairer. The house was a living being just like me, and since it was already quite old, it was always broken somewhere.

“I also want you to tend to the garden. When was the last time you held a broom?”

As I came outside, I could see this place’s whole scenery. There was nothing but lush grassland and tree-lined roads. The idyllic sight was awfully boring, but above that, it was beautiful, so if you made a frame with your fingers, you would immediately have a scenic picture. In this entire area, there were no other houses in sight. Of course. This territory was under the control of the Magnolias, hence this view belonged to me, the family head.

As long as I didn’t sell or give it away, this landscape would never change. And, same as the previous family heads, I didn’t wish for it to change. Neither did I wish to leave this place. Even if I was all by myself.

“Ann, let’s take a look inside the mailbox.”

I took a look inside the mailbox. Perhaps because it was still early in the morning, there was nothing in it yet.

“It’ll surely be coming soon.”

Today was the day when I, Ann Magnolia, was born. Every year on my birthday, I would get letters from my late mother. Letters from my mother, who by now had become a portrait, would be delivered to me.

“There is no such thing as a letter that needn’t be delivered, Milady.”

To be precise, letters with my mother’s feelings blown into them and ghostwritten by an Auto-Memories Doll would be delivered to me. It was a strange story, but a true one.

“Auto-Memories Doll”. Long had passed ever since this name caused a stir.

The creator was an authority in the field of mechanical dolls, Professor Orlando. His wife, Molly, was a novelist, and all had begun with the posterior loss of her eyesight. He then invented a machine to perform ghostwriting for his beloved wife and named it Auto-Memories Doll. Nowadays, people who worked as ghostwriters were also called Auto-Memories Dolls.

When I was seven, my mother, who was plagued with a serious illness, summoned a beautiful blue-eyed Auto-Memories Doll to our manor. She made her write several letters and hired a postal company to deliver them to me even after her death. She had been secretly planning out a few decades worth of birthday messages for her beloved daughter.

The person who had made this request was an oddball, but the ones who had accepted the job were quite odd themselves. Had they not imagined that someone would abandon it at some point? Had they sealed the contract for such a heavy, troublesome work without any refusal because they were horribly bad at their business, or was it because they were too nice? Having grown into a creditable lady and come to understand the world to a certain extent, I would ponder about such things. Surely, it was because they were nice. Thanks to them, even though I didn’t have a single relative now, at least on my birthday I could recall what being loved by someone felt like.

Just like that, I stood fidgety in front of the mailbox. Closing my eyes, I cleared off the dust on the box of my memories.

——I remember. That she had come around. That she would be over there, quietly writing letters. I remember the figure of that person and of my smiling mother. Surely, until I died...

That few-days’ time had been seared into my mind. Back then, my... Back then, Ann Magnolia’s frizzy hair was still short, and she was selfish and pretended to be taller. She was a helpless child. A very young one. How old she was? Seven years old. An age where one would still long for their mother. Her mother was the center of the world. If her mother died, she wouldn’t even be able to breathe. She was that kind of child. She was aware that her emotions were unstable and that she tended to act a little rashly.

Most people would treat someone like me nicely, and that was it. People who had their eyes on my fortune attempted to get close to me, but once they noticed that I had no intention to let them do so, they never showed their faces to me again.

That person—that person... Violet Evergarden. That Auto-Memories Doll was a bit different from other people, I thought...

Whenever I wondered what was so different about her, I would find myself thinking.

Back then, Ann Magnolia had fallen in love with a mysterious girl who had come around all of a sudden. It was a little girl’s romantic love out of adoration. She both hated and liked the Auto-Memories Doll who had come around out of the blue and stolen her time with her mother.

——What was it that I liked about her?

She was a taciturn and unsociable. A silent porcelain doll. She seemed extremely adult-like. But looking back, she often reacted like a child who knew nothing. Even when I gave her dolls, she didn’t know how to play. Neither did she have any knowledge of how to solve riddles. Even when I made her touch bugs, she never ran away like my mother or our maid. Whenever I invited her to join hands and spin around, we would do it to no end.

“Fufu...”

She was a weird person. Yes, a weird one.

Children would look at adults and measure them by whether they were scary or foolish, would be their allies or enemies, would give them candy or not, and other such things. They would stare very, very fixatedly and judge the grown-ups.

She... that beautiful Auto-Memories Doll... Violet Evergarden was not an adult.

——Yes, she was... how should I put it? She was Violet Evergarden.

Which was why I had snuggled up to her, the same type of person as myself, just like two cats nestling close to each other, I thought.

She was a beautiful child. A beautiful beast. I found her eccentric self to be cool, so I liked her.

Where was she now and what was she doing, I wondered.

I was turning nineteen, but back in the day, she must have been younger than I am now. For her to have prosthetic arms, it wasn’t hard to imagine what had happened to her at the time, when the war had just ended. But surely, there was no doubt that her life had been full of many more ups and downs than the story I had in mind.

Did she not express her emotions enough because she was carrying some sort of wound in her heart? She was such a beautiful person, so she must have won over the heart of some wonderful person by now...

I shook my head left and right. I mustn’t have unjust suspicions of her. I shouldn’t prod into how I was back then – into the Ann Magnolia of back then – and taint it. Even if it was just me with myself, I mustn’t do that. Because all of the joys and sorrows from that time belonged to the old me, who had endured those days. Having become an adult, I shouldn’t have any say over the mental landscape of my old self, as a third party.

Having grown up, I observed my own land, which spread out endlessly. The scent of gently swaying grass and flowers, the chattering of birds, the clouds that moved slowly in the blue sky. It felt like they would be here just like that for a hundred more years.

“It’s not coming, huh. Let’s go eat breakfast.”

Since the postman wasn’t showing up, I had no choice but go back into the manor.

I had been working at home lately. I used to go outside and enjoy the world when I was a student, but I realized that, in the end, I liked being in my house. Maybe this was a Magnolia bloodline thing.

As for my from-home job, I worked with legal counseling. When I was little, I had experienced disputes amongst my own relatives over me and my assets. That was the reason why, if I had to give any.

My mother had left me with a talented legal advisor. A person of outstanding character, who still concerned himself with me even now. As a young child, I excelled at catching insects that I had never seen before, but I didn’t have the means to oppose to the people who wanted to steal this land from me one way or another.

I had started off working at the city’s legal information center, introduced to me by the legal advisor, who had taken me in, and only recently had I become independent. Living in the city had made me realize many things. That there were many people in this world who weren’t protected like me. And that this wasn’t something those people themselves wanted, but things had turned out in such a way due to the environment they were in.

The ascension of the ghostwriting business had a similar background. Children would be made to work like adults, unable to go to school, so when they grew up and had to sign any documents, they couldn’t even write their own names.

People like that, who had been raised in environments where no one helped them, weren’t a rarity. I had heard that the literacy rate was currently rising, but it would still take a long time for this to become something unusual.

Just like with ghostwriting, one could become somebody’s ally through the law. It was especially necessary for children who had been thrown out like me and younglings who were about to enter the world of adults, I believed. Because they could earn completely different futures as a result if they acquired knowledge.

“The law is a weapon,” my legal advisor would say. I agreed with that. My property had been protected by this weapon many times. Some people would say that education was the weapon, but the situations for putting it to use were too limited. Weapons exerted their true value exactly when you had to protect yourself from falling victim to unjust acts or insults.

If possible, I wanted to be someone who could protect others. I wanted to tell people who didn’t know what to do and had become incapable of even walking on their own, “It’s all right; I’ll be your ally”. Because I wanted someone to do that for me back when I was alone.

My reason for choosing law was rooted in this kind of self-righteous way of thinking.

Since I worked from home, I didn’t earn much. To be honest, people would think that being a professional was a pastime for a landowning wealthy lady. I was fine with that.

The people who came to visit me in this remote place were generally in critical situations and had nothing. Those who had something would go to the city. They would go to the city, bow their heads to some famous person, be served a fine brand of tea... and have a graceful conversation while drinking it.

If I could, I wanted to get close to people, just like her. Just like the Auto-Memories Doll who had told me on that day that it was okay to cry. Even if for self-satisfaction.

Speaking of which, I thought as I checked the calendar. Today was my birthday, so I intended to wait for the postman the whole day and hadn’t scheduled any appointments, but a client was coming tomorrow. I should clean up the reception room at least a little.

“Hey, Ann. It is your birthday, so how about going outside with your friends and having a meal with them?”

I had to sweep the floor, take the garbage off the carpet and dust the dirt on the furniture.

“Even just eating something tasty is enough, Ann.”

Right, I should bake some sweets to serve to the costumer tomorrow. It could also be used as celebration for my birthday.

“Ann, aren’t you lonely all by yourself?”

If I was certain, that person had eaten the sweets I baked when we first met with relish. He had a sweet tooth.

As I recalled the figure of that young entrepreneur eating, looking embarrassed and delighted, a smile surfaced naturally. Out of the people that I was currently engaging with, he might be the one whose visit I looked forward to the most. I did think that men were frowny and sullen creatures, but he was adorable.

I rolled up my sleeves with an “all right” and headed to the kitchen.

   “Delivery.”

As the front door’s bell rang and the voice of a visitor ensued, I frantically flung away my bowl and whisk and ran. This is what happens when you distractedly make sweets for about an hour. I was covered in flour and looking unbecoming, but there was no helping it.

“Yes, I’m coming.”

I opened the door in high spirits, and standing there was a postman wearing the uniform of the city’s post office, which I was familiar with. I was disappointed enough that even I myself would think it was a bit childish of me. The other didn’t see my facial expression as he requested my signature for the express delivery without looking at me, but I wound up having an impolite attitude.

——It wasn’t the CH Postal Company.

My mother’s birthday messages were being kept by the CH Postal Company, a mail company that had its main office located in Leiden – the capital of Leidenschaftlich, a southernmost military nation. Therefore, if a different company had come, then the mail wasn’t from my mother.

“Thank you very much.”

I had received three packages. One was a table clock from my legal advisor. The others were accessories and a shawl that were trending in the city from my friends.

There were people getting married and having children upon turning nineteen. All of my closest friends had been quick to marry. Both my opinion that secluding themselves in their homes was a waste in this era of professional women and my envy at the fact that they had found themselves a partner in an early stage of their lives coexisted in the depths of my mind.

“You don’t have to hurry; if you don’t want to do it, you don’t have to.”

Having lost my mother, with this vast land and this manor of excessively elegant exterior in my possession... I couldn’t think that having a family wouldn’t be a good thing.

——Family... family... family, huh?

Did I want a family? Did I really? Those genuine questions surfaced in my mind first-thing.

Welcoming a family would mean welcoming that person’s life. It was an extremely heavy choice. “In health and sickness,” people would lightheartedly say. I believed there were actually few people who properly understood it.

My friends who had married. The people who walked around the city. Lovers and family members from all over the world – everyone. Did they all truly understand? They only looked on the happy side, so could they endure it when a sad scenario arrived upon them? Wouldn’t they end up thinking that not loving the other person would have been better?

“Human beings are creatures that love others in pursuit of happiness, Ann.”

In my experience, since I had seen off the person who was most important to me, the truth was that I didn’t want to go through it ever again. Being told to do it one more time was too hard. Even twenty years later, painful things would be painful.

I brought my consciousness back to reality.

Colorful ribbons, extravagant wrappings and wonderful gifts. As my social disposition was coming to a slight halt, those people were irreplaceable to me. I had to write thank-you notes right away. For these kinds of things, the faster, the better. Because it conveyed sincerity.

I should go back to my bedroom and look for the stationery and envelopes. They were surely somewhere there.

“Ann.”

——Aah, but was it a pretty stationery?

Maybe I should choose a different one, fitting of these wonderful presents.

“Ann, listen.”

They were surely items that took a while to be picked, so I should respond to the other party’s feelings the same way. There were many things to be watchful of here. I had to do it quick. I had to do it soon.

“Please listen.”

Nobody else was going to do it; I was the one who had to. No matter what, I had to do it. I had to taste joy and sadness all by myself and end it fast. Because I was alone. Hurry. I had to hurry and do it.

Nevertheless, I couldn’t move.

“Ann.”

I was in the middle of making sweets, and writing thank-you notes required some preparation. Above all, I couldn’t calm down until my mother’s letter arrived.

Giving several reasons, I made up several excuses not to move.

“Ann... it’s okay.”

I suddenly felt exhausted. Everything became a bother. Even though hands were covered in flour and I was still wearing an apron, I lay on the couch, rolled into fetal position and scrunched down.

Although I had received such marvelous gifts, the feeling of happiness didn’t last. Even though it was something to be grateful for to the point I could be in a good mood the whole day, the feeling of happiness didn’t last. It didn’t last.

“Ann, it’s okay.”

Today was that kind of day.

“Ann, don’t force yourself; I’m sorry.”

——I’m sorry.

“Sorry...”

——I’m sorry.

“Ann, I’m sorry...”

To me, my birthday was...

“...for leaving you behind when you were so small.”

...not my day. It was my mother’s.

——Mom. Why? Just why? Why, Mom? Why did you die sooner than the mothers of the other kids? What is it that went wrong? Did the fact that I was born itself become a burden to you? If so, then I shouldn’t have been born.

I loved you, Mom. Did you know that? I liked you a whole, whole lot. Tired of hearing this? But you didn’t know it, right? Even if you knew, you probably didn’t understand how much I liked you. I’m sure you had no idea how much.

When I realized it, I had more time seeing you in a grave than otherwise. But you’re everywhere in our house. On the sofa that you often sat on. In the music that you enjoyed. On the bed that still smells like you. In myself, who resembles you more and more with each day.

Mom, Mom, Mom – you keep reminding me of how much I loved you. When I was little, you were the world itself.

Mom. You loved me. I know that. But I loved you too. I was the one who... I was... I was... I was the one who...

Aah, Mom. Mom, there are so many things I want to tell you. But if I can say it, there’s just one thing.

Mom, you died without knowing how much I loved you, right?

I loved you much more than you could’ve imagined. I really, really suffered when you died. Enough that I couldn’t breathe.

People often say that time heals all wounds. But I really hate that saying. Rather than things being solved, we forget about them, don’t we? People’s voices, facial expressions, gestures – we forget these kinds of things. Yet I remember them in unexpected times. Like, “Oh, yeah, Mom used to like this”. “Oh, yeah, Mom used to hate that”. And then I blame myself vehemently for forgetting them. Like, “How could you have forgotten? She was your whole world”. Like, “How could you have forgotten? She was your only family”. The loop of agony has no end.

I adored you, Mom. I loved you. I loved you, so for just as much love as I had for you, it feels like my heart will break. It feels like my heart will break every time my birthday comes around. Feels like it will break. It’s painful and there’s no helping it.

Tears slip down my cheeks as I laid on my side. I was looking forward to today so much that I didn’t know what to do with myself, and yet I wound up crying again this year. I would’ve been great if I could welcome it with a smile.

A birthday was a special day.

It was nothing to the rest of the world, just an ordinary day, but it was a special one for me. Because... Because it was a day when I could feel Mom coming back to me. I looked forward to it so much that I couldn’t help myself, but at the same time, I was also helplessly sad. Because I felt my mother’s absence more than anything. Because the truth that she wasn’t here was thrust onto me.

Destiny spoke to me. Either that or God did. “Hey, your mother’s already dead. How long you gonna be crying? Stand up. If you’re alive, stand up.”

Since the world was so merciless, all I could do was nod at those words and say, “Yes, yes, true.”

By entrusting my body to hecticness, I was able to remain as someone who could stand on her own feet, just like Destiny and God wanted. I normally didn’t feel loneliness. I didn’t cry. After all, twelve years had already passed. It was weird to cry like this on and on forever. It was weird, right? I wasn’t a kid anymore. I shouldn’t cry too much. That would make me a bad girl. A girl wasn’t suitable to be the family head of the Magnolia household. I had to become a person who my mother could be proud of from within that portrait.

Wasn’t that right? I couldn’t prove the worth of my existence by doing anything else.

But on this day when I was aware that my mother loved me, I was no good. No good. I’d turn into a mess. The seven-year-old Ann Magnolia would come back to me. She’d say it all. She’d end up saying it. Always, always, always. She’d say what I was holding back from saying.

“I’m lonely”, that is.

I had as many ways of spending my birthday as I had birthdays. Surely, there were millions of people in the world whose birthday was today. How were all of them spending it? Were they spending it in a fulfilling way? There definitely were also people who lived their lives either not knowing when their birthday was or forgetting about it.

So I wasn’t miserable. Nor was I comparing myself with them. That wasn’t it. Because there were certainly people somewhere around the world who were feeling as lonely as me.

There was another thing that I had learned during the time I worked in the city. That loneliness wasn’t something only I had. Many people would come to the law firm and ask for advice regarding their troubles. Everyone was burdened with problems of their own. And everyone was a bit lonely in some aspect. It wasn’t just me, so I didn’t feel lonely.

That person too, and that one, and that other one. Everybody was sad in one way or another.

“I have to get up.”

I had stopped doing what I would do by accident – stopped throwing myself into a sea of sadness. The sea of sadness in my head was a real nuisance, yet it was also comfortable as it enveloped my body in gentle waves of self-pity. But I shouldn’t go too far. Or else I wouldn’t be able to stand up again. It wasn’t like food and sweets would materialize from my sadness.

I counted the things I had to do. Bake sweets. Clean up. I had a number of torn aprons, which I would remake into rags. And then... And then...

“Madam Magnolia, are you home?”

A real-life happening immediately pulled me out of my reverie. I ran toward the front door, from where the voice had come. As I opened the door with much vigor while making extremely improper heavy-feet noises, I found two visitors.

“Hum?”

One of them was... Aah, I was waiting for you. It was a postman wearing the CH Postal Company uniform. He was holding under his arm a letter and a package with what was most likely the gift that my mother had arranged for today.

“Aah, excuse me. Please go first.”

The other was the customer who had made an appointment reservation for tomorrow. A stray young entrepreneur. His finely tailored clothes were easy to recognize as something not order-made and that he didn’t like but was wearing regardless.

Had he mistaken the appointment day?

“Erm, then...”

The two had bumped onto each other at the front gate and both had some business with me, so they were probably conceding the turn to one another. Having been granted it, the CH Postal Company’s postman stood before me, politely giving me the letter and present with a slightly tensed-up countenance.

“This is the CH Postal Company. I have come to bring your delivery... You might be already tired of hearing this vocal message so many times, but happy birthday this year too, Madam Magnolia.”

That was a postman I had never seen before. It was a different person from last year.

“T-Tired, you say... There’s no way I would ever be.”

Still, the fact he was saying these lines meant that the demands commissioned by my mother were being properly kept and protected by that company. That was it.

“Thank you very much. For every year, truly... truly. Please tell this to your chairman too.”

“Y-Yes! Our president is the kind of person that gets very happy at inputs from the clients, so I’ll make sure to tell him!”

I had never met the president of the CH Postal Company, but for someone so young to be talking about him in such a familiar-sounding way, he had to be a wonderful person.

“I’m taking it.”

I signed the acceptance document. The postman laughed as if relieved. Also relieved, I finally looked seriously at him. He was a very young postman. Perhaps from about the same generation as me. The freckled boy looked even younger when laughing.

“I became in charge of it this year. It’s a big area, so I ended up getting a bit lost... I made you wait a lot, didn’t I?”

“Eh, no, no.”

“But you came running as if you were eagerly waiting for it.”

“Yes.”

Recalling the surprised faces of the two young men the moment I had opened the door, I trembled with shame. I was supposed to behave elegant and beautifully as the head of the Magnolia family. Yet I was covered in flour, my hair was disheveled because I had been lying down and I had showed up with footsteps that sounded like the ones of a large man.

Touching my cheeks, which were most likely growing red, I said, “I apologize for showing you an embarrassing sight... No matter what, I always wind up restless on this day.”

“Absolutely not. I’m the one who is sorry for coming late. I have already perfectly memorized the way, so please treat me well next year too.” The postman bowed with a “well, then” and ran toward a parked motorcycle.

After seeing him off, I directed my gaze at the other visitor that had been waiting for me. He, too, slowly looked my way.

“Hello.”

The morning sunshine had disappeared, a dazzling midday light filling up for it. It seemed that quite some time had passed while I was sulking on the couch. With a season of fresh green colors as the background, he was supposed to be a foreign body for me... and for this world of mine, yet he blended appallingly well into it.

“Hello.” My voice sounded a little shrill. “Isn’t there any flour on my face?” As I said this while rubbing my cheeks with the sleeve of my dress, he took a handkerchief from his jacket and handed it to me.

Not minding me as I stiffened up in shock, he said with an earnest attitude, “There is, right here.”

“Ah, all right.”

“And here too.”

“I’m sorry. I was making sweets...”

Wiping myself with the neatly folded handkerchief, it almost seemed like I had gone back to being a child. It was the second time today that my cheeks were dyed red.

“Well, what is your matter...?”

“Aah, that’s right. I was nearby and... hum, I heard from Mr. Robert, the one who introduced you to me, that it was your birthday today, so... though it’s presumptuous of me, I was thinking about celebrating it...”

Robert was the law advisor who had been protecting me since my childhood. Now that he had mentioned it, I remembered that he was introduced to me by Robert. The budget wasn’t compatible with the case, so it had been passed over to me.

——“Nearby”?

Finding a strange point in a part of his story, I said timidly, “This whole area... is my land... You had business near here?”

Silence.

“You’re also seeing Mr. Robert even though you’re working with me...?”

He raised a hand my way as if to ask me to wait and averted his face, looking embarrassed. Had I said anything bad?

“I take it back.”

“All right.”

“I lied... I wanted, hum, to spend time with you somehow...”

“Haah...”

Perhaps having become unable to look at me in the eyes, he kept his face turned away and continued speaking to the direction of the day after tomorrow, “Mr. Robert is a teatime friend from a café that I already frequented... He introduced you to me as a favor... And I heard from him the other day that today was your birthday. Also, I did not just happen to come nearby. It’s impossible to come here without a car or carriage. I do not have much money, so I ended up walking the way here. But it was no coincidence; I came here because I had an objective.”

As I asked, “What’s the objective”, he turned over the palm that had been telling me to wait and showed it to me. That “it’s you”.

I was perplexed. This kind of thing hadn’t happened in my life very often. When it did, it was usually people aiming for my fortune, so I vaguely wondered if he was the same as them.

“Want to come in? If it’s just drinking tea together, then...”

In any case, as the head of the Magnolia family, I had to entertain the guest. After this thought worked its way to me, an alarm sounded in my head that he might deem this as an invitation. That wasn’t my intention, so what should I do if he believed it was?

——What’s up with me? I don’t know if I’m happy or scared.

Aah, my heartbeats were so loud. My cheeks were so hot it felt like they were burning.

——Anyway, I have to say something.

“Hum.”

As I hesitated to speak, he shook his head. “Ah, no. I will have to come again tomorrow, so I’m going home. I have already accomplished my objective.”

“Is that so?” I was a tad out of tune. A little – very relieved.

I observed him while he didn’t try to look at me even a bit. His hands were trembling. Even though he gave off an easygoing impression, he was the type of person who couldn’t hide what was inside.

“I really just came here because I wanted to wish you happy birthday. Just before coming, I hesitated a lot on whether to go today or not... I also don’t have... any presents worthy of a lady like you, so I wanted to at least say these words.”

That sentence surprised my already stunned self even more. “At least these words”, he said. Were there any words that could make his goodwill more obvious?

“I’m sorry. I should have at least arranged something for you, right? Really, a broke man like me showing up out of nowhere... I’m sorry...”

“No, I don’t want material things that much... I prefer this feeling of... wanting to celebrate because it’s my birthday... much more...”

The words cut off midway. What happened to me? Right now, pain and joy were squeezing my chest tightly. It was suffocating.

The easily perceivable love of this person in front of me, as well as his kindness, his sincerity and all these other soft and warm things were appearing in the lonely parts of me and causing me to feel dizzy.

“Ann, can you hear me?”

I had to regain my sanity; I would surely be sober again tomorrow. I shouldn’t open my heart so easily now.

“Ann, please, listen.”

Because the world was cruel. Even if I fell in love with him, sad things were bound to happen.

“Okay? If you’re listening...”

It might be a calculated love; he could just be pretending and was actually a horrible person.

No, I had to wonder about that. It was indeed true that he came the way here on foot. After all, his shoes were dirty with mud. There was grass sticking to it as if he gone through an animal trail.

“If you’re listening, grab onto it.”

Aah, Mom. From now on, I would surely keep questioning you over and over during times like these. Asking you questions in my mind. “Mom, is this correct? Is this the right path,” I would ask. Because you were the only one who had given me love without second intentions. So please, give me an answer.

“Believe in yourself, Ann. Don’t be afraid of love.”

I was sure that the vision of my mother had whispered this to me.

I reached out with my hand. I reached out and grabbed the hem of his jacket.

“I’m going to bake sweets now. Today is my birthday, but I don’t have any plans, so if you’d like, why don’t we eat the baked sweets together outside? I don’t need anything. If you’re going to give me something, then I want just a bit of time for us to celebrate my birthday together,” I told him.

“Thanks.” He was not unkind to my wheat flour-covered hand, grasping it while his face went bright red. “That’d be great,” he said three or so times. The phrase “I like sweet foods” was probably said five times.

I... I found it so funny that I laughed.

That day was a special one for me, but to the rest of the world, this was not the case. But I put in a little effort. I tried making it special on my own. From this point onward, I would definitely keep doing that. I would. I was all alone in this manor. But I was the most special girl in the world to a certain person. It was okay to indulge myself at least on my birthday. I thought this once again reading my mother’s letter later.

Ann, congratulations on your nineteenth birthday. I can’t imagine how you’re doing at nineteen years of age. I really wonder how you’re doing. Are you well? Aren’t you going hungry? I wonder if you became a wonderful lady. Aah, I want to see it. I truly wanted to see it. You have no idea how much I love you, do you? You see, Mom loves the nineteen-year-old you. I’ll love you even as you turn a hundred years old. I can’t tell you face-to-face, so I’m properly writing it here. I love you. No matter what anyone says, I love you. You have the right to be loved. My Ann, be free. My Ann, laugh with joy. My Ann, be happy. My Ann. Don’t be afraid of love.

—From Mom

   “There’s no such thing as a letter that needn’t be delivered, Milady.”