#i thought that coming back to the states after being away my longing to emigrate would be gone

[2percentsugar]

i am so fucking anxious im going to eat a weed

[bobemajses]

One side of my family is from Lithuania & Ukraine, my mom's grandparents immigrated to the US in the early 20th century. Our last name is common in Jewish communities in south Africa who immigrated from the same part of Lithuania, but unusual anywhere else.

The other side of my family is from Germany and Poland. We actually received a letter from the descendants of the people who brought my grandfather's family food and supplies in the late 1930s so they didn't have to leave the house to run errands. They were the only Jewish family in their village.

The synagogue my grandmother went to as a child escaped being completely destroyed during kristalnacht. We attended the rededication of it several years ago, they still hold services to this day. This side of the family came to the US after WW2.

Hey, I actually have a Jewish friend who was born in South Africa with grandparents from Vilnius. Being largely descendants of Litvak Jewry, South African Jews are a fairly homogeneous group, unlike those of the United States of America.

I think it's very interesting to look at the early Lithuanian migration to South Africa. What caused the Jews to leave to a place so far away, geographically and culturally? Despite the hardships of life in Lithuania the very thought of breaking the bonds of family and community was to the Jews in the 19th century a major tragedy. Contrary to popular belief, these Jews of Lithuania were not ‘wandering’. They hoped to spend a few years in South Africa, save up sufficient for their rehabilitation at home, and go back to the village for which they had a nostalgic longing. In the end, however, the lure of South Africa was too strong for many and they only came back take their families with them.

In common with the rest of the immigrant population during the diamond- and gold-rush period, there were occasionally black sheep among the Lithuanian Jews, men who forgot their families at home, succumbing to the temptations of a new gold-crazy land. As late as 1904 the proportion of males to females among Jews in South Africa was around 26,000 males to 12,000 females. Sometimes a bride would be sent out to a single South African immigrant whom she had not met before.

By 1884 a Hebrew correspondent from the little Lithuanian town of Neustadt-Sugind, was able to report that extensive emigration to South Africa was taking place from the towns and villages of Lithuania. In 1884, there was already a number of Jews who had come back to their homes either on visits or for good from the fabulous South Africa. Many of them, he wrote, "returned to the land of their birth bringing with them sizeable fortunes." He went on to say, in the flowery Hebrew style of the day:

"These migrants gave me mighty and exciting news about South Africa, that it is a land blessed and happy, where nature bestows upon its inhabitants its bounties with a generous hand, and with great and generous abundance. Every man attends to his labours diligently and finds a reward for his toil.

Most of our brethren who come there by the skin of their teeth, naked as on the day of their birth, are being shown mercy by the existing Jewish settlers the moment they put their foot on the shores of Africa. With the help of this generosity they acquire a few pounds’ worth of goods and little trinkets and they begin to trudge round the towns and villages with their merchandise. The natives who own the lands are by nature very human and love everybody. After they (the Jews) save a little sum they turn from peddling on back to trading on a bigger scale, travelling in wagons drawn by ten oxen, from place to place and from village to village. They buy ostrich feathers, sheep and cattle."

Last image: Oudtshoorn, the ostrich capital was known to the Jews of Lithuania as “the Jerusalem of Africa”. The road leading there was nicknamed Der Yiddishe Gass.

[mysun-eyedgirl]

Throught The Looking Glass Chapter 4

Kakashi goes on a mission and has to leave Faith behind.

Read on Ao3

Over the next few weeks, I was trained heavily from before dawn to after midnight on Jonin tactics and Anbu strategies to include hand to hand combat-taijutsu, kenjutsu-sword wielding, ninjutsu-chakra nature wielding, genjutsu-control others cerebral chakra flow. I excelled at everything. I have never had innate talent; I have always had to work hard. Kakashi thinks it is in relation to my 15 years of study he calls it. He says, even though at the time it was a past time or for enjoyment, I memorized the teaching, the chakra natures, summoning Panzer, everything.

I think part of him working me into the ground is so that I become too exhausted to hold a conversation. I am passed out by the time he comes to bed yet every morning I still wake up to him holding me like a lifeline.

Tonight is my first night off, Kakashi had a mission all day and is supposed to be back tonight. My training was a bit off as I was worried. Everything is different now that I am here, there is no script. I don’t know what to expect.

I caught a senbon aimed at my head and threw it right back and Genma caught it with his mouth as if it was nothing.

“I bet you can do all sorts of naughty things with that mouth of yours.” I said, catching him off guard.

He looked me in the face, he didn’t know if I was flirting with him, he knows I am off limits per Kakashi but he doesn’t know why I am off limits. Kakashi has never had anyone he cares for intimately; he knows we live together under a matter of circumstances per Hokage’s orders Kakashi keeps saying. I say nothing one way or the other. That alone wouldn’t make me off limits.

I could see him calculating his next remark and thoughts as he tried to figure us out. He was wide open. I came up behind him from under the ground and had my tanto to his throat. I released my shadow clone.

“We’re done.” I said. I started walking away.

“That was a dirty trick.” He grumbled.

“Ninjas use dirty tricks Genma.” I rolled my eyes and sheathed my tanto.

“I am trying to figure you out. Why are you off limits? Exactly where are you from, you don’t look like you’re from here.” He said.

“No shit genius, I never said I was.” I said.

“Then how are you a leaf shinobi?” He asked.

“Why do I have to explain your own… excuse me, our countries politics to you. I emigrated dumbass.” I said.

“From where?”

“Around. Stop trying to dig, if it was something that mattered Kakashi would have told you.” I said.

“Hmm, why do you live with him?” He asked.

“Why indeed.” I stated while rolling my eyes.

I didn’t confirm or deny anything. That should get him off my back. He kept following me and I didn’t answer any of his questions. My guess is Kakashi threatened his life if anything happened to me. I walked into Anbu headquarters, the general public is not really allowed however, I am being trained so I am here rather often as of late. I made it to the mission desk.

“Is Kakashi back yet?” They checked the roster.

“He was due back two hours ago, he has not checked in yet.” They said.

“Alright, thanks.” I turned to Genma. “Let’s check the front gates see if he checked in.” I took off running. Kakashi wouldn’t leave me waiting and my life in someone else’s hand if he could help it. I could sense something was wrong. We reached the front gate and they said he hadn’t come back yet.

“Let’s go.” I said.

“We need permission to leave the village.” He said.

“We aren’t leaving the village. We are going back to the apartment.” I said. I took off running and he followed. I sent my chakra out calling Panzer. He was at my side. “Find him and don’t get spotted, stay with him if he’s injured. Stay in the shadows if there’s a fight.” I said. Panzer shunshin.

We go inside.

“You swore an oath to your Hokage, I have not.” I said. “I am getting him; you can come with or not.”

“We can get permission it won’t take long.”

“You wanted to know what makes me so damn special. Well, here’s your chance.” That stopped him in his tracks. He turned around.

I released the tension that holds back whatever gives me the ability to form portals to Kakashi and with Kakashi. I have not been able to do it under any other circumstance. We have tried cultivating it a few times but there have been other pressing concerns. It got placed on the back burner.

Wind started flowing through the apartment. I pulled out my tanto to be ready. I could feel Genma entering a defensive stance. The wall in front of us turned fuzzy and became clear. Kakashi passed out, bleeding out on the floor of the forest. Panzer next to him, in a defensive stance. I held my hand back as Genma went to move.

“There is incoming to finish him off and they will see us. I want them dead. I will heal Kakashi, and you will kill anyone that comes, got it?”

“My pleasure.” He grinned with the senbon sticking out of his mouth.

“40 meters. Three chakra signatures. Panzer, through the portal no discussion.” He went. I closed it.

I started healing him right away. My healing is different than that of the traditional shinobi, I don’t have glowing chakra, it’s faster and repairs, revitalizes and makes the tissue almost brand new. They closed in and I trusted Genma at our backs. He’s amazing in battle, however, these ninja to take on Kakashi must be incredible, or something is fishy. I finished and Kakashi came to.

“We have to stop meeting like this.” I said with a lopsided smile. “You good?”

“Yeah.” He flexed and went on the defensive.

“Report.” I said.

“They appeared out of nowhere, much like your portal. Several of them are dead, the one who conjured the portal is gone.” He said.

There it is, that fishiness. I thought.

“I don’t like this.” I said.

“Genma, fall back.” I said.

He had taken two down and appeared at my side. The other ninja took off once he saw me and Kakashi up and ready. I memorized his chakra signature. I will have to figure out this portal thing.

“I have his chakra signature. We let him go and hope they keep him alive long enough to find out where they are. We need to get back.” We opted for running back to the village in case we were being watched. I did not want anything to slip through the Leaf’s defenses.

We checked in at the gate and Izumo and Kotetsu said we never left. I said, ‘that’s right. We didn’t.’ That was the end of that.

Panzer had already informed the Hokage of the issue in case we needed back up. He was so worried. I love that boy. Our report was uneventful, Kakashi never made it to his mission. He was ambushed where we found him. He wasn’t the target, but they needed him to be alive. If I am the target, why? Would it be to study me? I didn’t see Sound Village headbands. Was it Pain?

I was sitting in bed mulling over in my head, this is new territory. I have no answers.

Kakashi came out of the shower with a towel wrapped around his waist.

“I don’t know if I thanked you the first time either or this time but thank you.” He said.

“Always.” I said, blushing. “My abilities are just a product of your teachings, mostly. Is this my thank you gift?” I chuckled jokingly waving in his direction.

He said nothing but came to bed. I watched him like a hawk, every movement, every ripple of muscle. The expressionless expression on his face that told me everything and nothing. He leaned down over me towering over me inches from my face. My heart beating in my throat. Even with a fresh shower he smells of the forest after a rain. He took in a sniff and leaned closer. I placed a hand on his hard chest. I bit my lower lip to stifle a moan.

“My point still stands.” I said. He brushed my hair to the side as he started kissing my neck. I pushed him back to look at him. “Once I taste you, I won’t get enough. I’ll need you all the time.” I said. “My body aches for you as it is.” I stated, practically out of breath. “Once I let you inside of me, you’re mine. All of you.” I said looking into his eyes.

“I need you. I must taste you. I have been smelling your scent next to me for a month now. Waking up hard with you in my arms with no relief. I am going crazy. I need to fill you.” I bit my lip.

“Then do you accept my terms?” I asked.

He took a deep breath.

“You already know the answer.” He said.

“Say it.” I demand.

“I want you and only you. I want to be the only one you taste, the only one who you think about, the only one who gets to feel and see your body, be inside of you. It will happen now or later, but you belong to me.” He said.

My lips crashed into him, and I was soaking through my panties. He backed up from the kiss and scented the air. He lowered his head to my clothed nipple and started to suck and bite gently.

“You don’t have to be gentle with me Kakashi, I can tell how you like it and I want it just as you and I have fantasized. I won’t break.” I said.

He let off a primal moan, more of a groan and a growl.

“We have all night. I am going to take my time with you until we are both exhausted and your throat hurts from screaming my name and taking me in that pretty little mouth.” My hips ground into his knee and he pushed back. I moaned. He ripped my shirt off and started to work on my other nipple.

“I don’t want to go slow this first time. We can go slow later!” I ripped off his towel to see his glory before me. It was long and thick, held heavy and strained for release. I licked my lips and ground into him again. He pinned me to the bed with my hands above my head and sealed his lips over mine. Our tongues fought for dominance, neither of us winning the dance, but just tasting each other. I could feel him slide my panties to the side, he was kind enough not to rip these as I brought them from home.

“Please Kakashi.” I looked at him and his sharingan was open. He’s memorizing this moment. I blushed. He took his index finger and dragged in slowly along my folds collecting my feminine honey, dripping from his finger he shoved his finger in my mouth, and I sucked it clean. Tasting myself on him was something special I did not anticipate, very erotic.

Before I could completely swallow, he kissed me, drinking me out of my mouth. He’s as much as a deviant as I am, I should have known with him reading porn in public. He pulled back to watch as he entered a finger inside of me and his thumb rubbed sloppy circles across my clit. It wasn’t going to take long for me to go.

“Ohh my god, you feel so good.” I moaned and thrust at him.  I was about to come and then like a cold shower I could feel an unusual presence and shot up with Kakashi still inside of me. “What is that?” I asked.

“Foreplay?” He said. “No, I feel someone…” Before I could finish my sentence, I was transported somewhere else, and I lost the feeling of Kakashi. “You.” I said.

[softpine]

Could we get another you don't have to read but it's interesting text post?? 👉👈

omg i hope this is what you meant, but umm here’s some backstory about griffin’s roommates? because even my nameless extras apparently need deep lore in my mind?? fjkjsd

TW: mentions of drug addiction, homelessness, religion, abuse, and biphobia. + me not being able to stop talking ever.

jeremy; 19. gay. [also the guy from this post.] jeremy grew up smack in the middle of the bible belt. his parents wanted him to grow up and be a pastor like all the generations before him. he was a model child and no one expected him to run away, so his parents actually thought he was kidnapped when, on a random tuesday, he left in the middle of the night with nothing but the clothes on his back. the police found him wandering towards the bus stop just a few hours later and dropped him back at home. everyone then repeated the same cycle again and again for years, before jeremy’s parents got fed up and agreed to legally emancipate him if he agreed to just stop embarrassing their family. he finally hit the road on his own when he was 15.

he met griffin at a train station out west a while later. griffin had just left his aunt’s house, and neither of them had any place to be. jeremy is the one that taught him how to pickpocket (although there was a lot less flirting involved in jeremy’s method – he relies heavily on the “dumb tourist desperately needing directions” angle). but jeremy can never stay in one place too long, so he left. a year later, they happened to bump into each other in another state and decided a coincidence like that was too big to ignore. so they started traveling together and eventually ended up in nyc, where they stayed. (well, kinda. jeremy disappears for weeks at a time and comes back with all kinds of stories.)

griffin sometimes gets pissed because jeremy likes to equate their 2 childhoods, but they were really nothing alike. sure, jeremy’s family was oppressive and he could never be himself around them, but they were wealthy, they loved him, they never laid a hand on him, and they’re still hoping he comes home someday. jeremy didn’t leave because he had to, he left because he wanted to. but he can’t seem to grasp the difference. still, he listened when griffin told him he should reach out to his family and let them know he’s okay. now they have scheduled phone calls once a month and they’re all happy with that amount of communication. 

all in all, jeremy is still a kid. he loves comic books, action figures, the atari he & griffin split 50/50, and going to the movies. he’s always looking for the next big adventure or something to make him feel more alive. unfortunately, that’s taken him to some darker places with drugs and alcohol, but he’s doing okay right now. he was worried about moving into an apartment because he thought it would make him feel too trapped, but he actually likes having a place that he chose, that no one is forcing him to be at. oh and no, he and griffin have never dated. jeremy just doesn’t know what personal space means. 

eddie; 34. straight [but probably aro/ace in modern terms]. he’s already been divorced three times, which he assumed is because he's a pushover, never fights for anything or takes his own stance, and seemingly lacks passion in every aspect of his life. for almost ten years, he worked as a personal accountant in the upper east side. his days were mundane: he ate the same breakfast (oatmeal), the same lunch (ham & cheese sandwich), and the same dinner (chicken noodle soup) every day. somewhere around the time of his third divorce, he realized he wasn’t going to find fulfillment unless he searched for it, so he quit his job, cashed out his family inheritance, and traveled through europe. as he was living in hostels and hitchhiking and relying on the kindness of strangers, he started to become well-acquainted with the homeless communities in every place he visited. he realized how out of touch he had become, and how privileged he was to be bored with his life. and thus, he had found his passion.

when he returned to new york, he got a new job in finance for a nonprofit organization for the homeless. that was nice and all, but he never got to see the benefits of his work, so he started volunteering at food banks and shelters. that’s where he met jeremy and griffin. jeremy was fascinated by how truly dull eddie is. he kept waiting for eddie to reveal some deep, wild, secret part of him, but it never happened. eddie never even bragged about his adventures in europe; he would always turn the conversation back around to others. by the time jeremy realized he really is that boring, he was already looking up to eddie as an older brother type (and griffin was just along for the ride).

eddie is the one that’s actually renting the apartment and then renting out the extra space to griffin, jeremy, and vincent at dirt cheap rates while they get on their feet. he agreed to keep doing this as long as they all have jobs (pickpocketing doesn’t count) and try to stay clean in jeremy’s case.

vincent; 21. bi. vincent grew up comfortable, but not wealthy, in queens, with his family who emigrated from singapore before he was born. his parents later got divorced, and now he’s the oldest of a combined total of seven siblings, though he’s always been closer to his mom and stepdad. growing up, his grades were just average, he had a few friends but was too shy to be popular, and he wasn’t particularly athletic either – he was on the swim team for a while, but he hated the competitive aspect. his favorite part was staying behind after practice and having the pool all to himself; he would float on his back for hours, just watching the pool lights reflecting on the ceiling. he struggled to fit in at school. this all changed when he started weightlifting during his senior year. he mainly started doing it as a way to keep himself busy, but he soon realized that the more fit he got, the more attention people paid him. he liked that.

soon after, he started his first relationship with a girl, kelly, who he intended to marry someday. they graduated high school together and both enrolled at the same college – though vincent hadn’t decided a major yet – and things were going great. he even came out to her as bi and she took it really well (especially for the time). they were settled into an apartment of their own at 19.

in his quest to figure out his major, vincent took up all kinds of new hobbies, his favorite being drumming. he even started a garage band with some of his friends. they started playing house shows, which ended up being somewhat popular, though they don’t expect to make it big anytime soon. at one of these shows, vincent ran into griffin and they bonded over their love of rock music. when vincent found out that griffin didn’t have a place to stay that night, he invited him to sleep on his couch – understandably, kelly was angry that he didn’t ask first.

kelly got increasingly more upset as time went on and vincent & griffin became better friends. even though nothing romantic ever happened between them (and i sure hope not, because griffin was like 16 at the start), kelly was convinced that vincent was cheating on her and that she was only there to cover for his “true” sexuality. when they inevitably broke up, vincent was devastated. not only that, but he now had to find a new place to live asap. that’s when griffin mentioned that he and jeremy were renting rooms from eddie and that vincent was welcome to join. and that takes us up to the present! (well, the “present” being 1987).

[guileheroine]

Republic City's lights glittered on the night-washed surface of Yue Bay, mingling with the myriad of reflected stars. From the shore of Air Temple Island, Aang wondered at how the world had changed, how he had come to call this place home.

Home. A long time ago now, he had made his peace with the idea that he might never have a home again, that home had slipped and hurtled far out of reach while he slept and there was no use trying to strive for it again. It wasn’t such a bad thing. The air nomads, after all, got that name because they were wanderers, and if they did come to settle at one of the temples or some other preferred place, wanderers they remained at heart. It meant a new abode in their image never had to replace the lost nomads, to carry their elusive essence whole; no more than the old temples had for the itinerant monks Aang recalled, who only came to the Southern Air Temple to stock up on their frugal supplies. To some the temples were but waystations, and they didn’t need to aspire to more to be built.

 Yet somehow all this knowledge had never stopped the prospect of constructing Air Temple Island from feeling strangely leaden in the beginning, a burden Aang admitted to no one save Katara and Zuko. 

 As he gazed fondly across the bay, he reminded himself that a lot had changed in a few short decades. Now this place was his home, his family’s home. The air acolytes that were now being sent out to all four corners of the world were numerous and growing. Many would be here for the celebration tomorrow—including, in fact, an envoy of acolytes who were scheduled to set off for the Western Air Temple straight after to oversee the imminent restoration efforts there. 

 So it was strange for Aang to feel some of that old uncertainty, the one he now recognised as being borne of youth as much as of loss, simmer back up into his mind.

 There was a distant knock behind him. Aang turned to see Toph rapping her knuckles on the pillar of the pavilion in a gentle rhythmic beat.

 “Come on. Come on now. Weren’t you the one who said a little sleepover before tomorrow’s ceremony would soothe the nerves?” 

 Aang laughed, not as perfunctory as Toph probably thought it was, and turned back to the twinkling water.

 “Well?! It’s not my nerves that need soothing, you know, so—”

 He took another long look at the bay and then jerked to his heels, turning. “I heard you, I heard you.”

 Back inside, it was a strangely subdued picture, a waiting room. Kya was reclined on the divan, showing Zuko that insane card trick she had picked up from some fortune teller in the Si Wong Desert (allegedly). Bumi and Sokka could be heard having one of their regular midnight spars out in the yard, high yelps echoing all the way indoors at reliable intervals. Poor kid, Sokka always pummelled him when he was around, or at least he did when Bumi had been younger and scrawnier than his uncle, and without a couple years of his own military training. Still, Aang was always grateful for Sokka’s presence, for Bumi’s sake, especially on a day like this when all attention converged on—

 “Tenzin,” Katara sighed, entering the drawing room with a small damp towel wound around her wrist. All eyes went right to her, rapt. The towel was wrung dry, from stress it seemed, considering the way Katara dug her fingertips into it. “I thought the fever had finally broken, but he’s still chattering like anything.” 

 They had mediated for several nights, Aang and his younger son, in preparation for tomorrow’s tattoo ceremony. It was an obscure pre-tattoo ritual Tenzin himself had dug out from the scant surviving records of Air nomad tradition. Truth be told, Aang didn’t know what basis it had whose traditions, and thought it doubtful that it might have been written down accurately in the first place, but it wasn’t like he was ever going to find out. And if it helped Tenzin feel a little calmer about the whole thing then, certainly, it would be worth it.

 As it turned out, it did not help Tenzin feel calmer about things. That much became apparent shortly after lunch today when he threw up, burst into sweats, and admitted through tortuous embarrassment that the fear of the needles had been keeping him up every night of the past week. He went to bed not long after. Katara had been trying a new method of soothing him pretty much every hour since. But it was as though a damn had finally burst, and it rushed unrelentingly. Now at last on the eve of the occasion, when he couldn’t tamp it down anymore, the thought of the impending day had made Tenzin inconsolable. He looked and spoke like he was going to the gallows in the morning, except he was white as a ghost already.

 Once they realised the true extent of his anxiety, Aang made a mental note to tell Tenzin (when his wits were about him) that there was no need to keep fears this grave in for so long. It wasn’t good for him, he had to let go. That was one aspect of his study that he always had a lot of trouble with. Still, Aang would be lying if he said the whole situation didn’t shock him a little. They were all surprised; a little unsure how to tread around this new development. Katara had already taken Kya aside to have a stern word about not ribbing Tenzin about it, like they were young kids again. 

 “He’ll be fine,” Zuko said before the lull could stretch again. Aang got the impression that Zuko was speaking from experience, of his own fair share of inconsolable sweats. He got the impression that everyone else got that impression too, although he was keenly aware that Zuko’s assuring statement had been directed squarely at him. Toph snorted audibly, and Kya looked between them with gleaming curiosity in her eyes. In their own shared gaze, Aang found some of the anxiety in Katara’s face finally beginning to ease, the corners of her mouth turning slightly.

 “Well, he needs to sleep first,” she said evenly. But all she could do about it was state the fact, and the rawness of the concern in her voice did cut Aang a little. She sighed deeply as she sat back. Aang watched her as she scanned for a diversion, her eyes finding the outfit Kya had laid over the divan that she opted to sleep on over the hard beds. It was an unconscious process of self-distraction, though Aang knew what Katara was doing all too well.

 “You’re wearing that thing tomorrow? What about the robe? Kya, it’s important—” 

 Kya simply turned her head a smooth ninety degrees to Aang and said, “Dad—”

 Aang shrugged, it’s fine. 

 It was then that Kya came and sat by him, leaving Zuko’s personal space free for Toph to rest her legs up over his lap. Kya had sensed Aang’s pensive mood, and she bent to put her head on his shoulder. At her adult height, she was now taller than Katara, almost as tall as him. Aang let some of his weight rest against his daughter. She smelled of incense; she had been out helping smoke the wood, wire the lanterns, and all the rest for tomorrow—away from the house proper, which was choking with the fuss over Tenzin all day.  

 Tenzin’s phobia, his reluctance to bring it up—beyond that noncommittal, tremulous laugh last week when the acolytes making the inks offered to give a demonstration—weighed on Aang. Thinking on it now, Aang should really have picked it up before: was it for some selfish reason that his mind overlooked the signs? The sheer panic that had now bubbled from Tenzin, it was the last thing Aang would have wanted for him to feel. And yet, he understood why Tenzin had kept it from him the way he did. 

 The first tattoo ceremony of the postwar was a contentious occasion for some, as much as a momentous one. There were a few out in the city that liked raising Aang’s hackles whenever possible—a paper that circulated among the community of more recent Fire Nation emigres, the ones coming to help implement new development plans, sprung particularly to mind. Last month they were questioning the civility of subjecting a child to full body tattoos. Aang and almost everyone else he cared to discuss it with secretly wondered what the commentators, many of whom had not long ago been broadcasting oblique Fire Nation propaganda from their pages, really knew about civility. 

 It would have been easier to brush off if some of the very acolytes here on the island hadn’t brought up the same thing. It was innocuous enough, and that was the problem.

 “I was just ten when I got my tattoos,” Aang had explained, though it sounded more like a retort than we would have liked. It wasn’t ire, but a clawing helplessness, that he stemmed in his throat as the acolyte conceded reluctantly and went on. 

 Presently, Zuko was lighting one of Toph’s cigarettes for her with a lazy finger. It was a habit she had picked up not long after moving to Republic City, though she did it less now that her girls were around. She took a long draw and tapped her foot absently. 

 “Twinkletoes,” she announced. 

 It seemed like Aang was going to be subject to a few of these platitudes tonight. He hated feeling like they were sorry for him, having to handle him, acquiescing to some pageantry that no one but he could make sense of. That wasn’t really true, he knew that in his heart. But in a moment where it felt like Aang, with his poor son barking on a leash for him, was the only thing standing between everyone and a nice, easy time—it was all too easy to sink.

 “He’ll get over it,” Toph said. “And if he doesn’t, well, you know, a little tough love is okay sometimes.”

 Katara winced a little, though she didn’t move, and Zuko’s brow shot up. 

 Aang never thought he’d concede to Toph on that point. He still didn’t, because a grueling day-long tattoo session sounded like more than tough love to him. And if Tenzin refused to get his tattoos—well, that was tough love Aang didn’t know if he could take. He was never good at it.

 “If he really can’t do it—” When Katara spoke, it was with finality. She searched for Aang’s gaze, not asking for agreement so much as affirming a truth she knew he already knew. “If he really can’t do it, then he won’t. Something else will have to do.”

 Beside Aang, Kya was quite still, clearly trying to gauge his response.   

 “What I’m saying,” Toph continued, puffing, “is he’ll get it together when the time comes, if it’s what he really wants.” 

 “But what if he feels like I’m pressuring him?” Aang finally said. Then he sighed, while Kya lifted her head and regarded him with compassionate concern.

 “But are you?” Then it was Zuko—and he, with more magnanimity in his heart for Aang than he sometimes felt he deserved—posed it like a rhetorical question with the answer no. However, when Toph nodded along to the question, she was asking in earnest. 

 “I don’t want to,” Aang said, honestly. But that was avoiding the question. “I mean, I don’t think I am... but what if I am? I know he doesn’t want to disappoint me. And it is important to me, it would mean the world, I also know there’s nothing wrong with that.” 

 He said with a conviction he didn’t quite feel, but it was renewed when almost everyone nodded or hummed along. 

 “There isn’t.”

 “‘Course not.” 

 At the same time, he felt their reassurance almost heavily. Their love weighed heavy. 

 So did Tenzin’s.

 Aang could swallow the disappointment, if he had to; after all, it wasn’t like tattoos made a master airbender. In Tenzin’s case, a very great deal of hard work did. At worst, they would just have to use some face paint for the rites, it could definitely be arranged. “It’s just... I know how important he believes it is to me, because I’m the last airbender. I guess I’m just scared it’s too late to convince him that it doesn’t mean he’s gotta suffer for it.” 

 “Well, you’re not the only airbender anymore.”  Toph took another puff.

 Zuko and Katara regarded her curiously, one of Katara’s resting eyes opening.

 “You think it isn’t important to him? Come out of your head, Twinkletoes. That kid could give you a run for your yuans any day. Let him do what he’s gotta do.” After a pause, she gave him a sympathetic inch after that. “I know it’s hard to watch.” 

 Aang exhaled, concurring with that at least.

 Toph was trying to say that Tenzin was in the process of tough loving himself, honouring his own ideals. It wasn’t an easy burden, the love the air nomads, not in today’s world. Aang knew that better than anyone. He was the only one that knew it. 

 Until now. 

 Aang swiped his eyes. Having company in that love, it meant having to see his son take on some of that burden. Recast this way, it was the price of the erosion of the loneliness he once felt, the reason he now felt like he could call this city home.

 It would be a little easier for Tenzin, at least. Aang would make sure of it. He could talk his worries through first thing in the morning, and make sure he could hold his father’s hand, find any comfort in his presence that he might seek there, while he went through it. And if he found he couldn’t—well, Aang would be there to help him through the pain of that, too. 

 “You’re right. Thanks, Toph. We’ll see in the morning.”  

 “Yes, we will.” Toph stubbed out the cigarette, and went to pick up the cards Kya had left. “Now, who’s up for a round?”  

 “Just brace yourself,” Zuko warned, reaching out to pat Katara’s ankle sympathetically. 

 Kya had a more hopeful take on it, in more ways than one. “Anyway, there’ll be other airbenders one day, who aren’t huge wusses.” 

 She shared a grin with Aang, who gave her a playful clap on the shoulder.

[malfoys-demigod]

Picquery

Draco Malfoy x Male!Reader

Summary: Y/N Picquery is an American pureblood wizard from Ilvermorny and son of the famous beater, Lucas Picquery. His parents got a job in the British Ministry and decided to pull Y/N out of Ilvermorny in the middle of the school year and transfer him during the winter break of Hogwarts. New to the school, Y/N settles on making friends with whom he thought was a regular student in school, Draco Malfoy, who decided to give Y/N a hard time whenever they interacted, not seeing that Y/N wanted to be someone Draco had never truly had: a real friend. But... maybe they could be more?

Requested by: @daleanjustwantstohavefun who said “It’s me again, thanks for answering. I wanted to request a Draco x Male Slytherin. The reader has a shy personality and is just trying to befriend Draco. Draco at first is being a prick, but slowly starts to develop a crush on the reader.”

A/N: Dear, Dalean. I kinda went off with most of the storyline. I’m sorry, I haven’t had the time to write because school has been making my life so busy and stressful. I’m sorry you had to wait but I hope this fic isn’t too bad for you.  

Taglist: @the--queen-of-hell @bbeauttyybbx

Word Count: 8.6K

Among the countless reasons why you were most likely going to be the talk of the entire school for the remaining months, there were four main reasons that could possibly explain it all. One, you were the son of Lucas Picquery, known to be one of the best beaters in the American National Quidditch team, having countless headlines flashed in newspapers saying, ‘Picquery beats the visitors again, in another intense American based tournament!’ 

Aside from giving honor to the Picquery name through the fame of a beater, you were related to Seraphina Picquery, who was one of the most popular presidents of MACUSA, also known as the Magical Congress of the United States of America, which was a big deal everywhere as she was president during the time where Newton Scamander, also known as Newt, began his journey in America, bringing both parties of the MACUSA and the British Ministry involved in a wild journey. 

You, yourself, had a wild journey as well as you emigrated to England at an unprecedented time, resulting in moving into Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry in the middle of the school year. It was a very exciting yet scary time for you as the environment in Hogwarts was much different than Ilvermorny, which was your school in America. 

The only thing that made things vastly different in Hogwarts was how you, someone so blind to the norms and social standings of people in Hogwarts, ended up trying to befriend one of the most powerful and intimidating people as a way to make friends in your new school. After undergoing rough moments with that person, he unexpectedly fell for you, which was something neither you, him, or the entire school saw coming. This person was Draco Malfoy, and he was the fourth and last reason why you were going to be the talk of the town. 

--

Moving into a whole new school, let alone, a whole new country was something you just had not expected. You were having a normal life in Ilvermorny, which was in Massachusetts, USA, and it was so far the best time of your life. 

The people there were so comfortable with each other, the academics was a strong suit of yours, and being just like your father, you were a beater in your house’s quidditch team. People adored you as you were treated more like a celebrity of your own for being such a talented beater, rather than being a celebrity because you were the son of Lucas Picquery, legendary beater. This was the respect that you have always wanted from people.

During the Christmas break, you had the great advantage to head home, seeing your father and mother as they apparently had wonderful news to tell you. There was nothing better than coming home to see your wonderful parents, but adding wonderful news? Now, that is what people call a wonderful holiday. 

During the first dinner back at home with your parents, it was a quiet one. Usually there would be grand dinners and parties held at your home, celebrating your return from school or bringing in old friends to spend the holidays with, but this first night was just a night with you and your parents. It was a little odd for them not to have a massive party to share their news, but nevertheless, you did not question them, rather just waited patiently for them to share whatever they had in mind with you. 

“Son,” your father finally spoke as he was eating his dinner, “Would you finally like to know what the news is?”

“Sure thing, Dad.” 

“Well, your mother here has been selected to join the British Ministry of Magic’s Department of Magical Law Enforcement as a person to give such American perspective on the job.” he said, pointing at your mother who seemed most happy about the announcement, “And as for me, I’m going to give up my Quidditch coaching spot for awhile and take on a role in their Department of Magical Games and Sports which I could possibly get us hell of a good seat in every sports tournament they have.” 

You looked at your father with narrowed eyes, thinking you just understood that they have decided to take jobs in a country which was a thousand miles from where you were sitting. “I’m sorry, are you trying to say that you’re moving to England?”

“You mean ‘we’, which includes you, Y/N.” He nonchalantly said, taking another bite from his meal. 

You were still looking at your father with a serious look, opening your mouth, waiting for a more brief explanation from him, but he was busy enjoying the food your mother had prepared. “Um, that’s it? That’s all you’re going to say to me, pops? I have a life here already, dad, a sweet one. I’m a beater in my quidditch team, I have many friends who will miss me, and I love Ilvermorny! I can’t just drop in the middle of the school year and abruptly leave everything that has shaped me to become who I am today? Can’t you just leave me here alone for the remaining months of the school year? Besides ,it’s not like I’m going to be living alone if you leave me, I live in school! Plus, who knows, I could possibly catch up with you two in England for the next year in school!”

“Look kiddo,” he said, trying to make things easier, “We thought of every possibility concerning you and we feel like it would be best to bring you with us. Imagine if something horrible happened to either of us while we’re away? Please, son, you will love Hogwarts, it’s a respectable school, and they have a great quidditch team there as well.”

“Sweetie, do this for us, okay, hon?” you mother placed a hand on yours, holding it tightly as she looked at you with a supporting smile on her face, “We’re on the same boat as you, remember? You’re not alone.”

Few days after that night, you decided to accept fate and say goodbye to what a wonderful life America has given you as you and your parents travelled to England, settling in early while it was still a holiday for both Ilvermorny and Hogwarts. You were given choices, concerning where you would reside at the moment. It was either you moved straight to Hogwarts during the holiday, getting settled early and all, or moving when the holiday ended when the new term in Hogwarts eventually would fall on. 

This was something you had to deeply think about in order to not embarrass yourself as you moved in during the middle of the school year. If you moved during the holiday, that meant there were less people in school who would notice that there was a new face, entering the school, looking like a lost foolish soul at the time. This also meant that you had more time to settle in and be as far away from your parents, the ones that just had to pull you from an amazing life you had, not that they had a choice. 

The other choice was to move during the new term, which meant spending the last of the holiday with your parents. It would be nice to compose your nerves in a place where you had familiar faces with. Being with people you know and love with your heart before moving to a place where you didn’t know anyone was something to consider. 

In the end, you chose the first option, which was the move during the holidays. Upon your request, you parents had asked Dumbledore, the headmaster of Hogwarts, to consider giving a warm welcome to you by NOT announcing the arrival of a new student in the middle of the school year. Since Dumbledore was someone who loved welcoming students his way, he decided to agree with your request, but adding a simple edit by having the professors lightly introduce you to your classmates in the most nonchalant way they could think of. 

As you were sitting alone by one of the carts of Hogwarts Express, you started seeing the famous castle coming by. The nerves that had come out of nowhere had started entering your veins, bringing fear and nervousness as you were trying to think of the many ways of how to seem nonchalant about entering the school. 

Obviously you didn’t want to be that one person moving in with countless baggage as if you were a new student, which you were, but you couldn’t do anything! When the express train had finally come to a stop, you were greeted by a boy, about your age wearing a black and green robe, but the platinum blonde color of his hair was the first thing that you had noticed about him. Apart from this, he was standing next to this huge giant with a thick and long beard that could be used to catch food crumbs if he had any. 

Stepping out of the train, you slowly took a few steps towards the two people who were awaiting for you. 

“Uh, hello there, my name is Y/N Picquely. I’m the new student from Ilvermorny.” you greeted, trying to sound as calm as ever, but the nerves in your voice made that slightly hard for you. 

The platinum blonde boy looked at you, up and down, judging you based on your appearance with an emotionless look on his face. He brought out his hand, “Of course you are.” he sarcastically said, “The names Malfoy, Draco Malfoy, and apparently I’ve been assigned to help you around ‘discretely’ since you have been placed Slytherin, which is now your new house, the best house, so I expect that you show great pride in it.”

You extended your hand, shaking him with a confused look as the giant nudged Draco in the shoulder, “Ye shouldn’t be too harsh to the newcomer, Malfoy,” he pleaded. Then he sympathetically turned to you, looking at you with a tired smile, “I’m Hagrid. I’m the grounds keeper of Hogwarts.” He waved. 

You gave Hagrid a more calmer look, sensing that he was more comfortable to be around with compared to Draco Malfoy, who was a student in your year. As you were walking side by side with Draco, Hagrid followed from behind, bringing your luggage with him. 

“So,” Hargrid  spoke again, “You must hear this often but uh, I’m a fan of your father.” he shyly said. 

“Wow, thanks,” you replied, “I didn’t know he was popular here in England.” you were surprised. 

“Course he is,” Draco heartlessly added, “But don’t think he’s the only beater we praise here. We too, have many excellent beaters that are born and represent England. We have Gwenog Jones of the Holyhead Harpies, Dawn Withey and Indira Choudry from the English National Team, Joey Jenkins from Chudley Cannons, heck even the Broadmoors from the Falmouth Falcons!”

“That’s awesome,” you kindly told Draco, “I bet you have amazing beaters here in school too. I used to play back in Ilvermorny.” 

“Well, don’t expect to be treated like a star here as well, Picquery. The slots for our team are full and besides, I doubt you can avail a slot now, we already filled every vacant slot during the first month of the school year, when you weren’t here yet.” 

“Malfoy…” Hagrid whispered from the back, warning Draco of his behavior. 

Sadly, Hagrid wasn’t the best in keeping things silent, which meant that you too, could hear the tone Hagrid had given towards Draco. Still, this didn’t bother you from trying to be friends with Draco. To you, he seemed like someone you could still try to be friends with. He seemed like the person that just had to thaw out first. 

After being uselessly warned, Draco rolled his eyes at himself as he brought his hand up, presenting you Hogwarts as the three of you had arrived at the castle door. “Welcome to your new home, I suppose.”

Draco seemed as if he was about to rush away from you and Hagrid but luckily, you walked towards him as he was about to open the castle doors, “Is this it for you?”

“I’m sorry,” he sarcastically said, “Did you expect me to give you a full tour? I thought you wanted things to be discrete? Besides, I have to attend to better things.”

Stunned, this left Draco scoffing and saying, “That’s what I thought.” then turned around, opening the doors widely and turning right, to make his way wherever, somewhere far away from you. 

Hagrid seemed sorry for you and placed a hand on your shoulder, causing you to turn around to see that the giant gave another sympathetic look. “I’d like to apologize on his behalf. He’s always been like that since his first year. He’s just cold that way.”

“That’s alright, Hagrid. It’ll take time for me to get to know him better.”

“You? You want to be friends with Malfoy?”

“I don’t see why not?”

“Look, kiddo. I rather have you not be friends with him. Heck, I rather have Professor Dumbledore change your house. Don’t get me wrong, Slytherin is a fine house, but Malfoy OWNS Slytherin. It’s best if you don’t engage with him, or else he could turn the whole house on ya! I suggest you find some other friends in yer house.”

“He doesn’t scare me, Hagrid. I’d like to think of him as a stone cold ice cube that can be thawed out, showing his true colors once he’s all melted and cooled out.” 

“Aye, if that’s what you truly want to believe,” Hagrid shook his head, “I wish ya the best. Now come, let’s get this baggage of yours to your common room.” 

With Hagrid guiding you around the castle, you were looking left, right, up, and down as you were observing and analyzing everything around you. The interior and exterior of Hogwarts was quite different but at the same time somehow similar to Ilvermorny. 

Ilvermorny was like the tinier version of Hogwarts and growing up in a much smaller school made Hogwarts feel like a big deal to you. The design and structure of everything in this school was much older and felt like it’s been through a lot over the years. 

People here were much different compared to your old school. Sure, Ilvermorny was proper too, but it was more lively and laid back in your old school and seeing that these people act more well-maintained and formal made you a little uneasy. Would you have to act the same as them? 

It was really hard to think about it, especially when Hagrid finally made a stop in front of a door. You looked at him, expecting him to open the door and keep moving but he seemed like this was his final point. “I suppose you can’t enter here?” you asked, having a hunch. 

“Only if necessary but in this case, I’m done for now,” he replied, handing you your luggage carefully, “This is your common room. Inside, you’ll find your dorm. It’s most likely you won’t be alone in there, there’s still some students staying over. Make sure to make friends with ‘em, okay?”

“I sure will try,” you smiled, “See you around, Hagrid.” 

Hagrid gave you a warm smile and turned around, leaving you alone in the entrance of the common room. Not one second after that did you realize that you forgot that every common room, whether you’re in Ilvermorny or Hogwarts, had a secret verbal password for each house to use when entering the room. 

Hoping that Hagrid was still walking around near you, you turned around, seeing that he surprisingly wasn’t around the halls anymore, as if he took a quick turn to who knows where. You sighed, feeling like the most idiotic person alive in the castle right now. 

There was nobody around the halls at the moment and the urge of unpacking and hiding in your dorm for the rest of your winter break was much needed so what you did was bring your luggage with you and walk around the castle, hoping to find a room filled with people to help you. 

There were open doors nearby and seeing that there was light and a low volume of voices inside, you rushed forward, praying that you weren’t going insane. As you made it to the entrance of the open doors, a sigh of relief came from your mouth as you faced a good number of students to help you out. 

Most of them were either having a meal, playing chess, or simply conversing with each other. You could have gone to any of these people but unfortunately from their body languages, it seemed as if they either wanted to use their time doing anything but help a helpless soul, or from the few looks people would give you, it seemed that they instantly identified you as the Picquery son of Lucas Picquery. 

Internally groaning at yourself, you shyly and slowly made your way to your house table, walking forward to someone you could hardly miss as his platinum blonde hair stood out among the many around the room. 

Draco Malfoy was having a comfortable time, he seemed to be talking lightly with his fellow friends who seemed to be quite close with each other as there was a girl, clinging onto another girl as if they were best friends, two boys sitting closely together silently and uncomfortably, and a boy, talking to Draco as if he was so tired of him today. 

Before even tapping on Draco’s shoulder, all their eyes except Draco’s were on you. It caused Draco to stop talking seeing that his friends brought their attention to someone behind him. Eager to find out who stole his spotlight, he turned around with an irritated look, his eyes now on you. 

You stood there, soon to be frozen as Draco and his group gave an unfriendly energy on you as there was nothing but cold looks looking at you. “Forgot to give me a tip on my excellent tour guiding, Picquery? I’ll have you know that I too come from a wealthy family, haven’t you heard?” 

His friends started laughing but although some sounded like they were forcing themselves to laugh, you still shyly shook your head, “Uh, no, well yes I mean, I have heard of some good family names here, I didn’t mean to tip you if that’s what you thought.”

“Well then, off you go,” Draco snickered. 

“I would love to, but uh, Hagrid seemed to have forgotten to give me the password for the common room and I was hoping you could come with me and show me to my dorm.” 

“Don’t need to, the password is Viridi,” he whispered, “Your dorm should be the second room to the left, now off you go,” he waved, motioning for you to leave as his friends started snickering with him. 

You gave a faint smile at him and turned around, muttering to yourself how much of an embarrassment you are to the Picquery name. As you were making your way back to the common room, your spirits were still high up in the air as you were still eager to befriend Draco Malfoy. 

He was just a very thick ice that you had to use all your efforts in melting. 

When you arrived at the common room door, you said, ‘Viridi,’ which you knew meant Green in Latin, then arrived to see a very Slytherin-like common room. The Slytherin common room was a long, low underground room with rough stone walls and ceiling, from which round, greenish lamps were hanging on chains. A fire was crackling under an elaborately carved mantelpiece ahead of them, and several Slytherins were silhouetted around it in carved chairs. 

The common room is a dungeon-like room with greenish lamps and chairs. This dungeon extends partway under the lake, giving the light in the room a green tinge. The common room has lots of low backed black and dark green button-tufted, leather sofas; skulls; and dark wood cupboards. One of the wooden tables has a Wizard's Chess set on it. It is decorated with tapestries featuring the adventures of famous Medieval Slytherins. It has quite a grand atmosphere, but also quite a cold one.

As you were walking across the common room, a girl who was eyeing you from the minute you entered the common room and looked at its interior, stood up from her seat on the couch and rushed, making her way to you as she offered you a wave and smile. “Hello, are you the son of Lucas Picquery?”

“Unfortunately, I am.”

“I honestly don’t know what’s so unfortunate about that but we can get to that later. I’m Astoria Greengrass, a year below you.”

“How do you know that I’m a year above you?”

“Well, I did my research the minute I heard from my father that he was having a new co-worker in the Ministry and I overheard Draco talking about you with my sister and his other friends in the Great Hall before I came up here.”

“He’s hardly a nice fellow to most, isn’t he?”

“Yes, that’s Draco.

“It’s a shame though concerning Draco, I’m quite eager to befriend him.”

“I see,” she said, sounding surprised, “Well, I wish you all the best with that. Come let me show you to your dorm-”

“This is the second time I heard someone wish me the best when it came to befriending Draco,” you stopped her, “Why?” 

Astoria looked around, hoping that you had not caught the attention of the few Slytherins around the room and placed a hand on your arm, “Let’s go to your dorm first, shall we?” Then she started leading you to your dorm. 

As you arrived, you placed your luggage on the empty and clean bed that was located in the middle as Astoria took a seat on a desk, sitting down properly as she tried giving you a smile. “So,” she said. 

“So,” you repeated after her. 

“You’ve got a lot of bravery like a Gryffindor for wanting to be friends with Draco Malfoy.” 

“Is it because he ‘OWNS’ Slytherin?” you said, remembering what Hagrid told you. 

“Possibly, but he’s just all around your typical bad boy. I don’t really see you hanging out with him, to be honest. You seem like such a sweet soul, Y/N. Nice guys don’t hang around guys like Draco Malfoy, I’m being honest with you.”

“I still would like to try though.”

“Why? Why him?”

There was a pause before responding to that question. You could have easily answered this, but you stood up, leaning on the wall near your bed as you sighed, “Because I don’t think he’s a bad guy on the inside. I think there’s good in him, and I wanna be that person to bring it out of him.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah, plus he seems pretty.” you joked, earning a surprised laugh from Astoria as she stood up, walking towards you to place a hand on your shoulder. 

“You know, your door is open, you’re lucky most of the people here are at the Hall right now.” she laughed, “You know, Y/N, I think I’d love to help you out with this. You seem like a great person and I would like to be on your side.”

“Yeah?”

“Mhm,” she nodded, “There’s a party at Ravenclaw's later, eight in the evening. Usually Draco’s gang mocks the Ravenclaw’s and their parties, but we’ve been hearing that it’s going to be an actual blast. Why don’t you try inviting him to the party? I can help you mingle with him from there on, yeah?

“Sure,” you said. 

Astoria patted you on the back, “It’s getting late, you should probably start unpacking and head out for dinner later, okay?”

Nodding in response, she waved goodbye and went back to her dorm, leaving you all by yourself. As you were unpacking, the excitement of Astoria still lingered on your mind, creating a much more enthusiastic energy in yourself as there was more confidence in you. 

You didn’t expect having a friend help you out on this but you were extremely grateful that you had extra help to support you in becoming friends with Draco Malfoy. This was going to be much easier since you had someone on your side. 

--

Later on that night when you were finally done packing, you put on a jumper since it was getting chillier at the time. Seeing that you were ready to go, you left your dorm, making your way out of the common room to the Great Hall. 

On your way to the Great Hall, there were some people who were looking at you, whispering to each other as their eyes were on you. You already knew that they were talking about you and how you were the son of the famous Picquery that had come to England all the way from America. 

Some couldn’t contain their excitement as three people in red robes, which you assumed were the Gryffindor robes, turned around and walked towards you. Two of them seemed so uncomfortable, not because of you, but their friend in the middle who seemed so excited. 

“Blimey, you’re Y/N Picquery! Son of Lucas Picuqery! Could I have your autograph and possibly a hello from your father?” the ginger-haired boy said so quickly that the girl with curly hair smacked him in the head with a newspaper that she was holding and said, “Could you be anymore irritating?” Then she looked at you with a sad smile, “We are very sorry about him, he’s just a big fan of quidditch and all.”

“That’s alright, I’ve dealt with worse before and this is nothing compared to it.” you laughed, causing the three to laugh with you. 

“So, may I have your autograph?” the ginger cheekily smiled as he was ignoring the cold stare the girl was giving him. 

“I honestly don’t know why you’d like mine when I could give you my dad’s, who’s the real star,” you smiled at the boy who seemed like he was about to explode of happiness. 

“Bloody hell, you would do that for me?!” 

“Of course, but don’t expect it to come in a jiffy, he’s all the way in the Ministry with my mom.”

“Of course, of course, of course, I’ll wait patiently!” he jumped, “Thank you so so so much!”  

“Well, excellent!” the other boy said, trying to end the conversation for his friend. He gave the girl a look, motioning for her to drag their friend away, which she nodded to. 

Before anything else happened the girl turned him around and offered you a small nod, “Thank you for tolerating him, see you around Y/N.” 

With that, you continued your walk to the Great Hall, ignoring the other whispers and stares that people around the corridors were giving you. 

As you arrived at the Great Hall, you immediately saw a hand waving at you from the Slytherin table. It was Astoria Greengrass, the first friend you had made today. She was sitting with a girl who looked like her, it must have been her sister. Sitting with them was Draco and the rest of his gang. 

You looked at Astoria with wide eyes, but she still waved at you, giving you an expression that you would be fine. Gulping, you casually yet terrifyingly walked towards the group as they started giving you a much warmer look that the one they gave earlier. 

“Ah,” Draco spoke, “I hear we have a guest sitting with us here today.” Then he turned around and looked at you. “Without your little friend Astoria here, you probably wouldn't even be sitting with us, am I correct?”

“Don’t be silly, Draco,” Astoria warned him, “Why don’t we welcome him, afterall, he’s a Slytherin just like us! Not to mention a pureblood, eh?” She tried sounding persuasive but she ended up sounding a little childish. 

Nevertheless, Draco coldy motioned you to sit with them, securing a spot beside Astoria, who was beside Draco. You kindly sat beside your friend as Draco looked at you with such snobbiness. “I suppose you’d like a hamburger, or a hotdog, or whatever you Americans eat.” he joked, gaining laughs from his friends except Astoria who had gotten an elf to snap his fingers, giving you a turkey leg and mashed potatoes. 

“A turkey would be fine, it’ll be a blast eating your kind of food. And speaking of blast, are you going to the Ravenclaw’s later? I’d really love it if you came.” 

His friends looked at you, then at Draco, trying to contain their laughter as they had just witnessed the newcomer invite Draco to a party as if it was Draco’s first party to ever attend. Draco peeked, looking at you with a scoff and said, “Are you a Ravenclaw because you just sounded like you own the party and happened to have just invited me. Pff.”

“No,” you shook your head nervously, “I just thought the party would be a great place for me to get to know you, and everyone else.”

Draco scoffed again, surprised by the audacity you had, “I’ll be there,” and there was happiness in your face only until he said, “Not because of you, but because I already planned on going.” then he pointed at you while you were not looking anymore and mounted, “Is he serious?” to his friends in front of him. 

Astoria sympathetically whispered to you, “At least he’s going!” which made you smile back at her. 

--

It was ten minutes to eight in the evening but Astoria had already pounded on your dorm door, asking for you as your two other roommates looked at you, expecting you to open the door. Slightly embarrassed, you rushed to the door to see that Astoria was already prepared while you just buttoned on your dress shirt. 

“Come on already, you snail!”

“Is it a British thing to be early or something, because the party doesn’t start for another ten minutes!”

“Not really, you fool, but it would be better to get yourself acquainted with some Ravenclaws first. They are the hosts after all.”

“Mm okay,” you said, putting on your jacket. 

Astoria dragged you out of the common room forcefully, bringing you over to a new side of the castle which you have not made yourself familiar with. You and Astoria were at the west side of the castle as she had brought you up to a spiral tower, which she said led to the Ravenclaw common room. 

The common room of the Slytherin and the Ravenclaws were much more different. Already speaking about the location, the Slytherins were based in the dungeons, which were underground, compared to the Ravenclaws who were high above the rest of the other rooms in the castle. 

Arriving at the common room, there were already people filling up the room. This wasn’t just the Ravenclaws filling up the room, according to Astoria there were already people she knew from Hufflepuff and Gryffindor that already were there before the two of you. 

You agreed with that when you saw the same three people that encountered you on your way to the Great Hall. The ginger-haired boy waved at you with a facial expression as if his dream came true and that he had heart eyes all over you. He was brought back to reality when the same girl beside him knocked some sense into him with a book that came from one of the Ravenclaw shelves. The boy beside him just laughed as he gave you a friendly nod which you gave back. 

Astoria then led you to a group of Ravenclaws who were hanging by one of their book shelves having an early drink of punch already. “Y/N,” she said nicely, “This is Carol Bletchley, she’s a pure-blood friend of mine and one of the hosts of the party.”

 The girl’s hair seemed like it had the same color as the girl who had knocked some sense into the ginger-haired boy, but this girl’s hair was much straighter. She gave a big smile as she extended her hand for a hand-shake. “It’s so nice to meet you Y/N Picquery,” she welcomed you as you shook her hand, “Everyone has been talking about you ever since you arrived.”

“And to think I was hoping for a discrete entrance into this school,” you shyly joked.

“Nonsense!” a boy who looked like her said, “Surely you had somewhat of a discrete entrance but a certain fan of yours apparently couldn’t stop talking about you. Something about getting your father’s autograph.” Which made you look up to see that the ginger-haired boy was bringing up a newspaper about your father being on the headline, it was an old quidditch one, which you do not want to question how he still had that. 

“Raphael Bletchley, I’m Carol’s younger brother.”

“Nice to meet you, Raphael.” 

His eyes were now drawn to something, or someone behind you as he said, “Oh wow, we have a face we haven’t seen in a long time in our parties.”

Turning around, you saw Draco Malfoy grabbing a glass of punch from the side as he was accompanied by his gang who had started to split up, leaving Draco with his two friends who acted as if they were body-guards. 

“I thought Draco usually came to these parties, no?

“Came, yes,” Carol said, “But to actually stay? Hardly.”

“What do you mean?”

“He would usually come to check the party out and tell us how much of a nerdy or boring party we have.”

“Oh,” you said, “Excuse me.” you told them. You looked at Astoria who already knew that you were going straight to Draco. She gave you an encouraging nod and patted you on the back which made you start walking again. 

“Hi, Draco.” you cheerfully yet shyly said, “I hear this is a first for you.”

“A first for what, Picquery?” he looked at you with a judging attitude and look. 

“I hear you usually mock these parties and leave afterwards. What made you decide to linger around?”

“How are you hearing so much about me and wanting to know more about me? This is only for the first day and you already are going way out of line, Picquery.”

“I don’t think I am, Draco, I just want to be friends with you.”

“Why me of all people? Why don’t you play with little Astoria over there.”

“There’s nothing wrong with being friends with you too, Draco.”

“There is, because I don’t want to be friends with you.”

“Is there a-”

“Can you just FUCK OFF already, Picquery!”

Draco’s snap had gotten the attention of everyone in the entire room, especially the hosts who were about to walk towards you and have Draco escorted out. But Draco wasn’t finished. 

“I don’t give a damn if you're the son of Lucas Picquery, alright? Just because you're famous does not mean you can get any friend you want. I don’t think you have half the talent your father has on the field. I am NOT your friend and I will NEVER be, okay? Bloody hell, this is your first day and you’re already making a fool out of yourself and out of me. I suggest you get the hell away from me now or else your puny reputation turns into shambles.”

Raphael rushed to the middle of the scene and grabbed a hold of Draco, whispering that it was time for him to go. As Draco refused to leave, squirming, “I have the right to be here, Bletchley, you don’t want my father to hear about this.” 

“He’s right,” you entered their small conversation, “He has the right to be here, Raphael. We don’t want him to cause any more unfortunate events by contacting his father. This whole situation is my fault, everyone, I’ll be the one to leave.”

“Y/N, no, please.” Astoria said, rushing towards you. 

“It’s nothing to worry about, Astoria.” then you looked at Draco and everyone else, “Have a great party, I hope this small situation didn’t kill the party. Rock on, guys.” you gave a sad smile as you walked past by Draco and the rest of the party-goers as you exited the common room of the Ravenclaws. 

--

The party was something you didn’t want to think about. It might have ruined a little bit of your reputation but your reputation was something you didn’t care about anyways. 

The moment you got back from the party, you headed straight to your dorm because you had nowhere else to go since you didn’t know the way to different parts of the castle yet. It would have been better to see Hagrid if you knew where he stayed so you could just live there forever until everyone else had graduated off from Hogwarts. 

Despite having a lot on your mind, you managed to sleep through all your troubles, ignoring the whispers your two roommates were sharing as they had found out what had happened between the son of a famous beater and the Slytherin prince. 

You woke up to them already out of their beds, having it made. When they had seen that you had woken up, they gave you a small smile and tried going back to focusing on making their bed. But you wanted to yank the truth out of them. 

“You know, don’t you?” you asked. 

The two of them looked unsure, hoping the other would be the one to talk but they were still playing their staring game, mentally making each other be the one to reply. You were tired of waiting for a response and waved it away, “It’s alright, of course you do.”

“We’re sorry to hear about it,” they both said at the same time, then looked at each other with a surprise. Then the one to the left of your bed said, “I suppose you haven’t heard about the good news for you?”

“I have good news? What could be good news, my father and mother getting demoted so we could go back to America? Please?” you sarcastically asked. 

“Outrageous, you are, Picquery. Americans.” he said. 

The one to the right of your bed shook his head, “Vincent Crabbe sprained his arm last night, the night of the party.”

“I don’t know who that is, so why should that be good news for me?” you confusingly asked. 

“Because he was a Slytherin beater, well until he sprained his arm.”

“Try-outs for the next Slytherin beater are later this afternoon.” the person to your left added. 

“Awesome,” you said, “I guess I could try out.” you shrugged. 

“Don’t guess, you WILL, Y/N!” said a feminine voice behind you. 

You turned to see Astoria Greengrass who looked at you with a soft smile as she opened her arms for a big hug that she was waiting for. You got out of bed and rushed to hug her and lift her up as she yelped and laughed. “Alright, put me down, Picquery.” she begged and when she was placed down, she looked at you with careful eyes, “I hope you haven’t given up on being friends with him.”

Ah, lovely to bring back some thoughts you thought you could sleep on forever. You sighed, scratching the back of your neck, “You know I’m surprised I didn’t cry or anything, what he said was really hurtful to be honest.”

“Oh, Draco’s like that. Besides, you’re a Picquery, you have the biggest and strongest heart I know. Trust me, you shouldn’t give up, and you should show everyone your place by earning that beater spot.”

“I guess I could. Besides, it could be a walk in the park.” you joked, only for her to nudge you on the shoulder. 

“You’re in the right house, Picquery, you’re in the right house,” she patted you on the shoulder, “Now, get dressed, I have snacks we can devour by the quidditch field. I want you to practice first before the try-outs.”

You nodded, turning around as Astoria closed the dorm and ran back to the common room to grab the snacks and extra quidditch uniform she had gotten a hold of. 

--

Back in the Great Hall, Draco was having a quiet breakfast with his gang. With Crabbe having a sprained ankle, it made his gang look miserable and weak, annoying the hell out of him. But what got him really annoyed was a single thought on his mind, swimming and swimming around his mind. That single thought was you. 

He had dealt with many cases of lashing out and snapping at someone, but your case was really different. All you had wanted to do was be friends with him. He was too proud to accept the fact that there was someone who could have been his fresh start. Someone who had not fully known or witnessed the terrible things he has done in order to call him nasty things with or without him being there to hear it. 

The many other situations he had placed on himself or stumbled upon never involved something nice or friendly being attempted. He was always used to receiving hate that he wanted to give back the same thing he had received. But this was the first time he had received actual niceness and warmth from a person that he was routined to give back the thing he usually was given, which was hate or negativity. 

Draco had screwed up entirely and wondered why he decided to act terribly in front of someone like you. Sure, he was surprised to see that the son of someone famous wasn’t a snob like him, but he still decided to treat you the same way he treats Harry. He had many reasons to treat you badly but now, thinking about it made him ask himself truly why he had done this to you, and there was not a single real reason why. It all led up to nonsense that he was just making up at the moment. He felt like a clown, and didn’t know what to do. 

Blaise saw the way he sulked and had a hunch it was about you. He decided to stop reading from his newspaper and settle things straight with Draco. “Malfoy, sulking about him?” 

Draco looked at Blaise with a cold stare since Pansy, Crabbe, Goyle, and Daphne had stopped eating and conversing to listen in to the conversation. It was useless to build-up his guard and deny everything. So Draco sighed, and embarrassingly nodded. “So what, Blaise? Do you really give a damn?”

“I do, Draco. You’re my friend.”

“Pff,” Draco scoffed. 

“Malfoy, I know you can be vile,” he said, which Draco looked at him with a deadly stare, making Blaise raise his hands up, “But why be so vile to the guy? He’s been nothing but nice to you.”

“I don't know Zabini, alright! Maybe I felt an emotion.” Draco stood up, getting tired of the questions as he knew there would be more after this, “I’m going to support the team and head over to the field. You coming?”

Blaise and the rest stood up, “Course we are mate, bet he’s going to be there so we’re just hoping either of you talk to each other.”

“Merlin’s beard,” Draco muttered as he rolled his eyes. 

-- 

After a solid practice with Astoria, nothing felt better than going back on the field. Your muscle memory was still intact, giving you the same feeling as if you were back in Ilvermorny, practicing and giving your best in the field. 

As people started coming by to watch, you spotted Draco, who had also had his eyes on you. You flew down to the bleachers to walk towards Astoria as she had spotted your uncomfortable look. She looked left, then right, to see that Draco and his gang were making their way to the bleachers as well. 

“Apart from being in the same house, why the hell is he here?” you asked her. 

“He’s supporting his team. He’s our seeker,” she replied, “But he shouldn’t matter. This is your time, alright?”

You nodded, looking back at Marcus Flint, who Astoria told you was the captain of the team. Great, you thought, if you got in, you’d be training with someone who had hurt your feelings on the first day of your life in Hogwarts. 

You flew back to the field, meeting Marcus and the other Slytherins, trying out for beater “Right,” Marcus said, gathering everyone, “There’s three of you, but only one spot, yeah? I expect a good play despite it being only try-outs. You all are familiar with the rules, so I also expect a fair audition. Good luck to you three and may the best beater beat the rest.” Then he flew up high, which got everyone cheering as the rest of the Slytherin quidditch players came out to be part of the game. 

You flew up to the side of the field, muttering small prayers as you were trying to get yourself in the game. Draco’s eyes were all on you as he was observing the way you were trying to ready yourself. ‘A true Slytherin,’ he thought when he was watching you. 

When Marcus had signalled that the game started, you flew to the center of the field, aiming your bludger to one of the two other beaters that auditioned. 

One of them already thought of your idea and surprised the other beater, hitting his bludger with his bat as the beater who was supposed to try and knock you out, got knocked off himself as he fell onto the field. 

“Out!” Marcus Flint said, pointing at the boy, “Sorry, mate. Off you go,” he rushed him, getting back the game. 

Your team was still in the lead as the chasers helped score some points, helping you out as they knew you needed some time to figure out your next plan. 

‘Forget the other beater,’ you thought, ‘and knock out the enemy chasers first, that way the only way they can try scoring is by knocking me out,’ then you flew up, ignoring the other beater that had mocked the beater who fell down. 

You spotted an available chaser who was holding a quaffle closely to their side. This was your opportunity, so, before the round had ended, you lifted your bludger and whacked it forcefully towards the enemy chaser. 

Just before the chaser could have been knocked off his broom, the beater you had forgotten about for a second illegally flew to the chaser and bumped him, having your bludger aim at the beater who prepared to use his body as shield. 

What the beater didn’t know was that the bludger he shielded his chaser from backfired, hitting you in the face which caused you to fall off your broom. It knocked the lights out of you as you fell onto the field, not feeling the pain when your body hit the ground as you were already out the moment the bludger gave an impact on your head. 

There were boos towards the other beater and scared voices watching your lifeless body on the ground. Astoria wasn’t even the first to get down from the bleachers as Draco chanted ‘Accio broomstick’ from the broomstick of the beater’s broom, causing him to slip off to the ground. With a grunt, Draco flew quickly to your side even before Marcus could come over. 

“Fuck, Y/N, that’s a nasty bump on your head.” Draco muttered to himself as he jumped off the broomstick to lay a hand on the back of your neck, getting your head in an elevated position. After a few seconds, your eyes opened slowly, groaning at the pain as you tried sitting up straight. But a force was stopping you. 

“Hold on there, jumpy,” said a voice. 

Your eyes darted to the person to your side. It wasn’t Astoria. It was Draco Malfoy. “The hell are you doing here, Malfoy?” you asked, placing a hand on your forehead. 

“Are you alright, Piquery? How’s the pain? What’s seven times five? How many fingers can you see? He asked, raising his hand. 

“The question is,” you said, holding up a middle finger, “How many fingers can you see?” 

“Alright, alright, you’re fine.” Draco let out a small laugh. Marcus finally came by, extending a hand, “Up you go, Picquery. That was quite some show I had. Not to mention your father’s signature hit?” he joked, “That beater? Josiah Blishwick? Definitely out of the audition. You, on the other hand, you got the role.”

“Fantastic,” you admitted, “Thank you, Marcus.”

Marcus gave a small nod and walked away. Josiah Blishwick walked towards you and Draco, giving a small sad look. 

Draco looked at him with a deadly glare as he brought his wand up, “Expelliarmus!” he said, causing the boy’s wand to fly away. “The hell, Malfoy! I was only here to apologize.”

“Better apologize some other time, Bitchwick. I’m not in the mood.” Draco growled. Josiah nervously turned around, running off as Draco yelled, “You’re broomstick is in the bleachers, get it a potential house elf you are!” then laughed at himself, looking back at you, who was still not laughing with him. 

“I didn’t ask you to do that, anything of this.” you rolled your eyes, walking away. You were completely done with Draco. Why be so nice all of a sudden? Not buying that bullshit. 

Before you could get away from Draco completely, he said from behind, “You didn’t have to.”

You turned around, raising an eyebrow in confusion. 

Draco jogged towards you, “Look, I’m sorry Picqu- Y/N, alright? I was such a twit. I deserve to rot in Azkaban for giving you such a horrible welcome. All you did was just to be friends with me, but I was just the absolute worse and you may never forgive me, but I just wanted you to hear this, ‘I like you, and if you’re up to still being friends with me still, I’ll be the happiest lad in all of England.’ But if it’s not enough, I suppose I can step into your shoes and go through the agony of what I have done to you, if you were pleased with that.”

You crossed your arms, smirking, “You’d do that?” 

“Merlin’s beard, I said that didn’t I?” 

“Fine,” you agreed, “Let’s start tomorrow with switching places.” 

“So, technically this won’t count, would it?” 

Before you could ask what wouldn’t count, Draco walked towards you, cupped your cheeks and planted a quick yet soft kiss on your lips, enjoying the short time he gave himself. A smile grew on his face, then into a smirk when he saw how puzzled and surprised you were. 

“N-no,” you shook your head, “I suppose that wouldn’t count.” 

“Good, then maybe you can expect to encounter more until we switch places.” 

“M-maybe we can practice some switching of places later, hm?” you said, catching him off guard. Your cheeks grew red, so you got a hold of your broom and flew out of the quidditch field, muttering to yourself, “Smooth, Y/N, real smooth.”

So perhaps aside from being a Picquery, dating someone who was a Malfoy would be the talk of the town for more than you could expect. 

[calleo-bricriu]

I just blew apart the identities of a good 30-ish people on my mom’s side of the family, and it’s a brilliant, wonderful feeling.

There is backstory here, because it doesn’t make sense without it, so grab a snack and get reading. :)

I did the thing I'd sort of half-ass promised my mom I wouldn't do back when I had medical genetic testing done so insurance would cover a few things back in 2016.

That testing was the one where the genetic counselor asked me several times if I was "absolutely sure" I had no Ashkenazi ancestry and after the third time I got a cautious response of, "It's just that you have a lot of markers only found in those populations; the chances of them all being spontaneous mutations are next to zero." then moved on going over the rest of the results.

Insurance ended up covering what it needed to cover, and I had asked my mom about it as she's been really into tracing both sides of the family trees back as far as possible and it's been possible centuries back due to very good paper trails.

She didn't know what I meant by Ashkenazi which is fair enough as most people in the US only know the word because it shows up on medical forms as a yes/no checkbox.

"Jewish. The sort that wasn't just a conversion."

That got a LOOK, and not a confused one a vaguely frightened one and asked where I got that idea.

Told her I had to do medical genetic testing earlier in the year and the genetic counselor had mentioned it and told her in what context.

Got told to "leave it".

Whatever, I'd recently had fairly major surgery anyway so wasn't really in the mood to dig or push about it.

The next year my ex bought one of those "23 and me" type tests for me because I like completely useless things like that, and that one came back with a not insignificant amount labelled Ashkenazi in the mtDNA haplogroup, which would be on my mother's side.

I asked her about it again and showed her two genetic test results, one a formal medical one, and one that had matching genetics that was, you know, not a formal medical set of genetic testing.

Got told to leave it again.

Fine.

She'd also forgotten that she'd added an account I'd made on Ancestry so I could look through the family tree and all the scanned documents (parish records, birth, death, marriage certificates, immigration paperwork, etc...) because it all went back sometimes until the 1600s.

...and I noticed most of went back that far was on my dad's side or on really remote branches of my mom's side.

On her more closely related side, the family she had that emigrated over from Germany in the late 1800s went back to the 1700s, but she's Polish as well.

And the Polish branches stopped at 1930.

They were extensively documented in 1930, with birth certificates, parish records, and immigration papers as they'd all come over to the US from Poland--right around 1930.

For the hell of it, I saved copies of all of that documentation she'd uploaded, and also figured, hey, they're running a 'join for 3 months get a silly DNA kit!' thing, I'll do a third one.

Did a third one.

Got the same results.

Also found that it was less that there was somehow a convenient lack of parish records older than 1930, and parish records don't just disappear, parish records, especially from Europe, are typically very easy to find with minimal difficulty, but I couldn't even find these NAMES earlier than 1930, including the family names.

The thing is, my definitely influenced by being on the autism spectrum special interest period of history is 1900-1945.

One thing you remember, if you do enough more than casual reading, is one of the chief ways Jewish families both got out of Europe more easily AND into the United States more easily in the 1930s was paying to have entirely new identities forged.

New names, new notable dates in terms of births, marriages, etc, and parish records proving they were either Catholic or Protestant. Usually anyone coming from Poland would have gone with Catholic as that's one of Poland's major religions.

Any previous records that would indicate they were anything but Catholic was typically destroyed out of fear of it being dug up and used to deny emigration or immigration (and remember, the United States routinely turned away refugees fleeing Europe if they were found to be Jewish).

So, I went back.

This time, instead of asking, I took the paperwork I'd saved and printed with me, handed it to her, and said, "These are forged. They weren't Catholic. These aren't their names. Does anyone still alive have the older records?"

Her response was, "I thought I told you to leave it!"

"Does anyone alive still remember?"

"...no. Leave it alone."

Turns out, she'd figured it out based on the cutoff date of the records and knowing history in general, but never said anything because, as the conversation later brought up, "It'd throw too many people's identities into chaos." and reiterated multiple times that they converted which, technically true, but it really doesn't...count if you're forced into it out of fear of ending up dead.

That's also the side of the family that, even by 2017, I didn't speak to most of them unless forced to do so because they're a lot of very rural, very right wing, very openly neo nazi jackasses.

That last part? That part is important. That last conversation about it happened in late 2017.

My mother knows me well enough to know that the first set of thoughts through my head absolutely ran along the lines of, "I'm telling these assholes at the next family reunion because they deserve to have their entire belief system and sense of identity shattered."

Also, that's the side of the family when, back around 2012 or so, one of my definitely unpleasant cousins cornered me to talk about the "shared interest" we had in what that dumb motherfucker termed "world war 2" and got his nose broken by the cousin with purple hair and multiple tattoos for saying we had a lot in common so--saying I don't get along with that side of the family is kind of an understatement.

If they're not afraid I'll also break some bone they possess for existing within punching or steel toed boot kicking range, they openly dislike me, which is fine, it's a very mutual feeling.

And there was a long talk of, "Could you not? Just ignore them, they're stupid, but they're harmless." which was mostly "it's kind of a hassle when you physically assault one of your asshole cousins at a picnic".

By that point I rarely went to those things anyway as free food didn't make up for having to listen to them say words where I could hear them so, whatever, I told her I wouldn't say anything.

Most of them hadn't spoken to me in years anyway but a few of them stayed in spotty contact on Facebook and in an often not used outside of planning reunions group that they'd invited me to join partially so it looked like they were 'making an effort' and also because the place we use for those stupid family reunions is owned by my parents (and I'm also on the deed) so I'd be one of the few people that would have a legal right to tell them all they weren't allowed to be on the property.

I accepted the invitation, just never really paid attention to it because, again, I do not like these people on any level.

Turns out, this evening, I stopped thinking they were even remotely harmless and was reminded that they still existed because they started using that group as their apparent safe space to talk about their views on current events; it’s very possible they may have forgotten I was even in the group as they added me close to 3 years ago and I’ve never posted anything.

So, I’m sitting there after work, watching these absolute shitstain excuses for people be smug about some imagined ‘win’, and I decided to remind them I still exist.

My first, last, and only post to the group: "FYI, none of your grandparents were Catholic. They were all Jewish. You're all ethnically Jewish. See you in July! :)" posted all of my genetic test results, the family trees where they were all included because, shocker, we're all related, scans of the forged records with large notations over all the forged information, and left the group.

Blocked the rest of them, and let them blow my phone up for awhile with calls I didn't pick up, texts I didn't read, and voicemails I didn't listen to--and blocked their numbers as well.

Earlier in the evening I mentioned in Discord that I was probably going to hear from my mother about it and I did (they’d long since removed my dad from the group over the MAGA hats in the firepit thing that happened last July, and my parents share a Facebook account), but it was a short and lovely text exchange of:

"What did you do?"

"I told them."

"Oh. Well, they're all assholes anyway. We should be back on Friday."

Also, nobody is going to see them in July because LAST July after they turned up after my parents told them there wasn't going to be a reunion due to Covid, about 30 of them showed up and that was the summer that I got the text from my mom asking if I was going to stop by.

"How many MAGA hats are out in the yard?"

"Hang on, I'll ask your dad."

20 minutes later:

"About a dozen."

"How many would I be able to throw in the fire pit before it'd cause an issue?"

"Hang on, I'll ask your dad."

20 minutes later, and a reminder for those who don't know, my dad is 6'8", built like a tank even in his 70s, and has a white beard down to his waist (Pointless bonus: When he was younger it was orange and his hair was a slightly darker orange than his dad’s was.). Ex-Navy Vet, took a fish bait he was grinding hooks on to the EYE a couple years ago and just sort of calmly walked upstairs to say, “I think I need you to drive me to the ER.” to my mom (whose response was to start laughing and tell him she TOLD him to put safety goggles on so they’re both a little...odd.) about it, not generally the sort of person anyone wants to even begin to fuck with despite the fact that he’s incredibly calm and even tempered:

"8 and they all left about five minutes ago."

[a-chrome-disguise]

@petrel-station​

The time had come for Petrel and Cyrus to get ready for their trip to Kalos, but Cyrus realised there was one last thing he had to do before leaving. Something he did not want to admit feeling a great sense of discomfort over, but something he would not forgive himself for neglecting, if he did not do it.

He had bundled himself up more warmly than usual, adding a hat and scarf, mainly to try and hide his identity rather than for extra protection against the cold. And fortunately, if Petrel had been wondering about it, he had said nothing.

One trip - assisted by Yatagarasu - later, and Cyrus had arrived. He pulled his hat down further, and the scarf up higher. His body tensed as he took in the familiar sights.

Everything was as he remembered it. Like it had been static in time. The marketplace, the lighthouse, the gym... So familiar. So painful.

Hands stuffed into his pocket and head held high, he strode through Sunyshore City, only stoppping once he had reached his destination. He cautiously peered through the cemetary gates, half expecting to see people already in there. It was empty, fortunately, so Cyrus headed through, walking between the rows of graves until he came to one in particular.

Nazar Lebedev.

He was empty handed. Why had he not thought to bring something with him? The first time he visited his brother in years, and he did not even have the mental fortitude to think of bringing something.

Idiot, he angrily thought to himself, sucking in a deep breath.

The grave was well maintained, a bouquet of flowers resting by the headstone. Cyrus seated himself down on the cold ground by it, reaching a hand out to touch the headstone.

‘...I am sorry I haven’t been here for a while,’ he said, after several long, silent minutes, as he wrestled to find the right words. ‘I haven’t been a good brother.’

‘I don’t know how much you are aware of... from wherever you are now.’ Foolish words. Childish beliefs. There was no afterlife, no reincarnation, no second chance. He knew that. He believed it thoroughly. But for some reason, talking to this grave, this near empty site in the ground, as though Nazar could still hear him was strangely... comforting? ‘...Perhaps you know it all already. How grief twisted us. How we tore each other apart. ...What I allowed myself to become.’

‘I’m sorry. I’m sorry, Nazar. I know you never would have condoned what I tried to do. I have been... so lost without you. All I can see when I look around the world is senseless cruelty, pointless violence, vitriolic hate. I thought I was about to fix all of those. All of the strife and hostility in the world... I thought I could finally be the one to do something about it. I thought it was right for me to do, whatever the sacrifice. That the positives outweighed the negatives, that I could override other people’s wills because in the end, it would be worth it.’

‘And so help me God, I still believe that. That ridding ourselves of emotion will make the world a better, more peaceful place. I have the idea, but I know that nobody will willingly go through with it. The frustration is immense. That people are so hung up on spirit, to prevent solving huge societal global problems.’

‘...But there was some spite to it, too. There is... so much hurt I have been carrying around for a long time, and I was... looking forward to ridding myself of it. And knowing that I would be “getting back at” Mother and Father, too.’

‘If I could have taken your place, Nazar, I would have. I still would, were it possible. Obviously, I cannot go messing around with legendaries now, but if Dialga, or Celebi were to come to me and offer a way to do things differently... for me to die instead of you... Nazar, I would take it in a heartbeat. You had a future ahead of you. You could have done so much more. I simply became a terrorist.’

He sniffled quietly, his eyes beginning to water.

‘I hope you can forgive me. I hope Grandfather can forgive me. I just... I wanted it to stop hurting. I didn’t know what else to do. I tried getting help, God knows I honestly tried. I should have tried again when I moved out. But by that point I was just so... jaded. Cynical. I did not see a point. Why rake up the past when I was working on ridding myself of my cursed emotions? Why pour out my heart and soul to somebody who could not care?’

‘And to go to therapy would be to learn how to accept my emotions. Yes, that is the situation I am in now, but it still seems so wrong. I do not want my emotions, I want numbness. Oblivion. To be cold and void.’

‘If it were not for my Pokemon, Nazar, I... think I would have joined you. Purposefully. I can’t leave them, but sometimes it’s... sometimes I think I no longer have a place in the world. How can I continue to survive in a world I am so incompatible with? How can I have a fulfilling life when the one thing I yearn for is impossible?’

‘I barely know what to do with myself these days. Wiling away the time I have until the grave, trying to distract myself from my thoughts, my regrets, until sleep finally takes me. Rinse and repeat.’

‘...Well, I suppose that is not completely true,’ Cyrus conceded. ‘I am going to be doing some travelling. Which is why I am here. Because I am leaving for Kalos, and I do not know when I will be back. I may never return. At the first opportunity, I will be emigrating from Sinnoh, and once I am gone, I will never look back.’

Cyrus began to climb to his feet again. He was on edge, being in the graveyard, especially in such an emotional state; the last thing he wanted was for somebody to see him.

‘And in fact, I am supposed to be leaving soon, so I should return home. I do not want to hold things up,’ Cyrus then stated, dusting himself down, looking at the headstone.

‘I...’ he stopped, and took a couple of deep breaths to steady himself. ‘I l-love you, Nazar.’

Despite his best attempts, his voice still cracked, one solitary tear finally seeping loose, trickling down his cheek. He hastily wiped it away.

‘See you on the other side.’

By the time Cyrus made it back home, he had calmed himself down, managed to force back the grief that threatened to overcome him. He called out to Petrel, to announce his presence, and took off his hat, scarf and coat. He caught sight of himself in a mirror, and noticed that his eyes were red. Damn. If Petrel said anything, he would have to think of an excuse.

[sailing-elitsha]

Carrebeean, Here we are!!!

As I said before: 5783 nautical miles we sailed towards this little paradise where we are still on quarantine anchorage. Waiting on the PCR result is always making me a bit nervous, especially this time. If we are tested negative, we have the chance here in Grenada to get the AstraZeneca vaccines and we will travel much freer than we do now.

But no boredom: a little leak in the hand wash basin, try to clean the mud off ELITSHA, friends and family to speak to, small other repairs, taking the lead in UBUNTU again since we have full and unlimited internet on board, planning and booking Zora’s and Su’s tickets towards us, baking bread again and of course swimming and snorkelling.

 But let me talk first a little bit about Suriname and our short sail to Grenada. Suriname was for a long time a Dutch colony. Since 1975, this country is the smallest independent state in South America. The previous president unfortunately abused his power and all the resources the beautiful country has, for example gold, aluminium, oil, bananas got exported unwisely and the profit went into the presidents and his friend’s pockets. That is what Surinamers were telling us. In the meantime, there is a new president, but there is Corona as well. The ECO tourism, Suriname was good and well known for, stands still and the country is in a bad state and shape. At the banks of the Suriname river, entering Suriname, you see big and then I mean really big villas. According to the locals they belong to friends of the former president and to drug lords. A very familiar story to us South Africans. The Netherlands is still involved and helps where they can, but a few days after we left Suriname they closed the country: total lockdown. Just above 500 000 people live in Suriname and most of them in and close to Paramaribo. People are currently getting infected and dying in huge numbers from Corona: not enough hospital beds, not enough vaccinations, not enough oxygen……… not enough doctors and nurses. Their rainy season is terrible this year due to the ELNino effect and its really tuff for the poor population. After a good week in the Marina and a road trip through the rural part of the country to a big dam where people are searching for gold, visiting banana plantations, visiting Paramaribo with a lot of rain we said goodbye to the populated part of Suriname together with Elitsha and we sailed into the Commewijne river. This was so romantic and special. The jaguars, caiman and anacondas were too scared of us, hahahahha. We did not see them, but we heard and enjoyed the voices of the jungle, saw and heard millions of birds, parrots and all kind of other noises. It was magical.  Three days we were totally one with nature, did not see any human being, together with Elitsha.

Coming back from Commewijne river was coming back to happy reggae life. Looking for a spot ashore to get our dingy on board for the trip to Grenada, a fisher of New Amsterdam waved us to come next to his fisher boat. Loud reggae music and a very friendly crew invited us for coffee, tea and biscuits……….and dagga and rum………..Unfortunately, we had to say thank you no (dagga and rum out of question, of course). The threat of getting infected just before we go back to sea again for a couple of days made us kindly refusing the offer. Even though we chatted a while with them and they helped us to get the dingy motor on board. And that’s how Surinamers are, chatty, always happy to assist and help, curious and interested about who you are. As I mentioned before people told us in advanced, that coming to South or Central America or the Caribbean with a South African flag would ask for problems. That was one of the reasons why we registered Elitsha in Germany. But we always say that we are from Cape Town, we don’t hide that and up to now we had no bad experiences. People are impressed that we come from that far to visit their small country and want to know if we like it. They loved the fact that we speak Dutch, because Dutch is still the first language in Suriname. Anyway, after chatting to the fishermen, we tied everything nicely, slept a short night and left New Amsterdam and Suriname at 6 am on the 25th of May.

Aware of the thread of Venezuelan pirates (Surinamers and NOON site (cruiser website) informed us about it), we sailed at a safe distance from the coast. Even though we choose to pass trough the Galleon’s passage between Trinidad and Tobago, but we choose to pass it close to the Tobago side,  away of the Venezuelan coast. On our way we saw a fair number of oil platforms, huge ones, with huge flames, we could see from far. This was also a bit spooky. We had 35 to 40 knots of wind and a good speed to leave the oil area and the Galleon’s passage behind us. I think, pirates do not like rain. We had tons of rain and no pirates though……..although: Dick told me later, that 40 miles out of both coasts, the Grenadian and the Tobagonian, a fast open boat with 3 men in it sped past us. We think they were checking us out, how rich we are. The stretch between Tobago and Grenada apparently is also declared as an unsafe area. That is what we heard later when we arrived in Grenada. Our neigor, Steve, always has a gun with him. Happily, with enough wind and a strong currant we passed Tobago at 4:30 in the morning and arrived safely in Grenada at 17:00 on the 28th of May.

Close to the harbour at the quarantine anchorage we spoke to our South African friends of the Aventura, a young couple with 2 dogs and his parents on their way to emigrate to Panama. We saw them in every harbour we visited up to now. They left Suriname a few days earlier then we did. They craved for blue water and thought jaguar, caiman and anaconda would perhaps love their dogs too much. In any way, nice to see them again. They explained the Grenadian procedures to us and on Saturday we went ashore to register with the health department. We inhaled the positive and relaxed Grenadian vibe immediately: steel drum music from the taverns, people on the streets, Corona is almost dealt with.

And in the meantime, 1 week in St George, we are declared negative and are allowed to explore the island. Paul, a registered tour guide grabbed his chance. Slandering around the harbour he almost forced us to have a tour with him.  The cruise ships are missed by restaurants, tour guides…not by us. Paul told us, that they on “good” days had 6000 tourists from cruise ships ashore. Dick and I were quite happy to escape these “good“ days. Pity for Paul, that’s why we went with him on a long trip through St. George at noon and let him earn some ECDs.  Hot and up and down, I was exhausted at the end. We didn’t walk much for the last 2 months at least..

Grenada is the spice island: nutmeg, gloves, cinnamon, and other spices grow here. They have a golden waterfall and many more attractions. We will explore them all and share with you. For now, we experienced the spicy side of the island by drinking shandies with nutmeg, eating ice cream with nutmeg and gloves and some other weird things you would think its really ugg, but in reality it’s absolutely amazing.

We are registered for Astra Zeneca vaccination and yes, we are in a marina with a nice club house and WIFI and not on anchorage or at a mooring buoy. For the first time in almost 3 months, I am able to go and stay where I want on my own. For somebody like me, who likes her independence, its heaven. Opposite of our little paradise, there is another marina, posh and expensive and not really our style. Elitsha, would feel a bit lonely between all the posh-million dollar-yachts. I don’t know, if I mentioned before, that a lot of other cruisers, have fancy and well-equipped boats with freezers, bread baking automates, washing machine, water cooker……. you name it. Our only luxury is a fridge, a BBQ and a good stove with oven, cosy and exactly what we need no more and no less. Anyway, Elitsha got a good clean-up. Sticky, a local guy, Dick and I made her looking pretty again. The water of the Suriname river was dirty through mud and chemicals, they use for the gold extraction industry, we learned. And this was very difficult to get off the hull-0987654Qasdfuiop[.

My home office is in the marina’s clubhouse, with more than brilliant views!          Unfortunately, UBUNTU for Africa’s operations manager, who took over financials and admin of the NGO from me, resigned a few days ago. That’s why I am back on the job and working every day for an hour or 3. Alene Edson Smith, local social worker, who was already involved in the family program and took over my job at Kronendal Primary, is doing the hands-on jobs, where you have to be involved personally onsite, like team meetings, meetings with principals etc. For now, we won’t have stretches which will take more than 3 days and we have internet and WIFI. No problem to work though. I love my work as much as I love cruising. To combine both is absolutely great.

For the rest the NGO is in good hands, with our after-care team, Barbara Heye, who is mentor to a single mother with 3 kids. And as I mentioned before Alene Edson Smith, well known in the valley through her involvement through her own NGO, Serenity, took over the reins at Kronendal Primary from me and is mentor to 5 families in our NGO. We share the lead of UBUNTU for Africa. What I can do, I will do, where personal presence is needed, Alene will be hands on. She will lead the sound and music studio, which will release their first CD soon. Lelo managed to get 2 new volunteers into this project, for marimba and music production. Ricardo will remain taking the lead on Silikamva side and Alene will have a firm look and hand on the project.

After care is just running. Andiswa and her team also get support from Alene. But this team of 5 is just doing what they can do best: love our children and supervise, support, teach them and make sure that they are safe.  

 Questions for the kids:

1.       How many kilometres did we sail from Cape Town to Grenada?

2.       Which language do the people speak in Suriname?

3.       What kind of currency do we used in Suriname and which one in         Grenada?

4.       Please explain, what the modern pirates of the Caribbean are up to.

5.       What is the name of the small entrance to the Caribbean between Trinidad and Tobago?

 Sponsor sail:

For the ones who want to take part in our sponsor sail: We have sailed 1812 nautical miles. You can donate a cent, a Rand, a Euro or whatever per nautical mile. We are sailing for these amazing schools: every nautical mile and each Rand counts. To UBUNTU for Africa,German  NGO.                                                                                                                                                                   

The money will go to the UBUNTU for Africa projects: after care at Hout Bay Primary School and the music project at Silikamva High School. This organisation I started 12 years ago (www.ubuntuforafrica.com) Of course, you will receive a tax certificate. 

Ubuntu for Africa-Kinder-, Jugend und Familienhilfe in Südafrika                         

Volksbank Boenen e G                                                                                           

IBAN: DE91 4106 2215 0054 5799 01                                                                  

For South Africans and others, who want to donate directly to South Africa (also with tax certificate): please donate to Kronendal Primary School (www.kronendalprimary.com). I worked for 10 years at Kronendal Primary as a school counsellor. This school struggles financially due to the consequences of the Covid Pandemic and deserves our support.                                                   

KRONENDAL PRIMARY SCHOOL trading as CUIM (“the account holder”) holds the following account with                                                                                       

First National Bank, a division of FirstRand Bank Limited (“FNB”): Account Type BUSINESS ACCOUNT

Account Number 53452884035                                           

Branch Code 204009                                                                                         

Branch Name HOUT BAY 345                                                                               

Swift Code FIRNZAJJ                                                                            

[lifeofresulullah]

The Life of The Prophet Muhammad(pbuh): Calling the Tribes to Islam, the Allegiances of Aqaba and Migration to Madinah

Migration to Madinah Starts

The allegiances and agreements made between the Muslims of Madina and our Holy Prophet (PBUH) opened a brand new arena before the Muslims. Living in their new community would allow them to talk about their beliefs openly, perform their religious duties freely, and fearlessly protect and spread their faith; the two most powerful tribes in Madina, the Aws and Kahzraj, promised to receive them with open arms, to protect them in all kinds of circumstances and not to withhold their help. It appeared as if the Sun of Islam (PBUH) would be shining with all his majesty in Madina very soon.

While the polytheists were concerned that the Muslims would move to this place of safety, our Holy Prophet (PBUH) was exerting all his efforts into making this new homeland that was rapidly embracing Islam the capital of Islam.

Mecca was in a very sensitive situation. When the polytheists heard that Allah’s Apostle (PBUH) had contracted an agreement with the Muslims of Madina, they further tortured the Muslims to a much greater extent.

Life in Mecca was like a punishment for the Muslims; it was as if the drinking water and the air were a burning fire.

The Muslims explained their troublesome and painful situation to our Holy Prophet (PBUH) and requested permission to immigrate. At first, our Holy Prophet (PBUH) indicated that permission had not been granted to him. However, he was granted permission in the following days and happily notified the Muslims of having received the approval:

“I was shown and it was made known to me that the place you will immigrate to is a city in between two black rocks and is filled with dates. Those who want to leave Mecca should go there and unite with their siblings from among the Muslims of Madina. Allah, the Exalted, has made them your siblings and Madina a home in which you will find safety and peace.” 

As it is seen, when the threats and oppressions of Qurayshi polytheists on Muslims reached a point that did not allow Muslims to practice and spread Islam, the Messenger of Allah had allowed them to migrate. The following word of Hazrat Aisha expresses this state: “The believer had to migrate to Allah or His messenger for his religion because he had the fear of being prohibited from practicing his religion.” 

“Then, migration, as it is sometimes expressed wrongly, is not an escape but a search. It is the search for a suitable environment for practicing the religion, which was in a point of elimination due to the threats and dangers. The religion determined its practice and application as its aim. If the conditions of the place a person lives in do not let this aim be practiced, it is a religious obligation for him to migrate from that place. The Quran does not regard those people as excused if they do not migrate and holds them responsible. They are obliged to look for a place where they can practice their religion.” 

After this permission, the Messenger of Allah thought thoroughly about the act of migration, which was “a search for a suitable place to practice and spread the religion”. When it came time to immigrate, he continuously reminded the Muslims to act with caution and prudence and advised them to leave in small groups so as to not attract the polytheists’ attention.

In accordance to our Holy Prophet’s (PBUH) advice, the Muslims proceeded on their way to Madina individually and in small groups, which sometimes included only two people.

The first companion who emigrated from Mecca to Madina was Abu Salama Ibn Abdi’l-Asad.

The polytheists realized what was going on; they made the Muslims they could catch turn back. They were doing all they could in hopes that the Muslims would abandon their faith. They were separating wives from their husbands and objecting to them immigrating with their husbands. Some of the Muslims were being imprisoned. However, they did not want to kill anyone fearing that a war could break. Nonetheless, they did their best to dissuade the Muslims from immigrating by subjecting them to all kinds of unimaginable torture and cruelty. However, the Muslims had made up their mind and were determined to move to Madina regardless of the costs. They were finally able to overcome all of the obstacles and continued with their departure.

The bright horizons were smiling at them already. They had escaped from the circle of torture and oppression and were now opening their wings towards the horizon. Besides, Madina and its inhabitants were anxiously awaiting their arrival.

MIGRATION OF HAZRAT UMAR

While the other Muslims were in the process of emigrating in secret, Hazrat Umar was girding on his sword. He took his bow, arrow, and spear and went to the Kaaba. He openly circumambulated the Kaaba seven times. He bravely called out to the ringleaders of the polytheists who were present:

“I am emigrating in the way of Allah so that I can protect my religion. If one wants to leave his wife as a widow, to make his mother cry, and to have his children orphaned, then come before me on this valley!” 

After this fearless cry, about twenty Muslims went towards Madina in broad daylight. None of the polytheists had any courage to track them down.

In a few months, a great percentage of Muslims had departed from Mecca to Madina. Our Holy Prophet (PBUH), Hazrat Abu Bakr, Hazrat Ali, the needy who could not afford a long journey, those who did not have the strength to endure a long crossing, and those imprisoned by the polytheists stayed behind.

Our Holy Prophet (PBUH) also had the intention to emigrate. However, he was awaiting Allah’s permission in this matter. In fact, when Hazrat Abu Bakr disclosed his wish to emigrate our Holy Prophet (PBUH) said, “Be patient. It is hoped that Allah will grant you a companion” (to emigrate with.)

THE PANIC OF POLYTHEISTS

The tribes of Aws and Khazraj greeted the Muslims who gradually immigrated to Madina immensely well. They sheltered them and provided homes for them. Married immigrants stayed at the homes of those who were married whereas single immigrants stayed at the home of Sa’d bin Haythama, who was another unmarried companion.

The polytheists of the Quraysh panicked when they saw that the Muslims who had immigrated were being sheltered, helped, and uniting with the other Muslims in Madina. Their worries increased altogether when they thought about our Holy Prophet (PBUH) also emigrating, coming to the forefront, waging a war against them, and having the power to cut off the trade route to Damascus.

Meeting at Daru’n-Nadwa

They immediately convened at Daru’n-Nadwa to discuss how they could take measures.

Daru’n-Nadwa was a residence that faced the Kaaba and belonged to one of our Holy Prophet’s (PBUH) forefathers, Qusay bin Kab. The leading figures of the Quraysh would always gather here to discuss matters and consult with one another.

They arranged to discuss the matter regarding our Holy Prophet (PBUH) and met at Dar’un-Nadwa one morning.

In the meantime, they saw a well-dressed, sharp-eyed elderly man standing in front of the door. They asked this man, “Who are you?” “I am an elder from Najid” answered the man, “I heard about this meeting so I came to explain my thoughts. I want to express my opinions regarding measures that I deem to be suitable and unsuitable!”

The Qurayshis welcomed him and said, “Alright, enter!” Actually, the old man was a devil that had entered into the form of a human.

The Terrible Decision They Made!

There were about 100 Qurayshis at the meeting however only Abu Lahab was accepted from among the Sons of Hashim so that the others would not be informed right away. They opened the topic by asking, “What kind of measures should we take in the matter regarding Muhammad?”

Some of them said, “Let us imprison him by tying him with a chain.” The devil that had entered into human form replied, “No. By God, your idea is not suitable. If you imprison him, then his companions will tread on you and pull him away. They will advance with his propaganda and indoctrination and prevail over you. Think of another measure.” Upon this, some of them said, “Let us drive him away from our community and country! After he separates from us, have him go wherever he wants.”

The old man spoke again, “No, by God, your thought is not in good taste. Do you not see that his message and the sweetness and beauty of his words take command in the hearts of the people? If you drive him away, he will circulate among the Arab tribes and then rule over them. Afterwards he will tread over you and order you to do what he wants. For that reason you should think of something else!” At last, Abu Jahl got the chance to speak, “By God, I thought of a measure that none of you would have been able to think of.”

They asked, “what is it?”

Abu Jahl disclosed his idea:

“We do not have any other choice but to kill him. For that reason, we will choose a strong young man from each tribe. Then we will give each of them a sharp sword. They will all strike and kill him at once. That way, we will be freed from him and no one will know who killed him. When it happens in this way, the Hashimis will not be able to risk having a battle with all the other tribes and will consent to receiving blood money whether they like it or not. We will pay off the blood money and resolve the matter.” The devil that had entered the form of the old man came forth and said, “This is the correct idea and the most suitable solution.”

The others accepted Abu Jahl’s view and dispersed.

[jonhoel]

Alex Dimitrov’s Love and Other Poems

Love and Other Poems. Alex Dimitrov. Port Townsend, WA: Copper Canyon Press, 2021. 119 pages. $17.

The poetry collected in Love and Other Poems is very New York, almost intoxicatingly New York. It is Alex Dimitrov’s most ambitious book in concept, and his most emotionally forthright; many of the best poems forgo cryptic ambiguities and strafe toward the upper case emotions and big statements, a poetics in the mode of giants.

Love and Other Poems chronicles one calendar year in the city, beginning with June and ending in May, and sees the poet contemplating life in his city in that time. The lavishness of ideas within the book is admirable in its own right, but it is in the small moments of vulnerability quietly visible between grandiosities that makes the book special: “I completely forgot we’d never met / you had left the country / and possibly the earth / Which is how I would describe desire.” Dimitrov’s writing reads as thoroughly self-aware. He maneuvers successfully through poetic expectations, precisely because he recognizes what works for him as a poet and what does not. He seems to lean into a narrative formula of structure, tone and topic in his poems – the poet wryly reminds us of this mishmash in the opening of the poem “May,” “What can I tell you? / I’m a young man in Central Park / A cherry blossom falls in my hair / like small cruelty.”

Dimitrov always heightens the connection between the city and the cosmos, which he sometimes finds at ends, but always brings them together. A moment that highlights this topical framing is in the poem “1969,” where he begins, “the year everyone left for the moon / even those yet to be born.” For Dimitrov, New York is always the center of the universe. The poet himself though, often seems to reside on the moon like Dr. Manhattan, he stoops down at the lights of the city below; he is not thrilled with what he sees. The soul of Dimitrov’s New York (perhaps an older New York than the one we have now), invokes Zadie Smith’s New York, from the essay “Find Your Beach,” which laments the shifting currents of the city, where Brooklyn becomes Manhattan, and Manhattan becomes culturally irrelevant. The poet is aware of this, having come of age in this changing landscape of the city. In the book, he conjures a specific New York, and in doing so, attempts to preserve it, but it is also a form of eulogy.

The poems imaginatively fissures contemporary love and heartbreak in the 2010s, while hinting at something deeper, a more profound lachrymose, which lurks beneath the surface of each page. It is a difficult task to adequately capture what it means to date in the contemporary moment, while also engaging a larger tradition of love poetry, but the poet does both, with enormous success. Dimitrov waltzes three beats in the book: romantic longing, New York, and the moon and stars. He maneuvers these three beats with firm repetition throughout the collection, almost like an incantation. These topics, particularly the cosmos, is not new territory for the poet; Dimitrov having established himself through his collaborative work with the poet Dorothea Lasky as Astro Poets a popular astrology account on Twitter. The duo have amassed upwards of 625,000 followers, far exceeding that of most of their poetry contemporaries.

One of the best poems in the collection comes at the very end in “Poem Written in a Cab,” which makes up the entirety of the fifth section of the book. Dimitrov states in the endnotes that he wrote the poem over the course of two years with the constraint that he only worked on it while he was in a cab. In the poem, he encounters one cab driver who is an immigrant from Russia. After some roundabout conversation, they come to discuss America. Dimitrov explains to the cab driver that he himself is an immigrant, who came to America from Bulgaria twelve years ago. The cab driver reveals he has been in America for thirty years, which surprises us as readers—and surprises the poet too. He writes, “I actually love this so much / because for a second I’m young / in this cab, at least / someone younger.” We know he is not talking about age—he is speaking about the youngness of the American experience. He still feels the enormity of possibility stretched out before him, even in a time of profound uncertainty and fearfulness. In a book full of poems about the hardships and heartbreaks of a life in the city, this sudden excitement in him, regarding youthfulness, what has not yet arrived, feels like a fitting end to the book. It finds the poet, worn but staring forward.  

Dimitrov is a poet who never shies away from difficulty. He seems uninterested in abiding by the social politics of the industrialized New York poetry world. His own influences are all candidly visible—the appearance of a poem in this collection written with a Ouija board recalls directly James Merrill’s The Changing Light at Sandover. The so-annoying-it-somehow-becomes-charming poem “Having a Diet Coke With You,” along with the book’s epigraph are both nods to Frank O’Hara who, more than anyone else, is the direct forefather of this collection. In a way, Dimitrov’s New York is more like O’Hara’s New York, than any other. He is pushing back at Joan Didion—pushing back at the idea of New York as a mecca for youth. If anything, Dimitrov’s New York champions all that is intoxicating about his poetics, a peter pan quality that does not feign an ignorance toward the cynicism of the city, but simply throws these mindsets down into the depths below.

The heart of the book comes from the poem “New York,” where Dimitrov describes various places he has cried in the city, and seems to see the city, not as a backdrop for the act of weeping, but as a cathartic participant in the act, as if New York itself both wounds and consoles him in these moments. Other New York poems can come off more as sentimental monologues at the bar from New York emigrants ten year your senior, insisting to you it was much cooler before. All these poets certainly departed the city during the pandemic in 2020. Not Dimitrov though. In these moments of elitism, Dimitrov comes off more charming than cynical—his affection for his city never wears on the reader. The seriousness of his devotion to his city feels so strident and unyielding. In the wake of the pandemic, with so many leaving, claiming that the soul of the city is permanently tainted, and in the wake of people loading corpses into trucks, the thought of anything akin to a Whitmanian dedication to the city, might come across as absurd, as incapable of penetrating the despair and uncertainty swirling around those same streets.

But there is another side to that same thought. That now, with all the capitalism glamor and sheen torn away, with what remains being the pus and the gnats of a city, its glistening organs, only those most loyal to it stand able-bodied for that inexorably difficult task. Dimitrov seems game for the reckoning.

[mypassionfortrash]

Do More of What Scares You: Parts 1 & 2 of 11

Roger is determined to help you overcome your anxiety in any way he can. Although he means well, all he seems to do is make everything worse. Can you make it work?

Pairing: Roger x f!reader Warnings: Smut (18+), angst, lots of talk about anxiety. Notes: I’m rewriting all my old fics from ‘BoRhapRogerina’ ahead of finishing them for NaNoWriMo this year. Feedback is always appreciated!

[1/11]

It was your second date with Roger. A picnic in the countryside where no one could bother either of you. No prying eyes, no crowded spaces. The polar opposite of Roger’s natural habitat, but somewhere you felt right at home. What could possibly go wrong? Especially after your first date didn't exactly go swimmingly.

He had insisted on picking you up.

You insisted you could drive yourself.

He was having none of it.

Why was he so endearing?

Peering through the slats in the blinds, the street below had a dull thrum to it. Crawling with a quiet life of its own. The sun was out, and so was every soul you knew.

Dry mouth, heart thumping. Beads of sweat trickled down your brow; a scorching summer’s day didn’t pair well with the tunnel vision inducing rollercoaster in your brain that sped away with all your excitement.

After the first date, you were convinced he didn't want to see you again.

But sure enough, he called the following morning. He was keen. You prayed he would lose interest. No embarrassing yourself. No stumbling over your words. Or rehearsing answers to every question he could possibly ask you. No more fucking up.

Roger was charming, full of life. He never let anything hold him back. Perhaps that was part of the problem to begin with?

And you? You were aloof, serious. You had so much holding you back that you could never quite catch a breath.

Especially around him.

Still, you dared to hope he would draw out the best part of you. Unleashing something that had packed up and left a long time ago.

When did you get so careful? When was the last time you did anything that scared you? Not counting your first date with him.

You thought of all the recent goings-on in your safe, boring life, struggling to find something that actually enthralled you like he did. 

The sandwiches. The ones you slaved away over that morning. That scared you.

What if he didn’t even like cheese and Branston Pickle?

Better make some jam ones.

Just in case.

You got yourself in such a tizz that getting ready for your date took a backseat until it was almost too late. Even now, your clammy palms tried to smooth your dress down over your thighs. It just didn’t feel right, but it would have to do. There wasn’t any time left to worry about it. You could suffer that, at least.

The trees across the street didn’t sway the way they usually did. The air was thick and heavy, rising up from the street in pale, grey wisps that your neighbours happily wandered through in their shorts and sandals, lazily lapping away at their ice creams or chugging cold beers.

You ached to enjoy it without the great weight on your chest and pinpricks in your vision. And the ringing. Oh god the ringing in your ears was infernal.

That wasn’t the devil on your shoulder, hooting away.

It was Roger. Top down, shades on, in a beast of a car. He was looking up. You could tell he was squinting, gauging whether he had got the right flat.

You threw open the window, batting your eyes left and right. Checking to see if anyone but him was watching. “I’ll be down in a minute,” you chirped, before slamming the window closed. You could just about hear a faint, “what was that?”

But your little jelly legs whisked you down the stairs, a hamper of sandwiches and fruit tucked under your arm.

You blustered into the car next to Roger.

He leaned in to kiss you on the cheek. He knew nothing about personal space.

You were all business. “Hi. Have you been waiting long?”

Roger shook his head and shrugged. “You look lovely.”

Your hands smoothed the fabric of your new red dress against your thighs again, grasping at the hemline. “Thanks.”

Being around Roger was easy (as easy as your brain would allow, anyway). He liked to talk. A lot. And you were much more of a listener.

But then sometimes, he would talk too much. Or admire you for too long. You counted the amount of times he had swerved into oncoming traffic as he was ranting and raving, slapping his hand on your thigh.

Six. Six times. And you hadn’t left town yet.

And then you got out on to the open road. The houses gave way to fields and trees for miles around. Thick, lush green in every direction. And Roger’s foot? It seemed to be made of lead.

The force of the car pushed you back into your seat. Your fingernails dug into your thighs as the engine screamed through the stillness around you.

“You’re very quiet today. What’s the matter?” Roger asked. “Got the jitters?”

You managed to feign a smile, and a small shake of the head. “No, I’m alright.”

Everything surrounding the car blurred into one. Unable to pick out anything in the landscape before it got whipped from view, your stomach began to churn. 

Roger’s voice turned into a muffled drone, as he gazed over at you.

It happened in a flash.

Another driver with the same idea.

The two cars missed each other by a whisker.

Roger laughed it off.

You couldn’t.

You were pale with horror.

“Oh come on, we didn’t crash!” Roger assured you. “I’m a perfectly safe driver, darling.”

You eyed Roger. Jaw clenched. Not saying a word.

Roger flipped from being jovial to being serious, caring. Even his grip on your leg loosened. His voice wasn't as piercing - in fact he was uncharacteristically calm. “Do you want me to slow down?”

You nodded.

The revs dropped to a faint purr. The world became clearer again.

“Thanks.”

“I just get a bit carried away. Sorry. Suppose I’m just trying to impress you.”

“It’s okay. I hate driving. I’m nervous enough as a passenger.” You laughed at how stupid you sounded.

“Why’s that?”

“I guess it’s about not being in control. Either way, you’re always at the mercy of other people.”

Roger seemed to understand what you were telling him. His eyes scanned the road ahead as he tried to work out how to respond. “Do you want to drive home? Afterwards. Get your confidence up?”

You gave a haughty laugh. “Me? After what I just told you?” Your eyes were wide as you jabbed your finger to your chest.

“Yes, you. I’ll be right beside you. Nothing to worry about.”

You thought for a moment, getting lost inside your head. He was so disarming. So comforting.

“What do you say?” He asked, turning the car into a deserted lay-by.

“You’d really trust me to-“

“You seem a lot more careful than I am,” he laughed, slipping off his sunglasses and placing them on your nose. “And I’m willing to bet you’re not as blind as I am.”

Your surroundings were out of focus but enlarged as you took in the world from behind Roger’s rose tinted lenses. You reached out into the void, your palm finding its way to his face. Drawing your fingertips over his nose. His lips. His jawline.

“You’re so blind,” you observed.

A look of utter joy had draped itself over your features for the first time in years. It felt freeing to wear it again. Even for a short while.

“You know, I bet you look really pretty,” Roger said quietly. “If I could see you.”

You giggled, delicately perching his glasses back on his face. “Still think I’m pretty?” You bumbled. 

To him, you looked like a painting as you surveyed your surroundings, your hair flickering ever so slightly in the breeze. A work of art.

“Perfect.” He smiled. “I still think you need to live a little, though.”

You narrowed your eyes, looking at him again. “Live a little?”

Roger pursed his lips together, nodding. He was certain you knew exactly what that meant.

You rolled your eyes and sighed. “Well, that’s going to be a bit harder than just looking pretty for you.”

“I have an idea,” Roger said, wagging a finger in the air to stop you cutting him off. “Hear me out.”

You folded your arms, cocking your head to the side. “I’m listening.” You were in no mood for being receptive, however.

“Why don’t we - every time we see each other - do something that scares you a bit? Start off small. I’ll give it to the end of the year and you’ll be as bold as I am, I guarantee you.”

The suggestion had you giggling nervously again. That familiar pit in your stomach began to grow once more. “Who says we’re going to make it to the end of the year? You’ll be the bloody death of me, Roger!”

“Right,” Roger began, turning in his seat and taking both your shaky little hands. “There’s a reservoir about five minutes through those trees behind you. Let’s go for a swim!”

“Oh fuck,” you said, throwing your head back. “No.” Your cheeks burned at the thought. "No." Your heart emigrated to the depths of your stomach. “No, I can’t.”

He rubbed your shoulders. “Or you could just dip your toes in and see how you get on. And then,” he paused, pointing towards the hamper at your feet. “You can eat all those lovely sandwiches while I freeze to death for your amusement.”

He was so endearing you couldn’t say no to that.

“Okay,” you resolved with a familiar rattle in your throat. “Let’s go swimming.”

[2/11]

The air surrounding the water was crisp in comparison to the city. Back home it wrapped itself around your neck in wispy yellow lassos as if it was trying to choke the life out of you. 

But here, it was different. Your lungs filled with ease.

You and Roger were the only souls there. The dense tree line surrounding the lake was still and quiet. The water was a slate of smooth steel. Too perfect to touch.

“This isn’t a reservoir, Roger,” you stated.

“Of course it is. You can swim in it.”

“You can’t swim in a reservoir. This is a lake.”

“They’re the same thing.”

Wrong.

A line of moored up boats on moulding ropes bobbed on either side of the rickety wooden aisle, like spectators at a wedding. Roger eyed them.

“Don’t get any ideas,” you warned him, staying one step ahead. Finally, at the very end of the wooden walkway, you sat down and took off your shoes.

Roger was a few paces behind, throwing off his clothes and leaving a trail.

Before your toes touched the water’s surface, Roger bypassed you. He leapt into the water, sending icy shards firing at your face.

You were quite content with dunking your feet in for the time being.

“I’ll tell you, this is just the thing!” Roger laughed, his head breaking above the waves, mats of hair clinging to his face.

Reaching into the hamper for a sandwich, the nerves flooded back.

He was going to convince you to join him.

Better nip that in the bud, right away.

“I’ll take your word for it.”

You could hear him chuckling as he swam around at your feet, then he went under. Completely undetectable. Until he grabbed your ankles, making you shriek so loud that birds exploded out of the trees. He was giddy, looking up at you with a broad smile. “Put on my glasses.”

��What?” You said through a mouthful of bread and jam and butter.

“Put ‘em on, so you don’t get too fired up by this,” he said, flapping his arms. “No one can resist me.”

That was true.

You put on his glasses. In the blink of an eye, your view appeared pink and impaired. You saw the trails Roger made in the water as he swam away from you, but not much else.

It was comforting. The trees looked even more green, blending into a sludgy haze in the distance. And the sky. ‘Apocalyptic’ came to mind. Even though it was a brilliant day, the sun had decided to go into hiding over your secluded sanctuary. It abandoned you under cloudy canopies. This was summer in Britain, after all. The sky was an expanse of dusky pink with not one single break of light. Everything was a beautiful, muted calm from behind those lenses. You saw everything as Roger did.

“Have you finished your sandwich yet?” Roger called from the centre of the lake. He was a faint yellow dot in the distance, like the moon against the far off night. He threw his arm in the air, waving. “Can you come out and play?”

“I don’t know, Roger,” you laughed, curling in on yourself. “I’ll catch my death.”

“Ask your mum!”

You grinned, shaking your head.

You were actually considering it.

More than considering.

You wanted to do it.

“Well?” Roger asked, paddling towards you. “What did she say?”

“Maybe,” you announced, standing up, your legs quivering underneath you. “But don’t look.”

“I couldn’t even if I bloody well wanted to!”

You needed more assurance. “Right, cover your eyes.”

“Is that really necess-“

“Just do it!” You warned.

“Oh, alright then, since it’s you,” he said, pressing his palms over his eyes. “You do know I’m blind, right? I did tell you this, didn’t I?”

When you were certain Roger wasn’t looking, you turned your back on him. It made things easier if he were to see you naked. You wouldn’t have to see his face. With shaking hands, you pulled your poppy red sundress over your head and threw it next to Roger’s jeans. The chill in the air lapped away at your skin as you shed the rest of your clothing. “Still not looking?” You called, crossing your arms over your body.

“I might have had a little peek,” Roger admitted. He was quick to back peddle. “But remember I can’t actually see anything. You were a blur. A lovely… blur…. By the way.”

Turning around to face the lake, you couldn’t help but feel a wave of apprehension threatening to drown you. Never had you imagined you would be doing this. Let alone with a stranger.

He was waiting for you. Hands still covering his eyes. Keeping his word.

Your stomach churned with every dainty step towards the water. It felt like you were walking on hot coals but lacked the capacity to move any quicker. Arms still wrapped around your body, trying to cover up. There wasn’t an inch of skin on you that wasn’t peppered with goosebumps.

He insisted he couldn’t see you. But you weren’t buying it. Not for a second.

Finally, you were at the edge of the jetty, staring down at the churning grey abyss.

Deep breath.

You stepped out, allowing yourself to be overcome for a moment. It was everywhere. Pitch black, clawing at your skin, right through to your bones. In your eyes. Up your nose. In your ears. It stung. But you had never been more awake.

And then you broke through the surface.

Heart racing. Exhilarating. Clarity.

Roger was there. He looked proud.

Those little wheels in your mind slowed down, taking it in.

“You can see me now?”

“I can see you perfectly.”

“Oh god.”

His hands were warm on your hips, underneath the barbed blanket that clung to your lower half. “You did it,” he whispered.

You laughed, turning in the water to get a better view of everything around you. Your heart was so full.

There was no fussing about which way your hair fell, or the mascara running down your cheeks. Or even the fact that you were here, naked in the middle of nowhere, with the most gorgeous stranger you had ever met.

Instead, you were present and living. It felt so new. And all took was one small step. “I did, didn’t I?”

Behind you, Roger had wrapped his arms around your waist, resting his chin on your shoulder. “I saw the whole thing,” he said quietly, kissing your neck. “And it was bloody marvellous. I’m so proud of you.”

You narrowed your eyes, turning to look at him. “I thought you couldn’t see?”

His mouth popped open. “I’m not completely blind. I’m just very short sighted.”

“Right.”

None of that mattered.

You and Roger stayed by the lake for the rest of the day. Huddled up at the end of the landing, eating sandwiches and watching the water sway below.

You talked about everything as you tried to dry off. And long after. How draining it was trying to keep up his mischievous public persona. He just wanted to drink tea and play scrabble. But he had appearances to maintain. And how, deep down, he felt like it was time for him to grow up. Be an adult. Work on his temper. Stop fucking about. Maybe buy a more sensible car and not crash it. All much to your dismay.

The sun reappeared towards the end of the day, cracking out over the tops of the trees on the opposite side of the lake. It was getting late.

“For what it’s worth,” you began, pulling up your underwear, “I don’t see why you should have to grow up.”

Roger was slipping on his shirt, a cigarette hanging from his lips. He raised his eyebrows.

“I’m probably the world’s leading authority on letting everything hold me back. And worrying too much,” you said, brushing his hands out of the way to fasten the buttons. “You’re fine the way you are.” You gave him a pat on the chest once you had finished.

“Well, that’s good to know,” he said, looking at his feet. Then back at you. “It couldn’t hurt to be a bit more like you, though. A bit more careful.”

You shook your head, shuffling into your dress. “Why would you want that? Being this careful… It’s like being in prison. I was hoping you’d help bust me out of it, if that’s ok with you?”

“Still fancy driving back?” He asked.

You grimaced, picking up the empty hamper and taking Roger’s arm. “I’ve had enough excitement for one day. You can see in the dark when you’re driving though, can’t you?”

Roger pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose. “I think so. I’ll try not to kill us, if that makes you feel better.”

“You’re so good at keeping me calm, Roger. I don’t know how you do it.”

[islamicrays]

Salam , recently divorced , he left me for no reason , Allah is my witness that I never failed to please him , I’m still getting over him , but I ended up back at my mums, dealing with a non- practicing family on a daily basis , music , swearing etc, can’t even find a place to pray in without being interfered , sleeping on a couch, no space for me , emotionally abusive mother , blaming me for what happened to me , making me depressed even more , Patience , Alhamdulilah .

Walaikum Assalaam,

I understand you are going through a tough time and its even more difficult when you don't have a supportive family but remember Allah subhanahu wa ta'ala is with you and He won't burden you with something that you can't handle. With every hardship; their is ease. Allah subhanahu wa ta'ala test those whom He loves. If possible go for counselling if you can't then I am posting here an article how to heal after divorce and some quotes that will help you in shaa Allah

"Divorce…

The daunting and awkward topic that no one seems to want to discuss in public because of the stigma attached to it. Yes, divorces can be messy due to a number of factors; and when children are involved, it’s twice as complicated. You feel a whole array of mixed emotions that are difficult to internalize or accept. To be honest, this is perfectly normal because the reality is, the person you were so certain you would spend the rest of your life with, is no longer your life partner. A number of thoughts bombard you at once; how will I manage as a single parent, will I ever forgive my former spouse, how will society view me? How will I heal my broken heart?

The hardship of divorce

People often don’t realise how agonizing a divorce can be. On the surface, it may seem like two people are being unreasonable or irresponsible, but the truth is, most people do not realise the transgressions that have taken place behind closed doors which have caused a couple to decide to divorce. The reasons can be so vast; it could be an abusive partner, whether that is physical, mental, verbal or emotional abuse. At this point, I should mention that it’s important to realise the severity of any form of abuse. It could lead to psychological damage being embedded in an individual which in turn makes positive change difficult.

It could be that your partner is cheating on you, or that your spouse has left Islam, or just the simple fact that you both do not get along anymore. Whatever the reason behind the divorce, never forget thatAllah subhanahu wa ta'ala never leaves you and it is He who will bring you ease after hardship. 

I personally find that in all situations that we perceive as a calamity, there is always wisdom behind it. Throughout this difficult period, it is absolutely vital for you to always be conscious of the fact that Allah subhanahu wa ta'ala tests those whom He loves, and that you should never lose hope in His Mercy.

Divorcing can be painful but it is one of many tests we may face in this life. During my experience, I have learnt a few things that I want to share with you to overcome this trial.

1. Hold on to your salah

Salah is the primary step to healing one’s self. I am a mother so I completely sympathise with mothers who are unable to pray their salah on time, but during this time of difficulty, you need your sujood! During a divorce, not only do you become consumed by all of your responsibilities, especially when there are children, but your emotions can paralyse you.

This is the time to reconnect with Allah subhanahu wa ta'ala in solitude and to release stress by speaking to Allah and asking Him for help. Allah subhanahu wa ta'ala commands us:

“O you who believe seek help through patience and prayer. Indeed, Allah is with those who are patient.” [Qur’an: Chapter 2, Verse 153]

2. Look for happiness in the mundane

During a divorce, it is very easy to let all the negatives be at the forefront of your mind rather than all of the blessings that Allah subhanahu wa ta'ala has given you. This is a dangerous mentality to have that can depress you. So whenever the hardships in life consume you, remember this ayah that Allah subhanahu wa ta'ala revealed to the people of Musa (may Allah be pleased with him) when they were being persecuted:

“If you are grateful, I will surely increase you [in favor].” [Qur’an: Chapter 4, Verse 7]

Take a moment to reflect on what you have to be thankful for. This could be a supportive family, children who smile, or even something as basic as having a hot coffee in the morning, or the fact that you get to wake up in the mornings and have functioning limbs…

We forget that even the simple things in life are blessings. Allah subhanahu wa ta'ala reminds us 33 times in Surat ArRahman:

“So which of your Lords favours will you deny?” [Qur’an: Chapter 55, Verse 13]

3. Take up a hobby

Find a way to occupy your time so that you do not become consumed by your emotions.

For me, a friend encouraged and pushed me to take up memorizingthe Qur’an. This honestly helped me in more ways than I could imagine. Not only did it help me develop my relationship with Allah subhanahu wa ta'ala, but it also pushed me to take the steps in learning Qur’anic Arabic.

SubhanAllah, words alone can not describe the beauty of learning the Qur’an and the sense of tranquility that encompasses you. The way Allah’s subhanahu wa ta'ala words can humble you in seconds and put you at ease, or how some verses correct your affairs through obedience to Him.

Alongside my memorization, I also started to take steps towards a healthcare profession, alhamdulillah,and I am still currently pursuing it. Give yourself something to strive for, and give your time a purpose with an achievable goal. Even if it just for an hour or two a day, if you take your mind away from the stresses of divorce, it will really benefit you spiritually and mentally.

4. Control your tongue

Divorcing with children is not the easiest of things to deal with while remaining patient. It is so important to control your tongue and not letshaytan allow you lose your composure, not only as a mother or father, but also as a person who fears Allah suhanahu wa ta'ala . There may be times when you are angry, but in this situation, your words can be like a sword andsuch words uttered in this state may not be forgivable or forgotten. The Prophet (peace be upon him) said:

“He who believes in Allah and the Last Day must either speak good or remain silent.” [Sahih Muslim].

Sometimes you are angry, you don’t want to forgive. You are hurt, and you feel violated. Divorce is hard. Especially when it drags on back and forth and there is animosity between the spouses, but it is for this reason that you need to be extra cautious of the words you utter. This is a time where shaytan knows you can accumulate sins by letting your emotions take control. So, don’t let him win.

5. Seek help

Talk to someone, a friend or a therapist and seek emotional support for internalizing your emotions. I was fortunate enough to have a very supportive family with me, however if you are a victim of abuse, then it is important to seek professional help.

Isolation may be okay for a short period of time when you are internalizing what has happened, but for long periods of time this could be detrimental to your deen and this is what shaytan loves. Surround yourself with people who remind you of Allah subhanahu wa ta'ala, and encourage you to seek knowledge so that your relationship with Allah subhanahu wa ta'ala strengthens.

6. Know that it gets better

This brings me to my final, and possibly, my most important point. Who can honestly say  alhamdulillahand sincerely mean it when Allah subhanahu wa ta'ala has decreed a hardship for them? The majority of us struggle with accepting the last pillar of faith: qadar.

How many times do we ask: “why did this happen to me? What did I do to deserve this? If I could go back, I would have done things differently!”

In this situation, we need to put our trust in Allah subhanahu wa ta'ala and with no doubt in our hearts know that Allah subhanahu wa ta'ala has decreed what is best, and whether we see the wisdom behind it in this dunyaor in the akhirah is up to Allah subhanahu wa ta'ala. Allah subhanahu wa ta'ala only tests those He loves and these tests are designed to strengthen you and prepare you for what’s ahead.

One of the mothers of the believers, Ramlah bint Abi Sufyan (Umm Habiba), upon emigrating to Abyssinia, her husband had left Islam and became Christian. When faced between remaining with him or choosing Allah subhanahu wa ta'ala, she chose Allah subhanahu wa ta'ala. Her husband died shortly after from consuming too much alcohol. Being in a foreign country without family meant that she wasn’t left with many options, and so she decided to put her complete trust in Allah subhanahu wa ta'ala and live her life for His sake.SubhanAllah, Allah subhanahu wa ta'ala then replaced her husband with the greatest man to walk this earth. She married the beloved Prophet Muhammad (peace be upon him).

Divorce is not the end, nor is it something that tarnishes a person or diminishes their worth. Sometimes relationships do not work out and it is important to remember that when you die, you die alone. When you meet Allah subhanahu wa ta'ala, you meet Him alone. It can be heartbreaking to lose the person you thought you would spend the rest of your life with, but no matter what happens, you will never lose Allah subhanahu wa ta'ala. He will always be there for you. Don’t let a divorce have permanent negative effects on you, use this calamity as a catalyst to get closer to Allah subhanahu wa ta'ala and I promise, just like I did, you will come out a stronger person."

- Iman Umm Samara

“Being divorced is not the end of the world. It could be the biggest blessing & lead to something much better, bringing about much goodness. Many people have found more compatible spouses & are leading happier lives. There is no point in holding grudges or becoming depressed over a marriage that did not work. Make an effort to look for a more appropriate spouse & the Almighty will open the doors!"

-Mufti Ismail Menk

"Dear fathers, there is no dishonour for you if your child return backs to you if things didn't work out and it ended in divorce.

Rasūlullāh ﷺ took back two of his daughters after they were unjustly divorced - and he showered them with even more love, honour, and affection. That is the essence of manhood."

Shaykh Mohammed Aslam

"To all those individuals going through relationship problems, separation, divorce, don’t despair! Live in faith. What may seem like a series of unfortunate events may be the first steps to an amazing journey"

-Qasim Rafique

You are in my prayers. May Allah subhanahu wa ta'ala make things easier for you.

Allahumma Ameen

[insideanairport]

Frederick Douglass’s Autobiographies

❍❍❍

The first part of the book is about his upbringing during slavery. (1) Prior to his escape, he attempted to run away many times which resulted in severe punishments. In the book, he places the reader in the psychological condition of slavery and the brutality of white people towards the black folks. In part one, around chapter twelve, he talks about the story of his escape. It was common at that time for white people to encourage slaves to escape only to go after them to send them back to slavery to make a profit. Sometimes the wealthier slave owners would go around the country and ask the slaves if they were content with their life just to find out who is complaining about their masters. 

There is an instance in the book where Frederick Douglass was on the verge of being captured. He describes for the reader (assuming white readers) that as a fugitive slave when they were returned to slavery it would make the conditions worse not only for the person who was attempting to scape but also for the rest of the black folks. Similar to military punishment in concentration camps, the white masters would make the conditions harsher for everyone rather than just the individual escaping. That would result in harsher treatments not only by the masters but also by all other folks on the plantation.

The second half of the "Life and Times” which is the bulk of the autobiography, focuses on his political activism and socio-political conditions of his time, not just in the United States but also in other countries where he had visited. He often goes in-depth to give details about his meetings with people such as John Brown, Abraham Lincoln, William Lloyd Garrison, and Harriet Beecher Stowe. Although the majority of his writings are focused on the horrors of slavery and brutality of white folks in the South, there are few instances in which we hear about racism in the North. He mentions that it was common in the North for white folks to read his newspaper and automatically assume that he’s white or there is a white person behind his success. The bloody draft riots of July 1863 is another historical example of racist brutality in the North, where for three days in New York white mob killed black people for no reason other than them being black. 

One of my favorites parts of the book is the chapter on John Brown. He talks about some other radicals such as Samuel R. Ward and the “Free Soil Party”. Douglass was impressed by Ward’s brilliance in speech. He also admired the bravery of John Brown and his men among which there have been many black folks. (2) On page 755, he talks about Brown creating a constitution for his men to avoid anarchy, and he also hid information from them for the sake of security of his missions. Another great account of John Brown's militancy was given by W.E.B. Du Bois in a book with the same title published in 1909. Douglass also criticizes the bible scholars of the south, many of whom tried to justify slavery using anecdotes from the bible. 

“In this the preachers were not much behind the press and the politicians, especially that class of preachers known as Doctors of Divinity. A long list of these came forward with their Bibles to show that neither Christ nor his holy apostles objected to returning fugitives to slavery. Now that that evil day is past, a sight of those sermons would, I doubt not, bring the red blush of shame to the cheeks of many.”

In chapter 9, he talks about the newly arrived immigrants that their hunger and light skin prioritizes them against the interests of the black people. In the same chapter, Douglass describes the "nameless and shapeless ‘party' of slavery”. An invisible party that white people from different geographies and socio-political status are believing in. 

“Every hour sees us elbowed out of some employment to make room for some newly-arrived emigrant from the Emerald Isle, whose hunger and color entitle him to special favor.”

Later towards the end of the book, he elucidates the importance of “slave narrative” for the struggle to freedom. Douglass’s mission was to tell the story of black folks. And he mentions that philosophy and theology have come to aid the master’s story. Reading Douglass, it might appear that he’s simply praising Lincoln (especially in the appendix), however, with further excavation we can see that his criticism of whiteness is been planted in his writings with an extremely subtle tone. 

“My part has been to tell the story of the slave. The story of the master never wanted for narrators. The masters, to tell their story, had at call all the talent and genius that wealth could command. They have had their full day in court. Literature, theology, philosophy, law, and learning have come willingly to their service, and, if condemned, they have not been condemned unheard.”

The Importance of Douglass For the New Generation of PoC Immigrants

Reading these historical texts is necessary for our new generation of POC in the West where the myth persists that Western democracy gradually fixes itself throughout its lifetime [audience laughter]. The first page of this book is better than the whole history of Western Philosophy. Reading these accounts of slavery and racism proves that social change under these seemingly democratic and equal societies only can be achieved when the white majority along with the forces of capital don’t have any other choice but to grant certain limited freedoms to the people. And that only gets achieved after a series of systematic state-sponsored terrors and tortures. At the lecture during the release of his book “The Water Dancer”, Ta-Nehisi Coates in conversation with Dr. Charles Johnson talks about the fact that Slavery is not ended in the United States and simply has changed form. 

“Liberty came to the freedmen of the United States not in mercy, but in wrath – not by moral choice but by military necessity – not by the generous action of the people among whom they were to live, and whose good will was essential to the success of the measure, but by strangers, foreigners, invaders, trespassers, aliens, and enemies.”

BLM protest: Now Frederick Douglas replaces Tubman, beneath: “Power concedes nothing without a demand. It never did, and it never will.” ZACH JOACHIM/TIMES-DISPATCH

Douglass has been hijacked by white folks from left and right. The right-wing people regard him as a minor republican hero that symbolizes the end of slavery and complete freedom of all races in America (as if we are there). They see Lincoln as the wise republican president who generously granted the freedom to Black folks. We can point to the recent speech by Ted Cruz on the destruction of colonial statues as well as the racist Spielberg movie “Lincoln (2012)” as evidence of these types of right-wing mentality. From the center democrats, which at the time of Douglass where the major force behind the continuation of slavery, we hear the common myths about his involvement with GOP. The white liberals always try to further elucidate the difference between 1850′s democrats to today's democrats. (3) A quick search on Medium (or any other platform), shows that most people who write about Douglass are actually white liberals. Although white people like to keep talking about classical Bipoc activists, they are also very good at discarding the current Bipoc activists and organizers. Most books published on Douglass are by white experts. From John Stauffer (professor of African American Studies at Harvard) who talks about unrelated things such as how many times Douglass was photographed to David W. Blight (professor of African American Studies at Yale).

Even in the contemporary art scene (same as the current political scene), Douglass is a safe bet by the centrist white people. Good examples of this can be seen in the last year's exhibition: “Frederick Douglass: Embers of Freedom” by SCAD Museum of Art and Barack and Michelle Obama’s production company (Higher Ground Productions) that is planning a film based on David W. Blight’s biography of Douglass.

Joseph Douglass playing violin for his grandfather Frederick Douglass

It seems like Douglass was a radical political activist, but in fact, his methodology was pretty much mainstream and conventional with today’s standards. He was a great speaker and orator, very eloquent in using words and creating sentences both in writing and speech. His ability to move average citizens was beyond impressive. The fact that made him radical at the time might have been his position as a black man within the all-white governmental machinery of the United Stets of America. *Before reading the book*, I thought to myself that Douglass was a radical activist. However, *after finishing the book*, I realized that politically he was a centrist who talked about the horrors of slavery. The direct criticism of white-supremacy, white civilization, Manifest Destiny, and colonialism did not make itself to the forefront of his activism. Probably, due to the constraints of his time, and the existence of the American civil war, Douglass took a centrist abolitionist position rather than a militant one.

“What is true in this respect of individual men is equally true of nations. Both impart good or ill to their age and generation. But putting aside this consideration, so worthy of thought, we have special reasons for claiming the first of August as the birthday of Negro emancipation, not only in the West Indies, but in the United States. Spite of our national independence, a common language, a common literature, a common history, and a common civilization makes us and keeps us still a part of the British nation, if not a part of the British Empire. England can take no step forward in the pathway of a higher civilization without drawing us in the same direction. She is still the mother country, and the mother, too, of our abolition movement. Though her emancipation came in peace, and ours in war – though hers cost treasure, and ours blood – though hers was the result of a sacred preference, and ours resulted in part from necessity – the motive and mainspring of the respective measures were the same in both."

Bib

1. Douglass, Frederick and Louis Gates, Henry Jr. . Douglass: Autobiographies. s.l. : Library of America, 1996. 2. Boyd, Herb. Five Black men who rode with John Brown. amsterdamnews. [Online] 10 17, 2013. http://amsterdamnews.com/news/2013/oct/17/five-black-men-who-rode-john-brown/. 3. Jr., Henry Louis Gates and Stauffer, John. Five myths about Frederick Douglass. Washington Post. [Online] February 10, 2017. https://www.washingtonpost.com/opinions/five-myths-about-frederick-douglass/2017/02/10/0aaeb592-ea3b-11e6-bf6f-301b6b443624_story.html.

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[mermaidsirennikita]

August 2019 Reading Wrap-up

Easily the highlight of my reading month was Leigh Bardugo’s King of Scars, AKA “My Monster Boyfriend: THE NOVEL”, but it was overall a decent month for me.  In terms of being engrossed, I would say that Erin Ferencik’s Into the Jungle, a classic survival thriller, was probably the other major standout.  Excited about fall reading this year!

Cocoa Beach by Beatriz Williams.  2/5.  Virginia arrives in Cocoa Beach with her small daughter to collect upon her dead husband’s estate.  The issue?  Virginia and Simon were estranged.  After meeting Simon and embarking on a whirlwind romance against the battlefields of World War I, Virginia discovered that he was not what she thought, and is now confronted with the realities of her husband’s life--and his death in a fire, which she does not believe was all it seemed...  I never connected with Williams’s style in the book.  She’s obviously talented, and I’m not against trying a different book of hers, but--much of the novel is flashbacks to Simon and Virginia’s romance, and I think you need to buy into Simon in order to enjoy the novel.  I did not.

King of Scars by Leigh Bardugo.  5/5.  In a follow-up to Bardugo’s Shadow and Bone trilogy, Nikola, now King of Ravka, is hiding a terrible secret from his people.  Still struggling with demons both personal and literal, he hunts for a cure alongside Zoya, his adviser, while attempting to strengthen a nation weakened by war, and quell a continuing fascination among the people with the Darkling.  I can’t say much more without spoiling two different series--as a main character from the Six of Crows duology is also a POV character here--but this was SO GOOD.  I feel like I might have liked it more than anything else Bardugo has done?  Though I did love Six of Crows so much.  I feel like she’s grown a lot as a writer since the Shadow and Bone trilogy, which was honestly just okay for me--but how much of that was just me not connecting with Alina?  Here we visit Ravka again, but with more compelling characters.  And I adored it.  Nikolai and Zoya’s side of the story is my favorite, and I need those two just MAKE IT FUCKING WORK.  Can’t wait for the next book.  And yes, I loved the ending.

The Bronze Horseman by Paullina Simons.  3/5.  As World War II looms, young Tatiana lives in Leningrad with her family. In a chance meeting, she encounters Alexander--a Soviet soldier with a mysterious past--and they immediately connect, only for her to discover that he is already seeing her older sister.  Once the war starts, however, Tatiana and Alexander are plunged into the realities of fighting for their lives, and while also holding back their true feelings for each other.  I read this years ago and gave it 4 stars; I had to dial it back a bit here.  The tension between Tatiana and Alexander is great, and I respect the way Simons portrays the horrors of war from a Soviet perspective.  But the book hasn’t aged super well, not only in terms of Alexander and Tatiana being a bit cipher-y, but the very... odd way that the Russian perspective is handled.  Simons emigrated to the States, but did so as a young teen from what I can tell.  Obviously, for reasons her family can attest to.  But I felt like I was getting a very... anti-Russian Russian perspective?  And it overwhelmed the emotional aspects of the story.  Plus, it was just too long for what was essentially, overall, a romance novel.

Scandals of Classic Hollywood by Anne Helen Petersen.  3/5.  Anne Helen Petersen takes on scandals from the beginnings of Hollywood the the 1960s, examining what happened and how the stars--and the systems backing them--dealt with the public fallout.  That’s pretty much it.  This is a collection of essays, really, and while I appreciate the work Petersen put into it and the shrewd observations she makes, I would have liked a BIT more detail on the scandals themselves, versus what they meant on a larger scale.

The Whisper Network by Chandler Baker.  4/5.  Attorneys at a high-powered at TruViv, Inc., Sloan, Ardie, and Grace have forged a friendship and alliance, of sorts.  Then TruViv’s CEO dies--leaving the position open for Ames Garrett, their boss, to take.  Sloan has her own personal issues with Ames, stemming from a years-old affair that he never fully forgave her for ending; but the women’s concerns hit a fever pitch when Catherine, a new hire, reveals that Ames harassed her.  As the lawyers’ paths cross with that of Rosalita, a member of the cleaning staff, the consequences are not just high stakes, but deadly.  I listened to this on Audible, and I’ll admit that my enjoyment was somewhat affected by the fact that the narrator had the most put-on Texas accent for Sloan on the face of the Earth, and I wasn’t... 100% sure about what she was doing for Rosalita either.  But the novel is not only timely but exciting.  Ames isn’t a cartoonish figure.  Nor are the women saints.  Sloan in particular can be borderline insufferable, but in a way that I found realistic for a privileged, high-powered white woman.  Do I think Baker could have called out that aspect better, especially since Rosalita, a POV character, isn’t white or rich?  Yes.  And towards the end, there was one reveal that seemed tacked on just for the sake of symmetry.  But then there was that OTHER reveal............. and that, I loved.  It’s a bit of a mixed bag of a book, but entertaining and timely.

Into the Jungle by Erin Ferencik.  4/5.  Nineteen-year-old Lily has lived in foster homes for all of her life.  In an effort to make a new start, she moves to Bolivia for a teaching job that ends up being a scam, and finds herself working at a run-down hotel. That’s when she meets Omar, a Bolivian man, and is swept off her feet. When Omar receives news that his nephew was killed by a jaguar, his compelled to return to his home of Ayachero, a village deep within the Bolivian jungle.  Despite his warnings, Lily follows him, only to find herself not only completely out of her depth culturally, but at the mercy of the jungle and all that comes with it.  This book had fucking atmosphere.  I felt all of it.  The romance, the terror, the increasing danger of the jungle.  It was kind of a classic woman vs. nature novel.  It’s probably one of my favorite books of the year--but I’m held back from rating it higher because it was written by a white woman, and most of the characters are native Bolivians and I tend to wonder about how accurate or fair the portrayal of that culture is.  I just felt uncomfortable at some points--but I can’t say if that was justified or not.  I would recommend it as a thriller, of sorts, but not in a traditional sense.  It’s certainly compelling.

Year One by Norah Roberts.  2/5.  After the chance killing of a bird, a pandemic begins to spread throughout the word, killing off billions of people in a matter of weeks.  Those that are left to survive do so in a perilous environment, with the Uncanny--people with magical abilities--targeted in some areas while rising up in others.  Lana, a witch, traveled with her lover Max in an effort to find a safe place, alongside others who are Immune from the Doom--only to find that she’s a much greater part of the world’s fate than she would have though.  The beginning of this book was great.  Then the urban fantasy elements set in.  I love urban fantasy, but the introduction of fairies and elves didn’t work well here.

How to Walk Away by Katherine Center.  4/5.  On the day that she gets engaged to her boyfriend, Chip, Margaret is injured in an accident that will change her life forever.  Waking up in the hospital with third degree burns and having lost her ability to walk, her relationships with her partner and her family are immediately altered, and she struggles to see what the future could hold.  At the same time, she’s partnered with Ian, a brusque and demanding physical therapist--who ends up bringing even more questions. As Margaret seeks a new identity, she discovers support where she would have least expected it.  This is a fluffy romcom of a book, while dealing with a serious issue--and though this is being compared to be Me Before You, I tend to think it handles that issue in a much healthier way.  The book certainly benefits from being from the perspective of the disabled person, versus a caregiver.  On the flipside, I do think that it suffered somewhat in the romantic department, which could probably be critiqued better by someone who has been in a wheelchair; part of me felt like, had there been less fluff and more physicality, I would have been more invested.  But while it doesn’t reinvent the wheel, this is a nice story if you’re looking for something light and quick without sacrificing emotion.

Catherine the Great by Robert K. Massie.  4/5.  A biography on Catherine the Great, attempting to tackle her as a woman.  I don’t know what else to say.  It was good?  Nothing super in depth, doesn’t bring anything particularly NEW to the table from what I’ve read, but it seems like a good primer.

[fasterthanmydemons]

About the Muse

[CAUTION: NOT SPOILER FREE FOR ANY MOVIES!]

{ Basic Stats and Family }

Name: Pietro Maximoff

Avengers Alias: Quicksilver

Age: My starting age for Pietro during Captain America: The Winter Soldier is 17, for Avengers: Age of Ultron is 17-18, depending on the kind of thread we’re doing. If he’s saved from death at the end of Ultron, he turns 18 shortly after that. If he’s brought back by Clint during the time travel test in an Endgame verse, I will probably just make him 18. Age is somewhat flexible, though, it’s not set in stone. Please be advised though that in most verses the twins are still minors during their Hydra experimentation, and although I will not write that out in detail in threads, I do refer to it (or he does, rather, heh) as part of his past, so if that bothers you, we can age Pietro up a little or best not to interact.

Birth Mother: Magda Eisenhardt (deceased)

Birth Father: Max Eisenhardt/Magneto (Yes, I’m ignoring the retcon in the comics that stomped all over this, heh.)

Adoptive Parents: Django and Marya Maximoff (deceased) are the only parents the twins have ever known.

Siblings: Fraternal twin sister, Wanda Maximoff/Scarlet Witch

Languages: Romani dialect (native tongue); Transian and Sokovian (learned as a young child); English, French, and German (taught to him at the Hydra facility)

Romantic Orientation: demi-heteroromantic

Sexual Orientation: demi-heterosexual

{ Background }

Trigger warnings: sexual assault, child harm, child death, suicidal thoughts

(Basically, what I have done with Pietro is flesh out his background a little better than the films did, borrowing from certain parts of his background in the comics and melding it together with the movie verse. So neither the comic- nor movie-verse is 100% canon for him, but most of the changes and merges of the two are in his background before the movies. I will be counting the majority of what happens in the movies as canon for him. Below I have detailed his background story and general headcanons about his life, mental health, and some events of the movies as I will be using them on this blog. This does not mean all of this is set in stone, however, it is just what I will be working from as a starting point as I write him unless otherwise specified in rps. Some of this could be changed or truncated depending on verse and starter situation.)

Pietro and his twin sister Wanda were adopted as infants by Django and Marya Maximoff, never knowing any different but that the Maximoffs were their real parents. From a young age, Pietro always had a lot of excess energy, had a short attention span, had difficulty concentrating on anything for too long, and found it hard to sit or lie down for long amounts of time. He got by on much less sleep than Wanda, and even then, he would wake up several times a night and often be very restless. He could also run very fast, outrunning all of the other children in his village as a boy. He was fast, agile, and had impeccable balance. So even before the experiments, Pietro had a genetic tendency toward these abilities. This is due to him actually being a mutant, the son of Magneto, although he never knew this.

When the twins were little, the family lived in Transia, but an incident with Wanda forced them to emigrate elsewhere, to Sokovia. Their family was Roma, also known as the Romani people, an Indo-Aryan ethnicity, so they already faced prejudice for that reason, but when Wanda’s budding abilities as a mutant as a young child became known, that only made her family greater targets for hatred. The incident that caused it was very traumatic for Wanda. When she was six years old, she was molested by a boy her age. Her fear and anger caused her to release this force inside her, the same one that allowed her to move objects with her mind. It pushed the boy away from her and, still not done with him, she cursed him for what he had done, telling him he would die for it. The next day, the boy was run over by a wagon and killed. Because the boy had told his parents about Wanda’s curse and then it had come true, she was labeled a witch, and to protect her, the family left Transia and eventually settled in Sokovia.

This incident, aside from causing his family to have to move, deeply affected Pietro in a negative way. Until that point, he had loved his sister and spent time with her and regarded her as someone very close to him because they were twins. It was a carefree sort of thing. But after she was assaulted, he felt that he had failed her as a brother. Brothers (especially older brothers, even if only by 12 minutes), should always protect their sisters, he felt. This incident is the root of Pietro’s intense desire to protect his sister as all costs. It is driven partly by guilt for not having been there to stop the assault when she was little, and partly by the desire to never allow anything like that to happen to her again.

At the age of ten, there was an attack that resulted in the deaths of Wanda and Pietro’s parents. For two days the twins were trapped under rubble, staring at a bomb that thankfully was a dud, but the children hadn’t known that. The name “Stark” was printed on it, causing the twins to develop a hatred for America and one of its foremost security and weapons inventors. They survived the event, but it left them feeling angry and helpless. So when Hydra began recruiting for a research project that the deceptive organization said was to help empower the citizens of Sokovia, the now orphaned and homeless twins jumped at the chance.

For eight years, Pietro and Wanda were kept at Hydra’s facility, mostly residing in their individual rooms, but having supervised time together. They were put through many evaluations, tests, and training sessions designed to detail the effects of the experiments involving Loki’s scepter on them. Of the many children selected for the experiments, Wanda and Pietro had been the only willing participants, and the only ones to survive. I headcanon that this was because only someone of mutant blood could withstand the power contained in the scepter. The experiments were at times frightening and even painful, but the twins could see the results manifesting as time went on. For Pietro, it meant that his naturally high energy, speed, agility, etc. were enhanced to a superhuman degree. In addition he experiences an actual overhaul of his metabolism to be very fast and efficient, gained an apparent immunity to friction as he moves, gained the abilities to heal at a faster rate than normal humans and to create and utilize a slipstream. The slipstream is basically a molecular disturbance in the air that results from him reaching a certain speed when he runs. It creates a wind effect and even a vacuum effect at times behind him, causing objects and even people or animals to be dragged in the direction he’s running sometimes. He is also exceptionally strong, can lift much more than the average human, and his punches can crack rock and dent steel (or Ultron’s bots, heh) if he gets a good enough running start.

The experiments enhanced the twins’ already partially-existent powers and brought out whatever was latent within them, but that wasn’t all they enhanced. As the experiments progressed, the twins’ ability to feel things about the other became more intense and pointed. Sometimes, they could communicate telepathically as well, although it was more of a passive thing than something they could employ at will. In addition to having telekinesis and other matter-altering powers, Wanda also has the ability to be extremely empathetic, sometimes whether she wished to or not. She sometimes would feel the emotions of others around her so strongly that it would affect her own. Over the years, she learned to tune out what was not hers, although she could not stop herself from passively experiencing it. She could enter people’s minds, something she discovered by accident one day when she became angry with one of the scientists at the facility. She was able to not only see inside his mind, but to induce a dreamlike state in which the man experienced his darkest fears. This reality of her own creation that drew from the man’s own psyche was something she also witnessed, and combined with her heightened empathy, it frightened her. But after that first time, it became a weapon of hers, and something she did not allow to frighten her or make her sad if she deemed the person deserving of it. Wanda to this day carries guilt over what she did to the Avengers in the Hydra facility, knowing that they did not deserve the nightmares she manifested in their minds.

When the Avengers came to Sokovia, the twins were told that they were being attacked and encouraged to help defend it. Thinking they were being loyal to Hydra, whose true nature they didn’t know, they did their best to defend the facility. Later, they joined Ultron, but that fell apart once Wanda saw the computer’s intentions and realized it didn’t want to make the world a better place, it wanted to help destroy it. She decided to aid the Avengers, despite her hatred of Tony Stark, and Pietro followed suit. Pietro warmed up to the other Avengers aside from Stark rather quickly once he saw what they were trying to do for the people of Sokovia. That’s all that he and Wanda ever wanted was to protect children so they wouldn’t have to go through what they did and to protect people in war-torn countries who were often killed as collateral damage during conflicts. Once he saw the Avengers were on the same page as him and Wanda, he got excited about it. He wanted to join them and have their collective power behind him and his sister to do good for the world. Sadly, in the movie canon, he never got the chance, but he did give his life for Clint and an innocent Sokovian boy, which was a very honorable and heroic death that any Avenger would have been proud of.