#james - his mom being indian and his skin color

[thefloatingwriter]

James and Barty were each other’s first crushes, and only Peter knew.

James nor Barty even noticed the way they acted around each other. But Peter did.

He saw the way James unconsciously ran a hand through his unkept hair when Barty approached. He saw Barty arranging himself “cooler” (e.g. leaning against a wall, etc) when he noticed James.

Peter never got to tell either of them.

He found it funny at first. But after the two of them started at Hogwarts and started, slowly, unconsciously, growing apart. Peter didn’t know what would help. If anything would help.

He kept it under lock and key. He never said anything.

He talked to Barty even after James severed ties with him. Just because James was one of his best mates didn’t mean he had to do everything he did.

Sometimes, he wondered what would happen if he had told them. If that would make them grow together once again, or if he would just make the space between them worse.

Peter thought of both of them as he died, his silver hand tightening on his throat as James’ face floated across his mind.

He didn’t deserve to think of him, and he tried to push it away. But after a brief fight with his own mind, he gave himself the tiniest bit of mercy. He was dying. Might as well think of all of his life regrets with the last seconds of his being.

Thinking of Barty hurt less. Barty had made his choice. It was the wrong choice, yes, but it wasn’t Peter’s fault. That disgusted him to think about, but so did the majority of his thoughts these days.

Only one thought came to the forefront of his mind.

He never got to tell them.

They would never know.

[sweeethinny]

Prompt idea I guess? Dad harry (I love him too) with toddler albus? Maybe a Sunday dinner at the burrow and Albus gets upset because everyone’s a redhead except for him? It’s very silly I know but I just love dad harry with small kids and I can’t really come up with anything better (it could be a skin colour thing too but I don’t know if you view Harry as Indian in your hp universe so yeah really whatever you want!)

Love your fics and your art!!♥️♥️

hi anon, thank you so much for this prompt <3 I never thought of Harry as Indian, but it's very interesting, and I chose to make them talk about hair because... it's very easy to fall into super serious talk about race and color and a lot of stuff I don't feel very comfortable writing

I hope you don't mind and like little Albus wanting to understand what DNA is <3

'Everyone is red but me.' Albus says, sitting on Harry's leg as he watches the Weasleys mess around the Burrow's backyard, he's been clinging to his father since he arrived, and Harry blames the fact that for the first time in a long time Ginny had to travel, and Albus looks a little desolate for not having his mommy this week.

"I'm not a redhead," he pointed out, running his hands through Albus' hair, far more tamed than James' or Harry's own. Albus had inherited a lot from Ginny, unlike James or Harry, people told him 'you are just like your mother, but you have your dad’s eyes’'.

'Yea'. Albus looked at him, the green eyes looking curiously studying him, as little hands caressed his face with an adorable delicacy. 'Why?'

"Why am I not a redhead?" Albus nodded. ‘Genetics. I inherited my father's hair, just as you inherited my hair color and your grandfather's.’ Harry smiled, thinking that explaining to a five-year-old boy about genetics was something he never thought to do.

‘And why does mom say my hair is easier than yours? If our hairs are the same ' Albus barely blinked, his why phase barely started, but he already seemed ready to venture into it.

'Because when we talk about the hair shape, you inherited your mother's, which is straight, while I inherited my father's wavy curl, just as James inherited too.' Harry said, and the boy nodded, turning back to the backyard.

"Why didn't Mom make me have her red hair?"

"Because we didn't choose this, son." Harry shifted in his chair, Albus wasn't small anymore to be on his lap, but he wasn't denying that request just because his old thighs ached after a while with him there.

"Then who chooses?" Albus looked at him, and it was almost like having a mini Ginny in front of him, but with black hair. That bossy way of being, and those steady eyes that looked for answers.

Harry thought Al could cause more trouble than James and Lily combined, the quiet ones were the worst. 'Hm… your body. It's a little complex for me to explain, but there's something inside you called DNA, and when you were inside your mother's belly, there were several strands of DNA being formed with our genes for every little thing inside you… your hair, the color of it, whether it would be straight or wavy, your nose, your eyes, whether or not you would have a vision problem… Everything is defined by DNA.'

"Okay, but who- who defines this?" Albus raised his eyebrows, looking annoyed that his father couldn't give a concrete answer to what he was waiting for.

'No one, my love, builds itself'. Harry chuckled, failing to remain serious. But Albus didn't seem happy.

“How does this form?” He crossed his little arms in front of his chest, which made him more cute.

"I can't explain it to you my love, you'll have to ask Aunt Mione to explain it to you." Albus nodded, turning back to the garden, and Harry bet all his money that he was looking for Hermione. “She's in the kitchen,” he whispered, to help him.

'Thanks.' And as if he were much older than five, Albus jumped off Harry's lap and marched into the house, wearing his petrol blue jumpsuit and striped blouse, his sneakers removed, however much Harry had tried to prevent.

He chuckled to himself, reaching for the glass of soda on the table and watching Lily try to convince Teddy to play with her - and she seemed to be almost succeeding - while James rocked himself loud and fast on the swing Arthur had set up in the backyard. Looking at the house, he saw Hermione and Albus walking out hand in hand, she was saying something to him, soon kneeling down in front of him and seeming to explain something else.

His questions were endless.

Harry smiled, getting up and heading towards James before he fell backwards off the swing, which was now going higher and faster, keeping an eye out for Lily trying to convince Teddy to be her prince.

[p---leia]

Ancient Writer of dreams and nightmares: I am 71 (-one month), and have been writing (making up tales) since I was three. I can still remember my Pawpaw whittling a pencil for me, and Mawmaw tearing a piece of brown grocery bag for me to write on. They weren't 'poor', but writing paper wasn't to be wasted on a 'kid' just for fun. I carefully scripted my first short story.

Of course my 'letters' looked more like ancient Hanguel, so I had to read it to my "captured" audience. I really don't remember the story, but as my grandparents had a yard full of chickens and my dog, Mutt, liked to chase them (because of this we 'both' got into trouble -- because I always joined the chase) I most probably wrote about that.

My Pawpaw was a story-teller. For several years I thought there really was a baby found in the wilds of the African jungle and raised by the great apes. I thought he was the luckiest babe, EVER!

Then I found Pawpaw's books about three years after he died. I was eleven when he died, and felt that my best friend had abandoned me. But when I found those books I realized just where Tarzan actually came from and went to. I read everyone of those books and got the complete picture. THEN..

Well, Pawpaw also told stories of Daniel Boone and Davey Crocket...before I saw them on Disney. Then, of course, I went to school and learned what I already knew. Pawpaw was an excellent story-teller and never mixed up his facts, time-lines, or characters.

Growing up under his influence had a lot to do with how I developed as a story-teller. At family gatherings when I meet cousins I haven't seen in decades, they STILL remember me and the stories that I used to tell them. My children and grandchildren have grown up with me re-telling Pawpaw's old stories, and sharing many that I made up on the spot.

But I think what I read in my early years developed my writing style.

I was just turned eight when I read my first Shakespeare, MIDSUMMER NIGHT'S DREAM. He was my first favorite author. Then I was forced to read Romeo and Juliet. I was disgusted by the fact that TRAGEDY was made famous as a ROMANCE! Even at the innocent (then) age of fourteen, I was disgusted with the idea that it was considered romantic for 'anyone', let alone 'teenagers' to commit suicide over unrequited love.

My sister (now 68) and I recently discussed this play. Because she had a 'forbidden' teenage love, she said that she related to the story (even though she had never read it). GASP! It was required reading in ninth grade!

I remember our dad breaking up my sister and her boyfriend, who was really cool. He was a hard working farm boy who had saved his money to buy a motorcycle. AND his own car. But he wasn't good enough for my sister. smh

I always thought her story would make a great LifeTime movie. But I'm not touching it. She would 'skin me' for sharing with the world her broken heart. And if I added the stuff that sells today, she'd scalp me for lying. Not a win situation at all. So, I will write notes in my "Random Jottings Journal" for future decendants who might grow into writers or story-tellers.

By the way, the title "RANDOM JOTTINGS" came from a sci-fi book that I read as a kid in the fifties. I don't remember the author, although I'm pretty sure it 'might' be from a Heinlein juvenile book. But I've never found a reference to any sci-fi books using that term. SO!!! If anyone recognizes "RANDOM JOTTINGS", which was a note book that a professor/scientist/genius used to keep his 'thoughts', PLEASE share the author's name and the title of the book!!! Thank You.

In the meantime, I referenced Shakespeare. James Oliver Curwood wrote about Kazan, the Wolf Dog, and later Baree, Son of Kazan. From those two books, read when I was eleven, I searched for and found other books about Canada. Later there was Walter Farley, author of the Black Stallion, and the Island Stallion series. I think I met my FIRST friendly alien in the Island Stallion Races.

Of course, Edgar Rice Burroughs taught me much false history about the jungles of Africa, as well as the Moon and Mars. But I loved every 'read-under-the-covers-with a-flashlight' minute! I believe he was a contemporary of Zane Grey, because he wrote a few non-jungle and non-space stories, too. Which led me to Zane Grey.

Having read both of their biographies at a young age, I learned about the hardships of being a writer. I should say 'the hardships of a struggling writer'. I have never had a problem writing. Since I write for 'fun' and not 'profit', the few short stories I've had published were by local press, and a State magazine.

No, my struggles have centered around graduating high school, and completing college, stuggling to satisfy my husband, a 'Mr. Spock in the Flesh' personality, and later raising two children without benefit of parental support or child support. But we survived in the middle of laughter and many tears. And my made up stories about children lost in the woods who were rescued by a great friendly bear, or wolf. Or dog. And sometimes by a great Black Panther - a by product of one of my Pawpaw's 'local historical tales'.

I understand that publishers detest stories that begin with "It was a dark and stormy night.." But let me tell you, some of the BEST bedtime stories occur on stormy nights when the power has gone out, and it's too hot for candles or lanterns. That shadow that stands darkest in the corner and seems to be moving towards the bed is actually grandma come to check on the kids, and stands quiet so not to disturb the kids if they're already asleep. But since they are awake, and they see her 'shadow', she becomes the old crone who lives in the castle dungeon, and has slipped her chains to visit with the 'wee folk'. But there are no fairies out on such a blustery night, so the old crone comes to visit with the 'wee bairn', who fall all over themselves to get out of bed and sit around her to hear her stories of 'long ago' and other 'dark and stormy nights'. Again -- unpublished, because publishers don't like ... LOL

Of course there's always On-Line publishing. But that involves more work than actual writing.

Back to the writrs who influenced my writing:

While I enjoy a good Western, an adventurous space trek, or time travel, I also enjoy the occasional Historical Romance. Georgette Heyer was my first! I still re-read her amazing books. Of course there's Jane Austen.

There are a myriad of modern writers that I have read over the last five decades. Heinlen, Asimov, Norton, Bradley, McCaffrey, Moon, Stirling, Krentz/Castle/Quick, and Moening, just to name a few of the ones whose books I have in my personal library.

Those older authors did affect my writing style to develope as I read their stories. The later authors helped me to move into the late 20th century. But I'm not so sure that I like the 21st century so much. It's all about being politically 'correct'. If you aren't ashamed of your gender, your race, your country, your religion, your culture, your family, your history, then you are prejudiced. That's just too much guilt to have to live with.

I'm still dealing with my mom's death from ten years ago. I was her care-giver for five years. Her doctor had given her nine months. I still worry if I did enough for her in those last years.

And though my children are grown with their own families, I worry that I wasn't a good enough parent. And I worthy as a grandmother? How was I as an older sister? I was responsible as a moral guide when our parents were at work. Was I a good neighbor? A good support in our Church? And Hollywood wants me to feel guilt about something I can't change?!!

I'm an old woman who still likes being a woman and enjoys liking men. I'm not just white. I'm also mixed with a bit of Native American, and even a drop of -- OMG!!! --- Black. snicker.

That's a serious joke, because as a kid I had a recuring nightmare that I was a black man being judged by a group of people in white hoods I was hanged amidst their fiery torches. I always thought those white hoods represented the Catholic Church, because at that young age I didn't know about the Ku Klux Klan. Even though I grew up in the South, my family was not involved with that group of out-lawrey. Thank God!

Still, I'm supposed to feel shame? For something not even my family supported.

I've always believed there's a hint of Fae in my DNA. Because I love dancing in the light of the full moon, and flying with the owls who perch outside my bedroom window and call to invite me to follow the moon's shadow. If I am part Fae, I know it came from my mother's people. They were Irish mixed with Alabama Indians who believed in the Nunnehi aka Immortal, and the Yunwi Tsunsdi, aka Little People.

ALSO, while there's no DNA proof of ancestry, I've always been a 'closet Chinese'.

In the Fifties, when WW2 was still fresh, and we were involved with the 'Korean Conflict', and at odds with China, I would sneak around the radio, turn down the volume, and tune into 'that wierd channel' that sometimes played Opera, or Chinese music. Ahhh. I would close my eyes and wander through the few visuals I'd found in books, or the occasional movie. (before color tv)

A year or two ago I was totally depressed and disgusted with American TV. Hollywood has become so political, so wierd. Their programming is no longer for entertainment, but to 'educate, enlighten, or to inform'. zzzzz

Then I found KDrama!!!!! Korean TV. Japanese Tv. squeal!!! Chinese TV.

The rom/coms are sweet and 'pure'. Okay. I'm realistic. This is not a reflection of real life on any planet. But the innocence of the early 1950s programs is there. Similar to Disney's 'Summer Magic'. I'm happy with those dramas that remind me of thati nnocence. I have found a few dramas that shared more than I cared for, and I do enjoy an occasional 'romp'. But I've always preferred the Lady and Gentleman characters.

And watching these programs have reminded me of those fairy tales and legends from my childhood that had been sprinkled with the Occasional Oriental myth, legend, and children's tale.

Then I remembered my FIRST historical legend. "The White Stag" by Kate Seredy, is the tale of Atilla the Hun!

I recently found a copy of that book and am waiting for a quiet time, when the power is out and there's nothing to do. Then I will use one of the many flashlights I bought for a huge hurricane, and relax on the sofa beneath an open window and read this legend once again. I live in Florida. The odds of this happening increases as the summer progresses. I can't wait to learn if my memory of this tale of Atilla the Hun remained true, or has been distorted in the last half of a century.

Most of the tales that I write involve space adventures, the occasioanl ghost, and encounters with fairies, the evil ones, not the romantic ideal fairy. smh

I've never been very good with romance or comedy. But thanks to the recent influence of the Asian productions, I have re-formatted one of my dark adventures and turned it into a rom/com.

I love a good joke, but very seldom get the point or see the humor. And I can NEVER remember the punch line if I try to share a joke. My family have said they will write on my tombstone --

"I don't remember the punchline ... but it was funny."

But as I write humorous lines or events I find myself laughing. Or crying at sad events. And I am all 'giggly' when I write what is supposed to be innocent romance between a young and shy couple. But I have never felt that my own reactions were a true guide to how the story might come across to a 'reader'.

As it happens, I have two sisters younger than I am. My middle sister is bored easily and immediately redirects our conversation to something about 'her'. Okay. I understand. She is lonely, needy, and maybe a bit selfish? Not judging. She's the 'middle child' and that's her excuse. ROFL..

But the youngest sister is my greatest fan who declares that I am an awesome writer. "I love you, sister, dear."

So she visited me last week and patiently listened as I read the first chapter. She listened quietly, and I wondered if I had 'read her to sleep'. sigh. Boring books are often the best sleeping pill. Then I heard her laugh.

Squeals/Dancing/hooting/flying around the room in ecstasy!!

Okay! At least one person has laughed. And she's not that easily 'tickled'.

So, I will always carry on and write. But now I feel that at least I might be following a path strewn with "Black-Eyed-Susans, honeybees, butterflies, and bunnies".

I don't know if anyone will read this, or will enjoy it. I hope so. While sharing bits of my youth, my worries, and my concern about certain ones of my 'stories', I actually had ideas for developing 'new' stories.

I am always amazed when writers say they are 'blocked'. I have only to open my eyes to see a world around me that no one else can envision. I listen to a song, and I'm in a different world, time, planet. A gift from Pawpaw, and Mother's DNA.

It is my oldest granddaughter's birthday this month, and I don't know what to give her for her birthday. But when she was younger, she always asked me to tell her a story. I think that I will pull out one of my OLD/ANCIENT tales that I wrote when her dad was her age and make it into a book for her.

p---leia aka Mamma KayeLee

7/19/2020

[viralhottopics]

A morning with ‘adorable deplorables’: why Trump supporters are optimistic

On a bus bound for the inauguration in Washington, backers of the new president explain their views: He isnt putting people down

On the bus, in the morning darkness, Steph and Brandi put on their makeup, using a phone as a mirror.

Stephanie Friess and Brandi Tillman have been friends since high school, and now they were on their way from Wilmington, Delaware, to Washington to celebrate the man who had given them a brand new country.

On election night, Steph stayed up past 3am to see Trumps victory being announced. The next morning, remembering the night before while driving her car, the 24-year-old felt jubilant to be living in Trumps America.

The two women made matching Trump caps blue and black decorated with sequins and the slogan Adorable Deplorable in honor of the inauguration. Hillary Clinton had tried to attack Trump for lifting up the most deplorable among his followers: the racist, sexist, homophobic, xenophobic, Islamaphobic you name it. Trumps followers had proudly reclaimed the term, and now Brandi and Steph bedazzled it.

Two friends on an early bus to Trumps inauguration apply their makeup. Photograph: Lois Beckett for the Guardian

On Saturday, hundreds of thousands of women will be marching in Washington in protest of Trumps presidency in a demonstration called the Womens March.

While large majorities of black and Latina women voted against Trump and for Hillary Clinton, white women didnt. Brandi and Steph are part of the majority: early exit polls showed that 53% of white women voted for Trump, including 45% of women with college degrees.

The two women, both college students, were not entirely convinced by Donald Trump at first. But, Steph said, he definitely grows on you. Both friends say they appreciate Trumps bluntness, his toughness, his lack of greed, and what seems like a genuine love for America.

He wants everyone to be successful, Stephanie said. He isnt putting people down.

Brandi liked Mitt Romney, but he wasnt strong enough, the 25-year-old said. He wasnt empowering us enough. He plays that innocent politician role that all politicians play. Trump doesnt do that.

A cake cant be racist

On the bus to Washington, many of the womens fellow white Trump supporters expressed frustration at constantly being labeled racist. It was a term, some argued, that liberals just threw around whenever they were losing an argument.

A local bakery in Pennsylvania had just produced tiny hat-shaped Make America Great Again cakes in honor of the inauguration, and a short post about the themed cakes on Facebook had sparked a long debate, with some commenters labelling the bakery racist, or saying they would not longer patronize it. Why not a grab em by the p*ssy cake? one commenter asked. Or a deport all immigrants cake?

Laura Ann bought two Make America Great Again cakes. Photograph: Lois Beckett for the Guardian

The bus supporters were indignant. They had won. It was supposed to be a day to celebrate. And yet the news was full of protests and threatened disruption, and even a bakery making an inauguration dessert had somehow become divisive.

A cake cant be racist, Dave DeFries, a longtime Trump supporter from Delaware County, Pennsylvania, said in exasperation.

In the seat behind Brandi and Steph, Laura Ann, 34, who asked that her last name not be used, had bought two of them. She sliced them and handed them out. The cake was moist, the frosting tasting faintly of marshmallow.

Laura Ann had voted for Obama twice. She worked in healthcare, and had wanted the president to fix the health insurance system. He had failed. She was still kicking herself for voting for him. As a gun owner with several AR-15 rifles she found them light and easy to handle as a female shooter she had also been frustrated by the constant attacks on the so-called assault rifle.

Id really like to see [Trump] help the inner cities more, she said. She thought Ben Carson, who grew up in Detroit and went on to become a surgeon, would be a great force in helping urban America.

Eileen, at 46, had cast her first ballot ever for Trump. I want the jobs to come back to America, she said. Her brother, a systems analyst, had lost his job to workers in India and had been forced to personally train the Indian worker who was taking his place, under threat of losing his pension.

Eileen also felt Obama had failed to bring insurance companies in line to bring healthcare costs down. Worried that her high school friends who voted for Clinton would attack her, she asked not to publish her last name.

Many of the supporters said they had never been politically involved before Trump ran for president. Several had voted for Obama at least once. Some of the new activists said they were amazed by the energy of Trumps movement. It doesnt seem like a political environment, Dave Ennis said. It seems like were going to a football game.

Some said that their friends or family were worried that something might happen on inauguration day, that the protests might make DC dangerous. One man mentioned that he had seen a video produced by the conservative provocateur James OKeefe about activists discussing a plan to throw acid on Trump supporters.

Its like, I get it, I get it, slavery was bad. I didnt do it

At the back of the bus, Dave sat opposite his wife and 16 year-old son, Brian, who he called a liberal snowflake. The two of them argued constantly, the father said, especially about Black Lives Matter.

Brian said he believed that the Black Lives Matter protesters and the Boston Tea Party rebels were identical except for their race. Protesters had to be loud to make themselves noticed. His father was more skeptical that black Americans were being unfairly victimized. His own interactions with the police when he was younger had taught him that when people chose a certain lifestyle, the police would target them and there was nothing wrong with that.

Inauguration buttons on sale in Washington DC on Friday. Photograph: Lois Beckett for the Guardian

Brandi and Steph said that felt that racism toward black Americans had been given a disproportionate platform compared with other kinds of racism. They disapproved of Obama supporting the Black Lives Matter movement, which they saw as racist.

Why is it Black Lives Matter, not all lives? Stephanie asked.

I just dont think most cops are out to get black people, Brandi replied.

The media blows a lot of this out of proportion, Stephanie said.

I didnt think its bad that we had a first black president. Thats not bad. Thats great, Brandi opined. But Obama should not have been elected to a second term. I think his color had a lot to do with that.

In school, Brandi said, some black girls had bullied her, and when she complained, my teacher told me to grow a thicker skin.

Asked about the systemic inequality black Americans face in the criminal justice system, or in education Brandi said that, because shes been living in Delaware, a relatively liberal state, maybe I havent seen that as much.

I, like, see the opposite. Black people get free college, she said. My moms a single mom. Im not white privileged, and Im sick of being told I am.

Both said that felt they had grown up and gone to school while constantly being told things trying to make us feel bad for being white. Slavery was a topic of discussion again and again, the schools focused on black authors, its always black history month.

Its like, I get it, I get it, slavery was bad. I didnt do it, Brandi said.

Brandi said she felt bad for her other minority friends Hispanic, Asian, Indian who also faced racism, but seemed to get less attention. Her Indian American friends faced job discrimination, she believed, by people who might not think they fit the look they wanted, or who bought into the stereotype that they might be terrorists.

Im a little bit worried about the tweeting

Both friends also had some concerns about Trump. Stephanie didnt believe for a long time that Trump could really pull off a presidential demeanor. Thats why she thought Clinton would win. Brandi said she did not believe new environmental protections should be rolled back, and her stepmother had serious concerns about Trumps pick for education secretary, Betsy DeVos, a billionaire philanthropist and school choice advocate whose understanding of basic educational concepts and laws came under question during her confirmation hearing. I know teachers arent very happy about that, she said.

Brandi Tillman, 25, and Stephanie Friess, 24, display their homemade Adorable Deplorable hats on the way to Trumps inauguration. Photograph: Lois Beckett for the Guardian

Im a little bit worried about the tweeting, Brandi added. She was concerned, she said, that he might say something

That he cant take back, Steph broke in.

But for the most part, the two friends were optimistic that Trump would tackle the economy, create jobs, address cyber-attacks, and make America stronger. Brandi, who was waitressing as she went through college, said: Id like to see more money. Id like to see more tips.

Neither of the friends had been concerned about his comments about grabbing women by the pussy. That was 10 years ago, and people change, Brandi said.

Brandi said if a famous billionaire had tried to grope her, she would have sued immediately, not stayed silent for years until the man ran for president. Damn straight, if someone gropes me, I would want to sue, she said. Steph disagreed. She probably would have stayed quiet, she said.

A Belgian journalist who was also on the bus then took his turn and interviewed the two women about their support for Trump, and asked them to comment on the fears many Americans have about the coming months.

Brandi said her faith as a Christian kept her from being too anxious, and that Americans should calm down. Trump, after all, was just the president.

Hes not God. Hes not Hitler. Its not the end of the world, she said.

Read more: http://ift.tt/2jILIpw

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