#most places would be fortunate to have me as i know i am very intelligent emotionally and intellectually

[chronicallycouchbound]

Intelligence Doesn't Equal Morality

Intellect is rooted in ableist systems and stupidity and intelligence are pointless social constructs that don't relate to morals or character.

I try to be a pretty good person, I fight for human rights, I regularly engage in mutual aid, and I care for my community. I try to do the right thing and support causes I care about and make positive changes in the world.

But I also am not very smart. I have several neurodevelopmental disorders, as well as cognitive disabilities. I can’t do simple, basic math, it’s hard for me to remember facts or algorithms, I rely entirely on spellcheck and speech-to-text to write, I failed many classes in high school and I barely passed with a low GPA, I had low pSAT scores and I never took the SATs. I moved around a lot all through school starting in third grade, and I missed a lot of basic fundamentals in learning (like how to do division and multiplication) so when I went to a different school they had already passed it and expected me to know. After my TBI, I could barely read AFTER I was cleared from my “concussion” symptoms because letters and words would flip around and I’d get headaches. Which still happens sometimes.

A lot of people see me as smart because I've learned a lot of academic language and can formulate thoughts into cohesive posts. But I lack a lot of necessary skills and rely on my caretakers to assist me. Things like budgeting and planning are extremely difficult for me. If I need to do simple addition or subtraction, even with a calculator, I quickly get confused and struggle. I forget basic information about myself all the time, let alone other subjects. I'm talking, has to check my ID for my birthday type confused. Doesn't know my name or address or what year it is confused. It happens daily, sometimes multiple times a day. Being able to type out posts like this often takes weeks and many adaptive tools to get there. Focusing is extremely difficult on many fronts, severe chronic pain, ADHD, dissociation, fatigue, migraines, and TBI, are just some of the contributing factors. I struggle daily with many things because of my lack of intellect.

I’m also privileged in the fact that I had some access to education as a homeless youth, that I had some supports in place to help me (towards the end of school), that I was somewhat able-bodied at the time and could walk or bike to and from school when the school system didn’t provide transportation. I was fortunate to have a chance to succeed, and I’m proud that I graduated high school because it was a difficult task for me, and others often aren’t offered that chance or get accommodations. I almost didn’t and I dropped out many times before graduation. I passed on sheer luck and what little privileges I had. 

That all being said, me being stupid (reclaiming it here) doesn't make me a bad person. I don't hurt people because I can't do math. I may mess up things or get confused but it doesn't make me want to harm others.

We often (wrongfully) equate morals with intellect. Being ‘stupid’, ‘dumb’, or an ‘idiot’ doesn’t automatically make someone a bad person. Plenty of evil, awful, and abusive people are extremely intelligent. 

I see this most notably with people advocating for IQ tests to be able to vote. Often from left-leaning people, in hopes it'll make the right (that they view as unintelligent), unable to vote. The reality is, it just hurts some of our most vulnerable members of the community while not actively doing anything to restrict some of the most dangerous members of our community-- those who know what they're doing to harm others and deliberately doing so. My voice matters, and I speak up against injustice and participate in dismantling oppressive systems. Taking away my right to vote won't make the right stop oppressing minorities (which also puts a lot of faith into the two-party voting system, which is a post for another day).

Additionally, legislative measures that discriminate against intellectually disabled people such as IQ tests for voting are also rooted in racism and classism. 

Yes, education can be a vital tool when it comes to addressing discrimination and creating safer communities. But the kind of education that is measured with an IQ test (or any test) isn't the same. Building compassion and caring for others can (and should) happen at any IQ level. We can all practice this, we can all participate.

It harms our communities and stagnates our progress when we equate intelligence with high morals.

[coffeeandmagicaltales]

The Auror&The Devil part 13

Aesop Sharp x MC (fluff, hints of angst, slice of life) (10K words)

"Again," Aesop muttered, rising from behind the round table, seeing that Morana hadn't quite replicated the movement of the Expecto Patronum spell correctly. Instead of casting a powerful, radiant blow to the mannequin (covered in a black rag, to which Aesop had attached a note saying "DEMENTOR"), it released a sad spark from her wand, which immediately fizzled out. It was fortunate that it ended there, as an hour earlier rows of jars and Mr. Skelebone in the corner of his classroom had suffered.

He limped over to her and stood beside her, observing attentively. Morana brushed her hair from her face and took a deep breath, trying to focus.

"EXPE-!"

"Wrong," Aesop interrupted her, rolling his eyes.

"Arrrrghhh," Morana stomped her foot and glared at him. "I'm trying to focus, here."

"You're not focused," he shrugged. "What's going on?"

She hissed, but the gentle tone of his voice momentarily eased her anger.

"Well, I doubt I'll be able to conjure up any happy thoughts; I keep thinking about home," she confessed, and Sharp nodded understandingly, leaning against one of the workstations for potion making. "I don't know... There's something wrong with me, and the more I think about it, the angrier I get at myself. It doesn't make any sense. We were there just over a month ago, and it feels like ten years have passed. Or like it never happened at all..."

"What do you mean?"

Morana sat on the cold floor and, rotating her wand in her hands, slowly gathered her thoughts.

"I... I didn't feel anything at their grave. Like I was standing at the grave of strangers. Neither sadness, nor joy, nor grief... Just disappointment."

"You have the right to feel that way, Mora, because you didn't know them or that place... You didn't know them at all... Feelings don't magically flow to someone who is a complete stranger to you..."

"I was sure something would change... That suddenly I would have an epiphany and know who I am..." Silver tears flickered in her eyes. She wiped them away with a quick motion of her hand. "Once again, I have more questions than answers. Once again, I know nothing. I don't know who I am, I don't know what happened there, or who caused it! What good is a pile of stones to me..."

"Sometimes you have to put the investigation aside..." Aesop said quietly. "Patiently (hard word for you) wait for a breakthrough, and I'll tell you, we've learned a lot anyway. Just like I told you back then at Sirona's after our return: we know a lot, for example, that it wasn't an accident, that someone wanted to cover something up, most likely murder, that it was a very capable person, because such a powerful spell, which literally wiped the memory of your parents names from entire collective's minds... Merlin, I've never encountered something similar in my life... Hmmm, what I mean is that when such frustrating moments came in my work, we just dealt with current matters. Simple things related to the shady shops, where something was always happening..."

Morana got up and leaned against the countertop, standing next to Aesop.

"As for the Patronus, I don't know if I even have any happy memories..." she confessed. "Everything seems dull to me; I rarely feel real joy, let alone happiness."

"...You don't feel it because perhaps you're afraid you'll lose it quickly, right?" Aesop's eyes gleamed intelligently, immediately making Morana blush. "Well, I must send you to Professor Ronen for joy training; I'm rather bad at it myself," he joked and nudged her shoulder. "Come on, try one last time; I'll help you."

Morana positioned herself defensively, and Aesop approached her, gently taking her hand holding the wand and adjusted her stance with her permission. She could hear his deep breath by her ear, and his scent tickled her nose.

"Keep your wrist loose, Mora, remember."

"Mmmmhmm." She swallowed stiffly.

"Good." He stepped back a pace. "Clear your mind, focus, summon the memory."

"EXPECTO PATRONUM!"

A beam of light emanated from Morana's wand and pushed back the "Dementor," blowing away its rag and the inscription.

"Oh! Very good!" Aesop praised her. "What were you thinking about?"

"I was thinking about how I saved Highwing with Natty and we escaped from poachers."

Aesop's eyebrows furrowed, and his face contorted into the familiar grimace known to Morana.

"It's still a bit weak, but it's better than 'meeting a dragon with Poppy'... I dread to think what your happiest memory might be and what monster you'll see in it..." he joked and limped back to his desk. He dipped his quill in the ink and continued checking tests. "Memories associated with relationships with loved ones are usually the strongest..." he said, not taking his eyes off his work. "Maybe I'm nosy, but if it helps you, maybe you have some memories with your umm friend... Mr. Gaunt, for example?"

"No... we're not together anymore, if that's what you mean..." Morana confessed, blushing. "We're still friends, but nothing more."

"Hmmm," Aesop uttered, and even he didn't know why it sounded rather cheerful than saddened by the lovers' separation. He quickly changed the subject to avoid awkwardness. "Perhaps my mother will have a small task for you; of course, she'll pay you and probably stuff you with cake and tea."

"What does she need?" Morana asked, pleased with something to occupy her mind and push away thoughts still drifting towards Nitria and Jelenec. She pushed aside Aesop's trinkets and sat at the other end of the round table, sneakily peeking if her paper didn't stick out somewhere in the stack of exams, which she might still have a chance to correct...

"Yours I've checked a long time ago," he grumbled, not looking up from his work. "You did a bit better than last time; you're lucky, but by Merlin's Beard, if someone saw the niffler you drew and captioned it with 'Don't upset the Niffler, give Morana a P.'... ughh..." He looked at her sternly from under dark lashes, shaking his head. Morana made an innocent gesture with her hands, as if she wanted to defend herself without words: "But it worked."

Aesop sighed dramatically, pretending he had no strength left for her. He planned to keep this exam for himself and frame the awkward drawing, which he found incredibly endearing, and keep it somewhere in his workshop.

"... what was I supposed to tell you? Oh! She needs a few ingredients for her tapestry threads. She sews real works of art, repairs those hanging in Hogwarts... It's not simple; they're made with very old, almost woven magic, known to very few wizards, and simple Reparo won't help..."

"Do you also know that magic?" Morana asked, curious.

"When I have time, I help her a bit, but I'm more useful in handing her threads and chasing after the fur of magical animals... Oh, speaking of animals, what about your little idea of becoming an Animagus? Are you still interested in that?"

Before Aesop could elaborate, Morana opened her mouth, showing him the soggy mandrake leaf she held against her cheek. He grimaced and shook himself off in disgust, closing his eyes.

"Firstly: ew. Secondly: I respect your decision; I wouldn't dare."

Morana laughed.

"Interesting what animal you would turn into, a real mystery..." she chuckled sarcastically.

"That's exactly what I fear." Aesop chuckled. "I'd probably enjoy the life of a chubby thief more and would stay that way forever. Nifflers don't have to work or teach anyone Patronus spells, or make sure Mr. Weasley doesn't turn my class into a flock of sheep again, like he did last month... Merlin, I still have nightmares, and when I see sheep before falling asleep, I jump up on my feet. Still, when I go for a walk, I'm afraid one of them might be, for example, poor Mrs. Sweeting... Well, at least she remained herself in the sheep's body and was able to throw herself at poachers... Otherwise, we would have a problem with recognizing her..."

Morana laughed, remembering the headline in the newspaper: "Crazy sheep attacks poachers, do Aurors have competition?". Almost at the same moment, she and Aesop screamed: "POPPY!" and hurried to find her, catching poachers along the way, so they could turn their unconscious bodies (before handing them over to the Aurors) into bait for her... Mora snorted with laughter. Yes, it was a strange, surreal adventure. Before she herself was cured by the potion, it was strange to see the world through the eyes of a sheep, to eat grass that tasted delicious at the time, and after which she had heartburn for a week in her human form.

Aesop tried hard to find a remedy for them all (the unexpectedly strong potion didn't respond to just any antidote, and Sharp had to demonstrate his knowledge of poisons), he took care of the flock, even though he had no clue about shepherding. The worst were the letters to parents that he had to send when everyone was back in their original forms, including the last Poppy, who got a bit lost and an ordinary sheep attended classes instead of her for a while... Morana frowned. From one of her classmates' father, probably Leander's, Aesop received a howler that humiliated him in the corridor in front of students. She didn't understand why the parent had to vent their frustration on him in such, in her opinion, rude manner, considering the potions master was not to blame for anything. He accepted the howler with dignity, not even blinking an eye. However, Morana knew deep down that he took it very hard and felt terribly sorry. Touched by a premonition, as soon as she finished her lessons, she went to find him; he hid in his office, completely shattered, sitting in silence, absent-mindedly staring at a glass of whiskey, in which the ice had already melted... He just tried to fix Gareth's mistake, he wasn't guilty of anything... She talked to him and calmed him down and, knowing that it would improve his mood, took him to the Room of Requirement to show him the newly born Nifflers. All of them, both young and adult, climbed him and Aesop fell asleep covered by a dozen of furry creatures... Everything ended well, but even the memory of the father unjustly shouting insults at the upright, proud man who heroically got everyone out of trouble made her blood boil.

"That's it for today," Aesop summed up and got up from his seat with a quick flick of his wand, making the exams disappear. "I have a few things to attend to, see you tomorrow, Mora." The woman was slightly surprised and looked at her pocket watch. He never finished at this time. She looked at him questioningly, but no answer came. She sensed some mystery, which somehow worried her a bit. He dusted off the dust particles from himself, put on one of his coats that he wore on "occasions," and waited for her at the exit to let her out and lock the classroom. As she passed him in the doorway, she saw him looking at her askance, and although there were no emotions on his face, there was a mysterious spark in his hazel eyes, as if he were waiting for something and was in a bit of a hurry. For a meeting... with someone.

A strange feeling twisted her stomach. Anger caused by the lack of information about who it was, what he would do, swirled in her head. Why did he dress differently than for a whiskey outing with Ronen? Why do his perfumes smell stronger today, and his velvety hair is perfectly arranged, reflecting even the smallest rays of candlelight?

"What's with the face?" he grumbled as they walked alongside each other. "Don't worry, I'm not mad about that drawing..."

"I'm tired," she cut in, staring at the floor. "I'm going to help Poppy, her cabbages escaped today, I promised we'd look for them... See you tomorrow!"

Aesop didn't have time to respond, and Morana turned on her heel, tossing a wave of black curls and she was gone. He didn't know what had bitten her, but apparently something had annoyed her. He shrugged. Morana, queen of Nitra, of the Puffed-up-Goose crest, he made up on the spot, amusing himself, and pulled out a mysterious letter from his pocket, which he had been hiding from her with difficulty. He read it carefully to make sure he remembered the meeting time and wouldn't be late. He wanted to make a good impression - after all, he was meeting a teacher. A teacher didn't want to appear bad in front of another teacher and seem unprofessional. Excited by the opportunity he had accidentally received, he straightened his tie and disappeared with a whoosh of floo flames.

He sat in a cramped bench, much too big for him, constantly adjusting and fidgeting, unable to get comfortable. He glanced with a playful smirk at the letter lying on the desk in front of him.

Seriously?

It started without any polite greeting.

Aesop, what are you up to now? Merlin, of all the languages in the world, why Slovak?... Anyway, I know you won't tell me, it's silly to ask. It's hard to find someone around here who speaks it. I only know one Muggle... She's the governess of my bank colleague's daughter - the girl was born a Squib. The teacher said she could meet you at the parish nursery school (you have a map in the envelope, don't lose it, you idiot) during the break, at 6 in the evening, where she teaches children from poor families for free every Friday... She noted that 'she doesn't teach old people and you'll have to show exceptionally that she's not wasting her time.' She added that if she sees you slacking off, even though she's not doing it for free, she'll quit. What a woman... Anyway, supposedly she teaches quite effectively. Sounds like you'll get along.

I don't feel like looking for someone else, so PLEASE try, since you're already bothering me with this. I love you like a brother, but sometimes I just can't stand you... Damn it, Aesop, now as I think about it I'm sure It's because of a woman, isn't it? ISN'T?... Buy her flowers or do something normal people do. I dunno, take her for a dinner. As I told you before: doing weird things like bringing troll's head is not romantic at all. Hope you at least read her poetry in that twisted language, but knowing you, it's going to be weird anyway and you'll scare her away.

Have fun & respectfully fuck you

Torq

The door slammed, and a small room was entered by a tiny, stooped woman with glasses as thick as jar bottoms. She didn't honor Aesop (who greeted her with a wide smile) with a glance.

"Slovak, belongs to the Slavic group of languages, grammatically complex and difficult to master, so you will have to show intellect and discipline..." she trotted to the board and wrote: I am, you are, he she it is, etc. "Do you know any Slavic languages, Mr. Sharp?"

"Russian..."

"Ugh, if you had said: Serbian, Polish, or Czech, it would have been much easier," she interrupted him, not hiding her disappointment. Aesop felt himself getting increasingly tense, and his hands started to sweat. "And now the rules: you come to my classes punctually, and if you're not prepared, you don't come at all, and we end our cooperation. Understood?..." Sharp felt himself sinking deeper into the collar of his coat, as if trying to hide. He mumbled only, "Yes, Ma'am."

"Good. Each month, I'll test your knowledge in writing, and I'll quiz you on the spot each lesson..." He swallowed saliva obediently, jotting down everything that appeared on the board, when it dawned on him what he had gotten himself into. He had the feeling that Torq deliberately chose her as his teacher so he wouldn't get too bored. For a moment, he hesitated, wondering if he should really dedicate himself to learning this language and instead of resting, cramming oddly sounding words written with letters he saw for the first time in his life. Why was he actually doing this?

He came up with this idea shortly after returning from Nitra, when he was sitting with Morana at Sirona's table near the fireplace. She looked absent-mindedly at the dancing flames, tears sparkling in her crystal eyes. Sad, disappointed. And very... hmm... lonely. It was then that he realized that despite not hearing any accent in her voice, Great Britain was a foreign place for her. What's more, there wasn't much of a Slovak minority here with whom she could spend some time... if only she could be understood in her own language, express what she feels in her own words... heh... It sounded beautiful in her mouth. Like the language of elves from fairy tales.

Why was he really doing this? Logically, it made no sense at all. He would waste many hours of his time for a young woman who would soon leave Hogwarts and go her own way, and in a few years, she wouldn't even remember that she was taught by some Aesop Sharp... But, in the end, what else did he have to do, especially with his boring life? Maybe at least it would make his Puffed-up-Goose feel a little less lonely for a while... At least that's what he silently hoped for, because he couldn't do anything more for her. He had nothing to give her, no knowledge that could restore her memory... He was a cripple, a loner with an unpleasant character, whose jokes were exceptionally weak. Moreover, he was old, and his body was disfigured.

He took a deep breath and tried to focus on the words, which he struggled to pronounce, unable to get rid of the Russian accent that Mrs. Hedviga Ostrá commented on with a disgusted "tsk."

Aesop sank into the chair in his art studio.

His brain, overloaded with knowledge, absorbed about 30% of the information, and therefore, as he walked down the corridor with an armful of notes, he almost stumbled over Matilda, who happened to be on curfew. He wasn't tired, but he had to occupy his mind with something else for a while and relax a bit.

For some time now, he had been occupied with a certain project waiting for him on the table. He smiled gently. He reached for the chisel and with a light movement of his hand, he extracted from under the shavings a tiny wooden leg with joints at the knee and ankle. It wasn't just an ordinary wooden leg. He poured onto it a significant piece of his knowledge, some of it he had to read and some come up with himself, and create spells from scratch. A bit like his mother showed him during the creation of tapestries, when every move involved anchoring the spell in the material. Weaving it. So now he sat in place, cleared his mind, recalling only those thoughts he wanted to transfer into a piece of basswood, humming protective spells, rhythmically combining them with tool movements. The process took quite a long time and required patience. He sang softly, shyly, but every word poured his knowledge into the magical object, creating a true masterpiece and artifact at the same time, because the prosthesis slowly became something almost "alive." It didn't feel pain, but it could grow with its future owner, fit perfectly, regardless of weight changes, there was no question that it would even fall off during jumping on a trampoline. Well, it wasn't perfect; it was still a piece of wood, and there was a fear that Sidó would limp.

Madame Niffleur soon, according to his subtle plan, was to temporarily join the ranks of the nuns.

Together with Poppy and Sirona, Mora sat by the lake, enjoying probably the last warm rays of autumn sun. Sirona dipped her legs in the lake, pleased with her long-awaited day off, Poppy was feeding the newly hatched Snigets sitting in her pocket, and Mora was reading the next chapters of Aesop's book, reading stories of the next patients of St. Mungo's.

"Is it definite?" Sirona asked, and both girls turned their heads towards her. "Durmstrang? Won't you get bored there?"

Morana sighed deeply and nodded.

"Damn, so I'm in the decided minority of people who want to keep you."

Morana laughed and looked at her questioningly.

"I talked to Aeso... um... Professor Sharp," Sirona glanced at Morana sideways, mysteriously examining her with her eyes, smiling slightly, as if she knew some secret. "...and even he, the perfidious traitor, thinks that Durmstrang will do you good."

"Hey, I plan to visit quite often." Poppy nudged Morana's shoulder, suddenly her brown eyes sparkled. "Imagine, Scandinavian DRAGONS, oh, how wonderful it will be!"

She jumped up from her place, surrounded by a bunch of Snigets flying over her head, and did a few pirouettes dancing with the wind. Morana smiled broadly, seeing her joy. Sirona splashed water on her, and a fierce battle of water spraying ensued between them, full of squeals and laughter.

Wings flapped in the air. Above Morana, for a moment, an unknown owl circled, which, dropping a letter on her lap, immediately flew off in its direction.

For a moment, Morana didn't know who the parchment was from - the writing looked like Aesop's, but the sentence "Dear Miss Dimm!" completely threw her off. Only when she delved into the content, describing the furs of magical animals, did she remember the task from his mother.

"Why don't they give you a moment's peace?" Poppy joked. "Who's this time? Mr. Moon found another Demguise statue?"

Morana laughed and shook her head.

"Mrs. Sharp asks for help in finding ingredients for tapestries."

"Oooo...." Poppy became interested, and her eyes lit up. "Professor Sharp once let me know that she found injured Puffskeins. I was sure she was just as awful as him and I was afraid to meet her... But she turned out to be really wonderful, so warm and hospitable, we drank tea together. Besides, she's terribly tall! When she hugged me goodbye... she lifted me off the ground!"

"It's not really difficult, little one." Morana suddenly caught Poppy around the waist and lifted her up, then both, laughing, fell on the grass.

"hmm Professor Sharp isn't awful at all." Sirona defended him. "I met him probably at the worst moment of his life, and I understand what he went through. Maybe he seems grumpy, but when he feels comfortable with someone - he opens up and gains a lot... He's a true gentleman, of which unfortunately there are fewer and fewer."

Morana smiled slightly, her cheeks blushed. Yes. Aesop Sharp definitely gained from getting to know him better. She felt Sirona's gaze on her, still smiling slyly, Morana was sure she knew something she didn't.

"I think I prefer Mrs. Sharp..." Poppy muttered shyly. "She made a delicious cake. I wonder how it would be if she taught us potions?"

"You'd probably gain a few kilograms." Sirona burst out laughing. "Still haven't found anyone to replace Professor Fig?"

"No one wants his place, because everyone's afraid to work at Hogwarts now, because of the goblins..." Poppy grumbled, rolling her eyes. "Cowards."

"The only Magical Theory teacher worse than Professor Black could be a cauliflower." Morana mumbled without looking up from the book she had returned to reading, and Sirona and Poppy burst out laughing.

"Oh, I'd argue." Poppy admitted, barely catching her breath from laughing. "Professor Cauliflower would be definitely funnier."

Morana had been to Cragcroftshire only once before, during the search for Demiguise statues, but just like then, she now thought it would be a good place to live, or at least spend her holidays there.

The tree growing in the middle of the village seemed to be something more than just a decoration... it emanated magic, possibly as old as Morana knew, or even older... It watched over this place as an ancient god.

Right behind the stall of the seller, whom Mora greeted with a smile, was Mrs. Sharp's house. Dimm stepped quickly onto the threshold, shook the dust from her favorite outfit and knocked patiently waiting for the invitation, finally, the door opened a crack.

"Aesop?" she asked, not expecting to see him. He smiled broadly, his eyes sparkling, but before he could say anything, a female voice invited Morana inside. Aesop let her in, indicating the way, she lightly brushed against his clothes with her arm, the corridor was definitely too narrow for two people to stand side by side. Suddenly, he moved a bit closer and, smiling indulgently, took a leaf from her head, which must have fallen on her hair from the magical tree. She held her breath, embarrassed, Aesop chuckled. She looked so lovely and cute, like an elf from children's books, dressed in a fancy little hat, and he would prefer not to tell her that she had a leaf on her head, to enjoy the sight longer, but... they weren't alone.

"I won't bother you." he said almost silently.

Morana went ahead, and he for a split second analyzed the beautiful shape of the leaf and carefully tucked it into the pocket of his jacket.

The beautiful red-haired woman sat in a comfortable armchair near the fireplace, spinning threads on a spinning wheel, which squeaked slightly. Opposite her, on a small sofa, an old man was dozing off, a straw hat covered his face, probably so that no ray of sun entering the room through the small windows would wake him up. Passing by him, Aesop first quickly turned some framed photo, as if he were ashamed of it in front of Morana, and then adjusted the blanket covering the old man, and affectionately touched his arm, then limped to the kitchen and started looking for a jar with the right blend of tea, poking his big nose into every jar. Morana smiled, it was adorable.

"Morana Dimm, nice to meet you." Mora introduced herself with a wide smile.

"Juno Sharp, nice to meet you too, love," the woman said softly, so as not to wake her partner (she had a very strong Scottish accent) and shook Morana's hand. It was a firm grip and cold, delicate touch, just like Aesop's. Morana smiled slightly surprised by this discovery, sat opposite her in the armchair, and began to look at her closely, looking for more similarities to Sharp. There were few of them, very subtle. Slightly crooked front teeth, bright, kindly look of dark eyes, well-defined jaw, moles on the hands, the way she slightly tilted her head when she looked at her...

She flicked her wand and in Morana's hands, a plate of cake suddenly materialized.

"Well, I don't even know where to start..." Mrs. Juno hesitated, visibly as excited as she was shy. She nervously rubbed her hands, just like Aesop often did. "I recently miscalculated the amount of ingredients in the pantry, and I received a big order from Professor Black, and I'm afraid I won't be able to complete it on time... I feel a bit embarrassed to ask for your help..."

"It's me who should feel embarrassed, Mummy, that you have to ask someone other than me for help..." Aesop said softly, with a sad voice, as he carefully hobbled over, trying not to spill anything, and handed them cups of freshly brewed tea with a pleasant orange scent.

"Oh!" Mrs. Sharp hissed at him and gave him a sharp look, tenderly touching his hand. "Silly boy! I hold no grudge against you and never have! Ugh..."

"Well..." Morana began uncertainly. "Aeso... um... Professor Sharp, just has a lot of responsibilities... I have significantly more free time and I'm happy to help."

Mrs. Sharp smiled warmly, as if pleased that Morana wanted to defend her son, and looked at him as if to say, "You see, she's right, it's a good idea." He nodded wordlessly in agreement and sat down in the chair next to them, focusing his attention entirely on his slice of cake.

"I have a list of ingredients prepared, of course, I'll pay you for everything... I just need a small amount, you can keep the rest, or sell it to Mr. Pippin. Aesop told me that you work with him, hmm, maybe I'm being nosy, but... I expected someone... much younger than you..."

"Um, no, it's a longer story." Morana laughed lightly and quickly swallowed the chocolate cake before continuing. "I come from Slovakia, I grew up in an orphanage, I don't know my last name or age."

"Oh..." Mrs. Sharp looked concerned, but something caught her attention, her eyes sparkled. "They left you there as a child?"

"Well, not exactly. One day I found myself in the woods, I was found by the forester..." She considered whether to tell her that her son had helped a lot in finding her past, but bit her tongue, unsure if she could talk about it. "Recently, I found out that my family is dead, our house was burned down, and their identity was literally erased, I was hit by a powerful memory charm..." she pointed to her cheek. "Dark magic."

"Oh, and exceptionally powerful, without a doubt..." the old woman mused, still deeply intrigued, she asked another question. "Sad story, extraordinary... You say you don't remember anything?"

"Not entirely." Morana smiled lightly, feeling warmth in her heart. "I still have my name."

"Doesn't that surprise you?"

The question caught Morana off guard and even drew Aesop's attention, who stopped eyeing the cake on the kitchen counter.

"Hmm?" he murmured.

Aesop's mother smiled mysteriously and straightened proudly.

"For me, everything is clear. But let me start from the beginning: hundreds of years ago, magic looked somewhat different than it does now. It was mainly practiced by men, in the sense of treating it like science, while women knew a slightly different kind of magic focusing on their role in society. Raising children, taking care of the home... All the protective spells are the work of our grandmothers, great-grandmothers, and hundreds of their mothers before them. Salvio Hexia is one of them. But that's not all. What I'm involved in also has very deep roots: the enchanting of threads, whose weave creates images living "their own lives"... Unfortunately, it is time-consuming, requires concentration, proper movements of the thread, and this art is slowly dying out. There are other spells. Strong magic related to blood magic..." Morana and Aesop exchanged glances, listening with increasing interest to Mrs. Juno. "Hundreds of years ago, child mortality was high, dangers lurked for them in both the magical and non-magical worlds, so many mothers secretly protected them with ancient protection. Love so great that it became an unbreakable shield. It took on various forms, and often hid in the power carried by the child's name. Children were given two names: one that everyone around them knew, and another that only the mother and her offspring knew..."

In Morana's mind, restless thoughts began to swirl, questions piled up.

"What I want to say is that perhaps such a spell protected you from danger, that's why you survived... Could it be that when the curse hit you, it could have transported you to a completely different place? I don't know, but I don't deny it. Every mother who knows these charms uses them slightly differently... I also protected my child with them..." She smiled tenderly and with a gentle movement of her hand, closed Aesop's gaping mouth.

"Mummy... how... where... how do you know all of... this?"

"Oh, you thought you were so clever, after my ex-husband!? Ha, good one! Besides, you never asked about these things."

Morana's heart beat faster. She organized everything in her head.

"Do you think... do you think my mum protected me? That she knew such magic?"

"No differently, in my opinion everything points to that. History knows many similar cases, now more as legends, although the 'magic of names' centuries ago was a popular practice among the Celts, Slavs, Germans... Even Rome supposedly had its magical name known only to the residents, for fear that someone might attack the city... Returning to the subject: it's possible that the spell that hit you worked, but only on your, hmm let's call it 'external identity'. Your true name remained with you. Morana."

Mora breathed deeply, sinking into the armchair. It didn't dispel all her questions, it was even a small piece of the puzzle, but it meant a lot to her. Even the simple fact that she could finally be sure that her mum loved her.

Silence fell. Mrs. Sharp smiled innocently, Aesop processed her words with disbelief, glancing at her and then at Morana who holded back tears. Suddenly she stood up and threw herself into Mrs. Sharp's arms. The woman, surprised by the sudden closeness, stiffened, just as Aesop did, but Morana didn't mind at all. Aesop looked at his mother with admiration, "Thank you," she whispered. Juno awkwardly patted her arm and twitched trying to free herself from the hug, which eased to her relief, and Morana, regaining composure, returned to her armchair.

"I don't know why you're surprised, Aesop, I always said your mom is a genius," John interjected, waking up from his nap, probably not even knowing what the conversation was about. He stretched and getting up, planted a passionate kiss on his dazzled partner's lips, which made Aesop feel queasy.

"You're not alone..." he mumbled, turning away, seeking refuge in Morana, who felt equally amused and embarrassed. "Alright, alright, enough kissing!" He separated them almost using force. "Just keep you out of sight for just a moment, oi!... Shame on you two!... tsk, tsk, tsk." He eyed the infatuated lovers and changed the subject. "Mummy, maybe you'll show Morana your tapestries before she flees in horror from your depraved behavior, eh?"

While the gentlemen continued to indulge in cake, Morana followed Mrs. Sharp upstairs, where unfinished works hung on strings... Rather, like Aesop, she was a follower of the "artistic disorder" prevailing in the apartment. Threads, scraps, sewing equipment, spinning wheels... Everything scattered around the room was waiting for ingredients to start work. Downstairs, from what Mora noticed, was John's kingdom and his musical instruments. As they descended the stairs, she heard him tuning his violin, telling Aesop about his students, and then about the concert in Hogsmeade.

"Aesop, lad... please agree... You have such beautiful drawings... Just think how nicely an exhibition would complement the concert..."

"No way, John," Aesop cut in, fingers tracing the rim of his cup. "It's not a good idea. I... don't feel up to it..."

"Hmm... Think about it again, lad. We would be honored..."

Aesop smiled warmly at the man. "Thank you, but..."

He fell silent, noticing Morana standing on the stairs, and behind her, Mrs. Sharp ducking under the ceiling too low for her. The women joined the conversation, then John played on the magically floating violins, showing Morana how the instruments worked in the magical world. Aesop's mother, meanwhile, used Mora's tiny hands to wind threads, demonstrating how the spell sung by her seemed to take on a material form, similar to the fleeting strands of Ancient Magic, changing the color of the fibers.

This was interesting. John wasn't Aesop's father, yet they got along very well. Morana observed them both furtively, thinking about herself and the Dimms. If not for John's darker complexion and facial features nothing like Sharp's, she would have thought they were family.

Time spent with the Sharps flew by for Morana. She thanked them for their hospitality; the evening practically caught her off guard, and Aesop insisted on escorting her to the dormitory to avoid any trouble with the prefects.

"I love you, I'll come on Wednesday, after classes," Aesop whispered to Juno, kissing her cheek affectionately goodbye. Morana hugged her. Aesop tugged at young woman's sleeve, indicating it was time to go.

For a moment, they walked arm in arm in silence, drowned out by the music and chatter in the house. The sound of distant, ocean waves and the rustle of the wind were incredibly soothing.

"Is John organizing an exhibition?" she asked timidly.

"No, he's not organizing any exhibition," Aesop grumbled.

Morana laughed. She knew deep down that Aesop was torn.

"Well... The author of the works doesn't necessarily have to reveal themselves... They could have a pseudonym, or be completely anonymous..."

"Ugh... Why do you always have good ideas, hm?" he asked rhetorically, squeezing her arm holding his shoulder a little tighter.

Morana chuckled and returned to the matter that had been bothering her since she met the Sharp family. She didn't know that Aesop's relationship with John would leave such a strong impression on her.

"If I didn't know that John isn't your father, I would never have guessed it in my life," she confessed, bringing a smile to Aesop's face. "How long have you known each other?"

"Well... I don't really remember. Long. He's always been close to mummy, as her best friend. Mummy loved my father, but..." He sighed deeply, summoning painful memories. "The more money he gained, the more he distanced himself from us. Work was the only thing that mattered to him, then politics and 'pure blood' nonsense... Any sign of 'disobedience' from my or her side ended with a severe beating. John helped her escape... She wanted to scare my father with divorce and take away most of his custody rights over me... She thought it would open his eyes, make him want to fight for us... He happily signed all the papers, not bothered by the fact that he would see me once a month, which in practice turned out to be even rarer. For over half a year, I only saw him from the headlines of newspapers covering his successes. After the divorce, he quickly found himself a new family, his longtime lover, as it turned out, which broke my mummy's heart completely. John was always there for her, took care of her, and only when I was ten, it turned out that he loved her since they met in the Hogwarts Express, going to his first year. He simply loved always. Hmm..." Morana walked looking at him with tenderness, stroking the sleeve of his arm she held. "At first it was strange, to see a man at home with mummy (even though I knew him), who isn't my dad - I was very frustrated... but over time, when my father gained fame and money... John read me bedtime stories, taught me how to fly on a broom, showed me how to brew Wiggenweld Potion because I came back from almost every walk battered by some wild creature, with at least a scraped knee..." Morana chuckled, resting her head on his shoulder, listening to his story. "Father spent much more time with me when he retired, and I was slowly finishing Hogwarts. I didn't understand then why John was sad when I chose Oxford over the Highlands more often. I was torn, rebellious, full of longing for my real father, who suddenly, because he had no other children, showed interest, realizing he needed an heir. And I was a fertile ground, a small-town boy who suddenly began to experience city life; it just took a decent allowance, a little attention, and... I forgot about all the beatings I received as a child, or my mom's tears... It doesn't mean I completely agreed with his approach to life; I thought I was different, better. I saw that my successes bought his attention... out of ambition, I did a lot of awful things I'm ashamed of, hurt many friends, and I'm not talking about Scarborough... It was the icing on the cake. At least it opened my eyes because after waking up, next to my bed I saw John. He took care of me at st. Mungo with mom, taking turns, while my father disappeared again for a while, ashamed of my disability and my failure..." Aesop stood staring at the view of the silvery sea and the clouds on the horizon from the hill. So beautiful and calm. "The first thing I said then was 'I'm sorry, John,' and he just hugged me. I understood then that although I love and will always love Aristotle Sharp, my father is someone else."

Morana felt a squeeze in her heart, which stirred her deepest desire to have a family, and for a fraction of a second her thoughts wandered towards the Dimms, but after a moment she rejected them, angry with herself for allowing them. Her family was gone, no one could take their place; she felt it would be a betrayal of the love her mother gave her...

She noticed a tear that trickled down Aesop's scarred cheek, she approached him a little closer and tenderly wiped it, lightly touching his scar. The man flinched and held his breath, feeling her delicate fingers on his cheek, which first shyly brushed the skin, and then the whole hand lay on his bony cheek, burning him like a piece of hot coal. He closed his eyes and tilted his head slightly, wanting to discreetly snuggle into her hand; it was so pleasant that he couldn't resist. In her tearful, gazing eyes, stars flickered and the sharp crescent of the moon, black strands of hair brushed her face moved by the cool breeze, and shapely lips parted slightly. He had never seen a more beautiful sight. Never.

He leaned in ever so slightly, almost imperceptibly, to hear the soothing sound of her breath, to feel her scent mingling in his senses. He had never felt as good and safe with anyone else. Only she knew the thoughts he had just expressed moments ago, only she had the right to...

Morana smiled gently, discovering that his beard wasn't as unpleasant to the touch as she expected; it pricked a bit, but just a little, and it was quite pleasant. She struggled to resist the urge to follow her hand towards his chin, to see how it felt to touch it entirely. She glanced at Adam's apple on his graceful neck, and following its trail, she noticed through a button undone at the collar of his loosely tied tie, fair clear collarbones covered with tiny, dark hairs. They seemed very soft... She held her breath, feeling warm despite the cool wind.

"Get a grip, Aesop!" a voice resonated in his head, drowning out the thoughts that wanted to get a tiny step closer to her. "She's a young, beautiful woman, you'll scare her off. She probably just wanted to be nice. You're allowing yourself way too much!"

The spark of joy that had lit up his dark eyes just moments ago suddenly extinguished, alarming Morana. She had allowed himself too much. She shouldn't have touched him. She withdrew her hand, blushing with embarrassment. She pretended to brush away a stray lock of hair, thinking that it would somehow pathetically cover up the whole situation, but once her hand got closer to her face, she felt the oils he must have used to care for his beard; their scent made her head spin... Sandalwood, resin, orange blossom, cardamom, cloves... She quickly brushed away all thoughts, as if warding off demons, and changed the subject.

"While you were busy looking for glasses with John, your mum showed me that infamous photo of you after your first investigation, which someone turned upside down... I wonder who that was?"

"Ugh..." Aesop theatrically rolled his eyes, trying to restore his facade at all costs. He joked and, taking Morana by the arm, they started walking towards the Floo flame. He was glad she wasn't angry with him in any way, that she hadn't noticed he had allowed himself a little too much. He breathed out, trying to cool down. "I'll talk to her about it on Wednesday... I'll be firm, won't be swayed by cake, I promise."

Which facade? He was starting to get completely lost in it. Gruffnes once only covered his gentleness and sense of humor, which had now resurfaced... But at the same time, they covered something deeper underneath, something he hadn't been aware of before. What exactly did he feel just now, being so close to Morana? Did he even want to know?

End of part 13, thanks for reading

[mageofseven]

Nesting with Birdie: A BarbMams Love Story

Chapter 2

Taglist: @astroseuss @fcxyviixen

Let me know if you'd like to join the taglist~

Barbatos laid in bed with his boyfriend for a while; fortunately, it was his day off today so the butler could stay with him.

The older demon felt so guilty. He was usually so on top of things, but being with Mammon seems to have relaxed him too much in this case.

He should have used protection. Mammon may not have realized he could become pregnant, but Barb most certainly knew his boyfriend had that ability

Yet when things become intimate between the two and Mammon gets so needy and desperate for him, part of the older demon's brain just shuts off and all that matters in that situation is giving his boyfriend everything he needs.

He thought nothing of it before but...in the pursuit of giving this man everything he needs, he forgot that protecting him from unfortunate circumstances was also important.

Mammon depends on their relationship being a secret; he's made that very clear to the butler and in truth, Barbatos has never minded one bit.

However...Mammon is right. Their relationship cannot stay secret with this child in the midst...

Which is why Barbatos brought up this topic.

"Birdie, we need to discuss this...situation." He spoke softly to the man in his arms.

"I don't wanna even think 'bout it..." Mammon mumbled from inside his boyfriend's chest.

"This problem will not go away simply by ignoring it."

"I know..."

Barbatos kissed the younger man's head.

"I understand the timing of this is poor and something you might not be able to handle," Barb stroked his back. "But you do have options and I will explore whichever ones you would like."

Mammon turned his head, laying his cheek against his boyfriend's chest instead of hiding his face.

"Ya know...I used to kinda want kids; still do, if I'm honest," Mammon spoke in a soft tone. "But in my mind that was justa future thing, somethin' for a hopefully better version of myself to do when I'm in a better place like having the whole debt problem squared away and all of my issues sorted out...but that ain't this. I'm still a fuckin' mess, same as always...how can I give a kid a good life like this?"

Barbatos pursed his lips.

"Your life is...indeed in a tricky place, but it does not have to stay there." The butler explained. "If you are ready to make some lifestyles changes to help matters, I am more than willing to support you with it."

"But can I actually change?" Mammon lightly gripped his boyfriend's shirt. "I can't do anything right. Imma screw up, a burden, so fuckin' stupid--"

"You are not stupid." Barbatos lightly scolded the younger man. "You are well aware how much that word bothers me, little bird."

The word just gave the older demon flashbacks of when he found Mammon on the hallway floor of HoL, sobbing while he pulled his hair and hit his head, calling himself 'stupid' over and over again.

That situation was the catalyst to their entire relationship; however, it still wasn't a fond memory for the butler. It only reminded him how helpless he felt watching the second brother cry like that...

"But I--"

"You make mistakes, same as everyone else." Barb insisted. "No matter what your brothers say, you are a very intelligent man and I refuse to let you keep believing otherwise."

Mammon's brothers have infected his brain at his own detriment. Those other men created the voice that speaks horrible words inside his boyfriend's head and it was painful to see how much it hurt the second brother.

Surely if the brothers realized the damage they did to Mammon with their words that they would cease their insults and be softer with the greed demon

Or so Barb believed. Still, the butler couldn't interfere until Mammon himself made the decision to speak about his feelings to his brothers.

Mammon just kept shaking his head, as if this action could knock the bad thoughts out of his mind.

"I can't do this, but also have no clue what to do 'bout it."

Barb rubbed his boyfriend's back.

"All I ask is that you give this some thought; you do not need to have an answer right this moment."

Mammon sighed.

"Yeah, yeah."

The couple spent the day inside and once the sun had set, the Avatar of Greed had to leave his boyfriend so Barbatos could get some sleep for work tomorrow and Mammon could get home to avoid too much suspicion.

Considering how things had...developed for these men today, the couple was extra reluctant to part from one another.

Most of the leaving process involved Mammon repeating over and over again how he had to go, all the while he was the one clinging to Barbatos and stealing kisses from the amused butler.

Mammon trudged back home to HoL and started heading to his room

Until he found all of his brothers in the living room, waiting for him.

"Uhhh, what's with all this?"

The second brother could feel the other men staring at him so intently that he instinctively covered his stomach with his arms, as if he was afraid his brothers could see right through his body and at the tiny flesh thing trying to become a baby.

"Mammon, we'd like to have a talk with you." Lucifer explained, making his brother sweat.

"W-What the hell did I do now??"

Oh shit, he was gonna get tied to the rafters again for something, wasn't he??

The brother was internally panicking and not just for himself, but his kid too. There's no way it does the baby any good for Mammon to have his insides smooshed against each other from the tight rope.

Mammon backed up in fear.

"Nothing." His older brother looked at him with suspicion, wondering if the greed demon has done something and was doing a poor job of concealing it. "However--"

"Omg just tell us!!" Asmo begged.

"What--"

"Last night you were cursing about being late and that 'babe' was gonna be pissed." Belphie explained. "You thought I was asleep on the couch at the time."

...shit.

Okay so actually he said 'Barb' and not 'babe' but still, Mammon was caught.

"It's not just your mumbling though." Lucifer explained. "For the last few months, you've been particularly rushed each Saturday night, only to return late each Sunday."

"So just tell us! Who are you dating??"

Ok, not he was majorly panicking.

The second brother made a few attempts to speak, only to find himself too tongue-tied and instead ran up to his room, slamming the door.

Mammon slid to the floor and hid his face in his hands.

"Gaaah, why now??" He stressed before hitting himself in the head. "Stupid, stupid, stu--"

The man lowered his hand and instead hid his face in his arms.

He can't be doing that. Barb would be so upset if he knew was sitting here, hitting himself and calling himself that word

But what else was he supposed to do when everything was falling apart?

[parcequecestnotreprojeeeet]

Hello! It's Winter! I missed the blog so much! Here is a new story.

Title: Home

He was finishing up his homework in the school’s library, not quite ready to go back to the place he dreaded most. 

Home. 

He purposely walked the extra-long route to the main entrance of the school, knowing he’d have to pass by her office. He stopped dead in his tracks when he got closer, hearing the faint sounds of two individuals casually conversing. 

Not wanting to be seen, he got close enough to the doorway so he could listen in.  

“I’ll see you tomorrow, and don’t worry, you’ll be fine! I’ve seen great improvement since you joined my program. I’m very proud of you.” Emmanuel continued to eavesdrop, his heart exploding with adoration as she encouraged the young man. 

The student thanked his teacher again before quickly heading out of the office, almost knocking Emmanuel off his feet. “Oh I’m sorry, I didn’t see you!” 

“It’s fine, Charles. See you tomorrow.”   

Charles was one of the more popular boys in school. If Emmanuel wasn’t almost perfect himself, he would have been threatened by this guy’s intelligence, athletic build, and strong physical features. Fortunately for Emmanuel, Charles had a shy personality, visibly nervous and constantly stuttering around cute females. 

Charles took off down the hall, the sound of his whistling getting softer as he got closer to the exit. 

“Emmanuel, you can come in now. I know you’re still standing there.” Brigitte called out with a laugh.  

“Hi Madame,” he whispered, suddenly appearing in her line of sight. “I didn’t know you were staying late tonight. It’s Tuesday. Doesn’t Tiphaine have dance class?” 

He had already memorized her children’s extracurricular schedule (and everything else that was important in her life.) 

Brigitte playfully rolled her eyes before stepping closer to him. “No, it got cancelled this week, which worked out perfectly for Charles.” 

He cringed upon hearing that student’s name on her lips, an annoyed facial expression evident on his face - even though Charles was not confident enough to try something with Brigitte. 

“You don’t have to be jealous. I am just doing my job.” She explained calmly. 

In his eyes, Brigitte was the perfect woman, and any man would be willing to jump through hoops and walk through fire to be with her. Sometimes Emmanuel felt - and feared - she would be taken away from him. 

She wasn’t even his…yet he was afraid of losing her. 

Knowing the school was visibly empty by now, he approached her more closely, smelling the scent of her sweet perfume. “You look beautiful in your new dress.” 

“You don’t have to flatter me,” she blushed, knowing she must have looked like hell after a long day at work. 

He grabbed her possessively by the waist and kissed her exposed neck. Once he made his intentions clear, he shoved her into the desk, her back painlessly hitting the wood surface. Their tongues found each other and not before long, she felt his hand under her dress. She worked just as fast, untucking his sweater from his jeans. “I think someone is coming,” she moaned. 

“Just you,” he joked.

“No!” She pushed him away when the footsteps she heard a few seconds earlier began to approach faster. He straightened his sweater and wiped her pink-coloured lipstick off his lips. 

“Will that be everything, Emmanuel? I must get home to my family.” 

“One day you’ll be coming home to me.” He promised with a whisper.

“Don’t make promises you can’t keep,” she replied. “Come on, let’s go. I’ll drive you home.” 

Home.

He hated that place more than anything. He let his mind wander, picturing how his future would be with the woman beside him. Unless he was sharing a life with her, no place would ever feel like home. 

Hello Winter! ❤️

Home is where the heart is. And there’s only one home for the sweet potato… with Brigitte!

The little hot moment shared at her office… 🤭😏

Thank you so much, Winter! ❤️❤️❤️

[ushalin]

Female Socialisation & Beauty: The Highs & Lows of Being a High School Girl

Or, if you’re a geeky, intelligent, “weird”, non-makeup wearing, non-shaving, openly-radfem, openly-separatist, openly-lesbian high school girl, it’s really just the lows. 

First post on RadBlr. Was on RadTwt as Alora/@missypilled (rip). Misogyny in school is possibly driving me insane. 

I have very long hair (I’d like to cut it but am not allowed to). I don’t style it. I always wear it in a ponytail for convenience, otherwise it’s irritating and gets in the way (which, of course, is an issue boys never deal with). I’ve been harassed—genuine harassment—by girls so many times over the years for never doing anything with my hair, or never having it down. I am treated SO much better by girls if I have it down; this has been consistent over the years, from Year 3 to Year 10. I look prettier with my hair down, and of course more feminine. I don’t care; it’s goddamn inconvenient. I’m here to function properly, not look attractive. 

A few days ago, I tested out this theory once again by having my hair down during class. Girls who usually only talk to me when they want to make fun of me for being a feminist were suddenly friendly and chatty. They stopped giving me sideway glances in class. Something so seemingly insignificant as hair style (or lack thereof) plays such a large part in treatment. They spend hours on their hair, I clearly don’t; I wash and brush it, that’s it. I don’t care about it like they do and it angers them. They distance themselves from me. Exactly how they’re trained to react. 

No surprise this experience applies to my zero-makeup face (the ones who treat me worse are the ones who wear the most makeup; I hold a metaphorical mirror up to them and make them ask themselves, “Why DO I wear all this?” and they hate it, they can’t bear to face the reality) and my hairy body. I have never worn makeup or shaved to see if it makes a difference and I never will, but we all know they would treat me much better if I did (the boys also mock my hairy body, far worse—even sexually harassing me for it [I beat up the boy who sexually harassed me by making inappropriate comments about my pubic hair lmao]). Obviously, this treatment has worsened since I came out as lesbian. 

I don’t care about approval or acceptance, thankfully. But I do think about this a lot. And I feel sad. Not for myself, but for these girls. Because they’ve been brainwashed. Because female socialisation has taught them to attack and mock any girl who doesn't conform to expectations of us (the things I’ve heard girls say in the changing rooms about some random girl who doesn’t shave her “vagina” [vulva...], dear God... wish I could find out who she was though, I want to be friends), any girl who escapes our hellish socialisation; you're a lesbian? You're a feminist (a radfem no less)? You're a separatist? You're beauty-free? Say goodbye to 90% of female friendships in school (ESPECIALLY high school, especially in the later part of school). Oh, are you a geek as well?* A nerd? Intelligent? Know your place, female! Partially writing this because I got laughed at, stared at and whispered about for a solid three minutes today for putting my hand up and giving the teacher a high-level analysis on the quote 'O, I am fortune's fool!'—this all came mostly from girls. One started choking with laughter??? Never seen any geeky or nerdy boys treated like that. Never witnessed them scathingly talked about for answering a question well. I wouldn't even call myself a nerd, I never put my hand up, I only do if no one else knows the answer. I didn’t even sound nerdy lmao? 

*Thinking about the treatment of the gay boy who’s into planes and NASA vs the treatment of the lesbian girl who’s into Doctor Who is 🥴 it’s really something. 

Female socialisation is evil. Truly evil. It teaches girls to keep away from those who don’t conform, to only interact when harassing us and attempting to coerce us into conforming to expectations of womyn—which of course keeps them from developing female solidarity with us (because we are dangerous; we are the deviants who could influence them, who could free them from their shackles), and it tries to keep us from developing solidarity with them because we wouldn’t want to be friends with cruel people. 

Society tells us female friendships are fake and insincere, that we’ll never have the depth male friendships have. That girls are bitchy and catty and love causing drama, but boys are so simple and peaceful. It’s drilled into us from our first year at school. 

Obviously, this is bullshit. I don’t need to explain how moids are incapable of having true bonds. Female friendship is a beautiful thing.All these things which girls apparently are? They’re socialised into being that if they are. Of course, we can’t acknowledge patriarchy is the cause of this, no, girls are just naturally evil bitches and a plethora of other misogynistic slurs, and, hey, you should focus on male relationships instead of female friendships, put your boyfriend over your friends! 

But as these girls who avoid this one aspect of socialisation are ostracised and disliked, they’re pushed into another section of female socialisation: they believe these lies about girls and female friendships. They’re treated like this because girls are catty and spiteful and snakes. It’s not because of any deeper reasons, it’s just because this is the way girls are. I’ve never come to this conclusion, but I can’t tell you the amount of (female :/) adults who have offered me this explanation when I come to them about my troubles. 

If I talk about all the other shit I’ve experienced at school for being lesbian and for being a radfem, this post would be a mile long. I’m sure as hell going to write something about that later though. But Jesus. I can tell you now the only time I’ve seen female solidarity at school is when OSA girls have come together to harass a lesbian. 

And if you girls find me here, like you did my Twitter, where you harassed me and revealed my personal information... like I said before: you won’t stop me from fighting for female liberation. Nothing you do gets to me. All I feel for you—all I will ever feel for you—is pity. You’re so young, I still hope there’s time for you to develop class consciousness. 

Schools are breeding grounds for misogyny. It’s hell where boys’ sexual harassment is rife and unrelenting, and female socialisation is shoved at you constantly and if for a single second you resist it, they will come for you and they will never stop. 

Fuck this world. Screw this world for making girls suffer. We’re children. We’re goddamn children and we have to go through this. Fuck moids and fuck moid-lovers. The horrors girls, especially teenage girls, go through would be considered morally illegal in any fair, womyn-loving world. But we’re in this world, where male supremacy has reigned for millennia and will continue to do so for a very long time. I hate it. No one thinks of the girl children. No one cares about us, not even each other. I’ve seen what my female peers have done to become numb to it. It is horrifying and heart-breaking. We deserve so much better.

[catysharksstuff]

Culting

Serendipitously, Struthless' C- week also tackles the subject of cults. (And this is highly recommended viewing but not essential for the reading of my latest dissertation) Cult vs Start Up: Can you spot the difference

He makes a good argument, lots of meaty stuff to contemplate, and delivers the message compassionately. I would agree with everything he's said and so I won't take up any of that here, other than to reflect on one aspect he also raised: "why people join cults in the first place".

From 2013 (ish) to 2016 (ish), I was part of a cult (although, of course, it wasn't referenced as such; it was just called "the group" or, sometimes and more affectedly, "the college" ). This cult has some notoriety, particularly now as its leader has been charged with the usual banal and grotesque range of sexual infractions. To be clear: I very much think he committed all that he is charged with and I hope justice is served.

I wasn’t near this stuff, I was never in “the inner circle” (there’s always an inner circle), and I had the good fortune to come to Culting after already having long-established myself in the city. This was not the same for the vast majority of the rest. These were (are) people who had traveled a long way to “be with him” - across the country, across the continent, across the world’s oceans. There were people there from Germany, Israel, Australia, Japan, India, and elsewhere. People left careers, families, friends, lives to move to a very parochial city in the middle of almost nowhere - just to “be near him”.

And, like so many others who join cults, they were more-or-less like any other group of people. Some very intelligent, thoughtful, knowledgeable, worldly. Some bat shit crazy. Some just boring and insipid. They were pretty typical of any bunch of people, except for this one thing - four times a week they would take themselves to a purpose-built hall in the middle of an industrial park where they would sit, wait for this guy to sit on a seat on a stage, get super still, and then watch him for two…three…sometimes four hours at a session. Two people would sit in special chairs in front of him, stare at him while he stared back, and ask him questions. Sometimes, that is. Other times they would just stare. For eight to sixteen hours a week. One hundred, two hundred, sometimes even more than that during “seminars”, where these sessions would be held twice a day for one or two weeks at a stretch. Sitting, starring, speaking very slowly and being, as they (…as we…as I…) termed it: “in the deep”.

*

So what is this entry about, this Week Three Letter C week? Why am I writing about cults?

The unifying theme of this - my Alphabet Superset exercise - is “meaning”. What gives meaning to a life? Specifically, what gives meaning to my life? Why do I live? What’s the fucking point of it all?

Now, before you recoil in horror - or roll your eyes, or rush to explain how you don’t bother thinking about such things…don’t trouble yourself. I get it. I get that many, many people don’t think about this. My husband is one. My best friend is another. Probably most of you are. It’s just - simply - I am. I think about this, and I have thought about this for as long as I have had conscious thought. I don’t know why that is - could be my upbringing, could be my wiring, could just be something I’ve been alternately blessed or cursed with from whatever version of the almighty you subscribe to. It doesn’t actually matter why I find myself questioning “why”; only that I do. In order for me to live a semblance of a normal life…in order for me to move through the darkest times and enjoy the lightest times and make sense of it all….in order that I am not constantly thinking about crossing the rubicon of the grand river styx - I need (needed?) to understand, for myself, why I exist in the sense I do, in the form I do, with this body and this mind and this life in this world, with this community around me. Why?

And I’m not going to get into depth here (not today any way) about what I’ve learned, or what conclusions I’ve drawn to that end. It’s just necessary, for this story to make sense, that you understand that about me. Because that is what led me to go to these sessions for almost three years. That’s what led me to join a cult.

There are other threads to the beginnings of the tapestry: being diagnosed with a chronic, life altering condition at the age of 12; being close to losing consciousness on multiple occasions; going to Asia at age 17 and learning about buddhism; becoming interested in the transcendentalists; living a transitory, nomadic existence made up of passing connections to many places and many people; moving from one to the next without forming firm, strong bonds to anywhere or anyone; alcohol abuse; sexual assault; that old friend depression; running away to another country; a short ill-advised marriage; a longer, emotionally and financially abusive relationship; escape and freedom from that - and all against this backdrop of a deep, dark, silent yearning to understand why

So I got to this city and I met a guy. And that guy opened a doorway to why. He turned on a light. That guy showed me the beginning of a path to transcendence and freedom and way to having nothing, NOTHING but merging, being, drowning, becoming love.

It was a fucking drug. He was a fucking drug. In that drug-high, I lost whatever pieces of myself remained after leaving one life (centred in the abusive relationship) and reformed my new life as an absolute addict. And, just like any drug story - when he inevitably pulled back and pulled away, I was a ravenous junkie who could not exist without my fix. That stuff is another story completely. It’s not the point here. The point here is THAT was the final spark that lit the tinder that had been accumulating for years and years. Whatever that drug was - whatever that relationship was - it brought me closer to understanding myself, and Meaning, and the Big Why - than anything I had theretofore experienced. It was like my aching met with the idea of an answer and all I wanted was more.

To be clear - that guy was not “the Cult Leader”. And, in some ways, I think that is what saved me from the most of the destruction the Cult Leader has wrought. Other people, good people who have left and who speak about their experiences now, have described what brought them into the fold; and their experiences are so, so similar to mine. The difference is that they had "that" with the Cult Leader. They experienced a total immersion, a total understanding, light, peace, in his presence. I never did. Or, at least, what I did experience when I eventually started going to the sessions was a reconnection with the phenomenon of being with the guy, but much less powerful, much less all-consuming, and, along with that, a useful kind of recognition that it was coming from me, not coming from the Cult Leader.

I met the guy - the guy unlocked something profound in me, and over time, he left. During the time we were together, however, I started to hoover up everything I could get my hands on to help explain what was happening to me. I read so many texts, attended many workshops, drew unsuspecting strangers into intense existential discussion. And I wrote, and wrote, and wrote. When he left, that bit remained. The serious, dedicated, searching for more. And since he had told me he had come here, to this city, to be part of this group, to follow this teacher, I wanted to go too. He said: no, too much, too complicated. In truth, he just didn't want to deal with the fall out of mixing me into that community. But then he got tired of all of us and just…melted away for a bit. And so, with my dealer gone, and a growing understanding of the depth and vastness of the story of “searchers”, I said an internal "fuck it" and went along by myself.

*

So that is how I came to culting. It was a place to go: a safe….understanding….accepting place to take my own searching and the weirdness it was engendering in me. I got to be held by a community of people, on their own individual search, as I unpacked and examined what I was seeing, what was being revealed to me about "me". And I needed that. I was going through something incredibly intense and frightening. I was stripping back everything I had assumed about myself, and my life, and my world. Nothing was secure. Nothing was stable. I was hovering with my foot above wobbly stones, afraid to put my weight on each, unsure whether they would bear me and hold me up, or if they - too - would fall away and leave me slipping into a dark, black, river of nothing.

It’s a strange thing to try to convey what this was like. It was black and white, darkness and light, hellish and heavenly. It was heavy, dank, oppressive in one turn; and soft, light, joyful, in the next. And in the cult, I found a space and a community to take care of me as I was in it. What happened during those sessions (setting aside the words and “the teachings” and all the stuff that also happened) was like a state of incredibly intense focus. Other people who were in the room describe it in various ways, and it seemed to show up for everyone a bit differently. For me, words are a challenge. I find that they're inadequate descriptors. But what I can say is that the closest I have been to it outside of that room was during one meditation session in a ten-day silent meditation retreat I took quite a number of years ago. It was a similar experience, but not the same. Not as “deep” feeling. And not as intense. I can’t really do it any more justice than to say that whatever happened to me in that room for those two or three hours was intense and it was unique. It was “something”..

Now, though - reflecting back - I don’t know if it was a good something or an evil something or an "honestly nothing particularly poignant at all" something. It was what was happening to me, though, and I was there for it, usually four times a week, for almost three years.

*

And then... I wasn’t.

A lot of circumstances led to my quitting - or at least were occurring up to and around the time I quit. But my moment of absolute clarity came when, as I was sitting as usual in the room while the usual starring and questing were going on, I had this searing realization: this is absolute bullshit. And what arrived for me, in that moment, was this sudden understanding that all of the goings on related to this thing: the group, the hierarchy, the leader, the people, the “teaching”, the discourse, the room itself, the scandals, the past and present dramas, were all complete bullshit. And that I had everything I needed to move forward with living my life without it.

And so I walked out of that room. And I haven’t gone back.

*

Life's but a walking shadow, a poor player,

That struts and frets his hour upon the stage,

And then is heard no more. It is a tale

Told by an idiot, full of sound and fury,

Signifying nothing.

[katapotato55]

My love hate relationship with modern Ratchet and Clank games

TW: my opinion. its ok to disagree with me and I would love to hear your perspective. please don't send me hate. thank you.

I love rift apart and I love ratchet and clank as a series. I have played it since the ps2 era and it has a very special place in my heart, I loved the future trillogy too, and I love the newer games all the same.

but also some things bother me

1- clank making a dimentionator and announcing it to the universe felt out of character.

I don't care how you spice it the entirety of ACIT had clank learning about not abusing power for selfish reasons what the fuck game.

It would have worked if literally anyone but clank did that.

2- i miss Jim Ward.

this is not the games fault I am just sad about it. Captain Qwark was one of my favorites growing up. I wish him and his family good health and fortune. thank you for making my childhood you brilliant hilarious man.

3- This entire story feels like a waste of time.

can we just END the whole thing with the lombax race already. I loved the future trilogy but its been 10 years and I want to finally move on to other stories.

either showcase the lombax race, or don't. this has been dangling so much over my head that i have to occasionally remove cobwebs from it. lets just finish this story arc and move on please!

it feels like having the boys go to a parallel "what if never met" timeline just felt… wasteful.

I love rivet and kit but they are still just genderswapped ratchet and clank. You can't really have them meet new characters because they are just meeting themselves.

Yes i know this is a stupid take but i don't care. I just feel like this story was so…. safe. nothing ground breaking or interesting and it feels a bit wasteful.

4- ratchet's personality (also a problem with the 2016 remake)

what I loved about the original trillogy is that ratchet and clank were an amazing duo.

Ratchet was gruff, a little immature, and a bit standoffish. later on he matured (probably because he was like 13 in the first game lol) but he was STILL ratchet.

this reflected off of clank being naieve but good natured and intelligent. Clank became less naieve but he was STILL clank.

but since the 2016 reboot Ratchet went from a standoffish imperfect person to a generic wonderhero every single damn hollywood protagonist has.

the problem with this is that it basically ruins the dynamic with the boys. if both Ratchet AND clank are Naive then they don't really have a lot of chemistry…

Writers: please let your characters be flawed.

I liked ratchet BECAUSE of his flaws, and it feels like ratchet's personality was sandblasted off during the movie.

5- Comedy and seriousness 2 in one shampoo.

I liked the OG trillogy for its comedy, but it had a few serious bits too, mostly in up your arsenal.

I liked the Future trilogy for its serious bits, but it had comedy bits too sprinkled here and there which was a nice way to blow off tension.

for the most part sometimes it feels like this series doesn't know if it wants to be serious or joke-ey and so its kinda neither. Its just there. it exists.

please let the writers have fun with this man. It feels like a lot of the newer stuff has a corporate stranglehold on this series so its too afraid to alienate anyone.

as they always say: to appeal to EVERYONE you end up standing out to no one at all.

why am i making this post?

because tbh I don't want ratchet and clank to turn into bland safe mush that is designed to appeal to as much people as possible.

i love this game

But also this game only really brought me neat alt characters. I like fancy brit nefarious but thats about it. nothing really stands out to me about this game beyond it's premise.

it all feels too…safe?

That's why the lombax civilization story line didn't end, its because its too dangerous to ACTUALLY explore that anymore. that is why for some bloody reason characters keep randomly pointing out how lombax ratchet is being a lombax and that is what he is.

I am not angry, but that is EXACTLY my problem.

I WANT to be angry and upset

I WANT to have my ideas challenged

its more interesting that way! I remember way back in the day people were complaining about the tonal shift in the future trillogy and how they didn't like that.

more of that please! do interesting things with the characters I love! don't just sit on all these good ideas damnit!

anyways give me your thoughts. thank you for reading my lazy weird nerd rant. I stayed up late last night playing shadows of doubt and I will probably regret posting this once I get a full nights sleep lol. oh also shipping ratchet and rivet is weird. stop it I don't want this to be another sans self incest thing. It isn't as ungodly and terrible as the Allistor and Ratchet ship but its still weird as fuck. sorry not sorry please insomniac let women in this series exist for longer than 2 games at least so that the fans can be less emotionally starved. canonize relationships you cowards.

[vasco-portable-translators]

Looking for a translator

I’ve been recently looking for a good, electronic translator to buy. Why? Well… I’ve been learning some foreign languages, but the results are mediocre. And I need to because I travel a lot. Both for fun and for business. Even though most of my business partners speak English, we do have situations in which we simply cannot get across. If you’ve ever tried to speak to a Chinese - you’ll know what I mean. FAQ: How does the Vasco translator work? The Vasco translator can work by scanning huge amounts of translated texts in search for the best possible match. What are the benefits of using a voice translator? The benefits of using a voice translator include being able to communicate in a foreign language and understanding the speech of a foreign language speaker. What are the limitations of voice translators? The limitations of voice translators include the need for an Internet connection and the inability to translate offline. While on holidays, in most places I can ask for a coffee, order lunch or buy a souvenir speaking English. Still… it gets more difficult to ask a stranger for a way, to buy fresh food on a local market, not to mention any exchange of worldviews. Wouldn’t be very interesting to get to know the story of an old Mongolian man’s life? At least I love such stories and unfortunately miss them all the time. Thus, I started my research on translation devices. In my youth, I’ve seen electronic dictionaries but what I found out now - this is pure science-fiction. I came across a bunch of the so called voice translators. You will quickly find them on Amazon and you’ll get lost as quickly as you found them. Why? Because there are so many! You wouldn’t believe! That’s why I started digging. I always need to know more and I always need to do my research because this is who I am. And I would like to share the results of my research today. First of all, the old electronic translators you probably remember had some databases of words uploaded and used them to translate single words or even sentences on a basis of simple algorithms. Results were bad… mildly saying. Nowadays, translation engines seem to work a different way. They scan huge amounts of translated texts in search for the best possible match. Stop here. Do you know how huge these amounts are? So huge, that it is not yet possible to put it on a mobile device. That’s why I need to disappoint you. If you’re looking for something that will translate offline and the translation will be accurate - you won’t find it. I guess that somebody will do it quicker than we think but at the moment - nada! All of the translators available on Amazon, Ebay, webshops etc. need the Internet. Why? Because the Internet allows them to access the data aforementioned. As a result, translations are so great and they get better.     Second of all, I took into consideration HOW those devices connect to the Internet. And you know what? Most of them could be thrown away immediately. They need WiFi. Do you know how hard it is to get WiFi in the middle of Albanian nowhere? Sometimes it’s even difficult to get one in Downtown Manhattan! I had to reject most of the findings from the first page of Amazon. Then, I left with a few that can use a SIM card and just one that had this SIM card included! Fortunately, someone intelligent added a card that can be used everywhere and at the lowest possible costs. But I didn’t finish my research with this one. I ordered a couple of Amazon stuff to get familiar with the range of translators. My findings astonished me. A device called by its seller “instant offline translator” appeared to be an online one and translating in just one direction! What a stupid thing. You can say something to a Japanese but you’ll never understand the answer! The rest of them were not as bad as this one, but translation was mediocre… sometimes even awful. How do I know? I told you at the beginning that I’ve been learning foreign languages all my life. Speak More Languages Now I returned all of them and I started to look at those “in progress”. Kickstarter and Indiegogo are full of this stuff. Give me money and you’ll understand your French girlfriend! Pay me and I’ll give you an earphone translator! Yeah… sure… can you also give me a spaceship and send me to Mars? I’ll clarify this for you. THEY DO NOT EXISTS! THE DO NOT WORK THE WAY YOU THINK! I dare to say most of them are FRAUD! Never donate them or you’ll regret it. Finally, finally, I ordered the one I mentioned with the SIM card. It’s called a Vasco translator. It works. It’s not as good as I could imagine it might be (I always expect too much I guess) but it works. The SIM card allows me to use it everywhere. It works fast and in most cases it’s very accurate, especially when translating to English or from English to French, German, Italian.   Recently I used it in Poland. Have you ever heard a Pole speaking? If not, you should. I guess this is the most difficult language to understand. I wouldn’t even dare learning it. And you know what? My voice translator did it for me. I could freely have a conversation with a Pole. It was really nice. It was so nice that I don’t regret those couple of dollars I spent more on Vasco than I could’ve spent for other stuff. I know it because I tested it. If you don’t believe me - you should try it yourself.   Josh Haley In a nutshell: The author has been researching electronic translators in order to find a good one to buy, as they travel a lot for both fun and business. They found that most of the translators available need the Internet in order to work, and connecting to the Internet can be difficult in some places. They also found that many of the translators available only work in one direction. The author finally found a translator called Vasco that they were happy with. Read the full article

[becomingavery]

10. What do you remember most about your parents’ relationship?

My parents always had an ooey gooey relationship that I wanted to be just like when I grew up. My dad joined the military as soon as he was out of college and married my mom. They met on the very first day of college, both 18 and leaving home for the first time. My mom was going to an ice cream social with some friends and my dad was going to the same ice cream social to try and get away from his new roommate who came in and immediately dumped drugs in a drawer. They have been together ever since.

I heard the story of how they met hundreds of times as we grew up and talked around the dinner table about their experiences and the things that were important in their lives. My mom moved for him dozens of times and uprooted her friendships, her job, her family, and everything else in order to support our family and my dad‘s career. Family always came first for my parents and that has been really pivotal for me. I think it’s important to recognize that my mother didn’t pick up and leave everything because she was expected to. My mother chose to be where she wanted to be and where she wanted to be was beside my dad. Her interactions with him shaped a lot of who I am and how I understand femininity. My mother is probably the most wonderful human I’ve ever met. When I think of intelligence and bravery, I think of my mother. When I wonder if I can do a task that is at hand I know I can always try it because of the model that she set.

My father is kind of traditional. He did the typical “man” things. He hunted and fixed the house and went to the tavern in the evening. His work took him all over the world and he worked hard. He missed a lot of birthdays and a lot of holidays but it’s interesting that that’s not some thing that I’ve ever held against him. I may have been upset on the day, but I couldn’t even tell you now which birthdays he missed and which ones he was present for. One thing that my father was really good at was being present when he was home. There are things that happened that I didn’t agree with, but I never questioned whether or not he loves me and whether or not I was important to him. He sacrificed a lot for us. Often that sacrifice was time. When we moved around the first thing that my family looked at was the safety of where our home was going to be and then how good the schools were. The convenience of him getting back-and-forth to work was tertiary to the things that directly impacted my sister, my mother and me. There are many places we lived where his commute was an hour in the morning and in the evening in order to ensure that we had what we needed.

I don’t remember my parents ever fighting in the way that I remember friends’ parents fighting. They didn’t yell at each other, and they didn’t ever get physical. They would occasionally snip or bicker, but I don’t recall them ever not speaking, even for a short amount of time. I am aware that when it comes to modeling a healthy, successful relationship, I am very fortunate. I had friends who envied my family and I had a group for a time that tried to single me out as the only person in our peer group whose parents were not divorced. I’m not sure why this was some thing that they thought was how they wanted to identify themselves, but my parents put in the work to make sure that they could be healthy and that we could all be happy.

We did things together often despite my desire to be alone. When I think back, I know I was a pain in the butt. We watched movies and I tried to get out of wearing tinfoil hats. We went jet skiing or to the ocean and I brought a book. Yes, I literally read Artemis Fowl on the back of a jet ski. We went to the gym and I hid in the pool. Even though I was often reluctant or even downright resistant, they never stopped inviting me, or trying to get me to interact and be part of our family. It would’ve been easier and it probably would’ve been more enjoyable to leave their sullen teenager at home but that’s not who my family is. They pushed me to be better.

There’s never a time that I ever even questioned my parents love for each other when I was growing up. I had a very steadfast knowledge that they were in it forever. 

[bingtrovert]

azil/ nazin and the past two years of my life.

Hi. I’ve thought a lot about whether what I’m about to say lessens the illusion I’m working hard to maintain. Whether this goes against the strict rules I've set for myself when it comes to what I communicate.

Therefore, this will most likely be a one time thing. My work has inadvertently become about this and thus it feels important to share.

Everything I have made from May 2021 til October 2022, including these two tracks, was during my Dad’s ferocious battle with stage 4 cancer. I feel so guilty for even making this about how that shattering experience has changed my life, when he was the one who had to suffer so tremendously for ultimately nothing. Yet despite that, I have had the endless and immense fortune of learning so much from his boundless wisdom and intelligence, whilst also having the blessing of inheriting many of his characteristics.

He told me that we were cut from the same cloth. I realise now the privilege that is. And whilst that fabric has become torn and battered, the remaining threads that bind us will never tear. It has been six months already. Fuck. It feel likes forever. 

Sometimes it feels like he never even existed. The most important man in my life.. was he ever even there? I can't tell. I've found the scariest thought right now to be that eventually, as many years pass, by way of life I will think of him less and less. It will just become a fact of my life. That keeps me up at night, knowing that he will always be back then, and I will continue to get further away from that point.

There is so much I want to say, make known, scream out of the deep-seated anger and resentment that floods the shores of my heart. Screech into the faces of even my closest friends, who will never understand. Although I hope that remains so. They don’t deserve to go through something like this. Yet still, I want people to know every detail of his constant pain, feel every second of our unrelenting fear, think every thought of our trembling minds.

But then I stop and think. Why would I do that when I can speak out of what is so much stronger than any of that: my love for him. 

For you then, Dad. Bing, Bingfinity, The Shards. This is where I’ll continue to find you. You are the nutrients with which I will grow this vast environment and I will not rest until it blooms and flourishes. Your being will be etched into the very core of this wonderful yet unforgiving place. It will echo across the eternal vistas and valleys, pulse through the tangled roots and wayward rivers, glow as the ancient hymns and psalms are sung by the dwellers pilgriming to the Asphalt ruins. 

If you made it this far, cheers. I gathered you weren't expecting such a sombre tone. That is my life, however. And I've found the process of creating to be immensely helpful, not so much in dealing with my own pain, but in allowing me to hone in on how I feel.

I'm quite reticent naturally, so doing this via the big bad web most definitely feels coy. My dad was the one I would go to. He was the one that understood me, like no one else. I realise how truly fortunate I was to have such a relationship. But even so, being grateful for what you had doesn't change the pain of knowing what you lost.

If you can tell, grief feels like the mind of a drunken man stumbling home, unsure both of where he is and what is going on. He feels dizzy, lost, confused. Oh and he's got the shits (that was a joke).

Thank you for supporting me so far, whoever you may be. I am but a humble farmer growing small crops on this big land so it means more than you could ever know. I promise you there is a lot coming. The next harvest is on the horizon. The next few months is when it begins.

Not much makes sense anymore, however I will not stop until this dream is realised.

So long as the fervent sun chases the gibbous moon, my love for you will never leave. I miss you unspeakable amounts. I always will. Goodbye. 

All my proceeds from this release will be donated to Bowel Cancer UK.

As the wise Angus Delaney once said: I believe in a universe that doesn't care and people who do.

[nix-the-night]

Better

I wanted to share something with you that I thought about a while ago.

There was this girl, she was in my class last year and for a long time she was my friend. Maybe even best friend for a while, because there was a time when I only had her (this is not that uncommon for me, a lot of times I only have one friend or only 2. Until today, the maximum amount of simultaneous friends I had was 3 or 4, and that is not a big problem for me, I even like having few or none, many friends give work and sometimes a lot of headache).

She was and is very beautiful, intelligent and many other adjectives. She could be kind at times, but to be honest, she also treated me pretty bad sometimes. She had a lot of friends, practically all the girls in the room and some gays (all of them, actually, because they only had 2 out, the others were also her friends, but pretended to be straight, or didn't know they were gay yet). She read a lot, from the classic authors to the most recent and famous ones, like Sarah J. Maas and others.

For a while, I thought I liked her, I was kind of deluded by the times she treated me right, and I must have been going through something, that I ended up thinking I felt this way (which is also not uncommon, my feelings could be wrong several times and I don't even know if I've ever really loved someone, maybe because of my feelings they always deceive me, or I just don't know what love is like). Fortunately that didn't last long, and I couldn't declare myself to her, perhaps she even liked me back, but I didn't realize it, and now it doesn't matter, thinking about it just brings me anxiety. After a while, and after I stopped thinking I liked her, I started thinking about some things that really made me very anxious, I started thinking about how she was a better person than me.

She was smarter than me, she was prettier than me, she read more than me, she wrote better than me, her grades were better, she had more friends than me, she knew how to deal better with these friends, she had few (or none) psychological and mental problems, or at least she didn't have any that affected her life that much, she knew how to socialize, she didn't freak out, she was rich, she could date whoever she wanted, boy or girl, everyone could want her, if she wanted, and especially, she didn't screw up anything, she never hurt anyone, she never treated anyone but me badly, she kept her friends close and never hurt any of them.

I know I sound crazy saying this, but that's how my brain works, compulsively and out of control. Thinking about all this makes me very anxious. Although I don't mind some of these traits, like having lots of friends, or being able to date whoever you want, all of these traits and others make me think that she's a much better person than I am and that makes me stay with a mixture of anxiety and anger. For example, when I took the test to get into my new high school, I got 34 questions right, while she got 35 right, we both came in first place, in different categories, but her grade was higher than mine (or at least it would be if she also had a racial quota, but she is white, very white). It made me angry and anxious, again I felt inferior… the grade was like proof of that. I don't know why I feel that way, maybe it's because of anxiety, or it's just competitiveness, but anyway, now I can't think of her anymore, or even see her name, or her profile picture, it pisses me off, so much so that one of the reasons I chose to study in the morning at my school was because I knew she would study in the afternoon, and I think that then I would have fewer problems (thinking about it now, maybe running away from the problem is not the best way to deal with that, but the morning course is better, and I already chose it, so there's nothing to do, and I think I should try to deal with it first within myself and then try to deal with it personally).

Anyway, that was what I always felt, it even made me not feel so happy about having passed school, but recently, I thought about some things and I realized the following: I don't have control over a lot of these things (Stoic thinking), and also she has much more favorable conditions to be the way she is. she was born beautiful, white, and into a wealthy family that doesn't mind her being bi and even supports it; she always knew how to socialize and despite being an introvert, she always had many friends; she has time to read everything she wants, and she doesn't have anxiety problems or anything else that makes it difficult for her to, for example, study traditionally; for having more conditions, she was able to study more and even take a course to try to get into the new school; she manages to have faith in the existence of a god, and can always trust him for all things, without many questions and on top of that having several other faithfuls with her; she has a feeling of community, support, always has, for her everything is easier, because she was born and raised in conditions for this.

Ok, it seems a lot like I'm just trying to make excuses for all of this, and maybe I am, but it brings me more comfort, makes me feel better, lighter. To me after realizing all this I also thought about how many of these things are also just things she worked so hard to have, and that I shouldn't use the excuse that she was born with better conditions to simply stop trying to be better, because she also worked hard for the things she achieved, and I can work hard too, and I can work harder than her. I have decided that from now on I will continue to strive to be better, not to be better than her, but to be better for me and for the people around me, to be not only a decent person, but a good person, a truly admirable person, a strong person, a kind person. I will read more, I will write more and better, when I make friends, I will be nice to them, treat them well and never hurt them. I'm going to train and take care of myself to look good and take care of myself psychologically, so I don't freak out and stop suffering so much with things. And also, I'm going to start trying to accept myself and accept the fact I'm not perfect, I don't need to be better than her, or better than anyone, I just need to be comfortable to myself, and for that, I think I probably need to at least, don't freak out and be kind to people around me.

That's what I'm going to do.

That's how I want to be.

[angelwu009]

Home

Home is a confusing and miserable concept to me. I didn't understand it when I was a child, and neither did I know that I stood as an outlier in this world. One could say that I had a naive childhood and was very outgoing with my peers, but now I come to realize that I only acted that way mainly because every single one of them was just like me.

Winter in Vancouver is extremely chilly, but the orphanage bed is at least warm and provides some comfort. I look out to the window to find it snowing outside and frost forming on both edges of the glass. We are told to keep the windows closed to avoid heat from escaping. People are often curious about how someone ends up in an orphanage, in fact, the reasons are diverse. They may be disabled with missing arms and legs, mentally handicapped children with low intelligence, or simply orphans without parents. Regardless, they all have one thing in common: being abandoned by their families. I am fortunate, that I have a perfectly healthy body, I am unfortunate, that I am too, an orphan. One day a couple years ago I had a conversation with my best-friend here, and she spilled the secret to me that we were all abandoned children neglected by our families, without homes, and that became the most profound impression of my childhood. Then the next thing I knew was that she had to leave, turns out she was adopted by a caucasian couple who could not have children of their own and adored her for her quiet personality.

The orphanage building is not very high, with only five floors. Generally the youngest children will be placed on the ground floor, and older ones on upper levels, for both safety and convenience reasons. Now that I am 14 years old, I live on the fifth floor, it’s the most quiet floor, because rarely anyone visits us. Most of the children here hate being moved to the fifth floor, since it reveals that they have been stuck here the longest. Unlike them, I appreciate the fifth floor, and my favorite part of it is my bedroom window. The fifth-floor windows have the best view that can not only capture the entire front yard of the orphanage but allows you to see the world, beyond the black steeled, heavy gates. Most adoptive families prefer children that are younger in age, now that I am a 14 years old girl with a naughty, unreserved personality, the chances for me are slim. The social workers all show great sympathy towards me, even though they try to hide it. Every time I encounter them in the hallways they would always sigh and remind me kindly, to let them know that if I ever needed anything. Their eyes reflect the frozen lakes of winter, surrounded by a lingering mist, looking terribly despairing. I don't like winter, so I always smile and tell them that I am doing just fine.

Nowadays, I spend most of my time staring at my bedroom window, I listen to the opening of gates and watch vehicles make their way past the entrance. During the other seasons, I would open my window and wave to make an impression on the strangers that could possibly become my family, though they usually don’t make it past the third floor. Now that it is winter, I just watch from the window as cars come come and go, taking the other children. I stare in hopes that winter passes soon, and I can open a window again.

[avvocarlo]

my work is giving me the absolute shits at the moment. I genuinely want to be able to work, except the problem is they're doing it in the most irritating way possible. I've been saying No near on 95 % of the time because it'll be one or more of the following: asking at 9 pm tonight if I can be somewhere tomorrow for 8 am - 3 pm, only a day or so notice, a few hours prior to the shift - this is including sleepovers - somewhere I haven't been to before on that very day, asking me to do back to back shifts while I was already on shift or soon after finishing, offering only a few days in advance to do a 24 hour shift at a place that's over 50 km away. also keep in mind that this is unpredictable work, I genuinely could get a knife in the neck one day for all I know

like no I'm not going to accept these anymore. I was going completely mental for all those months I had long weeks that were at times an upward of 60-70 hours, sleeping in a house that wasn't my own, doing stressful work in a multitude of locations, frequent texts and calls from multiple people (org rostering, coordinators, supervisors, agency staff) every single day demanding that we remove, add, or alter shifts by location, hours etc. that then culminated into some insanely stressful shifts that were utterly cooked by a horrific level of mismanagement. to mention these events in detail would be a whole post by itself I'm sure.

not too long ago they caught on to me that I was essentially burnt out, I told them the last minute shift offers were significantly bothering myself and my partner, they seemingly listened. I'm not sure if my regular coordinator is gone, but that had soon been disregarded. they probably believe I'm difficult or possibly lazy, but their logistical and organisational skills are so mind blowingly incompetent that it will inevitably beget this kind of outcome. what do you expect to happen?

I'm agency at the moment, and we're in the process of moving me somewhere else organisation-wise that will provide consistency, except idk man... I'm feeling incredibly jaded by the whole situation, there was a period I wanted to leave my agency and transition over to the organisation I'm still at, the organisation then seemed to take it upon themselves to use this as a way of pushing my boundaries. increased calls, ridiculous expectations, etc etc.

some people might argue that's to test my worth! that I needed to stick it out! why? what to blindly follow the promise of dangling keys above me like some kind of chump? come on man, there's no way I'm going to fall for that, nor am I going to be some performing bitchboy who puts up with that type of behaviour. I've been called a great worker by my agency/organisation, except it's increasingly difficult to even tell how genuine they are. it does seem like a lot of smoke and mirrors, truly. if I'm so great then why did you treat me that way? I'm better than that, I suppose if I wasn't an asset in their mind they wouldn't be fighting to keep me within the agency + organisation. which again, I don't overly trust. they seem to believe I can't catch on to how facetious many aspects of this industry are. Self Care, Therapeutic Responses, oh did you do this? Ahhh always follow the planner! Be the Gestapo for the love of god, except don't. you know what I mean?

anyway, feeling pretty frustrated about this situation. having time away (as you can all tell by the increased posting over the last month) certainly helped me realise what was important and how I truly felt, unfortunately that only helps me by personal perspective rather than an actual subsequent change with financial compensation, job security, or career pathways... hopefully things will be on the up soon? a sense of structure is extremely important to me

[ratyts]

what a darling (zeke x reader)

masterlist

*1920s au *no pronouns but reader is implied to be fem

tumblr user ratyts is a zeke enthusiast. maybe i'll add a part 2

warnings: none i think this is normal romance content

word count: 1073

you had run into zeke. again. lately zeke had somehow been lingering around every place you went. you went shopping with your sister? guess who just happened to be right around the block. the library? well, there’s one seat left– leaving you shoulder to shoulder with the man himself. even sneaking around your own home, zeke always managed to stay right on your tail.

he was a businessman, an associate of your father, who had recently come into town. your father had excitedly explained something or other about “expanding markets” when he announced that the apparently revered zeke jaeger would be staying with your family for the coming months. although your mother and sisters whispered about his status as a very very eligible bachelor, and his very very vast fortune– you weren't exactly interested. you wanted to see the man who garnered so much adoration, of course, but the youngest of four, you knew you shouldn’t bother fantasizing before your eldest sister was engaged.

when he arrived, he was as stunning and intelligent as people had said. charming, yes, but zeke jaeger was nothing if not a nuisance.  

this time it was in the study. on an ordinary tuesday morning, zeke sat on the sofa with his back to the door flipping through one of your mother’s magazines. you sigh loud enough for him to hear, but he doesn’t budge. heat rushes to your face and the soft tapping of your heel against the wood and the flipping of glossed pages ring in your ears as you make your way to the front of him– standing with your arms crossed and head tilted.  

“alright mr. jaeger–”

“do women really like these things?” zeke interrupts, finally raising his head, a smirk plastered on his face. “young women, i mean,” you sigh again, louder this time, as he chuckles and places the magazine beside him.

“mr. jaeger,” you tap your foot, making the most stern face you can manage. this time you had made up your mind to confront zeke. you wouldn’t be distracted, or swayed, and you absolutely would not be teased into submission.

“mr. jaeger? are you mad at me again?” zeke feigned a pout, a playful tone to his voice.

“i’m not upset,” you roll your eyes, relaxing your face as you plop into the seat beside him, “how else am i supposed to grab your attention? otherwise you’ll distract me from what i mean to say.”

zeke shrugged, shifting to face you more comfortably, “you’ve had my attention since you barged in.”

“the door was open. i didn’t barge in.”

“you have heavy feet. i could hear you coming a mile away”

you scoffed, opening your mouth to retaliate before shutting it completely with a huff. your arms folded back into your chest, you open your mouth again, “i came here to talk to you, zeke.”

zeke nods, as if he’s truly interested. you can see the condescending twitch of his lip turn into a sweet smile, “i’m on the edge of my seat here, darling.”

it was adorable, really, the furrow of your brow and the heat spreading across your face. you rolled your eyes. “darling,” he said, as if the man had no idea what he was doing. he was surely smart enough to pick up on your feelings. that was the most embarrassing part of it all. still, even knowing this, you couldn't part with him just yet.

“which of them is it that you like?” you crossed your legs, knees pointed towards him, “which of my sisters?”

you lowered your gaze, stoning your face in preparation, determined to hide any disappointment. it had been a fun game, the two of you played– with the teasing and joking and the light touches, but you had enough. you knew your mother wanted him for your sister, and they were closer in age anyway. your delusion had to come to an end at some point.

zeke coughed, sputtering, and you raised your head with a quizzical expression. it was a rare occasion to render zeke silent. you always knew him to be impossibly annoying with his quick remarks and constant quips.

“which one of you…?” he coughs a final time, adjusting his tie.

“you can tell me, really,” you nod knowingly, “you need my help, right?”

“your help?” zeke shakes his shead, chuckling as his surprised expression fades to his usual smug one, “you think i need your help?”

“you’re still single aren’t you?” you smile, learning back into the sofa.

“and you want to help me with that,” his smile widens, almost mischievously.

“well sir,” you begin, “since it’s you, i’m sure my father would approve if it’s not the eldest you want.” zeke nods along with you, smiling still. you lean in, lowering your voice, “i can’t imagine any of them objecting to a marriage with you either.”

at that zeke laughs louder, swaying back before he leans in and grabs your shoulder, “and why is that, dear?”

you huff, twisting away from him, “don’t be daft, zeke.” he rolls his eyes and you poke his chest, “you’ve heard their whispers.”

“i’m not one to eavesdrop,” he shrugs, the liar.

“we all know lots of women want to be mrs. jaeger.”

“i’ll be honest,” he stretches his arm, extending it behind your back, “it’s not your sisters who i’m interested in.”

you quirk a brow, “i thought you would marry into the family?” he chuckles, shaking his head and your eyes widen at the thought of zeke moving away from you. “and you never said a thing to me,” you scoff, unable to hide the frown your lips contort into.

“i’m not going anywhere, calm down,” he snorts, “and i won’t marry any of your sisters.”

“i don’t understand you men.”

zeke laughs again, standing up as he dusts himself off, adjusting his suit while responding, “among other things.” he ruffles your hair before grabbing the magazine, placing it on your lap and walking toward the entrance.

you turn around on the sofa, your garments twisting around as you maneuvered to watch him leave, “zeke, where are you going?” he doesn’t answer, whistling away. you knew the most probable answer, he was going to smoke and he’d “be back in a jiffy, so stay where he could find you.” you wouldn’t listen, weaseling your way into another strange corner of the townhouse, but he would find you anyway.

[callmethehunter]

I've read a few fics by different authors about Robert, and I'm kinda confused. They portray him in different ways, so what's his personality like in different aspects? I know that he's extroverted (I saw him getting typed as an ENFJ) and extra, and has a warm heart, but what about his flirtiness and apparent hedonism? How does his rural ideals contrast with touring? I know people are multifaceted and no one's flawless, but I still wanna know some things for certain.

Oh dear Anon, you have made my day! These are great questions about my favorite subject in the world: Robert Plant.:D And as far as that goes, I could (and will) go on and on about this forever, I’ve got so much to say!!

I’ve been obsessed with Robert’s music as well as with his personal life for years. I find him to be a multifaceted, highly talented and intelligent person who embodies traits that one would think were mutually exclusive, yet are somehow at home in him. He is without a doubt, totally outrageous and extroverted, he wants to be the center of attention, yet he is also reclusive, a deep thinker who is keenly aware of the world around him while also being introspective and self-aware. In his own words he has said

“It's part of me to get off on those moments where... well, what people would call attention. Obviously, that isn't the be-all and end-all of life, but at the states of creativity that I've reached, well, it helps the lyrics along a little bit.”

“ I’m pleased with how ridiculous I am. I like me. Though I’m not a huge fan. I know when to switch me off.”

I do think he has a very warm heart. He is genuinely interested in other people, in experiencing the most out of any given situation.

In my opinion, he loves the idea and the feeling of falling in love. He gets off more on that than on the longevity of it. It’s like he’s got ADHD in the aspect of love lol!! I say this because of the number of serious relationships (and not so serious relationships) that he has had in his life. I’m sure he was saddened when they ended, but then he’s moved on to the next great infatuation and adventure. He’s quite capable of starting again, as he has shown multiple times both in his personal and professional life. But I also think it’s a testimony to his heart that he’s been able to continue to be friends with his past loves. “There have been people I've warmed to over the years but, as the situation I'm in is so fleeting and transient, I've always known it's going to be over kind of real quick.”

I mean think about this: after having children with two sisters, Maureen (his exwife) and Shirley, they have been able to raise their children in what looks like a loving extended family. His sons, Logan (with Maureen) and Jesse (with Shirley), are half-brothers as well as first cousins. Just think on that for a moment. In a recent picture, there’s the entire family on vacation: Maureen, Shirley and their children with Robert, as well as Robert and a previous girlfriend, Jessica something or other (don’t remember her name). He’s not confined to societal conventions. He could give a flying fuck. I love that free spirit and he himself has said (and I paraphrase) that he may come across as being a good mate, but in reality he’s out to do whatever the fuck he wants. (And it shows!! )

He says, “...if you do what you think is right for the benefit of everybody and everything and you make decisions, then to go back and regret them afterwards - it's a futile experience and it's not worth thinking about. Because life just unfolds. Provided you do your best and you think you're on the right track, you can only be right or wrong. But to regret it - I don't think there are any huge errors or misdemeanors.”

In the area of friendship, however, he is fiercely loyal. He and Bonzo were like brothers till the end, and even still, Robert honors his dear friend. He’s also been able to maintain friendships with so many people from his hometown- people he knew before he was famous. He puts away the trappings of fame and fortune to be the good old Black Country boy, riding horses and playing with goats, walking around in the forests and enjoying nature.

“I think I could sing and shear a few sheep at the same time.” he says. He is the picture of the word “earthiness”. Able to be the rock god on stage as well as the humble farmer on the farm or at the local pub. He’s loyal to his soccer team and to the sport itself which has been a lifelong passion. I love that in him.

Is he a hedonist? Absolutely!! he has tasted every pleasure there is to taste. His every material wish could be a reality in an instant...He has done drugs, had hundreds of one night stands. He is a highly sensual man. IMO the sexiest man that’s ever walked the planet. His sizeable bulge perpetually stands as a symbol (no pun intended) of his virility and lust (and I like it!!) He exudes charisma and raw sexual energy. He’s done it all to the highest level, partied and cavorted around the globe. What a life he’s lived!!

But he is also soulful- in his lyrics there is also a deep spiritual side of him: I think he is a modern day troubadour and philosopher. His lyrics touch on that, “it is the springtime of my loving” ….“In the light you will find the road” “when all is one and one is all” “Then as it was, then again it will be, though the course may change sometimes, rivers always reach the sea” and I could go on and on with other examples. These are just what popped in my head. “I am a reflection of what I sing. Sometimes I have to get serious because the things Ive been through are serious” He’s experienced moments where he is the “golden god” as well as tragic moments such as the loss of his 5 year old son and the loss of his dear friend Bonzo. These are definitely reflected in his music.

And finally, in his own words:

“I'm like one of those firecrackers that goes off in your pocket occasionally. I'm not really struggling with it as much as the people around me. But at least I'm not doing too much damage to anybody or to myself. It's just the condition I'm aware of."

And he’s still got a twinkle in him and always will.

Thank you for letting me go and on about this man, he holds such a special place in my heart. He is a beautiful and joyous old hippie full of wisdom and talent. He has created a lasting legacy and I hold the deepest admiration for him, despite his human frailties or shortcomings.

If you have read this far, you deserve a kiss and a medal! Thanks so much for this ask!!

[jessiebanethedragon]

White Sands Warm the Cold Sea

Star Wars, The Bad Batch Pirate!au (Hunter x Reader

Summary: the reader, betrothed to a disgusting Coruscanti Lord flees her home world and lands herself in a plethora of trouble, a ship of clones, and one pirate captain whose cold exterior needs much more than the tropical seaside sun.

Warnings: Swearing, takes place in time periods where women have dowery's and suchlike. The readers dad and bothered are asses.

Chapter one: The Sentencing

Fate, you had decided, fucked you over. Which in itself, was not only a very unladylike statement, but was also very ironic. But how fitting for a woman of your time, to want something her whole life only to be told she couldn’t have it by the most infuriating of men. For passion to be pushed into a corset and cinched into fake smiles and batting eyelashes.

Everyone has a value, never mind how little or much, everyone is worth something. And you are worth a great deal to me.

At the time you’d thought your fathers words were a statement of affection, love brought to light by goblets of rum only to settle in your lap as you tended to the fireplace and did your best to lead him into his bed, staggering every step of the way. It was now that you understood his words. The choice of word may have been valuable, but the more accurate synonym, dowry explained his true intentions.

Enter one Lord Volim Nython, a pretentious man with a mind that was far more shallow than his pockets and a reputation to match. What Lord Nython did not already possess, he bought. And what he was without currently, was a wife. He was a man with a personality inked in gunpowder and steel, crushing his enemies in the war that made his predecessors and your fathers fortunes.

A very fitting match. Oh how quaint, the wedding would be so grand, and the children, oh they will be beautiful. The distinct lack of sincerity infuriated you, older women with tea parties akin to that of toddlers and the gloved hands they rest on their chests as they shake their heads at the utmost ridiculous things. While the tautly curled hair stays perfectly in place, rage resided in you at an unfathomable height. But, it was not without its reins, and as its rider, you had to lead your rage onto a path that would result in your success.

You chose this night carefully, knowing that it was on the last of every month, when the money came in from gambling, debts and the crown, that your father quite literally liquified his earnings. You shiver in your nightgown, every fireplace in the house was still burning, and the oil lamps were flickering away, though the household was asleep save for yourself. The main doors shifted open as the intoxicated man made his way in. And you steady yourself before greeting him.

“A good night, I'll take it then?” You ask with a breath of a laugh, wrapping a shivering arm arm around his shoulders and leading him over to the plush sitting chairs by the fire. He waves you off when you offer him water and so you sit on your knees by his feet. Grasping his hands on your own. He regards you with a suspicious look.

“I… I wanted to ask you something.” You start carefully, eyeing his look. The rug is warm from the flame and the way it illuminates his face, you wonder how many times your mother sat with him like this, or how often he looked at her in such confusion.

“Well? Get on with it then.” He slurs leaning further back into the red velvet. Causing you to shift and bunch your nightgown.

“I wanted to ask if, if you thought, the lord...”

“Lord Nython.” He confirms, watching you jump as the fire crackles, your nerves electrified by what you mean to bring up next. And it gives away your intentions before you can ask them. After all, your father may know you better than you had originally thought.

“Do not tell me what I think you are about to do.” he warns tilting his head down so the orange light reflects the way he regards you through his brow.

“I think we could make a better match.” You try and appeal to his motivations. “I think we stand to make a better-”

“I’ve been given offers.” He interrupts, the liquor making him less angry and more level headed as you had intended it to. “No one will wed you for the price Lord Nython will.” He moves to stand, the conversation finished, but you are not, having given yourself a stern word of not settling until you are free from the man's clutches.

“There are richer men outside of Coruscant.” You say with more force than you had intended. The translucent fabric whooshing as you stand. Your father pauses at the helm of the stairs, like a Blurg righting itself after an unsuccessful charge, he is listening.

“Naboo royalty, even a low Alderanian Lord would double Nythons offer.” You take cautious steps forward, hoping that his underestimation of your intelligence works in your favor.

“Those men are oceans away, Nython will wed you tomorrow if the crown gave its blessing.” He counters, but it is not a dismissal.

“Consider this an investment then, the payoff would surely be worth it.” You press carefully, like a healer tending to an inflammation, you palpate the area with caution looking to avoid the most sensitive of the inflamed tissue. Your father huffs.

“Providing you could snag a suitable man.” Hope flickers within you, and it warms you more than the fire ever could, it makes you feel power, and control. And hope, like it does with most, makes you foolish.

“Love is a powerful motivator.”

His booming drunk laugh shakes you, fear flooding you as you realize your mistake. But you were so close! So tantalizingly close to being free from the wretched man.

“You think men marry for love?” You see him wipe away tears of laughter as he sways on the dark oak staircase of your home. “You my dear, are even more dull than I thought.” You shake with anger and anxiety.

“I want to be in love! Like you an-”

“Do not say you mother and I. Ha. You are truly delusional.” He interrupts, taunting you with drunken laughter. Your father never speaks of your mother, and when he did it was pushed aside in favor of something else. But alcohol has a way of loosening tongues.

“I… I-” you stammer, if there was one thing you remembered about your mother it was the love she shared with your father and the stories of growing up and falling into a love so pure with someone it made your heart ache for it.

“We were not in love, she despised me, and I her.” He spits from his place on the stairs. The height difference adds to how small you feel. How his pitiful stare shrinks you and sends chills into your bones.

“I do not under-“ He interrupts again:

“It was an act! Pretend! Meant to fool young girls into thinking they could have a life as such. And even in death she continues to lie to you!” You blink away tears and think, you try to think he is lying, that they were happy, she was happy, and that in his intoxication your father lies.

“She was adamant that we would be in love for you.” He sighs, and drops to the stairs to sit and lean on the railing. “That we would keep up pretences for your sake so that you would strive for such happiness.” With his words it is as if he is taking away the core memories of your mother.

“I will not marry that man.” You have to push the words out, but the meaning is clear enough.

“Yes.” Your father says ever so sternly. “You will.”

“I shall not!” You fight back, hating how your eyes cloud with tears and emotions bubble up. “He looks at me like one does cattle, I am nothing more than a trade deal to that man!” both parties know you are right, from the first meeting when he had stalked around you, looking up and down, tutting here, humming there. Not engaging in any conversation that you’d deem intellectual or interesting. You’d been disgusted then, and you are still disgusted now.

“Please!” Your father wipes drunken saliva from his chin, “Lord Nython is giving us so much gold for your hand in marriage you should be grateful, and a renowned war hero like himself. You will wed that man even if i have to drag you to the altar.” You’re stunned, and horrified, and your father leaves you weeping on the dark oak stairs, a mess for one of the maids to clean up before he wakes in the morning.

Tag list: @the-mandalorian-clone-lover @peacefulwizardfox @rex-meshla @s1st3r @and-claudia @kamino-mermaid

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