#if I cannot physically put him into a maze to study him then I will instead draw him pathetic and miserable | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

adorerdraco · 5 years ago

Text

Healing Heart ✧ Draco x Reader Mini-Series PART 4

PART 1

PART 2

PART 3

Summary: PART 4 ! of Draco accidentally falling in love with reader during his sixth year (HBP) and now having to deal with the reality of his Death Eater status.

Warnings: lots of ANGST (but also tiniest bit of fluff), lots of tears, lots of emotional pain on everyone

Words: 7.5K

A/N: FINALLLYYYY i had no idea what to do with this but something finally came to me !!!! and also an ending ;( so there will only be maybe one or two parts after this one since it is a miniii series BUT FOR NOW I HOPE YOU GUYS LIKE THIS AND IGNORE ANY PLOT HOLES FROM THE ACTUAL HP UNIVERSE I TRIED MY V BEST AHHH <33333 do not own gif.

There was an unsettling sense of impending doom that washed over the Hogwarts castle in heavy rain and dark thunderous clouds. The familiar orange and bright sunlight and purple-pink sunsets were gone, the sun only making meek appearances through the thick rainy covers of the sky before disappearing into the nightfall. No one knew what was coming or what to expect. Schooling continued like normal and everyone had entrusted that whatever was the situation outside the bewitched stone walls of Hogwarts; there was no way it could get past the protection charms put in place by the all-powerful Headmaster and his fellow teachers.

The only two people in the school who couldn’t share that same comfort with their peers were also the only ones in the school who had an inkling of what was going to happen next. The second Draco realized he had successfully mended the vanishing cabinet he had a squirming sense of regret and guilt begin to eat away at him. You felt the same burn of shame in you when you mulled over the fact that it was you who had encouraged him to keep at it even when he continuously wanted to quit.

So now here you were, in the chilled room of requirement after finding out the cabinet worked only minutes ago, the two of you sitting in silence together on an old pile of junk while you held a shivering Draco with his face buried in your neck. There was a feeling of droplets of quiet tears falling onto your skin while you pet the top of his silver-stricken hair in reassurance and tried to hold your own tears back. The breakthrough that was supposed to be the biggest accomplishment of the young Death Eater ended up feeling like his biggest failure and it devastated him more than he could have ever fathomed.

When he had finally gathered himself together, he stood up and totteringly fixed the wrinkles on his black suit before offering you a trembling hand. You took it and allowed him to walk you out of the room and back into the empty corridors and towards the staircases. It was a silent trip down to the dungeons and you didn’t want to ask where he was taking you but you regretted not doing so when he stopped the two of you outside a certain greasy-haired Professor’s door. He brought his free hand up to the wood and let his knuckles hit against it faintly with one knock before you rushed to stop him as you yanked the two of you away from the door once you had realized how unwise this felt.

“What are you doing?!” you asked him in a hushed fearful tone.

“I have to tell Snape about the vanishing cabinet,” he responds dully.

“I don’t think he’d like me to be here when you tell him that-”

There was a sudden clicking sound, the door of the office swinging open as Snape emerged from the room with an angered expression when he saw the two of you standing there. When his dark eyes landed on you specifically, you shivered underneath his vexed gaze. It was clear, just how you had said, he did not want you there.

“Inside, now, Draco.” He grits the demand through his teeth.

“Y/N is coming in too,” the Slytherin says quickly, earning another scowl from his Professor. He stepped aside from the door with a visible rage as you followed Draco inside to the dingy room lined with jars filled with weird unnameable objects.

Draco stopped in the middle of the room, reaching for your hand again and tightly gripping it in reassurance. You stared into his worried gray’s with fear, silently begging him to not let you go as Snape walked past the both of you.

“Do you have any idea how imprudent you are, Draco?” Snape sneered, staring down the boy beside you who kept a straight face. “Do you understand how reckless this is? How much does she know?”

“Everything, Professor,” Draco answers quietly. There was a fiery glint in Snape’s eyes as he looked towards you now, his lips curling upwards in a snarl.

“Foolish girl with an equally foolish boy,” he scowls. “You have nothing to do with any of this. You have done nothing but write yourself a death sentence all for the sake of what... love?”

“With all due respect, Professor,” you start timidly, “I knew what the consequences would be if I stayed with Draco and I will gladly accept whatever fate is in store for me for my decision. I also promise you my silence with everything I know.”

Draco squeezed your hand and glanced towards you with a sadness you were easily able to see.

“How touching,” Snape says lowly. “So you’re prepared to die at the hands of the Dark Lord? Or perhaps at the hands of his precious aunt who might get to you first?”

“Yes, I am” you stood tall when you answered, hoping to appear courageous for not only a very doubtful Snape but more for Draco who you felt cringe every time your possible death was mentioned.

He said nothing, but his mind was swarming with thoughts and plans on how he could save you from every dangerous person and outcome that tormented his surroundings. There was one constant threat after another and although he’s contemplated on it several times, there was no solution he could come up with where the two of you stayed together and you would survive. He mentally kicks himself, wishing he pushed aside his own selfish needs and never promised you he wouldn’t leave you again and he wishes now more than ever that he could. It wasn’t because he didn’t love you - it was the opposite of that. He loved you almost too much and as dreadful situations were approaching, he wished he could leave you out of the death and destruction that would soon ensue on everyone, especially you, all because of him. All because he needed you by his side for him to even feel any sense of life in him that kept him going.

“Very well, then, I cannot stop you from these naive decisions,” Snape sighs deeply in defeat and faces the troubled blond, “and what of the vanishing cabinet?”

You felt Draco stiffen, a trembling exhale falling from his lips before responding with, “it’s done.”

“Excellent, expect their arrival soon,” he rounds his desk, stopping right above his chair, “you may leave.”

You hurriedly turned to go, tugging on Draco’s hand as you did so and the both of you drudged out of the office with a heavy sensation settling over the both of you. There was nothing either of you could do now. There was no more stalling with the cabinet, no more keeping quiet, no more hopeful possibilities that things could turn out differently.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

It was nearly physically painful to attend all your classes today. It was fake smiles and conversations that left you feeling pathetically phony -feeling like you were lying to everyone that they were going to be okay when they weren’t. You even made plans with housemates to have a little gathering in the common room later in the week to celebrate someone’s birthday and plans with friends to go study in the library with them.

It even hurt to see your Professors, always kind and helpful, not knowing that sometime in the near future, they’ll be either fighting for their life or the lives of students at Hogwarts.

Draco had it even worse. Not one peep from him throughout any of his classes. He was deathly quiet, walking around looking like a kicked puppy and avoided any conversation or interaction with anyone, not even eye contact. He just felt so guilty that he was going to be the reason why death would inevitably wreak havoc on so many souls. He knows eventually the dark wizard he’s resentfully following would have found a way inside the castle walls somehow - you had reminded him that countless times, but it still left him wondering what would have happened if he couldn’t fully mend the cabinet or refused to.

Halfway through the day, he saw you in Slughorn’s class. The two of you worked diligently together through the whole lesson and when the bell rang, he gave you a small kiss goodbye before walking over to his other class. Your worried eyes followed his retreating figure, leaving you a chilling feeling as he disappeared down the hall.

During his next class, he sat in the far end of a classroom, slumped in his chair with his chin on his palm as he thought of you. He wishes he could be stronger for you, braver and less cowardly. He wished he was unafraid of consequences and could simply grab you and his mother, and eventually even his father, and just apparate to somewhere far away and hidden where the Dark Lord and his followers couldn’t get to him or those he loved. But he knew that no matter how much he wished it or try to convince himself he could; he couldn’t do it and he knows his family wouldn’t let him either.

When classed had finally ended for the day and the corridors were packed with rushing bodies of people meeting up with their friends as they laughed and talked with a weightless glee, Draco found himself pushing past everyone like a mindless zombie as his feet mindlessly carried him throughout the school with no specific destination. There was no moment of peace in his head, just a raging battlefield of endless awful possibilities.

You had been scurrying through the halls, hoping to find the mop of platinum blond amongst the busy crowd of people. The scene felt like a maze, twisting and turning through people and corners until you felt like you were on the edge of madness.

There was a small tap on your shoulder before a large hand had snaked down your arm and into your hand with its familiar cold grasp. You sighed in relief, your head turning softly to face your noticeably stressed boyfriend who had put on a very feeble smile for you.

“Can we go somewhere else,” he asked faintly, leaning down towards your ear as he spoke, “I can’t be here anymore.”

You nodded eagerly, moving the two of you towards the nearest exit of the castle, finally releasing a breath of fresh air when you felt your shoes sink into the soft earth below you. There was a humid and muddy smell in the air, the soil, and plants still wet from the on and off rain that had been occurring for the past few days.

Far from the school and on the outskirts of the Forbidden Forest, there stood a tall and sturdy tree. It was the new tree you had picked for the two of after the first fall out between you and Draco. Its trunk was thick and wide, allowing both of you to hide from anyone who passed by or saw it in the distance. The tresses of leaves nearly showered onto the ground from its long branches that twisted and turned in ways that appeared like it was trying to hug itself. It almost looked like a huge, untrimmed dome, encircling you inside its core while it protected you from unwanted attention. It was perfect.

When you finally reached it, you pushed back some of the leaves so you could walk into the dimly lit and vast space it naturally created and plopped yourself against the trunk with a deep exhale. Draco sat down with you, adjusting himself so that he could lay his head on your lap, humming comfortably when your fingers began their usual work through the soft strands of his hair.

You sat there in silence as the both of you thought, and thought, and thought. It was hard to believe that only this morning you were standing in the room of requirement with him, shocked and distressed that he had finally fixed the vanishing cabinet. Now Snape and the rest of the Death Eaters were aware of the new opening into Hogwarts, preparing to set ablaze the school with pain and some sort of destruction.

You looked down at the boy in your lap, a permanent wrinkle in between his eyebrows as he lied staring straight ahead, a lost look in his gray eyes that you hadn’t seen in so long.

“What are you thinking about?” You asked softly. One of your hands had trailed from his hair and rested gently on his forehead, your pinky gently trying to smooth out the crease between his eyes.

“I should have never fixed the cabinet,” he sighs and sits up to face you. You noticed the glassy look and reddened lash lines, the storming tears ready to come out at any moment.

"Draco, anything that happens next is not your fault,” you tried to reassure but it only made him feel worse.

“No, it’s not only that,” he lets out a shaky breath, letting the first tear fall that he couldn’t hold back. “I have to dedicate myself to my second task now.”

You froze as you remembered the biggest responsibility he had, demanded to him by the Dark Lord himself - the obligation of killing Dumbledore. A mere 16-year-old boy, who was in the middle of a collapsed world and broken judgments, was burdened with the worst trial of them all.

Draco shuddered at the thought, moving to sit beside you against the tree as he sat with his knees pulled to his chest and the waterfall of tears now falling freely down his face.

“I can’t kill him, I don’t want to kill him,” he lamented, “I can’t do it. He’ll kill me first before I can even try.”

You placed a hand on his arm, rubbing soothing circles into it as you let him cry and thought of what you could say. The vanishing cabinet was one thing, but this, this was a life. This was someone who is known to be the most powerful wizard of all time, the only one alive right now who the enemy truly feared. This was someone who everyone needed alive at this time. If Draco went through with this, he would never be able to recover. You know he doesn’t want to do it, at all, and having everyone else in his life nag at him in encouragement is the opposite of what he needs. You truly couldn’t give him any advice on what he can do or why he should.

“I don’t think he would,” you started quietly, trying to find the words to piece together what you wanted to say, “kill you, I mean. I think you’re so used to You-Know-Who, that, you forget Dumbledore isn't evil and is merciful. And maybe, if you stall long enough, someone else can do it? Maybe Bellatrix.”

Draco let out a bitter chuckle, shaking his head at the suggestion, “my dear aunt Bellatrix more than anyone, wants me to do it.”

“I wish there was something I could do to help,” you frowned, letting the back of your head fall against the tree as you stared up at the swinging greenery above you.

“You can help by keeping yourself alive,” he sniffles, his cold hand enveloping itself in yours as he spoke. “If there was one good thing that came out of all of this, it’s you. I think you not being here on this Earth, would feel far, far worse than taking Dumbledore’s life.”

He brought your hand up to his lips, pressing a warm kiss onto the skin before he held it against his chest.

“I wish I could put you in a bubble and send you up above the clouds so you could watch the sky all day and be happy, and most of all safe from everything evil,” he muses, a slight smile on your lips as you listened to his wish. His fingers began twirling around the band on your wrist, the same band he had gifted you the night before when everything seemed to be okay, in a sense.

“Evil will always be here, Dark Wizards present or not,” you remind him gingerly, “just as there will always be good. It’s a balance, one can’t be here without the other.”

“I suppose you’re right,” he sighs. “But I still wish it was possible to send you away in a bubble.”

“If that was possible, you know you would come with me, right?” You turn your head, smiling at him when he met your eyes. You brought up your held hand, wiping away the stray tears that had lingered on his paled cheeks as he kept a firm grasp on your wrist.

“I would love to go with you,” he said tenderly, heart-swelling at how easy you made him feel calm and present. It was wonderous, he felt, how someone had managed to make him feel this way. He never would have thought he’d have someone who genuinely loved him and he loved back, in his love life. Especially not at this time, in this year, where he was facing his worst tribulations and turmoils.

You leaned your head on his shoulder, both of you now staring up into the darkening grayed sky that peeked through the mess of leaves above.

“It’s getting dark, we should probably go soon,” you mumble tiredly, noticing how the moon was already starting to make an appearance behind the heavy gray clouds. "And it looks like it's about to rain."

As soon as the words left your mouth, there was a loud cracking of thunder, the tree’s branches surrounding you suddenly shaking at the sound. You shot up to your feet, Draco following closely as the two of you heard a whining sound coming directly from the trunk of the tree. Its leaves began to move wildly in the wind that approached, more booming of thundering filling the air as a storm above began to brew. The branches began to swing carefully and more inwards as if it was alive and closing itself up from any danger that was coming from around or above it. The leaves were falling over one another, covering up any spaces in the tree that the constricting branches couldn’t cover.

“Draco,” you say timidly, reaching for his hand in fear, “is it just me, or is the tree moving?”

The space underneath the tree had shrunken significantly, it was now a small circle going around the trunk that was big enough to walk around but not enough to run through like you once could. Whatever light the outside was able to offer was now gone, the cracking and compressing branches and leaf clumps blocked out everything from the outside, including the rain that you could very loudly hear pattering against the fronds above you.

“I think its closed us in,” Draco mutters, moving you behind his back as he pulled his wand from his pocket and whispered a quick, ‘lumos,’ so that the two of you could see. He held you behind him protectively as he stepped towards the walls of the tree, pushing against the leaves and branches that were now tightly contracted together that allowed no room for escape. “We’re stuck in here - unless you want to blast a hole through it.”

“No!” you exclaim immediately. You moved away from him and walked towards the trunk of the tree, placing a gentle hand on the dry wood that still seemed to be faintly buzzing from its movement. “We’re not going to hurt it.”

“Y/N, we’re stuck in here, no one knows where we are-” he tries to reason more but you shush him quickly.

“And that’s such a bad thing?” you scoff, moving to press your ear against the wood as you tried to examine it more. You heard the same whining from earlier but much weaker now, its bellows fading now as it felt protected from the storm.

“What are you doing?”

There was confusion written all over the blond’s face as he watched you inspect the tree, curious and concerned with your attentiveness.

“Dray, come here,” you rushed out, motioning towards you so he would hurry over. He let you grab his free hand when he reached you since his wand hand was still casting the only light around you. You placed it against the trunk of the tree with yours, a sudden vibration shooting up his arm at the contact with the wood. “The tree is a sentient. It’s alive and very aware.”

“What, so like the Whomping Willow?”

“Exactly like that, but not aggressive at all,” you nod, beaming up at him. “I think it knows we’re here too.”

For a moment, there was finally a fleeting feeling of glee as both of your worries from the outside left you, allowing reverence and excitement to fill you and spread to Draco.

“You speak tree now?” He snickers, smirking at you when you rolled your eyes.

You leaned your head against the tree, closing your eyes as you quietly thanked it for its protection from the thunder and the rain and its beauty. Draco’s gaze stayed on you, watching you with wonder and fullness in his heart. He began to question himself how someone like you was real, who was so caring with everything you touched, from nature to people. You radiated bravery, loyalty, strong intelligence, and ambition wherever you went and in every situation, you were in.

How did I get so lucky, he kept thinking.

From the corner of his eye, he noticed a bright glittering blue light, and then a purple one, then a pink, and a white. He fully looked up and inhaled faintly when he saw what they all were.

Small translucent and thin stringy flowers of all colors that he could think of began to illuminate themselves from the many branches of the tree before floating off, dancing and twirling in the air as they descended towards the two of you. He noticed they looked nearly identical to spider lily’s - all thanks to Professor Sprout when he was forced to learn several different flowers in her class.

He nudged you gently, pointing up to the air when you opened your eyes and you stepped away from the trunk to look around in awe. There must have been at least a hundred of them spinning and flying, their petals bouncing up and down as they carried themselves around the open area.

You reached up your palm, catching one in your hand as it landed daintily and glowed a bright rose color, its petals still lifting up and down like if it was keeping itself afloat. You turned to bring it carefully towards Draco, almost jumping up and down in excitement that it was on you. He turned off the light of his wand with an easy, ‘nox,’ putting it away now that the area was now fully lit up in beautifully twinkling lights. He smiled down at you, placing both his hands under your one as he helped you hold it up since you were nearly exploding from happiness.

“I’ve never seen anything like this,” you whispered in wonder. “I didn’t even know trees could do this! Our tree!”

“I think this is only because of you, darling,” he whispers back. “You have a way of bringing dull things to life.”

Your gaze flickered up, smiling warmly at him before pushing up gently on the flower, encouraging it to fly away so you could move. You got closer to the Slytherin, his arms encircling around your waist once you were flush against him. One of the green flowers had landed on the top of his hair, settling itself carefully on him.

“I’ve got one on me, haven’t I?” He chuckles and you nod, a bright smile on your face as you looked between him and the flower.

“It likes you,” you beam. “But, not as much as I do.”

He laughs a real laugh of delight and amusement, squeezing you delicately tighter against him.

“Obviously.”

You stood on your tip-toes to reach his tall figure, craning your face up and pressing your lips against his in a loving match. You parted your lips and allowed his warmth to wash all over you in comfort, all thoughts being numbed at the feeling. As your lips continued to move against his, you began to feel a tickling all over your hair and whatever skin was exposed to the air. You pulled away from him curiously, gasping softly when you saw that all the flowers had flown down towards the two of you landing and sitting on you both as if they were attracted like magnets.

Draco moved one of his clasped hands from your waist up to your cheek, grinning to himself as you leaned your head into his touch.

“I’m glad this tree has us trapped in here,” he mutters. “I wouldn't want to be anywhere else with the one I love.”

“I love you more, Draco.”

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

The two of you awoke to the sound of cracking wood and swooshing leaves, a cold breeze following quickly as it encompassed you. You gradually opened your eyes, seeing that the tree was expanding and moving back to its original state and appearing back to normal. Carefully sitting up, you realized the flowers were gone, there was no sight of them anywhere. If it wasn’t for Draco being there with you, you would’ve thought you imagined the whole thing.

Speaking of the said boy, he groaned beneath you, balled fists going up to his closed eyes as he began to rub his sleep away. The early morning light had streamed through weakly through the clouds and through the leaves onto you.

“I wonder if anyone looked for us,” you yawned carelessly, standing up and flattening down the wrinkles on your clothes. You outstretched your hands and back, deeply exhaling at the feeling of relief from the ground below you.

“Probably,” Draco answered sleepily, standing himself up and wiping himself off of all dirt and grime. “We should go back now before it locks s in again.”

You skipped over to the trunk of the tree, placing your hand on it once again and whispering to it a tender, “thank you.”

You could’ve sworn it whined something back, but you brushed it off at your drowsiness and continued towards the castle with Draco.

The two of you walked quietly hand in hand to your common room, stopping outside of it with a sigh as you read a clock on a far-away wall.

7:42 AM

“How long have we been out?” You question fearfully.

“No idea,” he yawns. “Must have been a very long time though.”

Draco freezes in his spot, feeling his body crawl with what felt like tiny spiders when he saw who was standing at the end of one of the nearby corridors, a scowl on his face when they made eye contact.

“Go inside and get yourself cleaned up and ready for the day, love,” he rushed out, placing a quick kiss on your forehead and parted lips as he nudged you towards the entrance. “I’ll see you later, yeah?”

You tiredly nodded, giving the required password to the common room before sneakily stepping inside and tip-toeing towards your room.

When the doors finally closed and you were gone, Draco turned down the corridor and started towards a furious Snape down the way. The raven-haired man stayed glued where he stood, patiently waiting for the young Death Eater to approach him so he could swiftly unleash hell on him.

“I have been searching for you all night,” Snape snapped lowly. “Where did the two of you run off to?”

“We got stuck somewhere, but I’m here now,” Draco answers, staring into the accusatory eyes in front of him.

“You better hope you kissed her your final goodbye,” he snarls. “They’re coming tonight, and you must carry out your last duty - tonight.”

“Tonight?” Draco echoes emptily, feeling like whatever happiness he had left in his body from last night was slowly trickling down his body and out into the floor like a sad, melted popsicle.

“Yes, and after tonight you will no longer be a student here,” Snape reminds with a hushed tone. “Miss Y/L/N cannot follow you. I hope you understand that. it would be incredibly dangerous for you and her.”

“No,” Draco begins to shake his head in refusal, his heart dropping to his stomach as the realities began to set in. “I don’t want to leave her, I don’t know how.”

“I think it’s time you start figuring out how,” his Professor suggests inconsiderately. “Room of requirement at nightfall, you’re opening up the cabinet for them so they’re able to transport. Come alone and prepared to leave the school.”

Before Draco could try to argue, Snape brushed past him and disappeared down the corridor and past a corner, leaving behind a pain-stricken boy who was stupidly in love with someone he couldn’t find in him to let go.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

Something was off and unsettling, you noticed. You weren’t sure where it came from, but you felt it eat away at you even though nothing had happened to you. You came home feeling wonderful from an impromptu dreamy night with Draco, completely love-struck and ditzy and halfway through your shower was when it was all washed away and replaced with dread.

You wondered if this is somehow how Draco was feeling before deciding against your gut.

I’m not a mind reader, you thought repeatedly.

It was odd how you saw him nowhere around the school, even more, odd when you hadn’t seen him in your shared Potions class that left you partnering up with your friend who didn’t mind the on and off switching. She asked you eagerly about your disappearance, expecting juicy details but was immediately bored when you gave her a watered-down story of what had happened.

“Oh, we were just watching the stars and accidentally fell asleep outside,” you lied, trying to force excitement in your voice to make the story more believable.

“That’s it?” she deadpanned. “You guys are so boring. Also, what if something attacked you guys? The Forbidden Forest is right there.”

You rolled your eyes, secretly wishing the two of you really were a simple boring couple and not facing the most life-threatening and scariest adversities.

“I’m sure one of us would’ve woken up if we heard something,” you shrug and she sighs, shaking her head.

There was still no sign of him after this class. And there was still no sign of him after the rest of the schooling day had ended.

You sat with your friends in the bumbling busy courtyard, listening to them quietly as they chatted happily. You were worried out of your mind, the pit in your stomach growing wider when you saw Draco’s familiar group of Slytherins gathered together in the distance, not a single platinum head in sight.

As the day continued into the evening and people were making their trip over to the Great Hall, you made up a quick excuse to your friends and broke off from them to scourge the school in its emptiness. It was quickly getting dark, you finally decided to follow your instincts and let yourself bound down the stoned staircase towards the even darker lit dungeons. It was empty and cold, a dooming atmosphere for no apparent reason.

As you were about to turn around, you heard the door to the Slytherin common room open and relief flooded you when you saw Draco emerge from the exit with a new black suit on, perfectly styled and gelled hair, and a somber expression on his face. He looked paler than usual, almost gray, the way he looked when you had found him that day in Moaning Myrtle’s bathroom with a curse ravaging his body.

“Draco!” You called out to him excitedly, running towards him and wrapping your arms around him tightly when you reached him. He felt rigid underneath your touch, a distant look in his eyes as he looked down at you quickly. “Where have you been all day?”

“I’ve had to take care of some stuff,” he murmurs in response.

“Are you okay?” You ask carefully as you observed him. He was cold, emotionally, and physically. He resembled his house’s ghost, the Bloody Baron, cold and angry with hidden despair - just without all the blood.

“I’m fine.”

You stepped away from him at his answer, peering up at him in confusion at his sudden aloofness.

“I need to tell you something,” he ends up breathing out after a moment of awkward tension. His hand wraps around your forearm instead of his usual spot in your hand, nearly dragging you towards an empty classroom that was a few feet away from where you both stood.

He closed the door warily behind him once the two of you were inside, the dingy lamps in the room automatically lighting up when they sensed a presence so you wouldn’t be left in the dark.

“So, what do you need to tell me?” You begin to wring your hands in distress, not feeling hopeful under his miserable gaze.

“We need to end this, here, right now,” he spits out quickly, a troubled expression taking over his features as soon as the words left his lips.

There was a thick silence that fell over the room, a heavy tension that grew with every passing second was bursting at the seams of the walls. You couldn’t think straight, your heart feeling like it had fallen into your back and your stomach bubbling dangerously with bile you desperately wanted to release.

“What do you mean,” you ask stupidly. The tiniest piece of you was desperately hoping that he had meant something completely different than your relationship.

“You and me,” he pointed between the two of you brokenly. “I have to kill Dumbledore tonight, and then I have to leave.”

“I’ll go with you,” you promptly offer, nodding in agreement with yourself.

“You can’t,” he asserts sadly, walking up to you and placing both hands on either side of your biceps, gripping you tightly in place as if you were toppling over. “Y/N, this is the one time you can’t help me. If you come with me tonight, someone will hurt you.”

You stared up at him in dread, relentless tears streaming down your face as he stared back at you with the same look. He was breaking apart, his insides shriveling up in agony while he spoke and continued to hurt you.

“But when will I see you again?” you cry out hoarsely, letting your head fall against his chest as he moves to hug you tightly.

“I don’t know,” he whispers out.

“Draco, please let me come with you,” you begin to plead into the jacket of his suit. “I’ll hide, transfigure me into a goblet, anything! Just please don’t leave again. You promised!”

“I can’t,” he shakes his head. You felt his hot tears land onto the top of your hair, adding more fuel to your anguish. “You have to stay here, in this room, until I’m gone.”

“Are you that dense?” you cry wildly, pushing yourself away from him as you gave him a look of pure anger. “You expect to let me wait here like a sitting duck while I could be out there helping you somehow.”

Draco watched you with remorse, his hand reaching into his suit pocket before drawing his wand out on you with a vigorous trembling hand. You gasped, quick to reach for your own with the same shakiness before it was thrown out of your grasp the second you pointed it at him.

“Expelliarmus,” he said quickly, voice matching his hand. He looked at you painfully again before sputtering out, “locomotor mortis.”

Your legs locked together from beneath you, sending you tumbling backward into an empty desk beside you. You caught yourself on the edges of the desk, staring agape at a shuddering Draco a few feet away.

“I’m sorry,” he cried hard, “I’m so sorry, but I have to keep you safe.”

“Draco, I swear,” you wailed out in despair, “if you leave me here, I will never forgive you.”

Draco halted, contemplating his next move for only a minute. His heart thudding fast against his chest, yearning to give into you as he weighed out his options. He swallowed thickly and turned on his heel towards the door. When his hand landed on the brass handle, he turned back one more time to look at you and felt his world completely and irreversibly shatter.

You were in hysterics, legs stuck together and your hands barely being able to hold yourself up on the desk. You had a despondency about you now, weeping strongly in heartbreak that was caused by him.

He speedily opened the door and threw himself out, shutting it tightly once again and placing his wand against the handle.

“Colloportus,” the lock chimed with a magnifying and powerful click.

He let his head quietly fall against the door, tormenting himself further when he heard your continued cries and now yelling out a pained, “you promised!”

Nothing was holding him together now as he ripped himself away from the door and began his walk to the room of requirement. There was no more hope, no more tranquility, no more comfort. He couldn’t run back to you at the end of the night and let you heal him with soft reassurances and tender kisses. He couldn’t feel your hug anymore or the way you’d lull him to sleep after a rough day with your hands in his hair. It was all gone, all of it. Including you.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

You don’t know how long you cried or when you had fallen to the floor and accidentally fallen asleep in your hopelessness.

When you finally woke up, the room was especially dark now, the lights having been dimmed to nothing as the room had thought you were gone. All you could feel was grief and dejection, everything you knew and loved had been torn away from you; because it was.

When you subsequently felt some of your energy return, you rolled yourself around the floor, extending your arm to grab onto something sturdy so you could hoist yourself up and begin looking for your wand. Luckily, the lights lit up again when they sensed your figure begin to hop around the room, allowing you to search much more easily.

You hopped down each row of scattered desks, searching high and low for where your wand might have been thrown when you were disarmed. You mentally cursed Draco again for the thousandth time that night, the throbbing in your body growing stronger while you thought of how he had left.

You found yourself regretting the bluff you threw at him, feeling stupid now that he was gone with the idea that you might hate him. You regretted letting your rage and sadness get to you, yelling at him things you didn’t mean all because you were angry he was trying to do to protect you.

Stuck in your head and mindlessly hopping towards the front of the room where Draco had hit you with both spells, you didn’t see your wand under your shoe until it had rolled out from underneath you, sending you falling into a set of desks that were lined up behind you.

The impact of the fall barely phased you, weakly shifting yourself upright and bending over and outstretching a hand towards your wand. When you finally felt it between your fingers, you dragged it towards you and into your grasp before hurriedly pointing it towards your legs and muttering the counter-curse to unbind yourself. Once you felt the feeling back in your legs, you jumped up and ran towards the door only to slam against it, unknowing to you that Draco had also spelled the door before he left.

“Arse,” you mutter, touching your wand against the lock and speaking out a clear, ��alohomora.”

When you stepped out into the gloomy freezing corridor of the dungeons, you knew something was wrong. It was clear in the air that something awful had just happened, every feeling of sadness seeping deep into the stone of the castle.

You flew up the stairs, running as fast as you could towards the Quad where everyone was gathered like zombies. Your legs continued carrying you out, looking up at the sky to see a huge Dark Mark painted in the grayed clouds above. Your gut was screaming at you the reason why, but you didn’t want to believe it until you had seen the evidence of your thoughts lying on the ground not far from you.

It was Dumbledore, motionless, and gone.

Harry was sitting above him, Ginny hugging him tightly as he cried quietly. You felt your tears prick your eyes, feeling guilty that you had known all along what was going to happen, guilty that you couldn’t do anything to stop it, guilty that there was no one to challenge against the evil that doomed the wizarding world, guilty that you couldn’t help Draco against it.

You kept telling yourself he couldn’t have done it, he couldn’t have, but it was clear as day - the scene in front of you. You swallowed the lump in your throat, allowing yourself to cry with your school in grief, crying even more while the second loss you experienced tonight had begun to work itself back into your tears.

And when everyone had cleared out, and it was just Harry and a few others, including some Professors, you begrudgingly made yourself walk up to the group. It was hard, seeing Harry and his friends stare at you with a look you couldn’t quite place. A look between pity and something unidentifiable.

“I’m sorry,” you let out hoarsely to Harry as you finally neared them. “I know this must be hard for you.”

“Yeah, thanks,” he answered awkwardly. “I saw it happen, you know.”

“Oh,” you frown, rubbing your sweaty palms against your jeans as you waited for him to curse you out, to yell at you for Draco’s wrongdoings and murderous feat. But he didn’t. He only stared at you sadly.

“If you wanted to know,” he began, shoving his hands into the pockets of his hoodie as he spoke, “Malfoy didn’t do it, he couldn’t.”

There was a solace that ran deep within you at the revelation. A shaky exhale quietly falling from your lips while you tried to hide your relief. You silently thanked the stars for sparing Draco, knowing now that there was still hope he could be saved.

“So then who did it?” You ask timidly.

“Snape,” he shook his head glumly, “it was Snape.”

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

There was a loud snapping sound ringing throughout the Malfoy Manor as Draco apparated inside the living room with his mother, clutching tightly onto her as he stumbled over his feet, feeling sick to his stomach and distraught at everything he had to live through that night.

He fell to his knees, backing himself up against a wall as he began clutching at his chest, gasping desperately for air as his panic attack had started to tear away at him. He was breathing erratically, tears falling from his eyes in rivers as he tried to remove the suit jacket that felt too tight against him.

Narcissa Malfoy looked down at her son, fear and sorrow suddenly undertaking her as she bent down to sit in front of him. She was momentarily glad she felt the need to meet the others near the outskirts of the school’s failing barrier, instantly grabbing Draco from the group when everyone was planning on staying longer for further destruction. One broken look on his face was all she needed to whirl the two of them out of there and back into their large empty house.

“Breathe, Draco,” she said softly, placing a warm hand on his wet cheek as he continued to sob. “Breathe.”

“I left her,” he choked out through his tears, “mother, I left her!”

“Who?” Narcissa asked, puzzled. “Who did you leave?”

But he didn’t answer her. He only cried harder and it didn’t stop even though his mother was holding him reassuringly in her embrace. She swiftly realized that there was more than he was letting on, and she knew that these weren’t only tears from what had happened with his failed task, she knew his tears mostly came from an ache deep within his heart, from an anguishing love.

“I left her there!” He cried loudly in her arms, clutching onto her tightly as he continued to struggle for his breath and sanity. She felt her own heart begin to break, wishing so deeply she could remove all hurt that stabbed at him.

“Draco, my love,” she tried again gently, “who did you leave?”

“Y/N,” he croaked out, “I left Y/N.”

PART 5

TAGLIST:

@viirgobbyy @bluesunflowersz @dreamyvcid @goddessofgames @natt-nih @cheesecakes-randomshitz @supersouthy @rebellionsarebuiltonhopee @peter-parka @thefandomplace @angelofslytherin @blueleonor @karentheugly

(I’m sorry if I forgot anyone, I <3 all of you and everyone who read this)

2K notes · View notes

a-long-walk-in-the-forest · 4 years ago

Text

Itachi’s Taurus planets degree exploration

Since if I want to make a proper reasonable guess for Sasuke I need to have some idea about Itachi too so I’m going to just list any taurus degree that fit him. He has at least 3 things there (mars, venus, saturn).

I tried to keep different interpretations of the character in mind but not so much so that I can’t narrow it down at all. Note that these descriptions were mostly written by people decades ago so some of them may sound a bit ... Also the body parts mentioned are used for predictive and medical astrology.

0-1

It denotes a person of. a disputative mind, one who will have many enemies, and will need to exercise himself much in self-defense; one to whom life will open out into a great field of strife, but who, through his own native force and diplomacy, will eventually prevail. It is a degree of SELF-PRESERVATION.

The native will have to stand forever on the lookout ready to parry unforeseen attacks, as his destiny has fierce struggles in store. But in struggles he surely will thrive and revel as if it were his own element, and he will engage himself in them to his utmost. He has a great will power, is versed in tricks and makeshifts, and can be very reserved in spite of his liking for arguments and polemics. Churlish and insensitive to pain, he seems born to have things his own way in spite of the war furiously waged against him on all sides. He may even be endowed with magic powers. This hard character’s failing is ungenerous; it may even become cruelty.

Denotes a person of strong character; of a rather morose disposition, and possessing magical powers; one with strong will-power, very reserved, inclined to be cruel.

A persevering strategist; denotes good mentality; a prophet of a new order; love of home; brilliant 233 mind; renowned for benevolence; powerful in combining old principles in new application; beauty, devotion, fame or fortune; throat or gullet; palate.

Denotes one whose life is threatened in early infancy. The ideals are high, and he delights in all that is beautiful and sweet. The native is somewhat erratic and inconstant, loving “fresh fields and pastures new.” He inclines to the poetic and artistic, and may excel in such paths. It is a symbol of Cultivation.

This degree seems to blend the qualities of Aries and Taurus in a less desirable fashion. Here the stubbornness of Taurus is directed to the establishing of the ego. In so doing he alienates those around him so that he is left to carry his burdensome load alone. There is a strong tendency for men to be mislead by a woman usually because of his desire to possess her and make her subservient to his own ego. In most cases he desires and attracts someone extremely selfish and difficult to deal with. He seems not to be able to disassociate himself and pursue his course alone. This is an even greater threat if it is the man’s Moon or Venus which falls on this degree. At any rate it is the stubborn desire to establish his own ego irrespective of others which cause the insurmountable trouble.

This degree is favorable for a good mentality. Denotes a persevering strategist. More inclined to the artistic than Scorpio 0-1 degree.

1-2

It denotes one for whom life will be a severe lesson; whose ambition is likely to outstrip his power; one who will attempt great his discomfiture; whose efforts will prove futile, and whose hopes a will vanish as the clouds.

The present repels him, human society holds no attraction for him. If he, therefore, does not find an outlet in the pursuit of nature’s secrets or in historical studies and the like, he will lapse into a dull idleness, root of all evils. He must break the ominous spell isolating him spiritually from his kind if he is not to find realized in himself the biblical threat, Vae soli (Woe to him that is alone—EccI. 4:11). He must draw a wholesome lesson from his disappointments and realize that he has produced them himself with his wrong attitude of estrangement from life. Life must be loved if she is to present us with her gifts; these are not to be frowned upon in comparison with the unattainable daydreams, toyed with by cloud-dwellers apt to slump defeated to the ground if they cannot reach their aim. Any vital force that does not find a proper outlet will cease to flow. The greater one’s inborn vitality, the more quickly idleness will blight It.

Denotes that he, or she, born under this degree will live alone, isolated, mentally; not in sympathy with the present state of things.

Magic; a pleasing personality; a person who is above petty things; loyal and serious-minded; some interest in occultism; magnanimous; opening of throat.

Denotes one capable of immense sacrifices who surrenders self, expecting no reward. The life will be often lonely, but ever threatened by storms. In the end wisdom and worth will triumph and the second half of life brings good promise. It is a symbol of Devotion.

This degree is not a decisive one although it gives a strong will and a desire to protect the ego at all cost. There is also a capacity for cruelty. Self-preservation is the basic quality. When the self is not threatened the individual may relax and this degree will then be free to develop along other lines generally consistent with the chart as a whole. It is possible that the native could be so sensitive that even when the self was free from threat, defensiveness would be uppermost. Until this tendency is overcome there is not much hope of success. There is much ability both mental and physical.

This degree promises a pleasing personality. A person above petty things. Loyal and serious minded, with some interest in Occultism.

2-3

It denotes a person whose interest will be greatly enhanced in the autumn of life, who will reap benefits greatly enhanced in the autumn of life, who will reap benefits from old age and pleasures from maturity; whose chief characteristic is acquisitiveness, and whose designs will meet with much success. It is a degree of acquirement, of GATHERING TOGETHER.

This influence points somehow to untimely love. The native may have older people propose to her in her youth, or vice versa, will insist on marrying a younger partner in her elderly age. The planned match risks to come off whether the younger partner looks at it as a sincere and generous gift of his or her youth, or is driven to it by base interest-where the one alternative does not altogether shut off the other. Aside from the question of love or marriage, the native will be luckier in later years and will reap tardily the fruit of his days of labor.

Strong sympathies, excessive sensibility, very impressionable and mediumistic.

Scientific; artistic; degree of plot and strategy; an important degree in nativities of great military generals; a carefree traveler; inclined to live his one life regardless of others’ opinions; afflicted - may denote an unfortunate end; generous; uvula.

Denotes one favored by fortune. He will possess good judgment, and will do the right thing at the right time. His early life will be filled with struggle and with promise, expanding to favor as he advances in years. With a good insight into human nature the native can well choose others to assist in his work, and whilst holding work to be the true necessity of life, he knows the value of relaxation and pleasure to others as to himself. It is a symbol of Fortune.

Much indication of loneliness and self-undoing. Some of the artistic qualities of Taurus come through here. There seems to be little appreciation for life. These people generally find little to live for. They isolate themselves from other people. They tend to pessimism and despair. Much of this comes from inertia but it can also come from too much freedom and too many choices, which are not open at the same time but which sweep by in a maze of confusion to this individual. Idleness tends to atrophy any abilities that one might have. It would be helpful to him if opportunities were kept open to him for longer periods of time. He might continue to procrastinate, but in some cases this might lessen the frustration. Basically this is a problem the individual must solve for himself and realize his own part in humanity’s pattern. He must discover for himself the worthwhile nature of relationships with others. His childhood training will do much to over-come these problems if recognized and dealt with in meaningful way.

A carefree traveler, but adverse aspects may denote an unfortunate end. Artistic, scientific and generous. Inclined to live his own life regardless of other people’s opinions.

3-4

It denotes a person in whose life much sedition will prevail, whose affairs will be marred by his own violence, and whose house will be dismembered through strife, in whom wrath will effect great evils , and whose force will be turned against himself. If is a degree of DISINTEGRATION.

An exacting, disdainful, short-tempered being, destined to remain, so to speak, raw stuff throughout his life, who cannot possibly keep in harmony with the ones he loves. The native hat, however, a nearly military sense of discipline as something absolutely necessary for himself as well as for others. The keynote of this character is its lack of that indispensable minimum of feminine fluidity needed to melt and blend any spiritual alloy; therefore, both the native and his never sufficiently plastered buildings tend to harden and collapse. A male every inch of his boorish being, an irksome grumbler, easily roused to a fury, the native will not be able to put up with anyone; he will handle things and people awkwardly and clumsily and will be peeved and disgusted at any show of weakness in his neighbors. Hence a tendency to isolation and ultimately to self-destruction, as in Dante’s figure of Pier della Vigna (Inf 13, 70) who, embittered and nearly crushed by all his fellow courtiers’ envy and slander, ended by commiting suicide. Unless no other features balance this influence, the male native never will be able to appreciate feminine charm. The female native should never marry. This degree shows sometimes a remarkable feature: a special fondness for fireworks, which may well become a passion if the rest of the pattern helps (the Fire element). The native’s body will be subject to decalcifying.

Denotes one in whom the male principle predominates excessively, the female being nearly nil, sympathies towards the opposite sex wanting. if a man he rarely ever marries, If a woman, she ought not to many.

Literature (skill in working out plots); writers of detective stories; one accustomed to the exercise of authority; favors playwrights; military men. organizers who work to uphold the law; degree of plot; planning, tact, and scheming bodily injuries; destruction by fire, war or earth-quake; unscrupulous defeat; throat or larynx.

Denotes one whose destiny it is to come before the public in some professional capacity. The native will be impulsive, bold, and brave, and will be gifted with controlling and magnetic force. He will travel and move about a great deal, and will be exposed to danger with little or no hurt. It is a symbol of Intrepidity.

Gives an imagination guided by the eye. More a Mercury imagination than a Neptune imagination. A practical ability to plan and portray with mental activity to mentally see a completed project. This ability probably contributes to success in later life. Often brings a marriage to some one younger in later life although may be reversed and is not always successful but has better than average chance with the influence of this degree. It generally contributes to a building up of resources and a bringing together of people which usually results in a very prosperous and socially happy old age. 340 He does wait until old age to enjoy life but seems to enjoy the years of accumulating and building.

This degree of plot, planning, tact and scheming is found in the charts of novelists, play-rights, military men and organizers who work to uphold the law.

8-9

It denotes a man whose chief interest will be in his home, and in the care of his children; one who is attractive to young persons, and whose mind is pacific and benevolent; one who has the ability to inspire confidence and faith in other; whose footsteps will be followed in security and whose life goes by easy weay to a peaceful end. It is a degree of MINISTRATION.

The very figure of pater familias; love for one’s home and large family, careful upbringing of one’s children and well-meaning strictness toward one’s dependents. A humane, honest, peaceful yet energetic nature, such as to attract the young and inspire confidence in all. Love of nature and country life; good sense rather than common sense? efficient running of affairs rather than mere routine. The native will do his utmost for his children’s happiness, but is not in the least certain to reach happiness for himself; on the contrary, when particularly badly aspected elsewhere, he could look forward to death as a release, though no attempt at self-inflicted death can be foreseen; the good shepherd will not leave his flock. This degree may produce corpulence if other factors concur.

Denotes one who will have a very gloomy life and who Is likely to die be fore he passes his prime

A born teacher and scientist; hearing (afflicted - may in - cline to deafness); inordinately fond of food; afflicted - gluttons; if the will is weak, may become a drunkard; a tendency to be contrary and stubborn, especially with planets in 27 degree Aries-Pisces; frequently their own worst enemies; has much to do with healing; said to be a degree ruling the Irish; cervical vein.

Denotes one who acquires much by work and application, but who lacks the faculty of watchfulness in protecting his gains from the greed of others. He has an easygoing tendency, but gains come from labor, craft, and the management of his own affairs. He may be the victim of deceit or treachery, and should never put himself in the hands of others when his own well-being is concerned. He should avoid things and circumstances he does not understand. It is a symbol of Misleading.

Very subject to teasing. Easily taunted into futile efforts. This individual feels a responsibility which he cannot maintain. He is easily aroused into a defensive attitude. Part of this is due to a response to shadows and unreal images around him. If this person were born soon after a New Moon this tendency would be enhanced and become very difficult to handle. He is plagued by an environment too active for his lumbering nature. He has a slow heavy feel and is unable to move quickly. His record of success and failure would be improved by a protective cover of some kind under which he could take time to clear his vision before he struck out at the threat he fears. This degree also affects the vision adversely. If he could be made to feel a sense of protection rather than being subjected to constant teasing he would have at least an opportunity to correct his evaluation of his environment. This person however seems to have been born with the fuse lit. And it is very unclear what useful purpose this influence serves.

Contrariness when found with planets also in Aries, Libra in 27 degree. A born teacher and scientist.

16-17

This symbolizes a life of toil without much fruits; the misdirection of effort through ignorance of natural laws; a straining after that which Nature has not designed, and consequent failure in life. The native will be unpopular, moving against the stream, and by much exertion, hurting himself alone. It is a degree of FUTILITY.

The native’s habit of thinking with his own head is apt to make him unpopular; his failings will bring about his misfortune. His intelligence is like a river liable to flood the barren sands of Utopia instead of fertilizing the happy valley of originality. He is in for unceasing, often wasted, labors, which will not make him move a step forward. There is a guilty light-mindedness; the native will believe that he can solve single- handed and in his own way certain problems which repose on natural laws, as those of economics, dynamics and the like. On the other hand, such a being can easily rely on Divine Providence and reach that absolute faith which moves mountains and goes so far as to give sometimes personal success in spite of rationalistic logic and science’s “infallibility.”

A truly good person; one who has Implicit faith in the Most High.

Painting; business; musical ability (variations of pitch); singers; oratory; a powerful degree for men; color; and original person who has much influence on his sphere of society; ideas or popularity may grow by spurts, but unexpected falls sometimes follow too; homicidal tendency; abscesses of neck if with 25 degree Leo-Aquarius or 21 degree Aries-Libra; associated with explosions (of nuclear plants or bombings); often a tall person; tonsils.

Denotes one free as air, brave, spiritual, restless, and unfitted for the regular routine of daily life. Care in infancy is essential. He is of a wandering disposition and frequent changes are for him. It is a symbol of Wandering.

There is some contradiction in this degree. Basically the difficulty seems to be over-optimism. Stubbornness seems to be more prominent than the more desirable Taurian traits. One may well enjoy a certain measure of popularity which only seems to contribute a stubborn blindness to the weak spots which need attention. He also seems to enjoy a fair amount of luck which also tends to produce a false sense of security. If however, he has a genuine appreciation for his luck and is able to resist sheer flattery on the part of fair-weather friends without being rude and cutting himself off, he may come out pretty well. Luck in any form tends to run out if not used wisely. Here it seems to be built in that luck which is squandered does not continue. There is only enough to prime the pump. He must keep the flow going or it will stop.

A powerful degree for men. Denotes an original person who exercises considerable influence in his circle of society. Their ideas or popularity may grow by leaps and bounds, and unexpected falls sometimes follow.

18-19

It denotes a gentle, inoffensive but weak nature, inclined to indolence or hopelessness, and thus while Nature is luxurious and fertile, and all around speaks of wealth gained by industry, the native remains in a poor condition for want of determination. It is a degree of INCOMPETENCE.

An exquisitely feminine nature. The native may go so far as to be a genius, but even in normal cases she will have some very bright gift which she is not likely to exploit in full and will at least partially leave untapped. A gentle and sweet character, even too little self-assertive, which will tend to flabbiness, indecision, passivity and gloom. A certain typically feminine futility will accompany an equally feminine skill in getting things done. A voice of pure musical pitch, an unconstrained speech, a naturally smart and graceful demeanor. Her main virtues will be self-possession and cleanliness. In a mystic sense, the symbol may be taken to mean the Sacrament of Baptism. Destiny may have in store travel or emigration to the New World. Teaching may be a congenial profession, if the pattern contains such elements as to give the necessary authority for this.

This denotes a great genius. His home Is, or will be, the western hemisphere.

Music ( a trumpet); a person who rises from a humble birth place to a great renown through a process of unfoldment; hair; leader of party; often a tall person; maxillary artery.

Denotes one who is unable to estimate his abilities and who attempts things foolhardy and useless. There is a tendency to irritability and aggressiveness and lack of self-restraint. Thus he will court unpopularity and will suffer from his own actions. It is a symbol of Futility.

Mars N Node is located here and incorporates more violence than the previous degree. We should however learn more of the nature of Mars from this combination. In most reports the degree has characterized a violent misuse of the energy. It is considered savage and warlike. I am of the opinion that since the N Node of Mars is influencing this degree now we may expect to see some more constructive and positive action from people with planets here. One authority suggests an unfolding process which must proceed in an orderly fashion patiently as a flower blooms. There certainly is a contrast here between the growing power of life against the destructive but also temporary power of death.

A person who rises from a humble birthplace to great renown, through a process of unfoldment.

20-21

It indicates a silent, watchful disposition, inclined to caution, method, and thrift, but liable to assaults from unexpected sources, which will overthrow many carefully designed plans. It is a degree of ANTICIPATION.

A frugal, cautious, watchful, silent and close character bearing the hallmark of individuality, a deep mind, a pitiless logic, a precise and methodic intelligence, more suited for analysis than synthesis. The native will rely but on himself, yet destiny will baffle him with gleeful spite and take a cruel delight in hitting him just where rational logic would rule out failure or even danger. The collapse of his most accurately prearranged plans will tell on the native’s temper, whose guardedness may drift into suspiciousness, and misanthropy into wickedness.

Denotes one having an analytical mind. He may succeed as a chemist, or where application to minute analytical effects is called for; a very sound reasoner.

Music (variation of pitch); oratorical ability; doctors; homicidal tendency; undernourishment and poisons are in some way connected with this degree; immorality, violence, danger of accidents or poison; goiter; alcoholism; sinus artery.

Denotes one of sporting tendencies who delights in trials of skill and who is generally fortunate. To his nature there is a generous, sympathetic, and interesting side, which gains him many friends and much popularity. It is a symbol of Sportiveness.

This degree seems to have a dual nature and suggests varied and contradictory influences. There is perhaps the greatest tendency to cause one’s downfall by envy of another’s position. There is something here which suggests a Scorpion tendency to sting itself to death out of frustration rather than give up and walk away. There is a tendency to climb the ladder of success at the expense of competitors if necessary. But those who take this route pay for it one way or another. There is much rugged brute force strength of Taurus. This individual tends to feel he can go his way alone. There is one authority that suggests an ability on the part of this native to sacrifice himself for someone he loves. Of course there are many kinds of sacrifice. Some of them are beneficial and some of them are not. It is well to consider here whether the individual might not better correct his own faults in order to contribute something more worthwhile rather than sacrifice something which does not really pay the necessary price. Maturity of the human spirit should be the goal.

Undernourishment and poisons are in some way connected with this degree (May be denoted by planets here in aspect to planetoids.) Also Nymphomania.

24-25

It indicates a powerful and haughty nature; one who is disposed to justify himself by force of arms rather than by intrinsic merit. Such a person will make many his servants but few his friends and in the end his state will be a pitiable as that of a dying lion. It is a degree of PRIDE.

The subject’s inner world will stay closed and unknown to all. Yet this is no cowardly nature, rather an arrogant one; the native is innerly proud, haughty, overbearing, but not vain. As he is spiritually isolated among his fellow beings, he will have justice done to himself, if necessary, by having recourse to arms. As he is misunderstood, he will endeavor to have his own way even by resorting to violence; as long as his strength does not fail him, he will see subdued servants around himself, never friends. He will risk either to die a stray dog’s death, or to be kicked and spat upon on his death bed, like the lion in the fable.

This denotes a very mysterious character. Whilst living among men, a stranger to men. He has a life of his own, a world of his own, he is content to live and die unknown.

Sometimes have theories and ideas of doubtful value; homicidal tendency; alcoholism; women with planets here are usually intuitive, poetic, lively, and flirtatious; men careful with their money; lower jaw.

Denotes one of natural talent who will be beset with difficulties in gaining recognition, but whose mental strength will be the more determined because of them. When his time comes his power will be felt. He will force acknowledgment by sheer ability and energy. It is a symbol of Premeditation.

There is much disagreement about this degree. The most uniform expectancy centers around a peaceful highly spiritual being generally too soft for the hard blows delivered by life on this earth. If it pertains to mastership of a high spiritual nature, there are indeed few who could live up to such an influence. Therefore we would find few to indicate such evolvement. However, at the very least, this degree does have an influence contributing to a spiritual awakening. How far the native would be able to demonstrate such qualities would have to depend on the rest of the chart as well as the overall capacity he had to extract the good from any influence. At least there is very little that is derogatory to be said about this influence. I think it is quite obvious that it stimulates spiritual development. The steady persistent qualities of Taurus are blended with that influence and as humanity develops we should expect to see people improving on what has been accomplished with this degree by other people.

These people sometimes have theories and ideas of doubtful value. Women with planets here are intuitive, poetic, lively and flirtatious. Men with planets here are usually careful with their money.

28-29

It signifies a tyrant, who takes delight in power apart from its uses, and whose opinions are bigoted and selfish. To rule, without regard to qualifications, is the passing ambition of one born under this degree. Death, which frees the slave, will bind the hands of a tyrant in irons forged from his own heart. It is a degree of DESPOTISM.

Things are worse in a male horoscope. The other components ought, however, to be carefully weighed, and it has to be decided whether the omen refer to his (lawful or unlawful) mate, or to himself. In the former case, the man, of course, is the victim. Should contrary features of overbearingness be at hand, which could not possibly regard others, he is then certainly himself the tyrant looking at his dependents as pack mules, ignoring their human dignity, or taking a great delight in trampling upon it. The one hypothesis does not altogether exclude the other. Whether a woman or a man, the native would assuredly be in for a great many unforeseen events. He may well be cowardly as all real bullies are; but he is unlikely to have true foresight. Someone may thrash him within an inch of his life, or even shoot him as a dog. Vulgarity and bigotry usually complete the picture of such a character.

Be careful. A life full of strange events, and liable to grievous accidents.

Good organizing ability; strong will; usually magnetic, proud and stoical; heavy drinking; suicide; a degree giving “something to cry about”; Trapizius.

Denotes one who is continually beset with difficulties and who finds it hard at all times to decide his course of action. He is ever between forces of opposite natures, and is quite as likely to do the right thing as the wrong one. These conditions must be subdued by the steady cultivation of the will. It is a symbol of Embarrassment.

This degree is widely contradictory. And the two extremes may exist in the same person. There is potential mathematical and scientific ability, and at the same time a tendency to create and live in a dream world of his own. When the native is rebuffed or feels a sense of failure there is the temptation to withdraw. And yet his capacity to achieve is great. Many times this person gives up without a struggle especially if that dream world is comfortably constructed and the life situation is one that does not demand attention to daily details. Many daily details are of such a nature that they can be performed without much awareness but are accomplished by rote habit. When such is the case this native’s ability risks to stay dormant. Alcoholism is also a possibility here, although there really is no need for alcohol to escape into the fantasy dream world. There is also a magnetism here which may attract so-called karma or heavy problems to be dealt with or the magnetism may attract other people who add zest to the life.

These natives are usually magnetic, proud and stoical. Have a strong will and good organizing ability.

#itachi #itachi uchiha #degree exploration #n-astro

11 notes · View notes

randombtsprincessa · 5 years ago

Text

By the Book

Author: Randombtsprincessa

Characters: Venom! Kim Namjoon x Reader (2nd POV)

Words: 3.3k

Genre: Smut and maybe fluffy? Derivative Work for Shadows by @pasteljeon!

Summary: You may have grown as cold as your work environment. Wierdly enough, it takes an Alien Symbiote to thaw you out.

Warning: Venom AU!; Covert Government Labs, Alien Symbiosis, Arson, fire, smoke, alien heat cycles, not too explicit sexual content, basically sex with Venom! Namjoon.

A/N: This is a small birthday present for my beautiful Kura over at @pasteljeon. She’s amazing and she’s the creator of the Venom AU which is featured in the following work. I’m sorry this took so long love! I hope you like it! Love you!!

The walls were bright white, reflecting lights so harshly you had to squint. The tight lip of your skirt was uncomfortable around your knees and the heels dug into the back of your ankles but you kept on, pushing your body like you had been doing for so long.

The work you were a part of had no room for luxuries such as comfort and while you would sometimes dearly just like to sit, you learned early on that sitters were losers and the ones who were willing to keep walking or even running actually ran the operations.

Of course, nobody really told you that the sitters would be getting most of the credit.

You took a deep breath before you were pushing on the handle of the Experiment Containment chambers. Separated into seven glass enclosed rooms or chambers per se, you found the person you were looking for at the far back, near the youngest experiment.

You slowed, your eyes taking in the posture of your boss.

She was leaning completely over safety railing, something strictly prohibited – even if she was the lead scientist. Her forehead and palm was pressed to the fogged glass and on the other side, a black, glutinous mass attached to where her palm was splayed.

Jungkook…or better known as 19970901…

You knew you weren’t supposed to give the masses of black substance originated in outer space Human names but it seems your boss and the Head couldn’t help herself. She had given the seven surviving subjects humanity, training…names.

She was a mother to them, and to the youngest of the lot…it always seemed to you, she was much more.

You caught the quick jerk of the black substance, an acknowledgement to your presence just as you called for your Head’s attention.

“The next trial begins in ten minutes. Should I bring the volunteer in?” You asked politely.

She glanced back at the mass that had retreated to the far back of the room, motionless before nodding her head, leading you out.

You followed quietly, sounds of your steps already echoing in the room, attracting attention from the ones that were far less shy.

Symbiosis; a little hidden project funded by the government, returning from the outer space with symbiotes that had alien characteristics but would be able to merge with humans and live off them, enhance them.

The government wanted soldiers obviously but as you looked at the very front, trying hard not to feel emotional for the seven last remaining organisms that had survived the failures of establishing symbiosis with various contenders, you knew they were not meant for a life of war.

The mass at the very front, 19940912, sitting in a pool in front of Jane Eyre definitely wasn’t going to be of much help in a battle field.

You had worked in the Symbiosis laboratory for over three years now, your life as much secret to the outside world as the outside world was a secret to them. Which is why, you had made up your mind early on that feeling any form of emotion for the…alien components that resided in the lab would not only be detrimental…it would be disastrous.

Yet, you couldn’t help but follow along with your boss as she cooed and crooned…and you managed a wry smile at each glop of masses that preened to her praise.

You watched 19921204 cook up delicacies that he and your boss indulged in, 19930309 was given sound cancelling headphones that you handpicked because of his…its extra sensitivity. 19940218, 19951013 and 19951230 were the most humane, bouncing around like teenagers on a power boost.

Among them, 19970901 or as your Head liked to call him, Jungkook – was the closest to her…while 19940912 was the most intriguing.

You had brought more books for this one black mass than you had yourself read over your own life of study and research. Dictionaries, Encyclopedias, nonfiction, fiction, and poetry…Namjoon the Symbiote was probably better read than the most accomplished human scholar.

So when your Head called you in to discuss a very sensitive and urgent matter…you weren’t sure if you were more impressed or less surprised.

Your work as a scientists’ assistant had shown you a lot. You had seen men and women painfully contorting their bodies as black shadows wrapped around them before flickering and dying out within the lifeless eyes of the volunteers. You had personally switched on the incinerators in some of these cases but you had never seen human zeal to liberate alien substances.

“With all due respect, ma’am,” You said, “but you cannot be serious.”

Your boss had her hands deep into the pockets of her white coat.

“It’s a failing endeavor because the symbiotes have come to rely on us. We will have to protect them.”

“They are aliens for god’s sake, ma’am. We cannot just break them out just because we don’t approve what use they’re going to be serving.”

She turned at that. “So, you don’t approve as well.” She shot out immediately.

Your eyes widened as she took hurried steps towards you. “I want you to help me, Y/N. Help me break them out. After me, you are the most close to the symbiotes, even if you don’t want to show it. Help me find better substitutes, people who can hide with them, so no one will ever find them.”

Aside from taking them yourselves, you had no other ways to let them go. You said so.

There was a brief crestfallen look to her eyes before she nodded, dismissing you.

Seven years of hard work, labour, putting up with so much crap…all down the gutter. You watched your boss press the emergency button as the arson spread.

Contrary to what you had previously believed and shrieked about…the Head scientist wasn’t responsible for the fire breaking out. Government insurgencies were something you all had been trained for…but to see one in action.

It scared you to bits.

Your secret plan to smuggle the symbiotes out had somehow worked. You had started with Jin...bound to a woman, a chef teacher is a culinary academy. He had seemed happy enough, wrapping around her as you left the chambers to give them privacy.

Yoongi and Hoseok found homes in what they loved. Music and Dance, both of them attaching themselves to a duo who were hard pressed for money. With their talent, intermingling with theirs, you knew they’d make it big.

Jimin and Taehyung were more complicated. Try as you and your boss may, they flat refused to be seperated. You had no choice but to let them go together. It had taken weeks, nearly a month before a woman strong enough had managed to bond with the entwined set successfully. You had been on edge for all the prospects, withdrawing the half bonded twins from the half dead human before sending them to the infirmary to heal. As broody as they had been on the unsuccessful trials, they had been elated to finally find a perfect match.

That left the last two…still holed up in containment…nowhere to go.

You could feel the smoke puncture through your lungs as both you and your boss fumbled through the see through maze. Your hands seperated, your body too heavy to make through as she found what she was looking for…

Jungkook.

You smiled tearily, stumbling to the last cell left…and collapsing right in front of it.

Y/N

You shuddered, unable to lift your head through the fiery ash flying about.

Y/N…wake up

You managed to look at the glob at last, stretched thin, painted across the glass. It had no face, no aspects but the disembodied voice that floated down to you was concerned.

You’re dying.

“Yeah, no shit.” You coughed, managing to rise up to your hands and knees as the black mass pulsated and pricked, trying to get away from the fire. It made you blink.

For a heat sensitive organism, typical to be afraid of even a lick of fire, it had actually reached out towards you, making sure you were ok.

It was strangely touching.

“I’m rescuing you.” You got to your feet shakily. For something that had shown you enough sympathy to fight through what it was afraid of, you could forward the same courtesy.

Fire Y/N, bad for us.

“I won’t let it touch you.”

What about Jungkook?

You tried not to shiver at the way the name came so easily to it. “He’s safe with the boss. Come on!” You yelled finally but it only cowered away from the blistering haze you exposed it to.

I…can’t.

“Namjoon, please.” You whispered at last. The smoke was making it difficult to breathe. Very soon, you’d have no strength at all.

You’re dying. It said again.

You reached out for the mass again, trying to physically pry it off of the glass walls but you had no clue what gesture it would take it for.

19940912 shot towards you, sharp and fast as a cobra. A jagged edge of black gluton curled around your wrist, the outstretched limb running with black veins as it attempted to sink within you. A surprised groan fell from your lips, feeling the symbiote rush up your body, too fast, too sudden. The veins subsided, the tenril of black settling deep within you that thrummed with life, providing clarity.

“What did you do?” You queried, as with renewed vigor, the symbiote used your body to escape from the burning ruins.

We saved each other.

The plane carried you away, far from your life, far from your career. You symbiosis with 19940912, had been painless, but not without it’s complications.

As you lay on the cool grass, the strength of the alien party had withered, flickered and you wondered if the bond was unsuccessful, and if you two were going to die no matter what happened.

It was quick to put you at ease.

Bond seems strong enough. We will be fine once you expel the smoke from your body, it’s making me antsy.

You rolled over, taking in deeper gulps of the cold night air as you grasped what had happened.

You were now a host to an alien symbiote. You had something…living inside of you.

“Um, 1994 -,”

Namjoon

“What?”

Namjoon; that’s my name.

“Right…Namjoon, how do we go about this?”

What do you mean? We’re bonded now, Y/N. we’re one. You can do anything you want. Be anything you want. You’re free.

“What about you?”

We’re one. Where you go, I go. What you’ll be, I’ll be. I’m free too.

You had left it at that, quietly taking the escape route you had planned well ahead. A small trip to a far off place, somewhere rainy…and foggy. It made sense.

Namjoon…added a definite sense of mystery to your life now. You tried to avoid him and leave him to his business as best as you could but well…he’d been right. You were one.

You could feel him moving up organs inside you when you poured over registers as a librarian. He watched through your eyes as you worked as an assisstant to a Vet. He was insanely protective, bubbling up to the surface of your skin if anything irked him. It wasn’t uncommon for people to say something would glitter in your eyes, some sheen to your skin that was worrisome to you. people that Namjoon of course found, not wholesome to be around his host.

He kept you safe just as much as you provided shelter to him. He read through you, he explored through you.

He also explored you but that was a complete different ball game.

You had somehow forgotten about their heat cycles completely. You had woken to a feverish weight upon you, pressing you into the mattress of your bed. The first sudden scare had vanished completely when a groan, in an all too familiar voice echoed through the room.

“1994?”

“Fuck baby, it’s Namjoon,” He whined, his mouth hot against your ear. He had materialized somehow and while black tendrils over lapped his humanoid form, you could still feel him grinding something against your pelvis that was hilariously human.

“Namjoon…what are you doing?” You were alarmed, least of all, finding it curious that he could just hold form outside of your body and then amused when he dug into your pajamas, finding your heat with first his fingers and then those long vines of shadows attached to him.

It was too dark to make him out but you could tell every human feature. Lips, peppering adoration to your exposed skin as he sunk, in more way that one, into you, his new formed hips bucking without any further ado.

Your alien had put you through two orgasms before reaching his own and dissipated, silence falling over the two of you as you panted loudly.

“Heat…damn, I forgot.”

All you got back was a lazy ghostly chuckle from the being which had dissolved into you again, a simple entwining of black around your fingers his only evidence.

Well, that and the thick mass of his pleasure on your skin.

You didn’t know what had persuaded Namjoon to go looking for his own self. He had become your home more than you were – literally – his. Maybe your boss had been right, wherever she and Jungkook were.

It was easy to fall in love with them. It had been slow for you, too taken with your previous aversion to feeling for them but Namjoon had overcome that. He shared his experiences, well, his version of your experiences and most of your pillow talks were about how you could be better in your works, meeting new people…his old friends.

So when he was suddenly not there when you woke up, you nearly shrieked.

Namjoon had felt your discomfort from the next room. A black mass crawled into the room before his voice echoed back, calming you down.

I’m right here. it’s all good. I was just trying new things.

You had been so relieved you didn’t address that he had been in another room – away from you.

“How did you even do that?”

I was reading and I think…with enough nourishment…and of course close proximity to my Host…I could materialize. You know, outside of my heat.

It had been tricky but you and he were both patient. It started with Namjoon knitting strands of his being together as he would during his heat cycles. A tendril always remained at your wrist, holding onto you as he gained form by himself.

It was hard work but it paid off.

2 YEARS LATER

You kept a steady look down at your wrist, watching the second hand tick down to a minute before standing; eyes fixed across the small bedroom to the bathroom, hearing the lock give way.

A man stepped out, tall, broad, with thick limbs and light gold hair that fell right down to his nose. The simple black tee and sweatpants looked big on him somehow as if he wasn’t used to filling them and life yours had been, his eyes were on his feet and hands as well.

You took a careful step forward.

“1994…I mean, Namjoon?” you chanced, your long habit of referring to them by their codenames having faded into the long time you’d been away from your workplace.

The man looked up, blinking and whipping hair out of his face. His head moved too fast, bouncing off of the doorway painfully that cause the man’s form to haze out, come away black for more than a few seconds before freezing and slowly dissolving back into human.

You blew out a huff, taking another step.

“Y/N,” he grated out, voice whispery and hoarse.

“Yes,” You took another step, hand outreached and his fingers moved, clasping around your pulse, physical contact established after ages of experimentation, research and explorations.

Dimples appeared in tanned cheeks as Namjoon gave you a small smile. “I can do it. I can actually hold form outside of my heat.” He whispered.

“That’s great,” you whispered back, looking up at him, not used to actually talking to him while looking at another body.

He let go of your hand, moving further into the room, arms outstretched to catch him if he fell. You followed closely behind.

“I…I’m big, aren’t I?”

Instead of out loud, you heard him inside your head.

“Yes, Namjoon, you’re big. You’re a person now.” You said.

He turned, still slow before impishly moving in to wrap his arms – carefully – around you. “Sex is going to be easier and more fun now.”

This time, he spoke out loud, his voice still scratchy but adorably shy as he leaned in to press small hesitant kisses down your neck. Of course, this time it being the first time he was in a human body of his very own, he had to bend over quite a bit.

You tried not to roll your eyes, barely masking a moan when Namjoon’s tongue lapped across your collarbone.

“Are you sure, you can…?” You lead him to the bed, just in case he fell over in his excitement and took you down with him.

His eyes glazed, he sat down from your touch, looking up at you in confusion before following your gaze to where his legs were gone, replaced with black huge stumps, clawed toes visible. He closed his eyes, the stump reducing back to human nails, wiggling them at you.

I might explode a few times but that just means I’m enjoying it. He leaned in to give you a hearty kiss.

His hands explored, gripping at your breast through the shirt, his fingers reflexively clenching the fabric before going under the skirt, finding the crotch of your panties.

Without his heat, Namjoon was much more controlled and you waiting patiently as he explored you with his own body, letting him familiarize himself with touch and sensation.

Maybe you were selfish, maybe you wanted him to get used to control so he could hold himself in his newly gained human form long enough to blow your mind, but hey, you had seen firsthand what the man who’d attached himself to you could do and you were hopeful.

So you lay back, enjoying Namjoon’s hands, and then his mouth on your skin.

Once attached to you, he didn’t seem to want to let go as he kept kneading at your flesh with his large palms. He found your breasts, freeing them from your shirt and letting his fingers pull at your nipples, all with an expression of curiosity on his face.

All he wanted to see was how far he could push it before he wavered, he told you, and shedding more of his own clothes then yours, staring at your naked, spread form in front of him.

Not akin to his heats, when he pounced ravenously on you, he was slower, gentler. Every stroke of his fingertips was calculated.

It was at the juncture of your thighs, his fingers dipping to find arousal seeping from you when he first moaned…and simultaneously dissolved into a puddle of black.

“Joon,” You called apprehensively before the strands of black were knitting together again, gaining skin, or whatever comprised of their skin before giving you another impish grin.

“Sorry, I can’t help myself anymore.” He revealed, lowering himself, almost reverently into you.

You let him.

Namjoon bucked, huffed; thrust himself into you with iron hold, precise in his movements, losing form only twice, once when he entered you and then when he was close.

Finally when he exploded, there was nothing over you, even as you felt his climax splash across you.

By the time he collected himself again, ready for cuddles, you’d cleaned up and changed the sheets, snuggling closer to him.

“I’ll practice, I promise.” He whispered.

“I believe in you.” You whispered back.

You did, seeing what you’d seen with Namjoon over the years, you knew that going rogue had been the best decision of your life. Maybe you were never meant for something ordinary.

#namjoon smut #bts smut #smutcentralnet #btsbookclub #bts fanfic #namjoon fanfic #namjoon x reader #rm smut #rm fanfic

204 notes · View notes

tic-of-the-tac · 6 years ago

Text

The Ultimate In-Depth Analysis of Carlton Burke from the FNAF Novels (PART ONE)

(This took me a really long time to make, so I hope you enjoy it! I was inspired to write this by sn0ji’s in-depth John analysis post, so thanks, sn0ji! Also, I do discuss POTENTIAL TRIGGERS in this, including, but not necessarily limited to, SEXUAL ASSAULT and MANY FORMS OF VIOLENCE, so read at your own risk. And I know what you’re thinking: Cara, what on earth does Carlton have anything to do with sexual assault? Well, prepare to have your mind blown, and not just based on that fact, because I go into SO much detail in this essay and I mention little events and details from the books that NO ONE has EVER talked about before. It’s in so much detail that I had to make a Part 2 for it, so be sure to check that out! So sit back, relax, and enjoy my in-depth analysis of Carlton Burke!)

People know Carlton for his most obvious character trait: his humor. This is the trait that either makes you love him on at least his surface level or overlook him completely. The first group LOVES his humor. It is their favorite thing about him. While most will just like him for the jokes, some people in this group will even dive deeper into his personality and appreciate him even more. (I’m in this group.) The second group chooses to overlook Carlton because his sense of humor and surface-level personality can often come off as immature. However, calling Carlton immature based on these facts alone is completely ignoring his entire character ark and deeper personality which motivates him to put the safety and happiness of others before himself.

In The Silver Eyes, people will notice his humor, but they won’t notice the other subtle details of his personality that Kira and Scott took the time to mention throughout the book. The first action he is described as doing when Charlie enters the diner is thinking of his words carefully before he speaks them. That is not an easy task for most people, and it takes a level of maturity that is often overlooked to avoid acting on impulse. Also, when the boys split up from the girls (and John) after visiting Freddy’s on the second night, Carlton is the one that looks back at the girls, smiles at them genuinely, and waves over his shoulder. This moment is probably one of the most overlooked small moments in the book series, but it is probably one of my favorites, and it took me a couple rereads to catch. It shows that Carlton is a genuine and sweet person who will go out of his way to be friendly to others and make them smile. While people may see his prank-pulling as ignorance to other people’s emotions, it is quite the opposite. Carlton has shown that when it is time to be serious, he is VERY serious. His speech about Michael during the ceremony is super emotional and a sweet testament to his childhood best friend. However, he also sprinkled in some humor not because he is constantly a jokester, but because he doesn’t want to make people more upset than they already are given the tragic circumstances. He is trying to make them feel better. The number one motivation that pushes him forward in life is making people smile and laugh, which in turn is making them happier than they are. (I can honestly relate to that on a personal level because this is the one thing that keeps me going too, which is why I appreciate and adore his character so much.) The pranks he pulls make him happy, and he is hoping to make people laugh by doing them. He does not have ill intentions by telling jokes and pulling pranks. His humor allows him to push through his grief as well as help others push through theirs, which is very honorable and admirable for him to do. It is not immature of him at all. He also tends to use humor when he is terrified, in attempts to calm himself. He’s not just saying jokes for the heck of it, he’s hoping to make the best out of any dangerous or scary situation. (I relate to that too, as I tend to crack more jokes when I am nervous.) It may not be the brightest idea to crack jokes in front of someone who could literally kill him with the tap of a finger, but he is doing what his brain has trained himself to do his entire life when dealing with a bad situation. Not to mention he has a severe concussion (I know that the book says that it’s mild but let’s get real here, being unconscious for HOURS is a REALLY bad sign), so he’s not thinking clearly. He’s acting on impulse because his brain is physically not working properly. Anything that he says from Chapter 9 onward is not an entirely accurate representation of his overall character. It does, however, give us a good insight into how he deals with physical pain and the effect his pain may have on others. He keeps telling people that he’s fine even though he’s CLEARLY NOT FINE, and he constantly apologizes for the way he is acting even though it is NOT HIS FAULT. Even through pain and terror his genuineness shines through. Also, even though he is not thinking clearly, he is able to focus his anger and pain to stand up to the person that killed his best friend, nearly killed him, and is still threatening him and his friends. That is very courageous of him and it is an action worthy of audience applause. He doesn’t let his anger and pain out on his friends, but he is not afraid to show it either, which shows a sense of control in his life, even when he is not thinking clearly. Having this control shows maturity. In The Silver Eyes alone, Carlton proves that there is more to him than meets the eye.

Carlton is not in The Twisted Ones, but there is something worth mentioning about what he is doing during the events of the book. He is studying acting in New York City. Coming from someone who also wants to study acting in New York City, I know that you cannot be some ordinary idiot to get into a college in NYC. It takes a lot of time and effort to apply, and to get into many NYC acting colleges, you need to be smart as well as good at acting. Carlton got into a college in NY, showing that he’s no idiot and he is willing to put in time and effort to achieve what he wants. Not to mention, during all of this, he is dealing with the grief of his parents separating a lot better than most people. (He certainly handled it better than I did when my parents got divorced.) These actions are very mature of him, showing that even in The Twisted Ones, Carlton is a deep, complex character that is more than just dumb comic relief.

Lastly, there’s The Fourth Closet. This book is the most obvious example of Carlton being more than what he appears. In the first scene Carlton appears in, John, who has been in a constant depressed state for the past six months, smiles genuinely when Carlton races downstairs to greet him for the first time in almost two years, while only faking a smile when reuniting with Jessica and Marla. To John, Carlton is a joy to have around. Not to mention the condition of Clay’s house dramatically improves when Carlton comes home. It shows that people find Carlton as someone who makes them happy and they want to have around. Later, Carlton shows genuine concern for his father when he ends up in the hospital and also when they find a sick Charlie. He really cares about other people and wants to make sure they’re okay. While Carlton is VERY intrigued by Not-Charlie’s appearance (and people use this as reasoning to dismiss him as a dumb jokester), he is TERRIFIED of her. He likes to look at her, sure, but when she presses up against him, strokes his face, and tries to kiss him, he repeatedly tells her NO and tries to get away from her. Carlton is not a dumb, horny teenage boy; he is a victim of a downplayed sexual assault attempt, and it is overlooked because he’s a boy, she’s a robot, and he showed interest in her appearance before and after the attack. It is also overlooked because people think of it as just a way to lure him in to kill him, but the text specifically mentions that she “leaned in for a kiss” and ALSO KISSES JOHN WITHOUT HIS CONSENT (meaning yes, John is a victim of sexual assault). (And yes, kissing someone without consent can be considered sexual assault. I did my research before writing this.) Carlton is not completely innocent because staring at Not-Charlie like he does could actually be considered sexual harassment, but showing interest in her does not warrant her to approach him with sexual intentions because he did not give consent. Immediately after, he is unsure how to feel about it. He is still extremely fascinated by her appearance, but he didn’t want to be anything more than frenemies, and the fact that she tried to push it further terrified him. He is essentially thinking, “Isn’t this what I wanted? I thought she was hot, but I didn’t really want her to approach me like that.” These mixed emotions confuse him, and he shows this confusion when he meets up with Marla and sees Not-Charlie on the TV. Again, it’s not him being just a dumb, horny teenager. Then, he is the one to point out that Not-Charlie, in one of her alternate forms, looks like Circus Baby. No one else was able to make that connection. If he is really an idiot as people claim, he wouldn’t have been the one to make this connection. Instead, he shows that he is actually smart, insightful, and observant. (This is actually the third time he showed these traits; the first time was in The Silver Eyes when he observed Dave’s personality, and the second time was in the same book when he found the security camera above the back room door and made the GENIUS decision to slowly make his way across the floor to get in view of the security camera, which ended up saving his life.) Carlton and Marla’s mission from this point on is to save Jessica and hopefully find the missing children. When Carlton and Marla are in the mirror maze and being pursued by Funtime Freddy, Carlton steps in front of Marla, shields her, and keeps her calm on several occasions, showing that he is protective of the people he cares about. Once they find Jessica and most of the missing children, Carlton makes the courageous and mature decision to give his earpiece, the only defense he has, to Jessica and go out on his own to rescue the last missing child. This is the most courageous decision made by any character in the entire book series. TO BE CONTINUED IN PART 2.

#carlton burke #carlton fnaf #fnaf carlton #the silver eyes #the twisted ones #the fourth closet #fnaf novels #fnaf books #fnaf tse #fnaf tto #fnaf tfc #fnaf #character analysis

67 notes · View notes

filmfanatic82 · 6 years ago

Photo

AO3 Link (HERE)

Chapter 9: I've Forgotten How It Felt…

Must… Move… Faster…

The words loop over and over again. Almost to the point of incoherence. Like a repetitive internal manta, fueling every inch of Trini’s very being to move in ways that they’ve never moved before.

Trini zigzags through the dense maze of tall pine trees and brushes, barely paying attention at all to the steady pelting of razor-sharp rain. Nothing matters except for the task at hand. Get to the cars and back to the Hart house as fast as humanly possible.

It’s been 15 minutes.

15 minutes…

15 minutes of…

Confusion.

Panic.

Chaos.

And god, that look on Kim’s face. The one that screamed with a silent terror of the unknown. Of the endless horrific possibilities of what had transpired while they were gone.

Trini shakes her head, trying to physically erase the images from her mind.

“I can’t see jack shit!” Tommi screams out a few yards from behind Trini, her voice baring audible over the relentless onslaught of wind and rain. “How much farther?”

“200 yards. My car’s at the edge of the clearing,” Trini hollers back.

“Same for Jase’s truck,” Zack replies, his voice also echoing over the storm, but unlike Tommi’s, it’s origin is undetectable.

Trini hasn’t spotted either one of them in well over five minutes now. Not since they landed back on top of the cliff. But knows they aren’t too far away. She can feel their presence all around her. Like a steady pulsating heartbeat of adrenaline mixed with underlying determination. The signature calling cards of Tommi and Zack.

Then there’s Jason and Billy. Trini can sense them as well. Even though they’re still back on the ship. She can always feel them. Regardless of the situation. It’s the steady stream of reassurance and love that Trini has come to rely on to get her through those stray moments of darkness.

And finally, there’s the last feeling. The one that Trini has been desperately trying her best to ignore. It’s foreign yet oddly comforting. Like a song, her heart has forgotten to sing.

It’s Kimberly.

“T?” Kim’s voice calls out laced with desperation.

“Here! I’m here!”

Trini spots the shadowy outline of Kim appears 15 yards to the left of her, moving at an even faster pace.

“We’re close, right?”

“Yeah. Just a few more--”

CRACK.

The distinct sound of a tree branch snapping cuts through the steady hum of the storm like a shotgun, instantly causing Trini’s eyes to shoot upwards, frantically searching for the source.

Nothing…

Shit!

“Kimberly!” Trini screams as she lunges towards the taller girl with all of her might. She feels her hands connect with Kim’s shoulder and gives her a hard shove forward, right out of the path of the impending half ton branch.

And then nothing but complete and utter darkness.

//////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////

Yellow.

Everything is yellow.

That’s the first conscious thought that comes to mind as Trini’s world slowly comes back into view. Instead of tall pine trees and branches, though, she oddly enough finds herself standing in the dead center of downtown Angel Grove. No cars. No people. No signs of life at all.

The world is eerily dead, except for--

A strange yellow mist.

It encompasses her from all sides, like an ominous halo, with no clear path to escape.

“Hello?” Trini calls out as she cautiously takes a few steps towards the edge of the mist. It beckons her like a moth to a flame. Almost taunting in nature. Trini knows in the depths of her soul that she shouldn't go near it, but its underlying drawl is just too alluring.

“Trini?”

It’s nothing more than a whisper, but nonetheless, Trini hears it. She whips around, scanning the mist, but once again is met with only emptiness.

“What the fuck?” Trini mutters to herself as confusion sets in. She inches even closer towards the mist, now only a mere few feet away from touch it.

“Trini! Help me!”

This time the voice rings out crystal clear with no mistaking who it belongs to.

“Max?!” Trini responds as her anxiety levels instantly spike. “Where are you?”

“I'm here! Please! It’s got me.”

“What's got you? Max?”

But only silence responds.

Trini waits, unable to breathe, let alone move, eyes locked in on the wall of yellow before her. Her heart pounds against the walls of her rib cage fueled by the sheer anticipation of what might happen next.

Then--

A blood-curdling scream pierces through the air.

It’s Max.

Without another moment’s hesitation, Trini moves swiftly towards the edge of mist head on.

/////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////

Trini awakes with a hard, sobering gasp of air. She instantly goes to sit up but only manages to move an inch or two before is slammed back on the bed by a tidal wave of pain. It radiates from multiple points all over her body, but none more intense than the right side of her face.

Trini’s fingers carefully make their way upwards towards her cheek and instantly come in contact with what feels to be a mess of butterfly bandages and raw flesh.

“Jesus,” Trini says as she pulls her hand away. “What the fuck happened?”

“Mommy says we’re not supposed to say that word,” Max replies, instantly grabbing Trini’s attention. He lingers in the doorway, almost as if there's an invisible barrier between him and Trini’s bedroom that he cannot pass through. There’s a familiar look of fear hiding within Max’s eyes. A fear that Trini’s know all too well. The one that comes with the realization that the monsters under the bed are very much real.

Small.

So painfully small.

Was he always this small?

“Hey, Kiddo. Whatcha doing way over there?” Trini flashes Max a warm smile in an attempt to put the boy at ease.

“You’re hurt.”

“And you’re afraid you're gonna hurt me more if you come too close?”

Max gives a rapid nod in reply causing his mop of curls to bounce around in the process.

“Can I tell you a secret?” Trini asks as she pushes herself up in the bed, trying her best to mask the pain as she does.

“Uh-huh.” Max cautiously ventures a few steps into the room but still makes no actual attempt to get anywhere near the bed.

“You've gotta come here if you want to know what it is.” Trini peels the comforter back, making room for Max. The boy accepts the invitation and climbs up into the bed, being extra careful not to bump into Trini. Trini wraps her free arm around him, pulling him even closer to her.

“What’s the secret?”

“Ah. I’m not sure. Are you ready for it?”

Max nods again, this time with a hint of a smile. “Tell me.”

“Okay,” Trini says readjusting the covers around them. “So, first off, you can’t hurt me.”

“I can’t?”

“Nope,” Trini replies. “You can’t.”

“But you were bleeding. Really, really badly.”

Trini’s fingers instinctively reach upwards once again, retracing the long gash along her cheek. “I was. But am I bleeding now?”

“No.”

“Exactly.” Trini gives Max’s curls a bit of a ruffle. “Wanna know why?”

“Cause Mommy took care of you.”

This comment brings a small smile to Trini’s face. “She did?”

“Yup. She and that girl with the boy’s name.”

“Tommi?” Trini asks.

“Yeah. She carried you into the house when they got here cause Mommy was crying too hard.”

Kimberly was crying?

No, Gomez. Don’t read into it.

“Well, there’s another reason too. A way cooler reason,” Trini responds, trying to get the conversation back on track. “I’m a superhero.”

A momentary silence falls between the two of them as Trini waits for the curly haired boy to give some sort of response. But instead, Max sits there virtually unreadable, mulling over the sudden revelation in his head. Then--

“You are?”

“I am,” Trini said with a simple nod.

“Like a real, real superhero?”

“100% real. And that’s why you can’t hurt me. Cause I’ve got super healing powers.”

“Cool,” Max whispers and then snuggles up even closer to Trini. “Can I tell you a secret?”

“Of course, kiddo.”

“It's my fault.”

“What is?” Trini asks, forcing herself to sit up a bit more. She studied Max’s face for a moment or two, searching for some more in-depth explanation to his words as he chews upon his bottom lips. And just like that, the fear is back in Max’s eyes.

“I made them disappear.”

“You?”

“Yeah,” Max responds with a quiver to his voice. “I wished that Richard would go away and then he did. But I didn't mean it. I really didn't. Richard was being mean to me and yelling, and then I wished he'd leave and then… And then…”

Max trails off into tears and instantly Trini’s heartbreaks. She wraps her arms even tighter around the small boy, trying her best to provide whatever comfort she can. He clings to her, burying his head into her shirt and continues to sob.

“I… I didn't mean… He’s just so…” Max whimpers.

Fuck.

Of course, Kimberly has found herself another douchebag. A child-hating douchebag.

Why the hell is she with him in the first place?

Why the hell did she leave...

No. Don’t do it. Not right now.

Focus in on Max.

“It’s okay. You didn't cause this.” Trini lovingly strokes Max’s curls, and he attempts to catch his breath.

“I didn’t?”

“Nope.”

“But I wished it, and then they disappeared,” Max says, dead set in his beliefs.

“Why don’t you tell me what happened, Kiddo,” Trini responds.

“Okay.” Max takes a moment, sniffling back the remaining tears and then pushes himself up to face Trini. “I was watching Ninja Turtles in the living room. I’m not allowed to watch it. Mommy says I’m not old enough, but Grandpa said it was okay as long as I didn’t tell Grandma. And then there was this weird yellow light.”

“Yellow light?”

“Yeah. It flashed like a firework. Right outside the window. But when I went to look, there wasn’t anything out there. Just tons of rain. So I called for Grandpa, but he didn’t answer. Neither did Grandma either. Or even Richard. I checked the whole house for them. The bedrooms. The bathrooms. Even the basement, but I couldn’t find them. They were just gone. All gone.”

“Did you tell your Mommy this?” Trini asks, trying to mask her growing level of concern in her voice.

Max shakes his head in response. “No. I tried to tell them but when they came home everyone was yelling at each other and busy fixing your and Zack’s boo-boos.”

“Zack’s--”

CRASH.

A loud crash echoes throughout the house, cutting Trini off mid-sentence. Her eyes instinctively dart towards the door and then back towards, forcing a reassuring but tentative smile upon her face.

“Let's head downstairs and see what everyone else is up to, okay?”

Max matches Trini’s smile and then, with a new found burst of energy, hops out of bed, leading the way.

//////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////

“Mommy! Look who’s up” Max announces a few minutes later as him and Trini make their way into the kitchen.

“Trini?” Kim’s exclaims, unable to hide the sheer relief within her voice. She pushes herself up from the kitchen table, almost toppling over her chair in the process, and rushes over to Max and Trini. Max instantly jumps up into her arm, like a miniature koala, but Kim’s attention is on Trini and Trini alone. “What are you doing out of bed?”

“Well for starters, I had a visitor,” Trini responds.

Kim’s eyes fall upon Max. “Max… What did I say?”

“I didn’t wake her. I swear, Mommy. She was already up,” Max replies. “Tell her, Trini.”

“He didn’t.”

“Okay. I believe you, Boo.” Kim places a light kiss on Max’s forehead before placing him down at the kitchen table and then turns her attention back on Trini. “How are you feeling? How’s your cheek?”

Trini’s fingers drift up to the now throbbing gash and lightly trace it’s raw edges, suddenly a bit self-conscious about her newly obtained battle scar. “I’ll live.”

“Good. Cause you gave us one hell of a scare, Small Fry,” Tommi chimes in as she makes her way into the kitchen. She gives Trini a light but firm squeeze on the shoulder conveying a world of mixed emotions as she does.

Trini knows that squeeze.

That squeeze is Tommi’s way of saying that it wasn’t just a few minor battle injuries.

No.

That squeeze is only reserved for those few rare moments when their duties as Rangers become a little too dangerous for their likings.

That’s the “I thought I lost you” squeeze.

“What happened?” Trini asks as Tommi plops herself down next to Max at the kitchen table.

“You saved me.” Kim quietly responds. “You pushed me outta the way and took on the full brunt of the tree branch yourself. It took us five full minutes just to free you. There was so much blood and your cheek…”

Kim trails off, unable to finish her thought as a hint of tears starts to pool in the corner of her chocolate brown eyes. She quickly looks away, trying to mask her sudden onslaught of emotions with a light cough.

“You saved my Mommy?”

“Sounds like it, Kiddo.”

“Wow. You really are a superhero!” Max exclaims and then instantly slaps his hand over his mouth in a realization of what he’s just said.

“She’s a what?” Tommi questions, shooting Trini a skeptical look as she does.

“I… Uh…”

“Who’s a superhero?” Zack asks as he joins the group in the kitchen.

Trini’s eyes are immediately drawn to Zack. He now sports a noticeable sling around his right arm, and his trademark impish grin is more than a little off. There’s a newfound layer of fear, hiding right beneath the surface. A fear that causes Trini’s skin to uncontrollably itch.

Shit.

Zack’s smile.

This isn’t their normal, run-of-the-mill monster. Not with that smile.

This is Rita level.

No. Scratch that. This…

This is beyond that.

“Apparently Trini is a superhero,” Tommi replies with a slight level of annoyance to her voice.

“Oh really?” Zack’s grin widens. “What’s your superpower? Squeezing into teeny, tiny spaces?”

“Very funny,” Trini deadpans back. Her eyes trail down towards Zack’s arm and then back up to his face again. “You all right?”

“Always, Crazy Girl. Just some cuts and bruises. Nothing to sweat about.”

“If you call cuts and bruises a broken wrist and dislocated shoulder,” Tommi responds.

“How’d it happen?”

“Someone couldn’t wait for the rest of us and tried to free you by himself.”

Zack gives a simple shrug of the shoulders. “I told ya. I would’ve had it except for that rogue log.”

“You’re lucky to be alive.”

And Trini hears the light quiver in Tommi’s voice. The one that she’s trying so desperately to mask with sarcasm and light verbal jabs.

Tommi’s scared.

Tommi never gets scared.

What if we can’t--

No. Stop, Gomez. Don’t go there. Not now.

“What’s the latest from the ship? Have we’ve been able to get the comms up?” Trini asks in an attempt to change the subject.

“Not 100%. I’ve gotten through to Billy for a few minutes here and there, but it’s far from stable,” Tommi responds. “There’s definitely something blocking it.”

“And the teleporter?”

“Still a big no go. But B-man’s workin’ on it.” Zack heads towards the fridge and starts to rummage around. “He’ll let us know as soon as it’s back up.”

Zack resurfaces moments later with a carton of chocolate milk and then takes a long chug, entirely forgoing any formalities.

“Seriously?” Tommi sighs.

“What?” Zack wipes the traces of chocolate milk from his mouth with his uninjured arm. He plops himself down on the other side of the kitchen table and offers up the carton to Max.

Max’s face lights up with instantaneous glee as he follows Zack’s lead and takes a huge gulp of milk straight from the carton.

“What about…” Trini trails off as her eyes drift back over toward Kimberly, not fully able to finish her sentence. But she doesn’t need to. Kimberly’s face says it all. She more than knows what Trini is alluding to.

“There’s no trace of them whatsoever,” Kim quietly replies. She runs her hands through her short, messy locks and lets out a light breath of air, once again trying to mask her ever-growing emotions. “We’ve turned over every inch of this place. Nothing. It’s as if they just vanished in thin air.”

“Is it just them? What about the rest of Angel Grove?”

A sobering silence falls upon the kitchen as Kimberly, Tommi, and Zack all look towards one another, silently praying for someone else to speak first. To answer the question looming in the air.

Shit.

Trini swallows down the massive lump of fear fighting its way up from the pits of her stomach and gives a slight nod in confirmation. “So… Now what?”

#trimberly #trini x kimberly #trini #kimberly hart #zack taylor #power ranger 2017 #power ranger movie #ao3 #wlw #fanfic

45 notes · View notes

rewolfaekilerom · 4 years ago

Text

this week in reading.

//NOTE: This was originally posted on Wordpress on 04.11.2021//

I read a few things this week, and I thought I’d group them all together in this post because they’ve collectively helped me come to a realization about my reading preferences.

Let me preface this by saying that I’ve never really given much thought to the genres of books I like to read. Or, rather, I never really knew how to put into words what I like about the books I like. I can say “oh, I like mystery” or “I really enjoy some fantasy stuff,” but there wasn’t a unifying element or genre. Or so I thought.

I feel a bit like I’m confessing something, but after re-reading the first 8 books of Charlaine Harris’s Southern Vampire Mysteries (Sookie Stackhouse, True Blood, whatever) and then reading Daphne Du Maurier’s Jamaica Inn for the first time, along with Lucy Foley’s The Guest List and the first few pages of Alix Harrow’s The Once and Future Witches, I’m ready to say that my preferred genre is gothic.

My all-time favorite novelist is Barbara Michaels. I’ve been reading her books since I was probably too young to be reading them–maybe 9 or 10? I remember reading one of her books in the backseat of the car during a family trip to Vermont, which must have been around that time. Her novels are often categorized as “romance novels,” but I think it’s actually Romance (with a capital R, as in the early 18C literary movement, not a Harlequin romance). Other sources will say they’re gothic or supernatural suspenses. I agree with that, and maybe one day I’ll write about why I love those books so much. For now, though, it’s enough to say that I love them.

So, Du Maurier is a new favorite of mine. Rebecca was one of the first books I read for fun after finishing the PhD, and it was the first book that I felt free to read without also dissecting. I loved it so much, so I’ve had her other books on my “to read” list for a while.

The thing I love the most about Rebecca–and, I guess, about all gothic novels, really–is the atmosphere. That’s something Barbara Michaels gets right, too, but the focus right now is Rebecca. This is a book that’s saturated with atmosphere. The way Du Maurier describes spaces and the bodies that move through those spaces is sensuous, rich, and complex. As you read Rebecca, you feel like you can smell the rooms the narrator meanders through–it’s like Maxim’s aftershave and Rebecca’s perfume linger and lift off the page as you read. Your body feels clammy and compressed as you read the narrator’s thoughts as she navigates the literal and figurative maze of life at Manderley.

And then, bonus, you get a really good mystery.

I’m a sucker for a mystery. So, yeah, I like gothic novels, but I especially love gothic mysteries. It took me a PhD and 30 years of life to realize this fact, but that’s fine. No judgment here.

Back to Rebecca: it’s a rich story–rich in every sense of the word. Honestly, I don’t even know if “rich” is saying enough. It’s SATURATED with atmosphere. As I read that book, I feel like I am in Monte Carlo and Manderley. I know the scenery, and the faces populating that scenery, better than I’ve known some apartments I’ve lived in or some people I spent hours with. It’s a visceral reading experience, and I love every second of it. You can reread Rebecca. That means a lot.

Another thing about this book? We are all the narrator. I don’t care who you are or how badass you are. The narrator’s insecurities and struggles and worries and anxieties are something you’ve felt at some point in your life. It’s relatable in a way that is almost disorienting and repugnant. You identify with the narrator, but you also come to hate her and her insecurities and her naiveté. I think that says more about the reader than it does about anything else, but what do I know? In any case, that’s a story where jealousy and insecurity–things that are intrinsically tied to power–are the veils around which hides a deeper narrative about how our identities form and how one’s ability to consolidate one’s own identity is itself an act of power that can be denied.

I’m constantly puzzled if I think Maxim and the narrator’s story is a romance. The Netflix adaptation says it is, and sometimes I think it is. Well, maybe not in the “in love” sense of the word “romance” but in the “loving” sense of the word. I guess it doesn’t matter, but it’s something I think about while reading. “Romance” and “love” can be a lot of different things, and that’s a book where lust looks like love, but kindness and companionship also looks like love.

All this is to say that I love Rebecca and I had high hopes for Jamaica Inn, which in a lot of ways lived up to but also didn’t live up to those expectations. It’s good, don’t get me wrong. I read it in two days and mostly enjoyed it. But what Jamaica Inn doesn’t have–and what most other gothic novels get right, for me–is a terror, an insidiousness, a series of threats to the heroine that are subtle and suggestive. This book doesn’t play with your head like you might expect a gothic novel to do; it lays its cards on the table and then slaps you in the face with danger.

Rebecca is a compelling read because you don’t really know what’s wrong at Manderley for most of the book; you just know something is wrong and you want to figure out what it is, so you keep reading. With Jamaica Inn, you know what’s wrong–you know that Mary’s uncle is a brute and violent and menacing. It doesn’t matter that he’s a smuggler or a murderer or a wrecker (spoiler: he’s all of those things) because he proves early on that he’s a monster. And by the time you get something compelling–for instance, the fact that the uncle isn’t acting alone, or rather that he’s not in charge of the smuggling operation–you’re 70% through the book.

So, yes, to correct myself: there is an unknown threat, and that’s the vicar. He’s the “true” bad guy, but honestly, they’re all bad guys in some way or another. The danger he presents is real because he’s a wolf in sheep’s clothing–as his illustration not-so-subtly points out–but again, it slaps you in the face. And by the novel’s early twentieth-century, ableist approach to characterization, his physical difference–the very fact that he is albino–serves to mark his difference. We know there’s something different about him because he looks different. It’s a tale as old as time. It’s not a good tale, and it’s not a tale that we’d want to see written now, but it’s important to acknowledge that the trope of physical difference/disability standing in for some questionable moral quality (or even innate evilness) was and is common in literature across the globe. So any adept reader will know from the moment that the narrator makes the vicar’s albinism apparent that there’s something up with him. Reading the scenes with the vicar made me long for a story that would do something different. I’d hoped his albinism was a red herring–that it was simply a facet of his character that indicated nothing about his moral standing or views of the world. But alas, my hopes were dashed and Du Maurier rubbed my nose in my own optimism. Maybe I’m taking it a bit personally.

Shifting gears slightly but not too much, the romance plot is endearing, but you can see where it’s going from the second Jem steps onto the page–he’s the good brother who’s pure at heart, and we know this because he’s so much younger than Mary’s uncle, was often the victim of his elder brothers’ bullying, spent more time with his mother, and is engaged in less morally questionable illegal activity. He can be forgiven while the uncle cannot; he’s worthy of love while the uncle is not; he will come out alright while the uncle will not. We get a few pages where we question his nobleness, but that skepticism is quickly dashed from our minds as someone else steps in to be another bad guy. I like that, but it also left me feeling grounded throughout the reading experience. I had two feet on the ground and knew exactly where I was going while reading Jamaica Inn. I don’t feel that way while reading Rebecca or many other gothic novels, and I like that.

And again, the pacing is frustrating. I’m not talking about the pages and pages of describing moors or landscape. I studied 19C lit; I’m comfortable with that. I might even say I enjoy it. In fact, there’s a lot about this novel that feels like something like, say, Lillie Devereux Blake’s Fettered for Life. It’s a good book, but the interesting parts sometimes get buried in storylines that aren’t as compelling. What I’m talking about is the fact that 70% of the novel is the same threat and then the interesting threat–the stuff that might get a reader invested and destabilized–takes up the last 20-30%. The climax of the novel felt hurried, and the denouement was like downhill skiing rather than a winding, twisty ride through a not-so-lazy river. (That metaphor got away from me.) This book needed a heavy-handed editor.

Which ties in with my experience reading Foley’s The Guest List. Apparently this and The Hunting Party are essentially the same story with different locales. Or maybe a better way of putting this is that both of these books show Foley adopting the same premise with more or less successful results. The Guest List got better ratings than The Hunting Party on Goodreads, so I followed my novel-reading-and-reviewing overlords. In any case, though, it suffers from the same issue with organization, if we’re going to put it in first-year-composition terms. But where Jamaica Inn manages to keep you invested in its characters for 100% of the novel even though the stuff that is psychologically compelling (even if it wasn’t exactly what I’d hoped for) takes up maybe 30-40% of the book, The Guest List truly does contain its climax and denouement within the last 5% of the book. If the climax and denouement of Jamaica Inn felt like downhill skiing, those parts of The Guest List felt like riding a rocket straight into Earth–there was no suspense, no delayed gratification. The book spent the majority of its pages vaguely creating and then completing its unlikeable characters’ backstories before then murdering its most unlikeable character and identifying the potential suspects for the murder all in the span of, like, 10 pages.

Murder. Chapter for suspect 1. Chapter for suspect 2. Chapter for suspect 3. Chapter for suspect 4 . . . Back to murder and . . . REVEAL.

The thing about this is that it’s taking something that Agatha Christie did right and making it obnoxious and tedious. Christie and countless others have played with the same type of story structure: revealing that someone has not died but not saying who, presenting a cast of characters who all have something to hide, showing the murder but obscuring the murderer, revealing that all of the characters were connected in some former life and thus have a reason to kill, refusing to reveal the murderer until the last possible second. Together, these can be incredibly successful at building suspense and keeping the reader on their toes. But The Guest List takes those techniques for building suspense–especially jumping in time and between narrators in order to give all sides of a situation while still masterfully leaving the reader in the dark, so to speak (which is also arguably a facet of gothic lit), in order to keep the reader invested–and turns it into something that manages to make you less invested.

I’m not going to rehash the plot, so check it out on Goodreads. My novel-reading-and-reviewing overlords have done it better than I ever could. But the thing I want to emphasize is that despite (1) knowing that a murder has happened and (2) recognizing early on that nearly every character is sketchy and hiding something, I never really cared all that much to find out who was murdered or why. It just . . . didn’t concern me. I was more invested in making sure all of the female characters escape with minimal harm done to them by a gaggle of, frankly, lecherous men.

To put it bluntly, I’m tired of mystery novels that attempt to create suspense by putting their female characters in danger of sexually aggressive men. It’s lazy, and so is using self-harm to prove that a character is going through something.

Don’t get me wrong, it’s an interesting premise and the description of the scenery is gorgeous. Foley gets those things so right. I could dwell in the detailed and atmospheric descriptions of this secluded island for days. In fact, I wish there was more of that–maybe with less of the lecherous-man-lechery and self-harm. Swap those things and we’d be on our way to something that’d make me want to read again.

In case you haven’t noticed, I judge a book by how willing I am to read it again. I LOVE rereading books, so it’s a compliment when I want to do so.

So, where does this bring us in my week of reading? Jamaica Inn was good but not as good as Rebecca. The Guest List is a story about characters who are so utterly unlikeable you end up wanting the boat to abandon them on that island.

And then there’s Harris’s series. I’ve read most of them before–probably as a teenager? I thought I’d read all of them, but Wikipedia tells me there’s 13 books rather than 8. It looks like I stopped reading when I started college, which makes sense in some way. Say what you will about this series (I enjoy it), but from a technical standpoint–that is, from the standpoint of pacing and organization and world-building–this series does a lot of things right. I’ll write on it in the future, maybe, but I’ll just say that I think this is a surprising example of a series that takes gothic and supernatural tropes and wields them to their fullest potential. I like that.

So, I guess that means I have like 5 books to read now. That’s a pretty awesome surprise, if you ask me.

xoxo, you know.

0 notes

rewolfaekilerom23 · 4 years ago

Text

this week in reading

//NOTE: This was originally posted on Wordpress on 04.11.2021//

I read a few things this week, and I thought I’d group them all together in this post because they’ve collectively helped me come to a realization about my reading preferences.

And then, bonus, you get a really good mystery.

I’m a sucker for a mystery. So, yeah, I like gothic novels, but I especially love gothic mysteries. It took me a PhD and 30 years of life to realize this fact, but that’s fine. No judgment here.

Murder. Chapter for suspect 1. Chapter for suspect 2. Chapter for suspect 3. Chapter for suspect 4 . . . Back to murder and . . . REVEAL.

In case you haven’t noticed, I judge a book by how willing I am to read it again. I LOVE rereading books, so it’s a compliment when I want to do so.

So, I guess that means I have like 5 books to read now. That’s a pretty awesome surprise, if you ask me.

xoxo, you know.

1 note · View note

topmixtrends · 7 years ago

Link

A. G. LOMBARDO’S searing novel Graffiti Palace revels in an abundance of language. I take pleasure in that approach, and so welcomed the play of sounds and images. Consider this description of shipping containers at the Los Angeles Harbor: “A city of iron cubicles latticed along the harbor, piled like a giant’s stairway in gravity-suspended steps rising toward the burnished sunset, or skewed in angles and intersecting layers; some pitched, half-toppled by long-ago extracted cranes and ship’s booms.” It resembles the scene it describes, dense with shapes, colors, and history; there’s rhythm to it, restlessness, and it modifies and complicates itself as it goes. It builds from concrete imagery, rises into abstraction, then topples back down into the real. Like Icarus, we might say — but here, the fall is intentional.

Graffiti Palace is set during the Watts riots, and concerns, mostly, a journey across Los Angeles by Americo Monk, an “urban graphologist and graffiti semiotician” who records the city’s illicit signs in a notebook he carries everywhere. As the novel opens, he’s at 112th and San Pedro studying a traffic signal. His pregnant girlfriend, Karmann Ghia (yes, like the car), is hosting a rent party at the Los Angeles Harbor, where the two of them live in a maze-like assemblage of shipping containers. In Watts, police use unnecessary force during a traffic stop, sparking civil unrest and sending the city into a spiral of destruction fueled by long-simmering racial tension. Buildings burn, news crews report on the “senseless violence that rules the night,” and the police respond with brutality, roadblocks, and curfews. Monk, trying to get home, makes his way south through a landscape of fire, ash, and smoke. But the riots — of which Monk is, mainly, a neutral though sympathetic observer — make progress difficult.

Monk’s travels are picaresque, zig-zagging through southern Los Angeles and throwing him into the company of gang members and cops, musicians and exterminators, seers and novitiates, artists and radicals. He traces a tricky line: he’s neither wholly black nor wholly white, and can appear, depending on the light and time of day, Mediterranean or African, Caucasian or Arabian — “a walking Rorschach mirror that perhaps reflects more of the beholder than the subject,” as Lombardo puts it. Monk’s notebook of graffiti makes him of interest to gangs and police alike. At various points, he is held hostage, given food and drink, interrogated, and offered various drugs, though he mostly refuses to partake. Meanwhile, Karmann grows increasingly worried. The party rages around her. Night passes into day, day back into night. She chases people away from her phone, hoping to hear from Monk, and fends off the approaches of multiple suitors.

Karmann is a latter-day Penelope, a baby Telemachus in her belly, and Monk is Odysseus, making his way back to the harbor while Los Angeles writhes in agony. Buttoning the story to the spine of the Odyssey serves the novel well. Without that structure, the story might collapse under its own weight, too many characters, too many details, too many vectors of movement. Instead, it is improbably resilient, deriving narrative energy from the series of trials Monk undergoes, many of which have clear links to Homer’s epic: lotus-eaters in Chinatown, a cyclops in the tunnels under Los Angeles, a fortune teller near the Harbor Freeway. These connections work best when they’re dense and layered, operating as conversations and arguments with the source; when they’re on the surface, or treated as jokes, they’re less effective, pinging the reader with the thrill of noticing them without doing the harder work of expanding the range of Homeric tropes. At one point, Monk is in the back of a Corvair when he hears angelic singing coming from a nightclub, “a soul aria that seems out of this world.” He tries to get out, but he’s strapped down by the unfamiliar mechanism of a seat belt, still somewhat new in 1965 — Odysseus lashed to the mast as his ships sails past the island of Sirens. “Honey, you don’t want to go in there,” the driver says to him. “Them girls are so hot you’ll never leave.” It’s funny, but feels a little gratuitous. Then again, the episode of the Sirens is among the most recognizable moments in the Odyssey, and treating it in an offhand manner is perhaps the best way of paying homage.

The interpretative framework of the book coalesces in Monk. He’s a guide to the city as much as he is a traveler of its streets, and his explications of graffiti illuminate the meanings hidden in the gang signs, murals, stencils, and culture-jamming stickers stuck over advertisements. But Monk is also aware that this world is unstable, precarious: “He knows that sometimes signs are like the new physics, that the rules break down; the semiotician struggles in the twilight of uncertainty: message, sender, receiver, meaning can shift, change in time and space.” Communication is always contextual, always contingent, and the discrete order of the system that makes interpretation possible can disintegrate at any moment. Recording the signs and stories is, therefore, also an attempt at preservation:

This city is always changing, shedding its skin of underground signs and languages in paroxysms of destruction and rebirth, seething in a secret war between the dispossessed, who write its street histories, and the cops and power structures, who destroy unsanctioned communication through anti-graffiti paint crews and incarceration and intimidation: he will be their historian.

Along with his catalog of graffiti, Monk collects stories, preserving the city’s counter-narratives. In Chinatown, Monk hears the story of the invention of the fortune cookie from a man named Shen Shen. On 127th Street, Monk runs into Miss Iva Toguri, who, once upon a time, was accused of being a “Tokyo Rose,” the name given by GIs to the English-speaking women who broadcasted propaganda over Japanese airwaves in World War II. In an alley off Athens Way, he stumbles into the home of a woman who calls herself Queen Mab (“I’m not Mercutio, am I?” Monk jokes). She spins a story of slavery and emancipation laced with magic, runes, and secret societies. These stories, as related in Graffiti Palace, cannot be taken at face value. It’s true the fortune cookie was invented in San Francisco; it’s true a woman named Iva Toguri was put on trial for treason, though her trial was a travesty of justice and she was later pardoned; Queen Mab, for her part, is Circe (maybe) by way of Shakespeare. But Lombardo’s versions of these stories are, like graffiti, exaggerated and colorful. His rendition of the history of fortune cookies mixes in haiku and the dozens. Miss Toguri’s story is supplemented by invented details. As for Queen Mab’s version of history, who knows? Even Monk is skeptical.

It would be satire — the exaggerated characters, the wild stories — if it were not so clear that the book’s empathy is with the disaffected. During the riots, Monk is accosted by a white newscaster, Brey King (the pun in her name — “breaking news” — is characteristic of the writing), who wants to know why people are rioting. Monk’s response:

“Ah, social inequalities, I guess,” softly. “The inherent racism of a police force that’s trapped in a Jim Crow past.” Monk, realizing that being interviewed about the cops on TV is probably light-years from cool, slinks away. He scowls back at the white woman: What’s the use talking to white people? He knows he shouldn’t think like that, boxing her into some kind of simple racial equation, but she and her kind, aren’t they doing the same thing to him? Most of the time the only communication between whites and blacks seems to be self-conscious, patronizing chatter about race … spoken words are signs too, and these feeble attempts at communication from the White Power Structure — the WhiPS graffiti copied in his notebook — are really miscommunication, static that walls in ignorance instead of tearing it down. Monk frowns: perhaps there is a limit to empathy, a gulf that can never truly be bridged between others.

The satirical impulse, however, sometimes wins out, and takes the writing too far in the direction of caricature, like when a Chinese character’s speech is rendered with l’s replacing r’s. This feature of speech is so charged, so coded, that presenting it in this manner seems unnecessarily provocative. Many other characters in the novel, who are of a vast rainbow of ethnicities and backgrounds, also have their speech rendered phonetically (and use slang and nonstandard diction to boot), and other Chinese characters in the novel do not have their speech written in the same way — so the impulse is both universal to all and particular to each, and, it would seem, not derisive or scornful. But this, in particular, could have been handled better.

Lombardo’s style is a heightened one: it’s noticeable, draws attention to itself, revels in synonyms, metaphors, and exaggeration. The idea is, I think, not to show off the writer’s skill, any more than other artists who work in styles that are insistently present. Instead, it’s staking an aesthetic and philosophical claim that fiction can represent the lushness, diversity, and overflowing-ness of life — the abundance of both good and bad, large and small. In this, of course, Graffiti Palace is not alone. It’s in a tradition that includes Thomas Pynchon, Toni Morrison, and the Herman Melville of Moby-Dick (the Melville of “Bartleby, the Scrivener,” less so), writers who otherwise have very different concerns and approaches. And that is only to name a few writers, and only American ones. But this aesthetic of linguistic plenitude runs counter to a significant strain of American thinking about fiction, which emphasizes clarity, compactness, and terseness, the Protestant ethic made manifest not just in stories but in the very way they are told. It is therefore refreshing to encounter a writer going against that minimalist grain, making an argument for an aesthetic based in something other than cold hard gems of closely observed fact, written sparingly — which is not to dismiss that style of writing, but to say fiction is large, it can (and should) contain multitudes.

This style is not a simple celebration of life’s variety and richness. It’s the plenitude of John Coltrane’s A Love Supreme: there’s a lot going on, often teetering on the edge of cacophony, threatening to plunge headlong into the abyss, with only a few stray lines of melody as a guide through the chaos. Lombardo’s most obvious literary forebear in this regard is Pynchon, and his text bears traces of Pynchon’s influence. Characters sport absurd, quasi-synedochical names; ellipses dot the text like pepper; and there are insinuations of unseen and unknowable forces at work. And, like Pynchon, Lombardo often elides dialogue attribution or replaces it with a participle: “‘Look, Officer Trench, you know me,’ Monk trying to control the fear in his voice, ‘it’s just graffiti, art stuff, a hobby.’”

The attention to the surface of the text echoes the book’s use of graffiti, which here becomes a multi-headed metaphor, a palace of possible meaning, and a method of subverting overarching narratives. Around halfway into Graffiti Palace, Monk comes across Jax GK — short for “Giant Killer” — and his partner, Sofia. Under cover of night, they attack billboards with spray cans, stencils, and stickers, transforming messages of domestic bliss and unthinking consumerism into indictments of the same. Out on a run with them, listening to the radio, Monk is perplexed by a white talk-show host’s anger: “What the fuck do they have to be angry at? People driving in their cars, isolated, through all these streets and freeways, listening to these fools … no wonder everyone’s pissed off and insane, afraid of everyone else.” Sofia’s response: “They clog all our senses with their propaganda. […] Eyes, ears … they’d inject their lies or wire our brains if they could figure out how, but we’ll take it back, one street at a time.”

Ultimately, Graffiti Palace itself is a performative resistance to authority, channeling the multiple contrasting voices and stories of Los Angeles into a mural exploding with color and contradictions. Or, perhaps, a building covered in illicit signs and arcane symbols:

Too many dots to connect … it’s vertigo, any patterns that seem to coalesce only fade like shadows: sometimes he’s sure the city is one giant graffito, a sprawling, urban uber-text that one day, with enough notebooks, he might unlock to reveal all its hidden codes. Sometimes the graffiti in his thoughts and notebook blur into the city’s spray-painted icons, until his mind and the streets seem like one vast network of rainbow messages, the convolutions of his brain and the corridors of the city fused into one myriad, fantastic structure, like a palace of graffiti.

John Flynn-York writes fiction, essays, and book reviews. He is a co-founder and editor of Automata Review, and holds an MFA in Creative Writing from UC Riverside–Palm Desert.

The post Subversive Surfaces: “Graffiti Palace” by A. G. Lombardo appeared first on Los Angeles Review of Books.

from Los Angeles Review of Books http://ift.tt/2IpnQR6

#Los Angeles Review of Books #topmixtrends

0 notes

mnm-inc-miles · 8 years ago

Photo

"Wake up, Neil." Wild aqua hues opened and frantically searched his surroundings. Where am I? Neil thought, as he tried to gain awareness. "You're in one of my games," the voice spoke again. Then stepping forth from the shadows was a man he'd never seen but immediately recognized. "Miles..." Neil's brows furrowed as his muscles grew tense. "Awe, so you've heard of me," Miles dipped sarcasm, playing bashful. "Let's see how much of your father is in you, how much of a fighter you are." "I'm not doing this with you," Neil spoke confidently. He figured he had to put his foot down so as not to potentially become a common target for Miles. Miles clicked his tongue and four video monitors lowered from the ceiling. "Might want to study these screens before sticking to that decision. If you do nothing, these four girls will die." Neil scanned the monitors and his eyes immediately fell upon his sister. His heart dropped as he saw Ivy strapped to what looked to be an electric chair. He felt nauseous and shook his head, closing his eyes. "Look kid, I'm not asking you to hurt anyone," Miles feigned compassion. "I just want to play. You have the chance to be a real hero. Can you save all four girls? Stand up and approach me if you're willing to play." Slowly Neil rose to his feet and stepped forward. Miles giggled and clapped his hands together. "Good choice, all you have to know is that this is a test of your abilities as well as your compassion. You will have a limited amount of time to get to each girl. Once you reach the checkpoint at the end of each section, time restarts. The catch is that you cannot leave anyone behind, assuming you manage to reach anyone in time to save them. If you abandon anyone you've saved, I will personally rip out their heart and crush it. Fitting isn't it?" Neil clenched his jaw, his adrenaline pumping. "I'm ready to start." Miles reached out a hand for Neil to shake. Neil suppressed a growl within his throat before reaching for the opposing hand. He heard the words 'Good luck,' echo above him as the scenery changed before his eyes almost immediately. Before him was a timer set for ten minutes and a sign that read: ENDURANCE-MILE RUN. Beside it was a monitor of Lizzie who seemed to be crying out as a bucket above her slowly dripped onto her body, searing through her cloths and burning her porcelain skin. The timer clicked on and Neil took off running. He didn't have an opportunity to warm up, but he was in shape and was confident he could run a mile in seven or eight minutes. Clouds seemed to form overhead and he watched as rain seemed to spit from them. One drop fell upon him and it burned. The disorientation caused him to slow slightly as the raining seemed to pick up. He cried out in pain and picked up the pace once more. He realized now how Lizzie would die if he didn't reach her, the bucket above her was acid. He winced as the rain continued to fall, slowly, ever so slowly but with increasing intensity. Neil bit his lip as he came into view of where the checkpoint was, and could see Lizzie in his horizon. A large timer was next to her and it displayed two minutes and counting. A stitch in his side began to grow but he pushed on, determined to reach Lizzie before it was too late. With only thirty seconds to spare he passed the checkpoint and went to the young girl in distress to free her. Her cloths were tattered and her skin flushed from the acid that had fallen prior to Neil's arrival. She was sobbing and Neil pulled her into a hug. "It's alright, you're safe now..." She threw her arms around him, relieved. He winced from his own acid burns, but knew this game wasn't over. "But we need to push forward..." As he held her, he saw his next obstacle. It was for Ivy. He immediately pulled away from Lizzie, who was still recovering from her experience. Another timer, also set for ten minutes and the new obstacle read: PROBLEM SOLVING-MAZE. His heart broke as he saw his sister crying maybe fifty feet away. As he watched a moment he saw a shock of electricity surge through her body. The timer clicked on and his eyes widened in horror and he turned to Lizzie. "We have to go, now." When he grabbed her hand he looked ahead at a ground with a maze that looked simple enough but upon reading the only rule seemed almost impossible to solve. "Follow the path from start to finish without making any left turns (or U-turns)." Neil's brows furrowed and while holding Lizzie's hand they started the maze. The first wrong move sent a shock throughout both of their bodies. Lizzie screamed and pulled her hand out of Neil's grasp, frozen. He turned to her and pleaded. "We have to figure this out, please...Lizzie if we don't work through this my sister will die...and two other girls are here too...please." He reached out his hand and she took it, palms sweaty and hand shaking. "It's okay..." They began the maze again. For every minute they passed electricity was sent through Ivy, each slightly stronger and longer than the last. Neil felt sick again as he tried desperately to solve the puzzle. They made three more wrong moves each accompanied by a strong shock. Lizzie screamed out in pain and receded into herself. "I can't do this anymore..." she cried, hugging her legs against her chest. Neil pleaded with her for nearly a minute and she just shook her head, "I can't, I'm scared." Neil knelt down beside her, five minutes left to solve the maze. He lifted her head and pointed to his sister who was barely conscious. "So is she, and if we give up, she dies. Do you want that weighing on you?" Tears formed in Lizzie's terrified eyes but she buried her head in her knees. Neil stood, "If I go on without you..." he paused and hated how he was going to sound but had to motivate her to work with him. "If I leave you here...you'll die. Miles will come and tear your heart out." Her head shot up and she looked at him, baby blues searching for whether or not he would leave her behind. "Please don't let that happen," he said softly, extending his hand and she took it once again. They didn't make any more left or U-turns but it also seemed they just kept walking in circles. Neil looked at the timer and it read three minutes. He stopped and closed his eyes, took thirty seconds to keep himself from breaking down then opened them again. Now at the starting point again Neil refocused and tried to solve the puzzle without walking. He almost made himself dizzy with how fast his eyes traced around and around the maze but finally he'd made it to the finish line. "This way," he barely breathed as he tugged Lizzie behind him, just under a minute on the timer. Then a horrifying alarm boomed in the air, causing both Neil and Lizzie to crouch and cover their ears. The actor turned and saw the timer read zero and his eyes fell upon his sister who was being electrocuted to death. Lizzie collapsed to the ground in heavy sobs as Neil ran to his sisters side. When he reached her the surges stopped and the locks released her. "Oh god...no..." He gently took hold of his sister and brought her close to his chest, tears streaming down his face. "You still have two people left to possibly save," a voice spoke from the surrounding air. "I need a minute..." Neil cried, unable to tear himself away from his sister. Miles repeated what he said, saying the timer for the next obstacle would start in less than a minute, with or without him. Lizzie approached Neil and put a shaky hand on his shoulder. He turned, furious, "You!" he began and watched her head fall, he retrained himself. It wasn't entirely her fault, and blaming her wouldn't help the situation either. He tried to offer an apology but couldn't find the words. Turning back to his sister he knelt down, holding her hand. "Ivy...I'm so sorry, I love you...I'm sorry I couldn't save you..." He closed his eyes and forced away the tears, knowing this was something he'd have to live with for the rest of his life. He moved away and didn't look back, afraid he'd only break down again. The next timer was fifteen minutes with a sign that read: STRENGTH-ROPE SWING. A monitor next to the sign showed Sarah swinging from fraying rope, it was evident that the fall was a long drop. Too long to survive. The timer clicked on and Neil reached for the first rope. His eyes teared up when he felt a tug at his shirt. He turned to Lizzie and she shook her head..."I can't do this...like, I'm not scared, the height doesn't bother me, but I physically cannot hold myself up..." Neil sighed and tried to think of a solution. "Just...leave me here. I'm so sorry...for your sister and...I don't want anyone else to die because of me." "Ivy isn't entirely on you, okay? Miles created this, I couldn't solve it fast enough...but I'm not leaving you. Ivy won't die in vain, and I won't loose anyone else either." He inhaled deeply and turned around, "climb on, hold tight, and please god do not hold around my neck." He took her arms and showed her how to hold on. She wrapped her legs around his waist and had one arm under his shoulder and one over the opposing shoulder, so her hands linked diagonally across his chest. "Please try not to scream..." he asked her as he took hold of the rope and wrapped it around his wrist. When he leapt from the first landing to the next he cried out in pain. The ropes were no ordinary ropes, they were covered in hairline prickles and as he swung the dug into his skin. When they landed he fell to his knees, chest heaving. "What happened? Am I too heavy? Did I break your wrist?" Lizzie asked. Neil wanted to laugh for she was as light as a feather, but he failed to really find the humor at the moment. "No...the rope..." he stood and revealed his right palm and wrist. They were inflamed. "Oh no...you can't keep carrying me..." "I can certainly try. Let's go, we can't afford to waste any time." She reluctantly resumed her position, not wanting to stall him further. He carefully wrapped his right arm and wrist so he had a good grip, then held on with his left and leapt to the next landing. Upon landing he winced, grabbing his arm which was now tearing in some areas. His breathing was rough but he told Lizzie to hold on, and readied himself for the next jump. This time he wrapped his left arm and wrist, then took a good grip and jumped. This seemed to hurt more than the last and he wondered if somehow his right arm was going numb from the pain. "Neil..." she chewed her lip. "Maybe I should try to swing on the rope..." "Hang on," he spoke, ignoring her. There were just four more landings after this and he still had just over eight minutes on the timer. He was half way across the obstacle with more than half his starting time, so he was technically ahead, if only by half a minute. She obeyed as he wrapped his right arm and swung. Three more ropes to go. He grabbed the rope and jumped, but lost his grip. He slid down the rope as Lizzie slipped from his back. She screamed as he caught her wrist with his free hand. "Swing..." he winced through gritted teeth. "What?" Lizzie cried out in fear. "Swing your body," he growled in pain, "to get to the landing." She listened and as her feet hooked onto the rock she released her grip on Neil and tumbled forward. As he swung back he rolled onto the rock. Tears stung his eyes as he pushed up, checking the timer. Two more ropes, four minutes, it was going to be close. "Let's go." "Neil I want to try it...if you go first, maybe you can catch me..." Neil went to argue but she shook her head. "Either you go first or I do." "Okay love, alright..." he swung across and threw the rope back. "I'm right here. Wrap the rope around your arm, and your wrist...then grip it tight with your hands...run and jump. I'll catch you." She listened to him but as she jumped her arms dropped, unable to support her weight. The rope swung back and forth as Neil cried out to her. "Swing your body Lizzie," he felt sick again, though he wondered if it had ever actually subsided. "Swing, I'll grab you..." "I'm trying..." she cried but she couldn't quite get there. Her grip gave way and she began to fall, but Neil reached over and caught her wrist. He tried pulling her up but his muscles were cramping. She released her grip and Neil shouted for her not to give up. "Let go Neil. Go save the last two girls." He refused to let her go so she took her nails and dug into his skin. "Let go...please..." He couldn't help but release her and turned away to avoid watching her hit the ground. He stood and grabbed the rope. Two more. Swing, land. One more, with less than a minute remaining. He swung and reached the finish just in time. He hurried over to Sarah and grabbed her waist, as the ropes snapped and she tumbled upon him. "What's happening?" Sarah cried. "Oh my god, oh...look at you..." Neil's chest heaved as he tried to catch his breath. "We have one more person to save...oh god," his lip quivered. "Oh love I've failed so far...I've lost two people...Lizzie and...I...my sister." He choked out the last words, unable to say her name. "Who's left..." Sarah said, afraid. "It's Stella..." he stood up and walked to the next timer which also had fifteen minutes on it. The sign read: COPING SKILLS-400 METER BLOOD BATH. The object was to swim across in under fifteen minutes before Stella drowned in a tub of water. The timer clicked on and Neil turned to Sarah. "We have to swim across or Miles will kill her." Sarah chewed her cheek but nodded, eyeing the lake of blood wearily. They both entered the water. Neil froze, images of his sister and of Lizzie flashed before his eyes. Guilt took hold of him, his chest choking for air. He closed his eyes and focused on the task at hand. When he looked for Sarah he saw she was back on land. "Sarah..." "I can't do that...there's no way." Neil noticed she had actually thrown up and as he came near her she backed away. "Don't you tough me. I can't do it. I'd rather die..." She had seen all the atrocities she'd ever committed, specifically almost killing her own daughter. "Sarah, I know this must be hard for you, but Stella needs you...she's your daughter Sarah, come on, you have to try. Once you accept it, it gets easier." "You try accepting almost murdering your child then killing yourself. Fuck you." "Stella will die if you don't come with me." "Can't I just stay behind?" Clearly Sarah was unaware of the rules and so Neil ran with that. "No...no you can't. If you don't come with me, she dies and we are stuck here...which means we also die. I'll be right here with you, please love...please be brave." She started crying but entered the blood and began to swim alongside Neil. As he picked up the pace, worried about their time as it fell below 7 minutes just as they passed the 200 meter mark. "We have to swim faster..." He turned and saw Sarah a good fifty feet behind him, struggling to stay above the surface. "Hold on!" Neil swam toward her as he watched Sarah fall beneath the surface. He took a deep breathe and dove under. He blindly waved his arms under the surface until his hand caught Sarah's wrist. He swam up and gasped as his lungs took in air. The metallic taste of blood dropped into his mouth as he pulled her onto his back. He swam harder than he's ever done in his life. He somehow made the last half with two minutes left on the timer. He pushed Sarah onto land and hovered over her a moment, when he was sure she was still breathing he hurried to Stella and pulled her from the tub of water. "Congratulations," Miles cackled. "You've managed to save fifty perfect of the victims. Some would say that's still failing. Hope you're happy with your performance. Walk towards the singular door to get home." "Are you okay to walk?" Neil asked Stella. "Yes..." she shivered. The water had been ice cold and her body was pale from lack of blood flow. "Is...is that my....my mom?" "Yeah, she's alright..." Neil spoke as he went over and picked her up. "I'll get her." He held her in his arms as they slowly made their way toward the door.

0 notes