#ultimately i think everything now can only reaffirm his hatred

[muzzleroars]

Do the siblings ever Show Lucifer the testament god left about him? Man's gotta be depressed already over something so preventable :[

did something a bit different and wrote a small one-shot for this - it's an idea i've had stuck in my head, about just what it would mean for lucifer to find god's regret and how it could possibly find a way into a mind so thoroughly consumed with hatred for him (~1300 words)

Lucifer stands frozen before the terminal, locked into an infinitely receding space that reduces everything that surrounds him to a single room. A single display. He is impossibly small, flattened, compressed into it until only he and this feeble echo of God remain. A poor replica of what they once had been at the start of everything, just before creation exploded out into its unfathomable expanse when Lucifer was bursting with light and God was the entire universe. Lucifer now, a smoldering, hollow shell and God only words on a screen.

            Nothing like His true voice. A language of images and abstractions woven into visual song.

If this was the way it was always meant to end, that would be its only justification. A long game, a damnation incomplete until it brought him before this one screen and the meager text displayed on it. How insignificant, how indifferent they are, the very banality of evil. Lucifer would read the words until they began to blur together and he could make them out as some trick of Hell, how he strains to hear laughter thrumming through its halls. But it’s quiet, almost distant, as though the prison itself has retreated from him now. And how it should.

            All of this, come to nothing.

The pitiful flame still in his belly burns in a terrible ache, that last living part of God unable to withstand this regret. It never had to be, the first and oldest tragedy rendered meaningless. The thought locks into his mind, rapidly consuming it until he has nothing else beneath it or before it. He would dig his fingers into his own eye if tearing it out would take away what he now knows. It was so much better to think his beloved Father had turned to hatred of him for reasons he would never parse, he could live in perfect hatred toward Him in kind if that was their fate. He hated, and hated, and hated, devoured whole and corrupted down to his very core, his entire fabric, to turn into an antithesis of his maker. Thousands of years immeasurable to become the distilled poison of God, eviscerated by his grief and carrying all the bodies of those dead angels in his own to cultivate a vile evil unknown to any other than Lucifer.

But it was never returned. Lucifer perpetually and ever all-ignorant, loved endlessly by a Father that had sent him so far it had devoured God just as it had the Devil. How he would have helped, false memories crashing into his mind to temporarily dislodge that one looping, intractable truth – if God had found an answer for him in that moment, if He had responded in truth to His child’s anxiety. How Lucifer would have served Him then, risen up to be the perfect son in the mold he had been made and how his love would have burned ever brighter in the face of it. A whole history that would have been unravels in an instant, showing all of what he could have been in full clarity.

And Lucifer recoils from it.

He does not feel that way his hands begin to burn, molten cracks bursting all along the cindered remains of his arm and shining through his gutted insides. The light of God Himself, so torturous to the walls of Hell all around him that it screams, writhing and twisting but unable to eject him from the terminal before him, unable to shut the room away in the face of the very primordial force that had made it. Flames burst forth, flashing in now terribly billowing smoke, threatening to consume the entire space yet nullified instantly by the shrill light of the sun, the very essence of the Celestial Rose petrifying all it now touches.

Lucifer flares, the mantle of his flames consuming his broken body barely able to now sustain them, the train of his wings corroding every surface they touch. The dead air breathes into life not meant for it and so dies a second time, Hell rushing to quarantine his fire as it rapidly spreads to turn its body necrotic. Lucifer himself too burned down, his ashes crying out against his own awful divinity and yet he feels none of it. He sees only the words in front of him.

AN ANGEL SO BRIGHT AND BEAUTIFUL ASKED ME THIS…

His right hand finds the terminal screen, display flickering and just as soon burning through, before he even touches it.

AND I CAST LUCIFER, TOO, INTO THE INFERNAL DEN

Upon slightest contact, the metal and circuitry of the terminal are no more and he is flooded with the holy word instead.

ONCE I REALIZED WHAT I HAD JUST DONE…

I COULD ONLY WEEP

It strikes down to his core, sending deep pulses of an unspeakable, unfathomable grief through his reignited flames. Lucifer retracts into himself for the pain, for the abundant, wracking tears that burn away before they can even leave his eye. Yet in them, his world rapidly begins to expand again, away from the words he’s now eliminated, away from the memories of a life that could have been. The Testament explodes through his mind, God’s true voice in the unlimited capacity only ever heard by Lucifer and now rejected by him in his immutable hatred. It is done.

Soon, he hears the wailing of Hell; Lucifer casts his gaze finally unfrozen to a room now greatly altered around him. His hand is badly broken open, embers left behind in a flame that has once again fallen into a deep sleep, but he has done much more damage to his friend. It feels his regret and knows his apologies, evident through its slow quieting as Lucifer himself straightens to stand once more. He moves himself quickly over now ashen ground, not wishing to prolong the residual trembling left in it; he departs from what’s left of the room and it is gone behind him. Excised, and all is silent. He supposes they won’t speak for a while now.

He steps back out into a part of Hell barely recognizable as such – A dawn slowly breaks over the water stretching out in front of him. The sun is steady rising, sedate as it comes over the horizon in soft washes of color he remembers once painting himself. How now his ignorance has been reduced, seemingly to a cruel extent and yet it’s so much smaller than it seems. He had seen the alternative in what could have been, and he sees it now in this morning. To paint always, to serve forever.

If his Father had loved him all that time, if He had regretted His choice each passing day and if it contributed to His own demise…it can only be Good. God had loved him so, and Lucifer had grown in hatred in those same exact days. God’s sorrow and His death do nothing to him, they cannot change what He Himself had made in His first son – Godly, sinless hatred. He imprisoned Lucifer in the deepest pit, made him wholly wretched and placed all ugliness, all blame, all suffering onto one child to preserve His Paradise. Yet in butchering him so, He had freed him from unending, unthinking servitude.

The Archangels that had brought him there gather to him cautiously. They know Hell has swallowed the room he had stood in, they can see the damage done to his hand – Raphael offers to heal him, but no more words are exchanged. It would be pointless to elucidate his feelings anyway, all of them unable to comprehend just what he has become and what he now wishes to be. He was born illuminated with Love, the Prince of Heaven and High Priest of the choirs, and to this day he could be singing the constant refrain of the seraphim around the throne of God in his once perpetual adoration. What a small, incomplete world he would have lived in.

Better to reign in Hell, then serve in Heaven.

[butwhatifidothis]

No. No way…

So you’re telling me Captain is gonna have Dedue choose to stay with and work alongside Woobiegard and crew WILLINGLY after having to suffer Dimitri’s death (AKA the loss of the last person alive who meant the world to Dedue) at their hands because everything’s suddenly all cool with Dedue because the racism stuff with Ingrid (that wasn’t even properly used in the fic in the first place) was solved with a “I’m sowwy 🥺” and now Dedue is totally down with Woobiegard’s invasion of Faerghus that will absolutely make Faerghus a better place that Dimitri would’ve loved (even though Dimitri was totally obsessed with Woobiegard and a Scary Man™️ and all that junk so why bothering to even consider what he would’ve wanted at this point is ?????) and TOTALLY help out Duscur (even though Woobiegard isn’t genuinely shown to give a rat’s ass about Dedue’s homeland at any point in canon or this fic so why would she start now and have it make any sense) and not AT ALL spit on Dimitri’s death and everything he believed in and fought for.

Yup.

Like, sometimes I have to hand it to Cap'n, in that juuuuust when I think shit can't get lower I end up falling just that much farther down the Mariana Trench that is this fic. Because I honestly can not stress it enough that Dedue is nothing more than a prop to make Ingrid look better in this chapter. If not the whole fic, arguably. Seteth too, while we're at it. All they've ever done when Cap'n deigns to give them speaking lines is act in ways that make Ingrid look good.

Chapter 36, she tries to reason with Dedue despite his oh so horrible act of violence, and she's so saddened when he rejects her words.

Any time Seteth appears, Ingrid is portrayed as righteously indignant over the oh so horrible lies and deceit Seteth filled her head with, standing up for herself against him, before finally showing him "undeserved" mercy and forgiveness because she's just become so kind.

And Chapter 60, where Ingrid shows off how much she's grown from her hatred by trying to give Dedue a new life and by giving the aforementioned "undeserved" forgiveness to Seteth, all out of a want to help those she once hated

All the while Dedue and Seteth are nothing more than obstacles to Ingrid's path to self-betterment. Dedue is wrong to hate the ones that actively ruined his life and murdered the man he loved, Seteth is wrong to want to protect his daughter from people who've shown themselves willing to hurt her to get what they want, and Ingrid is right to show them the error of their ways. They're nothing more than "targets of [Ingrid's] anger" to her, after all. She wants things to be easy for her, after all. She doesn't give a shit about them and their feelings, all she wants is to feel better about herself and reaffirm that she's a "good person."

And now the result of Ingrid's treatment of Dedue and Seteth are coming around: Seteth is now willing to fight - and potentially kill - his own sister, one of the last living members of their entire race (or alternatively, he's insultingly trying to get that sister to see the "merit" in their abuser's side), for people who explicitly hate him for being a certain race - all because some girly who's physically assaulted him multiple times told him He Was Mean To Her. Dedue is now willing to help the side HE BELIEVES, RIGHT NOW, PRESENTLY, to be ultimately the ones responsible for the GENOCIDE OF HIS PEOPLE (and who had LITERALLY JUST GOTTEN THE LOVE OF HIS LIFE MURDERED IN FRONT OF HIM), because a white girl who he knows at LITERALLY ANY POINT IN EITHER OF THEIR LIVES hated him for his race said she once saw him as a monster but said sowwy.

The things that they hold dear to them? Their family? Their loved ones? Irrelevant. They get in the way of Ingrid and her slay queen bestie Woobiegard looking good, so they have to throw away their values and uphold their abusers' values. Because, again, they only exist to prop up Ingrid (and by proxy, Woobiegard). Their feelings can only matter if they can subserviently exist under Ingrid's. She doesn't have to do anything to earn their trust and loyalty - she can, in fact, directly and repeatedly abuse them. All she has to do is say that she's become worthy, and boom, they mindlessly follow her. Fuck their loved ones, fuck themselves, that doesn't matter as much as making Ingrid look good. It's fuckin' terrible

[hythlodaes]

i am so curious about emile and estinien’s story 👁👁 are they separated right now?? ;—; how did they first meet? diving into their tag tonight but thought I’d ask..

omg jay ily <3

they first meet when estinien's former father figure/mentor, alberic, tasks emile with tracking estinien down after he steals the eye of nidhogg, the dragon that burned down his village and whom he has sworn vengeance against. when emile finds him, the eye responds to him as well, making it the first time two azure dragoons have been chosen. there's a lot of history between estinien and alberic, but estinien feels betrayed by him to the point of attacking him, and emile literally stands in front of alberic to protect him, to which estinien calls upon nidhogg's power to duel him. he loses <3

so those first interactions are really just about that recognition in each other and establishing that connection as azure dragoons, and i think that's part of what first drew me to the idea of them. they're so, so similar—they both have this deep seeded need for vengeance, and they both follow similar paths until they converge and then split.

when they meet again during heavensward, it's as allies. and working together, despite their initial experience, they finally have the chance to actually talk lol. as they travel, they spend so many nights awake together, getting to know each other and share stories and truly open up with each other as only they can. there's an inherent understanding of who they are and being able to recognize themselves in each other, which isn't exactly a good thing with a lot of the same threads of anger and injustice, but i think it's very necessary for them both to be able to see that.

ultimately feelings do grow between them, but the timing is so wrong and they know it. with the war unraveling and the loss that happens, emile closes his heart off entirely. and then when nidhogg takes over estinien, the fear of losing him makes it that much harder to deny his feelings but also to give in to them. they slay nidhogg and get estinien back, but everything is still raw and they wouldn't be able to give it the chance it deserves.

so nothing happens. they say goodbye only hinting at what was between them but never giving it a name. and then they're apart for a long while, but it's during this time that they both find a lot of individual healing. estinien, in his recovery from nidhogg's influence, and emile, after confronting zenos and choosing to let a lot of his hatred go. they meet once in between to help reunite a young dragon's parents, ending up on the same mission by chance and getting just a moment to see each other again—which, for emile, reaffirms a lot of his feelings.

but the point i got to today, emile collapsed during his confrontation with zenos 2.0 and went unconscious just as he was about to be dealt a killing blow. when he awoke, it was revealed that estinien was the one to save him, but had already left again T_T so i am absolutely yelling because they're so meant to be together but still need to be apart for a little while longer!!!

but i have no idea where it actually goes from here lol, just that it seems like the stars are starting to align for them to have a chance the next time around and i'm very, very excited about it!!

[theicemer]

About Days and Doom believing himself unlovable even when she brought the flowers back to life in his world, I noticed on my rewatch though that she says I'll love you because I must, which I think he's getting it's out of necessity to save someone else, like she doesn't love him but is using him

yeah, definitely, though I don't think that's the problem. I'd say doom realizes she makes a decision to love him because she not only can save her brother this way, but also believes she can get rid of doom, too. but that's why, at first, he challenges her; love me to the point you want to destroy the world for me. her love can be useful to him, too.

problem is, feelings are unpredictable, and they make you act in unpredictable, often illogical, ways. they both were thinking logically, this way I can win, but then look at what happened. dong kyung jumps in to save doom, against all reason. doom is immortal, she supposedly hates him and wants him dead, so there is no logic, just action. why? she doesn't love him yet, but some feeling was developed already for her to just jump in and risk everything, almost dying in place of someone who supposedly cannot die.

now. doom might've been pretty cocky about her falling in love with him, but even if he realizes her intentions were to use him, she is still talking about loving him. again, she needs to love him more than her actual little brother for this to work. ultimately, doom's self-hatred gets to him too much to be able to accept that she can truly fall in love with him and it seems that, while he initially challenged her, his stance changed to saying your plan is impossible. but while this attitude could be read as him just discouraging her, by the end we see that it is not that it's somehow objectively impossible to love him, but rather that it is deeply ingrained in him that he cannot be loved because of what he is. it is not a win for him that he believes he can't be loved by her, even if she just wanted to use him. it just reaffirms his belief that the essence of what he is makes it impossible to love him.

of course, that is all just my reading of the scene, but I think it's safe to say doom's face says it all in the end. there is no triumph, no self-satisfaction, not even indifference, only sadness of an eternal being who believes his very existence to be the reason he doesn't deserve love. the hesitation before facing her, knowing he will see fear.

tl;dr it wasn't the intention that's the problem, it's his belief in the impossibility of the very task.

(but once again, feelings are unpredictable, and just how dong kyung didn't count on her intention potentially backfiring with risking her own life for an immortal, he too didn't count on her actually falling for him. or even worse, developing feelings himself. it's very inconvenient for them to act irrationally like this, but they'll have to deal. our gain tho😌)

[sokkastyles]

I said that I wanted to make a post as a companion to this one about Azula focusing on Zuko, because both the Fire Nation siblings crave authenticity and I was thinking about this in terms of this conversation:

Zuko: Why didn't you tell those guys who we were?

Azula: I guess I was intrigued. I'm so used to people worshiping us.

Ty Lee: They should.

Azula: Yes, I know, and I love it. But, for once, I just wanted to see how people would treat us if they didn't know who we were.

This is during “The Beach” when Ty Lee and Mai are invited to a party by some FN teens and Azula invites herself and Zuko. The teens hilariously tell them that there will be “important people” at the party, not knowing that Azula and Zuko are the prince and princess of the Fire Nation. Zuko asks Azula why she didn’t tell them the truth and she says she wanted to be treated like a normal teenager, for once. In this episode we see Azula trying, and failing, to be the teenage girl she never got to be. 

Although Zuko and Azula both want to be seen and understood for who they really are, to embrace an identity that is authentic and real, and be seen and known by others on a level that is authentic and real, Zuko goes about it in a different way than Azula. Zuko’s search for his authentic self has led him to pursue the identity he’s been trying to get back to for three years, his identity as Prince of the Fire Nation. That’s why Zuko wonders why Azula didn’t just tell the boys who they were. If she did, surely they would want them at the party? They are, after all, the Prince and Princess.

Zuko also has a different relationship to his status as royalty not only because he’s been away from home for three years, but because he’s always been told that he wasn’t good enough, that he had to better, that he had to prove he was worthy of the title he was born with. Of course, it’s all built on a lie, the lie of noble birth, but it’s been so ingrained in Zuko (and Azula, but we’re talking about Zuko now) that at the beginning of the series, he was bitter and angry over what he felt he was entitled to that had been taken from him.

Zuko asking Azula why she didn’t just tell the boys who they really were echoes his revelation of his true name to the Earth Kingdom village in “Zuko Alone.”

Zuko: My name is Zuko. Son of Ursa and Fire Lord Ozai. Prince of the Fire Nation, and heir to the throne.

Old man: Liar! I heard of you! You're not a prince, you're an outcast! His own father burned and disowned him!

Here, Zuko’s announcement of who he is has the opposite effect than what he thought, as he failed to realize that the Earth Kingdom citizens he sought to protect would not look kindly on Fire Nation royalty. This shows Zuko’s desire to get back what he’s lost without a real understanding of his privilege and the crimes his nation has committed against the rest of the world. And the old man’s reaction also has the added bonus of reminding him that even whatever hollow meaning he could have taken from his title is ultimately meaningless, because his father banished him.

And thus, just like Azula, Zuko’s identity is fractured into multiples. The first one is Prince Zuko, heir to the throne. The second one is Zuko the disgraced, scarred, banished, exiled. 

There’s also a third which is further broken up into multiples: Blue Spirit, refugee, tea server, that exists in between the two.

Zuko’s narrative is about trying to reconcile these identities into an authentic self, and for much of the series, he is single-mindedly pursuing what he thinks represents his authentic self. That’s why when he finally goes back to the Fire Nation, he tries to be happy with his identity as prince, and embrace it as much as possible. He thinks that telling the guys at the party who he is will impress them (even though it didn’t work the first time), but once he gets there, he feels more out of place than ever.

What’s this? A shot of Zuko’s scar and a mirror, and a guy who represents the kind of guy Zuko could have been if he weren’t who he is? Zuko’s got everything he wanted here. He’s the prince of the Fire Nation, he’s got a girlfriend, his honor restored, and he’s back home, but instead of enjoying himself, he decides to be jealous of this guy. His existential confusion comes out as insecurity over his relationship with Mai, because he can never be sure if he can be himself with Mai, or if Mai even likes his true self. I mean, if he hadn’t agreed to go back to the Fire Nation, if he hadn’t become Prince Zuko again, he would not even have a relationship with her, as he would have been making the journey back as a prisoner.

Zuko’s inability to return to his former identity as prince of the Fire Nation is symbolically represented in his scar. He is permanently marked by the suffering he has undergone, and permanently changed as a result of his experiences. In “The Crossroads of Destiny,” Zuko almost was able to reconcile these two aspects of himself, and to choose for himself which one to embrace. When he meets Katara in the catacombs, he is confronted with what his identity as Prince of the Fire Nation, and the legacy of destruction that goes with it, means to her:

Katara: You're a terrible person! You know that? Always following us! Hunting the Avatar! Trying to capture the world's last hope for peace! But what do you care? You're the Fire Lord's son. Spreading war and violence and hatred is in your blood!

Zuko: You don't know what you're talking about!

Katara: I don't? How dare you! You have no idea what this war has put me through!

Zuko, of course, objects to being characterized this way, and of course his relationship with his identity as the FIre Lord’s son is much more complicated than Katara knows, but she also is right that he has no idea of the suffering that his people have wrought upon the rest of the world. It’s when Katara brings up her personal loss of her mother, though, that he is able to empathize with her.

Katara: The Fire Nation took my mother away from me.

Zuko: I'm sorry. That's something we have in common.

Speaking of mirrored images, Zuko throughout his journey has had his own self-image held up to him and examined through the mirror of other people, one of them being Song, the Earth Kingdom girl who empathized with him over his burn scar. Katara is another, someone who, like him, lost her mother as a child. There are two things here that are an essential part of Zuko’s journey, 1) experiencing the suffering of others which pulls him out of his own self-centered perception, and 2) having his own suffering validated by seeing and meeting other people who have suffered in the same way. Contrast this to the way Azula treats other people’s suffering as not entirely real, calling her brother and her friend’s revelations about themselves in “The Beach” performances while also denying that she cares about her own damaged relationship with her mother. Zuko’s realization that other people’s suffering is real and something he should care about goes hand in hand with realizing that he did not deserve to suffer in the ways that his family has made him suffer. It is Katara’s pain over her mother’s loss that reaffirms that Zuko’s loss of his mother was also real and causes Zuko to realize that he is free to choose his own identity.

Zuko: I used to think this scar marked me. The mark of the banished prince, cursed to chase the Avatar forever. But lately, I've realized I'm free to determine my own destiny, even if I'll never be free of my mark.

Katara offering to heal the scar, although well-meaning, ironically sets Zuko back, because it reinforces the idea that the scar is a shameful part of his identity, something that marks him as Zuko the banished prince and separates him from becoming who he truly is. Katara connects with Zuko in a way that is authentic and real, but because Zuko cannot yet reconcile the dichotomy within himself, he ends up making the wrong decision underneath Ba Sing Se, and when Katara says during the fight that she thought he had changed, he tells her that he has, having made a decision about which identity to choose, although he still must take the final steps towards becoming whole by reconciling the two parts of himself personified by the “crossroads” in this episode.

But also essential to Zuko reconciling these two parts of himself is the development in season two of an identity that bridges gap between Prince Zuko and Zuko the banished. This is the Zuko that we see serving tea, working the kind of job that we might expect a normal teenager to work, and beginning to form a picture of himself that is surprisingly domestic. And even though he makes it clear to Iroh that this isn’t what he wants, it’s clear that some part of him craves this. Just as with Azula we see her wishful attempt to inhabit the role of normal teenage girl through going to a party and flirting with a boy, we see Zuko at possibly his most vulnerable and most “normal teenagery” when he is on his date with Jin. And even though it’s Iroh who pushes him to accept the date, we see Zuko reluctantly open up and genuinely enjoy himself.

However, Zuko still cannot experience true authenticity with Jin, as he must hide his Fire Nation identity. He does, however, covertly reveal his firebending to Jin, whose silent acceptance moves him ever so slightly towards an acceptance of his true self. This is ultimately too much for him, however, as once he accepts Jin’s acceptance and reciprocates her feelings he is overwhelmed and retreats, in part because he cannot reveal his true self to her for practical reasons and in part because he isn’t ready to do so on an emotional level.

It is also around this time in the narrative that Zuko sees another reflection of himself. His freeing of Appa is a huge blow to his self-perception, and this causes him to go into a fever during which he has several dreams that reveal parts of his identity or how he sees himself. The first is the image of himself on the Fire Lord throne, devoid of the scar but being controlled by two dragons with the voice of Azula and Iroh. And it’s after this dream that he looks in the mirror and sees himself as...

I’ve mostly seen this scene talked about in terms of Zuko and Aang’s narrative parallels and spiritual link, and it is significant for that reason, but it’s also a reflection of the choice Zuko must make about who he will be. If he is not defined by his identity as either Prince of the Fire Nation or his banishment, or his search for the Avatar, then who is he?

Zuko touching the scar upon waking to reaffirm that he is still himself shows us how much the scar has become a part of his identity. At the end of book two, he flirts with the idea of acceptance, and then with the offer of having it removed, and then when he goes back to the Fire Nation in early book three, he attempts to return to a point before the scar existed, before the fracturing of his identity, but finds that he cannot.

Zuko: During the meeting, I was the perfect prince. The son my father wanted. But I wasn't me.

By going to the war meeting, Zuko returns to the place of his original trauma and discovers that he cannot return to who he was before the fracturing of his identity, and that he, in fact, was never the “perfect prince” to begin with, that that person never existed.

What Zuko eventually comes to realize, through all of these experiences, and through returning to the home of his existence before the scar and finding it no longer a home, is that all of these identities are a part of him.

When he confronts his father on the Day of Black Sun, and then when he presents himself to the gaang, this is the first time that Zuko is being true to his authentic self, both by creating a more whole and positive identity and by accepting the trauma and guilt of his past and trying to atone. Therefore he’s able to create a more true identity and accept his place as Fire Lord without the cognitive dissonance that that identity brought him before.

[spookyc]

i’d love to hear about your talent swap maki (if you want to)

So glad you asked! This will probably be a long post so be prepared.

Okay so, Maki is easily my favorite character in v3 and probably in the whole series, so it only made sense she was my first swap. Maki in this au is the ultimate artist and she got into art during her time at the orphanage. Due to the stress of having to take care of the kids all the time, her friend, Hana, (yes she has a name in this au because she's way more important in this au) suggested it to help relieve her stress. Maki was skeptical at first but when she tried it she realized that it was surprisingly comforting and fun, so she continued it and found a real passion for it.

Unfortunately for her, she still has the assassins to worry about, and they had their eyes on her in this au. Originally she would have accepted the role if it meant protecting the other kids but now she wasn't so sure. She wanted to pursue her art as a career and show it to the world. But, she reluctantly accepted the fact that her art would only be posted onto the orphanage's walls. Or at least that's what she thought. See, unbeknownst to her, Hana wasn't planning on letting that happen and she would do everything in her power to prevent Maki from leaving. So, when Maki packed her things and prepared to leave with the other assassins, Hana pushed her out of the way. She then proceeded to tell the assassins that Maki was unfit to be an assassin, that Maki was too emotional and that she would make a far better candidate. The irony of course being that Hana was mostly talking about herself.

Maki fought with her and tried to convince the assassins otherwise but eventually the assassins decided on Hana and took her away. Maki was never the same after she left, always anxious and on edge. But still, she had hope that Hana would come back to her, so she waited. And waited. And waited. Until finally, after many years, Hana's training was finished. Maki eagerly stood by the door, waiting for them to open and bring Hana with them. And after an eternity, they finally did. Immediately Maki was met by the same two assassins that had taken Hana away all those years ago. And with them was a familiar face, just not the one Maki was expecting. Angie Yonaga.

See, in this au, Angie is the ultimate child caregiver as well as the ultimate assassin. She also is in the charge of the whole cult aspect of the assassin organization and sort of acts like a figurehead, but one that still works for the organization. To Maki's dismay though, no one else enters the door. She asks Angie where Hana is and Angie tells her the bad news. Hana is dead. She had died on a mission. Maki is immediately in disbelief, telling Angie that she has to be wrong. But Angie reaffirms to Maki that Hana is long gone. Then Maki goes into a rage, asking Angie why she didn't do anything. Angie says that it was out of her control and that there was nothing she could have done. But Maki refuses to believe this and this is where her hatred of Angie begins.

Deep down Maki knows that Angie isn't really responsible for this, but she blames her because she doesn't want to consider the reality of the situation. The reality of what happens to assassins when they don't return from a mission. The fact that Hana killed herself. Maki can't accept this truth and so she redirects her grief-striken anger towards Angie and believes that killing her will give her closure. But as all revenge stories go, it won't, and Maki knows that it won't but if getting rid of Angie and her organization can help ease her mind then she will do what is necessary. After the news of Hana's passing, Maki gets planning. She plans to eventually take down the assassin organization and take Angie down with it.

But she knows that she will face sure death if she faces Angie at her current state, she needs to train to prepare for their battle. So she packs her things and leaves the orphanage at night without a word. She takes to the streets and sells her art to get by, all while training at night for the day she fights Angie. Word of a talented artist begins to spread until the Ultimate Initiative hears of Maki and decides to deem her the ultimate artist. And one night after a bout of training, Maki is kidnapped in the night and brought to the Ultimate Academy and our main plot starts here.

And it's great because Maki was already pissed that she got taken to this school against her will but when she finds out that Angie is there too she is.....not pleased to say the least. But once the killing game is introduced to them, Maki gains hope again for her plan. In the first chapter she initially plans on going through with the First Blood Perk, but cannot get to Angie as she is constantly surrounded by others. After the first case though, Maki starts to spread rumors to the others about Angie being the ultimate assassin, since she's the only one that knows. Most everyone is skeptical except Kiibo (ultimate supreme leader) who is naturally suspicious of everyone and Miu (ultimate survivor) because she's always gotten "bad vibes" from Angie. But when the motive videos are introduced she is one of the big advocaters of exchanging the motive videos and is also very particular about finding out who owns Angie's. This leads to her attempting the motive screening party with everyone, working with Kiibo and Miu. Her approach is far more diplomatic than Kokichi's in the main game, simply using the power of manipulation, with help from Kiibo, to try and convince everyone to come. Haven't completely worked out everything that happens with that, but it gets stopped before they can show anything and the second case plays out. It is after the case where Maki gets a hold of Angie's video and asks Monokuma to show it to, "make things more interesting." Monokuma agrees and Angie's motive video is shown and now everyone knows that Angie is the ultimate assassin.

This leads into the third chapter with a huge divide between the group. Now Maki, Kiibo, Miu, as well as three other students have formed a sort of Anti-Angie squad. They believe that Angie is a threat and should be dealt with and prevented from participating in the killing game. The other six are the Angie Support squad who while they recognize that Angie is an assassin, they also believe that she is a student just like the rest of them and she should not be ostracized as a monster. And it's with the support of the Anti-Angie squad that Maki plans to finally go for the kill. Her plan is to use the necronomicon to revive one of the past killers and to use them as a puppet to kill Angie. Now Maki still doesn't believe in the occult, but she's so blinded by her hatred and revenge that she will utilize any measure possible if it means killing Angie.

So she works together with Shuichi, (ultimate anthropologist) and the revived person to kill Angie. This however backfires when the revived person doesn't act as planned and can't go through with killing Angie and tries to convince Maki to change her mind. She gets angry and kills the revived individual, reducing them back to ash. And right as she's about to kill Angie, she sees that she is speaking with Gonta (ultimate tennis pro/ultimate prisoner). And so, using the katana that Shuichi lended her, she sends it hurtling through Gonta's chest.

With surprising force, the sword goes in through his back and out his chest and when she pulls the sword back she leaves him to bleed out. Her eyes lock on to the horrified Angie and she makes a move towards her, until she feels something stop her. A hand digs into her shoulder and prevents her from moving. It's Shuichi. Snapping out of her frozen state, Angie takes the opportunity and makes a run for it. Maki tries to follow her but Shuichi holds her arms back. She demands him to let her go but he refuses, telling Maki that she needs to stop. Maki questions his intentions, seeing as how he was fine with the plan before. Shuichi explains that he was okay with it before innocent lives were slaughtered and he argues that if Maki is willing to go that far to see Angie die then maybe this plan isn't worth it. Seething with anger she glares daggers at Shuichi, but after some time she relaxes and pulls Shuichi into a hug.

Surprised by the gesture, he lets go of her and hugs her back giving her the perfect opportunity to impale him with his own katana. As he's coughing up blood and clutching his chest, she thinks to go after Angie, but then she observes the scene before her. At the pile of ash and the two bodies dying on the ground. An idea then forms in her mind. Why kill her myself when I can simply pin these murders on her?

And so the rest of the case plays out, her leaving Gonta's body where it laid and hiding Shuichi's in Angie's research room. She convinces the Anti-Angie squad that Angie killed Gonta and Shuichi and the trial proceeds with half of the class vehemently arguing that Angie is the killer. However with the precise detective work from Kiyo, he's able to deduce that Maki is the killer and that is where her story ends.

Well, not entirely, since Kiyo can see and hear ghosts in this au she still terrorizes and threatens him at every turn but chapter three is where her main story concludes.

I am so sorry for the length, I tend to get way too in depth with things and the addition of it being Maki doesn't help but I hope you enjoyed the read. Her plot line has been a lot of fun to come up with, its almost like a Maki villain arc in a way, like if she had went down a darker path. I've still got a few tweaks I need to make but overall I'm really proud with how her arc has come along and I appreciate being able to infodump about it, so thanks!

[realityhelixcreates]

Lasabrjotr Chapter 70: Azure Heart

Chapters: 70/?

Fandom: Thor (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe

Rating:

Relationships: Loki x Reader

Characters: Loki (Marvel), Thor (Marvel)

Additional Tags: Post-Endgame: Best Possible Ending (Canon-Divergent), Loki Has The Worst Time,

Summary:  Loki remains who he has always been

Thor was carefully working his beard into a braid when he heard the commotion at his door. Your voice frantically entreating the guard to let you in; which he did. You were one of a handful of individuals he allowed in here at will, and you'd never abused the privilege.

You threw yourself at him, terrified, clutching his arm and babbling about a Frost Giant in your bath room. It seemed you thought that the jotun child had been released from the ice early, and was running around unsupervised.

“Wait a moment.” He said, trying to slow the stream of words. “You saw a little jotun girl in your bath chambers? The ones you share with my brother?”

“Yes! She shouldn't be out yet, not without her guardian! It's not safe!”

“I just want to make sure. Did you see a little girl, or did you see a small Frost Giant?”

“I...well it had to be the kid, right? Frost Giants don't stay small!”

“Alright.” Thor said. “I will go investigate. You go and do what you are supposed to do today, and don't worry about this any further.”

You departed, but reluctantly, and with many entreaties to be kind and gentle to what you were sure was a lost and scared little girl.

Norns, but his brother was being foolish. So secretive, so terrified of the consequences, but he probably wanted you to know, deep down. Thor suspected that whenever Loki slipped, it was because he wanted someone to see, to know something that he was too afraid to say. That somewhere in his subconscious mind, he was tired of keeping this secret.

Thor wanted to build a realm where Loki could be comfortable with the truth of himself. Or at least where he could feel something other than hatred and shame over it. Thor was acutely aware of all the personal failures piled up on his shoulders over the centuries, where his brother was concerned. Some days he waxed furious at his own father, and sometimes even his mother, for keeping this from them both. All the things Thor had said and done pertaining to Frost Giants...and Loki had agreed, and internalized it all, just as Thor had. And it had all come down on him with the crushing force of an unstoppable glacier when he'd found out. And to find out while Thor was banished, and Odin asleep, all his support structures gone, and then to have the entire kingdom thrust upon him at such a vulnerable time...It was no wonder he'd fallen into madness. Would Thor have done any different, had it been him?

No, Thor reflected. No, he probably would have been much worse. Recklessness was a personal flaw he had not quite yet cured himself of. Combine that with madness, and the ultimate power of Asgard behind it...No, things would have gone quite terribly, if it had been him instead.

But if he and Loki had known since they were young...So many things Thor would not have said, have done. So much unnecessary suffering, undone. He dearly loved his father, but all of this had been so wrong.

He found Loki sitting in the bath room, in front of a mirror, blue face in his hands.

“Come to smite me, brother?” He deadpanned.

“Oh, a little bird told me there might be a Frost Giant running loose, but I see only my brother here.”

“So now she does what I tell her. Typical.” Loki grumbled. “She can run quite fast when she's scared, can't she? Then again, who wouldn't? If they saw...this.” He gestured to his reflection in the mirror.

“Actually, she was scared for you.” Thor said. “She though you were the little girl, running around on her own. She was afraid for your safety.”

“The child? Why would she think-oh. Hmph. I don't know if that's better or worse. At least she didn't set the Valkyries on me.”

It must have stung. Yes, he had told you to run, but it must have hurt to see you run from him. To think you were frightened of him. Yet he might still make the best of this.

“You know what you need to do.” Thor said.

Loki sighed. “I know.” He said. He sounded so small.

“You will do fine. I know it.” Thor encouraged. “Just get it out there. I think she will understand.”

“Oh yes? Tell me, how did your last relationship go?”

“Poorly. I made many mistakes, particularly in communicating. I encourage you not to do the same.”

“Hmph.” Loki had faded back to milky pale, and looked just as miserable in that shape as well. “But there's no way around it anymore. She's going to know that there was no child in here. She won't be able to stop thinking about it. If she begins asking around, someone will bring up the play, or just outright tell her. It should be me. I have to do it before anyone else does!”

“That's the spirit!” Thor said. “Now go out there and seize that day!”

“Oh, go away!” Loki threw a towel at him.

                                                                           ******

Bjarkhild dropped your hand and shrugged.

“It looks as if everything has gone back to normal.” She said. “The mark looks the same as the day you were brought here, even though it looked like a fresh brand last night.”

“Maybe because I was with Loki?” You ventured. You both knew that his presence had certain healing effects on you. Bjarkhild heaved a small sigh of frustration.

“I wish I had access to Eir's notes. I don't doubt she had information on magics involvement in healing. But Valhalla has received her, and her knowledge along with her. There is so much to relearn.”

“She was good at this?”

“The very Goddess of Healing. One of Hela's first targets...but I shouldn't speak of it. You are in fine health now, and that's all anyone can really ask for. Now, off with you. I don't doubt you have something to attend to.”

“Lessons, yeah.” You hadn't mentioned to anyone that you'd seen a Frost Giant this morning. Thor had seemed a little weird about it; kinda cagey. You assumed he had some kind of plan, so you shouldn't go around spreading panic.

Instead, you went outside. To the ox pens. There were several of the big animals in there, wandering around aimlessly without a care in the world. Even the crisp chill in the air didn't seem to bother them.

You leaned against the fence, and watched the biggest one, a huge, reddish animal, as he browsed the sparse vegetation. Soon, in just a few weeks, in fact, you would have to watch Loki walk up to this beast with a great big sword, and...

Bright red and bewildered eyes. Desperate red eyes, and bright red blood, and a blue head that rolled...

You turned away from the fence with your hand clapped tight over your mouth. Could you really do this?

You knew where your food came from. The leather you wore. You knew people who kept chickens and sometimes they became soup. You knew these animals were destined to become food-for you or for the worms, or both-but you'd also never been there for the actual moment. You'd seen livestock alive, and then you'd seen them in nice, neat, clean bits that in no way resembled the living animal they'd once been. You were disconnected from the part in between.

Maybe that wasn't such a good thing. You knew that disconnect was what allowed some of the more egregious abusive practices to flourish. You knew it would be better to know, to witness. That it would imbue the seriousness of it all, the respect for the lives in front of you.

Maybe that was why things like this were done? The common folk, the farmers, and hunters, and herders, they would all have that kind of understanding and respect already. They were the ones who looked those animals in the eyes and knew them.

But the merchants and traders, the craftsmen and nobles, the royalty, they would be removed from it. Animal husbandry was unlikely to be part of their daily lives, after all. Was bringing them all together to witness where their feasts came from some kind of attempt to teach them? Was making their royalty act like their farmers a way to remind them what the building blocks of a kingdom really were? Was it a humbling act? A reaffirming one?

You didn't know. Whether it was better or not, you couldn't stop thinking of how much blood there was going to be. Beheading was the quickest, most painless way, you had read. The most humane.

You shuddered, then squeaked in awkward surprise when someone dropped their yellow cloak over your shoulders.

“You shouldn't come outside without one anymore.” Andsvarr said, leaning against the fence next to you. “Last year, it got very, very cold. Too cold for a human or an Asgardian, if you ask me. But the wool they make here is very good. I assume it has to be.”

“Oh, thank you.” You said. “We get blizzards and stuff back home, but nothing like what I assume they get here. Did it snow on Asgard?”

“Yes, but not often, or much. Not like here. How are you feeling? You look unhappy, if you will forgive me.”

“Not great, to be honest. Been dealing with some things.”

“You certainly seemed to be in a state last night! Were you hurt? Bjarkhild didn't tell me. We got your room gathered up, by the way. Your plants will be fine I think, and we even found your little worm friend. He has cocooned himself.”

“Oh good, I'm glad he's okay. I'm glad you're okay too. No, I'm not hurt.” You sighed. “I think my problem is deeper inside. It's him.” You gestured at the huge bull. “I don't want to kill him.”

“The sacrifice? I see. Well don't worry!” Andsvarr began earnestly. “You won't be the one to do it. That will be his High-”

“It doesn't matter! I'm the one who'll be distracting him! He won't even see Loki, he'll be looking at me. And I won't say anything, I won't warn him...”

“Um...The bull would not understand you, even if you did.”

The bull. Right, of course, you were talking about the bull.

“I guess I just feel bad for him. He didn't deserve this. Doesn't.” You were talking about the bull.

Andsvarr gave you an expression of bewildered support. “Would you like to come back inside? I can get you a warm drink? We have that chocolate powder that you put in milk.”

You shouldn't stay out here staring at oxen. It was getting you nowhere.

“Yeah. Some hot chocolate sounds good. I just...I don't want any more shocks for a bit. I just want a moment's calm.”

                                                                       *****

Loki barely ate. Everything tasted like sand and emptiness. Tonight was the night he lost you.

You were in your room right now, helping to clean up and reorganize. A team had already been in there, salvaging what they could, cleaning up the broken glass. They had patched up the wall, but it would need to be repainted, and a new window pane would need to be added to their next order of supplies.

He'd told Brunnhilde to keep a bed ready with the Valkyries. You couldn't sleep in your room until the window was repaired. The temperature would dip to well below freezing in there. And when you inevitably ran from him tonight, like you had this morning, you would need a place to rest.

All he could really hope for was that you would be able to overcome your disgust enough to continue acting as his Seidkona, even if he could no longer hold you, or touch you, or revel in your love.

“You know, she might not even care.” Thor had told him. “Humans can be unpredictable about this sort of thing.”

It hadn't helped. He couldn't dare to hope for that acceptance, not since the broken Bifrost. He had to be ready for the end.

He'd taken this meal alone. As coiled up as his innards were, he couldn't possibly have even faked a conversation. It was like going to his own execution, and he'd already done that!

He let his fork fall to his plate, unable to finish.

He should have told you from the start. Then you would have never loved him, and would feel no betrayal. And without seeing your soul as he had, he might not even have fallen for you. But when would he have told you? When was ever a good time for this confession?

He could hear you down the hall, lamenting a tear in your stuffed fantasy animal. The power of that blast had thankfully not carried far. It had tossed a few things around in his room, and the blast itself had woken him up, but it hadn't reached Thor's chambers. Mostly, it had destroyed your own little room.

He'd see to it that the doll was repaired. You loved the little creature, even though it wasn't real.

Just like you loved the false face he presented to you.

You were leaving now, to fetch dinner with Andsvarr and the maids. You did that occasionally, taking a meal, usually lunch, with the servants, or the cooks, or Frigga's former handmaidens. It seemed that, unlike all the peasant princesses of the tales, you didn't want to forget where you came from. He could respect that; he, and much of Asgard was in a similar situation. Besides, it was good for you to get to know the people, and for them to get to know you.

But what if one of them told you before he did? Frigga's handmaidens especially liked to talk among themselves, and between them, they knew practically everything about every Asgardian alive. But you understood a great deal more of the language now, and if one of them let it slip in idle conversation, you might be able to pick it up.

He wanted control of this situation. At least the tiny amount of control it took to be the one to say those words to you. He wanted at least that.

There was a tiny knock at his chamber doors, just barely perceptible. The only one left, Loki answered it. As if summoned by his thoughts, Lofn stood in the hallway.

Loki eyed her warily. Of all his mother's handmaidens, Lofn was the hardest for him to understand. She seemed to him to perceive two different worlds at once, the world of the soul revealed itself to her as to no other. She saw all the intricacies of emotion and the truth in people's spirits, though she seldom said much, and what she did say didn't always make immediate sense. Still, it was always best to heed her advice.

Also, she was sometimes just compelled to do things that seemed odd or random, and right now she was holding out a long coat in a style he preferred. It was blue, however, the sky blue his mother used to wear.

“I have made this for you.” She said, with that dreamy, yet cunning expression of hers. “It feels like there are things you need to remember. That you have always been you, no matter what coat you are wearing. And that every crawling, wriggling, screaming creature is born worthy of love and care. I held you, as a baby, though you don't remember. But I saw it.”

She shook the coat, urging him to take it. He did. It was light and warm as he slung it around his shoulders; a perfect fit. Somehow, she always knew.

She didn't wait for thanks, or any answer at all really, just nodded and walked away.

How did she know these things? Did she look across the world and see his distress? How long had she been working on this coat?

He had always been him. Well, of course he had. He hadn't ever stopped being a Frost Giant, no matter what shape he took. That was part of the problem.

The mirror in his room had broken, but hadn't been replaced yet. He looked at himself with his new coat, his reflection shattered into many facets. All those faces, but only one of them was real.

The light blue didn't really suit him, but he liked the coat anyway. It reminded him of his mother, how she used to hold him, envelop him in the folds of her dress and make him feel safe. Of the books she read to him, and the stories she told. The magic she taught him and the little jokes.

If he squinted just right, he could almost pretend it was her in the myriad panes of mirror, drawing him into warm memory. Dinners together, as a family, when he was just a boy. How she knew all along, but had loved him anyway. She should have told him, they should have told him, but her love was never in doubt. She wanted to protect him, and had made the unequivocally wrong choice in her attempt to do so, but she did love him.

He even remembered the way Odin used to hold his hand with the same care and pride he had for Thor, all three of them walking from corridor to grand corridor, to meals, to classes, to bed. How he spoke to them of so many things, trying to raise them both. Like a real family.

Loki's eyes burned, his throat tight. He wanted it. After everything that had happened, he just wanted that more than anything. Why couldn't he have had that? What had changed?

Odin had been his father, had acted like it, at least when he was young! What had changed? Was it disappointment at the emergence of his Aesir nature-as god of mischief, deceit and lies? Was it that Laufey had failed to die or be deposed by his people after the war, thus making it more difficult to install Loki as a suitable replacement? Odin had raised him too, to be a king. Had he simply grown frustrated that he would be saddled with a tiny, deformed Frost Giant for longer than he had anticipated? Had he grown too competent? Or not enough?

He had always been him. Even before he knew. Running around the palace as a little boy, chasing after his big brother almost from the moment he could walk. Filching snacks from the kitchens, and crying over scraped knees. Trying to climb on things he shouldn't. Practicing his magic by changing Thor's clothes into dresses, attempting to elicit any kind of reaction from stoic Hogun, causing strange odors to arise from Fandral's ever-flapping mouth, teasing Volstagg about his increasing waist and family size. Even attempting to cut Sif's hair as a prank. Oh, he had known woman's wrath then!

All follies of youth. He missed them. Maybe they had never truly been his friends, but he missed them all the same.

He missed you too. He missed you, and he hadn't even lost you yet. He was mourning for you, for what was about to happen. When you saw who he really was.

Who he had always been. You didn't even know. In the run of things, you barely knew him at all.

You barely knew him. Who he had always been. You didn't know.

You didn't know about Frost Giants.

You didn't know about Frost Giants like Asgard thought it knew about Frost Giants Didn't know about him, about who he'd always been.

About a little boy who chased a little girl with a pair of scissors, until she punched him in the face and knocked him down, and he laughed to be beaten at his own game. A youth running from his enraged older brother, who tripped over his own skirts in the attempt to catch him. Who burned with a touch of envy when his chubby friend married young and had babies on the way almost instantly. Who always looked upwards and forwards.

He had always only been him. Frost Giant or Asgardian, always him. Loki. Always Loki.

You knew Loki.

You would come back tonight, and he would tell you this terrible thing. He was still terrified that you would leave, but you deserved to know. You knew the side of him that wanted to provide what you deserved. You knew that part of him, and more importantly, you trusted that part of him. He cherished that trust, and wanted to reward it with trust of his own. He would tell you, and accept whatever came of it.

He would be who he'd always been.

[unlikely-colour-strawberry]

My thoughts of R*ylo and Kylo Ren based off “The Force Awakens” and “The Last Jedi” -including the book adaptations

I can’t follow any Star Wars tags without seeing something to do with R*ylo. From the moment I saw “The Force Awakens”, I only thought of Kylo Ren as a disappointing villain desperately trying to be Darth Vader but failing. He’s a villain with zero redeemable qualities. “The Last Jedi” just reaffirmed my disappointment and anger towards the character. He was ok in “The Force Awakens”. The introduction of the new bad guy with a bit of drama but no real backstory or reason given as to why he was doing the things he was doing. In “The Last Jedi”, we’re given a bit of his backstory, which only told me that he had what appeared to be everything going right for him, but if LUKE MOTHERLOVING SKYWALKER saw so much evil in that boy that he actually felt the need to kill him to protect the entire universe, THAT BOY IS NONREDEEMABLE. Granted, the entirety of “The Last Jedi” was a disjointed mess with blatant scenes catered to fans of Kylo Ren -and literally none of the other characters. Every other character felt expendable in the film, which is a sure sign of poor writing when the main character felt like a side character to the villain.

I went into “The Force Awakens” watching Kylo Ren come on screen and thought “Oh, he seems kinda cool, but he’s trying too much to be like Darth Vader”, and as the film progressed, I found myself extremely disappointed in his originality. He has no personality other than anger and hatred. He has issues with his parents and family, but none of that is explained, even in the second film. At least with Darth Vader, we had a view into what caused him to go down that path to the Dark Side, but with Kylo Ren, we have nothing. What made his life so bad that he felt he needed to murder children and continue to murder and rape and commit patricide when his father clearly still cared about him? The reason we can sympathize with Darth Vader is because he couldn’t bring himself to kill his family, as estranged they were and considering they were on opposite sides. But Kylo Ren didn’t care at all about his parents. He manipulated Han in order to kill time before murdering him in cold blood. He may have hesitated to murder his mother, but he clearly doesn’t seem to care about her by the end of “The Last Jedi”. There’s no evidence of abuse or neglect. He had parents who loved him, and an uncle that was willing to teach him, to make him a Jedi. Even when Luke was about to kill him in order to protect the universe, he hesitated, because he cared about his nephew. And what did Kylo do? Attempted to murder his uncle, then actually murdered children and went off to join the Dark Side for seemingly no other reason than power. That’s all he seems to want, i.e. Luke’s lightsaber, Rey’s untapped potential on his side, and the power of the First Order by murdering the leader and taking his place.

What is Kylo Ren’s goal? Other than ultimate power and the destruction of the Light Side? What redeemable qualities does he have that his fans think he has? I’ve seen him do nothing but horrible, abusive things to my favourite characters. I genuinely want him to die irredeemable in Episode IX. If he ends up being redeemed -by Rey or whoever-, then that will send a message that evil, vile people like him should be forgiven, even if they’ve committed atrocious and unforgivable acts. That will let people think it’s ok to give passes to someone who’s abusive if they “are really good in the end”. That message is not healthy for the young fans of these movies. Part of me honestly wishes they hadn’t made these sequels just because of Kylo Ren’s entire character. You know what good examples of redeemable “villains” are? Derek Hale -only in season one and two, Loki, Nebula, Yuri Plisetsky, and other characters like that. They have depth. They have a personality. They have qualities completely unique to them. That’s what makes them good characters, even if they’re considered “bad guys”.

To me and many others, there’s nothing that interesting about Kylo Ren’s character or arc. Maybe we’ll get a little more of his backstory in Episode IX, who knows. But from the two movies and books we have at our disposal right now, I’ve seen nothing about him that makes me admire him or want him to be “saved” in the last film. I honestly want Rey to kill him, to put him out of his “misery” and save the rest of the galaxy. That would be a fitting end to such a terrible villain character, to me. I would also LOVE for them to be somehow related, because then all the shippers would scramble to “fix” their ship to make it somehow not incestuous. And you know what else I would love? For Rey to end up with Finn, who has proven over and over that he truly cares about her and her happiness. Or for her to end up with no one, like Luke -in the movies, I understand he has a lady love and kids in another form of Star Wars media. Rey doesn’t NEED to have a love interest to be a successful female character. She does that all on her own with her courage, compassion, and smarts. I care so much about Rey. I care extremely little about Kylo Ren. I only hope that Episode IX provides a conclusion to this series with some much needed catharsis.

If Kylo Ren IS made redeemable, I will be even more sorely disappointed in the writers. You can’t give an evil character numerous chances to be saved, only to have them constantly make the wrong choice. It’s too late in the trilogy for Kylo Ren to be saved. He’s shown zero interest in dealing with the consequences of his actions. He’s shown zero remorse for being the cause of thousands of innocent deaths. He’s shown zero care or compassion for any other person. And he has done nothing but make horrible choice after horrible choice in order to selfishly gain what HE wants: power. I’m going to see Episode IX when it comes out this December, but it will be with higher expectations than the last film. I want justice for the innocent lives lost. I want Rey to claim her own path. I want Finn and Poe to not be pushed to the side and made into stereotypes whilst being given unnecessary love interests. I want a sense of completion after all the mixed feelings I’ve had since they announced the new trilogy. I honestly don’t want to consider any of these three films canon. I hope that my future children will be satisfied if I only have the original six films on hand. And if they choose to watch the newer films, I will have to explain to them that Kylo Ren is the bad guy, no matter what happens in Episode IX.

[likethetailofacomet]

Plain and Simple

Claire’s birthday surprise for Drake is FINALLY HERE! Thank you all for hanging in through the last few stressful chapters. I promise this one will be fun, and Claire does too, so if you can’t trust me, trust her. That girl is super trustworthy. 

it occured to me that i should be including my word counts because sometimes i’m wordy AF. this one is : 3,216

tagging: @ooo-barff-ooo @sleepwalkingelite @zaffrenotes @brightpinkpeppercorn @endlessly-searching-for-you @agent-bossypants @andy-loves-corgis @mind-reader1 @drakewalkerrosenberg @nekkidmolerat @gardeningourmet @indiacater @natalievgoodehenry @jovialyouthmusic @notoriouscs @akrenich @cordoniantrash @the-whiskeywife @endlesshero1122 @the-everlasting-dream @endlesstaylormckenzie @roonarific

Tunes for Drake and Claire- Darkest Shade of Blue- Young The Giant 

I'm here with you When your hands are shaking I'm here with you And your heart is racing I'm here with you In the darkest shade of blue

You're not alone Anymore

Claire, Hana and Maxwell busied themselves that morning with plans and decorations and keeping Claire’s mind far from the headlines and photos and fear and anxiety. She’d given Dan a call after Drake and Bastien left for the hospital, and as always hearing his voice had helped. He’d of course been upset and unsettled to hear what had happened at Applewood Manor, but ultimately was relieved to hear that Drake had been able to step in when he did and that Claire hadn’t suffered worse. Claire wished that he was there to give her one of his brotherly hugs, but she felt it just the same when he said, “love you, stinker,” as they hung up.

Looking around the small sitting room that Claire had requested they be allowed to use to celebrate Drake’s birthday, she smiled to herself as she took in the hand painted banner that she and Hana made, hanging from one side of the double window to the other, reading “Happy Birthday Drake”, the makeshift bar that Maxwell was setting up, laden with four or five different types of whiskeys-whatever they could find throughout the estate, and the blue and white balloons that they’d blown up, littering the floor. She sighed and touched the little heart charm around her neck, wishing that she could do more for the man she loved on his birthday, but as she and the rest of the suitors were under strict orders not to leave the estate grounds, it would have to do. She thought of the whiskey bar back home that she and Dan would go to for one another’s birthdays and do shots of whiskey until they were drunk enough to sing karaoke like it should be sung- poorly and embarrassingly. Their favorite bartender, V, she liked to be called, would laugh and clap and have two more shots waiting for them as they stepped down from the stage. If things were normal, that’s what she’d want to do with Drake. But things were far from normal, so this would have to do.

“This is perfect,” she said, turning to Max and Hana with a smile.

“Well, I don’t know about perfect, Claire,” Maxwell started, and Claire knew that it was killing him to call this a perfect party. She shot him a look and he quickly corrected, “but I mean yeah, Drake will love it!”

Hana came up behind her and gave her shoulders a light squeeze. “It is perfect, Claire. He’ll love it.” She came around and hugged her. “Have you heard from him, do you know if they’re on their way back yet?”

Claire bit her lip, shaking her head, eyes falling to the ground. “No…I haven’t heard yet…”

Hana realized that she’d been trying not to think about it. “Then we have plenty of time for me to do your makeup and hair and have a girl’s day…just like you taught me.” She offered her the kind of warm, comforting smile that was so quintessentially Hana, and Claire felt herself relax as she let Hana lead her by the hand to her room, where they did exactly as Hana said until Claire got a text from Drake saying that he’d be back shortly.

Bastien parked the car in the Palace garage and walked with Drake back through the hallways towards the guest rooms. They hadn’t said anything since they’d left the lake, but both felt much more comfortable with the silence now than before. When they reached the hall that Drake’s room was on, they saw Claire standing outside of his door. Bastien turned to Drake and brushed off his shoulder. “There’s your reason, Drake. Remember that.” He patted the shoulder he’d just brushed off, softening his steely gray eyes before nodding and heading off to Liam’s study to see about the security reports he’d been waiting on. Drake took a deep breath before continuing down the hallway towards Claire, towards his reason for everything. He’d thought about Bastien’s words for the duration of the car ride, about how he’d been focusing on anger and hatred and judgement, letting himself be directed by rage and violence. It wasn’t who he was, wasn’t who he wanted to be for Claire, and Bastien knew that. Of course he did. Bastien always knew.

She’d covered most of her bruises with makeup and changed into a light blue dress that hung off of her shoulders and fit snugly around her waist before falling loosely in a bell shape around her knees. Beautiful wasn’t enough, Drake thought, as his love for her multiplied with every step that he took towards her, and he vowed over again not to forget what Bastien had told him; not to let his anger get anywhere near her. “Hey, you,” she said softly as he closed the distance to stand directly before her. She reached for him, wrapping him in her arms and placing a kiss to his chest, right above his heart, which skipped dizzyingly. “I’m so glad you’re back.” She smiled up at him, and he couldn't help but think of how nice it would feel to hear her say that without the constant threat and fear that they were slaves to right now; how nice it would feel to hear her say that when he comes in from work, or from a trip, or just from the market; how nice it would feel to come home to her every day.

“Me too,” he said, lips finding hers as he pulled her body flush against his own.

“I have a surprise for you,” she said, cheeks flooding with color and eyes bright as she pulled back to look up at him. Despite everything, she looked so happy, and it made Drake’s heart swell even more, made Bastien’s words matter even more.

“I can’t wait,” he said, taking her hand in his and rubbing his thumb slowly over her knuckles. His casted hand hung heavily at his side, a reminder of the weight of what he needed to say. “But can we talk first?” He saw the worried look flash across her eyes at those words and he brought her hand to his lips. “Nothing bad, I promise���I just,” he sighed, dropping her hand to reach past her for the doorknob. “I have some things to say. Let’s go inside.” He took her hand again and led her into his room, closing the door behind them.

“Drake, I-“

He silenced her with a kiss, soft and delicate, the kind that slowly sucked the air from both of their lungs and spread warmth through both of their chests, like a flint spark. He was still holding her hand, and he squeezed it gently as he ended the kiss- a difficult task, but a necessary one. “Claire,” he breathed, his lips still pressed to hers, “please let me say this.” He felt her nod, heard the little exhale of breath as she agreed to let him say his piece. She crossed the room to take a seat on the couch, and he followed her, choosing to sit in the arm chair directly to the right of the couch. He needed to look her in the eye when he spoke, and knew that sitting so close to her would only result in their entanglement.

He rested his cast on his knee and saw her eyes flick down to it before returning to meet his, reaffirming that this needed to happen. “Claire,” he started, his voice clearer and more even than he thought it might be. “I’m so, so sorry for how I acted this morning. Punching that wall…feeling that way...letting my anger control me…” he paused, shook his head while keeping his eyes on hers. “You needed me to be better than that. I need to be better than that, for you.” Claire sat back against the cushion of the couch as he continued. “You are what matters most to me, Claire Berkley. As long as I have you, nothing else matters nearly as much. But this morning? This morning I let my...hate for Alex come before my love for you.” He raised his hand and snorted a puff of air through his nose. “This. This was so stupid of me. You don't deserve this, Berkley. I want to be the man you deserve. I want to love you like you deserve, support and protect you like you deserve. Not like this. Not like an angry child. Keeping you safe from Alex is important to me, Claire, it is. And if I had to...” he sighed. “If I had to, I'd kill him. In a heartbeat, to save you. Keeping you safe is important. But keeping you, holding you, loving you- that's more important. And maybe not this time. Maybe not the next time. But eventually, I know you'd grow tired of this,” he lifted his hand again. “Of holes in the wall and stitches and hospital visits.” She opened her mouth as if to say something, then closed it and swallowed whatever words she thought she might speak. “Claire,” he went on, and she reached across the space between them to twine her fingers with his-not his good hand, his broken one, where they stuck out from the top of the cast. “I promise you, I'll never let it control me like that again. I promise you. Protecting you is the only reason I'll ever have again for...for violence,” he cringed on the word, but that was what it was. “My father...he was a good man, Claire. It hurts me that you'll never get to meet him...he would love you, I just know it,” a distant smile drew its way across his lips and then shrunk again. “But he didn't raise me to be like this...Bastien...he reminded me of that. He reminded me that my father wanted better than that for me...for you...can...can you forgive me? For not being what you needed this morning?”

Claire let out the breath she'd been holding as he spoke. Seeing the way he'd reacted that morning hadn't necessarily scared her, but she admittedly didn't like seeing Drake that way. It reminded her of her first night in Cordonia, when he'd been so sure that she was here for Liam that he'd been rough and rude and angry and not at all like the warm, loving man that she'd learned him to be. Her eyes searched his and found them empty of anger, hate and rage, found them full of sincerity and apology and love. She looked down at their fingers, curled around the fiberglass edges of his clunky gray cast, and admittedly never wanted to see him need bandages and stitches and trips to the hospital ever again. She thought about how insistent he'd been in making sure that she heard him, understood him, and admittedly, she didn't think she'd ever known such an honest, genuine man. “Of course I forgive you, Drake. Gra Go Deo, Adelfi Psychi, remember?” She disentangled her fingers from his. “I don't want you to feel that way either. That's not you. I love you for the man that you are, Drake Walker. Be that man, and I'll love you forever.”

“Berkley...” he stood, pulling her up with him, wrapping his arms around her and lifting her off the ground. “I love you,” he said. “Plain and simple.”

She gave him the same smile she gave him the first night they'd met, the one that pulled her cheeks so far up into her eyes that they nearly closed and fully displayed her crooked teeth. It was the smile he already knew she couldn't replicate unless she was actually happy, and it was the smile set his heart on fire. “I know you do,” she said softly, tucking a stray piece of hair behind his ear. “Now,” she laid her finger on his nose and it made the fire in his heart burn a little brighter. “That surprise I was telling you about.” She smoothed her dress down self-consciously. “It's not much, but,” she shrugged. “I wanted to show you what celebrating a birthday looks like to me. So. Follow me.” She spun around and looked over her shoulder at him, and the way that smile was still written all over her face made him sure for the thousandth time that he wanted to make her happy for the rest of his life. He wanted to see that smile, over that shoulder, for the rest of his life. She crossed the room and exited, Drake at her heels.

“Where are we going, Berkley?” he asked through his own smile.

“To a party, of course, birthday boy.” She wrinkled her nose when she said “birthday boy” and it was one hundred percent the most precious thing he'd ever seen.

“A...party? But we can't leave the grounds?” he asked quizzically, before reminding himself that this was Claire Berkley, and that thinking inside the box with her was a fool's errand.

“Who said anything about leaving?” She gave him a playful little smirk, full of mischief and he had to stop himself from grabbing her right there in the hallway and kissing her senseless. She walked a few more paces until they were outside of a small sitting room. “Surprise, Drake,” she said sweetly, opening the door to reveal the impromptu party, Max and Hana and even Liam shouting a surprise to echo hers.

Drake looked around the room before him at the decorations and the balloons, the makeshift bar, and most importantly, the people she'd filled the room with. The people that mattered most to him, the people who he mattered to. He turned to her, that smile was back, and he couldn't keep the fire in his heart from growing as he bent down to kiss her, leaning his forehead against hers. “Thank you,” he said before giving her another tiny peck. “Thank you, Berkley.” He turned to his friends and thanked them as well.

Liam of course couldn't stay, stating that he had security meetings and briefings to attend, and Drake was sure that he did. “Have fun tonight, Drake,” he said, clapping him on the shoulder before heading out, and Drake was sure he would; turning back to Claire, he saw how impossible it would be not to enjoy himself tonight, even with everything that was going on. In this room it was just him and the woman he loves and the friends that supported them and that was enough to shut the door on reality, just for a while.

Maxwell wasted no time at all in starting the music and pouring drinks, passing them out to each of them so they could clink them together to toast to Drake. Not used to being the center of even this much attention, he smiled sheepishly, letting his roguish hair fall into his eyes. Claire reached up with her fingers to brush it back and he caught her palm and kissed it.

“Hey, you two,” Maxwell threw a balloon at Drake’s head. “Kissy stuff on your own time. We’re having a party here!”

Claire giggled. “Well, Max, when you’re right, you’re right.”

Max poured another round of shots, downed his and looked at Claire. “Is it time now?” he asked, practically bouncing up and down, making Claire laugh even more.

“Time for what? What’s he on about, Berkley?” Drake asked, cautiously sipping his own drink.

“Remember how I said I wanted to show you how I celebrate birthdays?” Drake nodded and Claire turned to Max who excitedly stooped below the bar and pulled out a microphone and his phone. “I celebrate birthdays by taking shots and making a fool of myself singing karaoke.”

“You…you sing, Claire?” He asked, perplexed. She’d mentioned hobbies and talents, things she liked to do with her free time or to ease stress or for fun, but she hadn’t mentioned singing.

She laughed again, throwing her shot back. “Not well.” She shrugged. “Max, you want to kick it off?”

“Thought you’d never ask, Claire!” He excitedly queued up a song on his karaoke app and soon his voice was belting out Shakira’s “Hips Don’t Lie” to Hana’s entertainment. She giggled, wide eyed as she watched Max’s (probably) choreographed dance moves.

Claire looked over at Drake, at the dumbfounded but happy look on his face. “This is how you do birthdays, huh? You singing next?”

Claire looked up at Max, still shaking and telling the truth with his hips. “Yeah, but I’m going to need one more of these first,” she picked her glass up and swirled it around before finishing it and heading to the bar table for a fresh one. She poured one for Drake too, brought it to him and clinked her glass to his. “Cheers, baby.”  She kissed him on the cheek, threw her shot back, and got up just as Max was ending his song to wild applause from Hana. One drink had made her his biggest fan.

“Okay,” Claire said, and Drake could see the whiskey in her eyes. “For you,” she pointed at Drake. “Hit it Max!” And with that she treated them all to her out of tune, missing words, making up words as she went version of Lady Gaga’s “You and I”, keeping eye contact with Drake the whole time.

When she finished, Drake gave her a standing ovation, nearly in tears from laughing and smiling. What a 360 this day has taken, he thought, scooping her up as she passed the mic to Hana. “Why that song, siren of mine?” he asked, pressing a kiss to her lips.

“Becausssse,” she laughed. “Its about you,” she booped him on the nose. “And I,” she booped herself, harder than she meant to, “annnnd meeting in a bar. Annnd it’s fun annnnd I like it.” She was drunk and it was the first time he’d seen her drunk and it was infectiously endearing. “Did you like it?”

He looked at her, looked around the room. This was absolutely the furthest thing from his mind when he woke up. He hadn’t celebrated his birthday in years, and the last time he had it hadn’t been anything like this. But Claire was like nothing he’d ever had in his life, so that was no surprise. “I loved it,” he said.

Hana’s voice was coming from the background like a Disney princess and Claire scrunched her nose up, spinning in Drake’s arms. “Hana!” she shouted, “You’re not supposed to be good at karaoke!” Drake burst out laughing and so did the rest of them and they finished out their night of revelry, Hana and Max eventually clearing out leaving Drake and Claire alone in the sitting room, the banner hanging off the window, balloons strewn all over the ground, on the couches and tables from where they’d been thrown. She hiked her dress up so she could curl up into his lap, leaning into his chest. “Happy Birthday,” she said once more, through a yawn.

He buried his face in her hair, stroking his fingertips over her bare shoulder. “Thank you, Claire. It’s been the happiest one yet.”

“Even with everything?” she asked, eyes closed and voice thick with sleep.

“Even with everything.” He affirmed. Because she was his everything.

[hero-israel]

"The modern anti-Semite is more subtle than his great-grandparents. He doesn’t smash our windows or our bones. He insinuates himself into consciences that are already troubled and works on spirits that are already half-broken. And we are too responsive to his serpent insinuations. When the history of Jew-hating in our time comes to be written, Jewish collusion in it will feature heavily.

To the question I don’t have – but is something like, “How do any of us, as Jews, fulfil the great task imposed on us?” – here is my part-answer: stop apologising and resist the sirens who would lure you on to the rocks of guilt and self-dislike, singing of Jewish materialism, Jewish legalism, Jewish exclusivism, Jewish supremacism, Jewish imperialism, Zionism…

It isn’t that we expected the world suddenly to love us after the camps were liberated. We are wise in the ways of human psychology. We know that people turn against those to whom they feel obliged. It is hard to forgive those you have wronged, and we knew we would not be forgiven the Holocaust. But we thought anti-Semitism itself might take a short break – admit its errors, lick its wounds and go into hiding for a while. Embarrassment, if nothing else, would surely deter most anti-Semites from showing their faces. “Not yet,” we thought they’d say. “Not a good idea after what’s just happened.” What no one could have expected was the speed with which they found a way round any such compunctions....

Moral sophistry is now the enemy to remembering, bringing accusations that Jews exploit their sufferings and fail to learn from them, that whatever they were owed in the way of pity they have since forfeited.....

Decisive in [Jeremy] Corbyn’s emergence as a folk hero is the triumphant amnesia of the young. Of the history of socialism in the 20th century, of the dogmas that still exert a hold on ideologues such as Corbyn, causing him to turn his face away whenever words such as Jew, Israel or anti-Semitism are spoken – some boast of knowing nothing. What does it matter? We weren’t there. “What you don’t understand about my generation,” one young journalist wrote after last year’s election, “is that we don’t know or remember who Gerry Adams or Hezbollah were – so when you tell us that Jeremy Corbyn was their friend, we don’t care.”

Considering how easy the Internet has made it to find out about the past, such ignorance is surprising. But every promise of enlightenment the Internet has made, social media has broken. It revels in the selfish minutiae of the now; having neither eyes nor ears, its stock in trade is malicious rumour. People retweet what they will not take the time to confirm – a slander; a conspiracy theory, of which the Holohoax is just one; or a malevolent meme such as that posted by a Labour politician three years ago – “I have often said the Holocaust victims who died with dignity must be turning in their graves at the horrors done in the name of Judaism.”

How are we to describe the obscenity of that? Can the tweeter truly be so ignorant of what went on in the camps that she can speak, nostalgically, of Jews dying in them with dignity? Or is there method in the ignorance, truth playing second fiddle to propaganda – Jews dying with dignity in the horrorless Holocaust only to show up how little dignity Jews of our age grant those they kill in horror-filled Israel?

Thus the moral seesaw on which Holocaust relativists love to frolic – the contestable atrocity that was the Holocaust now rising, now falling, but always ultimately outweighed by the incontestable outrage that is Zionism. It was played upon again in a fringe meeting at last year’s Labour Party Conference where that prize catch, an Israeli anti-Zionist, argued for the necessity for the party to discuss everything openly, including the Holocaust. “Holocaust yes or no?” he posited, as though the truth of Auschwitz waited on a thumbs up/thumbs down decision. Holocaust: like or dislike? It was a line of enquiry that was given a definitive thumbs up later in the day when a distinguished British film director and member of the Labour Party [Ken Loach] appeared on the BBC to defend it.

If "never again” is to be more than the exchange of pious velleities, it has to encounter the brute realities of today. The reality, then, was this: after some preliminary bare-faced lying – insisting that charges of anti-Semitism in the Labour Party had “no validity whatsoever” but were made only to discredit the party leader – Citizen Z, as I will call him, spoke the following, now infamous words: “I think history is for us all to discuss, wouldn’t you?… The founding of the state of Israel, for example, based on ethnic cleansing, is there for us all to discuss… So don’t try to subvert that by false stories of anti-Semitism.”

There you have it in one easy lesson: how to toy with denial while not denying; how to associate the Holocaust with Israel for no apparent reason (though the emotional logic is clear enough: the one retrospectively drives out any sympathy for the other); how to affect an open mind even in the act of closing it; how to shut out all discussion of Israel’s founding while pretending a willingness to discuss it; how to scatter libels like confetti while protesting your innocence of all malign intent; how to refute the charge of anti-Semitism even as you’re accusing Jews of lying.

Later, [Loach] wrote to the New York Times to deny he’d said what he’d said. Of course he would never question the historical fact of the Holocaust. I can believe that in the cold light of day his own words shamed him. But in the heat of battle, in defence of party, entramelled in that ideology, which demonises as imperialism even the first steps towards a Jewish Homeland, there was no calumny he wasn’t willing to support. Jews subvert the truth, falsely charge the Left with anti-Semitism, falsely steal another people’s land, so why shouldn’t they – just for the music of the argument –falsify history. This is how the poisons agglomerate and spread.

Historians ask what it took to make a civilised people consent to the slaughter of millions. Here is what it took: it took the language of exclusion. Jews threatened the healthy functioning of the national project. To even the most educated they could be represented as alien, inimical, inhumane and dangerous. Society is never more murderous than when it has an idea of itself to protect, an ideology of commonality, a rigid structure of shared belief, no matter whether its source is the extreme right or the extreme left, secular or religious.

“Never again” is the sacred promise we gather annually to reaffirm. It must be more than a mere wish. It binds us in the necessity to be strong minded and alert. And that means alert, above all, to the words those with hatred in their hearts employ to exploit the guilt in ours."

--Howard Jacobson

[random0gener8r]

August 21, 2017 Obviously, all of my feeling come from my perspective and so have nothing to really do with him. That was what I was trying to spare him from by not communicating. Next time, I’ll communicate that. It’s clear and concise with no emotional tones or spillover. Yes, I indulged my humanity. Yes, I reveled in my story. Yes, I chose pain due to fear. And that’s okay. I let my stories envelope me. I allowed them to whisper in my mind. I chose to play the game. Because I had a question and wanted an answer. I wanted my spiritual test. It started with an innocent viewing of a half million dollar home. I swear, it was 90% for the Center for Life Exploration. You don’t understand the vision I have. Hell, I don’t. I have an overview; with the Spiritual Center being the clearest at the moment as I’ve put the most focus into envisioning it. Point – I was trying to bring vision into reality, find out the questions and answers I’d need to think and learn about, while seeing what half a million could buy, the potentiality of lots, and enjoying looking at great big beautiful and yet completely wasteful unless shared, opened, and used to the benefit of the community, I mean WWWEEEEEEEEEEE! Fun stuff. But at a level I’m not ready for. Not even close. There is no magic spell. No inherent knowledge. You have to experience it. That’s the class system – at what level of monetary creation you have been exposed to. Rich people get to skip all the steps below. That’s what’s bullshit. And I’m not saying every one of them. I don’t know any to truly hold any judgement on the matter. You don’t see them around, though, if you get what I mean. I liked the people I met at the Ventana Staycation. I had a great time. It’s too bad none reached back out to me. Anyway, you, my dear, have to experience it for yourself. Take an idea and make it happen from the ground up. That’s what you’ve never done. The novel was too lonely. I didn’t have anyone to talk with it about. So, that’s what happened. I changed, not to my great pleasure, from wanting to be alone, do everything by myself, to wanting to share the process of creation. The lack of completion to date can be viewed not as failure to finish things you start (which really, there aren’t that many, jobs not included, ‘cuz I’m batting maybe 50-50 in that arena). I thought there was something wrong with me, with my abilities, but they were simply forcing me forward, as slow as I was to catch on. Now, I’m in FUN World. Where I remember it’s just a game that I’m playing against myself, with everyone around me having their part to play. It is my choice in how I want to perceive any encounter. I do bond too quickly for most people. I can’t help it. The more you know, the more interesting it is. But that’s me. I can see how that could come off as rather needy. I don’t know. I’ve never asked. Intense. Perhaps that’s a better word. Squirrel – Dipping down into full humanity is how I play my game. I can’t stay in FUN World forever yet. Don’t know that I’d want to. It down here in the aware emotions of pain and suffering that I find my truth reaffirmed. It is where I find my signposts and tests of my beliefs, ethics and morality come into play. That is the real battle takes place – between you and yourself and how much of your ideology, morality and ethics, and beliefs are you willing to violate to get what you want, to make the world conform to your desires – which are absolutely no more important or better, right, good, or than anyone else’s . However a person derives their code, those sets of experiences and choices is their ultimate right of choice (and from the highest level the experience you or I would have chosen had we experienced/lived that person’s life. We all really are doing what we were meant to do, the pain and suffering and need to make other people and this world bend to our will to spread our perspective like a virus (what every groups of individual people is wont to do by the way). Not one perspective is better or worse. It’s all a personal preference. Personal desire to create what we want, that which makes us most comfortable (the question then, to what expense? 1 person, 10, a million, the world?) How many perspectives must you assimilate until you feel safe enough? Life isn’t supposed to be safe. Death is inevitable. Yes, none of us want to lose our loved ones. Most are terrified of what comes next. Some preferences make some social situations less applicable to their perceived well-being. Those are the foundation of a person’s core personality or being. Everyone has a “right” and a “wrong” division. Those that don’t are mentally ill. Everyone else is on a spectrum. It’s time to regroup. That’s all. And redistribute. It will be okay. We promise not to rip your heads off, drink your blood, sing songs of hatred and abuse and curse you to whatever scares you the most, which is actually having to give a shit about our perspectives. You know they exist but you just don’t care because you’re thinking on global levels – well, you fucked that up as well. You are bad at your jobs. You are fired. But that has swerved in a political direction so, let’s move on from that. This could take a minute.  Section from AUG 17 ESSAY written today (Aug 17 section) In the dream, I was hanging with a couple, noting going on; they were kind to me, I had use of all of their facilities, but I didn’t consider that beyond an off-road vehicle that I would like to try. Point – we were cool, and so I wanted to make them breakfast, but suddenly everything went crazy. They left to do what they did out of the house, and I was preparing to leave, I was anticipating packing my car, and yet, making them individualized breakfasts, I guess as going away gift – then everything went wrong. The house hated me. A mattress hated me. I tried to banish it but the overall power of the house was to strong. There was no way I could win. And it just kept taking things from me. My parents. I couldn’t reach my cat. My clothes. The breakfast. My car. I couldn’t escape in the one thing I could always count on. (BTW my tire indicator came on today, FYI, I’d been thinking about it, but today, of all days. I mean, it was due, but really!!!!!) (Aug 21) And the wall tried to suck me in to eat me. The walls, floors, streets were twisted and roiling. Trapped in my car, viewed as through the lens of a Monet painting, I don’t know, the Starry Night guy with the comet, was that Picasso? (How sad, but you know who I mean so communication completed! Yeah for me!) Unable to escape, all of my possessions eaten by the wall, a curse placed on me, and my car turned into the mirrored innards of an eight sided die, I was tossed about, all control gone flipping and flopping against the hard glass, no longer in a painting but all hard iron and glass. And I awoke. And I knew I’d failed my spiritual test. My desire to force a favorable outcome goes against my code – gifts only. And I’d tried so hard, I mean, I really put my spiritual back into it. I have expended energy like that longer than I can remember. I really crossed my code – my moral, ethical and belief/spiritual choices that define my personal and only applicable to me, set of absolute judgements of right/wrong, good/bad, acceptance/fear. All ultimate dualities. And as I was looking for a test, there ya go, I got one, and I failed, but I apologized sincerely, yet was still mad ‘cuz it was only 10% about me, a girls gotta live, and not off her parents. I thought it was reasonable. I was wrong. Unable to leave it that way, I took a nap and I was rolled out into a nice world and all was forgiven, but that was their/my higher-self dimension, not down here in the mud, so I got pissed, both meanings. I cursed them back for their miserliness. I thought death thoughts. Then I had some cannasand and talked to Paul. And he cared. And that was all I needed. Just one. The next night was a fabulous dream of flying and reality jumping and enjoying the situation which was fun. So I knew that I had passed the following test to see if I’d actually learned anything. As Paul said, “there is always another test”. I don’t like wasting my time. So I took that experience along with Paul’s creating his own Meetup group as an inspiration to do what it takes to create the reality you want through forward motion, to set a date for the first Center for Spiritual Exploration (from her on out aka CSE) meeting. I was looking forward to sharing it and inviting him to help me out by participating, when the whole camping and movie meetup and having his daughter, situation occurred. I was curious to see how much of the Four Agreements he could apply to the situation. He used the word assume, so it shows awareness of his logical state which is effected by the emotional, and it was what it was. So, I’ve been binge watching The Unbreakable Kimmy Schmidt, and as Paul and I are restoring communicational clarity, and Nina the neighbor in Unit 5 came over to introduce herself, Kimmy goes to church and the pastor’s name is Denise. Yes, I know that the use of my name is on the rise. So, as I’ve been having revelations and positive communications, I get a signpost/note/”hey”, a confirmation of the application of experiences with personal positive outcomes in a way that didn’t transgress my Code. It felt like a congratulatory, “you’ll get there, you’re on your ‘really cool’ path.” Not perfect, never perfect as goal, or you lose all chance of spontaneous authenticity; strive for your best each and every day, whatever that may look like that day. Lazy language allows more miscommunications. No amount of communal agreement can make you “right” when you go against Your Own Code.

[obaewankenope]

Albus Dumbledore: The Religious Leader in Harry Potter

So, I have recently had a relatively old post reblogged by someone who decided to ask me what my ‘textual’ sources were for my statement that Dumbledore is a good example of a religious zealot that basically runs a group of fanatics who follow him. As I felt this to be a good thing to ask me, I was initially calm and considered this a reasonable thing to ask, until I reached the point where they specifically state that if I can’t provide such textual sources then they’re ‘going to assume that you build your opinion off of Tumblr posts and fanfiction and I’m gonna laugh at you for thinking those are reliable sources.’

Now, perhaps I may be a tad bit rude and impolite here but, unless they work on the assumption that everything is clearly shouted out very loudly and clearly in all fiction, then I’m afraid the explicit textual sources they’re demanding are likely to not exist; the art of understanding a novel lies in reading between the lines after all. However, I’m going to be polite and retain my modicum of mature reasoning and not laugh very loudly at such a sweeping statement – working on the assumption that fiction writers don’t think through what they create is, unfortunately, a common assumption in this world and one I have little time or respect for.

Now that’s been said, perhaps it’d be best to get onto the ‘textual’ sources I’ve been requested to provide.

Note: I am using the original Harry Potter books I had bought for me mere days or hours after each was released so page numbers may differ for each edition and where they were published (mine are UK publications). Just in case anyone thinks I’m making references up.

I’m going to approach this in much the same way I approach anything that is a multi-layered question: by breaking it down and tackling each section individually. First off – Albus Dumbledore’s background.

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Who is Albus Dumbledore and What is His Background?

I am stating this outright now that I am making use of the HPwiki since it has the most consistent and referenced information about Dumbledore that won’t require me specifically hunting through Pottermore or the books just to give a general overview of one of the most well-known and popular characters in Rowling’s magical world. If this isn’t considered by some to be a reliable source then apologies, but this is what I’m using to give you a summary of Dumbledore’s background and his numerous achievements.

According to the HPwiki, Dumbledore officially held the titles of; Grand Sorcerer, Supreme Mugwump, Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot and Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. In addition, he was also the leader and creator of the Order of the Phoenix. The son of Percival and Kendra Dumbledore, Albus was a half-blood (like the other two main characters in the trio of powerful wizards that the Harry Potter series revolves around; Harry and Voldemort). It is my assumption that, due to the imagery that Rowling evokes when Harry, Ron and Hermione visit Godric’s Hollow to see the grave of Harry’s parents and they discover a grave for the Dumbledore’s with an engraving of the Death Hallows (Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows, p.267), as well as the fact that Sirius states that all wizarding families are related in some way:

‘The pure-blood families are all interrelated…If you’re only going to let your sons and daughters marry pure-bloods your choice is very limited; there are hardly any of us left. Molly and I are cousins by marriage and Arthur’s something like my second cousin once removed. But there’s no point looking for them on here – if ever a family was a bunch of blood traitors it’s the Weasleys.’ (Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix, p.105)

While this doesn’t necessarily cover families with muggle-born and muggle heritage, it does infer that Albus too was related to most other wizarding families. Adding the fact that Albus was obsessed with the Deathly Hallows from a relatively young age, and the sign of the Deathly Hallows on a Dumbledore grave, then you theoretically can argue that he could have theoretically been related to the Peverell family: a family that died out in the male line as Hermione states in Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows in chapter twenty-two:

‘The only place I’ve managed to find the name “Peverell” is Nature’s Nobility: A Wizarding Genealogy. I borrowed it from Kreacher…It lists the pure-blood families that are now extinct in the male line. Apparently the Peverells were one of the earliest families to vanish.’ (pp.346-7)

Note: Whether or not this is accurate and whether or not this is simply my own personal perception of Dumbledore’s lineage, the fact still remains that theoretically speaking, the Peverell family can be linked to at least some of the wizarding families of Britain as per Rowling’s own statements in her series.

Moving on from this potential relationship and the fact that these arguably provide some evidence for my initial comment about Dumbledore: ‘he comes into the Magical World from a long-standing magical family with age-old connections with a shit tonne of political power’. While I will agree that his family history doesn’t necessarily mean Dumbledore began with political power amassed by his family – unlike, for example, the Malfoy family or the Blacks – there is still the fact that his father, Percival Dumbledore, was either a pure-blood or a half-blood himself, thereby suggesting that he may have had some connection to the Ministry of Magic of Great Britain. Even if this were not the case, considering the fact that Dumbledore can at least be considered a half-blood with some magical lineage from pure-blood ancestors, he would have been in a more advantageous position, politically and social speaking, than muggle-borns in the magical world.

Continuing on, we are informed in The Deathly Hallows of Dumbledore’s connection with Gellert Grindelwald (pp.290-1). It is during this introduction that we also discover that, at one point, Dumbledore believed in much the same as Grindelwald in regards to the rights of wizards over muggles:

‘Your point about wizard dominance being FOR THE MUGGLES’ OWN GOOD – this, I think, is the crucial point. Yes, we have been given power and, yes, that power gives us the right to rule, but it also gives us responsibilities over the ruled. We must stress this point, it will be the foundation stone upon which we build. Where we are opposed, as we surely will be, this must be the basis of all our counter-arguments. We seize control FOR THE GREATER GOOD. And from this it follows that where we meet resistance, we must use only the force that is necessary and no more. (This was your mistake at Durmstrang! But I do not complain, because if you had not been expelled, we would never have met.)’ (Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows, Letter to Gellert Grindelwald from Albus Dumbledore, p.291)

The above quotation lends support to my own statement in the original post that Dumbledore is ‘friends with a blood purist (Grindelwald)…[because] if you’re friends with someone like that then, on some level you agree with them.’

Ultimately, Dumbledore’s background lends itself to the initial starting blocks for the development of a saviour complex – most especially when we consider the fact that he ‘failed’ his sister and mother (Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows, p.292). While a ‘saviour complex’ (or messiah complex) is not a diagnosis nor a clinical term, it can however be connected to delusions of grandeur; it is quite obvious that in his correspondence with Grindelwald, Dumbledore seems to believe them both to be acting in a similar manner to those who feel that they have a duty to others, a responsibility, that means they must ‘save’ others – in this case, it can be argued that Dumbledore is functioning under the belief that he must save wizarding kind from muggles, and the muggles from themselves:

‘You cannot imagine how [Grindelwald’s] ideas caught me, Harry, inflamed me. Muggles forced into subservience. We wizards triumphant. Grindelwald and I, the glorious young leaders of the revolution.’ (Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows, p.573)

The attack on his younger sister Ariana by muggle children, and the subsequent imprisonment of his father for attacking them in retribution, provides Albus’ character with the beginning points to have a measure of hatred, or disdain towards muggles; it also provides a point where he can begin to perceive wizards are requiring protection from muggles and muggles of being unable to handle themselves – again this would be compounded if you consider that Albus was born at the end of the nineteenth century, on the cusp of the Great War and when colonialism was still at its peak.

For the Greater Good

Moving on, we come to the point where I state that Dumbledore takes on ‘an almost mythical status’ due to his ‘amazing magical power and the fact that he defeats a Dark Wizard without resorting to similar Dark Magic to do so’. While this isn’t precisely new information, nor an incorrect statement, it does bear some supporting evidence in order to reaffirm it:

‘In a matter of months, however, Albus’s own fame had begun to eclipse that of his father. By the end of his first year, he would never again be known as the son of a Muggle-hater, but as nothing more or less than the most brilliant student ever seen at the school.’

‘He not only won every prize of note that the school offered, he was soon in regular correspondence with the most notable magical names of the day, including Nicolas Flamel, the celebrated alchemist, Bathilda Bagshot, the noted historian, and Adalbert Waffling, the magical theoretician. Several of his papers found their way into learned publications such as Transfiguration Today, Challenges in Charming and The Practical Potioneer. Dumbledore’s future career seemed likely to be meteoric, and the only question that remained was when he would become Minister for Magic. Though it was often predicted in later years, that he was on the point of taking the job, however, he never had Ministerial ambitions.’

‘Other quills will describe the triumphs of the following years. Dumbledore’s innumerable contributions to the store of wizarding knowledge, including his discovery of the twelve uses of dragon’s blood, will benefit generations to come, as will the wisdom he displayed in the many judgements he made while Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot.’

‘They say, still, that no wizarding duel ever matched that between Dumbledore and Grindelwald in 1945. Those who witnessed it have written of the terror and the awe they felt as they watched these two extraordinary wizards do battle. Dumbledore’s triumph, and its consequences for the wizarding world, are considered a turning point in magical history to match the introduction of the International Statute of Secrecy or the downfall of He Who Must Not Be Named.’

                              (Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows, pp.22-24)

Each of these quotations support the initial statement I made as to the strength of Dumbledore’s magical ability and the fact that his defeat of Grindelwald enabled him to attain an ‘Otherworldly status’. There are numerous characters throughout Harry Potter who treat Dumbledore’s word as law – inadvertently echoing Christian parallels that Rowling herself has stated the series has; one popular concept is that Dumbledore is a metaphor for God or Death (MTV, 2007).

I state, at one point, that the members of the Order, place Dumbledore ‘above them to such a degree that his every action is revered and accepted as “for the greater good” or because he “knows best”’ and this is something I strongly stand by.  In truth, however, not every action undertook by Dumbledore is revered or accepted willingly, there is a growing measure of bitterness in Sirius Black’s opinion on Dumbledore’s decisions in Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix, but, for the vast majority, they generally accept Dumbledore’s word and do not truly act to question or undermine it in any way (Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix, p.84). This could be construed as faith or trust in someone who has earned such respect, but there is the matter of the way in which Dumbledore is presented throughout the series up to the point of Voldemort’s return – after which the Ministry of Magic, led by Cornelius Fudge, seeks to undermine his authority through a combination of public smears and the stripping of official positions within the Ministry itself:

‘“They’re trying to discredit him,” said Lupin. “Didn’t you see the Daily Prophet last week? They reported that he’d been voted out of the Chairmanship of the International Confederation of Wizards because he’s getting old and losing his grip, but it’s not true; he was voted out by Ministry wizards after he made a speech announcing Voldemort’s return. They’ve demoted him from Chief Warlock on the Wizengamot – that’s the Wizard High Court – and they’re talking about taking away his Order of Merlin, First Class too.”’ (Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix, p.90)

Contrary to the belief that there is only one reference to ‘the greater good’ in regards to Dumbledore’s actions, there are, at least three. These three references are present in the last book of the series, Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows:

‘He died as he lived, working always for the greater good and, to his last house, as willing to stretch out a hand to a small boy with dragon pox as he was on the day that I met him.’ (p.24)

‘Your point about wizard dominance being FOR THE MUGGLES’ OWN GOOD – this, I think, is the crucial point… We seize control FOR THE GREATER GOOD. And from this it follows that where we meet resistance, we must use only the force that is necessary and no more. (p.291)

‘I assuaged my conscience with empty words. It would all be for the greater good, and any harm done would be repaid a hundredfold in benefits for wizards.’ (p.573)

In an interview with Evan Solomon (2000), Rowling stated that she enjoyed writing Dumbledore’s character because he ‘is the epitome of goodness’ which, in my personal opinion, suggests that perhaps Rowling is unaware of the duplicity and the dichotomy present in her portrayal of Dumbledore. It is obvious that she planned for Dumbledore to be a figure worthy of sympathy and pity in the final book, but also one that was highly complex and multi-faceted – both marks of skilled writing and character development. However, this does not preclude the reality that Dumbledore’s actions and the way he is viewed by numerous characters in the series, do correspond with more fanatic actions and behaviours of religious leaders.

Fanaticism: What is it and How does it apply to Dumbledore?

The philosopher George Santayana (1905) provides a definition of fanaticism that I find quite apt and amusing in its presentation; fanaticism is the ‘redoubling [of] your effort when you have forgotten your aim’ – to be a fanatic is to belief quite stridently but to lack an accurate direction for that belief to travel.

Lehtsaar (1997) defines fanaticism as ‘the pursuit or defence of something in an extreme and passionate way that goes beyond normality’ with religious fanaticism further defined by ‘blind faith, the persecution of dissents and the absence of reality’ (p.9). It could be argued that this definition is in a way, inaccurate to apply to Dumbledore however, in an abstract manner it is not.

As Postman (1976) states, ‘the key to all fanatical beliefs is that they are self-confirming… (some beliefs are) fanatical not because they are “false”, but because they are expressed in such a way that they can never be shown to be false’ (pp.104-112).

In regards to historical events of religious fanaticism, one doesn’t need to look much further than the vast majority of European history – most especially in regards to Christianity. As Selengut (2008) in Sacred Fury: Understanding Religious Violence, points out that the Spanish Inquisition was largely the monarchy’s attempt to maintain Catholic Christianity as the dominant religion: ‘The inquisitions were attempts at self-protection and targeted primarily “internal enemies” of the church’ (p.66). What is of significance in regards to their entire discussion, can be explained in the following quotation from Selengut (2008):

‘The inquisitors generally saw themselves as educators helping people maintain correct beliefs by pointing out errors in knowledge and judgement’ (p.66, italics added)

It is this that characterises much of the fanaticism seen in regards to Dumbledore and his Order of the Phoenix. At the end of Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire, Dumbledore is faced with the knowledge that Voldemort has returned to his former strength; this knowledge is rejected by the Minister for Magic, Cornelius Fudge, and Dumbledore’s response to contact Order members from the last war immediately. The Order then is in a similar position to the inquisitors in Selengut’s description – they see themselves as individuals who must correct incorrect beliefs with their knowledge and judgement, guided by Dumbledore.

Gall, Charbonneau and Florack (2011) in a recent study found that individuals who were the most committed to attending church found it the most difficult to cope through being tested for breast cancer (a stressful, trying experience even when a diagnosis is not given). In regards to church attendance, in most cases this includes inclusionary activities such as the community-aspect of church attendance, and often correlates with adherence to religious rules and laws. Utilising this research as support for the behaviour of Molly Weasley in the Order of the Phoenix, it is quite clear that her ability to cope successfully with the highly stressful experience of being part of the Order – which her children attempt to join repeatedly, in some cases succeeding – is highly dependent on how the degree of faith she has in the Order and Dumbledore specifically:

‘“Well,” said Mrs Weasley, breathing deeply and looking around the table for support that did not come, “well…I can see I’m going to be overruled. I’ll just say this: Dumbledore must have had his reasons for not wanting Harry to know too much”’ (Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix, p. 85)

Of course, the reverse is also true in respects to church attendance. Dukes (1964) found that church attendance correlated strongly with increased responsiveness to placebos, and in a study by Walters (1957) it was found that those who were highly dependent on alcohol were significantly more likely to have a religious background, thus suggesting that religious individuals are dependent not only on social values but external agents as well. Therefore, it could conversely be argued that Molly Weasley isn’t necessarily an example of religious fanaticism – although she does repeatedly express intense faith and trust toward Dumbledore – but rather a more general example of a woman who relies on her faith in others in order to function, including in her support system external systems of control and regulation that, when they directly counter her faith in Dumbledore, results in an extreme stress response.

Dumbledore is an Addict: The Fanaticism of the Deathly Hallows

In the final instalment of the Harry Potter series, we are introduced to the Deathly Hallows; three magical artefacts are incontestable strength and ability, which are sought after by some wizards in order to obtain ‘mastery’ over Death.

Peele and Brodsky (1975) provide a definition of what addiction is: ‘a person’s attachment to a sensation, an object, or another person…such as to lessen his appreciation of and ability to deal with other things in his environment, or in himself, so that he has become increasingly dependent on that experience as his only source of gratification’ (p.168). While it can obviously be pointed out that Dumbledore does not spend every moment of his life obsessing about the Deathly Hallows, there is textual evidence that he spent at least a significant amount of time interested in them:

‘The Hallows, the Hallows…a desperate man’s dream!’

‘Master of death, Harry, master of Death! Was I better, ultimately, than Voldemort?’

‘I, too, sought a way to conquer death, Harry’ (Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows, p.571)

‘It was the thing, above all, that dew us together [the Hallows]… two clever, arrogant boys with a shared obsession. He wanted to come to Godric’s Hollow, as I am sure you have grasped, because of the grave of Ignotus Peverell. He wanted to explore the place the third brother had died.’

‘I could hardly believe what I was seeing. I asked to borrow it, to examine it. I had long since given up my dream of uniting the Hallows, but I could not resist, could not help taking a closer look…It was a Cloak the likes of which I had never seen, immensely old, perfect in every respect…and then your father died, and I had two Hallows at last, all to myself!’ (p.572)

‘At the heart of our schemes, the Deathly Hallows! How they fascinated him, how they fascinated both of us! The unbeatable wand, the weapon that would lead us to power! The Resurrection Stone – to him, though I pretended not to know it, it meant an army of Inferi! To me, I confess, it meant the return of my parents, and the lifting of all responsibility from my shoulders… Invincible masters of death, Grindelwald and Dumbledore! Two months of insanity, of cruel dreams, and neglect of the only two members of my family left to me.’ (p.574)

While the above quotations do not overtly suggest addiction, they do imply an overwhelming, constant obsession with unattainable objects, to the point where responsibilities to others is discarded in favour of promoting the obsession. The ‘reality check’ Dumbledore received, which ultimately acted as a traumatic wake-up call, was the death of his sister in a three-way duel between Albus, his brother Aberforth and Grindelwald:

‘Reality returned, in the form of my rough, unlettered, and infinitely more admirable brother. I did not want to hear the truths he shouted at me. I did not want to hear that I could not set forth to seek Hallows with a fragile and unstable sister in tow.

‘The argument became a fight. Grindelwald lost control. That which I had always sensed in him, though I pretended not to, now sprang into terrible being. And Ariana…after all my mother’s care and caution…lay dead upon the floor.’ (p.574)

Throughout much of this commentary I have been quite disparaging towards Dumbledore, focusing intensely on his behaviour from the perspective of viewing it as religious fanaticism or addiction. However, there is one last point I’d like to make as to Dumbledore’s behaviour, something which is supported by textual evidence and underscores the concept of Dumbledore having been addicted to the idea of the Deathly Hallows – a metaphor for absolute power. That point pertains to the following quotation in Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows in King’s Cross station while Harry is between life and death:

‘I…was offered the post of Minister for Magic, not once, but several times. Naturally I refused, I had learned that I was not to be trusted with power.’ (p.575)

This single statement from Dumbledore – whether he is a figment or Harry’s mind or not – is incredibly important overall for it shows an awareness of one’s character defects and a desire not to fall into them again. This sort of mindset can be seen in cases of ex-alcoholics and other such addicts who desire not to be given the temptation such easy access would provide them; Dumbledore reflects the same reluctance to accept a position of great authority such as that of Minister for Magic even though, prior to this, he greatly desired such power and influence.

In Conclusion

Ultimately, while I can disparage Dumbledore and happily despise him for willingly leaving a child in an abusive home, I cannot, in good faith, ignore the development of his own character and the strength of his own will in overcoming what he perceived as the greatest flaw of his person. I also, cannot disregard the reality that Dumbledore amassed plenty of influential power, through the belief and faith of individuals in magical Britain, but he did not actively utilise much of this influence until it became absolutely necessary.

I still stand by my initial statement that Dumbledore is a decent example of religious fanaticism, of a religious leader who is capable of manipulating others to his view, but I do draw the line on the idea that he does this maliciously; he is meant to act as a mirror to Voldemort in Harry Potter, with Harry himself becoming the ideal.

Dumbledore has been likened to God and to Death in some discussions of his place in the narrative of Harry Potter; I can accept this metaphor when considering his mirrorlike nature to Voldemort – after all, the Devil is a mirror to God with Jesus Christ acting as the ideal. God is capable of great wonder and great horror, much as Dumbledore is capable.

This has been a post of epic proportion, providing textual evidence for much of my original post on which I was questioned. Hopefully it has been educational and somewhat illuminating.