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quidfree · 4 years

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Hi! Thinking of Dumbledore + Sirius, do you think Sirius would feel sympathy for Dumbledore if he knew about how torn he was btw his siblings + feeling trapped? I judged him harshly at first, but now I think about the difficulty about losing both parents + sibling, but not wanting to sacrifice everything to step in as parent + guilt that comes with that. I do think Dumbledore loved his siblings + I was happy when his bro said he did a good job with their sis before her death.

hi! this is an interesting one hm

the thing abt dumbledore is that i’m pretty sympathetic to him all things considered- i’ve never really taken the time to explain my feelings about him on here but i definitely don’t think he’s snape levels of “fandom should see he’s irredeemably terrible!”, though i have a lot of qualms about him. he’s certainly not the hero rowling thinks he is, but he’s also not the guy rita skeeter says he is, to put it succintly.

on the one hand, i do think canon mostly fails to acknowledge that he was very manipulative/calculating and made a lot of very cold (or just plain terrible) choices- everything to do with sirius, for one, as well as the whole dursley situation. i know there’s a couple of reasons harry had to live with them (supposedly...) and i can’t be bothered to go into them, but even then i never understood why he couldn’t have done to petunia what he does in OOTP (?) sooner- send a letter to scare the shit out of her and remind her to treat harry decently or at least leave him to his own devices. like, there was so much he could have done in the years between the potters’ deaths and hogwarts- that squib neighbour was already spying/reporting for him, so he was fully aware of it all, idk. i just find that whole thing exemplary of his callousness. it’s more unforgivable to me than raising harry knowing he might need to die for the cause- because that was necessary to defeat voldemort, but giving harry an escape from abuse was so avoidable. his handling of other characters also doesn’t paint him in the best light, sirius as most obvious suspect- there’s a good piece on tumblr about sirius being a liability in his eyes because he’s not loyal to dumbledore or his cause above all else, but to the potters (and ultimately harry) and his own code, and i really think it’s the best reading of dumbledore’s handling of sirius in OOTP, because i always found that kind of insane. it’s brain-dead obvious that the worst thing to do with sirius (especially if you were worried about his unhinged state and whatnot) would be sticking him in grimmauld place- even if they had to keep him hidden, they could have let him floo between order hideouts! see other people! prowl london as a dog! it’s insane that dumbledore of all people would be that dumb about it, so it makes the most sense to me as him locking sirius up where he’s the most contained.

on the other hand, dumbledore was both a quirky schoolmaster and a wartime militia leader, and i think a lot of the weirdness in his character is bc rowling set out to write a much more child-like series than she ended up writing. dumbledore is a pretty iconic guy in the books, manipulations included- he’s such a chessmaster, and he has flair, as kingsley would put it. most importantly he clearly tries very hard to orchestrate the best possible outcome for the entire world- not based on arbitrary beliefs or personal whims, but because he’s sort of the main bastion of hope in the wizarding world. i don’t necessarily think his actions in this context are all excusable, but he’s a war-time leader, and pretty much knows it’s all down to him- although the order is certainly competent, it’s a very ragtag group of people dumbledore holds together, and in terms of skill, knowledge and aura he’s their biggest asset. he’s already been through a wizarding war where he probably set out to murder the love of his life, another wizard supremacist wackjob! we know he’s long past egoism- he’s genuinely For The Greater Good, and he clearly cares about harry; his choices are undoubtedly not made lightly. it’s also important to note just how bad wizarding society as a whole is on these issues- even the most muggle-friendly wizards are remarkably ignorant about them (arthur weasley), and everyone else is at least marginally bigoted; bigotry is built into the fabric of their society, and their government is extemely complacent/corrupt, so the order and their ilk are very much on their own, while people like the malfoys are tolerated despite the open secret of their wartime alliances. dumbledore has a tough job, and he doesn’t know all the things the reader knows. so i think the op-eds calling him Just As Bad As Voldemort or whatever are missing any nuance.

then we get into dumbledore’s backstory. it explains a lot about him, i think. it’s interesting to me that he’s so consistent as a character- he has always been about The Greater Good, and he’s always had an ego, but as a child he let the latter dictate the former and as an adult he forever attempted to substract it from himself lest he repeat the same mistakes. some more questionable rep from ms rowling in having her (1) gay character be the guy literally seduced into wizard supremacy by his evil boyfriend, but i always liked that beat of a very isolated extremely intelligent character drawn into a warped sense of righteousness- it’s also very consistent of dumbledore to believe he’s doing the best for someone when he’s not really thinking about that at all, which is the case with his sister. obviously his family’s story is tragic, and then he gets pulled into this fake vision of a better world, validated in his brilliance, and then there’s his mother’s death, and then his sister, and suddenly it’s all come crashing down and he spends the next years of his life slowly realizing he’s the only one who can stop a project he might have been overseeing once. aberforth lays into him for it, and fair enough, but jesus, what a shitty spot to be in fresh out of hogwarts. i don’t know if it’s because i’m an older sibling, but i can understand the horrible burden of knowing that it’s always on you to think of yourself second, even when you’re inches away from the best thing in your life.

getting sidetracked- the question was about sirius and dumbledore. the thing abt LMV is that i try to keep my own opinions out of it; the marauders-dumbledore dynamic is a difficult one. they all respect him endlessly, and in school i think they adored him, but as a wartime leader it gets complicated. i think in canon their relationship was better, just a little strained (and a little more for others) bc of his style of leadership- you know, keeping secrets, playing games etc. in LMV, though, his machinations got them personally into some shit, so i wagered things would be more terse. james i think thinks most positively of him, as he is wont to do so, except where he is somehow at odds with sirius, because his loyalties there are clear and he is far more violently protective of sirius than he lets on. lily is a close second, because she’s a big picture thinker and gets how hard his job is, but she tends to be wary of his reasoning. remus is a more distrustful person by nature, and dumbledore using him for werewolf stuff wears him down. sirius is not a fan of authority, does not like secrets, and hates people using him as a pawn, so things are most strained for him, obviously. i think a lot of dumbledore introspection in LMV is from sirius’ POV, somewhat accidentally, so he gets a harsh rep.

to finally get to the specifics of your question: would dumbledore’s backstory get sirius to sympathise? arguably not much. sirius is a tricky guy, esp because i write him in a period that we know nothing about. he’s not a cocky slightly feral 15 year old, and he’s not a traumatised 30 something prison escapee; i try to get a plausible balance, so i don’t lend sirius in LMV so much of OOTP sirius’ world-weary wisdom. he’s 21, and in a war where the other side are wizard nazis he’s mostly related to somehow; he sees things in blacks and whites almost necessarily. so either you’re good or bad, trustworthy or not. peter crossed the threshold, so he’s dead to him; regulus turned himself in, but he’s one of them, so sirius doesn’t know what to do with him. sirius might understand how hard it is to have younger siblings you love fiercely who don’t understand your commitment to a higher goal, but dumbledore was on the wrong side of things that time, so i don’t think he would draw any sympathetic parallels- i don’t see why he of all people would feel bad for where dumbledore’s youthful aspirations of wizarding supremacy lead him, despite his good intentions. he’s not very forgiving of bigotry, i think especially because he’s cut all ties with his own background so harshly.

tldr; i feel for the guy, and his life was fucked, but sirius probably would not, and dumbledore got enough unwarranted hero worship considering his dodgy actions that i don’t resent sirius for holding that grudge.

#qui repond #lmv #sirius #dumbledore #meta #hp #so loong

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writingamongtheroses-archive · 4 years

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Showtime- Chapter 4

@andiwriteunderthemoon, @the-starlight-chills

The Strings

Liza ran through the halls of the restaurant. Her small body, too small to be hers, hurt with every step. She didn't want to be caught! Her hopes soared when she saw the door. She prepared to open it and escape into the cool night...

It slammed shut.

"No!"

She struggled with it furiously, staring at the tall figure outside. Even though their face was cast in shadow, she could see his smile. "Help me!" she screamed, blinking the blood that started to roll down her face out of her eyes. But he didn't move.

Paws grabbed her and yanked her back. Liza turned to see who it was.

The thing from the present was staring down at her. It held a controller in its hands, the strings connected to her. The controller disappeared, but the strings didn't. The thing floated closer...until something dropped over her head.

She let out a cry, trying vainly to pull it off. But her hands wouldn't move!

Xlnv orggov lmv...

"There. That's better."

-_-

Liza awoke with a gasp and the distinct feeling of being watched. Oh no, what time was it-

A hand sealed itself over her mouth, stalling her gasps for air. "Hush, Liza, you must be quiet." a voice said from above her. "We don't want to draw attention." It sounded like a young girl. But...she looked up.

The first thing she noticed was that there was a teenage girl, just sitting next to her. The second and third thing she noticed was that she wasn't sitting and she was translucent. The blonde girl was scanning the room. "I don't think they've moved yet..." She looked down and they met eyes. There was a long moment where they stared at each other before she opened her mouth. "Can you see me?"

Liza managed to nod without screaming. The girl- el fantasma- stared a moment longer before she let out a squeal. She managed to catch(?) the girl when she dove onto her, hugging Liza. "You can see me!"

The woman blinked. "Um...do I know you?"

"Nope, I died before you were born, but I've been with you for a while..." Well, that confirmed the ghost part.

"Ahem."

Liza glanced over. This time, she did scream at the sight of the present thing, just staring at her. She managed to catch her breath. "I- You're real."

"Yes, and so are you." The voice was soft and very matter-of-fact about it. It had a tinge of a Spanish accent to a voice that kinda sounded like the inside of a grandfather clock. Instead of the red chin and blue streaks, the face was painted to look more like a Calavera skull. Liza let out a yelp, jumping back. It gave a surprised jerk before leaning forward, raising a hand.

"Calm down." the ghost girl whispered in her ear. "Puppet just wants to help."

"Listen to your friend." The 'Puppet' gave her another look over. "And please, Night Guard, do refrain from shouting. You do not want to give yourself a migraine."

"I, what-" Liza sat back down, staring at the Puppet. The hard cement grounded her into reality. She wasn't dead, talking to some type of puppet in a present box, and there was a ghost girl that looked vaguely familiar. Okay. She took in a breath.

"On your tenth birthday, you suffered an accident that damaged your brain. Your brain managed to be stitched back together, but you suffer from migraines, headaches, and mood swings from the brain damage." It rattled off the info like it was reading from a book. "You take a cocktail of drugs to deal with the damage, but you are annoyed by it and try your best to ignore the damage. Foolish, but very interesting."

She stared. "I've lost my mind." Puppet and Ghost Girl exchanged looks as she managed a shaky laugh. "Yep. I've finally lost it." It gave her a rather cold look and moved to retreat into the box. "Wha- Hey!" To her surprise, it did pause. "You...you fixed my arm." Liza groaned, trying to remember everything. It would help make this entire thing less creepy. "Why?"

"You are the Night Guard."

"That doesn't answer my question."

"For now, it will do. I will aid you. Good night, Night Guard." Without another word, the Puppet disappeared into the box. The music box clicked to a stop- Liza wasn't even aware it had been playing. She stared at it.

"I think that's all you're gonna get." Ghost Girl whispered.

She nodded, checking her watch. 11:50.

It was time for her third shift.

-_-

"So...here's the office, I guess."

It had taken a bit of maneuvering to get the present box and the music box both. Liza set the present on the floor with a satisfied huff and no idea what to do next. Ghost Girl was poking around, looking at everything. "They've changed it since I was last here," she said finally, settling on a cabinet.

"And that was...?" Liza tried. After a moment of thought, she picked up the box and set it on what little space there was on the desk. She collapsed into her chair with a sigh, glancing at the box. It had been an instinct to grab the present and the music box. She still had questions for the Puppet.

"Oh, fifteen years ago."

"Huh. Alright." Liza stared at the present on the cramped desk. Who needed that many TVs? Tomorrow night, she could come in early and try to get some order out of the mess. "So, do you have a name?" She didn’t want to keep calling her Ghost Girl- it sounded rude.

"You can call me Doll."

Midnight came.

On cue, her phone rang. It was her actual phone, which made her startle. She pulled it out- 5 missing messages and one voicemail. She prayed that none were from her tio or, she shuddered at the thought, Lynn. Then she wouldn't have to worry about the animatronics.

Thankfully, none of it was from Rafael or Lynn. They were all from Mr. Calworth- why was he calling her? She played the voicemail. "Um...Miss Dorado, I just wanted to check in on you. The morning cleaning crew arrived this morning and said you were missing. Y-Your car was still parked outside. If you called for a ride, that's fine, but please inform us...give me a call when you can! Bye!" He sounded nothing like the confident man that had hired her.

"Oh my god," Liza said after a moment of silent gaping. "That cabrón thought I died!" This wasn't to check in on her, this was to cover the restaurant's ass! She immediately saved the message. By leaving the message, the restaurant was clearing any incrimination of them knowing what the hell was going on. It was like a setup. But more a 'just in case set-up' than anything else. This stroked the flames of annoyance in her- crap, had she taken her medicine?

Her thoughts immediately derailed from her expensive meds to stay alive when she checked the tablet and saw everyone had immediately left the stage. "Think they remember last night?" she asked Doll and the present. Neither answered. "That's what I thought," she said with a little nod.

It was hardly a minute later before Liza had to throw herself across the office to grab the remote and slam the east hall door on Rex. She let out a sigh of relief. "Too close." she sighed.

Of course, that was when the night decided to turn itself on its head.

"CLOSE! I'll show you close, stupid meat sack!" The voice was electronic and male and very annoyed. None of the character was taken away by its muffled tone. "Open up!" Liza gaped through the door window at Rex, the remote clattering out of her hand. "You're not playing fair!" he yelled.

"And you're not supposed to TALK!" She screeched, immediately backing up. Rex cocked his head in confusion at the answer, white and neon green fur moving with it, instead of the usual screaming. Liza backpedaled quickly, bumping into something. She nearly shot back into the office but was stopped by an lavender and orange hand. It was very large and very frightening. She bit down on the inside of her cheek to stop herself from screaming and drawing everyone else in the office.

"Kitty!" Rex whined. "Open the door on my side!" He whined until Kitty-Cat could grab the remote and open the door. It took some maneuvering but she managed, yanking Liza out of the seat and into her arms.

"Better, Rex?" she said sweetly.

"Much better!" He swaggered into the office, grinning at the squirming and screechy Liza.

Until she kicked out during her squirming, hitting him right in the chin. Rex let out a rather dog-like yelp, stumbling back and holding his chin as if he was in pain. Liza had a brief moment of satisfaction until the world turned upside down and her glasses fell off, Kitty now holding her by an ankle. "Are you okay?!" the cat asked, ignoring the human's pleas to be put down.

"Oh, you are so gonna get it-"

"Bajame-!"

"Ye didn't check Treasure Cove, landlubber, now you must-"

"Dios mío," Liza said into her hands. "Es una fiesta."

Captain Bun screeched to a stop at the sight of the group. "Aw, ye got her already!" Her ears flattened against her head. "Shame. I wanted the honors meself." She cocked her head when she noticed Rex still rubbing his jaw. "What's with ye?"

"She kicked me." he groaned, sounding very much like a grumpy teenager.

"She did, so Rex deserves the honors!" Kitty said. "Anyway, it's finders stuffers."

"Finders keepers," Liza said in English, deciding to save her energy as she dangled. "It's finders keepers."

"It's the same thing," Kitty said with a too-human shrug. Rex sniggered.

"Dios mío," Liza repeated, burying her face back in her hands. Sure, it was childish, but she deserved it, maldita sea. Heck, she would probably blow a raspberry at these cabróns before being stuffed. Because of her state of bemoaning her fate, she didn't notice Bun notice the present box.

"...Hold yer fire there, Kitpup."

"Why?!"

"What's wrong, Bun?"

Liza looked up from her hands when she felt Kitty's grip loosen. The pirate was pointing to the present box. Despite the eyes staring at it, it looked nothing more than a gift. It looked like taking it with her was a good idea.

"What? Wait, she found it?!" Kitty's voice was a tad bit higher as she dropped Liza. She let out a grunt when her head hit the floor. She grabbed her fallen glasses, shoving them on as she scrambled into her chair. She couldn't get past them to escape, so she settled for gripping the back of the chair and keeping it between her and these characters.

"It's probably a mistake like last time!" Rex said, reaching for Liza. "We'll just deal with her now and save Puppet the trouble-" He froze when the music box started to play. It was still twinkling, but the notes were sharp and warning. The dog drew back, properly chastised.

"Well..." Bun said, examining Liza with her eyes. "Ted isn't going to like this."

#heartbeat #heartbeat series #wip #writblr #writeblr

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rickklane · 7 years

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Book Review: “The Songs of Trees” by David G. Haskell

May 11th, 2017|0 Comments

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Background photo credit: Chuck Fazio

In his newly released book “The Songs of Trees”, Pulitzer finalist David George Haskell takes on complicated subjects like ethics and science through the lens of twelve trees around the world. Visiting trees thriving in completely wild spaces, those surviving within the human world, and even the remains of trees that once were, Haskell seeks what he calls “ecological kleos,” or his interpretation of the combined measure and memories of these great trees.

American Forests team members Lindsey Miller-Voss and Doyle Irvin had the chance to review an advance copy of the book and are here to share their impressions.

Lindsey: Overall, I found my favorite part of the book to be Haskell’s ability to transport the reader to locations of each tree he was exploring. The book starts with the Ceiba tree, where Haskell speaks of moss in flight and the leaves of plants speaking the rain’s language. When capturing the balsam fir, he described growth “so thick that no person could pass without a severe exfoliation,” and later he describes the sun-hammered and parched streets of Jerusalem. Some of the tree locations I’ve visited personally, and his imagery matched my memories perfectly.

Doyle: It was definitely a captivating way to begin the book! I enjoyed how Haskell started the chapter on hazel trees with saying “The tree’s remains are swathed in plastic and enclosed in a cardboard sarcophagus.” Dramatic, I originally thought, and I was wrong — he is absolutely correct, here, when he renders with such morbid imagery. The chapter ended up being utterly fascinating. Starting with his own identification of 10,000-year-old charcoal as derived from hazel just by looking at it, he then follows the intermingling of human and hazel interaction since the last ice age, showing how the two species have been codependent in the region for the entirety of their occupancy. “People and hazel arrived in the region at about the same time … [the forests] have lived in relationship with people from their origins in glacial rumble through to the present day.” Our species relied on hazel trees for fuel and food, is his point — a matter of life and death in freezing Scotland.

LMV: I also loved the aptly named “interludes,” one of which describes the difference in sounds and vibrations from two pieces of maple. In his first attempts to discern a difference, Haskell falls short, only to later recognize the subtle contrast between a bright, open sound, and one tinged with turbidity. We readers later understand the significance of these differences, as Haskell recounts a luthier giving second life to these wooden pieces as parts of a violin, which I find to be a beautiful story of rebirth and possibility.

DI: He also covers the process of energy production, from stone hearths in the Mesolithic era to power plants in the modern age, drawing special attention to the booming biomass industry. “We are as dependent on fire as were the people of the Mesolithic,” Haskell writes, “but now we stand at a great distance from the hearth.”

Final Thoughts?

LMV: This is a great read for those wanting to be swept away to new locations while gaining a greater appreciation for the impact a single tree can have. Haskell’s lyrical depiction of temperatures 40 degrees below zero while visiting the balsam fir will also go a long way in easing the rising temperatures for summer readers!

DI: I found his writing at times equally terrifying as it is enthralling. People will definitely love this book!

The author graciously provided American Forests with an excerpt from his chapter on the green ash:

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—

There is life after death, but it is not eternal. Death does not end the networked nature of trees. As they rot away, dead logs, branches, and roots become focal points for thousands of relationships. At least half of the other species in the forest find food or home in or on the recumbent bodies of fallen trees.

In the tropics, soft-wooded trees pyre their bodies in rapid, smokeless blazes of bacteria, fungi, and insects. Their fallen logs seldom last longer than a decade. Tropical trees with denser, heavier wood linger for a half century at most. The process of decay takes much longer in the acid cold of a near-Arctic bog. There a tree measures the river of its afterlife in spoonfuls fed to patient microbes over millennia. Between the extremes of tropics and poles, in the midlatitudes, a downed tree in a temperate forest might live in death as long as it stood in life.

Before its fall, a tree is a being that catalyzes and regulates conversations in and around its body. Death ends the active management of these connections. Root cells no longer send signals to the DNA of bacteria, leaves end their chemical chatter with insects, and fungi receive no more messages from their host. But a tree never fully controlled these connections; in life the tree was only one part of its network. Death decenters the tree’s life but does not end it.

When a being— a person, a tree, a chickadee— full of memory, conversation, and connection dies, the network of life loses a hub of intelligence and life. For those closely linked to the deceased, the loss is acute. An ecological analog of grief unfolds in the forest: for the other creatures that depend on living trees, death ends the relationship that gave them life. The living tree’s partners and foes must all find a new live tree or they will themselves die. Much of the understanding of the forest that dwells embedded in these relationships also passes away. The trees’ particular knowledge of the nature of light, water, wind, and living communities, gained through a lifetime of interaction in one location in the forest, dissolves.

Yet by catalyzing new life in and around their bodies, dead trees bring about new connections and thus new life. This creative process is not didactic or preceptive. The tree does not pass on what it knew, re‑creating a new version of itself. Rather, around and inside the tree, death brings about thousands of interactions, each one exploring ecological opportunity. From this unmanaged, uncontrolled multitude, the next forest emerges, composed of new knowledge embedded in new relationships.

David George Haskell (@dghaskell), is the author of the newly released “The Songs of Trees,” an exploration of science and ethics through the lives of a dozen trees around the world. He is a professor of biology at Sewanee, and is the author of “The Forest Unseen,” winner of the 2013 National Academies’ Best Book Award and a Pulitzer finalist.

Excerpt from “The Songs of Trees” by David George Haskell, published on April 4, 2017 by Viking, an imprint of Penguin Publishing Group, a division of Penguin Random House LLC. Copyright by David George Haskell, 2017.

The post Book Review: “The Songs of Trees” by David G. Haskell appeared first on American Forests.

from American Forests http://www.americanforests.org/blog/book-review-songs-trees-david-g-haskell/

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unworldy-words-blog · 7 years

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As a little girl my favorite outfit was a white dress that my grandma had embroidered daisies on. It had a white lace hem, which never failed to get snagged on the weeds of the field I would run around in. I had red cowgirl boots, I don't remember them ever having been shiny, and a french braid in my hair. My uncle Brandon was as tall as any tree and he called me his little witch. He told me that I made the flowers grow. He told me that they grew only so my nose could smell them and only so my mouth could taste them. I was too young to know that the honeysuckles grew wild there. Every night he would run in circles with me, catching lightening bugs. Every day we would sit on grandma's good quilts and he would pluck flowers for me to eat. He was my hero. I was his pride and joy. When he married my aunt Tamara I knew I was born to the wrong family. She called me her little girl. She took me to the ocean and told me that I made the waves come. She told me that the ocean loved me so much, that it made its way closer each minute so it could kiss me again and again. I was too young not to believe her. This isnt poetry and this isnt elegant text on page with the purpose of drawing you in. This is me. This is me holding onto a love that consumed me. This is me alone at midnight not remembering what home smells like. This is me only imagining my papaw saying "Sandy, smells like something is burning" and not actually hearing his voice. This is me wondering why Brandon cheated on Tamara. Why their divorce hurt me more than my own parents. This is me begging my papaw to sing "I'll fly away" just one more time on the drive home from church. This is me crying in the car when every time we drove up the hills on the way home from town we only got further from the moon. This is me. Wanting to see that little green eyed blond in red boots with yellow flowers on her dress and another yellow flower sticking out of her mouth. This is a grown up woman homesick for a childhood, long gone. This is not poetry. These are not words mean for you. This is me.

lmv. When I miss Kentucky. So. Much.

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