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lifeofkaze · 8 hours

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Andre really is a scene stealer but you know what else is? Your ability to inject big feelings when you don't expect them.

Pen and Artemis have come such a long way together and that bracelet is just so Penny and so Artemis at the same time and.... sigh. I love this, alright?

Penny’s Special Day

A/N: Artemis in formalwear never goes smoothly. A delayed WBW instalment, based on this ask from @drinkyoursoupbitch:

The dress in the story was entirely inspired by the one in the photo above. As for choosing it, though…

Warnings: None.

A long time had passed since Artemis had last been to the Haywoods’ family home. The house was larger and brighter than the one she herself had grown up in, with a garden that stretched all the way around its walls, and a driveway on which a Muggle car was parked. The street outside the front gate was wide and tree-lined, and three children were riding bicycles up and down the length of it. There were rolling hills in the near-distance, so green and calm that it was hard to believe that London was only a stone’s throw away.

Everything about the house’s exterior was neat and polished in appearance, from the short grass to the paint on the front door. Artemis smoothed down her hair and clothes before knocking. A moment later, a figure appeared in the frosted glass of the door, which opened to reveal a young witch with butterscotch-blonde hair and legs that went up higher than Artemis’ waist.

“Long time, no see,” said the witch. She cocked an eyebrow and grinned mischeivously. “Are you emotionally ready for this?”

“As ready as I’ll ever be, Bea.”

“Then, by all means, come on in.”

Artemis followed Beatrice Haywood inside the house, moving quickly to keep up with her long strides.

“Everyone’s in the living room, we’ve all finished getting ready. Except for Penny, obviously, she’s still in her room making herself pretty,” Bea explained as she led Artemis through the hallway and up the stairs, the pale pink material of her dress swishing around her legs as she moved. “You can get ready in the spare bedroom, if you like, as long as you don’t mind sharing with all of Tonks and Chiara’s stuff.”

“Not at all.” Artemis was used to that, having shared a room with both Tonks and Chiara at school.

“It’s a bit of a sardines situation. I’ve had Aurélie in my room with me, and Skye and Lizzie are sharing the study.”

Artemis frowned. “There are a lot of us, aren’t there?”

“What were you expecting? This is Penny we’re talking about.”

“Let me guess, she couldn’t pick so asked everyone she knew?”

“A bit of that, but also she just wanted all of it, and it is Penny’s special day, after all.” Bea stopped in her tracks and widened her eyes. “Oh, but you must know that it is actually very lucky to have seven bridesmaids,” she said in a high-pitched and breathless voice, before snorting. “Honestly, I am just looking forward to tomorrow when this is all over. Anyway, you’re in here. Chuck your dress on and I’ll steal Andre off Penny to do your hair and make up for you.”

Bea nodded her head at a coat hanger floating in mid-air in the corner of the room, from which a padded material bag was hanging. Artemis took the bag from the coat hanger, lay it out on the bed, and opened it. Immediately, she pulled a face.

“Everything alright?”

Artemis wrinkled her nose at the dress. “It’s a bit pink, isn’t it?”

“Tell me about it.” Bea sighed. “But it’s what Penny wanted us all to wear.”

Managing to pull her eyes away from the sea of whitish-pink fabric on the bed, Artemis took another look at Beatrice. She was wearing the exact same colour, the exact same dress, as the one in front of her. Despite the colour, it looked quite nice on her. Maybe the dress wouldn’t look so bad once Artemis put it on.

Unfortunately, her first impression was proved to be correct once she stood in the mirror. Not only was the dress pink, but there was both an awful lot of it, and yet not enough. The skirt, which came down to her mid-shin, had layers of a mesh material beneath the main fabric that caused it to stick out slightly from Artemis’ waist like a ballerina. Though the bodice was tight, it did not have any sleeves to hold it up, and Artemis barely dared to move in case the entire dress slid down her body to the floor.

“I know Penny chose them, but—”

“Yes, you do have to wear it. We all do,” said Bea. “I wouldn’t have chosen it, either, but I’ve come around now.”

“That’s easy for you to say. You actually look alright in it, I just look like a meringue.” Artemis took a deep breath. “Hopefully Andre can do something to make it look better.”

But Andre’s response to the sight of Artemis in the dress did nothing to fill her with confidence.

“Oh, dear.” He grimaced as he looked her up and down. “Oh, no.”

“The dress is horrible, isn’t it?” said Artemis. To her surprise, Andre shook his head.

“The dress is lovely, Artemis. It just looks horrible on you.”

“Brilliant. Can you make it look good on me?”

Andre laughed. “Darling, I can do make up. I can do magic. I cannot work miracles.”

He conjured a chair out of mid-air and pushed the now-scowling Artemis down to sit in it in front of the mirror. Confronted with her own face, it was painfully obvious how tired she looked, with her skin the grey-ish yellow of someone quite unwell.

“That’s the colour of the fabric,” Andre informed her, when she pointed this out to him. “It does absolutely nothing for your skin tone. You look even more washed out than poor old Tonks, but I don’t think that had anything to do with her dress.”

Artemis did not reply. Tonks’ skin had been pale and her hair mousey all month, ever since her new not-quite-a-boyfriend had unceremoniously ended things with her, but Artemis didn’t want to be the one to pass on that piece of gossip - especially not if Penny hadn’t already done so. Andre was apparently non-plussed by Artemis’ reticence.

“Still, that’s what a good foundation and blush is for,” he carried on. “And it could be worse. At least you don’t have that tragic fringe anymore.” He sighed. “Honestly, darling, I’m surprised no one guessed it was all going tits up with Davies, what with that cry for help attached to your forehead...”

By the time Andre had finished with Artemis’ hair and make-up, she may have still resembled a meringue, but at least she no longer looked so sickly.

“And are you sure there’s nothing you can do to make the dress look better?” she asked Andre. “Maybe put some sleeves on it, or something?”

“Like I said, darling, the problem isn’t with the dress. And besides, this is what Penny wants, and it is Penny’s special day. Talking of which, the bride asked me to send you to her room once I was done. She has her own idea for a finishing touch for you.”

Artemis wasn’t sure she wanted any more input from Penny on her outfit, but she could hardly say no. She made her way across to Penny’s old bedroom, still decorated the way she remembered it from their teenage years, with gingham curtains and white broderie bedsheets and a small collection of toy horses on one of the bookshelves.

In the middle of it all was Penny herself, dressed in a white dress that skimmed over her body and pooled on the carpet. A silver tiara perched on top of her hair, which was intricately braided back from her face and fell down her back in waves of golden honey. Her eyes were bluer and her cheeks rosier than Artemis had ever seen them before.

“Wow,” said Artemis. “You look…”

She had been about to say ‘pretty’, but that wasn’t right. Penny had always been pretty, but today she looked more than just pretty. Today she looked…

“Beautiful. You look beautiful, Pen.”

Penny smiled, both genuinely and nervously. “You really think so?”

“I know so.”

“And you definitely can’t tell at all?”

Penny looked down at her abdomen, the gentle bulge of which was hidden by the flowing material of the dress. She exhaled as Artemis shook her head, clearly relieved. Artemis stepped towards her.

“Andre said we needed to get our last something from you before we leave.”

“Oh, yes. I’ve had something made for each of you to wear today, and to keep after, if you wanted to. You don’t have to keep it, of course, but I wanted to give you each something. Here.”

Penny sat down on her old bed, and tapped the bedcover next to her. Artemis sat beside her, and Penny summoned a small satin pouch from her dressing table. She handed it to Artemis, who opened it and tipped its contents into the palm of her hand.

The item inside the pouch was a dainty silver bracelet, designed to look like a branch or vine with slim leaves made out of green jewels.

“I know it’s silver, but you can turn it gold after today is finished,” said Penny, as she looped the bracelet around Artemis’ wrist and fastened it. “And the gems are emeralds. I thought that they’d match the green in your eyes, and they’re your birthstone, you know? And the leaves, well… I asked the lady to make them look like rowan leaves. I hope you don’t mind.”

Artemis blinked and shook her head, almost rendered speechless.

“Of course I don’t mind,’ she managed to say. “I… I love it. Thank you, Penny.”

But Penny shook her head. “No, it’s to thank you, silly!”

“For what?”

“For being my bridesmaid, of course.”

“All I had to do was turn up and put on a dress.”

This seemed a bad point in time to mention how much she hated her dress, so Artemis did not mention it. Penny sighed.

“It’s more than that, though,” she said. “You’ve been one of my best friends for years. For half my life, would you believe it? And you still are, even now, even though we… Well, we are rather different, aren’t we?”

This was undeniably true. Artemis nodded. “Yeah, I guess we are.”

“I know that you don’t always understand me, and I know I definitely don’t always understand you, and that we both exasperate one another at times. It would have been easy for us to have grown apart once we left school, and I’m so glad that we haven’t.” Penny’s smile was still strong, but there were tears in her eyes. “I really do love you, you know.”

“I love you too, Pen,” said Artemis. As Penny hugged her, she heard her sniff, and could feel tears stinging her own eyes. “But don’t cry about it. You’ll ruin your make up and then Andre will kill us both.”

“Oh, goodness, you’re right.” Penny broke apart from Artemis and blinked rapidly. “There’s no time for it to be redone, either. We have to go. Would you mind helping with my train on the stairs?”

Artemis frowned as she looked around the room. “Train? What train?”

It turned out Penny was talking about the long material of her dress, which Artemis held up behind her as they made their way down the staircase of the Haywood’s house. In the hallway downstairs, Penny’s parents, sister, Andre, and the other five bridesmaids applauded at the sight of the bride descending the stairs to join them. Penny’s mother had tears in her eyes, there wasn’t even a hint of mockery in Beatrice’s smile, Chiara had a little colour in her usually pale cheeks, and Tonks had managed to inject a strawberry blonde hue into her mousey locks.

At the very bottom of the stairs, there was a narrow mirror, and Artemis caught a glimpse of her own reflection in her periphery as she passed it on her way to join the other bridesmaids, each wearing a slightly different variation of the bracelet Penny had just given her. She couldn’t say that she was any more enamoured with her dress, or that she looked any less like a meringue, but she could at least say that she looked like part of a team, a team that Penny had chosen herself based on years of friendship and fidelity, of shared experiences and shared laughter and shared love. It was a shame that Penny had chosen this dress for them all to wear, of course, but it was Penny’s choice, at the end of the day.

“It’s Penny’s special day,” Artemis muttered to herself, so quietly that no one else would hear her little reminder, before joining the rest of the bridal party to celebrate the happiness of her friend.

#hphm #hogwarts mystery #artemis hexley #penny haywood #soup fairy #I'm in my nostalgic feels now great

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lifeofkaze · 9 hours

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New project announcement…

From The Vaults: The Hexley Saga (Not Artemis’s Version)

It’s the 1st of May again, which means it’s my favourite May Queen’s birthday! To celebrate, I’m announcing my new project: a collection of short stories/vignettes set during the Hexley Saga, told from the perspectives of characters other than Artemis.

Who is going to decide what stories go in, and from which characters? Easy — YOU!

If you would like to know about another character’s perspective on a scene, or what they were doing in their own lives whilst Artemis was busy messing around with one of the Vaults, let me know by hitting the ask button and submitting a request.

So far, I have done three of these: Rowan’s version of her first meeting with Artemis, Charlie dealing with the aftermath of the Frog Spawn Soap Incident of 1989, and Jacob’s release from the Portrait Vault. I have two more planned based on prompts from recent ask game/challenges, but aside from that… the ball is in your court!

#stopping before I get a assumed spam ban #again #but this IS fun #the Hexley Saga #is a comfort place like no other

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lifeofkaze · 1 day

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Idk who’s more in love with this ship - Ominis or I 🥹

Io had grown beautiful over the summer. Of course, everyone told him so. But he knew it to be true for himself, too. Her skin was smooth. Her body curved just so about the waist under the satin of her dress. Her arms were soft and supple, yet strong. Her silky hair smelled beautifully of roses. And her voice was sweet, even peppered as it was with sailor's vocabulary. The occasional swear added spice, like red pepper in honey.

Most surprising of all, for a self-described bull in a chinashop, she was an excellently graceful dance partner. She matched his movements so fluidly, it felt like floating.

She didn't need to sit down, to catch her breath, to dance slowly for fear of triggering new bouts of pain.

No, Io was sturdy, healthy, vibrant, ruddy, and alive - so very alive. She was turning into a woman with a future of infinite possibilities. The threat of a curse and an early death didn't loom like a monstrosity over Io Gordon. And he hated himself for liking it - dare he say, preferring it?

With a nagging guilt, he took the next dance with her, and then the next. He wanted to pretend, just a moment longer, that a spark had struck between them. To enjoy the thrill of being a boy holding an extraordinarily pretty girl in his arms as they waltzed in time to the heady music.

Working on Io and Ominis and enjoying them so much, I thought I'd share

#beautiful #absolutely beautiful

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lifeofkaze · 1 day

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@kc-the-writer is this Pendleton coded, or is this Pendleton coded?

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lifeofkaze · 1 day

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🎼 gimme some fic, boys, to feed my soul I wanna read plots that fill canon's holes and soothe my pain 🎶

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lifeofkaze · 2 days

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Happy WBW! I'm fairly sure you've joked about writing a story about Alan the ferret in the past. But if you WERE to do so, what sort of ideas do you have on a possible plotline for the lil guy? - @hphmmatthewluther

Hiiiiii, and SORRY for taking so long to answer this ask.

Life has been... uhm... well 😅😅😅

Anyhow - it's funny that you should mention the Alan 'series' - I've heard quite some people asking me about it over the last couple of weeks. Lil dude has a solid fan base (and who could blame them).

So originally, the Alan series was supposed to feature Alan the Ferret's experiences and thoughts during Selene's time of travel as a self-made/taught dark arts expert. It was supposed to be in a sort of postcard style, mostly addressed to Ethel Hexley (because duh).

Unfortunately, Alan's godmother @the-al-chemist and I fooled around some a whole ferret-lifetime ago and wrote a heartbreakingly funny sad scene describing Alan's viking funeral (there's even a poem *somewhere* in our chat history) and timeline-wise, it only made sense for this to happen while Selene and Ethel were still at school. So... no Ferret Travel Guide to Ancient Tombs, I'm afraid.

*If* I *were* to write a series on Alan now - which I MOST DEFINTELY will not be doing under any circumstances whatseover - it would feature Alan's perspective on Selene and their brief but wonderful life together, and their even better and much longer non-life (seeing as Alan returns as the Ferret Ghost of Fraser Hall). He would like to tell of his rivalry with Selene's Uncle Mortimer, his undead companionship with Henry Lovecraft, but mostly, he would love to tell of all the other people he has loved and protected as his family - of Caitlin, and Lexie and Michael. Of Lizzie. And of course of Reva and of Dylan.

He would love people to know that Selene has lived on, even long after she has gone and that as long as his little ghostly paws trod the halls of Fraser Hall, she will never be forgotten.

#wbw #ask game #writer asks #alan the ferret #selene fraser #hphl #hogwarts legacy

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lifeofkaze · 2 days

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Cherry Red

Find the whole DarkNoir fun here.

Based on this ask by the fantastic @drinkyoursoupbitch

A/N: The last bit of the DarkNoir!AU (for now) naturally brings my favourite couple of them all. The amount of obsession I have developed for this version of them is entirely unhealthy, but what's new. Warning: dark noir world weariness, allusion to drugs and prostitution.

The annual horse show - the start to a new season of gambling, a prelude to the vicious cycle of seeing and being seen and spending so much money it would comfortably feed a family of four in less than an hour - has just ended. The privileged few with enough money to matter have now assembled at the glamorous afterparty held in one of the most exclusive country clubs in town.

The privileged few, and me.

I keep to the side of the room, to the shadows cast by the twinkling chandelier suspended from the ceiling. Its fragmented light dances over the party guests talking about the day’s purchases and the latest gossip in a world open only to the not-so-lucky-few in attendance. I cast a weary look around the room. Through the haze of blue smoke, all I see are forced smiles on the gentlemen’s faces, and bored looks on the diamond-draped women clutching either their husband’s arms, their champagne glasses, or both.

So much glitz on the outside, so much dullness underneath.

Leaning casually against the wall, I find amusement in how the curious looks are dropped as soon as I meet them, but it is a grim kind. No matter how expensive my borrowed suit may look, I don’t fit here, and I know it. They know it, too, but that is what’s drawing their eye. I’m an outsider invading their secret circle, an attraction to be gobbled at. No one wants to admit it, but they are all slavering for their turn to talk to me. To do business with me. Money can only get you so much, but it can provide distraction and diversion to the vapidness of life - which is precisely what I’m here for.

I nod discreetly at the gentleman who has just left me with his head held high and a haunted look in his eyes, turning my attention back to the crowd who all pretend they haven’t noticed. Business has been going slow so far but I’m not concerned. The night is young, and people need their time to loosen up. It’s a tough business, riding out the high of spending thousands with a snap of their fingers. When they’re ripe for a new one, I’ll be here waiting for them.

The evening draws on. The vials hidden in the pocket of my jacket begin to dwindle, each replaced by a roll of banknotes that make conversation with the swanky snobs almost bearable, and the flirting of their bejewelled banshees slightly less pathetic. I nod obediently at the men and give the women with their fake smiles and real diamonds a deep look into their heavily painted eyes, every single time.

The things you do for business.

I have already given up hope of anything interesting but money rolling in when the doors open and a couple that is arriving late is led into the room. It’s the man I see first - combed back, sand-coloured hair, a suit more expensive than what I earn in several months, and a swagger that marks someone who is used to being made room for.

The woman by his side I instantly recognise. She is wearing a cherry red dress beneath a heavy fur coat, which gets taken from her shoulders by eager hands. The fabric of her dress - probably expensive as sin herself - shimmers in the light as she moves with a self-confidence that makes her look like she owns the world. Judging by the looks she’s receiving, she might as well. A tilt of her hand, the slightest raise of her red lips, and suddenly the light from the chandelier is rendered dull, and the gemstones of the women surrounding her have become lacklustre. The hint of a smile, and it’s her who lights up the room.

I watch as she follows her companion, accepting the champagne flute she is handed by her companion with a graceful bow of her head. He talks to her, and even from across the room, I can’t stop looking at the movement of her lips as she laughs. She puts her hand on him - well-placed, fleeting touches, never enough to raise eyebrows, always enough to not let him forget she is there. As if someone like her could be forgotten.

I know the man who has bought her company for the night; a lawyer from a well-established family. Rumour has it, he is in the run-up for a spot in the government. It surprises me that he risks being seen with her, out in public. But then again… what screams power more than a woman like her by his side and not a care in the world? Another touch, another smile. She has only eyes for him and him alone but even so I’m sure she knows that I am here. She always does.

As the music swells, the man takes her hand and leads her to the middle of the room, where other couples have gathered for a dance. She gives him a coy smile as he places his hand on her waist, the slightest bit too low for my taste. She shifts her hand on his body as they dance, not inappropriately but if you look closely, you can spot her fingers lingering, brushing alongside his arm a tad too slowly to not be suggestive. It’s an act she has perfected - the teasing, the game, the promise of something every man in this room desperately wants, including me.

Once the music has stopped and the poor guys bloodying their hands for the indifferent applause of the elite are allowed to take a breather, I can’t take it any longer. I slip into the crowd, making my way to her and her companion. I only look at him as I approach. I give him a small nod and a smile, my eyes fixed on his. It’s not quite a challenge but no subordination either.

“May I ask for the next dance?”

His eyes harden, the look in them resembling disgust. I’m not fazed by it. He’s been buying off me for too long to refuse me. He knows that I know, and I can tell how much he hates it.

“I don’t think this is appropriate,” the woman speaks up in her suitor’s stead, her voice snide and dismissive. I bow my head, my eyes finding hers. The look in them would be unreadable to most but to me, the spark in them is clear as day.

“Darling, don’t be impolite,” her companion says, the condescending smile people like him suck up with their mother’s milk forming on his face. “It’s only one dance, is it not? You’ll be back with me before you know it.”

“I’m counting the minutes,” she breathes as he kisses her hand, giving him a deep look from beneath her lashes as he walks away. When he has gone, she turns to me.

“Mr Amari.”

“Miss Jameson.”

I extend my hand and she takes it, allowing me to draw her closer as the music starts again. She smells like jasmine and mint, the silk of her dress cool beneath my fingertips as I place my hand on her waist, exactly where her companion’s hand has been.

“I’m surprised you’re here, Mr Amari,” she says as she lets me lead her into the dance. I raise my eyebrows fractionally.

“I go where the money goes, Miss Jameson. What better place to be than a horse show? I could say the same of you,” I add after a moment. “You have been gone for quite some time. A peculiar choice of event to make your reappearance.”

Her laugh is quiet and melodious, and I mourn its loss as she stops to speak. “Nothing but a return to the scene as a glamorous party, isn’t there? I missed the glitz and glamour.”

“The glitz and glamour missed you.”

She hums as she comes closer for a moment, not a second longer than the music dictates her to. I feel the warmth of her against me, and when she withdraws I have to stop myself from following her.

“What would be glamorous about watching breeding mares prancing around to be traded off?”

“Are we still talking about horses?”

“What else would we be talking about?” The smirk on her red lips has turned bitter. She averts her eyes. “Aren’t we all wares to be sold?”

“How so?”

“You said it yourself - everyone in this room has come because of money, one way or another. It’s what drives us, all of us.”

“Some of us,” I correct her, slowly spinning her around, “but not you. You don’t need this.”

“Don’t I?”

I tear my eyes away from her face for a moment. The man she has arrived with is watching us like a hawk, his attention like the tip of a knife grazing my skin. It’s as if I can see the tendons on the side of his neck protruding even from where I dance with her. He is ready to step in should anyone dare to claim his prize. I pull her tighter against me.

“You turned up in some illustrious company tonight.”

“I guess.”

She sounds bored.

“He might get into parliament next term. You’re bound to be talked about.”

She pulls a face. “It’s not ideal. Boss told me I could say no but what was I supposed to do? He keeps requesting me, every time he books with us. He wouldn’t let off, not even when I… had gone for a while.”

“He’d be a fool not to,” I say, but the thought of him singling her out like that makes me uneasy. I don’t like it, but that’s the deal with her, has always been. She’s a light too bright to look at, and the moths are inevitably drawn to her.

The dance floor has become crowded, and we need to watch where we step. I take the opportunity to pull her close, closer than I would have dared otherwise. She lets me, and I feel her body flush against mine, those curves hidden by her red dress, and the soft skin of her neck, beneath which her pulse is throbbing rhythmically.

Suddenly, she moves to the side, pulling me along so that I come between her and the eyes of her watchdog. She raises her chin, breath brushing over my jawline as she whispers into my ear.

“Are you coming home tonight? The kids are missing their dad… and so am I.”

Her words stir something I keep hidden deep within, yet I guard my face carefully. My eyes flick over the people surrounding us. They all seem too preoccupied with themselves to have noticed anything but you never know. We always have to be careful. So very careful.

“I’ll try,” I whisper back, my words not more than an exhale. “Make sure that you are, too.”

Her lips part to respond but before she can do so, the music stops. It takes a considerable amount of willpower to step away from her. Her eyes don’t leave mine as I raise her hand to my lips and place a kiss on the back of it. As she withdraws, her fingers quickly close around the vial I have pressed into her palm.

“Be careful.”

Her lips draw into a wicked smile that makes her eyes sparkle. It’s like the fleeting look of softness in them has been nothing but a fever dream.

“Worried, Mr Amari?”

I don’t reciprocate her smile. “Always.”

“I can handle myself,” she says and shakes her head. Nonetheless, the small vial with the clear liquid inside vanishes beneath the hem of her gloves as she does so.

“I know. Just in case.”

“Just in case.” She steps away, her perfect mask of indifference already back in place. Her eyes drop from mine but I know what she’s saying, a whispered secret forbidden to any ears but mine. “Wait up for me tonight.”

Then she turns, and all I can do is watch her leave. It stings, having to watch her and her cherry red dress walk away, right into the arms of the other man waiting for her. But as long as I know who she will be walking back to, I can bear it.

Even if only just.

#hphm #hogwarts mystery #lizzie jameson #orion amari #dark noir au

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lifeofkaze · 2 days

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This ask was a god-sent. Soup God, we should call you now.

Have a snippet:

The room is crowded, the stale air stuffy with the stench of perfume and smoke. I know better than to mingle with the rich and famous. They suffer my presence among them - crave it, even - and yet my very being here is a testimony to both their boredom and their vices. They know it, and I do, too. What I don’t know is who is more disgusted by it. The annual horse show - the start to a new season of gambling, a prelude to the vicious cycle of seeing and being seen and spending so much money it would comfortably feed a family of four in less than an hour - has just ended. The privileged few with enough money to matter have now assembled at the glamorous afterparty held in one of the most exclusive country clubs in town. The privileged few, and me.

From "Cherry Red" - find the full version here.

#hphm #hogwarts mystery #lizzie jameson #orion amari #ask game #soup fairy

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lifeofkaze · 2 days

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May Writing Challenge

This May I want to get back into writing. I’m not at all consistent. I’m at a point where I don’t feel like I can work on bigger things, because I can’t guarantee myself to keep working on it in a week from now. So I will take this month as a training month to get back into the habit of writing. I will do this by writing (or trying to write) 200 words every day. Topic is irrelevant. How great my writing is that day is irrelevant. Just 200 words written down. A habit taking 21 days to form was debunked, it does take a lot longer, but 31 days are a start I would say. These are already 140 words, so 200 words every day are hopefully manageable. You're more than welcome to join me if you like 😊

#I may just try that #may #see what I did there #sorry I’ll see myself out

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lifeofkaze · 2 days

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Follow the spiders

Book 2: Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets

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lifeofkaze · 4 days

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Best 👏 ending 👏 ever 👏

The Stork, Obviously

This post inspired me to do something about my tomfoolery. It's not NSFW, but the conversation is about where babies come from and one of them is himbosexual. Make of that what you will. The matures are themes, my lord.

Sometime in April, 1995....

"Hey, Chridhe?"

Wendy leaned into the hallway, hanging off the bathroom doorframe with her toothbrush hanging out of her mouth. "Where do muggle babies come from?"

At the exact moment, Ben's body apparently decided to try a different route with the bite of jelly donut he'd just taken. He erupted into coughs, spraying black coffee from his mug across the kitchen table top.

Ned, who had been sitting next to him filching bites of the pastry, scuttled off the table in a flurry of little claws for cover in his nest.

"Ye alrigh'?" Wendy called over the running sink water in the bathroom and reemerged to hurry down the hall.

"Hrrrrrgghhhhh..." The donut was well and truly lodged in his trachea.

He couldn't breathe.

He stood and slapped the table, sending cutlery flying. As if that would help dislodge it.

"Oh shite, no yer not!" Wendy scrambled to the mantle and grabbed her wand. "Accio donut chunk!"

The spell yanked the offending foodstuff out of his throat, across the room, and into her palm.

"Bleeegh..." Wendy held her hand out as far from herself as possible as she marched to the sink to wash. "Can ye breathe?"

Ben nodded, leaning over the table to gasp for air. He wiped his streaming eyes with a kitchen towel that was left on the back of a dining chair. When he could finally speak again, he coughed out, "What did you ask me?"

"Where do muggle babies come from?" She said, shaking her wet hands over the sink.

All he could do was stare at his young wife in shock. Standing there in the glory of domestic bliss, curly blue hair tousled, wearing one of his shirts that barely covered the lacey edge of her pretty black underwear, was Wendy Gordon. The smartest woman he knew. And, she was asking where babies came from.

"Wendy, darling... last night we--"

"Obviously, I know where wizard babies come from." She shot him a cheeky smile over her shoulder as she set about charming the dishware to fix herself a giant mug of tea.

He continued to stare at her in bafflement. Perhaps even more baffling than her question, however, was the sudden desire to throw her over his shoulder and march her back down the hallway to their bedroom.

She must have read his mind because she squinted at him playfully. "What?"

"Nothing." He shrugged, sitting on the edge of the table and trying to look as innocent as possible.

"Ye think that's a stupid question, don't ye."

"I didn't say that."

Wendy studied him, using her mug to hide a flirty smile that made warmth bloom somewhere below his lungs.

"Stop it, Benjamin."

"Stop what?"

"Stop getting turned on when ye think I'm being dumb, ye weirdo!" She grabbed a banana from the fruit bowl behind her and chucked it at him.

The banana connected with his arm before he could grab his wand from the table. "It's endearing! I can't help it! Agh!" Another yellow fruit was lobbed at his head. This time, he sent it flying towards the couch with a wordless swish and flick.

Ned poked his glossy red head out from his basket on the windowsill over the sink and blinked beady eyes.

Wendy leaned conspiratorily towards the niffler, "I'm asking yer father a perfectly reasonable question--"

"Don't get him involved! It is NOT a reasonable question, Wendy." Ben threw up his hands, "My parents were muggles... Where do you think I came from?"

He really didn't want the involuntary image of his parents having intercourse on a Saturday morning. Or any morning, for that matter.

"The cabbage patch."

The response was so matter of fact, it made him blink, "The what?"

"Delivered by a stork." She scratched the niffler's head and gave it a kiss. The little creature purred happily.

"Muggles have sex, Wendy!" It would be mortifying if the neighbors heard that. They probably did.

"Aye, but only for fun, everyone knows that."

He spluttered, "N-no!... I mean, yes!... that too, but muggle babies come from the same place!" He wordlessly summoned the banana from the couch and chucked it back at his wife. His aim went wide and high, but she lunged to catch it without spilling so much as a drop of tea and returned it to the bowl in one fluid motion.

That was cool. Did that actually just make him blush?

"Mmmmmm..." she considered, then set the mug down and slunk towards the hallway again. "I don't think so." For emphasis, she poked him in the belly as she passed. Something about the look in her eyes made his brain go fuzzy.

That's it.

He dipped, grabbed her around the waist, and hefted her over his shoulder. To the bedroom with this deliciously insufferable woman.

She shrieked in delight but slapped his back hard, "Hang on, hang on, be careful!"

He set her back down. "What's wrong?"

"I'm pregnant."

#still laughing over here

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lifeofkaze · 5 days

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PSA: Unanswered asks aren't forgotten or ignored at all. Life is just... life rn. Sorry. 😬

#I'll get round to all of them #pinky promise

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lifeofkaze · 6 days

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And this, ladies and gentlemen, is the peak of knowledge + research = magic.

And also why I happily stay away from Charlie Weasley and dragons forever, because this right here is my holy grail and I couldn't do it better if I tried - which I obv don't.

Happy Worldbuilding Wednesday! As you've written a fair bit about Charlie, I'm sure you've thought a lot about dragons by proxy. Are there any headcanons/ideas you have about dragons in your world (that Charlie is likely to talk about at length to people)? - @hphmmatthewluther

Well, look who is here asking me about things that I love to talk about. Dragons? Yes please. Charlie Weasley? Even more yes please.

So, I had a good think about dragons when it came to Learning to Fly. I’m a stickler to canon, so I knew I wanted them to be completely wild animals, but I needed to have Norbert(a) able to interact with Charlie. So, I based my “characterisation” of dragons on a few things, some of which made it into the story, some of which remained unpublished.

Until now.

I’m so sorry, you hit my nerdy/hyperfocus spot. This is such an essay of a response. I’m leaning into it with picture examples and everything…

Anatomy/Physiology

Firstly, I used birds as an inspiration. This is an obvious one, sort of. Generally, you have two different dragon appearances in recent western fantasy: either they have four legs plus a pair of wings or their wings are their front limbs. In the Harry Potter films, they use the latter. It’s less cute, but makes more sense in terms of them actually being able to fly.

All the terms I used to describe Norbert(a)’s body parts were anatomical terms for these body parts in birds, e.g. the keel. The keel is the breastbone, and in birds the muscles used for flight all attach here in order to keep the centre of gravity low on the body for flight. There are tendons that then extend up through a loop of bone and act as pulleys for their wings, the bones of which are actually very similar to our own arms, if you look closely.

As well as their flight mechanisms, birds have a bellows system of air sacs that I wanted to borrow for my dragons. Birds use these for respiration (think about oxygen at high altitudes during flight), but for my dragons, they have another purpose. Because, what else needs oxygen? What is it that dragons are most famous for? What is responsible for those burns on Charlie’s arms?

Fire.

I am not much of a reptile expert, so I didn’t take much in the way of inspiration from reptiles when writing about my dragons. I do, however, have the headcanon that, like all reptiles, dragons are cold-blooded. Most physiological adaptations have more than one purpose, and so, my dragons don’t just use fire for hunting and defence purposes — they use it to keep themselves warm. They produce the flames in their thorax, where there is a good oxygen supply and the blood can be warmed easily due the proximity to the heart, and the muscles and thick bone of the keel are able to protect it.

Behaviour

I used more elements of dog behaviour when writing Learning to Fly than anything else, for the simple reason that it is the animal body language I understand best and that I thought most readers would understand best. However, I would argue that dragons are far more like cat species than dogs in regard to their behaviour, so I included some cat-like tendencies as well.

Dogs are social creatures, and most of their behaviours have evolved in order to maintain order within a pack. They hunt in packs, roam in packs, raise offspring in packs. Other than lions, cats are usually solitary creatures, only joining together as adults to mate. There are exceptions, of course, but this is usually the rule. The same goes for dragons, from what we see in canon. Therefore, their behaviour will largely be based on avoiding conflict in order to avoid injury to themselves, and on solitary hunting. I did put this in with Norbert(a) — in one of the final chapters, she engages in play behaviour by mimicking hunting, like a cat.

I also took a lot of inspiration from orcas, mainly in respect to the ethical arguments surrounding their captivity. If you haven’t seen Blackfish, you should definitely do so. I headcanon dragons to be immensely powerful and intelligent beings with wide roaming ranges, who do not cope well in captivity. In canon, it is known that dragons are too dangerous to keep as pets, and judging by the treatment of the Gringotts dragon, the ones that are kept in captivity do not lead happy and fulfilled lives.

I have written several times that dragons kept in captivity suffer from severe impairments to their physical and emotional health, to the point that they have reduced length of life as well as quality of life compared to their wild counterparts. Most of that has been in the form of dialogue from Charlie.

Three guesses what is the thing he really won’t shut up about…

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