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crimsonrevolt · 7 years

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Congratulations Hope you’ve been accepted to Crimson Revolt as Molly Weasley!

↳ please refer to our character checklist

This was such a tough decision for us but your interpretation of Molly won us over! It was clear from the very first part of your application just how much you love her as a character and you gave us such a good look at your vision for her and really brought her to life. Your writing sample also gave us a clear idea of who Molly is and explored so many sides of her as well as giving us a strong idea of her role within the Order and relationships to others around her. We are very excited to have you back and cannot wait to see what journey you choose to take Molly on! *your FC change to Rose Leslie has been accepted!

application beneath the cut

OUT OF CHARACTER

INTRODUCTION

Hello, hello! My name is Hope, I prefer she/her pronouns, and I live in the EST time zone!

ACTIVITY

WELL, I’m not in a show for a while, and all in all my class load is light. I believe I’ll be reliably within a 6-7, and I’m excited and thrilled at the prospect of coming back, better than ever!

TRIGGERS

*removed for privacy

HOW DID YOU FIND US?

Former player, but before that I learned about this RP from a current member!

WHAT HARRY POTTER CHARACTER DO YOU IDENTIFY WITH MOST?

I’ve always been hard working and ambitious, with a drive to prove myself to people who don’t believe that I can achieve everything I want for my future. Therefore, I’ve always felt like Hermione Granger is the character I’ve related to the most.

ANYTHING ELSE?

That’s all from me, thanks darlings!

IN CHARACTER

DESIRED CHARACTER

Molly Alexandra Weasley (née Prewett)

Alexandra is an ancient name, which became popularized in Europe after the thirteenth Century. It means Defender of Man, a meaning well suited to describe Molly herself.

FACE CLAIM

I prefer Rose Leslie, but Sarah Drew is a lovely alternative. Whichever you prefer!

REASON FOR CHOSEN CHARACTER

I’ve adored Molly as a character since the first time I read the Harry Potter series, and since her first introduction. Molly Weasley saw a boy, alone and confused at King’s Cross Station, helped him find the platform (even though she had her hands full with five children of her own), and made sure he got on the train safely. Molly Weasley couldn’t bear the thought of that little boy waking up on Christmas morning without any presents, and who, despite having her strained time and resources, knit him a jumper like her children, to make him a part of her family. Molly Weasley is the ultimate mother figure, and a guiding hand without whom Harry could not have functioned. In a story with so many orphans, and casualties of war, and so much loss and pain, Molly and Arthur’s beautiful, supportive family, and their unbreakable love for one another, is an extremely inspirational beacon of light in the community.

Molly’s motherly instincts are a driving force within her, and her archetype of The Mother is apparent in all parts of her life. Even Molly’s exceptional aptitude for healing spells show her big heart, and how much of her spirit is dedicated to taking care of others. I see Molly as an old soul, and a romantic. She reads books about true love conquering all, and strong, wise women who, despite incredible odds, overcome their circumstances to build happy lives for themselves and those they love. Molly Weasley is the type of woman who would let a friend stay at her house indefinitely, if they ever needed to get away. Molly Weasley is the type of girl who would see her classmate who came to school without a lunch, and would bring extra, so they could be fed while maintaining their dignity. While Molly is gentle and kind, she is indestructible, and a force of nature to be reckoned with when she’s been angered. Molly would drag herself over broken glass by her fingernails for her family, and is fiercely protective of anyone she takes under her wing. I see Molly as a Mother figure within the Order, looking at these young people and doing her utmost to protect them, to shield what remains of their childhoods. She is especially protective of her younger siblings, Fabian, Gideon, and Alice, whom she has spent a lifetime caring for.

PREFERRED SHIPS // CHARACTER SEXUALITY // GENDER & PRONOUNS

MOLLY AND ARTHUR WEASLEY ARE MY DARLINGS. I love them so much. In my opinion, Arthur has been Molly’s lifelong love, since they were housemates in school. Their marriage is an example of true love, and hard work, and compassion. Which is not to say there is no conflict, which can be elaborated on within threads!

Molly identifies as female, and it is my belief that she has far too much love in her heart for gender determine her love for someone. She uses She/Her pronouns.

CREATE ONE (OR MORE!) OF THE FOLLOWING FOR YOUR CHARACTER:

-AN AESTHETIC

(extended associations!)

~ golden sunlight ~ soft music ~ wooden record players ~ cream colored sweaters ~ steam rising from a hot cup of tea ~ lazy good morning kisses ~ wool on bare skin ~ red autumn trees ~ the crunch of leaves underfoot ~ vanilla ~ hugs around the neck ~ hour long conversations ~ earthenware bowls ~ hearty breakfasts ~ fresh cookies ~ spending all day cuddling ~ worn out armchairs ~

-A PLAYLIST (mini time!)

Artholly:

Say You Won’t Let Go by James Arthur

Dearest by Buddy Holly

Happy Together by The Turtles

Thinking Out Loud by Ed Sheeran

No One Else sung by Denee Benton from Natasha, Pierre, and the Great Comet of 1812

Molly:

Phenomenal Woman by Olivia Newton-John

-EXPAND ON THE TRAITS

Assertive: (+) Molly is a woman with a good head on her shoulders, and a strong moral compass. As such, when someone disagrees with her, she is able to deliver a competent, logical reasoning for her opinions. Molly is especially firm when her loved ones are involved. Molly will always stand for her family’s best interests, and will always stand up for herself and others when she believes there are injustices being committed.

Passionate: (+) When Molly gives her heart to something, whether it be an occupation, a goal, or a lover, Molly gives it all. She has never been one to let circumstance or hardships keep her from what she wants, and what she imagines for herself. For Molly, if you aren’t being passionate about something, you don’t care about it enough. So, she puts her soul into the things she cares about, like her relationships. She is tenacious, and will do anything for those she loves.

Temperamental: (-) However, Molly’s assertiveness and passion can sometimes result in her becoming very angry when she is hurt, or betrayed. Molly is a very stubborn woman, and when she encounters something that stands in the way of what she wants, or what is in the best interest of her family, she will blow up at it. In relationships, Molly’s temper is always in the best interest of the people she loves. For example, if she believes that someone she loves is doing something dangerous, something she knows they shouldn’t be doing, she will tell them so, and become very angry if they refuse to change. She can be easily provoked into an argument, but she’s never malicious or in search of conflict.

Overprotective: (-) While her motherly instincts are an asset in many ways, it can be one of Molly’s more annoying attributes, especially to her little sister Alice and some of the younger members of the Order. While they are technically adults, and fellow soldiers in this war, she can be sharp with them when she believes they’re being careless, or putting themselves in danger. She’s significantly protective of Alice, whom she has watched grow up from her childhood, and for whom she feels responsible. She can be smothering, trying to prevent someone from doing something because she believes it’s too dangerous for them.

-A FEW HEADCANONS

Boggart: Molly’s boggart is her siblings’ mangled corpses, with Arthur later included. She cannot stand the idea of seeing them dead, and even the thought is enough to bring Molly’s stomach into her mouth and set her in a cold sweat.

Patronus: Molly’s patronus is, appropriately, a bear. Bears are extremely protective of their cubs, and are representative of the overwhelming strength that lies within her.

Wand: Molly’s wand is a flexible 10-inch willow wood wand, with a unicorn hair core. Willow is a tree known for withstanding the toughest storms, due to its ability to bend and sway in wicked winds; it is best suited for those with great aptitude for healing.

-A FEW POTENTIAL PLOT POINTS

❧ Arthur being injured during a mission, or during a duel against a Death Eater. Plots include her helping nurse Arthur to health, psychological aftermath of the idea of Arthur dying, and being left alone (as a young mother with young children, if they have their kids already), and the resulting paranoia and fear. How she overcomes it, or doesn’t.

❧Molly’s general involvement with the Order, and any missions/jobs she does to help them.

❧Molly meeting/having a conflict with a member of Aversio, because while they, too, wish to defeat Voldemort, she stands completely opposed to their methods.

❧Molly being captured and tortured by death eaters, her panic about not being able to protect her family and her fear that they’ll do something rash to save her

❧MOLLY GETTING PREGNANT (AGAIN) DURING THE WAR. MOLLY AND HER BABIES. MOLLY WEASLEY DEVELOPING SEPARATION ANXIETY BECAUSE EVERY TIME ARTHUR LEAVES OR SHE HAS TO LEAVE THE CHILDREN FOR A MOMENT SHE’S STRICKEN WITH FEAR AND GUILT.

❧Molly dealing with trying to raise young children and give them a normal life despite the threat of death and destruction all around them.

(Really anything, I’m open to any plots that can be thrown at me.)

IN CHARACTER QUESTIONNAIRE

♔ If you were able to invent one spell, potion, or charm, what would it do, what would you use it for or how would you use it? Feel free to name it:

“Oh! That’s a good one. I’d have to say… I’d like to create a way to cast several healing spells at once, just in case of an emergency. I’d hate to ever need to use it, but there have been times, you know–… Where things go awry. But if the situation arose, I think it could be invaluable.

Barring that, a potion to safely help the twins finish teething would be life-changing.”

♔ You have to venture deep into the Forbidden Forest one night. Pick one other character and one object (muggle or magical), besides your wand, that you’d want with you:

“Oh, well, Arthur of course. I honestly can’t imagine taking anyone else with me! And for an object, I’d say either an invisibility cloak, or what Arthur says the Muggles call a “chainsaw”, in the event we need to get out quickly.”

♔ What kinds of decisions are the most difficult for you to make?

“Those where I know the right thing to do, but it may put me or Arthur at risk. I have obligations to the Order—this is a war after all. But I have my children to think about. When I take dangerous missions, I feel immense guilt. When I shy from them, however, I still feel guilt. It’s a double-edged sword.”

♔ What is one thing you would never want said about you?

“That I failed to do enough to fight while those around me suffered. Or that I wasn’t good enough as a parent. If I ever gave my children a reason to say that about me, I couldn’t live with it.”

WRITING SAMPLE

Molly had learned to live her life with little boxes. Her cupboards and closets were stuffed to the brim with scratched wicker baskets, sturdy heirloom chests made of oak, old garment boxes with mismatched lids, all in an attempt to create the storage space necessary to support her growing family of seven. When there were so many of them in one house, and so much shared property, it was important to sort the few independent belongings the children had into labeled containers. Bill, a stern 8 and ½, and Charlie, an enthusiastic six year old, had had enough territory disputes to drive her mad; Charlie followed his big brother around like a puppy, and so often found himself with Bill’s things in hand, in an attempt to emulate his big brother. Bill, who’d had enough of his toys being smashed by the little one’s indelicate fingers, begged Molly to keep his things away from the toddler. For a long time, she insisted that he try to share, that he just teach Charlie to play nicely with his belongings. After Percy was born, however, Molly found it necessary to start dividing up her children’s things, which evolved into her obsession with keeping things in little boxes.

Boxes were how she kept herself sane. Compartmentalizing. She learned to keep parts of herself bottled up, far away from her children. When she was with the children, when it was family time, she belonged entirely to them. But when it came to matters of the Order, she kept those hidden, and never allowed the two to meet. Even the rooms in her house shared her divided mind. The dining room, for instance, which was a sacred place for her family, was a servant of two masters. By day, it was where she fed and nurtured her children; where Arthur read crisp, new printings of The Daily Prophet, beckoning her over if there was a story he thought she may like; where her and Arthur shed happy tears as their baby twins, now hardly a year old, babbled their first words; where her little Percy, who had learned to walk but much preferred to be carried, would perch happily on her hip while she made dinner for the family; the dining room was where her and Arthur would steal a tender moment alone after the children were abed, dancing slowly to soft music floating from the Muggle gramophone he’d enchanted and set on their windowsill.

By night, however, her dining room was transformed. It would frequently become a war-room for the Order of the Phoenix and its secret soldiers. Plans were made, defenses measured, good witches and wizards brought back, in agony, after violent run-ins with Death Eaters, and she would immediately set to healing their wounds. Blood had been shed in her family’s sacred space, blood which she would later diligently clean in order to keep her children from worrying anything was wrong. When the Order made camp in her home, she tried to separate her tender memories and moments with her family from the fear and panic that had often been felt inside her home. It was the only way she could keep her children safe; but she didn’t know how much longer she could. More and more frequently, now, Bill would creep downstairs, hearing a bump in the night, and she would narrowly scoop him up in her arms before he heard something that would surely make sleep impossible for him. More and more, he would ask her about the strange friends mummy and dad were having over after they were all asleep, and he was less and less satisfied by her flimsy explanations. It was not his fault: it’s natural for children to be curious. It was hers. She had brought this into her children’s lives. But she would keep it boxed up, and away from them, as long as she could. She just didn’t know how much longer that would be.

#Accepted App

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bynkii · 6 years

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How My Parents Kept Me Drug-Free…mostly

Two very imperfect people allowed what they saw to override what they were told

I was born in 1967, and graduated high school in 1984. I went to school in Miami, all of it. Miami, especially in the 1970s and 1980s was anything but drug-free. They were everywhere, and so was the war on drugs. So to say I was “aware” of drugs is a monstrous understatement. I knew who sold what, where, when, and for how much.

My parents were both children of the depression. Their drug of choice was alcohol. Both of them were, for a time, alcoholics. My dad never was able to stop, although smoking killed him before beer could. My mom, as she did with everything, eventually set it aside, because…well, I guess because she was done with it.

Neither of them were dysfunctional, although my dad came closest. They both got up and went to work, my mom more than my dad. (In my dad’s defense, he was mangled by a car accident in 1978. He never walked right after that, and was in a lot of pain. That may not excuse his behavior, but it does explain much of it.) My mom…Margaret Thatcher was called the Iron Lady, but my mom was fuckin’ steel. She was the terminator. In an era when women who worked were still looked down upon, she worked. In a city that almost required cars, she walked and took buses. Note: buses were only if the walk was over a mile each way. In Miami.

Every fucking day she got up and went to work.

My mom and I had an occasionally complex relationship, and we argued, oh we argued, but I always respected the hell out of her, because when a lot of people might have given up, she put one foot in front of the other and made sure her family was taken care of. If that meant occasional times on food stamps, then she did that. I asked her about that once, since she came from a generation not known for being comfortable with welfare, and she said “I never felt any shame. I wasn’t using food stamps because I was lazy. I was using them to feed my family. If anyone had a problem with that, fuck ‘em.”

(My mom was regularly profane. I get it from her. She even told me my first “dirty” joke. No, really:

What’s worse than necking with Dracula?

Getting fingered by Capt. Hook.

People think I can cuss? HA. She could peel the paint off a battleship on an off day.)

From her I think I get my lack of addictive behavior. A few years back, when I realized that any amount of alcohol gave me pissah hahtbuhrn, wicked pissah hahtbuhrn, I just stopped drinking. About as much effort as you’d turn off the lights. Been drinking since I was…what, 16? At 46 I stopped, because it had become inconvenient.

That’s kind of handy.

From my dad, and my mom, but lead by my dad, I learned to really see what’s going on around me, and to not let “common sense/wisdom/knowledge” override reality.

My dad was one of the 2–3 youngest of ten, and one of the last, maybe the last to marry and have a kid. So he spent a lot of time as the cool uncle, and a lot of time observing kids. Parents too, but kids mostly, and he realized some things about how they behaved and what motivated them, and so when I came around, he did things a little differently.

For one, while neither of them was hardly permissive, there wasn’t the “NO AND I HAVE SPOKEN” shit. There was more “No, because I am smarter and more experienced than you, and I may not explain it to you all the time, but there are reasons, and in time you will learn them.” For example, bad words. In pre-school, I rode a bus, (it was the 60s/70s, little kids did stuff like that) with Jr. High kids. Jr. High kids love, love, love teaching littler kids profanity, and I was an adept student. Also, my folks had no problem with casual invective around the house.

But when I’d pop off with it, instead of making a big deal about it, they’d calmly explain that was a word I wasn’t yet allowed to say, help me find an alternative and move on. The reason why was simple: power. My dad had realized that making A Big Deal over things with kids gave the things power. And if the thing had power, then the person using it also had power. It’s why little kids will force their mouths to learn how to say “Brachiosaurus” in short order but mangle “Spaghetti” for months. “Brachiosaurus” has power. “Spaghetti”, not so much.

Before the reader scoffs at this, I can tell you it works better than you might think. My son grew up in a house full of casual profanity and yet, the only time he used it was “appropriate” for the situation. Someone cut us off in traffic. He dropped a trophy on his foot. Some kid punched him in the face. That sort of thing. Never the “wait until it’s the worst possible moment and COCCCCCCKSUCCCCCKERRRRRR!!!!!” shit.

Same thing with porn. Once my folks caught me hiding various magazines full of the wonders of boobies and vagina, and as I understand it, my mom rolled her eyes, my dad chuckled, they threw it out and got me a subscription to Playboy.

Yes, that was their solution to illicit porn. Playboy. The result? About six months after the subscription kicked in, (and let me tell you, when you’re in high school, parents who get you a sub to Playboy are INSTANTLY cooler than hell), I come in from the mailbox with the latest issue, reading…the interview. My dad sees this and asks “Whatcha reading J.C.?”

I respond with “Interview with Patty Hearst. It’s the first one she’s given since the whole SLA thing, and she’s talking about her life inside it, it’s really interesting.” “Who’s the centerfold?” “Beats me, haven’t even looked…yet…you son of a bitch…” and he is laughing. My mom was also home, and she is laughing. They are both laughing, almost howling, because they had taken one of the most forbidden fruits and turned it into something less exciting than an apple.

I had picked up an issue of Playboy and immediately dumped to the most interesting part: the interview. That crafty fucker had known that would happen, he’d known it. Because he’d realized that it was the forbidden aspect of it that made it cool. I mean, yeah, boobies, but that had become secondary.

He had even told me the theory once. “It’s like this: if you want your kid to eat popcorn like a fiend, ban it. Ban it from the house, ban it from conversation, ban the word, hell, make corn sinful. By the end of the month, you’ll open a closet door and drown in an avalanche of Orville Redenbacher’s best product. But if you make things no big deal, if you make them just well, normal then there’s no forbidden aspect to make it cool and pretty soon, it’s no more interesting than anything else.”

He had told me what was going to happen, and I still fell for it. Now, it helped my Aunt had worked for Playboy in Chicago, and my dad and mom used to go to the Chicago Playboy Club on dates, so they had a more expansive view of Playboy than most, but still…goddamnit, they pwned me. Wasn’t the last time.

Right around that time, I come home drunk for the first time. Maybe before. I was 14. My friend had just turned 19, and at the time in Fl, that was the drinking age and…his parents were out of town. Fucking epic. Garbage can punch. I was so wasted I walked around in his above-ground pool for two hours. Didn’t even realize it until someone told me:

JOHN!

WHAT!

WHY ARE YOU IN THE POOL!

I’M IN THE POOL?

YEAH! WHY ARE YOU IN THE POOL?

OH THANK GOD, I THOUGHT I’D PISSED MYSELF!

Was-TED. That was also the night I discovered you can indeed puke through your nose. That hurts, by the way. Also smells awful, simply awful.

So I get a ride home, and in some amount of time get from the street to the apartment we lived in. And from there, I tried to play it smooth. It might have worked except:

I wore no shirt

I had one shoe and one sock on

Not on the same feet

I was missing my glasses

I was blind as a bat without them

I was still soaking wet

I smelled of vomit

I took god knows how long to get the key in the lock, bounced off the door frame six times just walking in, and yet still thought I had them all fooled. In my head, I said “Well, that was quite the soiree, boy am I tired, I’m off to bed, cheers!” (for some reason, I thought being “british” would make me sound “sober”.

According to my folks, what came out of my mouth was “AABBTHFEEEEERS!!!” and I barely made it to the bed. They said it was all really funny as hell.

I was smooooove y’all.

The next day, after they woke me with metal spoons on pans and worked me like hell all day, my dad said “Look, I get it, you want to drink sometimes. That’s fine. But, I want you to be safe, so if you want to drink, let us know, we’ll buy some extra and you can do it here, where we can keep an eye on things.”

Coolest parents ever, right?

Hah.

At first it was cool. Then the novelty wore off, (HINT), and I kind of stopped. My Senior Year, in a minor miracle, I get invited to a party. I tell my parents where I’m going, party, don’t wait up, etc., and off I go. While I’m there, someone comes in and says we all need to go into the woods in back of the house, <someone> had just scored a keg of Bud. My response? “Nah, I’ll stay here, Bud’s shit, and I can drink it whenever…I…want…at…..home………I need to use your phone.”

Dial, dial, ring, ring, <click>…”Yeahhhlow” “You ASSHOLE” Cue braying laughter, because the old bastard knew, somehow he knew what had happened. “Let me guess, someone scored some beer and it’s not that exciting is it?” “YOU’VE RUINED PARTYING AND PORN, WHAT KIND OF DEMON ARE YOU?” “The kind that’s way smarter than you are.” “….I hate you so much right now.” “I win” <click>

But that was just it. By not hiding behind “just say no” or the rest, instead being somewhat sensible about it, my parents avoided the binge drinking shit that so many other parents don’t, because I had no reason to hide it. It wasn’t forbidden fruit, or even particularly interesting fruit. It was just booze. It was just beer. About as interesting as the hamburger one would drink it with.

When it came to talking about drugs, instead of trying to scare me, they talked to me like an adult. They talked about what medicine/science knew about the effects of drugs, which ones were worse than others, and why needles were bad news. Based on reality, not hysteria.

My dad, as it turned out, had tried a lot of things while he was in the Army in Korea. He was unimpressed with most of it. Heroin especially, because that shit had made him sicker than hell. He didn’t know what the high was like, he was too busy vomiting. Probably doing his first ever hit of China White and then getting on a C-119 for the flight between Japan and Korea didn’t help.

That made far more of an impression on me than Nancy Reagan’s “Just Say No” idiocy. (Imagine thousands of stoners yelling “NO! NO!” at their bongs before every hit, and you have an idea of how effective that shit wasn’t.) They both hated that kind of thing because it was almost lying, and they knew that if they lied to me about it, the lie would be found out, and then I’d start wondering what else they had lied about.

The truth was, they told me, was that most people who use drugs don’t end up in a ditch. They manage their bad habits. But some do end up in a ditch, and you don’t know which category you’re in until it’s too late. So before you try something, fucking think a minute, and ask yourself why you’re trying it. If the only reason is to be “cool”, maybe that’s kind of stupid. I later found out that my mom held the opinion that 90% of my contact with drugs would be on a quest for sex, and to be honest, she was right. The only reason I tried crack, for example, was because a really hot girl I knew was into it, and she offered to let me try via shotgunning it. Making out with really hot girls was way high on my list of things to automatically say “yes” to, and so I did.

As I was really drunk at the time, all it did was make me sober for 45 minutes. That sucked. The making out part was all right though. Making out is always all right.

According to popular wisdom, as a child of alcoholics, I should have some serious booze problems myself.

Yet, I don’t, nor did I really ever. I’d drink to excess here and there, but not as a “Tuesday” kind of thing. At parties and shit, sure, but just because I could? Nah, not so much, and I honestly think my parents’ approach to all of this was a big part. It seems to have worked well, my son didn’t even try booze until his 21st birthday, and I had told him years before that if he ever wanted to at home, he was welcome to do so.

That’s how his mom and I approached drugs in general. Don’t lie. Give him accurate facts. Don’t over- or downplay the reality of getting high. Be honest in an adult fashion, not some bullshit “it’s all the devil’s dick” kind of stupidity. Seems to have worked.

Look, I’m not saying that my way or my parents way is foolproof. But, as a society, we’ve been trying this EEEEEVIL! EEEEEEVIL I TELLS YAH! shit for decades now, and it’s been a pretty massive failure. Maybe, just maybe, instead of trying to scare our kids and failing because we’re both lying to them and treating them like they are stupid, maybe we should treat them like they are the smart people they actually are, and just talk to them honestly and openly about alcohol and other drugs. Fear and lying are a pretty shitty way to teach anyone about anything if you think about it. Maybe we should stop doing that?

#don't lie to your kids #forbidden fruit tastes better #movedoverfrommedium

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