#why does hannah have a veil?
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sorry to that man (brendan hunt) but i’m still choosing to believe the ending montage was a dream sequence so buckle up bc here’s why:
in the pilot episode ted tells beard that if they see each other in their dreams to goof around a little bit, so right off the bat there is a thinly veiled insinuation of some light magical realism and then of course the line about ted not being able to sleep on planes
so moving to the finale, ted was having serious doubts about leaving but wanted to believe it was the right thing to do, so this sets up the montage as his imagined, best-case scenarios and a kind of martyr-ism that he envisions for everyone he left behind to tell himself they’ll be fine without him
getting into it, we seen him go through each character with whom he had a real connection with in richmond:
rebecca: he could have heard about the dutch man from her or keeley so he imagines a rebecca getting sleepless in seattle type meet cute after he just mentioned a classic romcom "leave-cute" to her in the airport paired with the previous episode mentioning that SiS is his favorite ephron film, so it makes sense to want the "best" for rebecca’s life after him. (also worth noting that hannah even says in this interview to her that it feels like more of a possibility and a hint that she’s letting new love into her life but not a definitive ending. which also lol)
beard: he literally leaves the plane because he loves jane so ted concocts the weirdest, most surreal wedding between them in stonehenge that beard had mentioned them going to in the christmas episode, and because it feels so bizarre and almost incomprehensible but ted does wants to imagine him living his best beard-appropriate life
roy: he clearly respects him so much, enough to imagine him as the new coach of AFC Richmond, but understands roy’s inability to open up and how that could hinder his success professionally and personally, exactly as it did for him, and so then imagines bringing doctor sharon back to help him work through it and even imagines an army man to protect him because he never got a chance to give roy one himself. (sharon is also wearing green in this dream which is associated with safety re: the toy soldiers.) this one is also interesting bc roy opened up about his last season at chelsea saying that he wish he’d stuck around and just have fun rather than quit and leave but ted ends up doing exactly that—quitting and leaving
jamie: he imagines jamie reconciling with his father, clearly projecting that he never got a chance to do it with his own. we’ve always seen how jamie and his relationship with his father has brought out ted's own complicated feelings of fatherhood so it makes sense in ted’s dream scenario for him to gloss over the fact and create an happy, to him, vision of reconciliation
nate: nate being integrated back into the coaching staff and having a rich full life is all ted ever wished for him. we never really saw him arrive at the choice to truly forgive him but we understand through the scene with beard that he obviously did, and again in nate's return and his apology
sam: he truly does believe he’ll make the nigerian team one day, since he mentioned it back in season one after saying he was homesick and after not making it this season. also thought it was interesting we got no resolution with simi at sam’s restaurant which further proves it’s a dream because ted isn’t privy to that relationship, only we the audience are
keeley/rebecca: the women’s league is totally something he (and all of us) could see them doing together and i love that he imagines their personal and professional bond continue in something that is so special for both of them. he would have loved that :')
mae/the pub boys: he has just learned that rebecca sold 49% of the club back to the fans so of course he dreams that mae and the boys get their part of the shares since it’s a place that was a home to people who care deeply for AFC richmond and had warmed up and welcomed him in as well
trent: in another classic ted way, in trying to distance himself from the community in order to make peace with his decision to return to kansas, he imagines that trent took his advice and changed the title of the book from "the lasso way" to "the richmond way" which only makes sense in dream ted’s head because he can’t objectively define the impact he’s had on richmond and instead deflects it back to the community. but trent is a professional and in his objective opinion i truly believe he would stick to his original thesis that these changes and this coaching philosophy is 100% because of ted
roy/keeley/jamie: the last shot of him observing them together mirrors how he saw them after the man city game, and again, he’s not aware of the current dynamics between them so at the higgins' barbecue he imagines them as he last remembered them, happy, but not explicitly together in any specific coupling combination
higgins: of course he wants to imagine his found family still hanging out and actively being a found family outside of the club and he has fond memories of being at the higgins house with the whole gaggle at christmas, so this vignette is almost an amalgamation of all his best wishes come together, really working overtime to sell the idea that they will be happy without him
ADDITIONALLY we’ve also seen a flash forward used as a device in the show before in 212. but there we got specific time cards to let us know when it’s happening. in the finale, it’s much more abstract as a montage (you could even say lynchian, which the official ted lasso twitter account mentioned here) which is another reason to believe it could be a dream
then of course ted waking up after this sequence and just then arriving back to kansas and henry? it was only several hours vs. the weeks? months? years? that seemed to have passed in the dream sequence? the show doesn’t ever sway from its linear storytelling, so it's logical to show all of that while ted is sleeping because it’s not real and doesn’t affect the timeline, but for those who want that closure offers up possibilities of where the characters could end up through the filter of ted’s imagination
#in conclusion: the montage is not real and therefore it cannot hurt me 😌#woweeewowwwwe if anyone actually reads all this! thanks! sorry!#i just! needed to get it out of my system!#ted lasso#ted lasso spoilers
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Our Pretty Little Condemned Souls | Chapter One - The War Was Never Really Won
Harry Potter | Hermione POV
Explicit Rating - 5.2k Words
Chapter Tags & TW - Minors DNI, Alternate Timeline, Psychological & Physical Torture, PTSD, Angst, Hurt No Comfort, DDDNE, Attempted SA.
Summary - The war was lost. Hermione does her best to survive the camps and the debasement around her when she is reunited with an old friend.
Hermione could never have said which turn of events would take place, either during the war or the aftermath that would follow.
Harry Potter, their saviour, was to live or die—either of which would change the course of history forever. However, no one predicted his disappearance, nor did anyone know the reason as to why.
Speculation spread across all those who turned an ear to care, each time the stories grew more elaborate. Some said he had fled through cowardice, some said he was strengthening forces in Bulgaria.
Yet none of the fabrications mattered to anyone anymore. Most just thought that their enemies had killed him, along with everyone else. Hermione meanwhile could only deny the betrayal and assume that one day he would rise again to claim peace.
Peace. A word Hermione thought about often, yet she could never make sense of the obsolete word. They defined it as freedom of disturbance; so far that privilege did not reach her currently doomed experience. She scoffed at the idea of freedom. After all, no liberties remained for the former Gryffindor Princess.
The war itself was traumatic enough for anyone involved and none were expected to remain as they once were; but this... whatever this was, it was different. It was hell.
The environment in which she had been hurled into, lashed its menacing shadows and sounds around her. Darkened veils slithered along the walls of the confined and sullied tent. All was bare besides the varying degrees of samples left from the previous occupier. The red hues of blood smeared across the panelling shone over her, like the sun rising over their new world.
The flooring of the tent wasn’t much of an improvement either, shamefully playing host to too many unwanted guests. Several carcasses from rats and birds disintegrated in the corner with little thought from Hermione. All she could do was to wait. After all, she had been incarcerated for months now and luck could only carry her so far before they would commit the inevitable.
They ran riot, did as they pleased, committing monstrous crimes as they did so. Screams, yells, laughter... Hermione heard all the sounds that could possibly be emitted by humans, from every possible hideous act. Yet it was the laughter, the deep cackles of men signalling to their comrades the damage was once again done that etched itself under her skin. Many countless nights she spent listening to the cries, wondering who it was tonight. Cho? Katie? Hannah? First Years? Little Gabrielle? Was it her turn tonight?
Regardless of their evident pain a relief swirled darkly within her. After all, if their screams could have been heard, at least the Death Eaters were too busy with them rather than with Hermione. This wasn’t the time to play the hero, that much had already been made clear to them. Any chance of salvation had been lost amongst the rubble that once was the glorious Hogwarts. Now was the time for survival.
Eight months she had spent like this, allowing dark circles to engorge her eyes that seemed to sink deeper within her, as if protecting her from the sights that were bestowed to her so frequently. The strain of them was unbelievable; so many tears had been rinsed out of them that no moisture could possibly remain. Even the involuntary reaction of blinking had become a painful process.
Her bright eyes were now bloodshot from various damaged vessels from various damaging beatings. The windows to her soul held the helplessness she felt and her whole being had been transformed into an exhibition of her suffering.
Her lips were cracked and stained with dried, crusty blood. Time after time Hermione brutalised the inside of her mouth for the sake of silence, the unwilling force to somehow survive the torment. Her emotions had overtaken her appearance even before her arrival, however now, the evidence of misery was all too apparent. Her hair, once bushy, lively and thick now draped like broken straw across her shoulders.
She was lucky, in small ways. Before Hermione had been placed in the camps, all of those that had been snatched prior were forced into having their heads shaven – male or female. The mystery of the revoked procedure ignited an ounce of happiness for some, until it was discovered that without hair, it became much easier to perform a wandless spell, thus protecting the last dignity she had left.
Her weight too had demised terribly, leaving the prominent lines of her skeleton up and down her. Around her joints a painful fluid sack compassed around them, reducing her ability to move even in the smallest of ways. However, this didn’t affect Hermione too much as she always assumed a particular position for hours on end, cradling her knees in an attempt to obtain some kind of solace.
Her nails were the worst - those that remained were dirty, split and coated in blood which filled every morsel of her, corrupting, excavating, creeping into soul. Her own blood, Death Eaters, friends... Ron’s...
The war was never really won. Harry did not die. This was the thought that carried Hermione on. Out of all the suffering, she needed something to hold on to. She had been degraded so much in the past months she didn’t even feel human anymore. So many horrific things had happened. Some she bore witness to and others were too unbearable to think about. Haunting memories filled her with terror as the ghostly faces manifested around her.
-
The rain fell heavily, cutting through the air as it was propelled by the wind. Every drop felt like a knife against Hermione’s exposed skin - ricocheting against her already shivering body. All had been given crude, discoloured and ripped robes to wear regardless of age or size. Her legs were painful and the thought of sitting down would not leave her mind. Hours she stood standing, standing, standing, nothing else.
The heavens above them had opened, releasing the torrential conditions of what Hermione could only assume was an April downpour. Her feet were bare, suctioning her even further into the thick, sticky mud and at least twice their guard had been changed.
However, she was like so many others. Another thirty girls stood around her, identical in their soaked rags. The only one identifiable was that of Susan Bones and already she too, had become a picture of the persecution they had been sentenced to.
It wasn’t just about Mudbloods and the purity of magic anymore; it was anyone who dared to speak, act, or fight for themselves and others. However, it was only Mudbloods and Half-bloods that were sent to camps. Most Purebloods were trapped in the castle with Lord Voldemort and his most trusted servants or sent as personal slave to those with the Dark Mark.
Her knees had begun to shake, a sure sign that she could not stand for much longer. This time nobody had collapsed so far, but Hermione wasn’t prepared to be the first. Anyone who did faint or refused to stand was taken away for the Death Eaters’ entertainment.
The biting cold and lashing rain stapled the now transparent and wet material to her bruised skin. After being exposed to the elements; blisters formed a raw graze across her visible body. She had been in this situation so many times the embarrassment of exposure was a meagre complaint compared to the never ending torture of standing for hours.
The sheer terror of knowing that any movement could cause a Cruciatus curse to any of those who didn’t obey was constantly mounted around the prisoners. There was no purpose to the standing, only the sanctioning of their creed.
A violent spasm shot through Hermione’s core, pushing her mass to the sludge beneath her. Her hands vacuumed into the mud, followed by her knees and face. A soul etching howl was freed from her pathetic form on the ground. Nobody dared to look at her as they too would incur the same discipline. With the crashing of the downpour surrounding her, two Death Eaters worked their way through the group until they reached Hermione.
Her being was so encased in the weather ridden ground all movement was impossible. She wanted to kick, to punch, to bite, anything to stop her being dragged with the men. Refusing to look at either of the wizards, two large hands wrapped around her arms, pulling her up from the ground. As they did so, the surrounding deluge sucked her back down, creating a tug of war between the two forces. Hermione continued to wail, begging incoherently the same as all the others that she had seen being yanked so unsympathetically.
A loud high pitch conch signalled throughout the camp, informing the captives that they no longer had to stand. Hermione’s soul broke in two as all she needed to do was to poise herself a minute longer. However, now it was too late. A small stone hut resided just in front of her, with a looming black door. She didn’t dare look behind as her entrance to hell crawled ever closer.
Closing her eyes tight in terror, she could find no fight left in her, and the eruptive bang of the Death Eater to her right kicking open the door before her, only increased the horror of what was to come.
-
Hermione continued to stare at the sheathing, reliving the memories that flowed through her mind like a carousel. When she first arrived, every night she would cry not only for herself but for everyone else who had endured anything near what she had. Now she couldn’t even care for herself and as far as she was concerned, it was always better to happen to somebody else rather than herself.
It seemed impossible to believe that her life had become this, an eternity of pain, humiliation and misery. She felt like an animal, dehumanised by those who were spawned from evil. They were built for it, designed flawlessly to not only torture with magic but to take away every civilized right. It seemed that they enjoyed that particular torment the most as it proved to be highly effective.
No longer could she identify herself as a witch, a Gryffindor, as Hermione. They had made her feel lower than a Mudblood, more unworthy than any other creature. She wasn’t even sure if she was still alive. How could she be?
Everything had spiralled so deeply out of control; after all, it was believed that victory was theirs until six months before her capture.
Against all odds, they had managed to escape the battlefield with Harry. It was surely just a matter of time before they were found. So many had died in order to defeat Lord Voldemort and so much had been put at risk. They had been so close to victory and Hermione cursed herself silently for her stupidity and naivety.
But he promised me!
His last words to her danced through her mind as the image of Harry faded away. She rolled awkwardly onto her back, resembling a broken Muggle doll. All of her was bent and creaked painfully, as most of her joints had fused at a certain degree.
Stones and lumps of dried mud dug into her back and she could feel the blood rushing around her head. Her fists collided with the canvas flooring, impacting with what lay beneath her. Hermione stared above her, searching for something. Perhaps in an attempt to dwell on another awful memory, perhaps in hope of an epiphany or saviour.
Nothing would ever appear apart from maybe a foreboding shadow. Yet somehow every day, she laid waiting for whatever was to come, as there was no fight left. Sleep would not come either, her mind and body were impossible to rest. If she was awake, if she had some warning, there might be a chance to survive.
The emptiness didn’t aid her sleep either; god knows how long it had been since she ate. Although her starved frame longed for food, she could not bring herself to digest the stale rations she was given. It was enough to keep her alive, but in no way nutritious or easy to chew.
The sun had slowly begun to sink, encouraging the cool air, a contrast to the suffocating heat of the day. It whistled through the tent softly, mildly soothing her constant discomforts. The blue of the sky started to roll into its bright tones of pink and orange, with the night lingering not too far away.
Unfortunately, the tent had started to paint a foul divergence to the outside world as the combinations of odours became sulphuric around her. Thankfully, it was so foul whenever a Death Eater did decide to come her way; they assumed no living thing could possibly stay in such a terrible squalor. Even a Mudblood.
As the night had begun to commence and crawled past slowly, it teased Hermione with sounds of the monstrosities that seemed to occur once the sun had fallen. Everybody became far more vulnerable at night as the Death Eaters drowned themselves in Firewhisky and gratified whatever needs they had. Eventually, the screams would die down, and at some point, the camp would rest.
As she lay there, she wondered how many did the same routine, replaying the self torture over and over in an identical fashion. All had been committed to the same abyss of nonexistent hope. It was foolish to still think, but Hermione was convinced of the one hope that still perhaps remained. Yet what good was he now?
Each day the hope grew less and less, but she needed something. At no point could she explain why she tried so desperately to grip on something. After all, he left without hesitation, abandoning his two best friends with a slither of an empty promise.
‘Coward!’
She spat ferociously at her hollow surroundings with only the stench to hear her. A bomb of frustration had begun to build under her ribcage. Out of all that had happened, this was the ultimate treachery.
Her throat was exceedingly dry, creating harshness at the back of her mouth. It was not often she spoke, yet each time she did, it always resulted in regret. It was always wise to make as little noise as possible, especially around twilight, yet the anger was undeniably justified. However, before she could reflect on her actions, a looming silhouette crept at the front of her tent.
The smears of blood and earth over the covering distorted the presence, but not enough for Hermione to know it was her turn. She glanced around as fast as her stiffened neck would allow. A shot of adrenaline rose through her, biting at her sides.
As useless as it was, it was instinctual to not give up the fight. What fight?
She had no choice. She was theirs for the taking, and all she could do was to wait. Yet whatever they were to condemn her to, she would not cry and she would not scream. That they did not deserve.
As the shadow increased its size with louder footsteps to accompany it, a low growl released itself from the wizard outside. It sounded so animalistic and barbaric it could only prove one thing - that this was not a man.
Hermione breathed in, suppressing a sharp squeal from the fear that she felt for the monster that lurked beyond her sights. In the months she had spent there, she had managed to avoid the claws that would indeed tear her apart. His oppressive stature only preceded his reputation, which was increased greatly by the black shapes sprawled over the tent. Once he was about to enter, her life would surely end. And painfully.
‘What the fuck have you been told, Greyback?’
Her heart burst rapidly inside her with her worst fears confirmed. Yet the other man, one she could not see but became perfectly audible, made her freeze her to the floor, rendering her impossibly stiff.
‘You filthy dog, you really want something that’s been fucked about by the Lestrange whore? You make me feel fucking sick.’
Her stomach churned at the reminder of her most torturous encounter. The pearlescent trails remained on her skin - even in the darkness, the scars up and down her body were unmistakable. Her legs lay bare from the vulgar rag that she had claimed as clothing and the contamination - with endless amounts of unhygienic bodily samples - irritated her open wounds. It barely covered what it needed it to but did provide the most amount of dignity possible - at least she wasn’t in the freezing rain.
Echoes of curses and hexes embossed her skin, leaving no escape from that horrendous day. Her arms were no better, the word Mudblood tattooed into her from a dagger, from the same evil being. It was clear she deserved no identity, no individuality, only to be herded like cattle and wait for her unquestionable fate. The unknown man’s voice broke through her silent thoughts.
‘We’re throwing this little bitch in there before you get any ideas.’ He allowed a pause to pass between them.
‘They’re off limits Fenrir, The Dark Lord specified. I don’t see why you give such a shit about these with all the choices you’ve got. Anyway, we’ve got a new batch coming in, picked up a mile outside Hogwarts. Fucking idiots. It’s like they wanted to get caught. Mind you, half of them were part of Dumbledore’s Army. Ballsy little fucks, I’ll give them that...’
He pulled open the tent door without even acknowledging the girl stationed in the centre. Throwing someone in, the flap fell back down as quickly as it was opened. The shadows left with no exchange, leaving both girls to their shared torment.
Much like Hermione, the girl was without a doubt neglected and defeated. Her hair, once so vivacious and startlingly bright, lay limp and dull. An apparent black eye began to present itself, manipulating her features. However, it was clear this girl was once very beautiful.
Her hands were a mess, and she shook violently like an animal that had been caged up for so long it had forgotten how to live. This was not the girl that Hermione remembered.
Hermione attempted slowly to hoist herself to her, as sat where she was thrown. If she did indeed recognise Hermione, she made little inclination towards that thought.
This was exactly what it looked like to give up, to allow the evil deeds to continue. Crawling pathetically towards her friend, she examined the newly found bruises across the girl’s body. Their clothing was not too dissimilar, both designed to show as much as possible, which, of course, it did triumphantly.
‘Ginny... Who did this to you?’
Her speech, no more than a whisper, was hoarse and cracked. Words seemed so unfamiliar, like everyone else cries of distress and misfortune were the only thing to leave her lips - as well as a tooth, if she was lucky enough.
Hermione wanted nothing more than to be united with one of her friends again. She would even happily have taken one of the Patil twins for the sake of a familiar face. Now the situation had presented itself and Hermione wanted nothing more than to be left alone.
However, this wasn’t just anyone. It was Ginny whom she had fought side by side with, whose hand she had held as they watched loved ones ridiculed and persecuted. Yet neither of the girls were the same. How was it possible to rekindle a friendship made by two entirely different people?
Shame rose to her face. No longer did she feel the innocence she once took for granted, the kind hearted spirit, nor the strength required by Ginny to fix this mess.
Unfortunately, the mess was so much more than that. Hundreds had been imprisoned indiscriminately, the boys were mainly executed in the first instance and some came to the camps for Death Eaters with an acquired taste.
Mostly they were surrounded by girls around the same age, some were drastically younger. Like so many others, Ginny and Hermione fought through the aftermath of war, hunting down as many of the Dark Lord’s followers as they could find. Of course, it never proved that easy. Six months was all it took for the evil to triumph once more. That was the last day she saw Ginny before this moment.
A strange feeling crept over her. Exhaustion was present, to say the least, yet this was different. Suddenly, the numbness edged away, releasing the vast amounts of suppressed emotions. Now she was given the opportunity to share the hate, the anger, all the pain. She never realised how truly lonely she was and now to be joined by one of her best friends sparked a hope that had been lost.
Maybe it isn’t over, maybe there’s a way...
Yet all the emotion drained whatever feeble amounts of energy she had left. It was not long before the darkness consumed her into the realms of unforgiving dreams.
Hermione awoke early that morning as usual, greeted by the heavy smell of damp. However, it was never very wise to have a few extra hours of sleep while the Death Eaters took their morning patrol. The hazy days and humid nights caused the tent material to be terrorised by condensation. A thick smog had apparently built up over the night, restricting Hermione’s breathing.
The familiar pain that belonged to her head, among other parts of her body, forced her to leave her half conscious state. Not that this bothered her too much. It’s not like she ever had a decent night's sleep, anyway. Yet who would in such circumstances?
The horrors of war had plagued her mind all night, the never ending screams of the innocent and the stench of blood was singed into her nostrils for all eternity, bitterly stinging her senses.
When her misty amber eyes finally opened to her reality, it was to the surreal frozen sight of Ginny. Whom she, in all honesty, wished that she was a fragment of her distorted dreams. Hermione rose awkwardly from the floor - the mornings were always difficult.
Lack of nutrition, hydration and civilised toileting left her dizzy most of the time. She nursed the constant soft thump on her right temple, pacing herself gingerly. Her stomach growled within her, clenching at her torso she submitted to its punishment as she bent over. Food... No, I mustn’t... It’s not like I’ll be getting it anytime soon.
Ginny made little response to Hermione’s actions, as she remained cross legged, eyes closed and fought with her own demons. The pain continued down Hermione’s knees, crippling them dramatically, forcing her to the floor. The memories of forbidden thoughts came to her with little warning. Before she had time to think, her eyes were flooded with tears. A rush of panic engulfed Hermione back to that day as their long ago surrender was all she saw.
-
She cackled, with her wand raised high as utter glee was painted on her condemned face. Bellatrix stood on a fallen pillar subsequent to the battle, twisting her wand as her feet pranced like a spoilt child’s. Harry was suspended in midair, his arms stretched out on either side of him, his already beaten body on display.
The blood began to trickle more freely as his features contorted to the pain, his once strong green eyes full of tears. His yells reverberated throughout the grounds, showcasing the torture that was bestowed to him as they all watched their Messiah reduced to the victimisation of the evil. His rounded glasses had been bent and shattered like the souls of the forsaken as the Dark Lord clutched them sickeningly in his long, grey fingers.
Bellatrix moved the wand in her fingers as if it was a ribbon.
‘Crucio!’ her laughter chased into every ear present. Harry screamed, thrashing in the air, his body almost giving up hope. Bellatrix spun him slowly on his invisible pedestal for all to see. He was being tortured in front of the whole school, the DA, the Order. The Death Eaters at last finally had their long awaited prize.
Voldemort stood by, casually laughing in rhythm to Harry’s screams, merely exhibiting his success.
‘Make the Potter boy dance for his Lord!’
His cold high pitch demeanour threatened the sanity of most. Bellatrix flicked her tongue across her thin lips in excitement. Voldemort, with little hesitation, had his wish granted. Hermione stopped watching the disgusting sceptical before her by this point, soaking her tears into Ron’s woollen jumper.
Nobody moved.
Not only had they taken Harry, but they had taken their hope along with it. His screams surged towards Hermione. Her best friend, nothing short of a brother, an innocent boy thrown willingly to a fate worse than death.
He was a celebrated hero, now dancing for the Dark Lord. It was an insult to his life, a sham to the memories of his parting. Humiliation and torture. In one swift flick of the wand, Harry’s body dropped unforgivingly to the ground, leaving only the echoes of his screams in his wake.
-
The tears continued to stream, staining her face. Hermione fell to her side with a thud, gripping onto the tent flooring as if it would bring her strength. Her hands possessed her hair, clutching at the dull strands forcing the emotional anguish out of her. It brought nothing apart from more despair.
‘Harry...’ she whispered between her rasped breaths. Hermione fell into a silent cry. If Ginny noticed, she gave little inclination.
Both girls were wrapped up in their own torment. No amount of comfort Ginny could bring would rectify the death of those she loved, her would-be consoling was far from Hermione’s mind, however. She at least had comfort in Ron’s death. She knew he was trying to do the right thing. Harry merely disapparated when he had the chance.
It had been a long while since Hermione had a sense of time. Upon her arrival, her existence was to not end up like so many others. The only time that was distinguished was that of the movements of the sun. So how long Hermione lay there with her inner turmoil running wild, she could not say. She squeezed at the flooring as she rocked herself, hoping it might relinquish some emotion, that maybe it would materialise either of the boys in front of her. Eventually, she drifted off into the realms of past antipathy.
She was awoken by the intense midday heat of the summer. The flap was pulled back, spilling the brightness into the girl’s tent. Ginny had not moved from her previous position and Hermione reacted unnaturally slowly to the intrusion, prying her face from the canvas flooring, her cheeks sticky from the incessant crying.
Her eyes felt chapped, as though they were made of glass. She had little idea why her body decided to cry. It only did more harm than good. She raised her head slowly to the entrance, only to find someone she really did not wish to see. Greyback stood there with hunger in his eyes and blood on his breath. His filthy claw-like nails ran down the side of the sheathing before he decided to enter.
‘Well, well, well. What do we have here? Two little beauties, fit for lunch...’ His eyes traced down the barely covered thighs of Hermione, licking his lips in anticipation. ‘Among other things...’
He smirked a wicked grin, advancing towards her. She had little time to shuffle herself backwards into the corner of the tent, even if she wasn’t any safer.
‘I like to make the meat tender before I eat it. Pound it in.’ He growled in a long and low frequency, baring his serrated teeth at Hermione with the stench of her dead friends still lingering in his mouth.
He slowly reached for his belt buckle, allowing the metal to harshly clasp against itself. Before Hermione could prevent the forcible penetration that was about to be committed to her, a loud bang erupted just outside the tent.
‘Fenrir! Get the fuck out of that tent!’ A man nearly as tall as Greyback and nearly as broad pointed his wand directly at the werewolf. Judging from his voice, it was the same man as last night. He entered the appalling conditions, refusing to lower his wand. Greyback froze, not even attempting to hide the scenario.
None of them ever would. It was their world now.
The Death Eater Hermione recognised as Dolohov held his silence and his gaze. The last time she had seen him was during the chase for the prophecy at the Ministry.
Although her first memory of Dolohov was him digging his hands into her scalp, the thoughts somehow warmed her. A place where all of her friends had been together, surviving, with hope.
‘You know the fucking rules, you mangy piece of shit!’ Dolohov continued. ‘We got their request this morning.’
The werewolf appeared very unconvinced, expressing something very disagreeable on his disfigured face. Dolohov, in one final attempt, began once again, ‘besides it’s that Malfoy prick who owns them now. There’s fuck all you can do about it.’
Dolohov inclined his head to leave, inviting the werewolf along with him. Greyback did so reluctantly, but not without saying goodbye.
‘I’m sure I’ll be seeing you two in good time. Have fun being fucked by Malfoy. You’ll wish you had me instead.’ He leant forward, snarling his teeth in Hermione’s stunned face. He left without another word, kicking the tent upon his exit. One last fright while he could...
Ironically, the fear of what could have happened dissolved like sugar, barely registering with her. It was what Dolohov said that chilled her very core regardless of the exotic temperatures.
Malfoy.
Of all the people they were to be sent to, nobody made her skin crawl the way he did. How could he so easily have betrayed them? How could he so easily walk into the open arms of Voldemort without so much as looking back?
Yet it wasn’t a simple coincidence they were sent to him, he requested them, both her and Ginny. He wanted them as his slaves, more than likely as a sickening trophy - the best friend and the girlfriend. What could be better for a disgraceful ferret like him?
What could she do? Escape? That would not be an option, for those who tried were delivered a fate worse than they could ever imagine. It was a horrific thought, considering the worst had already happened to most.
For attempting to runaway, was one very sure way to end at the merciless hands of the Dark Lord, who was known for his patience in torture. The only reason they were kept alive for so long was to be as condemned to the devil as much as possible. Not like anyone had actually managed to escape, anyway.
Now she was being sent to the jaws of someone she never even believed had the capability of being a Death Eater. Yet that was a long time ago and now a new dawn engulfed the horizon, painting the blood of even more of the innocent.
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Censory Deprivation.
Why stop at fatness? If you are going to put a red pen through Roald Dahl—as his publisher, Puffin, did recently—there are so many better bits to choose. The sensitivity readers contented themselves with excising such words as “fat”, “flabby”, “ugly” and “Kipling”. But Dahl doesn’t merely offer sexism, racism and colonialism; in his adult fiction you can find sins so frankly filthsome and swigpilling there has yet to be an -ism coined to cover them. There is violence, voyeurism and an unforgettably frightsome story in which a scorpion collector accidentally has sex with a leper. Not for nothing did his family call him “Roald the Rotten” and—more bluntly—“Roald the Bastard”. Listen to this story.
Something seems to be changing in British publishing. You can see it in the sheepish announcement from Puffin after news of its edits prompted a backlash, that Roald the Revolting will still roll off the presses unaltered, alongside the works of Roald the Redacted. You can see it, too, in almost-silenced books that are now thriving. “Time to Think”, a book by Hannah Barnes about the Tavistock’s gender-identity clinic in London, which referred children as young as nine for puberty blockers, was rejected by 22 publishers. Swift Press, a nimble newcomer, took it on and it made the bestseller lists. People in the industry suggest that the red pen is being wielded less freely. As one publishing executive puts it, there is a sense that things “had gone too far”. (Though since this person did not want to be quoted by name, not far enough.)
A change is overdue. The editing of Dahl by Puffin, an imprint of Penguin, was a symptom of something frogglehumping in the publishing world, but far from the only one. Authors have been dropped; books have been buried; people have lost jobs; sensitivity readers have been employed to ensure modern morals are adhered to. James Bond has even been edited to make him less vile—the literary equivalent of trying to make water less wet.
There is a line of argument that says that this isn’t really a problem. Suppression of speech, this argument runs, is the preserve of totalitarian, Orwellian-style states and institutions that use force to stop people speaking out. In a country like Britain, speech is still free. This is pure gobblefunk and Orwell’s “1984” is the wrong Orwellian work to understand why.
Better by far to turn to an introduction Orwell wrote for “Animal Farm”. Orwell had finished his satire on the Soviet Union—which many consider his masterpiece—in 1943, whereupon it was promptly rejected by four publishers. As with Ms Barnes’s 22 rejections, some offered reasons. One publisher pleasingly suggested Orwell might want to rethink the pigs. Having swine as the ruling class might “give offence…particularly to anyone who is a bit touchy, as undoubtedly the Russians are”. Orwell kept the pigs; “Animal Farm” sold half a million copies in two years.
He later reflected on all this in that introduction. There is, he wrote, a “veiled censorship” in British publishing. “At any given moment there is an orthodoxy, a body of ideas which it is assumed that all right-thinking people will accept without question.” It is “not exactly forbidden to say this, that or the other, but it is ‘not done’ to say it”. Anyone who tries to do so “finds himself silenced with surprising effectiveness”. They still do. A book on colonialism by Nigel Biggar, an emeritus professor of theology at Oxford University, was welcomed by its publisher, Bloomsbury, as a work of “major importance” and then postponed, apparently indefinitely, because “public feeling…does not currently support the publication of the book”. It is now out under a different publisher.
What is striking is how apparently mild the sanctions are for speaking out. People think, as one author puts it, that you are afraid of Twitter death threats. You aren’t: what really terrifies you is that your colleagues will think a little less of you. Most people do not require the threat of being burned at the stake to shut them up; being flamed by their peers on Twitter is more than enough.
This is true of more typically Orwellian states, too. When Anne Applebaum studied the Sovietisation of central Europe, the historian found political conformity was “the result not of violence or direct state coercion, but rather of intense peer pressure”. Publishing, an industry in which every third person is called Sophie, seems particularly susceptible to such pressure.
All this involves no laws, no police, nor even any obvious threats. Polite people write polite emails and books are politely buried. “The sinister fact about literary censorship in England”, Orwell wrote, “is that it is largely voluntary.” To go against that ominously amorphous “public feeling” is deeply uncomfortable. Ms Barnes found writing her book about the Tavistock’s clinic hard not because she thought it was wrong but because “I thought: ‘People are not going to like me.’” Publishers are equally nervy. In the name of looking likeable they panic and pre-empt offence: they cull the pigs; drop the book on colonialism; cut the foulsome bits.
The problem with all this nervousness—this desire-to-look-nice-ness—is that it has very nasty results. In “Fahrenheit 451”, a novel by Ray Bradbury, a society has taken to burning all books lest any cause offence. As one character explains: “Don’t step on the toes of the…second-generation Chinese, Swedes, Italians, Germans, Texans, Brooklynites, Irishmen….” This book-burning wasn’t mandated by the government. “There was no dictum, no declaration, no censorship to start with, no! Technology…and minority pressure carried the trick.” Now the books have all gone. Now “thanks to them, you can stay happy all the time.”
Penguin, incidentally, offers an audiobook of “Fahrenheit 451”. Perhaps its executives might be encouraged to listen to it before they get their red pens out. Then again, they might be tempted to edit it as well; after all, Puffin took the words “Japanese” and “Norway people” and “Yankee-Doodles” out of Dahl. Best be sure we can all stay happy all the time. ■
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Warbringer Pt. 20
Summary: In the wake of Apollo's healing, Leoric finds himself in Quinn's care, and Quinn finally admits to himself that his feelings for Leoric are not born of lust.
WARNINGS: Mention of Sickness/Injury
Hyacinth, Lavender
Latin Translations:
Deus meus lauretus - My laurel-wreathed god
Quinn brushed a stray tendril of hair back where it clung to a sweat dampened cheek as Leoric fought against the fever that ate away at him. He had seemed fine when Veil had released him into Quinn’s care, but his condition had rapidly worsened overnight and no amount of medicine or healing seemed to be working.
“The veil is thin again in the Badlands.” Janus remarked, watching the veil between time turn sheer.
“Is someone else passing it?” Apollo wondered.
“No.” Janus murmured, after a moment’s pause. “It’s for your disciple. A ticket home.”
“The one who has his heart is in the Badlands.”
“I suppose we shall see if his will of mind is as strong as his heart. He won’t survive the passing of the veil again. His body is too weakened by Bellona’s assault. Even with the cordial, even with your healing, he suffers it so. That body is very mortal.” Janus stepped away from the mirror for a moment, trying to gauge his fellow god.
“He has not asked. If he did, I doubt it would be for himself.”
“Are we back to our fickle ways that we would play with these mortals’ lives?” Janus asked. “But perhaps the pathway of an oracle is dangerous for one so reckless.”
“He does things recklessly because his heart bleeds for people just like him. Because he was the one who had to stand up for himself. Because he was the one to make himself.” Apollo replied, incensed for a moment. “He blessed a home of healers. He warded for their protection. He knew his love would come to kill them... and he knew that if his love took one step over that threshold, that he would have died on impact with the blessing. He’s trying to find a way to give a man his freedom, trying to find a way to give a man his life back, trying to find a way to heal the man he loves. But how can he... when those tools are not at his disposal?”
“This land is not our Renaissance.” Janus retorted. “It is not our Rome. Our Athens.”
“Does it matter if it is? There are no more temples left in that world. Everything is dust. Why not take the chance to rebuild on fertile ground?” Apollo asked.
Leoric’s eyes fluttered as he took in a ragged breath, shoulders shaking in an aching cough. Why did his body feel like it had been dragged through hell and back? The last thing he remembered was confrontation with Hannah and Quinn at his side, but he was certain more time had passed since then, all in a hazy blur.
A damp cloth pressed to his forehead, a hand smoothing down his cheek, rough fingers-- Quinn’s touch. Leoric instinctively followed it, colliding with a warm body and a coarsely bearded jaw. He took in another sharp breath, fighting the urge to cough against Quinn’s shoulder.
“You’re alright.” Quinn murmured, hand at his back now, pressing Leoric into his body. There was an attempt to his name, a low sound rattling through Leoric before he got quiet again, nuzzling into Quinn’s chest.
“You’re awfully stubborn.” Apollo remarked. Quinn absolutely hated that the god was sitting right there, legs propped over the arm of his chair. It was bad enough that he had just appeared out of a literal nowhere and plopped himself down in Quinn’s quarters about two days ago. “But the veil has passed and according to Janus, it won’t pass again. You survived the passing of it... despite being called to it. What did you leave behind? A family? Children? A lover?” Apollo must have touched on something sensitive because with all the strength Leoric could muster, he had taken the longsword from beneath the pillows and thrown it in Apollo’s direction. “Whoa!” It still wavered from the wall where it had made contact. “Alright then.” Apollo muttered. “Tetchy.”
Leoric glared in that direction. Who are you?
“You know me as Apollo.” Leoric shook his head.
I don’t remember... I don’t remember the time that has passed.
“No, I don’t suppose you would.” Apollo murmured. “Cordials of the gods sometimes react strangely on mortal bodies.”
I’m sick.
“Your body is weakened, yes. Bellona tore through both your mental and physical defenses. It will take time, as anything else does, for you to recover.” Leoric touched his hand to the leather corded crystal resting against his chest.
“It’s...” Leoric rasped. “Blurred.” He shouldn’t be in here if I’m sick. His immune system doesn’t need any more stress than it already has.
“Yeah, good luck convincing him. He has the head of an ox.” Apollo murmured.
Touching. But foolish. Leoric took in another deep breath, the cough shaking his form. Quinn rumbled out an annoyed sound.
“Come back to bed.”
“Mmm.” Leoric stood on wobbling legs, snatching the red jacket to wrap around an otherwise bare body. He didn’t even want to know when that had happened, making his way, slowly to his own quarters across the hall. The rifling of bottles and vials as glass clinked against each other, fingers closing around a jar.
“It’s quite impressive, this little apothecary you’ve made for yourself.” Apollo commented. Leoric turned with a brief nod, offering the jar to Apollo. “Oh?” He took the jar, opening it for a moment to inspect the contents. “Oh. Well that’s appreciated. I won’t pretend to know where you found it in this wasteland.” Leoric snorted, grimacing, leaning on his dresser as a wave of dizziness began to overtake him. “Hey,” There were hands on him that weren’t Quinn’s and Leoric shied from the touch. “You need to take it easy. Your body is still healing.” Apollo murmured, coming down to level with Leoric.
I just... want... a blessed moment... of peace.
“I can help you.”
That requires sacrifice. I have nothing for you, deus meus lauretus.
“You think this is nothing?” Apollo showed the jar, the delicate blue-purple flowers resting within. “Just because the offering is small doesn’t dictate its worth.” Leoric closed his eyes, and Apollo got the sense that that particular affirmation hit a little close to home. “Why don’t we get you to Quinn, and why don’t you take it easy for a while?” Apollo murmured, grabbing the extra clothes and looping Leoric’s arm over his shoulder, retreating back to Quinn’s quarters.
“Listen I know you don’t like me, but...” Apollo helped Leoric to the bed. “Take care of him.” Apollo watched Leoric immediately curl to Quinn’s side. “I... I’ll be back in a little bit.”
“You are impossible.” Quinn murmured.
“Just... Just want a bath.” Leoric whispered.
“All you had to do was ask, you know.” Quinn replied. “I’ll take care of you.” Leoric managed a small smile, watching Quinn draw a warm bath, stepping into it before it was nearly done. It wasn’t long that the scent of lavender drifted through the air as Leoric sank into the water, eyes closing. “I’ll protect you.” Quinn’s whisper was soft, only meant for him as practiced hands combed through Leoric’s hair, untangling the braid, working soap through it. As deft as Quinn was at it, Leoric assumed he may have been doing it this whole time... or in the other moments where his mind was gone.
“I love you.” Leoric breathed quietly, drifting.
He was asleep before Quinn ever uttered a quiet, “I know.” It was harder to hide his feelings when Leoric was so helpless like this. Sick, tired, beaten... He wasn’t the one to concede, even for the sake of his own health. Quinn washed and dried him gently, helping him into a nightshirt and underwear. Mostly Leoric was just content to nuzzle into him, seeking warmth, seeking safety, seeking the comfort of Quinn’s arms. And right back into the bed they went, Quinn nesting himself around Leoric’s body. Was this love, real love? Or was it just lust... no. Quinn shut that thought down so quickly, it was borderline violent. Lust... lust was a dollhouse, a ten-coin blowjob, nothing more than a ritual satisfaction. He would never get sex like the sex he and Leoric shared at any dollhouse in the Badlands. It was more than some cheap one night wick. No, the things Quinn felt for Leoric... he was beginning to doubt that feeling was lust, as much worry, sadness, and oftentimes anger was mixed in.
#Warbringer#Warbringer Series#Baron Quinn X OMC#Baron Quinn X Original Male Character#Into the Badlands Fanfic#cw: mention of sickness/injury
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S10 AU where Crowley finds Cas & Hannah before they get jumped and he zaps them all to the bunker to deal with demon Dean. Because of the warding Crowley can't go in so Hannah stays outside to watch him. They're bickering every time we cut to them. Cas helps Sam restrain Dean and they start curing him.
BUT in curing demon Dean a few things happen:
-Sam finished the trials and he crumbles to the floor. Cas burns through most of his strength trying to heal him but Sam dies.
-Dean's soul is cured. But all the injuries he's taken now are taking affect including the damage from Metatron stabbing him. Cas initially thought Dean slumped forward out of exhaustion until he sees the blood drop falling from his mouth. Cas is already weakened and he tries to fix Dean....and he does but his soul is gone. They're both gone.
-The gates of Hell are sealed shut. Crowley's phone is going off like crazy. The demons above and below want to know what to do. He has no idea where to begin.
-Cas comes stumbling up to where they're waiting. He's not gonna make it himself if he doesn't consume more grace soon, but he doesn't care. He needs to get to Heaven so he can fix the boys. Crowley jokes that it's a good thing Cas carries a fresh supply with him, meaning Hannah. Cas isn't amused, but Hannah takes her blade out with one hand and holds the other out. Crowley's shocked that she's willing that just do it. Cas immediately grabs her wrist and tells her no. She argues that a little won't hurt. She'll make more and he can have more time. Cas still says no. Crowley rolls his eyes and says he has a better plan. In one of his storage units he has a few jars of grace. Cas glares at him murderously. Crowley shrugs, he dissected and experimented on all kinds of monsters. Why wouldn't he want to figure out angels?
They head there so Cas doesn't drop dead, but he feels like dying. Every bit of grace he consumes...he knows in an instant who each bit came from.
Cas and Hannah go back to Heaven and retrieving Dean is easy. Sam....is no where to be found. Hannah goes to find out where in the veil Sam is stuck while Cas brings Dean home.
Dean wakes up in a panic, but alive and human. Cas begs him not to do anything stupid. Dean is about to shrug him off when they both realize that he still has the mark. He's still cursed. Dean jokes that maybe Cas should've left him in Heaven. Cas insists that he's wrong. They'll find a way to fix this.
And then Cas' phone rings. It's Hannah. She requests that they meet her outside. On the way Dean asks if Sam finally got sick of him and ran. Cas simply answers that Sam should be waiting with Hannah. And they find Crowley standing there with her instead. Crowley says they have a big problem. Cas ignores him and asks Hannah if she retrieved Sam yet. She shakes her head, he wasn't there. Dean's mad now and demands to know what they're not telling him. Where's Sam?
Crowley laughs. It's a funny thing how sometimes fate finds a way to roll up the script you rejected and slam you over the head with it. He knows where their lost moose is. He holds up his cell phone and shakes it slightly. According to my underlings, curing Dean sent him straight to Hell and the gates sealed right behind him.
#Spn#Save#This just came to me in a 2am vision#One day I'd like to write this in more detail#I think this would be fun to explore
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Harry Potter headcanons (sad)
That Hermione and Ron always wanted a huge family. Like, 5 children filling a burrow. However, they ended up with only two. Why? Hermione’s torture at the hands of Bellatrix left its marks, and she couldn’t have children after Hugo. Dark Magic always left marks.
That Dumbledore never really left limbo. He stayed there forever, unable to allow himself to move due to the blood he had on his hands, lives he sacrificed for the greater good.
That George dyed his hair blue after the battle in order to stop reminding himself of Fred every time he saw a mirror.
That Grindelwald never stopped loving Dumbledore, and during their final duel, he actually had an opportunity to kill him, but couldn’t gather the will. Dumbledore used that moment to win.
That during Snape’s death, those tears with the memories, were also a sacrifice. Those tears were the memories themselves. So, when he died and went to the afterlife … he didn’t remember the person most featured in those memories, the one they focused on. In death, he never remembered Lily.
After the battle of hogwarts, Dennis Creevey becomes a photographer …. which was what his brother, Colin, had wanted to become when he grew up.
That Sirius willingly fell into the veil, which only kills if you completely were thrown into it. What happened was that half of his body went to the other side, and he was immediately assaulted by whispers of his dead loved ones, especially lily and James. He died with a smile, as he jumped in to his next great adventure.
That for the first fifteen years of his life, what Tom Riddle saw in the Mirror of Erised was himself with his parents in a rich household, in a loving family. All he wanted was to be loved. All that changed when he made his first horcrux.
That Dumbledore’s boggart was himself. And, that it really was him who killed Ariana, something he found out in the afterlife.
When Ron was a little boy he overheard his aunt Muriel talking to her friend that how amazing Ron's elder brothers were. But she called Ron ‘Molly's failed attempt for a girl’. She also said that Ron was worthless and he was no one compared to his elder brothers. Ron had developed insecurities about not being good enough from that overheard conversation.
When Ron left in DH Hermione wrote a letter. Conveying EVERYTHING she felt for him. She was almost certain that she would never see him again. She would never be able to tell him how she felt for him. She kept that letter in her beaded bag. Years later Ron found out that letter. And he cried.
Once during an auror mission Ron was injured badly. He almost died. Hermione didn't leave his side for once. When he was slightly better, Hermione told him that she was pregnant. That was when Ron had decided to quit his job.
When Ron and Hermione were staying at the shell cottage Hermione had a long conversation with Fleur. Hermione told her that there was a huge chance that she wouldn't survive the battle of Hogwarts. She was a muggleborn afterall. So if something happened she wanted Ron to move on with his life. She wanted Fleur to promise her that she would help Ron to move on with his life.
When the flashing green light came rushing at James Potter's way he didn't see death, but was reminded of two pairs of vibrant green eyes staring lovingly at him.
Death works differently in the HPU. Once you die, you have the choice to stay in limbo for as long as you want, or to take the train. You could also become a ghost. However, along with that there’s also the choice of becoming a creature which is the embodiment of death - a thestral. This is why Luna has a favourite Thestral, and why there’s a huge influx of them in the forbidden forest after the battle of hogwarts.
Neville kept visiting his parents. With every milestone that he hit — graduating Hogwarts, marrying Hannah Abbott, being hired as a professor — he made it a tradition to see them. It was not until he visited with a baby girl in his arms, Alice Francesca Longbottom, that he saw a flash of recognition in his mother’s eyes.
The day Harry was born, all the marauders found themselves in St. Mungo’s. Hours later, Remus awoke in his chair just in time to see a black-haired man with a crooked nose regarding the new-born. With a last glance upon Lily he left, seemingly unseen.
As a child Teddy had a huge crush on his Aunt Hermione, and he would often give her flowers and ask her if they could get married someday. Once he grew up, he was commonly teased about his childhood crush on his aunt (not sad)
During the first few years that Severus was teaching at Hogwarts, all of the other teachers were very uncertain of him. They all thought that Dumbledore was mad for hiring him, as they all knew of his reputation as a Death Eater. But eventually he struck up a very playful rivalry with Minerva. They would sit together at Quidditch matches and pass snarky comments back and forth, both of them snorting in amusement. It also wasn’t uncommon to find them sat together in the evenings, having a cup of tea or a glass of firewhiskey. By the time Harry Potter came to Hogwarts, Minerva believed in him almost as much as Dumbledore did. (He often urged Severus to tell her the real reason he defected from the Death Eaters, but Severus always refused.) His hatred of the young Gryffindor was often a point of contention between the two unlikely friends, but their friendship remained strong. It withstood Voldemort’s return and the reformation of the Order of the Phoenix. But in the aftermath of the Battle of the Astronomy Tower and Dumbledore’s death, Minerva was completely shocked and outraged. She couldn’t believe she’d ever befriended him at all and swore she’d never forgive herself for trusting him. During the last year the two taught together she avoided him at all costs, talking to him only when it was absolutely necessary, and when she had to she did so rather stiffly. After the Battle of Hogwarts ended and he was dead, however, she learned the truth about his actions from Harry, who told her about his tragic tale. She cried on and off for days. And the first time she came face to face with his portrait she completely broke down.
Had Fred not died, the twins would have had an overly casual double wedding [and would probably switch places to mess with their brides]
When Remus woke up in Harry’s compartment in POA, he saw Harry giving him the same comforting and concerned look as James. For a moment he thought he was seeing James again. Then in sunk in that his dear friend was dead and it was James’ son.
Teddy saw Sirius’ picture once. He didn’t know who he was, so he changed himself to look like him. It was only when he grew up that he understood why Harry started crying when he saw him.
Once Professor McGonagall was made headmistress, she let Hagrid become a student. Harry saw Hagrid’s Patronus for the first time in his life three years after the war. It was Hedwig.
When Petunia and Lily were little, they would read Alice in Wonderland. Petunia would read Dudley the book, fully knowing he didn’t like it. She was reading it for Harry, who was listening from inside his cupboard. Petunia believed she owed this to Lily.
When Harry was a baby, he didn’t know his own name. Each of the marauders gave him a nickname. (James called him troublemaker.) When he lived with the Dursleys, and they called him a “troublemaker”, toddler Harry would get excited thinking that his dad was going to take him away from these horrible people.
During the Battle of Hogwarts, Nearly-Headless Nick’s head finally came off. Hence, he had to join the Headless Hunt. Thus, Gryffindor needed a new applicant. The new house ghost was a 17-year-old redheaded man and a large group of 12 students were excited to meet their beloved uncle.
When Teddy Lupin was a baby, his color turned into the person he wanted to hold him. Occasionally, it was Harry or Ginny or any other Weasley. But one day it turned pink and he could do nothing about it.
The Marauders used to take turns babysitting Harry, and it became a tradition to pass the baby and say, “You’re it. Good luck.” And the last thing Sirius saw as he fell through the veil was Remus holding Harry, and the last thought that went though his head was, “You’re it. Good luck.”
After Fred’s funeral, George does not return to the Burrow until about a year later. He refuses to go upstairs where his and Fred’s old room is and barely says a word. His hair is some wild outrageous color, cropped short and crooked, and Mrs. Weasley goes into a fit. She loudly asks why he would do that to himself, and is not prepared when he says, “I kept seeing him in the mirror.”
It’s the year after the Battle of Hogwarts. The school is still being repaired and the class size has dwindled down to pitiful numbers. And the Thestrals are so excited about the newfound attention they’d been getting.
Dobby wrote a will in which he sent Harry over 200 pairs of socks, Ron a pair of trainers, and a misshapen hat for Hermione.
No matter what he was doing or who he was with, Harry would always stop and pet any stray dog that he came across. If he could, he would give them any food he had. Eventually he became known as the man with the treats. Not Harry Potter or the Chosen One; just the quiet man with dogbones. When dogs would bound up to him, throwing their paws onto his chest and barking with glee at his arrival, he was reminded irresistibly of Sirius.
At Colin’s funeral, Harry didn’t say a word. He had been to so many funerals recently that pleasantries felt like a waste of breath, and how terrible would it be for him to waste his breath when he was so lucky to have it? He stood silent and watching, and as the last of the attendees left, Harry placed a tiny picture on Colin’s grave, taken by the late boy himself. It was the only autograph Harry Potter would ever give.
On May 2nd, 1998, Hogwarts held a moment of silence for the fallen. Not a single portrait stirred, not a single stair shifted. Even Peeves ducked into a corner and went silent. Then, when the silence ended, millions of different colored sparks took off into the sky.
Tonks is easily excitable and loved entertaining Hermione and Ginny with her Metamorphosis abilities. One day, she found a picture of Harry in Sirius’ room to turn herself into, and ran downstairs to show Remus and Sirius. And it wasn’t until Tonks watched their hearts break that she realized Harry’s eyes were the wrong color.
Harry kept each and every one of the sweaters that Mrs. Weasley had knitted him. One day while cleaning, she saw them folded with so much care in his drawer. She turned to see Harry wearing his newest Christmas Sweater proudly, like it was the greatest honor he could have been given, and she burst into tears.
One day, Harry accidentally calls Mrs. Weasley “Mum” instead of Molly. His face goes bright red, fumbling with apologies, and she (once again) burst into tears.
The first thing Draco Malfoy did after the war was Apparate into Muggle London and march straight into a tattoo parlor. He emerges, his face still bloody and burned, with an arm void of a black skull. Instead, he looks down at the skin covered in flowers and the skull changed into a silhouette of the castle, and smiles for the first time in two years.
George pulls Harry aside:
(“Harry, you’ve died, haven’t you?”
Harry looked up at George and regarded him, careful not to let any incredulousness show in his eyes — he knew all too well of the torment George must be feeling, of the weight in what he was visibly preparing himself to say.
“I have,” said Harry carefully.
George dipped his head; as he did, Harry caught something in his eyes that pained him so deeply, he was grateful George had tried to hide it from him.
“Does it...” George spoke to his shoes, and his voice sounded much older than Harry remembered. “Did... Did dying hurt, Harry? D’you think… that Freddie was in pain when...”
But George did not need to specify. Like he had been smacked right across the face with the words left unspoken, Harry knew, and it was a long time before he answered.
“It didn’t hurt,” said Harry resolutely, like he was deciding it right then and there.“It didn’t?”
“Quicker and easier than falling asleep.”)
When Remus Lupin took the Map from Harry, he sat there for hours, opening and reopening it wrong on purpose just to see the clever insults sprout on the paper. It was almost like his friends, alive and well, were talking to him for the first time in 12 years.
The day Molly Weasley dies, the first thing she sees is a girl with red hair sprinting toward her. She panics, thinking it might be Ginny, but she sees startling green eyes and knows who it is immediately. Lily Potter pulls Mrs. Weasley into a hug and in a choked voice, whispers, “Thank you.”
Harry memorized every name of the 50 Fallen after the war ends. The day he dies, old and surrounded by his children, he repeats their names in his head like a mantra and begs for their forgiveness.
Eleven years later, at Hogwarts, students fill a corridor filled with portraits of those who died in the Battle of Hogwarts. They look for Harry Potter, Hermione Granger, and other famous faces, but there’s a blue-haired first year in their midst, trying desperately to remember what his parents had looked like.
James Potter lost both of his parents at once. The news was delivered to him by Professor McGonagall with Sirius by his side, but James was in denial. He kept insisting that she was lying, and it wasn’t until Sirius broke down into tears that James knew, and it broke him.
Crookshanks was the Potters family cat mentioned in sirius' letter and escaped godrics hollow after Halloween and managed to find the magical menagerie. He found hermione and stayed with her because harry was only allowed hedwig and Ron already had scabbers. This is why he was especially angry towards Ron, due to smelling his masters betrayer on him, and didn't run away from sirius’ grim form.
Hedwig was a guardian angel. Hedwig is smarter than most owls and other animals in the magical world, often appearing to harry when he needs to write a letter. Female snow owls like hedwig are mostly white but they have grey marks and spots on their back wings, hedwig is portrayed as a white male snowy owl. White as an angelic being perhaps Perhaps? Perhaps hedwig was sent by his parents as a guard and friend to him, its why hedwig didn't want anyone else adopting her.
Dementors come from the death eater who were thrown into the Veil. Ever wonder why the veil of death is barley used? After the souls escape to the after life the bodies of those who enter become husks of their former selves, hungry for souls. Unmasked before thrown in with only the cloaks on their backs.
Four years after the Battle of Hogwarts, Molly Weasley was busy preparing food for Ron’s birthday. She mistakenly barked to George, “Get that chicken out of the oven, Fred!” George silently whispered, “Honestly, woman, you call yourself our mother?”
JK Rowling has revealed that Lily Potter was pregnant was her second child when she was killed. Even worse, she had convinced James to make Snape the godfather of the child.
At Luna’s wedding, the whole of the front seats were reserved. Harry went up to her at the end of service and asked, “Luna, who’s sitting there?” Luna smiled her usual smile and said, “Right. They did sit here in a spiritual way I suppose.” She pointed the seats one by one, “Right, that’s for my mother, those are for your parents, that one is for Sirius, that one is for Professor Lupin, that one is for Tonks, then Mad-Eye, then Fred Weasley, then Professor Dumbledore, and then Professor Snape. Right then, bye!” Harry had never felt so touched before.
The reason Bellatrix was so wretchedly insane and slavishly devoted to Voldemort was that she lived for the promise that one day, if she did enough, someone might say “I love you” back. I know that she doesn’t deserve this but for love… wow Bellatrix.
When Harry and Ginny went to search for a house to live in they found an apparently perfect house, Ginny loves it, but Harry rejects with a clear excuse about it being too big for them. Ginny doesn’t notice Harry’s fixed look on the Cupboard under the stairs.
Before the Horcrux hunt, Ron and Hermione decided, that if either of them had to choose between saving each other's lives or Harry’s, they had to choose Harry for the sake of the world. No matter how painful it would be for them to let go of each other.
Sirius and Remus saved memories for Harry. Remus left them for Harry in his will, when Harry got a hold of them he got to see a part of James he never got to see in Snape's memory.
After the battle of Hogwarts, Neville went to visit his parents to tell them about it. After he finished, his mother, who normally spoke nonsense, smiled and said one word: “Proud”
On November 3rd 1981, Sirius Black sat alone in a cell in Azkaban softly singing: “Happy birthday to me, happy birthday to me, happy birthday dear Sirius...” whilst tears streamed down his face, wishing he could go back in time.
Mr. and Mrs. Potter, James and Sirius were out in public together one sunny afternoon. The elderly couple was talking to someone with that someone asking, “Oh, are these your sons?” Sirius turned beet red and becoming utterly flustered. Mr. Potter simply smiled and says, “Yes, they are.” With Mrs. Potter nodding proudly in agreement. Never once did they think to reply in any other way.
Harry as a preschooler drew two blond blots and a big black blot with a little black one standing a bit further away beside them with “My Family” scratched over the top and presented it to Uncle Vernon who ripped it apart and threw it away right in front of him.
When Harry and Ginny were married they moved to a house in Godric’s Hollow. After Lily was born and got older, she would visit her grandmother and namesake's grave everyday and leave lilies.
Harry Potter died at the ripe age of 101 surrounded by his loved ones, when he opened his eyes again he returned to the place he parted from his old mentor many years ago, but it wasn't Albus Dumbledore who greeted him at the station this time around. Standing a few feet away from him where a young couple patiently waiting for the son they were ripped away from so long ago to take him home and Harry Potter, the boy who lived, went gladly.
After the war, Minerva McGonagall went into a spiral of depression. It was brought on by watching so many students grow and die before her eyes.
At Ginny’s wedding she danced with George twice so it would feel like she was dancing with Fred.
After the second Wizarding War, everyone who died was given a chocolate frog card. When Teddy Lupin was on the train going to his first year of Hogwarts, he got the cards that had his parents on them, and it was like they were sending him off themselves.
These made me cry when I read them, I just can't :(
#marauders#harry potter#james potter#remus lupin#sirius orion black#lily x james#james potter x lily evans#headcanons#harry potter headcanon#sad#emotional
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[ - 𝐅𝐋𝐀𝐒𝐇𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐋𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓𝐒
𝐂𝐇 𝟎𝟓 - Loud Laughs
𝐒𝐘𝐍𝐎𝐏𝐒𝐈𝐒: Y/n, a 22 year old successful model is tired of the tabloids shaming her about her dating status when she’s seen out with her friends. Unsure of what to do to stop the gossip, Oikawa suggests a fake boyfriend. Fortunately, Kenma knows the perfect person who’d go for an idea as stupid as that one.
𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐯𝐢𝐨𝐮𝐬 … 𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐬 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 … 𝐧𝐞𝐱𝐭
“You’re being stupid,” you whisper to your reflection, watching your hands shake from nerves.
It’s stupid to be so nervous after spending almost the entire day with Kuroo yesterday and feeling so relaxed. Is it because you’re going to be one on one with him? Kenma was there yesterday, easing most of the tension if there was any. A soft sigh left your lips as you walked away going to your bedroom, deciding to at least be in a comfortable spot for this phone call.
He didn’t have to call; you mull over as you lie down. You don’t call to talk to your friends about their day often unless it’s a bad one. He’s probably nicer and calls his friends. A smile finds its way to your lips upon thinking that maybe he’s only nice like this with you. You wipe that away quickly, shrugging the thought off and dismissing it. He is just a friend, and you have no business getting into anything like that, anyway.
The phone vibrating against the soft comforter interrupts your train of thought. Swallowing the lump of nervousness, you pick it up and accept the call.
“Hello,” you start, voice laced with a thin veil of nervousness.
“Hey,” Kuroo’s voice sounds deeper on the phone, but he sounds relaxed, tired even.
It took his voice to wash over you for you to relax. Reminding yourself that no, it wasn’t Kenma that made you feel so comfortable, but Kuroo who made you feel relaxed. Any nervousness went out the window when he almost snorted Sprite out his nostrils.
“How was work? You sound tired,” you comment, smiling as he chuckles; laying back against the mattress.
“God, it was good but tiring. I want to hear about your work instead,” he asks, making you hum out faintly as you look over your nails.
“There isn’t a lot to it, really. I have a gig tomorrow, which consists of taking pictures and following pose guidelines. The rest of it is maintaining brand deals or updating my portfolio, auditions, socializing with fans, always looking marketable pretty much,” you conclude. A thoughtful hum fills your ear from the other side.
“Does the drama prevent you from appearing marketable?” Kuroo asks, and you can’t help but note the genuine curiosity in his tone.
It’s not like no one has taken an interest in your profession, but it is the first time someone’s cared enough to ask questions. Or appear genuinely interested besides seeing you model or asking if any other models are single. It’s pleasurable to have someone ask you about the in’s and out’s of your job.
“Not really? It is embarrassing when people I work with are dragged into it, but they understand, it’s not their first rodeo with a model. It’s a personal annoyance above anything else,” you mumble, sighing out quietly but feel a small smile returning once his warm laugh fills the microphone.
“Why are you laughing?” your smile turned into a laugh as you ask.
“I just got the mental image of a rumor about you and Kenma dating,” his laughs wheeze as they break up his sentence.
You already know he has a loud laugh that people could perceive as obnoxious, but his laugh only encouraged your own. It’s nice to laugh alongside him, plus he says nothing about your own loud laugh. He couldn’t say anything really, he sounded a little demonic if it was a laugh from the gut you’ve noticed.
“Oh my god, he’d stop being my friend for sure,” You laugh alongside him.
Your laughter continues for a few more moments, but when it quiets down, it isn’t awkward on either end. Your stifled laughter fills the call with little small giggles as you go back and forth telling one another to cut it out. Your laugh makes him laugh, you’ve noticed. When his laugh cools down, and you laugh, his laughter starts right back up again.
It took you both a few extra minutes to get yourselves together, but eventually, the stifled laughter turned into silence. A comfortable silence, and finally, Kuroo clears his throat with a relieved sigh.
“I thought my stomach was going to fall out from how funny that was,” He comments, making you giggle softly.
“Kenma’s hilarious, that’d be a funny situation for him. How long have you guys been friends?” You ask since Kenma didn’t tell you much besides playing volleyball back in high school.
“Since middle school. I didn’t really leave him alone, but he’s the person I can count on for anything. Hopefully, he knows it’s the same in return,” Kuroo mumbles, and you can hear the smile in his voice.
You’re nodding along, forgetting he can’t see you, which makes your hand slap across your forehead; a small wince spreading across your face.
“I can’t believe we haven’t been introduced,” you smoothly deliver, but you can hear the faint chuckle on the other line when the slap reverberates through the microphone. If he heard it, he won’t say anything.
“He’s a private guy, I didn’t even know he was friends with you. Bokuto almost passed out since you’re his favorite model,” Kuroo chuckles out, making you laugh softly.
“Atsumu is on his team, I can’t believe he didn’t tell Bokuto we were friends either. I’d like to meet your friends sometime,” your voice comes out hopeful, a hum of agreement emits.
“You can meet them anytime. How about your friends? I need details on Kenma’s secret life,” Kuroo’s voice raises out of intrigue, making you playfully roll your eyes with a growing smile.
“I met Kenma by tweeting that I really liked his stream, and he thanked me for the support, and I guess I grew on him. Tendou I’ve known since we were kids, our moms are friends, he’s that friend you can make peace signs with and cry taking selfies,” Kuroo’s laughter makes you pause, a faint flutter of your heart has you skipping a beat, “Oikawa and I met at a networking event. His agent wanted him to model my agent was trying to market me, and we both ended up meeting and hitting it off. Atsumu actually slid into my DMs to ask me on a date, I rejected him but we became great friends,” you finish, smiling at his faint laughter.
“I admire the guy for staying your friend after being rejected. They sound cool, I’d like to meet Kenma’s double life friends. He’s like Hannah Montana, I feel like Lily when she found out,” he sounds remorseful, voice wavering to not laugh at his own joke, but thankfully your laugh covered it.
“You can meet Kenma’s secret organization of friends. They’re all amazing, I just have to give Atsumu a stern talking-to since he can be an asshole sometimes,” you mention, voice soft.
“Protective asshole or just an asshole? He can’t be as bad as Kenma,” Kuroo jokes, it doesn’t fall flat on you.
“Protective. He’s smelly, but he’s one of my most cherished friends,” your voice is soft still, Kuroo matches it.
“I know we called to talk about our day, but I’m glad Kenma introduced me to you. Talking to you is relaxing,” he pauses, you feel your cheeks heat, “it was crazy in the office today so you took the edge off if that makes much sense,” he finishes.
“It makes sense, I’m glad Kenma introduced me to you too,” you agree.
“Awesome, talking to you saves me time from listening to Boyfriend by Big Time Rush for some stress relief,” he sighs out, as if genuinely relieved.
You didn’t know, but he grins on the other side of the phone upon hearing your loud laugh.
𝐟𝐮𝐧 𝐟𝐚𝐜𝐭: Kuroo told Y/n one chemistry joke, don’t believe atoms they make up everything, and she did laugh.
𝐚/𝐧: Greetings!! So this was a fun write, don’t be shy send me asks and let me know your thoughts! I love reading all your comments it’s so fun thank you guys for reading!!
𝐭𝐚𝐠 𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 [𝐂𝐋𝐎𝐒𝐄𝐃]: @tepescelsius @elianetsantana @honeymoneyy @a-wannabeweeb @oceanblooming @princeabomination @kagebunshiin @tadashi-simp @unicorngluttony @tamaguchi @sunflowerirl @snowsmuse @cherrytiara @tsukkisbean @iwaizoom @aegeanblues @angyboibakugo @manic-punker @miyayassy @kozumecuddles @starry-magicshop @agaashesmilktea @amarillyis @saturnfarie @yamaita @ptv-hades @runningwitches @missalienqueen @fo-love @shiningstar-byulxx @appleciderslut @amberisnotcrazy @drizzlenfizzle002 @satorisupremacy @vicassa @angrylittleriri @vyisa @boosyboo9206 @skylarkalchemist @yeahhemmings- @akaashikeijisthighs @bellesowl @yakus-yakult @shut-your-eyes-kiss-me-goodbye @heyyourecute @fi16ns @yuuuumiiin @carpecaelo @awkwardly-anxious-latte @crybabbicus @felix-issimus
continued in comments
#kuroo x reader#kuroo smau#kuroo tetsurou x reader#haikyuu!! x reader#haikyuu!! smau#kuroo x y/n#kuroo tetsurou x y/n#kuroo tetsurou smau#kuroo tetsuro x reader#kuroo tetsuro x y/n#kuroo tetsuro smau#kuroo tetsurō x reader#kuroo tetsurō smau#kuroo tetsurō#kuroo tetsurou#kuroo#kuroo tetsuro#haikyuu!! kuroo x reader#haikyuu!! kuroo#haikyuu x reader#haikyuu smau#hq!! x reader#hq!! smau#hq x reader#hq smau#kuroo social media au#haikyuu!! social media au#🧪 : kuroo#📸 : flashing lights
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And now the post you've all been waiting for!! Here's the master post for my dsmp magic au; powers, headcanons, silly comments and all! (I'll also post a plain summary list tomorrow without the background and cute stuff for reference if anyone wanted that)
You can read it here under the cut, but I'll also be rb-ing with an ao3 link if you'd rather read it there
(Power inspiration comes mostly from The Young Elites/Shadow And Bone because I am a nerd and read too much) and the Kagerou Project
Right! We’re not getting into why they have magic. This is a canon where a dude fucked a fish and got a fox son out of it, okay. I do not need to explain why they suddenly have magic. Maybe she’s born with it, maybe its Maybelline. Either way an explanation is going to be foregone.
Purpled
- It is rumoured that he is some kind of end hybrid, but no one can figure out what kind and there’s no hard evidence either way
- Evidence collected so far is. Limited, frankly. Ponk is sure he saw a scratch bleed purple once, but it might have been the lighting. Ant is convinced he’s never seen Purpled touch water. Punz thinks he’s seen wings at some point, but never got to check.
- He does, however, have reduced hearing in his right ear and burn scars across the backs of his legs from too many tnt jumps, as well as a slight limp and a missing finger on his left hand. Those aren’t hybrid traits though. Bedwars does things to a man
- There is also no hard evidence that he has any powers, hybrid or otherwise, but there are stories and sometimes you’ll hear about him dodging a skeleton’s arrow shot from behind, or mining right around a lava pocket that no one knew was there, or making a jump that would be just impossible for anyone else
- (Okay I’m gonna lift the veil here a bit about his power. I was going to keep it a mystery but I love this so so much and I need everyone to hear it)
- Somehow the end is more connected to the code than the overworld or the nether. The dragon is generally considered the ‘end’ of the game, right? Purpled, being a hybrid from the end, is also connected and his powers are a very very good instinct for the game and also sometimes reality will bend just a little to suit him. They’re very subtle, and that’s why no one can pin down what he does, because they’re deliberately unnoticeable.
- Not even he knows exactly what he can do, and that’s the scary part. Who knows what he could be capable of, if even he’s never tested it’s extent?
- If I had to give c!Purpled a soundtrack it would be Violet by Those Who Dream
Hannah
- Hannah Rose. Hannahxxrose. Hannah my beloved. She’s a dryad, which means pointy ears and funky hair colours, like petal colours
- Her hair changes colour based on the season and where she is in the world. It’s most colourful in flower forests, and in all other biomes where flowers appear, it’s the colour of the flowers. In biomes without natural flower spawns (oceans, deserts, all that), her hair is natural brown
- Fun plant magic! think Poison Ivy from DC, when she controls all the plants and roots and stuff. I’ve never seen a DC movie in my life but that sounds about right
- Using physical powers is banned in certain areas of public servers because they can give unfair advantages in competitive games, right? Anyway Hannah spent a lot of time on places like that so she hadn’t much time to practice or learn how her powers worked and she’s not very experienced with them
- She has tripped up on her own vines before because of this. Purpled thinks it’s very funny until she trips him too
- She usually keeps a cane in her inventory for bad days or when she has to walk far, but if she dies and respawns without one she can usually convince one of her vines to help her back to her base or where she died to pick one up
- Sam did make her a couple of braces for her lower back and left knee, but they’re uncomfortable and can irritate her skin (like trees growing over signs/nails/other artificial things) so she doesn’t wear them often
- She did wear them at the red banquet though, for agility’s sake. Safer in the long run
- She doesn’t like visiting the nether very much because according to her, the nether flora has ‘attitude’ and won’t listen to her
- (They’re actually just very petty and prone to gossiping. The story of the time she picked a couple of mushrooms has been blown out of proportion among the plants of the nether, and now they say she uprooted an entire biome with one hand behind her back. Arguably very cool, albeit doubtful, but definitely something that would spook saplings)
Niki
- The origins mod is telling me mermaid Niki. I respectfully disagree
- That’s right Niki is a blaze hybrid here. L’mantree who?
- Her hair is golden naturally and I love it
- Not blonde. I mean gold gold, like in Rumpelstiltskin when he spun straw into gold thread
- Also she runs really hot (good to hug. nice and toasty. human space heater) and has claws that she let the kids paint when they were younger
- Pyromancy and pyrokinesis!! Pyrokinesis is born from her hybrid origin, but pyromancy is her own power separate from that.
- For those of you who don’t know, pyrokinesis is the ability to create and control fire, and pyromancy is divination by fire. Telling the future with fire, basically. Literally hot girl shit
- Despite it’s rep, her pyrokinesis isn’t very aggressive. Hers is more like a hearth fire or campfire than a forest fire. Dangerous when she gets angry but with a pretty limited range
- She likes candles and fire baths and doesn’t like the snow because her socks get wet and they’re the one thing she hasn’t been able to dry with her power yet
- There are lots of kinds of pyromancy and I think Niki has tried most. Regular reading from flames is most accurate but can be hard to get a read on, so she likes to have some time for that, usually before big events. She used to burn plants, which was quicker and easier to understand but fairly vague, until she realised it made Hannah and Wilbur uncomfortable so her regular methods are salt and smoke now
Wilbur
- Wilbur also has pointy ears! He is a little elf boy but he likes to hide his ears with his beanie because he’s self-conscious about them
- Has nature-related powers also similar to Hannah’s, but his are more gentle and involve internal properties of flowers rather than the actual physical plants
- Basically he grows flowers and herbs and things that can be used in potions and stuff, which is why he’s also very good at brewing
- They grow out of his hair and around his feet if he’s not directing them anywhere, but with some focus he can get them to grow in his palm. Good party trick
- He likes cornflowers best (coincidentally the same flowers you make blue dye from :eyes:)
- He has a pretty good handle on his power but is affected by strong emotions like love or anger. He’s generally good at preventing it from overflowing (he goes gardening a lot <3) but an angry Wilbur is dangerous
- The flowers grow differently according to how he’s feeling, changing the type of flower, how quickly they bloom, and the vibrancy of their petals
- He has a hard time identifying other people’s emotions and tone because they don’t display them like he does, and don’t experience them outwardly
- It’s obviously pretty impossible for people without the same power to display their feelings and intent exactly the way he does, but his friends do try to be more literal around him and make sure to clarify things if he asks
- This has made him a lot less nervous about the whole thing because he knows his friends will help as much as they can <3 It’s all about the found family
- He grows lots of flowers accidentally, like in his hair or in Friend’s wool, and is generally pretty chill about it but gets kind of flustered if he does it to another person
- pogtopia was full of accidental poppies and foxgloves. They were not having a good time down there
Tommy
- Tommy has fangs. You knew it was coming. He enjoys biting people for no reason
- He’s never been ashamed of his mutation and Wilbur really admires him for that, since he’s always hidden his
- Also his eyes change colour but like. Subtly. I think he deserves a funky mutation like that
- Some days you’re convinced his eyes are blue and then you’ll turn around and they’re maroon or purple
- Now! His power! My initial thoughts say sound manipulation? I think it is called audiokinesis or echokinesis? Essentially he can make his voice/other sounds very loud or very quiet and sound different/echo by shifting the acoustics of a room or whatever
- Idk I just think some of his best acting is founded in his control over the sound of his voice and I wanted to include that somehow
- With an entirely auditory power his other senses (especially visual) are impaired. He has limited colour vision (like bats) and strong astigmatism, which gives him frequent headaches :(
- Say what you will about Pogtopia but at least it was dimmer than the surface
- Exile wasn’t good for his headaches because the sun was always out and it reflected off the sea quite often, and Dream wouldn’t let him keep his emergency sunglasses
- He echolocates >:) It’s very very annoying, especially when he does it randomly when he’s bored by a conversation, but he’s good to go caving with
- He also makes little noises to comfort himself and is comforted by other people’s little noises because he can use his power like a stim toy and it reminds him that he’s not helpless or alone
Techno
- Okay Techno’s power is fun I love this part. We’re giving him ferrokinesis
- It’s because magnets and metal and danger. Also he should get a funky vibrating sword when he’s angry
- Fun fact! I have also allowed this to explain the whole human compass thing. He can literally sense the magnetic poles and lodestones, so he never gets lost
- He collects, presses and labels Wilbur’s flowers. He started doing it after SMPEarth when he and Wilbur wrote letters to each other from different servers and Wilbur would leave flowers in the envelopes, and then on the dsmp he uses it to help identify Wilbur’s emotional state when he’s nonverbal/after he’s fucking dead
- He has trouble keeping in routines and remembering to do things, so he has a big whiteboard on the wall next to his door that he had intended to use like a to-do list (and it still mostly functions like that! He uses different colours of pen to try and combat the objects-fading-into-surroundings thing and while it doesn’t always work he can usually remember to see it before he leaves the house)
- Though there are little doodles all over it, from visitors (Phil and the Syndicate mostly) and Techno himself, like a little cartoon pig yelling about feeding the dogs and a flower garden sprouting from one corner
- Technically he can shapeshift between full human/full pig but he prefers somewhere in between
- I was originally going to say piglin hybrid like a lot of hcs but then I remembered this is my AU and I get to make the rules. The bitch is a regular pig hybrid. Not even a boar he’s just a pig
- His favourite food is golden carrots but sometimes if he has too many he can get loopy on the saturation. Phil puts as many of them in his cooking as possible because he thinks it’s hilarious
Ponk
- Now. Ponk. Probably the one I watch the most of any streamer on the SMP so I have lots of Thoughts (TM)
- Magma cube hybrid! I’m not sure what it is with me and nether mobs I just love them all so much. Did a tier list and they were right up at the top with creepers and foxes
- It’s hard to see his mutation because of his mask (and also his power, which he uses to disguise it) but he’s got lil stubby horns and sometimes glows like a magma block
- He glows instead of blushing when he’s happy or angry or embarassed. In the daytime it’s barely noticeable and all good but at night he’s like a lantern
- Mob pathfinding makes them avoid lava/blocks that could cause them damage, and coincidentally Ponk’s glow simulates that of lava so mobs are generally scared of him when he is
- He gets a fucking OP power okay. Most of you probably won’t have read any Marie Lu but I’m thinking along the lines of Adelina’s power with illusions. At the height of his power he can trick all of a person’s senses to convince them of anything he wants them to
- He doesn’t like to use it against other people often as it’s pretty terrifying for everyone involved but he’s like. one of the most powerful people on the server
- Actually he can’t even remember the last time he did. It might have been to cover up his tired eyes and clear the scratch from his voice when he visited Sam after he didn’t sleep for a week (Sam noticed. He always does. Stupid empaths)
- He has a pet turtle he named Oogway and he made it a little black belt and a flower crown. Tommy thought it was a teenage mutant ninja turtle and called it Leonardo for a solid three months
Sam
- The whole vibe I’m going for for Sam in this AU is that he’s open and friendly but very susceptible to external influences. (i.e. I just fucking know the prison has some sort of sentience and it controlled him and that’s why he hurt Ponk. I refuse to accept that love is dead)
- So I thought some kind of psychic power would fit best? And now he’s an empath
- Meaning he can feel and (to some extent) affect other people’s emotions as they feel them
- Apparently one thing you can sometimes do with empathy is psychometry, which is described as “the power to perceive residual information of an object, place or person”
- He hates visiting war zones/places of tragedy. L’manburg basically. He can feel the ghosts of children and hope and pride and potential and it’s terrifying that it was all cut short so quickly and so often
- He also has trouble with the community house and Eret’s museum purely because of the volume of the history in both places
- Ah that got a bit dark. oops.
- Psychometry isn’t all bad though! The woo station and Snowchester are so full of love that Sam can’t help smiling, and places like Skeppy’s skyblock map or El Rapids are playful and warm
- And another something cute! His connection with Fran is so deep that he can feel her emotions too! He can feel that she gets the most excited when she sees him and it makes him feel better no matter what happened that day
- Ponk thinks he works too hard trying to make people happy so he’s really glad when Sam takes the time to sit down by himself with Fran. Plus it’s an excellent excuse for cuddles
- He wears a gas mask because redstone is a really small particulate and he has both bad asthma and a mild allergy to the stuff so the mask keeps him from breathing too much in
- The allergy is common to all creepers, as the active redstone signal reacts with the gunpowder in their bodies and irritates them
- Creeper hybrid, but this time with spice and all of my wild mc biology thoughts
- He doesn’t have much of a mutation other than being weirdly tall, but his freckles are like silver glitter, his skin is vaguely iridescent, and his natural hair colour is a green-grey (Again google is telling me it’s called xanadu. Very pretty colour 10/10 would recommend)
Eret
- Herobrine genetics obviously means the eyes, right? But also he’s a little bit unsettling outside of that in ways you can’t put your finger on. Does he really have the regular number of fingers or arms? Are you sure you can’t see through him? Are his feet really touching the floor? When you look at them it’s all normal but you can’t help seeing things out of the corner of your eye
- His power is light based and basically he can manipulate it around him, like reflecting things off of her, or around (for invisibility!), or lighting up an area beyond the range of a torch
- This also applies to cool stuff like lenses, diffraction, and refraction (high school physics coming back to haunt many of us) For anyone who didn’t take hs physics or isn’t there yet, diffraction ad refraction cause the splitting and bending of light through different materials and causing rainbows. It’s used a lot in fibre optics it’s very cool.
- Anyway to summarise, light manipulation allows for invisibility, heat creation, and tiny rainbows, among a range of other things
- Their betrayal of L’manburg wasn’t calculated at all. When you’ve lived as long as Eret has, a lot of things lose their significance and if she’s being honest, she didn’t realise the nation was so important. She thought they were all just messing around together, like a long and complicated game of capture the flag.
- This is one of the reason he decided to start the museum. He wanted to make sure he didn’t forget significance again and remind himself that everything ends up being important to someone
- (These aren’t power hcs for the au they’re just things I like to consider sometimes)
Hbomb
- I have seen exactly one (1) person mention the possibility of Hbomb being an immortal but I saw that and ran with it
- I love Hbomb. I want vault hunters in here. I want catmaid H. I want Theveir. I want L’cast. All of his content is SO entertaining
- Immortals on the dsmp seem to be really into their preservation of history (looking at you, Eret’s museum) and I think L’cast is Hbomb’s way of doing it. Eret preserves events and objects, H preserves the people’s memory.
- (I want to know what made them like that! What happened in the past for their need to try safeguard it? How effective were they really, if so little made it to Mizu?)
- And then also I want him to be a shapeshifter :) Local lil tricksy shapeshifter man turns into bastard cat on a regular basis to annoy people
- He especially likes hanging out with Fundy, not least of all because he gets so flustered, but also because once H got stuck with cat ears for a few years when he was still learning his power and he feels some kind of solidarity with Fundy because he got teased a lot for it
- Shapeshifting does mean he has almost no mutations but he always keeps a braided friendship bracelet on so he doesn’t get caught out in some shapeshifted form (Niki and Eret have the matching ones)
- And also for some reason he’s always got a streak of blue hair when he shifts. Makes him recognisable
- Also Theveir is his weird gay cousin who his homophobic aunt sent to live with him to ‘straighten him out’ without realising the dsmp was a homonormative society
Puffy
- She’s got her cool ass curly horns. I know in some sheep breeds both sexes can have horns but even if Puffy was a hybrid of a breed without, she would grow in the horns by sheer willpower
- Now I know for a fact that pyrokinesis is one of the most popular powers and everyone was expecting someone to have it and I’m giving it to Puffy
- ‘but what about therapuffy?? what about kid Dream and Foolish??’ I hear you cry. Actually her pyrokinesis makes her a better mediator and more level-headed than a lot of people because she had to spend so much time and effort trying to control such a destructive power
- I think it’s cool to consider how that might contribute to her distrust of the egg as well. Spending so much time in her own head and learning how her own thoughts worked made her much more aware of outside forces working on her mind
- Unlike Niki, Puffy’s pyrokinesis is a full magic power rather than just one of her hybrid traits, which means both that she has to work harder to control it and it operates on a larger scale.
- Campfires with her are pretty terrifying but a lot of fun because she likes messing with the size and colour and temperature of the flames, both for fun and also to make sure her marshmallows are perfectly toasted. You haven’t tasted good marshmallows until you’ve had one of hers
Fundy
- Fundy’s whole schtick is that he has fox ears. That is also what I’m giving him because it’s cute and also badass. Foxes are so cool damn
- I’m debating between red fox and corsac fox ears. Red fox because it looks most like his skin and corsac because they’re most suited to plains/open air biomes like most of the smp is
- Fox hybrid means a couple of less obvious non-human traits too! I think a little jump boost, maybe, and natural night vision
- Having sensitive hearing (as foxes often do) and being in proximity to a lot of explosions mean he’s become HoH, particularly in his right ear
- To start with, as his hearing deteriorated, he tried to hide it and try not to jump when someone walked up on him on that side, but eventually it got bad enough that Hbomb noticed. He didn’t ever bring it up but he was very careful to make more noise when coming up behind him, and always on the left
- The only note on his power that I had before this was #GiveFundyMagic2k21 which was. really not very much information. But a very good note nonetheless
- In any case I have since had further thoughts and I think I’ve settled on dreamwalking as Fundy’s power
- There are several reasons. First was that there’s a lot of nuance and detail and is an interesting thing to consider in relation to the universe, especially considering a lot more people have visible powers. Second was just that I thought it would be really fucking funny
- He’s mostly nocturnal also! It comes from a) his fox traits, but also b) if he sleeps at the same time as other people there’s a big risk he ends up dreamwalking and that doesn’t make for a good night’s sleep for either party
- Overall it’s easier to sleep during the day, even if that’s when most people (read: Tubbo) decide to be reckless and mess around with ravagers and run down the prime path very loudly. When asked, Fundy says it’s like hearing cat zoomies, if the cat swore colourfully and had a sword
Quackity
- Quackity. Mr Quack. Dr. HQ my beloved
- Duck wings and breathing underwater. Cool shit for a cool kid
- During the Schlatt administration he hid his wings for a really long time and they ended up scarring quite badly. He can still fly but not for extended periods of time without needing a heat pack and a few hours off of them
- When he was relearning to fly, Sapnap used his power to steady the air/slow his fall which made him feel better about the whole thing. Just the whole idea of being held by someone you’ve learnt to trust while you relearn things from your childhood that were scared out of you and realising there’s no way they’ll ever let you fall or hurt again
- The breathing underwater is a little bit useless because he so rarely goes into the water (you can pretty much get anywhere over land, and boats are always faster than swimming even if you don’t need to come up for air)
- But it is useful for hiding and/or getting out of the way, when he’s scared or just messing around
- Makes it very easy to sneak up on people. Karl has forbidden him from doing it to him but he always checks water sources as he’s going just in case Quackity’s decided to sit there and wait
Karl
- Considering the fact that Karl’s time travelling stems from an outside force and not his own power, I think that shouldn’t be his power and I should get to give him something else. There’s no point having canon if you just follow it
- Original thoughts were dogboy Karl but then I had more of them (the thoughts) and decided instead to say he can understand/speak all languages (plus animals!) Google is telling me these are called omniligualism and zoolingualism and those are lovely nice big words
- So no dogboy Karl but he can speak to dogs and that’s great
- This will obviously help when he time travels! Different languages in different periods and different regions, so good ol Karl should be able to understand them all
- (He can speak to Michael! Tubbo and Ranboo take Michael to visit Niki one time and bump into Karl in Kinoko, who starts speaking to him in piglin. It takes all of Ranboo’s strength and a whole host of promises to come back to make Michael let go)
- I wanted to bring in elements of his old skin with all the wild blocky colours, so he has coloured patches on his skin like vitiligo, in other colours (purples, greens and blues especially)
- He’s also pretty susceptible to sunburn (a common effect of vitiligo) so Sapnap makes sure to keep a bottle of sunscreen on him at all times and Quackity has a range of colourful umbrellas for really sunny days.
- Karl’s favourite one has a pattern of little sheep all over. Sapnap is convinced they’re clouds and not sheep. Quackity refuses to comment on the matter
Sapnap
- Sapnap is nether fae! fun fact: this is a thing I just made up.
- mostly I just wanted an excuse to give him pointy ears and magic
- A lot of people assume his power is something like pyrokinesis, but fire res and strength are natural nether fae traits (evolution and that, especially considering the nether is like. 70% lava)
- This is why he can still have lava baths! He likes swimming in lava lakes and runs hot in overworld, and he has pointy ears which are almost definitely pierced in at least threeplaces. Gold earrings, obviously
- He’s allergic to iron (fae traits) which is some kind of issue obviously because iron is the most common early-game armour/weapons and remains the most common material for backup gear owned by everyone on the server
- He, Quackity and Karl all have gold (or diamond, if they can get it) backup tools and a spare set of netherite armour to avoid this issue but it’s still irritating
- Windwalker sapnap windwalker sapnap. Like one of those airbenders from atla but cooler
- He was definitely in demand among the nether folk because he could get rid of the fog temporarily. Just blow it away. Increase render distance setting but it’s just some guy
- In the overworld he’s definitely more powerful (pros of having an atmosphere I guess), though maybe not as useful in regular day-to-day activities. He doesn’t quite have the ability to control the weather but clouds/fog/things like that are fair game, which came in handy in childhood hide and seek games and also when endermen are around
0000000
- When Quackity first met Hannah, he thought she was related to wilbur because of the ears. evidently he had seen very few fair folk in his life and neither of them would let him forget it, not least of all because it turned out he had also assumed Sapnap and Wilbur were cousins for years
- Tommy and Purpled (and Ponk, to an extent) are in high demand when people intend to go on caving trips, because each of their powers makes caving and mining a lot more effective and safer. Tommy’s echolocation allows him to find hidden tunnels and stay away from mobs, as well as sometimes locating ores as the stone sounds different. Purpled’s instinct allows him to find safe paths around hidden lava pockets or dead ends, so if he turns around in the middle of mining you’d best follow him. If you can convince him, Ponk will glow, and it looks so much like the glow of lava that a lot of mobs stay away for fear of getting caught in it. No need for torches!
- (Tommy and Purpled did consider making a business out of it, before everything kicked off)
- The Puffychu household is permanently a little bit on fire I think. When they’re both immune to fire and one is a blaze there’s not much consideration for fire safety or flammable objects, like humans for instance. They do try and put most of it out when they have visitors, but it’s always good to take a couple fire res pots or wear netherite when you go over
- When Tommy was little, he wanted to be like Niki because he thought she was so cool. Before he knew she was a blaze, she would pass her hands through flames to impress him and then panic when he tried to put his whole little toddler hand in the fire. He did get a little burnt, but then he thought for a whole six years that all adults were fireproof and you got the ability when you grew up
- The first person who Karl mentions the time-travel to ( I say mentions. He really only alluded to it) is Eret, because he thinks they might be someone to talk to about history and storytelling. Eret, who luckily understands what Karl is trying to say, takes him to his next meeting with Foolish and H and they all dub him an honorary immortal. Karl had no idea that anyone but Foolish was different lifespan-wise but after thinking about it he admitted it did make sense
- The only reason Connor isn’t there is because he was busy with Mario Kart. He’s a variety streamer he doesn’t have time for history discussions
- Eret and Foolish are old immortals. Hbomb is a newer immortal and he’s constantly in a state of >:D. Connor has been there since the beginning of the universe
- It’s nether fae custom to always keep gold on you for if you see a piglin. The two species have had their wars but they’re on mostly good terms now. Sapnap was really shocked when he realised people in the overworld didn’t consider gold a valuable resource and tried to give all of his friends gold
#dsmp au#dsmp#purpled#quackity#hannahxxrose#nihachu#wilbur soot#tommyinnit#technoblade#ponk#awesamdude#eret#hbomb#captain puffy#fundy#karl jacobs#sapnap#icarus' magic au#arly's dsmp magic au#arly writes
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Like a Muggle
A/N: This is inspired (and a roughly written one-shot in my side-verse) by @headcanonsandmore aka Dadcanons and their musing of Ron being an awesome father to his kids.
Rated T for innuendo and some snogging but also veiled references to physical violence and social mortification. 98% Ace Safe. This will eventually end up on Ao3 and maybe FF.net
For now, though, it’s all for the Tumblr crowds.
Edit: Now on Ao3.
Give me my demarcation line damn it!
Ron opened the window to admit the unexpected owl. He was working in the Wheeze's office, trying to balance the books and was instead accosted by a nondescript brown owl. "Letter from Neville?" Ron unwrapped the twine from the owl's leg. "Need a rasher or a kip?" The owl hooted what sounded like a No. "It's from Neville. Does he need a reply?" Yet another hooting no.
"Wanna run on back then since Neville doesn't need anything else?" Ron reached out and let the owl come to him, stroking his head feathers gently before the owl took off again.
He unrolled the length of parchment, using the readers on top of his head to scan the letter.
Disappointment welled in his heart at first before pride shined. He had to go tell Hermione this straightaway, sod the books for an hour. He grabbed his dark blue cloak for the short walk to the Ministry. Taking the floo was too much hassle for a brisk fall morning. "George, I gotta run to the ministry. Back in a few."
"Bring me back those shipping contract papers that Percy has for us, wouldya? Save a plonker the trip."
Ron threw up a rude gesture while taking the twenty minute walk to the front of the Ministry. He needed the break anyway from the numbers swirling around his head this morning.
Through the toilets and through security, even with the bailiff who knew who he was and still checked him, in the lift down six floors to the Magical Law Enforcement offices, through the rows of desks for the bureaucracy known as the Ministry to Hermione's personal secretary Miranda Blunt.
"Ah, Mr. Weasley. You're not on her agenda today so I assume it's important for her to see you immediately? Well she's using the Floo with her Italian counterpart on business so it will be a few."
Ron smiled, knowing how important Miranda actually was to Hermione. Everyone thought she was just her secretary but only a chosen few - Harry, Hermione, Hemera, and Ron knew that Miranda was also her personal bodyguard at the office, after the few times anyone tried to breach the security of the department to get to her.
"Tea, Mr. Weasley?"
"Please."
"Three sugars, spot of milk?"
"I'd almost think you're related to Hermione with that mind of yours."
"Nah, it's only for the important stuff. Husband's tea is important knowledge. And it's also a way for you to know it's really me."
Ron gave her a lopsided smile while Miranda slipped into the secure office, returning a couple of minutes later with a small tray of tea and a couple packets of biscuits. "Your wife didn't know if you were peckish or not."
"You spoil a bloke, you know that?" Ron tore the packet open and inhaled the contents. He'd missed breakfast this morning on account of other pleasant activities then fell back asleep, only waking fifteen minutes before he was due at the shop.
Miranda went back to her seat and used the contraption Hermione got her last year, called a typewriter. They'd explained it to Ron that it was like writing on parchment but easier to read for those who had trouble reading so many varied scrips from people. Hermione had even gifted one to Arthur and he spent countless hours using it writing to his kids and grandkids.
The door opened up a couple of minutes later and Hermione stood there, making a motion for Ron to come into her office. Ron followed her in and then he kicked the door shut and gave her a enthusiastic greeting, one that she never complained about before pulling back from his lips, her cheeks flushed and her eyes closed. "You rarely come to the office on a Wednesday so what gives?"
"I got a letter from Neville this morning and thought you probably should hear it from me than from him if he sent you a letter, too."
"Letter?" Hermione pulled her glasses up to the bridge of her nose, a faint imitation of McGonagall and scanned the parchment twice. "Detention! Two weeks! Rose Lavender Weasley, of all the people! Hexing two another students!" She looked at Ron and saw him smirking slightly. "You prat. There's a page two, isn't there?"
"Of course there is," Ron handed it over and watched her frown turn to a grimace and eventually into a smile. "She takes after you, she does." Hermione looked up from the parchment and smiled. "You were always so good on speaking up for me and occasionally fighting my battles when I didn't realize there was one going on."
Hermione went back to her desk and opened a drawer, pulling out a cup, pointed her wand at it and re-heated the black coffee, and took a long sip.
"You must have zero nerves in your mouth," Ron muttered from his seat across the desk.
"You get used to it," Hermione pulled out a length of parchment along with her eagle owl quill and inkpot. "Anything you want to add into the letter I will send off straightaway?"
"Nah, she should hear from you first anyway," Ron knew he'd write a letter later today and send it off tomorrow morning so Rose would know how proud her dad was for her standing up for others.
Hermione went to work writing and in short order, finished it and cleaned up the parchment with her quill. "I considered a howler but I refuse to do that to our child for any reason. I hated getting them when people thought I was toying around with guys during the Tri-wizard tournament. Besides, Neville has everything under control so I'm not upset too much over it."
Ron recalled punching a certain git in the nose and smiled. "Who'd have thought that what started as bullying would turn into a trip for three of the bullies to the hospital ward with Hannah and two weeks detention for Rosie for hexing two students bullying Hugo and his friends, and blackening the eyes of the other two when they disarmed her. I don't think her having a broken hand for punching the boy in the nose was too far for her."
"And Neville did say the boys pulled their wands first and she was disarmed."
"I'm glad I taught her there's no shame in fighting unfairly when it's overwhelming odds."
"I do hope there's no ongoing reprisals." Hermione looked at Ron and saw him shaking his head.
"Nah, if I know any better, I'm sure the sods in question were told off privately to leave Hugo alone if they knew what was best for them."
Hermione let out a stifled laugh. "What kind of idiot takes on a Rose when almost all of her cousins are present these terms? The only one who isn't' there is Teddy, Right?" Ron nodded. Hermione smiled slightly. "Sixth years and she's a third year, Ron."
"She's as tall as many of the boys there, Hermione. It doesn't surprise me in the least. And if there are any further problems, Victorie would probably step in and put them in their rightful place, I reckon."
Hermione picked up the parchment and scanned it one last time. "I think we do need to send a howler tomorrow."
"Really? Why?"
"One of the gits is Zacharias Smith's son and he said that “the only reason you weren’t expelled for this is because of your parents.”
Ron's eyes lit up. "Thinking what I'm thinking?"
"I am."
Yet another demarcation line!
Rose tromped into breakfast, exhausted. She's been in detention with Professor Sinestra until one in the morning helping her sort maps and other useless rubbish. Hugo was the one who loved Astronomy and the stars. Only thing she wanted was to race around the Quidditch pitch and now she was banned for a fortnight, for standing up for those who needed protecting. It was so bloody unfair!
James and Fred said she was brilliant for what she did and so did Molly and Scorpius. Al, being Al, laughed quietly when she said why she'd gotten detention.
She looked up from her seat at the table, her friends with her in commiseration, and saw Zeb sitting across the way, scowling at her with two black eyes and a brace around his left wrist. Madame Abbot Longbottom said it was a small price for him to pay for being a bully on first years - that everyone in the school would know his shame.
Owls swooped in, each dropping parcels for those who were present in the Great Hall. She glanced up and saw a tawny brown owl carrying a red envelope in it's talons. She felt the utter dread in the pit of her stomach.
Her parents sent her a howler. She knew she'd stepped in dragon dung if they were mad enough to send a howler. She felt the shame on her face and neck, a reminder to her that her Dad was the same way. She saw Professor Longbottom surreptitiously pull his wand from his robes, ready to silence it into oblivion if it got out of hand.
One last glance across the way and she saw Zeb Smith smirking, knowing how much trouble she was about to get into.
She took it in a shaking hand and tore the top off, hearing her Mum's tsking loudly. "Fuck," she said under her breath.
"Rose Lavender Granger, detention? Of all the things to get in trouble for, and you chose this," Hermione's voice droned loudly. She was shocked. Mom wasn’t yelling, well, no more than seemed usual. "We are so proud of you for standing up for the younger students. Who picks on first years minding their own business? What prat thinks so poorly of themselves that they'd berate first years for playing in the hallways between classes? "
"Who tries to hex firsties?" Ron's voice interrupted. "Rude!"
“Yes, it was very rude and you were right to intervene.” Hermione’s voice carried across the hall.
"We spoke with your head of house," Ron's voice bellowed, "and agree that the punishment fits the circumstances. Two weeks detention is adequate to us."
"Sometimes the consequences are a fair price to pay." Hermione said.
"Serve your detentions knowing that we are proud of you for standing up for others who need protecting from bullies."
"Love, Dad -
" - and Mum."
Rose released the breath she'd been holding entirely too long and looked across the way. Zeb was no longer at the table and neither were his three friends she'd put in the hospital wing fighting them like a Muggle.
#Dragon's Fics#Hpfic#Romione#Rose Weasley Granger#Ron Weasley#Hermione Granger#Hugo Granger-Weasley#OCs#Neville Longbottom#This ties into my fics from Romione FicFest#where Rose is a quidditch prodigy#and eventually has issues with Mum#But for this one things are still swimmingly good#tw:#tw: off page mentions of physical violence#tw: bullying references
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End of the Tunnel: XII
Description: It’s almost been a year since Freed Weasley was lost to the Battle of Hogwarts, and for George Weasley it might as well be an eternity. He is lost in the dark, no color to be found. Until suddenly there might be a light at the end of the tunnel.
Warnings: Today is nothing but fluff my dears, if you’ve read this far you deserve it.
MASTERLIST
***
Ron and Hermione’s wedding came two months later.
While some may have assumed it was because the young love birds couldn’t wait to get married, the rest of the Weasley offspring knew it was all about avoiding Mrs. Weasley’s love of overplanning.
George was helping his brothers hoist the tent, just as they had done for Bill two years before, and Hannah, upon Hermione’s request, was speaking to the Grangers. When she had first approached them, they had been nervous, and then relieved when she slipped in the small detail about her blood. It seemed Hermione didn’t have a lot of family, and had Hannah not been there, they would have been the only muggles in attendance. Truly, a daunting prospect.
Eventually the vanished to get ready for the ceremony, and their seats were replaced by the ever-radiant Fleur Delacour. Until that moment Hannah had only heard stories about George’s sister-in-law but there was no time to stare in speechless awe. Never one to be rude, Hannah introduced herself.
“Hannah Gladdis.”
“Oh yes, I know you,” Fleur said, “You’re my next sister-in-law, yes?” Hannah could only blink in shock. “You are with George, no?”
“Yes, yes, I’m with George, I just didn’t know people thought we were engaged.”
“Are you not?”
“No, we’re not.”
“In time.”
“I’m not sure about that, I’m not sure his mother likes me much,” she admitted awkwardly, and Fleur let out a soft laugh before taking her hands with her own.
“It does not matter if his mother likes you, it does not matter if his sister or his brothers like you, it does not even matter if his great aunt Muriel likes you. Does George love you?”
“Yes, yes I think so.”
“Do you love him?”
“With every bit of me.”
“Then you will marry him.”
“But-.”
“They called me Phlegm.”
“What?”
“His sister called me Phlegm. Hermione said it too. Even his mother let it slip a few times. And yet I remain.”
“That’s terrible.”
“It is life, and it is how I know that it does not matter if they all hate you. It does not matter if you are a muggle. It does not matter if you are part goblin. If George loves you half as much as Bill loves me, you will marry him.” Hannah stared at her, swelling with her assurance. She let her eyes wander to George, dressed in his best suit as he chased a small toddler waddling across the lawn, sighing softly. “I look forward to your wedding, Hannah,” she said, standing, smoothing out the red satin of her dress before joining her husband close to the front row. Hannah watched as she pulled her child onto her lap, kissing the white tufts of hair with incredible fondness. Bill wrapped an arm around his wife and Hannah smiled, they were a perfect portrait of love, one that she couldn’t help but feel a tinge envious of.
The envy couldn’t last long though, not when George appeared, having given up his chase.
“Fleur wasn’t scaring you away, was she?” he joked, and Hannah quickly shook her head.
“Definitely not.”
“Good, wouldn’t want my family fighting.” They both blushed at his choice of words but said nothing as he linked their fingers together pulling her towards their seats. As they sat his hand found knee and gently tilted them closer.
They sat in comfortable silence as the chairs filled up around them. Sloane and Draco slipped into seats beside them, maintaining their invitation from a drunk Ron. Draco hadn’t been sure about coming, but Sloane had insisted, she wasn’t going to miss the marriage of two war heroes. The unlikely group didn’t say much as the final seats filled, and the pianist struck the first note of a classical song Hannah didn’t recognize.
The senior Weasley’s began the procession, dressed to the tee. Hermione didn’t have any siblings and Ron had too many to choose from, so they had forgone the mess of bridesmaids and groomsmen. Mrs. Granger came next, escorted by Harry, joyful tears already streaming down her face.
Then, in unison, the crowds stood, turning to watch as Hermione stepped into view. Hannah was unable to contain the gasp that slipped from her lips. Hermione looked like a fairytale as she stepped down the aisle, father guiding her towards the altar. There was no glitz and glam, no lace, only the softest white crepe but the simplicity of the dress only allowed her radiance to shine brighter. Someone had placed white flowers through her French twist and a simple veil hung over her eyes.
At the end of the aisle, Ron was bright red, eyes glossy as she approached him. He was wringing his hands nervously, subtly bouncing on his toes.
When she reached the altar, the vows began. George took her hand as they listened, running his thumb thoughtfully along the back of her hand. The vows moved quickly and when the officiant announced ‘you may kiss the bride’ Ron grabbed her, surprising both her and the audience by dipping her before melding their lips together. The crowd burst into applause, George hooting beside her as the two kissed for longer than anyone thought Hermione would have allowed.
The reception began instantly, Hannah watching in awe as the chairs turned into tables with the flick of a wand. A wonderful dance floor was situated in the center, soft golden lights turning beautiful patterns across the floor. Hermione had tried to explain how she had managed them a few days ago, but Hannah had left feeling only more confused than before, so she simply stared in awe.
The glasses were never empty, and the food was delicious. The conversation was never dull, and everyone was filled with overwhelming joy. Even when the cake tipped over in an incident involving Crookshanks, a garden gnome, and Harry smiles remained bright and cheery. Hannah recognized several people who had visited her bar, and they came over to say hello, surprised that she was there and promising that they would be stopping by to get another round of her firewhiskey. George recognized several more, introducing her to everyone who stopped to say hello.
The bride and groom were making rounds to the table when they stopped in front of their table.
“You look beautiful,” Hannah gushed, pulling her into a spare seat. Hermione blushed, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear.
“And of course, the ceremony was lovely, but you really know how to throw a party,” Sloane added.
“Oh, the party was all Ron, he’s rather good at planning when he sets his mind to it,” she admitted, twitterpation evident across her face. “I’m just surprised there’s no reporters trying to crash, we were getting requests all week. Of course, we told them no, but that hasn’t stopped them trying before.”
“Oh, that would be my fault,” Sloane admitted.
“Tell me all your secrets.”
“I signed it as mine. Anyone who comes around will be informed that I have claim on the story.”
“And they listen?”
“Oh yes, you’ll find I’m rather persuasive,” she said with an almost evil smile, “I’m not reporting either, but I thought you might prefer a bit of peace on your wedding day.” Hermione embraced her, thanking her repeatedly. Sloane only responded with a lopsided grin.
“The story’s yours,” Hermione promised, “Say whatever you like, and you tell the paper if they ever want anything the Weasley-Grangers won’t talk to anyone but you.” Now it was Sloane’s turn to hug her, both girls squealing ‘thank you’s as Hannah laughed. Hermione thanked their group one more time as Ron led her away, shining brighter than a new penny as he paraded around his beautiful wife.
George kissed her forehead before searching for his mum, and Sloane and Draco went to dance, leaving Hannah with a moment of silence.
A slow song filled the tent as the first dance began. Hannah watched as Ron twirled Hermione around the dance floor with unexpected grace from the gawky man she had seen trip over dust mites. Slowly, other couples joined them, and she looked around for George, hoping to earn her own dance, but he had disappeared.
“Could I steal a dance before my brother comes back,” a deep voice asked and when she turned, she was surprised to see Bill standing in front of her, a hand extended. She glanced around for Fleur, to ask permission, but she was nowhere to be found either. “It’s alright, she suggested it,” Bill said, and her worries disappeared, taking his hand as he led her to the dance floor. He spun her quickly into the correct position as they moved around their space on the dance floor.
“We’ll be lucky to have you in the family,” he said, and she blushed, laughing softly at his admission.
“Your wife said something similar earlier this afternoon.”
“I know, that’s why she sent me.”
“Oh?”
“We’re all glad you’re here, my mother especially. She raves about you to our father when she thinks no one’s listening, and when you left after Sunday dinner, she was a blubbering mess. You gave her hope, so if for a second you’re ever worried that someone doesn’t like you, I want you to remember that.” A tear slipped down her cheek and she quickly brushed it away.
“I’m just not… the same.”
“Neither is George.”
“But I don’t know if he’s going to propose, and I don’t want to get my hopes up,” Hannah admitted, eyes flickering to her empty ring finger.
“I’ve seen the way he looks at you, and if that’s not unconditional love I’m not sure what is.” She blushed, eyes blurring a bit more.
“Do you really think so?”
“I know so. Speaking of, here he comes now,” Bill said before spinning her into the arms of her beloved boyfriend. He caught her with ease, adding a spin of his own before clasping her between his arms. When she glanced back to thank his brother, she found him already holding his wife as they swayed.
“Enjoying yourself?” George asked and she nodded.
“I am.”
“Wonderful, otherwise I’d have to fill you with more champagne.”
“Oh, I’m not sure I could handle another drop.”
“Nonsense. One can never have too much champagne.”
“I’m practically floating from all the bubbly.”
“That’s why you haven’t stepped on my toes,” he teased, and she gasped, batting his chest softly. “Only kidding, my love,” he said and then dipped her until her hair brushed the floor before sweeping her back into his arms, kissing her as he embraced her.
“I thought you didn’t dance,” she giggled breathlessly, and he shrugged.
“I’ve decided it depends on the dance partner.” He twirled her again, watching with awe as she laughed, stumbling into his chest. He pulled her close to kiss her, hand resting on her cheek. She loved kissing him, it felt like drinking sunshine and the way he held her like no one had before made her feel like a giddy schoolgirl.
“Wizard weddings are so beautiful,” she whispered, not completely meaning to say it out loud. “The decorations are next level.”
“Maybe you’ll get one of your own,” he said before his eyes widened, it was clear he too hadn’t meant to say that out loud. She giggled nervously, and in a desperate attempt to diffuse the tension he spun her around until they were laughing to hard to be nervous. They danced for hours, jumping around with friends when the violins picked up speed and swaying softly as they held each other when the music softened.
And that was how the night ended. With laughter, suggestive winks, and arms wrapped around each other until they were sure they were drunk on nothing but champagne and love.
#george weasley#george weasley smut#george weasley fluff#george weasley angst#george weasley fanfiction#george weasley fanfic#george weasley imagine#george weasley x reader#george weasley x reader fanfiction#george weasley x reader smut#george weasley x reader fanfic#George weasley x reader imagine#george weasley x reader angst#george weasley x reader fluff#end of the tunnel
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SEBASTIAN “SEB” KATSAROS —
IG bio/info: @/s3bgl00m | 17.4k followers | i hate it here. i hate my username name too. Listen to my podcast wth my mate here...open.Spotify.com/podcast/?!.doomngloom
28 years of age
Born & raised in Liverpool, England...don’t ask if he’s met the Beatles he will completely ignore you if you do
Music shop owner in the heart of town
It’s called, “Kicking Kettles”
loves collecting vinyls, cassette tapes, & cds sorry, what did you expect?
His mother is a children’s illustrator
She’s Ashkenazi Jewish
His father is a graphic designer
And is from Nafplio, Greece
They’ve been separated for about a year now, with seb’s father living in France
His mother was skeptical on dating around while she was in a place of uncertainty in her marriage but with a deep discussion with her husband, then her children, she slowly went forward just to see what was out there & found that she wasn’t sure if she’d be open permanently with other beings
Seb was similar to his mother in many ways...
Has a older sister by 2 years named, Xenia...she’s very bossy, a busy-body, & is very vocal. The opposite of seb
she used to beat up guys just for them to turn around and ask her out on dates, a few of them tried to bully seb but Xenia was not having that ofc
very close to his family, even if things are a little off between mum & dad
I feel like he went through a buzzed hair phase & when he finally made the choice to start growing out his hair, going on 4-5 years now, everyone seemed to approve
Even if they didn’t? It be no matter, sure he’d feel a little awkward if someone he cared about didn’t like it but he was sure they would get over it OR get used to it
The hair only comes out when he’s showering or going to bed
His best friend who’s a barber (and a bit of a douche) tells him he’s got to let his hair breathe more often or he’ll have breakage, seb doesn’t think it’s that serious? He’s not sure how much longer he’ll keep the bun now anyways...
This same friend encouraged him to get a “Pompadour” haircut & seb’s never been so offended before in his life, “I wouldn’t want to look like the rest of you knob-heads.”
Anyways, he takes care of his hair the best way he knows how and it seems to work for him...some slightly expensive haircare products here and there & a trimmer & he’s good to go
When he first started growing his hair out, he felt like he needed to go to the salon to know how to manage it. After awhile he learned how to do it on his own + you save $ that way
uses his hands to talk or holds one hand in the other when having a conversation since he doesn’t know what to do with his hands exactly
He’s a chapstick kinda guy who always loses his before he can finish it (been there)
Absolutely loves Japanese food and eats it almost everyday
Japanese Mayo is the superior condiment, bill can stfu!!
probably watches anime
owns a bunch of vans, beanies, and hoodies
smokes hookah every now & then but isn’t too crazy about it
canon: catlover! I feel like he would have a Sphynx, Abyssinian, Ocicat, or oriental shorthair + was over the moon when his baby had babies !!!
He wanted to keep all 5 of the kittens but knew he probably couldn’t, at least not forever but he was going to wait until they were all at least a few months before he decided to put them up for adoption...which sucks but would ultimately be the best choice, maybe???
tried eyeliner again outside of the villa & finds pencil or pomade is better than the standard liquid liner
likes black nail polish but is slightly embarrassed to be seen out with it, it’s the same thing with the eyeliner...he’s not that confident
the guy is a huge blusher & he despises the fact that his face betrays him 80% of the time
often gets nosebleeds
loves red wine especially if it’s on a rainy day and he’s home to fully enjoy it, he feels like he’s on his grown man shit when he does so
I feel like he’d be a fan of the umbrella academy & thinks it’s way better than stranger things...him & nick have argued over this on doom n gloom!
Five is his favorite
Everything he owns is in either black, red, gray/grey, or green
His main phobia is emetophobia (fear of v*mit) & he won’t share why, that’s just what it is
Introvert!
Canon: he’s not a Aquarius
So wtf r ya? Nick & I would like to know plz
Virgo sun? + Taurus moon? + Pisces rising?
I feel like he’s one of those people that feels the need to bring a backpack with him everywhere and you can imagine it to be black ofc
“Who tf are you Linus? But with a backpack?” His sister often jokes (I do this with my sibs, both of them love carrying backpacks. Me on the other hand? I don’t have time for the shit)
He drives a shitty car from the 90s that’s Engine sounds as if it’s about to blow
but 100% perfers to drive his moped, Atticus around
played football (soccer) growing up to help get rid of his asthma
Cannot sleep with the tv on or any form of light around him, it has to be completely dark & quiet!
He’ll only do so if it’s with Genevieve since you know they’re trying this whole long distance thing out
Are one of those couples that will fall asleep on the phone/cpu together
Genevieve might be the, “no you hang up first” & seb will actually hang up the phone and get into bed lmao
Just for vieve to call back like?!! “I can’t believe you’ve done this!
“Well you said—
“Never mind what I said, sebz!!! It’s extremely rude...”
his last relationship before Genevieve lasted 6-8 months (there was a time when he felt like he was unsure if he was still in a couple with that person, isn’t that a shame?)
his love language is acts of service, he’ll do things for you to ease your worries out of love and not obligation so that you feel valued as his partner & I believe he wants this in return as well
I think he’s a bit of a worry wart too when it comes to certain things even if his exterior might show him trying to hide it
He was super nervous to get his first tattoo on his chest, “if words fail, music speaks” but he found that the slight pain was worth it? And quite nice! then he kept going back monthly and soon enough his arms were completely covered
mum hated it, her baby boy was becoming a man! (It’s not like he’s almost 30 but you know how moms are)
Deff has a collection of silver rings, he’s tried out necklaces but he thinks he looks better with his rings
The slit in his brow came from trying to squeeze thru the broken patio glass door with his sis as if it were some booby trap (not exactly, but a safety hazard forsure!) & a piece of glass fell from above slicing his brow and left him with 4 stitches
Secretly into watching those dating shows before and after experiencing it himself
people he enjoyed seeing on the Telly from previous seasons: jen, jake, talia, erikah, lottie, Noah, Carl, Kassam, Priya, & Hannah
AJ is his best girl friend (besides vieve) they FaceTime quite a bit & chat shit to each other on the daily
Feels like she fits in well with his friend group, which just contains his barber friend — they put up with his banter & give it right back to him but he can also be vulnerable & comfortable with those around him so that’s always a plus
It’s the same with nick, except they share a hobby together, their podcast & that’s what seb wants to keep it as, a hobby, for fun & giggles yet nick is thinking about getting paid for what they do. He thinks it’s a great idea whereas seb doesn’t want this to turn into a career/chore
He’s perfectly happy at kicking kettles
He feels strongly about his stance while nick is on both sides
They’ll figure it out, soon.
How are things outside of the villa & since the boat party? They all have a group chat that they randomly speak up in, in the beginning they would do morning and goodnight texts but that became tedious so they settled for either or. Or simply just checking in to see how each other’s days went with seb secretly being the most curious to everyone’s days
Things are awkward between him and Yasmin, he kinda avoids talking to her tbh & not because he doesn’t want to...its just yeah it’s not the same with him and aj where they can easily move forward, it feels like pulling teeth with Yasmin since they’re some what similar & it seems like she’s waiting on him to take the lead on fixing some imagined issue they have with each other? It’s weird idk
Lives in a cramped studio apartment, it works for him so he doesn’t need any inputs thank you
celeb crushes? Demi lovato, Hwasa, Amanda Seyfried, & Birgundi Angel Baker
as for music? Sleeping with sirens, pierce the veil, teagan & Sara, the pierces, panic!at the disco, all time low, twenty one pilots, x-ambassadors, awolnation, jon bellion— listen when atl dropped? Seb felt like he was reborn okay?! , Japanese breakfast, & great grandpa
Anthem = The Postal Service, “Such great heights”
#litg#litg s3#litg3#litg seb#litg genevieve#litg yasmin#litg bill#litg aj#litg nicky#litg moodboard#litg headcanons#litg headcanon#why can’t I keep things brief? but it’s understandable when this season gave us the bare minimum#idk how i feel about this one but I tried!
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☕️ Ted Lasso
I didn’t forget about this anon, I just didn’t want to oversaturate everyone’s timeline on here because it’s all I talk about. Now, I genuinely think this show came at the right moment for a lot of people and it is heartfelt in a way that is not overly cliched. I also connect to it on a more personal level because I grew up with futbol and I played most of my teen life. I special connected with Roy’s arch in this first season. I know what it’s like to leave the sport, not on a real professional level because I never got there, and sort of find yourself again. I played varsity since 9th grade in high school and in my senior year, in our second to last game, I got injured badly enough to not be able to play ever again (at least professionally). I had a scholarship lined up and was set to play college futbol and well, things changed and not of my own control. Thankfully I was able to get an academic scholarship but leaving something I loved was hard. So, I’m really looking forward to seeing how they deal with Roy in particular.
As for more niche interests (we all know what that is), I find it absolutely refreshing that a. Jason cast Hannah Waddingham not because of how much star power she could bring to the show but because she’s talented and best fit the role and b. having a middle-aged woman helm this show. I think discovering her as an actress has been the highlight of my year and I can’t wait to see what else she does in the future. Also, she’s a beautiful singer. I won’t go into great detail as to how I feel about her characters and Ted being romantically developed and how that began. I think we all know how I feel about that.
Lastly, I like a show that explores masculinity in a place that is so hyper-masculine and toxic. I like that the show doesn’t downplay this but highlights it. While doing so, the show also offers a different avenue for how masculinity can be redefined and interpreted in these very intense masculine spaces. I also really really love that a character like Ted Lasso is suddenly becoming the mold for future lead male characters. I think a big reason why a lot of people are so opposed to the idea of Ted & Rebecca as a couple is exactly because Ted does not fit the stereotypical mold of a “sport” man if that makes sense. I think because of his sunny disposition and eternal optimism people think he’s this infantile, one-dimensional caricature that is not capable of being the object of desire (when the show itself has proven it otherwise). I think this is one of the main reasons why I find it so important to demonstrate a side of masculinity that is vulnerable, honest, and dependent when it comes to a romantic relationship (especially in the inherent toxicity that already exists in hetero relationships). It is especially important that this is being communicated through two older characters, where the female lead is also not your stereotypical female counterpart that is docile and meek. This particular narrative, hopefully going in the direction I think it’s going, is breaking a mold that is carefully veiled in misogyny that I’m sad a lot of people don’t see it. It’s not that I don’t value the visual representation of female/male relationships on screen. I do. I just don’t think the scales are equal when it comes to younger couples and older couples in terms of narrative execution to make that case for older characters.
Anyways, I love the message of the show. I love the idea of accountability with the people in your life and having enough respect for them to be honest with them. I like that these gender dynamics are being explored in a way that is not so fucking cliched but sort of enveloping you into that change.
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5, 16, 88, 91
5. Do you have to be related to family?
To call yourself family? No. I don’t think you need to be related at all. Family is about people who support you, people who care about you. Many people are lucky that those types of people happen to be the ones related to them by blood. But for others, those people are those they have found by circumstance or chance, and decided to actively forge a bond with. So, no, family doesn’t need to only include those who are related to you by blood.
16. Do theoretical ethical debates have value? Is it important people discuss ethical dilemmas like the trolley problem?
That particular dilemma, no, I think it is over used, and there is that one post that lists out exactly why practically that dilemma falls apart. I work in a medical field, in genetics, and there are a lot of scenarios that are unfolding where we are still trying to figure out what are the ethical choices. When does beneficience to a family member outweight a patient’s autonomy and choice to not divulge medical information to at-risk family members? Is it ethical to test asymptomatic children for conditions they may develop later in life? To answer your question, I think theoretical debates allow us to figure out where those boundaries are. But other debates like the trolley problem or those that are very unsubtly veiled arguments over being homophobic/misogynistic/just a dick in general? Those are not worth anyone’s time.
88. Are you a jealous person?
I want to say I am not, but I have had moments of envy. I’ve wanted something someone else had, I’ve gotten annoyed when someone new has “stolen” the attention of my friend. It doesn’t happen often, and it doesn’t last long, but I have had my moments. I’d like to think most people have them too.
91. Is hate as strong as love? Who do you hate?
Strong is not the word I would use. There is this quote from Hannah Gadsby that comes to mind. She said that nothing connects a room like laughter other than hate. Specifically “Because anger, much like laughter, can connect a room full of strangers like nothing else. But anger, even if it’s connected to laughter, will not... relieve tension. Because anger is a tension. It is a toxic, infectious... tension. And it knows no other purpose than to spread blind hatred, and I want no part of it.”
Hate, for me, comes from difference, and more specifically, anger towards a difference that you cannot accept. Is hate as strong as love? Yes in a way. You don’t need to look further than the past four years in the US, as people stripped down to their cores, revealed how they had become connected by this common hatred against something they perceived as different, and incited an invasion against their Capitol and democracy over the words of a manipulator who sought to use their anger and hate for his own gains.
As for who I hate? I don’t know. I don’t know if I have someone I hate in it’s literal context. I feel disgust and am unable to comprehend the people who voted for the former president. I cannot identify the logic or the reason for why people cherry pick religious texts that preach love to poison those texts with words that artificially divide. I don’t understand why and how people are able to spew so much vileness towards their fellow humans. I don’t think I hate these people, but I am not on their side. I think that what they stand for is despicable, and I certainly do not think they are entitled to their hate. Rather, I don’t see the point of it. I don’t see the point of wasting the limited life time we are granted by using it to make others miserable.
I don’t even know if these answers make sense, but it’s all I can come up with.
Thank you for asking me, @randomingoftherandomness .
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Image: Freja och Svipdag (1911) by John Bauer
My text "Freyja en Svipdag" published in Covidnine-zine, a magazine edited by the wonderful Winnie Sluis, idealized by Winnie and Lisa @oppergod, with collaboration of several amazing artists.
“With her eyes closed and very sleepy, she could feel the sea breeze on her face and hear the sound of the tide breaking in nine waves, one after the other, until she finally managed to open her eyelids.
At first, she discerned arches and pillars through the blurred image, which she later identified as the ruins of an old cathedral. The stone foundations of this structure immediately reminded her of Glastonbury Abbey. The sound of the violin came to her, as well as the seagulls’ song and the gallop of a gray horse mounted by a masked young man, who headed in her direction. On the beach, an old lady recited the stanzas of ancient poems. Coffins swept across the sand, such as fragments of a shipwreck. The corpse of the violinist, who once was Yorick, the court jester, suddenly stopped the music, marveling at the horizon and contemplating his next song, as follows:
'Oh Páter if I only knew who she was...
I swear I would have sought her earlier!
Oh Páter, here comes Gwena, who traces
This plot, full of diminished chords...
Tis fire, aye, ‘tis pipe’s ember,
Burning slow and steady, steaming
And if I inhale, choke and clear my throat
Bitter-sweet is her surrender, such a delight
This woman...
Yet I think she keeps
Something restrained
For the One of the strings...
She dares not look but only glimpse
Her bearing ever so high,
Still entrapped in a gilded cage
From which one tries to break
With a treble clef... Egnis! Egnis!
Aye, see as it burns strong,
It is painful for Gaius,
Her way of walking and fluttering
Always a promise of the foreign
Though beware not to cut yourself;
For she is like As-Sirāt,
Even if broken, she remains sharp.
More so she is intricate and complex,
Full of ardor and nothing else,
And seems entirely anti-flustered
Ah! ... but if there is a breach...
“Tis for sure the apple-tree”
I answer myself.
Since when I wandered haphazardly,
Wandering, wondering, though not seeing
If there was indeed an olive tree...
Thus, if the fire she already brought;
And I always have some cider;
Only the gold is wrought...
What fire is that?
Mighty and aristocratic,
Convoluted and anti-pragmatic.
Alas, we get to the story’s end,
If you expected me to be light-hearted
To speak of her beauty or noble
character,
You don’t see me for who I really am
For only the sublime pain of a burn
Compares to shall be required
To conquer her troublesome
Spirit.
Nevertheless, if I allow myself
A final indulgence, I think it goes
Without saying.. that she’s beautiful,
Dignified, and a relief to the eyes,
(Though quite difficult to contain)
That’s why I have fallen...O Páter!”
The rider dismounted and removed his mask, revealing a quite familiar face.
Then he burst into tears, moans, and screams, calling out the name “Sophie! Sophie!” A cacophony of chimes and carillon began at an Episcopal belfry, the imposing figure of a castle appeared behind the mist. Brísingamen, the fiery torque, sparkled around her neck as she rose, entirely dressed in white. The young man, who wore black garments, offered her his hand, and spoke:
“Dear Sophie, your father awaits us.”
The strangest thing happened; she felt her lips moving without having ordered so. “My darling Joris, at last you have come for me.”
Although she did not know exactly how, she remembered the young man in front of her was her betrothed, and that they referred to each other by the names of the saints which the ephemeris fell on their respective birthdays. His on the feast day of Sint-Joris van Cappadocië, and hers on that of St. Sophie van Rome.
“Sophie, the owl told me the baker shall hold a banquet in our honour!”
“O, here, have a daisy” she said, taking a flower from the garland adorning her long blonde hair. “I would give you give you some violets, but they all withered when the fishmonger sailed to Crete.”
“Indeed, Aerope told me that Catreus’ ashes are still warm.”
They walked side by side, with hands intertwined, wearing wicked smiles as they climbed the hill where the castle's Tor stood. Upon arriving, they were received by the King of Guilder and the rest of his progeny.
“Welcome, my children, to Kasteel Groninger! Our earthly paradise. Pray, remember the road ahead is still long. Fredegund anxiously awaits Siegbert's return, in deep sleep at the Mountain of Obstacles. Do not forget that: Fafnir must yet perish and Sigrdrífa still needs to be stripped of her armour” King Aegir affectionately warned, embracing both Sophie, whom he recognized as his youngest daughter, and Joris, his future son-in-law.
"Your majesty, I assure you I shall be worthy enough to wed Lady Menglöð" replied Joris, referring to Sophie, the princess of Guilder, by her true name.
“Heer Valentijn,” asked King Aegir, also calling Joris by his birth name “I believe the sacrifice of Galswintha will not have been in vain: Faith, Hope and Charity shall be glorified, but do not forget to greet your new sisters.”
With their faces veiled and sitting on the stairs of an old church, the nine daughters of Aegir, presented themselves one by one. The oldest was called Schnecke, “Bloody-hair”, thus called in virtue of her red hair; the second went by the name of Mimi, the “Billow”, therefore known due to her being prone to fits of nervousness; the third was called Caroline, the “Comber”, because of her explosive temper; the fourth answered by Lily, “Pearl-transparent”, on the account of her translucent complexion; the fifth was named Henriette, the “Small-Wave”, due to her short height; the sixth answered by Olga, the “Lifting”, on account of her extraordinary intelligence; the seventh was called Hannah, the “Great-Wave”, thus known for her bulkiness; the eighth daughter was Jeannette, called the “Well of Origin” for having the habit of reciting prophetic riddles every time somebody asked her something; the last of them, Friederike, the “Cool-Wave”, was therefore called on account of her cold manners.
Each of them, as Joris approached, answered him with witty sentences related to each of their epithets. At the end of these parables, King Aegir once again addressed him:
“Valentijn van Florin, I give you my word as sovereign of Guilder that the most beautiful flower in my garden is your dear Sophie, who at this very hour tomorrow you shall take as your wife. Such a marriage will unite our two rival kingdoms under a single crown, as intended your kinsman, Prince Humperdinck, though in far less auspicious circumstances.”
The bride and the groom waltzed through the castle, covering the walls of each room with snow. Whenever Joris asked if she wanted to be his wife, Sophie burst into hysterical laughing, which echoed throughout the stairs. Sometimes she replied she first owed vassalage to another lord, who was certainly sterner and bonier. This ‘danse macabre’ continued until they faced the stained windows of the cathedral, when the black priest signaled them to stop. For this reason, the nine waves blew out the candles on the candelabrum, one by one, forming a fairy-ring around the two of them and joining their dance wildly.
Joris mused for a moment and said:
“Three times nine girls, but one girl rode ahead,
white-skinned under her helmet;
the horses were trembling, from their manes
dew fell into the deep valleys,
hail in the high woods;
good fortune comes to men from there;
all that I saw was hateful to me.”
For the celebrations to continue Sophie was taken to the hall of Suttungr, while Joris was given the task of finding the severed head of Mimir. Locked up in the chamber of Invitation to Battle, Sophie was punished for exercising her prerogative in choosing differently from what the All-father had commanded. There, Huginn and Muninn, her liege's crows, whispered bad omens at her ears as she repeatedly painted a Byzantine icon of the Virgin of Mercy.
“Torture me all you want,” she said to her tormentors “a tearing joy overwhelms my soul. Plato's aesthetic dictates the beauty of forms is equivalent to the greater good and that which is purer. I merely follow the example of Paris in his preference for the ‘kallistei’; the beloved is always chosen for blind love, and only love. I admit I may be wrong, but I still believe that his heart is as good and generous as I sensed on our first meeting. The world is sustained by hope, we believe in what we want to believe and how we want to believe; it does not matter if nature and experience tell us otherwise. My dreams have never betrayed me, my heart has never lied to me: it is necessary to follow one’s deepest desires, for they are ordained by the Norns.”
In retaliation, the crows of the one-eyed king pecked at her ears until her neck was covered in blood. Ignoring the pangs of pain, Sophie continued to draw the icon that depicted a beautiful sleeping maiden, whose closed eyes showed an expression of tenderness and parted lips outlined a tenuous, albeit provocative smile, as though she was caught in a sensuous dream.
Hence, Sophie chanted in low voice:
“What sort of dream is that, Odin?
I dreamed I rose up before dawn
to clear up Valhöll for slain people.
I aroused the Einheriar,
bade them get up to strew the benches,
clean the beer-cups,
the valkyries to serve wine
for the arrival of a prince.”
At the same time, Joris rode up to the Mountain of Obstacles, where the earth shook and a pit of flames reaching the sky surrounded the red gold of the gods. In this desolate place, the guardian at the gate, who was also the chieftain of the dwarves, gave Joris the sword of anger and the shield of wisdom with which he was able to defeat the horrible serpent, Jörmungandr.
After licking a drop of the creature’s blood on his finger, Joris was given the gift of understanding the crows’ language, which then instigated him to come to the chamber of Invitation to Battle. As soon as he entered the room, he blew on the horn he carried on his neck by a chain. The Virgin awoke from her feverish dream.
Sitting on a golden throne, the queen-like Sophie gladly received him in her father's hall:
“For nine lives I have awaited you, and for nine days you have hanged on the Sefirotic Tree. To you I give my gray horse, so you can ride to Gamla Uppsala; for Memory can only be restored when Gjallahorn descends to the well of origin. There, Heidr will offer you one of her full tits. Drink patiently, but steadily.”
“Frigga, my dear wife, all I ask is for you to grant me knowledge of the nine worlds.”
Before proceeding with her husband’s request, Sophie prayed for eloquence and intelligence, taking her lute in her hand, singing the most beautiful song of shadow and dawn. She praised the day, the night, the gods and goddesses, and the Holy Land where the Nazarene was crucified. After prayer, she harvested liquid from three of her father’s most precious cauldrons and prepared the elixir of life and death, stating it contained enchantments, blessings, songs and runes of power, manliness and pleasure of the flesh and soul.
Sophie told Joris that in the beginning there was nothing, and this nothing was called Njörun. When Njörun became aware of herself, she begot Njöðr. From the union between these two, Mardöll was born. The latter was self-suficient, loving herself and being therefore happy. However, curiosity caused the goddess to create a mirror from her own breath, and when she contemplated her own reflection, she fell madly in love with it. Since then, she divided herself in two: Mardöll of Fire, who saw the image, and Mardöll of Ice, the image seen. After tracing a runic symbol on her body and whispering over it, her reflection became Yngve, her twin brother. The two of them began a frantic dance that culminated in intercourse, from where emerged the rest of the runic spirits.
Sophie then told him how Mardöll first taught the runes to the All-father, how he held the head of Mimir and uttered wise words; and that from them flowed the worlds of the Æsir, Vanir, giants, elves, and humanity. She went on to count all the kinds of runes that Joris needed to know and how to use them. At last asking him if he would like speech or silence from her. To which Joris replied he was not afraid of knowing his fate, even if that meant death.
Shortly after, she took his horn, in which she poured the Mead of Poetry, while rambling: “The beautiful should not perish; the fair should not perish. Eternal love of immortal soul, glittering through my skin like fins. Drop by drop, your spirit will return to me, the first drop will be heavenly!”
The moment Joris took the last sip of this precious drink, the walls opened, and the drums played. King Aegir and the nine waves were finally welcomed to the wedding feast. Circling an oath-ring on a trunk, the sovereign of Guilder joined the hands of his daughter and son-in-law, making a cut on each of their palms so that their blood could mix. Joris and Sophie intertwined their fingers and together declared:
“Ubi tu Askr
Ego Embla;
Ubi tu Embla,
Ego Askr.”
“When thou art the Ash
I shall be the Elm;
When thou art the Elm
I shall be the Ash.”
“Grímnir, the greatest of all gods, is here, he proclaims you to be one flesh, consecrated to him” decreed King Aegir as the newlyweds resumed their bridal dance, accompanied by the nine waves, who happily sang:
“Stampa hårt i marken,
Låt säden flyta runt,
Ta emot den unga flickan,
Frej i älskog,
Freja i älskog.”
“Step hard on the ground,
Let the seed fly,
Welcome the Young Maiden,
Freyr in lovemaking,
Freyja in lovemaking.”
Joris enveloped Sophie in a lustful embrace, with each whirl more ardent than before, ‘til they both lost their balance and fell backwards in the hay. At this moment, Thanatos, the black priest showed up uninvited:
“I am a polar bear who has floated here from Greenland on an iceberg. May the gods bless your matrimony with such perennial beauty as that from the coupling of Zeus and Leda. As a wedding gift, I bring you a veil made for an Arabian princess. Please, accept it. O Vanadís, daughter of the king of kings.”
Upon hearing this, Sophie let out a long shriek. She understood what those words meant. For three nights, she and Joris made love at moonlight, in the presence of the court of Guilder and all the creatures of the universe. On the morning of the fourth day, he had to leave her side to wander the nine worlds, bringing the sacred knowledge he acquired to whichever mortals he found. Weeping, Sophie bade adieu to her husband with the following greeting:
“My will is as strong as yours, and my kingdom as great. My sisters receive the heroes at Fólkvangr, serving mead to those slain in battle. When the ash commune with the elm, you shall return to me. Not a second after, not a second before.”
The black priest then proceeded to lead them to the calvary, placing two wreaths of thorns on their heads. “I crown thee, Freyja and Óðr.”
For nine days and nights, Sophie bitterly mourned her lost husband, crying tears of gold for his sake. Once again trapped in the Mountain of Obstacles, she cried out for mercy to the one who was older than time itself:
“That man hon fólkvig fyrst í heimi,
er Gullveig geiru studdu
ok i hǫll Hárs hana brendu;
thrysvar brendu thrysvar borna,
opt, ósjaldan, tho hon enn lifir!
Heidi hana hétu, hvars til húsa kom,
vǫlu velspá, vitti hon ganda
seid hon hvars hon kunni,
seid hon hugleikin,
æ var hon angan illrar brudar.”
“She remembers the first war in the world,
when Gullveig was hoist on the spears
in the High-One’s hall they burned her;
three times they burned the three times born
often, not seldom; yet she lives!
She was called Heidr at the village,
the wise völva knew how to cast spells
she practiced seiðr whenever she could
with ravished soul, she performed seiðr,
She was always sought by wicked women.”
As she asked for divine intervention, Sophie devoted herself to the hard work required by the spinning wheel. As though passing in a trance through Psyche's trials, she was accompanied by her sisters, who danced around her, hand in hand. The first branches of the elm emerged from her heart, which enwrapped her in just a few minutes. From her withered body, the most majestic tree of Fensalir was formed. Three times she was struck by lightning, three times she burned; only to be three times reborn the next dawn.
When Joris at last returned from his travels around the world, finding her in such a state he declared:
“Nu em ec aptr kominn,
fát gat ec thegiandi thar;
margom orthom melta ec i minn frama i Suttungs sǫlom.
Gunnlad mer um gaf gunom stóli á
drycc ins dyra miathar; ill ithgiold
let ec hana eptir hafa
sins ins heila hugar
sins ins svara seva.”
“Now I have come again,
I’d have hardly made it so far;
without speaking great words to my advantage in the hall of Suttungr.
Gunnlöð gave me, from her golden throne
The precious drink of mead; a poor payment
I gave her in return
for her whole soul
for her burdened spirit.”
With these sorrowful words he also became an ash tree, his roots becoming entangled with hers. From their union emerged a magnificent swan egg which cracked in two beautiful girls. The Æsir called them Hnoss and Gersemi, the Twin Treasures.’
#Noorse mythologie#noors verhaal#personal#creative writing#freyja#freja och svipdag#john bauer#1911#1910s#my work#literature#norse tale#covidnine-zine#art met vrienden#winnie en lisa#norse#norse saga#nordic#swedish illustrator#maria kvilhaug#maria kvilhaug translations#prose#poetic edda#norse mythology#allegorical writing#mine#writer#also an excerpt from my upcoming novel#ikke#a work by Frida Arlon
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My top ten characters in any fandom
Tagged by @taralkariel! These are in no particular order.
1) Emily Thorne/Amanda Clarke (Revenge)
For the truly wronged, real satisfaction can only be found in one of two places: absolute forgiveness or mortal vindication. This is not a story about forgiveness.
Sly, cunning, witty, badass, vulnerable... what is there not to love about Emily Thorne (bonus points: we have the same name!)? Whether you’re watching her square off with Victoria Grayson in a battle of thinly veiled contempt, kicking bad guy ass, struggling to choose between love and revenge, or looking like an absolute queen 24/7, there is never a dull moment with her.
2) Ella Lopez (Lucifer)
I know I should be freaking out right now, but your hair is so shiny.
Ella was the exact character that I didn’t know I needed in my life. She’s kind, caring, funny, loyal, and has a dark side that you see glimpses of. Now if only she can realize that Lucifer is actually the Devil... That is a conversation I’m looking forward to seeing.
3) Emma Swan (Once Upon a Time)
Because when Regina framed me and you bailed me out, I asked you why and you said you trusted me. And then when I wanted to leave Storybrooke because I thought that was best for Henry, you told me I needed to stay because that was best for him. I realized all my life I have been alone. Walls up. Nobody’s ever been there for me except for you. And I can’t lose that, I cannot lose my family!
I may not have finished the show (I stopped sometime during season 6), but Emma Swan’s growth through the first four seasons remains one of my all time favorites. From closed off and distant and alone to loved, loving, and surrounded by family. And her season one friendship with Mary Margaret is hilarious while also very heartwarming
4) Mary Maragret/Snow White (Once Upon a Time)
Look, I gave the book to him because I wanted Henry to have the most important thing anyone can have. Hope. Believing in even the possibility of a happy ending is a powerful thing.
What can I say? Once Upon a Time was a brilliant show during its first three seasons. Kind, caring, supportive, and with a side of badass, Mary Margaret very quickly rose to one of my favorites.
5) Diana Prince (DC Comics)
If loss makes you doubt your belief in justice, then you never truly believed in justice at all.
Not a movie quote, but ah, well. I will never not be giddy watching No Man’s Land. Plus her entrance in Batman v Superman remains my favorite superhero entrance. A badass warrior when needed yet a caring individual, Diana Prince will always hold a place in my heart,
6) Richard “Dick” Grayson (Young Justice/DC Comics)
You’re overwhelmed. Freeze was underwhelmed. Why isn’t anyone ever just whelmed?
Underutilized? Yes. Still a favorite? Also yes. He’s different in the show than he is in the comics, but I love both versions. In terms of Young Justice, his toying with the English language will forever be one of my favorite things. In the comics, he is sibling goals.
7) Rey (Star Wars)
I should have felt trapped or panicked, but I didn’t.
I can’t do a top ten list and not include one half of the ship that comprises most of what I reblog. How could I not instantly be drawn to a female character who wasn’t shamed for expressing anger? I loved how kind and compassionate she was in spite of her childhood. While I may not agree with a lot of decisions made in the final movie, I can still appreciate her arc in the first two movies.
8) Kylo Ren/Ben Solo (Star Wars)
I killed Han Solo. When the moment came, I didn’t hesitate!
I also can’t not include the second half of the ship that comprises most of my reblogs. A conflicted, dark-haired man built like a fridge? Count me in! It’s a terrible shame that his story ended the way it did, but fanfiction more than makes up for it!
9) Spencer Hastings (Pretty Little Liars)
Ali, I’m going to say this as delicately as I can. Your father’s a liar.
Spencer is one of those characters whose intellect fluctuates based on what the plot needs, but her sarcasm is something that never fails to impress. Spencer’s conversations with Hannah are some of the best things to come out of the show. That, and Troian Bellisario always found a way to make a horrible line sound passable.
10) Nyssa-Vex (Krypton)
My father only thinks that he was the one who chose you
Nyssa-Vex started out as an okay character, but by mid-season one, she was my favorite in the show. Calculating, manipulative, and witty in the beginning, to loving and desperate to keep her family close at the end of season two, I will forever be petty that her arc was never completed. Nyssa-Vex is a much better example of what TROS tried to say - your lineage does not define who you are.
Tagging: @a-nerd-obsessed @acrossthestarx @angstywriterangst
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10 Questions Tag
Thank you so much for tagging me, @songsofaleria! You had such interesting answers, and I wanted to ensure that I could give the same enthusiasm with my responses. Buckle up, y’all! You might learn a thing or two about moi.
1. What are you characters favorite foods/snacks?
What’s sad is that I have a hard time answering this solely because I am not a snack person. Blasphemy, I know - I just prefer whole meals! If we’re talking modern-day snacks? Oeden’s chowing down on salt and vinegar chips, Royan would be a Twinkies guy (no jokes, please, spare my boy), Medea’s a cinnamon girl - the kind that scarfs down Hot Tamales like they’re nothing, Carmila would snack on individual pretzel sticks while she works (and is the kind to suck the salt clean off of them because she keeps getting lost in thought while they’re in her mouth), Farukh would be a jerky guy, and Kasumi’s the kind to carry around little veggie packets and dip.
If we’re talking in-universe snacks? Come on. Fantasy worlds don’t have fun snacks! Although I did write one excerpt with Oeden and his mom, Nadielle, chowing down on spiced pufferfish spines which I’m relatively sure are not a real thing...and likely should not be.
2. What playlists do you listen to when writing?
I made a playlist of worship songs for my friends who are newer to my church and I’ve been jamming to that while I write because it’s the only lyric-inclusive music I can listen to that won’t interfere with my writing. Plus, because writing can drain my body and darken my thoughts, I need something positive and godly to revitalize me and keep me centered.
3. Which OC is/was your favorite to create?
There’s one character I’ve talked about in passing, but I haven’t dedicated an entire section to him yet. I don’t know if he’s my favorite, but he has a special place in my heart: Algon. He pays homage to one of my personal heroes and mentors, so there’s always a giddy little part of my heart when I get to write him. Plus, the development he goes through is...well, heartbreaking, but also beautiful over time.
4. What is the first book you read that made you cry?
Oh gosh, I can’t remember! I was a big crybaby when I was little, so I probably wept at the slightest thing gone wrong. Aslan dying in The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe always got me.
5. Do you hide any secrets in your books as a way of foreshadowing?
If you read something in my stories, assume it will eventually foreshadow something. I treat my books as a game of I-Spy, wondering when readers will find the most hidden clues I snuck in there.
6. What is the most difficult part of your writing process?
This might sound strange, but knowing when it’s “right”. I’m a perfectionist, an INFJ, and a Type One Enneagram - otherwise known as someone who is paralyzed by the thought of doing something wrong. I don’t just write for fun, I write to do what I believe I’m meant to do in my life. And if something I produced was lesser than what was meant? If I wasted my time or led someone down the wrong path because I did it wrong? Game over for me. I spend SO much time deciding whether I’ve had this character do the right thing, built the world correctly, etc. that it’s...crippling, to be honest.
7. Which of your characters would you liked like to meet/get to know irl?
You know, I had a lot of different answers to this...but I’m gonna go with Kasumi. I have a habit of befriending people who need my guidance or leadership and/or people who make me laugh and are fun but aren’t deep enough to hang with me intimately. Kasumi, while deeply flawed, is someone who would want to help me as much as I help her. She’d listen, she’d advise, she’d protect, she’d spend time making art with me, we could go adventuring when necessary and stay inside when we’re down. I feel like we could be besties in a heartbeat!
8. Was there a situation in your writing that you took from your own life?
There are snippets and themes that I use, as everyone does, as inspiration. But generally, I try to limit that because I don’t want it seeming self-insert-y. However, there are a few specific instances and issues I feel personally convicted to write upon based on my experiences with and overcoming of them. But none of the situations in my stories are one-on-one parallels.
9. Do your characters have reoccurring symbolism in their dreams?
HOO BOY! You opened a whole can of worms for one character in particular: Oeden. I’ve changed what his dreams entail eighteen thousand times, but he always envisions a vault (which is a main theme in my story, and certainly no secret) long before he ever finds it. Lots of other things, too: torn wedding veils, man made into gods, blood poured on white moons, angels in plain sight, and an unknown voice calling out to him. You know, totally normal dream stuff!
10. Which Hogwarts houses would you sort your characters into?
I’ve def done this before, but I don’t remember everyone’s. I think it was: Royan is Gryffinpuff, Oeden is Slytherclaw, Medea is Slytherin, Farukh is Slytherdor, Briggid is Ravenclaw, Kasumi is Hufflepuff, Carmila is...crap, I can’t remember!
Questions for Those Tagged to Answer:
1. When you find a book at the store, what about it makes you decide to buy it or put it back on the shelf?
2. What would your book’s ideal cover look like, should you have access to any artist you’d want and any resources you would need to make it a reality?
3. If you could rewrite one story - be it a book, game, movie, show, etc. - which would it be and why?
4. Have you ever given a story a second chance and liked it better the next time through? What caused your opinion to change?
5. What do you believe endears an audience to a character?
6. What kind of romances do you prefer to read about and/or watch unfold? (Soft and shy, hot and sexy, slow burn, enemies to lovers, etc.)
7. What type of AU’s are your guilty pleasures, be they for your stories or for others? (Modern, High School/University, Coffee Shop, Vampires, etc.)
8. If only one age demographic would ever read your books, which would you choose and why?
9. If you could pay homage to one person in your life through your stories and/or characters, who would it be and why?
10. If every reader walked away from your story having been changed in one significant way, what would you want it to be and why?
Tagging: @rhavencroft, @incandescent-creativity, @fair-folk-nonsense, @stardustspiral, @ardawyn, @lady-redshield-writes, @feathered-quill, @hannahs-creations, @cogesque, @merigreenleaf
#tag#tagged#tag game#writeblr#writeblr community#writing community#write#writer#writing#10 questions tag game
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