#“but she's so annoying 🥺🥺” | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

myokk · 3 months ago

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fast sketch of ominis & fast intro to the ominis longfic I'm working on!! This is going to be the most self-indulgent pride and prejudice ripoff that ever existed, 100% based on the ominis of my oneshot💘

I am just OBSESSED with exploring the idea that he’s a natural legilimens & OBSESSED with the thought that he thinks too much for his own good🫶🫶🫶

Ominis Gaunt has always suspected he is cold-blooded.

It makes sense, really.

He always seems to be cold: frigid, long fingers that are often stiff and difficult to move; goosebumps raising the skin of his arms and the back of his neck any time he walks through the drafty halls of the dungeons; even his eyes, he has been told, are reminiscent of ice. They are apparently quite unsettling. The only time he feels comfortable in his body is when he basks in the heat of the sun.

His earliest memory is of the cold. It went like this: he was four years old: his older brother, Marvolo, had led him outside as a joke, he swore up and down that it was just a small joke, and how was he supposed to know that poor, blind Ominis would not be able to find his way back home? When his parents had finally found him, his frail mother sobbing and holding his tiny, blue, hypothermic body to her chest, Ominis remembers feeling quite perturbed at the disturbance. Couldn’t he just be left alone, in the silent soft snow?

He does not know if he has ever felt warm since.

As he strides through the dungeons, the copious amount of warming charms he casts on himself do not seem to be enough, but he keeps casting them anyways and also: wrapping his wool scarf more tightly around his neck, quickening his pace in the hopes that blood flows more easily through his limbs, wishing that he had remembered his gloves. Winter is always a terrible time of year (this winter more terrible than usual), and every breath of warm air leaves his lips reluctantly. How he wishes that he could just hold on to it a bit longer and yet the warmth leaves him precisely fifteen traitorous times a minute, the frigid air gleefully entering and burning its way down his throat in response. Maybe it’s a punishment of some sort.

His whole life has been defined by punishments and sometimes he preoccupies himself with the thought that it is the only way he can view the world. Most of the punishments are manifested in curses inherited from his family. (His parents and Marvolo insist that they are gifts, but Ominis begs to differ.)

First, his blindness: the only true punishment-curse that even his family rejects: caused by inbreeding, no doubt. He did not cry after his birth and his mother cradled his tiny body in silent arms, lovingly whispering nonsense-evil-Parseltongue to him but when he opened his eyes and she saw a brilliant celestine blue with no iris, she screamed in horror and shattered the frigid peace of the room. His parents tried everything to fix him, make him whole, throwing money at various possible solutions to no avail. Magically induced disabilities are not, apparently, curable by magic.

Ominis is not sure that he hates being blind, although he suspects everyone thinks that he should. It is as much a part of him as his fifteen-breaths-per-minute, and he thinks that vision is not all it’s cracked up to be. He is always terrified at the thought that his tenuous hold on sanity is only due to the fact that he cannot see, until he realizes he shouldn’t be terrified of hypothetical situations that cannot come to pass. He consoles himself with the thought that maybe, if he has had to give up his vision for his sanity, it is a small price to pay. Although, he also thinks sometimes that it would be nice to live a life without any morality holding him back.

He is entirely too introspective, after all.

It is precisely this introspection that is his downfall in this moment (and his cold blood). Ominis is so busy casting warming charms on himself and thinking in circles that he cannot use his wand to help him sense his environment and so he should not be surprised when he crashes into her.

And yet he is. Terribly surprised.

Maybe if he were not so caught up in his own thoughts he could have paid more attention to his surroundings. Instead, he spent too much time ruminating on his reptilian heritage and has now barreled head first into his arch-nemesis.

Rosalie Harris.

The girl who has stolen his oldest friend from him.

The girl who is currently making angry noises as she clambers to her feet and is picking up the things that he has crashed everywhere. Even if he could see, Ominis is not sure he would help her. Helping her would be akin to betraying himself, after all.

“Hey! Watch where you’re - oh, hello, Ominis.”

“Rosalie,” he says shortly, nodding his head where he thinks she might be standing and stepping to the side. He tightens his grip around his wand, feeling the texture of the wood change from rough to smooth as he runs his thumb down it. Smooth where he always seems to worry it, rough where the wood refuses to yield to the brushes of his thumb.

He surreptitiously casts the spell - he has at least done it so many times he no longer needs to say it out loud - and his surroundings light up. Or, he supposes that is the most apt description, considering he cannot actually differentiate between light and dark. He senses Rosalie’s silhouette to his left - she is standing with her arms crossed and her foot taps impatiently as she waits for him.

Waiting for what? he thinks, slightly irritated. She never seems to leave him alone and he wracks his brain trying to think of something, anything he can say to get rid of her.

Maybe if he speaks in Parseltongue, she would finally be scared away for good. He does not really want that second reminder of his family’s curse, though.

His family preferred speaking in Parseltongue with each other, believing the ability made them morally superior to everyone else and Ominis had not even realized until he had arrived at Hogwarts that no, it was not normal. When his name had been called at the Sorting, furious whispers had erupted amongst all the students, and his every step (terrified, confused, unsure - he had still been getting used to using his wand to navigate his surroundings) to the stool at the front of the Great Hall was plagued with a susurration reminiscent of snakes. Except these whispers, sneaking their way into his mind, had been unkind and overwhelming.

(He had not realized in that moment that he was also hearing their thoughts.)

Maybe now, with Rosalie standing in front of him and just annoyingly waiting for Merlin-knows-what, Ominis should use his Legilimency to find out what Rosalie wants. (He hates it, though.) It would not be difficult. (The thought makes him shiver in horror because he doesn’t want to abuse the ability.) He can feel the edges of her mind, her magic, and all he has to do is reach out - she is right there, and -

“Ominis?”

Her arms are crossed, he hears an impatient huff.

Why hasn’t she left him alone yet?

Hadn’t the Hogwarts Express already left the station, bringing all of the students home for the winter holiday? Ominis had thought he would be one of the only students left in the castle, and if he is being honest with himself, he had been looking quite forward to having the place to himself.

Ominis’s winter has just gotten infinitely worse.

Going to Gaunt Manor for the holidays is out of the question (he will not think about the nightmares that have been plaguing him ever since he received the owl demanding he go home), and Ominis does not want to be more of a burden to the Sallows. They already do enough for him over the summer, and Sebastian and Anne have convinced him to go to Hogsmeade with them at least twice over the next two weeks. Besides, with Anne’s curse progressing, Ominis does not want to be in the way.

“Why are you still here?” Ominis asks. He knows his voice comes across as cold as his blood, blunt, but he cannot help himself. Ever since Rosalie arrived - her entrance to Hogwarts also causing quite the stir - Ominis has been intensely annoyed by her presence. She is too happy. Too carefree. Too…well, everything he is not.

And, she does not seem to leave him alone.

Rosalie is always there, always hanging around Sebastian. (Taking Sebastian away.) He even showed her the Undercroft, which had almost caused a rift in their relationship. Ominis could not believe that Sebastian would be so careless, showing someone who for all intents and purposes is crashing her way into their lives, forcing them to pay attention to her. They barely even knew her, and yet Sebastian thought it was a good idea to show her such a sacred place?

(It does not help that she is intelligent, and Ominis has caught himself on more than one occasion about to ask her about her opinion on something before he catches himself.)

“I was looking for you.”

Ominis tilts his head at that and fiddles with his ring. He considers walking away, leaving -

“I mean…Sebastian said that you were also going to be here over the holidays and since everyone else just left I thought -”

“Thought what?” Internally, Ominis winces at the biting tone to his voice. It came out harsher than he intended, his voice loud and echoing through his mind, bouncing off the cold, stone walls surrounding them.

#the girl’s name and gender tbh is subject to change #I’m having a lot of fun writing this up but it was all just written up on a whim #idk when I’ll FULLY be able to commit to this #but I always have so much fun writing his POV #SO I HOPE YOU ENJOY!!! & forgive the messy sketch😆#honestly most of this is subject to be edited and/or changed #bc you are getting my writing before any editing whatsoever here😳#I just love the idea of Ominis being so full of conflicting pride and shame and lots of confusion #and the love interest to be so annoying and bratty and headstrong #basically an Elizabeth Bennet you know…she always thinks she’s right (she isn’t) and her first impressions are the law #I’m actually reading Mansfield Park now…Jane Austen please bless me as I write tonight😌🙏#hogwarts legacy #hogwarts legacy fanart #hphl #ominis gaunt fanfiction #ominis #ominis x mc #hogwarts legacy ominis #ominis gaunt #ominis gaunt fanart #also I have WAY MORE WRITTEN!!! mostly just unconnected ramblings from his pov about how he thinks about life #& snapshots of his first year at Hogwarts 🥺🥺🥺#I really am an Ominis girl…#hogwarts legacy fanfic

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possibilistfanfiction · 2 years ago

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Hi! I just wanted to say I love everything you write for warrior nun (& butch bea especially!!) If you're ever in the mood to write more ficlets can I put in my vote for something about mary and ray? the part about them made me so happy !

[a little something!]

'don't laugh at me,' you say, coming downstairs from your guest room at beatrice and ava's to where they're sitting and doing a puzzle at the kitchen island. well, beatrice is doing the puzzle, diligently finishing the edges, while ava just kind of sits and stares. it's... kind of ridiculous, but beatrice had been hurt; there's still a bruise on the back of her head, turning green now — painful, and healing — and the brace over a compression sleeve on her leg. but she's only using one crutch now, and the incision down her stomach has knit together fully now. she's a little stir-crazy, you think, but also pretty tired still — and has been relegated from olympic-level judo to things like puzzles, so, of course, ava had come home with ten of them.

'we'll definitely laugh at you,' ava says, looking up with a grin.

'why wouldn't we?' beatrice asks, attention still on the puzzle pieces.

you sigh. you're happy for them — so, so happy — but the two of them together are also the bane of your fucking existence. ava makes beatrice's shoulders relax, makes a big smile stretch on her face, makes her laugh, every single day; beatrice makes ava brighter, which had seemed impossible, but now you watch them in their own home and you ache, you hug them tightly every night before they go to bed while you stay here while your apartment is finalized. they also, however, love to collectively make fun of you. no shooting allowed, in this new world, even though ava would still be fine. whatever.

'i'm — i'm going on a date.'

'oh, we know,' beatrice says. 'ray hasn't shut up about it for days.'

'so you know what we're doing? thank god, i have no idea what to wear.'

ava grins. dangerous. you could kick her off a cliff again, you really could. 'yeah, we can't tell you where though.'

you roll your eyes. maybe you could swipe a puzzle piece when they're at the beach, that would drive beatrice nuts. 'can you, like, advise an outfit, at least? i've worn all black forever but i don't think that's the vibe.'

'yeah, hot mercenary is not the theme.' ava grins. 'but i love shopping. and bea knows all the good spots.'

'okay, but not boring spots.'

'ava has never complained a day in her life about me being boring.' you just let it pan out from there, ava's adoring smile, the familiar scratch to the back of beatrice's head, so soft and careful, the way beatrice's hands still on their puzzle pieces and her chin lifting, just slightly, so ava bends near her, like a willow to water, and kisses her. eventually, beatrice turns to you. 'see?'

'i don't need you making out to know that you're into each other,' you grumble.

'oh, if you want to see us making out,' ava says, but beatrice puts a gentle hand on ava's wrist. 'okay, never mind. but... shopping! bea, do you feel good enough to go? otherwise i'll just facetime you everywhere.'

beatrice laughs. 'yes, i can go. i'll just sit while mary tries things on.' she turns toward you. 'i know it can be — daunting, to figure out who you want to be. maybe it won't be; ava's always enjoyed it.' ava preens. 'but we'll have fun; i'll take you places where there will be stuff you might be interested in. and, at any time, if you want to leave, just say the word.'

'okay,' you relent — you want to look good for your date, and, as you look at ava in her flowy wide-leg pants and especially beatrice, in a favorite, soft crew neck, you realize that you desperately, and joyfully, want to know who you are.

as promised, beatrice does take you to stores that have interesting clothes — expensive, not that that's anything you'd worry about at this point — and sneakers you had always wanted when you were younger. beatrice finds a pair of dunks that you think are both very clean and, as expected, extremely boring; you get a few that are more interesting, jordan 1s and 4s and a pair of union dunks. ava knocks over a whole rack of clothes, who knows how, but charms the attendant so much they end up laughing as she helps pick things up.

there are a few more stores, with t-shirts and flannels and perfectly fitting pants. they're fancy, you know, understated and cool, and everyone knows beatrice and ava; they're happy to see them, although everyone is worried about beatrice, who handles things like a champ: she's just fine, a cycling accident in spain; recovery has been easy and she's glad to be out of the house; yes, she wants that hoodie even though — with a laugh — she definitely doesn't need it, but ava will steal it anyway.

you can tell this one is beatrice’s particular favorite, because when ava holds the door for her and beatrice walks through — slowly, but steadily, fairly coordinated with her forearm crutch opposite the big leg brace, one of the attendants shoots forward. he’s, well, beautiful, with perfect braids and and dark skin, cargo pants and a pair of off whites you don’t even want to think about how much they cost.

‘beatrice,’ he says, seemingly torn between grinning and frowning, and wraps her in a careful, familiar hug.

‘hi jalen,’ she says, and then jalen hugs ava too, who smiles into his shoulder.

‘hey bud.’

‘i’ve missed you both,’ he says. ‘how are you feeling?’

‘much better,’ beatrice says. ‘i had a facial and a massage yesterday, and down to one crutch, so i can’t complain.’

‘first, still obsessed with your hair.’ he ruffles the top, and you’re a little floored, because beatrice just laughs. ‘and, secondly, ava, you’re okay?’

‘spick and span,’ she confirms, offering two dorky thumbs up that just come off, annoyingly, as charming.

‘jalen, this is mary,’ beatrice says. ‘one of my oldest friends. mary, this is jalen. he’s a regular at ava’s bar and my favorite stylist.’

‘quite the resume,’ you say, and shake his hand.

he smiles. ‘if only beatrice would add keiko’s boyfriend to that list.’

ava snorts. ‘we would if it was true.’

‘one day.’ he sighs. ‘anyway, what are we here for today? we just got the new aime leon dore crews, beatrice.’

‘while i will be getting one of those for sure,’ she says, ‘more importantly, mary has a date tonight! and, plus, needs some new things anyway. she’s been away on business.’

‘delightful.’ he looks you over. ‘i’m feeling a tasha cloud, arike ogunbowale kinda vibe.’ he smiles, excited. ‘what do you think?’

‘i’m into it,’ you say, your chest warming: beatrice knows you; she loves you; she wants to share her life and all the good things in it. she’s built it herself. she knows who will understand.

‘great! and, please tell me if you don’t like something. my feelings won’t be hurt at all, and we want you to feel awesome.’

‘that — yes,’ you say, a little choked up out of nowhere, and you spare a glance at ava and beatrice. beatrice has settled on a couch, her leg outstretched, while ava looks through some crews and holds them up for beatrice to pick a favorite. ‘that sounds perfect.’

jalen helps you find a few pieces you love, that you can mix and match for a number of outfits. it’s surreal, to get to choose what you want — to wear every day; to wear by the beach; to wear to drinks with your sisters, so in love it’s impossible to really be annoyed; to wear on a date.

eventually, beatrice starts to fade, slumping over on ava’s shoulder on the couch, her eyes fluttering, which makes you laugh — and then jalen too, who understands somehow, that she’s okay. or, at least, that she will be.

ava tells jalen to charge everything to their account; she’d told you when you’d first come that the church pays for whatever they want, and, plus, they have beatrice’s essentially infinite trust fund anyway. you leave with a few bags, but not before you ask jalen where he gets his braids done and he grins and gets your number to send you the information. it’s one of a few in your phone; your world grows every day.

'okay,' you say, looking at yourself in your mirror one last time. 'good?'

'you look sexy,' ava says, helpful as always, but bea laughs softly and squeezes your hand.

'you look amazing,' she says, and she really means it. ray hadn't told you much, just that it was casual and no pressure. she's known beatrice for a while now and so, you know, she seems to understand the hesitancy toward big things, a big life. beatrice has one now, and you want one too. it's different, so different than what you thought you would have. but it's not bad; in fact, most of the time it's good.

you tie a flannel around your waist for when it inevitably gets cooler later; you had your braids redone two days ago and your babyhairs are down perfectly. ava is basically vibrating when — endearingly, because she definitely has a key — ray rings the doorbell.

'go, go!' ava says, spinning you by the shoulders in the direction of the stairs. 'beatrice and i are going to ... stay in on your balcony, i guess. right, bea?'

it feels a little like they're your parents or something; whenever lilith visits she trudges along behind them like a teenager being dragged out of her bedroom. but beatrice's smile is gentle and she takes ava's hand. 'yes, i'll make sure that ava gives you your privacy.'

you take a deep breath and nod. 'wish me luck.'

'godspeed,' ava says. 'we definitely won't stay up late waiting on the couch to make sure you get home by your curfew.'

despite yourself, you laugh.

ray brings you flowers and you kiss her cheek and she smiles at you, bright in the setting sun, and takes off her sunglasses and opens your car door.

'this is about as lowkey as it gets,' she says, 'but i thought we could get some in n out and watch the sunset on the beach. i know you get to watch the sunset from beatrice and ava's every day, but i have a spot i love that i want to share with you. i brought some craft beer i like, if you want a drink.' she pauses, grips the steering while tight in her hands, and it sets you at remarkable ease when you realize — she's nervous too. she's excited too.

'that sounds amazing.' she smiles and it's worth it; it's so worth it.

she lets out a relieved breath. 'okay, sweet. do you have an in n out order?'

'i've never actually been.'

'god, that's a crime.'

'look, i've only been in california for a month.'

'that's a whole month!'

you laugh at her genuine dismay. honestly, you didn't think you would be staying; you hadn't even brought more than a few days clothes in a duffel when lilith teleported you. you had planned to stay and take care of beatrice and help ava for a week tops. but then, well — 'better late than never, right?'

'so much better,' ray says, and turns on good 90s r&b while you wait in what you think might be the world's longest drive thru, although when you say that ray just laughs. she's beautiful, and your mind drifts slightly when she licks her fingers after finishing her burger, the pink clouds washing over the both of you. there are a few streaks of grey coming into the inky black of her hair, a mess of curls, and you wonder what it might be like to tangle your hands in it. to let her kiss you. to touch her back.

you talk about everything and nothing at once: who you are, but not the worst parts. not yet.

the sun sets and you put your flannel on and ray grins. 'you look really good,' she says.

'thanks. i — beatrice took me shopping.'

'ah,' ray says, 'my favorite activity to share with her. i love when she charges things to her account.'

'it was pretty sweet, honestly. i — well, you knew her, when you first met. getting out of our old line of work, at least for me, it's a lot of just... trying to figure out who i am now. who i want to be.'

'well, if tonight is anything to go by, and how highly beatrice and ava speak of you, who you are is incredible.'

you duck your head, busy yourself with gathering the napkins from dinner and putting them in the bag. you lift your head and the sun sits gold on the horizon behind ray's head. you almost laugh, then, in a little bit of disbelief — the kind of blessing you are just coming to understand. thank you, shannon, you pray. when ray smiles at you, her eyes squinting in the light, you allow yourself to really wonder: there is a halo around her head, some kind of saint, some kind of holy.

you wonder about resurrections and how ava loves so full, how beatrice is quiet and attentive and so deeply herself, now. you wonder about all of it — hell and grace and the rough orange blanket beneath you and the apartment you'd just gotten approved for, the scar along your shoulder from years ago and how often it rains here. you wonder about all of it, as you cup ray's jaw in your hand as gently as you can and ask is this okay? and she smiles — yeah, of course — and kiss her, in the remnants of the sun and the inky dusk setting in over the waves. the tide goes out, and a beautiful woman kisses you. it's a life. it's one hell of a life.

she holds your hand on the drive back to beatrice and ava's house, and when you open the front door ava scrambles up the stairs to, you guess, act like she wasn't watching out the front window, but beatrice still has her crutch and just waves from the couch, nonplussed. ray had walked you to the door and kissed your cheek and heads back to her car with a little wave in beatrice's direction, and you close the door.

'did you have a good time?' she asks, sleepy and looking like she'd showered earlier, comfortable with her leg propped on a few pillows and a heating pad on her stiff hip.

you sit next to her and then ava flings herself in the middle of you. beatrice lets out a little oof but she laughs, and ava climbs practically on top of her without any resistance. you'll never have a love like that, you're pretty sure, in this life or any of the next, because ava is ava — exuberant and unrelenting and desperately kind — but the quietness is good too. the small intimacies. 'i had a wonderful time.'

'good,' ava says, a kind of totality you're just beginning to understand: things are good. things should be good. 'bea has been falling asleep for an hour —' beatrice pouts — 'but, brunch tomorrow, maybe? i want to hear all about it.'

'yeah,' you say, a little overcome, thinking about the sunset and in n out and what it felt like to kiss someone kind after all this time; thinking about what it was like to come back to people who love you, who want you to be happy — your sisters. 'that sounds perfect.'

and it isn't perfect: beatrice is still hurt and grumpy, which makes ava grumpy, but it's beautiful and smells like the ocean and you eat whatever you want, with no plans for the day. it's not perfect, but it is good. it's a home, and a life, and you let yourself wonder about it all as you steal potatoes from ava's plate and she swats at your hand with a laugh, the sun high in the sky.

#wn #warrior nun fic #avatrice #avatrice fic #kinda they're constantly being annoying in the background lol #like annoying moms #prompts #mary!!!!!! no u will never get an explanation as to why she's back simply bc i love her lol just roll w it #THRILLED that ppl care abt her & ray tho lol that's so fun for me thank u #in the #butch bea 🥺🫡#universe lol

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