#I wrote this on the trolley & someone asked me if I was writing a book 😔

[trans-androgyne]

“If you believe in sexism against men, you must believe in racism against white people!”

No??? Begging people to stop cobbling together their feminism by copy + pasting racial dynamics onto sex and gender dynamics. You can’t just say “oh, I get it, men are the white people of gender!” and call it a day.

If white people were to be prescribed rigid roles under racism to the point where any minor deviation is severely punished often with violence, then yes, I would say the structure of racism is negatively impacting non-conforming white people.

As a transmasc, though, I am very aware that manhood and masculinity are extremely heavily policed under patriarchy. Those men who conform are on top and get plenty of benefits from the system. But anyone under patriarchy who does not conform to the prescribed roles of “amab = masculine man” and “afab = feminine woman” (sexism!) is in fact very much punished.

A man who wears a skirt or paints his nails is punished. A man who has “feminine” interests or does “women’s work” is punished. A man who shows the wrong emotions is punished. And a man who was assigned female at birth is most certainly punished (for breaking both the rules of man = amab and afab = woman). This is all sexism. Calling it that does not imply that men do not benefit from patriarchy. But it does mean you have to confront sexist ideas you may yourself hold about both women and men.

[eriquin]

The Trolley Problem, part 24

Steve now has to deal with not knowing exactly what's coming next. He is unprepared. Also, his notes are missing.

(master post)

Steve’s alarm woke him the next morning. He didn’t remember turning it on the day before. Maybe his mom had done it before she left. She used to do that sometimes. He slapped the button to turn it off, and the sting in his palm reminded him of everything that had happened the night before. He curled up around his pillow and shut his eyes, trying to will it away. 

His friends didn’t let him sleep in, though. Carol burst through the door, wearing one of his t-shirts as a night shirt and making a face at his wallpaper. “Come on, sleepyhead,” she said, yanking the pillow out from his arms. “I know you’re awake. I heard you turn off your alarm.”

“What do you want, Carol?” he whined without getting up.

“Tommy already went out to get breakfast,” she said. “I want you to tell me all the stuff we need to know about what happened the last time around. We’re going to go to school to make sure no one gets suspicious, and maybe try to talk to Byers to figure out what Will told him. I don’t know if he’ll talk to us, though.” She sat down on a free spot on his bed and dropped the pillow on his head. “You can’t just mope like this all day, though. You need to get it together so we can rescue Eddie, right?” 

Steve pushed the pillow off his head and sat up. “What? Since when do you care about rescuing him?” 

“Oh, I don’t,” Carol said. “But obviously you care. Also, Tommy pointed out that he would owe us for, like, forever. Free weed for life, probably.” 

“Jesus Christ, Carol,” he said. He flopped back down onto his mattress for a second. 

“I’m just being realistic here,” she said. She gave him another shove. “Anyway, come on. Get up already. I want to know what else to look out for before we have to go to school.”

He grumbled and got up. “I wrote it all down already,” he said. “At least twice.” His mouth was gross, and yesterday’s hairspray felt crunchy on his head. He needed a shower. 

Carol followed behind him as he headed for the hall bathroom. “Okay, but where did you write it?” she said. “That’d be way easier than waiting around for you to tell us everything you think is important.” 

“Uh, green notebook. It’s in my car, back seat.” 

“That thing you’ve been writing in at school?” she asked. “We thought you were just suddenly super into studying to impress Wheeler.” 

“Well, I wasn’t. I was writing it all down so I could say it was a story so Eddie would help me figure out how to stop the demogorgon,” Steve said. Carol looked a little impressed at that. Fed up, he blocked her from following him into the bathroom. “Now back off and let me shower, will you?”

“Remember to keep your stitches dry!” Carol said. She was generally too cheerful in the morning, but this was ridiculous.

Steve glared at her. “How the hell am I supposed to do that?” he asked, trying to figure out how he was supposed to shower with just one hand.

“I don’t know,” Carol said, still chipper. “I’m not the dumbass who cut open his palm.” She gave him a sarcastic little wave as she headed down the stairs. 

It took a bit of searching, but Steve found a pair of rubber gloves in the cabinet beneath the sink and put one on over his injured hand before showering. He intended to take a quick shower, but once he was under the hot water, he zoned out. The next thing he knew, someone was pounding on the bathroom door. He stuck his head outside of the shower curtain and shouted, “What?”

Tommy was outside the door, yelling something about a book, but he couldn’t understand him. Steve sighed and put his face back in spray. He couldn’t remember how much of himself he’d scrubbed down, and he knew he hadn’t washed his hair yet. They could wait.

They didn’t wait, though. Tommy popped the lock on the door and poked his head in. “Damn it, Steve. Where is this book you wrote everything in?” 

“In the car,” Steve said, lathering up his hair. “It’s in the back seat. It’s green.” 

“Yeah, I got that,” Tommy said. “It’s not there, dude.” 

“Did you look?”

Tommy scoffed. “Yes, I fucking looked. I searched the whole damn car. I looked in every box in the trunk. You’ve got, like, an armada back there.”

Steve frowned and rinsed his hair, careful not to get any water inside the rubber glove. “Do you mean an armory?” he asked. 

“Whatever, it’s the same thing.” 

“Isn’t an armada that thing like a dresser?” Steve asked.

“Oh my God,” came Carol’s voice from the hallway. “That’s an armoire. And an armada is a bunch of ships. I swear, the only way either of you pass English is cheating off of my tests.” She shoved Tommy out of the way and shouldered her way into the bathroom. “Steve, that notebook is not in your car.”

“For fuck’s sake,” he muttered. “Will you guys get out of here and let me shower? I’ll find it myself.” 

Carol muttered something about him being touchy. As he closed the door, Steve heard Tommy tell her that he really didn’t remember them, and she said something like, “He’d better fucking remember,” before they were out of earshot.

Steve finished up his shower in record time and towel-dried his hair without bothering to style it. He hoped that one of them would give him shit about it when he got downstairs, because he wanted to snipe right back, but they both ignored it. 

Tommy pushed a bagel sandwich into his hand and gestured at the garage. “Go on and show us where this so-important notebook is, King Steve.” 

“Stop calling me that, douchebag,” Steve said as he shouldered past him. 

“You’re a douchebag, douchebag,” Tommy said. There wasn’t a lot of heat behind it. “And you’re welcome, douchebag.”

Steve unwrapped the sandwich as he went into the garage. It was still hot and smelled amazing, like eggs and bacon, and he was starving. He took a huge bite, then wrapped it back up.

He didn’t bother putting on shoes, though the floor of the garage was cold and sort of filthy. He put the sandwich on the roof of the car and started looking through the back seat. There was nothing there but some old gum wrappers and receipts. It wasn’t tucked into the back of the seats or underneath them. It wasn’t in the front seat, either. He stopped to take another bite of his sandwich before pawing through the trunk. There was no way it could have gotten back there, but he checked anyway. Tommy had clearly already gone through everything. In the end he had to admit that they were right, and it was missing. 

“Shit,” he said as he slammed the trunk closed. “It’s gone.”

“Told you,” Carol said from the doorway. She had gotten dressed while he was in the shower in her jeans from yesterday and one of his mom’s nicer shirts. In her hands she held his mom’s favorite mug in her hand. She was sipping coffee from it. He made a face at her and scoffed, gesturing at everything about her. She shrugged. “What? Your mom has good taste.”

Steve retrieved his sandwich and headed back to the kitchen, trying to focus on the bigger issue than Carol imitating his mother. “Well, where the fuck could it have gone?” he asked. “I swear, it was in there yesterday. I showed it to Eddie while we were waiting for Dustin and Will to show up. He threw it in the back seat. I swear.” 

“Well, it’s missing,” Tommy said. He also had a cup of coffee, and had clearly borrowed clothes from Steve’s closet.

Steve paced as he finished off his bagel. “This is bad,” he said. “Like, I wrote down everything. If someone from the lab finds it—”

“Calm down,” Carol said. “It probably fell out at the Byers house. Tom and I will go over during a free period and look for it. Everyone will be at school and Mrs. Byers works, right? So no one will see us. We’ll find it.” 

“Yeah, Carol’s right,” Tommy said. “We’ll take care of it. Just, what do we need to know about today? What can you tell us?” 

Steve froze. “Shit. I don’t... Like, today was the day that they discovered Will was missing. I didn’t think I even heard about it until tomorrow. I don’t remember what the cops did, but Will’s not missing this time. So maybe nothing will happen? I don’t know.” He ran his hands through his hair and groaned. “I have to get that book back. I don’t remember what happens next. I didn’t get involved until the end, and it’s all messed up now.” 

Carol looked at the clock and tugged on Tommy’s sleeve. “We’ve gotta get to school,” she said. She gave Steve a stern look. “And you need to take it easy today, right? Save up for whatever freaky stuff we have to deal with the rest of the week. Oh, and stay inside so your neighbors don’t realize you’re skipping and rat you out to your parents.”

“They don’t even know where my folks have gone,” Steve said. “It’s fine.” 

“Yeah, but they’ll gossip,” Carol said. “They’re the gossipiest bitches in town, I swear. They’re worse than my mom and her nurse friends.”

“Well, you’re the expert on gossipy bitches,” Tommy said. He dodged Carol’s retaliating smack. “Okay, but Steve. Pop quiz. Who else got involved in this whole thing the first time around? It’s bad enough that I’m gonna have to be nice to creepy Byers, man.”

“He’s not...” Steve sighed. “He’s just a loner, and you would be too, if you had to deal with the shit he has.”

“He’s always been creepy, though,” Tommy said. “And he hasn’t even dealt with monsters yet.”

“Christ, Tommy.” Steve rubbed his forehead. “Okay. You just want to know which people to not piss off? For starters, it’s all Will’s friends in the middle school. They’re, like, way smarter than little kids should be.”

“Yeah, but we’re not going to be chatting with middle schoolers,” Carol said. “Who in the high school, Steve?”

Steve groaned. “Jonathan, Nancy, Robin...” He counted on his fingers. 

“Robin Buckley? From band?” Carol sneered a little. “Is that why people said you were flirting with her in Mrs. Click’s class?”

“I was not,” Steve said. “I just... God, I’ve really screwed it up already, haven’t I? People think I was flirting with her?”

“Any time you talk to a girl, it’s flirting,” Tommy said. “You know that, man. They’re all, like, obsessed with you.” 

“Fuck. Why is this so complicated?” Steve scratched his head. “Robin didn’t even get involved until Starcourt, and that’s, like, a year and a half away. Forget Robin, just don’t be mean to her, okay? She’s cool.” 

Something was missing and he couldn’t quite figure it out. He looked out at his backyard, where the woods stretched out in the distance. It was foggy, and the steam coming off of the pool didn’t help. 

He snapped his fingers. “The pool. Barb. Shit. Don’t, like, antagonize Nancy’s friend Barb, okay? The first time around, the demogorgon grabbed her from my pool and killed her in the Upside Down version of it. That’s the next major thing that happened. It needs to not happen.” 

Tommy and Carol looked extremely confused at this, but Steve just shrugged. Carol tugged at Tommy’s sleeve again, reminding him of the time. They left their coffee cups by the sink and headed out. Soon, the house was quiet.

Steve went around double-checking the locks on the windows and the doors. He closed all the blinds, and turned on all the lamps around the house. “Hey,” he said to the empty space. “Hey, uh, Eddie? I know you know where my house is and it’s pretty close to the Byers, so maybe you came here. Maybe.”

He started walking from room to room, talking out loud in the hopes that someone on the other side could hear him. “If you’re here, the lights are on. Do you remember what I told you about the lights? You can, like, tap on them. When we were there before, they glowed, and tapping on them makes them flicker on this side. So if you’re here, can you... Could you please just give me a sign? That you’re alive? Please?” 

The lights all stayed steady, with no flickering. Steve flopped down on the couch and groaned. He knew it had been too much to hope for.

(I don't have a taglist for this, but I can make one if you like. Or you can follow the master post, linked at the top)

[monstersinthecosmos]

stealing your question as promised: what authors do you think shaped your writing the most when you were first starting?

-mothmage

sdjkgas in middle school my favorite authors were Anne Rice and Francesca Lia Block and I think they have SENSUALITY in common even though their writing styles are SO opposite. As a teen when I was first writing I think I learned so much from both of them, like the seriousness and drama of AR but at the same time, FLB is so concise and punchy and sometimes her books are like these waterfalls of adjectives and I tried to think in that way too! Like I'm a very visual person so FLB books were like fucking crack for me, just heaps and heaps of descriptions of color and glittery and starry night skies and flowers growing where they shouldn't and it feels like poetry!

(I opened a random FLB book off my shelf and this is what I mean: We walked up and down the hills until our legs ached, then rode the trolley car to feel rushes of salty, misty air. We had picnics and fed the swans on the lake under the flowering terra-cotta arches, drank tea and ate pastries in rooms with cupids and rosebuds painted on the walls, strolled through the park, green-dazzled, fragrance-drunk, gasped at treasures gleaming gold in the half-lit glass cases of the museum. Then we'd return with spices, fruits and vegetables from Chinatown, seafood and baguettes from the wharf.

Her writing is so simple but it's just like heaps and heaps of sensory details !! And it's an interesting spectrum between her & AR to see how much you can say and like what type of efficiency you can find, because both of them give me that same feeling and feel so sensuous to me. I WANT TO KNOW WHAT EVERYTHING LOOKS LIKE AND SMELLS LIKE AND SOUNDS LIKE, TAKE ME THERE!

So as a teen I think I was learning a lot from them both and like I remember a fic I wrote with someone at a mall and it was like my FLB moment, I was like OMG I MUST MENTION THE TACO SMELL IN THE FOOD COURT AND THE PERFUME KIOSK AND THE HOUSE MUSIC BLASTING FROM A HAT SHOP AND THE CRUNCHY SUGAR ON A PRETZEL! And that's something that's stuck with me a lot, I think. I always want to tell you how things feel and smell like we're going on a journey, okay!

They both also have a way of treating cities/locations like characters--FLB actually does this quite literally by describing cities as if they're women (like LA is a blonde woman with big sunglasses and NYC has dyed black hair with severe red lipstick that stains on her cigarette butts, etc something like that) and it feels really specific and made me think a lot about locations and settings and how they affect the characters and story! They were also both the first books I ever read with queer people! FLB's short story Dragons in Manhattan was the first story I ever read with a trans person back when I was like 12 or 13.

AND THEN as a final nail in the coffin LOL I read I Know This Much is True by Wally Lamb when I was in 9th or 10th grade and it just really like !! IDK broke my head open for character voice. I don't think I'd read it so well done before, or maybe not noticed before. LIKE I MEAN this entire concept is like asking what did WE discover as kids or whatever, like so much of it is happenstance and if it hadn't been these authors it would've been someone else, and it's not like I stopped reading LOL like I still learn things from reading all the time! But Wally Lamb really brought this home for me. Like the way he writes Dominick's narration is just so like cynical and rugged and full of hurt and it made me think a lot about like how to profile a character with the language we use. I don't think FLB does this too much bc her writing is so breezy anyway and AR is so wordy that I don't think I could pick up on it as a teenager. I get more nuance now and see it better but it's there's a base level of like fanciness and purple prose that can be hard to see through on the first try, at least for me as a teen.

ANYWAY SORRY THAT WAS A REALLY LONG RESPONSE I JUST GOT REALLY EXCITED but Anne Rice + FLB + Wally Lamb wombo combo for emotionally torturous sensory overload cynical guttermouth style.

[loudsuitlover]

could you write a Christmas piece for Harry and indie and their family please? I’m not sure if you are taking requests, I know you said you’ve been busy but if you get time and this inspires you I would love to read!

A/N: Thank you for the request! It did inspire me quite a lot! I hope you like it x

“Merry Christmas, doctor Styles.” The new Anaesthesiology inter smiled at him.

“Merry Christmas, Steve.”

But oh, the holidays. He had never been a fan of them. Granted, that- like every other thing in his life- had changed since he spent them with Blue and just by thinking about it he smiled. Blue loved Christmas. She loved most holidays, but if she had to choose one then that would be Christmas.

He remembered their first Christmas together. He remembered too that the year prior he had already been in love with her but they had been angry at each other during the holidays and even if he thought he wished things had been different, deep down he knew he wouldn’t change a thing. And he remembered that first Christmas they had actually spent together, he was having a hard day, a really hard day but Blue didn’t yet know he didn’t really like Christmas- he didn’t want to sound like the Grinch- so she was standing right outside the hospital with a Santa Claus hat on and she was grinning at him and he remembered she almost scolded him because they were going to be late to her mother’s dinner and he just chuckled and made fun of her for her hat.

“Everybody’s looking at you.” He had laughed.

“I don’t care. So are you.” She shrugged.

“Ain’t I always?” And he gave her that smile of his that would always have her weak at the knees.

She didn’t drive yet then so he knew she had walked from her friends’ apartment to the hospital and then he drove towards her mother’s house, that was still her own house at the time, and in the ride he prayed for the dinner and the evening not to be as hard as he anticipated.

Blue’s family was big on Christmas so Alicia was having this huge dinner and she was having everybody over- Blue’s dad and siblings and his own family. Alicia had even invited his dad but they hadn’t spent Christmas together since Harry was 7 so it was no surprise when he said he couldn’t make it.

Nat King Cole, Frank Sinatra and even Elvis Presley played that night on the Anderson’s house, and every other Christmas eve after that; and the truth was as years passed, new memories came with them- first it was Blue with the Santa hat outside the hospital, then her first Christmas gift to him.

“Now” she said the minute he laid on her old bed at her mother’s house that night “there’s a present to you from me under the tree so you can open something tomorrow in front of my family but” she smiled and she had his full attention then “you’re real present is here.”

“Are you gonna give me a lap dance?” He smirked, propping himself up on his elbows over her mattress but she rolled her eyes.

“No.” She giggled. “It’s a proper present.”

“So is a lap dance.” He smiled.

“There will be no lap dance on Christmas for you, mister. Did you know today we celebrate the day Jesus Christ was born? Does it look like the night to be giving my boyfriend a lap dance?”

“You don’t even believe in God.” He laughed.

“But you do.” She smirked. “You should show some respect on his birthday.”

“Alright, alright.” He smirked. “Then what is it that I can’t open in front of your family?”

Pictures of a sexy Santa Claus lingerie set played on his mind, or maybe some new sex position she had done some research on, or maybe a new edition of the Kamasutra. She sat down before him on her bed and she was hiding something on her back and she tucked her hair behind her ears and she looked so gorgeous to him.

“Is this the present?” He smirked.

“What? I haven’t given you anything.”

“I thought it was this sight.” He shrugged.

“You’re such a dork.” She giggled and then she showed the present from behind her back.

It was carefully wrapped on reindeers’ paper and he smiled at her cheesiness. He took it from her. It was a book- it definitely was the Kamasutra- o a cheeky smirk crept onto his face. Except it wasn’t and when he read the title, even if his Spanish wasn’t that good at the time, he knew what that meant.

“Canciones para Harry.” (Songs for Harry.) He read out loud.

He opened the book and flipped through the pages. She had gotten it printed and among the lyrics, all in black ink, there were some fragments in pink and from them it came some notes written on her handwriting on shinny black ink, and he ran his fingers across them before he looked up at her. She wasn’t looking at him, instead her eyes were set on the book, and he knew she was just embarrassed.

“I made a playlist for you. Well, not technically for you. It was more a playlist about you. I started it after one day at your house when you told me you had chosen to tutor my essay because you thought I was smart. Well, I was falling for you then.” She giggled. “So I made this playlist with songs that made me think of you and I… I mean I can share the playlist with you too but I- I did this book.” She set her hands on the pages so she could point at the things she was mentioning. “I just wrote the lyrics of the songs, well I got them from the internet, and then I wrote in pink the bits that reminded me of you and on the sides I wrote why, sort of like in genius. You know that website, right? And” she flipped through the pages until she found what she was looking for “since some songs were in Spanish, I translated them myself, see? There on both sides, like one of those Spanish-English books for kids” she giggled “so you can understand better.”

He was at a loss for words so he just stayed quiet, only for a moment, and he read some of it. Her handwriting: this was when we met, when I thought I didn’t need anything from your heart haha what a fool and he smiled and read the translation she had made from one of her Spanish songs about him I don’t need no clothes, I’m wrapped by yesterday’s warmth; I don’t need no clothes, I’m wrapped by the taste of honey; I don’t need anything to be between us, just our skin; I don’t need anything from your heart. And he kept reading…

Reality doesn’t let go of me. I search for a better world and dig on one of my drawers just in case you’re there. Searching for my destiny, living pre-recorded, without being or hearing or giving. I would like to talk to you so we could tune in.

My house is falling since he left and now I’m just waiting for the wrecking…. His memory’s pinned between my eyebrows. But I dream that there’s a new song beginning, I live on the echo of yout voice, entertained; and I follow the trail of your scent that says to me come with me.

I find a song that talks about me and you. Be quiet and hear it- the sound of my dreamy belly that dreams about devouring you every hour. The held back desire roars.

I want to relish on the essence of things.

I decided to leave my door open just in case your warm air comes in and brings news about you.

“It’s not much” she giggled “but I thought it might embarrass you to open something so cheesy in front of my whole family.”

He looked up at her and he just gave her a smile for he still didn’t know what to say and he hoped he was a poet then. He had written some things about her, that he had, but he didn’t even have them there; even though he had decided then he would let her read them.

“This is the best gift anyone has ever given to me, Blue.” He confessed. “But yeah, I’m glad you didn’t give me this in front of everyone because I’m all mushy now.” He smiled. “Just come here, you. Te quiero.”

So yeah, Blue had made sure he didn’t hate Christmas as much as he used to. It wasn’t that he hated them. It was just that it reminded him of everything his sister could have had but hadn’t and he couldn’t help but to think it was his own fault and so Christmas was always hard on him but since Blue, Christmas was an opportunity to pamper her and to be pampered, to decorate the entire house with her and have chocolate together and she even got him a Christmas PJs for Dylan’s first Christmas- Daddy was dressed like an Elf too- and he wore it every other Christmas after that. And that year wouldn’t be different, he thought.

“Mummy” Dylan walked down the aisle at the grocery store with his white woollen beanie on, the one Aunty Gemma had knitted for him “do you think Santa leaves presents for animals in the jungle too?”

He was four years old then but he was the smartest kid she had ever seen. They had probably overstimulated him, but oh well. When he was just one year old, Harry would tell him all these things and he would never scold him- he would just explain what was wrong and in all fairness- Blue had thought that was silly at the time- but maybe he had been right all alone.

“Yo me imagino que sí. Si han sido buenos, claro…. Pero no lo sé porque nunca he ido a la jungla.” (I would say he does. If they have been kind, of course… But I’m not sure because I’ve never been to the jungle.)

Hughie was a giant 2 and a half years old and he was sitting on the small chair on the trolley, minding his own business with the toy he had brought with him and Dylan was helping you with the groceries, grabbing the things you asked him from the shelf and placing them on the trolley.

“¿Tú quieres algo, Dylan? Es Navidad. Puedes elegir lo que tú quieras.” (Is there anything you want, Dylan? It’s Christmas. You can choose whatever you want.)

“¿Lo que yo quiera de toda la tienda?” (Whatever I want from the entire store?)

Blue smiled. The store wasn’t bigger than four corridors but she nodded her head for she figured for someone 107 cm tall, the store was actually big.

“I think I want a box of chocolates so I can share. I can leave one for Santa too.”

Blue smiled.

“A box of chocolates it is. And Hughie, is there anything you want?”

“Agua.” (Water.)

Blue laughed but handed him his bottle of water and sweet Dylan explained.

“She means a present, Hugh.”

“Biscuits.” He smiled mischievously as he looked at her.

She laughed again because the day before, he had misbehaved a little with the biscuits- he was such a gluttonous kid- but she knew Hughie was a little naughty but had such a kind heart and she secretly loved it.

Dylan was so good. He had always been so good, even when he was a baby. He would grant her 8 hours of straight sleep and he would always smile when you look at him, even before you said anything, and when he was a little older, he was so good too. So kind and such a loving big brother. She remembered when Hughie needed a nappy change, Dylan would run off to the nursery and get a clean nappy and wipes and run back to the living room and he was just one and a half years old.

After the store, they had gotten home and she had turned on the heater and she had gotten everyone on their Christmas PJs after the baths and then she had played her mother’s Christmas CD and the three of them had walked inside the kitchen where they were baking.

“Mummy, why are we making a cake for Daddy?” Dylan asked as he stirred the dough.

Hughie was sat on his knees on the stool next to his brother’s but all he had been doing was nipping on leftovers of chocolate or butter.

Well, they were making a cake for Daddy because Daddy tended to be a little sad when Christmas was coming. The accident had been on the 18th December, so many years prior, but he still felt his heart breaking every year around that time. So then, then it was December 23rd and the following day they had Christmas dinner at Abuela’s house but that day, they would have a Christmas day of their own and Harry would have a cake because a cake could cheer anyone up.

“So he knows we love him.”

At that reply Dylan looked up from the bowl at his mum and his hazel eyes set on hers and she knew another question was coming.

“Otherwise he won’t know we love him?”

She smiled.

“Es verdad, yo creo que ya lo sabe. Pero es que Daddy es médico como mamá y la Navidad en el hospital da un poco de pena, ¿sabes? Porque nosotros vemos a mucha gente que no tiene tanta suerte como nosotros y no tiene unos hijos tan guapos y tan buenos, ¿sabes?” (You’re right, I think he already knows. But, you know, Daddy is a doctor just like Mummy and Christmas at the hospital can be a little sad, you know? Because we see some people that aren’t as lucky as we are, some people who don’t have kids as beautiful and kind as you, you know?)

Hughie was listening too then and he had smiled at his mummy’s compliment and he looked so much like Harry she wanted to laugh.

“¿Y eso pone a Daddy un poco triste?” (And that makes Daddy a little sad?)

“Sí, eso pone a Daddy un poco triste.” ((Yes, that makes daddy a little sad.) Hughie frowned as she said that. Daddy was his favourite person in the world, she was sure, but so was Dylan and her herself and he didn’t like it when any of them wasn’t happy. She knew even if he was little, he would take their pain from them if he could. “Pero vosotros le ponéis feliz.” (But you guys make him happy.)

“You too, mummy.”

“Yes, me too.” She smiled.

“Mummy” Hughie smiled again with that naughty smile of his, and Blue hoped he would never grow old for it “¿cuándo es tu cumpleaños?” (when is your birthday?)

“¿Cuándo es mi cumpleaños, Dy? ¿Tú lo sabes?” (When’s my birthday, Dy? Do you know it?)

He frowned and his mummy smiled as she stared at him. He was so small to everybody but he had grown up so much to her and time was going too fast and was taking away her little baby Dy. But he was so gorgeous and so kind and she was so proud of him as it was, she couldn’t imagine how proud she’d be when he was older.

“Es en verano.” (It’s on the summer.)

“Sí, es en verano, Hughie.”

“¿Y el de Daddy?” (And Daddy’s?)

“Dylan?” She smirked.

“Después de Navidad.” (After Christmas.)

“Sí, muy bien, Dy, ¡qué observador eres!” (Yes, well done, Dy! You’re so thoughtful!)

“¿Y el mío?” (And mine?) Hughie asked.

“El tuyo es en marzo, después del de Daddy.”

“¿Cuándo es el cumpleaños de Santa, mummy?” (When is Santa’s birthday, mummy?)

“No lo sé, pet.”

They didn’t hear the door but it had been a while since Harry was standing on the other side of the kitchen door, eavesdropping to their conversation. The scent of vanilla and chocolate filled his nostrils as he stood there quiet and peaceful and he hadn’t realised the smirk that was on his lips; but holidays weren’t so bad anymore.

“Well, who are all these elves on my kitchen?” Harry smirked.

Hughie almost jumped from his stool and he clapped his hands together and turned his body around and Dylan grinned widely at his dad’s presence.

“Daddy!” Hughie celebrated. “It’s us! We’re not Elves. We’re Hughie, Mummy and Dy.”

“Oh, okay, thank you, Hughie.”

He leaned in on his sons and he pressed a kiss to Dylan’s hairline as he hugged him to his chest from behind before Hughie climbed over his chest and hugged him as if he hadn’t seen him just this morning.

“What are you guys doing?”

“We’re- uh” Dylan’s eyes opened wide as he stared into his mum’s eyes in panic.

So Harry looked up at her too and she gave him a naughty smile.

“Díselo, Dy.” (Tell him, Dy.)

“Te estamos haciendo una tarta para que sepas que te queremos y para que no estés triste.”

“Oh, muchas gracias.” He smiled at his wife and shook his head slightly, but she just shrugged and giggled.

“And that’s not the only thing we have for him, is it?” Blue smiled. “We also have a little show after dinner, right guys?”

“Yes, yes!” Hughie pressed his hand on his cheek and turned his head until he was looking into his eyes. “We learnt a song, a Christmas song with Mummy.”

“You did?” He smirked amused.

And then he set Hughie back on his stool but she asked her children to help set the table so they both started grabbing their colourful plastic cutlery and making their way to the table. Harry approached her and he wrapped his arms around her waist and pulled her back to his chest while she put the cake on the oven.

“Do you not get tired?” He whispered on her neck before he gently nibbled on her skin.

“Of what?”

“Of being so lovely.”

“What a dork.”

“And sexy.” He grabbed her butt and almost made her moan but she just pushed him away with her hips and he chuckled.

So they had dinner, the four of them, and Dylan told Harry about the box of chocolates he had gotten and Hughie told him about a meteor that apparently had crushed against his toys in the afternoon and it was simple, but it was perfect.

And then after dinner came the show and both his kids performed a very cute, very well choreographed performance of Rudolph the RedNosed Reindeer while his wife guided them from behind him. And then there came the cuddles before bed and the best moments, when they would tell each other right before turning the light off, what had been the best moment of their day. For both of them it had been the piece of cake after dinner, obviously, and Blue could only roll her eyes internally when she thought it had been none of the games they had played, or the rehearsals for their performance, of the chocolate box but the cake- it was always the cake.

And it was after the kids had fallen asleep, when Blue and Harry were having some wine in front of the fireplace that she had gotten up from the couch as Nat King Cole lull them with The Christmas Song and she had offered him a hand as she swayed her body to the slow rhythm and he had stared at her hand with a smirk playing on her lips before she had smiled invitingly and then he had finally taken it and gotten up. He placed his hands on her waist and her arms wrapped around his neck and he couldn’t help the chuckles as she sang to him.

“Merry Christmas to you.” She pressed her lips to his and there was no more singing as they kissed for the rest of the song.

The kiss started slow and neither of them had realized they were that hungry for one another until he deepened the kiss. He hadn’t done it on purpose, he had intended to go for a gentle, tender Christmas kiss, but she smelled so good… And she was so warm and he had skimmed her skin underneath her sweater and damn… She was so soft… She was always so soft and so his eager tongue had pushed her and she had moaned against his lips and that was everything he had needed.

His hand fell from her neck to the valley between her breasts and she gasped on his mouth.

“Baby” She gasped.

He hummed and kept sucking on the skin on her neck.

“The boys” She whispered “what if they wake up?”

“I need you, baby.”

He was painfully hard and he didn’t quite know how it had started. It must have been the way she smelled. But he had thought about being inside her and then he couldn’t take the thought out of his mind.

“Bedroom.” She had said.

He pulled away from her and with his hands firmly on her hips, he took her to their bedroom and he closed the door after him. His hands were on her hips as he nibbled on the side of her neck.

“I love you, Blue.” He whispered against her skin.

And his hands slipped under the hem of her pyjama pants and he took them and her knickers off swiftly before he walked towards the bed. She could feel it- his hard length, big and warm- against the low of her back and she didn’t know how she could get wet so fast but she was so lightheaded she wouldn’t have known her age anyway.

She heard him took off his own clothes and so she took off her pyjama top and waited for him with both hands on the bed, giving him her back. Warm, strong arms wrapped around her bare waist and one hand moved up and squeezed her breast while the other travelled down her belly between her legs. Her head collides against his shoulder when his fingers collected the wetness from her warm lips and spread it against her hungry clit and she moaned. She tilted her neck so she could capture his lips and his tongue searched for hers. The familiar humidity and the eagerness drove her crazy even all those years later and she let him do with her what he wanted.

With one hand on her belly, he laid her down on the bed, chest and belly pressed against the mattress and he laid his weight over her making her moan. His hands pinned hers against the mattress on both sides of her head and their lips connect on an impossibly wet kiss. She gasped against his mouth.

“I love you.” He repeated.

“I love you too” she moaned “but fuck, fuck me already.”

He chuckled before he pressed a kiss on her temple.

“My girl… Always so impatient.”

His girl… His girl was a mum already but he was still his girl, first and foremost, and he would fuck her like he did when they first met and she would scream his name and mark his back with her nails still.

She desperately wanted him inside her, but he deprived her from it purposefully, just so she was as hopeless as he was. So she could feel, even if it was on a physical level, how desperately in love he felt, how vulnerable, how much in need he felt times like that night.

The tip of his tongue went down the side of her neck and she shivered. She was deprived from movements too since Harry’s weight was over her so she could only bit on her bottom lip as he sunk her teeth on her skin, not enough to hurt but enough to sting, before he licked and kissed the pink marks. He moved above her, making her think that was the time he was going to thrust inside her, but he didn’t driving her crazy. She had hoped he would times enough so that she had given up and as if he knew, that was the time he actually slipped inside her. He groaned on her ear at the contact, that wet canal that had wrapped around him for years, his happy place, his calm. And even if he was thrusting her from behind, he still found her lips and they kissed passionately, and he would bit on her bottom lip and pull from it and dived his tongue inside her mouth.

She was a moaning mess and only then she understood why he had chosen to take her from behind because in this position at least her moans were muffled against the pillow. He held her hips and fucked hard and fast inside her and she knew they were only the orgasms she would have solo, before he’d cum himself and then he’d slipped his hand between her legs and he would rub her pussy fast enough so that she came with him again.

He was lying next to her with his back resting against the mattress and his chest was furiously going up and down and he turned her head and smiled at him sleepily.

“I think that’d do for two long sexless days.”

She rolled her eyes and chuckled and, smiling, he leaned in and captured her lips with his.

“Merry Christmas to you too, love.” 

[thisbluespirit]

Writerly ephemera meme

I was tagged by @captain-aralias for this one:

Find five bits of yourself that you gave to your fiction (memories and places and phrases and things into our stories), post and tag five or more writers to share as well. 

This is a tough one - odd bits do get in, even into the fanfic, although being fanfic for fantastical and historical canons limits it - but finding it?  um.  Here goes.

1. I did once make a kind of self-insert character up on purpose because I needed a character to kill in a DW fanfic, but I don’t think I ever cross-posted that one to AO3 from Teaspoon.

2. I think there’s a lot of stuff about the effects of my ME/CFS that goes in, one way and another, and also shapes what I’m capable of writing, but it’s bad enough that I see that.  I don’t want other people to, so I’ll just say that someone commented on The Poison Tree that “ this fic’s depiction of mental fatigue and unrest...*chef’s kiss*” and I was just: 0_o  well, there might be a reason for that...  :/  (I always knew that one was a lot me, though.  Metaphorically.  I’ve never met a vampire.)

I could point out other examples - it’s in almost everything - but they would make things sound worse than it is, because that’s the point of putting it in fic - you can push it to the most extreme there in safety. 

3. Also, not on AO3, I wrote a big series on Teaspoon called 1980s UNIT and there is a lot of various members of my family in Tilly and Nat, even though none of them is a Victorian housemaid stranded in the 1980s, or a scientific adviser to UNIT.

(This is difficult, because the kinds of things that get in aren’t things like, “a funny thing that happened to me in Smiths one time” and more “I see I was working out my issues here again” and “this OC is a bit of a mix of [insert family member here]” - things either I really don’t want the reader to know, or the reader would generally prefer not to know, none of which seems ideal for a passing tumblr meme.) 

4. I thought of a good one!  I do put librarian in-jokes in things because of having been a children’s librarian, most especially in By the Book, which was an origfic written for hetswap one time for the excellent prompt “a librarian accidentally summons a demon”, and while I am not Miss Cecil (fun fact: she is secretly based on & named after the librarian character Miss Cecily Brown from Enemy at the Door) and I have never accidentally summoned a demon, let alone a dazzlingly handsome one with a crocodile, but pretty much all the library stuff is real, including an exchange with one of my former colleagues re. the self service machine the week I was typing it up.

“Mr. Carter’s browsing history” is in honour of a colleague of mine who, um, had a famous (in our authority) encounter with someone masturbating at the public computer.  (She asked if he needed a hand.  Same colleague one time on getting the “I pay your wages” rant from a customer, responded with, very politely, “Well, I’m afraid you don’t pay me enough.”  The hand bit was accidental, though.  She claims.)

Miss Cecil also mentions a Pauline and a Carol working in the library.  We had 3 Paulines and 5 Carols.  And, basically, there are a LOT of pregnant princesses and policewomen in Mills & Boon books and I’ve never understood what that was about.  And, as anyone who’s ever read a picture book knows, so many things are Not Mine.

The ending is pure wish-fulfilment fantasy.  Alas.  And I did malign the Friends of the Library meetings.  It was other public meetings that were the terrible, eternal ones.  But I mean, this whole story is nothing but librarian in-jokes & [bitter] experience, really!  (Well, except for Saleos, but he came from Wikipedia.)

 3. Find a better Book of Advice, perhaps by haunting the returns trolley, for, lo, there are all the very best books.

 Pros – it may contain the secret wisdom of the age and provide a path ahead.

 Cons – if there is such a book, it is no doubt on loan to a human who has absconded with it and will not return to pay their dues, the villain.

5. I do often use settings I know, like the West Country, or Wales, or the North East, or the parts of London I’ve been to.  (I’ve lived in all of the above except London, but my sister lives there, and I used to visit a lot as I wound up being involved with the national Youth Libraries Group, which meant work sent me down to London for free sometimes, so I’d take holiday and stay an extra day or two with A, and also visit archives for family history.)  The most recent one was Night’s Last Word, which takes place in Wales, if a bit too vaguely to count. It’s helpful for DW earth-set stories, and for writing Spooks.

This is an odd but interesting meme, so no worries if people don’t want to do it, but tagging @pers-books @bunn1cula @allegoriesinmediasres @jurijurijurious & @foreignobjecticus  Or indeed, anyone else who writes and thinks it would be a cool meme!

[milkybonya]

Manga - Wooseok Au

Warnings: none

Pairing: Wooseok x (gender neutral) reader :)

Summary: Wooseok leaves you a new manga to read in the library every day 

Song (recommendation) to listen to while reading: Picnic by Bolbbalgan4

he really looks like an anime boy here

[a/n]: I was listening to a lot of Bol4 while writing this, so I thought it would be a good idea to suggest one of their songs to listen to :) I originally wanted to suggest Mermaid by Bol4, but it sounds a little sad and intense. Give it a listen though, if you want! It’s very pretty :,)

Everyday after work, you would head to your local library to read a new manga for two hours. It was the way you’d unwind after a long day, and you loved the quiet, calm atmosphere. You’d always sit in the same spot by the window on the comfy couches, because you enjoyed the gentle touch of the sun when it filtered through the window.

Recently, you had noticed the same boy everyday who organized books. When you walked in, he was always near the door and by the time you got up to leave, he was organizing books right by where you’d always sit.

You always assumed that was just his daily pattern, and you found it cute how he was so tall. He’s perfect for reaching the books on the top shelf, you thought, no wonder he has a job organizing them.

One day when you were reading, the sun’s light stopped touching your face and the page you were on. Confused, you looked up and saw that the tall boy who organized books was looking over your shoulder, towering over you and blocking out the sunlight.

“So manga is what you read?” the boy asked, having been curious all this time about what the cute person who always sat by the windows from 6 to 8pm everyday would read.

“Yeah...” you replied, a little awkwardly.

“I’m Wooseok, by the way,” he said while smiling.

“Wooseok...” you repeated, followed by an “I’m [y/n].”

“It was nice to meet you,” he said before returning to organizing the books on the shelves.

The next day, you found a book on the seat you always sat in. You thought someone might have beaten you to your usual seat, so you looked around in search of anyone rushing to stop you from sitting down. Seeing no one, you picked up the book and found a sticky note on top.

“This one is really good, I recommend it !!!” the note read. Peeling it off, you noticed it was a manga. You looked around to see who might have placed it there. It is really for me?

You found Wooseok peeking at you from between shelves. He was blushing hard and as soon as your eyes met, he gave you a quick wave and turned away.

You sat down to read the book you assumed Wooseok had left there for you. How did he already know you so well? He had picked out a manga from the genre you enjoyed reading the most.

Well... it’s not like he would rush to where you sat right after you left each day to see which books you had finished reading.

Wooseok kept peeking through the shelves to see your reaction. He watched as you giggled quietly whenever there was a funny joke, bit your nails when things got intense and smiled softly throughout the rest of the book.

“Get back to work!” you heard from behind you, and watched as a librarian hit Wooseok on the head with a book. Wooseok gave you a small smile before returning you the shelves, and you hoped he wasn’t in too much pain.

Everyday, Wooseok would leave you something new to read, always with a sticky note on top. Sometimes he would even write a song he recommended you listen to while reading, and you enjoyed his taste in music very much.

Everytime you tried to approach him after you were finished reading for the day, he would be nowhere to be found. He was very shy, but always watched over you as you read.

One day, you found a romance manga on your chair. You were surprised, because Wooseok had never recommended anything romance-related for you. You read the sticky note: “I wonder if this could be us...” 

The manga was about two people who met in a library and would always fight over books, because they kept wanting to pick the same one each time. Eventually, they fell in love and would read their books together while in each other’s arms.

By the end of it, you were a blushing mess. You kept brushing your fingers over the sticky note Wooseok had given you that day. Does this mean he wants to cuddle me while reading a manga? You shook your thoughts away, not wanting to get ahead of yourself. Yet you could still feel butterflies at the thought of it, and your face was getting very warm.

This time, when you got up to leave, Wooseok was there for once. He wasn't holding the trolley that he pushed all the books around in, but was just standing there, with a striped white and navy blue shirt (just like in the gif). He was leaning against a wall, looking at his shoes until he looked up and saw you. He smiled and waved, scratching his neck as you walked over to him.

“Are you not working?” You asked, looking around for his trolley.

“No I um... Took the rest of the day off. Do you want to go on a walk with me?” Wooseok asked you suddenly.

“That sounds nice,” you said, not giving it a second thought and smiling up at him. As you left the library and walked towards the park behind it, Wooseok told you about how much he likes to read manga and watch anime, so he was excited to realize you also like manga on the first day he approached you.

The two of you bonded over manga and music among other things as you walked. Wooseok was making you laugh a lot, so loudly that people passing by the two of you would look and stare. 

As the sun began to set, the two of you were sitting on a bench. Wooseok noticed you shivering and took off his striped shirt (he was wearing a white T-shirt underneath) to wrap around you. You smiled at him and noticed how his eyes were reflecting whatever was left of the sun’s light, how plump his lips were... and how after placing his shirt around you, his arm was wrapped around you too.

Of course you didn’t mind it... but you did mind how beautiful his lips looked.

After looking at the trees in front of the two of you for a while, Wooseok noticed you were staring at him. He thought it was because his arm around you was making you uncomfortable so he removed it and apologized.

“It was you who placed that romance manga on my chair today, right?” you asked him. He turned red and looked away.

“Yeah... Did you like it?” he asked, trying to change the topic from what he knew you were going to ask next.

You asked him anyway: “I did... and you wrote the sticky note on it too?”

He couldn’t meet your eyes. “Y-yeah I did...”

You shuffled around on the bench so you could face him directly. “What did you mean by ‘I wonder if this could be us...’?”

Still looking down, he responded. “It means what it means.” He looked up at the sky, trying to look anywhere but in your eyes.

You frowned. Just say you like me! “Do you want to cuddle with me while reading mangas?”

Wooseok’s face went completely red. Your words shocked him so much that he coughed and finally met your eyes. You had your eyebrows raised, waiting for his response. He did the only thing he thought he could do: he brought his face close to yours and kissed your lips so tenderly that all of your limbs became jello. Your heart raced and you felt sad when he pulled away, wanting it to last forever.

“Does that answer your question?” he asked, while looking away and gently rubbing his bottom lip with his finger out of nervousness.

You smiled up at the tall boy, shaking your head.

He sighed in frustration and to your surprise, cupped your face and pressed his lips to yours. It was full of passion, and not quick like the first. You melted with his touch and after he pulled away, your lips were tingling, remembering the feeling of Wooseok’s lips against them.

“That’s not good enough!” you said, using all your energy to sound confident even though you felt like a puddle of ice cream after being kissed twice by Wooseok.

Wooseok smiled. “Why don’t you come to my house where I have a huge manga collection so I can properly answer your question about the sticky note?”

[shinyspooks]

The Trolley Problem

 listen,,, @lexosaurus I know @roseverdict already wrote a fic (which, btw, completely upstages this one and is 10x fluffier) I still had to just. write this one ashosdfskl

You can read it here on Ao3!

Despite Amity Park’s best efforts, word of Phantom’s space obsession eventually reached the GIW.

The GIW, upon receiving this information, had the realization that this was the perfect opportunity for them to turn the town against Phantom and capture him. And so, they set up a trap.

On Monday afternoon, as soon as Phantom appeared in the park, they set their plan in motion. Phantom stiffened as they emerged from the bushes, immediately on guard.

“What are you doing here? You want me to kick your butts for the 28th time?” Phantom asked, already poised to fight. Thus, he was very confused and wary when the GIW didn’t start shooting him after his quip. Something was up.

“Rumour has it that you have a secondary obsession with space. We have simply come here to see if that’s true.” One agent said. Even at the simple mention of space, Phantom flickered, his (aptly named by the townspeople) ‘star freckles’ momentairly breaking through. But it was only a flicker, as Phantom was already way to far into ‘hero mode’ due to the GIW’s presence for him to switch over to ‘space mode’ so easily.

Everyone else in the park was now paying complete attention to the situation now that Phantom’s space obsession had been mentioned, most of them worried about what the GIW could have planned for their hero. Some people had even gotten closer, ready to argue against anything the Guys In White could say.

“And so what if I have a space obsession?” Phantom said, crossing his arms, “ It hardly seems like something you’d like to learn about anyways.”

“It may not be something we want to learn about.” The agent said as another agent brought forward an object covered by a cloth, “But it is something we can exploit.”

As he said this, the agent removed the cloth to reveal what, to the onlookers, appeared to be a normal rock. Some people relaxed in relief, thinking that nothing bad was actually going to happen, but others tensed further, sensing that the agent wasn’t done.

“This, Phantom, is a very rare space rock.” The agent really didn’t need to say that, as Phantom had already recognized it as the asteroid that had been stolen from a nearby museum three days ago. He flickered again, stronger this time, but didn’t go after the rock, knowing that this must be some kind of trap. He forced himself to focus, the freckles fading off his face as he made a conscious effort to not look at the rock and stay in hero mode.

The agents, noticing this, grinned. The plan was working perfectly. It was time for phase 2.

“Why should I care about some rare space rock you guys have?” Phantom had barely finished his sentence when the agents whipped out two guns. One pointed at the space rock.

The other at the crowd.

Upon seeing a gun pointing their way, the citizens who had been watching immediately scrambled, trying to run away, only to find that the couldn’t. Glowing walls that they knew must’ve been created by the GIW shot up around them, cutting off all their escape routes. This was planned. The GIW wanted them to be involved.

“What are you doing?!” Phantom shouted, showing a rare amount of anger, “You’re endangering innocent people!”

Yet, as he said this, his eyes briefly stared at the asteroid, which was also being held at gunpoint. The faint outline of the star freckles appeared, then vanished again.

It suddenly struck the citizens as to what the GIW’s plan was. They also all instantly mentally agreed that it was a stupid plan, as Phantom was sure to save them, and there would be no damage, other than the GIW’s wounded pride and arrest. 

At least, they hoped there would be no damage.

“Have you ever heard of the trolley problem Phantom?” The agent asked, and at his command, both guns fired.

Danny, of course, knew that he must save the people. Who would choose a rock over lives? And yet, even though he had decided this already, time still seemed to slow down. He could hear both of his obsessions screaming at him. And as he dove towards the people, his space obsession screamed all the louder. 

To the point where…. it almost hurt.

~

Later, as the GIW were loaded into a police car, Danny found himself standing over what remained of the destroyed asteroid. The people he had saved earlier stood nearby, watching him carefully. He hadn’t said a word since he saved them. Eventually, one of the braver citizens slowly approached him.

“Phantom?” They asked, cautiously, “Are you alright?”

Danny couldn’t blame them for being cautious. He had just gone against one of his obsessions after all, and Amity Park had seen beforehand what happens to some ghosts when they go against their obsessions. The usual result being violence. Lots of anger and violence.

“I’m not about to go on a violent rampage if that’s what you’re asking.” Danny said. From the corner of his eye, he could see some people’s shoulders slouch in relief, but others, including the person who had approached him, still looked concerned.

“I’m more worried about how you’re doing emotionally than that, Phantom.” The person said, “So I’ll ask again, are you okay Phantom?”

“No.” Danny answered truthfully. While his hero/protection obsession was happy, and he knew that even without it he had done the right thing, he had felt his space obsession break, just like the space rock. He finally looked up at the person who had approached him, and the other people who had followed their lead and gotten closer. He gave them a sad, clearly fake smile.

“But it’s just a space rock right? I’m sure there are many others in the world.” He said, trying to brush off how much he cared about it. Despite his attempt, which wasn’t very convincing to begin with, the people knew the destruction of the asteroid must’ve affected him greatly, as even at the mention of space, there wasn’t even the slightest flicker of the ‘star freckles’. But before they could offer him any comforting words, Danny, who couldn’t handle the eyes on him anymore, took off, flying away from the group. They watched him go.

“Poor kid.” Someone said, “He looked so sad. I hope he recovers from this soon.”

Everyone present silently agreed, hoping that upon his next appearance, Phantom would be back to normal.

But he wasn’t back to normal by his next appearance. Sure, he made some witty quips as he fought the ghost, but they were weak, and he didn’t seem to be enjoying himself as he said them at all. He didn’t stick around after the battle was over like he’d recently started doing. Someone shouted something space related at him, but despite Phantom definitely having heard them, he showed no reaction. Seeing Phantom so sad, and with no sign of his space mode, the town began to worry.

And thus began the worst week of Amity Parks life.

~

After a whole week of Phantom’s new behavior, and no sign of his space mode, the worried people of Amity Park went to the Fenton’s. The Fenton’s were the obvious choice, as they were the only local ghost hunters who have a truce with Phantom that they could go to for information. (No one knew who the Red Huntress was, and besides, the Fenton’s weren’t just ghost hunters, they were also ghost scientists.)

Maddie and Jack, like everyone else, were also worried for Phantom, but at least they had an explanation for his behavior. But of course, they couldn’t fit the whole town in the Fenton household for the explanation, and they really didn’t want to explain it more than once. And so, they did the most obvious thing to do, and held a town meeting.

“As we all know, last week, Phantom went against one of his obsessions.” Maddie explained, “Although he did do the right thing by saving the people, and he probably knows that there are many other space rocks in the world, his space obsession broke, so scientifically, he’s reacting appropriately.”

“We have recently discovered that not all ghosts become violent when they go against their obsession.” Jack said, “Some of them get overcome by overwhelming levels of sadness instead of rage. We believe that this is the case with Phantom.”

“Thankfully, it appears that having multiple obsessions has stopped Phantom from being emotionally overwhelmed.” Maddie added, “Instead of breaking down, he’s instead put all of his focus into his hero obsession to avoid the pain of his broken obsession. In doing so, he has, we’ll say, ‘locked up’ his space obsession, which is why he hasn’t reacted to any mention of space recently. We believe that, should Phantom’s space obsession react to a positive thing about space, he should go back to normal.”

“Going against his obsession has left Phantom down in the dumps!” Jack proclaimed, pulling out a whiteboard and marker, “Which is why we need to cheer him up!”

And so, Mission: Cheer Up Phantom! Began.

~

Everyone in town had their own ideas on what to do. Some people made intricate models of solar systems, others made rocket ship replicas to give to Phantom as gifts. A group of teens started wearing space themed clothing, and soon enough everyone else was too. People made banners and art that could be easily be seen from Phantom’s viewpoint in the sky. There was even a #BringBackSpaceMode going on Amity Park’s Twitter!

And yet, despite all this, it still wasn’t working. They had yet to see even a flicker of Phantom’s space mode. 

A few highschoolers had the bright idea to ask Danny Fenton for advice. After all, he did like space, almost as much as Phantom! Surely he would know some space related thing they could use to cheer up their ghostly hero!

They were very disappointed and confused, however, when he just shrugged and gave them a book on space before walking away, not saying a word. It was a little odd, but they eventually chalked it up to Fenton just being Fenton, and let it be.

So, basically, no one knew what to do. None of their ideas were working, and short of calling in NASA, there wasn’t much else they could do. 

Then, three days after Mission: Cheer Up Phantom started, after a ghost fight, a group of young kids, probably aged around 6 to 10, called Phantom’s name. Even in his saddened state, Phantom wasn’t going to ignore a bunch of kids, and so he floated down.

“Mr. Phantom! We heard you were feeling sad, so we all came together and made this to cheer you up!” One boy said, as the others pulled an object out of their toy wagon. 

“It isn’t exactly like it used to be, and we think it’s still missing some of the pieces, but it’s together!” Another kid said, and then they presented their gift to Phantom.

It was the space rock. It was messingly glued together, and definitely didn’t look anything like it did before, but it was the space rock.

For the first time in two weeks, Phantom’s face lit up, the star freckles reappearing, and shining brighter than ever before. 

“You put this back together, for me?” He said, landing fully on the ground and leaning down to hold the delicate rock. The kids nodded. He looked up at them and smiled.

“Thank you.” He pulled in the group for a hug. People who had been nearby cheered, happy that their hero was, well, happy again. 

~

News quickly got around that Phantom was back to normal. And yet, despite that, people didn’t stop with the space stuff for another whole week. They weren’t taking any chances, and they wanted to make up for the time that was missed during ‘The Weeks of Sadness’. 

No one noticed how Fenton seemed to wear concealer for all of Space Week.

[theseeyeshaveseenproject]

Richard Lederer, 80

I was a fourth grader at William Cullen Bryant Elementary School, in western Philadelphia where I grew up. Cobblestones and trolley car tracks. And Mrs. Huckins (classic white hair with just a little blue in it, steel-rimmed glasses) assigned us an essay about “our greatest reward.” I wrote about running from my home, where I lived with my parents and four siblings, to a grocery store that was diagonally across the street. There was a very high wall and porch and I saw a cat going after a baby bird on the ledge. I ran up and rescued the baby bird from the clutches of the cat, and found a little box so I could carry the bird across the street to a park. I found a nest there—not its nest, but a nest—and put it in a secluded place. I don’t think the bird survived, but at least it had a chance.

“My greatest reward was the deep satisfaction I felt within my breast,” Mrs. Huckins read from my essay, and got all red in the face. She loved it and the class loved it. The fourth grade class across the hall heard about it, and the kids in that class, who I didn’t know as well, came up to me on the playground and said, “Richie, we enjoyed your story.” And I thought, “Wow, these kids appreciated my thoughts and emotions. That was pretty neat.” So that was the beginning. I was editor of the literary magazine at my junior high school and editor of my high school newspaper. The great American tradition of journalism.

I entered Haverford College as a chemistry major and then took a course in Renaissance literature—I’d done all the science and math—and enjoyed it all, but it was the language that got me.  When I was 36 and teaching at St. Paul’s School in New Hampshire, I decided to get a doctorate in literature and linguistics, the scientific study of language.

See, I think you need to blow up the distance between who you are and what you do. To do what you were put on this planet to do, to look into yourself rather than following the pressures of life outside. As the psychologist Abraham Maslow would say, to follow a path of self-actualization and have a sense of how you can best serve human beings. And I’m really a better linguist and writer than doctor or lawyer.  

I have been married twice. My wife Deedy and I were married for 24 years when she passed and Simone and I have been married 27 years. I have three children and the two oldest, Howard and Annie Duke, are professional poker players. Annie was the winningest woman in the country, and now is a writer and speaker. Katy writes a column for the New York Times about business.

Simone and I met at a Mensa meeting. I was not in Mensa but I was dating a woman who was. We had had a long relationship and went to a meeting together, and there was Simone. We noticed each other. The next year I came back and she seemed glad to see me, but kept hopping up to go talk to Jimmy, and then to Susie, and finally I said, “You are really lovely, but I’m afraid every time we sit down, you’re going to jump up and talk to someone else.” And she said, “Well to be honest, I find you really attractive but I don’t see married men. I deserve better.” Ha! She thought I was married. So I set her straight, and within six months we were engaged.

See, if you don’t play, you lose all the points. I still play poker, usually three times a week.  

Studying linguistics, taking that chance, actually changed my life. I’ve written several books about it, and use it all the time for my column Lederer on Language, for the San Diego Union-Tribune. After writing about language, I branched out and wrote a book called The Gift of Age, really one of my best. The Union-Tribune puts on a big Successful Aging expo and I tried to speak at it the year my book came out, but they were full and told me they give the speakerships to exhibitors. But the following year the expo ran both Saturday and Sunday, and I got a spot to speak on Sunday. So I asked if I could also put up a booth on the Saturday. They agreed.

I showed up on Saturday at 9 a.m. to set up, and around 11 a dark suited man showed up and asked me, “Are you Rich Lederer?” It was Jeff Light, the editor of the Union-Tribune. I said, yes, I am. And he said, “Why are you not writing for us?” I said, “Because you haven’t asked me.” So we had lunch and I started doing the American History Quiz and my column, which I’m still writing seven years later. The thing is, if I had just come on Sunday, he wouldn’t have been there. You just never know. You always need to show up.  

Richard is a guest of Waterford Terrace, La Mesa, CA. Learn more about the independent retirement community here.

[laurasauras]

so, i think the main thing that bothers me about crimes of grindelwald is that it reinforces this idea that’s been bothering me for a while and that’s my growing disillusionment with jk rowling. this is a loooong post, so i’m chucking it under a cut. tl;dr, i've fallen out of love with the series and much like falling out of love with a person makes you realise that they were always kind of annoying, that’s what’s happening to me with her.

everyone and their dog (with the exception of jk herself) has realised that her inability to leave the books she wrote alone has stifled a fandom space that was one of the first wide spread communities that was outright encouraged to create and this is objectively a bad thing. the fact that her fans are being told the “correct” and “canon” answers to their big questions in the series is objectively a bad thing. fandom as a concept is a collection of people dedicated to consuming media in a deeper way; we reject the notion of passive viewing and search for meaning in the way that our high school teachers would be delighted in. i think enough people have talked about that that i don’t particularly need to.

here’s the thing that’s just hit me though: the saying “don’t meet your heroes” used to feel like a far off concept, because i wasn’t doing anything special enough to justify ever meeting my favourite author, and for over a decade if you asked me the “who would you have dinner with if it could be anyone in the world?” my answer was probably her. except now that has happened.

to clarify, i haven’t had dinner with jk rowling. but thanks to twitter, it kind of feels like i have. and the story goes the same way the cautionary “don’t meet your heroes” story always goes in sit coms. for the first half hour of dinner i was delighted to hear more about her thoughts when writing the harry potter series and learn tid bits that she never included. she mentioned the charity work she does, said she supported me no matter what and highlighted enough issues that gave me the impression that not only was my favourite author just as engaging in “real life”, she was also a good person. for the next little bit she showed me what else she was working on and i have always loved her writing style, so i enjoyed that too. i looked forward to seeing where she was going from there, to what new stories i could enjoy as i grew older.

and then she started talking about harry potter again. i was glad, at first. i thought i could never hear enough about it. but cursed child was bad. i like reading plays, i knew that wasn’t the issue. i decided that she had put her name on it but she had delegated the story to other people because i couldn’t quite connect the baby’s first fanfiction storyline with the woman i had grown to know over the rest of the dinner. and fantastic beasts was ... good? but so wholly unnecessary. i decided that she just wanted to keep giving to charity and this was how she was doing it. 

and then, just when i was starting to hint that the dinner party was over and she could leave now, five minutes ago (really i just wanted to go to bed and pretend like the only things i’d ever heard for her were the words written in her books), it all clicked into place.

they’re all the same story.

harry potter was so successful because children connected deeply with the idea that one day a giant would knock on the door and take them away from the bullies and the boredom and into a world of magic. harry was an average boy who made mistakes and yet did remarkable things. and harry potter is, really, a very long, very detailed fairy tale. once upon a time there was a boy who lived with his wicked aunt and uncle. this is how he saved the world.

(i could easily make this argument for the casual vacancy and the cormoran strike books as well, but i’m going to stick with the newly franchised “wizarding world” for clarity.)

spoilers below for cursed child, fantastic beasts and crimes of grindelwald.

in cursed child, there were a lot of minor problems that niggled at me that are very similar to the things that niggle me about the twitter feed of jk rowling, she seemed intent on retconning her novels to have more meaning, in name dropping this, that and the other as if providing her fans with the ability to go “oh! it’s the trolley lady! i remember her! how cool that she’s significant and also a horrifying monster!” but my major grievance was with the “twist” that voldemort had had a daughter with bellatrix lestrange (in what time, seriously, when did she have the 9 months to spare) and she was going to bring her daddy back to wreak havoc. and this to me seemed like yet another “the ordinary person is more significant than you thought!” story, which seemed lazy. why did delphini have to be related to the two biggest villains in order to want to bring voldemort back? could she think of no other reason for someone to want that? (no, she couldn’t, she couldn’t think of any reason to siding with him in the first place other than “they’re the bad guys, the slytherins”.)

(another grievance i have is that jk rowling has no idea how to write a realistic villain. or rather, when she does succeed in empathising with why someone would hurt another person, she refuses to see them as a villain. snape and dumbledore would make very interesting antagonists, but she’d much rather have “he was conceived under a love potion and therefore is incapable of love” be a reason for doing great harm than “people have been telling him he was a fantastic person since he got top of his class in transfiguration and he is sure that he could make the world better if only people would do as he says without questioning him ever”. side note: jude law absolutely nailed the manipulative dumbledore vibe in crimes of grindelwald, that was literally the only good part of the film, that and the jangly cat toy thing.)

and okay, that was fine, i was just going to pretend that cursed child never existed. i think i am not alone in that camp. and the first fantastic beasts story was pretty good, nothing to write home about or like, remember after you’ve watched it, but a fine way to spend a couple of hours. and then she pulled the same move with crimes of grindelwald!

oh, guess what, this boy who was the main character in the first movie and now has no personality in the second movie, yeah, him, the one who was abused and who tried to hide his magic but it came out in explosive ways, yeah, he was dumbledore’s little brother the whole time.

because he couldn’t just be any abused kid. because again, the fact that it doesn’t make sense and the timeline does not fit is irrelevant. it’s punchy, it’s another name drop, it’s gonna make the audience gasp. i mean, it made me and the friend i saw the movie with laugh out loud, but the intention was there.

how could the perfect dumbledore family abandon a child like that? hey, this is starting to sound exactly like the tragic and complicated backstory we already got in deathly hallows! and hey, wasn’t that already kind of a reference to the way harry himself was treated?

i’m just tired. i’m tired of this new laziness making me re-examine the original series and realise just how shallow that was too. i’m tired of liking fanfiction more than any of the things she’s written. i’m tired of well meaning family and friends buying me harry potter mugs and slippers and whatever else for christmas because i was in love with this franchise from the age of 7 and i don’t have the heart to explain that the increasing consumerism of it is one of the many reasons that my love is firmly in the past tense now.

so, i don’t think i’ll be touching my harry potter fanfics for a while. it sucks to officially abandon projects i spent so many hours on but i went to try and reread so i could continue one and i’m tired of that world. i hope it isn’t forever. the books were such a huge part of my childhood and have absolutely influenced me as a writer. but for now, we’re on a break.

[realmofthemind]

Severus or Sirius?

Pairing: Snape x Reader (x Siruis? (it's a love triangle but mainly between reader and Snape))

Word Count: 2,233

Requested by Anon

"Hi i like your writing. Can you write a love triangle between severus, reader and sirius. She’s bestfriend with sirius but he loves her. But she likes severus and he has feelings for her. Something like that :)"

Warnings: Sirius and Severus physically fighting  

A/N: I wrote this, rewrote and edited this too many times. I don't know why I had such a hard time writing this but I tried my best. I really hope it's to your liking and I'm sorry if it's not good. I'm also really bad at naming fics XD

 "Plleeeaaassssseeee. I'll buy you anything you want off the trolley; I'll do your Herbology homework for the whole year; I'll buy you your favorite sweet from Honeydukes every time we visit Hogsmeade. I'm begging you (Y/N). Please" You look down before you at a begging Sirius Black, on his knees, pleading you to be his potions partner for the year. You haven't even reached Hogwarts and your best friend Sirius was already asking you for something.

You loved Sirius, he is your best friend at Hogwarts, but you had a plan for this year and Sirius was not about to cock block you. You've formulated a simple plan that would result in you spending more time with friend and life long crush, Severus Snape. You were both very skilled at potions so you decided; this year you would gather up the courage to ask him to be your potions partner. You nervously glanced over into the cart next to yours. Severus was sitting there, reading alone. You looked back at Sirius "No, not this year. I already have a partner." You lied. Sirius groaned and stood up from the floor. "We literally just got back from summer break. How could you possible have a partner already?" You shrugged your shoulders. He crossed his arms and narrowed his eyes at you. "Who is it?" He interrogated. You looked at him and shrugged your shoulders, holding in a smile. "Wow, (Y/N). Keeping secrets from your best friend now are we?" Sirius pressed on. His eyes glanced around and stopped when they landed on the raven haired boy in the cart over. Sirius drew conclusions and mentally crossed his fingers hoping he was wrong. "Is it Snivellus?" He asked. Without thinking, you nodded. Sirius pressed his lips together tightly as he felt his stomach burn with jealousy. "Ah, I see." He nodded and sat down next to you.

Sirius had a crush on you ever since he met you at Hogwarts. He felt differently about you than any other girl. When you two became close friends, he tried to repress his feelings for you by dating and hooking up with different girls, not wanting to ruin his friendship with you. None of them could make his heart beat the way you did.  Once he finally admitted to himself he was in love with you, he stopped sleeping around. He wanted to put an end to his reputation before it ruined any chance he had with you.  Even when he was dating, Sirius always put you above his girlfriend. He just couldn't help it. He also couldn't help the feeling of jealousy that took over him whenever he saw you talking to a guy. Especially Severus.

The silence between the two of you was broken when an older lady opened the door. "Something off the trolley, dearies?" the woman asked, gesturing toward a cart full of sweets asked. Sirius fished out two galleons from his pocket and handed them to the lady "Yea, two chocolate frogs please." Once Sirius had the chocolate frogs he handed one to you. You looked at him "You know I'm not going to be your potions partner this year. Right?" Sirius giggled "Can't a guy get his best friend a sweet with no motive? What kind of selfish person do you take me for?" He asked as he held his heart, pretending to be offended. You giggled as you both opened your frogs. They jumped out of the box and leaped across the cart. You both frantically ran around the cart after them. 

Severus looked up from his book, hearing commotion from the cart over. He watched you and Sirius giggle and smile as you chased two chocolate frogs around the cart. His mind spun with questions.' Why does she even hang out with him? Did something happen between the two of you over the summer break? Was he too late?' All summer, Severus busied himself making a plan to ask you out this year. He was in love with you ever since you were both first years. He loved everything about you, except how close you were with Sirius. This year was supposed to be his year. How could it be ruined before it even began?

 The next day, all of the students and teachers scrambled around to get settled. Once you were settled, you made your way to the top of the astronomy tower. Nobody ever went there but you and Severus and every year you both made sure it stayed that way. You and Severus both enjoyed solidarity at times. Whenever you were stressed out, needed a quiet place to study, or just a place to be alone you headed up to this little abandoned room that you and Severus discovered while exploring the tower one day. When you reached the abandoned room, you were immediately greeted by Severus. "Ready?" he asked, not being able to hold back the smile that threatened his lips every time you were around. You smiled back and nodded your head. You both turned toward the door and began enchanting the it so it would only open to the two of you.

Once you were both finished, you turned to Severus, ready to ask him the question you've rehearsed over and over again. Before you could open your mouth, Severus began "So I was looking over the schedule and couldn't help but notice we are in the same potions class. Would you want to be my potions partner?" You couldn't stop the wide smiling from growing on your face. "I would like that." Severus blushed every so slightly and looked at the floor, trying to hide it. "Fantastic." he whispered as he smiled to himself. You both walked back to your dormitories, counting down the hours until your first potions class.

When your first potions class came around, you arrived a few minutes early. You were doodling on parchment when you sensed someone sitting down next to you. You looked up to see Severus. He smiled at you. "Good morning, partner." You smiled back at him, "Good morning, Severus." The students started filling in. When Sirius entered the room, he frowned seeing you giggling at something Severus said. He made his way to sit next to his friend James. James followed Sirius' eyes to see he was glaring in your direction. James laughed "You got it bad for her, mate." Sirius directed his attention to James and sat down. "we have to do something about it." Siruis grumbled. "I get you like her and all but she's still your best friend. Also- I'm not getting involved" James replied. "Why? We pull pranks on Snivellus all the time!" Sirius exclaimed. James shook his head "Those are different. (Y/N) is to close to this one." Siruis groaned put his head down on the desk, trying to ignore your giggles. "Fine, I don't need your help anyway. I already have a plan." James looked down at Sirius and raised an eyebrow out of curiosity. Sirius looked up at him with a wicked smirk plastered across his face.

Potions class could have not gone any better. You and Severus had so much synergy. You worked together with such  diligence, only bumping into each other once as you both reached to stir the cauldron at the same time. You worked silently and peacefully, stealing glances at each other from time to time. You both finished the potion way before anyone else in the class did. Professor Slughorn checked your potion in disbelief. "Wow, this is phenomenal work you two. Looks like we have a potions power couple on our hands." You and Severus blushed a deep red at his words. "T-thanks professor" you both stuttered out. Sirius was in earshot of the professor's comment and his blood began to boil. 'Tomorrow' Sirius thought to himself.

The next day, Severus decided to check up on the room in the astronomy tower. Severus was soon interrupted by an out of breath Sirius. "Severus, (Y/N) is in trouble. No time to explain. She keeps calling your name. Come! Quick!" Severus immediately ran after Sirius. He was immensely worried about you and feared the worst. Sirius led Severus to the Whomping Willow. Severus looked around for you. "(Y/N)?" He called out. He didn't see or hear you. Sirius gave Severus a strong push forward and he fell right under the Willow. The branches wound up and went to slam down on Severus. Severus was quick on his feet and scrambled away from it. "What the hell, Sirius?!?" Severus shouted. He charged toward Sirius and the two started to fight. Rolling on the ground, fists flying all over the place. "(Y/N) isn't even here, is she?" Severus asked as he had Sirius pinned to the ground. Sirius struggled "No but I'd rather her be anywhere than with you." Sirius spat out.  "I don't know why she would even talk to a grease ball like you." Severus finally figured it out. "You're just jealous she'd rather be with me than with you." Severus laughed. Sirius took this moment to swing at Severus. "You don't know that. I've been her best friend for longer than you've known her. So I suggest you back away before things get worse for you." Severus tried not to swing back as he replied "That doesn't mean anything. You'll hookup with any female who has a pulse. (Y/N) deserves better than that." Sirius lost all control. At his point, James saw the fight and started running toward the two of you. A couple of other nearby students also formed a bit of a crowd. Seeing the crowd, Madame Hootch came running. She saw Severus laying on the ground and Sirius on top of him, fist cocked backward and aimed at Severus. "MR. BLACK. DETENTION." She shouted as she pulled both boys up. She let Severus go and told him to go to the hospital wing if he needed. She pulled Sirius by the arm all the way to the detention room.

Severus made his way inside. He knew his time was running out. If he didn't tell you about this feelings soon he might actually lose you to Sirius. He could not let the amazing glowing flower you are end up with some womanizer like Sirius who would never be able to see how perfect you are. He was pulled from his thoughts when he heard hurried footsteps coming toward him. He looked up and saw you running toward him. You put your hands on his cheeks and began investigating the damage as you caught your breath. "Severus. Are you okay? Someone told me you and Sirius got into a fight and I tried to come as quick as I could. What even happened? Do you want me to take you to the hospital wing?" You asked without taking a breath. Severus smiled at the concern you expressed for him. It made his heart flutter. "I'm okay." Severus replied calmly. Severus couldn't take his eyes off of you. The concern in your face as you gently picked the grass out of his hair and carefully brushed the dirt off of his face with your thumb. After a bit, you noticed him staring at you. You stopped your actions and stared back. Severus felt a butterflies in  his stomach. This was the moment. "(Y/N)" he whispered as he removed one of your hands from his face, holding it with both of his hands. You felt a light blush grow on your cheeks. "Yes?" you asked. Severus took a deep breath, ready to give the speech he has been rehearsing all summer long. "(Y/N), I've had the honor of being your friend since our first year here and I've done nothing but cherish every second of it. I think you're the most stunning person both inside and out and I feel like I don't have to put on a front when I'm around you. You really can't blame me for falling in love." Severus paused and took a deep breath. "So, with that said." Severus dropped down on one knee, still holding your hand. "Will you go to Hogsmeade with me? I know the first trip to Hogsmeade isn't for a while but when it does come around, I'd really like to take you on a proper date." You giggled at his rambling. You felt his palms become sweaty and you could truly see how nervous he was. "I would love that." you replied as you pulled him to his feet and into a hug. Feeling bold, you kissed his cheek. He winced. You quickly released him and backed away, thinking you were being too forward.  Severus held the spot you kissed with one hand. When he took his hand away, you realized you kissed a cut on his cheek. "Let's get you to the hospital wing." You said as you took his hand and led him away.

Sirius rushed out of detention, sprinting down the hallways looking for you. Severus had too much time alone with you. He probably won your sympathy and attention. He ran with an exaggerated limp in case you saw him. When he did see you, he stopped in his tracks. He couldn't believe his eyes. You and Severus, walking hand in hand, smiling as you rested your head on his shoulder. Sirius' heart sank. He was too late… 

A/N: I hope you liked it!

[jennycalendar]

buffy summers, muggle-born

read it on ao3!

read it on twisting the hellmouth!

SO I WROTE ALL OF THIS TODAY AFTER READING A BUNCH OF HARRY POTTER FIC AND GETTING NOSTALGIC. i’m feeling so self-satisfied right now. it’s unreal.

the premise: the scooby gang attends hogwarts with the golden trio! this is 100% the first in a long and ambitious and very adorable series; i have plans for a sequel involving tara that i will probably end up writing tomorrow. so i would definitely recommend reading this one.

Buffy heard the word Mudblood for the first time when she was trying on robes at Madam Malkin’s. Her mom had that continued look of vague confusion that she’d had ever since Buffy had gotten her Hogwarts letter, a look that seemed to be exacerbated by the droopy and not very stylish fit of Buffy’s robes. Buffy knew it would be pushing it to ask for some robes from Twilfit and Tatting’s, especially since she barely knew anything about this weird new world as it was, but some of the robes in there looked a little more comfortingly like dresses and skirts and things from Buffy’s reality—the one she knew much better.

So she was getting fitted, getting pricked a little by the pins, and this snooty-looking kid walked in, said very theatrically, “Good lord, they cater to Mudbloods here?” and ducked out to giggle with his friends, hurrying them along before Buffy could reply.

This was the very first time that Buffy considered—maybe not knowing a lot about this in her might be a disadvantage. New words to learn, new social niceties, new etiquette, new robes—she had planned to try out for her middle school cheerleading squad, this year. She had been so close to being in middle school, for crying out loud, something she’d been looking forward to since—kindergarten, probably, plus her mom had always said “bedtime is at nine-thirty until you’re at least in middle school, Buffy,” and how did that rule apply to weird magic boarding schools where they might call her a Mudblood and run away?

Before she even knew what the word meant, it had twisted itself into her being.

Xander had grown up hearing the word Mudblood. Sort of an “oh, at least we’re better than the Mudbloods” thing his lame-ass pureblood dad always said to his barely-listening pureblood mom, to make them both feel better about burning through their respective family fortunes before Xander was even born. They had never liked Willow, and she was a half-blood with a mom who was respected and active in the wizarding community—but all his parents cared about was Willow’s Muggle dad.

Personally, Xander liked Willow’s dad. Willow’s dad had been a college professor before meeting Willow’s mom, and now he was a spokesman for the Ministry and worked to better human-Muggle relations. He made nice cookies and he was gentle and kind with Willow, which was more than could be said for Xander’s dad. But that was something Xander didn’t like getting into.

Faith was an orphan. She didn’t like hearing everyone fussing over her in Diagon Alley like she was some charity case, and she definitely didn’t like the way people whisper about how “You-Know-Who was an orphan” because first of all, she didn’t know who, and second of all, so what if she wasn’t as friendly as all these weirdly dressed people expected her to be?

She figured she was a Mudblood, probably. She heard the word when she and the big groundskeeper guy were walking past Knockturn Alley, and she grabbed onto it and liked it. Faith had always had a habit for taking other people’s hatred and twisting it into something good—yeah, she was bad, but she was bad on her own terms.

She was eleven years old and this habit would stay with her for a very long time.

Professor Rupert Giles, History of Magic, was a pureblood of the old families with old money and an extensive knowledge of wizarding achievements throughout the ages. He, more than anyone, knew the value of Muggle-born contributions to wizarding society, and had forbidden the use of the word “Mudblood” in his classroom. He made it very clear that anyone who said it would be in detention for as long as Hogwarts policy would allow. It was a small gesture in the grand scheme of things, but it was still more than the other teachers did—they seemed to pretend the word itself didn’t exist. Professor Giles, more than anyone, knew that attempting to cover up the past would only end up hurting people in the long run.

History was about learning from one’s mistakes.

Platform Nine-And-Three-Quarters was busy and bustling on September the first, and there were whispers about a Boy Who Lived attending Hogwarts for his first year. Buffy, who didn’t have too much interest in boys at the moment (living or dead), was more invested in trying to find an empty compartment on the train, one where she could sit and enjoy the nervous excitement of going to a magic boarding school for a year. A free magic boarding school. Her mom had never wanted to pay for tuition for any boarding school, magic or not, but now Buffy got to have the full experience and it was—thrilling. She was thrilled.

Weaving through the train, she finally found a compartment that was relatively empty, at least in comparison to the rest of the packed train cars. The only occupant was a tiny redheaded girl, curled up with one of the Narnia books, and she looked up half-hopefully when Buffy came in.

“Is this—um, can I sit here?” Buffy asked a little awkwardly.

The girl blew out a breath and shut the book, looking somewhat sad. “Yeah,” she said.

“Are you okay?”

“My best friend isn’t here yet,” said the girl. “I think he’s sitting with a boy he met on the platform, and—and I’m his best friend.”

“If you’re his best friend,” Buffy pointed out (gently, because this girl seemed to need some delicate handling), “he’ll show.” The girl did look a little cheered by this, and Buffy took this opportunity to tug her trunk the rest of the way in and sit down. “You reading Narnia?”

The girl grinned a little. “You’re a—half-blood?” she asked, sounding hopeful.

“No, I have all my blood,” said Buffy earnestly.

The girl’s grin widened and she giggled. “No, I mean—is one of your parents magical, or are you the first in your family?” she asked.

“Oh!” Buffy giggled too. “I’m—the first,” she said, and almost mentioned the boy who called her a Mudblood, but it was beginning to sink in that the word meant something probably not very nice. “What would you call me, then, me being the first in my family to have magic?” she asked, a sort of litmus test.

“I don’t know,” said the girl. “I still don’t know your name.”

And that was how Buffy Summers and Willow Rosenberg became friends.

Xander showed up, out of breath and excitable, about ten minutes later, his new friend Jesse stumbling behind him. Jesse was a Muggle-born like Buffy, she found out, and something about that made her feel warm from head to toe; she didn’t feel quite as alone, quite as much of an oddity, when there was someone else just as confused as she was sitting right across from her.

Willow knew Muggle culture quite intimately, though—her parents wanted her to have the best of both worlds—and it was just as nice to be around her; she talked about books she had read that Buffy remembered seeing in her own elementary school library. Hogwarts isn’t that bad, Buffy found herself thinking, Hogwarts can’t possibly be that bad with people like this around me. She bought everyone snacks when the trolley cart came around, and the Chocolate Frog card she got—

“Oh!” Willow squeaked and made a dive for the card, scooping it up. “Ms. Calendar! She’s got a Chocolate Frog card?”

“Ms. who now?” said Buffy, mouth twitching. She’d gotten the mental image of a calendar with lipstick and legs.

Willow was blushing a little as she held the card close, all but cradling it. “I, I got a little excited,” she said, handing it back to Buffy. “Jenny Calendar works with my dad! She’s spent a bunch of time putting in the hard work to get Muggle technology recognized. She’s kinda radical—”

“Like a surfer?”

“Like a line of thinking,” said Willow. “She thinks the wizarding world shouldn’t be as much of a secret as it is, and that there’s a lot we can learn from Muggles.”

Buffy looked at Jenny Calendar’s face. She didn’t look like someone who would call Buffy a Mudblood, either—she had bright, lively eyes, and when Buffy made eye contact with her on the card, she grinned a little and winked. “They move?” Buffy said, awed. Now Jenny looked like she was giggling a little.

“Yeah!” Willow didn’t tease Buffy for not knowing—she just looked happy that Buffy’s learning. Buffy was liking Willow more and more, the more they talked. “Oh, wait ‘till you see the paintings at Hogwarts—my mom says the Gryffindor common room has a talking painting lady who you have to tell the password!”

“My dad says the Slytherin common room just has a wall,” said Xander, and smirks. “Sucks to be in Slytherin.”

“How come?” Buffy asked, curious.

Xander shrugged, scowling. All he said was, “My parents were both in Slytherin.”

Buffy got the sense that there was a little more to Xander than he was letting on, but let it lie. “I feel really behind the curve, here,” she said a little nervously. “Like there’s so much I need to learn.”

Willow’s smile softened into something both sympathetic and understanding. “It’s okay,” she said. “I can help! I’m good at helping—I help Xander with his math, and I know a bunch about the wizarding world. What do you want to know about?”

Buffy chewed on her lip, trying to keep the question down, but it bubbled up before she could stop herself. “What’s a Mudblood?”

Xander went still. Willow’s smile froze. Only Jesse looked unbothered by the word, focused instead on devouring his pumpkin pasty, but he stopped mid-bite upon noticing the way the mood in the car had shifted. “You okay?” he asked Xander, mouth full.

“Where did you hear that word?” Willow finally asked.

Buffy felt ashamed and afraid—like she’d lose her new friends—but she answered honestly. “Some boy said it while I was getting my robes fitted,” she said. “About me. What does it mean?”

Willow’s face relaxed a little, but she still looked upset. “It means—it’s a really, really mean way of saying you’re Muggle-born,” she said. “My mom always told me she’d wash my mouth out with soap if she ever heard me using that word.”

“My parents toss that word around a lot,” Xander mumbled, then added hastily, “but I never say it, obviously.”

“Do people not like Muggle-borns?” Buffy asked hesitantly.

It took Willow a moment to answer. Finally, she said, “My mom says only small-minded people with small ideas don’t like Muggle-borns.”

“Okay,” said Buffy. “And you guys aren’t those small-minded people, right?”

“Right,” said Xander fiercely, taking a chocolate frog and violently chomping off its head.

Buffy looked again at her Chocolate Frog card. Shyly, she asked Willow, “So—Jenny Calendar likes Muggle-borns?”

Willow seemed to get what Buffy was really asking. “Ms. Calendar thinks there’s no real difference between Muggles and wizards, at the core of it all,” she said, “and I think that too.”

The picture of Jenny Calendar nodded emphatically. Buffy tucked the card into her pocket, near her heart.

Hogwarts was big and bright, even from far away, and Buffy was too in awe to shiver as they were bundled into boats. Jesse was inadvertently separated from them, put in a different boat with two pretty girls who were fussing with each other’s hair, and Buffy, Willow, and Xander found themselves with a fourth boat buddy that none of them had met till then. Her brown hair was messy, and her mouth set in a firm line like she was trying to look as brave as she could, but her eyes were still lit with a wonder she couldn’t seem to hold back.

“Hi,” said Buffy, sitting down next to the girl. “I’m Buffy. I’m Muggle-born. What about you?”

“I’m Faith,” said the girl, chin jutting out, “and I’m a Mudblood.”

Willow drew in a shocked, reproving breath. “You shouldn’t say that word!” she said. “It’s a bad word!”

“I’m a bad kid,” said Faith, and directed her attention back towards the lit-up castle across the lake.

Buffy and Willow exchanged nervous looks before Buffy clambered awkwardly back to sit next to Willow again. She didn’t like the word Mudblood, even if Faith was okay with it—it made her feel too much like an outsider in this world she still felt like she didn’t belong in. Some part of her still thought there must have been a mistake—maybe it really was an accident that had made all her dresses that gorgeous shade of pink when she was seven, and maybe that slice of cake she’d wanted really had just fallen off the top of the fridge when she was nine, landing neatly on a plate—and she felt so, so worried that someone would catch her as she was entering the castle and go sorry, Buffy, this place isn’t for you.

They reached the castle, stars twinkling above them, and they were met at the door by a Professor McGonagall, taken through torch-lit hallways, and led into the Great Hall. Shivering, breathless, Buffy took in the floating candles and the golden plates, almost too awe-struck to speak, and her sense of awe only increased as the Sorting Hat began to sing, but—it was a long song, and she started getting bored, so her eyes began to wander.

Up at the front, at the staff table, she accidentally locked eyes with a bespectacled, austere-looking professor who was attempting to read under the table while the Sorting Hat sang. He looked a little flustered at being caught, but then he grinned a little, shut the book, and gave Buffy a tiny salute. She giggled.

“What?” Willow whispered.

Buffy tried to explain about the professor and his book, but Professor McGonagall cleared her throat and shot them both a look before she continued to read off names. Realizing that she really should be paying attention, Buffy shifted and watched, nervous and impatient to be Sorted.

One of the pretty girls who sat in the boat with Jesse was called up as “Chase, Cordelia!” Flouncing up to the stool, Cordelia sat down in her expensive-looking school robes (those were probably from Twilfit and Tatting’s, a slightly jealous Buffy thought) and waited for the hat to be dropped on her head.

“GRYFFINDOR!”

Next to Buffy, Xander choked. “Her?” he said, indignant. “She’s the most Slytherin girl I know!”

“You know her?” Buffy asked, curious.

“Her dad works at the Ministry,” Willow explained. “She’s always talking down to us ‘cause our dads don’t make as much money as her dad.”

Buffy made a face. Maybe Gryffindor wasn’t that great a house either if a girl like that went there.

Xander was the first of them to get Sorted, and when his name was called, Willow squeezed his shoulder and beamed, sunshine-bright, whispering, “You’ve got this, Xander!” Xander held onto her hand for a second, then took a few trembling steps towards the stool and sat down.

“HUFFLEPUFF!”

Willow didn’t look at all surprised as she started cheering. “What’s the Hufflepuff house do?” whispered Buffy, who was starting to really wish she’d been paying attention to the song while it was talking about the houses.

“Just and loyal!” Willow whispered back.

“Just loyal?”

“No, just and—” Upon receiving yet another terrifying look from Professor McGonagall, Willow made an “eep” noise and attempted to hide behind Buffy (who thought she saw McGonagall’s mouth twitch).

“Lehane, Faith!”

Faith Lehane from the boats all but swaggered up to the Sorting Hat, glaring furiously at the entire Great Hall as though she didn’t want to be at Hogwarts in the first place. Sitting down on the stool, she screwed up her face and waited.

It took the hat a good ten seconds to say anything at all. Buffy and Willow exchanged intrigued looks, watching, and waited with bated breath until the hat finally shouted out, “HUFFLEPUFF!”

Faith looked startled, and surprisingly vulnerable. Something in her face softened just a little as she headed to the loudly cheering black-and-yellow table.

“Well, at least Xander has someone he sorta knows there,” said Willow with rueful amusement. “I know I’m not gonna be in Hufflepuff.”

“You’re not? How come?”

“I just—know,” said Willow decisively. “I’m definitely loyal, but I’m not loyal like Xander. His family says heaps of mean stuff about me just ‘cause my dad’s a Muggle, and he’s stuck by me since we were babies.” She smiled, proud. “I don’t know if anyone’s loyal like Xander,” she said. “Hufflepuff lucked out.”

“Where do you think you’ll go?” Buffy asked, curious.

“Ravenclaw,” said Willow. “On account of me knowing a bunch, and—and Ravenclaw’s where you get to learn more, right? I want to—oh!” She managed a sheepish smile in the direction of Professor McGonagall, who at this point looked a mixture of amused and exhausted. “Sorry,” she whispered. Then, “Maybe I’m not quite smart enough for Ravenclaw,” which made her and Buffy do their best to stifle giggles before—

“Rosenberg, Willow!”

Willow threw a last smile over her shoulder at Buffy as she hurried up to sit on the stool.

The hat was dead silent for a scary long time. Buffy saw Willow’s hands trembling as they clenched around the edge of the stool, heard the soft, interested murmurs of the older students as they watched—she thought she caught the word hatstall, and worried that it might mean something bad for Willow—but finally, finally, the hat cried out, “SLYTHERIN!”

Willow’s eyes flew open; she looked like she’d been socked in the chest. Looking very small, she quietly removed the hat and hurried, forlorn, towards the Slytherin table. Buffy’s heart went out to her, and she made a mental note to check in on Willow as soon as she could—Buffy personally didn’t know which house she’d be in, but she did know she would have be very sad if she’d had her heart set on one and hadn’t made the cut.

“Summers, Buffy!”

Buffy felt her stomach jump as she stepped up to the stool, looking first at Willow (who beamed at her) and then, half-involuntarily, at the professor who had been trying to read. He gave her a soft, encouraging little grin, and—that settled her, a little, enough to listen to what the Hat had to say.

If all the children were as easy to Sort as you, I don’t think they’d need me anymore, it said, a laugh in its voice. Then, to the hall, it shouted, “GRYFFINDOR!”

The hat was taken off Buffy’s head, and she blinked at the cheering red-and-gold table. At the end of it, Cordelia Chase gave her a shy, pleased smile and cleared a seat right next to her on the bench. Buffy glanced at Willow, but—Willow just looked excited, and not too bothered by the fact that Buffy wasn’t in the same House as she was, so maybe this whole House business wouldn’t stop them from being friends.

She still didn’t feel like sitting next to someone who talked down to the only friends she’d made, so she squeezed in instead next to a boy with messy dark hair and glasses, trying to ignore Cordelia’s disappointed blush. “Hi,” she said to the boy. “I’m Buffy.”

The boy looked a little surprised. “I’m Harry,” he said.

“Do you know anything about Gryffindor?” Buffy asked, curious.

“Not really,” said Harry, smiling a little nervously. “I’m—um—”

“Oh,” said Buffy, relieved, “are you Muggle-born too?”

“Not really,” said Harry again.

“He’s Harry Potter,” said Cordelia Chase from the end of the table, sounding a mixture of skeptical and amused. “You’re telling me you don’t know who Harry Potter is?”

“I don’t,” said Buffy, feeling her face flush a dull red, and was frustrated to find that she wasn’t sure if it was from anger or humiliation.

To her surprise, Harry moved a bit closer to her on the bench. “It’s okay,” he said, grinning a little. “Up till a few months ago, I didn’t know who Harry Potter was either.”

Cordelia looked affronted. A few of the older students looked amused. Buffy, comforted, looked up to smile shyly at Harry. “Okay,” she said, “so who are you?”

“I don’t want to sound like I’m bragging,” said Harry. “Can I just say I’m Harry Potter and I’m sort of waiting to see if my friend gets into Gryffindor too?”

“Absolutely,” said Buffy, relieved. “Which one’s your friend?”

Harry pointed towards a red-headed boy at the end of the line who looked slightly green. “Him,” he said. “Ron Weasley. He was nice to me on the train.”

“He looks—” Buffy wracked her brains for an adjective that wasn’t nauseous, and settled on, “—pretty nervous. Is he okay?”

“Truthfully—”

“Weasley, Ronald!”

Buffy and Harry shared a last smile, then went back to watching the Sorting.

The Gryffindor common room did indeed have a painting that talked, along with comfortable armchairs and twisting staircases that led up to a comfortable-looking dormitory. Cordelia Chase set herself up in the four-poster bed nearest to the window, ignoring the indignant huffs from the other girls, and immediately started brushing out her hair with the dramatic flair of a girl who had been raised to believe she was a princess. Buffy, rolling her eyes, settled herself on the bed as far away from Cordelia as possible, which put her right next to the girl who had attempted to do the same thing.

“Hermione Granger,” said the girl without preamble, looking shyly excited, “and did I hear you say you were Muggle-born too?”

“Oh!” Buffy beamed, shifting all the way on her bed to face Hermione. “I did! I was talking to Harry about it a little at dinner. He says he’s not really Muggle-born but I don’t know what that means—”

“He’s Harry Potter,” said Hermione, again as if this was supposed to mean something to Buffy beyond the name. Off Buffy’s look, she elaborated, “He defeated the most powerful dark wizard in the world when he was only a baby.”

“Seriously?” said Buffy, amazed.

“Sort of,” said Hermione. “Probably. He doesn’t seem to remember all that much about it.”

Buffy thought about the skinny, shy kid who had dug into his food with gusto, and tried to imagine him taking down a dark wizard—as a baby, no less. “Huh,” she said. “This school is weird,” and began to get ready for bed.

She saw Xander and Willow again in the morning. Xander was happily dressed in bright Hufflepuff colors, but Willow looked a bit more somber in her green and silver. “All the dark wizards come out of Slytherin,” she was saying in a small voice to Xander; she’d snuck over to the Hufflepuff table for breakfast. “And I just know my mom’s gonna be mad I’m not in Ravenclaw.”

“But you’re not going to be a dark wizard, right, Will?” Buffy pointed out, tempted to squeeze into the Hufflepuff table herself. She was a (mostly) rule-abiding citizen, however, so she sat down at her own table instead, turning on the bench so she could face them both.

“All the Slytherins are—”

“Well, whatever you’re going to say, that’s probably not true,” came a voice, and Willow jumped; a pretty, blonde teacher had swept over to all of them, squinting down at them thoughtfully. “I was in Slytherin seven years, and I turned out all right, I think.” She stuck out her hand to Willow. “Professor Anya Jenkins,” she said. “I teach Ancient Runes. You’re a bit young for that, but maybe I’ll be seeing you third year—now, is this your table or should you be sitting somewhere else?”

Willow took her hand, peering nervously up at Professor Jenkins. “You’re a Slytherin?”

“I was,” said Professor Jenkins. “Look, it’s seven years of your life. It’s not like people are going to ask you at every formal occasion what Hogwarts house you were in—and yes, a lot of dark wizards ended up in Slytherin, but that’s mostly because dark magic is all about ambition and power. It’s like saying that a lot of stuffy academics came out of Ravenclaw—look at Professor Giles, for instance.” Professor Jenkins gestured up towards the staff table, and to Buffy’s surprise, she saw the same professor who had been reading under the table at the Sorting. Upon noticing that he was being watched, he smiled a little awkwardly and began to uncomfortably polish his glasses.

“He’s a total dork,” said Professor Jenkins fondly. “But my point is—wanting power and being ambitious isn’t always a bad thing. It’s what you do with it that counts.” She ruffled Willow’s hair, then said, “You want me to walk you back to your table, kiddo?”

Willow looked nervously at Xander and Buffy.

“You’ll have classes with both of them, don’t worry,” Professor Jenkins encouraged. “I know for a fact you’ll be taking Potions with the Gryffindors.”

Willow’s expression softened and she smiled a nervous goodbye to her friends, letting Professor Jenkins steer her back over to the Slytherin table.

Xander watched her go with a strange, sad look on his face. Finally, he said, “I kinda always thought my parents were bad people on account of them being Slytherins. I guess—maybe it wasn’t that.”

Buffy got the sense that he’d forgotten she was there. She turned back to her breakfast.

History of Magic was with the Hufflepuffs, and Buffy had had every intention of sitting next to Xander before Faith plopped herself into the empty seat Buffy had been saving and said brightly, “Hey, Blondie, what’s up?”

“It’s Buffy,” said Buffy. “Are you going to say that word again? ‘Cause if you are, I don’t want to sit next to you.”

“What, Mudblood?” said Faith, unashamed.

A horrified hush fell over the classroom, and it took Buffy a moment to realize why: Faith had said the word Mudblood right as Professor Giles had entered the room. Quietly, he said, “Class, if you would all hold your seats. You two—” and here he gestured to Buffy and Faith, “—kindly step out into the hall with me for a moment.”

Buffy, furious and mortified, got up immediately; she hadevery intention of explaining to Professor Giles that she hadn’t done a thing wrong. Faith followed her, that same determined jut to her chin, and as soon as the classroom door was swinging shut behind them, she said to Professor Giles, flat and firm, “I’m a Mudblood, Professor. I’m not calling anyone else a Mudblood, I’m saying that I’m one.”

Buffy stared at the floor and wished she was somewhere else.

“Miss Summers,” said Professor Giles, “is there anything you have to say about this?”

“No,” said Buffy in a small voice. “Can I go back inside? I didn’t do anything wrong.”

“I’m well aware of that,” said Professor Giles a bit more gently. “You’re not in any trouble, Miss Summers—I merely felt it my responsibility as an educator to talk to you both about that word. You’re both Muggle-born, yes?”

“Yeah,” said Faith, her voice sharp. Buffy felt a lump in her throat and she didn’t say anything.

“Miss Summers?”

“I want to go inside,” Buffy burst out, feeling all of five years old but being too miserable to care. “This school is too big and I still don’t know who Harry Potter is and everyone else knows more than me here, and I was going to try out for cheerleading at my middle school and I don’t ever want to hear that word Faith said again or even have to talk about it!”

“Your middle school does cheerleading?” Faith sounded slightly amused.

Something in Buffy finally snapped. Without hesitating, she shoved past Faith and ran down the hallway, not quite sure where she was going but very sure she didn’t want to go back. Going back would mean talking about what the word Mudblood meant and talking about how Buffy wasn’t smart enough for a place like this magical school (because Buffy knew who she was, and whatever she was, it wasn’t magical), and, and—

—and she had reached a dead end. Slumping to the floor of the corridor, Buffy buried her face in her hands, feeling hopelessly lost and hopelessly small.

It was about two minutes of her sitting like this before she felt someone sit down next to her. “I come from a very old, very antiquated family of purebloods,” said Professor Giles, and Buffy didn’t dare look up at him. “I grew up surrounded by crests and finery and long quizzes on family history. My family’s also linked to a council of Watchers, but that’s a whole other world and a bit too long of a story for us to talk about just now.”

“I don’t wanna talk about that word,” said Buffy, sniffling.

“I know,” said Professor Giles. “I can understand why. It is a horrible word with a history of prejudice and intolerance behind it, and you are a girl who has just now learned about this world and this word and still doesn’t quite know what to make of it. You’re not lesser, Buffy, if that’s what you’re worried about. You’re not lesser because you’re Muggle-born, and you certainly aren’t lesser because you don’t know anything about Hogwarts, or Galleons, or all the things you’ve got the rest of your life to learn about.”

Buffy raised her head from her hands. “Everyone I meet just seems to know things already,” she said. “And it sucks. And I miss my mom and my little sister.”

Professor Giles gave her a small, encouraging smile. “You have a little sister?” he prompted.

“Are you trying to distract me?”

“A bit,” said Professor Giles. “Thought it might cheer you up.”

Something occurred to Buffy, then. “You have class,” she said, horrified. “It’s the first day and you have class. Are you going to be in trouble?”

“I am a teacher first and foremost,” said Professor Giles, “and my job is to go where I am most needed. Is there anything at all that you want to know?”

Buffy sniffled again, feeling a soft, steady warmth in her chest that reminded her of being wrapped in a blanket on her mom’s cozy couch, holding hot chocolate and watching cartoons. “A lot of stuff,” she said. “Can I write up a list?”

A few of the students did whisper a bit when Buffy and Professor Giles returned to the classroom, but Professor Giles gave Buffy a lot of books to read at the end of class, and told her that her learning more about the wizarding world would count as a little bit of extra credit. So Buffy didn’t mind all that much about them casting aspersions.

Faith caught up to Buffy as she was struggling to pack the last three books into her bag. “Hey,” Faith said, her voice softer and a little more anxious. “Um, Buffy, right? Listen, I’m really sorry about that, I didn’t mean to—I didn’t realize it’d hurt your feelings so much to hear that word. I just thought it was a mean word.”

“It was,” said Buffy. “And it’s, it’s got a lot of history behind it, according to—” she hefted the large volume up and out of her back, but couldn’t quite make out the title, “—whatever this book is.”

“Yeah,” said Faith, shuffling her feet. “I didn’t mean to make you cry. You seem really nice and I don’t know anything either, so, um—” She handed Buffy a crumpled, messy piece of paper. “Can you give these questions about—uh—wizard stuff—can you give them to Professor Giles for me too?”

Buffy smiled slightly, then nodded. “Okay,” she said.

“Cool,” said Faith, and grinned at her, then threw her bag over her shoulder and sprinted to catch up with the rest of the Hufflepuffs.

Buffy watched her go, smiling a little, then fell into step with Hermione Granger. “That Faith is a bit—much, isn’t she?” said Hermione, not in a judging way, more in a half-awed, half-frightened sort of tone. As though she couldn’t imagine what it would be like to be taken out into the hall for a talking-to—which, judging from what Buffy had seen of Hermione, she probably couldn’t.

“Yeah, she is,” said Buffy. “But she’s pretty cool.”

Buffy kept Jenny Calendar’s Chocolate Frog card close to her heart when she cast her first spell. Wingardium leviosa, and her feather sailed high up to the sky—and there were bunches of people who said she had a place here, like Jenny Calendar with the work she did, like Professor Giles with his kind eyes. She took tea with him every Wednesday, now, and they talked about the wizarding world, and sometimes Willow and Xander came along.

“Almost in Ravenclaw?” he said when Willow told him about her hatstall. “Well, you must be quite a special girl to confuse the Sorting Hat so thoroughly.” Which made Willow smile, bright and wide, for three days running, and she told anyone who would listen that Professor Giles thought she was special.

Things began to pick up, slow but steady, over that first month: most significantly, Buffy learned to fly, and that was something else. Their flying lesson was a bit disrupted when an idiot Slytherin got in a lot of trouble and Harry became the youngest Seeker in a century, but Buffy forgot about all that when she finally got to be up in the air. Willow had a fear of heights that kept her clutching the broom, and Xander flew just a little wobbly, but the moment Buffy took off, she just—knew. Maybe spells and potions weren’t her forte, but this—this she could do. This felt absolutely, exactly right.

Buffy, I’m sorry, but I can’t buy you a broomstick, her mom wrote her back the next day. First years aren’t allowed to have them, according to that letter you gave me, not to mention I’m not at all comfortable with the thought of you hundreds of feet in the air. We can talk about it when you’re a little older, and maybe I’ll have changed my mind a little.

Buffy huffed, slumping back into her seat, and nearly missed the copy of the Daily Prophet that landed next to her. Looking up, she saw an excited Willow standing there with her own copy. “I just—I remembered you kept that card of Ms. Calendar,” she said, “and—look! It’s not on the front page, but, but she wrote an article about how important the perspectives of Muggle-born children can be.”

“That Calendar lady sure talks a lot about Muggles,” scoffed Cordelia.

Willow’s smile didn’t falter. “She’s using her platform to elevate the voices of the under-represented,” she shot back, “which is more than I can say for you, Cordelia.”

“Whatever, Slytherin,” Cordelia retorted. “Don’t you have some kids to bully?”

Willow flushed an ashamed red and her smile quivered.

Buffy made a face at Cordelia and scooted down the bench until there was room for Willow. “Here,” she said. “We should read this one together.”

She tacked the article up above her four-poster bed, in between her beat-up poster of Dorothy Hamill and a picture of her with her mom and Dawn. One section was highlighted—

…children born and raised outside our magical world inhabit not just our world, but their own: they are able to look at our culture, history, and knowledge from an outsider’s perspective, and oftentimes they see solutions to problems we haven’t even considered yet. Take, for instance, our owl-only methods of communications: non-magical individuals have found a way to communicate within a manner of seconds, whether it be through telephones or, as of late, emails. These children, attending Hogwarts, have created spells that enable them to make cost-free long-distance calls to their non-magical parents—something that might never cross the mind of someone raised in the wizarding world from birth.

Magic isn’t nearly half as important as what one does with it. Insight is a thousand times more valuable.

[whoslaurapalmer]

hot takes on ihoso, rife with spoilers, this is a lot of words

in general (a little less spoilery?)

-to me, I think the book is the most fun when it tries to function like the unauthorized autobiography – like, the page of the book about the paltryville fire, part of fernald’s job resume, the full article about the anwhistle aquatics fire, the stuff like that, I loved reading them and it reminded me so much of being like ten years old and reading unauto for the first time, it was a damn delight

-behind the scenes stuff was really interesting, and it was pretty much just, mostly, behind the scenes stuff, which just makes it weird combined with the parts that are more reminiscent of unauto

-but, good behind the scenes content.

-a lot more like, explicit s3 content than I was expecting. we really did pay for a trailer, didn’t we

-although it was kind of nice because I can sometimes hate reading information about things i’ve already seen, I almost missed one of the coded letters at the bottom of a page cause I was like ‘why the fuck do you want me to reread the timeline for an episode i’ve already fucking seen and know from the books?????’ so seeing new content was still………….nice, I guess

-i will give it this. the cover is very nice. book has a nice weight to it. like, you could probably kill a man with it.

notes I made while reading (incredibly spoilery)

-endlessly amused that nph has under his signature ‘actor and count olaf’s legal representative’ -like, what would that be like??????

- “ – and the show’s version of fiona widdershins echoes another morally ambiguous girl searching for her missing father (see: ellington feint, pg 89)” NO I DO NOT WANT TO SEE ELLINGTON FEINT, PG 89 but also I never…….considered fiona and ellington to be similar, but, I mean, I guess??? I mean actually yeah I can sort of see it

-awww booooooooo they cut out a mention of the word hangfire in the wide window

- “but he once had a selfless heroic side, and he feels very loving and protective towards the baudelaires. they’re all he has left in the world, these children that aren’t even his, and I think he wants to see them in a safe place.” patrick warburton you’re breaking my heart -oh he also got the tattoo!!!!! top notch bro

-WOW THE PIC OF LEMONY AND BEA IS JUST SMACK-DAB IN THE BEGINNING OF THE BOOK WITH ALL THE DEDICATIONS AROUND IT, artsy -although honestly I think from behind she looks more like jacquelyn but that could just be the black and white   -also, there’s the wonder taxi again….

-oh, the full page of the paltryville fire book -i always give bea more of the inventing vibes than bertrand although he probably has them too (says a girl who once wrote a scene (and then scrapped it) where bertrand can’t figure out how a radiator works, but that’s neither here nor there) and the idea that he ‘repurposed a large cowbell, a hammer, and a ten-foot pole to create a makeshift fire alarm’ is a DELIGHT   -and the lumbermill photo…. -wow larry is really credited as ‘mr. your-waiter’ - ‘not pictured: dr. orwell’s flamethrower’ good job

-aunt josephine’s ‘chance of survival’ is listed as ‘cloudy’ -aasif mandvi describes playing monty as “a little bit of a cross between a swashbuckler like errol flynn and gene wilder as willy wonka” and you know what???? that’s the most delightful thing i’ve heard in my whole life cause that’s on point

-OH I’M SORRY DID YOU JUST CONFIRM JACQUELYN AS R????? IS THAT WHAT I’M SEEING, PG 42??????????????? -that has honestly been my least favorite theory and I hate it with all my heart and you’ll never get me to accept jacquelyn as ramona, light of my life -also larry is listed as ‘last seen….missing!’ gustav is ‘last seen….DEAD’ which is just, hilarious, and…….yeah whatev re: jacquelyn -although this does make me no longer the only person out there shipping r/olivia considering all the jacquelyn/olivia stuff but i’m. still not happy about it. as previously expressed.

- “kit is a fearless volunteer, a trusted friend, and currently, a very pregnant woman” next to a picture of allison williams looking barely pregnant if at all -ALLISON WILLIAMS JUST SHOOTING OFF DETAILS ABOUT KIT’S OPENING SCENE LIKE WE’VE ALREADY SEEN SLIPPERY SLOPE YOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO -although kit straight-up diving off a mountain while pregnant is still…….pretty kit   - “leaping off a mountain may not be a typical activity for an expectant mother, but kit snicket pulls it off with bravery and style.” bravery? yes! style? no

me: hey mom can I ask you a question mom: sure me: would you say this picture of this woman looks very pregnant mom: yep me: you would???? I mean like she looks a little obviously pregnant but – mom: she does, but….maybe not very pregnant me: I didn’t think very pregnant. mom: i’d say she’s…….six months???? mom: six months. me: thank you for that assessment.

- “dashing and heroic, adventurous and charming” have never been words I have used to describe jacques snicket in my entire life, I have never cringed so hard before -in case anyone was wondering, i’ve based my entire characterization of jacques on basically one single line – “principal predicament: wondering if it’s the right time to step in”

- “while the book’s version of olivia is a veteran agent of dubious morality, the show reinvents her as a noble school librarian struggling against institutional corruption.” because apparently ‘veteran agent of dubious morality’ wasn’t good enough for you, I GUESS

-oh my they have the rhetorical building marked on the ‘admittedly stylish but how many eyes can you really incorporate into geography before lulu vandelay starts to think you’re overplaying this’ city map -also some of these streets are………..very tiny, but they’re all labeled (and named mostly after people involved in the production) but i’m gonna need like a goddamn magnifying glass for this, what the hell -or well there are numbered places on the side but besides the longitude/latitude markings there are, no numbers -but I am dying to know where they’re placing the grotto on this map wtf personally i just imagined........a bigger landscape, especially once they reach the ocean, as perhaps illogical as that truly is 

-okay i’m gonna give them this, the explanation about the trolley/underground tunnel system was, actually, intriguing and fairly on-point. I am, distressingly, impressed.

-thank you, pg 48, for immediately pulling me back to reality by listing the kids as ‘klaus, violet, and sunny’ that was unnecessary and uncalled for, have a hearty fuck you!

-why…….look, “i’d rather eat a bowl of vampire bats than spend an hour with carmelita spats” isn’t from ‘poet unknown.’ isadora wrote that. why put????? ‘poet unknown’????????? cause she’s not!!!! unknown!!!! THIS IS VERY, VERY CLEAR!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

- “there are few things more dangerous than a person armed with a slingshot and a poorly oriented moral compass” thank you for forcing me to relive the memory of stew mitchum while reading about carmelita

-fernald’s education listed as ‘degrees in marine biology and theatre arts’ good on you for keeping that in

- ohhhhhhhhhh re: white faced women “heimlich hospital announces birth of world’s first conjoined triplets” good on you for hopefully not taking away third sibling backstory!!! hadn’t considered them as triplets, though, but I hadn’t considered them as twins, either, so whatever

-awww I wish they’d found a way to keep in the cut song from the end of s2 it looked delightful

-olaf as “alias: DAD” in s3…………….oh boy -“the voice is reminiscent of eugene levy” oh man but i’m here for that

-re: barry sonnenfeld “in the grim grotto he plays the vital role of the missing captain widdershins” well that sentence is like six kinds of whiplash -he makes a good…….sea captain picture though.

-hmmmmm the lil sugar bowl section seems to lean towards the horseradish as the contents…….?

- “the props department created two sugar bowls, including a rubber version that could be dropped for a critical scene in season three.” oh really. oh. really. that better just be someone flinging it out the damn window in the mountains

-the masked ball invitation saying “a safe place that we hope will be much more difficult to burn” right on

-as someone who has frequently wondered how they really use movies for codes considering information can change while making the movie and how would you even decode it anyway, the explanation of pulling a message from existing subtitles based on a changing code number makes sense, but probably still won’t change how I view them making a considerable number of movies on the fly -does remind me, though, of how I put in beatrice the idea of picking up certain props, something that can be easily changed, in order to convey information

-bo welch saying “so I asked barry, ‘this house in season one that olaf lives in, where did he get that?’ and in talking with him, we decided that he probably married or moved in with some wealthy old dowager and then when she died, he kept the house, and of course, he didn’t have the resources and it went to seed.” well that’s…………………...uh………………….one way to think about it I prefer the theory that it’s the remains of his family’s house

-WHO WAS RESPONSIBLE FOR WRITING ‘AND, FUCK YEAH, OTTOMANS’ IN THE SCRIPT ABOUT JUSTICE STRAUSS’S LIBRARY THAT’S FUCKING AMAZING

-okay all the little jokes they have in the scripts are. GREAT

-nathan fillion re: jacques “he’s goodhearted. he’s kind. he’s capable. and he’s dead.”

-wow uh just straight-up revealing the opening theme rhymes for s3. gutsy of you

-you know, I really am sad they cut out widdershins, because i really liked him, and fiona aggressively adopting his mannerisms once he disappears, and i LOVE the scene here she tells the kids why widdershins didn’t go after the kids and how much fiona herself doesn’t know, but, i......guess they could still????? keep that in????? if he said that before he disappeared??? depends on when they have him disappearing, i guess 

i just????? widdershins is the whole reason they don’t show up until they do so how this works out now idk, unless they’re gonna have just fiona actively trying to find the kids (if they go that route, unless they just like, bump into each other?) as a KID trying to save kids does put an interesting spin on it

-THE WHOLE POINT IS THE SECRECY, THOUGH!!! FIONA IS BASICALLY STILL RAISED IN VFD AND SHE HAS NO DAMN CLUE ABOUT IT AT ALL!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! augggggggggggggg

-the anwhistle aquatics article talking about gregor and ike not getting along?????? intriguing - “there are secrets in this world to terrible for decent people to know.” I read that and immediately thought of “mrs. palmer, there are things dark and heinous in this world. things too horrible to tell our children.” but that could just be because my mind pulls up peaks quotes for literally everything

-you know as much as I liked the imagined red vibe of penultimate peril, i’m really digging these set pieces even if they are green

- “several key scenes in the penultimate peril take place in an opulent opera house” are you gonna full flashback to the opera house??????????????? because hmmmmmmmmmm I never wanted to see the whole thing but I HAVE always imagined them as. barely adults when the opera happens, so?? at least there’s that

-still VERY nervous at the idea of the beatrice letters being at the end of the end. no damn clue what i’m nervous about. I already had my say about how I think the beatrice letters goes down. in almost 20,000 words. it shouldn’t matter to me. but. regardless. ……….still nervous……….

-based on the allusions page it looks like this be the verse and the blind men and the elephant will show up?????? they’d BETTER (and if I had to pick, this be the verse.) (my brit lit professor in college took great, great thrill in reading that poem out loud, so much so that when we were studying it, she read it out loud twice. she was a delightful woman.) (but re: the elephant poem that’s just, such a sweet, delightful memory of bertrand ‘sweetest man alive’ baudelaire, and considering all the memories of bea and bertrand they’ve really cut out, I just really, really want that one to stay in…….)

-hey, that final image of the eye-shaped island????? legitimately one of the most terrifying things i’ve ever seen in my life. I hope you’re happy.

-so, missed two words in the telegram code so I did look up what it was, and I was incredibly disappointed that that was all it was

(HOLY FUCK WAIT A SECOND as i’m rereading the beginning of my notes here, the see: ellington feint, that’s the only reference to ellington and she’s not even mentioned on the referenced page because it’s one of the code pages, but if that’s supposed to somehow imply ellington is in the two sets of people the telegram code refers to i’m. not gonna be happy) (unless it was just a reference to how the picture of barry sonnenfeld in austere academy is as the founder of the school, last name feint, and…….they’re just doing something with that, how the hell should I know) well I was disappointed until I got UNNECESSARILY TERRIFIED BY PROBABLY OVER-THINKING IT, gonna forget that ever happened at all, completely anyway, besides that, it’s still………….nothing that really???? doesn’t already go without saying?????? like THAT’S the code you decided to put in this book????? and how does that have any relevance to ‘don’t decode it until after s3’

[daffronc-blog]

Final Project Part One: Attack of the Killer Fan Fiction

Reflective Essay:

When I was starting the assignment, I decided the best thing to write a fan fiction of would be Harry Potter because of the sheer amount of directions I could take the story and characters. I decided I wanted my story to take place after the series had initially ended, that way I would have more freedom to write my story without fucking up any sort of series canon. Once I had decided that I had no idea what I should write. So, I was pacing my room thinking and listening to The Lawrence Arms when their song “Are You There, Margaret? It’s Me, God” came on and it gave me an idea.

Over the weekend, I had just re-watched Stranger Than Fiction, so I thought, “What if I wrote a story like that?” But who would be in it? What would I do?

Then, I remembered the plot line in the sixth Dark Tower book where Roland and Eddie enter “the real world” to talk to find Stephen King after Father Callahan found a copy ‘Salem’s Lot (this is what Hermione references in the story in case you were wondering). And that’s when it really started to come together.

I’ve never read The Cursed Child, but even before we talked about it in class I had heard that it was kind of shitty.

Lightbulb.

What if, in a very Stranger Than Fiction-esque way, Harry hears J.K. Rowling narrating the beginning of The Cursed Child in his head and decides to find her and stop her before she fucks up his life/story? And that’s when it all came together. I cranked out the initial draft in one sitting and it was about 3000 words, which seemed like a little much for the assignment, so I edited it down to a much more manageable length for anyone who doesn’t want to spend a million years reading a poorly written Harry Potter story.

So, several cups of coffee and several Dillinger Four records later, I present you Harry Potter and the Ill-Advised Author.

Enjoy,

Charlie

Harry Potter and the Ill-Advised Author

Harry burst awake, his scar burning. He gasped and reached up to touch his forehead. It had been many years since his scar had hurt and he wasn’t sure what to make of it. He carefully got out of bed, trying not to wake Ginny, who was still sleeping peacefully.

He stumbled out of his bedroom and into the kitchen, the pain from his scar beginning to subside a little bit. He looked out the kitchen window to see the first rays of sunlight had just begun to appear on the horizon.

“Maybe my scar is hurting because I’m nervous about sending Albus off to his first year at Hogwarts today,” Harry thought. Yes, that must have been it. After all, it had been 19 years since Voldemort had been defeated, so there was no other explanation.

As the Harry sat in the kitchen watching the sunrise and waiting for the rest of his family to wake up so they could make their way to Kings Cross station to drop off Albus and James at platform 9 ¾ he slowly began to forget about his scar hurting. He didn’t even think to mention it to Ginny when she woke up.

***

The Potter family quickly piled out of the family car once they had arrived at King’s Cross. Albus and James pulled their trunks behind them, chattering excitedly. Harry and Ginny followed behind them with Lily.

“Dad, my legs are tired,” Lily complained, tugging on Harry’s pant leg.

“Honey, we just started walking,” Harry said, smiling down at her.

“I know, but I’m tired,” she said.

“Ok,” Harry said, “I think I’ve got just the solution.”

He scooped her up and put her on his shoulders, so she wouldn’t have to walk anymore. Ginny smiled at them as they opened the door to King’s Cross.

As soon as they entered the station Harry was hit with a burst of pain from his scar so intense that his legs almost buckled underneath him. Lily giggled, thinking her father was going to pretend to drop her. As soon as Harry had recovered his balance he heard the voice.

“A busy and crowded station,” a woman’s voice said, “Full of people trying to go somewhere. Amongst the hustle and bustle, two large cages rattle on top of two laden trolleys. They’re being pushed by two boys, James Potter and Albus Potter, Their mother, Ginny, follows after. A thirty-seven-year-old-man, Harry, has his daughter, Lily, on his shoulders.”

“What the hell?” Harry said, looking around in bewilderment.

“What is it, Harry?” Ginny asked, watching Harry with a concerned look on her face.

“Do you hear that voice?” Harry asked.

“What voice?” Ginny responded.

“That woman’s voice,” Harry answered, putting Lily down and continuing to look around.

“What are you talking about?” Ginny asked, stepping closer to Harry.

Just then Ron and Hermione approached. Lily squealed in excitement and ran toward them. Meanwhile, James and Albus looked at their parents, confused as to why they had stopped.

“Ron turns towards them as Lily goes barreling up to him. He picks her up into his arms.” the voice narrated as Ron greeted Lily by lifting her up into the air just like it had said a moment before.

Hermione, noticing the confused look on Harry’s face approached them, followed by Ron.

“What’s wrong, Harry?” Hermione asked.

Harry explained how his scar hurt and he had heard the woman’s voice narrating exactly what was happening as it happened and that only he seemed to be hearing it.

“Are you sure you’re not just schizophrenic, mate?” Ron asked jokingly.

Hermione elbowed him in the ribs angrily.

“Sorry,” he said, looking down.

“Harry, if you are hearing this voice saying things that only you could know, and your scar is hurting again, this could be something serious,” Hermione said, “We need to find out where this voice is coming from as quickly as possible before it can say more things.”

Harry looked at Ginny.

“Go figure this out,” She said, “I’ll make sure the kids make it to school.”

Harry nodded. He kissed her goodbye and said goodbye to each of his three kids and left King’s Cross with Ron and Hermione.

***

As soon as they had arrived back at Ron and Hermione’s house Hermione went straight to the living room, where a long bookshelf stuffed full of books of all shapes and sizes took up one wall. She searched the bookshelf until she found the book she was looking for.

“I’ve heard of this happening to someone else before,” Hermione said, quickly flipping through the book, “It turned out a muggle writer was writing a story about a priest, not realizing that the story influenced the events in that person’s life. The author wrote an unpleasant ending and it came true. We need to find whoever is doing this to Harry before they finish the story.”

Ron and Harry nodded, watching her continue to flip through the book.

“Aha, here it is!” Hermione exclaimed, pointing at one of the pages.

She showed it to Harry and Ron. There were two words written on the page: Narritoris Aepearious.

“Harry, since only you can hear the voice you need to cast the spell,” Hermione said, “Once you’ve cast it, a portal should open and lead us to whoever is responsible for this.”

Harry read the words on the page and just like Hermione said, a portal opened on the wall, leading to a large house in the countryside. The three wizards stepped through the wall and the portal quickly closed behind them.

They approached the house cautiously, watching for anyone who may have been guarding the premises. When the reached the door, Harry tried the doorknob to see if it was open. The handle wouldn’t budge, so Harry produced his wand from his robes and pressed it against the lock.

“Aberto,” he said quietly.

With a click, the door slowly began to open. Harry pushed it all the way open and they entered the house.

After a few minutes of wandering through the seemingly empty house, the three wizards arrived at a set of double doors. Harry pushed them open and they entered the room.

The walls were decorated with posters of teenagers in cheap looking wizard robes, holding what looked like imitation wands. As Harry looked closer, he realized these teenagers vaguely resembled him, Ron, and Hermione when they were younger. The one that looked like Harry even had something on his forehead that looked similar to Harry’s scar. Harry looked at the caption below the poster. It read Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix.

“What the hell?” Harry thought.

“Harry,” Ron said nervously from behind Harry.

Harry turned to see Ron holding a large leather-bound book. He held it up to Harry to see.

“It’s about us finding the Horcruxes and battling the Death Eaters on the night you killed Voldemort,” Ron said.

Harry took the book from Ron and examined it. Ron was right, it seemed to be a spot-on account. Harry looked at the cover. It said Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows. It also said it was written by a “J.K. Rowling”.

“Harry, come here,” Hermione said.

Harry turned to see her standing in front of a desk on the other side of the room looking at a typewriter. She pulled the piece of paper from the typewriter and handed it to Harry.

“Is this what you heard the voice say?” Hermione asked.

Harry read the page and nodded. Hermione showed him another page that said, “Harry Potter and the Cursed Child written by J.K. Rowling”.

“This J.K. Rowling must be the woman I keep hearing in my head,” Harry said.

Suddenly from behind them, there was a gasp and the sound of glass shattering. All three wizards whipped around to see a woman standing in the doorway of the room pointing at them.

“Y-y-you can’t be real,” she stammered, stepping backward.

“Are you J.K. Rowling?” Harry asked.

The woman gulped and nodded slowly.

“You’re the one writing these stories?” Harry asked, holding up the page from The Cursed Child.

She nodded again.

“I’m Harry Potter,” Harry said, “You need to stop writing these stories about me, they’re affecting my life. I’ve already defeated Voldemort, there’s no need for you to write these stories and drag me into more conflicts, especially if they might endanger my family or friends.”

“B-But how can this be happening?” J.K. Rowling asked.

Hermione explained the magic to her and she slowly seemed to understand.

After talking to her for several hours and answering all her excited questions, Harry, Ron, and Hermione left, apparating back to their homes, satisfied that J.K. Rowling wouldn’t write about them again.

***

After the three wizards had left, J.K. Rowling immediately burned all her notes and the page she had written for The Cursed Child. Her mind was still reeling from her encounter with the three people, who until an hour ago, she considered her fictional characters.

With every trace of the manuscript destroyed, She called Jack Thorne, the manuscript’s co-author and the person who was going to adapt it into a script for the stage and told him that she was canceling the project.

When he asked her why, she just said, “Harry’s story is done, it’s time to leave him alone.”

She hung up the phone, still shaking. “What am I going to do now?” she thought.

She decided she would finally start writing those Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them films that Warner Brothers was so eager to produce. After all, they would be prequels set many years before The Philosopher’s Stone takes place, so there was no way Newt Scamander could show up on her doorstep, right?  

 Cited Sources:

Thorne, Jack, et al. Harry Potter and the Cursed Child. Playscript. Scholastic, 2017.

“List of Spells.” Harry Potter Wiki, harrypotter.wikia.com/wiki/List_of_spells.

[lwbluedice]

Masterpost for my Stories and Ocs!!!

A spoilerfree list of most of my Ocs and stories (reuploaded here on my main blog)

Includes:

- Name of the story and state it’s in

- short summary/facts

- Character names

If you want more information abt any of them(like a description or a pic) or abt the stories, just message me/ ask me!  Also feel free to ask me to draw them ( for example in the color scheme thing or sth)!

Note: The stories are all written in german so if you don’t speak that language i can’t send you the original documents but i can try summing them up for you!

I bet this is not everything and i will add stuff but yeah!!!!

Hotaru (first draft is finished)

- Abt two men that are linked through a surgery called “synchronisation”, which basically connects their minds and bodies, so they are forced to work as a team. Ea is an ex-soldier and Cain was a hacker, but due to the fact that they can’t stand each other, they also didn’t share their pasts with each other. To pay someone to unlink them, they become bounty hunters and kidnap the girl Ai and her robot Subaru, which is one of the old military robots, called Hotarus (high technologised, operating, transforming, artificial intelligence, ranger units). They are connected to a human ranger and can transform into what the ranger wants them to transform into.

The Hotaru headquarters exploded 10 years ago and since then the Hotarus are super rare on the black market.

The two men plan on selling both the girl and her robot and let’s just say it all doesn’t work out that well.

Ai Hoshino

Ea

Cain Bishop

Subaru

Dr. Chandra Natarajan

10 A

10 B

and other synced pairs

George Watton

Asha Watton

Elaine Bishop

Christopher Bishop

Haruto Hoshino

Shiori Hoshino

The Pleiades. A Hotaru Unit.

Atlas/ Emmett Hunter

Maia/ Ilya Neverwinter

Elektra/ Hailey Gray

Taygete/ Daiyu Ghou

Alcyone/ Charlotte Gryffith)

Caelano/ Sora Aurora River

Merope/ Imogen Harrington

Sterope/ Elizabeth Bresley

Additional Characters for the (maybe Sequel) in which the grown up Ai will try to find out who attacked the Hotaru Headquarters

- Skya

The day the world turned white ( first draft is finished, working on it)

To stop global warming some scientists basically caused a new ice age. On the long run this might be very effective but the former countries, now sectors, are hit by strong ice storms, called snow white. To stay safe huge bunkers, the Safe Cities, were built and the local fauna and flora were stored in Arks, to preserve them.

Usually an alarm sounds before all citizens are brought into the SCs, but this time Reese and her best friend Yuki dont manage to get to the vehicles on time and are left behind. They seek shelter in a private bunker outside of town that Yuki found out about recently. Suddenly a group of boys their age knocks on the door, because they were also left behind and followed the girls.

Al, the brothers Eli and Isaac, Gil and Henry become the new bunker-mates and the group has to survive one year in the bunker, until the storm is over.

( I have a blog for this story, just search for The day the world turned white! There are pics and some posts for example abt which patronus/spirit animal the charas have!)

Reese/ Therese Wells

Al/ Alexander Glover

Yuki Sarah Brooke

Eli Green

Isaac Green

Gil de Santos

Henry Summers

The Sun will always rise (The sequel, probably forever unfinished)

About a group of rebels, the Sun Children, that are sworn enemies to the government and its ways to cope with Snow White.

Takes place abt one/two years after Tdtwtw.

Lucy and Aidan are kicked out of an underground organisation that stays in the cities underground system during the storm phases and the two wander around in the snow until Michael and Rin pick them up and bring them to the Sun Children. From looking into the snow directly to maneuver, Lucy has turned snowblind.

Yeah the plot is… not 100% existent.

Characters:

Lucy

Aidan

Michael

Kate

Gil

Bo

Finya

Rin

The XII Games ( First book is finished, i started the second one, unfinished)

A story abt spaceships that let slaves fight in games, if they win a certain number they are “free”. Cassidy makes it and is sold to a women, Trisha, that takes her home onto her home planet, where Cassidy lives a nice life and learns abt her heritage. One year later she meets Tobias again and she and Trisha are brought to a planet that is basically the universes capital. Cassidy has to take a more important role in the uproar of a war, than she ever imagined.( The cast members are mostly human looking but are other, non human, races)

Cass (Cassidy ) E’ Alandril

Tobias

On the slave ship:

Neala

Sam ( Samuel)

On Anterra:

Trisha  Willowrish

Max ( Maxwell)  E’ Alyndral

Lukas

Tori

Khorr

Keri

Wil

Quinna

On the Space sparrow:

Zach ( Zacharyas) Gryaan

Benj ( Benjamin) Bottledom

Rashka Hyrelian

Oreadh Urunna'ur

Butcher

Kagrim

Kyluur

Irian Ashcott

On Capital Estellar:

Galea ( Galeandrih Fiyur’ Ihal)

Iyal

Wren Fawell

Luasia  

Luminor the Shining

Fallen Angels ( A trilogy, one and a half books were finished, reconcepted)

We don’t talk abt this but it was one of my first stories i truly wrote.

Abt fallen angels saving the world or sth. It’s super clichee and just ugh.

The newer version would cancel some charas and make it abt rebalancing Darkness and Light in the worlds. With a more diverse cast and also different magical races. And a way less creepy Adam.

Eve/Evelyn White

Adam

Peregrine/Perry

Ray/Raven

Sera

Colin

Robin

Raphael

Ky/ Kyron

Gabe/Gabriel Frost

Bree/ Gabriella Frost

Indigo ( haven’t written it yet and i don’t know if i ever will, but have drawn stuff. I lowkey wanna see this as a comic)

A story abt a clan of shapeshifters, called Indigos. They are basically human that can shift into dolphins and their clan lives on an island near Australia. Its a modern story and the gang consisting of our local gay dolphin girl Keerie, her cousins Akash and Arjuun (younger brother, older sis), and Ky ( adopted as a child, japanese heritage, a different breed of dolphin idk) lives their “normal lives” with lots of shenenigans and drama.

Some day Keerie falls in love with Navy, the daughter of the owner of the local Aquapark (that the clan suspect also does illegal stuff like snatching wild animals).

Keerie

Arjuun

Akash

Ky

Navy

“Neo Alcatraz” ( reworks of a very old story)

To put it simply, there is a pack of scientists that bionically enhance children and send them off to different countries to basically be local superheroes. Our gang was kinda left behind bc the countries rather took the newer, better versions and here they are now, a bunch of supernatural teens facing the (not so) everyday struggles of life.

Atalanta

Chi

Callie

Lee

Victor/Konrad

Gemsona (just art)

Larimar

- has water powers and her backstory bases on my private/old Squads life story and a lot of me thinking of drawing music videos for her but never doing it

Anthea (art and headcanons)

- my Dnd Oc

The Bender Girls ( art and headcanons)

- basically some Avatar the last Airbender Ocs i made once

Daiyu

Hotaru

Yura

Sündenfall / Sinfall (short story)

A short story i wrote for a competition which is basically every crime series but magic.

Harvey is immortal, he dies and is revived, and solves crimes through it. Paige is basically his assistant and the case they are on is abt a person that kills magical beings and “arranges” the victims fitting to the seven sins.

Ilya Winter

Harvey

Paige

Delphi

Sphinx

The concept charas, that had a different storyline ( they were basically a team of magical beings that would solve cases… rather unconventional.) I considered reworking them into the new Fallen Angels concept:

Ilya

Harvey

Timothy

Worth mentioning:

Project Alpha (script, some art):

The script for a shortfilm i once made with my friends. A school class has a plane crash and only a few students survive, they all embody a different character archetype (the sunshine, the soziopath, the smart one etc.) They try to survive and are put through weird psychological mind experiments like the trolley problem.

To be honest, the concept had and still has a lot of potential and we just hadn’t the opportunities to rly set it the way we anticipated. The shooting day was super fun, though! Still laughing about the outtakes

Astral Chronicles (some art and a few chapters, unfinished)

A story Idea i still like but probably wont write like this because of copyright problems. Its basically a giant Crossover.

Its abt people who have an Astral( mostly a literature figure) they embody when they are dreaming. Their body stays in bed and is vulnerable but the Astral can basivally run around and has special powers. If the Astral dies, the person wakes up but i think when the body dies the person dies too? idk.

The Protagonist embodies Alice and there are also the White Rabbit, Peter Pan, Tinkerbell usw.

There was also some kind of conflict? I dont remember.

If i would ever rewrite it the Astrals would be embodiments of the Zodiac signs.

(does this even fit?)

The Fanfiction thing i wrote abt Peter Pan/ Jack Frost

- like i have tons of short drabbles and the start of a fanfiction and honestly i liked the ideas i had a lot

The ones we better not talk abt:

Part Hunter

Basically there was a being named eternity/aeterna that was shattered into oarts (like in TRC)

and chosen ones have to reclaim them.

The ones that basically die are turned into guardians, like Time and Space ( they had animal companions they were fused with i guess)

Melody is the current part hunter and has a tragic love story, her animal is a tiny horse thing??????

Idk

basically a long story in which i used my dreams as base for the episodes

The nameless story

Actually super interesting but too many charas and a too tiny will to draw action scenes or write them.

Like its based around a super popular game in huge spheres/buildings and the teams wear some anti gravity outfits and shoes and can walk on the walls and shit and can basically attack using elements/illusion/ conjure monsters idk.

And the main team had an opponent team that basically specialized in the 25272 other elements and some day they just fused teams idk.

There also was some prophecy shit abt the anchors, ppl that can control all elements the same???? Idk

Element guardians

- basically four teens that control the elements and do shit together

- at some point i gave all of them dragons

- still thinking abt this sometimes

- The originals:

Luna: the shameless self insert , earth, pony girl, bland blonde i think

Katy: Air, best friend, bubbly

Dan: The jock. Fire

Nick: The emo. Water

At some point Katy became Skye and Dan and Nick got other names but yeah-

Talent Academy

The story thats basically a ripoff of Alice academy. Like a school with hierachie between the students and ranks and shit and different houses and the students have powers IDK

If you read through all of this, bless you for showing interest in my stories ;) And hey, if you want me to rant about any of them, just send me an ask or a message!!!

[themarauderlife]

First Date with Sirius

So finally I wrote something! It’s a little shitty but I’ve had awful writers block, so thank you so much for being patient with me and now my exams are drawing to a close I’ll hopefully be able to write much more over summer! Enjoy x

The museum opened out onto a little courtyard with a square of grass and blossom trees planted around it. The path was still cobbled, but it was neater here, well cared for. My heart was hammering in my chest, nerves writhing in my stomach at the thought of seeing Sirius again; I knew all the girls in my year would be thrilled to be in my position, but I just felt anxious. I stood at the corner of the grass, clutching my satchel bag to me tightly. Where was he?

Just as I was about to go in search of him around the museum, a voice appeared behind me.

“You’re late.”

I jumped and whirled around, glaring at him. “Do you always have to do that?” I demanded, shifting my bag uncomfortably. He looked just as handsome as I remembered in a long-sleeved grey top and black jeans, his dark hair tucked behind his ears and grey eyes sparkling in the sunlight; my throat went dry at the sight of him. He smirked, and butterflies exploded in my stomach.

“Do what?” he asked, his voice dripping with innocence.

I scowled. “Come up behind me and-” seeing the amusement twinkle in his eyes, I cut off abruptly. “You’re messing with me, aren’t you?”

He laughed. It was a startlingly pleasant sound, filling with warmth, and I had to wonder where the hell his sarcastic twin had gone- the usual snarky Sirius I crossed paths with seemed to have disappeared off the face of the earth. “I’m known to be a troublemaker, (Y/N).”

He winked at me, but his joke bought back the unease I’d felt earlier; why would Sirius Black want to go on a date with me? It had to be some kind of joke. “Speaking of which, you haven’t bought anyone, have you?” I checked, glancing behind him. “James isn’t going to jump out from behind a bush, I hope.”

He laughed again, tucking his hands into the pockets of his jeans. “Nope. That I can promise. Just me.”

Hmm, I would never describe Sirius as ‘just’ anything, but let the comment slide, feeling relieved. “Good.”

There was a slight pause.

“So,” he said, running a hand through his hair. “What do you want to do first?” He glanced around and I felt a twinge of worry; I loved this museum, hidden away in the middle of London, but I wasn’t so sure if Sirius would. He’d probably think it was boring, and me nerdy for liking it.

“I was thinking we could go around the museum first?” I suggested, tugging nervously at the sleeves of my jumper.

He swung his arm around my shoulders, dispelling my worries with that easy grin of his. “Lead the way.”

Sirius completely took me by surprise, and I felt guilty for ever underestimating him. He looked intently at the different artifacts on display and pointed out things I’d never even thought about before; I began to notice details that were really cool- the intricate designs on the tomb of the founder of the museum, and the way some of the paintings had been created just to show off his best side. Sirius read out all the information from the plaques, and I don’t know if it was the way he said it, his eyes lighting up with interest, but his version was much more invigorating than the many times I’d read it before.

“I was worried you wouldn’t like any of this.” I admitted, as we walked past another display. “I thought you might find it a bit boring.”

He smiled, rubbing my arm comfortingly. “Nah, I’m a bit of a sucker for historical artifacts. I guess it was drilled into me by my parents.” He pointed to an expensive-looking jar. “I could probably tell you where and when this was made if I tried really hard. My lovely mother and father have it in their heads that the oldest, most expensive heirlooms made for the most respected family.”

His voice was light and jokey, could sense the bitterness behind the words.

“Yeah, well, the coolest artifact we have in our house is this electric cheese grater my Dad bought two years ago.” I replied.

He grinned, eyes twinkling. “Cheese grater?”

I blushed. “Yeah, it’s a little weird I know.”

“I might think it weird if I had a clue what it was.”

I laughed, smiling playfully. “Oh, yeah. I forgot you’re completely oblivious to the muggle way of life. It’s a way of slicing up cheese.”

“Oh” he still looked perplexed. “I see. Cheese grater.”

“Go on then.” I said, pointing to a strange looking antiquity. “What’s this?”

“Hmm.” He peered at it closely. “It’s from the 1850′s, most likely the time of the Crimean War. Looks as if it was used as some kind of washing bowl.”

My eyes widened. “Seriously?”

“No.” He burst out laughing. “I have no idea what that thing is.”

I thumped him in the stomach.

Eventually, we left the museum and headed out into the muggle town. It was a pretty simple place, with a few high street stores and restaurants lining the road.

“I forgot to tell you I like your top.” Evan stated, examining the quote with a smirk. “‘Dream away your fears’. Very interesting.”

I laughed. “It’s not mine, though I have to say it’s kind of growing on me. It belongs to my sister. I don’t think you’ve met her.”

“No. Well, she certainly has an interesting fashion taste.”

“She does.”

“Is she a witch too?”

“No. She’s a muggle like my parents.”

“I see.”

I wanted to ask more about his family, but I wasn’t sure if I’d be intruding- I knew that they’d treated him badly. Hell, everyone knew about the notorious Black’s and their rebellious, runaway son. I also wanted to ask him how he felt about me- what it really was that we were. Of course, we’d been friends for a while, but I wanted to know if he could ever think of us as something more. Well, I thought, there’s no time like the present. Mustering up as much courage as I could, I took a deep breath. “Sirius…”

But his attention was suddenly captured by a display outside a little tourist shop on the high street. “Woah. Look at this.” he said, picking up the postcard and examining the picture of London on the back. “It’s like those muggle books you were on about! The pictures don’t move!”

I frowned. “You’ve never seen a post card?”

“Well, yeah of course I have. Obviously.” He ran a hand through his hair as I raised my eyebrows. I might not have been able to read his mind, but I had pretty good instincts when someone was lying. Sirius grinned at my expression. “Okay, maybe I haven’t.” He put the card back and pushed open the shop door. “Come on. Let’s look inside.”

It was a cramped shop, with little ornaments stacked on the shelves and dream-catchers hanging from the ceiling. Everywhere I looked there were pictures of London and the British flag adorned the walls, decorating almost everything under the roof.

I fiddled with a couple of dolls that someone had been hand-stitched almost perfectly, whilst Sirius disappeared somewhere behind a rack of fridge magnets. It reminded me of some of the stuff me and Mum used to make. She’d taught me to sew on her mother’s old sewing machine when I was younger, though I hadn’t put the hobby into practise for years now; it had felt too strange doing something we’d done together, without her.

“What’s that?’ Sirius appeared behind me, making me jump, and I placed the dolls down swiftly.

“Nothing.” I said quickly, noticing the piles of ‘Team GB’ sweets he was holding in his arms. “What have you got there?”

He smirked, and my stomach flipped a little. “Couldn’t help myself. What do you want? Strawberry laces or raspberry bonbons?”

“Strawberry laces, all the way.” I replied immediately, grinning. “I’m a sugar nut.”

He laughed. “I’d never have guessed.”

As we walked down the high street, feasting on our sweets, Sirius was smiling. It was the happiest I’d seen him so far- even in photos of him at premieres, he always wore the same brooding expression, but now there was a warmth in his eyes. “You know.” he said, manoeuvring past an elderly lady with a trolley, “My Mum always hated me eating sweets when I was little. I figured that’s why I like them so much.”

“Oh, you rebel.” I teased, bumping his arm gently. We walked side by side along the cobbled street, shoulders brushing, and I glanced up at him. “Do you still see her?” I asked, quietly. “Your mum?”

His smile fell, something in his eyes tightening. “No. I don’t see her.”

“Oh.” I didn’t know what else to say to that- I didn’t want to pry.

He sighed, jaw clenching. “She hasn’t tried to contact me since I moved in with the Potter’s, though I think she’s sent them a few howlers. They try to hide it from me, but I know what she’s like. I lived with her for sixteen years.” He laughed humorlessly. “I know by now that she’s a psychopath.”

My heart ached for him. “I’m sorry.” I said, meaning every word. “That you had to experience all that.”

He shrugged. “Don’t apologise. It’s no ones fault but hers. She can be sour all her life for all I care.” He shook his head, as if ridding himself of the negative thoughts, and glanced up at a sign down the street. A slow smirk spread across his features.

“What is it?” I asked, following his gaze.

“You said your idea of lunch as sausage and chips, right?”

“I think I can see where this is going.”

“Come on, I’ve never been to a ‘chippie shop’ before. Let’s do it.” He tugged me inside.

We sat down on the old picnic tables outside the restaurant, and Sirius handed me my battered sausage and chips. He didn’t hesitate and dug in, his eyes widening. “Oh my god.” he groaned, taking a bite of his own sausage. “This is divine.”

I watched him, holding back a laugh. With the sun shining down on him he looked incredible- his dark hair tucked behind his ears and his lightly tanned skin glowing in the light. “I can’t believe you’ve never done this before.” I told him, taking a bite of a chip. I had to admit they were insanely good.

“I can’t believe I’ve missed this. God, I feel deprived.”

“I think you were far from deprived, Sirius Black. Think of all the butter beers I missed in my childhood. The chocolate frogs, the exploding snap cards.”

He shook his head. “You’re not getting out of this one (Y/N). You’ve been holding out on me.”

I smiled.

We looked in a few more shops and then headed back up the cobbled street towards the museum for ice cream, our footsteps falling into sync. He was a lot taller than me, so I got the impression he was slowing down for my smaller strides. As we neared the museum courtyard, I looked up at the building as I’d often done when I was younger. “My mum always used to bring me here.” I said, feeling wistful. “She used to bring my favourite book and we’d read it on one of the benches.”

“What was your favourite book?” he asked, glancing at me.

“Charlie and the Chocolate Factory.” I replied, grinning. “I have a theory that it’s the root cause of my sweet tooth.”

He smiled, then his brow furrowed. “Do you miss her?” he asked, softly.

“Everyday.” Then my brow furrowed in confusion. “How did you know she was dead?”

For the first time, he looked sheepish. “I, er, heard you talking about it one time in the library. Sorry. I didn’t mean to pry.”

“That’s it’s okay. I’m just not used to people… knowing stuff about me.” I glanced at him, feeling a rush of shyness.

His eyes warmed. “Well, I think you’re worth knowing (Y/N).”

We headed back through the stone archway to the ice cream van parked in the middle of the patch of grass. “99 cone?” Sirius asked.

I laughed. Was this boy ever not hungry? “All the toppings, please.”

He handed me mine, careful not to spill any of the dripping sauce. “This is a thank you.” he announced. “For today, (Y/N). It was the most fun I’ve had in ages.”

At his words, so sincere, my heart hammered hard in my chest, soaring above with the clouds. “Thanks, Sirius.” I replied, biting back a smile. “Me too.”

He glanced at me, his eyes sparkling, and his face spread into a grin.

“You’ve got ice cream on your nose.” he stated, leaning towards me. And before I knew it, his lips were moulding onto mine. I felt as though my heart was going to explode right there and then as I reached up to entwine myself in him, forgetting all about the ice cream in my hand and only focusing on the fireworks exploding in my stomach, and the buzzing in my ears.

[toomanyfandomsinonebrain]

hi! I requested that imagine about Draco and the reader living with him for the summer and I would love it so much if you could write another part. if you aren't feeling it don't worry, but i really like what you wrote, thank you so so much!!

With pleasure! I am so glad you liked it)) I am thinking of making series, I like the idea so much)))) Hope you don’t mind.

Name: Plans for the summer Part 2. Hogwarts-ExpressPart 1

“Ready?” Malfoy appears next to you, as you are standing with the Golden Trio, saying the last ‘bye’ before leaving. Everyone stops talking, turning to you. Then to Malfoy, as if he was a poisonous snake. Or three.

“Malfoy? What did you forget here?” finally asks Ron, his face purple from the hatred that he just can’t control, no matter what happens.

“Y/N is spending the summer with me, Weasley,” calmly explain Draco, bored from the fact that he is talking to the Weasley. “Are you coming?”

“She is not!”

“Ron, I am,” you murmur. “He offered me to…”

“Y/N, you are drunk,” Ron offers the solution. “He must have drugged you. It is Malfoy!”

“I know. That’s why she is spending the summer with me, not with you,” giggles Draco, taking your elbow and pulling you away from the group. “We have to go,” you nod and follow him under the contemptuous glances of the entire school. You would stay and explain to them that you really don’t want to go home, but then you recall that not even one of your ‘friends’ thought of recalling that you hate being home. No one offered any help.

“That was… Why did you do it? Why not just meet in London?” you ask quietly. “Now everyone will know that you are spending the summer with me.”

“And you are afraid of it?” you shrug your shoulders. “Don’t be. It was a political move,” Draco notices that you frown, so he starts laughing, amused by the fact that you trusted it. “I am joking. It would be a deadly move, killing my reputation. And yours. And then mine again. You see... I am the bad guy, nothing will fix this reputation. Becoming friends with Potter’s friends... It will be frowned upon, seen as betrayal from the both sides.”

“Then why are you doing it?” he stops smiling, closing the compartment, so that no one else would join you.

“Because I just want to, Y/N,” you see that he is lying, but let it go - you still have two months of spending time together, he will at some point let it out.

“So…” you break the silence, as the train starts moving, leaving Hogwarts behind. “Does the summer plan include people? Either your people or mine?”

“No,” he smiles at you, then sees that you still want to know more. “It’s ok. I have no plan. It’s just spending the summer together. Peace, comfort, nice company. I do not want to pull you into the circle of Death Eaters, if that is what you are afraid of,” Draco takes out a book and pays all his attention to it, totally neglecting you. For the following four hours, you sit together in the compartment, both quite confused about how you are supposed to act, even though you both just read your books and are quite comfortable this way. Every once in a while, one of you looks at another one, but you never know.

“Fine,” Draco suddenly puts the book away and turns to you. “Tell me.”

“What?”

“Whatever it is you are thinking about. As long as it is not connected to the Gryffindor,” you put the legs on the seat and sigh.

“I was thinking about how stupid our world is,” he grins, running his fingers through his hair. “I mean… people try to be logical, at the same time they never are. Humans are just annoying. Why are you smiling?”

“You sound like someone who’s lost hope… What, you broke up with someone?” you roll your eyes. “I’m kidding. I would know. You just sound desperate.”

“So do you,” you murmur, and Malfoy frowns. “Come on, another way you wouldn’t invite a Gryffindor spend summer with you.”

“True… Maybe,” he smiles, as if he knows something that you don’t know. “You’ll never know, will you?”

“Merlin, Malfoy! How many secrets are you hiding?”

“Just a few,” he answers calmly, as the Trolley Witch passes by, offering you sweets. You simply ignore her. “The question is... why did you come with me? You could ask Weasley or Granger, or anyone from your own House to take you in... Yet you agreed to the offer of the Malfoy.”

“Then why did you offer?” you ask him back.

“Touché,” he smiles. “I will know why, Y/N.”

“So will I,” you promise, but the atmosphere doesn’t get tensed or nervous at all, as it would if Potter was here - you feel more like you should be joking around, annoying each other a little. “Where are we going at least?”

“Oh, the Malfoy mansion... Not the manor, I hate that place. We have a house next to a small lake in the forest, one of my ancestors built it for his wife. It is beautiful, given that there is a spell to push away the mosquitos,” the last sentence he adds quieter. “It was hateful before.”

“So... we are spending the summer in the lake house?” you smile.

“Yes, yes... I was supposed to ‘bring some friends’, but you may know that I am not a fan of either one of the school groups.”

“What, Draco Malfoy, the Slytherin Prince, is not fond of his House?” you mock him, then get serious. “Why?”

“I love my House, Y/N. Just that they are a little... overwhelmed. And acting on emotions. And that is a shame.”

“Being emotional is a shame?” you get interested. “Not that I am arguing, but what about good emotions? Or you all just block everything?”

“Oh, no! No, Y/N, please... Slytherin is the ambitious and extremely smart House, but in no way are we not loyal. We are, just it’s not our most famous quality,” Draco unbuttons his robe and pushes it inside his bag, really not as neat as you would expect him to be. “Slytherin is cunning. But also loyal. But we have to be, as all other Houses hate us so much, they hardly consider the option of befriending a first-year from Slytherin. How do you think the kids feel when they get sorted in Slytherin, and the whole school reacts with this face of Dumbledore when he has to give points to Slytherin?”

“I never thought about it,” you murmur.

“I know,” he acts like nothing is happening, when you suddenly reach out for him and carefully stroke his clenched fist.

“I am sorry. Looks like by we are not such a great school as Dumbledore says we are.”

“Right,” Draco laughs, but doesn’t take the hand away, as you keep stroking the cold skin with your fingertips. “You’d better take the robe off. We do not apparate.”

“We don’t?”

“No. We take another train, the muggle one, and make it to the closest town,” you don’t really trust your ears. “Y/N, the fact that I am a pureblood does not mean that I do not understand some advantages of the muggle transport. I am not my father, so obsessed with the blood.”

“I’ve noticed. I just never expected to hear you plan taking muggle train.”

“Did you expect me to even be here with you?” you both smile, understanding how absurd all of it is. “Just accept it. You don’t know me.”

“So true... So true,” you whisper, staring at him, trying to understand who the hell this person is. Malfoy smiles, as you take the robe off and put it in the beg. You really want to know why he offered you to spend the summer with him, why he is nice, and why you are here at all, but you know that he will avoid the answer again. So you give up for now.

“Wake up,” Draco stands up. “We are here. Let me show you how well the Malfoy you don’t know acts in the muggle world,” he offers you his hand, obviously acting it, so well-mannered, with a huge grin on his face. “May I lead, my lady?”

“Why, yes, noble sir,” you grin back, taking his hand and standing up. “I will be happy to follow you.”