#I'd investigate to see if the tag is Actually full of those posts (and to report them) or if tumblr is hiding them

[diabeticgirl4]

Also while I'm not questioning why #feminism is trending, I am questioning why all the posts displayed are. Like That.

[looniecartooni]

hello! i hope this isn't too weird but i'm a former winchester mystery house employee who checks the tag on a semi regular basis and i saw your post about the house not following traditional haunting rules and you are 100% correct!! among tour guides i don't think any of us believe the "she was trying to confuse spirits" or "a medium told her to build" narratives. popular theory among tour guides is literally just that she liked building (a pet theory of mine is that sarah may have been autistic and architecture was a special interest for her) and that there were likely no ghosts during her lifetime. the ghosts we're currently aware of are almost entirely former employees, and i expect in a hundred years or so those spirits will move on and the house will be full of ghostly tour guides.

this turned into a long ramble but basically you are totally right and i am SO glad to see someone who recognizes sarah as more than just "crazy ghost lady". i hope your essay went well :)

Hi!

OMG! An actual employee! My report was rushed and I didn't get enough to talk about the architecture, but I got an A. Captive of the Labyrinth by Mary Ignoffo (one of the few non-ghost centered sources I could find) does paint her as a bit of a "recluse" and "loner child" and there are a couple behaviors of hers that do feel like they could be Autistic (I speak as an Autistic myself trying to learn as much as they can about Autism for personal reasons). Mary also says that Lenard Pardee, Sarah's dad, worked in woodwork and had his own company and that during the height of Victorian architecture and design becoming like a worldly go-to style which may have influenced her as well. You might know more than I do on the matter- I can't find any records of his company and I currently don't have the book to investigate a source.

It would make a lot more sense ghost-logic-wise if Sarah herself or people that worked at the estate or frequently visited were the ghosts. Or if whoever owned the supposed original farmhouse that didn't pass on after Sarah started building would have done that.

I was watching a debunking video (one of those really lengthy ones) and I figured given how much everyone talks about the ghost stories in relation to Sarah while sleeping on the fact that this was a female philanthropist of the 19th-20th century trying her hand at architecture. It made for a good, original-ish Art History Senior thesis paper and I just wish I could have properly researched and wrote more about the art and architecture. There's way too much misinformation about her and ghosts.

Sorry- I'm rambling too lol. According to my research- she did just like building and really just wanted to make a really grand Victorian estate, taking bits and pieces of several movements or from county fairs and adapting parts of it to accommodate to her aging body. The 1906 earthquake also had a big impact on the "stairs that lead to nowhere". I'd say "grieving Autistic woman with special interest in building" is a lot more plausible than "ghosts murdered by rifle patented by husband's company has beef with wife or wants to help her build a house to prolong her life". I do believe in ghosts, but I really REALLY believe Sarah Winchester was done dirty by being associated with ghosts.

[technicolor-rhapsody]

I just saw that you wanted to try your hand at writing and I can’t wait to see your stuff.

I know this technically wasn’t one of the options. But what do you think would happen if John Constantine shared the same universe as The Lost Boys? Would they get along? Would he try to kill them? Would they fight over the reader?

@immortal-velociraptor

Thanks for the request! I certainly don't mind people suggesting crossovers or even things not on my list. I mainly made that as a quick guide I guess you can say.

You know I've actually thought about his before and it's a crossover I really love the thought of!

I think Santa Carla could easily be a place that makes it onto John's radar; a lot of possible jobs ya know? As far as how well he'd get along with the boys, I think it would depend on the situation. They'd probably give him a hard time, play games with him especially if he starts getting into their territory too much. A sort of frenemies situation. Unless of course John goes after one of them or even the reader if they're associated with the boys. The boys are not only protective of themselves but reader as well.

If the reader is part of the boys' little coven, I could see them trying to get reader to take a bote of him as part of initiation/becoming a full fledged vamp. Of course that's not an ideal situation considering the demon blood that's been mixed with his own. In that case, John's blood probably could act as a vampire repellent.

Let's say you have some sort of relationship with John. Be it friends or more like coworkers. You've been around the block. You know about magic, the supernatural and paranormal. The longer you're with him/around him, the less certain things surprise you anymore. Yet meeting the boys will give you butterflies. Even if you know there's something up with them, you just can't resist their charms. Sure, John's charming and good looking in his own way. These mysterious guys though? Talk about heart throbs. The minute the boys catch a hint of your interest it's hook, line and sinker for you. They'll try and reel you in. John's having none of it however.

I could see there being a scenario where John and the boys begrudgingly work together. Say one night the reader gets attacked and turned by another vampire. Now there's a lot of vamps in Santa Carla --- too many even. In exchange for helping find and kill the head vampire so you can become human again, David and the boys may want something magic related from John in return.

I've got a small little something under cut. Whether it would turn out to be anything or not is up in the air.

Santa Carla, California. Murder Capital of the World. The tag line you had seen painted on the charming sign as you, John and Chas had driven into town. The easiest explanation could have been just a bunch of teenagers tagging it for shits and giggles. After all, if this beach side town was truly a murder capital wouldn't it have been more well known? Sure, it seemed like tourists flocked to the city but otherwise you had never heard of it. When you had asked John if he knew anything about the area. The answer was no, but the name had sounded familiar.

The two of you had spent the day investigating the area. So far the only clues you found were a shit ton of missing persons posters posted around town and a couple of kids at a comic store insisting the place was overrun with vampires. You're not sure why the idea seems absurd considering some of the things you've encountered while with John.

By now the sun has set, welcoming in the night time. You and John have decided to visit the boardwalk. You noticed it during the day, and while it was filled with people during the day now it seemed even more lively.

"How likely is it that those kids were right and the only things here are bloodsuckers?"

John hums, leaning against one of the wooden rails. "I'd say pretty bloody likely." He lights up a cigarette and smirks. "No pun intended."

You laugh anyways. "Well then it should an easy job. How hard is it to find a demon in a sea of vampires?"

"Oi, bite your fuckin' tongue, love." He snorts before taking another drag of his cigarette. He holds it out to you, offering to share.

He starts rambling on but your attention is caught elsewhere. There's a group of guys whooping and hollering as they come out of what seems to be a record store. They're each so unique in their appearance. And absolutely gorgeous. There's the tall, shirtless brunette. There's a blonde that's just an inch shorter than him but he looks like he's part of a glam rock band. The shortest of the four had such an angelic face coupled with beautiful, golden ringlets. Lastly there was the bleach blonde whom had such icy blue eyes they could freeze a person on the spot. And that's exactly what happened.

You had made direct eye contact with the bleach blonde. He grinned and soon three other sets of eyes were on you. Each of the guys gave a smile that could stop your heart. These guys were trouble. But the kind of trouble that was exciting. Trouble that would make you feel alive.

You're snapped out of your daze when the ciggie is snatched from your grip when you failed to pass it back. John's mumbling about wasting a perfectly good cig. Even still you can't help but look at the spot where the rabblerousers had been. They're gone now; vanished in the blink of an eye. You face has grown warm.

John has taken notice of your intense stare and leans closer, his expression a bit more serious now. "Aye lass, wot you see? Somethin' worth checking out?"

"Oh! Um no. Just....a lot of strange people." It's not a complete lie. You finally glance at John. He squints his eyes at you a moment then shrugs, relaxing his body.

"Maybe we should walk around more. If nothing else, enjoy the local sights?" You suggest, putting on an innocent smile. "I do really want to ride the carousel."

[ethereal-not-occult]

patience and the mulberry

"With time and patience, the mulberry leaf becomes a silk gown."

Fandom: Good Omens Rating: General Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens) Characters: Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale (Good Omens) Additional Tags: Post-Canon, Established Relationship, Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), Fluff and Angst, Character(s) of Color, Sericulture, silkworms, past religious trauma, but nothing bad happens in this fic I promise, mixed bookverse w/ TV elements, references to Chinese culture Notes: Originally written for the @goodomensfashionzine​ !

“I'll only be a minute, dear.” Aziraphale kissed Crowley's cheek as he opened the door of the Bentley. “You don't have to see me to the door if you don't want to.”

Crowley tightened his grip on the wheel. “Sure, angel. Sounds good to me.” The sibilants slid far too quickly past his clenched jaw, and he bit his tongue to stop the instinctive hiss from escaping.

Aziraphale gave him a sympathetic look, but shut the Bentley's door behind him and soon disappeared through the doors of the church. Once he was out of sight, Crowley slumped forward slightly, sliding his sunglasses up and rubbing at his eyes. A few deep breaths later, and he felt composed enough to exit the Bentley himself in blatant disregard for the “NO PARKING” sign on the curb.¹

[¹ Given his new job position (or lack thereof), lawbreaking was no longer a necessity, but old habits die hard.]

The bright afternoon sun made him wince a bit, and two robins in a nearby bush were getting frisky in a way he would never be able to unhear, but they made it easier to forget the distant wail of air sirens. Even standing out on the road, Crowley's skin prickled faintly with the remembered sting of consecrated ground.

He pushed the feeling aside and walked resolutely forward. Aziraphale was bound to take his sweet time as he mooned over the church's dusty old tomes, but Crowley had his own investigations to conduct while he waited. No rest for the wicked and all that.

The concrete pavement under his snakeskin shoes gave way to grass, and the tingling sensation in his soles faded. Soon he found himself at his intended destination—an Edenic grove of mulberry trees, clustered together in a ring in the church's backyard. He'd spotted them on the drive over and couldn't resist the temptation of a closer look.

Crowley wandered into the garden with a scrutinizing eye. They were young, for trees, but growing well despite their callowness. A particularly stocky sapling hardly flinched when Crowley gave it a token glare, much to his disappointment. Then again, outdoor plants were rarely as well-behaved as properly cowed houseplants. It seemed this attitude persisted even in ecclesiastic gardens such as these.

He cast a surreptitious glance over his shoulder, then reached a hand up into the tree's umbrella-like branches and tugged. The season wasn't quite right for fruits, but he still withdrew clutching a handful of dark ripe mulberries. Hardly apples, but his lips twitched upwards nonetheless. He plucked a berry from the pile and raised it to his lips.

“Zaoshang hao!”

Only a hasty miracle saved Crowley from choking as he jumped and swiveled around. Hovering right outside the churchyard was a middle-aged human, well-dressed and smiling pleasantly at him. Judging by her formal clothing and the Bible she carried, she was a part of the congregation, maybe even the priest herself. Crowley swallowed and stepped backwards.

“Ni shi jiaohui de xinshou ma?” the human called again, picking her way across the dewy grass in his direction. Crowley eyed the Bible she held, willing himself not to break out into hives.

“Um. Wo bu—er, no. I'm not new. Not here for church at all, actually.” He fidgeted and clasped his hands, still full of pilfered mulberries, behind his back. “Just waiting for someone.”

The human raised an eyebrow. “You're welcome to wait inside, if you like,” she said, also switching to English. “I reckon we still have biscuits left from the children's morning service—”

“No!” Crowley said too quickly, and perhaps too sharply. He winced. “I mean. That won't be necessary. I'd much rather stay out here, if it isn't too much trouble.”

The human gave him a Look. Crowley's cheeks heated and he averted his eyes, willing his sunglasses a few shades darker.

“Beautiful, aren't they?”

Crowley's head shot back up. The human had turned her back to him and was running a hand through the glossy green leaves of the nearest mulberry tree. Crowley could practically see the branches stretch out in delight beneath her touch, like a purring cat.

“Volunteers from our congregation take care of them,” the human continued, smiling at the young tree. “The kids here like raising silkworms, you see, and we welcome them to pick leaves from the trees each week to feed them.”

Silkworms. Of course. Despite himself, a hazy memory rose to the forefront of his mind: Sichuan, China, several hundreds of years ago. A family farm, weathered and cozy and oozing enough sheer goodness to make the average demon ill with it. Crowley wouldn't normally be caught dead in such a place, but he had owed a favour to the angel. His fingers twitched at the phantom memory of butter-soft silk fibres against his skin; long, winding threads that stretched out thin and fine, tangling so easily around his uncertain fingers. With this memory came the golden, moon-round face of a child he hadn't thought about in centuries, grinning toothily as they held out a box to him, a box filled with small pale larvae that wriggled among the spade-shaped leaves. “Zhe jiao can.”

Crowley forced himself to return to the present. The human was speaking to him.

“—waiting on Mr. Fell?” she asked.

Crowley blinked. Shook himself a little. “Yeah. He's helping out with the restoration of some old manuscript or other.”

The human smiled again. It was an unnervingly piercing expression. “I'm aware. I was the one who requested his help. Such a lovely man. Are you a friend of his?”

Crowley tensed. “His husband, actually.”

He braced himself, but the human only brightened. “Goodness, then you must be Mr. Crowley! Mr. Fell talks ever so much about you. Finally gone and tied the knot then, have you?”

Before Crowley could stammer out a reply, something dinged loudly, making him jump. The human pulled a phone out from her pocket and squinted at the screen.

“Sorry, I have to run back inside. But it was lovely meeting you, Mr. Crowley.” She stuck out a hand—thankfully not the one that had been holding the Bible—and after a brief hesitation, Crowley shook it. As quickly as she had arrived, the human disappeared from the garden, leaving Crowley alone and off-kilter amid a grove of mulberry trees.

---

Aziraphale emerged from the church around an hour later to find Crowley seated on the curb next to the Bentley, basking in the last rays of the afternoon sun as he scrolled through his phone.

“My dear,” the angel sighed. His joints creaked as he eased himself down to sit next to Crowley on the roadside. “Don't tell me you've been sitting here the entire time.”

“Nope,” Crowley said, popping the ‘p’. “I toured the gardens for a bit. Swiped some fruits, too. The mulberries aren’t half-bad, for a bunch of church plants, but they’ll need a good deal more threatening before they're really up to snuff.”

Crowley stopped when he saw Aziraphale chewing his lip, brow furrowed as he studied Crowley's face. Now it was Crowley's turn to sigh.

“Really, angel. It's fine. I was hardly bored.”

The expression didn't leave Aziraphale's face. A soft brown hand reached out and brushed aside stray wisps of hair from Crowley's forehead. The demon hadn't bothered to cut it since the Apocalypse-that-wasn't, and it was growing longer and more unruly by the day.

“I'm fine.” Crowley caught Aziraphale's hand and held it, carefully. He pressed his lips against the well-manicured fingers. “It was years ago, angel, and we both came out of it all right. You don't need to worry about me.”

Aziraphale still looked vaguely distressed as Crowley drew him close. With the sun setting behind him, framing his face and curly dark hair in a golden halo, he was the most beautiful thing Crowley had ever seen.

He kissed him then, right there on the road, in full sight of the church and probably Someone Else, too, if She happened to be watching at that particular moment. Once, he would've been terrified of such a public display, but he hadn't gone through hellfire and holy water to care anymore about what others thought of them.

As he helped Aziraphale into the Bentley, he noticed abruptly that the angel was carrying what appeared to be a shoebox, of all things, along with his usual camelhair coat.

“What on Earth is that?”

“Oh!” Aziraphale carefully pushed the box over to Crowley. “Mrs. Lao gave it to me once I'd finished with those manuscripts. She said it was a gift for you, actually. Have the two of you met before?”

Crowley stared down at the box, baffled. “We talked for a bit in the gardens just now, but I can’t imagine why…”

He trailed off, and his mouth dropped open as Aziraphale eased open the lid and beheld the contents with a raised eyebrow.

“Good heavens. Are those caterpillars?”

“Silkworms,” Crowley corrected automatically, leaning in for a closer look. There were so many of them, somehow both smaller and larger than he remembered, all white and wiggly and chomping away busily at the layers of mulberry leaves filling their box. None of them paid any attention whatsoever to their occult observers hovering above them.

“Why would she give you such a thing? Not that they aren't dear little creatures,” Aziraphale added hastily, glancing into the box, “but I doubt I have the means to keep them in the bookshop.”

“No need,” Crowley said before he could stop himself. “I can raise 'em in my flat.”

Aziraphale gave him a curious look. “You know how to care for these… insects?”

“Yeah.” Crowley gently shut the lid of the inhabited shoebox and curled a hand around the Bentley's stick-shift. “I've done something like this, before. I know what I'm doing.”

“If you say so.” Suddenly Aziraphale chuckled. At Crowley's affronted look, he demurred, “I'm not making fun, my dear. It's only that you still manage to surprise me, even after all these years.”

Aziraphale leaned in and pecked Crowley's cheek, making him blush red and sputter. Much to his disgruntlement, the Bentley chirped a light-hearted rendition of Haydn's Crazy Little Thing Called Love all the way home.

---

Crowley had spent the past eleven years co-parenting the Antichrist with Aziraphale.² They had faced this challenge head-on, and in his opinion, it hadn’t gone too shabbily. Now, without the threat of the Apocalypse hanging over his head, becoming a surrogate parent was far less daunting the second time around.

[² Even if young Warlock hadn't really been the son of Satan, it was the principle of the thing.]

Still, Crowley worried. He had always been something of a worrier, and that hadn't changed even after the First Day of the Rest of Their Lives.

After dropping off Aziraphale at the bookshop, Crowley returned to his flat, where he commenced the preparations for introducing his unexpected twenty-odd guests to their new home. This was accomplished by miracling up a small glass aquarium onto his desk, lining the bottom with paper towels, and carefully (read: nervously) placing the silkworms one by one into the tank. Once this was done, Crowley scattered the half-eaten mulberry leaves from the box around the aquarium. The silkworms set upon their interrupted lunch with all the enthusiasm of Aziraphale devouring a meringue pie at the Ritz.

Crowley slumped into his chair, took off his sunglasses with a wince, and rested his chin on his desk, staring into the glass tank.

“I raised your ancestors once, you know,” Crowley informed the wriggling creatures. “Tiny farm in China several centuries back. We'd weave branches together into a tray and let you loose inside. Bit like how manmade beehives work, or something.”

Crowley paused. Watched one silkworm slowly inch its way across a stem to tackle a new section of leaf. “‘Course, humans use wire mesh nowadays, but the general premise is the same. Always thought it was bloody clever, what humans could come up with. If you gave me a bunch of moth larvae and told me to make a living out of them, I definitely wouldn't think to make clothes.” He snorted. “Whoever came up with that, I'd like a glass of whatever they were drinking.”

The silkworms munched on. They ate much faster than they crawled, that was certain. In the quiet walls of his flat, away from prying human eyes, Crowley loosened the knot of his silk tie and tugged it off, easing the tightness around his neck.

“You're the ones who made this, in a sense,” he said, waving the tie at them. He laid the tie beside one glass wall of the tank at just the right angle for the inhabitants within to see. Several silkworms looked up curiously.

Crowley tossed his suit jacket aside, then unbuttoned his shirt collar. He had always prided himself on his sharp, modern attire over the years, the better to tempt humans with—or so he claimed. Despite repeated scoldings from his superiors, his Lust quotas had never been quite up to par.

Sufficiently dishevelled, and feeling all the freer for it, Crowley sank back into his chair to watch the silkworms.

“The only thing I didn't like about the process was the boiling,” he murmured. “Logically, I can see why it was done. And you would all be in cocoons, so it's not like you'd be in any pain. Not like I was.” He exhaled, the sound becoming a low hiss. “But still. Never liked it. Always felt like an awful lot of trouble just for the sake of some silk threads.”

One particularly adventurous silkworm had nosed its way upwards and was now creeping over the edge of the tank opening. Crowley made a mental note to devise a lid of some kind and stuck his finger against the lip of the tank. The silkworm crawled onto his hand without any hesitation. Tentatively, he drew it closer. Its many feet stuck stubbornly to his skin, and it reared up as he approached, swaying slightly, its mandibles twitching.

Crowley stared at the silkworm. The silkworm stared back, and seemed disappointed when Crowley had nothing else to offer. Just to prove it wrong, Crowley materialized a single large mulberry leaf in his other hand and presented it to the insect, who fell upon it with gluttonous enthusiasm.

Staring at the miracled leaf, an idea formed in Crowley's mind. He smiled, slowly.

“I need a hobby, now that I'm jobless,” he said aloud to the silkworm, letting it creep onto his palm. He ran a careful finger over its smooth back. “I think I'll take up sericulture again, for old time's sake.” He reached back into the tank and gently encouraged the silkworm to crawl back inside.

“Humans have to boil you alive to get those nice unbroken threads off your cocoons,” Crowley mused, withdrawing his hand. “Fortunately, I don't have to do things the human way.” He lowered himself until he was eye-level with the inhabitants of the tank. The silkworm he had carried paused in its perpetual eating and turned its head, almost like it was looking at him.

“How's this?” Crowley asked. “You'll be able to grow into a fuzzy, fully grown silk-moth, and I can take your cocoon after you've finished with it and miracle the threads whole again.” He paused and mulled it over. “I guess I could take it a step further and just miracle the finished silk together, but there's still something to be said about the human way of doing things.”

The silkworm bobbed the front half of its body as though in agreement. Crowley smiled again.

“We can make silk, and no one gets hurt. I'm a few hundred years out of practice, but I'm sure I could make it work, somehow.”

The silkworm turned its attention back to its meal. Crowley didn't notice. He was too busy wondering if Aziraphale had any old texts on silk-weaving that he could borrow, just so he could refresh his memory.

The angel would appreciate having a new silk bowtie to add to his collection.

---

Thank you for reading! Replies and reblogs are always much appreciated. <3

[treacherycuphq]

are you able to expand a little on how ministry characters could fit into the plot? i'd like to write a ministry official but i'm a little worried they might not fit into gameplay as well as a quidditch player

YES, WE WOULD LOVE TO ! FIRST OFF, WHAT A GOOD QUESTION. ALTHOUGH WE UNDERSTAND YOUR CONCERN, WE'RE ACTUALLY SUPER EXCITED SOMEONE WANTS TO TAKE AN ALTERNATE ROUTE WITH A MINISTRY OFFICIAL - IT'S EXACTLY WHAT WE'VE BEEN ENCOURAGING ! WHAT WE REALLY WANT TO SEE, MORE THAN ANYTHING, IS A UNIQUE CHARACTER YOU'RE EXCITED ABOUT, BECAUSE YOUR PERSONAL TOUCH IS WHAT MAKES ALL THE DIFFERENCE !

LOOKING AHEAD, OUR PLOT DROPS ARE GOING TO BE WRITTEN IN A WAY THAT DIRECTS CHARACTERS INTO DIFFERENT SCENARIOS; NO ONE WILL EVER BE LEFT OUT, AND ALL THE DYNAMICS/SCENARIOS WILL INTERPLAY WITH ONE ANOTHER. NO MATTER WHAT, QUIDDITCH PLAYER OR OTHERWISE, YOUR CHARACTER WILL HAVE A PLACE HERE. HAVING AN IDEA OUTSIDE OF THE NORM MAKES YOU ALL THE MORE APPROACHABLE, AND WE'RE SO EXCITED SOMEONE IS INTERESTED IN THIS ROUTE, YOU WILL NOT BE WANT FOR PLOTS ;)

OVER ON OUR WANTED IDEAS PAGE, WE LISTED THE MINISTRY DEPARTMENTS THAT COULD FIT IN THIS VERSE. ( ALTHOUGH AURORS AREN'T ON THE OFFICIAL LIST, THEY'RE PERFECTLY ACCEPTABLE AS WELL ! )

UNDER THE CUT, WE TOSSED OUT SOME MORE IDEAS. WE'LL ADD THESE TO OUR WANTED IDEAS TAG AS SOON AS THIS IS POSTED. HAPPY MUSINGS & THANKS FOR THIS QUESTION !!!!

AUROR / AUROR IN TRAINING: your character works for the Department of Magical Law Enforcement ( in some capacity ). With the change in behavior from the Irish teams, and the discrepancies at the end of the Falmouth Falcons' last season, there's enough evidence for your character to get the pinprick that something may be amiss. Maybe they're investigating intel from an alleged INSIDIO victim? Maybe they're tracking a rumored Death Eater across the region, in search of clues ( even if they're not supposed to be )? Maybe they've been stationed for patrols at local stadiums / pitches as a punishment or an accolade for recent behavior? Maybe they've been called in by Quidditch Central to arrest the illegal bookies that've been hanging around Bencher's Pitch? Maybe they're... just really big Quidditch fans?

A STICKLER FOR THE RULES: your character could be employed under the British & Irish League Headquarters' departments, which means they probably operate out of the Quidditch Central location beneath London. Since there's a department for everything at the Ministry, this one seems to be heavily reliant on paperwork, given the need to constantly utilize other departments to help keep the Quidditch season running smoothly. Ministry officials for Quidditch Central are required to keep a staunch line of morality, pledging complete & total impartialness to verify the authenticity of the game. They also outrank any outsourced officials, by default. With that being said, they seem to constantly have to outsource - which means a lot of investigations into Muggle infractions, unregulated equipment, ticket scalpers, misuse of resources, corruption of outsourced officials, flamboyancy of fanfare and more! They can't fire anybody from the Ministry, but they can blackball them from being used by Quidditch Central in the future ( and could make their life hell in other ways, if they're vindictive enough... ) Maybe they've already got their hands full with their job, and can't even fathom the effects of INSIDIO at the moment? Or maybe INSIDIO has made their life hell, as Butterbeer vendors report stadium-wide sicknesses and entire teams of Quidditch players get suspended for unsportsmanlike violence? No matter what the trouble, your character has the hard line of their morality to guide them, and is desperate for things to follow the rules & regulations in place, as was always intended. But what will they do to achieve that? Is one rule broken worth a thousand rules saved?

DIPLOMATS / AMBASSADORS: your character works for the Foreign Affairs in Sports office at the Ministry, and damn, it's a cush gig. Taking foreign diplomats to Quidditch games to show off the British & Irish League prowess, talking gameplay strategy as they wish upon their lucky stars that their team makes it to the European League's qualifiers. It's a great position for a character who loves rubbing elbows with all the right people, a proper sycophant, although maybe their plans are more heinous than one would think... Maybe they purposely make arrangements so star players on foreign teams get traded to their favorite, instead? Maybe they have ties to the Death Eaters, and are trying to grow You-Know-Who's powerful control over the Dark Arts underground? Maybe they have ties to the Order, and are trying to secure any & all kinds of help for their cause? Or maybe, they're the best at what they do, courting diplomats and wooing ambassadors, but it's hard to outshine a truly embarrassing team like the Cannons, who are so bad that one might even postulate they're cursed...

RUN OF THE MILL: your character is just an average Ministry worker, working for any one of the following departments: Improper Use of Magic, Obliviator, Muggle-Worthy Excuses, Invisibility Taskforce, Muggle Liaison, Broom Regulatory Control, Portkey Office. How do these jobs play into the Quidditch fanfare? Does your character hate their job and/or the Quidditch Central workers, or maybe your character loves their job & is happy to help for the sake of the game? Does your character separate business from pleasure, or do they happily bet on teams and engage in the fanfare, because only Quidditch Central workers have to be "totally impartial." Maybe they use their job as an excuse to attend every game for their favorite team; maybe they even picked up a sponsorship, or maybe they just look the other way whenever their favorite team breaks protocol ( but just this once, right? ). Or maybe, everything was fine until the INSIDIO phenomenon began, and now their life is in disarray; did they accidentally fall under the curse for some time? Have they caught any nefarious suspects attempting to taint the Butterbeer? What about those shady people always hanging around pitches nowadays? Is their line of work frustrating, and because of this, they have a reason to turn toward the dark side, and possibly help the Death Eaters in their quest - as long as there's something in return? Or maybe their line of work is fulfilling, and they're desperately trying to make everything work, despite the abrupt changes in the UK wizarding population, as of late. Have they put all the clues together yet? Will they ever?

[lost-your-memory]

here's a prompt I'd love to see you write! Kara is sent as a reporter to "investigate" Earth-2, and while there she meets her doppelganger and the two really hit it off, going from an interview to drinks to a night spent together. Afterwards Kara tells this whole experience to Cat. Doesn't have to be angsty :)

It was an interesting prompt and I cheated a little to be able to stay coherent with the whole universe but I hope it suits you anyway ! 

“New topic Danvers, you’re going to Earth 2 and I want a five pages article about the difference between our world and the second one.”Snapper is even grumpier than ever and Kara simply nods. She thinks that sometimes, her new boss standards are even higher than the ones Miss Grant used to set. He’s not even looking at her, walking around his bullpen and moving post-its around on his board, purposely ignoring her as she tags along, waiting for the rest of the instructions she knows he’s going to bark at some point.“5 points, top. I want politics analysis, demographic statistics, ecological report and a general cultural background, that you can measure to our world with relevant data.”His voice is raw and raspy and he’s walking even faster. She takes mental notes of everything and then she frowns, slightly.“And the last point?”She thinks she sees the shadows of a smirk on the man’s lips but it’s gone as fast as it appeared and he finally looks at her, an incredulous sparkle shining in his narrowed eyes.“Do keep up, Danvers. I want to know if Earth two has a Supergirl or some kind of superhero to protect National City. If you can find out more information about others like her in the world, that’s even better but if you can’t, focus on National City.”With that, he’s stepping into the elevator and pulling his glasses down on his nose to look at a bunch of papers he’s just picked up. The doors close on him and she sighs.Her phone chimes to let her know she has a text and she pulls it out. It’s from the man who just left and she groans.Snapper : I want it for yesterday, Danvers.

—She uses Cisco’s device to travel to Earth 2, after a short visit to the first one to have a movie night with the Allen-West & Co little makeshift family.She lands in a place she immediately remembers.It’s the deserted alley behind Noonan’s and it’s a few minutes away from the CatCo Plaza. She likes the familiarity of it, the strong scent of coffee swirling in the air, mixed with the fresh dough of cinnamon rolls and the unique smell of boiled milk. She smiles and takes a deep, deep breath before adjusting her outfit and pulling her glasses higher up on her nose.She’s here as Kara Danvers, reporter for the CatCo magazine and she really hopes that for once, she won’t have to be Supergirl.—As it turns out, Earth two doesn’t have a Supergirl.She’s at Noonan’s to jostle a few points on her notepad so she can have a clear line of what she needs to do and all the information she has to gather when the images on the muted TV above the counter captures her attention.Her jaw all but drops and she stares, dumbfounded, at the face of her sister, displayed on the screen with a bright caption underneath.National City’s champion engaged in a deadly combat with the Last Child of Daxam.She almost chokes on her coffee when she sees the face of Alex’s lookalike opponent. She could have guessed from the title on the caption but it still takes her by surprise and she notices the differences. He’s smaller, larger and his eyes are as black as a moonless night.She’s at loss as to what to do, feeling terrified for that woman who looks exactly like Alex but who isn’t her sister but soon enough, the fight is over and the Daxamite is being dragged by a team of men in black. She squints, hoping to identify them as DEO but they’re gone too fast for her to make out anything helpful.The camera focuses on the woman who saved the city and zooms, capturing a smile and a pair of soulful, shining eyes as she effortlessly hovers a couple of inches above the ground. She’s flying but there’s no cape billowing behind her and the black of her suit is sparkling under the flashing lights. It looks like it’s made of some kind of flexible metal that follows every single one of her movements and there’s no crest on her chest, no visible sign of any kind.She tilts her head to the side in a gesture that is all too familiar to Kara and then, up, up, up and away she flies.The woman doesn’t seem to have a superhero identity and the news only refers to her as National City’s champion.It’s odd and strange but then again, it’s a whole new world, Kara thinks.—She goes from strange discovery to heart-wrenching tragedy, in this strange universe she’s supposed to investigate.CatCo exists but it’s not a media empire, it’s a production company that produces movies, TV shows and some very prestigious documentaries. Kara finds out that it’s even bigger than the Walt Disney company, in her world and she’s stunned when she learns it’s been created by one talented Cat Grant, art prodigy and business genius.She’s thrown off by the unsettling familiarity of all those differences.She derives from her official researches to dig a little more and she finds out Lucy Lane is a well-known reporter in Metropolis and about to marry President’s daughter. She smiles at that but then her heart weeps a little when she scrolls down on Lucy’s biography. It says Lois Lane died in a shooting but there are no details. No title for Lois, no explanation surrounding her death and Kara digs around a little.She discovers Lois Lane was the leader of a rebellious, terrorist group that tried to have the president Luthor assassinated. She resisted when the army went to take her down and they had to shoot her.It makes her heart bleed a little and she weeps even more when she learns that Lois’s fiancé, Clark Kent, is still purging his sentence in Metropolis’s prison.Apparently, Barry wasn’t kidding when he told her Earth 2 was the one with the bad doppelgangers.—She stumbles upon a robbery in National City main avenue, as she exits the public library, and she realizes how much Barry’s words were true.She’s walking in a small crowd when she hears the gunshots and she has to force herself to act like a civilian instead of listening to her instincts. She runs to go hide herself behind a car and only then she risks a glance towards the stage of the action.She stares in bewilderment, thinking the universe, in every earth that exist, has a funny sense of humor.The doppelgangers of Winn and James are here, shooting in the air to clear a path towards the fancy shops full of jewelry and pretty, rich things. They are carrying fancy technological weapons but they use the common one to shoot and scare people away.The police’s sirens howl in the distance and there’s a familiar windy sound, followed by the crack of a superforce hitting the ground. National City’s champion is here, tall and strong and Kara is blown away by this woman who looks so much like her sister, back on Earth 38.The combat is weird and unfair as evil Winn and James are using ice and fire against the city’s hero and Kara realizes that National City’s champion doesn’t have heat vision or icing breath.In the end, the evil robbers drives away and Alex’s lookalike takes off into the night, leaving the police to deal with the mess.Kara’s left staring at the street and the words are out of her mouth before she can even think them.“You have got to be kidding me.”—She sees herself.She stares at this Earth 2 version of Kara Danvers, climbing out of a police car, all geared up like a cop and dangling a messing ponytail around as she barks orders and directives.It doesn’t stop just there because now she’s picking up on a familiar voice, rich and deep and with some well hidden accents of Spanish and soon enough, there’s a version of Maggie Sawyer following her Earth-2 version of herself.Her head spins and her mind goes blank for a few seconds, because it’s too much to take in.—“Whow. You look just like my partner here. It’s … kind of creepy actually.”She lets out a dry chuckle at Maggie’s words.There’s one thing she never realized about crime scenes, it’s the protocol and procedures the cops have to follow through. As Supergirl, she’s used to leaving before the dust of the fight has even settled but now that she’s trying to act like a normal civilian, she has to give a statement and to wait for a cop to let her go.It’s embarrassing. She didn’t think this thing through and now, she sees the Earth-2 version of herself approaching from behind Maggie, who is still staring at her with awe and wonder in her dark, chocolate eyes.“Hi. Are you done with …”She meets deep, deep blue eyes and the world stops for a while.She’s looked at herself in a mirror before but this, this is beyond words and she couldn’t even try to describe the mixed feelings that makes her whole body vibrate and tingle.It’s unnerving and fascinating at the same time, to see a perfect reflection of herself have a personality, an attitude and emotions that are not hers.They stare at each other for what seems like a whole eternity but then, Maggie’s voice comes between them.“Hi, Kar’. Miss Teschmacher here was just giving me her statement but to be honest, I was just too struck by how much she looks like you. It’s scary, really.”Kara tries not to wince at the familiarity between the two cops. It’s already so weird to look at her clone, she doesn’t need to know what is happening between Earth-2 Kara and Earth-2 Maggie.“It’s … fascinating.”Kara almost gasps because even her clone’s inflections are the same as hers. It’s deep but a little sweet and even though it lacks her usual sunny disposition, she can imagine that being called on a crime scene can erode the optimism, on the long term.“Uh, yes, kind of, I guess” She stutters a little because really, that whole situation feels entirely surreal and she hopes she can escape it right away.“Alright, Miss Teschmacher, you’re free to go. We have your number if we need more information.” Maggie says before turning on her heels to go talk to a rookie.Kara let out a relieved sigh and wanders away.—She jumps when her phone, her Earth-38 phone rings.It’s a reflex, something she’s acquired along all those years working for Cat Grant, she picks up.The voice at the other end of the line is hers and for a whole minute, she can’t reply. Her clone asks, almost shyly, if they can meet for a drink and Kara doesn’t even know what that means but she’s curious and a little dizzy too, so she says yes.—It goes incredibly smoothly.She meets her other self in a bar and after a brief moment of panic when she recognizes Hank Henshaw as the bartender, she sits in one side of a booth. Sat across the polished table, facing her, is that improbable version of herself with deep, deep blue eyes and a smile brighter than the sun itself.She’s wearing a pair of ripped off jeans and a worn-out light Grey sweater with the faded black and bold NYPD letters plastered on her chest and she notices, for the first time, that her clone doesn’t wear glasses.That’s why the blue is so deep and bright and free, in her sparkling eyes. It’s like watching the sun shines over an ever clear ocean.“I know it’s unusual and maybe not very professional but I wanted to see you again. I’m … drawn to you in a way I can’t even explain.”Kara opens her mouth but there’re no words coming out of it and she just looks at her clone. She’s scanning that face that is exactly like hers, up to the scar above her eyes and the very slight curl around her lips. It’s deranging and yet fascinating.“That’s … That’s okay. I’m actually curious. I’ve never … I mean, I can’t believe I’ve never seen you before. You’re … me.” It’s an incoherent ramble but the local version of Kara Danvers doesn’t seem to mind. She smiles and waves a waitress to order a bourbon.She shakes her head and simply asks for a club soda, not wanting to drink, not when the whole world is already spinning on itself and she’s feeling so dizzy, so unsteady.Earth-2 Kara arches a brow but doesn’t push it.—Three hours later, she’s drunk and laughing openly with the woman everyone else assumes is her twin sister.Three times, people came to ask if they were sisters, awe and wonder clear on their face.It turns out, she doesn’t have her high tolerance to alcohol here.She knows she has all her other powers, she tested her hearing and supervision when she’s taken off her glasses under the pretext of cleaning them, but she’s vulnerable to the effect of alcohol.That’s how she ended up drinking sweet, sugary cocktails while her clone self lined up the double Bourbon.It’s easy and it shouldn’t be, to talk to that version of herself she ignores everything about.—It’s one AM and she’s drunk, she’s drunk and she’s naked in a bed she doesn’t know.The body atop of herself however, is familiar in a way she can’t fully explain. It’s herself but it’s not her and she’s spinning in lust, want and desire. There’s a pang of guilt tugging at her heart but it goes away when fingers dig in her flesh and caresses her center.—She jolts awake, sweat drenching her whole body, eyes wide and breathing shallow, ragged.There’s a good number of eyes on her and she looks around in a frantic, desperate way to chase away the reminiscence of something she can’t even begin to think about.She’s at the DEO, safely tucked under the sun bed. It was all a dream, nothing was real. Nothing happened.She passes out under the weight of her relief.—“You’re telling me that, when you were in your weird coma, you just dreamed of another earth, one where you … slept with your doppelganger?”Cat’s voice sounds both incredulous and amused. Kara winces and hides her face under a pillow, groaning from underneath it. It’s not funny and she stills feels a little nauseous about the whole experience, even knowing nothing was real, that it was all the fruit of her coma-imagination.“It’s not funny.” She groans and she smiles against the sheet when she feels Cat’s hand strokes the muscles of her back.It’s been five days since she woke up but she’s still a little weak and vulnerable and she needs a daily dose of sun-powered rest.Cat’s been there the whole time, making a scene in the DEO lobby when agents tried to take her away.It was Alex, who pleaded her cause to Hank and the martian finally, finally caved and let Cat stay. Of course, the CEO of one of the most powerful media empire of the world had to sign a ridiculous amount of papers and confidentiality agreements but she did it without a fuss.Now, they were back at Cat’s place and Kara finally had brought herself to tell the whole dream to the other woman.Who was clearly struggling to get her mind around the story here.“You slept with yourself, Alex was some kind of Supergirl, Winn and James were Bonnie and Clyde, Maggie was your partner because right, you were a cop and I was … a female Walt Disney?” The last words are sharp and disdainful and it makes Kara laugh.“Yes, a very loved one if I remember correctly.” She does, remember. Everything. It haunts her nights and sometimes even her days too.“Ugh. Lionel Luthor was president, greater Lane was the actual Lois and about to marry Lena Luthor when your cousin was in prison for having tried to kill the president and Lois …” Cat trails off and there’s something strangled in her voice when she pronounces that name. She doesn’t say it out loud often, Kara remembers. It’s loaded, it’s a wound that didn’t heal correctly.“Can you please stop talking about this? I dread the day I will have to tell Alex about it… I will never, never hear the end of it.” She groans again and the sound of Cat’s laugh fills the room. It helps, that Cat is taking it with humor. Mostly.“Alright, Darling.”Kara pokes her head out of under the pillow and throws a suspicious look at Cat Grant, who is not famous for giving up when asked.“Oh, don’t worry. I’m not done with that chapter but for now … I would rather focus on something else.” Cat says and her voice is low and husky, lined with desire as her hand wanders across Kara’s skin.Kara smiles and shuffles closer to Cat to ask for a kiss. She’s a breath away from her lover’s mouth when she hears the question.“Wait, did you sister really kill that daxamite man-child you’re calling a friend?”Kara groans and makes her shut up with a deep, messy and hungry kiss.