#also I do not believe that in any way shape or form said death hex would work cause like wtf

[stellarphileistic]

Idk man just the fact that you were actively waiting for me to die and even went as far as to put a death hex on me does kinda affect my decision that I am no longer going to be ur tattoo artist.

[ithoughtthiswastwitterbutfr]

WandaVision Episode 8 spoilers

Ok I heard this episode is sad so I’m prepared to cry and ruin my eyeliner.

I’m just emotionally preparing myself rq before I start I’m assuming a lots gonna go down cause the second episode is the finale.

I’m still not ready 2 minutes later lmao wait.

Okay hmm the title is called Previously On so we’re going back in time to her childhood based on the summary.

I think we’re gonna get more insight on her and Visions relationship and how it formed and hopefully get to see her relationship with her brother I’m starting now.

Ugh my TV is glitching

Okay we’re starting out in witch trials so it’s Agathas backstory the lady staring at her looks familiar. Oh it’s her mom

Her powers are blue here she’s into dark magic and the book in her basement is the stolen book from Doctor Strange im assuming she began learning dark magic from it l.

As they started to drain her. Her powers became blue and she starting to drain them back. I’m assuming the witches shared power and it was blue and now that it’s dark magic it’s purple.

Wow she killed her whole coven my draining them of their life and magic. Then she took her mother’s amulet so that’s the amulet she’s always wearing from the comics is. 

She admitted her thoughts weren’t available and she was never under control.

Her accent is back because she’s angry because of her children being missing.

She possessed the fake Pietro from another universe she didn’t say he was from another universe she just said she couldn’t get to his body so she had to do possession instead of necromancy.

She picked up the fly now she’s chanting in Latin

She’s mind controlling and talking about how thousands of people can be under your control and all interact with each other with complex storylines which makes me think she wants Wanda power because she’s jealous she can do everything like transformation and mind control without having to study all the spells

“Magic on autopilot,” Dhe wants to know how she did this and she wouldn’t tell her and now she’s manipulating her with her own loneliness. She took a piece of her hair so now she has her DNA 

Real reruns aka memories so she can look into them to see how she did it.

Her kids are crying out for in the basement so she’s gonna go with Agatha to save them I honestly don’t think the cries were her own.

OHHH MY GOD

All the movies her parents were going to sell were the decades and movies she did projected.

When Wanda walked into the memory she turned into her younger self,

The Dick Van Dick show is in the TV shape of the one Darcy used on the first episode so we know where she got her inspo for that one.

Everything outside makes me think this is the scene where her parents die.

The Stark bomb just hit and she’s looking around and can’t find her family yeah the Stark industry label is in front of her and she’s reverted back to Sokovian because she’s young and not the best at English yet I’m assuming.

The TV I’d still on and playing the show “At the end of the episode you realize it was all a bad dream,” I’m not sure why she said that part in English maybe because she’s referring to the show and movie nights are for English? 

Agatha is asking if she used a probability hex to stop the bomb because Wanda reached her hand out towards it and that’s how she uses her powers.

Maybe Agatha is hinting towards Wanda being a natural born witch?

“So what I see here a baby witch obsessed with sitcoms and years of therapy ahead of her. Doesn’t explain your recent hijinks,”

Wanda used her powers subconsciously there and she’s probably using her powers subconsciously to keep Westview running and she used them subconsciously to get it started. 

“The only way forward is back,”

She’s referring to Wanda not wanting to go back to Hydra I haven’t seen the scene yet but I’m assuming it’s because the testing was painful and because she now knows who hydra is and what it stands for.

“Don’t be scared you already lived it once,”

They have Loki’s sceptor of course im assuming they got it from SHIELD since they are SHIELD.

She didn’t have to touch the sample it just came to her on its own further proving she’s a witch but I don’t think she knows she moved it,

She touched the tesseract making the mine stone she then absorbed all its energy and passed out.

In isolation she’s watching another sitcom I just can’t figure out which it is.

I’m sure the episode on the TV is important “she hasn’t got any feeling,” maybe it’s about the Westview citizens or maybe it’s about vision being a doll or like a puppet and the brother is like “she hasn’t got any feelings” just like when Pietro or Fietro called Vision a popsicle an inanimate object 

“So little orphan Wanda got up close and personal with an infinity stone that amplified what otherwise would’ve died on the vine. The broken pieces of you are adding up buttercup I have a theory but I need more,” This is probably talking about how if you don’t use your powers or learn to control them you stop having them but the infinity stone just made the powers she already had stronger. The name Scarlett Witch is starting to make sense now. 

Another door another memory that I’d her watching Malcom in the middle.

She said the Avengers compound was the first home she had ever shared with Vision and with her family and country gone she felt alone so I’m assuming she’s with Vision cause he cured her loneliness.

Vision walking through the walls again she asking him to watch the sitcom with her. The sitcoms are important to her and she’s sharing them with him.

“So it is funny because of the grievous injury that man just suffered?” Vision

“No he’s not really injured,” Wanda

“How Can you be sure?”

“It’s not that kind of show,”

I think this is sort of related to the fact that nothing bad ever happens in Westview permanently like in Malcolm in the middle where the roof structure fell on the dad sure he got hurt but it wasn’t a detrimental injury.

He wants to comfort to her “The only thing that would bring me comfort is seeing him again,” Wanda about Pietro she felt the same with Vision hence why Westview is happening and why he’s back.

“I’m so tired, It’s just like this wave washing over me again and again it knocks me down and when I try stand up it just comes for me again and I can’t- it’s just gonna drown me,” How she explains her grief and depression we’re getting a glismpe of how she copes with death in her actual reality.

Vision says he’s always been alone he never experienced loss because he never had a loved one to lose.

“What is grief if not love preserving,” Okay damn Vision getting all deep.

Aww they just had a moment and now he’s laughing over the show how sweet. The awkward smile they did at eachother. How cute

Vision was dead and she wanted him back now we get to see how she stole Visions body back from her perspective.

All the news on the TV playing might not be revelant but it’s related to tamiles being reunited after the blip. So this is very shortly after the blip and some people might be right thinking it was almost directly after Tony’s funeral.

“He deserves a funeral at least I deserve it,”

They’re letting her take him probably to be able to paint her as a villain which is why Hayward cut out the first part of the footage.

She’s being shown him take apart and sawed she’s in pain seeing him practically dying again. Hayward called vision a weapon and Wanda is saying he’s not a weapon because he wasn’t and he didn’t want to be a weapon Hayward is hiding his true intentions of bringing him back to be his own weapon

“I just want to bury him. That’s all I want,”

She said she can’t do that she truly believes she can’t.

He won’t let her take $3 billion of vibranium to put in the ground she just wanted him to have a proper burial but Hayward provoked her and set her off.

She can’t feel him. A nod to how Vision said “I only feel you,” When he asked Wanda to kill him there is nothing left. She hot in the car and went to Westview she left and when she left she didn’t have Visions body.

She’s pulled up to place where she planned to grow old in with Vision and it’s been demolished this is the scene where she breaks down crying over it. And when she grieved she lets it get the best of her which is how she put the house back together without realizing she was doing it. Then that spread over the whole town and she is projected her own version of Vision. But I’m unsure if this is really Vision or not because then she’d be way more powerful than I ever believe to be able to create people own her own.

Oh wow she’s showing all the lights and it’s like she’s own set so she’s back to where Agatha had this all set up and she was the audience.

Agatha is choking the twins “I know what you are. You have no idea how dangerous you are. You’re supposed to be a myth. A being capable of spontaneous creation. and here you are using it to make breakfast for dinner.” Maybe Wanda was a prophecy before hand and she just never learned how powerful she really was and now Agatha is trying to feed off her powers I’m assuming she’s going to try to get Wanda to push her powers into her so she can drain her.

“Let go of my children,” Wanda with her accent coming back.

“Oh, yes your children and Vision and this whole little life you’ve made, this is Chaos magic Wanda. That makes you the Scarlett Witch,” Ugh yes one of those moments where they say a name of the movie or a character that’s basically it’s own movie I love it.

I’m gonna research Chaos magic and then I’ll reblog this again after I research some other things too.

End credits time. “Team is ready for launch,” They’re going to use Wanda own power to attack her using Visions actual corpse. He’s been brought back as the one thing he didn’t want to be. A weapon. I’m not sure who that was who powered it up but was it Monica’s contact?

Also doesn’t Agatha have Monica now if she was possessing Fietro? I have a lot of questions that I can’t get out right now

[imagine-lcorp]

Mustang Ride (Part XII)

A/N: Okay okay, i know, i know, it’s been a while but my life rigth now is kinda crazy, good news we’re still here!!!! Also here is to all of you who have been waiting for the continuation of this series, you’re great, love ya guys!!!!

Lena Luthor x Shapeshifter!R//Word Count: 1,348

#Mustang Ride Series: Part I - Part II - Part III - Part IV - Part V - Part VI - Part VII - Part VIII - Part IX - Part X - Part XI - Part XII - Part XIII (WIP) -------------------------------------------------------

"How?" You whispered as Jeffrey walked around your bed. He smiled with a hint of pride and malice in her eyes and you felt a cold shiver down your spine.

"It took me a while, you know, finding you." He took a seat on a chair that stood in the corner of the room and made himself comfortable.

For a moment, the panic you started to feel around Jeffrey was replaced with anger. You remembered him from your younger years and the way he used to be didn't seem to have changed at all. He had always been annoying, believing himself the king of the playground, finding some sort of delight preying on other kids he had considered weaker than him. This time, however, the anger came from something more, the suspicion that he had been the reason you were there, trapped and chained.

"How?" You repeated.

"You remember that day in the woods, don't you? I had never seen someone do what you did that day and, I admit, you left quite an impression on me. It was the first time I ever felt truly...terrified." He placed his elbows on his knees and leaned his head towards you.

That last day of school before winter break came again to your mind. The late afternoon when Jeffrey and his friends had put their hands on you and dragged you into the forest. The useless screams that came from your mouth, the pointless fight you had tried to put against them, the monster they had forced you to become.

"But no one believed a word of what I had seen. You had disappeared after that day and I had no further evidence to proof what monster you were." His eyes reflected nothing but resentment as he looked at you. "I was the fucking boy who cried wolf."

"If that's all you wanted, hunting me, why am I here?"

"Well, things are a bit more complicated than that now, considering this is the second time I had to go after you." The corner of his lips lifted in a devilish smirk as your eyes opened in shock.

"Y-you..."

"Oh, yes. You may not know this but back in the day my family was in the hunting business. They were bounty hunters, to be more accurate. So when I took over the business, I made you my first mission."

According to Jeffrey, he had spent a good couple of years trying to track you down. All his searches had been useless until he met Roulette and she had offered a deal he couldn't really say no to. He would hunt aliens for her and in exchange he would receive a considerable amount of money, with an extra if the aliens he brought her were also good fighters. It keep going for a couple of years until Roulette asked him to go after an specific person.

She had talked to him about this alien species capable of changing its form to whatever it wanted. The problem was that she had never found one until she heard the rumors about you. So she sent him on a quest to find you and, even with the little information she had about you, he did it.

"I would have loved to just shoot you the moment I saw you but the idea of watching you get beaten by a bunch of aliens was much more compelling."

You tried to move once again, pulling yourself up with your arms, but it was useless and painful as the ache in your back and the dizziness of the sedatives hit you again. You fell back in the bed with a couple of sweat drops forming in your forehead from the effort and noticing your restrains were also doing its job at keeping you there.

"Oh, you're not getting out of here so easily. The doctors are not done yet toying with you."

"What are they doing with me?" You growled.

"I can't believe you haven't figured that yet. I guess your brain doesn't work like it used to after all the shit they have been injecting you." He smiled once again.

The door of the room opened a second later, Lillian entered with Henshaw following behind and pushing a medical cart full with medical instruments, ampules and test tubes, all shapes, sizes and colors.

"Well, I see you already came to make your acquaintance, Mr. Hex." She said and turned to look at the medical instruments. "Unfortunately, your time with our guest here is over. I must ask you to leave so we can continue with our work."

Jeffrey stepped out of the chair with an annoyed expression and walked to the other side of your bed, facing Lillian and Henshaw.

"I would like to see it, if you don't mind. I wanna be prepared to what you gonna be doing with me too." He said.

"There's no need, Mr. Hex, and I assure you we're going to be more gentle with you, if that's what you're worried about." Lillian directed him a death stare and you were confused as to why they would be doing the same to him. You were not against it if it meant making him suffer for a while but you couldn't think of a reason why they would be doing this to him. "Now, I wouldn't want to ask my partner here to escort you out of the room."

Henshaw left the cart near Lillian and stood like a sentinel, looking at Jeffrey with a death stare. "You should go."

"Have fun without me then." He said and started to walk to the door as Lillian followed his stride.

You watched the scene unfold with a frown, still confused and shocked about what Jeffrey had said. It wasn't enough that you were trapped like a lab rat in an unknown place at the mercy of Lillian Luthor and her cyborg guard dog but now Jeffrey was part of the equation.

Everyone there had a reason to keep you where you were and it wasn't easy to imagine why. Everyone seemed to have their own agenda about you. If Roulette wanted you back on the ring then, why was Lilian keeping you? If Lillian only wanted you as her test subject, why keep Roulette and Jeffrey around? And if Jeffrey wanted to mess up with you, why did he need any of them?

"Do you know the story of  Periclymenus?"

"Who?"

"He was a Greek prince. His grandfather Poseidon gave him the ability to transform himself into various animals. A lion, a snake, a swarm of bees." She pulled away, back to the medical cart. "Unfortunately, he was murdered by Heracles when he invaded his kingdom. They fought but, of course, Heracles was stronger. Periclymenus couldn't escape him and he inevitably died at the hands of the invader."

Lillian returned her attention to you and then at the medical cart. She took a syringe from it and walked towards you, to inject its content in your IV bag.

"What do you think was the cause of his defeat?" She said pulling the syringe away and not expecting a real answer from you. "If you think about it, Heracles only had his strength against Periclymenus' gift. So, how did Heracles manage what he did?"

You started to feel numb.

"Because it was still the strength of one man against the force of one that felt like a thousand." She declared. "I like to think, if Periclymenus had possessed the same strength as Heracles, he would have succeeded instead."

"I guess we will never know." It was becoming difficult to stay awake with your body feeling broken and your mind spinning.

"Oh, but we will and you're helping us it."

"What are you doing with me?" You asked once again.

"Our kingdom is at war, (Y/N), and we need a new champion. One bred from the blood of the gods, old and new." She smiled at you. "This time, I'm going to make sure we conquer." She said and all the light faded out.

[kryptsune]

Contract {Mafiafell} Lore Post

🌼Howdy! I have had this itch to write up something that has been stewing in my brain for months. I know for a fact that you all enjoy my personal universe lore posts and I am sorry I have not done them in a bit. I haven’t been able to draw so that has prevented me from typing them up. That said I really enjoy these so I am going to do them anyway and add the visuals later! I hope that is alright with you all. Now that we got that disclaimer out of the way... there is a lot to get through sooooo let’s jump right in!  *Due to this being a hellish lore there may be triggering or disturbing material ahead. Please be mindful of the warning! Thanks!

------------------------------------------------

Universe type: MafiaFELL

Relationships: Red, Frisk, Gered 

Alternate “Nicknames” Info: 

Red: Cuban

Boss: Luciano 

Gered: Costello

(Various others)

Main Plot Synopsis: During the era of the 1920s and set within a film noir aesthetic. Frisk is a small PI (Private Investigator) hurting for cash and jobs in the big city. In an effort to make a better name for herself she begins to investigate the rise of crime and strange occurrences happening around her. There are suspicious disappearances, missing person reports, and extra violence that couldn’t be missed by human eyes, right? It just does not seem to add up. Determined and with nothing to lose she is able to put together a series of connections by using some none too savory contacts. 

She finds out that the potential epicenter of these events is tied to owners of one of the swankiest and popular clubs in town. It is also suspected that it is a speakeasy but that is not what has drawn her attention. It would appear that the family running the place has been a mystery to nearly everyone even though they have been around longer than they can recall. No one knows what the owners look like. It is all highly speculative. Photographic proof says otherwise as she tends to find a set of figures at each scene. They wear impeccable pinstripe suits and fedoras but... it could be anyone, right?

Regardless of the information that she has collected, she decides to go undercover to the club, Ossibus Ignem (Fire and Bone in Latin), in order to confirm her suspicions. She decides that auditioning for one of their most prized gigs is a good way to get into their inner circle and perhaps get a glimpse of her potential employers. Frisk wants the truth and nothing but the truth even though this plan is incredibly risky. Even if the brothers, as she finds out later, are not the cause of these events they could still be nefarious. No one likes a spy, especially one within their inner circle.

As she enters she realizes that it is packed like the rumors have told her. She does not get out much due to her job but she is dressed to the 9s in a beautiful dress of the time ready to put her plan into effect. Instead of waiting around she heads to the bar where she is spotted by the seemingly charismatic bartender which she manages to strike up a conversation with. She tries to pick his brain over a drink that he generously slides her way. It would seem that the establishment is already breaking the laws of prohibition. That much is already confirmed.  So how have they not been caught?  

He seems like the friendly sort, platinum blonde hair and a dazzling smile. Frisk being a PI calls into question how perfect he actually looks but puts the thought off. She could have sworn his eyes were far more vibrant gold than what was humanly possible. When she glances at him again however they appear to be light brown instead. Things are already strange as she continues to speak with him only to find out that he is, in fact, one of the brothers that work at the club. It turns out to be a family business. He introduces himself as Gered Fontaine.

Eventually, their conversation is cut short by Gered taking her to the back of the house where presumably his brother is waiting for her to do her little gig. She paces back and forth nervously in her dressing room only to not watch where she is going, running into a tall individual. His pinstripe suit, fedora, and bright red tie cause her to pause only to be greeted with a shiny golden toothed smile. The strange thing about it is that it is shaped into a fang/ canine tooth. It is a little off-putting but the stranger introduces himself as the younger brother of the group, Cuban Fontaine.

Someone that she had no doubt is in all the photographs that she had collected. Ultimately he seems nice enough telling her that if she needs anything to let him know and to take her time with her audition. He does appear to have a mischievous flirty side to him especially with her which she tries to distance herself from. He does not make that easy as she can tell he has already taken an interest in her. 

She performs and it would seem that she has a pretty singing voice that leaves the entire crowd roaring in applause. This obviously catches the eyes of the brothers who are now more than interested in her and she gets the gig. Other than a few of the accidental slip-ups the boys seem fine with her being around them. She doesn’t pose any threat. After all, she is only human.

Frisk begins to enjoy her undercover position but finds herself slipping further and further away from her original objective. The Fontaine family put her up in the loft above the club and treat her well. She learns more about them and more about the family itself. They are pretty open with what they do not even hiding the crime lord status that they are under. Being associated with the brothers is dangerous and therefore they want to make sure she understands what it means to be under the name of Fontaine. 

She is surprised by their honesty and immediately they gain her trust and vice versa. That is until she realizes why she is there in the first place. After one of her performances, she manages to get into one of the boy's rooms, snooping around. Only not to find what she would be expected of a bunch of crime mafiosos. Instead, she finds arcane symbols, tomes, and various other occult items that would lead her to the conclusion that they are in fact dealing with something far beyond the mortal realm. At least that is what she thinks. 

Only to find a secret room with even more concerning items. One such item is a series of documents showing the various victims she had been investigating. On top of that information, she finds even darker dealings than she suspected and papers scrawled with a script she has never seen before. As she turns to leave the room she freezes to hear Cuban’s deep baritone of a voice. He is none too thrilled as he interrogates her but she can’t see his face. All she can feel are skeletal like claws at her shoulders. It’s all in her head, right?

When he turns her around she is faced with Cuban looking quite human explaining to her the predicament she now finds herself. As her confusion grows he keeps her cornered only to be given two choices. One is that she binds her soul to him in the form of a contract and the other, death. Obviously, she chooses to live which Cuban is delighted by. After this event she is able to see the true forms of all the demons in the club, having a panic moment seeing them mingling so easily with unsuspecting humans. Cuban, Luciano, and Gered are the most terrifying being skeleton looking demons. From then on she works in the club learning more and more about their true selves. 

Frisk’s Contract: 

 Frisk’s soul is unique as it appears to be linked to the past ancestry of mages. Due to this her soul is far more powerful and can utilize more of their own abilities. The first contract she ends up bound to is Cubans. In exchange for her life as well as their own protection of her, she works at the club as their little songbird. She becomes an undercover agent to infiltrate the boy's enemies or rivals since the human soul has the ability to mask demonic presence. This deal gives her more than she bargains for like gaining some of Red’s abilities. She ends up with a second contract to Gered for other reasons (spoiler). In addition to using these abilities, the contractee also is able to wield the demon's weapon of choice. Each one corresponds to a specific demon. The higher level the demon the more powerful.

Reds:

(Weapon: Beast- skeletal magic fire beast claws) 

(Primary Familiar form: Cat) 

1. Teleportation 

2. Gravity/levitation 

3. Hypnotic/manipulative song magic 

4. Beast summoning (aka Gaster Blasters) 

5. Being able to read the thoughts and souls of others 

Gereds: 

(Weapon: Reaper- A skeletal scythe with a blade made of magic) (Primary Familiar form: Raven) 

1. Silver tongue- able to talk anyone into anything 

2. The ability to see through the eyes of the dead 

3. Inhuman agility

4. Second life 

5. Dark magic/ curses/hexes/corruption

Fusion: 

Fusion is an interesting scenario since Frisk is contracted to not one but two princes of Hell. She gains many abilities and one of those is being able to fuse her mage soul with that of her demonic counterpart(s) creating a fusion of herself and their own hellish forms. The soul, however, can only stand so much and if it goes beyond its limit the human soul could be damaged permanently. This form is dangerous for any human soul.

Hiding in Plain Sight:

One of the reasons that humans are none the wiser is due to the fact that the demons use magical glamorous to appear human as well. They can also manipulate the mind through abilities like compulsion or illusion. The only humans that would be able to see through this guise are humans that are mages or ones with strong souls. Those that are contracted also are able to see through these guises if they so choose. It can be overwhelming at first.

Frisk’s Ancestry /The Mages: 

Humans in this universe do not believe in the existence of monsters very much like our own world. They are nothing but stories and myths. Demons are the exact same. There is a story that may allude to the fact that demons were created from monsters as punishment for humanity's evil. That is neither confirmed or denied. What is known is that demons used to walk the surface regularly a long time ago.

Humans in their quest for power made contracts with these creatures in exchange for their souls, something that demons covet to gain more power themselves. Those that made these contracts became mages, having demonic magic infused within their very being. As every demon is unique so were the souls. The mages were formed after 7 survivors managed to break their contracts retaining the magic within their souls. As they began to have children that magic too was passed down. Humans with any type of magic are extraordinarily rare and one mage soul can rival over 1000 regular human souls. Frisk appears to have a connected blood relation to one of these surviving lines.

A Hellish Civil Battleground: 

The truth of what is going on the surface can be summed up as a demonic civil war. The hierarchy of Hell dictates that the most powerful of demonkind are the elite and as with any type of power it is highly coveted. There are three categories of demons in order of hierarchy.

The seraphim (aka Princes/King)- The royalty of Hell. These are demons you do not want to mess with. The elite. In total there is a prince for one of the seven kingdoms of Hell. There are also uncrowned princes as well. These demons can do as they please and enjoy their revelry up on the surface. 

Imps (Monsters)- born denizens of Hell that can keep a foothold on the surface for only a short time. They need a bind such as a contract to keep a presence. The soul determines power/magic. They have to be summoned and contracted or else they are banished back to Hell. They can also possess human bodies but the body will start to degrade and decay after some time. 

Changelings (Humans)- changelings are demons stuck in Hell and can never set foot on the surface. They are most typically souls that were broken in the firey pit and twisted into demons themselves. Hell’s royalty does not want to destroy the surface. In fact, they rather enjoy it, though they can make contracts it is more for amusement then power. It is said that demons consume souls to fill the emptiness they once lost but that could just be a myth. It is a fact, however, that the consumption of human souls will give them power. They do not wish to scare off potential delicious human souls so they do not senselessly cause havoc or if they do they clean up their mess.

*The imps are why they are in the city. Their job is to keep them in line but unfortunately, the Imps have started to go rogue and have no regard for rules or order. They have been making contracts with one human to keep a foothold on the surface only to slaughter others mindlessly and causing havoc. This makes it difficult for humans to want to contract for fear of being slaughtered as well as beginning to shift the balance of power. The imps are gaining more and more power due to the souls they are now consuming at an alarming rate. The king is none too pleased hence the Princes being tasked to clean up the surface. It just so happens it is during the era of the ’20s. Making them into mafia crime lords.

How to Break or Nullify a Contract:

Each contract formed is by a person to person basis but there are some things that can break or nullify the contract. 

 1. The demon no longer desires the soul- Rare but possible. If the demon contracted no longer wants the soul they can break the contract if they so wish but that means that the human's magic will still be maintained and able to be passed to their children. 

 2. The human is killed before the stipulations of the contract are fulfilled.

 3. The demon violates the contract set forth. 

 4. The human soul is no longer classified as human.

*note the way that Hell works and functions follows my own Hell lore. A post that I will make shortly and is an addendum to this world I have created. 

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[and-then-there-were-n0ne]

This was a movement that defaced objectifying posters. It marched, it petitioned, it organized, it hexed Wall Street and levitated the Pentagon, it sued, it used whatever it could get its hands on. In the words of Monique Wittig, failing that, it invented. 

Why did we do all of this? We did it, I think, because we were a movement that valued women. Women mattered. We were not defensive about it. When women were hurt, this movement defended them. Individually and in groups, it organized and started shelters and groups of and for all women: battered women, incest survivors, prostitutes. We did this not because those women were thought "bad" by society or considered outlaws or shunned. We did it because what was done to them was a systematic act of power against each one of us, although they were taking the brunt of it. This was not a sentimental identification. We knew that whatever could be done to them could be, was being, would be done to us. 

We were them, also. This was a movement that took women's side in everything. Of everything, it asked the question: "Is it good for women?" Each woman was all women in some way. Any woman who was violated was our priority. It was a deeply collectivist movement. In this movement, when we said "women, we," it had content. It didn't mean that we all had to be the same in order to be part of this common condition. That, in fact, was the genius, one of the unique contributions of this movement: it premised unity as much on diversity as on commonality. It did not assume that commonality meant sameness. This was a movement in which people understood the need to act with courage in everyday life, that feminism was not a better deal or a riskless guarantee but a discipline of a hostile reality. To say that the personal was political meant, among other things, that what we do every day matters. It meant you become what you do not resist. The personal and everyday was understood to be part of the political order we organized to change, part of our political agenda. To see the personal as the political did not mean that what turns you on grounds the policies you promote. We also felt and understood, I think, a responsibility to all women. We opposed women's invisibility, insisted on women's dignity, questioned everything that advanced itself at women's expense. Most of all, this movement believed in change. It intended to transform language, community, the life of the spirit and the body and the mind, the definition of physicality and intelligence, the meaning of left and right, right and wrong, and the shape and nature of power. 

It was not all roses, this movement that we had. But it did mean to change the face of this earth. It knew that this was necessary. Most of all, it knew that we did not yet have what we need and believed that we could get it. 

I learned everything I know from this movement. 

Then something happened. Or started to happen, or maybe it had been happening all along and some of us had overlooked it. [...] Everything some of us had started to notice exploded in the discussion on pornography. As many of you may know, Andrea Dworkin and I conceived and designed a law based on the politics of the women's movement that we thought we were part of and fielded it with others who were under the same illusion. It is a sex equality law, a civil-rights law, a law that says that sexual subordination of women through pictures and words, this sexual traffic in women, violates women's civil rights.

This was done in feminist terms: as if women mattered; because we value women; because it wasn't enough only to criticize oppression, and it wasn't enough only to engage in guerilla activities of resistance, although they are crucial. We wanted to change the norm. To change the norm, we looked for a vulnerable place in the system. We looked for something that could be made to work for us, something we could use. We took whatever we could get our hands on, and when it wasn't there, we invented. We invented a sex equality law against pornography on women's terms. 

To no one's surprise, especially ours, it was opposed by many people. It was opposed by conservatives who discovered that they disliked sex equality a lot more than they disliked pornography. It was opposed by liberals, who discovered that they liked speech— i.e., sex, i.e., women being used— a great deal more than they liked sex equality. Then came the opposition from a quarter that labeled itself feminist: from FACT, the Feminist Anti-Censorship Task Force. At this point, for me, the women's movement that I had known came to an end. 

In an act of extraordinary horizontal hostility, FACT filed a brief against the ordinance in court as part of a media-based legal attack on it. [...] Pornography, they said, is sex equality. Women should just have better access to it. [...] A woman who enjoys pornography, even if that means enjoying a rape fantasy, is, in a sense, a rebel." From what is she rebelling? Their answer: "Insisting on an aspect of her sexuality that has been defined as a male preserve." Now who can't tell the difference between rape and sex? Rape has been a male preserve. But to insist on being defined by what one has been forced to be defined by is, to say the least, a rather limited notion of freedom. And choice. And a women's movement that aspires to inhabit rapist preserves is not a women's movement I want any part of. 

You might be wondering what the FACT response to all the knowledge, data, understanding, and experience of women's sexual victimization presented in support of the ordinance was. What their response was to all the women who wanted to use the law, the women who had the courage to speak out so it could exist, who put their lives, their reputations, and, yes, their honor on the line for it. Mostly, FACT did not even mention them. They were beneath notice. Coerced women, assaulted women, subordinated women became "some women." In fact, the FACT brief did what pornography does: it makes harm to women invisible by making it sex. It makes harm to women into ideas about sex, just like the right-wing male judge did who found the ordinance unconstitutional. [...] FACT does not deserve all the credit for this, because their power comes from fronting for male supremacy. Nor do they deserve all the blame. That belongs with the pornographers, their legitimate media cohorts, and the ACLU. [...]

What is the difference between the women's movement we had and the one we have now, if it can be called a movement? I think the difference is liberalism. Where feminism was collective, liberalism is individualistic. We have been reduced to that. Where feminism is socially based and critical, liberalism is naturalistic, attributing the product of women's oppression to women's natural sexuality, making it "ours." Where feminism criticizes the ways in which women have been socially determined in an attempt to change that determination, liberalism is voluntaristic, meaning it acts like we have choices that we do not have. Where feminism is based on material reality, liberalism is based on some ideal realm in the head. And where feminism is relentlessly political, about power and powerlessness, the best that can be mustered by this nouveau movement is a watered-down form of moralism: this is good, this is bad, no analysis of power or powerlessness at all. In other words, members of groups, like women, who have no choice but to live life as members of groups are taken as if they are unique individuals. [...] The way this gets itself up in law is as gender neutrality, consent, privacy, and speech. Gender neutrality means that you cannot take gender into account, you cannot recognize, as we once knew we had to, that neutrality enforces a non-neutral status quo. Consent means that whatever you are forced to do is attributed to your free will. Privacy protects the sphere of women's intimate oppression. Speech protects sexual violence against women and sexual use of women because they are male forms of self-expression. [...] Liberalism makes these results necessary, in part because it cannot look at sexual misogyny. This is because misogyny is sexual. To be clear, it is sexual on the left, it is sexual on the right, it is sexual to liberals, and it is sexual to conservatives. As a result, sexuality, as socially organized, is deeply misogynist. [...] Equality law cannot apply to sexuality because equality is not sexy and inequality is. Equality cannot apply to sexuality because sexuality occurs in private and nothing is supposed to interfere in the private, however unequal it is. 

[drjackandmissjo]

firewhisky on ice, sunset and vine

you’ve ruined my life by not being mine

Chapter 3 --- previous chapter --- next chapter

Harry Potter fics Masterlist

"Sorry, Blaise. Can't today." That had been the customary answer from none other than Draco Malfoy, prefect and general pain in Blaise's ass, despite still being one of his best friends. Since they had started their lectures, there had been an incredible array of excuses left and right, but enough was enough and all the brain abled Slytherins agreed it was time for an intervention.

Crossing his arms over his chest, Theo began protesting, in his usual disarmingly calm behaviour: "You've been saying that since the year started!" he all but yelled at the blonde, visibly losing his temper already.

"I'm busy okay, back off" came a defensive reply that left something to be expected, yet refused to lead on more.

"No, we're not backing off on this anymore" said Blaise, still seated down in front of his irritating Herbology textbook. He could also feel his temper rising, but managed to keep it contained, remembering the neat way the muscles of a certain Gryffindor boy pulled wherever he scribbled a tiny note on a piece of parchment and choosing to focus on that to remain calm. He was really grateful they didn't have a legilimens in their house, otherwise things would've been even more awkward that usual. "Is this because of your new fancy position?" he asked, mustering as little discomfort as possible in his words, although the mere idea bothered him infinitely.

Draco's face paled of all its blood, eyes darting to look behind them all and to asses that nobody was spying on their conversation. "You know very damn well I can't talk about it!"

"Draco, you shouldn't keep secrets, you'll get wrinkles!" said Pansy, gazing her perfectly manicured fingers as lazily as possible. Blaise had wondered for their entire first year if she truly did not care about anything in the world or if that was an act, but quickly discovered that she cared way too much on occasion and it was smothering to say the least.

But her nonchalant remark snapped Draco out of his mind, and he replied with a hissed "Shut the fuck up Parkinson or I'll hex you into next week."

Blaise and Theo both laughed at the attempted threat, doubling over themselves in laughter as Pansy snickered sprawled over her chair. "How, may I ask, do you suppose to do so?" she asked, her blood red lips gleaming from the light of the fireplace in front of her, "You haven't been paying attention to class as much as you used to. You spend all your time daydreaming or staring at Saint Potter's tush" she added in a matter of fact way, voicing the thought they all shared.

Whether Draco was distracted by whatever dirty deed the Death Eaters wanted him to do or by Saint Potter and his rather objectively well shaped backside, formed finely by years of riding a broom and training, he was still distracted nevertheless, and that wouldn't do well on their collective well-being.

The blonde moved abruptly back, yelling such a forced "I DO NOT" that nobody in their right state of mind would believe. It wasn't as if Draco was out and proud or had even remotely hinted anything, but merely from a muggle statistic point of view, a class which his mother had forced Blaise to attend during the summer and he was incredibly grateful for, it was most probable that he was some sort of queer than anything else. He spent way too much time preparing himself to even see Saint Potter in the hallways, messing his hair and slicking it back countless of times to just "show him and his loser group of friends that we're so much better!" , to be even remotely straight. All of them would still love and care for him either way, as they would for Blaise, but the young boy understood the blonde's reluctance to share that little piece of information.

"Yes, you do, you queer puff. Don't deny it" continued Pansy, not wanting to let the subject drop and inevitably side-tracking from their original battle plan. Many headaches of Blaise's were caused by Pansy's inability to follow a scheme and still the only cure he could think of was to remove her head from her shoulders and leave it on the fireplace. That would've lightened his tension for sure!

But Draco was having none of it: suddenly as red on his face as a Gryffindor robe, he stood up from the couch and began walking away towards the dormitory door, leaving their intervention unfulfilled and useless. Another reason behind Blaise's headaches was Draco's ability to ruin all his bloody plans and intentions.

"Enough with this bullshit" he called back, looking distraught and uneasy, "I don't need your help and surely you don't need mine so kindly fuck off all of you. Let me know when you drop all this crazy shit!"

Blaise followed suit, exiting through the portrait after his friend and catching him up once he was near the staircases. "The fuck you want now?" asked the blonde, ire and hatred lacing his words. Despite it all, Blaise couldn't help but notice how his roommate was shaking, fear deep in his eyes.

He knew he should've tried to comfort, he knew he should've been patient, yet he couldn't bring himself to: while it was true that Draco didn't want to get in those awful games the adults of his family played, he still swore to fulfil whatever duty was asked from him, without mentioning it to his best friends and closest allies. He had a choice and choose to cower before the Dark Lord, he gave in to the threats and the violence and the bloody stereotype that Slytherins were evil murderers.

So when he spoke finally, they weren't kind words those that came out of him: "I would've loved to spend some time with you, you stupid bitch, even if it was studying, cause we rarely even see each other anymore. You're so busy either stalking Potter or doing Salazar knows what on the fifth floor." He saw Draco's eyes widen, the fear turning into full panic and then blow away as if nothing had fazed him in usual Malfoy Manner. Another headache was coming and Blaise wondered if he could go to Madam Pomfrey and ask her " oh hello! Do you have anything to rid me of those terrible pains inflicted by my awful Death Eater roommate, along of those terrible housemates of mine? ". Now, that would surely be an interesting reaction.

"Shut up, Zabini, you don't even know what you're talking about!" Draco whispered violently, checking that nobody was eavesdropping in the empty corridor. "Well why don't you start explaining?" he fired back, standing his ground with his full height and towering over the blonde, who looked like he was about to pass out at any given moment.

" Merde " he said eventually, after having gathered his thoughts, "I cannot talk to anyone about this, okay? Not even you, no matter how hard you push. He'll kill my mum if I don't do it!" He sounded more exasperated than scared now, as if he had already rehearsed that same conversation, probably with himself.

Still, Blaise needed all the answers he could get, "You mean…?"

"Yeah."

" Porca puttana Eva ." He passed a hand over his face, going straight to his shortly cut hair as if to ground himself. He had had doubts, of course, anyone in their right mind would have them and he was really surprised nobody from Saint Potter's squad was onto him like a guard dog. But thinking is one thing, having those thoughts acknowledged and confirmed was another topic entirely. Blaise felt as if the ground would open up from the stone under their feet and swallow them both whole. "Worse ways to go " he thought blandly.

"Indeed. So all I can ask all of you to do is cover for me and have faith in what I'm doing."

He uttered a dry laugh, trying to hide the nervousness that conversation was suddenly giving him. "How can we do it if you don't even trust us?" he asked roughly, hurt and very pissed off.

Draco now looked in full disbelief, as if he had never enthralled the thought of someone not following him blindly before. He supposed it might be true, since in their previous years he was always eager to agree with the blonde. But after their fiasco with Umbridge, Blaise swore to took with a grain of salt everything. Including his friendships.

"How can I trust you lot? I'm marked. I swore an oath. When the time is right you'll be too and we'll take back what's rightfully ours."

"You talk like a madman, and hopefully I'll never have a seat at that table" he said, stumbling backwards. 'Rule number thirteen: men are easily lead and get foolish as soon as they get a taste for any type of power or violence. Do not become like one of those' his mother told him and he didn't plan on disappoint her anytime soon.

"I'm gonna go back and study for the quiz tomorrow, and I highly suggest you do to" he said dryly after a while, regarding his friend with as little interest and concern as he could. And he then turned around, ignoring Draco's feeble attempt to snatch his attention back. For a seeker, he was trash at his job.

As soon as he crossed the threshold of the portrait, he was flooded with questions from his fellow housemates, but they all immediately shut up at the thunderous look on his face. Theo seemed to catch on and simply raised an eyebrow at Blaise, who pointedly ignored his roommate and moved back to his Herbology textbook. There had been whispers among the Pureblood Slytherins, many parents having fallen back into old habits and already planning the coming of their children. Blaise had not truly acknowledged those words, choosing to ignore them, never revealing his disdain towards so many of his friends' families.

His father had been amongst those and had perished when his mother was still pregnant, and she and his grandparents had raised him to loathe that idiotic, medieval, misogynistic and racist behaviour. " White idiots think like that, and you are neither" had told him his mother the first time he had brought up the Dark Lord and his antics. He agreed.

Struggling to concentrate, he tried to remember if asphodel was considered by the ancient Greeks the food of the dead or of the nymphs, but his mind was full of worries.

He definitely needed to go to the infirmary for a headache remedy very soon.

Glossary:

"Merde" s French for "shit" cause we all know that Draco's pretentious ass swears in French "Porca puttana Eva" Is basically "Holy burning shit" literally is "that fucking bitch of Eve"

[geejaysmith]

Wolf 359 Classpects, pt. 1

Soooo, while I was still busy with the last few weeks of my summer internship, I did keep thinking about classpecting the Wolf 359 cast. Possibly too much, because it wouldn't leave me alone until I'd solved my own God Tier riddle. Unfortunately, it got really long in the solving because I have many Thoughts and want to share all of them, always, so uh, a complete Classpect Analysis of Wolf 359 will be in parts? This first one covers Eiffel's, Hera's, Lovelace's and Minkowski's aspects.

DOUG EIFFEL: An utter no-brainer; ya boi Dougie Fresh is a Breath player if I ever saw one. For Chrissakes, he's the communications officer, and the first one to start complaining about the monotony of being stuck in a deep space sardine can. Breath is associated with communication, freedom, openness, and change - "free as the breeze", you might think of it, but that also leads to Breath players having trouble pinning themselves down to anything. They get skittish if they feel pinned down, and frustrated when stuck in place. Doug's noncommittal aloofness, the way he's off in his own little world (partially to hide from the fact he really does not like himself very much at all), and the way he's incorporated media into his self-perception all match pretty well with John and the Nitrams. But at the same time, he's the one playing mediator even as early as The Sound And The Fury. Being largely outside of the War Industrial Complex the other characters are so familiar with and thus mostly free from its dogmatic worldview of hierarchy and order, he's becomes the One Sane Man when he's the one to shout "what is WRONG with you people?" when "murder" shows up in the top 3 potential solutions to a problem, and he has no hesitation in saying what's on his mind. And it's not all complaints and bad ideas, either; he's got whole speeches telling the others how amazing he thinks they are and how in awe he is of their skills. A key catalyst in the plot of Wolf 359 is the reaching effects of his radio broadcasts. Also, there's something hilarious to the fact that for the aspect associated with communication, Doug *literally* cannot lie to save his life. I kept my ears open for the infamous Breath Hex on my second listen - that is, the strange little way in which things Breath players say tend to come to pass in reality. Cigarette Candy is basically 20 straight minutes of the Decima virus being Breath Hexed into existence, and he guessed Lovelace's situation in one - "Maybe she's a clone, or like a *really* good robot replica."

HERA: Another easy one. Although Hera is resistant to splintering as we've come to recognize it, Heart players are nothing if not determined to be an individual. They have a firm idea of themselves as a person and defend it fiercely, including compartmentalizing away pieces that don't fit their self-image. Maybe less actively putting them down like Jade Harley did to Jadesprite (the manifestation of the negative feelings she repressed out of fear they'd make her less useful) - that would mean attacking or denying a part of themselves - and more... "why yes, I put this part of myself in this box, and I may look at the box on occasion, the box definitely exists, but I don't go near the box and I definitely do not touch or open or interact with the box. And then one day, I will die." So that piece finds other avenues to express itself because it can't not do that. Hera's programming dictates she be "chipper and non-confrontational and always ready to help", but she actively resists being a mere utility and always has - her earliest know action was to attempt a jailbreak of the manufacturing facility she was made in, born rebel that she is. She will insist upon her name over her serial number unless you force her not to, and gets passive-aggressive at people treating her like a machine. And yet, even as she teaches herself to ignore commands literally written into the base of her personality, she doesn't reject her directive to be helpful, nor does she express a wish to be a flesh-and-blood human, or even really to have a physical form? She has a human self-image in mental spaces (we presume, I will semi-seriously point out there's nothing definitively stating she doesn't see herself as like, her fursona or something), but when she has to limit herself to a human-like view of the ship, her immediate reaction is "this is weird, I don't like it."  This is honestly something about Hera that I think may be unique among non-villainous AI characters; she seems to be content with being what she is in general, and she just wishes for people to treat her as a person and not a piece of equipment they can do with as they please.  

ISABEL LOVELACE: Arm-wrestled Hera for the Heart aspect and lost, despite Hera not actually having any arms, but that's okay because there's two aspects that fit her much better: Blood and Time. I ultimately went with Blood.

This is the part where you notice I'm onto the third of four characters in an aspects-only meta post, yet there is still a lot of post to go. This is because These Kinds Of Characters, the sort that're constantly on emotional lockdown, are a Challenge Mode, and for me to truly be satisfied with my classification I have to start drilling into the bedrock of what it even means to have an aspect in general, what it means to have a specific aspect, and what each aspect is really about. When you're on that level you tend to find yourself throwing out explicit expositional statements as incomplete, oversimplified, or unreliable, and looking at the text directly with a subtextual electron microscope. Brace yourselves. I have thrown the author out of the airlock, and I am about to get verbose.  

Lovelace's character sheet describes her in contradictions, and we get to see two different sides to her that resolve into the complete picture by the time Lovelace Mk. III wakes up. There's Captain Isabel Lovelace, goofing around in her earlier logs, and The Terminator. She does things Her Way and is very much prepared to fight you if you object - the whole reason she was picked for the Hephaestus mission was her willingness to go against (in her words) "stupid orders" and do what she thought was right. She's also fiercely loyal; The Terminator is the end result of her anger and grief for her lost crew and at her failure to get them home alive. Her backstory episode has her summing up her complicated relationship to the Air Force with "I owe a lot of who I am to them." And even before she and Minkowski have completely stopped butting heads, Lovelace shoves her out of the way of an exploding wall panel that would've killed her, and takes a near-fatal bit of shrapnel to the gut in the process. At her best, Lovelace is a fearless, boundlessly determined, dedicated firebrand of a leader. At worst, she can be impatient, stubborn, shortsighted, and ruthless. I dunno about you but that reminds me of a certain... angry crab that I know.

"Time" was what a few people chimed in with for Lovelace and while I see some of the connections (her awareness of the time loop, "Variations on a Theme", her multiple selves and multiple deaths, the repeated motif of clocks and pocketwatches) I don't think she quite fits in with the other Time players. Unlike most Time players, she doesn't have a fixation with historic context, the "Why Things Are The Way That They Are." This manifests in Dave's paleontology and his taking of source material for ironic twisting, Aradia's archaeology and knowledge of The Nature Of The Game, Damara's... /noises and vague gestures bc I don't want to go back through Meenahbound but her role as The Handmaid fits the pattern, and Caliborn's own warped, thoughtless replication of narrative archetypes. Context. Decisions. What came before and how it shapes the now, where your decisions will take it from here. The consequences those decisions will have. The details versus the larger picture. Even failure has its place in that scheme - that's the Time aspect. Lovelace doesn't like to dwell, she's a very "barrelling forward momentum" kind of person.

Side note: Aradia, Dave, and Damara all face hesitation to take action they had to learn to overcome. Also, all of them had to be pushed to use violence except in self-defense; Aradia let Vriska cross a series of lines before beating the everloving shit out of her, and Damara snapped after what, years? Of Meenah's abuse. Dave, on the other hand, never raises a hand to another person except as a complete necessity. Caliborn is, if anything, an aberration here in that he's outright homocidal and self-doubt is something that happens to other people. Caliborn is an outright aberration to a lot of Time player patterns, and to SBURB in general, because it's SBURB, so the rules are made up and the points don't fucking matter, except when they do, because Fuck You, The Author Said So.

No, Lovelace's approach to decision-making is that regrets are for afterwards, and "if I fail I deserve to be out of this picture; also, this situation has gone entirely pear-shaped, time to fling myself into the sun." (and that sounds an awful lot like someone that I know very well, but I'll deal with that royal mess when I get to the crazy whamma-jamma that is Classes). Impatience and railroading of other people can be her undoing just the same as assertiveness and decisiveness are her gifts.

...aaand then I went ahead and watched the live episode and yeah, major Karkat vibes there. However, I note that I don't believe we have ever hit hard evidence in Homestuck that Blood players are capable of Chilling The Fuck Out - this is part of the limitations of classpecting characters who weren't made for this system, you really have to dig into how much of their behavior is situational and where you see the kernel of individual perception shine through, the Rosetta Stone by which you begin to see the constants. "Where the object becomes the subject", to quote Memoria.

Finally, I think it's also worth noting that while Lovelace has a lot of connections to Time motifs, she also has connections to a lot of Blood motifs that arguably become more important to her story. Personal bonds and social justice are two of the Blood aspects strongest associations - see Lovelace's loyalty to her crew, and extending her desire to avenge them out to everyone Goddard Futuristics has ever used and tossed aside. The physical body and literal blood are other strong associations, and gee, how many times does the O-negative Cure-All Alien Juice in Lovelace's veins become a critical plot point? Not to mention the implication that her new friends all pulled through the finale because all of them now have her blood in their system. I'll accept that she's closer to the line between Blood and Time than some, but I'm holding by ground here: 

(Also, here's some irony for you, she may share an aspect with the Cancer trolls, but her birthday is August 11th, making her a Leo.)

RENEE MINKOWSKI: Minkowski was the hardest of these 4 to come to a decision on. My first inclination was Mind. Her general disposition put me in mind of a Life player. But then, I sat down and thought my way past the Commander's layers of emotional armor and ultimately settled on Light.

First off, by being a stickler for protocol and procedure as well as an Actual Responsible Adult, Minkowski is a kind of character that Homestuck straight-up just does not have, so snap judgements aren't gonna cut it here.  This is, again, another limitation of the classpecting system - all the examples we have to draw from are teenage disasters stuck in a lawless hellscape of some description or another, and written by an author allergic to boxing himself in with hard conclusions. But I digress.

Commander Minkowski is also stubborn. When she sets her mind to something, she digs in her heels, cranks the dial to 11, and then breaks off the knob and pockets it so you can't turn it back down. We see this as soon as episode 2, and at it's most hyperbolic when she Captain Ahabs the plant monster. Her's is iron-willed, bloody-minded, unstoppable, Determi-fucking-nation - when she sets her mind to it.

The submarine thought exercise is what had me initially lock her down as a hero of Mind before I mulled it over. The exercise is meant to provoke thought about priorities - what you think your role's purpose is in that situation will determine your priorities, and thus, your decisions. Mind heroes' most prominent skills are in riding the flow of causality, watching decisions, their causes and their consequences, and directing that path. They know people, and how to direct people. But the need for this means that they can get a little co-dependent. Other people are understandable - it's themselves that Mind heroes have the greatest struggle with. Without that vehicle of another person, Mind heroes may find themselves adrift and struggling to define themselves. This is fitting, given Mind is the most direct counterpart to the Heart aspect.

However, upon further examination, I found that this framework of priorities setting your decisions can also be extended to the Light aspect. What is "lucky" in a given situation? What do you define as a fortunate outcome? Rose arguably gets Grimdark'd by something like this, she asks the cue ball "are the horrorterrors evil?" and in doing so attempts to pry into the motivations and intent of *indescribable eldritch beings existing on a nigh-incomprehensible plane* and wedge it down into a relative human understanding of morality, which is sort of like trying to fit the Pacific Ocean into a water bottle. She was trying to deduce what impact the horrorterrors would have upon her and her friends, but asked the wrong question and got an answer she couldn't handle. She didn't recognize Doc Scratch was baiting her into this by leading her into a specific framework through which to ask the question. Vriska died because of her failure to recognize she was in a situation where luck didn't matter. Aranea got trounced because of her inability to recognize that reshuffling reality to prioritize herself and her preferred outcomes still didn't overcome the fundamental nature of timelines - you try to take over the alpha timeline with an insubordinate branch? That's a doomed timeline no matter how you slice it, and we know what happens to those. Luck and knowledge are both used by the Light-bound to give themselves power, whether in showing themselves off as The Smart One or the The Helpful One or The Unstoppable One, but their limited viewpoint often leads them to overlook the limitations of their own framework, or in other words, missing the bigger picture. I'll point out here also how Minkowski has the entire DSSPPM memorized and is the one who wants to get to the bottom of whatever the hell is really going on up at Wolf 359. Additionally, one of her other ambitions, at least once upon a time, was writing musicals. The verbal arts are one of the domains of Light players.

So while on the surface, Minkowski bears the most resemblance to a Life player, Life players tend to have an element of conformity to them. Unquestioned assumptions they've internalized have about the context in which they exist. Light heroes, on the other hand, need conformity so they have something to defy when they jump up and down screaming LOOK AT ME!  

So after much pontificating, I came to a decision. In the end, what Minkowski wanted more than anything else was a stage. Maybe to direct rather than hold the spotlight, but still; that's a Light hero if ever I saw one.

[maximumkillshot]

By The Books Part 1- Meeting the Professors

Warnings: Mentions of actual murders and psychopaths as well as what they did(this includes rape, torture, murder)[It’s brief but I wanna be safe.], The setting is after the show ends (in my head they’re fine... well some of them.], Major character death is described, cursing, Professor! Dean Winchester, Professor! Sam Winchester, Promise that it gets better though! 

Pairing: Professor!Dean x Reader x Professor!Sam (EVENTUALLY)

Characters: Claire, Dean, Sam, Reader, Jack is mentioned, Mary is also mentioned.

A/N: This part is long... I know, but trust me when I say we are setting up a monster fic so please take the time to read all of it.... LOVE Y’ALLL!!! Also.... sorry in advanced... also thank you for brainstorming with me @anathewierdo and @emoryhemsworth

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 “I can’t believe it took me four years to be able to take these classes,” I said to my friend, Claire as we filed into the giant lecture hall. “You’d think that topics as niche as ‘religious deities and ritual practices’ and ‘the psychology of murder and criminology’ would be a bit more available’.

“Well you know, the professors are in demand. They each have been studying their practices for years, just started teaching though,” said Claire, absentmindedly as she claimed the seats in the front row and center of the hall.

“Okay...how do you know all of that?” I asked.

“I grew up with them…. my mom worked with them on some cases… she’s a sheriff. They’re pretty cool people. Came over for dinner a few times… they were present for some… awkward conversations.” Shuddered Claire.

“Do I even wanna know”

“Hell no”

“Fair enough,” I said as a tall man in a suit came in. He had long brown hair and eyes that could stop anyone in their tracks. He was also incredibly tall and had a body chiseled from marble. Immediately he set his suitcase down and started speaking, “Hello class, wow, big crowd. Hi, my name's Samuel Winchester, please for the love of everything call me Professor or Professor Winchester.”

There was immediate buzzing around the room, everything from women humming in approval and men scoffing at the Adonis in front of them.

When he turned around my head snapped to Claire and she smiled at me… that shit eating grin that spilled that she knew he had an effect on me.

“Something wrong, Y/N?” Asked Claire with a toothy grin���

When I went to shush her the professor spoke up, “Claire… do you have something to share?”

“Oh, I have a few things to share” Claire nudged me and my eyes went wide. I’d known Claire since we both enrolled in the same year, both with an odd interest in the supernatural, she became my go-to for everything weird and out of the norm. She always praised me for my prowess in religious studies, I also knew a lot about different abnormal psychology, which is my major. This is also why she didn’t leave me alone until we took these classes together. Finally, with one semester left to go, I was finally able to take the course, purposely leaving some elective credits for this.

“Go for it, since you’re so eager to share that I can’t even get through the ground rules for this class.”

“Well first off, hi, I’m Claire, criminal justice major, just like mom intended but you know this…. I’m excited to see whatcha got Sam… teach me somethin’” she bounced as my face turned white next to her.

“The first lesson for you, Claire…” the professor pointed to himself, “Professor Winchester… not Sam. Okay? That one was free… don’t make me call Jody.”

Claire huffed as she crossed her arms, then I heard his deep voice address me, “You okay there? You look a little pale.”

Why is my mouth not working, his gaze is so intense yet.. gentle? How can a literal giant look so soft and patient…

“Now is the point in the interaction where you talk” chuckled Claire. The rest of the class chuckled as the professor shot a glare towards her.

“She’s just trying to cover the fact that she isn’t getting any special favors and that she’s on thin ice. Mere minutes away from having her mom roll up here in a police car gunning for her ass, actually… don’t worry… you okay?” He turned his attention back to me.

“Y-yes sir,” I replied.

“Professor works just fine,” responded the professor as he turned his back once more.

He wrote the word ‘rules’ on the board.

His voice boomed as he addressed the lecture hall, “first things first some ground rules. I am going to be teaching real religious deities and practices. This means actual runes and witchcraft, which also means that under no circumstances are you to practice these, unless they are a part of your religious beliefs, of course. This means… absolutely no cursing, hexing, summoning, or rune writing in this or any classroom!”

Claire smirked, which the professor caught and didn’t let slide, “and under no circumstances is there any potion or relic making in any way, shape or form… Claire, I’m looking at you…”

Claire rolled her eyes as the class got underway.

After discussing the syllabus and course materials he began the lecture with a simple question, “Who can tell me the major differences in between Wicca and Witchcraft?”

I raised my hand and he picked me.

“That’s a trick question”

“Oh is it, explain.”

“Wicca is also known as Pagan Witchcraft. In Wicca they have no central deity, instead worshipping and giving thanks to the elements and personifications of these elements. Sometimes through prayer, other times through rituals that call upon the personifications of these elements. This is where the classical form of witchcraft comes from. There are light and dark witches, each specializing in their own forms of worship, although dark witches are known to hex and curse others, where as white witches can be seen as healers. Some who practice Wicca don’t even dabble in classical witchcraft at all…”

The professor’s jaw was wide open as I finished my explanation, “therefore...what you asked is a trick question.”

The professor smiled as he said, “I’ve been teaching this class for two years now and no one has gotten that question correct on the first try...except for you...bravo…” he then turned to the rest of the class, “for the rest of you who aren’t walking encyclopedias on Wicca and Witchcraft, read pages 13 to 45 for next class… although you, young lady may just wanna read it for fun” he said with a wink.. “alright...class dismissed, see? Who knew witchcraft isn’t that scary after all? See you on Thursday guys.”

Claire grabbed my hand and dragged me towards the podium, the closer I got to him the larger his frame became.

Finally, we were right in front of him, Claire practically bulldozing all of the other students that crowded the podium…

“Since the class is over, can I call you Sam now, Professor.” Over annunciated Claire.

“Depends on who we’re in front of, and how did it take you two years to get into my class, Claire? .” He said as he closed his briefcase, when he looked up he said, “ahhh my star pupil, knowing that much on the first day, I’m impressed.”

“This is my friend, Y/N Y/L/N… remember I came home raving about her when we first met?”

“Oh yeah… Claire said you had some major knowledge but I wasn’t expecting you to blow everyone out of the water on the first day…good job.”

“Thank you, “ I said shyly.

He looked at his watch and then said: “shoot I’m meeting someone to go over lesson plans, umm it was nice meeting you and Claire don’t get her in trouble.”

As soon as Claire was a few feet away, his hand brushed my arm and he said, “seriously, great work today. Just so you know…” he leaned in closer, “now that I know how smart you are, I’m going to be expecting much, much more out of you...no pressure” he chuckled. The next thing I knew he was out the door.

By the time I met Claire outside I was completely confused. Claire just looked at me as I said, “He is seriously gorgeous.”

“Eww, dude, he’s like my older brother, practically an uncle! Please don’t give me that mental image.” She smiled as she nudged me.

“You knew he would do that to me, didn’t you?” I asked, almost amused.

“Maybe…”

I  gave her the stink eye.

“Okay, I did know… What with the way you react to Channing Tatum and Thor, of course I’m not gonna tell you that Sam’s your type… knowing you…. You would’ve run for the hills and you would’ve never gotten to know him!” Said Claire.

“He’s a Professor, Claire… Not a Tinder date…” I scoffed, “Being with him in any way would be unethical.”

“Oh please, I know you... I’ve known you for four years, which means that I know that for Sam, you’d break any law in any and every country if he asked you to. Hell, you even called the man ‘sir’. Who does that?” Snickered Claire.

“Shut up, Claire. It just slipped out. He’s intimidating, he’s the literal size of a skyscraper ” I defended.

“If you think that he’s intimidating, then you’re gonna love the next Professor, come on, class starts in 15!” Said Claire as she walked me down the long corridor of the building.

I stopped mid-stride “Wait here it is, room, 132.” As soon as we walked into the hall it looked like a Halloween store, with different photos and mannequins of horror movie characters.

As we filed into the hall, Claire, once again, immediately pulled me to the front and center of the lecture hall. Not too long after that a man walked in and sat next to me. He had piercing green eyes and a jaw that could cut glass, absolutely stunning. He was also dressed up, my guess was that he is just a curious business student since he had a lollipop and looked as casual as his getup allowed.

I heard constant chatter about the professor, everything from him being a jackass to him being incredibly good looking and flirtatious.

As soon as the lecture hall filled up and it was time for class the man that was sitting next to me nudged me and said, “well, looks like it’s showtime,” and got up.

My jaw dropped as he stood and jumped onto the raised lecture area.

“Murder… It’s messy, most times…” The man said as he opened up a briefcase, already on the podium, he handed papers to the first student he saw. Some students chuckled at his shocking yet honest opening words.

“You are here to learn not just about why people kill, but how, how could this person kill another human being?  What were they thinking, if they were thinking at all? What’s their motive, What made them tick….How they kill the way they kill, and who was the person that they killed if that had anything to do with it. You are also going to learn some ties in between these guys,” he pointed to the more prominent horror movie character mannequin,” and the real thing.” He continued.

“My name is Dean Winchester and I am a professor in Abnormal Psychology, specializing in psychological profiling of killers who were dumb enough to get caught.”

He looked around the class as he stated, “This is going to get gruesome if the name of the course didn’t give it away already. You will see dismembered bodies, you will see blood, you will see the worst of humanity in this class… So if you’re squeamish… this isn’t the class for you. You can get up and leave, no one will judge you.”

Immediately 10 to 20 students got up and left, “The remainder of you… you are one of two types of people. You are either a murderer who’s looking to brush up on technique or you’re morbidly curious. That’s the only way you’d be crazy enough to take a class that isn’t even required for a criminal justice major.”

“Now, before I get the influx of questions, yes Professor Sam Winchester is my brother, we are not twins, I am four years older than him, we don’t discuss student’s grades but we do discuss students which means all of the rules for his classroom apply to mine.”

The professor’s face turned hard as steel, “ No potions, no hexing, cursing, rune making, or summoning. If you try, we will trace it back to you, and we will not only report you but reverse it onto you with no way of removing it… I’ve already had many students try to make a voodoo doll, love potions, persuasion spells, the whole nine so don’t think we haven’t seen it and that we won’t do anything about it.”

He then turned to face the board as he said, “don’t believe us, you’re more than welcome to try and find out. Every single shaman, healer, spellcaster, witch, all of them have their special signatures… we will find yours and you will not like what comes next.”

He started writing, “You can all read the syllabus on your own time, since you’re all college students, I assume you can read. If you give me 100% off your efforts, your grades will reflect that.. if you give me shitty work…. you’ll get a shitty grade, simple enough.”

“But we are starting… now.” He turned around to reveal that he wrote ‘serial killers’ on the board…

“Claire, about damn time you’re in my class. Tell me, what do you know about Ted Bundy?” He said as he crossed his arms and leaned on the podium, casually licking and sucking on the lollipop as he waited for an answer.

Claire looked at him and said, “well he’s a serial killer…”

Dean’s eyes narrowed as he said, “well, no shit Sherlock, what else, Claire….give me something!” Said Dean as he motioned in the air… “Anything…”

“Ummm he only killed women…”

He huffed and nodded as he said “Yes but what else, can anyone tell me what else he did? Anything about him?”

I raised my hand and the professor licked his lips and called on me, “C’mon give me something good..”

I started, “Ted Bundy, your classic deranged serial killer. He was active in the 1970’s and admitted to killing 30 women, although his kill count is expected to be much higher. He was most known for kidnapping, raping, and killing women, then dismembering the bodies, he was executed in 1989.”

His eyebrows shot up as he said, “tell me, did he take any souvenirs of his kills?”

“Yes, the heads of the women.”

“THANK YOU!!!” He exclaimed, “You must be Y/N… Heard nothing but good things from Claire and Sammy, I only expect the best out of you… So let’s get a little more challenging here… Tell me, Y/N… What’s the difference in between Ted Bundy and John Wayne Gacy?”

I replied simply, “John Wayne Gacy, nicknamed ‘the killer clown’ because his day job was being a clown at parties. Active in the 80′s. His victims were teenage boys and young men. His confirmed kill count is 33. He was also known for torturing as well as sexually assaulting and murdering the victims.”

“Very good Y/N… Something tells me you'll be teaching me a few things too.” Dean replied as he licked his lips and looked at me up and down.

After a lengthy class on different serial killers, he assigned us homework and dismissed the class, everyone practically ran out except for Claire and me, as she insisted on personally introducing me to him.

When I turned around to get my bag, I felt someone behind me. Then I heard the professor’s voice loud and clear directly behind me.”

“Hey, Claire… I remember you telling me about Y/N being smart and all, but you didn’t tell me that she had brains and beauty too.” He said, immediately making me blush.

When I turned around he was practically chest to chest with me. Noticing the awkward distance he stepped back a bit.

“Really Dean? You just met her and you’re already hitting on her?” Claire quipped, “it was bad enough that you couldn’t keep your eyes off of her the entire class.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about, Claire.” Refuted the professor. He then turned his attention towards me, “I just wanted a proper introduction. Hello, My name’s Dean Winchester, it’s a pleasure to meet you and I can’t wait to have you in my class.” He extended his hand as I stood there, dumbfounded.

Claire nudged me and I accepted the handshake saying, “hello, and I can’t wait to get to have your class. This is really interesting stuff.”

Dean smiled, “The human mind is interesting… especially when a few screws are loose… but something tells me you already know that. Judging by the rockstar performance you put on today. I’m assuming that much of my course material as well as Sammy’s is going to be child’s play for you… So I want to offer you an opportunity.”

“Sure!” I exclaimed.

He smiled as he continued, “I know you’re graduating in a semester, and since you’re interested in this… I need a research assistant. I’m working on a book, something that the college is making me do. But I need people like you to help me research some things, it’s a paid position and I don’t mind counting it as an independent study. You’re an abnormal psychology major so I was hoping you’d be interested.”

“I am more than interested.” I immediately replied.

“Great. Then meet me in my office at 3 pm. I’ll have the W-9 paperwork and all of that drawn up by then. I look forward to working with you.”

Claire interrupted with, “hey…. why didn’t you offer me that?”

He just stared at her and said, “really? Claire no offense but you are nowhere near qualified for this.”

“What? I’m qualified!”

“Oh really, where do you get your information from? What website?”

“Wikipedia”

“Exactly… I rest my case…now I need to go and meet my brother for lunch… rub it in his face about how I got the notorious Ms. Y/L/N as my research assistant. I’ll see you both next class.”

DEANS POV:

Room 412: Professor Samuel Winchester.

I scoffed at the nameplate and just opened the door. Sam looked at me almost insulted…

“Dude… knock much?” He commented as he went back to grading papers or whatever he was doing.

“Oh please Sammy, it’s bad enough that we had to retire, now you’re complaining about manners too?”

“Listen Dean… I know this is hard for you.” Said Sam.

“Hard?” I commented. “This… this isn’t hard.. pretending I can do very well Sam. Burying Jack and mom… now that was hard. What’s impossible which somehow you are executing perfectly is acting like neither of them ever existed.”

“Dean, we had to move on and we agreed..”

“I know… we agreed that retirement is the only option. The only way we can save the people that we love.. I know..” 

Sam looked at me, with pain in his eyes, “you still having those dreams?”

I looked at him, “every single night. Mom throws herself on a bed of wood and waits for Jack to light it. Jack lights it and then walks into the flames with her… I can’t move… can’t do anything, Sammy.” I huffed as I loosened my tie and collapsed into the chair next to his desk motioning in the air.

“Maybe you should go to see somebody, Dean.” He replied gently.

“Like who? A shrink?” I laughed, “ I will be in the nearest asylum instantaneously, Sammy. How do I explain half of the shit we’ve been through? ‘Well, it all started when a demon nailed my mother to the ceiling and burned her from the inside out in my childhood home when I was 4’.... can’t imagine that going too well.”

“No… but you can talk to me.” He said as he put his pen down and looked at me, “So, listen Dean, I …”

“Not here… and not now, Sammy.” I interrupted, “The only person I’m seeing is the lunch lady for a double bacon cheeseburger with fries… now are you coming with me or are you going to stay up here doing this?” I asked.

“Ok Dean… let’s eat.”

When we got onto the elevator I struck up a new conversation, “so… Y/N Y/L/N…. she’s something else, right?”

“Yeah, she’s crazy smart.”

“One would think she’s a hunter,” I said absentmindedly.

“No way… no scars, not one scrap of flannel on her.”

“Y’know not every hunter wears flannel, Sammy. But you’re right… she isn’t battle hardened. Shame… she’d be one hell of a hunter…” I flashed a smirk and shrugged at Sam.

“Dean…” Sam warned.

“I know I know… keep a low profile… only kill the monsters that come looking for us.”

“And?”

I huffed, “and never bring someone else into the life… I know Sammy.”

When we got off of the elevator Sam said, “I’m actually thinking of asking her to be my research assistant.”

“Too late” I replied.

“You didn’t.” Said Sam as he stopped me.

“What? Try and find someone willing to look at gruesome crime scene photos all day and actually like it… I dare you…” I said as I continued walking, “by the way most people think that your field is mostly lore based… remember, and who doesn’t like to read fiction all day? I’m sure you’ll find someone.”

“Not someone like her…” Said Sam.

“Why do you think I asked first? You snooze you lose Sammy Boy.” I said as I play punched him on the shoulder.

“Oh please dean, you only hired her because she’s hot.”

“You know I’m almost insulted that you’d think that… she’s a student, Sammy”

“But she won’t be in three months… I know how you think Dean. She’s truly intelligent… she has a future… one that doesn’t involve your bed.”

“Listen the fact that she’s hot is beside the point, Sammy. She has the brains and the ability to digest information that others would go crazy doing. She’s perfect for the job.”

“Well, she’s perfect for my job too…”

“Sammy, this is a student, not a competition… by the way, I already won…”

“Did she sign the papers?”

My eyes went wide.

“Exactly”

WANT MORE? TELL ME SO!!! Tell me if I should do a Part 2!!

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[fellmother-archive]

{Headcanon: Naeva’s Indoctrination + Grimleal Institutions}

{ ooc. If you want to skip to the part specifically about the Grimleal institutions, just scroll down until you find the title-

That being said, this post contains:

Abuse (specifically, child abuse)

Torture

Manipulation

Cult behaviour (obviously...)

Ritualistic self-harm

Suicide (only mentioned)

If you are uncomfortable with any of those things, do not read this post, as they are not glossed over and are mentioned a few times. I also do not condone or support any of the things written on this post-- I do not believe in romanticising or playing down something that, realistically, is damaging, amoral and dangerous. }

Indoctrination

     Naeva’s first exposure to anything related to the Grimleal Sect occurred when she was six years old—when the girl, a cleric at the time, was introduced to the king’s son, Validar, and the two were told to occupy themselves while their fathers worked to formulate plans in an attempt to push back invading Ylissean forces. Though she was not a stranger to the concept of Grima—the dragon that the land’s polytheistic religion dubbed the bringer of destruction, death and despair--, it was not until the cleric was in the boy’s company that the cult’s many scriptures were introduced to her. At the time, they were terrifying, the thought of communicating and devoting oneself to a being that would herald devastation, however, as days passed, and the more time Naeva spent with Validar, the idea slowly became less frightening, and instead quite interesting in the girl’s eyes. It was the idea of salvation that initially lured her in—of being blessed with gaining access to a utopic world after death in the one she and so many other live in--, and to hear the ideas explained and talked about so passionately by one the girl deemed to be her only friend, to hear him speak as though he truly believed it was the sole path in life, why Naeva could not help but to fall for the sect’s most basic of beliefs.

     It was not until a year later, when the girl was seven years of age, that the king—Validar’s father—took notice of how close the two were getting, and offered her a place in one of the Grimleal’s many institutes—places where the young would go to be conditioned, introduced to the religion’s doctrine, and ultimately shaped to fit the group’s needs. With a mother who performed for the sect’s ceremonies, and would throw her life on the line if the leader would so much as ask her to do so, such an offer was met with nothing but joy—a kind so great, in fact, that it rendered her husband’s protests insignificant, and left them unheard by the high-ranking priests that eventually came to take the cleric away. In return for their daughter, protection from the war was offered—for the girl to be safe from invading forces, and never have to worry about a lack of food or other necessities; to be placed somewhere where she could thrive, but never be forced into battle until the time was right. Though the request sounded open, it was truly anything but, and in realising that, Naeva’s father simply stood aside, and allowed his only child to be taken away.      She would be trained at that school for four years before finally rising to the position of Validar’s right hand man, however, they were easily the toughest four years of the girl’s life.

Grimleal Institutions

     Disguising themselves as schools, orphanages, and other places in which children would be sent to for various reasons, Grimleal institutions serve as naught but a way of recruiting children of those both born to members of the cult, and those outside of it—a way to indoctrinate them at ridiculously young ages, and shape them however the leader sees fit. It is a place that will welcome young children with open arms, and shower them with kindness and love for a few days, but then suddenly have a change of heart. Communication from one’s family is cut entirely, unless their parent just so happens to be a mentor within the institution, strict and almost unfair rules are imposed upon the children, and every ounce of energy they can muster is devoted to learning whatever trades, weapons or scriptures that have been designated to them. 

     Tested within their first few days, the children are divided up according to what they excel at, and though they certainly do not tell them this, a hierarchy of sorts has already been put in place, with those incapable of using magic at the very bottom, those who excel in healing magic next, then anima, and finally dark magic at the very top. The lower one sat, the more trades they were taught alongside their specific weapon, as they were deemed so useless to the sect that they must make up for it in other areas. Such things included, but were not limited to: sewing, dancing, hunting, tactics, booking binding, writing, weapon making, tailoring, falconry-- anything that the cult might be able to take advantage of in the future and benefit from. Failure, or the slightest indication of one falling behind their peers was not tolerated.

     Every child within an institution’s walls was subjected to more than one of their harsh and cruel punishments. From failing tests, to speaking when they were not spoken to first, to achieving the lowest mark out a group of peers, to tardiness, wording a sentence wrong, or simply from being the target of a mentor’s spite-- anything could be considered punishable, and more often than not, children forced to endure these horrific disciplinary methods never really did anything wrong. A simple slap on the wrist was never an option, no-- instead, the children were, quite literally, subjected to a form of torture in an extreme attempt to correct their behaviour, and make them docile and obedient. Being locked away in a dark room or one lined with spikes, deprivation of food or water, acting as a test dummy for hexes or spells, forced to clean floors with the smallest of brushes, forced to give blood for dark mages and the like to use, and so much worse-- nothing was off-limits; not unless the leader commanded it. To say that a majority of those who lived in one of the institutions have grown slow to pain, have permanent conditions, such as nerve damage, or developed trauma-related disorders would be an understatement-- almost all of them fall under one category at the very least, for no child was special; no child was spared, even if they were well behaved. 

     To have heard that a student took their own life was not uncommon, and so very often, many of the children learning healing magic would have to work with the injured bodies of their peers, never allowed to react or express an ounce of sympathy. Copying down copious amounts of scriptures was mandatory, as was being taught the sects rituals-- some of which involved offering up their own blood--, and both morning and evening prayer were to be done standing completely still, the children not being allowed to shift their focus, even when the students around them began to pass out. If one was to ask a someone who has ever been inside one of those institutes if they thought something was wrong with how they were being treated, however, they would never say yes-- to them, it was normal; they were conditioned to simply accept it, and move on with their lives. They have been numbed, had their skills in certain areas refined to terrifying levels, and have found their own ways to mask their pain-- individuals who would eventually be relocated elsewhere, and be placed in amongst the cult’s rankings.

[samedifference61]

Favorite Kylux... things

So, it’s my four month anniversary of diving head first into the kylux trash pit and not coming up for air, so I thought I would put together a random list of my favorite things.  This is by no means an exhaustive list of essentials for noobs, just some things that have shaped my own personal headcanons according to what I enjoy about the pairing and what I find myself coming back to for inspiration. 

But if you were interested in Kylux as a noob-- this is 100% without a doubt the list of AO3 fic recs, fanart recs, and tumblr recs I would drop at your feet (before quickly running away so I wouldn’t have to witness your confused reaction).

Settle ‘round young padwans, this is going to be a long one... 

AO3 Fic Recs

These recs are roughly in the order I’ve read them, and all are part of my public bookmarks on AO3.

In the Dark by @reserve

This mostly pwp gets at Ren’s deep insecurities in a way that brings the kylux trust to an unexpected level of intimacy. This was one of the first fics I read and really said, “Oh, yes. Now this is the pairing I can get behind.” 

Aware of His Own Halo by @badspacebabies

Hot Mess Hux is such a refreshing role reversal. This fulfills all of my: ‘So what would Hux do without the First Order?’ needs. I could read a good 100K more in this universe.  Also the sex is incredibly hot.

fever to tell by @irisparry (elements of dub-con)

There’s nothing nice or easy about their dynamic in this one. Ren’s impulsive need to possess Hux, his restless pursuit of Hux’s memories, his mind, leaves them both on the messy edge of consent. Neither of them really knows what they’re doing-- and that makes it all the more compelling.  

Tinder and Flint by @that-vicious-vixen

I’m such a sucker for a well-written Emperor Hux AUs. This one, one of the originals, is so so satisfying. The tension between Hux and Ren is so lovely here.

Our Fragile Co-commandership by @ilyn

As someone who enjoys writing dialogue, I love the banter in this. The way Hux and Ren play off of each other makes me smile all the way through. They are so well matched and at ease in each other’s presence, which is hard to balance while creating believable characterizations. This nails it.

Wracklines by @badspacebabies

Post-Starkiller kylux. I love the vulnerability in both of them as they’re left confused and bare with only each other to lean on in the wake of Starkiller, even when Snoke is demanding they separate. Hux’s reluctant acceptance in caring what happens to Ren is so emotionally compelling. I’ve read this series a few times-- and it’s one of those gorgeous pieces of prose where I can discover something new I like each time.

Children Wake Up series by @hollyhark

This is a long read that is so so satisfying if you’re into alternate universe fics that branch off from canon. There’s so much to love about this one, but something I think doesn’t get mentioned enough is the interpretation of Snoke and his deeply disturbing, psychological influence over Ren. After reading this, I was disappointed by Snoke’s treatment in TLJ because he’s so much more dimensional and downright scary in this fic. His presence is felt everywhere throughout this series, and has greatly influenced how I see him in my own personal headcanon.

Somewhere in the Half-Light  by @hollyhark

This mostly-PWP fic set within canon hits so many of my kinks. Orgasm delay, praise kink, rushed half-clothed sex. Urgency. Love it. 

Gold and Stone Series by @hollyhark (WIP)

This plot is so very engaging! I love the characterizations of the Knights of Ren here and how the Force bond works between Ren and Hux. The differing Hux and Ren POVs contribute so much mystery to the plot. I try not to read WIPs because I can’t take it when I read something I know will be left unfinished (even in my own writing), but I couldn’t resist with this one. I can’t wait to read more!

Hunger by @eralkfang @badspacebabies  @reserve

The dynamic between Hux and Ren is so interesting here. I love the slow-build toward intimacy that I can’t really describe without using the word sensual, and the narrative prose is just spot on. I’ve read lots of things by all three of these authors, so to see all three write something together is just-- yes.

I don’t Want Love series by @saltandrockets

I’m honestly not one for kid-fic or mpreg, but the way this plot is structured and the believability of the characterizations, it just makes sense here. It’s not all fluff and roses, and I think that’s what I appreciate most about this.

Savages by @kdazrael

The Hux character study!!! This makes him so multidimensional I can’t help but keep it in the back of my mind as part of my own personal headcanon. The core worlds society + Hux’s backstory is so dynamic and interesting here. 

Resuscitate by sailaway

Classic Kylux with heavy D/s themes. I love how different this is from my initial interpretation of how kylux might work within the SW universe. This is my Classic Kylux reference. 

Flyboys  by @gefionne

I’m always reluctant to read things just because other people say I should-- but THIS. This one, though. The WWII British Royal Air Force AU that deserves all the fandom hype it receives for how good it is. The world building and emotional slow build is so so satisfying. I’m still reading through this and loving every minute!

Fanart Recs

Young Jedi Killer  by @littleststarfighter

face off by @littleststarfighter

Ties-Kylux by @schaloime

Bruised and naked Hux by @generaldeepthroat

Death by @night-cf

It’s the one thing you had to do by @andiiwalker

bruised Kylo Ren from Hux’s perspective by @fancymaul

3:47 am by @themightynyunyi

General Hux: daily life on the finalizer  by @milisk

Paper isn’t Useless... by @convallarias-art

shower kiss by @rollynn

Ren behind Hux by @first-disorder

The Supreme Leader is dead... by @merriru

'It’s not his blood he’s wearing.’ by @littleststarfighter

Kylux Anthology Piece by @queenstardust

(I’ve taken some liberties with titles simply for my own reference... I hope none of the artists mind.)

Tumblr recs: quality blogs I regularly enjoy & reblog

@chillanddrinkcoffee @mademoisellebianx @kyluxempire @kinkshamekylux @sleemo @huxblush @dagturn @ondolindiel @hex-n-hart @textsfromfirstorder

@kyluxhardkinks @softkyluxkinks @kyluxcantina 

My own humble fic offerings would not exist without any of the lovely creative geniuses mentioned above. So above all else, THANK YOU. Without knowing very many of you personally (*waves nervously* “hi!”), whether you’re still involved in kylux or not, you guys have no idea how much fannish joy you’ve brought to my life over the last four months! 

Anyone else who’s reading this, please remember creators thrive on feedback in whatever form, so go and give them some love!

If you want me to remove you from this list for whatever reason, or if I’ve f-ed up any of the links, just let me know. I’ll probably do another of these in the coming months as I tirelessly consume more content.    

[cawfulkiller-blog]

Dark Magic & Curses Meta

Hey, it’s ya boy, here’s all my headcanons regarding dark magic and curses.  I have more headcanons as it applies to other games (specifically Tellius and Magvel) but in this post I’ll only be discussing it as far as Awakening and Plegia is concerned, as is applicable to dear Henry here :)

This got way longer than I was expecting, so here’s the order I talk about things broadly: 

Curses

Anima

Dark Magic

Dark Magic & Plegia/Grima

Curses.

The first magic that was widely used by people was curses.  Curses, as a method, uses a very primal source of energy and is derived from the earth itself to help make it work.  Other things are used to help direct and shape the curse, typically, because drawing in more outside product (reagents, sacrifices, etc) increases potency and puts less of a stress on the caster to compensate for.  Above all, it needs a very fine concentration, however, and it’s not without its draw-backs.

The caster first needs to have a direct link from the curse to the target.  Not having a link will cause the greatest stress on the caster to the point where most curses become nigh impossible.  This link, however, can be established with the target’s full, true name, or something of great value to the target.  Different objects will increase potency too.  For example, you would be able to easily curse some one with a beloved memento of theirs, because they’ve put so much emotional stock in it, but it wouldn’t work as well as something physically connected to them, like a bit of their blood or a lock of hair.  The physical connection increases the potency, because cursing is such a primal form of magic.  Having more than one focal point can also increase potency; having both the memento and a lock of hair will focus the curse better than one without the other.

The target, depending on how they were trained (ie: if they also know curses) can potentially overcome a hex through sheer willpower alone, and if they’re tenacious enough, can avoid being hexed without even knowing it.  The end-goal of a curse determines how hard it is to avoid, alongside the caster’s willpower.  (See: Henry & Sully’s supports)

Cursing becomes exponentially easier with the aid of reagents.  Different items hold different magical stock and influence different effects, but it becomes easier for the caster to focus their will through the objects than to just focus on their intended effect.  Sacrificing a life into the mix greatly reduces the energy the caster must put forth, so even difficult curses can be easier if something is killed in its preparation.  All cursing has some effect on the caster’s body itself, from fatigue to physical injury, but with an extra life thrown into the mix, the caster doesn’t have to do nearly as much work.

Deflecting curses is something any hexer knows how to do, to some extent.  Being able to throw one off requires only a combination of cursing knowledge and willpower.  Likewise, cursing some one who is also skilled in cursing is much more difficult than some one who isn’t, and requires more stress and concentration from the caster.

All cursing is based in concentration.  A curse cannot be cast without an intensely focused mind, even if it’s a simple curse to cast.  However, any one is capable of cursing, whether or not they have an aptitude for magic.  To this extent, it’s versatility and accessibility means it’s common in Plegia, to the point where slinging harmless curses at each other for fun is almost like a parlor game.

In the end, though, the wild nature of cursing often leaves the caster with physical evidence, and the harsher the curse, the harsher the toll on the curser’s body.  Henry says in the Future Past DLC to Brady that he’s got rashes from cursing, but implies that “measly” curses wouldn’t do such a thing.

Anima.

Anima magic (Wind, Fire, Thunder, etc) was the second magic to be derived from curses.  It’s a step refined past dark magic, and is more accessible because it’s typically easier to read.  The feelings and control required for anima magic are less extreme than dark magic, so people who are incapable of dark magic can still wield it.  This is why (at least in Awakening) all dark mages can use anima, but not all anima mages can use dark magic.  One might argue that in previous time periods dark magic was much more difficult to study (in that the information just wasn’t as readily available) so those that chose to study it, did so strictly, until they were confident enough with their command of dark magic to start using anima.

Obviously in Plegia, dark magic and anima magic are studied and taught together, because Plegia does not consider any taboo or stigma attached to dark magic.

Dark.

Dark magic is somewhere between anima and curses when it comes to being refined.  It uses the same primal energies that curses draw from, but uses a tome and writing to help focus intent and will into something far less reliant on the caster’s abilities.  Despite this, dark magic is capable without a tome, unlike anima magic, but it puts such a strain on the caster and requires such concentration and emotion put behind it that in most cases it isn’t worth bothering, and a tome is just logically the best recourse.  That’s why those versed in dark magic have an easier time cursing and vice versa, but those who were trained only in anima magic do not have as easy a time switching to dark magic.

The reason is this: just as cursing needs a specific intent to create whichever curse, and that curse is shaped by that intent, dark magic, as a weapon, requires the caster to be absolutely okay with hurting, maiming or killing.  It doesn’t matter how they’ve come to terms with it, but deep down, if the mage wishes there was a better option, the dark magic will not work for them.  This is why other characters (Libra, Miriel, Cordelia) have access to dark magic despite not starting/being trained in it, and why some magic users (Maribelle, Ricken) have no aptitude for it.

Coincidentally, the two units that do start with dark magic don’t have access to other magic classes.  Being trained mainly in dark magic, you could argue Henry and Tharja are most ‘comfortable’ with that dark intent out of every one and aren’t able to access other classes that are capable of healing magic.  From there, it makes sense that at least in Awakening’s world, the drive and power necessary to use a heal staff is at odds with dark magic, and while those who are innately capable of healing (Libra) can also access dark magic, it’s harder to go in the opposite way, and hold value for human life when you were raised thinking there isn’t any.

Because of the underlying intent behind dark magic, using dark magic either alters or makes the mage aware of things they weren’t before.  Ricken says as much when Henry tries to teach him -- that it makes him feel depressed.  With dark magic comes the sense that dealing death is natural, that every one is going to die sometime, and that every single person is as insignificant on this planet as an ant.  (This ties into Plegian religion.)

This sense of nihilism isn’t necessarily what makes dark mages go insane (though it’s a well spread story that those who study dark magic will), but the different coping mechanisms people take to deal with this in the face of a time that doesn’t actually know there’s more to the universe than this single planet, and that the sun is a place just as much as a celestial body, attributes to it.  Henry and Tharja cope in different ways, by far, but they were both raised with a nihilistic ideology that seems strange to Ylisseans who were not.

With Plegia & Grima.

This is where dark magic caters directly to the Grimleal faith.  The Grimleal believe that Grima will destroy the planet and every one they love and hold dear.  This is a fact -- there’s no “maybe” to it.  Different beliefs within the Grimleal hold that the world will be recreated afterwards, or that the people who are destroyed in the apocalypse will ascend to some kind of paradise-afterlife, but these vary in regions and none are specifically endorsed by the main Grimleal leaders.  In essence, the Grimleal perform rituals, sacrifices, and ritual-sacrifices to appease Grima not to hold off the detonation clock, but to gain favor.

What does favor get you?  Favor means that you die first.  

Grima is said to be a sadistic god, and when He comes in all his eldritch glory, he won’t just destroy the world right out, but rather plague the earth with drought and disease, poison the water supplies with pestilence, and laugh as the last of humanity’s few wither away in foxholes from starvation or wretched boils.

Favor means that Grima kills you first, and you don’t have to suffer through such atrocities the apocalypse brings.  By offering up yourself, you don’t have to watch your friends and family die around you, and your suffering ends long before the suffering ceases completely.  In that, the Grimleal believe that their Heirophant is Grima’s favorite, as that is the vessel given to Grima, and in a way Robin was killed by Grima first because they had all of his favor.

Because of the rest of the world’s disdain for dark magic, the depression and nihilism it forces on its practitioners, and the sheer power it allows them to command, it was easily placed high on a pedestal of being an aspect of Grima’s power itself, and readily adopted into the cult.  Over time this has translated to those trained in dark magic as being thought of as more valuable than those who can’t use it.

Because Plegia is a theocracy, and every citizen is automatically considered Grimleal, dark magic is so common that every one knows it, or knows some one who does.  There are spoken tales that say dark magic will make people go insane or die early deaths, even in Plegia (though they’re much more commonly told elsewhere, where dark magic is still considered evil in a sense), these are based in, as I said before, the nihilism it imposes on a caster, and that it’s much harder to control than anima, and deadlier in it’s effect than cursing.  Many dark mages have killed themselves accidentally through experiments, duels with others, or through the Grimleal faith, and such coincidence with dark magic has attached an early death to its side effects.

[readbookywooks]

The Lion and the Serpent

Harry felt as though he were carrying some kind of talisman inside his chest over the following two weeks, a glowing secret that supported him through Umbridge's classes and even made it possible for him to smile blandly as he looked into her horrible bulging eyes. He and the DA were resisting her under her very nose, doing the very thing she and the Ministry most feared, and whenever he was supposed to be reading Wilbert Slinkhard's book during her lessons he dwelled instead on satisfying memories of their most recent meetings, remembering how Neville had successfully disarmed Hermione, how Colin Creevey had mastered the Impediment Jinx after three meetings' hard effort, how Parvati Patil had produced such a good Reductor Curse that she had reduced the table carrying all the Sneakoscopes to dust. He was finding it almost impossible to fix a regular night of the week for the DA meetings, as they had to accommodate three separate: team's Quidditch practices, which were often rearranged due to bad weather conditions; but Harry was not sorry about this; he had a feeling that it was probably better to keep the timing of their meetings unpredictable. If anyone was watching them, it would be hard to make out a pattern. Hermione soon devised a very clever method of communicating the time and date of the next meeting to all the members in case they needed to change it at short notice, because it would look suspicious if people from different Houses were seen crossing the Great Hall to talk to each other too often. She gave each of the members of the DA a fake Galleon (Ron became very excited when he first saw the basket and was convinced she was actually giving out gold). 'You see the numerals around the edge of the coins?' Hermione said, holding one up for examination at the end of their fourth meeting. The coin gleamed fat and yellow in the light from the torches. 'On real Galleons that's just a serial number referring to the goblin who cast the coin. On these fake coins, though, the numbers will change to reflect the time and date of the next meeting. The coins will grow hot when the date changes, so if you're carrying them in a pocket you'll be able to feel them. We take one each, and when Harry sets the date of the next meeting he'll change the numbers on his coin, and because I've put a Protean Charm on them, they'll all change to mimic his.' A blank silence greeted Hermione's words. She looked around at all the faces upturned to her, rather disconcerted. 'Well--I thought it was a good idea,' she said uncertainly, 'I mean, even if Umbridge asked us to turn out our pockets, there's nothing fishy about carrying a Galleon, is there? But ... well, if you don't want to use them--' 'You can do a Protean Charm?' said Terry Boot. 'Yes,' said Hermione. 'But that's ... that's NEWT standard, that is,' he said weakly. 'Oh,' said Hermione, trying to look modest. 'Oh ... well ... yes, I suppose it is.' 'How come you're not in Ravenclaw?' he demanded, staring at Hermione with something close to wonder. 'With brains like yours?' 'Well, the Sorting Hat did seriously consider putting me in Ravenclaw during my Sorting,' said Hermione brightly, 'but it decided on Gryffindor in the end. So, does that mean we're using the Galleons?' There was a murmur of assent and everybody moved forwards to collect one from the basket. Harry looked sideways at Hermione. 'You know what these remind me of?' 'No, what's that?' The Death Eaters' scars. Voldemort touches one of them, and all their scars burn, and they know they've got to join him.' 'Well ... yes,' said Hermione quietly, 'that is where I got the idea ... but you'll notice I decided to engrave the date on bits of metal rather than on our members' skin.' 'Yeah ... I prefer your way,' said Harry, grinning, as he slipped his Galleon into his pocket. 'I suppose the only danger with these is that we might accidentally spend them.' 'Fat chance,' said Ron, who was examining his own fake Galleon with a slightly mournful air, 'I haven't got any real Galleons to confuse it with.' As the first Quidditch match of the season, Gryffindor versus Slytherin, drew nearer, their DA meetings were put on hold because Angelina insisted on almost daily practices. The fact that the Quidditch Cup had not been held for so long added considerably to the interest and excitement surrounding the forthcoming game; the Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs were taking a lively interest in the outcome, for they, of course, would be playing both teams over the coming year; and the Heads of House of the competing teams, though they attempted to disguise it under a decent pretence of sportsmanship, were determined to see their own side victorious. Harry realised how much Professor McGonagall cared about beating Slytherin when she abstained from giving them homework in the week leading up to the match. I think you've got enough to be getting on with at the moment,' she said loftily. Nobody could quite believe their ears until she looked directly at Harry and Ron and said grimly, 'I've become accustomed to seeing the Quidditch Cup in my study, boys, and I really don't want to have to hand it over to Professor Snape, so use the extra time to practise, won't you?' Snape was no less obviously partisan; he had booked the Quidditch pitch for Slytherin practice so often that the Gryffindors had difficulty getting on it to play. He was also turning a deaf ear to the many reports of Slytherin attempts to hex Gryffindor players in the corridors. When Alicia Spinnet turned up in the hospital wing with her eyebrows growing so thick and fast they obscured her vision and obstructed her mouth, Snape insisted that she must have attempted a Hair-thickening Charm on herself and refused to listen to the fourteen eye-witnesses who insisted they had seen the Slytherin Keeper, Miles Bletchley, hit her from behind with a jinx while she worked in the library. Harry felt optimistic about Gryffindors chances; they had, after all, never lost to Malfoy's team. Admittedly, Ron was still not performing to Wood's standard, but he was working extremely hard to improve. His greatest weakness was a tendency to lose confidence after he'd made a blunder; if he let in one goal he became flustered and was therefore likely to miss more. On the other hand, Harry had seen Ron make some truly spectacular saves when he was on form; during one memorable practice he had hung one-handed from his broom and kicked the Quaffle so hard away from the goalhoop that it soared the length of the pitch and through the centre hoop at the other end; the rest of the team felt this save compared favourably with one made recently by Barry Ryan, the Irish International Keeper, against Poland's top Chaser, Ladislaw Zamojski. Even Fred had said that Ron might yet make him and George proud, and that they were seriously considering admitting he was related to them, something they assured him they had been trying to deny for four years. The only thing really worrying Harry was how much Ron was allowing the tactics of the Slytherin team to upset him before they even got on to the pitch. Harry, of course, had endured their snide comments for over four years, so whispers of, 'Hey, Potty, I heard Warrington's sworn to knock you off your broom on Saturday', far from chilling his blood, made him laugh. 'Warrington's aim's so pathetic I'd be more worried if he was aiming for the person next to me,' he retorted, which made Ron and Hermione laugh and wiped the smirk off Pansy Parkinson's face. But Ron had never endured a relentless campaign of insults, jeers and intimidation. When Slytherins, some of them seventh-years and considerably larger than he was, muttered as they passed in the corridors, 'Got your bed booked in the hospital wing, Weasley?' he didn't laugh, but turned a delicate shade of green. When Draco Malfoy imitated Ron dropping the Quaffle (which he did whenever they came within sight of each other), Ron's ears glowed red and his hands shook so badly that he was likely to drop whatever he was holding at the time, too. October extinguished itself in a rush of howling winds and driving rain and November arrived, cold as frozen iron, with hard frosts every morning and icy draughts that bit at exposed hands and faces. The skies and the ceiling of the Great Hall turned a pale, pearly grey, the mountains around Hogwarts were snowcapped, and the temperature in the castle dropped so low that many students wore their thick protective dragonskin gloves in the corridors between lessons. The morning of the match dawned bright and cold. When Harry awoke he looked round at Ron's bed and saw him sitting bolt upright, his arms around his knees, staring fixedly into space. 'You all right?' said Harry. Ron nodded but did not speak. Harry was reminded forcibly of the time Ron had accidentally put a Slug-vomiting Charm on himself; he looked just as pale and sweaty as he had done then, not to mention as reluctant to open his mouth. 'You just need some breakfast,' Harry said bracingly. 'C'mon.' The Great Hall was filling up fast when they arrived, the talk louder and the mood more exuberant than usual. As they passed the Slytherin table there was an upsurge of noise. Harry looked round and saw that, in addition to the usual green and silver scarves and hats, every one of them was wearing a silver badge in the shape of what seemed to be a crown. For some reason many of them waved at Ron, laughing uproariously. Harry tried to see what was written on the badges as he walked by, but he was too concerned to get Ron past their table quickly to linger long enough to read them. They received a rousing welcome at the Gryffindor table, where everyone was wearing red and gold, but far from raising Ron's spirits the cheers seemed to sap the last of his morale; he collapsed on to the nearest bench looking as though he were facing his final meal. 'I must've been mental to do this,' he said in a croaky whisper. 'Mental.' 'Don't be thick,' said Harry firmly, passing him a choice of cereals, 'you're going to be fine. It's normal to be nervous.' 'I'm rubbish,' croaked Ron. 'I'm lousy. I can't play to save my life. What was I thinking?' 'Get a grip,' said Harry sternly. 'Look at that save you made with your foot the other day, even Fred and George said it was brilliant.' Ron turned a tortured face to Harry. 'That was an accident,' he whispered miserably. 'I didn't mean to do it--I slipped off my broom when none of you were looking and when I was trying to get back on I kicked the Quaffle by accident.' 'Well,' said Harry, recovering quickly from this unpleasant surprise, 'a few more accidents like that and the game's in the bag, isn't it?' Hermione and Ginny sat down opposite them wearing red and gold scarves, gloves and rosettes. 'How're you feeling?' Ginny asked Ron, who was now staring into the dregs of milk at the bottom of his empty cereal bowl as though seriously considering attempting to drown himself in them. 'He's just nervous,' said Harry. 'Well, that's a good sign, I never feel you perform as well in exams if you're not a bit nervous,' said Hermione heartily. 'Hello,' said a vague and dreamy voice from behind them. Harry looked up: Luna Lovegood had drifted over from the Ravenclaw table. Many people were staring at her and a few were openly laughing and pointing; she had managed to procure a hat shaped like a life-size lion's head, which was perched precariously on her head. 'I'm supporting Gryffindor,' said Luna, pointing unnecessarily at her hat. 'Look what it does ...' She reached up and tapped the hat with her wand. It opened its mouth wide and gave an extremely realistic roar that made everyone in the vicinity jump. 'It's good, isn't it?' said Luna happily. 'I wanted to have it chewing up a serpent to represent Slytherin, you know, but there wasn't time. Anyway ... good luck, Ronald!' She drifted away. They had not quite recovered from the shock of Luna's hat before Angelina came hurrying towards them, accompanied by Katie and Alicia, whose eyebrows had mercifully been returned to normal by Madam Pomfrey. 'When you're ready,' she said, 'we're going to go straight down to the pitch, check out conditions and change.' 'We'll be there in a bit,' Harry assured her. 'Ron's just got to have some breakfast.' It became clear after ten minutes, however, that Ron was not capable of eating anything more and Harry thought it best to get him down to the changing rooms. As they rose from the table, Hermione got up, too, and taking Harry's arm she drew him to one side. 'Don't let Ron see what's on those Slytherins' badges,' she whispered urgently. Harry looked questioningly at her, but she shook her head warningly; Ron had just ambled over to them, looking lost and desperate. 'Good luck, Ron,' said Hermione, standing on tiptoe and kissing him on the cheek. 'And you, Harry --' Ron seemed to come to himself slightly as they walked back across the Great Hall. He touched the spot on his face where Hermione had kissed him, looking puzzled, as though he was not quite sure what had just happened. He seemed too distracted to notice much around him, but Harry cast a curious glance at the crown-shaped badges as they passed the Slytherin table, and this time he made out the words etched on to them: Weasley is our King With an unpleasant feeling that this could mean nothing good, he hurried Ron across the Entrance Hall, clown the stone steps and out into the icy air. The frosty grass crunched under their feet as they hurried down the sloping lawns towards the stadium. There was no wind at all and the sky was a uniform pearly white, which meant that visibility would be good without the drawback of direct sunlight in the eyes. Harry pointed out these encouraging factors to Ron as they walked, but he was not sure that Ron was listening. Angelina had changed already and was talking to the rest of the team when they entered. Harry and Ron pulled on their robes (Ron attempted to do his up back-to-front for several minutes before Alicia took pity on him and went to help), then sat down to listen to the pre-match talk while the babble of voices outside grew steadily louder as the crowd came pouring out of the castle towards the pitch. 'OK, I've only just found out the final line-up for Slytherin,' said Angelina, consulting a piece of parchment. 'Last year's Beaters, Derrick and Bole, have left, but it looks as though Montague's replaced them with the usual gorillas, rather than anyone who can fly particularly well. They're two blokes called Crabbe and Goyle, I don't know much about them--' 'We do,' said Harry and Ron together. 'Well, they don't look bright enough to tell one end of a broom from the other,' said Angelina, pocketing her parchment, 'but then I was always surprised Derrick and Bole managed to find their way on to the pitch without signposts.' 'Crabbe and Goyle are in the same mould,' Harry assured her. They could hear hundreds of footsteps mounting the banked benches of the spectators' stands. Some people were singing, though Harry could not make out the words. He was starting to feel nervous, but he knew his butterflies were as nothing compared to Ron's, who was clutching his stomach and staring straight ahead again, his jaw set and his complexion pale grey. 'It's time,' said Angelina in a hushed voice, looking at her watch. 'C'mon everyone ... good luck.' The team rose, shouldered their brooms and marched in single file out of the changing room and into the dazzling sunlight, A roar of sound greeted them in which Harry could still hear singing, though it was muffled by the cheers and whistles. The Slytherin team was standing waiting for them. They, too, were wearing those silver crown-shaped badges. The new Captain, Montague, was built along the same lines as Dudley Dursley with massive forearms like hairy hams. Behind him lurked Crabbe and Goyle, almost as large, blinking stupidly in the sunlight, swinging their new Beaters' bats. Malfoy stood to one side, the sunlight gleaming on his white-blond head. He caught Harry's eye and smirked, tapping the crown-shaped badge on his chest. 'Captains, shake hands,' ordered the referee Madam Hooch, as Angelina and Montague reached each other. Harry could tell that Montague was trying to crush Angelina's fingers, though she did not wince. 'Mount your brooms ...' Madam Hooch placed her whistle in her mouth and blew. The balls were released and the fourteen players shot upwards. Out of the corner of his eye Harry saw Ron streak off towards the goalhoops. Harry zoomed higher, dodging a Bludger, and set off on a wide lap of the pitch, gazing around for a glint of gold; on the other side of the stadium, Draco Malfoy was doing exactly the same. 'And it's Johnson --Johnson with the Quaffle, what a player that girl is, I've been saying it for years but she still won't go out with me--' 'JORDAN!' yelled Professor McGonagall. '--just a fun fact, Professor, adds a bit of interest--and she's ducked Warrington, she's passed Montague, she's--ouch--been hit from behind by a Bludger from Crabbe ... Montague catches the Quaffle, Montague heading back up the pitch and--nice Bludger there from George Weasley, that's a Bludger to the head for Montague, he drops the Quaffle, caught by Katie Bell, Katie Bell of Gryffindor reverse-passes to Alicia Spinnet and Spinnet's away--' Lee Jordan's commentary rang through the stadium and Harry listened as hard as he could through the wind whistling in his ears and the din of the crowd, all yelling and booing and singing. '--dodges Warrington, avoids a Bludger--close call, Alicia--and the crowd are loving this, just listen to them, what's that they're singing?' And as Lee paused to listen, the song rose loud and clear from the sea of green and silver in the Slytherin section of the stands: 'Weasley cannot save a thing, He cannot block a single ring, That's why Slytherins all sing: Weasley is our King. 'Weasley was born in a bin He always lets the Quaffle in Weasley will make sure we win Weasley is our King.' ' --a nd Alicia passes back to Angelina!' Lee shouted, and as Harry swerved, his insides boiling at what he had just heard, he knew Lee was trying to drown out the words of the song. 'Come on now, Angelina--looks like she's got just the Keeper to beat!--SHE SHOOTS--SHE--aaaah ...' Bletchley, the Slytherin Keeper, had saved the goal; he threw the Quaffle to Warrington who sped off with it, zig-zagging in between Alicia and Katie; the singing from below grew louder and louder as he drew nearer and nearer Ron. 'Weasley is our King, Weasley is our King, He always lets the Quaffle in Weasley is our King. ' Harry could not help himself: abandoning his search for the Snitch, he wheeled around to watch Ron, a lone figure at the far end of the pitch, hovering before the three goalhoops while the massive Warrington pelted towards him. '--and it's Warrington with the Quaffle, Warrington heading for goal, he's out of Bludger range with just the Keeper ahead--' A great swell of song rose from the Slytherin stands below: 'Weasley cannot save a thing, He cannot block a single ring ...' '-- so it's the first test for new Gryffindor Keeper Weasley, brother of Beaters Fred and George, and a promising new talent on the team--come on, Ron!' But the scream of delight came from the Slytherins' end: Ron had dived wildly, his arms wide, and the Quaffle had soared between them straight through Ron's central hoop. 'Slytherin score!' came Lee's voice amid the cheering and booing from the crowds below, 'so that's ten-nil to Slytherin--bad luck, Ron.' The Slytherins sang even louder: 'WEASLEY WAS BORN IN A BIN HE ALWAYS LETS THE QUAFFLE IN... ' '--and Gryffindor back in possession and it's Katie Bell tanking up the pitch--' cried Lee valiantly, though the singing was now so deafening that he could hardly make himself heard above it. 'WEASLEY WILL MAKE SURE WE WIN WEASLEY IS OUR KING ...' 'Harry, WHAT ARE YOU DOING?' screamed Angelina, soaring past him to keep up with Katie. 'GET GOING!' Harry realised he had been stationary in midair for over a minute, watching the progress of the match without sparing a thought for the whereabouts of the Snitch; horrified, he went into a dive and started circling the pitch again, staring around, trying to ignore the chorus now thundering through the stadium: 'WEASLEY IS OUR KING, WEASLEY IS OUR KING ... ' There was no sign of the Snitch anywhere he looked; Malfoy was still circling the stadium just as he was. They passed one another midway around the pitch, going in opposite directions, and Harry heard Malfoy singing loudly: 'WEASLEY WAS BORN IN A BIN ...' '--and it's Warrington again,' bellowed Lee, 'who passes to Pucey, Pucey's off past Spinnet, come on now, Angelina, you can take him - turns out you can't--but nice Bludger from Fred Weasley I mean, George Weasley, oh, who cares, one of them, anyway, and Warrington drops the Quaffle and Katie Bell--er--drops it, too--so that's Montague with the Quaffle, Slytherin Captain Montague takes the Quaffle and he's off up the pitch, come on now, Gryffindor, block him!' Harry zoomed around the end of the stadium behind the Slytherin goalhoops, willing himself not to look at what was going on at Ron's end. As he sped past the Slytherin Keeper, he heard Bletchley singing along with the crowd below: 'WEASLEY CANNOT SAVE A THING ...' '--and Pucey's dodged Alicia again and he's heading straight for goal, stop it, Ron!' Harry did not have to look to see what had happened: there was a terrible groan from the Gryffindor end, coupled with fresh screams and applause from the Slytherins. Looking down, Harry saw the pug-faced Pansy Parkinson right at the front of the stands, her back to the pitch as she conducted the Slytherin supporters who were roaring: 'THAT'S WHY SLYTHERINS ALL SING WEASLEY IS OUR KING.' But twenty-nil was nothing, there was still time for Gryffindor to catch up or catch the Snitch. A few goals and they would be in the lead as usual, Harry assured himself, bobbing and weaving through the other players in pursuit of something shiny that turned out to be Montague's watchstrap. But Ron let in two more goals. There was an edge of panic in Harry's desire to find the Snitch now. If he could just get it soon and finish the game quickly. '--and Katie Bell of Gryffindor dodges Pucey, ducks Montague, nice swerve, Katie, and she throws to Johnson, Angelina Johnson takes the Quaffle, she's past Warrington, she's heading for goal, come on now, Angelina--GRYFFINDOR SCORE! It's forty-ten, forty-ten to Slytherin and Pucey has the Quaffle ...' Harry could hear Luna's ludicrous lion hat roaring amidst the Gryffindor cheers and felt heartened; only thirty points in it, that was nothing, they could pull back easily. Harry ducked a Bludger that Crabbe had sent rocketing in his direction and resumed his frantic scouring of the pitch for the Snitch, keeping one eye on Malfoy in case he showed signs of having spotted it, but Malfoy, like him, was continuing to soar around the stadium, searching fruitlessly ... '--Pucey throws to Warrington, Warrington to Montague, Montague back to Pucey--Johnson intervenes, Johnson takes the Quaffle, Johnson to Bell, this looks good--I mean bad--Bell's hit by a Bludger from Goyle of Slytherin and it's Pucey in possession again ...' 'WEASLEY WAS BORN IN A BIN HE ALWAYS LETS THE QUAFFLE IN WEASLEY WILL MAKE SURE WE WIN ... ' But Harry had seen it at last: the tiny fluttering Golden Snitch was hovering feet from the ground at the Slytherin end of the pitch. He dived ... In a matter of seconds, Malfoy was streaking out of the sky on Harry's left, a green and silver blur lying flat on his broom ... The Snitch skirted the foot of one of the goalhoops and scooted off towards the other side of the stands; its change of direction suited Malfoy, who was nearer; Harry pulled his Firebolt around, he and Malfoy were now neck and neck ... Feet from the ground, Harry lifted his right hand from his broom, stretching towards the Snitch ... to his right, Malfoy's arm extended too, was reaching, groping ... It was over in two breathless, desperate, windswept seconds--Harry's fingers closed around the tiny, struggling ball--Malfoy's fingernails scrabbled the back of Harry's hand hopelessly--Harry pulled his broom upwards, holding the struggling ball in his hand and the Gryffindor spectators screamed their approval ... They were saved, it did not matter that Ron had let in those goals, nobody would remember as long as Gryffindor had won-- WHAM. A Bludger hit Harry squarely in the small of the back and he flew forwards off his broom. Luckily he was only five or six feet above the ground, having dived so low to catch the Snitch, but he was winded all the same as he landed flat on his back on the frozen pitch. He heard Madam Hooch's shrill whistle, an uproar in the stands compounded of catcalls, angry yells and jeering, a thud, then Angelina's frantic voice. 'Are you all right?' 'Course I am,' said Harry grimly, taking her hand and allowing her to pull him to his feet. Madam Hooch was zooming towards one of the Slytherin players above him, though he could not see who it was from this angle. 'It was that thug Crabbe,' said Angelina angrily, 'he whacked the Bludger at you the moment he saw you'd got the Snitch--but we won, Harry, we won!' Harry heard a snort from behind him and turned around, still holding the Snitch tightly in his hand: Draco Malfoy had landed close by. White-faced with fury, he was still managing to sneer. 'Saved Weasley's neck, haven't you?' he said to Harry. 'I've never seen a worse Keeper ... but then he was born in a bin ... did you like my lyrics, Potter?' Harry didn't answer. He turned away to meet the rest of the team who were now landing one by one, yelling and punching the air in triumph; all except Ron, who had dismounted from his broom over by the goalposts and seemed to be making his way slowly back to the changing rooms alone. 'We wanted to write another couple of verses!' Malfoy called, as Katie and Alicia hugged Harry. 'But we couldn't find rhymes for fat and ugly--we wanted to sing about his mother, see--' 'Talk about sour grapes,' said Angelina, casting Malfoy a disgusted look. '--we couldn't fit in useless loser either--for his father, you know--' Fred and George had realised what Malfoy was talking about. Halfway through shaking Harry's hand, they stiffened, looking round at Malfoy. 'Leave it!' said Angelina at once, taking Fred by the arm. 'Leave it, Fred, let him yell, he's just sore he lost, the jumped-up little-- '--but you like the Weasleys, don't you, Potter?' said Malfoy, sneering. 'Spend holidays there and everything, don't you? Can't see how you stand the stink, but I suppose when you've been dragged up by Muggles, even the Weasleys' hovel smells OK--' Harry grabbed hold of George. Meanwhile, it was taking the combined efforts of Angelina, Alicia and Katie to stop Fred leaping on Malfoy, who was laughing openly. Harry looked around for Madam Hooch, but she was still berating Crabbe for his illegal Bludger attack. 'Or perhaps,' said Malfoy, leering as he backed away, 'you can remember what your mother's house stank like, Potter, and Weasley's pigsty reminds you of it--' Harry was not aware of releasing George, all he knew was that a second later both of them were sprinting towards Malfoy. He had completely forgotten that all the teachers were watching: all he wanted to do was cause Malfoy as much pain as possible; with no time to draw out his wand, he merely drew back the fist clutching the Snitch and sank it as hard as he could into Malfoy's stomach-- 'Harry! HARRY! GEORGE! NO!' He could hear girls' voices screaming, Malfoy yelling, George swearing, a whistle blowing and the bellowing of the crowd around him, but he did not care. Not until somebody in the vicinity yelled 'Impedimenta!' and he was knocked over backwards by the force of the spell, did he abandon the attempt to punch every inch of Malfoy he could reach. 'What do you think you're doing?' screamed Madam Hooch, as Harry leapt to his feet. It seemed to have been her who had hit him with the Impediment Jinx; she was holding her whistle in one hand and a wand in the other; her broom lay abandoned several feet away. Malfoy was curled up on the ground, whimpering and moaning, his nose bloody; George was sporting a swollen lip; Fred was still being forcibly restrained by the three Chasers, and Crabbe was cackling in the background. 'I've never seen behaviour like it--back up to the castle, both of you, and straight to your Head of House's office! Go! Now.' Harry and George turned on their heels and marched off the pitch, both panting, neither saying a word to the other. The howling and jeering of the crowd grew fainter and fainter until they reached the Entrance Hall, where they could hear nothing except the sound of their own footsteps. Harry became aware that something was still struggling in his right hand, the knuckles of which he had bruised against Malfoy's jaw. Looking down, he saw the Snitch's silver wings protruding from between his fingers, struggling for release. They had barely reached the door of Professor McGonagalls office when she came marching along the corridor behind them. She was wearing a Gryffindor scarf, but tore it from her throat with shaking hands as she strode towards them, looking livid. 'In!' she said furiously, pointing to the door. Harry and George entered. She strode around behind her desk and faced them, quivering with rage as she threw the Gryffindor scarf aside on to the floor. 'Well?' she said. 'I have never seen such a disgraceful exhibition. Two on one! Explain yourselves!' 'Malfoy provoked us,' said Harry stiffly. 'Provoked you?' shouted Professor McGonagall, slamming a fist on to her desk so that her tartan tin slid sideways off it and burst open, littering the floor with Ginger Newts. 'He'd just lost, hadn't he? Of course he wanted to provoke you! But what on earth he can have said that justified what you two--' 'He insulted my parents,' snarled George. 'And Harry's mother.' 'But instead of leaving it to Madam Hooch to sort out, you two decided to give an exhibition of Muggle duelling, did you?' bellowed Professor McGonagall. 'Have you any idea what you've--?' 'Hem, hem.' Harry and George both wheeled round. Dolores Umbridge was standing in the doorway wrapped in a green tweed cloak that greatly enhanced her resemblance to a giant toad, and was smiling in the horrible, sickly, ominous way that Harry had come to associate with imminent misery. 'May I help, Professor McGonagall?' asked Professor Umbridge in her most poisonously sweet voice. Blood rushed into Professor McGonagall's face. 'Help?' she repeated, in a constricted voice. 'What do you mean, help?' Professor Umbridge moved forwards into the office, still smiling her sickly smile. 'Why, I thought you might be grateful for a little extra authority.' Harry would not have been surprised to see sparks fly from Professor McGonagall's nostrils. 'You thought wrong,' she said, turning her back on Umbridge. 'Now, you two had better listen closely. I do not care what provocation Malfoy offered you, I do not care if he insulted every family member you possess, your behaviour was disgusting and I am giving each of you a week's worth of detentions! Do not look at me like that, Potter, you deserve it! And if either of you ever--' 'Hem, hem.' Professor McGonagall closed her eyes as though praying for patience as she turned her face towards Professor Umbridge again. 'Yes?' 'I think they deserve rather more than detentions,' said Umbridge, smiling still more broadly. Professor McGonagall's eyes flew open. 'But unfortunately,' she said, with an attempt at a reciprocal smile that made her look as though she had lockjaw, 'it is what I think that counts, as they are in my House, Dolores.' 'Well, actually, Minerva,' simpered Professor Umbridge, 'I think you'll find that what I think does count. Now, where is it? Cornelius just sent it ... I mean,' she gave a false little laugh as she rummaged in her handbag, 'the Minister just sent it ... ah yes ...' She had pulled out a piece of parchment which she now unfurled, clearing her throat fussily before starting to read what it said. 'Hem, hem ..."Educational Decree Number Twenty-five".' 'Not another one!' exclaimed Professor McGonagall violently. 'Well, yes,' said Umbridge, still smiling. 'As a matter of fact, Minerva, it was you who made me see that we needed a further amendment ... you remember how you overrode me, when I was unwilling to allow the Gryffindor Quidditch team to re-form? How you took the case to Dumbledore, who insisted that the team be allowed to play? Well, now, I couldn't have that. I contacted the Minister at once, and he quite agreed with me that the High Inquisitor has to have the power to strip pupils of privileges, or she--that is to say, I--would have less authority than common teachers! And you see now, don't you, Minerva, how right I was in attempting to stop the Gryffindor team re-forming? Dreadful tempers ... anyway, I was reading out our amendment ... hem, hem ..."the High Inquisitor will henceforth have supreme authority over all punishments, sanctions and removal of privileges pertaining to the students of Hogwarts, and the power to alter such punishments, sanctions and removals of privileges as may have been ordered by other staff members. Signed, Cornelius Fudge, Minister for Magic, Order of Merlin First Class, etc., etc." ' She rolled up the parchment and put it back into her handbag still smiling. 'So ... I really think I will have to ban these two from playing Quidditch ever again,' she said, looking from Harry to George and back again. Harry felt the Snitch fluttering madly in his hand. 'Ban us?' he said, and his voice sounded strangely distant. 'From playing ... ever again?' 'Yes, Mr. Potter, I think a lifelong ban ought to do the trick,' said Umbridge, her smile widening still further as she watched him struggle to comprehend what she had said. 'You and Mr. Weasley here. And I think, to be safe, this young man's twin ought to be stopped, too--if his teammates had not restrained him, I feel sure he would have attacked young Mr. Malfoy as well. I will want their broomsticks confiscated, of course; I shall keep them safely in my office, to make sure there is no infringement of my ban. But I am not unreasonable, Professor McGonagall,' she continued, turning back to Professor McGonagall who was now standing as still as though carved from ice, staring at her. 'The rest of the team can continue playing, I saw no signs of violence from any of them. Well ... good afternoon to you.' And with a look of the utmost satisfaction, Umbridge left the room, leaving a horrified silence in her wake. 'Banned,' said Angelina in a hollow voice, late that evening in the common room. 'Banned.No Seeker and no Beaters ... what on earth are we going to do?' It did not feel as though they had won the match at all. Everywhere Harry looked there were disconsolate and angry faces; the team themselves were slumped around the fire, all apart from Ron, who had not been seen since the end of the match. 'It's just so unfair,' said Alicia numbly. 'I mean, what about Crabbe and that Bludger he hit after the whistle had been blown? Has she banned him?' 'No,' said Ginny miserably; she and Hermione were sitting on either side of Harry. 'He just got lines, I heard Montague laughing about it at dinner.' 'And banning Fred when he didn't even do anything!' said Alicia furiously, pummelling her knee with her fist. 'It's not my fault I didn't,' said Fred, with a very ugly look on his face, 'I would've pounded the little scumbag to a pulp if you three hadn't been holding me back.' Harry stared miserably at the dark window. Snow was falling. The Snitch he had caught earlier was now zooming around and around the common room; people were watching its progress as though hypnotised and Crookshanks was leaping from chair to chair, trying to catch it. 'I'm going to bed,' said Angelina, getting slowly to her feet. 'Maybe this will all turn out to have been a bad dream ... maybe I'll wake up tomorrow and find we haven't played yet ...' She was soon followed by Alicia and Katie. Fred and George sloped off to bed some time later, glowering at everyone they passed, and Ginny went not long after that. Only Harry and Hermione were left beside the fire. 'Have you seen Ron?' Hermione asked in a low voice. Harry shook his head. 'I think he's avoiding us,' said Hermione. 'Where do you think he--?' But at that precise moment, there was a creaking sound behind them as the Fat Lady swung forwards and Ron came clambering through the portrait hole. He was very pale indeed and there was snow in his hair. When he saw Harry and Hermione, he stopped dead in his tracks. 'Where have you been?' said Hermione anxiously, springing up. 'Walking,' Ron mumbled. He was still wearing his Quidditch things. 'You look frozen,' said Hermione. 'Come and sit down!' Ron walked to the fireside and sank into the chair furthest from Harry's, not looking at him. The stolen Snitch zoomed over their heads. 'I'm sorry,' Ron mumbled, looking at his feet. 'What for?' said Harry. 'For thinking I can play Quidditch,' said Ron. 'I'm going to resign first thing tomorrow.' 'If you resign,' said Harry testily, 'there'll only be three players left on the team.' And when Ron looked puzzled, he said, 'I've been given a lifetime ban. So've Fred and George.' 'What?' Ron yelped. Hermione told him the full story; Harry could not bear to tell it again. When she had finished, Ron looked more anguished than ever. 'This is all my fault--' 'You didn't make me punch Malfoy,' said Harry angrily. '-- if I wasn't so terrible at Quidditch--' '--it's got nothing to do with that.' '--it was that song that wound me up--' '--it would've wound anyone up.' Hermione got up and walked to the window, away from the argument, watching the snow swirling down against the pane. 'Look, drop it, will you!' Harry burst out. 'It's bad enough, without you blaming yourself for everything!' Ron said nothing but sat gazing miserably at the damp hem of his robes. After a while he said in a dull voice, 'This is the worst I've ever felt in my life.' 'Join the club,' said Harry bitterly. 'Well,' said Hermione, her voice trembling slightly. 'I can think of one thing that might cheer you both up.' 'Oh yeah?' said Harry sceptically. 'Yeah,' said Hermione, turning away from the pitch-black, snow-flecked window, a broad smile spreading across her face. 'Hagrid's back.'