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fandomsonrequests · 4 years ago

Text

tv trope

fandom: be more chill

characters: michael mell

reader: gn!

word count: 1.5k+

summary: To him, you were the walking definition of those television tropes of the denim-clad, badass person who practically oozes confidence. The people wanted to date or be with you when they got to know you. And he was whipped. Like so whipped, not even Jeremy’s pining over Christine matched up to it. And that alone is saying something.

a/n: AHHHHH i love Michael mell (and george salazar cos why the hell not) so much ;^; he’s such a dork i just wanna hug him

Michael Mell always thought you were so cool— like The Matrix kind of cool. You weren’t really popular but you had a reputation around the school for being this tough kid who always stood up for themselves and didn’t take any shit being thrown at them. And, when circumstances permit it, you rode your freaking motorcycle to school. Not only that, you didn’t really flaunt anything off and spoke up when you needed to.

To him, you were the walking definition of those television tropes of the denim-clad, badass person who practically oozes confidence. The people wanted to date or be with you when they got to know you.

And he was whipped. Like so whipped, not even Jeremy’s pining over Christine matched up to it. And that alone is saying something.

But at the same time, he was scared. He wanted to talk to you so badly, to get to know you past the television trope he saw you as. He wanted to get to know you for you. And he probably would’ve done so already if all his insecurities and anxious thoughts wouldn’t come crashing down against him like a violent wave.

For example, in Chemistry class. You were situated in the seat right in front of him and when Mrs. Clarke requested the students to pick a partner for the lab activity, Michael hesitated in reaching out towards you. His heart was all in for it but his head was telling him otherwise.

What if they could smell the weed on you? What if they find your Pac-Man pin collection on your bag childish? What if they think you’re weird? What if they don’t like you?

The poor boy would retract his hand and shrivel away as he watches you get whisked away by one of his other classmates. Now he understood what Jeremy felt before he got with Christine— talking to your crush was much easier said than done.

And the cycle repeats daily. He works up the courage, getting some hype from his best bud, which slowly crumbles the second he comes within a five feet radius from you. He turns on his heel and runs away back to his locker, scolding himself for chickening out.

But fate was getting tired of this beating around the bush and decided to take matters in its own hands.

Michael decided to go to the library to pick up some books he needed for school while he waited for Christine and Jeremy to finish up with drama. So imagine his surprise when he saw you in the corner of the library in the “reading nook”, a very familiar comic in your hands. His favorite video game had released a few issues of their new comic, a spin-off to the main plot in the game. Of course, he bought all of them— out of impulse— and was already halfway through the first half of the series. So when he spotted the bright cover of the comic amongst the warm, monotone colors of the library, he couldn’t help but be intrigued.

Before he knew it, his feet were dragging him towards you. He took note of the faded Mötley Crüe shirt you wore along with a pair of acid-washed ripped jeans and your scuffed sneakers. A pair of earbuds were plugged into your ears, your head bopping along to whatever music you were listening to as you read your comic.

He fiddles with the frayed sleeves of his red hoodie covered in those iron-on patches, thoughts of what he was going to say to you running through his head. He eventually ended up just backing out and settling with pining for you from afar but his movement had caught your attention, making you look up from your comic book.

Michael freezes up as his nerves took over him- eyes wide behind his dark-rimmed glasses. You quirk a curious brow, plucking out one of your earbuds before offering a small smile. “Hey Mell,” You greet cooly. “What’s up?”

You knew his name???

“Wh- wha- wait you know me??” The boy stammers as he nervously meets your gaze.

You let out a soft chuckle and he couldn’t help but fall in love with the sound. “Yeah, you’re in a few of my classes. Of course I’d know you.” You uncross your legs and close your comic book to entertain him.

“Oh, wow.. Uhm, it just seems l-like, uhm,” Michael continued, voice shaky while his hands grew clammy. “It, I mean you, you just s-seem like the type to not r-really know others.”

You nod in understanding at his defense. “It’s the vibes I give off isn’t it?” You sigh and shake your head. You look up at him again and scoot over to the other side of the couch situated in the reading nook to offer him some space to sit on. “Well, I hope you believe me when I say that I’m not really scary.”

He looks over to space you had made from him and back to you before going back to the space. It goes on for a couple of moments before he decides to sit down- but on the opposite side of the couch. You two say nothing for a while, just observing one another before you speak up again.

“Anyway, is there anything you need?” You tilt your head curiously, the small smile returning to your lips.

“Ah, no not really,” Michael admitted and scratches the back of his head. “I just saw that you were reading Apocalypse of The Damned: The Laboratorium and I kinda just… gravitated towards you.”

Your smile morphs into a bright grin and the speckled boy decided right there and then, there was nothing brighter than that rare, million-dollar-smile of yours. “You know Apocalypse of The Damned?” You ask excitedly and clutch the comic book to your chest.

“Like the back of my hand,” He replies as confidence starts to flood his system. “I practically bought the whole series.”

Your hands fly to your mouth to muffle your excitement, shifting in your spot to look at him properly. “Have you finished it?”

“Halfway through it. But don’t worry, I’ll try not to give out any spoilers.”

You let out some kind of excited squawk, red coating your cheeks at how stupid you sounded. This was definitely something Michael hadn’t expected. He expected you to be cold, aloof, maybe even a bit grouchy like Jade from Victorious but your personality was quite the opposite. And he couldn’t help but grow more enamored by that.

“I wish I had friends that geeked out with me about these kinds of things,” You huff after your small laughing fit. “They always make fun of me for it.”

“What?? Are they crazy? They’re assholes for doing that to you.”

“No, no. They aren’t really mean but they think it’s too dorky.”

“Well,” He motioned to you. “They’re clearly missing out on things.”

You couldn’t help but laugh at that, bashfully looking down at your hands while toying with the loose end of your earbuds. You nibble at the inside of your cheek before piping up again. “You’re pretty cool, Mell. We should hang out more often.”

Michael’s jaw almost drops at that. Not only did you invite him to hang out with you, but you had actually found him interesting. That you didn’t find him or any of his quirks weird. It was such an elating feeling, one that spurred his confidence even more.

“Does this weekend sound okay for you? We could go out, grab some sushi and maybe binge read the comics together at the old drive-in.” He offers, a bit sheepish, and you nod beaming from ear to ear.

“Sounds great,” You fish out your phone and hand it over to him. “If you don’t mind, can I get your number? So we can coordinate this whole… I guess date later in the week.”

Michael’s face turns a deep shade of red and you couldn’t help but giggle at that, your own cheeks flushing the same color. He was so damn adorable, you wondered why you hadn’t spoken to him sooner. He types in his number and hands you back your phone, smiling uncontrollably at what was happening.

You glance down at the time on your device, seeing that you had to go home soon. “Well, I better head out. Keep in touch will you?”

“Y-yeah, roger that.”

You stood up and gathered your things, turning back to him as you flashed him one last smile. “I’ll see you around, Mell.”

He waved goodbye as you walked to the exit for the library, the lovestruck expression never leaving his face. He sighs dreamily, knowing full well that if his friends saw him now they’d tease him for being so whipped for you. He didn’t mind though because at least, he had something to look forward to this weekend.

Michael gave himself a mental pat on the shoulder for working up the courage to get to know the real you as he picked up the textbooks he needed. At least he knew now that you weren’t some tv trope but someone so much more.

#be more chill #michael mell #michael mell x reader #michael x reader #george salazar

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thelastranger · 3 years ago

Note

For the BB requests/prompts, how bout a royal au?

This is a really interesting prompt because there are a lot of ways this could go!

I'm thinking that in this au, Karina is the only child of a minor baron and she still gets captured by Skandians and Mikkel still falls in love with her, but he's the last grandson of a now deceased Oberjarl and that's kind of like royalty. So Hal is is minor royalty of both sides but neither side really likes him.

In this au, the Oberjarl is hereditary but also people can overthrow you if you do a bad job so the Oberjarl position tends to run in families but there have been more than a few violent coups. So it's pretty important to do a good job ruling.

Mikkel originally follows Karina back to Araluen because, well, it's not a princess, but Karina is still nobility and that does cause some problems and headaches that are more trouble than they're worth. It's also a chance to broker some peace (re: lesser hostility) between the countries and some Skandians think this is a great opportunity to have a double agent in Araluen.

In tow, Mikkel brings Thorn and Olaf (escaping his gambling debt) and his family. Olaf uses the confusion moving to a new country to fleece some Araluenians of their money and flee both countries, leaving Hannah and Stig in Araluen.

Baby Stig and Hal grow up together with Thorn and Mikkel acting as fathers to the both of them.

Hal looks like an Araluen man, but if Skandians don't like a half-Araluen boy, then oh boy do Araluens not like a half-Skandian boy who they are convinced is going to betray them and lead a group of Skandians to invade the country.

Stig does look like a Skandian and that causes him a lot of trouble. A knight is his best option but he wants to stay close to Hal and the knight school isn't exactly friendly.

Years later, Mikkel is called back to Hallasholm for family issues regarding inheritance and Hal ends up with land and riches in Hallasholm.

After spending most of his time in Araluen, Hal now has to figure out Skandia and Hallasholm culture. Hal now has to split his time between Araluen where Karina runs things and Skandia where Mikkel is toeing a fine line of trying not to get killed because his country men kinda hate him and making sure his son is unaware of these issues.

Stefan and Jesper float around as a part of the new money merchant class that sells to Skandia and Araluen. Jesper meet Stefan on the street while they were young and they've been inseparable since. Stefan's family doesn't care as it's not the first orphan they've brought close to the family. Stefan, Hal, Stig, and Jesper form a weird little friendship.

Ingvar, Edvin, Wulf, and Ulf show the Araluen quad around Hallasholm and a year after he came to Skandia and just a few days after he finished his new boat, Hal is forced into Brotherband training. It's a whole thing.

After the Herons are exiled, it creates a whole diplomatic problem for both Araluen and Skandia, who both take it as a sign the other side is imminently attacking and poor Hal has to get the Andomal back before war breaks out and before Zavac figures out he can ransom Hal for loads of money.

#Brotherband #Brotherband au

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writings-of-a-hufflepuff · 4 years ago

Text

Summer Nights: Part 3

Fandom: Harry Potter

Pairing: Charlie Weasley x Overweight/Plus size Female identifying Reader

Series: Summer Nights

Warning: Fred’s death, the series will mention issues such as guilt, grief, etc. + Chapter specific warnings: guilt, self-blaming, trauma, scenes of magical healing, mentions of past childhood fatphobia/body shaming

Writer: @writings-of-a-hufflepuff (formerly imaginesofeveryfandom) aka @hufflepuffing-all-day-long

Summary/Request: You’d always had brief glimpses of Charlie Weasley throughout your life, but despite your closeness with the rest of the Weasley family and your friendship with the Weasley Twins, you had never officially met. Until Charlie Weasley decided to take the summer off from his work as a Dragon Keeper at the Romanian Reserve and come back home, to the Burrow, that is.

Notes: Gif is my own, using my art of Charlie Weasley which you can find on my art blog @artisticwarnug here. If you use please make sure you credit me and my art blog properly, that the ownership is clear as it is my own art and I would hate for it to be unclear that I made it <3 x

Prologue / Part 1 / Part 2

Dinner that night was a riotous affair. You, six Weasleys, Harry, and Hermione all crammed in around a table, reaching for the amazing food that Mrs Weasley always made. Shoulders bumped against each other, the volume reaching extraordinary heights, but as you sat there you couldn’t help but smile. This felt right. Being around all these people. So welcome. Watching the way Ginny looked up to Charlie and the way Ron and Harry joke around, while Hermione rolled her eyes at George. You’d often felt alone since Fred’s death, a distance seemed to exist in your mind between yourself and the Weasley’s, a gnawing guilt. While you lived with them there were very few moments like this, one’s where you felt like yourself again.

As you look around the table with a smile, your eyes catch Charlie’s. A soft, small smile, shy, lifts at the corner of your mouth and you're delighted to say that Charlie smiles more with his eyes than anything else.

When you go to bed that night you think perhaps it will be a night in which you will fall asleep easily, in which the memories won’t haunt you, in which the guilt that settles like a stone in your stomach will ease...that is a foolish belief you realise rather quickly. Your head rests against your pillow as you stare at the ceiling.

You toss and you turn, twisting this way and that. You lie on your side for a moment, arm curled beneath your pillow, before flipping onto your back and then your front before going back to your back. You try sleeping with your head at the other end of the bed, maybe you’ll trick your brain that way. It doesn’t work. You try every trick possible, but you just can’t sleep. The frustration is clouded by other thoughts, intrusive ones, the ones you try not to dwell on because you can’t change the past and you can’t bring him back. You don’t have that kind of power, although sometimes you wished you had a time turner, you might go mad, but maybe, in the process you could bring one of your best friend’s back. Maybe you wouldn’t fail him this time.

You lie there trying desperately to calm your mind, to silence your thoughts, to sleep, for what seems like hours. In truth it can’t have been more than an hour before you decide to just forgo all the tossing and turning and potter downstairs to make a warm cup of something and maybe nab a biscuit or two.

The Burrow is eerily quiet at this time of night, the lights are out, the stairs creak as you pad down them, and a chill has you grabbing the knitted throw blanket from the living room on your way to the kitchen. There was never a shortage of blankets at the Burrow. Something you could thank Mrs Weasley endlessly for.

You wrap yourself up as tightly as possible, the blanket a soothing weight across your shoulders, before putting the kettle on the stove. Despite magic being at your disposal, you always preferred to make hot drinks whether coffee, tea, hot chocolate or otherwise, the muggle way. Working with your hands, going through the motions of creating something whether food, drink, art or something else entirely, helped you calm down more often than not. You suppose it was very Hufflepuff of you, doing things the muggle way, doing things the homely way.

You look up before he’s even at the entrance to the kitchen, you hear the footsteps softly pad down the stairs, the creek of an old floorboard, the quiet shuffling of clothes and a soft sigh of frustration. You didn’t know who you’d expected, Charlie, wasn’t it though. Perhaps Ginny or maybe Ron or even Mrs Weasley.

The tattooed dragon that had previously been on his neck had moved, as magical tattoos are want to do. It was now laying across the other side of his neck, nearer to his shoulder, barely peeking from his sleep shirt, sleepy and annoyed looking. You wondered if it wanted to sleep but couldn’t because of Charlie’s alertness. You’d never given much thought to wizarding tattoos, but you suppose they must have some sort of personality or thought process or....something. Why else would they move? You supposed that they might work like wizarding portraits, perhaps the dragon had been a real one, its likeness etched into his skin.

His hair is out from the tie it had been in during the day, loose around his face and a sort of bird's nest that screamed ‘i’ve been tossing and turning for a while now’. During the day he’d looked so confident, put together, like everything was okay, but here, in the dark of the kitchen, with only a few little lights to provide a warm glow, he looked haggard. He looked how you felt.

“Would you like something to drink?” You keep your voice soft. Partly knowing that the walls in the Burrow were thin, not wanting to wake the others, and partly because it didn’t seem right to speak loudly or even speak at your normal volume right now.

He pauses for a moment, taking in the kettle on the stove that’s begun to whistle quietly, thanks to a well placed muffling charm, the blanket across your shoulders, the bags underneath your eyes. He blinks before nodding his head towards you in confirmation, a small upturn at the corner of his mouth, a polite smile not more and not less. It cannot compete with his earlier bright smile during the day.

“Tea, please, love.” You grab a tea bag and another mug, making both your own preferred hot drink and his mug of tea. Only stopping to ask if he had sugar in his tea, for him to respond with 3, and you to not comment further despite knowing his mother would probably exclaim that 3 was 2 too many.

You carefully hand him the mug, not wanting to spill a drop, fingers brushing against his. You note his hands are rougher than most wizards, years of hard work will do that. Most wizards and witches have soft hands, skin that only ever touched a wand. The Weasleys are some of the few you knew who relished in hard work and manual labour, some things magic helped with like chopping vegetables, but other things like collecting eggs or planting fruit in the garden seemed to them more suited to their hands. Like you they seemed to enjoy the calming nature of going through the steps, of grounding yourself with the world around you.

You sip at your drink and study the grooves in the table, the different grains of wood, the stains and the marks. Some you know the story of. Like the burn that was caused by Ginny playing with Arthur’s wand at the age of 5. Others are the sorts of stains and marks that come from a family using it every day, from children playing and drawing and existing.

Charlie clears his throat and you lift your eyes to his, he looks a little sheepish, “Sorry, if this is a bit...if you don’t want to talk, but can I ask why you’re not in bed?”

The truth is that you’ve barely known Charlie a couple of days and perhaps normally you’d be reluctant to talk about anything personal, about nightmares or your guilt or your feelings. But, Charlie isn’t a complete stranger. He’s a Weasley and there has never been a Weasley you couldn’t talk to, even Percy who could be and had been an arse in the past. Even when he wasn’t around, the other’s talked about Charlie, their darling boy or their amazing brother. If you knew one Weasley you inevitably felt like you knew the rest even if you’d never met. Maybe it was that he was a Weasley, that he was Fred’s cool older brother, or maybe it was that you were lonely and fed up of hiding it all...that you knew him the least and it seemed easier to talk to someone who’d understand and yet didn’t know you well enough to push too far. Or maybe it was just that Charlie Weasley had one of those faces that made you want to talk.

“I...I struggle to sleep these days. I’ve struggled to sleep since the battle to be honest...if it's not tossing and turning then it’s nightmares. When the lights go out the thoughts come out...”

“From what I heard you did alright. You helped people, you got a few death eaters along the way...” There was an unspoken question, ‘what do you have to be haunted about? What did you do? or what did you not do?’

“Yeah....I helped some people, used my healer training to my advantage and sure I got a few stunning spells in, but I....I couldn’t save the one person that really mattered. I couldn’t....” You breathe in a shaky breath and can already feel the tears welling in your eyes at the thought of him. A hand reaches across the table and covers your own. It’s a comforting gesture, it reminds you that you’re safe here.

“I couldn’t save Fred...I tried, y’know, I even tried muggle methods, I thought maybe if magic wouldn’t help, muggle medicine might...I thought if I could just get him breathing again he’d be okay. It would all be okay...I” You close your eyes hard, feeling the press of your lids together, the wetness welling at the corners, “It’s my fault...I don’t even know why your parents let me stay...how any of you can even look at me...if I had been a better healer, or better at defence, then Fred might still be here.”

“You can’t seriously believe that?”

You lift your eyes to his, his eyebrows are furrowed, twisted down, mouth set in a frown. “I should have been able to save him. I have helped so many people. I have stopped so many people from dying...but I couldn’t save him.” You avert your eyes, his stare feels too intense, too much.

“You’re not to blame, look at me,” He squeezes your hand, firmly, but still gentle. The other reaches forward, a finger underneath your chin to lift your face as he brings your gaze back to his and leans ever forward as if all he wants is for you to truly listen and truly believe. “You didn’t kill Fred. You didn’t cause his death. No one can bring someone back from the dead..there was nothing you or anyone else could do. Rookwood was to blame. Voldemort and his followers were to blame. Not you.”

“Then why do I feel like I am? Like I should have done better?”

“Because we all do. Do you think Percy doesn’t blame himself? Like maybe if he’d not made a joke, not distracted Fred, he’d still be here? Do you think George doesn’t think he could have protected his own twin better? Me? I wish I'd bloody been right there, right next to him. I wish I did more and I feel the guilt of not doing more each day...We all feel like we failed him. You don’t feel guilty because you did something wrong, you feel guilty because he was your friend and you’re a good person. Good people always want to do better, even if it's not possible, love.”

“How do you do it? How do you keep going?” It feels impossible some days, the idea that you shouldn’t feel guilty or sad or angry or hurt. Some days you almost forget that he’s not here, you see George and go to ask after Fred, you think of a joke and think that you should go tell him...Some days simply getting out of bed seems impossible.

“I let it go. You can’t live in the past or else you’ll forget the present, and never look to the future. That’s what we were fighting for. That’s what Fred was fighting for, a better future. I chose to stop punishing myself for what I did or did not do because my brother would feed me a canary cream if he heard me blaming myself.”

You let out a sharp laugh, quick, unexpected even for you, and it's true. Fred wouldn’t stand for it, he wouldn’t stand for anyone blaming themselves, he’d tell you to buck up and crack a few jokes, stop hurting yourself. He was like that. Whenever he found you squirrelled away behind a tapestry, sad and crying, he always found a way to make you smile. His life’s work was getting people to smile.

“...Thank you. I know it’s not going to get better over night, but...maybe it’s time to try and stop dwelling in the past.” You stare into your empty mug for a second before rising to place it beside the sink. He’s still drinking his tea, and you, realise this whole time you hadn’t asked him why he wasn’t asleep.

“Why...why aren’t you asleep, Charlie?” You lean back against the counter to watch him, the blanket slipping off of your shoulders slightly.

“I...I have a few old injuries that keep me up sometimes. Mostly my back, the scars I have ache a lot...but I...I sleep best on my back so...”

It surprises that his lack of sleep was something that seemed so fixable to you, but you often had to remind yourself that most witches and wizards struggled with even basic healing charms and didn’t think in the same way that you did. Healing was a skill and knowing the right solution to a problem took both natural intuition and training.

“Do you...have you ever learnt lenio?” You move closer to him, throwing the blanket off of your shoulders and onto the back of your chair. Each step shows your healer nature as you itch to get closer and have a look at the problem, to solve it like you do every day of the week.

“Uh, I’ve never heard of it?”

“Oh...I suppose you’re probably used to being given potions for pain, they usually last longer, don’t rely on the witch or wizard’s will power. It’s a...a pain relief spell, it works on a great deal. I...Hermione’s scar hurts a lot so I taught her it, but her scar’s easy for her access...you could always see me before you go to sleep each night and I can administer it. It’s considered outdated because of potions but I find that it’s most effective for scarring or pains that distract or make you unfocused and people don’t get as reliant.”

“Does...does it last awhile?”

“It varies on the caster’s strength of thought, I typically find when I cast it it lasts anywhere between 12 hours to a day, some people it can last minutes. Hermione manages to make it last around 8 hours. It’s why it fell out of fashion, not a lot of wizards or witches have the aptitude for it.” Potions had become easier. Easier to make. Easier to administer and more predictable when duration was involved. But, pain relief potions could be addictive and you always found yourself leaning towards charms and spells over potions, where possible.

“Before you...before you go to bed could you cast it? I’d really like to get some sleep, love.”

Nod with a small smile, easing the tension in Charlie’s shoulders just that little bit. That famous bedside manner of yours pushing its way to the surface.

“You said it was your back?” You ask as you reach for your wand in the waistband of your pyjama shorts. He nods at you, “First year on the reserve a Hungarian Horntail decided he didn’t like me very much...never told mum.” You let out a little laugh at that, the thought of Mrs Weasley’s reaction was rather comical in your mind. While she could be fearsome, she was also known for her over the top and sometimes melodramatic responses.

You understand why he chose not to tell her. Mrs Weasley could be overbearing in her protectiveness and you’re sure she would never have let him work on the reserve again, no matter how much he loved it. “Could you...um, disrobe for me.” You ignore the nerves in your stomach and try to get into the healer mindset, you’ve seen plenty of patients wear even less and it was never a problem before. You weren’t going to let Charlie Weasley taking his shirt off get to you. You’d seen him without it early that day and surely he couldn’t affect you quite so much the second time.

Or that’s what you told yourself before you found yourself gazing at him a little too long. Truth was Charlie was an attractive man, even fully dressed and the beauty of his torso was not diminished by you having seen it previously. Up close you noticed things that you hadn’t earlier in the day. Scars of various types caught your eye, a few bite marks you recognised well as various types of dragon, scratches, burn marks, his body told the story of a dragon keeper who had known pain and yet still enjoyed his job. He was covered in freckles head to toe, or at least what you could see of his body, and red hair that criss crossed his arms and his chest. The dragon had moved from his shoulder and neck area, stalking its way across his left ribs, breathing little spouts of fire.

You cleared your throat and gestured for him to turn his back towards you. You could see it was covered in scars, a large portion was burn scarring, but there were claw marks too. You placed a hand gently on the top of his shoulder and gently pushed him forward so that you could get a better look. Your other hand softly trailed over the skin, examining the depths of the scars, making an assessment of what sort of scarring it was. “These were healed poorly, did you not go to the reserve healer?” You could tell they could have been healed better, they would have left a mark certainly, but with less pain you were sure. It was, in truth, a rather shoddy job.

“Oh, I went...he’s just not very good.” You scoff, not very good was an understatement and you wrecked your brain for anyway you could fix the damage done. You’d never seen wounds healed so poorly or such extensive scarring caused by magical healing, you think that they might have healed better on their own.

“This was about nine years ago, correct?” You watch the back of Charlie’s head move up and down in a nod, “He used a mending charm.” You scoff, irritation strong within you.

“Is that wrong?”

“They’re meant for objects not people, it’s why you have so much scarring, why it hurts...I just wonder...I wonder if...I know you just wanted me to do a quick lenio, Charlie...but I’d like to try something, I have absolutely no idea if any of the spells I know will work, but I might be able to permanently reduce the pain, and the damage.”

“You couldn’t do that with Hermione?”

“Her scar is the product of dark magic...that’s...we’re still trying to figure out how to undo that sort of injury, but this is normal in comparison. I could make it worse or I could make it better or it could do nothing...”

“Love,” he looks over his shoulder at you, eyes surprisingly full of mirth, “I doubt you could make it worse, give it your best shot.”

You think through all the healing spells you know and you contemplate the nature of this. It isn’t an open wound or a broken bone, but it is damaged flesh, scar tissue so mangled it hurts and you think deep about your time at St Mungo’s, the many healer’s you’ve known and learnt from and you think of your own experience creating spells, melding your wants, desires, outcomes, into a single word, a single channel for your magic. You use his confidence in you and your desire to see his pain reduced or undone as a force behind the words that leave your mouth without even thinking and the almost natural movement of your wand.

“Renovare” It’s not a spell you know and yet, as you speak the words and channel your magic through your wand, you know what it does and you know what it’s purpose is. Renew. To fix what isn’t wounded, but is damaged, to heal what has been healed poorly. You watch delicate streams of pearlescent light, flickering between white and pink and teal, fall over the scars and break them apart delicately before rehealing wounds. You hear Charlie hiss and squeeze his shoulder in reassurance that everything is working the way it should and that you’re sorry it hurts. The scars that are left behind are less angry, closer to the skin, and less like knotted damaged tissue. Perhaps had you been there when it happened, there would be no scars at all, but unmending and re-mending a wound is not so perfect or simple. You have the presence of mind to realise this is a new spell, of your own creation, and that you should write all of this down before you go to sleep tonight. This spell could be a breakthrough for wizarding medicine, at least where angry scars that cause pain are concerned. You’re so focused on fixing his pain that this realisation doesn’t bring you the pride it should, after all, not many witches or wizards could simply create a spell.

There’s something satisfying about watching the process, the breaking open of skin and the regrowth of new. The new scars looking as you’d want them to be, knowing that you have fixed the work of a poor healer and hopefully, in the process, stopped the pain that causes Charlie’s lack of sleep.

You run your hand over the new scars once you’re done, checking the thickness of the scar tissue, his dragon has moved to his back now, curiously dancing around your fingers, nipping as if it could catch them. You get the feeling that it is grateful for your work. “Does it hurt at all? or...at least is the pain lesser?”

“It’s...it’s sore, like i’ve just come off the quidditch pitch, but it doesn’t hurt. Not like it used to.”

“Mmm...,” you continue your observations for a while, asking more questions about how it feels as you go, “I suspect the soreness will go, I have just broken your scars open and re-healed them...they look better, proper healing work, none of that bollocks from before.” You find your patience for bad healers always to be quite small, healing was serious business, people’s lives, their feelings were at risk and bad healers, in your opinion, simply shouldn’t exist.

“I...thank you for letting me try I...”

“I’ve never heard that spell before.”

“That’s because I just created it.” He looks at you as you expect, surprised and a little bit in awe. Most wizards and witches can’t just make their own spells, you know this, but your experience with Fred and George had taught you a few things. The two of them had always innately created their own charms and potions, and they taught you how it should feel, how to focus, how to think, how to tap into that part of yourself that was purely magic, that knew without words what it could and wanted to do.

“That’s...impressive.”

“Your brothers’, they’re...they were...George and Fred have always...” You sigh in frustration, it is so hard to find the right tense now. George is here and Fred is not, but they're a pair, not individuals and it feels wrong to...to leave one out. He’s patient with you, soft eyes, a reassuring smile as a hand reaches for yours and gives a quick squeeze. “When we were in school, the twins just knew how to make their own spells...all their products are their own work and creation...they taught me how to...how to tap into that part of me, the part that knows what to do. I’ve not done it in years, I've not had need to...I just knew what I wanted to happen and I let myself guide me.” You smile at him softly, round cheeks pushing upwards with your smile. His eyes are darting curiously across your face as if seeking out the answer to some question only he knew.

There’s a look of surprise behind the curiosity. You can see it, that he never fully realised just how brilliant his brothers’ were. Most of the people who meet...met the twins underestimated their abilities, but they were brilliant. Sometimes you just have to look past the laughter, the jokes and the ostentatious colours.

“Thank you...thank you for this,” He gestures to his back, “and thank you for teaching me something about the twins that I...that I failed to realise myself. We’ve always undervalued them, I love them...loved...but, even I saw them as jokers and never...never realise the work they put in.”

“Brilliant, that’s how I describe them. Insane. Terribly immature at times. Quick to anger, like most Weasleys, but brilliant and kind...” You look off into the distance, eyes losing focus for a second, “have I told...has anyone told you how I became friends with the twins?”

“I always assumed they just wouldn’t leave you alone,” It’s a cheeky smile that makes you laugh, “that would be rather like them.” You lean against the table, thick thigh pressing lightly against the outside of his knee as you think back on how you met the twins.

“In truth...it’s not a wholly happy story. But it’s not entirely sad either, meeting them was the best thing that ever happened to me. They gave me friendship, companionship, knowledge, protection, and family. They gave me a wizarding family that would always support me and I don’t think at the age of eleven I truly understood the importance that your family would play in my life. Now, I couldn’t live without them.” You turn your eyes on him with a soft smile.

“We have a way about us...Weasley’s collect people, I think. We’re never happy alone, we like a full house, we like fighting over a bathroom in the morning and cramming around the table. Mum loves adding people to the family, and I'm sure the moment she met you she knew you’d be the newest addition.” You smile at that. You wonder if a Weasley could ever truly be happy alone. While Charlie lived away from his family, you were sure, judging by his little smile, that the distance was hard on him and that he probably surrounded himself with friends and colleagues to feel that familiarity.

“It was my first year and I was crying…” You look up at the ceiling, the wood beams that cross it, the hanging pots and drying herbs. “I was behind the tapestry on the 5th floor...there’s this little room behind it and I found it by accident, I’m rather clumsy,” You laugh and look back at him. It startles you a little to realise you have his undivided attention, but it also pleases you, to know that he’s listening, that he values what you have to say even if it's just a silly little story.

“I was bawling really, none of that quiet dainty crying. It was rather horrible actually...they must have heard, said I sounded like Moaning Myrtle which just upset me more...they sat beside and they asked ‘what’s happened? Who do we need to prank?’' It was ever so Fred and George even back when you were all just eleven. Their solution to a problem was often either pranking the person responsible or starting a fight with them. The latter was your least favourite of the two.

“Sounds like them, although I wouldn't have been surprised if they offered to throw a few punches...we have hot tempers.”

“You seem awfully mild mannered for a Weasley to me?” It was true, Charlie and Bill both seemed like two calm individuals, at least compared to Ginny or Ron or even Mrs Weasley. All of whom were known for their explosive, passionate tempers.

“Well, love, you’ve never seen me nearly tear the Ravenclaw quidditch captain a new one after a blatant display of cobbing...Although, i’m definitely less fiery than Ginny. She scares me a little sometimes.”

“She is prone to bouts of violence,” You love it about her though, her quickness to defend others, her bravery. If there ever was a Gryffindor it certainly was Ginevra. “Either way, they offered pranking services rather than violence...good move on their part, I suspect I would have been terrified of them had they offered to break someone’s nose…”

“So who or what made you cry? Homesick?”

“No...I mean, I was homesick, but that wasn’t what had me crying behind that tapestry...it was boys actually. They’d been picking on me, all years, all ages, all houses, for the first few weeks of my life at Hogwarts. Sometimes it was my hair...and other times it was my teeth, sometimes it was the fact I was muggle born...but mostly, it was that I was fat,” You see he rearing up to say something at the word, but you stop him before he can speak, “I am fat. Charlie, that’s not an insult to me, I can be a million wonderful things, and fat is just a descriptor. I am fat and a hufflepuff and I am pretty and I am brave and I am terribly dedicated to my work. But back then...the way they used it. That was an insult. I was fat, I was a whale, a pig, or some other creature they could demean me with. They said I was ugly and unworthy and ‘who’d want to date you?’...I wasn’t even old enough to care about dating, but they made me feel like I was unlovable...and then your brothers came along.”

You smile at him, at the hand he’s placed on your knee in reassurance, the hand that doesn’t stay there too long out of respect for you. He’s listening now, truly, there is no desire to butt in, to interject, because he realises that you do not unjustly hate your body. You are simply telling a story. “After that they never let anyone say a bad word about me...they protected me and I protected them too...you’ve not seen a thing until you’ve seen a hufflepuff fly at Draco Malfoy with the intent to maim.” You quirk a lip thinking of all the times you’d nearly hurt the boy, he was better now, you could have a civil conversation, but Merlin, he’d been terrible in school.

“Should I worry for my personal safety?” Charlie laughs, leaning back away from you as if you might attack at any moment, but it is all play and it makes you chuckle. “I think you’re safe, dragon boy…”

There’s a comfortable silence in which your leg pressed against Charlie’s as you leant against the table, Charlie leaning back in his chair. It’s the sort of silence that feels like companionship, there is no pressure in your chest to speak, no feeling that the silence was wrong, no strange buzzing in your chest.

“I’m glad they looked out for you...you deserve to have people who look after you the way you look after them.”

“You...you barely know me.” You look at him through your lashes, feeling shy, bashful at the kind words. He just gives you a stunningly soft smile, his brown eyes crinkling at the corners.

“True, but in the short time I have known you you’ve been nothing but kind, caring, and you even invented a spell simply to help me. Love, that says more than anything else about you. You care about people...and people should care about you too.” The tenderness should scare you, intimidate you, instead it makes warmth blossom in your chest and happy tears well in your eyes because no one has ever said something so kind. Even when you doubt how useful you are, even with the guilt, it means so much to hear someone acknowledge the kindness you give, the care you provide, and not take it for granted. It is this that makes you realise how desperately you want to keep Charlie Weasley in your life, even simply as a friend because he cares so deeply about people and because he doesn’t feel ashamed or embarrassed to share those thoughts or feelings that would matter most to a person.

It is with those words and thoughts in your head that the two of you say goodnight and you return to your bed, the blankets don’t feel irritating anymore, your head does not buzz with bad thoughts. While it is hard to go to sleep it is not out of guilt or anger or sadness, but a sort of giddiness that you haven’t felt in so long. You fall asleep with a smile.

#summer nights #reader insert #readerinsert #charlie weasley x reader #charlie weasleyxreader #charlie weasley/reader #charlie weasley / reader #harry potter #harry potter reader insert #plus size reader #overweight reader #female reader

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abortionado · 4 years ago

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if I can, seeing you HC Spencer gay and only gay is individually not an issue for me - I get we HC characters how we want. The problem is this’s how bi-erasure starts, in my experience. As someone whose been in a lot of andoms I’ve seen this happen with every character I’ve liked who’s coded bi - ppl arguing “no they seem completely gay to me. It’s just my opinion, you can totally HC differently :) !!” but. I’m tired of seeing ppl take all my bi characters and push the full-gay. Especially when bi doesn’t mean 50/50 attraction or 60/40. 90/10 into the same gender is still bi ...but this is my personal bi experience. idk if you’re bi too, but I’m just...tired of watching this happen constantly to all my favs. it’s not that I have an issue with you singularly, so much as the larger framework it goes into of bi-erasure

I am bisexual, actually, and I don’t feel like it’s erasure or feeding into erasure at all, because Spencer is not actually bi. He’s not a “bi character,” he’s a straight character.

If he were canonically bisexual, it would absolutely be erasing his identity from already limited representation, but he’s canonically straight, and his bisexuality was written out in literally season 1, episode 4. There was a vague vision for him being bi that was scrapped after a couple of episodes, that’s not the same thing as a canonically or explicitly-coded bisexual character

I’m not a lesbian so you can take this one with a grain of salt, but this is the same reason I don’t necessarily think that hcing Emily as bi is inherently problematic

#ask #even tho I don’t agree with that ^ lol

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forest-of-stories · 4 years ago

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Fic Post

Title: Outsourced Solutions Fandom: The Magnus Archives Characters/Relationship: Martin Blackwood/Jonathan Sims Words: 1,081 Rating: Teen and Up Summary: While Martin sleeps, Jon fulfills his needs outside the Institute. Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Vampire, Mind Control, Blood Drinking, Memory Alteration, Identity Issues, Power Dynamics, Moral Ambiguity

#the magnus archives #magnusquerade #my stories

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symbiotic-toxin · 5 years ago

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Cause I’m curious about Hazbin Hotel: Charlie

favorite thing about themEven as a demon born in Hell and Hell being...well, ya know...she’s still very upbeat and tries to stay/be positive while trying to save the souls of her people. And she’s cute as a button too.

least favorite thing about themThere’s only one episode to go off of, but she doesn’t seem to listen to advice and doesn’t realize the issues that causes until it’s too late.

favorite line“Yeah, well, how does it feel that I got your pen, huh, BITCH?”

brOTPCharlie/Husk (He can be like the grumpy alcoholic brother she never had)

OTPCharlie/Vaggie (They’re already together and they’re cute together)

nOTPCharlie/Alistor

random headcanonCharlie has a deep love of puns

unpopular opinionCharlie/Alistor is a lame ship

song i associate with themMeg Myers cover of Running Up That Hill

favorite picture of them

#chalie magne #hazbin hotel #marvel-and-dc-geek

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mswyrr · 5 years ago

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After TLJ, an online campaign took issue with the film’s feminism, leftism, and diverse casting. This right-wing critique was so durable that it has a nickname, “The F//andom M//enace,” which even Lucasfilm uses.

Anger at TLJ became a business. Popular anti-TLJ videos on YouTube have millions of hits, translating to tens of thousands of dollars for their creators. Right-wing personalities sell F//andom M//enace apparel. Entrepreneurs raised $50,000 in seed money for an anti-TLJ comic book and almost $10,000 for a multivolume history of The F//andom M//enace.

...A F//andom M//enace account manufactured a hoax claiming “Reylos” were sending death threats to the TROS director. (A Reylo is a fan of the controversial romance between TROS protagonists Rey and Ben Solo/Kylo Ren). BuzzFeed credulously reported the claim.

the other thing about antis is that they’re cowards who climb into bed with FM types and join them in falsely blaming us for FM racial harassment/forwarding FM lies

fake workers don’t mind working together with the FM people who bullied KMT off the internet at all. they blame us for alt-right harassment JB received - before the first movie was even out, before there even were reylo shippers!

i saw one “uwu” fake woke white woman join with a fanbro to harass one of the major Reylo artists who is a South East Asian woman - they used her lack of familiarity with the US legal system and her ESL to terrorize her and try to convince her they were going to get Disney to sue her for selling her fanart

that is the status quo - they use woke language as a cover - but the moment they get shippers alone out come the racial slurs at woc, the transphobic insults at trans shippers, the holocaust images sent to jewish people

cowards and bullies dressed up in “pure uwu” langauge

why would they align themselves with alt-right bastards? or at least never dare critique them and join FM in their false info campaigns/blame us for FM behavior?

because it’s easier. you send a reylo shipper death threats and you can just have safe fun getting off on torturing a woman - you come for FM, you have an actual fight on your hands

#some anti bs

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woytaq · 5 years ago

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Lynx Amber: 9, 23, 28, 37, 41

9 - Do you have a faceclaim / voiceclaim for your OC? No, because she's a lynx-like cat, there wouldn't be any matching faces anyway. There are arts of her, lots and lots of arts. As for her voice, Alix Wilton Regan in the lower range of her voice. And with a slightly more British-like accent.

23 - What is a random fact about your OC? Random fact... hmm... her mother's husband is in fact not her biological father. And since her actual father was not a Lynx she's a hybrid which is pretty apparent and also a source of a lot of her daddy issues.

28 - What kind of nervous habits do they have? Do they stim? Do they have any kinds of addictions? No real addictions, she can drink a lot occasionally but she's not addicted. The closest she has to an addiction is probably her l libido, but she can control herself is she needs to. She usually doesn't think she needs to, but that's another issue. As for her nervous behaviors, if she's really nervous and worried she'd play with her tail, sometimes pluck some of it's long fur if there's something really bothering her.

37 - What’s something that your character does, that other people don’t normally do? well, "sleeping with beautiful models and strippers on a regular basis and without paying them" is the obvious answer, but lets think of something else. She's actually actively tries to reduce crime in her town by actually enforcing the law.

41 - What does your character do when they’re angry? Why? She punches things, if she's really angry at a person and said person is nearby, said person has a pretty big chance of being punched. If that person is not available, a punching bag or anything similar would do.

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theparanormalperiodical · 6 years ago

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Is The Love Island Villa Haunted?: The Ghosts and Myths Surrounding Majorca’s Most Famous Bae-cation

It’s been eight weeks of flirting, fighting, and fanny flutters.

That’s right, Love Island 2019 is officially over.

The winners have been crowned, the 50k already transferred to the suitable bank accounts, and we can finally stop pinning our own commitment issues on forced and fake relationships.

But it turns out something nearly as terrifying as the loud make-out sessions maintains a permanent residence at the villa.

Joanna Chimonides – a controversial contestant from this year’s show – claims the Love Island Villa is haunted.

Giving a gaggle of exclusives to the appropriate tabloids, she claims the figure of a woman with blonde hair would stand over the beds of her and her fellow islanders.

Rocking back and forth over the sleeping contestants, the apparition clearly got these TV personalities talking, and was nearly as dramatic as Joanna walking out on her ex-bae, Michael.

And it got me thinking: could the Love Island villa be, like, totally, actually, haunted?

It turns out that Majorca – the location of Love Island’s iconic villa - is actually drowning in death.

From Napoleonic prisoners, to long-forgotten fishermen, the list of the long-deceased leaves us with a lot of ghosts to chart.

Given this, there is a strong chance that the Villa has a lot more going on than Joanna was aware of.

And so, in today’s post we are going to be discussing Majorca’s many myths and hauntings, and how they might prove that our dear Islanders might have been shacking up with something supernatural.

First things first (well, ok, aside from me being the realest), let’s talk about Majorca:

Majorca is like, seriously old.

And clearly this is the first step to becoming a spook-tastic location, but seriously.

Think back before Thomas Cook packages, and before holiday resorts where every restaurant within a six-mile radius has a menu in English.

The beautiful Island of Majorca – split between mountains and the coastline – has been a regular tourist haunt since the 19th century. Even today 8 million visitors will touch down in Palma de Mallorca airport every year to enjoy the wonders on offer.

And these 8 million will encounter a lot more history (and a lot more horror) than the dodgy cold meats in the breakfast buffet they signed up for.

During the Napoleonic Wars no less than 9000 prisoners of wars were shipped there, and its these prisoners who make regular cameos upon the island.

The Myths behind Palma de Mallorca

The capital of Majorca might be bustling with tourists, workers, and plentiful cosmopolitan vibes, but the visitors are far from alone here.

In fact, many legends – aside from ghosts - still make claims to the city.

First up is the dragon of Na Coca:

This over-sized reptile used to make residence in the sewers back in the 17th century, and according to local legend would drag unsuspecting Majorcans to their deaths.

In response to the fatalities, the governor of Alcudia challenged the dragon to a death match, and conquered the mighty beast.

Another myth that might interest you is the hunchback of Na Joana.

A hunchback (surprise surprise) was sent out by his mother to collect firewood. On his way there, he heard the soft chanting of a group of witches in a cave.

They invited the hunchback to join them, and upon enjoying his chanting talents, and offered him a favour by removing his hump.

Following this miracle, a local woman sent her hunchback son to find these witches and be unburdened of his affliction.

During the chants he became angry, and changed the lyrics.

Yep, this motherfucker decided to have a rap battle with a bunch of witches.

Na Joana – the main witch (#HeadBitchInCharge) – gave him a hump on his chest in punishment.

Our final legend is rumoured to still haunt the island today.

The ‘Bad Count’ as he is now known, haunts a nature reserve, and is probably still searching for those who punished him for his injustice.

Ramon Safartesa – ‘the bad count’ – was cruel to those that worked his land, and he made the lives of his peasants unbearable.

Following many failed assassination attempts, the peasants came together and burnt his castle to the ground.

In 1922 it was rebuilt, but the locals were offended by the celebration of Safartesa, and it was once again reduced to the rubble that still lies there today.

The Ghosts of Bellver Castle

Love Island is host to a playlist of sounds.

Kissing, canoodling, and the ruffling of sheets all figure within this sexy soundtrack of the summer.

And by ‘sexy’ I mean deeply uncomfortable for anyone watching.

Anyway – it turns out our favourite villa isn’t the only iconic Majorcan building with moaning oozing out of its walls.

Bellver Castle is known for the moaning and the clanking of chains, claiming the title of ‘the most haunted building in Majorca’.

Built 700 years ago to commemorate Christianity’s claims to dominance over its rival religion, Islam, it was be used for royal residence, refuge from the plague, and most importantly as a Prison.

Visitors can still see the graffiti written on the walls from those who were once held against their will, and 2 deadly sites are potential hubs for paranormal activity.

Torre de L’Homeage was a place where they were actually imprisoned, and Olla?

Olla was an area – not unlike a small outside garden – that lay underneath a trapdoor.

Prisoners were to be dropped through this trapdoor, and left to freeze in the winter temperatures, or swelter in the summer heat.

Next up is the ghost of Johannes Bocher

It is said that in the dead of the night, a man walks the lanes of Cabrera Island. Those that walk by him are often asked if he can be buried in his homeland instead of where his body today lies.

This is the ghost of – you guessed it– Johannes Bocher.

Having crashed in 1944 after being shot by an RAF fighter, his corpse was kept in La Cruz de Los Franceses.

This memorial also contains the tomb of another lost soul: En Lluent.

This fisherman and Prisoner of war lost his life during the Napoleonic Wars as so many other hauntings have stemmed from.

En Lluent reportedly appears at the cemetery and cries, asking to be returned to his grave.

And so there we have it

Majorca might be dripping in young-20-something-influencers looking to boost their insta followers, but it’s also drenched in the less than living residents that have stayed more than 8 weeks.

So, whether you’re looking for your summer getaway, or considering submitting your application so you too can end up on Celebs Go Dating and sell teeth whitening kits, Majorca might just have more in store than a random scottish bloke narrating your holiday flings.

Like dead people.

Have you ever seen a ghost on your vacay? And do you think Joanna is just using the story to boost her Love Island Legacy?

Let me know down in the comments!

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