#as he veers from bullying of harry

[mrsriddlenott]

Mistakes

Draco Malfoy x Fem!Reader

Warnings: Angst, Fighting,Break Up, minor Fluff,

*Implied Gryffindor!Reader but barley*

Draco Malfoy was anything but a good person. He’d pick fights for no reason, he’d hex people he didn’t like, he’d bully younger students, anything to ignore what was happening around him. He didn’t see a reason to stop until he met you. Draco had absolutely no idea how he missed you for so long, you were there, right behind the Golden Trio the whole time. From the second he heard your voice it was like the curtains of a dingy old manor were thrown open to engulf him in summer warmth.

You were scolding him for how he spoke to Harry and all he could hear was the way his name fell from your lips. Those eyes looking up to him like he was the worst person imaginable was the only thing that could spark a change in the Slytherin Prince. And to your surprise, he actually was changing. He’d learned to ignore things he didn’t like instead of taking control of them as his focus veered toward winning your heart. Eventually the castle slowly became accustomed to peaceful walks in the corridors instead of pranks and hazing as Draco began to realize life wasn’t just about him, everyone was going through something. Including you, which was all he cared about now.

Even though there were times when he’d pick a fight or cast a spell at someone, you always understood that he was trying, that he made mistakes. And he absolutely couldn’t believe it when you finally said yes to his advances, in his eyes, everything he did was a mistake until you said yes to that Hogsmeade date.

But today he had a reason and a good one at that. He’d overheard a Slytherin 4th year talking about your body and what he’d do to you, whether you wanted him to or not. So he of course took it upon himself to teach the twat a lesson, at first he was just gonna scare him with a few choice words but when the boy didn’t back down on his threats, instead doubling down with his obscene comments, Draco decided his fists could do the talking. You however, only saw the tail end as you left for the great hall. Seeing your 7th year boyfriend, who was practically an adult, manhandle and abuse someone who was basically a child, made you sick to your stomach.

You of course didn’t know his reasoning and as you yelled in his face for everyone to hear that you were done cleaning up after him, Draco Malfoy’s heart of stone, shattered into pieces. His whole life for the past year was built on the promise of you being there, and he was going to do anything in his power to get that back.

Saturday morning you woke up to your favorite flowers on your nightstand, “Please let me explain,” written in loopy letters on a paper crane beside them. You threw off your blanket, slipped on your slippers and grabbed them both, the sun had barley risen and the castle was eerily silent as your slippers scraped along the path to the Slytherin common room. As you stared up at your boyfrie- ex boyfriend’s door, you contemplated just crashing in to kiss him, hug him, just talk to him, but that feeling in your stomach from yesterday never left. You let the flowers and note fall to your feet at his door, quickly rushing back to your dorm to cry before he could see you out here.

The next morning was harder to resist, the alluring smell of your favorite sweets filling your nostrils as you woke. Groggily you wiped at your eyes, grabbing at the origami with loopy writing again, “I promise I wasn’t being a git.” was scratched across it this time, making the images of his fight flash in your brain. The thought of him beating on random kids without your knowledge gnawed at you. You’d only ever seen him fight 6th and 7th years, some of them were entirely deserving of it but most of them just happened to exist on one of his bad days. Your brain was trying to understand why, but nothing you came up with warranted beating up a 14 year old boy. So again you made your way to his dorm, determined to stop this.

Your knuckles raked at the wood of his door, shoving your way through as soon as it cracked open. “Okay Draco, I know why you’re breaking in to leave me presents but it needs”your sentence caught in your throat as you took in his dirtied room. He was always so clean, never a sweater on his floor, but now pieces of paper, ink and clothes scattered his floor like pixies came through it.

“I’m sorry, I haven’t had a chance to clean up, I’ve been focused on your gifts,” He sighed, he had bags under his eyes like he hadn’t been sleeping, his hair was disheveled and his school clothes were still on. You eyed him as he watched you, the room going so quiet that the silence became a sound of it’s own as you both waited for the other.

“I need to explain,” Draco suddenly spoke, ushering you to his unmade bed, “I promise you I wasn’t just being a bully I-“

“Draco I didn’t come here for an excuse I came here to en-“ You tired to finish your sentence but couldn’t form the words, watching as his eyes left yours to swivel around his room, a telltale sign he was trying not to cry.

“Please, it’s not an excuse. I need to tell you my reasoning and then you can decide to leave me if that’s still what you want. I just- I’m not gonna sit back and watch you leave, we’re the only thing I’ve done correctly and I’m gonna fight for you okay?” Draco knew he was a disappointment, he knew he failed his father, his aunt, his friends, but every time he looked back on his dark days, all he saw was you by his side through it all, you helping him come to the right side, you teaching him to control his anger, you.

“He was talking about you,” He sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose as he spoke, “your legs, your waist, what he wanted to do with them.” His throat bobbed as he looked to you, you felt worse than before, bile rising up your throat as Draco continued, “I told him to stop talking, he didn’t, so I warned him, said that if I heard your name from his mouth again I’d beat his ass. He said he could say what he wanted because you’re an adult and he’s a child so he kept on with his friends and I think you know the rest.”

The room was tense with silence, your stomach turned in anxiety, you didn’t know boys that young thought that way, you assumed he was the victim. You felt stupid and naive for wanting to protect a boy who would gladly hurt you if given the chance. You threw yourself into Draco’s arms as tears grew on your lashes.

~~~~

I’ve got some smut writers block right now and can’t think of any scenarios, if anyone has any prompts I’d be so very happy to see them!!!!

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[sweetblinginrose]

stay away from me, lestrange!

(Neville Longbottom x fem¡OCLestrange)

warnings: It mentions torture, death, bullying, abuse, evil, distress…

words: 2,5k

a/n: it’s a bit of an introduction, sorry, the good stuff is coming, i promise.

my main language is not English.

masterlist previous chapt. next

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Chapter four: Belladona

“I don’t understand how you can keep going to that Muggle house when you could perfectly well live here, with all of us…” Draco commented, his tone hovering between incredulity and reproach. His pale eyes settled on his cousin Morwenna, who remained expressionless, her gaze fixed on the plate of gourmet food in front of her. The tableware, pristine and adorned with intricate gold details, only served to highlight the contrast with her mood. She had no appetite. In fact, she hadn’t felt hungry in weeks, lost in thoughts that had consumed her ever since that day in the library.

She barely paid attention to Draco’s words, which seemed to reach her from a distant fog. Deep down, she knew he was right: life in Malfoy Manor was, at least on the surface, comfortable, safe, and luxurious. But neither safety nor luxury could dispel the knot forming in her chest every time she remembered that argument, those furtive glances, and the secret she still couldn’t share with anyone. Not even Harry, who, incidentally, was risking his life in those absurd and dangerous Triwizard Tournament games. How could she think about anything else when her friend was facing deadly trials that only served to feed the magical community’s morbid fascination?

But Draco didn’t understand—or rather, he didn’t want to understand. He kept badgering her with his opinions, as if he believed he could shape her to his will. Worse still, he had started insisting on something Morwenna found unbearable: Viktor Krum. According to Draco, the famous Bulgarian Seeker was an ideal candidate for her, “worthy of her lineage,” he would say with his characteristic air of superiority. What Draco didn’t understand was that Morwenna neither needed nor wanted anyone deciding for her. And least of all turning her love life into yet another tool to reinforce the Malfoys’ blood purity obsessions.

Tired of her cousin’s words, Morwenna did nothing but keep her gaze fixed on her plate. The meat, perfectly cooked and seasoned, hardly seemed like food to her. The pure silver cutlery in her hands felt cold, just like the light that bathed the immense dining table, a distant light devoid of warmth, seeping into every corner of that place. She toyed with the cutlery, twirling it between her fingers as if it were harmless, but in her mind, a storm raged. As Draco continued speaking, his voice faded into the background like a useless echo, growing more distant and more irrelevant with each passing second.

In that moment, Morwenna wasn’t at that table; she was trapped in her own thoughts, her own ghosts, in a world where neither Draco nor his obsession with lineage had any place.

Morwenna couldn’t shake the firm voice of Neville from her mind. It was like a persistent echo, resonating in her head over and over again. She had never heard him speak like that before. Neville Longbottom, the boy who always seemed shy, almost invisible amidst the chaos of Hogwarts, was no longer the submissive boy she remembered. There was something different about him, something that unsettled her and, at the same time, intrigued her.

As Draco’s words continued to flow uninterrupted, Morwenna drifted again into that memory. Her thoughts soon veered toward something much darker, something she didn’t want to relive but that returned to her with the force of a storm: the Ravenclaw’s hands. She closed her eyes briefly, as if that simple gesture could banish the sensation from her mind. But it was useless. The memory of that moment seemed to have left a mark she couldn’t erase, no matter how hard she tried.

It was only when the clatter of silverware against her plate snapped her back to reality that she noticed Draco was still talking. His usual tone, full of superiority and enthusiasm, was starting to pierce through the barrier of her thoughts.

“… So, what do you think? Should I tell him? I’m sure you two would be the best at the ball!” Draco exclaimed, with a confidence as absolute as it was irritating.

Morwenna slowly raised her gaze, barely focusing on him, while her mind was still struggling to push away the images that haunted her. “Yes, yes, whatever…” she murmured at last, too drained to argue, too weary to contradict him.

Draco’s face lit up instantly, as if his cousin’s indifferent words were precisely the approval he’d been waiting for. “Perfect! I knew you’d see it my way!” he remarked with a polite smile, tilting his head slightly in triumph.

While Draco celebrated to himself, Morwenna let out a soft sigh. Though her cousin was delighted, she couldn’t shake the heavy feeling that enveloped her. Her thoughts, always so insistent, slipped back once again to the echo of Neville’s voice and the shadow of that memory she so desperately wanted to forget. Morwenna stood in front of the entrance to the Gryffindor common room, her expression as cold as the stone walls of the castle. Facing her, with a mocking grin and an air of careless confidence, was Cormac McLaggen—the boy who had recently become the center of countless rumors in the corridors of Hogwarts. One particular rumor had brought her here: the blatant lie that he and Morwenna had kissed.

“Who do you think you are?” Morwenna snapped, her voice laced with a restrained fury that could rival the roar of a lion, even though she wasn’t a Gryffindor. Her eyes sparkled dangerously as she pointed a perfectly manicured finger at him, her nails gleaming under the warm light of the torches.

Cormac, instead of backing down, simply raised an eyebrow and smirked, as if her anger was more amusing than threatening. “Oh, come on, Morwenna, don’t be like that. It’s just a bit of fun. Who’s it hurting, really? A little rumor never killed anyone,” he said, his tone dripping with condescension that almost made her lose her temper entirely.

“I didn’t even know you existed until a few days ago,” she shot back sharply, every word cutting like a blade. Her finger remained pointed at him, as if she could pierce through his arrogant facade with the sheer force of her glare.

For a moment, Cormac’s confidence seemed to falter, but he quickly recovered, leaning slightly toward her with a smile that was meant to be charming but only served to irritate her further. “Really? Well, it seems like now you know exactly who I am. And admit it, the rumor isn’t that far-fetched, is it? It could’ve happened…”

Morwenna felt anger surge through her like an uncontrollable wildfire. She closed her eyes briefly, taking a deep breath to keep herself from completely losing her composure. “I’ll say this once, McLaggen. If I hear you spreading anything like that about me again, you’ll regret it. I don’t have time for attention-seeking children,” she said, her voice icy enough to make even Cormac tense slightly.

Cormac narrowed his eyes, his mocking grin twisting into a scowl of irritation. Morwenna’s defiant attitude no longer amused him; his wounded ego was beginning to show in the way he tilted his head and furrowed his brow.

“Oh, yeah?” he shot back, his voice now laced with venom. “Well, that’s not what some of the guys are saying…”

A chill ran down Morwenna’s spine, but she refused to let it show on her face.

“I’ve heard you’ll kiss just abut anyone,” he continued with cruel satisfaction, savoring each word as he studied her with eyes glinting with arrogance. “And, well… it wouldn’t hurt if I joined that list, would it?” he added, his tone dripping with suggestion as he stepped closer.

That was the final straw.

Before she could even process the disgust rising inside her, her body moved on pure instinct. In an instant, her wand was raised, aimed directly at McLaggen’s face.

“Slugulus Eructo!” she cast, her voice steady and blazing with fury.

The spell hit him squarely, and within seconds, Cormac doubled over, his expression shifting from smug to horrified. A sickening, wet sound filled the corridor as the first slug wriggled out of his mouth, followed by another… and another. His face turned pale with revulsion and rage as he fell to his knees, gagging and retching.

Morwenna watched him with a mix of satisfaction and disdain. “That’s the closest you’ll ever get to kissing a girl, you creep,” she spat, her voice carrying through the corridor with such force that several heads turned.

From the Gryffindor common room, a few students peeked out to see what was happening, while in the nearby hallways, conversations fell silent. A ripple of murmurs spread among those witnessing the scene, stunned by the confrontation—and even more so by the punishment Morwenna had just dealt to McLaggen.

But she was no longer there to hear their whispers or see their stares.

The anger that had burned so fiercely just moments ago vanished in an instant, leaving behind something much heavier, much more suffocating. Something inside her cracked at that moment, something that yanked her back to the memory she had fought so hard to bury.

Cormac’s words, his tone, his arrogance… it all reminded her too much of that day in the library.

Her eyes burned with tears before she could stop them. A crushing wave of helplessness hit her so hard she felt like she couldn’t breathe.

Without another word, without even looking back, she spun on her heel and ran—away from the crowd, away from their stares, away from the pain threatening to consume her.

The minutes crawled by as Morwenna hid in the west courtyard, a secluded corner of the castle where few ever ventured. The cool afternoon air brushed against her skin, but it did nothing to ease the burning in her chest or stop the tremors in her hands. She hugged herself tightly, trying to stifle the sobs that still escaped her lips.

It was a quiet place—almost too quiet—save for the sound of her own crying and the soft whisper of the wind stirring the dry leaves scattered across the ground. But then, another sound made her tense. A crunch. The distinct crackling of leaves being stepped on.

Her body reacted before her mind did. Heart pounding, she spun around sharply, bracing herself to face whoever had followed her.

And she found herself face-to-face with Neville Longbottom.

The shock of it left them both frozen for a moment. He had walked straight toward her without realizing she was there, and now they stood so close that she could see the faint flush spreading across his cheeks. Neville awkwardly stepped back, mumbling something under his breath as he avoided her gaze.

Morwenna, however, didn’t look away. Her tears still glistened on her face, but something in her expression had shifted. There was no trace of the usual contempt with which she treated him, nor the disdain she often had for Gryffindors. Only exhaustion remained.

“Oh… it’s you,” she murmured, her voice dull, but lacking the sharp edge of hatred that usually colored her words.

Neville hesitated, as if unsure whether he should stay or leave. But something in his dark eyes—a mixture of concern and nervousness—made Morwenna, for the first time in a long while, feel no urge to put up her usual walls between them.

Neville took a step back, clearly unsure how to react to the situation. “Oh, I didn’t mean to intrude…” he murmured, turning toward the path he had come from, ready to leave as he had arrived.

But before he could take another step, Morwenna, with an unexpected impulse, stopped him. Her hand settled firmly on his arm, as if she didn’t want him to slip away, as if, for some reason, she needed him there.

“Uh… Neville… I…” Morwenna began, her words breaking, barely audible. It was as if the simple act of speaking to him made her unravel even more. Her words tumbled over one another, struggling to emerge, as the tears continued to fall.

“Thank you… for the library… you know, for stepping in…” she finally murmured, her tone lower now, but full of palpable gratitude.

Neville froze, surprised by the words he had just heard. It had been so long since they had had any real interaction, always wrapped in hurtful words and looks full of disdain. He never would have imagined that Morwenna, the same girl who had insulted and belittled him countless times, would now be thanking him for something as simple, yet significant, as this.

“I… I didn’t know what to say… but… well…” Neville stammered, still processing the situation. His gaze softened, and a small, shy smile tugged at the corners of his lips, as if, deep down, he couldn’t help but be touched by her gesture.

Morwenna stared at Neville, her eyes glassy as she fought to regain control over her emotions. Then, suddenly, the reality of the situation hit her. She realized just how vulnerable she must have looked to him, how exposed she was in that moment. A wave of shame washed over her, and her face turned a deep crimson.

In a sudden burst of discomfort, she pulled her hand away from Neville’s arm quickly, as though what had just happened had no place in her life. Her fingers trembled as they disconnected from him, and she hastily wiped away her tears, desperate to erase any trace of the vulnerability she had shown. She grabbed her bag without looking, taking a step back, her unease visible in every one of her movements.

In her haste, she stumbled slightly on the uneven ground, and dry leaves and dirt clung to her right knee and calf. A sharp sting shot up her leg, but she didn’t even pause to check; her only concern was getting away, escaping the discomfort she felt.

“This never happened! Don’t talk to me!” she shouted, her voice a mix of anger and embarrassment, as if pretending none of it had occurred was the only way to salvage what little of her pride remained.

Without waiting for a response, Morwenna spun around, walking briskly, almost slipping again as she rushed to leave. Her breath came in quick, shallow gasps, and her hands, gripping her bag tightly, betrayed just how nervous and confused she felt. As she walked, the images of the library and Neville’s face kept echoing in her mind, but she couldn’t stop. She needed to be alone. She needed to distance herself from him, from the vulnerability she had just exposed.

The days passed slowly, but everything changed when, finally, the date of the long-awaited Yule Ball was announced. Morwenna, who had been eagerly waiting for that moment, found herself caught between excitement and fear. The ball had always been something she had idealized in her mind, a dream where magic and elegance came together, and in her fantasies, she had always imagined a handsome guy by her side, as if that would be the moment she would meet someone with whom to share her life, someone who would become everything to her. Of course, she thought that way every time she kissed a boy, even though the realities were far less ideal than her dreams.

As the days went by, she began to notice something she hadn’t before: Viktor Krum couldn’t take his eyes off her. Every time she entered the Great Hall, she felt his gaze fixed on her, as if she could feel the weight of his eyes even while he was talking to other boys or training with his team. His presence was constant, like a shadow in her line of sight. At first, Morwenna thought she was being paranoid, but when the glances continued even while he was with others, she started to wonder if there might be something more behind it. She then remembered her cousin Draco mentioning Krum in some conversation, suggesting that he might be a good option for her, though at the time she hadn’t paid much attention to that advice.

The glances became a regular thing, but one day, the situation changed abruptly. Krum approached her unexpectedly, and Morwenna felt her heart race with every step he took toward her.

With his deep voice and sweet Bulgarian accent, Krum sat next to her, making his presence feel even more imposing. For a moment, they both stayed silent, as if the air around them became thick. However, it was he who broke the ice, his words filled with a confidence that took her breath away.

“Hello, beautiful Evangeline…” he said, using her second name in such a natural way that Morwenna blushed instantly. It was one of those small things she hadn’t seen coming, something that disarmed her effortlessly.

“I’ve heard very good things about you, both mentally and physically,” he continued, his tone so direct that it made her cheeks burn with a deep blush.

Morwenna didn’t know how to react, surprised by the boldness of his words, but also by the way he said them, so serious, so intense. Before she could process it, Viktor took her hand with a gentleness that didn’t seem to match his imposing figure, and kissed it delicately. His touch was firm, yet at the same time, as if he wanted to make sure she understood what that gesture meant.

The sensation of his lips touching her skin made Morwenna lose her breath, her face completely red. The power of Krum’s gaze, the intensity of his presence, made her heart race, while an uncomfortable knot formed in her stomach. She tried to process what had just happened, but the words seemed to slip away from her mind.

“V-Viktor, right?” she whispered, her voice trembling, unable to believe he was there, in front of her, speaking to her in such a close, direct manner. The mixture of surprise and a strange emotion she couldn’t identify overtook her.

Krum smiled slightly, never taking his eyes off her, and Morwenna could see a spark of amusement in his gaze. Despite the discomfort she felt, something in her chest, deep inside, was awakening. It was a confusing sensation, as if she were trapped between surprise and the desire to see what else would happen in this unexpected encounter.

Morwenna was so lost in her thoughts, caught up in the intensity of Krum’s gaze, that she failed to notice Neville Longbottom watching her from a nearby table. Her mind was still spinning from what had just happened, from the soft brush of his lips on her hand and the way Krum looked at her with that overwhelming fascination. She couldn’t help but wonder what he wanted from her, why he was behaving that way.

But Morwenna’s focus wasn’t on what was happening around her. Instead, her thoughts drifted, caught between confusion, admiration, and a strange emotion that made it hard for her to process everything she was feeling. What she didn’t see, however, was Longbottom’s gaze, fixed on her from across the room as he sat at a table with Ginny Weasley, lost in their studies.

Neville, upon realizing what was happening between Morwenna and Krum, couldn’t help but feel a wave of disgust. His face tightened, and his brow furrowed so intensely that it seemed as though he might pour his disdain over the entire table. It wasn’t just a look of discomfort; it was pure revulsion. Even though Ginny tried to talk to him, Neville couldn’t take his eyes off what was happening in front of him. Every gesture from Krum, every word he directed at Morwenna, seemed to anger him more. The way the Bulgarian looked at her, so confident, so imposing, not only irritated him, but seemed to stir something deeper, something he couldn’t quite identify.

Ginny, noticing Neville’s shift in mood, cast him a questioning glance, but he barely acknowledged her, so absorbed was he in what he was witnessing. His expression was a mix of frustration and something more profound—an unease that gnawed at him as he watched Morwenna, so indifferent to everything around her, so completely absorbed in Krum’s attention.

Unable to hide his disgust any longer, Neville finally diverted his gaze, focusing back on the books in front of him. But even as he did, something inside him kept stirring, something he couldn’t silence.

The days passed quickly, and finally, the moment of the grand dance rehearsal organized by Professor McGonagall arrived. After weeks of announcements, rehearsals, and much speculation, the day came when all the students of Hogwarts would gather to practice their steps for the Yule Ball. The Great Hall, usually spacious, was now packed with students of all ages. The heat was unbearable, and the buzz of the crowd made the atmosphere even denser. The tables, typically arranged in perfect order, had been rearranged to allow students to line up, but it was still nearly impossible to find space. The air felt heavy, and the discomfort was reflected in many faces.

McGonagall, as always, maintained absolute control over the situation. With her usual seriousness, she began calling students one by one, inviting them to step forward to show off their dance skills. She had promised to award five points to each student who impressed others with their dancing prowess, and as expected, many volunteered eagerly, eager to earn those precious points for their house.

However, what no one expected was that McGonagall, in an unexpected twist, decided that students would not only showcase their solo dance skills but would also have to dance with a partner assigned by her. The air in the hall became even tenser, as many exchanged confused glances, wondering who they would be paired with.

The shock was immense when, amid murmurs and nervous laughter, McGonagall called on Morwenna Lestrange and Neville Longbottom. The professor, with her upright posture and unyielding gaze, paired them together, despite the clear discomfort on both their faces.

Morwenna couldn’t believe what was happening. Her face, usually so commanding and confident, showed a mixture of anger and embarrassment. Her expression twisted into a grimace of distaste as, with a defiant attitude, she tried to avoid the situation.

“Uh… Professor, are you sure I can’t be paired with…?” Morwenna murmured, trying to keep her voice low so no one would hear. She was desperate to avoid the humiliation of dancing with Longbottom, the boy she had always looked down on. However, to her misfortune, McGonagall, with her unrelenting authority, responded to her protest aloud.

“Not a chance, Lestrange. You must respect the pairing I’ve chosen. No changes allowed. Deal with it,” the professor said, her tone firm and final, as she continued organizing the other pairs.

Morwenna, now completely trapped in the situation, could hear the muffled laughs rising among the students. Some, unable to contain themselves, whispered to each other, while others watched with a mix of surprise and amusement. The awkwardness of the situation didn’t go unnoticed, and the curious eyes of others seemed heavy, almost as if they were enjoying the drama unfolding before them.

Neville, for his part, didn’t know whether to feel relieved or more embarrassed by the attention the scene was attracting. Though his expression remained relatively neutral, Morwenna could see in his face that he wasn’t enjoying the situation any more than she was. But what frustrated Morwenna the most was the obvious truth: she was trapped. And the thought of having to dance with Longbottom, someone she had despised and ridiculed for so long, made her feel as if she were losing a part of herself.

The atmosphere grew even denser when Neville, though a bit awkward, placed his hand on Morwenna’s waist. The softness of the contact made Morwenna shiver, as if every inch of her skin had reacted to the touch of Neville’s hand. The reaction was immediate and visceral; she grabbed his shoulder tightly, almost as if trying to avoid any kind of closeness, but her fingers inadvertently dug into his skin, leaving a faint mark from her nails. Neville, surprised by the intensity of her grip, let out a puff of air, the tension between them now palpable.

The music began to play, and without warning, their bodies moved in unison, as if they had become an extension of each other. The rhythm of the melody, gentle yet persistent, seemed to spark something between them, an inexplicable connection. Morwenna, although tense at first, began to feel surprised by how effortlessly their movements matched. It wasn’t that she was enjoying the situation, but something inside her began to recognize the fluidity with which they moved together, as if the initial discomfort disappeared with each step they took.

Despite the tension and surprise, they became more than just two people forced to dance together. The fact that they had never communicated smoothly beyond the sharp and awkward words didn’t stop them from moving as if they had been doing it all their lives. It was a bewildering contrast: he, usually clumsy and shy, and she, used to controlling the situation, now moved forward as if they understood each other without needing to speak.

Morwenna, still uncomfortable, couldn’t help but feel a trace of astonishment as she realized that, somehow, they were perfectly in sync. Their feet seemed to move almost autonomously, and as their bodies spun, she couldn’t help but glance at Neville, noticing a mixture of concentration on his face—and something else. She couldn’t put a name to it, but she felt it. As if, for the first time, the situation was beyond frustration or anger, and was touching a new form of connection.

Despite everything that had happened before, everything she had thought about him, Morwenna couldn’t deny that, in that moment, there was something inexplicably captivating in how their bodies, despite their differences, moved together.

After a series of flawless spins and steps, they were the only ones left dancing until the end of the song. The others, either exhausted or uncomfortable, had long since exited the dance floor, abandoning it in the midst of the music’s crescendo. But they continued, somehow, completely absorbed in the moment. Each movement seemed to flow with an almost magical precision, and the connection between them, which had started as something awkward and tense, was transforming into something so fluid that it felt as if the music itself had possessed them. The movements were not just a coordination of steps; there was something more, a tacit understanding that grew with each turn. It was as if they were both in a shared trance, completely immersed in what they were doing.

However, like all good things, the song came to an end. The final chord resonated in the air, and at that precise moment, a loud round of applause burst through the atmosphere, shattering the bubble they had been in. They both separated abruptly, as if a thunderclap had struck between them. Suddenly, the electricity that had been hanging in the air dissipated, and with it, the moment vanished, leaving them back in the same discomfort that had defined their relationship from the start.

Morwenna quickly took a step back, her face now flushed with the embarrassment and awkwardness of what had just happened. What had once been near-perfect synchronization now felt like an invasion of her personal space. She wasn’t sure what she had felt, but that same closeness that had seemed so seamless before now felt foreign, even strange. As she tried to compose herself, she noticed that Neville, also puzzled, stepped back, his expression mirroring her own confusion.

“Bravo! Spectacular!” Professor McGonagall clapped enthusiastically, her excitement unmistakable as she held the vinyl record, clearly waiting to change it. Her face gleamed with satisfaction at having achieved what she had intended, though the atmosphere between the two dancers was far more tense than she had anticipated.

Morwenna and Neville exchanged a fleeting glance, full of discomfort, before their eyes shifted to the floor, as if that simple gesture would allow them to avoid the inevitable. The break in the moment had been as abrupt as the dance itself, and now, amidst the laughter and applause filling the Great Hall, they returned to their original positions: him, the awkward and shy Neville, and her, the ever-proud and reserved Morwenna. The magic that had existed, even if just for a brief moment, had evaporated, leaving only the echo of what had just transpired between them.

tags

@iyearnyouu @dopetrashlawyerdeputy-blog @potterblog @lazybitch06 @hanihoney88 @certainyouththing @sarawoweeee @scretlololok @staygold162 @that-crazy-skz-stan-uwu @shilphy87 @namiusedbubble @20bombshell04 @nott-my-riddle @iyearnyouu @longbottomlove @josephineable @brooklvn111baby

[sideprince]

When the twins and Ron go to get Harry in book 2, it's because Harry hasn't replied to any of Ron's letters and he's worried something's wrong (that turned out to be Dobby's interference). When they get him back to the Burrow, Mrs. Weasley is too busy being angry and yelling at her sons and they can't get a word in edgewise. The most they manage is George saying, "they were starving him." They don't actually tell their parents there were bars on Harry's window (that happens in the movie, but not in the book and, as always, I don't count the movies as canon). There's nothing in canon to indicate that Mr. and Mrs. Weasley are aware that Harry was locked in his room and starved, because they won't listen to their children. I assume Mrs. Weasley must have known something was awry because she lets Harry stay for the rest of the summer without talking to the Dursleys and making sure they're OK with it.

In book 3 Ron tries calling Harry on the phone at the start of the summer holidays, but it doesn't go well and Uncle Vernon yells at him to never contact him again or come near his family. The Weasleys then go on vacation to Egypt and meanwhile Harry blows up Aunt Marge and runs away to the Leaky Cauldron, where he spends the rest of the summer. Ron does ask in the letter he sends from Egypt whether Harry can meet them in Diagon Alley after they return, so I don't think the Weasleys had any plans to invite him to stay. Veering into meta here, but I'm guessing that the Weasleys knew Harry wasn't a malicious kid and that if he blew up his aunt (which they know since Mr. Weasley hears about it through work) that something was wrong back home. The fact that the Minister allows Harry to stay at the Leaky Cauldron instead of returning to his family may have also set Mrs. Weasley's radar off that something isn't right at the Dursleys.

In book 4 the Quidditch World Cup is the reason the Weasleys invite Harry, and they invite Hermione too. Mr. Weasley, Fred, George, and Ron go to pick Harry up in person, which is a fiasco when they try to use floo powder and end up blowing up half the Dursleys' living room. One of the twins drops a ton tongue toffee which Dudley eats and then Mr. Weasley has to fix that too. This is the first time one of the Weasley parents interacts with the Dursleys directly. They're rude and unfriendly, which might have raised Mr. Weasley's concerns. When Mr. Weasley yells at the twins for baiting Dudley with the toffee, they reply that they did it because "he's a great bullying git." Mr. Weasley is more willing to listen to the twins than Mrs. Weasley, and this may have raised some concerns too, given the experience he'd just had with the whole Dursley family and how unfriendly they were. What stands out most, though, is this exchange when Mr. Weasley and Harry are about to leave for the Burrow:

Now Harry and Mr Weasley alone remained. ‘Well … bye then,’ Harry said to the Dursleys. They didn’t say anything at all. Harry moved towards the fire, but just as he reached the edge of the hearth, Mr Weasley put out a hand and held him back. He was looking at the Dursleys in amazement. ‘Harry said goodbye to you,’ he said. ‘Didn’t you hear him?’ ‘It doesn’t matter,’ Harry muttered to Mr Weasley. ‘Honestly, I don’t care.’ Mr Weasley did not remove his hand from Harry’s shoulder. ‘You aren’t going to see your nephew ‘til next summer,’ he said to Uncle Vernon in mild indignation. ‘Surely you’re going to say goodbye?’ Uncle Vernon’s face worked furiously. The idea of being taught consideration by a man who had just blasted away half his living-room wall seemed to be causing him intense suffering. But Mr Weasley’s wand was still in his hand, and Uncle Vernon’s tiny eyes darted to it once, before he said, very resentfully, ‘Goodbye, then.'

Mr. Weasley probably took more notice of the twins calling Dudley a bully because of the way Uncle Vernon was extraordinarily unfriendly and uncaring towards Harry here. He and Molly have already noticed (sometimes out loud, on Molly's part) that Harry is skinny and wears hand-me-downs. They themselves are fairly poor and yet their kids wear properly sized clothes and look cared for. And then Mr. Weasley shows up in the Dursleys comfortable middle-class home, full of signs that they could certainly afford to feed and clothe Harry properly if they wanted to, and sees that Vernon won't even say goodbye to Harry, he's just glad to be rid of him. That must have at least raised an eyebrow, but equally there's still room for them to think that the Dursleys are just unfriendly. It's very hard for most people to look at a nice middle class home and think that the people who live there could be abusive (there's a lot of class bias in abuse apologism, which could be a whole other post tbh).

I think it's also worth pointing out that by this point they haven't just invited Harry to go to the Quidditch World Cup, to be dropped back off at Privet Drive after, but have invited him for the whole summer. So I think they must have had some sense that Harry was better off with them than at home, but it may not have been until Mr. Weasley meets the Dursleys in person that he realizes how bad the situation might be. But then, the World Cup is at the end of the summer holidays, so who knows.

By Book 5 the Weasleys are staying at Grimmauld Place and Ron and Hermione have been instructed not to put anything about The Order into writing to Harry, so I suspect that Dumbledore's the one deciding where Harry goes and when during the holidays. I think there's a sense that he kind of expected something like the Dementor attack to happen. Plus, Dumbledore wants Harry to spend some time at Privet Drive in order for his protective spell to continue working. I think the Weasleys expect that at some point in the summer Harry will come to Grimmauld Place, and by then Sirius is also back in England and living in that house, so the Weasleys are no longer the only adults close to Harry. Sirius, being his godfather, is more responsible for Harry's well-being and perhaps the Weasleys are also worried about stepping on his toes. In any case, they're guests in Sirius' house and can't just invite Harry to stay because that would definitely be overstepping, and since they aren't at the Burrow they can't invite Harry to their own home. Which makes sense, because Grimmauld Place has a Fidelius Charm on it, making it safer (as we see later in the series when the trio are hiding there from the Ministry and no matter how much surveillance the Death Eaters put on the house, they can't get in or even see it).

In book 6 Dumbledore goes to fetch Harry from Privet Drive and take him to meet Slughorn before dropping him off at The Burrow for the rest of the summer. By this point it seems there's a collaborative effort to get Harry out of Privet Drive as soon as possible after the requisite amount of time passes to ensure Dumbledore's protective charm continues to work.

And of course, in book 7 the protective charm breaks on July 31 and the whole Order is involved in getting Harry to the Burrow before then, where he spends the rest of the summer until he, Ron, and Hermione begin their Horcrux hunt.

My own theory (linking to a thread from someone else but I think I've written about this in greater detail, I just can't find the post) is that the Weasleys had a sense something was amiss but didn't really understand the extent to which Harry was neglected and abused, as most people who haven't witnessed or experienced abuse firsthand tend not to. After Snape, who has experienced domestic abuse firsthand, sees enough of Harry's memories during Occlumency lessons in book 5 to catch on to how bad this kid is treated at home, he tells Dumbledore, who tells the rest of the Order, or at least some of them. Which is why, at the end of the fifth book, several Order members are at King's Cross with the specific purpose of threatening the Dursleys that if they mistreat Harry there will be consequences.

I don't remember the books well on that aspect, so I'd like to directly ask:

Did the Weasleys know that Harry was being mistreated by the Dursleys, and do you consider they did their best trying to help him out?

They kept him in 2nd year, didn't invite him in 3rd year, invited him in 4th year, 5th year was with his godfather (though quite late), and I don't remember for 6th year...

[oneweekobsession]

the raf-harry-amy triangle is actually one of the most repulsive storylines i’ve seen on holby and then wait what amy’s confiding in guy? what? eh stop all of this give me more adele instead

[insomniac-arrest]

When my heart felt volcanic

Have you ever noticed that there’s this trend in book titles that go “The X’s Daughter”? Things like The Clockmaker’s Daughter, The Emperor’s Daughter, The Scavenger’s Daughter, The Madman’s Daughter, so on.

It’s never called “The Clockmaker” and about just the daughter. It’s always her dad that teaches her how to beat up guys in masks or fire a pistol or fly a fighter jet. Sometimes she even has 7 or so brothers who bully her into being tough and stoic, a boys-girl. You know, like a tomboy but hot and you also never have to deal with any feminine interests she might have. It’s always the daughter.

Well I was the daughter of a narcoleptic. It didn’t make me any more likely to wear short-shorts and kick bad-guys in the chest like if I was in a movie. It also didn’t make me any more knowledgeable about sleep besides the obvious bit about human bodies being mysterious and full of vindictive whimsy.

Mostly, it just made me angry.

For as long as I could remember my dad would be reading me a bedtime story, maybe about Mr. Toad and friends or Harry Potter or the Hobbit. I don’t think we ever made it through a single chapter.

His eyes would flutter shut, sometimes there would be some buildup, like tides slowly easing onto the beach, or sometimes it would be like a light being blown out. And he was gone.

We would be eating breakfast and he would slump down in his chair. We would be watching a movie and he would never know the ending. My mom and him would be at my softball game and I would look back over to the bleachers to see my dad fast asleep with a foam finger on his hand. My mom told me to have some compassion, it was a condition.

But all I knew was that other girls didn’t have to kick their fathers to stay awake at their back to school nights.

Of course, it wasn’t as bad as it could have been. Some people have it a lot worse: drowsy all the time, barely able to hold down a job, chronically nodding off in a space between dreams and reality. My dad only sometimes was lost to us.

The condition wasn’t that bad he said and he was a doctor after all- the serious type. The type for heart disease and lots of charts on the walls and the reason my mom didn’t have to work either.

My aunt once tipsily told me my dad developed it in college. He worked a job and went to medical classes all at once and he messed with his sleep schedule so much he never really recovered. I suppose that softened my heart a little bit, but then I saw him asleep at my 14th birthday and the irritation seized me all over again.

It was 14 and growing in all the wrong directions- a puzzle with the pieces being jammed in their wrong spots. I was yelling that day.

The car was cramped and smelled of hand sanitizer and yogurt I spilled on the front seat months ago. The air felt yellow with spring heat and a dusty country road in front of us. I threw my hands in the air emphatically.

“I need them.” Most of my family’s serious discussions were had in the car going from place to place. “It’s important.”

My father got that “thinking” look on his face where his features paused and his soft chin dimpled. “You’re young.” He said with dust in his words, “I think it’s a little early to think about drugs.”

I rolled my eyes, “Mom says they’re safe.” I sniffed loudly, “And I bet it would make my grades better.”

My dad glanced at me through his wire-frame glasses, “Grades aren’t everything, bumblebee.”

I rolled my eyes, “You always say that, but do you mean it?”

“I’m a doctor,” he said with a heavy sigh, “I know about the human body. Teenagers sleep schedules can be naturally irregular. It doesn’t help with the school making you get up at god awful hours.” He complained.

My dad was against most systems in a moral sense. He didn’t like school systems or government systems or even the health care system. But he was also neatly soft-spoken and orderly and a contradiction all by himself.

I crossed my arms over my chest, “It’s not normal.” I hissed because I had sleep problems too and my heart felt volcanic for it. Burning. Exploding. I never asked for this. “I just want to go to fucking sleep for once instead of staring at the ceiling for hours.”

“Language,” He said in the same dusty way and I shook my head.

“Listen to me!” I pulled out the stops as I jerked upright in the chair and gestured fiercely. A tree passed and the rolling fields in all directions gave a certain feeling of yawning loneliness around us. “It’s not your decision. It’s mine. I want to try the pills!”

My father just continued to frown. “What about a more regular schedule?”

“That’s always your solution.” I grumbled, “I don’t see yours helping you at all.”

My father wilted slightly, “Brooklyn…” He said my name as a warning.

“Yeah, yeah,” I waved a hand through the air. “But I don’t want however it is you live your life. It’s like you’re not even trying to not have it.” Maybe I knew it was cruel at the time. I’m not sure if I meant to be cruel. Maybe I wanted to be, needed it, but it happened all the same.

I had barbs at that age.

My father grew quiet as he usually did when he was hurt and we drove in silence to my doctors appointment one city over. It must have been ten or fifteen minutes when I saw the car start to veer to the side of the road.

“Dad…” I said softly as the car gently crossed the center of the road. I twisted toward him and my eyes flew wide open as his chin was nestled on his chest. “Dad!”

His eyes were closed and the car precariously descended toward a ditch. “Wake up!” I shook him violently but not before the nose of the car aimed into the ditch and sent shock waves up my arms.

“Ah,” I yelped as the seat belt tore across my chest and I bounced back against the seat.

My dad jerked the wheel to the side, but it was too late as the car rumbled down into a sudden stop against the ground. We jerked with a painful lurch and I held onto the seat belt with both hands.

We took deep gasping breaths for a long second as the hood of the car was crumpled and I wouldn’t have been surprised to see smoke leaking from it soon.

My father threaded a hand through his thin hair. “Are you okay?” He turned to me and his voice shook. “Are you okay?”

I nodded again and again. “I’m fine, it’s fine.” He looked off into space and seemed to be seeing something I couldn’t.

That was the first time in my whole life I saw my father cry. He nudged at his watery eyes with his hands and I watched as tears fell like meteorites down his cheeks. “I’m sorry.” He croaked and he put his head and hands on the wheel with limp wrists, “I never thought it would come to this.” More tears made tracks across his face.

I didn’t know what to say, so I reached over and patted his shoulder weakly as he gathered himself up again. I had never seen my father cry before. I wasn’t sure he could.

That was the year my dad gave up driving. And I started a few trials for sleep problems.

And I forgive them now. I forgive people who walk too slowly on the sidewalk and cashiers that count my money out wrong and people who tell me the same joke three or four times. I forgive people for being late to meetings and others for canceling plans. There’s nothing else to do.

I am The Narcoleptic’s Daughter.

[cornholio4]

if Catra was male

I lvoe Catradora but totally understand if people don’t want to support the couple because they see it as couple. I saw an argument that more people would not like it if it was a boy due to the misunderstood bad boy trope. I will admit that I can’t be certain if catra was a boy then I would have been rooting for the ship but her egos how I knew I was a shipper:

from the first trailer with catra being adora’s friend and her adorable excited nature about the the idea of seeing the outside world and conquering it, like an affable villain and I felt sorry that their friendship would detoriate but the seconds was enough for me to ship them

it was not wha it was expecting and I won’t let that Catras attitude and actions late in the show made it hard to support the couple but she was called out on her actions and her toxic behaviour drove her friends away so she had to face them and her issues and try to redeem herself after saving glimmer

she rejoins the team and after they get back to etheria, I saw comments that pointed out that catra knew what she did was wrong and fully lets those with a bone pick on her call her out without defending, even giving her apologies 

I love the ship but totally respect that other people will be turned off thanks to implications and how they view the ship. Please be respectful

besides I can justify liking catra since her actions had consequences that she had to face and turned herself around

unlike Severus snape who never faced real consequences for being a bully of a professor who took his anger and Lily breaking things off with him on her son as well as small children, he joined the feathers and led to Harry’s parent’s death 

unlike Chloe bourgeois who is just a spoilt brat who enjoys bullying others and won’t even try and be nice to people without Adrien threatening to call off their friendship. She got away with so much bullying and antics, never apologised for  almost getting a train full of people killed (I will give you that in a tantrum catra almost destroyed her world to spite adora and this excuse is pretty flimsy btu she did ell adora that she was sorry for everything so that could be included in that), then she goes back to normal bullying others for fun even being a hypocrite to poor aurore.

catra at least has her raised as a soldier upbringing, being second best to her best friend and shadow weaver’s horrible treatment of her which doesn’t totally excuse everything she had done but she does go through an arc. Plus she was capable of being genuinely nice to scorpia and Entrapta, she may burn bridges with them later with entrapta being tricked into joining but she does apologise and tries to fix things with them

I very quickly veered off from the topic in the title, also I will say that if you like snape and Chloe (though I dont) then that’s alright but sorry for venting

[raptured-night]

7&34?

Oh, yay! Thanks for the ask @snapeling!

7. What is your most self-indulgent Snape headcanon? No, your MOST self-indulgent headcanon. That one

I’ve read so many imaginative answers to this one, even a really lovely short about Snape surviving the Battle of Hogwarts to become a bee-keeper. I absolutely adored that one because I have long nursed a little headcanon about Snape as a retired teacher turned bee-keeper in the style of Sherlock Holmes. 

That being said, my most self-indulgent Snape headcanon has long been that the man who once spoke so mesmerizingly about being able to “put a stopper in death” to a class of rapt first-years was also able to have the foresight to be able to survive Nagini’s attack. Rowling laid the foundation for it to be possible and there was enough vagueness surrounding his death in the book that one could easily imagine scenarios where Snape survives and carves a better place for himself in the wizarding world post-war or he succeeds in faking his own death and quietly leaves the wizarding community of the UK behind for a fresh start elsewhere. In the latter scenario, everyone (or mostly everyone depending on if I’m feeling the idea of someone helping him fake his death or him managing it on his own) assumes he died and that his portrait didn’t just appear among the other Hogwarts’ headmasters because they believe he had “abandoned his post” but when his portrait (assuming Harry had one installed in his honor) suddenly comes to life and begins talking many decades later they realize the truth --the real reason that it had not appeared that night is because Severus Snape had not yet died. 

I often go back-and-forth between what life he might make for himself in a scenario where he survives and the wizarding community of the UK is aware of it and the ones in which he survives and fakes his death. In AUs were Snape remains in the wizarding world of the UK and people know he survived I tend to see his life as more fraught with challenges but eventually stabilizing into something better than what he had before. I suspect the people’s views of him would be something similar to what we see of the fandom, in the sense, it might be a varied mix of public acceptance, hatred, and so on. There would be people who overly romanticize him and his role during the war and, to Snape’s own chagrin, seek to make him out to be far more of a tragic victim of circumstance than he would care to be seen as (he might balk at the odd marriage offer he gets from witches in the mail, expressions of sympathy bordering more pity, and even embarrassing assumptions about his sex life and offers, should he wish it, to “lose his virginity” or find comfort in willing arms). There would be others who might urge the Ministry to bring him up on charges and revile him even in the face of Harry’s or other people’s public defense because they just refuse to believe that the man who killed Dumbledore and usurped his position as Headmaster for over a year is anything other than a villain who managed to save his own skin and pull the wool over people’s eyes. 

In the aftermath of the war, and with so much recent loss and fear, Snape would bear the brunt of their outcry for more vengeance (some with the thinly veiled prejudice that didn’t completely die with Voldemort that an “ugly half-blood who came from nothing” could have killed a great wizard like Dumbledore and fooled so many) under the guise of justice and they would project their collective trauma onto him. There would also be survivors of the war who came from families of Death Eaters and said Death Eaters who again slip away from justice that view Snape as either a traitor of the most extreme kind or as a curiosity. Was this man truly so capable an Occlumens that he could conceal from everyone, including Voldemort, his true beliefs and loyalties for so long, or had he successfully managed to play both sides of the war to secure himself a place with whichever side proved to be the victor? Ultimately, I see where his detractors would also be convinced, as many Snaters are, that whatever connection he had to Harry’s mother was something seedy and Snape would have to contend with their hatred. 

Oddly, I see him finding those who revile him easier to reconcile (aside from their assumptions about Lily and what relationship he had with her) than his “fans” who might send him love letters and cast him as some Byronic hero. Largely because he has had to contend with being loathed for much of his life and it’s familiar territory. Being made into a romantic figure or even earning the respect of some people would be new territory he would have to learn to cope with. Learning how to tell the difference between admiration and romanticization, sympathy and pity, etc., would be a rocky course to navigate. I also see a tense and uncomfortable post-war relationship with many of his colleagues at Hogwarts. Their guilt over not trusting him would be difficult for him to contend with; they only believed what he and Dumbledore intended for them to believe. I think a bitter part of him might even privately feel that the guilt some of them felt for believing the worst of him came too little too late and would have been better served during his youth when so many of them seemed to have written him off and turned a blind eye to the Marauder’s bullying. He might be more inclined to avoid those of his colleagues who insist on dwelling on their guilt and rehashing his time as Headmaster. 

For that reason, I have never seen him returning to Hogwarts as very likely. I do indulge in some thought of him and McGonagall eventually coming to an understanding after a few difficult conversations, some of which might be carried out in person over uncomfortable tea or stiffer drinks and some of which might occur through initially tense correspondences that eventually begin to veer off into more comfortable territory and lengthy discussions of topics that have nothing at all to do with the war as time passes. I also like the thought of Snape returning long enough to speak his peace to Dumbledore’s portrait. He would learn Dumbledore had tried to lay the groundwork for him to survive (he intended him to gain possession of the Elder Wand to offer him some protection and not to single him out to be killed but things did not go according to his best-laid plans); he wasn’t just a spy tossed out into the cold with no hope of being saved by a man who didn’t see him as more than a pawn in a much bigger game. Still, there are conversations that need to be had (such as why, from his perspective, Dumbledore once looked at a young Sirius Black and saw a boy who could still be saved even after his attempt at murder but could see nothing more in him than a lost cause to give up on) that Snape was unable to have with Dumbledore while he was still alive when they were still in the middle of a looming war other concerns, by necessity, took priority. 

Those conversations would be difficult and painful but Snape would find that there was still catharsis to be found in the opening of old wounds when they had been left to fester so they could properly begin to heal. In such an AU, my most self-indulgent headcanon is one where Snape learns to take the reigns on his life and become his own master; he makes peace with his demons (for the most part) and allows the ghosts of his past to finally rest. Most importantly, he begins to plan for a future that is his own and reflect on what that means for him. I imagine a Snape that becomes better adjusted (as we see in Cursed Child) in terms of how he copes with his trauma. He would retire from Hogwarts and, finally, relocate from Spinner’s End to make a quiet but contended living for himself in a more comfortable flat or cottage home full of walls lined by shelves of books by applying the knowledge he has acquired over the course of many years not as an over-worked and frustrated teacher who doesn’t enjoy directly working with a classroom but as a prolific writer of educational textbooks on everything from Potions brewing for novice to advance brewers to treaties on defenses against Dark Arts so undeniably valuable they become standard syllabus at Hogwarts and amongst would-be Aurors at the Ministry. 

In AUs where Snape leaves wizarding Britain behind him and fakes his death, the catharsis does not come easily. It’s a process of learning to accept leaving his past behind him, even if parts of it remain unresolved and open-ended, and finding peace in the new life he forges for himself. I like the idea of him leading a private life in another country. Often I imagine him in places like Tangier in Morroco, or Turkey, or Thebes in Egypt, Ethiopia, or Sudan, etc., places steeped in history or at the very cradle of civilization or in places lush with potentially useful and undiscovered species of flora, fauna, or species of magical creature that could be used in potions brewing, such as Indonesia, Malaysia, or Brunei (which share access to the rain forest in Borneo) or Brazil. In this headcanon, Snape would spend his days conducting research into obscure or ancient magical texts, studying potential new magical ingredients for potions, or even rediscovering old ways of brewing lost to many, and making a new name for himself as a talented Potioneer writing under an assumed name. 

I like to imagine this Snape as benefiting from his time outside of the UK; his skin would pick up some color from his time spent outdoors in a warmer climate and if he always remained more on the side of slender he would not be so thin as to seem malnourished. He would gain a healthy bit of mass from his ventures and while he would always be a “substance over beauty” sort, the positive benefits of this new life would be evident through the changes in his appearance and overall demeanor. Enough so that when he came across a person from his past unexpectedly while they were on vacation his appearance and general baring were so altered that they would look right past him and wouldn’t realize until many decades later (by which time Snape would have lived to a ripe old age for a wizard and they too would have begun to feel the evidence of their own advancing years), when Snape’s portrait suddenly came to life among the Hogwarts’ Headmasters and began talking, as a sudden shocking afterthought that the person they had seen had been none other than Severus Snape --wrongly presumed dead after the Battle of Hogwarts and remembered by many witches and wizards, particularly The Boy Who Lived, as the bravest man any of them had ever known. 

34. Pick out a chapstick/lipstick for Snape.

I may be breaking the rules a bit with this one but I have two answers, one serious and more thoughtful and one that just amuses me.

The serious answer is that I could headcanon Snape using a chapstick made from beeswax. It would be colorless (and if it had any flavor then he might indulge in a honey flavor or even a honey lemon flavor, which has the added bonus of being comforting and settling the stomach against any nausea) and protect his lips against chapping as a result of alternating between the colder temperatures of the dungeons and the heat of cauldron flames. This also ties into my favored headcanon of a Snape who keeps bees and finds economical uses for beeswax and honey. 

As an aside, I like using the Burt’s Bees products myself (the company does aim to be cruelty-free and doesn’t test on animals which is a deciding factor in all of the cosmetic products I purchase, although their subsidiary company Clorox, which bought them out in 2007, does do animal testing with some of their products so it’s a bit of a murky territory where you have to debate if supporting one company’s cruelty-free policies balances against the fact their parent company does do animal testing or not; additionally many of the ingredients in their products are also naturally sourced, if not vegan for those who prefer cosmetic products that are both cruelty-free and vegan) and I occasionally indulge when I can afford the extra expense, so there’s that as well. 

The funny answer is there is a brand of lipstick by Jeffree Star Cosmetics called Unicorn Blood and another by Too Faced called Unicorn Tears. Either of those sound as if they could be ingredients in a potion, so I could easily imagine our favorite Potions Master getting a sardonic kick out of using them. 

[annerbhp]

Hey this is a prompt for what the changling would be like if it was drinny instead of hinny. I I know you probably don't want to write anything right now but if you could at least give us a glimpse that would be great. Also I really love your story and the changling has helped me though som tough times

I’ve been thinking about this a lot. First, because as I was writing The Changeling, while I intended it to be Ginny/Harry, there were moments where I was like, ‘oh, right here it could veer off into a different pairing’. Such as Antonia, Neville, Smita, Luna, Tobias, and yes even Draco. I mean, the possibilities are always fun to play with. It’s why I like fanfiction as a media to begin with.

Someone actually left a comment on Armistice I think that kinda made me pause and go, ‘wow, what an interesting observation.’ What they said is that Armistice Ginny/Harry hits a lot of the dynamics and issues that many people find appealing about Harry/Draco. And it’s definitely true in the sense of Slytherin/Gryffindor bias and friction, and also as far as the opposites attract kinds of thing. (At least in the sense of: You don’t outwardly react to this thing in the way I think people should outwardly react to this thing, why are you the way you are.) Of course, a major difference between the two dynamics is that Slytherin!Ginny/Harry do not have a history of antagonism or the moral murkiness of Ginny being an actual blood supremacist or coming from that background, depending on your interpretation. It’s what makes Armistice Harry/Ginny an interesting pairing because while on the surface they have a lot of differences, at their core, their inner beliefs and values, they have so much in common. While I am not saying Harry/Draco is impossible to do, it does take a lot of work in my mind to make it ‘work’ (whatever that means. people can like what they like, and I am just saying what it would need to work for me. Which many a drarry fic I have read have managed to do.)

But you didn’t ask about Harry/Draco. You asked about Slytherin!Ginny/Draco. I suppose my initial reaction is that while of course you could re-imagine the story with that, I think it would take Ginny in a completely different, not necessarily very positive direction. I mean, she might have been able to help Draco take a different path…I mean, maybe, but it’s equally possible that he would drag her down into some stuff. The thing with Slytherin!Ginny, and I would say Gryffindor!Ginny as well due to their shared Tom past, is that neither of them have any faith in the idea that people are capable of ‘fixing’ each other. That is a lie they know not to trust. Ginny is not the sort of person to look at a boy and be like, “oh, he just needs to be saved.” (Unlike another Gryffindor we all know and love, lol) And Draco isn’t really making real strides to change his worldview as much as just survive, imo. Not to mention there is some of the same stuff we see in the Harry/Draco dynamic where Slytherin!Ginny has had a very antagonistic relationship with Draco, to the point that he definitely verbally and physically bullied her and that is hard to get around for me. (Not impossible, just difficult.) So Ginny attaching herself to Draco would probably be in the context of her second year where she is just so desperately trying to fit in. It would be to buy into a vision of herself as inherently something dark. Broken. I think it would be terrible for her in that context. Of course, if we’re talking later, like when Ginny sits with Draco while he’s crying…sorry, I’m trying, but I just can’t see it happening. I feel like Draco would have to be changed in some fundamental way, and maybe it’s possible that you could write a story where Ginny being sorted there does create a ripple that slowly widens over time. I’m not sure.

I think the other thing at play is that while I find the Gryffindor/Slytherin dynamic interesting, the Slytherin/Slytherin dynamic is less so for me. Or maybe I just haven’t properly wrapped my brain around it yet.

Either way, thanks so much for giving me such an interesting thing to think about. I don’t feel I actually answered as much as just word-vomited all over you, so sorry about that. :) And I am completely humbled if my work was able to make anything even slightly easier for you. I wish you all the best.

[brokehorrorfan]

Blu-ray Review: The New Kids

In a time when virtually every '80s movie is considered a cult classic, it's surprising that The New Kids doesn't have a larger and more vocal fan base, especially considering the pedigree of talent involved both behind and in front of the camera. Most notably, the 1985 horror-tinged thriller is directed and produced by Sean S. Cunningham (Friday the 13th), and the antagonist is portrayed by a young James Spader (The Blacklist).

Always one to make an impact even in a small role, genre favorite Tom Atkins (Halloween III: Season of the Witch, Creepshow) opens the film as Colonel MacWilliams, who tells his son, Loren (Shannon Presby), that he's been "whacking off too much" and comments on the "sexy little body" of his daughter, Abby (Lori Loughlin, Full House). MacWilliams goes on to train his teen children around the army base on which they live.

Atkins' screen time is unfortunately brief, as he meets his untimely demise after the opening sequence via an off-screen car crash. Following the tragic loss of their parents, Loren and Abby are adopted by their Uncle Charlie (Eddie Jones, Lois & Clark: The New Adventures of Superman) and Aunt Fay (Lucy Martin, The Edge of Night). They move down to Florida to stay with them at Santa's Fun Land, a derelict theme park that Charlie recently purchased with the dream of fixing up and reopening.

Despite quickly hitting it off with the opposite sex - Abby falls for her nerdy but sweet algebra tutor, Mark (Eric Stoltz, Mask), while Loren begins a fling with the local sheriff's daughter, Karen (Paige Price) - the new kids in school are quickly targeted by gang of drug-fueled bumpkin bullies led by the ruthless Eddie Dutra (Spader). Their feuding escalates from verbal abuse to property damage to physical altercations before coming to a head when they drunkenly attempt to rape Abby. While the film’s midsection is a bit slow, the tense final showdown is a battle of brains versus brawn that plays out like Home Alone at an amusement park - but with an actual body count.

The New Kids' biggest flaw is its tone, which is all over the place. Although a few sequences see Cunningham flexing the suspense muscles he built with Friday the 13th, the film only flirts with the horror genre. Written by Stephen Gyllenhaal (Homegrown), who shares a story credit with Brian Taggert (Poltergeist III), the picture is mostly a revenge thriller; but some sequences feel like a lighthearted, '80s romp, while others lean toward melodrama, and it occasionally veers into exploitation territory. Cinematographer Steven Poster (Donnie Darko, Rocky V) and composer Lalo Schifrin’s (Dirty Harry, Enter the Dragon) expertise in their respective fields help to pull it all together.

While neither the concept nor the execution are particularly noteworthy, the cast makes this one memorable. Spader, in an early villainous role, lights up the screen in the manner he has continued to do in the three decades since. Loughlin - now the center of controversy amid the college admission scandal - is charismatic even when she's relegated to being the damsel in distress, and she has good chemistry with both Stoltz and Presby. The latter gave up on acting shortly after the film's release. Atkins is a treat, per usual, chewing the scenery in his limited screen time.

The New Kids is available on Blu-ray from Mill Creek Entertainment. It would have been nice to see any special features, as Cunningham always seems open to discuss his work, but at least it's finally out there to be discovered in crisp high definition. While the disc is bare, it's packaged in a cool slipcover featuring the original VHS artwork. As was often the case in the '80s, the poster includes striking imagery that never appears in the actual movie. In this case, it's people wearing creepy masks; a fitting ploy for the creator of Friday the 13th.

The New Kids is available now on Blu-ray via Mill Creek Entertainment.

[allexmussen]

I MADE AN O.C. AND I WANT HELP TO FINE TUNE IT

World/Verse: Harry Potter Name: Malcom Limerick Age: depends on what year Gender: Male Height: 6"4 Orientation: pansexual and flirty Personality: very accepting to people, tries to be cheerful and goofy, can be very serious if need be, has a deep dislike of bullies and is quick to anger with them, tries to hide most things from friends and the like because is afraid they'll dislike them. Background: growing up Malcom had been often picked on for his height and unnatural personality. He would much rather avoid confrontation with people due to the bullying, gained the mental thought that he dint fit in and was stupid dispite his grades. He didnt exactly fit the nerd type or the jockish type. He wasnt both or punk or super outgoing in his schools. By the time he was going into 4th grade Malcom had memorized random facts to annoy the bullies because, hey, maybe they'll go away when they realize he doesnt have anything left to give? Unfortunately nothing really helped. He found ways to distance himself mentally, focus on the few sports he did-swimming, baseball, and gymnastics-, and overall blocking people away. Mid way through 4th he figured out that mental blockage wasnt going to help. Eventually kids went from bullying and harrassment to ignoring him and making sure nobody would go near him. The teachers acted as if he was a prodigy, but that cant be true! He was practically failing! By the time 5th grade reared around he had 2 concussions from being an idiot and another from a car crash. His parents fought more and his dad drank more then most parents did. He decided he needed to up his nonchalance with his attitude. He smiled more, took to acting out and annoying people so people couldn't ignore him anymore, and he did everything to make friends and stay normal. He gave up on trying for better grades and become smart for once because no matter what he was a complete idiot! His A+s slowly became Bs then barely holding on to a C. About two months in his new grade and he found another outdated kid. His name was Levi. Levi-he wasnt a good friend. But he was someone to talk to. Their conversations went from random blabbering of scientific theories to how horror films could become real. It wasnt long into the friendship did Malcom realize Levi was scary. Levi went on little tangents of how to murder someone without anyone finding out. Everytime Malcom tried to veer the conversation another way Levi caught on and brought the murderous plots full throttle. But Levi was the only one to talk to him. Everyone else hated or ignored Mapcom so they NEEDED to be friends. And honestly? Malcom was afraid of being alone. His parents fought and he stayed in his room blocking the noises if the arguments of some over do of alcohol from dad or how to make up what happened with the new car wreck dad did while drunk. He had terrifying thoughts of just dying and it going away, heck he remembers curling up outside of the house because randomly he would remember some bully or his parents fighting and everything became too much! He needed a distraction and he found one I worrying about Levi. Halfway through 5th Malcom was sure he was depressed and had thought that he was an insomniac from only starting to sleep at 3-4 in the morning. Him and Levi didnt change much besides the murder and gore becoming more realistic. That is until lunch when Malcom and Levi sit down and Levi pulls out a slightly pointed wooden knife and tries to stab Malcom. Malcom starts to panic, expecting blood to pour and slowly die. But nothing more really happened except a dull throb from the new bruise. Thank God he had on a hoodie that stopped the sharp edge. We looked up at Levi in surprise after his brain fully processes. Levi starting eating lunch after muttering that it needed to be sharper or something. A teacher later found the knife in his pocket and monitored Levi a bit. Malcom had gained a new fear of his only friend. Besides being stabbed by his friend Malcom still had horrible issues. His new teacher seemed to grow a dislike for him. He did is essays late and yeah he k ow hes going to get chewed for it. But then his teacher signs him and about 5 other males on detention during lunch and brake periods. His mom got a note and she lectured him for a while. Dad found out and had a good yell. His grades got to an even B by the end of the month when detention would start. Kids found out about the detention and that got a whole new speel of "Loser Limerchick" and other such names. And dang it Levi freaked when he realized he wouldn't see Malcom as much. Levi even fought his way to the detention area to press real close and whisper thinly veiled threats. By the end of the year Malcom had gotten friends in detention. Aeden, Logan, Liam M, Nathen T, and Harriet. They formed the male rejects and banded together for almost everything. That was except for when Levi was involved. Levi scared them off when detention was over, Levi would chase them down and threaten them, heck Levi even made sure to harshly rip Malcom away from them and sit somewhere else. School ended and everything started falling. His report card was a few A-s, Bs, and C+s. Nothing too bad but "you have to try harder" and some words of you'll eventually do better. The Male Rejects became lost in the bustle of summer and Levi moved to Ohio-promising to keep in touch and meet up later. And so summer began. It was about his birthday- August 10th-when he recieved a letter. And dang it time to go to another school! Fresh start hopefully. He was sorted into Ravenclaw-which he found utterly preposterous because he was in no way smart- and settled in relatively nicely. When he met up with Hermione in a study group friendship became instantaneous when the started rapid firing how some of the complicated spells worked and how math and literature fit into spell work. A week into the friendship he met Ron Weasley who was slightly quick to assume and Harry Potter who was slightly brash but loyal. When they became friends he vowed to never brake his wide yet fake smiles and protect them with his entire life. Best keep the trauma boss in a rapid moving river then in front of his friends. Being around Harry atracted Draco Malfoy and that sent red flags everywhere. Malcom often got between the two and in some occasions Malfoy and Malcom had gotten into rapid fire insults and the occasional fist throw. Soon the Headmistress and Albus Dumbledore got him on detention and threatened his leave. He promised to both the teachers and his friends he wouldn't hit Draci again but still that wouldn't stop the constant rebounds Nalcom would make to an insult. And that my peeps is Malcom Y. Limerick of America and Hogwarts School Of Witchcraft And Sorcery.

[diotesyus-blog]

The Lightning Thief: Chapter 1: I Accidentally Vaporize my Pre-Algebra Teacher

So, here’s where we begin. I should probably explain a few ground rules before I begin. As I said in my introduction blog, I’ll be reviewing the Rick Riordan Percy Jackson universe books chapter-by-chapter. I’ll be scoring them on a scale from 1 to 10, and, though it would likely be rare, 0 is in fact a possibility, depending on how much it strains credulity or messes with mythology too much. When I finish each book, I’ll average out the scores, and see if the score fits the quality of the book.

I’ll do my best not to be too spoilery with my reviews for the uninitiated, but I may occasionally reference something that comes later, though I’ll try to make sure that such a reference would be for something not completely plot-essential.

Anyway:

The introduction is actually pretty good,  given that it’s from a first-person perspective. “Look, I never asked to be a half-blood. If you think you might be one, my advice is, put this book down, believe whatever lie your parents told you about your birth, and live a normal life.” Going on to the end, “My name is Percy Jackson. I’m 12 years old.” 

That’s a pretty solid setup, and a good hook for potential readers. It raises a question for me that honestly would be better suited for asking later, but I do have to wonder if it’s a little weird that he’s only 12, but I do have to remember the audience, which, starting out with this book, was in fact mostly readers about that age. I’ll put a pin in that for now, but nonetheless, it’s a really solid setup paragraph.

Immediately following that, however, it goes deep into the troubles Percy has dealt with, even stating, “Am I a troubled kid? Yeah. I guess you could say that.” That’s an understandable comment to make. It’s honestly something that Harry Potter (get ready for more comparisons to that franchise, because we’re far from over) could easily have said about himself. It doesn’t help with his whole, “We could start at any point of my short, miserable life” line. Dude, seriously. It’s fine to go into how your life has been tough, but that’s veering deep into self-pity territory.

We do get a examples of how he can’t seem to make it through a school year without getting expelled or told he can’t come back. A school trip to the Saratoga battlefield, where he somehow blasted his school bus with a Revolutionary War cannon, which begs the question, why the hell was that cannon both functional AND loaded with live ammunition? I know that sounds like a nitpick, but seriously, I think Riordan could have just left half the stories to the imagination. Hell, Another character does that later, in way that really works.

Another mention that’s little funnier is the one where he somehow dumped himself and his entire class into a shark tank on another field trip. Though it does beg the question of why his mother would keep signing permission slips for him to go on field trips. Maybe I’m thinking too much, and this won’t keep that pattern going. As Percy himself put it, “Boy, was I wrong.”

Apparently he goes to Yancy Academy, a boarding school for misfits, outcasts, and delinquents. And Percy couldn’t possibly describe the place in less flattering language if he used the “wretched hive of scum and villainy” line from Star Wars.

He goes on a field trip to a museum for a field trip, dealing with Nancy Boba Fett-I’m sorry, I mean Nancy Bobofit. So anyway, Nancy Boba Fett is picking on Percy’s best-and only-friend Grover Underwood, pelting him with the most disgusting sandwich I’ve ever heard of. Seriously, peanut butter and ketchup? 

However, it’s kind of a dead giveaway who is going to be more significant in the story, since she’s only described to the extent of how ugly and unpleasant she is, while Grover is described as both kind and wussy. And crippled. With a weird gate in his walk, though apparently super fast on enchilada day. I guess he likes those. I hope that’s an interesting quirk for people, because that’s not going anywhere. SPOILERS!

Grover keeps Percy for getting into trouble, as he’s on probation, and if his opening line of dialogue of, “I’m going to kill her” didn’t tell you that he has a bit of a temper, well, he kind of does. Luckily they make it to the museum before Percy could pick a fight with a girl and lose some likability points, so he can go on a tour with Mr. Brunner, his wheelchair-bound Latin teacher. He’s supposed to be a really cool teacher, who apparently was allowed to take live weapons to class. Taking a cool-liking sword, yelling “What ho!”

Wait. Percy’s HOW old? Oh yeah. 12 I totally remember when I took Latin when I was that age. Wait. No I don’t. 

Brunner, like Grover, is given a lot of description, which seems to be a hint that both of them are more than they seem. Both have handicaps that they seem to transcend in one way or another. Also, I can’t help but think that Riordan is kind of using that to express that he likes to think of himself as the cool teacher Percy thinks of Brunner as.

He’s not the only teacher there. Ms. Dodds, Percy’s pre-algebra teacher, is also there. Hmm, can’t help but think that there’s just maybe a spoiler in the chapter title, but I digress. She wears a leather jacket “even though she was 50 years old”. Not sure why his assumption of her age matters, but whatever. She seems to have it out for Percy, and likes Nancy, even though, Nancy is apparently a bully, and a kleptomaniac, and I’m sure if there were more books about her she’d be an arsonist as well at some point.

Brunner leads them through a tour, and calls on Percy to describe a stele of Kronos eating his children, which fortunately he was able to remember. Brunner weirdly asks Percy to much further into the story to the point where he gets disappointed when Percy can’t answer how that story applies to him in real life, as if he’d know that at this point. 

Also, and I hate to be THAT guy with this , but Brunner’s description of Kronos’ defeat was flat out wrong. He was never cut to pieces. He was merely imprisoned in Tartarus, along with most of the other Titans.

But Brunner chides Percy, telling him that he needs to think about how that applies to him. Unless Percy intends to be a classist, that’s a more difficult answer than they’re making look.

As Percy expresses his frustration at a teacher actually expecting him not to be stump stupid, Nancy Boba Fett decides to dump the rest of her sandwich on Grover.

That’s just wasteful.

Percy’s mind goes blank and Nancy gets pulled into the fountain. She screams that Percy did it, while other students claim that water pulled her in. It’s a good moment. It really reminds me of the moment when Harry Potter made the glass disappear at the snake exhibit and made Dudley fall in. A hint at what Percy might in fact be. Though, I do feel the need to point out that this the first of many hints that aren’t terribly subtle as to what Percy truly is.

Ms. Dodds calls Percy out, which prompts Grover to try to take the blame for him. Dodds isn’t convinced, and takes Percy back inside, seemingly teleporting back. Hmm, I wonder if there’s a reason for that. 

Inside she tells him that she’s not a fool, and to confess under threat, and then, turns into a horrifying beast with bat wings. She has glowing eyes, and razor-sharp claws. This is a deadly monster. Attacking him with murderous intent, Percy then gets surprised to see that Mr. Brunner shows up and throws a pen to him, yelling “What ho!” At this point, that’s his catch phrase apparently. Suddenly the pen turns into the sword he’d seen in class. He swings it at Ms. Dodds, and she explodes into powder, leaving only the fresh scent of pine.

Okay, umm, Percy should be dead. Without reading ahead, there are two things Dodds could be, and the less dangerous kind would be a harpy, which should be able to easily kill a 12 year old. And killing them? Not that easy. In fact, the only times weapons killed monsters that easily in mythology was when they were dipped in poison. 

Confused as a person could possibly be, Percy goes back outside only to find out that no one else remembers Ms. Dodds, though Grover acts weirdly hesitant about it. So yeah, apparently, on top of all of this, they end the chapter with Percy either having a psychotic episode, or his favorite teacher and best friend gas lighting him.

Honestly, I think that was a bit early for Percy to actually have a fight in this story. He doesn’t even know what he was up against, or how he could do it even. It might have been less of a problem had he not bested his foe, but since he did, it means that there’s going to have to a lot of information relayed to him, and this kind of makes it a bit of a disjointed way to do that, and that’s in spite of the fact that it definitely was guilty of some monster nerfing. 

The chapter started pretty strongly, even if it did telegraph who’s going to be supernatural in nature with the level of description. The hint at Percy’s power is also a good thing to see. Unfortunately, the fight with Ms. Dodds seemed way too easy and too early for this story, and I can’t let that go. It’s kind of split down the middle. There’s a lot of ground to cover, and plenty to work with. I just think that they rushed a scene too early. 

Score: 5:10 The start was strong, but the finish was rushed and confusing.

[purpleheatherdream]

My Experience with Fan-fiction and Fandom

[For @thelallybrochlibrary Scavenger Hunt: Write a blog post sharing your personal experience with fan fiction.]

I have not published any fan-fiction, but I have tried to write it before. I have never finished any yet and it what I wrote was a couple of years and a couple of fandoms ago so I will probably never finish it. I started reading fan-fiction over on fanfiction.net. It was the usual beginner stuff for that time and at that age, which was mostly Harry Potter and Twilight. Then I got into the G.I. Joe fanfic on the site and that is where I began to appreciate the different writing styles and personal head canons of the different authors. This was because they all had each other referenced in the favorite authors of their dashboard and they would make comments to each other in the comments of their chapters. Then I got into Young Avengers and Bat-family, again following certain authors, some of which I still do. I loved them specifically at that time because I was now aware of how much work school is and the idea of handling that on top of being a superhero was mind-boggling.

I bounced around fandoms for a few more years, but not really focusing on the fanfic side of any of them as I went through high school. I started college last year and was really trying to find something fun to relax with and saw a gif from 3x06 A. Malcom where Claire showed Jamie a photo of Bree in a bikini and he was reacting as a 18th century dad. I had never heard of Outlander before seeing that gif set. I scrolled through the notes to find the name of the show because I had to find out what work brought me this hilarious and touching moment. Then I started watching clips and the first episode before finally coming to the Outlander tag on AO3 and started reading obsessively. At this point, I knew Outlander was a book but I felt like I didn’t have the time or mental stamina to go on a book length emotional journey because it felt like college was trying to kill me through assignments and endless nights at the library. I ended up reading a good deal of Outlander fanfiction and following a few of the author’s blogs before I had even read the books or seen the show. I changed the long-forgotten password on my AO3 account so I could start leaving comments on my favorite stories that were being updated and to let the authors know how much I appreciated their work (which I know is like baseline fandom etiquette now) and how seeing that update made my day easier to deal with. I bought and read the first book and eventually got up the courage to rent the first season because of how much the fanfic authors loved the source material and portrayed experiencing it as such a rich experience in order to come up with all of their head canons and plots.

So, I didn’t really fall in love with Outlander, I fell in love with the Outlander fandom during a time when I was stressed. I am so grateful to @thelallybrochlibrary for starting this scavenger hunt because it gave me an opportunity to finally grow up in a fandom sense and start contributing to something that already takes up so much of my time, and I am having so much fun doing it!

(This part kinda veers off my experience with fanfiction and into more of a thank you letter.)

I’m going to take this time to thank all of the organizers and content creators of the Outlander fandom. I only found out about Outlander from a gif that one of you made and that led me to learning about an amazing new fictional world that is brought to life by such a lovely and supportive fandom such as yourselves! It might not always seem that way because of bullies and whatnot, but everything each one of you puts out there made a positive impact on me or a person like me who just appreciates from a distance.

Especially because, in the words of stand-up comedian John Mulany, “…it’s really easy not to go to things. It is so much easier not to do things than to do them, that you would do anything is totally remarkable. Percentage-wise, it is 100% easier not to do things than to do them” (New in Town 2012).

Thank you again for all of you lovely talented and hardworking people. You all mean so much to me. Keep being awesome, y’all!

[nightmareonfilmstreet]

Let’s Try That Again; The 10 Best Horror Movie Remakes

The horror movie remake is a polarizing topic that drives the horror community crazy. You either love remakes, or hate them. Few horror movie re-imaginings have been able to rise above their “remake” branding. Too many fans chalking their existence up to exploiting a film or franchise’s existing fandom, being made purely for profit, being rushed, or re-envisioning iconic characters to a lesser extent.

Despite not being received with open arms, there are a select few remakes that stand above the pack – converting their audiences of naysayers into rabid fans, re-invigorating the franchise they birthed from. Here are our picks for the 10 best horror movie remakes!

  10. Friday the 13th (2009)

Against the advice of locals and police, Clay (Jared Padalecki) scours the eerie woods surrounding Crystal Lake for his missing sister. But the rotting cabins of an abandoned summer camp are not the only things he finds. Hockey-masked killer Jason Voorhees lies in wait for a chance to use his razor-sharp machete on Clay and the group of college students who have come to the forest to party.

  Alright, I may get a lot of flack for putting this one on the list. But I really do love the Friday the 13th remake. It’s over the top, it’s got everything you want in a slasher, and there’s exactly 13 kills. While it doesn’t hold a torch to the original from 1980, this 2009 remake directed by Marcus Nispel ain’t half bad. There’s some really fun kills and a bit of back story about Jason.

  9. Piranha 3D (2010)

Spring break turns gory when an underground tremor releases hundreds of prehistoric, carnivorous fish into Lake Victoria, a popular waterside resort. Local cop Julie Forester (Elisabeth Shue) must join forces with a band of unlikely strangers — though they are badly outnumbered — to destroy the ravenous creatures before everyone becomes fish food.

  Piranha 3D is the perfect summer film! The original was released in 1978 and was titled simply Piranha. In 2010 we got a 3D remake that took the thriller element from the original and added way more boobs. And humor. And blood. Piranha 3D is a cheesy gore-fest. Directed by Alexandre Aja, it has an all-star cast including Richard Dreyfuss, Christopher Lloyd and Jerry O’Connell. A great flick to watch in a group while vacationing at a lake. Just make sure to maybe check there’s not another lake under that lake.. filled with ancient piranhas.

  8. Quarantine (2008)

Reporter Angela (Jennifer Carpenter) and her cameraman Scott (Steve Harris) are doing a story on night-shift firefighters for a reality-TV program. A late-night distress call takes them to a Los Angeles apartment building, where the police are investigating a report of horrific screams. The TV team and emergency workers find an old woman, who suddenly attacks with teeth bared. What’s more, Angela and company find that the building has been sealed by CDC workers. Then the attacks really begin.

  [REC] (2007) is a Spanish found footage film directed by Jaume Balagueró. The film is absolutely terrifying and exactly how found footage should be done. One year later came the American remake Quarantine, directed by John Erick Dowdle. Both films follow the exact same story, so there’s not a lot of surprises watching the American remake. Both films also set up for a bunch of sequels, some of which are really great. The American version stars Jennifer Carpenter in the lead role, who does a great job carrying the story. I won’t say much more because both of these films should be watched with no prior knowledge of the story. The first time I saw the ending was one of the few times I’ve screamed out loud while watching a horror film. I apologized profusely to my neighbors.

  7. Evil Dead (2013)

Mia (Jane Levy), a drug addict, is determined to kick the habit. To that end, she asks her brother, David (Shiloh Fernandez), his girlfriend, Natalie (Elizabeth Blackmore) and their friends Olivia (Jessica Lucas) and Eric (Lou Taylor Pucci) to accompany her to their family’s remote forest cabin to help her through withdrawal. Eric finds a mysterious Book of the Dead at the cabin and reads aloud from it, awakening an ancient demon. All hell breaks loose when the malevolent entity possesses Mia.

  Sam Raimi’s The Evil Dead was originally released in 1981. A campy, low-budget film that became an instant cult classic. In 2013, Fede Alverez’s re-imagined the beloved story of Ash and his deadites, creating a darker, more sinister interpretation. One of the biggest changes, was opting for an incredible female lead played by Jan Levy.  The film is deliciously dark, and only embellishes the silly, zany palate of the Evil Dead Franchise.  There’s been a lot of chatter about a sequel being in the works, but nothing concrete.

  6. Willard (2003)

Desperate for companionship, the repressed Willard (Crispin Glover) befriends a group of rats that inhabit his late father’s deteriorating mansion. In these furry creatures, Willard finds temporary refuge from daily abuse at the hands of his bedridden mother (Jackie Burroughs) and his father’s old partner, Frank (R. Lee Ermey). Soon it becomes clear that the brood of rodents is ready and willing to exact a vicious, deadly revenge on anyone who dares to bully their sensitive new master.

  Willard was released in 1973 and the remake came years later to screens in 2003. It stars Crispin Glover in one of his best roles, and a crap tone of rats. Glen Morgan directed this awesome remake and fills it with everything you’d want in a terrifying situation about killer rats. Glover shines on-screen as a total weirdo and carries the film with perfection. If you weren’t scared of rats before, you will be after this flick ends.

  5. The Grudge (2004)

Matthew Williams (William Mapother), his wife, Jennifer (Clea DuVall), and mother, Emma (Grace Zabriskie), are Americans making a new life in Tokyo. Together they move into a house that has been the site of supernatural occurrences in the past, and it isn’t long before their new home begins terrorizing the Williams family as well. The house, as it turns out, is the site of a curse that lingers in a specific place and claims the lives of anyone that comes near.

  An American remake from the Japanese original Ju-On: The Grudge released in 2002. The remake, directed by Takashi Shimizu, the same person who directed the original, is terrifying. Back in the early 2000’s it was harder for North Americans to access J-horror and horror audiences were grateful for an accessible remake. Starring Sarah Michelle Geller in the lead role, she carries the story with grace. There’s so many memorable moments and jump scares. While I do recommend The Grudge, I say go crazy and watch both the original and remake one after the other. Have the pants scared off of you!

  4. The Fly (1986)

  When scientist Seth Brundle (Jeff Goldblum) completes his teleportation device, he decides to test its abilities on himself. Unbeknownst to him, a housefly slips in during the process, leading to a merger of man and insect. Initially, Brundle appears to have undergone a successful teleportation, but the fly’s cells begin to take over his body. As he becomes increasingly fly-like, Brundle’s girlfriend (Geena Davis) is horrified as the person she once loved deteriorates into a monster.

  Originally released in 1958, it was a long time before The Fly remake came around in 1986. The original movie was adapted from a short story written by George Langelaan. The remake was directed by the always impressive David Cronenberg and starred Jeff Goldblum and Geena Davis. Both brought insane performances to this movie which makes it such a great remake. Of course, it is Cronenberg, so…you know…don’t eat while you’re watching it.

  3. Dawn of the Dead (2004)

When her husband is attacked by a zombified neighbor, Ana (Sarah Polley) manages to escape, only to realize her entire Milwaukee neighborhood has been overrun by the walking dead. After being questioned by cautious policeman Kenneth (Ving Rhames), Ana joins him and a small group that gravitates to the local shopping mall as a bastion of safety. Once they convince suspicious security guards that they are not contaminated, the group bands together to fight the undead hordes.

  The original Dawn of the Dead was a fantastic, beautiful, groundbreaking film from Romero, released in 1978. The remake came in 2004, helmed by James Gunn and Zack Snyder. What stands out about this remake is how far they veer from the source material. But it works! The film boasts a strong cast featuring Sarah Polley, Ving Rhames, and Jake Weber, to name a few. There’s also some heart-breaking moments and genuine scares. Oh, and zombies. Lots of those.

  2. The Ring (2002)

It sounds like just another urban legend — a videotape filled with nightmarish images leads to a phone call foretelling the viewer’s death in exactly seven days. Newspaper reporter Rachel Keller (Naomi Watts) is skeptical of the story until four teenagers all die mysteriously exactly one week after watching just such a tape. Allowing her investigative curiosity to get the better of her, Rachel tracks down the video and watches it. Now she has just seven days to unravel the mystery.

  Another J-horror American remake. Ringu was first released in 1998 based on the book Ring by Koji Suzuki. In 2002, along came The Ring directed by Gore Verbinski. This was a huge deal for us teenagers in the early 2000’s and made us all terrified of our landlines. The Ring is beautifully shot and colored mystery. It’s a wonderfully done film. It stars Naomi Watts as the mother fighting to save herself and her child, played by David Dorfman.

  1. The Thing (1982)

In remote Antarctica, a group of American research scientists are disturbed at their base camp by a helicopter shooting at a sled dog. When they take in the dog, it brutally attacks both human beings and canines in the camp and they discover that the beast can assume the shape of its victims. A resourceful helicopter pilot (Kurt Russell) and the camp doctor (Richard Dysart) lead the camp crew in a desperate, gory battle against the vicious creature before it picks them all off, one by one.

  You didn’t think I’d make this list without The Thing did you? Come on! Originally titled The Thing from Another World and released in 1951, the remake was done by John Carpenter in 1982. The Thing is probably the one film everyone will agree on. It’s perfection on-screen. Giant, snowy, cold landscapes filled with unbearable tension and fear. An outstanding performance from all involved – but Kurt Russell stands out on top. Amazing practical effects and a terrifying premise, The Thing is the penultimate remake. They actually remade this again in 2011, but let’s not talk about that..

  Those are our picks for the 10 Best Horror Movie Remakes! Are any of your favorites on this list? If not, let us know what your favorite horror remakes are in the comments below, or over in our Facebook Group!

The post Let’s Try That Again; The 10 Best Horror Movie Remakes appeared first on Nightmare on Film Street - Horror Movie Podcast, News and Reviews.

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[my4inchdick]

1. yes, i think when voldemort says someone is a good man it means something. he never saw himself as good, he saw himself as right. big difference, so when he admits someone is a "good man," it means that person probably is. he described his followers as loyal, or faithful, or competent, but never good.

2. as for hagrid, i was making a point that everyone thought he was good.

3/4. maybe i need to catch up on the books but i never remember snape's roommates trying to kill him in his sleep. he was absolutely bullied, but you know who else was bullied? lily evans. by her best friend and most of her school, because of her birth, something she had no control over. and she didn't become a self-pitying, entitled douchebag over it. it was not "kill or be killed," it was "be friends with people who bully you and hence turn around and bully one of your oldest, closest friends, or be friends with good people who aren't blood supremacists and stay friends with good people, i.e. Lily.

5. remus lupin had been grieving the loss of ever friend he had ever had for years. he lost everything he had built up from nothing in one night, thanks to your hero, but i digress. he was honestly probably in denial that sirius would come back to hurt harry, after everything he had done. while that doesn't necessarily excuse it, it is certainly an explanation. that is also not why he got him fired. (as far as i know, i could be misremembering,) He didn't know that sirus was an animagus, and therefore didn't know that remus knew that he was. snape got him fired because he was angry about a grudge with one of remus's friends from 15 years ago. it wasn't about remus's wrongdoings, it never was. it was about snape holding to petty anger from years ago.

6. just because it was allowed doesn't make it okay. just because it was the 90s, which was not that long ago, does not make it okay for a teacher to bully a child for no reason. never, ever, is it okay for a teacher to treat a student that way, i could give a fuck if it was the 90s.

also no? i'm not going to defend his uncle? i never did defend his uncle? his uncle was a douchebag and abusive, just like snape. i don't see how that's at all relevant.

TL;DR Snape was a bad person, and his wanting to fuck Lily potter does not make up for him being a literal abusive Nazi.

What the fuck...

What do you mean "put him in his place"?!!!!!

What?!!!!

You mean nearly committing murder...

HUH??!

I am in a state of shock

And what do you mean he would have protected you? Nah girl, he would have joined in...

What the fuck? What the fuck? What the fuck? What the fuck? What the fuck?

You thought this was the end

I got more...

Man, why do I have to do this today

I hate that they hate on Snape for... Existing, I guess

Those are the tipe of people that call me a bitch and a whore and a fucking nazi and tell me I should kill myself.

Bitch, I'm the type of people that the Nazi's killed.

Maybe you're the Nazi in this situation, David

And they hating on a 16 year old for being ugly???

I can't do this anymore

And who tf is "Effie"?!

[nylonsandlipstick]

lala my babe what are your unpopular opinions about the harry potter fandom?

omg. what aren’t they? nina, you know the right questions to ask. i’m literally so salty about everything in the books. tbh this is gonna turn more into an anti jkr post so if anyone is sensitive about rowling hate, scroll down.

jkr is such a terrible “feminist” as she calls herself, because she treats her female characters so poorly.

cho is just basically treated like shit because she’s soft and gentle? like, way to be a hypocrite, rowling (she called lewis a sexist for his treatment of susan and hasn’t even read the books and she’s literally doing the same exact shit).

she didn’t bat an eyelash when lavender brown, a explicitly described as black, was whitewashed in the films, it’s not like she treated lavender any better as she killed lavender off in the battle of hogwarts but there you go.

she hated and mistreated pansy just because she’s a nasty slytherin girl, like, that’s a child, have her grow up, have her learn from her mistakes, have her develop, who the hell hurt you so much that you can’t give a girl like pansy a redemption arc???

tonks deserved so much better but the fuck with that incest shit with her crushing on her cousin (in a pottermore story)?? like, damn, guess i know now where cc came up with her incest obsession.

the patil twins are basically ignored by rowling. they’re kind of there for woc brownie points but rowling couldn’t even be bothered to confirm whether the twins died or not at the end of the battle of hogwarts.

hermione is literally the worst. i hate hermione so much. she’s just so annoying and so high and mighty and it’s like, fuck off, nobody cares.

in the entire series there are about 15 poc characters (angelina johnson, alicia spinnet, bane the centaur, blaise zabini, cho, dean, duncan inglebee, fred weasley ii, gweong jones, kingsley shacklebolt, lavender brown, lee jordan, padma and parvati patil, and roxanne) and only a handful of them even have speaking lines. there are a total of 772 characters. only 15 have been worth being mentioned as poc, even less than that even have speaking roles. gonna let that speak for itself.

rowling literally fucking apologized for snape’s death and i’m like, the death of a white supremacist parallel, bullying, prejudiced, narrow-minded man who fucking hated kids that he worked with and didn’t give a damn about the child of the woman that he was fucking obsessed over (do not give me that “but he was james’s son so snape wasn’t obligated to like harry” bullshit, snape could totally have had harry close to him as his last tie to lily and could have tried to protect harry as that would have been lily’s wish). i understand that it’s tradition to apologize for some death on the anniversary of the war or whatever but maybe you should apologize for deaths of characters that weren’t such assholes???

also, the fact that rowling could give such a shitty guy a redemption arc (that a lot of people in the fandom fawn over!!!) yet draco, a child, was mistreated and straight up hated by rowling just because he grew up in a bigoted, close-minded household and didn’t know any better and ended up in slytherin and only continued to follow voldemort out of fear for voldie and his father and he’s such a great and three-dimensional character yet rowling constantly hates him for ????? being a slytherin???

which, like, what the fuck is up with rowling and hating on slytherins?? she acts like they’re terrible people yet gave us some pretty complex characters coming out of that house and it’s like, if your intent was to make us hate slytherin just because you do, it didn’t work.

the goblins are heavily coded as jewish and just the fact that literally the only jewish rep in the entire series are a bunch of goblins that work in banks just blows. my. fucking. mind. wow. as if jewish people haven’t experienced enough antisemitism in europe as it is now they’re gross and greedy goblins. yup. rowling is great.

how is it that draco, a child who is so very obviously suffering from depression, is seen as evil and terrible because of his mental illness (because his depression is what makes him “go crazy” and paranoia is a punchline to rowling) yet everyone who had to spend 12 years in azkaban (who all happen to be her favorite characters) and had to go through a shit ton of terrible crap somehow come out perfect and unaffected. like, not only is that a gross display of ableism but an insane lack of understanding of anything psychological. and, sirius, the only person who even displayed a small amount of mental instability was killed off so. ableism.

i am so mad about dumbledore. what the fuck, rowling, what the fuck? rowling is nowhere near being an ally as literally her only hp books character (i’ll talk about fantastic beasts in a mo) that’s confirmed as gay was confirmed so several years later in an interview (as if rita skeeter wouldn’t have figured that shit out asap??) and he’s an evil dude because of the fact that he’s gay and rowling explains his rejection of his homosexuality as being asexual and like, that’s not how it fucking works, rowling. first, you can’t turn off your sexuality like that, and second, asexuality isn’t just what you call being celibate or whatever.

the fact that werewolves are supposed to represent hiv+ gays. oh. my. g o d. wha t  t h e  f u ck???? what the fuck is that? oh my g o d. i can’t even handle this. i’m going to the next bullet point because the homophobia is destroying my soul.

gonna continue with the homophobia with the fact that rowling has a gay character in fantastic beasts that’s a fucking piece of shit and a total abuser and oh, look at that, played by an abuser. and little miss “i don’t support aggressors” literally supported an abuser playing the character. like. oh my god. look, i never gave a rat’s patootie about johnny depp or amber heard before the abuse allegations came out but olivia benson taught me better than to veer on the side of the alleged abuser just because he’s famous and the victim is bisexual and settled the court case with money.

eurocentrism is a real thing and rowling just seems to love to show that off. how the fuck are you gonna tell me that in the entire world there would be 11 wizarding schools and 3 of them would be in europe?? you know what, how the fuck are you gonna tell me that europe itself would have only 3 schools??? do you not understand that europe, the home of nationalism, would have almost one school per fucking country?? do you not understand that most of the european countries turn their nose in the air to each other because they all think that they’re better than each other and that they wouldn’t all totally have their own schools??? maybe benelux would share their own school, the uk would share their own school (although don’t doubt that the scottish would say a big fuck you to england and block all of the non-scottish kids out of hogwarts and force the rest of the uk to make their own new school at some point), and a few other places would share but literally do not tell me that spain, who cannot stand france, would share a fucking school with the french. like, i know a lot of hp fans are american but xenophobia in europe is a big thing.

but, on to the other wizarding schools. don’t tell me that latin america would have one fucking school for all of latin america. like, do you not understand that latin america is a mix of spanish, indigenous, african, and asian with different forms of ancient practices and brujeria that wouldn’t mix well with each other??? brazil doesn’t even fucking speak spanish!!!!!! brazil, with it’s large ass population of portuguese-speakers would need their own school while the caribbean would need their own school (if not two, because don’t tell me that a school full of cubans, puerto ricans, and dominicans wouldn’t be fucking insane and need to be divided), mexico would probably need their own school, and central and south american would need at least two other schools. and that’s just latin america. you can imagine how many schools asia would need what with most of southeast asia not being able to share a school (china and north korea would definitely have their own schools, don’t fight me), south asia having completely different practices than southeast, and the middle east would have to divide several schools between each other. and africa would need several schools. and australians??? jk never even mentioned them if i remember correctly????

eurocentrism mixed in with cultural appropriation and straight up racism is what i call ilvermorny. how the fuck are you gonna tell me that white racists are gonna be okay with sending their kids over to a school of native american magic. no, actually, how the fuck are you gonna tell me that native americans are gonna be okay with sharing their magic? magic that is so sacred and has so many rules and isn’t some fucking fictional fantasy to actual native americans but is complete reality to them??? and they’re going to be totally okay with a bunch of white people (people who’s ancestors committed mass genocides full of native americans because they wanted fucking land and power and gold and gave no fucks for the real human beings that were the natives because they weren’t apparently civilized and therefor weren’t real human beings) coming and putting a school where sacred native magic is taught in boston of all places??? rowling, you didn’t even try to research this shit.

boston wouldn’t even be where the new england wizarding school would be in. it would be in fucking salem, massachusetts. fight me if you disagree but i will fight back so hard on that shit. midwest would have its own school. the south would have one. texas would have its own school because fuck texas, nobody wants them. and florida would have its own school because where the fuck are we in?? the south?? north cuba?? who fucking knows. and let’s not forget louisianna would have its own school and the african americans in the north would have their own school too and asians in the u.s.??? their own schools. and the native americans would have a shit ton of smaller schools because there are different tribes with different histories and some wouldn’t be able to share a school because of those differences like in asia.

and canada would have two schools because fuck you if you think that french canadians (read: quebec) would willingly share a school with english canadians and don’t tell me that canada wouldn’t have tried pushing everyone into one school where the question of “what about french-speakers? what about us catholics? we’re magicians but we’re still good french catholics and we’re sure as hell not practicing protestantism”. and actually, i’m wrong. it would be three schools as indigenous people in canada fucking exist.

i’m done with the school shit (not done but at least on this post). like, okay, tell me how the fuck fantastic beasts takes place in harlem yet even the fucking extras are a bunch of crackers? i’m sorry jk, i didn’t realize that the jazz age wasn’t led by black people and that harlem hasn’t been hsitorically black. thank you, a white english woman, for teaching me that. thank you very much.

how the fuck is it that we have native american-based magic being used and yet not one single fucking native american in the entire movie? tell me. i want a good ass explanation for that shit because so far the only one i’m thinking of is that rowling just supports cultural appropriation.

how the fuck is it that newt schammander is seen as an angel when he literally was the one to begin werewolf oppression? oppression of the people that are supposed to be hiv+ gays??

an abuse victim is literally turned into a fucking monster and then killed. i cannot fathom this shit.

the film is supposed to be a parallel to racism yet cracker cast.

i think i’m done for now. now excuse me as i go scream because i just can’t. fight me on anything but i swear to god i am pissed and i will not be kind. i am done with jk rowling’s horseshit. absolute horseshit.

[irlaimsaaralath]

Drawn By Sorrow - Part 4 - Abelas/Lavellan

Part 1 here.

Part 2 here.

Part 3 here.

This one is mildly NSFW for some fantasy violence and blood.  A daring rescue.  Some hurt/comfort.  And a kitty cat.

Echoing footfalls spiraled through the tower, startling the ravens in the rookery, who unleashed a cacophony of angry squawks.  The sound preceded Abelas’s arrival by only a handful of moments, and Leliana could tell instantly that there was something amiss.  “What has happened?” she asked as she crossed around her desk to stand before him.  “The Inquisitor has encountered trouble.  We must send a detachment to the Western Approach immediately,” he forced between his harried breaths.  When he’d felt the recoil of the energy from the crystal he’d given her, he was on the other side of the compound and ran all the way.  “How do you know this?” she asked, ever suspicious, as she folded her arms tightly.  “I sent her with an enchanted crystal.  Breaking it would alert me, and it has been broken,” he explained, and the Spymaster nodded.  “I’ll alert Cassandra, the mages, and Cullen’s recruits.  You round up Varric, Krem, and the rest of the Chargers” she directed as she headed down the stairs, the elf following close behind.  “We need someone to take command,” she said, and Abelas responded, “I can take the lead.”  Leliana spared only the briefest glance over her shoulder before she nodded her consent, “I’ll leave it to you and Cassandra, then.”  As they left the hall, they broke in different directions to organize the force.

The moment their bodies left the world and entered the Fade, everything changed.  Gravity was no longer a law, and physics had no meaning.  In a tangle of arms and legs, weightlessness arrested their fall, and he was still roaring in her ear, breath hot and dank on her skin as she struggled to get her arms from around him.  The momentary daze from the impact of her charge was fading quickly, and his enflamed crimson eyes focused on her face.  He caught her forearms in his hands, and she snarled as yanked and pulled on her arms, but his grip was solid.  Instead, she threw her weight into turning their bodies until he was positioned beneath her.  She folded in on herself, bracing her knees against his chest, and when she stopped resisting his pull on her arms, the heft of his efforts slammed her weight down on his throat.  At the same time, she threw a fist of force magic behind it to impel his body straight down.  Their landing was so fraught with momentum that when they hit solid ground, dust lifted into hazy clouds around them, the stone beneath them cracked, and her knees crushed a goodly portion of his rib cage.  

The reverberations of the landing shook her from the outside in, and the battering her knees and body took made her groan and collapse inward.  A white hot burning suffused her thigh, and looking down, she found one of the fractured ribs had stabbed through Stroud’s chest and into her thigh.  Beneath her, blood, dark with rot and festering, bubbled from the body’s lips, a sickly wet sound that soon turned into a soul-chilling gurgle of a laugh.  Easing off the bone that pierced her leg, she shakily stood and hobbled back from Corypheus.  She tried to steady herself, but tremors shook her from the inside, making her legs wobble and her hands tremble.  Across from her, Corypheus rose with the loud crunch and grind of broken bones as putrid blood seeped from his mouth and gushed from where his ribs bit through skin and muscle.  A twitch of her fingers summoned a shroud of pale green around her, and the barrier swiftly sank into her skin as she shuffled to the side, mirroring his moves as they circled each other.  “You only delay the inevitable,” he choked out before spitting out a mouthful of black blood.  “Banal nadas,” was her answer, her voice hoarse with dirt and grit making sand paper of her throat.  

The laugh that crawled from his throat was wholly inhuman, a composition of discordant vibrations forced over ruined vocal cords.  The sound of it simultaneously made her skin crawl and her blood boil.  “At least the elf taught his whore something before he abandoned you,” he taunted, the flare of red that streaked across his eyes manifesting on his fingertips.  Without conscious thought, she raised her hands, and the mark flared to life in one palm, while the other collected violet strands of electricity.  The Warden’s discolored lips pulled back from his smile, teeth smeared with the viscous syrup the magister had made of his blood, and she couldn’t help but grimace.  She had known Stroud for what seemed like only a handful of moments, but she had judged him a good man that did not deserve a fate such as this.  With no warning, Corypheus thrust his hands toward her, arcs of energy forking out only to be met with that of the mark, the red on green clash causing the air to distort and sizzle.  She sheared a gesture at him with her other hand, unfurling a coil of lightning that whipped across his chest and over his shoulder.  Skin and muscle were flayed, burned away, and the bone beneath was blackened.  The blow set him off balance, and his power veered wildly, crashing into a massive boulder at her shoulder.  She tried to turn out of the blast, but she was a moment too late as the rock exploded outward in a thousand tiny shards that pelted the side of her face.

Her scream was ragged and brief as the slivers of stone sliced into her skin, and she felt the warmth of her blood washing down her face.  The burn of it in her eye made her effectively blind on that side, and she fumbled with the effort to meet his renewed assault.  The surge of his power bullied past her off-center shield, though she was able to avoid a center mass hit.  Instead, the crimson arc of energy slammed into her side and pitched her into the air.  She was stopped by the craggy rise of a fractured spike of rock that jutted up from the ground before she limply fell to the dirt.  The taint of the magic skittered through her veins like a myriad tiny spiders, and she couldn’t help the way the sensation tied her body into fitful knots.  Her back bowed, and she cried out, the movement tearing at the fresh rend in her side.  It was only when the dregs of the energy was drained out of her that rigidity in her muscles relaxed, and she slumped against the rock.  By now, Corypheus was truly beginning to suffer the weight of his wounds, his vessel’s blood loss and broken bones turning him into something more like a ragdoll than a man.  He staggered onward, drawing nearer, a sad marionette on cut strings compelled by pure rage alone.  “You ruin everything you touch,” he spat, the words more wheezing than actual speech, and his feet tangled and caused him to lurch forward unsteadily.  “You’ve stolen a destiny you could never understand!”  She craned her head to look at him out of her good eye, and reaching deep into the quiet of her core, she summoned the fractured remains of her power.  

Violet sparks spilled from the corners of her eyes as she slung a hand out at him, and a forked bolt of lightning caught him at the center of his shattered chest and blew out his back in a spray of ruddy blood, bits of flesh, and shards of bone.  “Creators, I hope so,” she snarled out, wrapping an arm across her side as she began to crawl toward him.  He was little more than a shuddering heap of ruined flesh now, a soul trapped in a body that was drawing its last breaths.  When she’d finally drug herself to his side, she leaned over him; she wanted to watch the light in his eyes grow dim.  Hands that were more scorched bone than skin and muscle pawed at her jerkin, trying to grab hold, and finally managing a feeble grasp.  “Y-you could...never...understand it...the power.  It is...b-beyond you,” he hissed, ichor painting the breath and leaking from the corners of his mouth.  Shaky with the effort to support herself, she leaned down close enough to touch and growled at him from between her teeth, “I don’t have to understand it to know it works,” with her mark flaring violently to life.  Her words had barely faded from the air when the red glow bled out of his eyes, and as she watched, the broken remains of the Warden’s body began to writhe as if something was trying to crawl out from the inside.  

As the first trickle of grey-tinged incarnadine mist began to coil from the body’s nose and mouth, she clamped her marked hand down forcefully over Stroud’s face and unleashed its power.  Instead of opening a rift, the energy roiled like virid acid, swirling and turning inside and out again and again as it sucked the crimson remains of the magister into its maw and devoured it.  As the vortex coiled in and in and in on itself, a world-shattering screech echoed around her as the collapsing void consumed itself.  From the epicenter, concussive shockwaves shot violently outward across the Fade, leaving nothing unscathed.

They’d fought their way to the rift chamber and left a prolific trail of red templar blood in their wake.  Cassandra’s sword cleaved into a templar, splitting him from neck to sternum, before she whirled to face the next.  Only a few steps away, Abelas’s halberd swept another from his feet before the crescent blade was planted into his head.  At the heart of the fray churned the rift itself, and all around it, chaos reigned.  It was only when the energy encasing the portal flared up, firing off gnarled fingers of lightning, that the lot of them took notice, and even then, there were only a spare few moments before an explosion of force tore through the chamber.  The impact bore every single body to the ground and sent a tremor through the stone floor before the rift snapped closed with an ear-splitting *POP*.  The Seeker and the Sentinel were the first to regain their footing, and taking advantage of the situation, the remainder of the templars fell before or as they were standing.  Rising no further than his knees, the red-haired mage slung a barrage of crimson spikes toward the pair as they advanced on him, but the magic shattered as Abelas’s glimmering barrier fell in a shield around them.  Before he could manage another spell, it was choked off by Cassandra’s gauntleted fist on his throat.  

“Where is she!?” the Seeker demanded, punctuating her question with violent shake.  When no answer was produced, Abelas snatched handfuls of the man’s shirt and hauled him to his feet.  “Answer, swine,” the elf sneered, his golden eyes flashing with a sharpness no less dangerous than the edge of his blade.  Coughing past the roughness of his throat, the red-haired man managed to choke out, “The Fade.  The rift.”  The Seeker and the Sentinel shared a glance before Cassandra called for the anti-magic collar.  It had no sooner been snapped around the man’s neck than a syllabant whisper scratched throughout the chamber and was followed by the scent of ozone.  Abelas could feel the hairs on the back of his neck rise, and he turned toward the direction from which the power emanated.  As quickly and as violently as a lightning strike from a cloudless sky, virid threads of energy grew from nothingness and split the air as a rift tore open before their eyes.  The Sentinel squinted against the intense illumination, and when his vision adjusted, he found Niyera limping toward them.  Her hair and skin were stained red, and blood freely flowed from between the fingers of the hand closed over her side.  And her eyes...her eyes were radiant with the energy of the mark, fully consumed and glowing.  Wisps of green crept from their corners, and Abelas could feel the man in his grasp shaking.  Before she was in arm’s reach of them, she snapped out her hands, and the rift at her back closed with an echoing thunderclap, and but an instant later, she fisted the marked hand on empty air.  The red-haired mage was possessed by a convulsive seizure, and when the Sentinel looked back at him, blood was foaming on his lips and dribbling down his like drool.  

Both Cassandra and Abelas leaned away from Niyera, respectfully, as she came to stand before the man.  The Inquisitor caught his chin between her still-manacled hands and leaned in, setting her mouth near his ear.  I hope you enjoy the taste of your own blood...you’re going to die choking on it, she had told him.  Her voice was possessed of an otherworldly thrumming when she asked, “How does it taste?”  His wild eyes widened impossibly before they rolled back in his head, and his last breath expelled a mist of blood into the air as he expired.  With no further need to support him, Abelas released the man’s body and turned his attention to his companion.  “Inquisitor?” he ventured, lifting a hesitant hand toward her face.  When she gave no acknowledgement, he tried again, “Niyera?”  Her head turned toward him, the illumination in her eyes flickering fitfully as her head tilted.  The Sentinel cupped the side of her face as he whispered, “Garas, lethallan.”  A shuddering breath tumbled over her lips, and she blinked once, twice, and the third time found the glow dispelled from her eyes.  With the light went whatever power it was that held her upright, and her legs folded under her weight.  

Both Abelas and Cassandra caught her before she collapsed, and they lowered her to lay her on the floor.  The Seeker shouted for a healer and started to rise, but Niyera caught the woman’s gauntlet.  “Cullen?  We...can’t leave Dorian.  ...have to take him home,” she said, her words long and drawn with the effort to speak.  Cassandra’s brow furrowed as she frowned at the elf, “Cullen is alive and safe.  And, yes, of course.  Dorian’s already with the healers.”  Seemingly unsatisfied, the Inquisitor fumbled for a better grip on the Seeker, “...can’t...don’t leave his body.”  Niyera’s eyes fluttered, and her fingers went slack as her head fell limply back against the Sentinel’s arm.  Abelas shook his head at Cassandra, murmuring, “She’s delirious.  We have to get her back.  Now.”  The woman’s expression turned grim, and she only nodded before she stood to lead the way to the portal standing by.  Hooking an arm beneath her knees and another behind her shoulders, Abelas lifted the unconscious Inquisitor easily and followed after the Seeker.  

The pungent scent of medicinal herbs filled the air, a mixture of poultices and incense that left behind an acrid sillage.  A young healer sat at the head of Niyera’s cot and was busy about plucking shards of stone from her cheek and brow with tweezers as Abelas tended to the cracked and bleeding skin of her marked hand and arm.  Still another surgeon stood opposite him, concentrating on the wound that bit deeply into her side.  She had yet to wake since leaving the Approach, and her only stirring was the faint rise and fall of her chest.  A few feet away, Dorian lay under the care of his own team of healers, though he fell into and out of consciousness at irregular intervals.  On the opposite side of her cot was Cullen.  He had been so fitful while his wounds were being tended that he had to be sedated.  At the foot of the cots, Cassandra stood, arms folded and strong jawline squared as she compulsively ground her teeth.  Abelas spared a brief glance up to her, asking, “Have you recalled the Qunari and his companion?  A swift rider should be able to catch up with them in less than a day’s time.”  Snapped from the dungeon of her thoughts, the Seeker promptly stopped grinding her teeth to reply, “Yes, I sent them as soon as we returned.  Bull would be furious if we did not do so.”  The Sentinel nodded, turning Niyera’s arm over in his hands to inspect his work.  “You should take some rest, Seeker.  I will stay,” the elf offered, and stubbornly, Cassandra shook her head.  Golden eyes fell aside to the dwarf that stood just behind the woman, and as always, Varric was quick to catch on.  “C’mon, Seeker.  There’s nothing to kill here.  Let the healers work,” the storyteller nudged, earning a himself a disgusted noise from the Seeker.  “I know.  I’ll pay for this later, put it on my tab.  Now, let’s go,” the dwarf continued, ushering her gently, but firmly out of the infirmary.

Abelas rested the back of Niyera’s hand on his knee as he retrieved a bulbous pot of salve from the side table, something of his own creation, and scooped out a healthy dollop.  Rubbing it out between his hands, he started at her elbow and gingerly massaged his way down to her fingertips until it was fully absorbed by her skin.  He was silent in his work, singularly focused on the task at hand.  His thumbs swept broad strokes over the back of her knuckles, then her palm, and it was only when he meshed his fingers with hers that he truly realized how much smaller her hand was.  His brow knitted as he wondered at the turn of his thoughts before he quickly tamped them down and took a roll of gauze in hand.  Layer over layer, he bound the length of her forearm down to her palm, leaving only her fingers bare.  When finished, he folded the arm gently over her stomach to rest with the other, then slid his eyes to her face.  Her naturally fair skin was exceptionally pale, and small holes and gashes puckered the skin on the left side of her face.  The bits of stone had been removed, but had yet to be healed.  Across from him, the healer working on her flank wound had a thin sheen of sweat on his brow; the wound was so severe, it required being healed a piece at a time from the inside out.  It would scar, but the rest should fade to invisibility in time.

Pushing up from his stool, he crossed over to the cot where Dorian lay.  He hadn’t before, but he understood now why Niyera had been so insistent that they not leave the Tevinter behind.  The scouts that remained to sort through the carnage they’d left found a demon that had taken his form and feigned death until it was discovered.  Without doubt, they’d used the double to persuade or torture her -- perhaps both.  The man himself had been beaten severely -- arm broken, skull fractured, lung punctured, but thankfully none of the other atrocities he’d heard were so common among mages and templars.  It would take time, but he would heal.  They all would.  Skin and muscle and bone were easy to mend in comparison to the rest, but having seen all of them in action in the temple, having lived with them now and come to know them, he had no doubts that they would all recover.  He laid a hand lightly on the shoulder of the nearest healer attending to Dorian and handed her a small, leather-bound bundle.  “Make a poultice of these, administer three times daily for the arm.  It should greatly reduce the pain and swelling,” he explained, and the woman nodded, accepting the offering with a smile.  Without anything further, he returned to Niyera’s side, and there he remained.

In favor of caring for her himself, Abelas had disdained the nurse assigned to stay with Niyera once she was well enough to be moved to her quarters.  There were likely to be concerns that regular Inquisition attendants would be ill-equipped to deal with:  the mark, the Well’s influence.  It would, in the end, be simpler and better this way, so he’d moved his meager belongings to her chambers.  Her desk chair was pulled to the fireside, cocked at an angle to face the bed, and there is where he spent most of his time.  Her only other caregiver was a well-fed grey feline who, from time to time, would stand on the spare pillow to inspect Niyera’s face before rubbing her face against the elf’s cheek.  Then, she would saunter down the length of the bed and snuggle up in a ball against her mistress’s leg.  The first two days after, the Inquisitor had not woken at all nor stirred except for her breathing.  Twice a day or more, as was sometimes needed, he cleaned her wounds, reapplied salves and poultices, and rebandaged, all with no response from her at all.  Not even in pain.  The only response came from the cat, who would alternately observe him with a casual, but profound interest or hiss.  He found it mildly concerning that Niyera had no pain reaction, even in sleep, but it was not wholly unexpected, especially given all that had likely gone on while she was in the Fade.  It would be impossible to know specifics until she woke, but the state he’d seen her in when she returned to them would have been a great expenditure of power.

He tucked the loose end of the bandage on her hand beneath the layers on her palm and carefully replaced the arm back at her side.  The spray of wounds on her face was little more now than pale pink scars that would fade to invisibility with time, except for the larger gash above her brow, which very well may leave a hair-thin mark.  The natural blush was beginning to return to her cheeks, and he frequently found himself staring for long intervals at her face.  He had no explanation as to why or perhaps it was merely uncomfortable to think too hard on the possibilities.  All the same, he felt compelled.  She bore the faintest scar on her right cheek, a line that cut under the high tilt of the bone, and the slope of her jawline was gentle.  Above her pointed chin was a generous mouth, full lips that fell most often into a thin line of concentration or a smirk.  When open, her eyes were gold-haloed viridian, a shade of blue-green found only in hidden lagoons kissed by the sun.  He pressed a hand against her forehead; his fingers were cool, and her skin was warm, but not fevered.  And while there, he used the touch as an excuse to push a lock of white hair back from her brow and tuck it behind her ear.  His fingers brushed along the tip and down the slope, lingering just a bit too long when he smoothed his rough thumb over the lobe.  He instantly felt ashamed of the liberty he’d taken and the absence of thought with which he’d done it and stood.  Striding over to the balcony doors, he rotated his neck and rolled his shoulders before he clasped his hands behind his back, a faint burn suffusing his cheeks as he gazed out at the mountains.  The distraction of his thoughts abruptly shifted as his brow fell low, and he turned his gaze down to find the cat rubbing against his shins before twining in and out between his legs.

He had no sooner bent to give the cat a scratch when the creature’s ears perked, and it bounded away and up onto the bed.  His brow knitted as his eyes followed the feline and found it standing on Niyera’s neighboring pillow, face pressed into her hair as if trying to whisper in her ear.  In response, her eyes fluttered, and she reached a weak hand up as if to paw at the disturbance.  A few brisk steps brought Abelas to her side again, and he sat on the edge of the bed.  “Inquisitor?” he ventured quietly before pressing his cool hand to her forehead again, then the backs of his fingers to her cheek.  Her lids had stilled over her eyes once more, and her breath was slow and even.  A frown traced his lips as he withdrew his hand; she had woken, however briefly, and he had missed it.  His shoulders sagged as he passed a hand over his face, then he heard her voice, “H-how many times must I ask you...not to call me that?”  Relief flooded his chest and tugged a smile onto his lips.  When he looked to her face, he found her eyes open, and he turned to rest a hand on hers.  “Several more at the very least, I am certain,” he answered as he studied her; heavier than the weariness, sorrow haunted her features and hooded her eyes, while leaving her lips to fall into a frown.  

“How are you feeling?” he asked, but she ignored the question and answered instead with one of her own, “How’s Cullen?”  The Sentinel took a deep breath and nodded, “He will recover.  His injuries were severe, but once we managed to sedate him, the healers were able to tend to him.”  Her head dipped into a half-nod before turning aside, allowing her eyes to stray as she spoke with a voice choked by emotion, “And Dorian’s b-...tell me we were able to bring him back to Skyhold.”  Even from this angle, he could see the tears that had begun to well in her eyes, and a gentle finger on her jawline was all it took to turn her face back to him.  “He is alive, Niyera,” Abelas said softly, and he felt the lurch the hitching of her breath caused in her body.  Her eyes widened a fraction as her volume fell to a whisper, “But, I saw his-,” and he silenced her with a shake of his head.  “It was a demon.  It had assumed his form.  Dorian is alive,” he assured her, and as he watched his words sink in, the tears dammed in her eyes fell down her cheeks.  “Ah, lethallan, shhh,” he murmured as he cupped her cheek in his palm, and she raised her good hand to cover the other half of her face as she wept.  No further words passed between them; there was only her soft sobs of relief and his murmured efforts to calm her, and they only stopped when she had cried herself back to sleep.