#but explaining has Never been my strong suit and the essays we had to do in the class kicked my ass every time

[wall-eye]

Pro tip for making characters that are compelling and engaging AND have a backstory you can actually do something with: give them a place to grow to and a reason to do that now.

Examples of this in some of my dnd characters:

Kul → growing to be a happy dad again, doing it cause a new crewmate reminded them of their dead child and broke the dam

Anne → growing to be a confident out butch, doing it cause there's reason to believe she might not have a choice about it

Cosmia → growing to be OK with not being their parents expectations, doing it cause they're faced with the reality that they cant

Goop -> growing to be Goop, doing it cause ae will have no other choice

The end goal is inherently tied to the backstory. The backstory can be a however long or short you need it to be to figure out what theme you want the character to explore.

The characters don't have to know where they're going. They might think they have a totally different end goal, or might not have a plan and are just reacting to what's happening, or maybe they know exactly what's going to need to happen, but you the player having a sense of where to take them and what themes to lean into will make a interesting and compelling character in the journey to the end goal, which! In itself is the goal.

[ao3cassandraic]

Hi! I'm about to apply to get into graduate school and start working to get my MLIS. Do you have any advice?

Hi! Welcome to the information professions.

Until my shop changed processes a couple of years ago, I read applications for admission. Lots of them. I was the department app-numbers champion three years running.

Here's what I typically looked for:

Can you write? Like it or not -- and I don't, always -- these professions are hyperverbal and so is our program. If writing isn't your strong suit, that's not a dealbreaker; it just means "find reliable beta readers for your essay." And when you hit campus, locate the campus writing-help unit and make friends with them.

Do you have some idea what you're getting into? For some applicants this is direct work or volunteer experience; for others, a mentor; for others, a grounded sense of career direction; for still others, a statement of their abilities and aspirations that they think fits the profile. That last one can be tricky, though -- if it's nothing but rose-colored glasses or bogus stereotypes, it won't count in your favor. I suggest talking to some info pros about their jobs, if you need to. We're a pretty forthcoming bunch. All this said, you DO NOT need to know to the ninth (or even first) decimal place what you want to do. These professions contain multitudes, and it's exceptionally common for people to discover their career direction while in the program, or (like me, actually) wind up doing something they never could have envisioned beforehand.

Do you know anything about our program specifically? Someone may have told you "the MLS is a union card; all library schools are the same." Don't you believe it! We all have specialties. We all have niches we don't touch with a ten-foot pole -- and yes, I have absolutely disrecommended admission for an otherwise-excellent applicant whose desired niche my shop just plain doesn't serve. If you have a niche in mind already, it won't hurt you one bit to spend five or ten minutes on the school's faculty-staff page to figure out who teaches in that niche so you can mention them in your essay. Or check out the program outline and explain why you think the requirements will help you be good at info-pro-ing. If one of our alumni recommended our program to you, let us know.

Will you make it through the program? For this I glance over undergraduate transcripts and read recommendations, unless the applicant has been out of college so long it makes more sense to check their résumé. A rough time in undergrad is not a dealbreaker unless I don't understand why it happened and (crucially) why it won't happen again -- address these briefly in your essay if you need to. (We do totally get that there's been a pandemic -- we were there too! If it's that, say so and move on.) What I don't want to do is admit someone I don't think can graduate -- that'd be a cynical, unethical waste of their time, money, and energy.

Do you differ from the typical applicant in cool and/or useful ways? Like most professions, there are coveted/oversubscribed info-pro niches and niches that are... less so. The typical applicant profile for library school is an English or history major just out of undergrad. It won't count against you if that's you... but a STEM major or minor, tech savvy, cultural competencies, teaching experience, research or publishing experience, and/or leadership/management experience will count FOR you, because those niches need people real bad. Similarly, the information professions are hella cishet white neurotypical. If you're not and (under current US law, damn it) can explain how that's going to make you a better info pro, let us know.

Any red flags? Usually these are in rec letters, so choose your recommenders wisely. I've also had to disrecommend people whose recommenders or essay... how shall I put this... put their commitment to inclusive professionalism in doubt. But there's also a cultural thing in librarianship where librarians despise library schools. Many think them unnecessary, or would prefer an undergrad major rather than a master's-level program. Many judge their entire library-school experience by their worst instructor (and ngl, we have some lulus -- even I haven't always covered myself with glory, and I try real hard to be good at what I do). Point being, the commonest red flag I saw was an app essay that oozed contempt for the pointless hoops the applicant was already jumping through, and the hoops they'd have to jump through if admitted. And I'm just like, why? Why would I admit an applicant who hates us, thinks they know it all already and we have nothing to teach them, and is clearly unwilling to meet us halfway? Go poison some other school's culture, applicant; I don't want you in my shop. Now, you don't have to flatter us! Unnecessary and can be a bit creepy! But don't hate on us, please.

Hope this helps, and feel free to ask more questions in the comments. That goes for everybody, not just OP!

[ceruleanwhore]

I’ve been thinking about this and I watched someone’s video essay on a bunch of stuff around this and no, I actually want to talk about it. Rise of the Guardians came out on the heels of Brave and was sandwiched in between that and Frozen, which resulted in the film getting a fraction of the attention it could have if it weren’t overshadowed by Disney. This means that RotG never really got a big following and fandom of its own, and yet Jack Frost clearly is the pinnacle of a Tumblr Sexyman, so we ended up with the RotBTD/RotBTFD fandom where people basically just poached the cute lil ice twink to use in their Disney content (and some also did the same with Pitch, since he’s also quite a Tumblr Sexyman himself). For real, every j3lsa shipper I’ve seen gives me the vibe that they’ve seen Frozen no fewer than 37 times but they’ve only seen RotG once, after they already discovered the ship and decided they liked the aesthetics of it. Because RotG never really got much traction in terms of having a fandom of its own at the time of its release, bits and pieces of it instead just got co-opted by the Disney fandom(s). Friendly reminder that all of this was in 2012/2013, which was also the golden era of disnerds and was when we were starting to really get fandom culture around Disney where, before Tangled, while there were definitely tons of Disney fans, they weren’t really doing any of the fandom stuff and making fanworks based on previous Disney princesses and their movies. People were writing fics and making fan edits of Tangled, Brave, and Frozen, but we’d never seen anyone do that until then with other princesses like Cinderella or Ariel or even Esmeralda who, arguably, was everything that Elsa was 20 some odd years prior to Frozen. So, with the true dawning of these eventual Disney adults who, at the time, were still teens and kids, and the fandom stuff that went with them, RotG and its characters ended up being more like playthings for them than material for their own fandom.  With the shipping, specifically j3lsa, I think there’s a couple parts to it. First and foremost is what I just said about the huge sociological shift in overall fandom culture and online spaces with this dawning of a true Disney fandom, but there’s also the sensation of Frozen itself and, more specifically, Elsa. Everybody was foaming at the mouth going absolutely feral for this hot white girl who has Idina Menzel’s voice and doesn’t end up with a man, and she became a cultural sensation the likes of which we’ve never seen before. I think it was because of this that everyone collectively decided she needed to be paired with the Tumblr Sexyman who shares her aesthetic. If the ship and everything regarding fandom culture that went with it comes down to collective obsession with Elsa, then that also explains why Jack often ends up being really ooc in that ship, because it’s about making a boyfriend for Elsa rather than shipping two characters who suit each other or already have a strong relationship. So anyway, I just think that if RotG had been released at a different time, especially if it had been a while after Frozen came out when there was that gap before they did Moana, it could have gained more of a following of its own, meaning it also could’ve just had its own fandom without the crossover shipping stuff, and the internet could have gained interest in a different ship. (I also would just be really curious to see what Elsa ship the internet could have come up with in the absence of Jack Frost. Tbh it kind of makes me sad that we’ll never know if we could’ve had mainstream Elsa x [other Disney princess] or even, if people were still going to make HTTYD crossovers, Elsa x Astrid instead.)

Regardless of if you ship it or not, my whole point with jackrabbit/bunnyfrost is that they are the absolute pinnacle of what the internet wants in a ship - a sassy pretty boy twink and a gruff, 6 ft something tsundere with muscles and an accent who have a whole relationship of just snarky rivalry but then being there for each other when it matters. I am convinced that the only reason this ship doesn’t have the same following as something like drarry or zutara is because it didn’t have the fandom to support it, so it couldn’t become that mainstream, whereas the Disney side of things was absolutely that mainstream, so that kind of took over. No hate to those fandoms or ships, btw, I’m only censoring that one ship name so it doesn’t come up in people’s searches for it, but this is just something I think is an interesting bit of sociology and fandom history.

So I recently rewatched Rise of the Guardians for the first time like since it came out and I just need to know why the everliving shit everyone was going on and on about Jelsa for so long when the occa bunny bloke is right fucking there with the best possible relationship arc with Jack

[drawlfoy]

detention, retention, and draco malfoy being a little shit

masterlist request guidelines

pairing: draco x reader

request: no not really

summary: golden trio friend y/n y/l/n tries to extract information out of draco malfoy after being placed in detention together.

warnings: swearing, panic attack kinda stuff, just the dark war things that would come w having the task that draco does

a/n: ayo so i started this as a fic i was originally planning on writing in a week. i discontinued it bc i didn’t think anyone was that interested, but i’ve written for it on and off. it’s about 16k words right now standing, but i’m reposting this as a 2 part series. here are the first ~12k words....enjoy :) IMPORTANT: if you’re like “hey i started reading this in october why tf are you reposting the first two parts” just keep reading ok lmao i promise there’s more there’s about through part 6 in here hehe. i just wanted new readers to be able to pick up on it without being turned off by the fact that it was part 3. this will b e 2 parts and at least 20k words

word count: 11.6k

taglist: @gruffle1 @missmultifandommess @cleopatera @hahaboop @accio-rogers @geeksareunique @eltanin-malfoy @war-sword @cams-lynn @itsivyberry @ayo-cowbelly @nerd-domland @yesnerdsblog @shizarianathania @evanstanfanatic @strawberriesonsummer @hariosborn @night-ving @straightzoinked @imintoodeeptostop @naiomimoonshard @jejegu @ophelia-enthusiast @alwaysbeanunknownfan @nearly-memories @litty-dumb @callieclearwater @malfoy-wife15 @charlenasaxen @belladaises @fiantomartell

happy reading y’all

For legal purposes, the york pudding she lobbed at Pansy Parkinson’s head on Monday evening was simply meant to be a joke. She didn’t know that her aim was bad enough that it was going to get in Snape’s hair instead--honestly, it wasn’t even supposed to get past the Ravenclaw table, much less veer to the left to make a beeline for the professors--but no matter how much she tried to explain this to McGonagall, her sentence remained the same: detention every Friday. For two months.

Her life was ending for sure.

“I honestly don’t know what you were expecting,” Hermione told her as she gently wiped off the nib of her quill later that night in the common room. “Even if you had hit your mark, that’s still technically assault.”

“Did you even hear what she said to me? She told me that I looked like the type of kid that bit people in primary school,” complained Y/N. “I didn’t even think she knew what primary school was!”

Hermione snorted. “How long ago?”

“Two days. I’ve been waiting until there was something throwable on the dinner table.”

“How very analytic of you.”

“I’m going to hit you.”

“And you wonder why you’ve got detention.” Hermione tsk-ed at her, her face stone serious but her tone light hearted. “Maybe take this as an opportunity to, I don’t know, do your homework for once? So you won’t have to have a breakdown over the next Potion’s essay and beg me to write it for you?”

“I’m going to go to sleep and think terribly mean thoughts about you.”

“Have fun.”

~ 

Detention.

Something that Y/N wasn’t completely unfamiliar with--she’d done her time organizing Snape’s cabinets, just like every other Gryffindor--but it was different when it came to McGonagall. An impressive old lady, she thought that McGonagall saw something in her. She was always the first to chuckle at Y/N’s jokes and hesitated to reprimand her stupid behavior. And she never gave Y/N detention.

Until now, she supposed. 6th year was changing a lot of things--even their Potions professor--so McGonagall turning a new stone shouldn’t have been anything shocking.

At least, not as shocking as the first thing Y/N saw as she walked into her house head’s office.

“Malfoy?” she spat.

The platinum blonde didn’t even bother to look up from his desk.

“Miss Y/L/N,” Professor McGonagall chided. “I think we would all prefer if you restrained yourself from getting into any more physical altercations with Slytherins.”

She huffed, plopping down in the chair furthest away from that foul git and reaching for her satchel.

“I’ll be back in two hours,” said the elderly professor. “If I hear anything, and I mean anything, other than the sound of studying, consider your sentence doubled.”

With a swish of her robes, McGonagall was gone, leaving her with Malfoy. 

“So what’d you do to get in here, huh? Did the administration finally get a hold of that video of you licking Voldemort’s toes?”

“What the fuck does that mean?!” he snapped, whipping around to glare at her.

“‘s just a joke,” said Y/N. “Like--how everyone says your family houses him and everything--but whatever. I can tell it’s a sore spot.”

His gaze, never withering in intensity, remained trained on her face. “You have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Apparently so. What’re you here for?”

He exhaled sharply. “If I tell you, will you shut up and let me think?”

“No promises, but maybe.”

“Late work. I forgot to turn in the Transfiguration exam last week.”

She made a tutting sound as she lazily shuffled through the crumpled parchment in her satchel. “I expected more from you. Aren’t you gonna ask me how I wound up here?”

“No. I am going to ask you to stop talking now, though.”

~

“That’s terribly unfortunate,” Hermione said over breakfast the next morning. Ron and Harry were nervously chit chatting at the other side of the table over the Saturday Quidditch game against Hufflepuff--supposedly it was supposed to be quite a high stakes match. Not like Y/N cared much, though.

“Yeah! And the worst part was that he won’t even tease anymore. Like, he just sits there all broody and woe is me. We’re all witnessing our nation’s descent into war--he’s not special!”

“Who are you talking about?” asked Harry.

“Oh, just Malfoy,” said Y/N. “We have detention together with McGonagall. He’s such a nasty little greaseball, don’t you think? I mean, look at him right now, glowering over his cereal.”

“Wait! That’s it!”

“What’s it, Harry?” Hermione asked.

“It’s genius, really,” he said. “Y/N has to spend time with him alone every week, and we know that something is up with him. Malfoy is absolutely a Death Eater and has connections to You-Know-Who, but I just need to find a way to prove it.”

“I vaguely forecast where this is going, and I hate it already.”

“Listen, Y/N. It’s not for that long, and it’s for the health of the wizarding world. If you just get to know him--”

“Ick!”

“If you just get to know him, maybe get him to trust you and find out his secrets...we’d finally have enough to turn him in and throw him out of Hogwarts for good.”

“Is that really necessary, Harry?” Ginny butted in from her seat further down next to Dean. “Malfoy’s probably just exhausted like the rest of you. 6th year is difficult, and we have no solid evidence that he’s a Death Eater. I’m sure being stuck in a room with him for 2 hours is hard enough without pretending to be nice to him.”

“But what if Harry’s right?” said Y/N. “What if he is actually a Death Eater? What if he’s an active danger to the student body?”

“Exactly!” The joy written across Harry’s face at the prospect of someone else finally agreeing was infectious. “So will you?”

“Er…” She dragged her spoon across the top layer of her porridge. “In theory, sure. In actuality, I’m not sure how I could do it. Malfoy doesn’t want anything to do with me, either.”

“Love potion?” offered Ron.

“I don’t care how much of a prat he is, I’m not roofying him.”

“I rarely agree with you, Y/N, but I think you’re right. If you want to do this, you need to get him to trust you for real.”

“Your back-handed compliment skills never disappoint, Hermione. Do you think you could help me out with a plan?”

A slow smile spread across the girl’s face as she nodded. “That’s my strong suit.”

The plan they laid out over the remainder of the day was ambitious but at least do-able. Each week was split into different subtasks, the end goal being a somewhat tentative friendship between the two. 

“If you can flirt with him and get him to have a crush on you without scaring him off, you’d be in the best possible position,” Hermione told her as they walked back from the Quidditch pitch among the screaming Gryffindor fans. They’d won--yet again. “Obviously I don’t foresee that being likely, but if you pull it off somehow he’d probably be willing to tell you anything. The fact that you’re a pureblood is going to carry you through this whole ordeal. He’ll at least be accepting of your existence in the wizarding community.”

The bitter edge in Hermione’s tone made Y/N’s blood boil. There was no reason for Malfoy to be as prejudiced as he was--he’d spent his adolescence in Hermione’s academic dust. She was obviously smarter than him. 

“You got it, ‘Mione,” she said. Her voice barely carried over the cheers of her peers as they ascended the steps to the common room. “We’ll take this little ferret down. I can’t wait.”

“Don’t get too cocky, now.”

The Gryffindor after-party was crazy...per usual. The charmed self-filling goblets, the blasted playlist of Wizpop pumping through the air, and the buzzing energy of the room was giving Y/N a giant headache. She stood with Hermione and Harry by the edge of the crowd, watching Ron get hoisted up on the shoulders of the chasers. 

“No wonder the Slytherins think we’re Neanderthals,” Y/N mused. For once, Hermione didn’t respond. “Hermione? Is everything okay?”

The second she turned away to look at her best friend, gasps and whistles filled the room. She whipped back just in time to see Lavender Brown, a sweet but slightly ditzy girl in their year, pull away from a kiss with Ron.

“Oh shi--Hermione!”

Harry and Y/N shared a glance before darting after the witch--who had impressively already made it to the door. 

“Hermione, wait!” Y/N called as they jogged after her, throwing open the common room entrance and finding her sat by the tapestry on the other side of the hall, knees to her chest.

“‘Mione, what’s wrong?” asked Harry.

“Don’t be daft, Harry,” said Y/N. “You saw exactly what the rest of us did.”

“I don’t understa--”

“Harry.” Her voice was taut. “I know you’re just trying to help, but I think that it might be best if you let us be. Go back and enjoy the party.”

He gave her a tight, grateful smile before darting back through the door. Y/N wasted no more time in walking over to Hermione and throwing her arms around her shoulders.

“I’m so sorry,” she whispered, hugging her tight. Hermione made no move to detach them, so she continued. “Ron is an idiot. You deserve so much better--your first kiss was Viktor fucking Krum, after all. You’re hot stuff and this place is just unfortunately running dry of men who are impressive enough for you. Once you’re out of here and working in the Ministry, you’re gonna have the time of your life with men actually in your league.”

Hermione managed a sniffly laugh as she wiped her eyes with her sleeve. “It’s just so fucking embarrassing, you know. Like, I have a crush on him because I think he understands me and I smelled him in my Amortentia and I thought he’d like me back, but…” She hiccuped. “Then he goes off and kisses Lavender Brown, of all people. There’s nothing particularly wrong with her or anything, but she’s so different...I’m so bookish, and she’s so girly and everything I’m not…”

Y/N took the opportunity to tuck a lock of Hermione’s hair behind her ear as she listened.

“And it can’t help but make me think--was I ever anything to him but a friend? If the girl he ends up choosing is the opposite of me?”

“Girly, don’t think like that,” murmured Y/N. “He’s a teenage boy. They don’t think of love the way that we do--to them it’s a game of availability, not of choice. At least for Ronald. You intimidate him, and by extension, you’re not available.”

“That shouldn’t matter!”

“You’re right. It shouldn’t.” Y/N drew a long breath. “So you should find someone who always has you as their first choice--someone who isn’t intimidated by your intellect. They’re out there. I promise.”

Hermione managed a shaky smile. “Thanks, Y/N. I mean it. Do you mind if I have some alone time? I don’t think I’m ready to go back to the party but I just want some quiet.”

“Of course. Let me know if you need me,” she said, brushing herself off and making to walk down the hall.

“You’re not going back to the party?”

“Nah. It hurts my head and I want fresh air. If I’m not back here in a half hour, assume that I’ve been kidnapped.”

With that, she started her walk. She wasn’t planning on going on a long stroll--there was a small balcony that she often went to when she needed to clear her head. It was beautiful, especially on a snowy night like this.

But the walk was creepy.

There was only one way in and out--a narrow, damp hallway that had absolutely no light fixtures. If Y/N really wanted to, she could cast a quick lumos, but she wasn’t sure if she wanted to see what lived on the walls. The stairs were steep, too, but she managed to bound up all 40 of them in record time. 

“Who’s there?”

The sudden voice ripped a scream out of Y/N’s throat as she reached the top, catching a glimpse of the shadowy figure at the edge of the balcony that spoke. She clasped her hand over her mouth and she crept forward to the opening, getting a better look at the person that was in her secret spot.

The clouds shifted in the sky to allow more moonlight to cast a soft glow on Malfoy’s face, hardened with irritation.

“Malfoy?” Y/N asked, rather dumbly.

“What stellar observational skills,” he drawled. 

She felt her cheeks grow hot. “What are you doing here? This is part of the Gryffindor tower. Shouldn’t you be...I don’t know...playing hide and seek with the sewer rats in the dungeons?”

“Very funny.” His flat tone exposed the fact that he did not, in fact, find it very funny. “There’s no rule barring me from coming up here.”

“But why? This is my spot!”

“Because I wanted to get out. Now, I was here first, so unless you want your detention extended, I suggest you leave.”

Y/N bit the fiery comebacks on the tip of her tongue as the memories of her plan with Hermione began floating back to her. 

Week 1 -- Hold one neutral, civil conversation with Malfoy.

“I’ll be quiet. You won’t even know I’m here,” Y/N decided upon. leaning up against the balcony. The rogue snowflakes that made it past the overhanging roof melted on her cheeks. 

“That isn’t a suggestion,” said Malfoy. “I’m demanding you leave.”

“Beautiful night, isn’t it?” Y/N asked, pointedly ignoring his words. “I’ve always loved the snow. It’s so quiet.”

“And it would be even quieter if you left.”

“Aren’t you the conversationalist?” said Y/N.

��If you don’t leave, I will hex you,” Malfoy told her through gritted teeth. 

“I just love how the moonlight reflects off of the snow,” continued Y/N. “It’s so...pure.”

“Please leave.”

On her walk back down the dank stairwell, she allowed herself a little smile. 

Task 1? Technically done.

~ 

The first week went largely as planned. Malfoy was cold and certainly suspicious of her, but he wasn’t completely venomous when Y/N asked where he got his quill from in Potions. It was silver, charmed to shimmer with flecks of forest green. He told her Barnaby’s in France, and that was that. She walked away from his table with all of her limbs attached. Perhaps that was all the progress she was going to make in the next few weeks, but the task at hand certainly made the prospect of her lost Friday afternoons more bearable. 

Harry was going completely batty, rambling on about how Malfoy was behind the mysterious cursed objects that had been floating about the castle without explanation. 

“And why would Malfoy bring cursed objects to Hogwarts if he has aspirations other than being expelled?” Hermione would ask over their books.

“You don’t understand, Hermione! You girls need to be careful walking around at night--especially you, Y/N. I don’t want you going missing after detention because of that slimeball.”

Y/N always gave him a laugh, berating him for his slight misogynistic commentary and turning back to whatever her task was, but the truth was that she was worried for him. The mental weight of the impending war and the fact that he couldn’t do anything about it was certainly getting too difficult for him to bear. It was heartbreaking to see the vivacious boy she’d grown up with crumble under the responsibilities of something he should never have to worry about in the first place.

Friday came much sooner than expected, and Y/N reluctantly left her friends in the common room to trek to McGonagall’s office. The walk was frigid and the wind bit at her cheeks as she rounded the last outdoor hall.

Why was this castle so dark?

A thump behind her made her jump, and Harry’s words came floating back to her. 

Remember all those cursed objects? What if there’s someone just...stalking the school grounds, waiting for someone like me to snatch?

She shivered, throwing herself at the office door and slamming it behind her.

“Miss Y/L/N,” Professor McGonagall greeted, her eyebrows raised in amusement. “Something giving you trouble?”

“No, Professor,” she answered, setting her bag down on the desk next to Malfoy. He sent her a curious look as well. “It’s just cold outside.”

She chuckled. “I need to go speak to Headmaster Dumbledore. I expect that, upon my return, you both are in one piece and alive.”

“I’m not sure if I’m the one who needs to be given that speech,” said Y/N, bored and testing the waters.

“She’s right, Professor,” added Malfoy. “There’s no projectiles here.”

McGonagall exhaled a long, shaky breath before brushing herself off. “Please. Behave yourselves.”

“You got it, boss,” she said as she watched her Professor walk out the door. “So, Malfoy. How was your week?”

“I don’t know what you’re up to, but I’d way prefer if you didn’t speak to me,” he said, refusing to make eye contact.

“I’m not up to anything! We’re in detention together and, I dunno, since I see you sometimes at balls, I thought it’d be nice to be on good terms.”

“Good terms?” He scoffed. “You’re a Gryffindor. I’d rather you be a bloody Hufflepuff.”

“How about neutral terms?”

Even though he wasn’t looking at her, she could catch a glimpse of him rolling his eyes. “If neutral terms mean you being quiet, then, yes. Please.”

“I’ll be plenty quiet. After I hear about your opinion on what happened in Potions today with Brown and Weasley. When Snape yelled at them for holding hands.”

He let out a sharp sigh. “Believe it or not, I actually have better things to do than keep up with whatever stuff your house does.”

“But…?” Y/N pressed. She may not’ve spent her time at Hogwarts as Malfoy’s best friend, but she had grown up with the boy, and she could tell when he was holding back.

He stared blankly at her.

“Come on. I’m literally the only person in my house who’ll openly admit that they’re disgusted by that dynamic. I’m begging you.”

She wasn’t sure if she was imagining it, but she thought she saw a flicker of amusement dance across his face for a moment. “Your house sounds more like a cult than a student group.”

“Oh, says the one from Slytherin,” said Y/N. 

“We only act like that because our families are close. What’s your excuse? Hormones and Quidditch culture?”

“Touché.” As much as she wanted to fight back, she bit her tongue. Whatever she was doing was making progress, and quicker progress than she was expecting. Her next task was to make him laugh, and she was emboldened by the fact that she could potentially be able to kill two birds with one stone. 

They sat in silence for a little bit, but this time, it was a comfortable silence. Malfoy wasn’t staring at the clock on the wall or rolling his eyes at her every move, so she had time to plot.

On one hand, she could make a fool of herself--drop her inkwell, say something stupid in class, fall down the stairs--but she had a sneaking suspicion that her sorry attempts at slapstick humor wouldn’t land well with Draco anymore. He’d become so serious lately, so solemn. This was the most light hearted she’d seen him, even compared with how he acted with the rest of his Slytherin lackeys. 

On the other, she could try to sell out her friends. She could confide in him how “big” Hermione’s teeth were (they weren’t even big) or tell him that Ron smelled of eggs (true, but that was a low blow). Something told her that this would be much more successful, but she wasn’t willing to turn to that so quickly--she was already a week ahead as it was. 

“What is it?” 

Malfoy’s bored drawl cut through her flurried thoughts. Her cheeks turned pink as she blinked, noticing that she’d been staring at him for far too long. “Nothing. Sorry. I just spaced out.”

“Sure,” he mumbled, giving her another suspicious look before turning back to his work. “Can you maybe space out somewhere other than my face?”

“Where’s your vanity, Malfoy?” she pressed as she leaned back in her chair, hair swinging over the back. 

“Shut up,” he snapped. She could tell that whatever connection they’d had in the fleeting moments beforehand was being burnt by the second, but her embarrassment and pride drove her forward.

“Merlin, what’s got you so wound up?” she prompted, noting how deliciously unraveled he looked at this. “Where’s my cool, collected Slytherin?”

He slammed hands on his desk at this, whipping around to glare at her. “What’s your angle, Y/L/N?”

“What?”

“Why are you bothering me?”

“Because I want to.” She beamed.

Malfoy ran his fingers through his hair, mussing up the usual neat manner in which it normally laid on his head. “Compelling. What do you want from me?”

“What do I want…?” She tilted her head at him, narrowing her eyes. “What?”

“You never talk to me,” he explained. “Obviously, I prefer it like that. I can’t help but wonder why suddenly you want to be making small talk. So, what is it you want from me?”

“Malfoy,” she said. “I think you’re a spoiled prick who thinks far too highly of himself and drives me insane. But I also think that you’re funnier than what my friends give you credit for. Granted, you’ve always been annoying, but I don’t want anything from you. I just want to, I dunno, make these next few months less insufferable.” Somehow the lie slipped through her teeth easier than any of her previous bluffs. 

He frowned, his mouth opening once before firmly screwing shut into a scowl. “Oh.”

“No offense, Malfoy, but what else can you offer me other than your dazzling personality?” she teased. “You know my family. I don’t need to blackmail you to pay for jewelry I’ve had my eye on or anything.”

He scoffed. “As if I’d say yes.”

“Exactly my point. It’d be fucking weird. Merlin, I’m not trying to butter you up to buy out Borgin & Burkes for me. Do I give off gold-digger vibes? Is that what this is about?”

“Fucking hell.” Malfoy turned to her in disbelief. “Do you ever shut up?”

“Answer my question. Or better yet, pull out your wallet. Wait, did I say that out loud?” She mimed surprise and covered her mouth. “Oh no! What will my mother say now that I’ve squandered my last chance of hitching you? There’s no way I can go home for Christmas break now.”

He rolled his eyes so hard she found herself worried for a moment that they were going to just permanently get stuck in the back of his head. “Hate to break it to you, but you didn’t really have a shot to begin with.”

Ouch.

She huffed and dramatically flopped over the back of her chair, hoping he couldn’t see that she’d flinched. “So you don’t think I’m pretty??” 

“Y/L/N,” he snapped, his voice a low warning. “Can I please just work? What is with you today?”

Y/N sent him a sour look before giving her Charms work another look. Malfoy was awfully quiet, and when she snuck any glances at him later on, he was angled to face away from her. 

Why did she feel like such shit all of a sudden? She cataloged the past events, trying to pinpoint the exact moment that her stomach dropped. It all made sense when the words “You didn’t really have a shot to begin with” echoed around her head once again. She’d failed Harry. She’d failed Hermione. There was no way that she was going to be able to get him to reveal his secrets now--it’s not like he was confiding in even his closest friends as Harry made apparent when he explained how vague his statements were to his fellow Slytherins on the train. Her only chance would’ve been to somehow get him to fall for her, and that wasn’t going...great. And it had been a pipedream to begin with.

When McGonagall swished back into the classroom to dismiss them, Y/N shot out of there without even looking at Malfoy again. It felt like something was lodged in her throat and she was not going to cry in front of him. No, no. She had to make it to Hermione to tell her what was going on. 

“Y/L/N?” 

Malfoy’s voice made her pause in her flee as she nearly rounded the corner in front of her, but she refused to look back. It was far enough away that it was possible she didn’t hear him.

“Wait!”

She was up the stairs and speed walking as fast as her legs could carry her to the Gryffindor tower before he even saw which way she went.

~

“I don’t think you understand,” Y/N wailed by the fire as Hermione rubbed her shoulders and Harry sat awkwardly perched on the couch. “I can’t do this. The only way this was going to work was if he had a crush on me, and I don’t think he ever will. I fucked it up! The one time you guys need me, I fuck it up! I let you down!”

Hermione’s left hand stopped its rubbing to rest firmly on her shoulder. “Please don’t be upset. You didn’t let us down. Plus, you’re only, what...two weeks in? You don’t need him to like you to make it work. Just getting him to trust you will be enough, and you’re good at that.”

“I don’t think so,” continued Y/N. “Harry said that he wasn’t even that open on the train when he overheard him talking to all of his friends. And those are purebloods that he likes! That he’s trusted and known for years and years! I’m a friend of you guys, and he knows it. I think he’d figure it out quick.”

“We should take every chance we can get,” said Harry from his spot a few feet away, his eyes lazy and unfocused on the fire crackling in front of them. “You won’t let us down if you can’t get anything, Y/N, you know that! But if you got anything from him, it’d be incredible. It’s a win-win. I don’t understand why you’re so upset.”

“I’m not upset,” she said, her tone becoming defensive. “I just...don’t want to mess this up. I know how much it’d mean if I succeeded.”

“So just try!” Hermione said. “There’s nothing wrong with it. I’m sorry he was kind of mean to you today, but I don’t think that should bother you too much. He should be more afraid of what you’d say if you didn’t care about being a good person.”

“Fucking right on there,” she said, wiping away the frustrated tears. “If I was honest with him, he’d leave crying. He should be grateful that I’m taking this bet so I actually have to be nice to him.”

“That’s the spirit.” Harry leaned over to smack her back like he did his Quidditch teammates after a winning match. 

After they’d parted their ways with Harry, Hermione and Y/N made their way slowly up the stairwell to the girls’ dorms. 

“Y/N?” Hermione asked, breaking the silence. 

“Yeah?”

“Do you think, er…” She paused. “Do you think you were really upset about failing us today? Or was it something else?”

“What do you mean?” Y/N furrowed her eyebrows. “I don’t see what else it would be.”

“I’m sorry,” responded the bright witch. “Forget I ever asked. It was a stupid thing to wonder about.”

“Weirdo,” she teased as she waved her a goodnight and made her way to her dorm.

The next morning, Y/N busied herself with revising her Charms essay over her breakfast--a cup of tea and a half-buttered piece of toast--while Hermione leaned over her shoulder, nodding or grimacing at the corrections she made. 

“Did you work during detention? Like, at all?”

“‘Mione,” moaned Y/N. “It’s too early for this. I don’t want a lecture. I just couldn’t focus.”

Her warm brown eyes narrowed as they bore into Y/N’s face. “Why were you distracted?”

“Oh, I, uh…” She stumbled over her words as Hermione drew closer. “Merlin, Hermione. I told you last night. I just felt like I was letting you all down.”

“Mhm,” was all she got in response before her best friend tilted her head back down to the parchment in front of her. 

Y/N sat, completely puzzled. What was Hermione on about? She’d been straightforward with what was hurting her--she didn’t want to mess up the only task the Golden Trio had ever given her--and, even if she hadn’t been, Hermione was smart enough to deduce things for herself. So what was she thinking about?

Her eyes drifted over to the Slytherin table where the usual 6th year pureblood gang loitered about, drinking black coffee and sulking--but Malfoy was not to be seen. She jumped when her eyes met Parkinson, her dark eyes burning into her soul as a deep scowl was written across her face.

“Malfoy, what the fuck do you want?” Ron’s voice pulled her back to reality to see him glaring somewhere behind her.

“I wasn’t here to talk to you,” a familiar voice drawled. 

She turned to see Malfoy standing behind her, a sneer written all across his stupidly pretty face.

“Miss me already?” asked Y/N as she raised an eyebrow and cocked her head to the side. 

“For fuck’s sake, stop doing that,” he mumbled, reaching into his pocket and throwing a box at her. “You forgot your quill. I took the liberty of properly storing it, because it seems like you lot like to just throw them in your bag. Makes me physically ill to watch.”

“Oh.” Y/N studied the intricate box in her hands before tucking it away in her knapsack. “Thanks? I guess?”

He nodded curtly, contorting his face into one last scowl to send to Ron before turning and leaving,

“So,” Hermione began, cutting her omelet at a much brisker pace, “I think we need to have a little chat. About...all of this.” 

“Why?” 

“Not right now,” she said, her voice low and her eyes flicking at Ron and Harry sitting across from them. “I don’t think it’d benefit us for them to hear.” 

“Ok?” She cautiously took a bite out of her toast and continued staring Hermione down. “You’re scaring me.”

“It’s...I don’t know. I thought I was crazy for thinking this, but it seems like we need to talk about it anyways. For this little mission of yours to work, we need to be totally open and honest with each other.”

“Sure.” Y/N took another bite. “I honestly have no clue what’s got you so on edge, though.”

“Who’s on edge?” Harry asked, leaning over the table and stealing the croissant on Y/N’s plate. 

“Hey!” she exclaimed. “Do you not see the entire plate of them over there?”

He laughed, sending her an easy grin and dunking a piece into the hot chocolate in his mug. “Finders keepers. Say, Y/N, are you busy next weekend? Ron and Lavender are going to Madame Puddingfoot’s together, and I know Hermione isn’t going to want to take a weekend off studying to go to Hogsmeade, so I thought that maybe we could go cause some trouble at the Cauldron.”

“If you stop stealing my food we can talk about it,” replied Y/N, the corners of her lips tugging up into a grin. 

“Deal.”

Hermione tugged at her arm. “I just realized I need to get something out of my room before we watch the Quidditch game. Will you come with me, Y/N?”

“Sure!” said Y/N. “Gee, I’m rolling in invitations today.”

Once they exited the dining hall, though, it immediately became evident that they were not actually heading up to the dorms. Hermione dragged her into the nearest bathroom before casting a quick silencing charm.

“Myrtle! Are you in here?” Only when she was sure silence was the only response to her question, she seemed satisfied to turn to Y/N and begin talking. “When were you going to tell me that you have a thing for Malfoy?”

“I’m sorry, what?” Y/N felt the heat that had risen to her cheeks from the last quill-encounter re-emerge.

“You know exactly what I’m talking about,” said Hermione. “Are you seriously going to expect me to believe that you nearly sobbed over some random pureblood git telling you you never had a chance with him because it might slow down your progress with helping us? Actually? I’ve seen you look more ecstatic about hearing that your dear granny passed away.”

“To be fair, she had really good life insurance,” Y/N cut in. “And she was an old hag. Never had a nice thing to say to me.”

“Life insurance or no life insurance...you can’t seriously expect me to believe that you were just upset about not being able to help us as much. That was ridiculous. I don’t buy it. And the way you blushed like crazy when he came over to talk to you--the way you try and pretend like you can flirt...please. Y/N, it’s clear as day. I know you, and I know you have a crush on him.”

“Hermione!” hissed Y/N. “You have no clue what you’re talking about!”

“Yes, I think I do,” she pushed. “And you need to be honest with me if you want to be of any help right now.”

Her bossiness lit a fire of rage in Y/N’s chest, but she sucked in a deep breath, shutting her eyes before releasing it. “Believe me when I say I haven’t ever acknowledged any feelings I may or may not have towards him.”

“Ok.” Her face softened. “I know it might take time, but I honestly do think I’m right. Please just...be careful. This is a really odd situation to get caught up in if you actually have feelings for the other person. You’re trying to manipulate him, for Merlin’s sake.”

“And if I have these feelings for him, I’ve done a pretty damn good job of suppressing them for however long they’ve been here.” 

Hermione sighed. “That’s true. I’m just saying that spending this much time with him is probably only going to make things worse. Will you please tell me if anything changes between the two of you?”

“Anything changes?” Y/N’s voice was dripping in disbelief. “You’re joking. Even if I was obsessed with him I don’t think there’s ever a chance of hell in anything ‘changing’ between us. He said it himself.”

“You know what I mean, Y/N,” responded Hermione. “Just promise me, ok?”

“Ok,” said Y/N. “I promise.”

That seemed to satiate Hermione as she nodded approvingly at her friend. “I think it goes without saying that Ron and Harry shouldn’t hear about this.”

“There’s nothing to hear about, but yes.” She shuffled her feet before meeting Hermione’s eyes again. “Er, I’m sorry for this being a weird question, but would you mind coming along with me and Harry to Hogsmeade? I don’t really see him like...that...and I don’t want to read into it too much and reject him if he is doing it just platonically, but just in case. Y’know.”

“Sure,” said Hermione, even though her face took on that curious expression yet again. “Anyways, you actually did forget something--you’re not wearing a single piece of Gryffindor colors for our game today. You should probably run back to your dorm before Harry and Ron notice.”

After they said their goodbyes, Y/N found herself turning over the things Hermione had said to her in her head. Did she like Malfoy? No, no fucking way. But a part of her really did think he was funny. And of course it was natural to feel rejected when anyone insinuates that they’d never consider you as a romantic interest without jest. 

Once she’d made it up to her room and grabbed a few scarves, Y/N made to put her red cloak into her satchel. Her fingers ghosted over the box that Malfoy had given her and scoffed once she saw the Malfoy crest engraved into the rich wood. 

Narcissistic snot.

Her curiosity got the better of her as she reached over to open up the elaborately decorated box. What met her was not just one quill but two--one of which was most certainly not her own. 

She took them both out, tossing the old one in a pile with her other trusty familiar white feather quills and picked up the other one. It looked familiar--identical to the quill that she’d complimented Malfoy on in Potions about a week ago. Butterflies began to flutter like crazy in her stomach as she turned it over in her hand, watching the gray and green glitter together and the magic sparkles cast a gentle light over her bed. She generally avoided dipping into her family’s pockets to get school supplies any more than she had to--it’s not like it made her friends feel good about themselves when they were reminded how rich her family was--but this might be what she could consider to be an exception. She hadn’t even liked his quill all that much when she first saw it in Potions--but it was one of those things that was so noticeable that it made sense to compliment him. 

She gave it one last look before tucking it back away into the elaborately decorated box. Perhaps she had spoken too soon when she’d told Hermione all hope was lost. 

~ 

When Monday morning Potions class with the Slytherins rolled around, Y/N wasted no time. Malfoy was alone--even his Slytherin lackeys seemed to know not to bother him. Just what she needed.

“Malfoy,” she greeted, setting her bag down on his table and looking him dead on. He raised to meet her eyes, his eyebrow raised.

“Can I help you?”

“I just wanted you to know that I also really like your immense fortune,” she said. “And your manor.”

“Well, a lot of people do,” he mumbled as he looked away to dig through something in his bag. If she didn’t know any better, she would’ve thought he was blushing.

“I’m just letting you know,” she continued. “In case you were wanting to give them away. It worked for the quill, so I thought, well, why not?”

He exhaled, a deep and annoyed sound escaping his lips as he rolled his eyes up to the ceiling. “I knew I shouldn’t have done that.”

“You really didn’t have to.”

“I was getting sick of it,” he told her. “I never can stick with one quill for too long, and I thought it’d be a shame to toss it. I thought it’d be better to be charitable--it’s not like your family could get an appointment at Barnaby’s if they tried.”

“Hey!” Y/N said indignantly. “You don’t know that!”

“I’ve heard your parents try to speak French,” he said. “If you’re anything like them, you'll be barred from ever entering the country.”

“Malfoy!” 

His lips turned up into a smile, a soft laugh escaping his lips. Y/N suppressed the urge to grin in return. Task 3? Done. “What?”

“I can’t even argue with you,” she said. “It’s tragic.”

She stared at the empty stool next to him, wondering if she should just take the leap and sit with him. Malfoy seemed unbothered by her presence as he opened up his Potions book and set it next to his cauldron. “Do you want a partner?” The words left her lips before she could stop them.

He cast her a curious look before glancing at the empty stool. “It depends. Are you going to be annoying?”

She gasped in faux-offense. “What makes you think I could ever be annoying?”

“On that note, I think you better get back to Potter.” He motioned with his head towards the side of the room where most of her Gryffindor friends were chatting. Harry was staring at her, his fists clenched by his side.

Y/N smirked and sent him a wink. 

“On that note,” she said, careful to imitate Malfoy’s drawl and sending him a smug grin, “Maybe I better sit here.”

“Hm.” He awarded her one more uninterested look before rolling up his sleeves and setting out the ingredients for the potion they were brewing--Amortentia. 

She tried not to make it too obvious that she was staring at his left arm, but there was nothing on it like Harry had told her. It was just pure, unblemished pale skin that shimmered under the light. Before he could catch her looking, she quickly sat down and started pulling out her own things. After a short pause, she decided to take out the silver quill. She’d left his box back in her room--she wouldn’t be caught dead with something that had the Malfoy crest on it--but she’d wrapped it in a pouch with her own family’s emblem on the front, shimmering in gold and red.

“Why don’t you just buy your own charmed quills?” asked Malfoy after they had chopped all of the gillweed. 

“You already know. We’re an abomination to the French. We aren’t allowed entry.”

“That’s not what I mean.” His tone was meant to read as exasperated, but his words still seemed good-natured.

“I...well.” She frowned. She’d never confessed this to anyone, but she supposed that Malfoy wasn’t going to find a way to use it against her. “I don’t like to flaunt my family wealth. I think it makes people, at least in Gryffindor, like me less. I learned that pretty early on.”

He hummed something in response before sliding all the gillweed into the cauldron, turning the clear liquid into a bubbling forest green. 

“Why are you being so nice to me all of a sudden?” she asked. 

He took his time finishing the note he was jotting down before he answered. “I’m not being nice. It’s just called being civil. You said it yourself, we see each other at balls sometimes.”

“We probably won’t anymore, though,” she mused. 

Malfoy’s eyebrows shot up, but his voice remained low and steady. “No. I suppose that we probably won’t. Is your family part of the Order?”

“Hm. Are you a Death Eater?” she asked brazenly. He had no business asking her something like that, and he knew it. Especially not with his family connections.

“What do you think?” he drawled, waving his bared left arm in front of her face.

“Bullshit. That doesn’t mean anything after we learned Glamour spells last year.”

“Guess you’ll just have to trust me, then,” he responded, focusing intently on the bubbling liquid in front of him instead of her face. 

“I guess so,” she replied. The weight of her Glamour comment began to sink in--she was right, after all. How had she not thought of it before? 

But he was right when he told her she just had to trust him. Could she? Y/N rested her chin in the palm of her propped hand as she watched him work. A piece of disobedient moonbeam blonde hair dangled over his forehead as he diced up the unicorn tail, his eyebrows furrowed in focus.

“Is this why you want to be my partner?” he finally asked after a few moments of silence. “So you can just stare at me while I do all the work?”

“There’s the vain Draco I know,” she said, grinning as she leaned over to punch his shoulder. 

He rolled his eyes again, scooting out of arm's reach before flipping back to Amortentia in his book. “You’re insufferable. And it’s Malfoy to you.”

“Fine, fine, Malfoy,” said Y/N. “What do you want me to do, then?”

He shoved his cutting board towards her, the half-diced unicorn tail staring up at her. “Finish dicing this and then stir it in. 9 times clockwise. I did almost all of the work, but it should be finished after that.”

Y/N sent him another glare before doing as he said. The glittering quill kept catching her attention from the corner of her eye, and she couldn’t help but notice that Malfoy was writing with just a plain white quill for the time being. HE really did just give it to me. 

After the final ingredients were diced, she began to stir, each rotation around the cauldron turning the potion to a different color. It began as the bubbling green, then a deep sea blue, then a royal purple, a crimson blood red, a glimmering gold--before settling into a pale silver.

“Wow. It’s beautiful,” she breathed. “It’s like...liquid starlight.”

“All thanks to me,” said Malfoy. “You didn’t even have to crush the Mandrake root.”

“You’re such a gentleman, Malfoy.” Her voice dripped in fake sincerity. “So, what do you smell?”

Y/N was expecting him to scowl at her and tell her that it wasn’t any of her business, but he actually leaned over the cauldron and shut his eyes. 

“I’ve never been good at explaining what things smell like.” 

“Fair.”

Once he leaned back, she took his place, shutting her eyes and breathing in a tendril of the beautiful potion. “Whoa.”

“What’s it for you?”

“I don’t...know,” she admitted. “It’s not something I can describe note by note. It kind of reminds me of something, though.”

“Something with Potter, I presume?” he said, casually twirling his generic white quill around his fingers.

“No,” she answered, surprised at how honest she was being. “It’s…I’m trying to think. Er, it’s very lavish. It reminds me of when I was younger and my parents would drag me to galas and balls and whatnot.” 

He stared at her in silence.

“What about you? Does it remind you of anything?”

“Yeah.” Malfoy reached forward to put a lid on the cauldron, effectively shutting out the steam from reaching either of them.

“Ooh, have you figured it out yet?” she teased, crossing her legs and turning to face him head on. “Let me guess. Is it someone like…”

She paused, a wicked smile stretching across her face. “Oh my god, is it Hermione? Or Luna? Or...help me out here!”

“No.” His voice was sour. 

“Ah, it’s Parkinson then, isn’t it? Tell her I’m sorry for throwing food at her if you ever have the chance. Make sure to add the part where I’m more sorry that I missed.” 

“Y/L/N!”

“It’s okay. I’d be a little let down, too.”

“Can you please just…” He rubbed the bridge of his nose. “Please just stop. I haven’t figured it out. Okay? Happy now?”

“I’ll leave you alone,” said Y/N. “Under one condition. You give me a hint. I’ve given you everything I know! This isn’t fair.”

“This doesn’t have to be fair,” he hissed.

Y/N kept the easy smile plastered on her face while she waited, her eyebrows raised in anticipation.

“You’re not going to let up until I tell you, are you?”

“You’d be right on that,” she said, sugary sweet.

“Fine. It’s something kind of floral.” 

“How descriptive,” she snorted as she slumped back in her stool, thinking hard. Where had she smelled it before? Y/N shut her eyes, leaning her head back and trying to immerse herself into the memory that had surfaced. It smelled like grandeur, like an open ballroom full of guests wearing expensive perfumes. She could feel spinning, spinning like she was with a dance partner. Who was it? She couldn’t quite remember--the last ball she’d been to had been years ago--but after she leaned forward and smelled the Amortentia once more time, she came to a conclusion.

“I had to have danced with him at a gala before,” she announced to Malfoy, who was looking quite unimpressed. “So I know it’s no one from Gryffindor.”

“Interesting,” was all he said before turning to his parchment and jotting something down.

Late that night, while Y/N was settling into bed, a strange idea struck her. Sure that the thought that was nagging her was completely fruitless, she had no trouble with reaching into her desk and pulling out the Malfoy box. She just had to check if she wanted to sleep well.

Here goes.

She closed her eyes, imagining the expensive scent of her Amortentia. Then she opened it, stuck her nose into the fabric, and breathed in.

Well, fuck. 

~

The internal debate going through Y/N the next day at the breakfast table was intense. On one hand, she really, really wanted to just tell Hermione that Malfoy had been in her Amortentia and she was completely fucked, but on the other…

She glanced at the witch next to her as she methodically sliced her toast into perfect, equivalent squares before dunking them in jam. Y/N liking Malfoy was not going to fit into her toast cubes. If she said anything, she would lose her excuse to talk to her about him. And her excuse to try and get close with him. 

Perhaps I can figure it out tomorrow. 

When tomorrow came, she still hadn’t made progress. Y/N was beginning to think that her so called “revelation” after they brewed Amortentia was truly just complete and utter bullshit. So what that his quill box smelled like it--all rich people kind of smelled the same at some points, and so did their houses. There was a reason why she couldn’t immediately pin the scent to anything--it wasn’t like she even knew what Malfoy smelled like.

But the truth remained that she was still attracted to someone who happened to be a rich Slytherin--so naturally, her mind began to wander. There’s no way it was Zabini--his mother owned a fragrance line, and she would’ve instantly recognized the cologne that she knew Mrs. Zabini made him wear--and there was absolutely no way that it was Crabbe or Goyle, so the only other Slytherin it left was...Nott? But that didn’t make sense either--she’d never spoken to him before in her life, even less than Malfoy. So perhaps it would be better if she didn’t think on it.

The next day of potion brewing came on a stormy Wednesday. Malfoy and Y/N worked silently together to brew a Draught of Dreamless Sleep. She was surprised to see how practiced his movements were--he didn’t even have to reference the book to recite the exact measurements and directions.

“Do you have bad dreams or something?” she asked, mostly as a joke. He didn’t seem to pick up on the light-heartedness and stiffened up.

“No?”

“Gee, you’re talkative today,” Y/N said, trying to ignore how her hand brushed his by accident when she added the scoop of anjelica. 

“Excuse me for not entertaining you,” he drawled. “I wasn’t expecting to have such a needy potions partner today.”

“I am not needy!” she gasped, smacking his arm. “I’ve sat in silence for a full hour!”

He rolled his eyes (he was always rolling his eyes) and gave the potion one more final stir before setting the lid on the cauldron. “Think you can do that again? It needs to simmer for that long.”

“Just because you’re so sweet to me,” crooned Y/N before pulling out a heavy book from her satchel. Her Charms exam was tomorrow, and, naturally, she had decided to save all of her revising work until the night before. The textbook stared back at her as she jotted a few notes onto a previously blank sheet of parchment. The quill in her hands was light and glided across the paper like the tears of Merlin, something that she had forgotten quills could do. All of her familiar basic quills were okay, but they were prone to skidding and breaking. This nib hadn’t worn down in the slightest, still at a smooth and defined peak.

Y/N couldn’t believe that, out of all people, the person to give her such a thoughtful gift was Draco Malfoy. She tried to sneak a glance at him then, moving her curtain of hair away from her face. It took all she had in her to not be startled at the fact that he was already looking back, a slightly concerned expression etched into his face.

“Is something wrong?” 

He snapped out of it the moment the words left her lips, his face hardening. “No.”

“Forget I ever asked,” she responded, turning away from him for good and focusing on her textbook. No, there was no way he could be what she smelled in her Amortentia. She liked to think that her subconscious wasn’t secretly a masochist.

~

Friday evening swung around again, much to Y/N’s dismay. She’d had a talk with Hermione later on in the week, confirming that no, she did not smell Malfoy in her Amortentia, and that yes, she was still abiding by the plan that Hermione had so carefully laid out for her. It did bother her a bit that she could be lying to her on both fronts--but at the end of the day, she was going to get the answers that Harry wanted, no matter what. 

She just had to get through the scary ass castle first. She’d forgotten how spooky Hogwarts was after her previous sprint to the door, and this time she was positively trembling by the time she turned another dark corner on her way to McGonagall’s office. Yet another cursed item had been found in the girl’s lavatory on the 3rd floor, right by some of the classes that she had taken earlier in the week. The fact that whoever was out there was capable of dark magic and actively wanted to hurt people terrified her, all that Gryffindor bravery be damned. 

So when she heard footsteps suddenly right beside her, it was no wonder that she jumped feet in the air.

“Fuck!” she sputtered, turning to see a very familiar blonde in Slytherin robes. He was frozen in place, curiously looking her up and down.

“Am I interrupting something?”

“Malfoy,” Y/N said, resisting the urge to melt into a puddle of relief at the sight. This wasn’t right--wasn’t he a suspected Death Eater? “You scared me.”

He scoffed, digging his hands into his pockets. “You’re supposed to be the brave ones, right?”

“Huh?”

Malfoy motioned to her Gryffindor jumper. 

“Oh.” Heat rushed to her cheeks as she realized what he meant. “I dunno. I just get jumpy around the castle at night.”

“No shit.” They’d begun to walk now, side by side. Y/N couldn’t remember ever walking with him before--she’d always been late. “Do you think I forgot the way you screamed when you saw me at the tower?”

“Shut up,” she grumbled, reaching over and giving him a healthy shove. 

They walked in silence together. Malfoy moved noticeably slower than he normally did so he wouldn’t leave Y/N’s shorter legs in tow. McGonagall seemed pleasantly surprised to see Malfoy hold the door open for her.

“I’m glad to see you two getting along,” she said, giving Y/N a hesitant nod before grabbing the stack of papers on her desk. “I’ll be back momentarily.”

After she exited the room with a swish of her deep maroon robes, Malfoy turned to her. “Are you scared of the dark or something?”

She turned, ready to send a biting retort his way, before she noticed how gray his pallor looked...and how big the circles under his eyes were. “You look like shit, Malfoy. Is everything okay?”

He rolled his eyes. “Don’t change the subject.”

“Oh. Um…” Y/N pause before deciding that the little tidbit of information she was about to reveal wasn’t that important anyways. “I’m just on edge at night at Hogwarts is all. Especially with all that weird shit going on with all the cursed objects. So I kind of hate walking to and from detention.”

Malfoy let out something that sounded like a strained laugh.

“You didn’t answer my question. Is everything okay?”

“None of your business,” he snipped. “I just had a bad night.”

“Do you have trouble sleeping?” she asked, unable to keep herself from prying.

“Something like that.”

“Have you tried lavender?”

“I’m sorry?” He frowned.

“Lavender. Like the essential oil. It’s nothing magical,” she explained. “I just like to spray it in my bed sometimes before I sleep. Or I’ll use a few drops in a diffuser. I have trouble sleeping too, all the time, actually.” She shut her mouth before she had any chance to ramble further.

“It sounds a bit too floral for my taste.”

“Here.” Y/N dug around in her satchel, searching for the tiny spray bottle she kept with her at all times. “Borrow this and spritz your pillow with it before you sleep, and then tell me it’s too floral. I promise it helps.”

He glared at her. She extended her hand with the white bottle that was covered in purple decor, raising her eyebrows expectantly. “I won’t tell anyone that you have it if that’s what you’re worried about or whatever.”

“Fine,” he snapped, snatching it from her hand and dragging his fingers over her palm for just a second. “Don’t expect me to actually try it, though.”

“Just give it a sniff.” 

He huffed, but to her surprise, he actually uncapped the top and held the spray hole up to his nose, inhaling in once.

The effect was immediate. Malfoy’s face completely drained of color, becoming even grayer than he’d been when she first saw him under the light. The briefest expression of surprise fleeted over his face before he wiped it off, replacing it with something unreadable and tossing it back at her. “I’m not using this.”

“Why not?”

“Not quite my taste,” he spat.

Y/N was shocked by the sudden outburst, watching as he continued to glower at his desk. “I don’t understand. It really does help you sleep. I know it seems stupid, but I...really think you should try it. Just once, if anything.”

“Why does it matter so much to you?”

“Because I--” Y/N stopped herself before she let her mouth run without check. “I know what it’s like is all. I feel like shit if I don’t sleep. Plus, I have to spend time with you every Friday. I imagine that you’ll be slightly more tolerable if you sleep more.”

“Hm.” He sent her a particularly venomous glare. “Thanks for your concern. Consider me uninterested, though.”

“You break my heart,” she teased, pulling back her hand and placing the bottle on the corner of her desk. An idea struck her.

“And just what are you smiling about?” Draco said. His lips were turned into a sour frown. 

“Nothing, nothing,” she responded, her voice adopting a sing-song quality. All she had to do now was wait. 

He exhaled, a deep and exasperated sound. Then he turned back to whatever was in front of him.

McGonagall entered the room a few minutes later, nodding cordially at the comfortable silence the two students were in. What she didn’t know was that Y/N was waiting, just waiting for Malfoy to dig through his satchel and stop paying attention to his quill.

She got her opportunity a few minutes later, when McGonagall called him up to look over his latest Transfiguration homework.

“Mr. Malfoy, I’m happy to see that you’re taking more initiative in getting your assignments done...I have to say that you had me a bit concerned…”

While her professor kept Malfoy occupied, Y/N darted over and grabbed his quill. 

Ha.

Malfoy frowned down at his desk when he returned, giving Y/N a suspicious look.

“What is it, Malfoy?” she said, hoping her voice conveyed nothing that might hint that she took something of his.

“Nothing.”

“Hm.”

The rest of detention passed without any more discussion. Y/N was eager to run up to her dorm and set up her plan to be carried out the next morning, but she calmed her bouncing leg and forced herself to keep a straight face when McGonagall dismissed them.

“Got somewhere to be, Y/L/N?” Malfoy’s voice called after her as she sped down the hall towards the Gryffindor tower. 

“What’s it to you?” she fired back.

He didn’t respond. Instead, he picked up his pace until he was walking next to her.

“Aren’t the Slytherin dorms the other direction?” she asked.

“I don’t know. Are they?” 

She allowed herself to be amused by the way words flowed out of his mouth when he was slightly out of breath. “Why are you walking with me?”

“You said it yourself.” He kept his eyes cast on the cobblestones below them. “You don’t like walking alone at night.”

“Uh...oh.” Against her will, her feet froze and she was glued to the ground. “You’re joking, right?”

If the lighting wasn’t so dim, Y/N would have good reason to believe he was blushing with how intently he was studying his fingernails. “By all means, I can be.”

“No! No, I didn’t mean it like that,” she said, the words tumbling out of her mouth. “Er...I’d like you to. If you want to, that is.”

He shrugged, an elfish expression spreading across his face as he took in how nervous she was. “Well, come to think of it, you didn’t ask me to. I suppose I better get back to the Slytherin dorms anyways. I wouldn’t want to be anywhere near the Gryffindor Tower right now.”

“Why?” she squeaked.

“Oh, you know, I don’t think it’s a coincidence that most of the cursed things showed up on your side of the castle, yeah?”

She gulped.

“I gotta get going. Don’t want to stand around here too long. This place gives me the creeps.” With that, he turned and began walking away.

“Malfoy?” She hated how timid her voice sounded. “Consider this me asking you to walk with me.”

He slowly faced her, a sly grin plastered all over his face. “Oh? Did I hear that correctly? Do you want me to?”

“I’m only going to say this once,” she said, putting her hands on her hips and trying her best to look intimidating. “Walk with me. Please.”

“I guess I’ll take it.” Malfoy glided down the hallway to her in just a couple steps, sending her yet another smug look.

“You made up that whole ordeal about Gryffindor Tower being targeted, didn’t you?” asked Y/N as they rounded the corner to reach the staircase leading up to the common room.

“You bought it, didn’t you?” 

“Who says I didn’t just want you to walk with me?” pushed Y/N. This was as close to flirting as it would ever get for her--but it looked like, somehow, things were falling into place. The heat in her cheeks must’ve been from the excitement of making progress. 

Malfoy’s toe caught on the first stair and, if it weren’t for Y/N’s steady grip on his arm, would’ve made him go sprawling across the stone steps. 

“Merlin, Malfoy,” she said, immediately dropping her grip from his shoulder. “What’s gotten into you?”

He responded with an unceremonial snort and a withering glare. The rest of the walk was done in silence, and Y/N noted how careful his footwork became around the Gryffindor steps.

“This is me,” she finally said once they reached the tapestry for the Gryffindor dorms. He seemed surprised, and only then did it strike her that he’d probably never seen the entrance himself before. “Thanks for being such a gentleman.”

“I live to serve,” he drawled.

And just like that, he was gone.

~

Her plan was simple. She had located an extra monogrammed pouch in her cabinet, a rich mahogany color with her family crest in a vivid gold, and placed both his quill and the lavender bottle. She would corner him after breakfast or follow him out of the Great Hall and show him then.

However, it was becoming increasingly obvious that Malfoy was not coming to Saturday morning breakfast. Many people didn’t, but Y/N had never known him to miss it. His normal spot was vacant, and it certainly wasn’t a house-made decision as all of his Slytherin friends were present and accounted for. Y/N couldn’t say for sure, but she could see Parkinson turning her head to the entrance every time the doors thudded open before glancing back to Malfoy’s empty seat when it turned out to be someone else.

Where was that loser?

“Excuse me,” she said to the trio as she stood up and brushed off her skirt. “I think I’m going to go get some fresh air. I have a bitch of a headache.”

Hermione and Harry expressed their sympathies while Ron gave her a characteristic mumble through his mouthful of bread, and she was off with the pouch secured in her cloak pocket.

It was a clear November morning, clearly Mother Nature’s attempt to slowly move the world from the crisp autumn to a cold winter. The sky was clear and the sun’s rays warmed her skin at a slanted angle, casting weak shadows across the courtyard.

If I were Malfoy, where would I go to sulk?

The obvious answer was either the Slytherin common room or his own dorm, but that was without a doubt out of question for her. She wasn’t even sure if she possessed the knowledge to guess which corridor the entrance was in, much less work out the password herself. Beyond that, just getting into the common room and waiting would be...She shivered. It would be a terrible idea while she was clearly wearing a cloak in Gryffindor red and gold trim. 

As she continued her aimless wander around the castle, she heard the slightest sound from the girl’s bathroom on the second floor. It wasn’t ever really in use--no one came in there to actually use the loo unless they wanted Myrtle to materialize and tell them her supernatural troubles while they were in the middle of their personal business--but it was often the source of strange happenings. 

Like the cursed objects she thought to herself, her nails digging into her palms. But did she care about that right now? Surely cursed objects seemed somewhat...suspicious. Dark magic was difficult to hide, and to a pureblood eye that grew up around magical objects, cursed things shouldn’t be impossible to spot. 

And, plus, it was Malfoy she was looking for. None of the students had died from the curses so far, and if she was able to break through and learn something, or at the very least gain his trust, the reward to the Order would be more than worth it.

She stepped in, expecting to see an entirely empty bathroom with perhaps a ghost rattling around at the sink. Instead, a different sight awaited her.

Draco Malfoy was clutching the edge of the cracked sink basin in front of him, rocking himself back and forth and shaking. From her vantage point, she could see that he was dressed in his normal garb--a black ensemble--but his hair was unruly and messy, sticking up in the back like he’d hurriedly tugged something over his head.

A strangled gasp grounded her and halted her curious observations. Malfoy began to make these awful sobbing sounds, like he could barely manage to breathe. 

Y/N was frozen in place as she surveyed her options. If she stayed and tried to talk to him, he might react in anger or hurt her. But if she just left him, like this, all alone...She swallowed once before stepping forward.

“Malfoy? Are you okay?” Obviously he’s not, you bint said a voice deep in her brain. She pushed it aside as he swung around, his wand raised and his eyes blazing. “Whoa! I’m not going to...Put your wand down!”

He stared at her, his eyes wide with horror as he continued to shake, so much so that his wand slipped out of his hand and clattered to the floor. Without thinking, Y/N reached into her pocket and flung her wand away, holding her hands up.

“I’m not going to try anything. I promise.”

As she drew closer, she could see the remnants of tears on his wet cheeks and the way that his silver eyes were rimmed with a bloodshot red. 

“You shouldn’t be here,” he hissed, his voice weak and cracking. 

“Neither should you. This is the girl’s bathroom.”

final a/n: ok so lmk if you guys wants me to continue. i really did not edit the last half fjkdsal;f also kinda made this an au where malfoy tried to assassinate dumbledore. with more than one cursed object but dw it’ll all make sense ill clear that up 😭

[familyagrestefanblog]

Analysis of the Family Agreste Portrait

Quarantine strikes again and since the Agreste family portrait has fascinated me for a loooong while now I decided to put my thoughts into words and write another essay x3

The amount of informations we get out if it is amazing and its not only highlighting the absolute TRAGEDY it is that this family is about to face such a horrible fall out, it also hints at the former family dynamic before everything went to hell.

So make yourself comfortable and get something to drink, because we will be here for a while.

Here we go: My analysis of this beauty of a fictional portrait

Let's start with the most obvious one: Hawkmoth.

Its commen knowledge by now that the background makes it seem like Hawkmoth is standing behind the Agreste family like a bad omen waiting for fate to take its course and cause their doom. The portrait is brilliantly designed so the illusion is created that Gabriels body (here in a blue suit closer to Hawkmoths normals dark purple one) overlaps with Hawkmoths and a darker line is connecting the two faces as well, which rest on the same height right beside each other. The very same line grows bigger as it goes further behind Emilie - coloring her entire background - showing us that EMILIE is all Gabriel sees when he becomes Hawkmoth. But notice that Adrien on the other hand can hardly be concidered part of Gabriels “sight” at all.

Its forshadowing 101 and damn beautiful if I may say so. But this isnt what I want to focus on in this post.

I want to elaborate on two other key factors that tell us about the former dynamic of the Agrestes instead and what they tell us about the present and future.

The heart:

This is hitting me on another level because look at the heart these three form with Adrien right in the middle! He was so LOVED. This family may have never been anywhere close to ideal but still, there was LOVE and now he's gonna loose it all.

Adrien already lost his mother which led to his father getting even more distant and cold and now his father is becoming increasingly more abusive as he falls deeper and deeper into villainy. Gabriel was never a good father, the show has already made this clear with episodes like "the bubbler", “the collector” or "Gigantitan" for example but gosh there was hope for their little family! The end scene in "Jackady" portrayed it perfectly and I wrote a whole other post just covering the sigificants of Adriens and Gabriels hug in that episode. Check it out here if you want, it goes hand in hand with this one.

Miraculous is all about love and the completely different ways it can affect us, our behavior and actions. Because love isnt just wonderful, pure and empowering, it also can be twisted, destructive and cause the darkst nightmares. And with this family the writers know how to portray the complex love in an abusive houshold thats destined to go up in flames and they also know how to hint at their troubled past with the family portrait.

But this heart visual tells us even more in connection with the positions of their hands. And with these two key factors, lets start with Gabriel:

His hands convey it so strongly. He loves/d Emilie and Adrien so much and no doubt this love for them was certainly the reason why he started his quest as Hawkmoth. But he is now losing himself more and more in the pleasure of his villainy to the point where he forgets why he's doing it in the first place and becomes a complete monster (of a father). But this turn and spiraling into villainy didn't came out of nowhere - this root already had to be in him to grow like that. And this is also something the portrait indeed hints at as well.

Because Gabriel is the only one of the three who:

1. We see so completely open and without hesitation reach out and hold BOTH his family members.

2. Is visually “cut off” from them as well.

But this doesn't mean he was excluded and the only one who truly cared and loved, it just shows that things were more... complicated...as usual.

This is best explained with Adriens hand placements:

One hand is holding his mothers but the other one is visibly not reaching out for his father. But as we all know, that's not because Adrien doesn't love him. In season 1-3 it is made more than clear that Adrien does not hate his father - he loves him alot and tries to be there for him and be patient because he knows that the loss of his mother brought his father terribly down.

Sure, Adrien gets frustrated and angry with him, literally how could he not?? But Adrien tries his best to reach out to Gabriel so they can bond and come out of this tragedy stronger.

But this loving willingness to forgive his father for the chance of growing a father-son bond with him doesn't change the fact that these two didn't had a bond prior to this. And let's be honest here, does anybody actually think this distance between them was caused by Adrien? I don't think so.

So notice how Adriens hand - not reaching out for his fathers - is the only one in the portrait NOT inside or forming the heart.

When the connection of the hands between the family members symbolise their connection to another, then Adrien keeping the hand for his father away from the display of love is VERY telling. It tells us very directly what this distance did to Adriens side of the relationship. Despite Gabriels hand being right there, Adrien does not meet the gesture. And I cannot believe that he did it out of resentment, nothing in the show indicated such strong negative emotions from past Adrien.

It's much more likely that Adrien not reaching for his fathers hand is meant to show us that Adrien felt that he either CAN'T return the gesture because he fears that it'll end in an unpleasant reaction from Gabriel - that it isn't Adriens "place" to reach out to his busy and distant father like that, like it's demanding something - or Adrien simply didn't took Gabriel laying his hand on his shoulder, in the context of posing for a portrait, as a gesture of love and affection.

The way I interpret the portrait is that prior to Emilies dissappearence Adrien did not exactly try to reach out to his father the same way he did from s1-s3, which, I mean, of course wasn't the case. Not only is it NOT the 13 years olds (or younger) job to form an emotional connection to their absent parent - when that’s the PARENTS job - it also wouldn't be necessarily "needed" for Adrien to do so.

Because Emilie at this point was still in the picture so and she was the complete opposite. She was a (or maybe the ONLY) safe, reliable and loving constant of parental attention, affection and care in his life and because of these two HARSH contrasts Adrien learned from very early on to focus mostly completely on her in that regard while kinda blocking his father out.

That most likely wasn't even an active choice whatsoever - Gabriel proofed to be an unreliable resource so Adrien learned to subconciously treat him that way out of self protection. That doesn't mean he had any kind of dislike or malice against his father it just means that he wasn't able or allowed to connect with Gabriel the way he needed. Several episodes show that Gabriel deadass only parented like 15 minutes tops in his life with one of the worst offenders kinda being “Gigantitan” ngl.

So yeah, when I see that the portrait wants to tell me that prior to Emilies loss, Adrien - a 12-13 year old at most - is THIS used to rely solely on the strong bond he has with his mother and not even really reaching out for his fathers love, then I can't help but interpret it in the way that... Well... Gabriel was so distant and emotionally unreliable to Adrien for all his life, that Gabriel simply... wasn't needed by his son. Not at that point of time at least.

And while this may seem weird, because obviously Adrien only now starts to stop craving for his fathers affection and approval (which is btw a horrible, HORRIBLE thing and not something good. A half orphan losing the last remaining hope he had left of having the chance to finally get to form a bond with the only other parent he has left, just to be crushed by disappointment and abandonment all over again until he let's go, is REALLY NOT as much of a good thing people will make it out to be. This is... plain awful) it's actually quite logical.

Adriens hand outside the heart doesn't mean that his father meant nothing to him and therefore refuses to meet and accept his affection (that's literally the complete opposite of what the show shows us), it means that Adriens and Gabriels father-son relationship suffers from a fatal emotional disconnection caused by miscommunication/ a lack of communication.

And this was caused by Gabriel. How? Let me elaborate on that by going a bit far afield (cuz lbh we all have time for this. I’m writing this in quarantine and youre reading this is quarantine, so lets gooooooooooooo).

In "The bubbler" Adrien says that his father "always forgot his birthday", but I cannot agree with this in true honesty. Gabriel is controlling his sons entire life, calls him "the epitome of perfection" and temporarily truly gave up being Hawkmoth for him, he definitely never forgot Adriens birthday.

"The bubbler" even SHOWS us that Adriens perspective of the situation is actually not the truth:

This is Adriens first birthday after Emilies dissappearence and it's incredibly telling how Gabriel handles the planning.

What this entire little sequence tells me is that Gabriel is completely and UTTERLY used to NOT be the one to take care of anything related to Adriens birthday. So Emilie was always the one who did it but somehow - now without her - Gabriel apparently still hasn't even considered changing anything about that nasty non-involvement and just expected Natalie to pick everything up where Emilie left it.

Because let's be real here, knowing Natalie she would NOT have forgotten to get a present if Gabriel truly had told her to. Natalie is never presented to do mistakes like that but Gabriel on the other hand IS definitely presented to us claiming things about himself as ultimate, blameless and true when they simply do not reflect reality. A great example: Gorizilla

You didn’t even speared a minutes of your time for Adrien and he DID try to! Asshat… It's a problem guys. The lack of self awareness Gabriel displays in moments like this is legitimately concerning when you think about how deeply this man is falling right now.

But back to the topic:

Because even if Gabriel didn't even consider doing anything himself for Adriens birthday - not even taking the time to SEE his son (who just recently lost his mother, come on Gabe, really?) - one thing one cannot hold against him: he sure as hell remembered Adriens birthday like any decent parent would and it wasnt portrayed as a this-year-for-the-first-time thing.

And yet Adriens statement still makes complete sense. Because a big, BIG problem with Gabriel is just how much he takes things for granted. He EXPECTS things to be universally known and to never be doubted, just because that's how HE sees them. I will write 10 essays if it's needed to make people understand that Gabriel DOES truly love Adrien, it's just that Gabriel HIMSELF is such a rotten, twisted and toxic person that he cannot see how much his (oppressing) behavior and the way he (doesn't) express his love hurts Adrien and that HE is the one at fault. (for more, once again, read this)

Gabriel LOVES Adrien but he takes the love he feels as such a matter-of-fact that he just completely... forgets to show it.

And when we take Adriens words and look at the Family portrait it unfortunately seems that...

…. Gabriel ALWAYS forgot to show it.

Adriens hand - that should at least be reaching out to his father - is outside of the heart in accepting certainty. Because that's what Gabriels non-presence was for Adrien while growing up: an unreliable and unreachable certainty he had to accept early on as safer to not try to emotionally depend on too much or else he will get hurt.

So yeah, Adrien is the one in the portrait who is very openly not reaching out but only because Gabriel never gave him the needed affection and stability to be able to create that bond.

But let me correct what I said a little earlier: Adrien ALWAYS needed his father. Every kid, especially one in a bad situation like Adrien, does need their parents/friends etc as support system to become independent and confident in a healthy way. And if they don’t have that they WILL crave and look for it!

What Adrien has been doing up to now IS normal for a teenager - humans NEED affection, belonging and safety. What ISNT/SHOULDN’T be normal is Adriens disconnection towards his father in the portrait and just how much Gabriel fails to take care and BE THERE for his son in BOTH TIMES!

Collector:

Bother Christmas:

One thing I like about the show is that it portrays their young main cast with one very important truth: The psyche of a child/teenager of their age will react and adapt so it SURVIVES, even if it results in unfortunate consequences in other relationships and places. Thats the psyches main concern and it'll try to cope with the limited experience and development it has in whatever way necessary to get itself to the next day. A coping mechanism is not there to make you a better person, it ensures your SURVIVAL, everything else is a secondary concern.

So seeing pre-show Adrien not react to Gabriels touch and even feel completely unloved and disconnected from him is no surprise to me. Kids are incredibly observant. They may lack the needed experience and knowledge to truly understand that they deserve better and to stand up for themselves but they are masters in picking up red flags in people and can put this danger into perspective while comparing the different danger levels of their options of people and places to adjust their behavior.

Feast:

Stormy Weather 2:

So the broken connection between father and son we see in the portrait (that Gabriel doesn't even notice but Adrien fully internalized) isn’t there because Adrien “didnt needed” or wanted his father, its because Adrien NEEDED Gabriel so much in his isolated upbringing but Gabriel didn’t LET him need him - so Adrien had to adjust to that accordingly. Big, huge, ENORMOUS difference.

Honestly the most miraculous thing about Miraculous is that Adrien was able to bring up the strength to stay positive and friendly and to forgive Gabriel in hope for a better future. That boys situation is 7 kinds of depressing and traumatizing...

It's just flabbergasting to me how well this portrait shows how basically non-existent their relationship was at that point. And it's horrible to know that this estranged and unformed bond is all Adrien had left after Emilie dissappeared, just alot worse because after Emilie incident Adrien states that his father changed alot for the worse as well.

So to think that all Adrien had left wasn't even this former basically non-existent relationship with his aloof father - who would only barely show his true affection for his son because he's either not around enough to do so or he thinks it "unnecessary to proof his affection" for/to Adrien because he already thinks it so obvious and undoubtable.

Well he thought wrong. And GOSH, it breaks my heart!

So now comparing the "Gabriel" hand from Adrien with the one representing his connections with his mother conveys a pretty harsh contrast.

Because last but not least, let's take a look at Emilies hand placements:

But here is now an interesting difference to Adrien. Whereas we openly see that Adriens side of the Adrien-Gabriel relationship is completely disconnected from the heart/love - showcasing just how badly Adrien has always been neglected by his father - we don't see Emilies hand in her Emilie-Gabriel relationship AT ALL.

Once again just like with Adrien, this doesn't mean she didn't love her husband and that Gabriel was used and fooled by the woman he so utterly adored. It just means that from Emilies point of view things were a bit more complicated. What exactly this is, the portrait is keeping secret from us. We have no way of knowing if and how Emilie is returning her husbands gesture. All we can say is that if she does she is definitely not doing it in such an open and unconflicted way as she does with Adrien.

But since when has anything with this family been this easy?

One thing the portrait makes very clear, Adrien and Emilie had a strong and good bond. Definitely the healthiest because the Adrien-Emilie connection is the only one depicted without any kind of disruption from both sides. Both mother and son are reaching out for the other ones hand creating a whole half of the heart, showcasing their affection for another openly and without any of the implied doubts the other connections display. And honestly? Comparing all the hand placements, the one connecting Adrien and Emilie just comes across as strikingly pure and true (which makes it even worse that it was HER Adrien lost…)

As I said it's a HARSH contrast to the one Adrien shears with Gabriel. This contrast is highlighted even further by the way these three face on another.

Emilie and Adrien are positioned facing another and so are Emilie and Gabriel. Telling us that Emilie was "face-to-face" aka involved with both her husband and son. It is Adrien and Gabriel were this looks wildly different. These two have no way of seeing each other in the eyes the way they stand now/then, further displaying their deeply rooted disconnection. It's portrays perfectly how important Emilie was in this family dynamic, because even though Adrien and Gabriel bearly had a connection at all they at least had Emilie as a link between them, keeping the family together. But then they lost her and where this left both father and son off we know oh too well...

So to collect all the informations we get out if this portrait:

-Adriens and Emilies relationship was the strongest and purest. Both of their hands connect and reach out for another in the heart, showcasing that they had a loving and positive bond.

-Adriens and Gabriels relationship is heavily scarred by a deeply rooted disconnection leaving Adrien feeling unloved and unwanted by his father to the point where Adriens side of their dynamic is outside the heart altogether. Gabriel may love and adore his son just like he loves his wife and never thought he displayed his love for him in a lacking way, but fact is: this love never reached Adrien the way it should have and Adrien is the one in their dynamic who got severely hurt and damaged by it.

-Gabriel was the only one completely unconflicted and happily at peace with the former Family situation. He's reaching out to both his family members with open love and affection in blissful oblivion that neither his wife nor son could return them the same way (to different degrees for different reasons). Gabriel was the ONLY ONE in the Agreste family who didn't saw problems in their lives and thought them all happy, hence why he's so obsessed with changing the past and bringing THIS state of their family back. He was happy and he had everything he needed and loved right with him, of course he wants THIS back. He's not aware that Emilie and ESPECIALLY Adrien did not feel the same about their former situation and that bringing all of them back to this is not the perfect happy ending for their entire family as he thinks.

-Emilie may not have been as unconflicted with Gabriel as he was with her but she is NOT feeling the same disconnection her son feels and isn't depicted with negative feelings towards Gabriel. Her side in the Emilie-Gabriel relationship is neither shown outright positive as with her son or outright bad as Adrien with Gabriel. Her side of their bond is depicted through her unseen hand placement in the unknown area in between.

-Despite their not so unconflicted feelings towards Gabriel - and Gabriel himself being aloof - neither Emilie nor Adrien are actively trying to cut Gabriel out. They aren't flinching away from his touch or exclude him from the heart whatsoever. He's happily included, obviously feeling loved. They may not be 100% happy and Gabriel doesn't notice it, but they aren't denying him his happiness and make him unhappy. Again, he's the only one truly happy here. Something neither Emilie nor Adrien tried to take away from him.

-Emilie and Adrien are facing each other as do Emilie and Gabriel, implying the presence of communication and a bond. Adrien and Gabriel do not face each other, showing their disconnected bond. If they could see each others face Adrien would have been able to see that Gabriels hand is a gesture of genuine affection and Gabriel could see that Adriens expression does not exactly display pure happiness the way he thinks. This also goes for Emilie. Emilie just like her husband is placed BEHIND her son, so even if she is facing him she would not be able to really see just how much Adrien is not satisfied and truly happy with his life at that point (meaning how unhappy being looked up, friendless and at distance with his father actually makes him).

- This fascinating family makes me sad and I like it lol

[soundsfaebutokay]

So I've recc'd this video before, but it deserves its own post because it's one of my favorite things on youtube. It's a Tedx Talk by comics writer, editor, and journalist Jay Edidin, and I really think that it will connect with a lot of people here.

If you live and breathe stories of all kinds, you might like this.

If you care about media representation, you might like this.

If you're neurodivergent, you might like this.

If you're interested in a gender transition story that veers from the norm, you might like this.

If you love the original Leverage and especially Parker, and understand how important it is that a character like her exists, you will definitely like this.

Transcript below the cut:

You Are Here: The Cartography of Stories

by Jay Edidin

I am autistic. And what this means in practice is that there are some things that are easier for me than they are for most people, and a great many things that are somewhat harder, and these affect my life in more or less overt ways. As it goes, I'm pretty lucky. I've been able to build a career around special interests and granular obsession. My main gig at the moment is explaining superhero comics continuity and publishing history for which work I am somehow paid in actual legal currency—which is both a triumph of the frivolous in an era of the frantically pragmatic, and a job that's really singularly suited to my strengths and also to my idiosyncrasies.

I like comics. I like stories in general, because they make sense to me in ways that the rest of the world and my own mind often don't. Self-knowledge is not an intuitive thing for me. What sense of self I have, I've built gradually and laboriously and mostly through long-term pattern recognition. For decades, I didn't even really have a self-image. If you'd asked me to draw myself, I would eventually have given you a pair of glasses and maybe a very messy scribble of hair, and that would've been about it. But what I do know—backwards, forwards, and in pretty much every way that matters—are stories. I know how they work. I understand their language, their complex inner clockwork, and I can use those things to extrapolate a sort of external compass that picks up where my internal one falls short. Stories—their forms, their structure, the sense of order inherent to them—give me the means to navigate what otherwise, at least for me, would be an impassable storm of unparsable data. Or stories are a periscope, angled to access the parts of myself I can't intuitively see. Or stories are a series of mirrors by which I can assemble a composite sketch of an identity I rarely recognize whole...which is how I worked out that I was transgender, in my early thirties, by way of a television show.

This is my story. And it's about narrative cartography, and representation, and why those things matter. It's about autism and it's about gender and it's about how they intersect. And it's about the kinds of people we know how to see, and the kinds of people we don't. It's not the kind of story that gets told a lot, you might hear a lot, because the narrative around gender transition and dysphoria in our culture is really, really prescriptive. It's basically the story of the kid who has known for their whole life that they're this and not that, and that story demands the kind of intuitive self-knowledge that I can't really do, and a kind of relationship to gender that I don't really have—which is part of why it took me so long to figure my own stuff out.

So, to what extent this story, my story has a beginning, it begins early in 2014 when I published an essay titled, "I See Your Value Now: Asperger's and the Art of Allegory." And it explored, among other things, the ways that I use narrative and narrative structures to navigate real life. And it got picked up in a number of fairly prominent places that got linked, and I casually followed the ensuing discussion. And I was surprised to discover that readers were fairly consistently assuming I was a man. Now, that in itself wasn't a new experience for me, even though at the time I was writing under a very unambiguously female byline. It had happened in the letter columns of comics I'd edited. It had happened when a parody Twitter account I'd created went viral. When I was on staff at Wired, I budgeted for fancy scotch by putting a dollar in a box every time a reader responded in a way that made it clear they were assuming I was a man in response to an article where my name was clearly visible, and then I had to stop doing that because it happened so often I couldn't afford to keep it up. But in all of those cases, the context, you know, the reasons were pretty obvious. The fields I'd worked in, the beats I covered, they were places where women had had to fight disproportionally hard for visibility and recognition. We live in a culture that assumes a male default, so given a neutral voice and a character limit, most readers will assume a male author.

But this was different, because this wasn't just a book I'd edited, it wasn't a story I'd reported—it was me, it was my story. And it made me uncomfortable, got under my skin in ways that the other stuff really hadn't. And so I did what I do when that happens, and I tried to sort of reverse-engineer it to look at the conclusions and peel them back to see the narratives behind them and the stories that made them tick. And I started this, I started this by going back to the text of the essay, and you know, examining it every way I could think of: looking at craft, looking at content. And in doing so, I was surprised to realize that while I had written about a number of characters with whom I identified closely, that every single one of those characters I'd written about was male. And that surprised me even more than the responses to the essay had, because I've spent my career writing and talking and thinking about gender and representation in popular media. In 2014, I'd been the feminist gadfly of an editorial department and multiple mastheads. I'd been a founding board member of an organization that existed to advocate for more and better representation of women and girls in comics characters and creators. And most of my favorite characters, the ones I'd actively seek out and follow, were women. Just not, apparently, the characters I saw myself in.

Now I still didn't realize it was me at this point. Remember: self-knowledge, not very intuitive for me. And while I had spent a lot of time thinking about gender, I'd never really bothered to think much about my own. I knew academically that the way other people read and interpreted my gender affected and had influenced a lifetime of social and professional interactions, and that those in turn had informed the person I'd grown up into during that time. But I really believed, like I just sort of had in the back of my head, that if you peeled away all of that social conditioning, you'd basically end up with what I got when I tried to draw a self-portrait. So: a pair of glasses, messy scribble of hair, and in this case, maybe also some very strong opinions about the X-Men. I mean, I knew something was off. I'd always known something was off, that my relationship to gender was messy and uncomfortable, but gender itself struck me as messy and uncomfortable, and it had never been a large enough part of how I defined myself to really feel like something that merited further study, and I had deadlines, and...so it was always on the back burner. So, I looked, I looked at what I had, at this improbable group of exclusively male characters. And I looked and I figured that if this wasn't me, then it had to be a result of the stories I had access to, to choose from, and the entertainment landscape I was looking at. And the funny thing is, I wasn't wrong, exactly. I just wasn't right either.

See, the characters I'd written about had one other significant trait in common aside from their gender, which is that they were all more or less explicitly, more or less heavily coded as autistic. And I thought, "Ah, yes. This explains it. This is under representation in fiction echoing under representation in life and vice versa." Because the characteristics that I'd honed in on, that I particularly identified with in these guys, were things like emotional unavailability and social awkwardness and granular obsession, and all of those are characteristics that are seen as unsympathetic and therefore unmarketable in female characters. Which is also why readers were assuming that I was a man.

Because, you see, here's the thing. I'm not the only one who uses stories to navigate the world. I'm just a little more deliberate about it. For humans, stories formed the bridge between data and understanding. They're where we look when we need to contextualize something new, or to recognize something we're pretty sure we've seen before. They're how we identify ourselves; they're how we locate ourselves and each other in the larger world. There were no fictional women like me; there weren't representations of women like me in media, and so readers were primed not to recognize women like me in real life either.

Now by this point, I had started writing a follow-up essay, and this one was also about autism and narratives, but specifically focused on how they intersected with gender and representation in media. And in context of this essay, I went about looking to see if I could find even one female character who had that cluster of traits I'd been looking for, and I was asking around in autistic communities. And I got a few more or less useful one-off suggestions, and some really, really splendid arguments about semantics and standards, and um...then I got one answer over and over and over in community after community after community. "Leverage," people told me. "You have to watch Leverage."

So I watched Leverage. Leverage is five seasons of ensemble heist drama. It's about a team of very skilled con artists who take down corrupt and powerful plutocrats and the like, and it's a lot of fun, and it's very clever, and it's clever enough that it doesn't really matter that it's pretty formulaic, and I enjoyed it a lot. But what's most important, what Leverage has is Parker.

Parker is a master thief, and she is the best of the best of the best in ways that all of Leverage's characters are the best of the best. And superficially, she looks like the kind of woman you see on TV. So she's young, and she's slender, and she's blonde, and she's attractive but in a sort of approachable way. And all of that familiarity is brilliant misdirection, because the thing is, there are no other women like Parker on TV. Because Parker—even if it's never explicitly stated in the show—Parker is coded incredibly clearly as autistic. Parker is socially awkward. Her speech tends to have limited inflection; what inflection it does have is repetitive and sounds rehearsed a lot of the time. She's not emotionally literate; she struggles with it, and the social skills she develops over the series, she learns by rote, like they're just another grift. When she's not scaling skyscrapers or cartwheeling through laser grids, she wears her body like an ill-fitting suit. Parker moves like me. And Parker, Parker was a revelation—she was a revolution unto herself. In a media landscape where unempathetic women usually exist to either be punished or "loved whole," Parker got to play the crabby savant. And she wasn't emotionally intuitive but it was never ever played as the product of abuse or trauma even though she had survived both of those—it was just part of her, as much as were her hands or her eyes. And she had a genuine character arc. My god, she had a genuine romantic arc, even. And none of that required her to turn into anything other than what she was. And in Parker I recognized a thousand tics and details of my life and my personality...but. I didn't recognize myself.

Why? What difference was there in Parker, you know, between Parker and the other characters I'd written about? Those characters, they'd spanned ethnicities and backgrounds and different media and appearances and the only other characteristic they all had in common was their gender. So that was where I started to look next, and I thought, "Well, okay, maybe, maybe it's masculinity. Maybe if Parker were less feminine, she'd click with me the way those other characters had." So then I tried to imagine a Parker with short hair, who's explicitly butch, and...nothing. So okay, I extended it in what seems like the only logical direction to extend it. I said, "Well, if it's not masculinity, what if it's actual maleness? What if Parker were a man?" Ah. Yeah.

In the end, everything changed, and nothing changed, which is often the way that it goes for me. Add a landmark, no matter how slight, and the map is irrevocably altered. Add a landmark, and paths that were invisible before open wide. Add a landmark, and you may not have moved, but suddenly you know where you are and where you can go.

I wasn't going to tell this story when I started planning this talk. I was gonna tell a similar story, it was about stories, like this is, about narratives and the ways that they influence our culture and vice versa. And it centered around a group of women at NASA who had basically rewritten the narrative around space exploration, and it was a lot more fun, and I still think it was more interesting. But it's also a story you can probably work out for yourselves. In fact it's a story some of you probably have, if you follow that kind of thing, which you probably do given that you're here. And this is a story, my story is not a story that I like to tell. It's not a fun story to talk about because it's very personal and I am a very private person. And it's not universal. And it's not always relatable, and it's definitely not aspirational. And it's not the kind of story that you tend to encounter unless you're already part of it...which is why I'm telling it now. Because the thing is, I'm not the only person who uses stories to parse the world and navigate it. I'm just a little more deliberate. Because I'm tired of having to rely on composite sketches.

Open your maps. Add a landmark. Reroute accordingly.

[hxlyhead-harpies]

Brilliant (F.W.)

Pairing: Fred Weasley x Ravenclaw!Reader

Summary: Fred needs some help with school work

Word Count: 2.2k

Warning: None

AN:  Hi everyone! Please just pretend that Fred didn’t get banned from quidditch in his seventh year please and thank you.

It was no secret that school was not one of Fred Weasley’s strong suits. He’d much rather spend his time goofing off with his brother, playing quidditch, or planning for the shop than spending countless hours completing assignments and studying for exams. He simply had better things to do. And while he knew that his future laid outside the realm of academic achievements, not everyone quite believed him. Or more accurately, believed in him.

So that was how he ended up in Snape’s office after class, the potions professor staring at him with his arms crossed and McGonagall looking down at him.

“Mr. Weasley do you know why we have called you here?” McGonagall asked sternly. Fred squirmed slightly in his seat.

“I’m not sure Minnie,” he said with a cocky smirk, “I may need you to enlighten me.” Snape scoffed from the other side of the desk.

“Well, first of all, I must remind you that my name is Professor McGonagall and you shall not call me by anything else,” she said seriously. Fred’s grin never faltered. “But it has come to attention that you are failing potions,” McGonagall said. Fred was surprised for a moment. He knew that he wasn’t doing particularly well, but he never imagined that he was failing. He turned and saw Snape smirking at him.

“If you have any interest in passing my class and graduating, I expect you to get a tutor,” Snape said eventually, a hint of smugness entering his tone. Fred frowned. The thing was, he didn���t intend to graduate. He and George were planning to leave in a few months anyway, was it really worth the hassle?

“I think I’ll pass on the tutor,” Fred said, making a move to leave the office. A hand grabbed his shoulder.

“Not so fast Mr. Weasley,” McGonagall warned. Fred turned to face her.

“Yes Minnie?” he asked with an annoyed smile.

“If you want to continue to play quidditch this year, I suggest that you take Professor Snape up on that offer and get a tutor,” McGonagall said with a frown. Fred froze.

“What?” he asked, slightly panicked.

“If your grade in potions does not improve to at least an acceptable, I can not let you participate in the quidditch season,” McGonagall explained. Fred let out a long sigh.

“Fine,” he grumbled, “Just give me the place and time.”

Fred was dreading having to go to the library to meet his tutor. It was early on a Saturday morning and he’d much rather be out with George and Lee than meeting some stuffy tutor in the library. Snape had told him who would be assigned to help him and Fred couldn’t help but grumble at the name. (Y/n) (L/n). (Y/n) was top of their year and the current Ravenclaw headgirl. She had taken an unspeakable amount of points away from Fred and his brother and she was always the first to raise her hand in class. She was the kind of person who was so smart that it was almost obnoxious.

Truly, he was in no position to judge the girl. He really did not know her and most likely had never even spoken to her outside of class before. But he was mad that he had to trudge across the castle at eight in the morning and that he actually had to open his books for once and the easiest way to cope was to blame it on her.

When Fred arrived at the library he saw her sitting in a corner. He was surprised to see that she looked just as tired as he was- her hair was messy and she was rubbing her eyes with the heel of her hand. She yawned as she spotted him and waved him over quickly. As he made his way over to her, Fred couldn’t help but chuckle. She was wearing a completely oversized jumper that covered her hands with the sleeves. Her cheeks were flushed and her hair looked as if she had run her hands through it countless times already. If anything, she looked more miserable than him.

“There you are,” she said as Fred slipped in a chair across from her.

“Sorry if I’m late,” he grumbled, plopping his books on the table.

“It’s fine,” she responded, “Snape had no business scheduling this session this early in the morning.” Fred laughed.

“Not a morning person then?” he asked. She groaned and shook her head.

“Not at all,” she said, scrunching up her nose. Fred’s bad mood slowly started to disappear. (Y/n) pulled out a roll of parchment and her quills, motioning for Fred to do the same.

“I figured that we could start the essay that’s due in two weeks, that way I can get a feeling of where you are,” you stated. Fred pulled out his materials. If he was being honest, he didn’t even know that there was an essay due in two weeks.

“Okay,” she started, opening up the textbook. “We have to write an essay detailing the process of how to make a befuddlement drought,” (Y/n) stated. Fred furrowed his eyebrows. He thought back to the previous class when he and George had royally screwed up that exact potion.

“Can you tell me what goes into a befuddlement drought?” she asked, peering up at him expectantly. Fred just stared at his parchment, completely and utterly clueless.

“I have no idea,” he said, turning to take a peek at her textbook. (Y/n) jumped to cover the recipe with her hands. He looked up at her, confusion etched into his face.

“Come on Fred,” she said, “I know you know this.” Fred scoffed.

“You’re giving me too much credit (L/n),” he said, crossing his arms over his chest. (Y/n) just rolled her eyes and shook her head.

“Oh come on. You’re incredibly smart I’m sure you know this,” she said, raising her eyebrows at him. Fred audibly laughed at this, causing Madame Pince to shush him.

“I may be many things,” Fred said, “but smart is not necessarily one of them.” (Y/n) narrowed her eyes at him.

“Oh come off it Fred,” she said, “I’ve seen your products, you’d have to be incredibly smart to make them.” Fred furrowed his eyebrows.

“That’s different though. I’m not good at the things we have to do in class,” Fred stated.

“Just because you have trouble with classwork doesn’t mean you’re not smart. I couldn’t do half the things that you and your brother do,” (Y/n) replied. Fred scoffed.

“Oh come on! You’re basically the smartest witch in our year. You always get top marks in potions,” Fred said, making another reach for the textbook. She swatted his hand away playfully, an endearing gesture that made him smile.

“That’s because I’m good at following directions. I always do what people tell me to do,” she said, staring at him intently.

“Isn’t that the whole point?” Fred asked, leaning against his hands. (Y/n) shook her head and laughed.

“Of course not, Fred! If I was told to make a potion but I wasn’t given a recipe, I’d fail. I’m good at memorization but I don’t genuinely have a good understanding of the subject,” she said. Fred frowned, not quite understanding. “I know that you’re better at potions than me because you know what ingredients to put together to make a specific kind of reaction, I could never do that,” she explained further.

“Fine. I guess I have a general understanding of the subject. But I still don’t know the recipe for the befuddlement drought and I need to pass this essay if I want to play in the match next weekend. So if you could kindly hand this over,” he said, reaching once again for her book. She snapped it shut and laid her arms across it.

“Okay let’s think of this differently,” she said, “If you and your brother wanted to make a potion for your business that was supposed to make whoever ingested it extremely confused and disoriented, what would you put in it?” Fred leaned back in his chair, mulling over the answer.

“I guess some scurvy grass? Maybe some sneezwort?” he said after a moment. When he looked back up at (Y/n), she was smiling widely at him.

“Exactly!” she proclaimed. Fred’s jaw dropped slightly.

“Wait really?” he asked, leaning towards her. (Y/n) opened up the textbook and flipped it towards him. She dragged her finger to the top and traced the words on the page.

“You just named the two key ingredients,” she said proudly. Fred smiled at her, feeling his pride swell slightly.

“See,” she said, “I told you that you were smart.” Fred let out a chuckled.

“Eh, still not sure about that. I am devilishly handsome though,” he replied. She scoffed at his response before turning back to the book. And then, quietly, she murmured, “Well I think you’re brilliant.” Fred froze at her words and flushed deeply. They were spoken so softly that he wasn’t sure that he was even intended to hear them. The ardent way in which she mumbled those words and the soft determination behind them made it sound as if she was stating a fact, a rule of the universe. It sounded as if she was sure that sun rose in the east, that the sun set in the west, and that Fred Weasley was brilliant. The compliment was unlike one he had ever gotten before. So earnest and so simple. Fred wasn’t sure if he had ever even been called smart, let alone brilliant, before this morning, and he was certain he had never heard it so impassioned. The way that (Y/n) muttered the simple phrase almost made him believe it.

Fred began to look forward to his early morning tutoring sessions with (Y/n). Sure, he felt like he was learning and improving at the subject, but mostly he just enjoyed her company. She was funny in a softspoken way, her small quips sneaking up on him and making his face hurt from smiling. She was sweet, always reassuring him that he was capable of learning the material. She was also very cute, with her large sweaters and sleepy eyes, blushing whenever he flirted with her. He was almost sad to think that if his grades improved he would have to stop seeing her. Never in his life did Fred think he would enjoy studying this much.

The day that Fred turned in his potions essay, (Y/n) gave him an encouraging smile from across the room. He had written the whole thing by himself, recalling the information that he and (Y/n) went over in their sessions. He had never been so confident in an assignment and had never been so excited to turn one in. He wanted nothing more than for (Y/n) to be proud of him.

A few days later he got the essay back, Snape dropping it upsidedown on his desk. Fred snapped his eyes up to meet his professor’s, who only grimaced in response. He suddenly felt exceedingly nervous. What if his work hadn’t paid off? He didn’t want to face you if he had done poorly.

As he flipped over the parchment he could barely contain his smile. A large E sat across the top of the page. Exceeds expectations.

As the entire class filed out of the classroom, Fred waited for (Y/n) by the door. He leaned against the wall of the dungeons, waiting for her to pass the threshold and escape the classroom. When (Y/n) finally walked out, Fred scooped her up in a hug before she could even register that he was there.

“Fred!” she squealed as he picked her up and spun her around. When he placed her back onto the floor, his hands still on her waist, he couldn’t hold back the happiness that he felt.

“I’ll take it that you did well?” (Y/n) laughed, her cheeks flushed and eyes bright.

“It seems that I have exceeded expectations,” Fred stated, puffing out his chest. She chuckled, her hands still clutching the fabric of his cloak.

“I’m so proud of you!” she said, staring into his eyes with the ghost of a giggle still gracing her lips. Fred threw his head back.

“I’m so excited I could kiss you!” Fred shouted with a laugh. If it was possible, she flushed darker.

“Fred!” she exclaimed, swatting him lightly in the chest. Fred captured her hand before leaning closer.

“I’m sorry darling but I’m not sure if I can help myself,” he said softly, a smirk playing at his lips. (Y/n) rolled her eyes at him.

“You get a guy one good mark and suddenly he’s falling at your feet,” she grumbled, sending him a playful look. Fred laughed heartily at her joke.

“Very funny smarty-pants,” he replied. She looked up at him, smiling widely. She took one look around the deserted hallway before she took Fred by surprise and kissed him herself. She pulled him closer by his robes and stood on her toes to reach his tall frame. Fred gripped her waist tighter and melted into her, smiling slightly. After a moment they broke apart, blushing and smiling widely.

“Eh not bad Weasley,” she said, patting him on the shoulder.

“Not bad?” Fred sputtered, caught off guard by her response.

“But don’t worry. I’ve already proven that I’m a magnificent tutor, I think I can help you out with this too.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Taglist: @durmstrange​ @theweasleysredhair​ @bellaacunaa​

add yourself here

[onlyfreds]

Unravelling Love’s Mystery | F.W.

Title: Unravelling Love’s Mystery

Requested: Yes/No

Summary: Fred and Y/N had bad blood between them ever since their first year at College. But when they are partnered up for a project, what could go wrong?

A/N: This is my first time writing an enemies to lovers so, I hope I was able to give it justice.

In my opinion, love is the greatest mystery of all, probably even the mystery that no one can come to solve. It will always be a mystery on how two people fall in love, how two people come to have this mutual understanding and affection.

Love brings many emotions to a person: heartbreak, anger, a sense of longing, but those people who have found their one true love, they feel joy, peace, a sense of satisfaction.

And love can come to the most unlikely pair, who would have thought that two childhood best friends end up together? Who would have thought that your soulmate happened to be your grumpy boss?

In my case, I ended up with the most unlikely contestant, my sworn enemy, Fred Weasley.

The Psychology of Love, that was our lecture topic for today. Don’t get me wrong, it is quite an interesting topic. But there was one person in the whole universe who could make the tables turn, and that was an arrogant, stubborn, and increasingly annoying classmate of mine named Fred Weasley.

“Okay class.” Professor McGonagall started the lecture as the latecomers settled into the remaining seats, “As you may have figured out from your essay that is – in fact - due today, our lecture is about the Psychology of Love.”

She looked at all of us with a stern but gentle look, “Now, which one of you can tell me who developed the triangular theory of love?”

My hand, along with Fred’s, promptly shot up in the air. McGonagall looked at us, a bit bored, if you ask me, as it was always the two of us.

“Mr. Weasley.” She called.

Fred stood up, throwing me a smug smile from across the hall.

“American Psychologist, Robert Sternberg is the one who developed the triangular theory of love.” He answered, sitting back down when he finished.

I rolled my eyes at him, crossing my arms over my chest, wanting so badly to smack him at the back of the head with my textbook to wipe that smug smirk of his face.

“Very good Mr. Weasley! Now, who can state all the three components of love that can be found in Robert Sternberg’s theory?” Our Professor asked.

Fred’s hand and mine both shot up to the air again, we exchanged a challenging look. It was another race, another competition to prove who’s better, who’s the best. Because only one can be at the top.

“Ms. L/N.” McGonagall called.

Fred wore a defeated look as I stood up from my seat, “The three components of love is: intimacy – which is defined as the closeness between people in personal relationships -, passion – which is a strong liking or desire -, and lastly, commitment – or being dedicated to the relationship, in my opinion, it is the most important component. Because intimacy and passion won’t prevail if there is no commitment in the relationship.”

She smiled, “That’s a perfect answer Y/N! Very well explained!” She praised.

I sat back down as McGonagall started to discuss, not being able to help the proud smile on my lips.

“Any more questions?” Professor McGonagall asks as she ends her presentation. Silence spreading through the lecture hall.

“Okay then, now before I dismiss you, I’ll briefly discuss your project. You are to make your own theory about love and you will do it in pairs. And I already decided your partners for you. I will read them aloud right now. There will be no complaining and no switching of partners.”

She then pulled up a file on her laptop and started reading out loud the names of the partners. That was until she read the last pair of names.

“Fred Weasley and Y/N L/N.”

“What?!” I whispered, turning to my best friend, Hermione, who was sitting next to me.

“Did I hear correctly? Out of every single person in this lecture hall, I’m partnered up with Fred?”

She nodded, “Yes, you heard correctly.”

I groaned, sinking back into my seat, “This is officially the worst project ever.”

Ginny chuckled, patting me comfortingly on the shoulder, “Well, as much as I feel sorry for you Y/N. It’s not like you have a choice.”

Even if Ginny is Fred’s younger sister, she was nothing like her brother. To be honest, I was friends with all the Weasleys, except Fred. It’s actually hard to believe that he came from the same family.

I glanced over to the side and saw that Fred wore the same look of horror on his face as he ranted to his buddies.

I stood up, shouldering my backpack as I marched down the steps towards McGonagall’s desk, vaguely aware that Fred was hot on my heels.

“Professor.” I said, “You can’t do this to us.”

She raised a brow at us, “Do what?”

“Partner Y/N and I up together for the project.” Fred answered.

“Why is that?” She asked, even though she already knew the answer.

I sighed, fiddling with the strap of my bag, “Professor, you know how Fred and I feel towards each other.” I said, glancing at Fred.

He ran a hand through his hair, “I hate to agree with her Professor, but she’s right.”

McGonagall pursed her lips, “Well, you two will just have to work with it. Like I said, no switching partners. And may I remind you Mr. Weasley and Ms. L/N, that this project contributes to 60% of your final grade. So, it’s either you give both of your best or you both fail.” She said, before walking out of the door, leaving both Fred and I alone in the now deserted lecture hall.

Fred groaned as he leaned against the desk, “What are we going to do now.”

I rolled my eyes, crossing my arms over my chest, “Well, it’s not like we can do anything about it. Unless you want to fail, of course.” I said, before walking out of the hall, in search of Hermione and Ginny.

--

“No matter what you do.” Hermione said, looking up from her project with Ron, “You can’t avoid it. So, go and get this whole thing over with. Unless you want to fail.”

It’s been a week since McGonagall gave the project, and Hermione was right.

I groaned, taking my stuff as I walked towards the door of our dorm, “Well, failing is never an option.” I said, as I headed towards the library, where Fred and I agreed to rendezvous.

“So, what should we do?” I asked, sitting down in the seat across him.

He shrugged, not bothering to look up from whatever he was writing, “Well, in case you weren’t listening, we are supposed to make a theory about love.”

I took out my textbook and my laptop, placing it in front of me, “Obviously I know that. What I’m asking is what is our theory?”

He shrugged again, “I don’t know.”

“What do you mean, you don’t know?” I asked.

He sighed, finally looking up from his work, “I thought you were smart.” He said sarcastically, “You can’t even understand something as simple as ‘I don’t know.’”

It took all of my willpower to bite back a retort, “Look Weasley, I am trying so hard to be nice to you. I don’t want to be here and neither do you. So, will you please stop being so arrogant and stubborn so we could get over with this?”

Fred scoffed, “Me? Being arrogant and stubborn? I’m sorry, but I’m trying my best to make this work because I don’t want to fail just because of a self-centered, ignorant little minx like you.”

“Me?” I said, “So, all of a sudden, it’s my fault? I don’t want to fail either Weasley. And I didn’t ask to be paired up with you. You think you’re so good and you’re so much better than anyone else! When in reality, there’s always someone better than you!” I spat as I abruptly stood up from my chair.

Fred followed suit, towering over me due to the difference in height, “Oh yeah? And who might that be? You?”

He scoffed, “Of course it’s you! It’s always you! You think you’re such a genius! You act so tough and strong but in reality, you’re a coward, you’re a failure. You think that you’re so perfect, that you’re so flawless. But let me tell you, you have flaws. Everyone has flaws.”

“So, you think you’re so perfect then.” I said, glaring up at him, feeling a rush of emotion crash down on me, all at the same time.

“At least I know that I could fail and I work hard to avoid that. You on the other hand, don’t. That’s the difference between the two of us.” He said, not backing down.

That was when it felt like the whole world was crashing down on my shoulders, that’s when I became overwhelmed, the stress, the emotions, the built-up anger caught up with me. The thick tension in the atmosphere around us started suffocating me.

I collapsed back into the chair I was sitting on earlier, burying my head in my hands, as I slowly broke down into tears.

I heard the chair next to me move as it scrapped against the metal floor.

“Hey, what’s wrong?” I heard Fred’s voice ask, as he gently rubbed my back. I couldn’t come to believe that he was concerned for my well-being.

“Why do you care?” I asked in between tears.

“Because, no matter how much I despise you, my mum always told me that the worst thing a man can do to a girl is make her cry.” He said softly.

I looked up at him, a few tears still dripping down my cheeks, “Are you really concerned? Or you’re just looking for another reason to torment me?”

He smiled at me for the first time as I saw genuine concern in his eyes, “I’m really concerned.” He said, pulling me gently into a hug as I rested my head on his chest.

“So, why are you really crying?” He asked.

I took a deep breath, “I mean, I know I’m not perfect. Nobody is, but my biggest fear has always been failing. I’m an only child and when my parents found out that I’m academically gifted, it made me their greatest treasure, it made me their pride and joy. I’ve always been insecure about that, whether if I’m already good enough or not. And hearing somebody voice out those insecurities, felt a million times worst. That’s the reason why I’m always trying to one up you. Because, if I fail, I would go from my parents’ pride and joy to being the disappointment of the family in a split second. And it’s just so stressful. And with our little argument, I just got so overwhelmed by my emotions that I had to let it all out.” I explained.

At the back of my mind, I was aware of Fred’s demeanor changing in a snap. From the person I despised whom I was screaming at minutes ago, to the person who was now bringing me comfort. He handled me so gently in my fragile state, as if I was made of glass, that it would have been hard to recognize him as my sworn enemy.

To anybody who would pass by, they would’ve been so confused at the sight. Me with my head on Fred’s chest, as he comfortingly rubbed my back while his other hand gently ran through my hair as he apologized over and over again.

I just wanted to stay in our small bubble. I wouldn’t admit it out loud but, I like this side of Fred better, the quiet, caring, gentle side of him.

“We’re not so different after all.” He said, breaking the silence that lingered between the two of us.

“What do you mean?” I asked, slightly confused.

Fred started to explain, “The pressure that’s being put down on us. Well, you’ve met Bill, Charlie and Percy, right? Bill’s prefect and head boy and he’s got amazing grades. Charlie has a very successful business. And Percy is basically the epitome of the perfect student. So, this puts a lot of pressure on me. That, in order to make Mum and Dad happy, then I have to be just like them. That’s why I’m always trying to compete with you. So, we’re not that different after all.” He finished with a reassuring smile.

I looked up at him, offering a small smile, “You’re right. Why don’t we call a truce for now? And when the project’s finish and being friends doesn’t work out for us, then we can go back to our old ways.” I said, offering my hand.

He took it and gave it a small shake, “Deal. And don’t you hate agreeing with me?”

I shook my head, “No. Because: one, I like this side of you better. And two, you do have a point.”

“Falling for me already L/N?” He teased.

I laughed, shaking my head, “In your dreams Weasley.”

We then started to work, sharing our ideas and concepts and working it out together.

We decided to call it a day when it was around 1 in the morning.

“So, we’ll rendezvous same place tomorrow?” I asked.

He nodded, “Sure.” Then he started fidgeting with the strap of his bag.

“Is there anything wrong?” I asked, seeing his nervousness.

He gave a shy smile, “Well, it’s just that your dorm is 6 blocks from here. And I just don’t want you to walk out there alone. So, if you want, you can stay at my dorm for the night, I’ll even sleep on the couch. But, if you’re not comfortable with that, then I could always walk you home.”

I chuckled, “Should I be suspicious if you have any hidden agenda on taking me back to your dorm?” I joked.

Fred laughed, raising his hand in mock surrender, “I have no such intentions. I’m only worrying about your safety. Like I said, I’ll sleep on the couch.”

I smiled, “Okay then. I’ll just send a quick text to Hermione so she wouldn’t worry about my whereabouts.”

I took out my phone, searching for Hermione in my contacts and sending a text to her.

>Hey ‘Mione. I’m not coming home tonight. I’ll be staying the night at Fred’s place.

I received her reply immediately.

>Woah, woah, I thought you despised him and his whole existence? What made you want to stay the night at his place?

<We called a truce, see how being friends works out for the both of us. Turns out we’re similar in a lot of ways.

>Yeah, and that includes staying the night at his dorm?

<Hermione, I’m ready to give him the benefit of the doubt. He deserves a chance. Besides, he swore that he has no hidden agenda and he’ll be sleeping on the couch.

I blushed as I read her reply, secretly hoping that Fred didn’t notice.

>Okay, I’m not saying that you’re making a reckless decision. But, at least the two of you are putting your differences aside. Who knows? You two might end up together.

>Hermione!

<What? I’m just saying ;)

“So,” Fred said, standing by my side a bit awkwardly, “What did she say?”

I licked my lips, “She’s fine with it.”

He grinned, “Okay then, let’s get going then.”

When we arrived at his dorm, it was more organized than I expected it to be.

“Your roommate is George, right?” I asked, placing my bag on a nearby chair.

He nodded, “Yeah. But he’s at Angelina’s dorm, so we basically have the place to ourselves.”

He headed to his room, coming out with a sweater and a pair of shorts in his grasp, then handing them to me.

“The bathroom is down the hall to the left.” He said as I gave him a grateful smile.

After I had changed, Fred had already set up his makeshift bed on the couch.

I bit my lip as I pulled my hair back into a messy bun, I felt like this was too much. I know that Fred was trying to make a good impression on our new-found friendship, but I didn’t want to abuse his kindness.

“Fred, I appreciate that you’re trying to make a kind gesture, but I’ll take the couch.” I said, gently.

He shook his head, a small smile on his lips, “No, it’s fine. I insist.”

I placed my hand on top of his, “You’re already letting me stay here for the night. So, I’m not kicking you out of your own bed. Let me be the one who’s doing something for you other than glare and bicker.” I joked.

He laughed, “Okay, fine. But just because that I have a feeling that if we go on, we’ll never meet the end.”

After turning the lights off, we then took the break we both can agree we deserve.

--

I woke up at 5 am, surprisingly, the couch was extremely comfortable and I haven’t felt this rested ever since my first year of College.

I stretched for a bit, for the first time in my life, I felt lazy. Turning onto my side, giving myself five more minutes of peace and tranquility before I had to get up. I took a deep breath, inhaling the lingering scent of Fred from the sweater I was wearing, which just added to the calm atmosphere in my little bubble of relaxation.

Five minutes transitioned into an hour, that’s when I knew that I really had to get up.

I slowly walked to Fred’s room, opening the door a bit to take a peek inside.

The ginger was still fast asleep, his hair sticking up in all directions while his soft snores bounced of the walls of the room.

I leaned against the door frame, vaguely aware of the small smile that had seem to grow on my lips. I had to admit, he looked kind of cute.

I headed to the kitchen, deciding to cook some breakfast for the two of us.

“Smells good.” Fred said as he emerged from his room an hour later, just as I had finished cooking.

He sat at the table as I slid his plate of pancakes in front of him.

He raised a brow, “Should I be suspicious if you have any hidden agenda in making me pancakes?” He asked, quoting my words from the previous night.

I laughed, sitting down on the seat across him, “Not at all. Just think of it as a token of my appreciation.”

He then took a bite as I watched him closely in anticipation.

“It’s better than anything I’ve ever had before.” He said with a small grin.

I breathed out a breath that I hadn’t realized that I was holding in, “Thank goodness.” I said.

“You know,” Fred said a few moments later, “For someone who I’ve been on bad terms with ever since our first year of College, you’re an amazing cook.”

I chuckled, “It’s kind of funny isn’t it? We’re in our last year of College and we’ve done nothing but spend the last three years bickering and all that stuff.”

The door of Fred’s dorm suddenly flew open as George stepped in.

“Hey Freddie, I’m home! Woah.” He was suddenly taken aback at the sight of Fred and I sitting at the dining table.

“Do my eyes deceive me?” He said, “Because I am seeing the two of you in the same room and there’s no tension in the air.”

I smiled, “Yeah, we decided to call a truce to work on the project and we would see how being friends works out for the both of us.”

“You’ve got to try her pancakes mate.” Fred piped in, “There’re the best you’ve ever tasted.”

George took the fork that his brother offered him, “Merlin! I never knew you were a cook Y/N.”

I chuckled, “It’s just something I work on in my free time.”

“Looks like being friends would work out in more than one way for the both of you.” He said with a small wink.

After breakfast, Fred walked me back to my dorm, because we both knew how much of a worry-wart Hermione can get.

“So, I’ll be seeing you in the library later?” He asked.

“You bet.” I said, before entering my dorm.

Hermione and Ginny were waiting for me inside, to my surprise, they didn’t bombard me with questions.

“So, how was giving Fred the benefit of the doubt?” Hermione asked, taking a sip of her coffee.

I shrugged, plopping my bag down on the couch, “It was pretty good.”

Ginny placed her chin on her hand while her elbow rested on the table, “A little birdy told me that you cooked breakfast for Fred.”

I playfully rolled my eyes, “Let me guess, the birdy was named George. And yes, I did make breakfast for Fred and I. It was just a token of my appreciation.”

“Yeah, right.” Hermione muttered under her breath with a small smile.

“I heard that Hermione.” I said, causing the two of them to burst out into laughter.

--

We only had a week left to complete the project.

Fred and I were sitting in the library, laptops running, there was almost no more space on the table with the number of books that were opened on top of it.

As I was drafting out the key points in our theory, when Fred tapped me on the shoulder, handing me a cup of coffee.

“Thanks.” I said, taking the cup from him and taking a small sip, “How much is it?”

“It’s on me.” He said, “You already paid for the printing of the project, the least I could do was get you some coffee.”

We sat in silence for a few more minutes, the sound of the typing on the keyboard being the only noises that could be heard.

“So, what happens to us after this project?” Fred suddenly asked.

I stopped typing, looking up at him, “Well, it looks like being friends seem to be working out for us.”

Fred chuckled, running a hand through his hair, “Yeah, I actually kind of like it when you’re smiling and you’re not shooting me glares and stuff.”

“Ditto.” I said, “Ever since I’ve discovered your soft and sweet side, I don’t want that to change.”

“But is being friends enough for us? What if one of us wants more?” He asked.

I looked at him, slightly confused, “What do you me-“ but my sentence was suddenly cut short, when he crashed his lips to mine.

I placed my hand at the back of his neck, pulling me closer to him as he rested his hands on my waist.

He then lifted me up and set me down on a free space on the table, kissing me as if there was not tomorrow.

We pulled apart, foreheads pressed together, both of us blushing like mad.

“That’s what I mean.” He whispered, “Because I love you. More than a friend, more than my enemy. I want you and nobody else but you. So, will you be mine?”

I giggled, pulling him in for another kiss before answering, “I’d love nothing more than to be yours.”

--

“Unravelling Love’s Mystery.” Professor McGonagall read the title of our theory as Fred and I stood in front of her.

Class has already been dismissed, the three of us being the only ones left in the room.

“Your theory was very interesting.” She complimented, “Especially since you two found it fit to insert your own love story in it.”

Fred and I smiled, “Well Professor, we thought that it went with the central theme of the theory.”

McGonagall offered us a smile, “The two of you have the most outstanding project in the class. I have graded it with full marks.” She said.

I felt Fred interlock our hands together, “Thank you Professor.” We both said.

Then Fred placed an arm around my waist, placing a kiss on my temple, “As much as we would love to stay and chat Professor, we have to go so we don’t miss our date at the movies.”

Our professor laughed, “Go on ahead, don’t let me stop you. I have been working at this institution for years, but the two of you are the cutest couple I have ever seen.”

𝚃𝚊���𝚕𝚒𝚜𝚝:

@lumosandnoxwriting​ ​ @wand3ringr0s3​ ​ @famdomhideout​ ​ @nova-darling @gaycatlord-stuff​ ​​  @pandaxnienke​ ​​ @escapingrealitybyreading​ (If you are crossed out, that means I can’t tag you)

[rosaliepostsstuff]

Chapter 1 - Of quidditch, detentions and birthdays

series masterlist

tag list for this series:  @weasleysbees​ all George fics: @hufflepuff5972​

if you’d like to be added, send a DM or an ask

warnings: swearing, mentions of wounds, slight mention of food, alcohol drinking

word count: 1823

a/n: hope it’s a nice opening that will keep you interested and give you the feel of the whole series;  we couldn’t have a fic taking place during ootp without a classic detention with umbridge sorry

I’d love to know what you think about it!

—————①—————

Quidditch. You were decent on a broomstick, but the catching and throwing part has never been your strong suit. The summer sun was blazing hot, not helping you focus on the game. Suddenly Ron took a shot at one of the makeshift posts, the quaffle was speeding in your direction and you panicked slightly – lost your balance on the broomstick and dangled upside down. As you grasped the stick for dear life, the ball hit you square in the forehead, knocking you out.

“Ha-ha-ha,” you mocked George who was wheezing with laughter beside you. “That was years ago. Besides, it’s called the sloth-grip roll, you’re just not on that level yet” “No-no it was brilliant – you saved the game, you just weren’t there to see it anymore,” he tried to regain his composure.

You sighed and shook your head with a small smile. He gave you a wide grin and draped his arm around your shoulder pulling you closer to his side.

You were watching the try-outs together, not really paying attention until it was Ron’s turn. In the distance, you could see Fred juggling beaters’ bats behind Angelina’s back. “D’you think he’ll get in?” you asked curiously. He shrugged and made one of his faces, so you jabbed him on the side with a finger.

“Ron’s good, isn’t he? He should get in…” you worried. “Yeah, yeah, he’s alright. You’ve seen all those other slacks, he’s got a good chance,” he reassured you.

You crossed your arms on your chest and rested your head on his side. “I hope so. It means a lot to him.”

 —————①—————

 “Oh but that is absolutely ridiculous!” you exasperated, “It’s fucking torture..!” you pointed at Harry’s hand.

You had been chatting with Hermione, Ron and Harry in the courtyard, late afternoon, and noticed the wound on his hand, then made them explain everything in detail. It made you furious.

“First they try to make us dumb, then re-shape us - using violence?!” you whisper-yelled, then noticed three’s terrified expressions.

“Eh hem” you heard behind your back. “Oh for fucks sake…” you mouthed silently and slouched your shoulders, sighing in defeat. “Miss Y/L/N, is it?” She knew your name well, although up until this point you tried not to step out of line, from the very first lesson with Umbridge you showed your dissatisfaction with the new regime rules. Much to Fred and George’s amusement as you usually tried to avoid conflict whenever possible.

With a stoic expression, you turned on your heel to face her. “Yes, professor?” “You have to agree this kind of language does not suit a young witch like yourself. It is in your best interest that we work on your attitude a bit as well. I’ll see you in my office after dinner, dear,” she finished with that sickening smile and walked off.

 Defeated, you approached George and Fred at the table and sat down in silence. They glanced at you curiously. “Why the long face, sweet cheeks?” Fred asked, making you snicker and a small smile broke out on your face. “I-“ you elongated, “had an encounter with Umbridge.” “Oof..” grimaced George. “Yikes, you looked like you were about to maul her last class. Too bad I wasn’t there to see it this time around, what’d you do?” Fred propped his chin on his palm, abandoning the food. “She appeared behind my back in the middle of my tirade about her,” another set of oofs and acknowledging nods, “a strong-worded one…” “Oh this is brilliant, why weren’t we there…” Fred expressed with amusement.

George found the situation quite funny as well but was less expressive about it because he felt bad for you just a bit more than his twin. “I-I... I’m sure you can imagine,” you tried to drop the topic, getting busy with the plate in front of you. They didn’t know about her method of discipline and you weren’t keen on letting them know. “Tsk- whatever, don’t tell your best friends,” he pouted, then brought the conversation to their newest developments with the Skiving Snackboxes.

 ‘I will respect my superiors’ was written out underneath a bandage on your left hand. You’ve been successfully hiding it for almost a week, telling George you cut yourself during potions.

You felt a sharp pain and winced as he grabbed your hand to speed you up on your way to hang out by the lake. “Oh, sorry, Cherry!” he apologized immediately and stroked your hand delicately with concern, “I forgot…” You smiled at him reassuringly, “It’s alright.” “Does it still hurt so much..?” he frowned slightly, confused, “It should’ve started healing by now…”

It would’ve if you hadn’t spent every evening in the toad’s office.

You shrugged dismissively and started walking again, George following. “I don’t think that’s good, Y/N. Maybe you should go to Pomfrey..?” “Noo, it’s fine, I’m sure it’ll heal in no time,” – just a couple more days of detention, you thought. “Well, let me see it, at least,” he said softly and you felt faint. Not only would he find out about the black quill and freak out, but you also hid it from him, deliberately, lied even.

“Y/N” he repeated in a more serious tone. “George, it’s fine, really” you still tried to shrug it off, knowing well it was a lost cause. He sensed something was off. He stopped walking, expecting you to do the same. When you looked at him, he reached out his hand for you to show him the bandage and you obliged.

You held your breath as he unwrapped the dressing. You only dared to look up at him after a few long seconds of silence.

His eyes were still trained on the words, jaw clenched and he started caressing the skin around the wound with his thumb.

He then looked at you and you spoke without words.

You were sorry for not telling him.

He was disappointed but concerned about you.

You wanted to reassure him you were holding up okay.

And he was furious with Umbridge.

“Ferula,” he cast and put his wand away as your hand got wrapped up in clean bandages.

“Please, don’t do anything stupid now…” you worried, “I don’t need revenge.” He smirked a bit, but remained rather serious, “You’ve known me for too long…”

He let go of your hand and resumed walking, putting his hands in his pockets. “I mean it, Georgie. It will have changed nothing and it’s no good if she just makes you write those stupid lines too.” You sighed, “Promise me you’ll be more careful around her. And Fred too.” “Brave of you to assume I can control him,” he snickered, making you smile. “but I can try if that’ll make you happy.” “Thank you,” you said with a big grin, wrapping your arm around his. “Speeaaking of making you happy,” he paused for emphasis, looking up into the sky, “your birthday’s coming up. You didn’t make any plans, did you?” “Mmm, depends what you’re offering.”

 —————①—————

 Your birthday was in the middle of the week this year, so you planned to have a proper party over the weekend. And the evening of the actual birthday, George booked for himself.

It was late, you took a shower and as per instructions – changed into comfy PJs. Excited, you walked down the steps and into the common room.

There were only a few last stragglers left in there, buried in rolls of parchment, probably writing last-minute essays.

No George in sight.

Next to the couch in front of the fire, you saw blankets and pillows spread out, and some snacks on the coffee table. Walking up closer you noticed a little note in George’s hand-writing:

Do not touch or you’ll regret it

You chuckled under your breath and the round door opened, revealing George with two mugs in hands. He was also wearing some pyjama pants and a comfy jumper.

“Heeey!” he greeted with a wide grin. “Good evening” you replied with a smile and a little nod. “That all you?” you gestured at the table as he set down the mugs. “Unless you want to count Fred’s snickering as help,” he complained sitting down and you did the same.

“Oooh, hot chocolate..!” you exclaimed leaning over the mug in front of you.

George reached behind him and revealed a bottle of firewhisky and you chuckled. “For a bit of kick.” He opened the bottle, then hovered it over your mug and glanced at you, asking for permission and you nodded.

He poured a little bit into both mugs.

“Happy seventeen!” he toasted and you clinked delicately, not to spill the hot liquid, then gave it a taste, letting its warmth pour through your bodies.

“How was your day, Cherry?” he asked, getting comfy on the pillows and wrapping both his hands around the warm mug.

You didn’t see him much that day, with the exception of meals, as you took many more N.E.W.T. classes than him.

“Alright. Went by quickly. Snape wished me a happy birthday.” “Oooh” “Yeah, I don’t know if he was being sarcastic or not. Knowing him, he could be, even with birthday wishes… how about you?” you took another sip of the hot chocolate. “Mmm... We might be getting closer to figuring out how to stop the nosebleeds,” he opened a box of biscuits, “but we need to read up on it a bit more before testing it.”

 “That’s not the end of my surprises,” he said after you finished the conversation about nosebleed nougats, standing up for a moment to retrieve a small packaging he then presented to you with a giddy smile. You placed it in your lap and let your hands ghost over the ribbon, “I was about to say you didn’t have to, but then I remembered you’re a rich business owner now.” you teased him, earning a small laugh. He bit his lip and waited for you to continue.

It was a book, the newest tome of a series you and George would geek out about together. It had just come out.

Screeching out of joy you tackled him, wrapping your arms around his neck.

“You managed to get it already?!” you questioned. “Yup. Blood, sweat and tears it cost me, but I’ve got it,” he said proudly. “Thank you, Georgie” you gave him one last squeeze and pulled away to admire the book once more. “You’re welcome, love. D’you wanna start reading it tonight?” he asked with clear excitement in his voice. You nodded and opened the book on the first page right away.

You stayed up late that night, taking turns in reading out loud for as long as you were able to fight off the tiredness. Eventually, it was just the two of you, immersed in your favourite fantasy adventure, the soft crackling of the fire serving as a background.

You couldn’t have asked for a better seventeenth birthday.

[pynkhues]

Hi Sophie! I’m an aspiring writer and I had a question for you!! How did you go on about finding an agent? Also how does one find job postings related to writing? (Tv, etc.) I’m very inspired by you and how talented you are!!!

Hi, anon! Thank you for your kind words, and it’s so exciting that you’re an aspiring writer! I think knowing that you want to write really is the first step on a pretty incredible journey, and it’s one that it helps have to have tools on. Knowing how to ask questions, like you did, is a great way to start building that toolkit too.

Especially because your writing toolkit will be something you build, because there’s not really one answer to either of your questions. I really mean it when I say writing and publishing is a journey, and as a part of that, the pathways people choose to take (and the pathways available to them) often vary a lot, and are impacted by so many things, from where you live to the genre and medium you write in to the networks you have access to.

I’m going to try to answer that for you as well as I can here which I hope will be a useful starting point for you, but I will be contextualizing it a bit with the fact that a) I’m in Australia, which has a bit of a different industry to many parts of the world (in no small part because we have a very small population), and b) that I worked in the industry before I started having my work published, which did give me a jump start and a pretty good network of professional and personal support.

Okay!

So let’s jump in.

Behind a cut because this got a bit long.

How did I get an agent?

Well! I was rejected by four agents before I got one, haha, so that in itself was a bit of an adventure. It meant that I was effectively my own agent for quite a while (something that’s quite normal in Australia for reasons I’ll talk about later), which meant doing everything from pitching works to teaching myself enough legal vocabulary to negotiate contracts (not my strong suit honestly, haha).

The first two agents I ever spoke to were both agents that weren’t open for unsolicited submissions. This is an important term in the industry, because what that means is that they’re not reading any new writers who:

they didn’t invite to submit (usually this would be after you’d won a prize, or they’d read your short story or essay in a journal or magazine, loved it and got in touch)

didn’t come recommended by colleagues; or

didn’t come through their existing networks.

Does that mean you can’t get your work in front of them? It doesn’t actually. Usually when agents aren’t open for unsolicited submissions, they’ll still be interested in work. It just usually means they don’t have the time for a massive slush pile. What they frequently do in these instances instead is that they’ll attend conferences, festivals, workshops or events and do pitching sessions a couple of times a year. That usually looks like you booking a five, ten or fifteen minute window, generally for free (be cautious if they’re charging extra on top of your event ticket) and doing a verbal pitch of your project.

I’ve done a lot of these at various events in various contexts (it’s always hell, haha), but only twice to agents. Once was at the CYA Conference in Brisbane (which is a charged pitch but the money’s a donation towards the Children’s Book Council), where I pitched a YA manuscript I’ve since put in my bottom-drawer, and Emerging Writers Festival in Melbourne, where I pitched The Rabbits, which is my novel which came out in July with Penguin Australia.

Those pitching sessions went just okay. Both liked my pitches, but the agent at CYA had a full stable of YA authors and was more looking for middle-grade fiction, which meant my story skewed too old. She gave me her card if I ever wrote for a younger audience, but otherwise declined to invite me to submit. Again, this is frequently actually why an agent might be closed to submissions or they might reject your work even if they like it – they're just at capacity with what you're pitching.

The one at EWF went better and I was invited to submit my complete manuscript, but she told me that while she thought I was a good writer, she didn’t personally like my writing style and therefore didn’t think she could sell it. She did actually invite me to submit something else if I had something more commercial, but I really figured that if she didn’t like my writing style, she probably wasn’t going to like whatever else I sent her, so I ended up declining because I thought it would be a waste of both our time.

The other two agents I submit to were both open for unsolicited submissions so I didn’t have to go through events. In both cases, I did cold submissions, which just means we’d never spoken before, so when you do that you need to put together a query packet because - - well. They don’t know who you are, haha. All publishers and agents have different requirements for their query packet and these should be listed on their website (if they’re not, feel really empowered to email and ask – in all of my industry experience, they have always infinitely preferred you doing that to guessing. It shows you know the etiquette and want to get it right).

Generally speaking though, what you're looking at pulling together for a packet is usually:

A cover letter explaining who you are, why you’re interested in them being your agent (being familiar with who else they represent is a good thing to highlight), and what story you’re selling them on.

A one-page synopsis of your manuscript.

A writing CV if you have one, or another relevant CV (i.e. if you're pitching a non-fiction book on being a nurse in the pandemic, attaching your nursing CV so they can see you're legitimate is important).

And usually either the first 50 pages or the first three chapters of your novel.

You generally email that to them, it goes into a slush pile, and they’ll read through it when they get the chance. I got a personalized rejection from one, which is pretty lovely (getting a personal rejection instead of one that’s clearly an email template from agents, editors and publishers might sound silly, but they’re actually pretty significant. These are people who get thousands of manuscripts a year, and taking the time to write a reply usually means your work resonated enough that they want to give you that encouragement even if the answer’s still no), and the other, I never heard back from, and my follow up email was ignored. Less lovely, haha, but unfortunately not uncommon.

So yeah, I took a bit of a break from seeking out an agent then, which I could do in Australia. One of the benefits of having a small industry here is that there’s a very limited number of agents (we’re talking literally about 25), which means submissions outside of agents and agencies are pretty normal. My understanding in the US and the UK is that you’re not really going to get a look-in without an agent, but in Australia you can submit direct, having an agent just makes it a lot easier.

So I didn’t have an agent when I actually got offered my book deal. I’d submit The Rabbits to a few different publishers, it had been rejected already by a couple and was still in the slush pile at one when I submit it to the Penguin Literary Prize. It won (yay!), Penguin offered me a book deal, and when the news broke in industry news, I was approached by six different agents, including, hilariously, the agent who said she didn’t like my writing style, haha.

I ended up talking to a few of them, but I went with a fairly new agent who I’d known through industry work, and I went with her because she had a really strong legal background which is what I was personally interested in.

Because that’s an important thing to consider too.

Why do you want an agent?

I actually knew that I didn’t really need an agent to sell my work. I’d been doing that for ten years already, I have over twenty short stories and a novella published, I’d sold my book, and I’d sold the rights to a screenplay already on my own, so the ability for an agent to sell work wasn’t so important to me. What was important to me was having someone who had a background in publishing law (my agent actually worked in the rights team in-house at a top five publisher before she became an agent), and understood rights management particularly in digital rights and international rights, because it makes my head spin, haha.

So that’s why I went with her!

But how do you find agents?

You didn’t ask this question exactly, but I think this is a very relevant question. There are databases of agents and publishers out there – Duotrope is probably the best known and I know people rave about it. One of the things that’s useful about it is that it’ll do a bit of a breakdown listing what genres the agent reads, if they’re currently open to unsolicited submissions, and their requirements. Take a look at Ginger Clark’s page for example (she’s not my agent – she’s American for starters, haha – but I have worked with her before and she’s a gem. Her most famous client is probably Ursula K. Le Guin, but she reps tons of other people too).

So yeah! Duotrope’s really useful. It has free info but also a paywall for certain things, and I personally find it kinda difficult to navigate?

I'd actually instead just recommend you take a look at writers you like and admire, especially ones who write similar genres to you, and just Google who their agent is. They all have websites, so they’re a lot easier to find these days than they were. 😊

How do you find job postings related to writing?

This is a tricky one, anon, as it depends on what sort of jobs you’re looking at. If you’re looking for copywriting opportunities, outlets for articles, short stories, poetry or essays, publishers who are posting open calls for manuscripts, or even cultural production jobs, those are all pretty different things. SO! I’m going to answer this one a little more broadly.

Writers Centres are your friends. Full disclaimer, I worked at one for five and a half years, and have been a member of Writers Victoria since I moved to Melbourne. They’re incredible resources for not only opportunities, but workshops, pitching, professional and creative development, community, networking and advice. They literally exist to help you achieve your goals.

- Writers Victoria maintains a free calendar of Opportunities and Competitions, but publishes more in their quarterly magazine which is a member perk. They’ll also often share job opportunities through their social media channels. I also still get the free e-news for Queensland Writers Centre and Writing NSW too because sometimes they share different stuff.

- I’ve heard Gotham Writers in New York is good too if you’re in America, but really I’d just suggest googling where you live and writers centre and seeing what comes up!

- Similarly festivals. I’ve worked at Brisbane Writers Festival and National Young Writers Festival here in Australia (the latter’s on online right now if you want to check out their free program!) Sign up to your local festival’s e-news, follow them on social media, they’ll usually share stuff.

- Speaking of! Social media! Haha. Twitter is often good for sharing jobs, competitions and opportunities, but I find it can be a bit of a cesspool too where people bombard the hashtags with self-promotion, so approach with caution. I find Facebook groups are way better for it personally, especially as there are a lot of specialized groups that are focused in certain or on certain writers. I know there’s lots for BIPOC writers for instance, I’m personally in a few and recommend:

Binders Full of WRITING JOBS

Binger Full of Copywriters

Style Binders – Writers in Fashion, Lifestyle and Beauty

Binder Full of Editors Seeking their Freelance Writers and Vice Versa

If you’re in Australia though, I’d especially recommend:

Women in Arts Management Collective (particularly if you’re interested in cultural production work)

Film and TV Networking Australia

Melbourne Women in Film

Writers Victoria Members

Australian Binder Full of Women Writers

Australian Arts Amidst COVID-19

Young Australian Writers

I think most of these are searchable, so just have a look, but also google your city or state + writer and see what pops up.

Otherwise, as much as it sucks to say it, a lot of the industry is who you know, so try and find ways to connect and meet with people and forge your own little community. Go to events – festivals, book launches, book clubs, join Facebook groups and in particular, if there are journals or magazines that are made in your local area, go to their launches and the events they run, no matter how big or small, and just chat to people there. As you get more established, you can be more discerning about what you go to, but when you're starting out, these are powderkegs of community and connection, and they breed suppport and, if you find the right people, you'll grow and develop together too.

Being a writer can often be pretty lonely, but being a part of supportive industry really makes all the difference, and as an old mentor of mine said – creative karma is real. You support the people coming up around you, and you’ll not only be creating a better, more inclusive and welcoming industry, but an industry that supports you right back. 😊

[livelongdolan]

Teacher’s Pet (G.D. & A.D.)

Summary: When you encounter a new teacher your freshman year of college, Grayson gets a bit jealous but there’s another feeling brewing inside of you. *This is a fanfic including Grayson Dolan and Adam Driver*

Word Count: 4k

Warnings: threesome smut, spanking, choking, just everything honestly lmao

A/N: i sent morgan an ask and i could NOT get it out of my head so this is what happened (btw this is dedicated to her bc she’s my fellow adam driver lover @vinylhazza hehe ily, also to my best friend Joie bc she helped me with the storyline uwu ily)

Tags: @vinylhazza (idek anyone else who would like this but lmk if u wanna be tagged!)

     You had always had friends that were older than you, so when you got into college you already knew about one of the professors you’d end up having freshman year. You were majoring in anthropology and the one in charge of the class for the first year was Professor Driver. Your friends had snuck pictures of him in class, talking about how attractive he was constantly but also how incredibly strict he was. You never really understood their infatuation until you walked into his class for the first time. The way that his nose curved, along with his jet black hair and hazel eyes had you hooked, not to mention how broad his shoulders and torso were. Friends of yours knew that you had changed your mind about him but what you didn’t know was that your best friend and soon to be boyfriend Grayson had noticed too. He sat next to you in the same class and watched the way you practically drooled over the tall man dressed nicely in a casual suit. But it also didn’t help that you constantly talked with him after class about how handsome the older man was. 

     “Gray I’m serious I think he’s the most beautiful man I’ve ever seen.” The two of you are walking side by side after leaving the class and you can’t get your mind off Professor Driver. 

     “Really? You see me every day Y/N” He smiles, half joking. You playfully hit his shoulder and just laugh at his comment. 

     “Oh my gosh don’t even get me started on his body. His shoulders? Crafted by the gods Grayson I’m not even kidding. He’s just so…” you pause for a moment, trying to think of the perfect word to describe him “...big. Like massive. He could throw me around like a rag doll.”     At your comments Grayson pretends to throw up, slight jealousy brewing in his stomach but he’s not letting it show just yet. 

    “Y/N he’s our professor, you're gross.” He laughs but there’s slight meaning behind his words. You decide to ignore it and the conversation topic changes after a few more laughs from you. 

                                                               ~

   The next day the two of you walk into class, going through the classwork as you steal glances at the man at the front of the class. You make eye contact a couple times but look away quickly at each occurrence. After receiving your essay tests back from the week before you noticed that you had many more comments on yours than anyone else had, scrawled in purple ink. You showed your paper to Grayson and he gave you a look of surprise. 

     “Maybe he has a crush on you.” Grayson jokes. You shove his arm away and laugh, not realizing how loud you’re being.  

     “Miss Y/L/N. Care to share what you’re laughing about with the class?” Professor Driver’s voice carries loud across the classroom, booming off the walls into your ears. You instantly feel your face heat up at his comment. 

     “No Professor Driver sorry.” You mumble just loud enough for him to hear. 

     “Then I suggest you don’t laugh in my classroom. Keep it outside.” He speaks in a stern voice, sparking slight excitement mixed with fear inside of you.

     You simply nod in reply and smile at Grayson, making sure to stay quiet the rest of the class so as to not get in trouble again. After the lecture is over, you let Grayson know that you are going to stay behind to talk to Professor Driver. Although it isn’t his official office hours, you know he has time before the next class ends so he stays in the same room. You decide to take this opportunity to apologize sincerely for being loud in class as well as ask him about the notes left on presumably only your test. Walking towards his desk, you grip your essay in your hand and approach his desk where he is sat grading. 

“Professor Driver?” You ask, trying to get his attention. 

“Yes, Miss Y/L/N?” He responds, still keeping his eyes focused on the grading at hand. 

“I just wanted to let you know that I am truly sorry for what happened in class today. I’m just good friends with Grayson and we got carried away and I laughed too loud I promise it’ll never happen again I just-” 

“Stop. It’s okay. Just as long as you don’t do it again we won’t have any problems.” He interrupts. “Now is that all?” 

“Um no,” you pause for a moment, gathering your thoughts, “I actually wanted to also ask about my essay.” 

Before you can get any further he interrupts you again. 

“You know the rules. Talking about assignments is for office hours, not for time when I am working on your other assignments. You know where the clipboard is so sign up for a time and I’ll get to you.” The entire time he is still focused on the papers in front of him where you notice that there are no comments on anyone’s assignments, furthering your confusion. 

“But-” You try to speak before you are interrupted for the third time. 

“Y/N.” He says your name in such an intense manner that butterflies start up in your stomach. “I told you what to do. Follow the rules.” 

Feeling intimidated, you simply nod your head and make your way out of the classroom. 

                                                           ~

     About a week passes by before there is an opening in office hours. Since the professor is so strict about everything and grades so harshly, everyone is trying to salvage their grades. A couple days before you are supposed to meet, Grayson tells you that he needs to talk to you after school and that it’s very important. You meet him outside the library, where you usually meet, and start walking around campus before stopping in front of a small group of benches where people typically eat their lunch or study. 

     “Listen, Y/N, I need to tell you something. It’s been weighing on my chest for a while and even if it doesn’t turn out to be good I just need to get it all out.” He explains. You simply nod your head in response, allowing him to continue. 

     “I like you. More than a friend. I like you and I want us to be together if you feel the same way.” The words spill from his mouth quickly as if he’s scared of saying them. 

     “You like me?” You say in disbelief, not fully believing it since you’ve never seen him in that way before. He simply nods, shying away from saying anything more. “Why me? Like we’ve been best friends forever what changed your mind?” 

     “Well to be honest with you, when I heard you talking about our professor I got this really jealous feeling in my stomach and it wouldn’t go away so I just went home and thought about it for a bit and realized that I like you I guess.” He lets out a slightly awkward laugh. “And why shouldn’t someone like you? You’re beautiful, smart, and I don’t know I guess I just found something in you that I never noticed before when you talked about him. Sooo…”

     “I’m honestly not sure how I feel about you Gray, but I wanna explore this. I think it could work if I just figure out my emotions. So how about we just spend some time talking and stuff before becoming official?” You question, hoping he says yes because you honestly felt guilty about being so attracted to your shared professor still. 

     “Yes of course Y/N. No rush at all.” His smile is as bright as the sun at the news and the two of you continue your walk, the casual banter usually shared between the two of you having a new feel to it after his confession. 

                                                           ~

     The next couple days before your meeting with Professor Driver, you and Grayson spend almost all of your time together and you are definitely getting feelings for him. With each brush of your hands together or an accidental bump into the other, you feel your attraction growing to be as strong as his yet still not enough to be official yet. You had never noticed how attractive he was before all of this had happened though. Of course you had always known he was a handsome guy simply because his features were nicely arranged but you found yourself just wanting to look at him a lot of the time. A couple times he caught you, laughing and grabbing your hand to intertwine it with his as you continued whatever you had been doing. You were definitely in it now. But what about Professor Driver?

                                                           ~

    It was finally the day of your meeting with Professor Driver and you regretted wearing the skirt that Grayson had wanted you to wear for him, simply because you knew how clumsy you were and didn’t want to accidentally flash your teacher. Although in your mind deep down you knew it wouldn’t be the worst thing to happen.

     After classes were over for the day, you instructed Grayson to wait at the bench right outside of the building so that you could get in and get out fast, returning directly to him. You made your way into the lobby, continuing down into the familiar classroom. Professor Driver was sitting at his desk on his computer, presumably putting in grades or something else having to do with all the grading he’s been doing lately. 

You knock slightly on the door and he motions to come in. You walk in and sit across from him in a plush chair with wooden arms, immediately putting your essay on the desk in front of you. 

“So I was just wondering about my essay test because I noticed that, at least from those around me, I am the only one with extra comments added. I got a good grade and the comments are positive so I was just wondering why mine has comments and others who did just as good do not.” You speak concisely as to make sure things are fast, not wanting to spend any more time around the temptation that is your professor longer than you have to. 

“Well, I saw that you have potential. The students I believe have potential, I actually put extra work into and make sure I add what they have done right and wrong to improve them as students and people. You just happen to be the only one with potential in this class therefore you are the only one with extra comments. Your essay was the only one to fully address each thing I instructed you all to address and with the work you do in class I see that although you do spend some time messing around with Mr. Dolan, you get your work done and you always hit the nail on the head.” As he speaks he almost unnoticeably glances down at your chest, where your cleavage was showing due to the low v-neck of your shirt. You take notice but leave the looks to your imagination, a red blush covering your face and moving down your neck at his compliments. 

“Thank you so much Professor Driver. I really appreciate your kind words.” You smile sweetly at him. 

“It’s no problem Y/N” he uses your first name once again making butterflies arise in your stomach. “Good girls deserve praise.” He is barely speaking above a whisper but you still hear him, the words instantly affecting you. You clench your thighs slightly to keep your arousal at bay. 

“What was that Professor?” You pretend as if you didn’t hear him, hoping it was just your mind playing tricks on you. 

He looks you up and down before gazing directly into your eyes. 

“I think you know what I said. I can tell by the way you’re clenching your thighs together Y/N.” It hadn’t registered that he was tall enough to see clearly over the desk. You immediately move your legs apart quickly, accidentally giving him a peek of the pink lace panties you were wearing.

“I-i’m sorry Professor I didn’t mean anything by it I’m kind of seeing someone I just-” Before you can finish your sentence, Grayson is walking up to you. You hadn’t realized that he’d come inside to check on you and heard what just happened. 

“Yeah you’re damn right you’re seeing someone. Me. So why are you” He looks pointedly at the large man sitting in the chair across from you “saying things like that to her? Doesn’t seem very professional of you to say, does it?” 

The professor is taken aback by Grayson’s words but simply looks up from his sitting position. 

“You’re simply too young to know what she wants. You can’t pleasure a woman without experience.” The words fall freely from his mouth as if he hasn’t a care in the world and he returns to grading the papers in front of him. 

Grayson’s mouth opens quickly in shock before he closes it again, responding angrily. 

“And what the fuck would you know about pleasing a woman? Don’t think you’re all big and bad just because you’re an old man. And not that you need to know, but I have plenty of experience thank you very much.” Grayson moves closer to you as he says this almost as if he’s protecting you. 

Professor Driver places his pen down before pushing his chair out from his desk and standing to his full height. Your breath is caught in your throat as you see how much taller the man truly is compared to Grayson. It’s not a lot but considering the circumstances it’s enough to make a difference. Grayson’s head tips back a bit as to make eye contact. 

“You don’t know what you’re talking about so I’d be quiet if I were you.” The professor warns. “You probably haven’t even made her wet yet,have you? But I had her clenching her thighs together with four simple words. So tell me now, Mr. Dolan, exactly why you think you have experience?”  

Grayson is almost at a loss for words but an idea springs to his head. He reaches over to you, wrapping your hair around his fist and pulling you towards him causing you to let out a small whine at the pressure on your roots.  

“She’s mine. It doesn’t matter what the fuck you say.” Grayson’s eyes are red with anger. The bigger man steps forward so that you are now stuck between the two of them, tension so thick you couldn’t even cut it with the sharpest of knives. The two large men sandwiched you between them as angry glares are shared, the amount of testosterone elevating due to the threat of the other male. You looked between the two, having to tilt your head back to see both of their faces before you realized the expanse of their chests on either side of you. The way that they had you, you felt more like a prize to be won than an actual person. You weren’t complaining. 

“How about we let Miss Y/L/N decide? We can both fuck her and she’ll chose who she likes better. Although I think it would be a waste of time since we all know it’s me.” Professor Driver proclaims. Grayson reluctantly agrees as he turns you towards him. 

“Mr. Dolan. Go lock the door and pull down the curtain.” The professor’s eyes are trained on you as he says this, large hands moving down to your waist and pulling you towards him. “Gonna be a good little girl for me, huh?” He whispers in your ear, sending chills down your spine as you nod your head. 

“I’m not gonna fuckin’ do what you say.” Grayson argues, observing already what a grasp the older man has on you. The same man’s movements stop and he holds on to you. You look at Grayson with pleading eyes. 

“P-please Gray. Lock it and close the c-curtain. I need you.” Your words are filled with a deep whimpering hunger that you can no longer control. Grayson gives in since you said it and does as he is told. As he is walking away, the professor leans close into your ear. 

“You are allowed to call me anything you want. My name is Adam if you’d like to call me that but I prefer something a little more fun.” His lips are ghosting across your ear as he speaks, your knees going weak at just his words. Grayson returns quickly, grabbing your forearm and pulling you into his chest, before kissing you passionately. His lips are rough against yours and you can feel the anger in each movement he makes. Before you know it, Adam is behind you placing his hands up your skirt to take down the lace beneath. He rids of the small piece of fabric and lifts your skirt, large hands canvassing your ass before placing a harsh smack across it. You moan into your kiss with Grayson, letting him know the amount of pleasure you’re receiving from the admittedly more experienced man. 

Grayson moves away from you and pulls your shirt over your head, throwing it behind him along with your bra before kissing all the way from your neck down to your nipples. He takes one into his mouth, kneading and pinching the other with his other hand. While all of this is happening, Adam is removing your skirt and reaching his hand between your legs from the back to rub at your sensitive core which caused his hands to practically drip with your arousal. Before Grayson is done the professor pulls you towards him by your hips and turns you around by your hips, lifting you up. You wrap your legs around him, your core rubbing against the material of his button up, neither one of the men having gotten undressed yet. 

“S-sir please. Need more” You whine, burying your face into Adam’s neck and biting on the skin there. He lets out a grunt at your teeth against his skin. 

“Don’t worry baby, I’ll take care of you.” He reassures you, sweeping everything off of his desk and placing you on top. Grayson moves towards the two of you to keep himself included but he has no idea how to get access to you in the position that the older man has put you in. As Adam is unbuttoning his pants to be able to slide into you, Grayson takes his chance and moves towards you, crouching down after pushing the professor away and licking up the juices dripping from your core. Adam steps back, slightly impressed by Grayson’s willpower but still wanting to win you over. He lets Grayson continue, walking around to the side of you and moving your chin to face him. You come face to face with his huge cock and almost gasp in amazement of how big it is. He’s definitely the biggest you’ve ever seen.

“Open your mouth princess, take me in.” He demands softly, using his thumb to open your mouth for you before sliding himself in. The combination of him in your mouth and Grayson’s mouth fixed on you has you moaning around your professor so much to the point that after a bit he almost comes. He pulls out of your mouth and moves back around to where Grayson is. 

“Move.” He demands, feet planted firmly as to assert his dominance over the younger man as he unbuttons and takes off his button up shirt. Grayson heeds what he says and moves to kiss you, letting you taste yourself on his lips and tongue. 

“Do you want my cock in you, dirty little girl? You want me to fill you up, huh?” Adam asks, rubbing his tip up and down your folds to tease you before you answer. You pull away from Grayson’s kiss as he moves down your neck, gripping your hair tightly before moving his other hand to grip your neck. 

“Y-yes please sir. Please.” You are almost crying at how desperate you are to be filled, pleading eyes looking directly into Adam’s. He smiles at your begging and plunges all the way into you, making you shout out in a mix of pleasure and pain. Grayson comforts you, leaving soft caresses all down your body. He even tries to rub your clit when your hips buck up but Adam smacks his hand away, instead pressing his forearm against your hips to force them to stay down. 

“You say you’re experienced but don’t even know not to let her be such a greedy little bitch? Yeah okay.” Adam snarks, Grayson simply ignoring him and standing up so you could suck him off like you had done to Adam earlier. You open your mouth and take Grayson in as Adam pounds away into you in a way so good you can’t even begin to explain. Your legs are shaking with each pump he takes in and out before you finally are about to release around him. 

“You need to ask my permission to cum, baby. If you want it you need to beg it’s not just gonna be that easy.” Adam’s previously stern voice turned a bit sweeter at these orders, knowing it would be difficult for you to keep everything in considering how hard and fast he was going. You pull away from Grayson and he continues to stroke himself next to you.  

“Please Adam please let me come. Please I’ll do anything. Anything.” The last word comes out as nothing but a whine as you clench around him. 

“C’mon kitten. Cum for me. Cum around my cock.” He only goes harder and faster as he says it, both men now being close to finishing. Grayson soon finishes, his liquids landing across your chest and seeing him is what sets you off. You cum around Adam, your walls clamping down around him so hard that he cums as well. He pushes all the way into you to keep all the juices, both yours and his, all inside of you before pulling out slowly so as to not let anything fall to the floor. Grayson steps to the side, taking off his shirt and using it to wipe his cum from your chest before Adam moves to your face, gripping your chin and forcing you to look at him. He pinches your cheeks so that your mouth opens and spits straight into it, showing Grayson who really has control. You swallow what he just gave you and moan, legs shaking from how hard you came. Grayson takes a look at the older man and just laughs, observing the destruction they both did to you. Adam smiles in return before grabbing you and making you sit up straight. 

“So, who’s it gonna be? Who’s the better fuck, princess?” The professor asks. 

You pause for a moment. 

“Can’t I just have both?”

[wellingtongoose]

Unravelling the Obscurus

Why do some magical children become Obscurials and others don’t?

Why are Harry Potter and Tom Riddle not Obscurials?

Why does Credence survive when most children die from the condition?

The brief explanation Newt gives to Jacob in the first Fantastics Beasts film is that when magical children are persecuted and try to hide their powers, their magic develops into a powerful, negative parasitic entity that eventually kills them.

However if we apply the litmus test of persecution to other characters in Harry Potter, including Harry himself, we are left wondering why there aren’t more Obscurials.  Evidently becoming and Obscurial requires more than just being abused by muggles because of your magic. 

I believe becoming an obscurial requires a triad of genetic predisposition, environmental triggers, and learned psychological responses. Obscurials are rare within the wizarding world because it takes a rare trio of conditions coalescing to create one.

These prerequisite conditions also explain why not all magical children who are abused by muggles for their magical outbursts (Harry Potter and Tom Riddle) turn into obscurials.

This essays explains:

1.      Why Harry Potter and Tom Riddle did not become Obscurials.

2.      Why Credence did become an Obscurial

3.      Why Credence survived, and how he can get rid of the Obscurus

Nature vs Nurture

  From my perspective as doctor, obscurials are clearly children who developed a psychological disorder that also manifests physically in response to trauma. If we treat the obscurus for what it is: a symptoms of an underlying severe psychological disorder, we can finally explain the phenomenon. 

We know from Newt’s brief explanation that Obscurials develop in children and very few survive beyond the age of ten. Newt’s reason for why obscurials occurs is purely environmental, and we know from extensive scientific studies that very few psychiatric disorders especially those that manifest in childhood are purely environmental.

In reality psychological/psychiatric disorders in children often have a significant genetic component, but it takes a specific environmental trigger to bring out the pathos. The contribution of genes to the development of psychiatric disorders can be extremely high, as evidence with studies in identical twins raised apart. Disorders that first appear in early childhood are more likely to have a stronger genetic contribution simply because disorders that have a higher environmental contribution require prolonged exposure to a specific environment.

Therefore, in terms of the obscurial as a psychological disorder, it is likely heavily influenced by the genetic make up of the child. This has nothing to do with race, sex etc, but rather a specific set of genes that together produce the potential to become an obscurial given the right stimulus. The is known as genetic predisposition and occurs in many different disorders both psychiatric and physical. Without these genes the likelihood of developing into an obscurial is very, very low even if all the prerequisite environmental triggers occur.  

This would explain why obscurials are relatively rare despite there being a common thread of abuse toward magical children growing up in non-magical environments.

Having discussed genetic predisposition, I would like to state that genes are not the be all and end all when it comes to causing psychiatric disorders. We must also take in the complexities of the human mind, and how humans psychological cope with severely detrimental environments. The obscurus is not a passive by-product of abuse like a scar but an active response to it. Therefore, the child’s psychological method of coping with abuse is a very important prerequisite to becoming an obscurial.

  Thinkers vs Feelers

  Many people have speculated that its takes severe extreme abuse to create an obscurial. I don’t dispute this, but I do not believe there is a specific type or length of abuse that creates an obscurial. Child abuse is severely damaging in all its different forms. I would not say that what Harry suffered is somehow less horrific than what Credence went through. I find the comparison of various abuse types useless when it comes to explaining why an obscurial develops.

The environmental trigger for an obscurial is childhood abuse leading to trauma likely by people close to them who should have been their protectors/caretakers. However what people fail to realize is that children, and by extension adults, have different methods of coping with abuse, and the different coping strategies dictate which psychiatric disorders they may go onto develop in later life.

The method by which a child deals with abuse and by extension severe negative emotions it brings determines whether they become an obscurial.

All humans learn coping strategies to deal with negative and positive emotions generated by our environment. We all learn to some extent how to control our emotions to our best advantage. This is not a conscious learning curve, but rather something we instinctive develop from the moment we are born.

There are two board methods young infants use to deal with their negative emotions and attract the presence of soothing caregivers. These board methods are refined with time, but the strategy an infant develops has a long-lasting effect on the person’s emotional and psychologic state well into adulthood. I have discussed this psychological theory in more detail in other metas: Loki and Thor a psychoanalysis, The Holmes Brothers, a psychoanalysis.

The broad categories are: Thinkers and Feelers.

Thinkers contain and analyse their emotions. They only express emotions that they feel are best suited to the situation to get attention. Thinkers tend to develop due to caregivers who are consistent in their approach to giving attention.

Feelers express all their emotions, often in exaggerate or amplified ways to get attention. Feelers develop in response to caregivers who are inconsistent in their attentions. Therefore, repeated amplification of emotions is the best way to get the caregivers to arrive promptly when needed.

What I have not previously discussed in other metas is what happens to the psychological coping strategies of infants who never get attention no matter what they do or who get attention only for it to lead to abuse. This is where deep psychopathologies develop.

Human children are mostly helpless for a substantial proportion of their most formative years. Therefore, most of our emotional coping strategies revolve around gaining attention from caregivers. This need for attention and comfort stretches far into adulthood. It may be the foundation for our strong social bonds.

We know from unfortunate data generated in the orphanages of Eastern Europe that when infants never receive the attention they need, their entire emotional development stalls and certain parts of their brains required for processing emotion never fully develop. In effect infants whose coping strategies failed to get any attention at all simply switch off the emotional processing part of their brain. They never learned to control their emotions, but they also stopped generating appropriate emotions. One orphan described his life as black and white, whilst everyone else lived in colour. It gives us a small glimpse into the poor emotional lives these children led. Additionally when nutrition is taken into account, these children are still more physically underdeveloped than they should be, showing that psychological problems often have severe physical manifestations.

However, the nature of the obscurus is a dangerous, active and uncontrolled. The psychological pathos related to it is also active and violent. This does not fit with what happened to Eastern European orphans. Obscurials do not have underdeveloped emotional centres, they are not children who are to some extent numb to the world. Credence does not have a problem generating emotion, he has a problem with control. He is not numb to the world but rather has an insatiable hunger for love and belonging.

Therefore, infants who become obscurials did not suffer from predominantly severe neglect, which is what happened to Harry Potter and Tom Riddle. Harry escaped the most severe consequences of his emotional neglect because he had 15 months of love from his parents to hold onto. This was crucial to his emotional development. Tom Riddle was not so lucky and his pathos is a clear reflection of the orphans of Eastern Europe.

Obscurial children do get attention, just not the right kind of attention.

  A Spiral into Hell

  For infants their entire survival depends on gaining the caregivers attention, but when the ultimate emotional reward - attention, turns into the ultimate generator of negative emotions – abuse, the infant is unable to cope with the spiral of negative emotions. The caregiver is supposed to take away the negative emotions but instead exacerbates the problem.

I believe that Obscurials including Credence developed primarily as Feelers. As infants they learned to amplify all their emotions, all the time, to get attention. As magical outbursts are closely linked to strong emotions, infants who are Feelers would have correspondingly more magical outburst likely at an earlier age compared to Thinkers. When the abuse then starts – likely during early childhood with increasing magical outbursts, the child is unable to understand why its coping strategy is producing cycles of more pain rather comfort.

Having developed the Feelers strategy already, the child is not able to modulate their emotions like Thinkers can. They are not able to contain, analyse and then express appropriate emotions for the situation. Therefore, they cannot suppress their own magic into a dormant state and act like a muggle as Neville Longbottom managed to do as a child. This leads to a cycle of escalating abuse, and then need for attention to heal the negative emotions it generates.

However eventually these Feelers who become Obscurials do manage to suppress their emotions and their magic but not in the psychologically healthy manner of a Thinker. Instead the negative emotions and by extension the magic associated with it is displaced, rather than suppressed or contained. They alienate their own feelings in an attempt to not experience them and therefore not express them. The resulting obscurus is the consequence of this displacement and alienation, a dark extension of the child that ultimately destroys them.

 Adapting to Survive

  How is Credence able to survive beyond childhood?

In the films it is suggested that he may be an extremely powerful wizard. I don’t dispute this, but control of magic is not just about power, it is intrinsically linked one’s control of emotions. Children generally experience far more extreme emotions and changes of emotions compared to adults. As we psychologically mature our emotions do not become less strong, but we have better control of how we experience that emotion and how it affects us. If the obscurus is a physical manifestation of a dysfunctional emotions, then it is likely something that becomes easier to control as one emotionally matures. However, it often causes death before puberty which means that children never get to emotionally develop to a point where it is controllable.

I believe that Credence unlikely that other Obscurial children, successfully learned a new emotional coping strategy early in life that enable him to control his emotions to a certain extent. I am not saying he went to therapy and read some self-help books. Changing one’s emotional coping strategy is very difficult and not entirely conscious act. I believe at various critical points in his life Credence was helped by other people who provided him the much-needed emotional support. They helped to drive his desire to live, give him hope and purpose. More uniquely to Credence I believe he learned from them new emotional coping strategies and subconsciously put this into practice.

Most well-adjusted adults have a mixture of different coping strategies when it comes to emotions. Very few people are purely Feelers or Thinkers beyond childhood. We all exist on a spectrum between these extremes and use of blend of different strategies that we tailor to the environment. However, our original coping strategy is often remains dominant and underscores all other later strategies. Credence was a very dysfunctional Feeler as a young child, but he learned through positive interactions with Thinkers around him how to become a Thinker instead.

Credence has done something very rare for children which is completely switch his emotional coping strategy from one extreme to another. Being a Feeler caused him to become an Obscurial but becoming a Thinker allowed him a measure of control over his emotions and thus his obscurus. The more he pursued the Thinker route, the more control he eventually gained over his obscurus. I believe that Credence developed this strategy early on in childhood, which is a remarkable feat, and therefore the obscurus never came close to being lethal.

When we meet him, Credence is the typical dysfunctional Thinker: a person who controls all emotional expression only displays the correct emotions for the situation. This is his survival strategy and though it is not psychologically healthy, it keeps him alive.

I would not be able to hazard a guess as to who or what prompted him to become a thinker. It might have been his younger siblings and their emotional support for him. It might have been a specific adult who helped him through a very difficult time.

There is no doubt that acts of kindness and love, sustained Credence through his horrific childhood. He does not shy away from love, he actively seeks it even in people who are looking to exploit him. This is not a person who has given up on the world, but someone who desperately wants to live and be loved. People like Tina and Newt are going to be the key to his salvation and may finally help him psychological heal. Once he does, I wonder if the Obscurus will simply cease to exist.

[bella-spil]

Halloween

Summary: you and the avengers spend Halloween together.

Characters: Y/N (your name), Bucky, Loki, Thor, Tony, Steve, Sam, Natasha, Clint, Vision, Wanda, Peter, Shuri.

Warnings: cursing, tbh thats it.  VINE REFERENCES

Word Count: 2.4

A/N: hi.. I’m sry I haven’t written in a while.  School has been killing my creativity.  This is gonna be more of a miniseries, more like 2-3 parts.  It’s prob not gonna get much attention, but if you like it, just comment or re blog bc it helps my confidence with posting stuff on here.  This is also inspired by a meme I saw (Ill post it at the bottom of the story) and a video with Anthony Mackie and Chris Evans (link) Masterlist is here

Tag List: @sea040561 @wednesday-add-em @kmuir1 (lmk if you wanna join)

Halloween was a week away.  Tony being Tony, already paid for the decorations for the tower, so basically all of the floors look like a haunted house.  Rolls of toilet paper stretched across arches in the hallways, tiny spiders were all over furniture, bones and eyes and zombies and witches and everything in between that you could possibly think of was in the tower.  The tower looked like a zombie on steroids; creepy yet entertaining at the same time.  

Everyone was fine with the decorations, but the costumes were a big issue.  Steve and Tony kept arguing over the ideas, both of them wanting to do group costumes.  Everyone else had their ideas too, but Tony and Steve were at each other's throats for the past couple weeks, since like August.  Your room in the tower was right by the meeting office, so hearing the two of them screaming at each other for the most stupid shit was driving you insane.  Once it got to the point where you had to yell at them to shut up.  

This morning, a week before Halloween, while everyone was there, you cleared your throat while you heard Steve and Tony bickering.

“Guys this is getting to be too much.  We need to have a meeting to discuss these fucken costumes.” you said.

“Yeah this is getting out of control,” Nat agreed.

“Guys, cmon, you have to agree with me.  All of us having Iron Man suits would be awesome.  We could fly around the city all night and have so much fun!” Tony said.

“Tony, stop.  All of us being soldiers is better.”  Steve countered.

“STOP!” Clint groaned.  “You guys are insane.  We need to discuss this as a group.”

Tony and Steve sat across from each other, glaring at each other.  Death was looming between them.  

“Fine,” Tony sighed.  “When and where?”

“The office, 2pm,” Nat said.  “And everyone has to show up, that means you too Bucky.”

Bucky groaned from the other side of the room.  He hated group discussions, he liked working alone better.  Said that it was faster to be alone and you didn’t have to worry as much.

~~~

2pm finally rolled by.  Everyone has showed up in the big office, one that seemed a little too big.  Everyone was tired of the bickering and had showed up, thankfully.  

Tony, Steve, Natasha, Clint, Thor, Bucky, Sam, Peter P, Shuri, Wanda, Vision, Loki and you were crowded around the table.  Tony was standing at the end with a whiteboard, prepared to write down ideas.

“So guys, what do you want to do?” Tony said.

“What about we dress up as famous Star Wars characters?” Sam suggested.

“Nah, Steve isn’t going to know who Yoda is.  That’s a must if we do Star Wars.” Tony said.

“Devils and Angels?” Wanda said.

“Not original,” Steve said.

“What about we just wear each other’s costumes?” Thor suggested.

“You really think you are gonna wear my wings?” Sam said, a hint of annoyance in his voice that made you and Bucky snicker.

“I don’t think any of you guys want to wear a leather catsuit,” Nat said.

“We could dress up as famous vines,” Shuri offered, smirking at you and Peter.  

The three of you quoted vines daily and the rest of the team never knew what you guys meant, which made it even more fun.  Eventually, Sam, Bucky and Clint started learning vines with you because they kept saying things which you guys followed up with vine references.  The frustration got to the three men and they started to learn with you, but they weren’t nearly as attentive as you, Shuri and Peter.

“What’s a vine?” Steve asked.

“Vine was a website created in 2012, officially released in 2013.  It was ultimately shut down in 2016.  Vine was a website where users would create short videos an-” Vision said.

“Vis, I don’t think they want a whole essay,” Wanda said, seeing the reactions of the other Avengers.  Sam had started to fake snore, Loki was muttering something to Peter about knifes, and Shuri was about to watch vines, from what you could tell.  

“It’s this app filled with people saying and doing stupid things for attention,” Nat sighed.

“IT IS NOT STUPID!  VINE WAS LEGENDARY!!”  Shuri shouted.

“YOU WOULD DO THINGS FOR THE VINE, YOU UNCULTURED SWINE!!” you shrieked.

“EDUCATE YO SELF!” Clint shouted, right in Natasha’s ear.  Doing that earned him a hard punch in the back of the head.

“Well I don’t have all day so we need something,” Tony groaned, hitting his expo marker against the whiteboard.

You and everyone else was trying to come up with ideas when all the sudden, quiet Peter Parker, who was pretty much the baby of the tower, spoke up.

“Mr. Frost Giant, God sir?” Peter asked.

“Loki,” Loki sighed, pleasantly shocked.

“So, you have ice powers right?” Peter continued.

“Yes, I am an ice giant,” Loki said.

“You should be Elsa for Halloween,” Peter gasped.

Then, out of nowhere, Clint jumped up, looking like he had 5 monster energy drinks and 10 packs of warheads.

“I’LL BE MERIDA!!!” he screamed.

“I must assume that I am going to portray Elsa then,” Thor said, with a smile on his face.

“So...we are doing Disney princesses?” Tony asked, slightly confused.

“Looks like it,” Bucky said.

“Who the fuck am I gonna be?” Shuri asked.

“Language.” Steve said.

You and Shuri looked at each other for a moment and with a slight nod of your head, you were both in a song.

“FUCK SHIT PUSSY ASS!!!” you and Shuri sang.

“MOTHERFUC-” Peter started to continue, but Tony just slapped his hand over Peter’s mouth.  Tony swore that Peter wasn’t like a son to him, but this didn’t help his situation.

Steve was turning ad red as a tomato in his seat, not being able to process all the dirty words that escaped yours and Shuri’s mouths.

“Ok, who are all the Disney Princesses?” Tony asked, frustration in his voice as he looked down at Peter.  Tony gave him a look, one that said “Stop this shit or you get your suit taken away for two weeks” and once Peter nodded his head slightly, Tony removed his hand.

Vision started to list a bunch of them off, even some of the ones that aren’t considered princesses, like Megara, Alice and Jane.  Once Tony had a list of all the princesses, he started to write of all the avengers, making lines to match them up with their character.  

“Ok, who wants to find their Disney princess counterpart first?” Tony asked.

“Me, I already asked before,” Shuri said rolling her eyes.

“Well I mean you already are a princess.” you said.

“Oh,” Shuri said. “I don’t have to dress up then.  Haha.  You can cross my name off, Tony.”

Tony sighed and rolled his eyes, while taking her name off.

“Next?” he sighed.

“What about me?” Steve asked.

“Oh this is gonna be interesting.” Sam grinned.

“Snow White.” Bucky said, without even hesitating.

“Wait why?” you asked.

“Ohhhhh, I think I see why,” Wanda smirked.

“Continue Barnes,” Natasha said.

“First of all, Snow White was the very first princess to come out.  She came out in the thirties or forties.  She’s the oldest.  Steve was the first avenger and he is the oldest.”  Bucky said.

“Bucky, you are a couple months older than me.” Steve countered.

“Second,” Bucky continued, ignoring his friend completely.  “She is like the most gullible and is surrounded by followers.  Snow White was like living with seven dwarfs.  And she was underage and just lived with them. Steve here, was the leader of the Howling Commandos.  And I was in that group, so I had to endure him and his stupid ass decisions, but I couldn’t elect to ignore it.”

“That’s offensive,” Steve said.

“That's the point,” Bucky said.  

“Ok so Steve is Snow White.”  Tony declared, making a line between Snow White and Steve on the whiteboard.  “NEXTT!”

“Me,” said the super secret Russian spy.

“Hmm..” you thought.

“Megara,” said Clint.

“Oh that's a good one,” Sam agreed.

“Who is Megara?” Steve asked.

“She is an attractive Greek lady that Hercules, the son of Zeus, who is the King of the Greek Gods, falls in love with.” Thor explained.

“Thor, how do you of all people know that?” Shuri asked.  “Shouldn’t Vision know all of these things?”

“M’lady, I am formally educated in Disney movies by the request of Peter Parker, also known as ‘The One and Only Friendly Neighborhood Spiderman’.” Thor explained.

“Kid, you make Thor, the God of Thunder, sit through Sleeping Beauty?” Tony asked, shocked.

“My dear man of Iron, Sleeping beauty was quite relaxing.  That Prince Philip, that amazing man, demonstrated quite intellectually advanced ways to use a sword.  Ways that I can use Storm-breaker effectively in battle.” Thor smiled.

Tony and Sam shared a look of disgust with a combination of interest and concern.

“Thor, I don’t think you can learn fighting tactics from a cart-” Vision started.

“I need to watch the movies again,” Clint and Bucky muttered under their breaths.

“No she should be Mulan,” Wanda said.  “Mulan is determined and strong.  Megara just messed with the God of Death.”

“I mess with death all the time,” Natasha countered.

“I should be Megara.” Bucky stated.

“Because you almost died?” Steve asked.

“Because your soul is dark and empty?” Sam asked.

“Yes and no.  My hair is long, not as long as her’s but I can make it work.  Hair extensions.  She plays with Hercules’ emotions.  She is also strong and independent.  Like me.” Bucky explained.

“That settles it.  Bucky is Megara and Natasha is Mulan.”  Tony said, making lines between the two avengers and their princesses.  

“nEXXttT!” Tony shouted.

“Me me me!” Wanda said happily.

“Yes Mr. Stark I would like to go as well.” Vision added.

“Wanda would make the perfect Moana.” Thor said.  “Moana and Wanda both demonstrate very strong emotions, which affect their abilities regarding their powers and limits and they care deeply about the people that mean the most to them.”

He nudged Loki in the shoulder to try to get him more involved in the meeting.  Loki was just throwing his knives up in the air, and Peter was getting very interested, and getting dangerously close to the God of Mischief.  Tony was eyeing the two of them very, very carefully.

“Yeah, yeah sure,” Loki sighed, just going along with Thor or the sake of it.

“Who would Vision be then?” Sam asked.

“He could be the dead grandma,” Clint suggested.

“Yeah, that one that turned into the manta ray.” Nat agreed.

“It’s settled.  Moana and Dead Grandma Ray.” Tony said, making the lines once again.  He had to add “dead grandma” to the board for Vision’s sake.

“NeXXXXXtttT!!” he shrieked.

“Tony, you should be Belle,” Natasha said.

“Yeah.  I mean, they both fall in love and save the people that mean the most to them, even if it means putting their own life at risk.” Steve agreed.

“And they are both really smart.” Peter added.

“Peter, you just had to say that and I would have been on board.  Now I had to listen to Steve and Natasha for a minute.” Tony groaned as he drew a line between his name and Belle’s.

“Thanks Tony,” Steve said sarcastically.

“Your welcome, Capsicle.” Tony gleamed back.

“Sam should be Cinderella.” Bucky said.

“OMG that works!!” Shuri exclaimed.

“Yeah..” Sam realized.  “I’m Cinderella ‘cause she broke, homie.”

“Yeah,” Steve said, smiling from ear to ear, looking back at Sam.

“She represent me, yooo,” Sam said.  Then he looked over at Steve and said, “Lemme borrow twenty dollas.”

By this point, Steve couldn’t hold in the laughter and almost fell out of his chair.  And Sam, being as he called it “Steve’s best friend, better than Bucky,” saved Steve from collapsing on to the floor.

“Steve is the cinder princess.  Deal with it.” Tony declared, adding another line.

“NeeXXttTTT!” Tony screamed.

“Now, all that’s left is Peter and Y/N,” Wanda said, eyeing you two.

“Peter should be Rapunzel.  Before they face the real world, they are both innocent, but then when they see what the world is really like, it changes them.” Thor said, analyzing the similarities between the princess and the superhero.

“Jesus Christ, why is Point break actually really on point?” Tony asked.

“My dear Stalk of corn, I am educated like I told you earlier.  Insect man has really helped me tap into my inner child and all of the pain my demon brother made me endure.” Thor said.

“Spiderman,” Peter mumbled.

“I take that as a complement.” Loki stated, out of the blue.

“Rapunzel is Parker.” Tony declared.

“Last but not least, Y/N.” Steve said.

Now, it took everyone a while to come up with a princess for you.  You didn’t fit the exact mold or looks of a certain princess, so it was definitely harder.

“What about Alice?” Sam said/

“Why the fuck would she be Alice?” Bucky asked.

“Because Alice in Wonderland is supposed to portray the effects of drugs.” Sam explained.

“So your saying that I act like a drug addict?” you asked.

“NO!” Sam shouted.

“Sam, drop it before you dig your own grave.” Steve said.

“What about Jasmine?” offered Wanda.  “You have a very free spirit like her, and she’s your favorite princess.”

“Yeah sure, that sounds fine.” you agreed.

“Y/N is Jasmine!  dOOONNEe!” Tony shouted with relief.

“WAIT I CHANGED MY MIND!” Shuri shrieked.  “I WANNA BE A PRINCESS.  I WANNA BE TIANA SHE IS AN ABSOLUTE BADASS!”

“FINE!” Tony shouted back.  “NOW WE ARE DONE.  EVERYONE HAPPY?”

Everyone in the room, not wanting to disagree with a hot-headed Tony, looked around at each other and slowly nodded their heads.

“Great!” Tony smiled, a complete change in moods.  “Tomorrow we are going to Party City to get our costumes.  Everyone in this room has to come so we can get the wigs and dresses and makeup.  No skipping out.  That includes you Clint, Bucky and Loki.”

The three men who were called out rolled their heads and sighed.  But they agreed to go.  To Tony’s happiness.

“Great.  Meeting finished.  Pepper wants me for something.  Probably for the party.  Nobody try to call me or you will be met with an ear rape of AC/DC.” Tony said, putting on his glasses and promptly leaving the room in Stark fashion.  Everyone eventually left the room, you being lost in your thoughts.  

“You coming, doll?” Bucky asked, seeing you were still sitting in the room.

“Ya, I’ll be out in a second.” you said.  

“Alright, you, me and Clint are doing a Disney marathon for fighting tactics.  Don’t be late or you because we are gonna eat all the food.  I don’t wanna hear you complain.” Bucky said, walking out the door with a lazy drag of his legs.

Now, relief filled your body.  Now you wouldn’t have to hear arguing about costumes!  And they actually agreed to costumes, shockingly.  Now you just couldn’t wait to go to Party City and endure all the chaos.  And then, you left the room to watch Disney movies again, for fighting tactics.  

Oh, the chaos that awaits.  

[drawlfoy]

Detention, Retention, and Draco Being a Lying Shit (halloweek day 1!)

masterlist 

request guidelines

pairing: draco x reader

request: nope!

summary: y/n’s two month detention sentence goes from being the bane of her existence to harry potter’s last hope to bringing down malfoy.

a/n: hiiiiiii everyone so i’m starting new classes today and idk how much time im gonna have to write consistently until i’m home for break but i just want to thank all of you! this week is my tribute to everyone who takes time out of their day to continue reading my content. i have so much appreciation for you.

warnings: cursing, mentions of violence, mentions of drugging someone (in jest)

taglist: @gruffle1 @missmulti @cleopatera @hahaboop @accio-rogers @geeksareunique @eltanin-malfoy @war-sword @cams-lynn @itsivyberry @ayo-cowbelly @nerd-domland @yesnerdsblog @shizarianathania @evanstanfanatic @strawberriesonsummer @hariosborn @night-ving @straightzoinked @imintoodeeptostop @naomimoonshard @jejegu @ophelia-enthusiast

word count: 1.1k

no music recs for today i b tired fdjskfdsja

For legal purposes, the york pudding she lobbed at Pansy Parkinson’s head on Monday evening was simply meant to be a joke. She didn’t know that her aim was bad enough that it was going to get in Snape’s hair instead--honestly, it wasn’t even supposed to get past the Ravenclaw table, much less veer to the left to make a beeline for the professors--but no matter how much she tried to explain this to McGonagall, her sentence remained the same: detention every Friday. For two months.

Her life was ending for sure.

“I honestly don’t know what you were expecting,” Hermione told her as she gently wiped off the nib of her quill later that night in the common room. “Even if you had hit your mark, that’s still technically assault.”

“Did you even hear what she said to me? She told me that I looked like the type of kid that bit people in primary school,” complained Y/N. “I didn’t even think she knew what primary school was!”

Hermione snorted. “How long ago?”

“Two days. I’ve been waiting until there was something throwable on the dinner table.”

“How very analytic of you.”

“I’m going to hit you.”

“And you wonder why you’ve got detention.” Hermione tsk-ed at her, her face stone serious but her tone light hearted. “Maybe take this as an opportunity to, I don’t know, do your homework for once? So you won’t have to have a breakdown over the next Potion’s essay and beg me to write it for you?”

“I’m going to go to sleep and think terribly mean thoughts about you.”

“Have fun.”

~ 

Detention.

Something that Y/N wasn’t completely unfamiliar with--she’d done her time organizing Snape’s cabinets, just like every other Gryffindor--but it was different when it came to McGonagall. An impressive old lady, she thought that McGonagall saw something in her. She was always the first to chuckle at Y/N’s jokes and hesitated to reprimand her stupid behavior. And she never gave Y/N detention.

Until now, she supposed. 6th year was changing a lot of things--even their Potions professor--so McGonagall turning a new stone shouldn’t have been anything shocking.

At least, not as shocking as the first thing Y/N saw as she walked into her house head’s office.

“Malfoy?” she spat.

The platinum blonde didn’t even bother to look up from his desk.

“Miss Y/L/N,” Professor McGonagall chided. “I think we would all prefer if you restrained yourself from getting into any more physical altercations with Slytherins.”

She huffed, plopping down in the chair furthest away from THAT foul git and reaching for her satchel.

“I’ll be back in two hours,” said the elderly professor. “If I hear anything, and I mean anything, other than the sound of studying, consider your sentence doubled.”

With a swish of her robes, McGonagall was gone, leaving her with Malfoy. 

“So what’d you do to get in here, huh? Did the administration finally get a hold of that video of you licking Voldemort’s toes?”

“What the fuck does that mean?!” he snapped, whipping around to glare at her.

“‘s just a joke,” said Y/N. “Like--how everyone says your family houses him and everything--but whatever. I can tell it’s a sore spot.”

His gaze, never withering in intensity, remained trained on her face. “You have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Apparently so. What’re you in for?”

He exhaled sharply. “If I tell you, will you shut up and let me think?”

“No promises, but maybe.”

“Late work. I forgot to turn in the Transfiguration exam last week.”

She made a tutting sound as she lazily shuffled through the crumpled parchment in her satchel. “I expected more from you. Aren’t you gonna ask me how I wound up here?”

“No. I am going to ask you to stop talking now, though.”

~

“That’s terribly unfortunate,” Hermione said over breakfast the next morning. Ron and Harry were nervously chit chatting at the other side of the table over the Saturday Quidditch game against Slytherin--supposedly it was supposed to be quite a high stakes match. Not like Y/N cared much, though.

“Yeah! And the worst part was that he won’t even tease anymore. Like, he just sits there all broody and woe is me. We’re ALL on the brink of war...he’s not special!”

“Who are you talking about?” asked Harry.

“Oh, just Malfoy,” said Y/N. “We have detention together with McGonagall. He’s such a nasty little greaseball, don’t you think? I mean, look at him right now, glowering over his cereal.”

“Wait! That’s it!”

“What’s it, Harry?” Hermione asked.

“It’s genius, really,” he said. “Y/N has to spend time with him alone every week, and we know that something is up with him. Malfoy is absolutely a Death Eater and has connections to You-Know-Who, but I just need to find a way to prove it.”

“I vaguely forecast where this is going, and I hate it already.”

“Listen, Y/N. It’s not for that long, and it’s for the health of the wizarding world. If you just get to know him--”

“Ick!”

“If you just get to know him, maybe get him to trust you and find out his secrets...we’d finally have enough to turn him in and throw him out of Hogwarts for good.”

“Is that really necessary, Harry?” Ginny butted in from her seat further down next to Dean. “Malfoy’s probably just exhausted like the rest of you. 6th year is difficult, and we have no solid evidence that he’s a Death Eater. I’m sure being stuck in a room with him for 2 hours is hard enough without pretending to be nice to him.”

“But what if Harry’s right?” said Y/N. “What if he is actually a Death Eater? What if he’s an active danger to the student body?”

“Exactly!” The joy written across Harry’s face at the prospect of someone else finally agreeing was infectious. “So will you?”

“Er…” She dragged her spoon across the top layer of her porridge. “In theory, sure. In actuality, I’m not sure how I could do it. Malfoy doesn’t want anything to do with me, either.”

“Love potion?” offered Ron.

“I don’t care how much of a prat he is, I’m not roofying him.”

“I rarely agree with you, Y/N, but I think you’re right. If you want to do this, you need to get him to trust you for real.”

“Your back-handed compliment skills never disappoint, Hermione. Do you think you could help me out with a plan?”

A slow smile spread across the girl’s face as she nodded. “That’s my strong suit.”

[mhdiaries]

Wave 2 Frankie Stein Diary

The 15th day of September

Watzit got into big trouble today while I was at school. Somehow, he got into dad’s lab and snuck out with apart from one of dad’s projects. Good thing mom was looking out the window and saw Watzit trying to bury it. Dad was still pretty amped up by the time I got home. “That animal is too smart for its own good – I’ve got a good mind to replace its brain with a sheep’s or one from a soft sciences professor.” I think Watzit just misses me when I’m at school so I’m going to start getting up extra early to take him for a longer walk before I leave. Hopefully that will help – otherwise I’m going to have to kennel him during the day = (.

The 24th day of September

I used to think that being the “new girl” was the hardest thing about going to school but now I’m thinking that being the “not so new girl” is kinda hard too. When I was the new girl and I did something dumb everybody said, “You’re new – don’t be so hard on yourself – you’ll get the hang of it.” My friends have also done a lot of things for me, which is good and bad. Good because it kept me from embarrassing myself, and bad because there are some things I didn’t learn to do on my own and now everybody expects me to know those things and when I mess something up that I should know it’s like really, really embarrassing. Like I never really paid much attention to where my classrooms were when I started at MH – total brain short on my part I know – but it was just easier to follow Draculaura or Clawdeen and because they always insisted on showing me around I didn’t really learn they layout of the school. So yesterday we were on our way to class when I totally got caught up in a zombie flash mob and when I finally got away, I was in a part of the school I didn’t recognize and totally lost. I thought if I peeked into one of the classrooms that maybe a teacher could help me. I saw this big iron door and was about to open it when somebody behind me said, “That wouldn’t be a good idea.” I nearly jumped out of my stitches. It was Spectra Vondergeist. She said, “Oh, it looks like I frightened you… good.” Then she pointed to a sign above the door that read, Basement Levels, “Now unless you have a ball of twine or a Minotaur in your pocket you probably don’t want to go down there – follow me.” I followed her down the hallways listening to her stories about MH. They were all interesting but they kind of all were starring her. She did get me back to class though which was really nice of her. Of course, I was really late, and the teacher wanted to know where I had been – I said I got lost, the whole class laughed, and I got detention because the teacher thought I was giving her attitude. After class Ghoulia showed me how to GPS all my classes with my iCoffin so it wouldn’t happen again – oh well, just another lesson for the “not so new girl anymore.”

The 25th day of September

I went to breakfast with my dad this morning, which was scary fun although I didn’t think it was going to be at first. See, he goes to the same die-ner every Saturday morning and has breakfast with the same group of monsters and mad scientists. Mom said he’s been doing it for years. I asked her if she ever went and she just laughed. “I don’t take your father with me to shop for shoes and he doesn’t take me when he gets together with his friends to solve all of the world’s problems.” “Why not?” I asked. Mom gave me a hug and said, “Because my love, there are times when practical advice can just take all the fun out of life.” Then from behind us I heard dad say, “Unless it comes from your parents and then it is to be heeded at all costs.” Then Dad rushed us out the door because he wanted to make sure we got there before the banana scary pancakes ran out. I said, “I’m not a little girl dad, I can eat grown up food you know.” “Of course, you can my dear, but who said I was thinking about you?” Dad’s friends turned out to be really nice and pretty funny for a bunch of monster geeks especially when they started telling stories about dad ;). I could see that they all really like him though and since my dad has a very self-decapitating sense of humor it made the time totally fun. I don’t think I’d want to get up early every Saturday morning but I’m glad I got to see that my dad can be a regular monster too. Hey, who knew? Oh, and the banana scary pancakes? Definitely worth getting there early for.

The 1st day of October

My stitches are still coming loose at exactly the wrong time. Dad ordered some special monstertanium thread that he said was stronger than dragon’s breath and would totally fix the problem. Yeah – not so much. I was standing on a ladder in the gym helping Draculaura hang up a banner for this week’s pep rally when Clawd and some of the football team walked through wearing their game day jerseys. One of the guys on the team is a gargoyle from Scotland who has the dreamiest accent and the most scary handsome crystal grey eyes. I said hi to everybody by name but when I got to him, I totally blanked. I just stood there absolutely mortalfied and finally called him by her jersey number… “7” … lame I know… but then the rest of the guys started teasing him and I got so anxious that my arm fell and then the rest of me fell too. I don’t know how he did it but somehow “7” caught both my arm and me. All the guys started clapping and Clawd said, “How come you don’t catch like that at practice?” “7” was talking to Clawd but looking at me when he said, “If the passes ye threw were as pretty as this lass, I’d nay drop another.” At least that’s what Draculaura said he said. I don’t remember anything after I feel off the ladder except strong arms and crystal grey eyes.

The 7th day of October

Fear Squad practice was terrible today. Cleo was totally impossible to please, and we started and stopped several times before she finally just cancelled practice altogether. Then at lunch Purrsephone, Meowlody and Toralei were all saying that it was because of the blowup that Clawd had with Spectra and the rumor was that Cleo was going to break up with Deuce, Deuce was going to start dating Operetta and Clawd was definitely back in the picture with Cleo. I was really bummed cause they’re all my friends and I didn’t want to have to take sides. I saw Lagoona later and asked her what she thought about the rumors. She asked me who was spreading them and when I told her she just laughed and said, “Not every seagull that yabbers has found a fish.” Coming from Lagoona that somehow made me feel better, confused but better.

The 12th day of October

Monster Heritage Essay by Frankie Stein

That’s all I’ve written so far but I’m really excited about the assignment cause I’m going to get to learn so much scary cool stuff about my classmates. I thought that for part of my heritage research I would read that book that was written about my parents, but I couldn’t find a copy of it in the house. I asked mom why and she said the author had taken, “certain liberties with the truth” but if I wanted to check out a copy from the library, she would be happy to answer any questions I had. When I asked dad about the book, he used an expression I’d never heard before, but I guess mom had because she made that noise in the back of her throat that means some monster is in trouble. Dad hung his head and looked kind of creepish for a bit until mom stood on her tiptoes and kissed him on the cheek. I don’t need to read a book to find out about my monster heritage. I get to see it every day – how scary cool is that?

The 16th day of October

I had the strangest dream last night. I dreamed we were planning to have the scary best dance ever until an evil teacher cancelled it and we had to have the dance in a secret location under the school. Everything was going as planned when this strange monster in a shiny suit with lots of hair appeared and started yelling that this was his dream and we were going to start over. I totally jumped into another dream but the only think I remember from that one was the intense feeling of being a stranger. It must have been stressful though cause when I woke up, I was upside down and one of my arms had fallen off. No more ghost chili pizza for me before bed.

The 24th day of October

I met a new ghoul today! At least new to me = ) Her name is Abbey Bominable and I think she’s really sweet even if she does take a bit to warm up to. Anyway we were waiting in line together at the creepateria and she was asking the lunch ladies to explain what was in the food. The line started to back up and some monsters were yelling at her to hurry up. I think she was starting to get frustrated so I told her to go with the screechza since it was pretty easy to recognize most of the stuff they put on it. She gave me a look so serious that I thought I had said something I shouldn’t have but then she smiled and thanked me. We sat together and I learned that she lives in the mountains about the school, loves to snowboard and that her first language is Yetish. She said she could understand what was being said most of the time but that the slang kept tripping her up because it was hard not to take everything literally. I told her that sometimes I still did the same thing. Then I told her that I would help her with her slang if she would teach me how to snowboard. She thought for a moment and then said, “I think that would be the cool that is scary.” Hehe I bet she learns slang faster than I learn to snowboard = ).

[devourer--of--books]

I’m mad about Hunter being written off and here’s why you should be too

You: wasted potential.

Me, an intellectual: ah, Hunter and Nicola’s friendship

I have strong opinions about Hunter.

Yeah, you heard me right.

Look, I have strong opinions about many, many, things. Today, we are taking a dive on Hunter and Nicola. First I’d like to blame this post on Kate, as I decided to make it after I tried to articulate why Hunter being written off TCY makes me so angry in a huge comment under her latest OTK post but it ended up being too big and messy so I deleted it. I don’t think I’ve seen anyone elaborate on it, so if you were also mad about this, bro, not to be intense, but like, are we soulmates or...??

Before anything else, as I usually do with my text posts (which I haven’t done in a while, opsies), I shall provide you with arguably unnecessary context. Sit down, grab yourself some snacks, make yourself at home, I’m about to rant you into oblivion.

Since I know many accounts weren’t around back then, I’ll also give you the socio-political vibes of the time period, as any self-respecting half-baked essay written last minute should.

POV, you’re 14/15 year-old me. You flat iron your hair, you don’t use sunscreen, you think you’re straight and your school makes you wear those horrid low rise uniform pants, but at least you can somewhat do your make-up decently now that you grew out of your emo phase.

The year was 2016. The Ever Never Handbook has just come out. You re-watch the handbook trailer on youtube for the fifteenth time. Everyone is losing their minds over OcTObeR 14tH and “a student named Agatha ~ now Agatha of Camelot~”, as well as the portraits and the teasing for a new SGE book. Quests For Glory is announced just a few days later. 2016 tagatha ship week happens a few months down the line. 

This is the SGE Tumblr Fandom Peak.

Now, let’s start right there, two-ish weeks after the release of the Handbook, right as the QFG announcement comes out.

We all knew Soman wasn’t done with SGE after TLEA. He definitely had been teasing something in his weekly blogs (lol, remember when I used to check the blog, what a time to be alive) and once we got the ENH, we got quite lot of info to theorize. Here’s some that I can think off the top of my head: 

- The coven was going on a mission to find a new School Master.

- Tedros and Agatha were struggling financially in Camelot but were going to get married soon (even if Sophie doubted Tedros would have asked Agatha yet, as of the time of the Ever Never RoundTable, but we’re taking that with a grain of salt, because she was written to sound jealous here, and I won’t acknowledge that kinda of bs, she is happy for her friends okay, we’ve been though this-)

- Sophie had completely remodeled the School For Evil and was getting on Dovey and the rest of the faculty’s nerves (except for newly hired history teacher, Hort).

- The rest of the supporting cast had just graduated third year and was to be off in quests soon.

- The School was now accepting applications, and two of those applicants are Nicola and Bogden.

Now, I’m not even gonna bring up how it was mentioned in a video in EverNeverTv that Bogden would be an important character in TCY, and yet, I can’t think of anything relevant about him other than the fact that he knew tarot apparently, or how his application had more personality than him in the entire series, or how he was basically there so we could look at him and Willam and be like “oh, representation”, or how he’d be a good insight on how Galvadon perceives Sophie and Agatha post-TLEA, or- I’m just not gonna.

Oh, no. Instead, we are here to discuss Nicola’s application.

If your memory is foggy, let me remind you:

Nicola’s application is submitted, according to the Handbook, by her friend, Hunter. For convenience sake, we’ll assume Hunter is a guy (I’ll tell you why Hunter being a guy works better for me in a bit), but his gender is not mentioned anywhere in the ENH. I don’t think he has been gendered in any version (correct me if I’m wrong) or if there are any pronouns for him during TCY, but I’m fairly confident he isn’t mentioned at all.

Hunter tells us he is applying on Nic’s behalf, as she’d never apply for herself. He mentions that she is more or less the Galvadon equivalent of an activist for women’s rights, founding a rugby unisex team and campaigning for pants instead of skirts for the local school uniform, as well as having a feminist sounding book as her favorite book. It’s heavily implied that she is a jock, as he lists that, if marooned on a desert island, Nicola would want to have a soccer ball, a hockey stick and a set of dumbbells (“and none of this 5-lb nonsense”) with her.

Upon asked why Nicola should go to the school, his answer is: “because there’s a greater place for her in the world, where she can learn a girl’s true worth, and I don’t think it’s here.”

Then you have a note from (*rolls eyes* *suppresses a gag* *tears hair out*) the very late, long, long gone, absolutely dead, August Sader, telling the Deans to accept her application, despite having no reason to do so, as Nicola was to “play a crucial role in it’s [the school’s] survival.” Dovey and Sophie agree to flip a coin to decide which school will take her, which Sophie must have lost, as Nicola is accepted into the School For Evil.

By now, I think we all agree that Nicola was done dirty. If you check my QFG re-read you’ll notice that I complained about her there. As I had to go though her introduction chapter again to make this post, let me tell you why: Nicola wasn’t written to be likeable.

She simply wasn’t. That’s the one conclusion I can draw. Whether that’s intentional or not, I can’t tell, but the backlash she received was fairly useful, as it meant Soman could write her off the main story without much backlash from his target audience (aka, not us, pesky pretentious older readers).

The Nicola I was introduced to, not only in the Handbook but on her trailer for QFG was not the girl on QFG. 

Nic is there to be the smart  girl™, and while I do appreciate having a character who is a bit cocky about their brains, it just doesn’t work well there. Because her bond to other characters and the way she earns their respect feels so weak, she just comes across as pretentious. Characters like Hester and Agatha, who are supposed to be smart, feel dumbed down to show us how clever Nicola is. Agatha is supposed to be the resourceful thinker and Hester wanted to be class captain, you bet she studied like crazy, she probs knows every fairytale in existence. 

Then you add that to the (*rolls eyes* *suppresses a gag* *tears hair out*) Nicola and Hort fiasco and Nic feels like a weirdly written OC insert.

Handbook!Nicola sounded like a smart jock kind of character (read, more Gryffindor than Ravenclaw). Handbook!Nic was a Reader who read the tales as a hobby, but her favorite book is not a tale, it’s a non-fiction book (as far as I can tell). She might not be the fairytale expert, but she sounds like a practical thinker, as sport requires strategy, which is not Hester’s strong suit, given she is rather impulsive, or Agatha’s, given she is often unwilling to make hard decisions due to her Good nature and her own insecurities. C’mon, Handbook!Nic would have taken one look at Hort and sent him running to hills, because she would be able to smell his bs three miles away. She’s no one’s replacement, least of all Sophie’s (whom she probably would not have gotten along with (at least they got this part right) given Sophie’s “my prince will sweep me away from an ordinary life” phylosophy). To be honest she doesn’t sound like she’d be interested in dating at all.

But this post is about Hunter right? Let me remind you, Hunter is not mentioned in Nicola’s introduction, when she talks about her life in Galvadon. Canon!Nicola tells us that she has two brothers who want to inherit her father’s pub in order to sell the place, but Nicola is close with her father and likes working there to some extent, even if she has bigger ambitions. She believes her brothers sent her application as a way to get rid of her.

Back when I still had some faith that Soman had an arc for Nicola that included resolution, I had my theories as to why she wouldn’t mention Hunter: maybe he was to appear in later books and they’d have a huge backstory explaining their friendship, as well as a dramatic confession that Hunter sent her application because he felt Nicola deserved to live an adventure, and Nicola would either realize that she was meant for something more or that she wanted to live a quiet life, honestly either would be nice. I would have taken anything. Truly, if Nicola’s k-pop boyfriend in the OTK epilogue had been replaced with Hunter, I might be able to hate it less.

Especially if they came to the (*rolls eyes* *suppresses a gag* *tears hair out*) school wedding as friends. Because you know what?

We are starved for male-female friendships in the SGE universe.

Tedros’s only female friends (all his friends in general) are Agatha’s friends (who all tried to get rid of him at some point, save for maybe Dot) and his actual friends are all dead (Bettina/Chaddick). Hort could be counted as Agatha’s friend, if only he didn’t bash her every five seconds like a moron (he literally pitched the idea that Agatha should be executed by Tedros in OTK, just because he was envious or her relationship with Sophie (not jealous, envious, because Sophie wasn’t his to begin with)) over his delusional sense entitlement of Sophie’s affections (which I hate, but as this is not a Hort-bashing post, I won’t get too much into), but the coven, Beatrix, Renna and co. would not touch him with a stick. Merlin’s friendship with Lady Of The Lake is gone, and Dovey is dead. Rhian and Kei both had that frenemies thing with Sophie in ACOT/beggining of OTK, but I think it was supposed to be romantic? It wasn’t ew (I hate Rhian but he’s also wasted potential, and so was Kei, whom I liked, rest in peace). Japeth hates women for??? Whatever. Willam and Bodgen are such background characters I could not care less about them. The new students weren’t memorable enough for me to remember their names. I think this about covers the main male cast.

There’s a lack of male friendships too, but we kinda have (*rolls eyes* *suppresses a gag* *tears hair out*) Tort and whatever was that rushed Tedros/Chaddick friendship.  Rhian and Kei were gay friends (yeah, right, sure, very platonic). Tedros and Rhian could have been friends if Rhian redeemed himself, but otherwise no. Tedros and Filip… gay. Japeth literally killed Rhian, so also not very good friendship between brothers. Hort has no friends, because Ravan would so not be here for his bs. Willam and Bogden are a couple and (*rolls eyes* *suppresses a gag* *tears hair out*) so were Aric and Japeth, I guess.

Still don’t believe Hunter was wasted potential? Okay, let me tell you what my ideal Nicola arc would be, mixing Handbook!Nicola with some canon!Nicola and including Hunter.

- Nicola is the one inheriting the pub (once she gets married), despite Galvadon’s pre-TLEA sexism and conservative views, because she is her father’s only child and her brothers are actually her older half-siblings from her mother’s previous marriage.

- Her mom died at some point early in her childhood. Not a childbirth tho, because Callis, local witch gynecologist (have you checked my post on this yet? no? you should) was there for her, even if it was a high risk pregnancy because the mom was already older.

- Because of that, Nicola’s father actually sells bread to Callis for cheaper prizes, but don’t tell the elders, shhh

- Anyway, because her mom was gone so early, Nicola was raised by her dad, brothers and by the employees (mostly men, as I don’t think it was all that common for women to work jobs in Galvadon) of her father’s pub. Due to being a girl, most guys weren’t willing to befriend her (sexism, am I right), but because she was a tomboy she had difficulty bonding with the other girls at school, even when they weren’t outright hostile (cof cof Sophie). 

- Example: she and Belle had a tentative bond over their love of cooking, but often ran out of things to talk about and the conversation fell flat.

- Which is how she ends up befriending Hunter. 

- Hunter is the only boy in a family of many girls and his father works all day. He has a good heart and is rather emotional, but he always feels like he has something to prove, which leads him to being rather impulsive. Both Nicola and Hunter love sports and are very competitive people. Once Nicola gains his respect, he feels very protective of her and often feels the need to stand up for her, even if she doesn’t need it.

- Nicola knows Hunter feels overlooked in his family, so she is always inviting him over and taking care of him, keeping him out of trouble. Her father begins to see him as his own son, and soon he spends more time at Nicola’s house than at his own.

- Everyone thinks they’ll get married some day. His sisters tease him mercilessly about it, and so does Nic’s father, but frankly, Nic and Hunter see each other as family.

- You can bet Hunter is the one teaching Nic about periods after asking his sisters, so she wouldn’t have to suffer with Galvadon’s horrid Sex Ed. (go check the Callis headcanon’s okay, give me clout, that it my favorite post I’ve ever made)

- They tried to kiss once. Nicola vomited and Hunter gaged.

- Hunter is Nicola’s number one supporter and fan, 100% had those gender-equality pins she made for her campaigns all over his bags and jackets.

- Since most wedding matches are arranged by the elders before girls even graduate, it was settled that Nic and Hunter would get married to each other and then inherit the pub. It would of course, be a secretly platonic match and they would suspiciously have no children (Nicola even had a plan to visit Callis to get a potion for infertility, just in case the elders wanted to check on her... okay, I’ll stop).

- Hunter doesn’t tell her, but Nicola knows he wants to marry for love and have a family of his own. She tries to talk him out of marrying her, but he insists that he would be doing it out of love for her, even if not romantic, because Nic didn’t deserve to be matched up with some stranger she barely knows who would no doubt be less tolerant of her more radical views.

- She tells him it’d be fine for him to have a affairs then, but he insists he would never do that to her, because people would talk about Nic if that was the case and her reputation would be ruined.

- The night of Sophie and Agatha kidnapping Nicola tells him she would rather be taken to the School than to stay there and make him live an unhappy life.

- Hunter is horrified (remember, everyone thought going to the school was a fate worse than death) and makes her promise to never treat her life so fickly.

- Sophie and Agatha get taken, come back, but during Tedros’ reign of terror in Galvadon, right before they return to the Woods, Nicola’s father grows very very sick.

- Nic thinks he’s going to die, and she frets, not only because they’re close but also because she can’t inherit the place if she doesn’t marry Hunter. But, well, she sort of always knew, but now that feels very real, she thought she had some more time before that.

- They set a date for the wedding, but thankfully, Tedros and Agatha’s escape ends up causing the ceremony to be delayed.

- By the time the new date is set, there’s no more elders and Stefan is now mayor.

- But just because he is the mayor doesn’t mean the law and the sexism is gone overnight.

- Nic’s father is getting somewhat better, but she is still very worried about him, because of his old age.

- Once SGE starts having applications and has been proved to be, well, somewhat safe, Hunter suggests that Nicola applies, but after the scare that she might lose her father sooner rather than later, she tells him she can’t bring herself to leave him.

- Hunter doesn’t want her to throw her life away, specially now knowing that in the Endless Woods there were people like her and that progress would get there before it ever got to Galvadon 

- (He also wants to not marry someone he views as a sister, pls).

- So he files her application in secret.

- Nicola gets accepted, upon Sader’s request and Sophie’s bad luck, into the School For Evil. She and Sophie still don’t get along, the Evil castle rejects her and she gets pushed to Good, becoming an Ever, but she’s only staying until Christmas, because she is worried sick about her father.

- She thinks the application was a plot from her brothers because she doesnt think Hunter would ever betray her trust like that, after she specifically told him she wouldn't go.

- There’s no Hicola, instead, she and Hort become friends and she talks him out of his delusions with Sophie, because as much as Nicola dislikes her, Sophie was a girl too, and deserved to have her feelings respected. 

- She also punches Hort into giving up his envy of Tedros and Agatha while at it, because she is just that efficient.

- Everything else up to OTK can be pretty much the same because I can’t remember what happens, other than everytime Nicola is smart girl™, it’s not “because she reads”, but because she is practical. 

- Example: on the boat scene where she very pretentiously sasses Agatha for not saying hello to her (canon!Nicola, girl, she just suffered six months of loneliness at Camelot because Tedros shut her out and is now on a quest to save her happy ending, probs didn’t get much sleep, maybe cut her some slack) and then tells her how to sail a boat (despite the fact that there are no boats in Galvadon and I’m sure you can’t just read Peter Pan and learn to sail a boat, unless I did it wrong or something, maybe the storian version comes with a crash course). Here, instead, Nicola presses Hort (who is a pirate’s son) to remember literally anything to help them (therefore making him not completely useless on this quest), and he does and they tell Agatha and she’s like sure and does it.

- Now, in OTK, I literally can’t remember where Nicola was for most of it and I read that book not too long ago, so I’m worried. 

- Okay, so, have the Knights Of Eleven actually serve some purpose, include a scene where Tedros and Nicola stress-play rugby and get her some internal conflict.

- Nic now loves this world. She just spent the last few weeks fighting to protect it. She is now a Knight, and she loves the adventures and the new friends she made. Can she really go back to Gavaldon to take care of a pub? Well, she needs to, doesn’t she? That’s what a good daughter would do.

- After Japeth’s execution, Nic goes straight home.

- Her father’s condition is stable, as he is being treated by Hunter and his new wife.

- Oh boy, Hunter has some explaining to do.

- Nicola is furious that he broke her trust, but at the same time, she’s happy he’s happy and well, Hunter what do you have to say for yourself?

- “Damn, Nic, nice armour- ouch, my arm!”

- Apparently, since Nicola was taken, Stefan approved a law for people to be able to leave their inheritance to whomever they wanted. And since Nic was gonna be at the Woods, her father was more than happy to leave it to Hunter. Of course, unless Nicola wanted to stay at Gavaldon. 

- Does she? She’s not sure.

- Hunter and Nicola attend the tagatha wedding at Camelot (what, like I wasn’t gonna fix this part?), Hunter is Nic’s plus one.

- There, Hester, Anadil and Dot show her Sader’s note, and ask her, not to become School Master, but to become Dean Of Good, because she would be perfect for the new brand of Good to match Sophie’s Evil. You know, since she is all for gender-equality, good manners, practicality and was particularly good at dealing with Sophie’s bs.

- Since Tedros has the Storian Ring, the pen doesn’t need actual protection, well, not more than it can get from Nic and Sophie.

- Sophie herself insists that Nicola accept the position, not because she doesn’t want to be alone at the school now that Hort and Dovey are dead, no, of course not, since when did Sophie ever need anyone, she was just asking cause… cause Nicola looked lonely. The pretty boy who came with her was not her boyfriend, was he? Sophie was prettier than him anyway. Who needs a boy when they can have her?

- Whether they become a couple or not, I’ll let you decide.

- Bonus: years later, Hunter’s eldest daughter is accepted at the School for Good. Nicola is her godmother, and her favoritism shows.

There, if nothing else, the reason you should be mad about Hunter and the Handbook in general is because this didn’t happen.