#doing those things while working. my brain is only wizards while the body must go through The Motions

[criticalrolo]

my time is currently split between listening to worlds beyond number and Stanning Suvi, and trying to decide if I immediately want to rewatch calamity for Laerryn. will somebody please tell Aabria how much I love her work with wizards

[lee-scribbles-and-doodles]

S3 ep5

Current emotional status: FEAR

Cthulu Max has been on the rampage for a whole week!?

Ew, the narrator

Oh man, are they sending the airforce after him?

I really like Cthulu Max's design

Momma Bosco 💗

Oh hey, Norrington and Papierwaite are alive.

Superball are you saying you tried to send the Maimtrons up Max's--

Also he's acting president while Max is... deposed of.

Superball is only giving Sam until 6am :(

Featherly!

"Wandering around the moleman tunnels is no fun without Max."

"You got it all wrong, we're trying to help Max." "We will help him... to a generous serving of ass whooping."

"That is one rabbit who will be multiplied... into 2,000 smoldering pieces."

Carol ran off with Blustet

"I only want her to be happy, is all." Aw, Curt

Superball just admitted to having separation anxiety from Max

Ok Momma can't come but Papierwaite and Norringron can.

I like Norrington :)

GASP

Is it?

It is!

SYBIL!!!!

RETURN OF THE QUEEN

Oh, she is very pregnant

She was a wizard at one point?

She's gonna help!

Superball there's no such thing as acceptable losses

Abe has his body back

"Four score and seven tons of raw power"

HE CAN FLY NOW!?

Sybil, I love you, but why did you mod someone else's car???

Grandpa Stinky I love you

Oh, he just handed us the recipe for once.

Asdfff the spore maxes swarming Grandpa

They stole Grandpa's hotdogs

"We must feed the host! Piglets and sphinkters make us stronger!" "We regret nothing!"

Grandpa hasn't slept in three years

Sam just casually taking the last of Grandpa's corndogs

The spores are trying to get it

Lol Sam slapped them

Sal's alive!

He's hiding from Sam :(

Lol we can control Cthulu Max with Corndogs

Ew, the cornstarch got mixed in with the giant puddle 🤢 Looks gross

Love how Sybil completely ignores the Flaming Max head

Also the look of disappointment on the spore's face made me laugh

Fifth trimester???

The way the one Max spore by Grandpa's truck is bobbing in circles with his mouth open is making me laugh.

Sam showing concern for Sybil because she’s preggers 🥺

Her being pregnant with Abe's child implies that statues have working genital in this universe

She put a weiner scented airfreshener in the desoto

At least Sam and a Max spore seem to like that (of course they do)

"Sybil you're the best!" Hell yeah she is!

Sam's mind went to the color bar codes to prevent being traumatized by Sybil's oversharing

We drowned the desoto

Asdfgh Sam just botched slapped one of the spores for trying to say "that's none of your damn buisness."

Ew, Max's spine is pointing out

Oh hey, Satan and Jurgen

Why is Jurgen wearing his old fashioned clothes instead of his emo clothes?

Lol Sam snuck into frame to shout "Go Mets! New York rules!"

"--besides it's just a good and noble thing to do." "You're not familiar with my previous work, are you?"

"Sam, what happened to you to make you so cynical?" Gee, Jurgen, I wonder what could have possibly happened.

Oh so the water tower counts as vegetable oil because Momma did something to it

Pfft we can replace Satan's microphone with a corndog

Omg they jumped off the building to avoid Max

Oh, they're fine, and the oil is in the giant puddle.

I'm thankful to Featherly for giving us an egg but I'd have preferred not to watch him lay it. Granted it was just in a cartoon way but he still made weird noises

Also TRANS FEATHERLY 2021

"I desperately wanted to see that, sir. Ask him if he'll lay another one."

Oh hey, the Flaming Max heads helped heat up the giant desoto corndog

Since I'm playing this in 2021 the Maimtron's song references are super dated, which defeats Superball's efforts

Oooh! A unique opening sequence???

Oh this music is jazzy af

Sam really doesn't like the Max spores

Sam how do you already know what Max's insides look like???

"Even when he's not a collasal monster Max's food comas can last for weeks."

Ok we wake Max up with the coffee beans, right?

Yup!

The gi Max spore is so sad he doesn't get to come 😢

"But I'm a horrible monster!"

"I suppose Max's brain always looks like a living room?" "Well, Max is host to all kinds of weird parasites, and he likes to he a good host!" WHAT

No really, this brings up so many questions about lagomorphs. Are they some kind of Symbiote or something?

And a previous episode confirmed Max is amphibious

Max has tumors!!!

It shocked Sam!

"Eugh! Get away fake Max!" "Do you find my warmth... alarming, Sam?"

"What do nightmares taste like, anyway?" "Pepsi"

Max wants to be author 💗

He also writes fanfiction about Flint 🤣

I'd unironically read his books.

Tina Belcher voice: Friend fiction

Max has an experimental fusion jazz band???

"He just killed a great white shark--"

Max being completely unable to describe a woman is very gay of him. Good for him.

Max's brain teleported everyone to different parts of the body.

Found Sybil in the gym/legs

The brain is broadcasting Sam's thoughts???

Sam couldn't think of a joke for the medicine balls :(

"Wow Max is looking pretty buff. Would it be too weird if I asked him to turn around?"

Sam! Stop thinking bad things about Sybil's pregnancy she can hear you you putz!

She's upset with him now

"Can you believe this guy?" "I find the entire situation to be very contrived and misogynistic." Same spore Max, same.

Sam stop being so mean omg!

"I changed Sybil, I totally get the whole parenthood thing now." "Really now?" "Tax deductions."

In Max's inventory now

Y'know, I never really thought about it as a storage house

Hit The Road reference :3

Baby roach hatched in

"Pa..papa?" "Now I am little champion, now I am!"

Max has a Maximus shrine

Sam turned into a roomba!

Aw, he named it Sam Jr 🥺

We won Sybil back through his love of Sam Jr

Found the conjoined twins

Huh, Max lost as eye. Does that mean he has a glass one, or do lagomorphs have regenerative abilities?

Pfft we have to play twister to control his arma

The brain is messing with things again

Oh, we need a roach to operate the game because of radiation

Well, let's kidnap Sal

Oh, poor Girl Stinky. She's really going through it

Aw, Sal feels bad

Sal?

Honey, are alright?

He's dying???

He's not immune to irradiation!?

Oh no, he's gone

I'm so sad 😞

Gotta pick up Sam Jr. Before I control Max

They mad Max do a magical girl pose

Ugh the narrator is back

Wait, what?

He's Max's brain??? SUPEREGO???

WHAT

"I was always ignored" Yo if my super ego was as pretentious as you I 'd ignore it too 😤

He wants to kill himself and Max???

I know Max had a self loathing complex but holy shit

The super ego is perfectly fine with destroying half the east coast what a jerk

Just noticed Sam's tie is red. Had no idea about this while drawing PI!Sam lol

We have to help Max get his memories back to use the ASTRO projector

Skunkapes has three Sam clones imprisoned

Sam had canon ocd?

Gasp Gordon???

No, it's Sammun Mak

I love him, little child tyrant

Just make him a mobile brain in a jar and let Sam and Max adopt him

Why is Grandpa here?

He isn't talking like Stinky

Too polite

Sam sees it too

He's a space gorilla

They switched brains?

Found the cloning g chamber

Let's go to Momma's first

CONE OF SHAME CONE OF SHAME CONE OF SHAME

Superball is "wracked with guilt"

"Keep it together Superball. Sam will be able to save the day. He always does."

Ok, let's go to the cloning facility

I'm still thinking about poor Sal yo

FLIIIIIINT!

He's punching space apes!

Girl Stinky really playing up the evil Mistress role

The doggleganger has a bomb on him!!!

Wait so Girl really is a mermaid??? I thought that was just her aestetic

God I love Flint

Haha we tricked Skunkape with scooby doo villain tactics

Got the robot

Her water broke... and it was pennies

Max wants to save Sybil! 😭🥺💕

Super Ego is here

Oh now he wants to save Max

The only thing here are those records

Super Ego waved goodbye

Cthulu Max is cute when he cries

Wait What?

His head is on fire!

The maimtron hit him!

He waved goodbye... and teleported away.

He exploaded!!!!

He promised he'd take Sam with him and he didn't!!!!

AAAAAAH

I thought the dead Max thing was popular angst fanon fic thingy!

We're cloning Max?

It didn't work 😭😭😭😭😭

Superball ran off crying

Oh God the credits are just Sam walking sadly what the hell

He's not even stopping to fight any crime 😢

💔💔💔

God the way he's clinging to himself

What?

The elevator???

MAAAAX

he's back???

Past Max???

He blew his Sam up???

Wait hold on I'm glad they're together again but this doesn't fix anything

There's so much trauma from this season

All the horrible things that happened during 301-304 happened in like 3 days tops, then Sam had to deal with Max being a monster for a week before watching him die!

And the new (?) Max had BLOW HIS SAM UP!!!

And they left the franchise like that for a decade????

What the hell?

I want to be happy but this shit is going to consume my brain for the next week at least what the hell

Aaaaaaah!

Like maybe they really do just brush it off but it feels unlikely

I know Max has a connection with his other selves so it'll be easier for him to adjust but certainly Sam is going to notice the discrepancies since he doesn't get the same deal

Someone told me there were multiple endings hold on

Aw, they walked off into the sunrise together

But still

AAAAAAAAH

[ladyeliot]

It will always be you

Prequel: Stay with me

Pairing: Tony Stark x Avenger Female Reader

Summary: The snap has happened, the return of Wakanda has not been as you all expected, but now you have to face reality, and you just can't stop thinking about him, about Tony.

Warnings: Angst, Fluff.

Word count: 4101

A/N: Post Infinity War. Some of the dialogue is taken from the film. Sorry for my spelling and grammatical mistakes, English is not my native language, I am learning.

Reader Powers: Psionic. You use psionic force to track any sentient being. You also create psychic shields to protect yourself. You can project psychic force bolts which have no physical effects but which can affect a victim's mind, causing them pain.

Life is a continuous struggle of choices that you have to make without stopping to think for a second. It is said that hope is the last thing to be lost, probably because the choice you made almost left you without it. You must also learn that happiness is the last thing to be found, probably because the choice you have made has made you unhappier than you will ever be. Your life has been full of choices, you might have regretted many of them, but you decided at the time to make them, so you never allowed yourself to regret your actions, until that day.

Three weeks after Thanos snapped, hope was completely lost. The new facility has been uncharacteristically silent, no one has been able to say more than two words in a row, and you had barely managed to say one since your return from Wakanda. Steve Rogers, Natasha Romanoff, James Rhodes, Bruce Banner and you, those were the surviving Avengers, the ones that life had given you a second chance, but it didn't really feel like one.

You were in your old room, old because two years ago one of your decisions had taken you away from that place, yes, you were against the Sokovia Accords, that had led you to take the side of the Captain and to fight against the side of Iron Man, who had been the person who had saved you from the madness that your powers had generated in your mind. But even if you had turned against him, you knew you owed him everything. Evidently this was something he didn't understand, which led to a wide rift that had never been bridged on either side, and which led to a breakdown in your relationship of closeness.

Every corner of that room had been kept exactly as you had left it that night when you fled with Wanda. Your drawings together with the charcoals scattered on the desk, the book 'In Search of Lost Time' by Marcel Proust on the bedside table and that bracelet that Tony had given you for your 26th birthday that you had left next to the open jewellery box on the bed. It was really painful to see all of this, knowing that those facilities would probably never be what they once were, that Wanda would not suddenly appear at your door, that you would never sit around the dinner table and that Tony would not occupy the armchair next to your bed to try to cheer you up after a mission that hadn't gone so well. You didn't know whether frustration was taking over the fear and sadness or whether you just didn't know how to control your feelings on that occasion.

The days were long, each of you working in silence trying to make sense of what had happened, looking for a solution that would never come to the problem. You shared the hours, but the solitude that enveloped you was too austere to realise that there was a person by your side. You didn't know Thanos' location, however, even if you did, especially if you did, it had become clear that you could not stand alone against his entire army.

"Would you like some?" asked Natasha offering you a plate with a veggie sandwich on it, which you took with an almost soundless 'thank you'.

Yes, actually that had been your first word in five days, since you said goodnight to Bruce last Sunday, food and sleep were not high on your priorities, especially when you spent the night using your telepathic detection trying to find some sign of life that would make you believe Tony was alive, but it was useless. Your psionic senses allowed you to track any sentient being, you were able to scan large areas, but your ability did not address the entire universe.

That night your spirits seemed to be running low to the ground, three weeks without having achieved anything that would allow you to have any lucidity in your plans was too long as the situation stood. You could hear in the background a soft murmur coming from a conversation between Natasha and Steve, but you weren't really paying attention to it, it was all in your thoughts. But at that instant, an inner burst made them evaporate. A signal came into your brain, a psionic emanation that alerted you to the presence of a spaceship entering the stratosphere, with a fixed direction, yours. You rose from your chair, standing upright, capturing the attention of the people around you. You closed your eyes, heightening all your senses, taking in all the information that was coming to you, at that moment you felt it. You opened your eyes and looked at them.

"He's here," were the only words you could utter before you rushed outside. Your companions soon followed your path, asking questions to explain what was happening, but your inner euphoria prevented you from saying a single word.

That ship appeared above you as you raced across the garden, night was falling relentlessly and you could only glimpse a halo of light that seemed to direct the ship as it landed delicately on the wide grassy esplanade. The five of you paused, taking in the scene, discovering how a side door opened to project a flight of stairs. When you saw his face for the first time your lungs deflated, letting out all the air they had accumulated over a long period of time. Your body went rigid and you didn't react until Steve ran past you and approached the ship to help him down.

He looked terrible, it was evident in every facial feature and in his body movements, you knew what you had been through, but you had no idea what Tony had been through since his disappearance in New York, although you could get a pretty good idea. Before your eyes were Steve and Tony in custody, reunited again, after all that had happened, none of it mattered, at least not to you, and perhaps you had a vain hope that it didn't matter to anyone else either. Even so you didn't know how to act when your eyes connected with his, for a slight moment you wanted to approach him, offer him a hug and tell him that you were relieved to discover that he was there, with you, after all, but you chose to stay where you were, next to Natasha.

It wasn't until you headed inside that the stiffness disappeared from your body. A whispered 'are you okay' from Steve made you react again and pay attention to Natasha's words that were projecting all the information gathered during those days.

"The governments are destroyed," she reported as she projected images showing the missing, like Wilson, Maximoff and Parker, among others, "the working parts are trying to do a census, and it looks like he did it. He did what he said he would do. Thanos wiped out 50% of all living things."

Silence echoed around you, you were sitting in an armchair, somewhat away from the other members, playing with your fingers, trying not to look up, until he spoke.

"Where is he now?" asked Tony. "Where?"

"We don't know," Steve informed him from beside you, sitting at a table. "He opened a portal and went through it. We looked for Thanos for three weeks, with deep space scanners," Steve looked at you, "and satellites, and we found nothing." He looked at Tony. "Tony, you fought him."

"What are you talking about?" asked Tony from his wheelchair. "I didn't fight him. No, he wiped my face with a planet while the wizard gave away the store. That's what happened, there's no fight..."

You took a breath and sighed, because you could contemplate what was about to happen right now, the nerves were there along with the negativity and failure of some of the superheroes on that planet and others, and you knew it could explode at any moment.

"Tony, I'm going to need you to focus..." Steve repeated again hoping that Tony would offer him some clue as to the whereabouts of Thanos.

"I needed you," interrupted Tony in a raised tone. "as in past tense.  That trumps what you need. It's too late, buddy. Sorry." He used a second of his silence to look at Steve and another second to look at you, who stood beside him. You took in most of the feelings hidden in his gaze, and none of them were positive or forgiving. "You know what I need? I need a shave," he tried to get out of the wheelchair, taking everything on the table in his stride. "I don't believe I ever remember telling you this..." he ripped out the IV that connected the drip to his left arm. "To the living and the dead, What we needed was a suit of armor around the world! Remember that? Whether it impacted our precious freedoms or not," he looked back at you and Steve repeatedly. "That's what we needed!”

The discussion continued, avoiding an upset Tony explaining everything he thought about the current and past situation, ignoring the suggestions Rhodes was giving him to calm down and take his seat again.

"[...] Bunch of tired old wheels!" he pointed at Steve. "I got nothin' for you, Cap! I've got no coordinates, no clues, no strategies, no options! Zero, zip, nada. No trust - liar."

Almost ipso facto he turned to you ripped off the reactor prostrate on his chest and handed it to Steve in his hand, leaving those present virtually speechless, if you still had any left.

"Here, take this. You'll find him, if you put that on. You hide-"

After those words you gazed again into his eyes full of resentment at the past, before his body could take it no more and he collapsed in the middle of the room.

In the hours that followed, you were the shadow of a ghost gazing at him from a distance from the door frame of one of the recovery rooms in the new complex. On the one hand fearing his reaction against you when he woke up, while on the other hand wanting to hear it because you knew that sooner or later it would come but you wanted it to come as soon as possible so that you could face it. Those words she had said to Steve were harsh, but they were really nothing to what you expected might happen. It seemed absurd at the time to have entertained the idea that it might have been forgotten.

"Bruce gave him a sedative," Rhodes said, looking up at you, who were leaning against the doorframe. "He'll be unconscious for the rest of the day. Do you want to sit down?"

"No...I'd better..." but Rhodes didn't allow you to finish your words, as he had risen from the armchair next to Tony and offered it to you. "Thank you."

The door to the room ajar to offer you some more privacy. As you turned your gaze towards him you realised the fragility his body conveyed in those moments, he had spent weeks wandering through space not knowing if he was going to get the chance to return home again and yet he had been able to stay alive and find himself there. You closed your eyes and settled back on the couch, you remembered the first time you did that with Tony, he had spent too much time without sleep after the events after the Chitauri invasion, he could barely sleep because of the nightmares and he begged you to stop them every night, so with your eyes closed you concentrated and invaded his mind with caution releasing the tension you found in it and giving him the peace he needed. When you opened your eyes again, her expression seemed to have changed, she seemed to have found some relief inside her, that fact made you smile. But a knock on the door woke you up.

"We need to talk," Steve's words sounded serious.

A new piece of information about Thanos' whereabouts came as a surprise, but for you the surprise came right after.

"Wait, is this some kind of punishment or something?" you said completely dumbfounded, just outside the room where Tony was, with what Steve was proposing. "Why me?"

"Because we need someone to stay with Tony," he said calmly crossing his arms.

"Is it because I'm the smallest of the whole team? Because I could really knock you all out right now with the blink of an eye," you said crossing your arms too.

"It's because Tony needs you," Steve lowered his tone, "and you need him."

There was nothing but truth in those words. You didn't know if Tony really needed you, but what you had assumed was that you'd needed him for a long time, and you'd put a lot of things before that need, creating your close relationship to go to shit, basically.

"I wouldn't forgive myself if something happened to you on this mission," Steve said frankly. "And he wouldn't forgive me either if I said that happened."

You lowered your face as you nodded, accepting his words and the job you had been given.

"Be very careful," you said before Steve disappeared from in front of you to take a path that you had no idea what could be in store for them.

From that moment on, the hours went by really slowly, you took your position in that armchair again, you needed to have a clear mind, you couldn't continue martyring yourself with all the events that had happened, so you started reading 'In Search of Lost Time', that book that had been forgotten on the bedside table since you left that place. News was nil, you barely got a sign of what might be happening and you knew it would probably be days before you got it. 

Night was falling on the compound again, Tony was barely making any sign of waking up, which also gave you time to consider how the situation would play out, and various possibilities for coping with it. Some of his belongings had been salvaged from the ship, and his helmet, or rather what was left of it, stared at you from the dresser in the room. Without having a reason in mind you approached him, causing a blue light to suddenly flash across his eyes, showing you his figure in the middle of the room.

"Is it on?" a figure of a seated, completely haggard Tony appeared before your eyes. "Hey, Ms. Y/L/N, Y/N," your brow furrowed, but you approached his reflection. "If you find this footage don't put it on social media, it'll be really tearful," his words brought a sad smile to your face. "I don't know if you'll watch these videos. I don't even know if you're still... Oh god, I hope so..." there was a silence from his words, but you could see him bring his hands to his face, something inside you cracked. "I guess it's easier to do this if you know the chances of seeing you again are practically nil," something inside you made your heart shrink. "I probably should have realised this a lot sooner," he fell silent, "yeah, but I was busy trying not to hate you too much, you know, when you decided to abandon me and choose the other side," exhaustion almost prevented him from keeping his eyes open. "Anyway, anyway that made me realise how important you had been to me," he let his gaze wander, "I tried to be there for you ever since I met you and... god, this is getting too depressing," he ran his hand over his face. "I just want you to know that I wish you were here, because you're the only person I'd like to share my last hours with," he nodded slightly, you knew what he was trying to say with those words, which made your eyes water. "Don't feel bad about this, I mean, if you stay prostrate for a couple of weeks... and then move on with immense guilt..." he hid his face in the palm of his hand and closed his eyes, you wiped away a tear that ran down your cheek keeping the bitter smile you had been wearing all along. "I want you to know... when I've fallen asleep, it will be like the nights we spent together. I'm fine. All right," he gestured towards you. "I'll dream of you. Because it will always be you."

Suddenly, as if nothing had happened, his image disappeared in front of your eyes, leaving you with hundreds of feelings invading your body and mind. You looked up and there he was, still there, sleeping pleasantly, barely knowing what had just happened. You hurriedly wiped away the last tear running down your cheek and sat back down, putting your feet up on the couch, unable to take your eyes off him. Perhaps those thoughts were drawn from his most desperate moments, believing that his life was about to come to an end, perhaps he was unwilling to show them to you now that he had resumed the course of his life, so even though it was not possible you tried to send them to a hidden place in your mind.

You had hardly slept in those three weeks, your mind hadn't rested for days and you didn't know why, but finding yourself curled up in that armchair next to Tony was giving you back the tranquillity your body hadn't known for too long. It was impossible to stop your eyelids from closing, on the contrary you were willing them to do so and for sleep to warmly invade your body, no matter how long you could stay asleep. That's how it happened, making the hours pass without you even noticing. 

Like a little gust of wind, something in your body made the light enter through your eyelashes. Slowly you opened your eyes, feeling in various parts of your body a tightness due to the position in which you had fallen asleep in that armchair. You discovered that a woollen blanket covered your limbs, but what kept you alert was the bed next to you was completely empty. Tony wasn't there. You jumped up, looking around, the bedroom door was ajar and Iron Man's helmet was missing.

"Tony?" you asked, raising your voice, stepping out into the hallway. "Tony! Where are you?"

You barely heard an answer, so you were thankful those powers were within you, you stopped in the middle of the corridor and closed your eyes, your receptors picked up a signal coming from downstairs, it was him. You found him leaning on the kitchen counter, his eyes closed as he tried to stand. You ran to him, grabbing his arm to hold him up.

"What do you think you're doing?" you said, leading him to the nearest armchair in the living room.

You discovered that he had shaved, taken a shower and was wearing one of his Tom Ford suits that were so recognisable to you. That meant he had been wandering around the house unsupervised for over an hour without waking you up. You knelt down next to him.

"Why didn't you wake me up?" you asked with a worried look on your face as you contemplated that he was extremely tired. "Bruce gave a set of instructions for you to follow, you can't just walk around..."

"It was your turn?" he cut you off with an angry tone. "Be my babysitter? How did you do it? Did you draw lots?" his countenance was serious, you could still see the puffiness in his eyes and his face fully dehydrated. "Whoever draws the shortest stick gets to look after poor Stark, all right, listen..."

"No! You listen to me," you cut him off, raising your tone above his, standing up and resting your hands on each armrest "Tony, we all lost. We all fought and lost, none of us made it," your face was three feet above his. "So now all we can do is try, in some completely illogical way, to move the situation forward. And if we can't, at least look to the future by doing our best to honour those we have lost."

Silence flooded over you.

"So please don't make the situation more complicated," you continued, lowering your tone, almost begging him. "If I've stayed with you it's because Steve has made me understand some things, because yes, it wasn't really my intention to stay with you from the start, but then I realised that if anyone had to stay with you it was me. I realised that if I had to risk my life again I didn't want to go on the mission, because that would mean never seeing you again.And I've also realised that I've needed you for a long time, that I'm finally by your side and I have no intention of separating from you. Whether you like it or not." Tony cut his gaze with yours by ducking it, but brought his right hand over yours.

That gesture provoked you to bring your other hand to his face, placing a gentle caress on his cheek.

"I know there are a lot of things we need to talk about, but one thing we do have is time," you explained as Tony intertwined his fingers with yours. "So please, don't do anything more stupid and don't disappear," maybe it was the atmosphere generated by the situation, but you risked saying the next words. "Because it will always be you."

Tony closed his eyes a little regretfully, a little embarrassedly, and brought his free hand to his face.

"I knew you saw that," he added calmly removing his hand from his face. "Well, at least I've saved myself from having to repeat it in person."

"I'm not sure I got it right," you said falsely. "You know, there was a lot of interference, and besides, I couldn't really understand what you were saying, so..."

"Sorry, there was only one pass for the film," he said wryly which caused you to smile widely as you rediscovered that the old Tony was still hidden in it. "We won't know when there will be a revival."

"Too bad, I really liked that movie," you sat down on the armrest without letting go of his hand and looking up at him.

"Really?" he asked for the first time modestly, and putting aside all the irony that surrounded the situation.

"Totally," you nodded, trying to express all the many feelings through your eyes.

Silence again kept you company, until Tony somewhat uncomfortably broke it.

"I suppose you know that by now I would have kissed you and created a fully effective plan to make love to you for hours until you begged me to stop in pleasure," he stated lamely, "although I think if you give me a couple of hours..."

"All right, Don Juan," you cut him off with a chuckle, "we'd better leave all that for later, and I'll take you back to bed now."

"I think it's a good start if you take me to bed," he continued with his insinuations.

You got up from the armrest and helped him put his arm around your shoulders, even though he repeatedly told you he could walk unaided. 

"Have we heard from the team?" he asked, slowly climbing the steps of the ladder.

"Soon," you said with a halo of hope. 

You definitely made it back to the room, having made it successfully through the journey. You helped him get rid of the shoes and shirt that his pride had forced him to wear, but which now made no sense when he was going back to bed.

"See, you're finally going to get what you wanted, I'm undressing you," you said jokingly causing a smile to appear on Tony's face as he lay back down. "You rest, I'll be here. I'll always be here."

Taglist Open (DM)

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[amphxtrite]

1 • Amortentia.

chapter summary: an internal battle is made up with the help of the most powerful love potion ever known, but something occurs that had never been heard of before.

series summary: alone almost everyday from the moment you were born, thrown to the side by everyone in society because of who your parents were and who you were said to be, a death eater. Your parents were to of the most powerful dark wizards ever known and because of that you were shunned everywhere you went. When the hufflepuff golden boy sees you for the first time and falls, but is he willing to be judged, feared, and hated, and how far will he go, To Be At Her Side.

warnings: break down, bullying.

a/n: next chapter will have the first interaction between Cedric and the reader, this idea came to me and I thought it would be perfect to add.

taglist: @mullthingsoverinthehotwater @hoe4cedricdiggory @queenl04 @persephone-archives @0niko-san @degeathesaviour

word count: 1.7k

enjoy <3

__________________________________________

Amortentia.

The most powerful love potion in the world.

“If there’s one thing more powerful than young love, it’s this love potion.”

Days bleed into weeks for the hufflepuff boy, nights tossing and turning grow ever more common as your image plagues Cedric’s mind in the most addicting way possible.

Regret. How could he be so weak as to turn and tuck in his tail at the very face of the torture that surrounded you? Cedric walked the hallways everyday surrounded by friends and laughter, while you walked to your classes alone and with the constant jabs of people’s eyes and words.

His actions betrayed his thoughts and everyday he’d walk in the opposite direction, plastering a smile on his face as his internal battle raged on. As you walk the halls with a stoic face and your eyes staring straight forwards, Cedric stares from afar, picturing a world he could make you laugh and hold you close, but the strength to make that reality his own doesn't strike him, and he’s left to his own thoughts.

He begins noticing little things about you as days progress. You enjoy reading during meals, your h/c hair always blows into your face while you walk, you never smile, and professor Snape is the only person who willingly talks to you.

Cedric would’ve felt bad if it were only the last point alone, but with everything accumulated together he wished he could unsee everything and go back to not knowing of the horrors you had to face. A voice inside him told him he didn’t wish he never knew, he just wishes he could change it, and he had to agree, as vivid dreams of you smiling, dancing with him and resting in his arms, completely content, drift in his thoughts at random points throughout the day, bringing small smiles followed by furrowed eyebrows.

What was this feeling plaguing him? He couldn’t think back to any point in time these dreams had swamped his mind.

Strange feelings in his stomach, cheeks growing warm, and sweaty palms at just your sight. A dizziness and warm feeling in his chest at the scent of your light perfume. And a tendency to trip over his own feet when you came walking down the hallways, Cedric had never felt this before, and he was unsure what it meant.

Your words from that small slip of paper hadn’t left his mind.

‘They always give into the voices.’

He tried everything he could to get rid of the nagging voice that told him you had a point. He wanted so bad to tell himself it wasn’t his fault that he caved, a useless attempt, his morals reminded him every time he was in denial.

___

Potions, one of the many jewels of Hogwarts, school of witchcraft and wizardry. One of your favourite classes without a doubt. Potions was a place you could escape to and release your emotions into your work without the worry of too many voices and eyes because of Snape’s strict class. You were grateful for his actions to help you, though you had to admit he could go over the top.

The class was buzzing with the usual eeriness of the classroom, and no one was paying you any mind as you flipped through your textbook. You fiddle with the locket resting on your neck as you read. Despite it being something of the mother you never really knew, it was something you’d grown attached to over the years.

Snape begins walking across the class collecting essays, but his usual flow is cut off by a hufflepuff who seems to be deep in thought.

You roll your eyes; this would be good.

___

“Mr. Diggory!” An annoyed voice snaps.

Cedric’s head snaps up and he comes eye to eye with a disgruntled Snape.

“I asked for your essay three times now, where is it?” He hissed, extending his hand out.

“Oh. R-Right here sir.” Cedric stammers, pulling a sheet of parchment from his book ah and handing it to the professor.

He quickly takes it and walks back to the front of the class, placing the paper on his desk and turning back to the class.

“Now, who can tell me what amortentia is?” Snape questions, folding his arms.

A couple hands shoot up and he nods.

“Amortentia is the most powerful love potion in the world, drinking it can cause infatuation, but not love.” Your smooth voice answers as everyone tenses up. You rarely spoke up, and when you did a shiver seemed to run down everyone’s back.

“Very good y/n, but do not forget, the potion smells of what you love or are attracted to.” Snape nods, turning and scrawling something on the board.

“Professor, with all due respect, isn’t amortentia a potion usually learned in the newt classes?” A small voice asks.

“Oh I’m not asking you to make it, that would be a disaster, I’m doing a demonstration for all to consider entering a newt class, but remember I only accept the best for this class.” Snape sighs, placing some ingredients on a table to begin.

Soon the class is filled with wide eyes as Snape prepares the difficult potion with ease. Ingredient after ingredient is carefully measured and stirred until the liquid reaches a soft pink.

“Now I do not usually allow this, but due to Dumbledore’s wishes, I will allow you to smell the potion if you wish.” Snape rolls his eyes and steps back.

One by one, everyone steps up to the desk and tilts over to learn what attracts them most, relaying the information to the whole class in excitement.

Cedric stands and walks to the bubbling cauldron, wringing his finger together in anticipation as he stands before the caldron and takes a whiff.

A sweet, pleasant smell greets him, something floral, warm and gentle brings a smile to his face.

“old books, roses and-”

The sweet smell is taken over by something cold, like harsh wind in winter.

“Cold wind.” Cedric pauses, eyes flickering around as his brain registers everything.

“Very nice Mr. Diggory now please sit down.” Snape waves the hufflepuff away and you rise from your seat. As you walk by him, the smell of your perfume wafts past him and the sweet smell of roses strikes him, a realization in Cedric’s head. He had smelled you in the amortentia. Of all the things he could have smelled it was you that had his head spinning and thoughts clouded. His head begins to spin and he rests his chin against his arms on his desk. So that’s what the emotion plaguing him was, love. He was so in love with you, yet he’d never even spoken to yet.

You reach the pink potion, and allow yourself a small smile to Snape before hovering above the potion and taking a deep breath.

Nothing.

Your eyebrows furrow and you lean closer to the potion, taking deep breaths and smelling nothing. Even the usual scent of the potions classroom fades, it was as if you couldn’t smell at all.

“T-There must be a problem, I-I don’t smell anything professor.” You mumble, your head still hovering above the cauldron.

Snape’s eyes go from their usual annoyance to shock. Even he could smell something in amortentia, there was no way you couldn’t smell something. It was physically impossible.

“Try again, y/n, perhaps you are mistaken?” He suggests.

“Professor, when I try to smell it, it’s like I lose my sense of smell.” You exclaim quietly, an unbelieving smile plastered on your face as your eyes begin to cloud.

“T-This is a joke right professor?” You laugh incredulously. “Right?”

“y/n, I-”

“Serves you right, death eater!” An amused voice calls from the back of the class.

“Mr. Smith!”

“He’s got a point.” Another voice rings out with a laugh.

“Be better if she was locked in Azkaban though.”

“All the reasons to throw her with her parents.”

“She’s crazy, it’s only right she be left alone for the rest of her life.”

A single tear leaves your leaves you eye as your throat seems to close and your walls crash down., you could stand the usual mindless teasing, but this cut deep. You grab your bag from your desk before stomping off. Snape makes no move to stop you, immediately scolding the students tormenting you and shutting them up.

You were long gone by then, ignoring the stares in the slytherin common room and speeding to a run to your secluded room, collapsing on your bed and curling yourself into a ball.

As your tears flowed free you were almost grateful for your own room, you didn’t need anyone hearing your breakdowns to laugh even harder. Your body pulses as cries choke your voice, you scream into your pillow and curse your parents and every crime they committed to get you to where you were today.

You rip the locket from your neck and wrap it in your fist, raising your hand with the intent to smash it, but slowly bringing it back down as your breathing grows slower, with only the occasional tear.

“Even after everything you’ve done to me, I-I still can’t do it!” You sob, bringing your hands to your face and wiping the tears away.

You open the locket to find the same two faces looking back at you. The stoic, unbreakable expression you inherited from your mother, and those e/c eyes from your father, and in small print, the words ‘I love you.’

You scoff at the writing, shutting the locket and placing it on your bedside table.

“You say you love me, but brought me into a world you couldn’t save me from.”

Your head falls into your hands as you cradle yourself and rock yourself back and forth.

From the potions classroom, the buzz from your departure had left the class quite proud of themselves, thinking they’d done something, getting you to break. Cedric held back the urge to punch the asshole who started this mess, no matter how hard his wishes to protect you fought, his fear of being next followed, and he couldn’t find the strength to set himself free, but he knew it was time to do something and this time he wouldn’t be stopped.

[daybreak-academy-fanfic]

BBS: Sabrina Remix: Birth by Sleep

Old Masters & Dark Corners

Summary: In which Mickey enlists Sabrina’s help to steal the Star Shard, all in the name of brotherly love. -Sabi Mix Master Post- ☆ ⚬ ☆ ⚬ ☆ ⚬ ☆ ⚬ ☆ ⚬ ☆ ⚬ ☆ ⚬ ☆ ⚬ ☆

Yen Sid’s tower was the least symmetrical building Sabrina had ever seen. It looked like magic was holding it all together. No surprise; this world had the odd quirk of traveling in the Lanes Between whenever it felt like. It might as well have a heart or brain of its own.

“Please don’t let this be a mistake.” Sabrina hissed under her breath before opening the doors. She worked her way through the tower’s steps until she reached the main chamber.

Her only warning inside the room was a prudent knock before she barged on. Yen Sid slowly looked up to face her. The old wizard with his blue robes and matching hat didn't really seem to have been doing nothing of importance beforehand, but he gave her a mildly displeased scowl regardless.

“Sabrina,” the old master said, “Master Eraqus did not inform me that you have also left the Land of Departure.”

“Funny thing, I’ve been trying to escape for years. I just finally found the chance.” she shot back. There was a pause, then the confused addition of, “I’m not the only one that left?”

Yen Sid raised an eyebrow at her.

“I suppose you are unaware that Aqua is now a Keyblade Master, while Terra failed his Mark of Mastery?”

“Like I said,” Sabrina said, her voice a bit darker, “I’ve been trying to leave for years. The Mark of Mastery was not going to stop me.”

“I see.”

Sabrina flinched. What a condescending jerk. She hadn’t even been in the room with him for five minutes, and she could already feel the forced guilt. This guy must have been brutal toward his students- if he had any. Even Master Eraqus had a bit more decorum when it came to his disappointment.

“Is there something that you wish to know from me?” Yen Sid then ventured to ask. “It must not be something Eraqus could answer, if you are here and not there.”

“As if I’m not going to get the reprimanding of a lifetime if I do go back,” Sabrina hissed under her breath. She shook her head before addressing Yen Sid proper. “When I left home, I entered a new world for the first time. While spending time with some of its residents, I encountered creatures that were not part of that world. They were different. They felt like…”

“Raw, unrefined emotions?”

Sabrina recoiled slightly. “That’s… one way of describing it.” she agreed.

Yen Sid gave her a solemn nod. “Had you stayed home for a bit longer, you would have known what those creatures were.” he said. Prick. “Indeed, those monsters that you encountered in the Dwarf Woodlands did not belong in that world. They are a new threat that I have decided to call ‘Unversed.’ They upset the balance of light and need to be eliminated.”

“Understood.” 

Yen Sid paused for a moment. He seemed to be looking around Sabrina before saying, “I know you are there, Mickey. Come in and introduce yourself to our guest.”

Sabrina heard a sheepish little laugh before the door opened again. In came a four foot high mouse with large round ears.

“Sabrina, this is my apprentice Mickey Mouse.” Yen Sid said once Mickey was presentable.

Without skipping a beat, Sabrina said, “Oh wow, I feel so sorry for you.”

The mouse curiously tilted his head at her. “Huh?”

“Never mind.” she mumbled with a half wave of her hand. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mickey.”

“Likewise!” the mouse grinned.

“Mickey,” Yen Sid then spoke, “While you are here, how goes your preparations to embark on your Mark of Mastery?”

Once more, the mouse gave a sheepish laugh. The old wizard gave his pupil a dark scowl.

“Just as I expected.” he droned. “Get back to your studies, Mickey.”

“Yes Master…” Mickey agreed, hanging his head low in shame. The mouse’s body sagged as he slowly made his way out the door. It wasn’t until he shut the door behind him that Sabrina turned to Yen Sid with a nasty glare of her own.

“You shouldn’t talk to your students like that.” she snapped at him.

For a moment, all Yen Sid did was blink at her.

“Pardon?” he said- his tone indicating that he was expecting an answer. She did not give him one.

After several tense moments, Yen Sid started to ponder on something.

“Sabrina,” he said, “Have you heard of a world called Wasteland?”

A sharp stab hit her heart in that moment. The feeling nearly made her recoil in discomfort. Despite this, her face contorted into a frown.

“No.” she told him. “Master Eraqus told us precious little of the worlds outside our own. Most of what I know came from personal study sessions in the library. Even then, the knowledge was scarce.”

“I see.”

Sabrina looked over the old wizard as he steepled his fingers together. He was plotting something. She could see it in his intense gaze.

She wasn’t even remotely surprised when Yen Side finally said, “I believe there is something I should show you. Follow me.”

The girl nodded in agreement. She wanted for the wizard to stand up, then lead the way out of his room and down a flight of steps. He took them to a room that felt a lot like the one they had come from- the only real difference was that there were no windows here. 

The only real object of note was an oak desk in the center of the room. On the desk was a very large map. At first it seemed to be normal parchment, but on closer inspection there was a great magic tied to it. Several important landmarks were raised off of the paper- much like a model train set. As much as she wanted to call him out for it, there was a force that prevented Sabrina from speaking altogether. It wasn’t anything conscious. If anything, it led to a small amount of fear. This was…

“Do you know what world this is?” Yen Sid questioned her.

“I… can’t name it.” she admitted in a small voice. “But I do know it. My heart does, at the very least. I can feel it.”

Yen Sid gave her a small nod. “This is Wasteland. In the worlds that belong to our universe, it is considered one of the youngest. It came into being after the Keyblade War. I assume Master Eraqus has taught you about the event, at least?”

She gave him a firm nod. All of her attention was focused solely on the map. The master never told her about this world, but something about the story seemed familiar. Small pictures imitating static etched themselves into the back of her head. It was giving her a headache.

Yen Sid either didn’t notice, or did and was ignoring her increasing agitation.

“If you are unwilling to return home,” he told her- his voice somehow sounding a lot more grating in her head, “I suggest you visit Wasteland instead. Find a rabbit there named Oswald and-”

“Oswald?!”

The sudden voice brought Sabrina out of her trance with a start. She whipped her head around to see Mickey at the door. Yen Sid looked at his student in contempt.

“This does not concern you, Mickey.”

The mouse gave a solemn shake of his head before taking deliberate steps into the room.

“If Oswald’s in Wasteland, then I’m going too!”

“Absolutely not.” Yen Sid coldly told his student. “You are about to embark on your Mark of Mastery. You will not be leaving this world until it is complete.”

“But Master!”

“Enough, Mickey. You are my student, and my word is absolute. Do you understand?”

Mickey’s fingers curled into a tight fist. He refused to look the old wizard in the eye.

“Yes sir…”

Sabrina cocked an eyebrow at the mouse. Was she getting deja vu right now? Odd, and slightly irritating. But she did file away the thought of Mickey knowing Oswald. That may come in handy later.

She then realized she had been glaring at Mickey a bit too long- immediately shifting her gaze back at Wasteland’s map. Her thoughts slowly started to trickle back to how it seemed so familiar as Yen Sid sternly made his apprentice leave the room. Mickey was not happy in the slightest. Once he crossed the other side of the doorway, Yen Sid used his magic to close and lock the door with a single wave. You couldn’t even hear Mickey’s surprised yelp as the door slammed on his backside.

“Now, Sabrina,” Yen Sid then addressed the girl, successfully snapping her out of her thoughts with a single word, “Due to the unique nature of Wasteland, there is more than one way to enter the world. For now, with the Unversed running amok, I will show you a secret way that I refuse to tell Mickey of. It will be the faster route in this situation.”

Sabrina gave a nod. She wasn’t quite ready to leave Yen Sid’s tower yet, but she could learn how to get out when it was time. She was sure the old wizard would let her rest before moving forward. All she could hope was that he didn’t rat her out in the meantime.

. . .

Now was the perfect time to sneak into the basement. Mickey had already decided that Yen Sid would keep their visitor for another ten minutes or so, which meant he should be in the clear.

Trying to avoid the walking brooms was a bit of a hassle.

The door leading to the basement was a bit smaller than the other doors around the tower. It was made that way so it could be ignored easier. Mickey had tried to go in when he first became Yen Sid’s apprentice, and was very quickly reprimanded from even daring to go in. Since Yen Sid was surely still busy, that meant he could just go right on in. Right?

What he didn’t anticipate was Sabrina to partially follow him out of her own curiosity. As he fiddled with the lock on the basement door, she leaned against the hallway door frame to watch.

“Whatcha doing?” Sabrina casually asked just as he cracked the lock. The sudden sound of someone’s voice made Mickey jump a solid foot in the air.

“O-oh Sabrina! It’s just you!” the mouse nervously laughed. “I was just… uh… checking somethin’ out. That’s all.”

Sabrina gave a slow nod, and a small noise indicating that she didn’t believe him. Mickey gave another nervous laugh.

“Well,” she then mused in a rather unfriendly voice, “If you’re just snooping around, then I guess you have time to answer a question of mine.”

Mickey jumped. “H-huh? Really? About what?”

Sabrina turned her gaze at him. Her face was nearly unreadable.

“You knew him?” she asked. “Oswald, that is.”

“Of course!” Mickey happily agreed. His face soon fell as he admitted, “But Oswald and I… we don’t really see eye to eye. In fact, the night he left, we had a huge fight.”

“Sounds like a personal problem.”

Mickey shrunk a little at the thought.

“It was the last time I saw him,” he told her. “I thought it was because I was chosen by the Keyblade, but I think there was more there. I’ve just never figured out what.”

Sabrina cocked an eyebrow at him. If he was requesting sympathy, he certainly wasn’t going to get it from her. Mickey must have realized as much, quickly shaking himself out of his regrets. The mouse glanced away from her for a moment, his gaze falling on the basement door again, before a sudden thought came to him.

“Hey,” he happily declared, “I just got an idea! But I’ll need your help with it.”

He expected her glare, so he just went on to explain; “Yen Sid has this thing called a Star Shard in the basement. We can use that to go to other worlds.”

Sabrina adjusted her stance slightly. So Yen Sid wasn’t lying when he said he never told Mickey about that secret route into Wasteland. Bless the poor mouse- he really wanted to make up with his brother, huh?

“Do you know how it works?”

“Well… no…” the mouse admitted. “But I can figure that out once I have it, ya know? Whattya say? Will you help me just this once?”

His smile was bright as he offered his hand to her. It almost seemed innocent -or ignorant- of what he really wanted to do. Not that Sabrina was a saint in taking things from her master either. Perhaps it was that thought alone that made her agree. There was definitely a whiplash of deja vu when they started their journey. Did old Keyblade masters always keep their secret things in the darkest place possible? It was rather ironic, the more Sabrina thought about it.

She did find herself terribly disappointed that, for all the pomp and circumstance, Yen Sid’s basement was not very fortified. Getting to where the Star Shard was located had been a breeze. It made her wonder just why Mickey needed her help. A scapegoat, maybe? No, she decided with a shake of her head, Mickey was too impulsive to think that far. If anything, he had full intentions of using the Star Shard before they ever left the basement. Sabrina never touched the artifact, but threatened to take it from Mickey if he was going to use it before getting somewhere safer- like on the front landing.

When they got back to the room with Wasteland’s map, Mickey was practically bouncing on his toes with excitement.

“Thanks so much, Sabrina!” Mickey grinned as he held the Star Shard close to his chest. “If you get to Wasteland before me, and you see Oswald, can you tell him that I’m sorry? For everything. He doesn’t have to actually forgive me, though. I know he won’t.”

“I will.” Sabrina agreed with a nod. She looked him over for a moment. He had no idea how to use the Star Shard, but he was just so sure he would get where he wanted. The thought made her stomach churn. Before realizing she was saying it, she asked, “You really still care about him, huh?”

Mickey’s grin grew even wider.

“Of course! He’s my brother! We always have to look out for each other- whether we like it or not!”

With that, Mickey quickly departed. Sabrina waited another moment or two before turning her attention back to Wasteland’s map. She had to make herself breathe. Mickey was impulsive, and wasn’t she by doing this? By leaving home to begin with? If her heart wasn’t hurting, she would probably be hitching a ride with Terra, Ventus, or Aqua in whatever they were doing. But no. She had her own journey to go on.

Probably should have told him about this entrance. It might have been faster. Oh well.

Smirking slightly, Sabrina called her Keyblade forward. She pointed the tip at the center of the map of Wasteland. It took only a moment for a beam of light to connect her Keyblade to the map. As a portal appeared above the map, Sabrina activated her Keybalde armor. Once the portal was wide enough, she jumped in like Alice in pursuit of a rabbit.

[perhapsthanatos]

10:32 pm with yuta ♡

nct’s yuta x fem!reader (got inspired by a dream of mine & found the idea really cute)

alternate title: be the james dean to my audrey hepburn

genre: fluff. a pinch of angst. non idol au. badboy!yuta au.

word count: 1400~

playlist: chinatown by wild nothing, lover’s rock by tv girl & work this time by king gizzard and the lizard wizard.

warnings: featuring johnny (not a warning though). smoking cigarettes. cursing. lowercase intended. not proofread.

a/n: hi i was supposed to post a vampire!haechan fic but i really wasnt happy w it in general :( the plot or overall idea of the fic was really good, but i just felt as if i didnt do it justice so here we are :( but ngl, i kind of like this concept more? maybe bc i can see it more vividly? idk, i feel like my writings r getting repetitive & its getting on my nerves lmaoo this is getting long im sorry do u guys even read this part anyway? i would also like to apologize abt the amount of projecting im doing lmao ive been having some rough days & i love my sister but hate being compared to her so often so this is a way for me to rant abt it ig? also so sorry its coming out a little later bc i woke up late today (& procrastinated for the rest of it so here i am posting really late at night) & decided to go to the convenience store to get ice cream (& a ton of other bad shit pls dont do this its rlly unhealthy) for breakfast bc i can :) any who, enjoy lovelies <3

“oh my, y/n! you’ve grown up so well! just like your sister!”

“oh! i’m sorry i’ve almost mistaken you for your sister! y/n is your name, correct?”

“y/n, darling, you are looking so dashing! you really do resemble your sister, don’t you?”

“ah, you must be y/n! i’ve heard all about you and your sister from your father!”

you swear that your reddening cheeks are threatening to fall off any moment now from all the fake smiling. the hundreds of superficial compliments, the insincere flattery and the need for these people to constantly compare you to your godforsaken sister makes you feel even weaker than you are. it gets harder and harder to keep up with a big persona that isn’t at all you. as lucky as you are to live such a lavish lifestyle, you can’t help but hate how your family has to be so perfect. you hate how you have never fit in with them, even if you are so good at faking it. you hate how you have always been stuck in your sister’s shadow, constantly haunted with the reminder that you yourself aren’t good enough. you hate how you now have to entertain the rich and brainless guests at your parent’s gala because she’s gone for some stupid prodigy competition and everyone is only talking about her in front of your face. so what if she’s better the better sister? you still have the right to earn respect, right?

you’re exhausted from all the small talk. your facade gets more brittle by the second under all the pressure. your body feels as if it's gonna give out due to your brain shutting down after all that interacting. you try to keep on going with the night as it unravels itself by being the perfectly poised poster child, trying to make your parents proud. but alive yet almost completely devoid, you decide enough was enough. what if you left right now? no one would notice, would they?

after pulling up your phone discreetly to send a few text messages, you pass through lots of people dressed in gold and finery in a way that wouldn’t have you noticed right away. keep your head down and don’t you dare make eye contact with anyone. nearing the end of the room, grabbing the first glass of whatever alcohol you see and downing it in one gulp, you start walking away as quickly as possible from the ballroom. “ignorant privileged fucks,” you angrily whisper to no one in particular, setting the now empty glass on whatever surface and begin to head to the main exit where no one could spot you running away.

“and what do you think you’re doing here, miss?”

a voice interrupts you, looking up you see that it is your father’s head butler; johnny. he is dressed in a simple black suit that makes him appear taller than he is. his long brown hair is slicked back and his bowtie seems brand new. you have known the man since he started working in your household less than ten years back. you were a reckless child, often trying to find ways to sneak out, finding a way to escape from this life and he sympathized with you. after all, he could barely imagine living your life, never catching a break for yourself and always pretending to be someone you weren’t. he often helped planning when you would sneak out into the night, scheduling things like what time you should leave and what time you should be back, more specifically a time when no one would notice. he would take care of your form of transportation and have your location on at all times, just to be extra safe. as much as he wants you to have fun and have a bit of freedom, he still worries that something might happen to you. because of all this, you two have grown to have a very strong bond. you could confidently say that he is most definitely a parental figure in your life since your parents (and even your sister) are often overseas for work.

“what do you think i’m doing? you think i wanna be in a room with those half-baked bipeds? fuck no!”

“i know, i was just joking. you looked like you were about to explode in there, i wish i could help.” he laughs, pulling out his phone preparing what you might need. “so what will it be for today? the driver? we just need to pay him to keep his mouth shut. a taxi? it’s cheaper than paying the driver, but you still need to pay… not like that’s a problem for you though. maybe an uber would be good enough—“

“actually, i got myself covered. thanks.”

his jaw slightly drops and his eyebrows furrow. he looks straight at you in shock. “what do you mean you got yourself covered?”

you look down at your feet, a nervous habit. “i got myself a ride, you don’t need to help me. i’ll be back as soon as dawn comes.”

he raises his eyebrow. “who’s your ride?”

“doesn’t matter,” you glance down at your phone seeing a notification and wave a goodbye, leaving rather suddenly. “i gotta go, i’ll text you when you need to open the gates!”

“y/n! wait! who’s your ride— and she’s gone.” johnny sighs, watching as you run towards the front gates, tossing your stiletto heels away on the grass while you’re at it. he heads back inside, silently hoping you’ll be fine.

knocking the window of the old black mustang parked outside behind the big bushes, the driver rolls down his window and sends the most charming smile.

yuta in his black beanie, long blonde hair, worn out doc martens, signature leather jacket and black skinny jeans. it almost makes you laugh on how he wears the same thing almost everyday but still manages to look so good.

he is most notable for having a big bad boy reputation and you knew that he was the breath of fresh air you needed in your life. a person who can understand having the pressure of having to be or to fulfill your persona. a person you can completely be yourself around. a person who is full of warmth no matter how cold he may seem on the outside.

“get in, princess.”

and that was all you needed. you tiredly walked to the other door and sat yourself in the car. rolling his window back up, he looks at you. you are wearing a simple yet stunning black dress along with silver jewelry adorned on your neck and wrists. your makeup is perfectly done but still struggles to hide the fog in your eyes. he has the sudden urge to clear them away. he softens at the sight of you. no one is perfect, but he finds you being perfect enough without ever having to dress up.

“where to?” he asks as gently as he could. he knows that you are most vulnerable during these moments and that it is hard to finally break down your walls after a day full of stress, so he doesn’t pry immediately. all he wants to do is to keep you here, safe and away from your burdens and for you to stay comfortable with him, even if it couldn't be for long. but is that too selfish of him to ask? he hates how you hate your life and it is taking every bone in his body to not run away with you. but who is he to tell you what to do or what to change anyway? all he can do for now is try to find a way to make you genuinely smile.

“take me anywhere,” you whisper to the latter. “i just want to be as far from myself and my life as possible. miles away or the nearest convenience store, just take the long way home before dawn.”

you look down at the cup holders, spotting an open cigarette box. you tug one out of the nineteen and light it with the lighter you kept in your pocket. you lean back and close your eyes. he only admires as you bring the cigarette to your lips, exhaling a cloud of smoke afterwards. letting the radio play quietly, he starts the car and begins to drive away from the mansion. he can’t help but wonder how you (an elegant daughter) and him (a bad boy) are millions of worlds apart, but more similar than you think.

© perhapsthanatos (efa)

[benevolent-savage]

this is what happens when u enable me lets go

(spoilers ahoy)

Firstly, here’s some somewhat miscellaneous reasons that don’t contribute to any sort of narrative analysis but are still parts of the character I like.

His boss fight is my favorite in the game thus far. It’s not super hard, but it isn’t super easy either, and I even managed to solo it on my Balance after a few practice rounds. Sufficiently challenging without feeling unfair.

His boss fight music. It is a bop and a half, go give it a listen, my soul ascends from my body a few centimeters every time I hear it start up.

His voice. I’m sure it’s processed at least a little but gotdamn his voice is so deep and spooky it startled me when I first heard it. Very curious who his actor is; I think he and Inyanga Whitestripes share the same one. Either way, very well voiced and acted.

His design is very good. It’s the perfect mix of innocuous but also spooky sorcerer fella who knows some shit. And I was afraid that the designers would try and make him like. Handsome? Under the hood? To try and make him more sympathetic? But they didn’t and I’m glad for it.

With those out of the way, the next thing to establish, I guess: I don’t interpret Old Cob to be the main villain of arc 3, nor do I interpret Raven as such. They’re definitely antagonists, but they’re not the ultimate problem; the ultimate problem is their divorce, and how they keep dragging people into their bs. It’s established the Aethyr is a physical manifestation of their anger towards each other, and as it thins, communication between them becomes possible, as Sparck puts it in this thinly veiled metaphor toward the start of Empyrea part 2.

But Cob’s still an antagonist and I love him so I’m gonna talk about that. Most of this is going to be talking about his motivations for doing what he does, since I don’t see him quite as the ‘likes to watch the world burn for the hell of it’ archetype that others might.

One of the reasons that drew me to his character is how legit his gripe is, when put in perspective. Old Cob- or Grandfather Spider, if you prefer- is not a mortal like the other antagonists of previous arcs, which establishes he has a different thought process right off the bat. This new universe was built on his suffering and he has a grudge against the ex wife who made it, so as a god, it makes some sense he’d try to destroy it and build one he would like better. He’s fully aware that what he is doing will hurt people but decidedly doesn’t care, and I appreciate that so much. He’s chaotic as fuck and he owns it, along with his superiority complex that’s as wide as the day is long.

Yet his reasoning is like. Weirdly understandable? Like, if my ex-whatever put me in jail for a lifetime sentence and stole my kidney to pay for a new house or something, I too would go apeshit and want my fuckin kidney back. That’s mostly how I interpret his situation. He’s not doing this for hell of it, he’s doing it because he wants to get back at his ex because he’s bitter and petty and for the most part he knows this but he feels justified in doing do because she ripped out his goddamn kidney- I mean heart, and he wants that back.

And then, even after all that, he and his magic are treated as if they’re inherently evil. While, sure, Shadow is a ‘dark magic’, its actual properties aren’t anything malicious by itself. It is described as “a magic that changes reality,” and that’s it. Incredibly exploitable and you should practice caution while handling it, but used correctly it is powerful and helpful; this is likely alluding to the backlash mechanic, where likes decrease the percent of damage you take, dislikes increase the percent, and I imagine the person meant to be the literal embodiment of the magic in question to be similar in nature: not inherently harmful and lashes out if he feels he’s been mistreated.

Going off that, I’m not sure he ever wanted the FirstWorld to be destroyed, and therefore believes his incarceration to be entirely unjust; he doesn’t deny that he instigated the fight between the Titans, but when it comes to being accused of its actual destruction, he gets angry.

...Okay the written text doesn’t really display how mad he got here, but he was like. Big Angy. Super offended. Honestly, a big part of why I love and analyze the hell out of his character comes from how his VA delivers his lines and his voice in general. If you haven’t heard it for some reason, I recommend looking it up. Anyway, here he’s basically saying he didn’t destroy the First World, and even if he did, he’s suffered enough punishment because of it, to my interpretation. The only one I remember blaming him for it is Raven; Bartleby was there, and I don’t recall him blaming anything other than the Titans for it. This is of course not accounting for the various changes made to the lore since he was introduced, but they could have easily thrown in a line like ‘And now Spider plans to destroy the Spiral the way he destroyed the FirstWorld!’ or something to make it clear it was done intentionally.

And this may very well be straying into headcanon territory here, but I think he holds positive relationships very closely to him, even if things went sour in the end; he clearly still has some remaining affection for the Titans, calling them ‘the children’ and being incredibly angry at Raven for forcing one of them to destroy his Heart.

When Rat loses in Polaris he shows up to praises his efforts and even comfort him, in his own weird way. He reprimanded Scorpion in Mirage, but it’s because Scorpion wasn’t doing what his dad asked him to and got his ass kicked as a result. As for Bat, every time they’re in the same room together he pays him some sort of compliment.

Bat claims that he and his brothers are meant to be his tools, and to some extent that’s true, but he also genuinely cares about them, and it’s really interesting to see a villain defect from the usual ‘not caring about anyone other than themselves’ and openly show affection for his kids while still managing to be an incredible asshole.

In line with this is his relationship with the Wizard. There is, of course, a foundation of manipulation to their dynamic, at least to some degree. I thoroughly believe that Spider was overshadowing Coleridge, at least partly, so our character could bust him out of prison.

And while this is happening, he regains some of his spent power and removes threats to it as well, namely Morganthe, using the Wizard’s help. In fact, I have very little doubt that he was at least partially responsible for her fall; his timing on that two-liner was too on the nose.

But even with that, I think he genuinely treasures the Wizard’s help and company, which is why he attempts on four different occasions to either sway them to his side, or warn them away from what he’s doing.

Boy, I want that vacation, but it’s your fault I’m here.

And then, of course, his relationship with Raven, something that is basically a summation of his character arc. Laden with baggage and tragic in concept, it is my belief that most of what he’s doing isn’t because he genuinely hates the Spiral or he wants to get back at her, but because he loved her and treasured their relationship; so upon her mistreating him, he lashed out at everything she’d made and detested it as a result. But only because he felt betrayed and hurt so he has to inflict that on other people because he is, as aforementioned, a petty and bitter old fuck.

Moving off that line of thinking, an admirable quality he possesses is how smart he is. This guy has so many wrinkles in his brain it must look like a raisin. Well, perhaps not ‘smart’ exactly, but how good he is at manipulating certain situations to his advantage. Like in Mirage; you just know that he was fully expecting Mellori to be there and fully planned to use her as a back up plan, or you could even argue that the whole debacle in Mirage was a ploy to get his hands on her, while having the added possible benefit of things actually working out.

Actually his scheme in Mirage was really interesting now that I think about it. His aim was to turn back time to when the FirstWorld was whole, further implying that he never wanted its destruction in the first place. It would also, of course, be a time where he had his Heart and would have the ability to avoid having it ripped out again. This would involve not having the Titans fight each other again, or at least not starting it and suffering the consequences. It would be everything he wanted to achieve knocked out in one go with minimal muss or fuss, compared to other methods. It’s probably a part of why he shows up personally to bargain with Eerkala and the Cabal, and why he directly intervenes in our Wizard’s efforts to stop him; it was too important to trust to any of his kids, so knowing Scorpion probably wouldn’t have been able to execute it anyway, he used his kid as a distraction for the most part.

I also like looking into the fact that his element, besides Shadow, is Storm, as opposed to pure Shadow or Death, as most major antagonists are. Storm is a school based on invention, experimentation and improvement. This is something that interests me for two reasons: one, the magic of major antagonists is always a part of their character, Malistaire the most blatantly, and two, because of this line he says in Mirage.

To my interpretation, this would imply that he sees the Spiral as something that could be improved. And as a god, he would of course find it his obligation to try and fix this flaw. When he made the barter with the Cabal, I don’t doubt he was being at least partially honest about restoring the FirstWorld; it would certainly fix the flaw it has in the context of stealing his internal organs, but he would also probably seek to improve it, make it more suited to Shadow or something.

Something else I find intriguing is how weirdly honest he is; I don’t recall him ever lying to us once, unless you count omitting certain facts as lying. But that’s absolutely something I can see him using against people, like “I didn’t lie to you, I just didn’t tell you, your fault for not asking ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ .” As said before, he;s really good at manipulating people and he weaponizes whatever he can; @that-wizard-oki​ made a really great post about how he uses conflicts- his fault or not- to his advantage, and does his own thing in the background without interruption, Mirage and Neumia probably being the best example of this, with Scorpion and the Cabal serving as distractions while he either carries out things himself or gives instructions.

To pull all of this together narratively, I think it’s important to consider this line from Mellori during one of their confrontations:

He feels powerless, so he puffs up his god status. He has little power to fight with, compared to before, so he mostly manipulates and creates back-up plans while causing conflicts to serve as distractions. His love hurt him, so he lashes out at others and drags them into his problems.

You may ask, “But Sam, these are all bad qualities, why should we like him because of this?” And I would respond “Because it makes him a complex and interesting antagonist.” The kind of character that executes his shitty actions in such a way that you can’t help but respect- even just for the level of dramatics put in to it- while also having a motive that makes you stop and consider that maybe he has a point but is very much handling the situation the wrong way.

Like, c’mon, he ticks so many villain boxes. Tragic backstory? Check. Blatant thespian who owns it? Check. Gets his hands dirty before the climax of the story? Check. Smart/ manipulative/ has back-up plans? Check. Understandable, strong motives? Check.

He’s got layers. Like onion. I felt like there was always something new to discover about him, and for that I can assert my opinion that he’s one of the best characters in Wizard101.

lmao if you read this far into my simp-for-shithead post congrats. feel free to shoot me more asks on the subject bc i cant write persuasive-essay-esque format anymore my brain is rotting. if you will excuse me, im off to listen to the chronoverge combat track for the 82937487734th time

[writings-of-a-hufflepuff]

Summer Nights: Part 3

Fandom: Harry Potter

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

Series: Summer Nights

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

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

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

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

Prologue / Part 1 / Part 2

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You can’t seriously believe that?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Uh, I’ve never heard of it?”

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

“Does...does it last awhile?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Is that wrong?”

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

“You couldn’t do that with Hermione?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’ve never heard that spell before.”

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

“That’s...impressive.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[talenlee]

Henry Orenstein

I'm going to tell you a story. It jumps around a little, to future and past, and it has a big twist in it that I'm going to need you to trust me on. Because of that, the fold - and content warning - is coming later than you'd expect.

This story, started, for me, on the Transformers wiki.

This is a Rubsign. It's a small piece of plastic that's heat-reactive. When Transformers started out as a brand, there was an immediate push to make cheap knockoff toys with similar ideas. In order to 'protect' the brand and ensure kids only wanted to buy the genuine Transformers, they developed something that they could pretend was part of the play pattern: a small symbol on the robot's body that had the silhouette of either the Decepticon or Autobot faction, and you wouldn't know for sure if you didn't heat it up, usually as a child, by rubbing it with your finger.

Transformers, and their gimmick of 'transforming', is essentially, open source. You can't copyright it or even copyright the techniques of a mould. This is one of the reasons there's so many knockoffs of those toys — the actual technique of a transforming toy is pretty much uncopyriteable method.

The rubsigns, however, were made with patented technology; not only weren't other people allowed to put them on their toys, but even worse, they simply couldn't make them because the method for their creation was proprietary. What I thought as a child was a clever way to represent a disguise, for a moment of tension in the narrative, was really just a corporate control collar, a thing that meant they could draw a hard line between their version of the idea and the other, shitty ones, so I could ensure my collection of second hand transforming robot toys was properly branded.

Rubsigns are a cop is what I'm saying.

But, they had to be invented.

This is Henry Orenstein. Learning about the origin of the rubsign meant learning that to my surprise, the patent for them is not held by The company per se, but is instead partially owned by Hasbro, and partially owned by this one dude, Henry Orenstein.

When I found his name in the Transformers wiki, the wiki stated, perhaps boldly: His life is more interesting than Transformers.

Bold claim.

This is professional Poker. It's a well known game that involves players playing for extremely large sums of money, often with similarly large sums of money involved in the buy-in. It's grown in popularity over the past twenty years, in part because of improvements in presenting the game to an audience. Back in 1995, a patent was filed for a device known as a hole camera, which let the broadcasters collect the information about the players' hands without doing anything that disrupted the natural flow of the game. The hole camera was used in 1999, and that's about when poker started to pick up in public discourse.

And the patent for the earliest hole camera (which isn't used much any more) is to a guy named Henry Orenstein. So important was this - and his winnings and his achievements lifetime - that he's been inducted into the Poker Hall of Fame.

This is a Johnny Seven OMA, which were made by Topper Toys. And that's a company Henry Orenstein founded to make his toys after being annoyed at how expensive dolls and toy guns were for poor kids. Topper Toys eventually folded into another brand, Deluxe Reading, which I understand if you are a hardcore toy collector, really into things like barbie accessories and cross compatibility, is very important to the hobby.

This background was how Henry got the attention of Hasbro, and wound up working with them on acquiring new toy properties. That meant he was in position to be in Japan, looking at Takara and Microchange toys, and come back with the idea of acquiring both toy sets, and rebranding them as Transformers in 1980.

Interesting dude, right? He should write a memoir.

Except he did already:

And now, when we jump back in the story, I have to say: Content Warning: Nazis.

Henry Orenstein was born Henryk Orenstein, one of five Jewish children to a Polish family, born in Hrubieszów, Poland, 1923. That is to say, when he was 16 years old, the Nazis invaded and occupied his country. This was obviously not ideal, and the Orensteins first hid themselves in their house through secret passages and hidden chambers between the walls. When the food and water ran out, the parents made the painful decision to surrender to arrest, in the hopes of keeping their children alive.

Henryk's parents were taken, shipped to a camp, and shot. The children were then sent to a camp, where Henryk dedicated a plan to keeping moving. If they were being moved around, transferred from thing to thing, if the person in charge of them was different from time to time, nobody would have the time to really make a protracted plan to execute them. That, hypothetically, was the idea. This meant that he and his siblings were in five different concentration camp - including the camp run by Amon Goeth, the villain of Schindler's List.

They end up in the camp in Budzyń. A few days after arrival, a report comes over the loudspeaker that 'Any Jews with math or science training must report to front office' and Henryk signs himself and his brothers up.

... they did not have math or science training

See, as things were Getting Worse towards the end of the war, the Germans were trying to maximise the resources they did have. This is part of the grouping of things you'd possibly hear as the wunderwaffe — the preposterous weapons of the later days of Hitler's aspirations. You may know these as a sequence of History Channel tv ads, like Hitler's Greatest Tanks or Superboats or The Cannon That Shoots Time Frozen Chunks Of Hitler's Future Brain or whatever. Nowadays, wunderwaffe is a German word primarily used sarcastically, in case you're curious. The Nazis were desperate, because they were a bunch of sucky losers who couldn't make anything good on their own —

And never did

— they instead tried to turn their prisoners to the task of solving their problems with the finest of Nazi Bullshit Magic. At this point, Henryk is maybe nineteen years old, and he and his brothers are signed up to the camp's equivalent of the Shed they dump the A-Team in. The scientists in charge of the lab are scared: if this fails, they're just wasting manpower, and while the Jewish subordinates may fail, if they fail, they're going to get shipped to the front and treated like meaty bullet catchers.

Henryk, recognising the situation, proceeded to run cons on the Nazis with his brothers.

They made bullshit devices that wouldn't work, but did look like they worked. They stole from the labs. They crafted things that could be faked to working but wouldn't work for real. They entertained the scientists with the finest of hokum. And then the researchers, full of relief that they wouldn't become a statistic on a Soviet soldier's bayonet, started to talk about how great their progress was of Doing Science At Shit to their command.

Command released an order to demand that these Jewish Science Wizards produce a tank paralysing gas.

Which was a problem.

Look, the Nazis were fond of demanding things that couldn't be done. Then they could shout at their subordinates who were fucking up, or they'd deliver and you looked great. Again, this is not an environment for refined science, this is a shrinking circular firing squad where everyone is trying to just not be the next person shot. But nonetheless, Tank Paralysing Gas was demanded.

Henryk and his brothers did what they could, they made something they assured the Nazis would work, and the scientists, sweating bullets, sent it off to another base to be tested.

Where it didn't work.

Obviously.

Okay, so now for a moment, consider the situation. Consider what this looks like. These scientists have sent a giant pile of reports about how great a job they were doing, and there's a big trapdoor labelled Actual Bullets on it underneath them. They just put together their wunderwaffe and sent it off to be tested, and it didn't work, so what do they do?

Blame the prisoners?

Uh, that's going to go poorly, because they were saying the prisoners were doing a great job just a few days ago.

Come clean?

Fuck off.

Okay, so what else do they have as an option? Well, they did the only thing a fascist can do. They posted through it, Nazi style.

They sent infuriated reports to the other camp. WHAT DID YOU DO TO OUR TANK-PARALYSING GAS THAT MADE IT NOT WORK!?

And... you can see how this goes.

Right now, nobody wants to be the person who admits something is wrong. Nobody wants to be the person who pulls the circle of who gets shot even closer. You don't want to tell your superiors you fucked up handling the Tank Paralysing Gas, or if you made the Tank Paralysing Gas, you don't want to tell them that the Tank Paralysing Gas didn't work.

And so back and forth they go. Testing things that won't work and demanding ever-increasing test protocols to try and make it the other person's problem. I don't have proof of it, but some accounts of the story include the two camps getting infrastructure projects like new roads to make sure the transport of the Tank Paralysing Gas works and is good and proper and anyway, the war ended before they got this resolved.

But there is paperwork, recovered during the fall of Berlin, with Heinrich Himmler's signature on it, ordering the mass production of the Tank Paralysing Gas made by Henryk and his younger brothers.

"The whole tale about the scam they pulled on the nazis is... instructive, too"

[midweekblues]

The Terror, Géricault and a bit of Julian Barnes: a rant

Part 2 /?

Hello, it's me again! With more random data about a certain 19th century nautical tragedy! Come for the trivia, stay for the cannibalism!

I dunno, man, I just dig these stories. Which is weird, having worked and lived at sea, but whatever. The Terror connects to a very primal part of my brain, the same part that buzzes when I read about the wreck of the Essex, the Donner Party, Scott's final expedition or the Edmund Fitzgerald. There's a theme going on here. So back to the wreck it is!

On the first part of Chapter 5 of A History of the world in 10 1/2 chapters, Julian Barnes gives us a summary of the ordeal on board the Medusa. To summarize even more:

- French frigate Medusa struck a reef off the coast of Senegal in 1816.

- Not everyone could fit into the boats, so a raft was built. 17 people decided to stay on board the half-sunk frigate, rather than brave the ocean on that construction.

- The raft was so overcrowded that it was actually underwater in the beginning. To lighten the load so it wouldn't sink completely, they had to discard most of the food brought on board, and all of their water, leaving only wine to drink. Most of their food (mainly flour and biscuits) was at some point submerged and thus ruined by the saltwater. .

So all our supplies are either spoiled or will make us prone to delirium?  

- The raft was expected to be towed by the boats, but during the first day, "one by one, whether for reason or self-interest, incompetence, misfortune or seeming necessitty, all the tow-lines were cast aside", and so the raft was left adrift.

- On the second day, three men gave up and, "convinced that there was no escape from death, bade farewell to their companions and willingly embraced the sea".

- On the second night, there was not one but two mutinies on the raft. After the struggle, 60 remained on board.

- On the third day, they started eating some of the dead.

- After the third night, 12 more people had died. 11 of them were cast into the sea, but one body was kept on board, "reserved against their hunger".

- On the fourth night, yet another mutiny. After all the violence, a total of 30 survivors remained on the raft.

- On the seventh day, two soldiers were caught stealing wine from one of the remaining caskets. They were executed by throwing them to the sea. 

-That left 27 survivors, only 15 of them healthy enough to survive more than a few days. Their resources were extremely limited, with less than a cask of wine for drinking, and only human flesh for food. "To put the sick on half allowance was but to kill them by degrees. And thus, after a debate in which the most dreadful despair presided, it was agreed among the fifteen healthy persons that their sick comrades must, for the common good of those who might yet survive, be cast into the sea", Barnes tells us. "The healthy were separated from the unhealthy like the clean from the unclean".

There’s been a vote, Edward

- After that, the survivors decided to cast all their arms into the sea, except one sabre, "lest some rope or wood might need cutting".   Fun fact: the equipment of modern lifeboats includes not only food, water and a first aid kit, but also 1 (one) boat axe. And the reason for this is exactly the same: just in case some rope or plastic/fiberglass might need cutting . 

(My face during that particular safety training)

- And then

wait for it

a white butterfly showed up.

Now of course, that would be a good sign, right? Not because it works great as a symbol on an artistic level (looking at you, Peter Jackson), but in this case it does work on a logical level: How far away can a freaking butterfly fly? It must mean that land is near, right? Just like, dunno, same way that an arctic bird, preying mainly on fish, wouldn't stray too far away from open water, so it must mean there are leads relatively nearby, right?

Right? :____(

The survivors of the Medusa did not spot land anywhere. And our Cold Boys didn't find any leads. Life is a bitch like that sometimes. Géricault could have chosen to depict this moment in his painting, but he didn't. "First, it wouldn't look like a true event, even though it was," says Barnes. As viewers, we know this. We are ready to accept a white butterfly showing up somewhere in the Misty Mountains over Khazad-dûm to save our favorite wizard, but on a real story, a real tragedy, it wouldn't work, it would be too on-the-nose. And so the butterfly and the bird both fly away, and nothing changes, and the tragedy goes on.

- On day 10, eight of the survivors of the Medusa, convinced that land must be within reach, built another, smaller raft, from pieces of the first one, upon which to escape. But as soon as they tried it, they realised it was too frail, and gave up on the plan.

- On day 13, they sighted the Argus. This is the moment that Géricault depicts, when they first spot a ship on the horizon.

See it there? Just look where all the guys are looking (well, not all of them, but more on that later)

Yep, that's a ship, that tiny little thing on the horizon, against the rosy sky (is it dawn, or dusk, by the way? What do you guys think?), not bigger than a butterfly. Pretty impressive to have the whole composition of this massive painting, and the attention of everyone depicted, gravitate away from the viewer. Literally no one in this painting gives a flying fuck about the viewer because their eyes are fixated on their only hope, a ship that looks like it might just disappear at any moment...

Which is exactly what it did.

My dudes, this painting, and the story behind it, is peak Romanticism. The drama.

The Argus was visible for about a half hour. It gave no sign of having spotted the raft. And then it disappeared.

Ok but wait a minute, so didn't they get rescued? Well yes they did. That's how we know what happened.

The survivors watched the ship disappear, fell into despair and decided, like many of us do on one of those days, that a nap might help. So they "rigged a piece of cloth as a shelter from the sun, and lay down beneath it"

And then a couple hour later, one of them went to the front of the raft, out of the canvas, and saw the Argus half a league away (that's less than 3 km), "carrying a full press of sail, and bearing down upon them".

If this wasn’t real, we’d call it lazy writing. I mean, typical cliffhanger, our hero is gonna die, all hope is lost, finish episode there. And then next week, boom, of course the hero is saved within the first five minutes. Ugh. But life is badly written like that sometimes.

And so they were saved. Well, five of them died in the days after their rescue. Which leaves us with a total of 10 survivors from the Raft. 

Géricault read the account from Savigny and Corréard sometime in the winter 1817-1818. The painting was finished in July 1819. And sometime in 1820, Captain Crozier saw it in London, while he was on leave before joining Parry on an Arctic expedition in 1821.

And this is getting long, so I'm gonna leave it here for now. Next part will be about the parallels I see between the actual painting and the show.  If you made it all the way here: Thanks for reading! 

(here’s part 1 and part 3 )

[fbfh]

three infinites and a reunion - sirius black x reader (gn)

pairing: sirius black x gn reader

wc: 1.2k

genre: ooh boy some hurt/comfort, moderate angst but it’s justified and quickly resolved, some trauma but what’s to be expected lol

warnings: spoilers for prisoner of azkaban sort of but most of it’s kind of common knowledge at this point, some fucks and other brief swears, post azkaban but the timeline is weird don’t come for me, reader is shaking cause of emotionally intense situation, mentions of bad mental health bc you know... dementors.... and uh, brief mentions of small stress induced weight loss (some promenent bones), sirius is king of consent, “you must be starving” then y’all eat some food, you get really fuckin determined to protect him who wouldn’t

summary: Holding out faith sometimes works out for the best, especially when the condemned love of your life is suddenly right in front of you, embracing you on the floor of your laundry room.  

requested: no i just have dogman brain rot

song I listened to while writing this: snow - ricky montgomery, the shipped gold standard - fall out boy, golden days - panic at the disco (bc it makes me think of marauders era in general lol)

a/n: as I have stated before I don’t know how numbers work or how to do basic math so I fucked with the timeline a little which should boil down to this: sirius was in az*aban for two years before he escaped making him around 23, while harry is maybe 3 or 4, don’t come for me if it’s off lmao

also this is what I imagine sirius to look like but like,, with the expressions and mannerisms in the viria fanart

I have at least two more parts planned out roughly so those should come at some point uwu

requests are open, here’s my kofi xo

Shaking. You’re fucking shaking, tremors wracking uncontrolably through your body as you stare through blurry, tear filled eyes already spilling, at the big black dog in front of you. You look up at your porch light almost instantly, squeezing your eyes shut. You can’t tell which is louder, the layered incomprehensible thoughts fighting and screaming every instinct, or your pulse hammering in your ears. This is almost too much to bear as it is, but right now what you need are some fucking answers. This is confirmed as steel yourself, looking back down at the dog before you can even finish the thought. 

You read somewhere that the more you think of a memory, the faster it fades. After almost two years of thinking of him, of those eyes that held such love and loyalty and courage, you were sure your memories of him must be worn out to near transparency. And yet you stand corrected right there on your porch after one year, eleven months, and two and a half weeks of repetitive, maddening remembering, looking into those eyes and knowing as clearly as you did all that time ago that this isn’t just a black dog.

You don’t even have to say anything, the message clear in those all too intelligent eyes being proof enough. Practicality snaps into place, and you hurriedly usher him inside, not knowing which felt longer - almost two years of painfully tested loyalty, or those fifteen seconds out on your porch. You secure the locks, pushing the foyer table against the door, and lead him into the laundry room and away from any windows or fireplaces. You press your back against the closed door, sliding down, trying to catch your breath, the dog sitting patiently across from you. 

You press the heels of your hands to your eyes, letting out a sharp breath, almost laugh, of relief. You take a few deep breaths, trying to center yourself before you work up the courage to look up. When you do, he’s sitting right there. He looks virtually identical to the last time you saw him, your memories once again stronger than the time trying to erode them. Those same eyes are latched onto yours, disbelieving and searching yours for any traces of hate or bitter judgement. 

He concludes there really is none when you throw yourself into his arms, holding him so tight. He chokes back a sob as he buries his face in your neck, arms wrapping around your back, hands clutching your shirt. You fight tears of pure relief, pursing your lips and letting out a few concentrated breaths. 

“Sirius,” you manage after yet another infinity, still shaking in his arms. His tears finally spill at the raw love in your voice, beginning the painful filling of the hole the dementors had been steadily carving for years. You feel the cool, wet droplets hit your shoulder, and you squeeze him even tighter. 

“I swear, I would never-”

“I know,” you cut him off, his voice tight, riddled with pain and the fear of being unjustly rejected and shunned again. One hand runs over his back in soothing, repetitive shapes, the other smoothing the back of his hair, “I’ve always known.” You repeat, your voice fierce with certainty, free of any trace of doubt. Your warmth almost burns him after all that time in the bitter cold, and he curls tighter into you, almost unable to breathe. 

After a while, you’re not sure how long, you finally pull away to look at him properly. It’s surreal, one moment he looks exactly like how you last saw him, the next he’s almost unrecognizable. His face is slightly more angular than you remember, the rosy glow to his cheeks all but gone, and you’re sure he’s lost some weight. His collarbones and spine are more discernible under your touch than they had been. At only 23, he holds a battered, beaten sorrow beyond his years, but a light lives in his eyes that will never go out. Who could blame him? You’re sure he’s in much better shape than anyone else in that hell hole. 

His hand caresses your cheek, memorizing every eyelash and freckle. 

“I missed you,” he brings his forehead to yours, “so much.” You feel the pain and emotion in his voice, and you remind yourself that it’s all over now. You’re not going to let him go back there. Ever. Your hand runs through his hair, and you bring your lips closer to his. 

“I missed you too,” your warm breath fans over his face, and his breath hitches, “so, so much.” Your words echo his, and his heart lurches, feeling like it’s beating again for the first time in far too long. You hover there for a second, and you feel his hesitance. With everything that happened, all the slander and lies, he doesn’t know how you feel. The last thing he would ever do is try to initiate unless he knows you want to as much as he does. His unbroken, unwavering respect makes you smile - he’s still as much of a gentleman as ever. 

You close the space between with no hesitation, and your lips meet. The corners of both your eyes are misty with relief and passion and everything left unsaid as he pulls you into his lap, as invested in you as ever. You kiss feverishly, his lips slightly chapped but still soft. You angle your head deepening the kiss, and his hands squeeze your waist. When you finally pull away to catch your breath, you pepper a few kisses across his face, trailing down to his neck before resting your head on his shoulder. 

“Does anyone know you’re here?” you ask quietly, already dreading an answer. 

“Not yet, I don’t think,” he answers, kissing the top of your head, “just got out.” 

You pull your head up, staring at him in disbelief, a smile tugging at the corners of your mouth. 

“You’re the first person I’ve come to see,” he continues, loving the look on your face, “though the whole world will probably hear in the papers tomorrow-” “Oh my god,” you mutter, gently batting his chest, pulling him close to you again, pressing more kisses to the side of his face.

“Well, who did you think I’d see, the Queen?” You laugh into his neck, and the sound sends warmth through his whole body, like someone finally turned on the sun. His chest aches, this time from being so full after so long, and his arms tighten around you again. You pull away suddenly, a few moments later. 

“God, you must be starving. Do you want anything to eat?” 

“Well…” he muses, and you know that look. 

“Come on Puppy,” you say, finally getting to your feet, and helping him up with you. 

Sitting at your kitchen table across from him, the love of your life, finishing leftovers and debating on certain wizard vs. muggle foods was something you truly, to your core, never knew if you’d be able to do. In a moment of warm, insurmountable determination, you know that you will let absolutely no harm come to this man. Your mind is made up, resolutely as you pour tea, plans already forming. He fought for himself and for you for so long, now it’s your turn.

And this is not a fight you’re capable of losing.

[liaswritesrobots]

Hello! I loved that Sunder mer on so so much! could I request a continuation where he convinces them to swim with him? maybe hugging them out of excitment?

Part 2 of this!

You've been hesitant to sleep or go to the beach lately, after finding out that monster mermaid in your dreams is real. You normally just take naps now, that way you don't dream for long. Your dreams have been short and mermaid free, but you're so, so exhausted from the lack of real rest. You decided to take some time off of work, especially after some friends and co-workers commented on your sluggishness and how they're worried about your health. You decided to keep them from asking too many questions, you'd take some vacation time.

It doesn't help.

Now you're tired and bored. You can only binge so many shows and read so many books before you feel the sweet call of slumber trying to lure you in. You try your best to ignore it, downing coffee and energy drinks, setting alarms for every 15 minutes in case you do fall asleep. Your whole situation vaguely reminds you of A Nightmare On Elm Street where those poor kids couldn't fall asleep or else they'd die.

Although you honestly aren't sure if you'll die or not. You don't want to take the risk though.

You wonder if you'd be safer in someone else's home. You're frightened, but God you're so damn tired too. You call your best friend, asking if you could maybe sleep over at their place for a couple of nights. They're curious as to why you want to but say sure, you guess you can fill them in when you get there. It'll probably sound silly to them but you know they won't mind if it'll make you feel safer.

After you pack a few clothes and have dinner you head to their place. You're thankful they have a house in town and not closer to the beach like you do, it makes you feel safe. Hopeful, even.

Unfortunately your friend isn't home when you get there though, but they left a note on the door telling you that the spare key is in the usual spot and to let yourself in while they do some last minute shopping. You smile and pick up the little frog wizard garden statue beside the bush by the front door, you undo the little cork on the bottom of it and shake the key out before putting the statue back.

You make your way inside and turn on the lights, setting your large backpack filled with clothes behind the couch. You lock the door behind you and leave a quick little note on their counter, telling them that you'll explain everything later, but right now, you really need to rest.

You head upstairs to the guest bedroom and plop down on the bed. It's so soft… you can barely even keep your eyes open. You put your phone on silent and lay it on the nightstand before snuggle down into the covers. It doesn't take long for you to fall asleep.

Hours must have passed because when you open your eyes you can see the stars shining brightly overhead and the soft glow of the moon.

Wait… why can you see this? You were inside…

You spring up, sand kicking up from under you and falling down the back of your shirt from your hair. 

Oh God...

Are you… are you at the beach?

You clench your fist beside you, your fingers combing through sand as you look down and gulp. You look to your left… it's the shack. A wave of nausea and fear wash over you. You don't want to look behind you, you know what's waiting.

Everything in your body is screaming at you to hop up and run but you just sit there, frozen in place, before a strange calm washes over you. You know it's him. He did that before, when you were nervous, he'd somehow take all your fear away, and you should be scared right now, but he won't allow that. He won't allow you to be afraid of him.

Is he lonely? Is that why he's targeting you? He wants a friend? Or is it something else? Whatever it is, you decide it's time to face him.

You stand up, feeling the sand on your bare feet as you begin brushing the sand off of your shorts and shaking it out of your hair and shirt, and you turn around to see the familiar mermaid lock eyes with you. He waves at you, giving a big, toothy grin, before patting the sand beside him.

You clench both your fists and slowly walk over to him, sitting down beside the sea creature as he watched the tides.

"Why do you bring me here?" You ask and Sunder looks at you, cocking his finned head to the side.

"Friend." He responds.

"That's it?" you ask again, "You want a friend?"

"Yes," he says, "Friend. Swim." is all you can make out as he mixes your languages together.

You look out towards the ocean, watching the waves come in as the moon casts a silver reflection in the water. You let out the breath you've been holding in and close your eyes, "If I be your friend… if I swim with you… will you let me come here on my own volition and stop dragging me here every night?"

He shakes his head yes.

You let out a small sigh and stand up, "Ok, let's swim together." you say offering your hand out to the mer.

You feel that maybe that was the wrong thing to do, because the next thing you know he grabs a hold of your wrist with his long, clawed, webbed fingers and drags you into the ocean with him.

You start to scream out before putting your free hand over your nose and mouth. He must have sensed something wrong because he lets go of you and swim your way back up to the shore, where you cough up some sea water and gasp for breath.

He watches from the water, head find drooping and eyes saddened. You look back to see this and, oddly, think that he maybe didn't mean to do that.

"Sorry." you say, not really knowing why you're apologizing to him when he's the one who nearly killed you, albeit possibly by accident, "Humans don't have gills..." you say and his fins droop lower, "We can't breath underwater."

He shoots up from the water, his torso in full view, and you see his gills moving to signify that he's breathing.

"Yeah those things, we don't have them," you say pointing to his gills, "But humans can still swim, we just have to keep our heads above the water." you say using your hands to to circle your head, hoping he'll understand.

He must. Because his fins perk up and he smiles. 

You wade back into the ocean, swimming away from the shore, and he swims over to you. His blue eyes glow as he swims circles around you. His hellish voice letting out a giddy laugh before disappearing under the water. You realize you've swam out so far that even the dock would take you a few minutes to reach, and your fear begins to sink in again as you realize you're now out in the middle of the water with a creature who calls this place home and is probably far faster in this habitat than back on land.

You try your best to stay calm, you know if you start to panic you'll drown, but a tightness in your chest is making it harder and harder to breath. 

You feel something touch your foot and your eyes go wide before your head dips into the sea. You splash back up before going under again. You close your eyes tight,the saltiness of the sea irritating them, and try to let out a cry for help when your head comes up, but all you can do is splash and sink back down. You aren't sure how long this lasts, as you soon lose consciousness.

You're dead. You gotta be. That's all your brain says as you struggle to open your eyes. 

But when you finally do you see the familiar glow of the stars and moon. You let out a big breath as you shoot up from the sand. You look forward, vision a little blurry, and see the ocean. You hear a sound from the right of you before you feel something big wrap itself around you. Your eyes focus and you look up, it's Sunder, encasing you in his arms as he pulls you closer to his chest. You can hear something akin to a purr coming from him.

"Did you… did you save me?" you ask, looking up at the terrifying mermaid.

He nods, "Friend," he says patting your head, "Swim again… without dying." 

You let out a laugh, one that most people would assume you've completely lost it for, and maybe you have, because the next thing you say is "Sure. Without dying."

The mer makes another happy sound before letting you go, and you thank him for saving you from drowning. You tell him you can come by on weekends, three days, Friday through Sunday and you draw a little calendar in the sand to show him which days those are in human terms before saying your goodbyes.

You head back to your friend's house, wondering if you really should tell them the truth, especially since you're soaking wet and covered in sand now, or just make an excuse about sleep walking to the beach and that's why you've been so tired. Yeah… maybe they'll believe that one more.

[thalmor-banjo]

I thought I'd share this little bullshit snippet. I'm taking a break from like all other forms of social media, but felt bad because I haven't posted any original content in what feels like agesssssssss.

So, here we are! It's a piece I wrote a long time ago (think before December) for Cerrebryn and Ondolemar. His voice is like really good in this one??? Like normally I write him with an American accent (cause that's what I have and I'm lazy), but writing him in the BBC accent (forget what it's called, see above description: lazy) worked like really well? I'll warn you though, it was just a little blurb the brain worm was niggling at me to write so it ain't the best. Anyway, here's Wonderwall.

Calcelmo Gets A Date

Cerrebryn skipped up the stairs. Dinya Balu had sent her to Markarth. Her mission? Spreading Mara’s message. It was midday, yet her target was still at work. He never seemed to rest or eat. Aicantar shot her a warning glance as she walked up to his uncle. She tapped on his shoulder and waited.

After a moment, he answered, “Yes, yes, what do you need? I’m a very busy man.” She grinned, “Calcelmo of Markarth?” He flapped a hand impatiently at his enchanting table, “I have no time for such pleasantries.” “I’ve been sent by Lady Mara.” His demeanor instantly changed. The wizard turned, joy sparking in his amber eyes, “I was beginning to worry you’d never arrive. Come, take a walk with me.” They left Ancarion behind in a stupor.

He led her up the nearby tower and took a seat on a spindly stool. “I hope you’ll excuse an old man’s paranoia. I’ve been thinking about her quite a bit. Do you know Faleen?” He said her name like a prayer, devotion obvious even in his tone. “The Jarl’s Housecarl?” Calcelmo nodded, “Yes. She is a beauty like none other. Even the fairest maidens of Alinor could never compare.” Noticing he was rambling, he coughed and continued, “My trouble is, I can’t seem to speak around her. My mouth goes dry and I begin shaking...or maybe that’s the side effects of prolonged exposure to Aetherium? An interesting thought, but I digress.” Cerrebryn sighed, a familiar Thalmor face flashing through her mind, “I understand. Is there anything you can talk about?” The old man shook his head wearily, “Faleen can turn on you fast as a sabercat if you bring up the wrong topic. I’ve seen it happen.” “Is there anyone she’s close to that we can talk with?” His brow furrowed, “Only one, Yngvar. Would you speak to him for me?” She nodded tiredly and left. It was strange how she was also roped into these matters.

She stepped out into the waning sunlight and stretched. Cerrebryn snorted. Mara had sent her on a quest to heal the broken hearts of Skyrim, yet she had one as well. It seemed like the divines had a sense of irony at least. It could never happen anyway. The Thalmor were an order of warriors famed for their rigidity and focus on pure-blooded breeding. Shaking her head, she dispelled those notions and kept walking.

Yngvar was resting against the side of a bridge, picking his teeth with a dagger. “Do you know what Faleen likes?” He glanced up at her, danger dancing in his eyes, “What’s it to you?” “I have a mission from the temple of Mara.” “Is that some roundabout way of saying you fancy her?” She paused, debating whether she should reveal Calcelmo’s affections, “Not me, but a friend.” He smiled slyly, “I see. Don’t tell anyone I said this, but I’m glad; Faleen needs a little warmth. Her soft spot is poetry.” Cerrebryn thanked him, turning to leave. After two steps he called out, “You know, I was trained as a bard.” She pivoted and he continued, “I’ve got an old poem for a lady from Rorikstead. I could change it...if you’ve got the coin.” “How much?” “Two hundred.” She easily removed the Septims from her pouch and handed them to the brute. “Let me write it down so you won’t forget.” Yngvar scratched away at the paper with his bit of charcoal. Cerrebryn had pulled out Lydia’s latest letter from home. “Who is this poem from?” She stopped reading, “Calcelmo.” He laughed, “That sly old codger.” Finished, the poem traded hands, “Tell him I wish his endeavor luck.”

The sun had set while she was outside, and all the torches were being lit across the city and into the Keep. Edging around one of the guards assigned with the job, she skipped up to the dias. Faleen immediately tensed, but relaxed when she realized who it was. Raerek grinned at her, always the kindest person in the Keep. “Can I help you, young one?” She shook her head, hair becoming a bit disheveled, and chirped, “Nope! Just here to drop something off for Faleen!” The Redguard woman glanced up suddenly when the folded sheet was thrust into her hand. “Apologies if some of it is smudged, I-” The other woman opened the paper and read it. Then, she ripped a sheet of parchment off a shelf and began scribbling rapidly with a fresh quill. The steward and Jarl exchanged nervous glances, but they went unseen.

When she turned around, Faleen’s eyes were filled with stars. “Would you mind delivering this for me?” She sighed softly at the end of her sentence and Cerrebryn giggled behind her hand. Taking the paper, she left, announcing, “Off I go!” She walked with haste, this time bumping into the object of her affections. The Thalmor’s large hands caught her around the waist, preventing what would have been a nasty fall, “Cerrebryn, what is the meaning-” She plucked his arms (she swooned on the inside, realizing they were corded with muscle) off her body, and sheepishly smiled back at him as she ran off, “Sorry Ondolemar! I’ve got a delivery to make!”

In truth, she would have liked to spend a millennium in those arms. But, she was on an errand that shouldn’t be delayed. Matters of the heart are things of the now, not of the thousand years later. The woman ran through the tunnel, nearly tripping on a stray piece of rubble. Calcelmo was sitting on a bench, deeply immersed in examining a chip of Aetherium. She skidded to a stop at his feet, puffing, “From...Faleen...” Aicantar stared at the odd pair. The conjurer ripped it out of her hand and shot to his feet, “This is...fantastic! If you’ll excuse me, I must go see Faleen.” And with that, he ran out of the workshop. Frankly, he was faster than she had thought he could go.

Cerrebryn trailed behind him, still a bit winded. He continued running, straight up to the Housecarl. She peeked around the dias’s corner, like a child. Igmund’s brows had raised in surprise, but Raerek just continued serenely smiling. Calcelmo fidgeted, his large frame towering over the smaller woman. “Faleen...I...” She captured his hand with her own, “Shhh, no need for words...I never realized you were so nuanced.” He stared down at her, then clutched their joined hands to his heart, “I love you.” She smiled radiantly, “So I hear. Come here, you.” Then, using her warrior’s strength, she dipped him and joined their lips. Igmund stared at his steward, eyes bulging, a mix of surprise and slight horror plain across his features. Raerek simply shrugged.

Cerrebryn grinned, glad they were happy. Helping Dinya and the Temple was rewarding and worth any long trips zigzagging the province. Someone was sneaking nearer to her. The only warning was a rustle of robes and a whiff of Dragon’s Breath. The air above her ear warmed with his breath. “Was that your doing?” She glanced back at Ondolemar and her lips quirked upwards in a slight grin, “Dinya sent me on a mission. I just had to!” He sighed, “Must you fix everything?” Her grin widened a bit, “You know me. Everyone deserves a happy ending.” Ancarion wandered in, disgust and shock warring on his face at the sight of his uncle and the Housecarl locking lips. The couple split apart, Raerek clapping lightly. He stumbled back to the workshop with a befuddled expression.

His chest brushed against her back as he leaned in further, “Except you, right?” She bit her lip a bit at the slight huskiness of his voice. It was surely unintentional but made him all the more attractive. “I’ll get mine eventually. After all, there’s still nearly three hundred years left for me. If it takes two hundred seventy-five, at least I helped some folks!” Ondolemar chuckled lightly, changing the subject entirely, “Could I speak with you outside Dibella’s temple at midnight?” Cerrebryn nearly fainted. Was he asking to have a courtship meeting?! She quickly chastised herself. No, a “superiorly bred mer” wouldn’t sully himself with someone who wasn’t a purebred Alinor maiden. The woman nodded happily anyway, excited, “It’s a date!”

[the-pen-pot]

Patrons in my $5 a month Fox’s Sock tier get to vote on which project I offer some spare focus to. This is a full list of ALL their choices! If you’re interested, you can check out my Patreon here!

(Note: No Clean Slate is my main project right now and therefore not included in the list, because it’s what I’m predominantly focussing on anyway.)

All My Current Fic Projects In One Place

Monachopsis

"Monachopsis n. the subtle but persistent feeling of being out of place. It takes John Watson decades to discover where he really belongs." Magical realism (sorta) and dream sharing. Eventual Johnlock.

Guard Of Diocletian

'What's his Shift?' John asked, frowning to himself. Sherlock had not mentioned anything about another form. That in itself was not unusual. A lot of people were rather private about their alternative shapes. It was frowned upon to ask someone outright what creature they were when changed, but Mike was like him, baseline, and if he was going to live with this man then he needed to know what he could wake up to find one morning. Shedding on the furniture was one thing, but he had no real desire to find a strange, threatening animal in the living room one day.'He isn't one, is he?' Mike's eyebrows were up, his honest face truly puzzled. 'I've never seen him change, and he's been coming here for years. I mean, I suppose he could be, but...' Mike trailed off with a shrug. 'I think he's like us.'John pursed his lips, tapping his cane on the floor as he shook his head. 'No, Mike, he is nothing like us.' Animal/Fantasy shapeshifter AU. Casefic.

Catlock 10

Sherlock and John uncover a Felisian trafficking ring. Sherlock uses himself as bait.

Merlock

Injured and sent home to England, John finds himself guarding a mysterious tank at Baskerville. Will he do his duty, or will he risk it all to help rescue the man imprisoned within the watery depths?

Original

"Sometimes the murders were simple: a knife in the dark and bloody secrets that soon found their way into the light. Those were the good days, but in a city where magic is both revered and maligned, death is rarely so straightforward.

Lucy Davis is an officer of the Blackguard, and it’s up to her to solve those crimes rooted in the extraordinary."

No Smoke Without Fire

Years ago, an eleven-year-old boy robbed him of his dream. Now the time has come to take his revenge.A long, abandoned Roy/Ed fic where Ed's alchemy is stolen.Counterpoint"I know it sounds stupid, but that's what the reports said. Tormented shrieks coming from one of the country estates." 

A simple investigation into the bizarre leads to fatal consequences, or so it seems.. (Ed's dead but not really.) RoyxEd. 43k already written and posted before abandonment)

Untouchable

"A dark haired young man, no older than twenty, had his paramour pressed against the wall. One hand cupped his lover’s chin, holding them close for a deep kiss while the other gripped their hip tight. Not womanly hips, Roy realised with a smile. The shorter of the two was lean and masculine, a body used to working and – from the look of things – playing hard. Their face was obscured by a fall of pale hair turned silver by the moonlight. Dark clothes blended with the night, and the skin of their left arm and shoulder glowed, sheathing hard, firm muscles."

A witnessed moment between two lovers changes the way Roy looks at Ed, and the subtle attraction that he has ignored for so long blooms into something more. Unfortunately, there is more to Ed's current lover than meets the eye. Can Roy help Ed free himself from the clutches of a dangerous partner, or will they both end up facing dire consequences? (Roy's POV)

Where The Heart Is 

'There was an attack. Raiders. There was no warning of their coming.' Gandalf sighs, and it is a broken sound of someone who has failed in their duty of care.  The raiders took everything they could carry, and burned everything they could not. Many of the fallen were impossible to recognise.' Gandalf leans on his staff, and the wizard looks more tired than the King has ever seen him. He swallows, and Thorin wants to put his hands over his ears, because he knows, sick and certain now, why Bilbo's letters had stopped.'Bilbo is not among those who live.'

(Bilbo's presumed dead, but has actually been taken by raiders. Thorin must rebuild his kingdom with a broken heart, while Bilbo fights his way across the wild north, broken and bleeding, to make his way back to the mountain that has become his home. With bonus hobbits re-homing in Erebor. A fair bit written. Not yet posted)

Erebor Never Fell AU

Bilbo Baggins and his mother leave the Shire after his father's death, as Belladonna has little left to live for but adventure. Unfortunately, she falls afoul of a cruel prince, a man who is used to taking what he wants. In the ensuing struggle, both she and the prince lose their lives, and it is Bilbo who wielded the blade which avenged his mother.

Taken prisoner and accused of murder, his sentence is to be the king’s food-taster. His eyes are bound, as he is unfit to look upon the Men who imprison him, and every day he is dosed with poison and every evening given enough antidote to keep him alive.Such is his existence, until the day his Master takes him to Erebor as part of his retinue, and he discovers the promise of a future among the dwarves who live there. Especially the eldest dwarven prince, Thorin Oakenshield

(Erebor never fell AU with political intrigue, and Bilbo Baggins finding friends when he thought there was no one left in the world who cared for him at all.)

Quarantine Hobbit Fic

Inspired by the prompt of quarantine. Erebor is saved from the dragon and beginning to rebuild, but Thorin, newly healed from the injuries of the battle, suddenly takes ill.The sickness is a dwarf's worst fear: highly contagious and always fatal. Thorin locks himself away to die a slow death, alone. Or he would, if not for the persistence of a certain hobbit.Bilbo breaks into the royal chambers, effectively locking himself away with Thorin. 

Except as the disease progresses, he begins to think it looks rather familiar. In fact, it's a common childhood illness, one hobbits have been able to cure for years.

Plenty of Bilbo and Thorin hurt/comfort and a happy ending. (Of course)

Untitled Merlin Fic

Friends make all the difference. What if the knights of the round table found their way to Camelot before Arthur became king? What difference would that make to Arthur, to Merlin, and to their destiny? (25k written, unpublished. In my head this is basically entitled *~shenanigans, love and a golden age~*

Sorcerer's Bane 

For Emily's prompt, "Pillow", which basically ate my brain. Arthur gave Merlin his cloak thinking only of the warmth it would offer in a snowstorm. He never thought his manservant may be mistaken for him and snatched by bandits. Nor did he expect his dashing rescue of Merlin to turn his world so utterly on his head.Because the bandits hadn't kidnapped a prince. They'd snatched a sorcerer, and now captivity is the least of anyone's problems. (Magic reveal: Merlin being simultaneously bad ass and suffering and Arthur being conflicted but caring. ABout 25 k written so far)

[sweeethinny]

Reputation - Look What You Made Me Do (Chapter 5)

this time it didn't take me so long :) I had difficulties with the ending but I think I managed to finish it in a decent way (thank to @harrys-wheezys who help me, saying about how the war had changed them, and they realizing it :))

keep commenting, i love reading your opinions 

AO3

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

I don't like your little games Don't like your tilted stage

''Look what they wrote about us!" Harry looked at her, a little still tired from the morning sex round, his brain soft and with little ability to understand anything but Ginny's naked breasts, right next to him ''Harry Potter , 32, Order of Merlin blah blah blah, was seen chatting animatedly alongside another ex- Holyhead Harpies player, other than his wife, Ginny Potter (or can we call her Weasley again?)'' Ginny turned her head to him, a little too furious for nine on a cold Sunday morning "Terry is a lesbian! And she knows it."

''Why do you still buy this?'' Harry yawned, cuddling up to her chest, smiling at the softness of her breasts, better than the pillows, as he felt her nails on his scalp, almost driving him back to sleep.

''Why do I need to know what they are saying about us?'' He knew it wasn't really a question, so he kept quiet ''Forbidden romance is a hell. They've been separating us for years now, do you remember that about our marriage?'' 

Rita no longer wrote alone, now she shared the gossip podium with Beau Miller, a man no one really knew where he came from, and seemed to have won people's hearts more for his beauty than for the work itself.

'' ..Of course, what he writes is pure shit ' Harry grunted angrily, throwing the newspaper into the fire and watching it burn, irritated that he said that about Ginny ''They said she has kept me under the love potion .. Ginevra Weasley! The woman who knows very well what it is to have no control over yourself while someone else manipulates you like a puppet, would make me drink love potions! ' Harry clapped his hand on the table, suddenly feeling like he was on edge. .

He thanked for being alone.

''Is the future Potter keeping our chosen one under a potion? ' Harry feigned a very forced accent, his hand on his chest while blinking pompously into nothingness ''To hell with 'Our Chosen One' ''

It was just as irritating how much they got into their lives, saying filthy things about the two, making silly assumptions about betrayals, love potions, and even a teenage pregnancy - the picture of Ginny with Teddy in her arms gave them that.

Harry was so tired, especially now in the week of their wedding, where he was so nervous and upset that he thought he was about to fall to the floor with a heart attack. And it made it worse that Ginny was in France with Fleur, for something about her dress.

They always made him look like a fool, and Harry definitely hated them.

And it was with this resignation that he left his office, marching furiously to the building where the Prophet was.

 The role you made me play Of the fool, no, I don't like you

 ''How to forget? I think Beau is still scared of me'' He laughed nasally, hugging the woman's waist and burying his head more in her breasts ''But it wasn't just me who did it, if I remember correctly, in your seventh year you also lost the head''

''She caught me on a bad day'' Ginny defended herself

 It was supposed to be a calm Quidditch Final, at least it was what she expected.

She was prepared to face Ravenclaw with all her blood, determined to win and make use of all those training sessions under the rain and mornings that had barely emerged. She would win.

Harry being there, helped a lot too.

''If we win .. '' She said when the two met in the locker room still empty, for just one conversation.

"When you win," he said, kissing the tip of her nose before listening to her again, with all his attention and affection.

But then there was the press, as usual, and Rita Skeeter was there too, asking about silly stuff.

Ginny was on the edge, missing her stupid boyfriend who got bogged down with jobs until he missed the last trip to Hogsmeade, afraid to lose, eager to have scouts in the audience who would assess her potential to the last drop, judging her good or not for her team, nervous about the exam of her NIEM's next week .. It was so much, that having Rita distorting her words was not a real desire.

That smile ... Ginny was so eager to take it away.

I don't like your perfect crime How you laugh when you lie

''But Mrs Weasley, have you been playing just to impress a certain person? ' That had been the question after Ginny had scored 8 goals in less than an hour, and helped Gryffindor to win the Cup and being an incredible captain, being quite modest.

Of course, because everything about her was always intertwined, in some way, with Harry.

With little patience left, she decided to smile sarcastically as took the feather in her hand and kneaded it until there were no more pieces left, approaching the woman in a very unfriendly way, which made her startle and take two steps back, cowardly

''Yes, and I've been well rewarded for that. As you can see .. '' She waved her notebook with her wand, making it burn and end up nothing less than dust on the dirty floor of the locker room ''I'm great with my hands''

You said the gun was mine Isn't cool, no, I don't like you (oh!)

 ''You're really good with your hands'' Harry kissed the one who was resting beside him on the bed, also kissing her finger with their wedding ring, feeling the cold gold against his lips

''Thank you, I got better with time... You are lucky that I don't mind all these intrusions, because I already received some invitations to run away from you'' The man laughed, lifting his chin to look at her, green eyes playing fun

''I can't even believe what made you stay'' Ginny shrugged, smiling and running her nails over his shoulders

''Your fortune, of course''

 ''Ginny Potter getting married out of interest?

That's right wizard world, the Quidditch Team's great player,  Holyhead Harpies, received a marriage proposal from a Puddlemere United Team player, which we were unable to identify. And he claims that Ginny Potter told him that she will only marry Harry Potter because of his fortune.

More information on page 15.''

''Does the man say that but they don't know who he is?'' She snorted ''She loves to make me look like a disguised bitch'' Harry barely looked up from Ron's letter, drinking his coffee and wondering if he should get a piece of cake or cookies.

''She does it because she knows you read and it hits you ' The bride turned like a rabid dog towards him

''Hit me? Please, Harry! I am furious that they do not destroy the image of a man who proposed to a committed person, but make up this shit about me .. I'm sure that tonight she will be there'' The Ministry party, the one that the two tried to make up any excuse for not to go, but that in the end, he had been obliged to attend. ''Do you know something? I will use the diamonds you gave me. And I'm going to buy a new dress.'' Ginny got up from the table

''I thought diamonds would be for special occasions'' He joked, still not looking at her

"And isn't that special?" He risked looking at her; her cheeks flushed like fire, hair up in a quick bun and his shirt as pajamas ''Wear your expensive suit too. We will be the most glamorous couple of that idiot party'' And then she left, stomping firmly and still babbling curses along the way.

 [...]

''How I look?'' Ginny came out of the closet, and Harry started to wonder if they really needed to go to that stupid party, or if he could invent a disease that made him stuck at home.

She was stunning, the dress was golden and long, falling very close to her body and with straps so thin that he didn’t know how they didn’t split in half, a straight neckline that made her breasts look so stunning it was like he was 17 years and be embarrassed to see them. Her hair was tied in a neat bun, the diamond earrings matched the ring he had given her last month, delicate but shiny like party globes. Her lips were blood red, her eyes painted black and gold that made Harry forget the time she had spent in the bathroom.

''Wow'' He blinked a few times, watching her approach and fix his tie, blinking innocently and laughing

''Thank you my love, you are also beautiful ..'' Her hands smoothed the suit well aligned, seeming to approve that he had listened to her and put on the expensive piece ''I loved the gold buttons, they really make a great pair with my dress'' Ginny put her arm through his ''Can we go, Mr Potter? I need to parade with my rich fiance around.''

''I never felt so happy that I was being extorted'' They laughed, finishing getting what they needed before apparating to the Ballroom who were told it would be the event, identifying themselves at the entrance and smiling at the first camera that appeared , ignoring all the looks that some gave him "I come back from the dead, but what they care about is whether my future wife is about to kill me to keep my fortune or not .. "

But I got smarter, I got harder in the nick of time Honey, I rose up from the dead, I do it all the time

''Because it sells more newspapers when they talk about a selfish bitch'' Ginny faked a smile ''Look, everyone commenting about us.' The circle of journalists seemed about to burst with excitement when they saw them coming in, ignoring anyone else more important that it passed them, seeming to argue about who should go to the couple first

"They must be arguing about what you had to do to get these earrings"

''I hope they're being creative .. Just a blowjob wouldn't pay'' Harry laughed, wrapping his arm around her waist and bowing a little - she was on heels, they weren't so different in height now - to whisper;

''But I wouldn't mind buying you jewelry for every time you have your mouth full ' The woman blushed, biting her lip and looking at it boldly

''I'll have an arsenal of them then'' Before he could make any further comments, their names were called, and Rita Skeeter was right there in front, smiling from ear to ear

''Mr and Mrs Potter.'' Her false tone got to make Harry sick ''As always; admirable'' Rita blinked a few times at the diamond in Ginny's ears, almost approaching to assess the jewel ''It would be an honor to have an interview with you, there are several fans who are dying to know more details of the wedding of two such important...wizards'' She looked up and down at Ginny, as if assessing whether she was worth it that much.

Because, she was always Harry Potter's girlfriend, and nothing more. Forget her career as a player, and all her other merits.

''I can only say it will be luxurious'' Ginny commented, as much as it was a lie ''Nothing more'' She smiled falsely ''And even, I remember putting your name on the list'' Rita seemed to be excited, eyes and puffing out the chest

''We have an extensive list, you see, but we don't forget you'' Harry assured

''It's a great honor-- ''

'' --The list, of course, forbidden people'' The redhead smiled from ear to ear ''Now, if you'll excuse me ... ''

I've got a list of names and yours is in red, underlined I check it once, then I check it twice, oh! Look what you made me do

 ''She spoke shit of our marriage for a week'' Harry sighed ''I have never been so sad''

''She made me do that'' Ginny shrugged. ''That dress really made me beautiful. I hate you for tearing it up'' She slapped her husband on the back, who was laughing against her warm skin.

''You didn't look angry when I did that. In fact, I remember you groaned a lot. We had complaints from neighbors underneath''

''Living in a building was the worst idea ever'' Harry nodded, getting back on her chest, smiling at the feeling of being at home. ''She asked me for help\ last week''

"Who?"

''Rita'' Ginny laughed ''Maybe that's why today's story, she must be mad since I refused to help her''

I don't like your kingdom keys They once belonged to me

 ''Me and you?'' Ginny spoke a little disappointed, looking at the empty room and then at the woman in front of her ''I work at the sports session, Rita''

"But I need you to help me, Chudley Cannons has this new player and .."

'' ..I won't intercept them for you, do your dirty work alone'' The blonde nodded, looking unexpectedly like a demon from those muggle movies she and Harry had been watching

''My job is not dirty, Mrs Potter, it is as worthy as yours'' Ginny laughed, staring at her with an even worrying calm, seeing that lying red face in front of her ''We should unite here, be solidary with the other.''

''A job that consists of being invasive in the lives of others and making up lies, is not a worthy job, Mrs. Skeeter'' The last name looked like poison on her lips ''The last time I helped you, my name ended up in a not so friendly story about a naked photo of me that they had taken and were trying to sell around ... It seems that you didn't think much about the 'female sorority' before launching the article defaming me''

''I don't invent anything'' Ginny nodded sarcastically, turning away and heading back to her work area

''I'm sure not ... But thank me Rita, for not writing gossip'' Then she looked over her shoulder, still seeing her standing there ''I would have great topics to comment on''

 You asked me for a place to sleep Locked me out and threw a feast (what?)

 ''I think they're going to fire her ... Beau has also been walking the tightrope for the past few days'' She dropped the newspaper, lying on the bed and coming face to face with Harry, rubbing his face and sighing tiredly ''Not that I care, it's just Karma''

''Definitely'' The husband kissed the tip of her nose, then the cheeks, until he reached her mouth, smiling and winking still a little sleepy ''The guy who sold the photos is still in prison. I went to Askaban yesterday and saw him, he looked a little crazy and upset when he saw me. The guards say he started having nightmares about me killing him.''

''Urgh, can't this family stay away from the drama for even a second? If Beau listens, you can be sure that tomorrow is the first page dedicated to that. "Harry Potter, the savior of the wizarding world or a torturer of defenseless poor people?"

''He's definitely not a helpless poor. And he's lucky that I didn't find him, because I would have left him with more damage than just a cut on his shoulder'' The green eyes darkened, and Ginny knew he wasn't horny ''They treated him so lovingly I even thought they would give him they own bed for him to spend the night ... While you can't leave the house for a week!''

''It's an unfair world, babe'' And as if that still didn't torment her, Ginny kissed her husband, relieved by the feeling that ran through her, as if the tension had evaporated away and only the two existed

 The world moves on, another day, another drama, drama But not for me, not for me, all I think about is karma

 ''But I have you, my great savior'' She kissed him again, less deeply this time ''Some guys told me I deserved it ... You know, for whatever shit they believe I did. Michael met me on the street and said it was just me reaping what I planted.'' Harry rolled his eyes, sighing and seeming to control any instinct to leave their bed and go after each one

''I hate them so much'' Ginny nodded ''Last week a trainee made a joke about your poster is on the bedroom wall, facing the bed. I don't think he wanted me to hear'' His wife laughed, throwing her head back and happy that he could break the tension ''I'm serious, he affected having seen death''

 '' ..I leave it facing my bed, because you know, don't you? Lonely nights and everything'' Harry took a deep breath, already being spotted by the freshman's other colleague, who was as white as paper looking over the boy's head, his eyes wide.

''If you continue like this, only what you will have will be lonely nights'' Then his malicious laugh stopped, and Harry even doubted that his breath was gone.

''Erm .. Sorry, Har ... Mr Potter'' The boy turned around, looking much more like one of their children when they were caught tampering with something where it shouldn't have been, not as an auror in training.

''Not that you should apologize to me, it wasn't my ass that you were using as an aid to wanking ... But hopefully next time, it will appear in your mind and leave it soft enough to not want to play for a week'''

 And then the world moves on, but one thing's for sure

Maybe I got mine, but you'll all get yours

''He's still not looking me in the eye'' Ginny was still laughing, trying to contain the noise so as not to wake her children but looking almost impossible

''I really hope he saw your ass instead of mine .. Not that yours is ugly, I love her'' She kissed the tip of his nose, reaching down to squeeze the naked flesh ''All round and perfect'' Another kiss

''But it wasn't the one he wanted to see'' Ginny nodded, letting her be hugged ''I'm sorry for all this meddling''

''You don't have to apologize for anything, they're the ones who are fucking invasive. I accepted that life back in my fifth year, when you kissed me, and it wouldn't change a single point of my decisions '' The two looked at each other, Harry looking much more naked than he really was, blinking those beautiful green eyes in her direction, with a slight smile on his face

''I love you ... even if you are just here to steal my fortune, or if you are looking to get away with someone else ... ''

"... Or that I'm keeping you under the Love Potion?" Harry laughed, nodding

''Yes, I still love you so much'' Ginny smiled, even after all these years, still blushing shyly

''You look so romantic after I fuck you good'' He shrugged

"That's what they say ... But they say a lot, they already said they couldn't trust me when I was only 15 years old."

'' ..And today they use your opinion as a guide'' Ginny reminded him ''They always seem so sorry when you talk about the war'' Not that Harry talked much, but there was always a lecture here or there, and rather intrusive questions on the anniversary that marked the end. ''Rita always seems sorry about that time, but I never know if it is because we discovered her cover or just because there is a little humanity in her ... Anyway, I don't trust her at all. Not that she trusts me too much, of course. ''

I don't trust nobody and nobody trusts me

I'll be the actress starring in your bad dreams

Harry laughed softly, running his fingers over her cheek and outlining his wife's face, as if he wanted to frame her to never forget. Ginny took a hand on her cheek, kissing the scar he had acquired in the fifth year, as if to prove that they were there now. Better. Alive

''The date is coming ... What will they all write this time?'' Ginny shrugged, interlacing her fingers with his and approaching her husband, wrapping her bare leg around his waist

"Some shit that will make somebody cry and say 'he was just a kid!' while they congratulate you and frighten our children'' Our children, it was one of the things he would never tire of listening to. Harry chuckled, relaxing against her, laying his head back in the middle of her soft breasts, being surrounded by that heady scent that he would never get sick of.

''Isn't it crazy to think that Teddy is already so big? We're getting old ''

''Oh, don't say that too loud, magazines love to remind us of that. Last week a magazine said I should cut my hair again to 'look younger'.'' Harry laughed, running his fingers over the red strands that were on the pillow, not as long as when they were teenagers, but not as small as when she was played, but still incredibly beautiful.

''We're not the same anymore, are we?'' She doesn't need to ask what exactly he was talking about. The war had changed everyone, but Ginny and Harry would never be forgotten about their changes, even if she cut her hair and he let his hair grow, there would always be a gossip magazine reminding them who they once were. Students leading a movement against the Ministry, teenagers having to deal with things that not even an adult would handle well, among thousands more.

''It would be impossible to be'' She smiled a little colorless, before her maternal instinct warned her ''James woke up.'' And the alone and comfortable moment was over, the two of them picked up their fallen pajamas by the bed and they dressed at impressive speed, much faster and more prepared than when they were young and didn't want to be caught by Molly. Her mother was much more understandable than a 7-year-old son, under locked doors

They would never be the same again.

I'm sorry, the old Taylor can't come to the phone right now

Why?

Oh, 'cause she's dead! 

 ''Good morning, mate'' Harry unlocked the door when the little one knocked, waving him to come to bed with them, as he knew it was his wish

''Morning'' he murmured sleepily, still looking sleepy, scratching his brown eyes and crawling on the sheets to stay in the middle, laying his head on his mother's chest like a baby, before going back to sleep calmly. Ginny kissed his slightly sweaty hair and hugged the small body that was now glued to hers.

''How long until the other two come too?'' She whispered, laughing softly as ahe tried to hear if there was noise from the other rooms as well.

''A few minutes'' Harry didn't look sad ''We can still run away ... We took them all and we were gone for a week'' Ginny laughed, denying and using her free hand to ruffle her husband's hair

''You could never do that'' She unmasked him ''But we can get away after an interview, I know the kids will love it ... ''

 [...]

When the day came, there were, as always, reporters, cameras and people everywhere. It seemed that they never got tired of questioning every morbid detail of what the trio had been through in those years at Hogwarts.

But before the second interview started, Harry simply apparated with his whole family out, leaving everyone gaping when the six Potter (because Teddy would always be a Potter) simply disappeared, waving to the journalists before landing at the beach house of them, not far from London, but hidden enough that no one could find them.

"Tomorrow this will be on the cover of magazines" And it was.

''I do not care. They forced me to do this.. Ask about all the shit I went through? I do not care. Tease the kids?'' He waved to the kids running from Teddy who claimed to be a monster, laughing and screaming loudly, looking a lot less tense than they did a few minutes ago, when five journalists surrounded they to ask questions. ''I don't accept'' Harry would never let them take away their peace.

 ''Harry Potter, the wizard who saved the world or just a man in need of attention?

Harry Potter, 32, First Order of Merlin, Chief of Aurors, attended the Annual Anniversary Meeting of the End of the Second Witch War, with his wife Ginny Potter, his sons James, Albus and Lily Potter, as well as his godson Edward Lupin (known like Teddy). After the first interview (see more on page 15) the wizard who saved the world looked irritated when some questions started to be asked, and simply apparated the whole family out.

What does the editor of this newspaper think of this? Of two things, one; does the wizard who saved the world need attention and need his name back in the tabloids, or is it just a way to make everyone forget the possible betrayal he committed (see more on page 18) last Friday? ''

Look what you made me do

[work-life-harmony]

Harmony Journal/Blog Posts

9/8/21

“I Stress, Eustress, We All Stress”

It is two days past my 42nd birthday and the eve before the start of another school year.  And I anticipate it is going to be a year like no other.  There is a tremendous amount of uncertainty that I am feeling at the moment.  Personally, I am in the thick of things trying to raise my twelve year-old daughter and blend ourselves with my fiancee and her two children.  It has not been easy.  My daughter has dealt with anxiety ever since she was little.  Her mom passed away two months after her second birthday and it’s hard to know whether her personality has been shaped in part because of the void my wife’s passing created.  Now that she is entering adolescence, a certain alchemy of anxiety, anger, and depression has yielded some chaos in our household.

That the pandemic happened to coincide with the time in her life where she is feeling the hardest is unfortunate.  Did the lockdown and disruption to our lives exacerbate her feelings of anxiety and anger?  It’s probably a safe bet that it did.  So that has been a major area of concern and frustration for me.

On the professional side of things, although last year was difficult for many teachers, and I certainly had my frustrations, I was in a fairly good place mentally.  There were some aspects to the school year that I actually found novel and enjoyed, such as the ability to sleep later, roll out of bed and teach from my kitchen table.  Conversely, the new routine allowed me to develop some habits that were not healthy, including daily rituals such as making and drinking light and sweet coffee and having a serving or two of ice cream nightly between dinner and bed.  Furthermore, I seemed to become a slave to my phone.  Although I’ve had the willpower to delete apps such as Facebook off of my phone in the past, the last few years I became addicted to the news...and Instagram...and checking my email.  One concerning consequence of the pandemic is that I’ve lost my concentration stamina.  If I start something, particularly work related, it only takes a few minutes before I feel compelled to get up and do something else, even just for a half minute.  Of course this breaks my rhythm of work and I’m unable to achieve any kind of flow.  And, worse, sometimes I find that I mean to do something, such as check the weather, but when I open up a tab to do it, I have completely lost what I meant to do when I opened the tab.  Scary!

With the start of the new school year, I intend to turn over a new leaf so to speak by approaching different aspects of my professional and personal life with an eye towards my well-being: physically, emotionally, mentally, and spiritually.  The forthcoming journal entries will chronicle the conscious changes that I am making in order to foster more harmony in my life and a stronger sense of well-being.  Part of that will be my investment in activities that help me achieve a sense of flow, including but not limited to music, reading, and immersing myself in nature.

9/16/21

“Time In a Bottle”

As the school year has started, the typical looseness of my summer days has come to an abrupt end.  However, there are some benefits to the structure of my school days.  My body has started to adjust to my new routine, and although the school day seems to necessitate a routine, there are conscious choices that I’m making to build a healthy daily schedule.  I am up at 5:30 on weekday mornings and in bed reading by 10 pm, a major shift from previous school years in which I would stay up until 11 or later watching television before hopping in bed to fall asleep.  Although I’m still adjusting to this new routine (as the school year is still young), I am recognizing an easier relationship with waking up in the morning.  As noted in the course, avoiding screens before bedtime contributes to a better sleep and I am finding that I am waking up more rested and ready to meet the day.  

An interesting stressor at the start of the school year, before my body has fully adopted the new schedule, is my anxiety that I will somehow miss my morning alarm.  I’m the first one in the house who is up in the morning, and no one is coming to wake me in time for my early day if my alarm fails me.  Thus, the first week (or two) of the school year leave me sleeping lightly and somewhat anxiously.  I continue to add measures into my routine, such as meditation and muscle relaxation practices to help ease my mind.  Additionally, I have quieted my mind before falling asleep by acknowledging the things that I am grateful for.  This will be touched upon in more depth in a forthcoming journal entry, but there is tremendous value in gratitude.  Lori Santos, a renowned professor at Yale University who teaches the highly sought course “The Science of Well-Being,” acknowledged in an article for Newsweek Magazine, “Grateful people tend to be happier and show lower levels of stress hormones like cortisol. Health care workers who keep a gratitude journal show reductions in stress and depression. And people suffering from chronic pain who practice gratitude show improvements in both sleep quality and mood” (Santos). It has become an important strategy for me to ease the chronic stress and anxiety of life which gets exacerbated at the start of a new school year.  

With each day, it does become easier to sleep peacefully and I suspect that soon my eyes will open a minute before my alarm rings.  I am also pleased to report that rising before the sun comes up has been easier than in years past.  Typically, trying to get out of bed in the dark has always been difficult and miserable.  Of course, it may return to misery as winter sets in and leaving a warm bed is a shock to the system, but for now I am happy to report that the newly adopted schedule for this school year is working well.  

On a more professional side of things, I have been working on my planning as it regards daily obligations.  For instance, the adoption of daily to-do lists has helped me to stay better focused on items that need attention; efficient about tending to, and completing, those items; and avoid being frazzled like I have been in the past because the ideas bounce around my brain but have not been concrete since they aren’t visibly posted somewhere.  The morning ritual of composing a daily to-do list has really been beneficial for me.  An example of items that I’ve included on lists include: grade seven essays today, photocopy “Heroes” article, email Nina’s guidance counselor, drop two books in Mari’s mailbox, hit the supermarket with grocery list, and call the car dealership.  Furthermore, I’ve been diligent about staying on top of the “house calendar” to not only make sure that all family events are noted on the calendar, but also to consult the calendar every day as part of my daily routine to see what obligations members of the household have that day and in the near future.  This is an indispensable part of our lives and internal harmony.  For instance, my daughter’s “picture day” is tomorrow.  Since it is listed on the calendar, we can save ourselves stress and frustration by potentially being caught off guard that pictures are being taken tomorrow.  Heaven forbid my daughter arrive at school with no inkling that it is picture day, likely exacerbating her stress/anxiety because she feels unprepared.  These measures have been part of my process for winning back time and peace of mind.  

With that in mind, it is going to be a school long objective to work on organization skills with my students.  In particular, I have two sections of remedial sophomore English classes.  A good percentage of these students have IEPS or other individualized plans to help them be successful in their high school classes.  It is not uncommon to see a personalized modification that revolves around breaking down big concepts and keeping them on task.  For this reason, we’ve established a routine of taking out binders/notebooks at the start of every class period.  They need reminders, but it is with the purpose of establishing healthy and productive habits that they can carry with them for a lifetime.

9-19-21

“Love May Know No Bounds, But a Teacher Better Set Some”

The financial wizard Warren Buffet has been quoted, “The difference between successful people and really successful people is that really successful people say no to almost everything."  While there’s probably a bit of overstatement to Buffet’s claim, one can’t deny that from an “American Dream” point of view that he is considered a success.  Thus, there must be some truth behind his words which reinforce the Module 3 concept of boundary-setting.  With the rise of technology, be it e-mail or Google classroom, students have greater accessibility to their teachers.  In fact, everyone has greater accessibility to teachers.  Compounded by the fact that part of last year was taught remotely, the boundaries of the school day almost ceased to exist.  Fortunately, the summer has been a quiet time to turn away from professional demands, but with the new school year upon us,  I feel it is going to be important to counter the feeling of always being tied to work.  For this reason, boundary-setting is going to be a priority for me.  My first concern is to establish that I will not be addressing professional inquiries/issues on weekends or days off.  Of course, this will be somewhat of a test at the start of the school year because I’m also conscious of the anxiety that arises when my inbox fills up with issues that need attention.  But branching off of the time-management piece of the puzzle, I hope to create effective solutions in my approach to time and boundaries.

When I started my career as a teacher, I recall a colleague noting that teaching is a twelve month job condensed down to ten months.  Thus, the school day doesn’t truly end with the last bell.  There is much to get done between planning, grading, and tending to all of the extra aspects of teaching.  Even as a veteran teacher, it is virtually impossible to complete all of my professional needs during school hours.  In fact, the demands of being a school teacher may feel endless at times.  This is why it is so important to set boundaries.  Granted, when you have children of your own, as I do, priorities tend to shift.  But, even so, most caring teachers yearn to give 110% to their schools and students.  The phrase that comes to mind when that happens is “slave to your work.”  This is a recipe for stress and potential unhappiness, so it becomes incumbent upon teachers to set boundaries and strike a balance between personal and professional life.  This school year, I feel I’ve done a nice job of making my nights and weekends sacred.  I use my time at school effectively and efficiently, shying away from distractions that keep me from being as productive as possible during school hours.  I have even established practices with classes that have helped in this regard.  For instance, I have designated Friday as an independent reading day for my basic skills classes.  While this is productive for them because it creates an environment that they can do sustained reading of literature that they choose, it also affords me time to catch up on grading and plan for the following week (which would otherwise be happening during my weekend).  The items that I am not able to get to during the school day are addressed during my time at home, but I believe that I am approaching it in a more thoughtful way.  On weekend mornings, I’ve been waking up early as my body adjusts to my 5:30 wakeup routine during the week.  So when I’m up for an hour before the rest of the house, I can attack the items that I didn’t get to during the week.  Needless to say, my approach this year has left me feeling a better sense of control over my professional duties.

9-22-21

“Shake It Off” 

Several years ago the topic du jour in school districts across the country was resilience or grit.  This was pre-pandemic.  As a concept, it hasn’t gotten the same attention as of late, but that does not undercut the importance of resilience and the tools we need to develop in order to persevere.  As noted in Module 3, a growth mindset plus stamina equals achievement.   As part of my journey to better living, particularly during the stressful pandemic, I have landed on, and dedicated myself to, several areas which follow:

Developing habits of self care and compassion for others

As we went into lockdown and found ourselves somewhat trapped in our homes, particularly during the fall and winter, it was easy to lose the habits of self-care that had been so natural in our daily lives.  I have consciously made an effort to develop better habits of self care since taking this course.  Namely, my diet and sleep have been areas of focus.  My daily diet looks something like:

-Greek yogurt with granola and fresh berries for breakfast

-A greens, apple, avocado, grilled chicken and blue cheese salad for lunch

-Apple slices, banana, flavored almonds, and/or pretzel & hummus for an afternoon snack

-Dinner varies, but is typically home-cooked and avoids red meat

Prior to this conscious change, I had no real dietary routine and I recognized the impact it was having on me physically and mentally.  I was leaning hard into sugar and caffeine; beyond the damage it was doing to my body, it was adversely affecting my sleep habits.  Now, however, committed to taking better care of myself, I am cognizant of the synergistic benefits of self-care, especially when times are tough.  

Another area of focus, and one often taken for granted in our well-being, is the power of authentic socializing with others.  While I was lucky to have a full house made up of my fiancee and our three kids which helped me not feel starved for close, authentic social interaction, I still was not feeling completely edified.  Making sure to nurture my relationships, especially with students and colleagues, brings a greater sense of gratification from meaningful interaction.  For instance, last school year, I noticed that one aspect of my school day that was glaringly absent was laughter.  Whether it stems from banter with colleagues or the shenanigans that carry on with a loose and happy classroom of students, last year punctuated how important laughter is on the psyche.  In fact, a line from one of my favorite novels, Ken Kesey’s One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest, emphasizes the deep importance of laughter when the protagonist, McMurphy, remarks, “Man, when you lose your laugh you lose your footing.”  While social distancing may have made us inclined to shrink away from people, so much has been lost by cocooning ourselves.  A tremendous part of our mental health is the release we get when laughing.  I have reinvested in that and it has led to the next area of well-being and resilience:

Building a network of positivity

As an extension of that investment into relationships is the support system of those who help to buoy me.  While we know that misery often loves company, we should also recognize that happiness is augmented through company as well.  One of the better pieces of wisdom that I ever found from a fortune cookie fortune was “Joy shared is doubled; grief shared is halved.”  (Does one need to create an APA citation for fortune cookies?  Ha!)  We certainly are better off building a mindset of positivity.  It can be infectious.  And although as the school year neared I was having grim thoughts about what was in store for us, my network of people which includes friends, colleagues, and even students have helped me navigate to a place of harmony.  Sometimes we are our own worst enemy and our brains can be unkind and counterproductive. And sometimes we lose our way which also takes a toll on our sense of being.  That’s why anyone will be better off:

Finding Purpose

Yesterday, I was catching up with my best friend from childhood.  I asked how his mother was doing since she retired three years ago from her position as an anesthesiologist.  My friend’s response was, “She’s deteriorating.”  Granted, this is a woman in her 70s, and time can be cruel.  (My fiancee told me last night that she saw a shirt for sale online that said, “My favorite childhood memory is my back not hurting.”) But the real point of my friend’s words is that once she lost her daily purpose of getting up at 5:30 and doing meaningful work, she became aimless and lost the person that she had been for most of her lifetime.  

Finding purpose is an important element to the senior curriculum I teach as the literature we read in my ELA class forces us to confront the universal themes of purpose and identity.  So much of self-understanding and drive derives from the things that we do.  

Perhaps the best figure to explore the value of purpose is the mythological figure of Sisyphus.  You may know him as the guy who rolls the rock up the hill.  That’s his identity, because that’s what he does.  He is suffering eternal punishment for angering the gods, and they have determined that there is nothing worse than this act of futility.  When Sisyphus completes his task and gets the rock to the top of the mountain, it just rolls back to the other side and he has to collect the rock again and repeat.  Ad nauseum.   However, the French absurdist writer Albert Camus examines Sisyphus as a representation of the everyman.  We all roll our metaphorical rocks only to watch those acts be undone.  We make our beds in the morning.  Wash our dishes.  Mow the lawn.  Go to work.  Day after day after day.  And ultimately, we suffer for no greater good.  However, Camus acknowledges that Sisyphus overcomes his torment if he has his own purpose to the seemingly futile act.  When he steps up to the rock with his own personal motivation, or purpose, then it’s not a punishment.  That’s the value of purpose.  

Fortunately, the profession of education naturally provides purpose as we invest in our students.  And beyond that, I have invested in music and relationships.   These areas of my life have certainly been instrumental in creating a sense of direction and happiness. 

Finally, I believe in:

Continuing to learn, experiment, and grow

Recently, a colleague noted how much she loved being a student and learning.  She pointed out that if she could be a student for the rest of her life, she would do it in a heartbeat.  I feel somewhat similar.  And one of the best aspects of being in the world of education is that I’m consistently being exposed to new ideas and ways of thinking that have satisfied an aspect of my personality that yearns for knowledge.  

When the world came to a screeching halt in the spring of 2020, eager to quench my desire to improve my knowledge and skills, I found just what I was looking for online.  After some searches for guitar instruction on the internet, I stumbled upon a fellow with a channel on youtube that has been somewhat life-changing.  His avuncular disposition and clear explanation of guitar theory has helped me to become a better guitarist and feel a newfound confidence in my playing.  Upon reflection, I’m happy that I dedicated myself to improving my skills because it has paid great dividends and underscores the value of knowledge, experimentation and growth.

I feel lucky that a few of the ideas noted above are organically interwoven into the life of an English literature teacher.  

9-26-21

“The smell of gratitude” - Sensory Awareness, Attitude and Thankfulness

Yesterday, I stepped outside in the morning and immediately recognized that it was a glorious day.  An early morning autumn chill was in the air (my favorite time of year), and the sun dappled the earth through its magnificent golden rays.  Shortly after breakfast, the family hopped in the car and headed north to Warwick, NY.  When we reached our destination, my fiancee and the kids hopped out and spent an hour on an alpaca farm while I drove into Sugar Loaf, the neighboring hippie town.  There, I walked along the main drag in the middle of town and basked in the sunshine between dropping into the different stores.  After picking the family up, we drove back into town and had a delicious lunch before heading home mostly along back roads that traced the shore of a lake that crosses the boundary between NY and NJ.  It was sensational; the only thing that could have made it better is if the foliage had started to turn.  

Days and moments experienced, like yesterday’s outing, force me to return to the lyrics of Neil Peart whose words echo from his band, Rush’s, wonderful song “Time Stand Still”:

Freeze this moment

A little bit longer

Make each sensation

A little bit stronger

Experience slips away...

Experience slips away...

Time stand still

Of course, time doesn’t stand still, so it becomes necessary for us to savor the big and little moments of our lives.  Akin to the Scottish poet Robert Burns’ remark in his poem, “To a Mouse”:

 I backward cast my e’e,

       On prospects drear!

An’ forward tho’ I canna see,

       I guess an’ fear!

We are so busy worrying about our past and futures that we forget to live in the present.  With this in mind, I’ve been practicing the art of savoring.  Right now, as I write, there is the wonderful aroma of pumpkin muffins in the air.  This morning, I relished the hot water pouring down when I took a shower.  And even though I’m allergic to animals, I still felt and savored the buttery softness of the teddy bears made with alpaca fur that the kids got when they were at the farm.  

There are many areas of our lives to be more present and “tune into” in order to achieve a deeper appreciation for the present moment and increase our happiness and well-being.  And, following the advice from the Harmony course to spend time in nature, I find this to be the best time of year to do such a thing.  Thus, I have been spending extra time outdoors, smelling the autumnal air and savoring the beauty of the natural world.  Fortunately, I’ve had the pleasure of teaching Romantic writers whose ideology turned away from the harsh, cold logic of the Age of Reason and towards the wonders of the natural world and the emotions of humankind.  Several poems I teach underscore the value of nature; perhaps no poet celebrates the natural world more than William Wordsworth.  He characterizes the peace found in nature when he says in “Lines Composed a Few Miles Above Tintern Abbey:

how oft—

In darkness and amid the many shapes

Of joyless daylight; when the fretful stir

Unprofitable, and the fever of the world,

Have hung upon the beatings of my heart—

How oft, in spirit, have I turned to thee,

O sylvan Wye! thou wanderer thro' the woods,

         How often has my spirit turned to thee!

I, too, have looked to nature, both literally and figuratively, to counterbalance the “fever of the world.”  I will continue to do so, especially on these glorious autumn days.  And in times when I cannot be out in nature, my spirit can still turn to it and find some internal peace with recollections of how sublime Mother Nature can be. 

9-29-21

Crisis - “A season to build resiliency”

The subheading to this journal entry comes from an Edutopia article written by Jessica Cabeen, “How School Leaders Can Frame Tough Decisions.”  It’s certainly an optimistic mindset in relation to times of struggle or outright crises.  Entering my seventeenth year in education, I could never have predicted what the state of education was going to be over the past few years if I had never lived it.  If we are to understand “crises” as events that cause us to change our routines and threaten our safety, the pandemic certainly fits the bill. 

I’ve had a few other crises since becoming a teacher.  The most recent one was a crisis wrought and then averted by Mother Nature right as this school year was beginning.  When Hurricane Ida swept up the eastern coast of the US, those of us in the metropolitan area had no real warning about the amount of water that the storm was going to dump on us.  At around 8:30 pm, I went into my basement to see streams of water pouring through the basement walls soaking the basement floor as the sump pump struggled to keep up with the quickly rising water table.  Ten years prior, I had a similar experience with Hurricane Irene.  (It dawns on me now that I must really take note when a Hurricane named after the letter I bears down on me that I need to be alert.)  The morning after Irene, I woke up to the items in my basement floating around like they were in a bathtub.  With Ida, I made a mad dash to remove the items from the basement that I could and tried to shift my thinking of helplessness to acceptance.  

You can’t fight Mother Nature.  Thus, I took solace in knowing that I salvaged the things that I could and to not fret about the things that I couldn’t control.  This is perhaps a difficult thing to do, especially in a situation like this as we are naturally conditioned to protect our abodes.  But the mindset is vital part of our wellbeing.  One of the moments from the course on Harmony that really resonated with me was the transference of anxious energy into positive energy.  Rather than feel confined by the heightened energy of anxiety, simply telling yourself “I’m excited” can have a real positive effect.  Certainly, saying “I’m excited” about a hurricane is a ludicrous connection, but attempts to assuage the mind can bear fruit.  In the middle of the madness as Ida was wreaking havoc across NJ, I made a conscious attempt to soothe myself and accept what the fallout was going to be.

From there we are able to learn and grow, and our resilience is definitely tested.  Although we may struggle and even suffer, we have the opportunity to learn and grow from our experiences.  Additionally, when we go through our own trials, we become empathetic.

Given the extreme negative impacts that trauma can have on individuals, especially young people, crises take on a more serious consideration because it’s not just the present crisis that needs attention; the ramifications for the long-term also need to be addressed.  Sometimes checking in is an important step to help others.  For that reason, I spent a couple of class periods talking candidly with my students about their feelings regarding the pandemic.  Not only was it eye-opening, it was also greatly appreciated by my students.  Quite a few students remarked that none of their teachers bothered to check in with them.  They carried on with business as usual, even though the students had bigger things on their minds than math or chemistry or history.  Since then, and with the endorsement of the Harmony course, I have made it a priority to emphasize and invest in the human connection with my students and the other people in my orbit.  

Although the course emphasized a distinction in the connotations of balance and harmony, I do believe that a conscious balancing of different aspects of my routines and choices has led to a more harmonious life.  The school year is off to a great start...a better start than I had hoped.  And, ultimately, I feel a stronger sense of well-being, physically, mentally, emotionally, and spiritually.

Cited Sources:

Burns, Robert. “To a Mouse.” Poets.org, https://poets.org/poem/mouse. 

Cabeen, J., 2021. How School Leaders Can Frame Tough Decisions. [online] Edutopia. Available at: 

<https://www.edutopia.org/article/how-school-leaders-can-frame-tough-decisions> [Accessed 29 

September 2021].

Gilbert, D. (2021). Stumbling on Happiness: Think You Know What Makes You Happy? 

Alfred A. Knopf.

Kesey, K. (1672). Ken Kesey: One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest (Mass Market 

Paperback); 1989 Edition. Ken Kesey.

Rush. “Time Stand Still.” Peter Collins, The Manor, Oxfordshire, 1987. 

Santos, L. (2020, December 22). Laurie Santos, Yale Happiness Professor, on 5 things that will 

make you happier. Newsweek. Retrieved September 16, 2021, from

https://www.newsweek.com/2021/01/08/laurie-santos-yale-happiness-professor-5-thing

-that-will-make-you-happier-1556182.html. 

Wordsworth, William. “Lines Composed a Few Miles above Tintern Abbey, on Revisiting the 

Banks of the Wye During a Tour, July 13, 1798.” Poets.org, 

https://poets.org/poem/lines-composed-few-miles-above-tintern-abbey-revisiting-banks-

wye-during-tour-july-13-1798.