#excuse the german but i'm at my fucking limit

[umilily]

Ich hass die Uni ja eh schon genug, aber wenn man dann auf einmal mehrere Wochen damit zubringt, sich um Verwaltungsaufgaben zu kümmern, von denen man nicht die leiseste Ahnung hat und ungelogen verzweifelt, weil nichts in dem System so funktioniert wie es soll, während es einfach Leute gibt, die dafür bezahlt werden und aber nichts und wieder nichts machen?! Ich krieg das Kotzen, wirklich. Erst sind die Punkte komplett weg, dann in Teilen da, dann sind auf einmal ohne mein Zutun 42 von ihnen in einem Knoten angerechnet, der nur 18 braucht. Und ich frage mich wo die alle hin sind. Mein Drecksprof, der das im Schlaf kann, ist nicht im Stande mir einmal ordentlich zu erklären, was zu Hölle ich eigentlich tun soll? Ich könnte sie alle rechts und links ohrfeigen. Die Suche spuckt nichts aus, egal was ich eingebe und wenn ich mir die selbe Liste in unterschiedlichen Menüs anschaue, fehlt die Hälfte. Ich brech bald in die IT ein und nehm den ganzen Laden auseinander. Ich kann nicht mehr.

[canimal]

I wanted to write a time travel fanfic and about Evan Rosier/Hermione Granger as a main pairing but... I'm stuck. I didn't choose the most redeemable character (Rosier was killed by Moody after a magical fight) and it's complicated bc how Hermione can fall in love with someone like Evan no matter how charming and smart he is ? How did you deal with that (Hermione, Death Eater and their ideology) ? All I can see is something like Jaime/Brienne (GoT) and a very slow burn. But it still feel wrong.

(Please bear with me as this is going to be a super long response.  I’ll put it underneath the cut so those who want to read it can read it and those who want to scroll past it can do so quickly.)

To be perfectly honest, if a story feels “wrong”, you shouldn’t be writing it.  Trying to force something that you don’t feel comfortable writing and don't fully believe in will not only make for a story that feels forced and unnatural to the reader, but it will also become a story that you will not enjoy writing.  (Never forget that this is our hobby, not our job.). Eventually, you would likely hit a wall where the story was unable to progress further and you’d be stuck.  Lots of writers try to write a story with certain elements or pairings that are “trendy” and end up stuck because they forced a story.  Writing should flow fairly smoothly.  I’m not saying that writers should never stumble or feel blocked, but I am saying that if you’re not allowing a story to remain organic and grow naturally, you will find you quality and likely your own enthusiasm and enjoyment in writing the story suffer.

Why do you want to write a story with Evan Rosier?  Is it because you find his character fascinating or you want to uncover more about him?  Or is it because he’s not a character that’s written about a lot and you’re hoping to stand out in a growing sea of Death Eater stories?  

I promise I’m not trying to be rude or condescending, even if it seems like it.  This is an honest question.  If your answer is on the first couple, awesome.  Go for it.  

But, if you’re hoping writing about him will get you instant recognition and a large number of followers on your story immediately, I’m sorry to tell you that that probably won’t happen.  Most readers don’t want to take a chance on unknown characters.  They just don’t.  I’ve mentioned this many times, but when I first started writing Thorfinn Rowle as more than just a one-dimensional bad guy in the background in first, The Dark Mage’s Captive and then Parolee and His Princess, I frequently got PMs and reviews asking me who the fuck Thorfinn Rowle even was and that I might actually get more people to read my stories if I didn’t write such weird pairings. 🙄 (Let’s not forget the troll who commented “This should’ve been a Dramione” on literally every single chapter at least twice.  Sigh.) So it’s both amusing and incredibly frustrating to have readers in the fandom announce that Thormione is their OTP when most of them wouldn’t have given my stories the time of day when I was writing them and they were the ONLY Thorfinn stories in existence on FFN for certain and probably everywhere else.  Because so few people were interested in reading a story with Thorfinn as the main love interest when I was actually writing Parolee and His Princess, if I was only writing the story in an attempt to stand out and not because that was the story I wanted to write, then I likely would’ve gotten frustrated and quit before I ever finished.

So, if you’re serious about writing an Evan Rosier story because it’s what you want to write, I wish you the best of luck.  It’s always challenging to write a character with little to no background info in canon.  Challenging can also be a great deal of fun.  If we never challenge ourselves as writers, we won’t ever get any better.  Writers must be willing to learn and try new things if they want to get better.  Practice is crucial.  Too many writers (professional and otherwise) get to a place where they don’t believe they need to improve and their writing gets stagnant.  It’s sad.

Now to your question about how or why Hermione might fall in love with someone with such a different and dangerous ideology... there are many different ways this can be tackled.  I must stress thought that you make sure the decision you make makes sense within your story.  Don’t try to force something.  Let it grow naturally.

First of all, I don’t believe anyone is unredeemable.  (Or irredeemable. Same meaning, right?) Perhaps it’s because of my own personal faith and religious beliefs, but I don’t believe anyone is wholly evil or wholly good.  Yes, even in this hyper-partisan world we now live in, I don’t believe that anyone (even those who might disagree with me) are pure evil.  This has actually gotten me a lot of grief from angry trolls and super sensitive former readers alike.  I’ve been accused of being an “apologist” for all manner of depravity including, but not limited to, rape, violence, murder, racism, all the bad things ever, etc. simply because I believe that no is unredeemable... irredeemable.  Ugh, whatever.  You know what I mean.  

Everyone has good qualities in them, even those who appear to be nothing but evil.  Far fewer good qualities than most certainly, but still there.  I’m also a firm believer that people, even really bad people, can have an existential change of heart and want to be a better person.  Many just have to be given the opportunity to change.  Of course, I don’t believe that they shouldn’t be punished for their crimes or they should be excused just because there’s something good about them.  I’ll never understand why I’ve been accused of being an apologist.  🙄 Some people are truly exhausting.

For every story about a Death Eater falling for Hermione, there’s a different explanation.  If you’ve ready any, you’re probably already familiar.  Because I try very hard to make every story I write unique from the others I’ve already written, I’ve mixed it up.  Antonin only joined for knowledge and power without realizing until too late what was really happening.  Rodolphus was pressured by his wife in one and his grief and depression made him fall further in than he meant to.  Sometimes the Death Eater was pressured by family to follow in their footsteps; others by their peers.  There are countless reasons why people join these kinds of groups.  Disillusionment, looking for a place to belong... you really could make it anything.  I’ve known people who were drawn in and brainwashed by cults because they were desperate for purpose, for belonging, for a feeling like their life actually mattered.  It can be super easy to get sucked into a cult and takes years to get out... if you can.

JKR wrote the Death Eaters as being simply bad for bad’s sake.  They’re almost all one-dimensional.  No person is actually one-dimensional.  They have hopes and fears and dreams just like everyone else.  Maybe they thought they believed in the sort of pro-Pureblood world that Voldemort imagined, but once they got in they were in over their head.  Reality rarely meets our expectations.  People grow and change.  Even my own beliefs have changed as I’ve grown older.  What I used to think was important no longer is and there are issues I have done a complete 180 on as I’ve grown up and begun to live in what I call “grownup reality”.  (Life is much different for me than it was even when I was just in my twenties and how I see the world has changed drastically in some instances.). So if experience and time has been able to shape and change my beliefs and even my values to a minute degree, why could the same not be said for a Death Eater who discovered all was not as it seemed when they were recruited?

It’s also important to remember that no one thinks, acts, or believes like everyone in their set group one hundred percent of the time.  Each individual has their own thoughts and beliefs.  Maybe they joined because they hated Muggles, but then they realized they were wrong to do so.  Maybe their family pressured them to join but they didn’t agree.  Maybe they were afraid to die so they joined.  I know a lovely man whose father died in World War II fighting for the Nazis - not because he was an admirer of Hitler and believed in everything dreadful and evil the Nazi party believed in.  No, his father was conscripted into the German Army and fought because he would’ve been arrested in the best case scenario and executed in the worst.  His young wife and their two small children could’ve also been in danger had he refused.  It’s a terribly sad story.  And hardly the only one.  That’s just one example.  History has countless other incidents all over the world when scared people fought and fell in line with a terrible leader because they had no other choice. Or at least it seemed like they had no other choice.  Not everyone is strong and brave enough to stand up to injustice and evil when their lives are on the lines.  Humans by our very nature can be quite cowardly at times.

It’s possible that a person who has done evil deeds or believed just absolutely atrocious things could want to change and be a better person.  Though it wouldn’t be easy, someone like Hermione could choose to forgive them for their past.  Especially if they’re truly remorseful.

Of course, it’s also unfortunately true that there are sometimes relationships that are just absolutely toxic.  Love can make idiots of us all.  How many women (and men to an extent though not nearly as often) see the potential in a man and want to change them into something good and perfect?  It happens so often it’s a cliche.  Woman falls in love with bad boy.  Wants to change him.  Stays with him with hopes and dreams that he’ll stop being so awful.  Is disappointed over and over again.  Have you ever known someone who fell in love with a truly terrible person and even though their relationship wasn’t healthy whatsoever never seemed to quit them?  Kept going back for more even when everyone told them it was a terrible idea?  I’m pretty sure you have.  You might’ve even been in one of those relationships yourself.  I know I was.  No, he might not have been a murderous minion of a madman, but he certainly had his terrible qualities that I thought I could help him get past.  Tale as old as time.  

I could go on and on and on about reasons why Hermione might fall in love with a completely unsuitable man who might even wish her dead, but there’s no reason.  It could be for a thousand reasons.  And don’t forget, Hermione isn’t exactly some innocent paragon of virtue herself.  She’s pretty dark even in canon.  Trapping a lady in a jar?  Cursing a girl’s face possibly permanently?  Leading another witch into a forest knowing there are centaurs in there who are dangerous?  And those are just the things that unobservant Harry noticed!  Who knows what she was doing off-stage?  She has her own darkness and her own demons to fight.  She’s not perfect nor is she some pure angelic creature who only uses light magic for good.  Nah, she’s pretty twisted at times. (On a side note - Please don’t try to write her as being all-powerful, perfect, and never do anything the least bit bad.  That’s not her character at all.  It bothers me to see her written as some sort of pearl-clutching virgin who has never done anything bad in her entire life.  That’s NOT the Hermione I read in the books.)

You just have to find the right motivation in your own story.  If you’re not forcing the story and allowing it to develop naturally, you’ll figure it out.  If you’re forcing it, I’m afraid you’re going to stay stuck.

I hope this can be so some help!  Sorry I’m rambled on and on and on.

[doyleanddickens]

EXCERPT [chapter 2 scene 5]

So this is an excerpt of my current wip. I just edited it and I thought I’d show you. 

Vincent Hastings is a creative genius and spends his time mostly by reading books and remembering everything he ever knew. He is arrogant, he is selfish but he is the mastermind which the Secret Service is clearly in need of after a suicide bombing at JFK airport.

[English is not my native language. I translated my German into English using my brain and online translators. So there may be huge ass typos and mistakes, I am sorry for that]

*

It turned out that my father understood "Café" not only a very upscale establishment but an actual gourmet restaurant.

The "Café Carlyle" was set in a secluded street in the Upper East Side and was filled with men of pompous faces and women with pompous jewellery. So my dad fit in perfectly and it took me a long time to find him at a table for two.

I could not really say what I expected. I could barely remember what he looked like five years ago, but he was the kind of guy who looked five years younger than five years ago. He himself would probably blame it on a "healthier lifestyle," but he actually could not deceive me as easily as the media. I recognized Botox and a supposedly professionally coloured approach. I recognized pedicured fingernails and accurately plucked eyebrows as if I were the stereotype of a fashion-conscious woman. But I was not. I was just not blind to obvious things.

The man, whom I was reluctant to call my father, had neatly patted his nearly perfected hair into a side vertex and, judging by the smell, poured at least a pint of hairspray, which he unsuccessfully tried to cover up with expensive perfume. I could not say exactly if his three-day beard was an aesthetic remedy or if he simply hadn’t resorted to a razor because there was too much going on in the last few days. Judging from his tired eyes and the deep dark circles, it was the latter, since I could not imagine that a man who obviously made every effort to look young, intentionally had relatively unkempt facial hair. His suit was probably tailor-made, and under the dark grey jacket, he wore a classic white shirt and a dark brown tie. I could not remember exactly how old he was but if I had to guess ... I would probably still be right because I was in the knowledge of the details just mentioned. But I was sure that an average lady sharing her limited mind with the rest of the world probably had to think that this handsome man was not even in his early 40s.

"Vincent," something lit up in the man's eyes when he saw me. I almost gagged when I realized that it could actually be joy.

He had got up and now held out his hand to me. Manicured, as I could already imagine. I saw an expensive watch peeking out from under his sleeve. He did not wear a ring. Of course not. If you had been married to the best woman on this planet, it was difficult to find a suitable replacement.

"Hello," I said coolly, ignoring his outstretched hand and sitting down in the square opposite him.

"I'm so happy you could take you time," James Scott began.

"Of course," I said, looking up. "The actual meaning of time is very distorted, is not it?"

A small amount of confusion crossed his face but only so briefly that I could not fully enjoy the moment.

"Thanks anyway," he finally said.

"Not too early," I countered quickly in a calm voice. "You would regret it"

"I know what you're all about," he sighed. I saw the age in his eyes. It was as if he was visually ageing every second. This case really seemed to gnaw at him.

"Oh yes?" I asked ironically.

"Yes," he said. "You want answers and explanations and justifications, I'm so sorry I left you, that I did not contact you and reappear out of the blue ..."

"No," I said, holding back a small laugh.

"What?", God, the man was not used to being interrupted.

"No," I repeated. "You are well on the way to take the completely wrong move"

"Excuse me?" Came from him.

"You do not always have to apologize if you do not understand something," I said instead. "You are not the only one with limited brain function"

I heard him take a deep breath.

"I'll have a coffee, black, no sugar," I said to the expressionless operator as she came within earshot of our table.

"Me too"

"The only reason I'm here, James Michael Scott is the assassination and the fact that my help is needed," I told him patiently.

He nodded slowly.

I could really see how difficult it was for him not to get out of his skin. He was James Scott, people did not talk to James Scott like that. Why? Because they cannot venture it, because he was always superior. But now it was not like that. I was far superior to him, I was holding the upper hand and he knew that. And he did not like it.

And that's why I liked it even more.

"Tell me about the case," I demanded, folding my hands under my chin and looking at him knowingly. "Why do you need me?"

He breathed in a moment and then straightened up.

"It's a suicide bombing," he said slowly.

I breathed and looked up at the ceiling.

" Of course," I said emphatically. "You're fucking James Scott, Boss of the Secret Service, I was hoping for information that I cannot find on any news page"

He cocked his head in annoyance.

"We do not know any more," came from him and I burst into loud laughter.

I put a hand over my mouth and tried to suppress the urge to point my finger at him and keep laughing.

"No," I finally said in disbelief, staring at him.

He said nothing, just pressed his lips together.

I became serious.

He was not joking. He did not play. He said the truth.

"Are you serious?" I asked, leaning forward. "And you call yourself agent?"

"It could have been an attack on the president," he said softly. "Donald Trump was supposed to be flying back to Washington at the time, from the JFK."

I looked around, looked at my father, and leaned forward.

" No", I said playing surprised. "You don’t say"

I leaned back.

"I admire your willpower to speak out loud about any obviousness," I sighed, silently accepting my coffee. "I wonder how you came to do your job. Did you just throw all the most obvious facts into the room during the interview?"

I smirked.

"That's not funny, Vincent," he said softly.

"I think it's a little bit, especially considering that in reality you just let your son solve your case"

I looked around me, down at me and up to him.

"Oh wait, that will happen again"

I laughed at the pain that flashed in James's eyes. He did not deserve it otherwise.

"Are you helping me now or not?" He finally forced out.

"Why?" I asked. "Are you going to get a promotion at my expense? I'll tell you something: You cannot go any further, you're already the boss."

"Because we need you", he answered emphatically. "Because I need you"

I smiled at my coffee.

"But it took a long time for you to admit that to yourself, right?" I asked.

He snorted.

"Are you helping me?" He asked again.

I moved my chair back slightly, put my coffee on my side, and lifted my lightweight leather briefcase onto the table.��James looked up in confusion and I knowingly opened the lid. Inside was a single, small envelope made of heavy paper, sealed with wax.

I lifted it almost reverently out, let the case snap shut again and put the case back next to my chair on the floor.

"What's that?" James asked, looking spellbound at the cream-coloured paper.

"My demands," I said soberly as I handed him the envelope.

He looked at me with a mixture of incomprehension, anger, and relief.

Yes, I had planned from the beginning to help him. I knew he would crawl on his knees in front of me and still I wanted to see him beg. Just because I was the son of the biggest asshole in the world.

James still did not take his eyes off the envelope finally leaned back and opened the seal.

He silently read my demands and his face became more serious from line to line. I saw his eyes flitting across the sheet, reading through the dots several times, sometimes getting stuck at one point and then moving on. Otherwise, his face was almost annoyingly meaningless and I waited patiently until he spoke.

"You were very thorough," he cleared his throat and laid the sheet of paper on the table in front of him.

"Either you conscientiously fulfil all these points or I will not help you," I said and nodded.

"That's blackmail," he said, narrowing his eyes.

"No," I clarified. "That's called a contract"

I nodded to him knowingly.

"This is about giving and taking, James"

"This is about you getting your will," he growled wickedly.

"And about you getting yours," I said. "That's the point of the whole thing"

He said nothing more.

"I mean," I put my hand to my chin. "You may like to think about that. Maybe a few days, weeks, months. I don’t care"

I leaned forward.

"Just be aware: these demands will not change, no matter how long you wait," I pointed to the piece of paper between us. "And the murder case is a game against time"

He sighed and rested his head on his hands.

"Okay," he finally said softly.

"Excuse me?", I bowed my head.

"I agree, I will fulfil your demands," he said louder and looked up.

"Nice that we were able to agree so quickly," I nodded approvingly, conjured a filler from the inside pocket of my jacket and handed it to him.

"Please sign below right"

Then I pulled out my smartphone, finished the voice recording that recorded our conversation and the verbal acceptance of the demands, and sent out a short message.

"What was that?" James asked after putting the capsule back on the filler and returning it to me.

"Oh, I just want to make sure you cannot find a legal loophole," I said, and at that moment a young man in a suit appeared next to us. A waiter put a chair to our table and he sat down on it.

"Lorcan," whispered James Hastings as he recognized the brown eyes under the thick curls. As he recognized my twin brother. His son.

"My witness," I said, stretching my hand across the table.

"I will comply with the request of James Michael Scott to fulfil the given demands and be available to the Secret Service in the suicide bombing investigation at JFK Airport," I said soberly and had to hold back, not too amused by the perplexed look on his face.

James cleared his throat and took my hand.

"I will comply with the demands of Vincent Michelangelo Hastings on the condition that he is available to the Secret Service in the investigation into suicide bombing at JFK Airport and any related investigations," he said, looking at me with his cold eyes.

Lorcan nodded and as if on command, we rose at the same time and left the Café Carlyle.