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goatpaste · 4 years ago

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What do the first element holders look like in your au?

aH took me a hot minute to get around to this but i did it >:3

the first element wielders of equestria (technically before the founding of equestria) they were known as the elements of harmony, they first elements of harmony. but also some refer to the as ‘The First gifts’

i changed a little bit of some of their lore story

Princess Bluebelle, one of The First’s alicorn creations. Bluebelle is a kind being who had great patience and cared for all who patroned her house. She learned not just Unicorn magic but excelled in learning the biology of pegasus and earth pony magic and how to harness and further their growth as a society from helping the weather and nature and plant growth.

Bluebelle was close with The First, often receiving visits from her.

She also was the closest thing to a friend Equnity had (as Equnity didn’t like to make friends).

Bluebelle was gifted Philomena by The First, the phoenix stayed by her side until the end and now lives on as Celestia’s companion. the bird that has lived since the beginning of time.

After The First no longer was around Bluebelle led the elements and took on being pseudo leader of the alicorns, often training and helping them figure out what to do with their powers and how to help out disputes within their house’s.

Bluebelle became teachers for many ponies over the centuries. She personally trained Starswirl the bearded and Gusty the great.

She also helped guide and train Celestia and Luna alongside Starswirl. Starswirl was their main teacher but Bluebelle would step in to help from another alicorns perspective. The sisters adored Bluebelle.

Her Elemental artifact is her wand, the first gift that was given to her by patreons that wasn’t money or food.

Butterscotch, the element of kindness.

A pegasus who grew up in the clouds of a typical pegasus tribe who acted much to that of a military. Everyone was ready to fight and looked down on the land dwellers. Buttercotch was sweet to the bone and hated fighting and openly despised the way they let their society had become.

Butterscotch was banished from the clouds, the other Pegasus claiming her to be too weak and that her soft spot for the land ponies would be her downfall.

Joining the other ponies on the ground she met Minty, a pegasus born on the ground. The two traveled together from then on.

Butterscotch and her companion would appear in neutral towns and spreed their word of friendship and ideals that the three races could and should work together for the better of the future. Butterscotch would make treats for the foals, play music and be the general life of the party.

Later on Butterscotch would return to the pegasus tribes, or meet with pegasus leaders on neutral ground and try many time to push for pegasus to integrate with ground pony society and vice versa. that staying in the clouds only held them back.

to simply put it, this was always met with a solid ‘not going to happen’. this put Butterscotch and Commander Hurricane at odds with one another a lot, causing many fights between the two.

however private Pansy who worked under Hurricane couldn’t agree more with what Butterscotch said, her words growing Pansy’s animosity toward Hurricane. Pansy gave Butterscoth her scarf as a token of appreciation, for all the inspiration she brought her. That scarf became Butterscotch’s famous elemental artifact.

Minty, one of very few pegasus born on the ground. Nearly all pegasus at this point in time had solely stuck to the sky, only coming down to diplomatic meetings, scouting territory, and fighting.

One of Minty’s parents was a pegasus who left the tribe of pegasus, unhappy with how their society had become. fell in love with an earth pony and the two had their only daughter Minty.

At a young age she met Clover the Clever, at the time was just Clover the unicorn that Minty met. Clover, a unicorn daughter of an important unicorn diplomat, traveling with her parent for important meetings in a town far away. Minty had simply wandered too far off collecting clovers and looking for a four leafed one.

the two met and became friends for the short time they would know each other, gifting Minty her artifact of a pressed clover. It isnt long until their parents find them and get into a fight. the event left them both children traumatized as they had to face the reality of the world they lived in and the danger minty face when she stepped outside of her village.

minty grew into a scholarly teen, she still goofed off but she adored reading and writing and learning. she formed a knack for making speeches. She often would sneak off to taverns and inn that were marked as neutral zones to give long speeches or read her poetry, often time ruffling others feathers with the things she said. this came with the stress of her parents worried that bold words might have a pony turn to violence and harm her.

none the less she braves on, leaving home when she is old enough, setting up wherever she can on her soap box and talking her heart out until she is run out. Later meeting Butterscotch and working together, then meeting The First who is touched by their want to connect and bring ponies together.

Minty is named the element of laughter, and was able to reunite with Clover the Clever who now trained under starswirl the bearded.

Blossom, a mute earth pony who came from a large family who owned many acres of land full of lush greenery. fields of plants, trees of fruit and ect. Blossom lost one of her parents when she was a small baby and the other when she was older.

She tends to all the lands by herself everyday. only making it because of her generosity. she allowed any pony to come to her land, they could eat what they needed, stay and rest as long as they wanted, all for free so long as they didn’t start fights. this led to many ponies showing up and staying in the safety of her lands and to help pay her back many ponies would saddle up and tend to the fields along side her.

Blossom felt she was never without family as she almost always had ponies by her side, eating dinner with her and helping her out. She was happy and everyone adored her, often referring to her as ‘aunt blossom’ or even nicknames calling her mom.

Not to mention that she didn’t put up with anyone shit, if anyone started fights on her land she sure as hell was the one to finish them and they would know not to come back on her land. and ponies lovED it, they loved knowing this older mare was able to totally kick ass.

Blossom met Cotton Candy when the filly was a young child, loving and chipper as any child could possibly be. Blossom adored her and acted as like a big sister/aunt/mother to cotton candy.

Blossom became the element of Generosity, the locket her parents left her as her artifact.

Cotton Candy, itty bitty pony. sweet and cute as can be.

not much is known of her unlike the other. she is the youngest element wielder in the history of the elements. She was orphaned under unknown reasons (some speculate she may have been born an earth pony while having non earth pony parents, something very rare but possible)

She met The First very young, like a 7 year old wandering around on a trail down the country road. The First took the young pony with her, knowing just what to do with her. Bringing her to Blossom’s orchard, a safe haven for ponies with land to run through, food to eat and a roof over her head.

Blossom and Cotton Candy took to each other immediately, like to to their sides Cotton Candy stayed with Blossom for years and despite her side beginning expresses being grateful that it brought her to Blossom.

Cotton Candy has some eating problems and the only time you will find her not within a 10 foot radius of Blossom is if she found some nice flowers to snack on.

Cotton Candy became the element of Loyalty and was the first pony to officially write down information about the elements of harmony, even watched the first transfer of its power from them the original wielders to a new generation. all of this done at the end of her life.

Snuzzle, a GIANt beautiful pony.

Sweet, kind, and polite. everyone she grew up around loved her. she had a very typical up bringing as an earth pony, helping out how she could as she was born blind. she worked to develop the first form of braille in equestria as a way for her to make and have notes for her within her own community.

She didn’t consider herself someone who disliked the pegasus and unicorns but didn’t quite seem to grow up with an opinion on their separation of the fighting that happened. she was the type to say ‘its just how the world is’. Not changing or understanding the impact of the things happening in the land around her, until The First arrived. She traveled with two pegasus, Minty and Butterscotch who showed great kindness to the earth ponies who only acted boorish and impolite to the pegasi. listening to what they had to say and seeing how her own family and friend treated them was a wake up call.

Snuzzle chose to leave her village behind and travel with The First, she wanted to learn all she could by the wise Alicorns side.

She spent years at her side learning so many, traveling far and wide and meeting so many ponies. she became a better person and loved the friends she made through her long years.

Snuzzel was there when Equnity corrupted and became darkness, she was one of the few who noticed something was wrong with the foal. Poking around and finding out that Equnity was unhappy and messing in dark messy magic. Snuzzel was at the site when Equnity changed, and she was there when The First made the decision to make herself the elements, trusting that she could bring the ponies together and make a better world.

Snuzzle misses The First and struggled to find her place in the world once again.

she made her home the now abandoned house of seasons. she built her home and family here which would later be the mark of where ponyville layed.

snuzzel would be visited by her friends and fellow element wielders and even by the young sisters of celestia and luna who would later make their first castle here.

#long post #mlp #mlp headcanons #mlp g1 #bluebelle #blue belle #butterscotch #minty #blossom #cotton candy #snuzzle #idk how many spelling errors are in here rn #this is so long and i need sucha big nap #i meant to pass out hours ago #Anonymous

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440mxs-wife · 4 years ago

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Test Results, Part 2

Pairing: Sam x Reader

You sat on the edge of your bed in the bunker, trying to make sense of what had just happened. A tear slipped down your cheek and landed on the back of your hand. Today was the day you found out that your boyfriend of three years, Anthony, had been cheating on you.

After you left work early and ran some errands, you went over to his apartment to decorate it for his birthday. You were greeted by the sight of clothes strewn all over the floor, including a black bra and panties. The clothing trail led to the bedroom, and judging by the sounds coming from the other side, Anthony was not alone.

You barged in the door, grabbed a bag and stuffed into it the few possessions you may have left there when you stayed with him. The worst part was, Anthony didn't even seem to be sorry for what he was doing, nor was he at all upset that he got caught. Anthony told you it was over, and that he had traded up from you to the woman currently in his bed. Once you got all of your stuff, you went home to your room in the bunker.

Sam walked down the hall past your room on the way to the library, and noticed that your light was on. He gently knocked on your door, so you quickly wiped away any tears and tried to compose yourself. "Come in," you said, clearing your throat.

"Hey, I was on my way to the library and saw your light was on. Aren't you supposed to be over at Anthony's, celebrating his birthday?" Sam asked as he entered your room.

"Hmm? Oh, um, we're going to wait until this weekend to celebrate. That way it's not on a night where he has to work the next day," you lied.

Sam cast a skeptical glance at you and moved to sit next to you on the bed. "Seriously? Come on, what's really going on? You know you can talk to me, right? Me Sam, best friend?" he said as he lightly nudged your shoulder.

You chuckled. "I left work early today, ran some errands, then went over to Anthony's apartment. You know, to decorate for his birthday? Well, as it turns out....he wasn't alone," you explained, the tears threatening to start anew.

"WHAT?!? Oh, that's it, I'm going over there," Sam jumped up, headed for your door.

"No, Sam! Wait!" you called and grabbed his hand to pull him back. "Please. I appreciate the sentiment, but just leave him be. It's not worth you getting into a fistfight with him over. We're over, done. I never want to see him again. Especially not after what he said," you added softly, tears now streaming.

Sam tilted your face up to meet his warm hazel eyes. "What? What did he say?" Sam asked.

You shook your head, too embarrassed to tell Sam. In your mind, if you said it out loud, then it was true, and you couldn't bear it if Anthony was right.

Sam took your hands in his and gently caressed the back with his thumb. "Please? Whatever it is, I'll guarantee you it's not true," Sam affirmed.

You paused to collect your thoughts before answering. "He said that he had traded up from me to that other woman. Meaning he found someone better than me," you said as you dissolved into a crying mess.

Sam looked away and swore under his breath. He silently promised that if he ever saw Anthony again, he was going to make him regret ever hurting you. "Listen. That's not possible, because there is no one better than you. There's someone out there for you, believe me. Someone who loves you for who you are, which is pretty great person. Then you'll be saying, 'Anthony who?'" Sam finished.

You giggled a bit through your tears and leaned your head on Sam's shoulder. "Thank you, Sam. I appreciate you for saying all of this," you smiled.

"You're welcome, anytime. I'm only stating the facts, you know. Now let's go get some ice cream for dinner and watch a movie," Sam suggested, to which you agreed.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

A couple of months had passed since you and Anthony broke up. You got back into a regular hunting routine with Sam and Dean, and soon it seemed like old times again.

This morning, you were packing up to visit Sheriff Jody Mills and her daughters in Sioux Falls. As you were packing, you suddenly felt a wave of nausea hit you. You ran to the bathroom, where you proceeded to lose your breakfast and anything else you'd consumed in the last few hours.

As you sat on the bathroom floor and waited for the nausea to subside, you wondered what could be causing it. Stomach bug? Maybe. Then you did some math in your head and realized it was more than likely a common case of pregnancy. You leaned your head against the wall and closed your eyes, trying to figure out what you were going to do.

You got up from the floor, washed your face and brushed your teeth. You picked out some more clothes to stuff into your duffel bag. Sam poked his head in your doorway. "You about ready?" he asked.

"Just need my bathroom stuff, and then I'll be packed," you explained. You walked back into your bathroom to get your toothbrush, shampoo and other toiletries. You didn't realize Sam was still standing there, watching until you zipped your bag closed and looked up. "What?" you asked.

"I don't know. It's just....is everything okay? You look kind of tired. If you want, I'll talk to Dean and tell him you want to stay here and rest," Sam offered.

"I'm fine, Sam. No need for me to stay here. I've been looking forward to this visit for awhile. Besides, it's a long-ish drive, I can sleep on the way to Sioux Falls," you replied. You picked up your bag, only to have Sam take it from you and sling it over his shoulder. "Sam, I can carry that," you grumbled.

"I know, but so can I. Let me take care of you for once," he replied. You stomped your foot in playful protest and crossed your arms over your chest. That made him laugh and he took off, running up the stairs with you close on his heels.

Once in the garage, he handed your bag off to Dean, who placed it in the trunk. "Thank you, Sam," you relented, giving him a side hug. "You're welcome," he said as he kissed your forehead. Everyone got into their respective seats, and it was off to Sioux Falls to see Jody and her girls.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

After a couple of hours on the road, Sam turned in his seat and saw that you had fallen asleep. His long arms reached back and replaced your bookmark then he closed your book. He rested his chin on the back of the seat, taking the opportunity to study you a bit.

A lock of your short, wavy brown hair had fallen out of place, so Sam tucked it behind your delicate shell of an ear. His thumb brushed across your lips, causing them to part slightly. Your breath was hot against that part of his hand, which sent an electric spark shooting through him.

He sat back in his seat and stared out of his window at the scenery zipping by. Anthony didn't deserve you, he told himself. You belong with someone who appreciates your kindness, your generosity, your sense of humor and your beauty.

Sam found himself imagining what it would be like for you to look into his eyes as if he were your whole world. He wanted your long, slender fingers to thread through his hair, to feel your hands as they slide their way up his chest. Most of all, he longed to kiss your perfect lips and find out for himself if they were as soft as he imagined them to be. But, he had no idea if you even felt the same, and he wouldn't ever want to give up on the friendship you had in order to find out.

"Everything okay, Sammy?" Dean smirked.

"Yeah, Dean. Everything's just peachy," Sam grumbled.

"Dude, come on. I can tell you like her, so you should just tell her. Ask her out, something. This dancing around you're doing is getting on my nerves," Dean muttered. Sam just mumbled something in return.

About an hour later, the Impala pulled into Jody's driveway. Sam opened your door and offered his hand to help you out of the backseat. You blushed and when you took his hand, you felt a jolt of electricity shoot up your arm.

Jody, Claire, Alex and Patience all came pouring out of the house to see you. Hugs were exchanged all around, with Jody lingering a little longer with you. "You okay, kiddo?" she asked.

"I'm fine, Jody, why?" you returned.

"Come with me," she said as she took you by the hand into the kitchen.

"So, what's up?" Jody asked. "And don't give me that 'nothing', because something about you is different," she remarked.

You took a deep breath before answering. "I think I might be pregnant, Jody," you confided.

Jody did a little happy dance before she realized you hadn't joined in. "I take it this may not be good news?" she asked.

"Only because it's Anthony's baby, and he said so many times that he never wanted kids. If I did the math right, I'm about two months in, just before Anthony and I broke up. Jody, what am I going to do?" you whispered.

"I'm so sorry, sweetie. Whatever happens, you've got Sam, Dean and us to get you through it. The question is, what are you going to tell the boys, especially Sam? Don't look so shocked, I saw how he looked at you as he helped you out of the car. I also saw that same soft look in your eyes, chickie," she teased.

"Really? I never paid attention. Do you think maybe....nah, Sam and I are best friends. He doesn't see me that way," you replied. "He's so wonderful, Jody, so kind and loving. But I'm not even in his league," you said softly. "Besides, what's he going to say when he finds out I'm pregnant with another man's baby? How's that going to work? He definitely won't want me then," you choked out.

Jody brought you into a hug again, rubbing your back to try and calm you down. Sam walked in and saw that you were upset. He gave Jody a puzzled look, but she waved him off with a shake of her head. When Sam went to put your bag in one of the bedrooms, Jody called Alex over. She asked Alex to take you in to the hospital for a blood test to confirm whether or not you were pregnant.

Sam saw you getting ready to leave with Alex, and asked where you were going. Jody said she was sending the two of you into town for some extra supplies, and for Sam not to worry. Sam mentioned that he was going to go and take a nap while you were gone, then he kissed your forehead.

After Sam left the room, Dean went to talk to Jody and asked what was really going on. All Jody said was that it's your business and that he should ask you if he wanted to know. Then the two of them stood in the kitchen, discussing how you and Sam needed to confess your feelings to each other.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

On the way back from the hospital, all you could do was stare out the window. You now had confirmation that you were indeed about two and a half months pregnant. Alex turned to you and put her hand on your shoulder. "Hey, it'll be fine. You are going to be an amazing mother," she tried to assure you. "What about the father?" she asked.

"My ex-boyfriend, Anthony, made it clear very early on in our relationship that he did not ever want children. He said that it was non-negotiable, that he would never change his mind. I still feel like I should call him and let him know, though. I'll wait till we get back to Jody's to do that," you decided.

As soon as you walked in the door, Sam engulfed you in a hug. "Are you all right? What happened? Claire said you and Alex went to the hospital," he chattered. "Are you still feeling sick? I can make you some soup if that would--" you cut off his rambling.

"Sam, please. I'm okay, nothing happened. Jody asked Alex to take me in to the hospital because she thought I looked dehydrated or something. I'm fine. I just need to make a quick phone call," you assured him. "I'll be right back, I promise," you reached up and gave him a lingering kiss on his cheek.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Once out on the back porch, you pulled out your phone, but paused before calling your ex-boyfriend, Anthony. You thought back to what Jody said to you about Sam and how you looked at each other. It was true, that your feelings for Sam had grown beyond friendship. The only problem was, you had no idea how he felt about you. You didn't know whether he just considered you to be his best friend, or something more.

Sam Winchester....so kind, supportive, sweet and so much more. He always knew just how to cheer you up when you felt like everyone was against you. In his arms is where you always felt the safest, like nothing could hurt you. His hands were strong and sure, ready to pick you up and dust you off to face the world again. And his smile....it never ceased to warm your heart, and seeing it was the best part of any given day.

You scrolled through your contacts to find Anthony's number. To your shock, he picked up on the first ring. "Hello?" he answered.

"Anthony, it's me. I have something to tell you, something that involves both of us. I'm pregnant," you blurted out.

Silence reigned on the other side of the phone. "And? What exactly do you expect me to do about it?" Anthony retorted.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Back in the house, Sam was full of questions about your phone call. "Who's she talking to? She looks upset. I'm going out there," he said as he started for the door.

Jody grabbed his arm. "Whoa, wait a minute there, cowboy. Give her a few minutes. When she wants you to know, she'll tell you," Jody explained.

Sam took a seat in the kitchen, hands folded in front of his mouth and his elbows resting on the table. He swore to himself that if he found out anyone hurt you, he was going to take care of it.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

"Anthony, I'm calling to tell you, because as the baby's father, you have a right to know. After the baby is born--" he cut you off.

"If you decide to keep that baby and let it be born, you will be completely on your own with it. I told you early on in our relationship exactly how I felt about having children. I don't want to be involved in any way, shape or form. You will get no financial support from me whatsoever. Don't even think about putting my name on the birth certificate," he snapped.

"Fine, Anthony!" you snapped back. "I don't need or want your support anyway, financial or otherwise. I can and will do this on my own. This baby will always know how loved he or she is, and will never have to know what a colossal jerk you are for rejecting your own child!" you shouted as you hung up from the call.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Sam ran to the door leading to the porch as soon as he heard you shouting. He waited to hear what it was you were talking about before running outside. Baby? he thought. It all made sense now, you being tired and getting sick right before leaving to visit Jody.

From your conversation, Sam gathered that you were speaking to Anthony, telling him it was his baby. He heard the pain and frustration in your voice that Anthony didn't and would never want anything to do with it. What an asshat, Sam thought. She deserves better than Anthony, and the baby is going to need a father. At that moment, Sam knew in his heart what he should do. Before he stepped outside, he locked eyes with Jody, who smiled and nodded in encouragement.

You slipped your phone back into your pocket and turned to kneel on the bench seat. You clasped your hands together and looked up at the starlit sky. Tears silently streamed down your face as you pondered your next move. "Please. I don't know what to do. This baby means everything to me. I promise to be the best mother I can be. I need some sort of sign that it's all going to work out," you whispered as you rested your forehead on your clasped hands.

A few seconds later, you felt a hand on your shoulder. You gasped in surprise and saw that it was Sam, a soft look in his eyes. He nodded as he took your hand, and you leaned into his broad chest. His arms closed around you in a protective embrace, his chin rested on top of your head. Hot tears rolled down your cheeks and dampened the front of Sam's T-shirt.

"Shh, shh, it's going to be okay. I promise," he soothed. Sam placed one hand on the back of your head and stroked your hair as he rocked you back and forth.

"What am I going to do, Sam? Anthony doesn't want anything to do with the baby. Not now, not ever. I swear, I'll be the best mother and raise this baby on my own if I have to," you declared.

"Hey, you don't have to do this on your own. I'm right here with you, and I'll be with you every step of the way," Sam promised. "Every craving, every doctor's appointment, all of it."

"Why, Sam? Why would you offer to do this? It's not even your baby," you sobbed.

"Because, sweetheart....I love you," Sam declared. "I have for some time now, but if you don't feel the same--" you stopped him by putting an index finger on his lips.

"Sam, I absolutely love you too. I never said anything before, because you're my best friend. I couldn't bear to lose that if you didn't feel the same," you explained.

You leaned back from his chest and tilted your head up to look into his eyes. You smiled and slowly nodded, then Sam dove in to capture your mouth with his. The kiss was a bit rough at first, driven by an intense need, then it settled into a slow burn fueled by desire. "Oh, my love," Sam whispered.

"Oh, my sweet Sam...." you whispered back.

Still wrapped in Sam's arms, you turned so that your back was resting against his chest. Sam rested his chin on your shoulder. Every so often, he placed feathery kisses on your neck. You giggled, because you were ticklish from his 5 o'clock shadow. In response, you felt his laugh rumble deeply in his chest.

"Remember what I said to you the night of your breakup?" he asked and you nodded. "I told you there was someone out there for you. Someone who would love you for the great person that you are?" he continued, and you nodded again. "Guess what? It's me. I love you for everything you are. For your kindness, your generous spirit and your sense of wonder. Our baby is going to have the best mother ever," Sam declared as he pulled you a little tighter in his embrace.

"Our baby....I love you for everything you are, Sam. For your strength, your intelligence and your mesmerizing smile. You are my other half, the missing piece to my puzzle, my safe place. Our baby will have you as the most amazing father ever," you finished.

"Too bad for Anthony," Sam remarked.

"Anthony who?" you replied with a grin.

#sam winchester #sam x reader #spn imagines #spn fluff

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mystiika · 4 years ago

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re; peter’s godly parent in the riordanverse

reposting from the old blog but ! i decided a long time ago that pete is a child of athena so beneath the cut i’ve also complied ( what i believe to be an in-depth ) explanation should you be curious to know why i’ve placed him where i have since i think people would expect him to be in hermes’ cabin. & to be honest, i think he did start there. athena didn’t claim him for a while, it was only after he proved himself to be worthy of her name using his strategy & resourcefulness that she did. of course it came as a surprise to everyone at the camp, but there was no arguing with a god & so he moved to his rightful home. i’ll do a separate write up about his personal feelings on the whole thing later since this is just all ooc info & my personal reasoning.

i’ll use this quiz’s results as part of the explanation before elaborating more based on my personal portrayal of peter. but please remember, this is where i place my peter, not anyone else’s peter, just mine. don’t expect my thoughts to match up exactly with other people’s portrayals or even your own perception on the character. now that that’s out of the way, let’s get into it !

godly parent: athena

goddess of wisdom & strategy, arts + crafts, battle & reason.

“athena’s children are quick-thinking, witty, wise & responsible. as one of them, you are known to think several steps ahead, & plan for every inevitability.”

already you’re thinking of someone fitting of ravenclaw, not poorly placed, cowardly peter. but you’re forgetting just how clever he is. he’s always planning for survival, & plans ahead without even thinking about it. it’s second nature to him & believe it or not, he’s very responsible. he has a great sense of duty & loyalty, even if it goes unnoticed.

“children of Athena are also very sympathetic towards to those in need, & will do anything to help those less unfortunate than them.”

this is more of a personal headcanon but if there’s one thing you need to know about my peter, it’s that he cares, deeply. he’s empathetic & it’s gotten him into some sticky situations, though he’ll always find a way out of it. if faced with injustice while in a position that can help the situation, he won’t hesitate to step it. just remember, he has to be able to see a way out of any trouble before he’ll step in. he doesn’t mind inconvenience, but if there’s something serious he wouldn’t be able to get himself out of, that’s when he’ll hesitate, but even then, he might even risk his life to help if he thinks there’s a fighting chance.

“they also have no problems in sharing their knowledge with others, & you’ll find them spouting facts about their favourite things all the time.”

honestly petey loves being the one to teach people things. he takes pride in having knowledge other people want & if he’s comfortable with you, just try & shut him up once he starts talking about something he well & truly loves.

“children of athena have lots of patience and motivation, & once they begin a task, they will not rest until they finish it.”

peter is determined to prove to people he’s better than what they think of him. this persistence shows him through anything he sets his mind to.

“athena’s children also are plagued with problems of pride & vengeance; they believe they are the best at everything & when crossed, will go to elaborate lengths to exact their payment.”

this is where things get a bit hazy & i have to stretch the truth a bit, but even so, i believe this is the best fit. peter doesn’t often feel pride, but when someone damages what little he has, he’ll become very bitter & could down right turn into a different person. this sweet lil boy can become vengeful. the line between safe pranks & hurtful ones might get crossed without him even realising it. he’ll immediately feel terrible after exacting revenge situation depending, but until he gets there it can get pretty dark.

“because you appreciate the subtleties of intelligence & strategy, sometime you can be closed off to more emotional intuition & asking for help in these areas can be challenging.”

while i strongly believe peter is fantastic with emotional intuition, he has a great deal of trouble asking others for help. he wants to prove himself more than anything, & if he has to ask for help on something larger than checking his spelling, he feels as if he’s cheating & that he won’t have earned it on his own. i joke about peter always asking people for help with his homework but in actuality, it’s rare that he does. in addition to it making him feel less than or that he’s not earned something himself, it makes him feel like a burden which makes it even harder to ask for help. this is where the emotional intuition goes down a little, because he can’t see that his friends don’t mind helping him.

“athena gets along very well with artemis, due to them having similar personalities. children of athena are also quite popular, if not for their intelligence, then for their ability to have a conversation with almost anybody.”

alright, peter is not popular for his intelligence, in fact, most people can’t believe he’s a child of athena & i personally believe many of his half-siblings would resent him for his seeming lack of intelligence, despite how smart he really is. people get caught up in his dysgraphia & his timidness & mistake it for stupidity. this makes it extremely difficult for him to make friends but if people can get past their prejudice, they’ll find that peter is extremely amicable & easy to get a long with. he doesn’t make enemies himself, others make themselves his enemy.

“qualities: brilliance, intelligence, wisdom, logic, generosity, kindness, pride, diligence, vengeance, order”

peter has all of these things, people just don’t take the time to see it in him.

#❘❙❚ ┊ p. pettigrew. character study ➳ ❛ be not afraid of growing slowly be afraid only of standing still ❜#❘❙❚ ┊ p. pettigrew. v. 10 ➳ ❛ stupid even among family ❜

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ironfidus · 4 years ago

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grief (is a freight train)

Angsty post-Endgame Iron Dad one-shot.

Read here on AO3 (@a_matter_of_loyalty).

———

Summary:

In the wake of Thanos’s defeat, the entire world celebrates the return of their loved ones. But there are some who do not celebrate at all.

The years pass, and still there are some who cry instead of smile, when they remember the day Thanos died. The day Tony Stark gave his life.

(Everyone mourns Tony Stark. But none as much as the people who knew him as more than just a hero.)

———

Every year, the world rejoices, flocking to the streets to celebrate a world rid of Thanos, a world full of all the people once lost in the Decimation.

Every year, the world takes a moment to be grateful for its fortunes.

And every year, there are some who don’t. There are some who grieve, who see the day as a curse instead of a blessing.

Every year, there are some who gaze upon the larger-than-life monument of Iron Man with sadness instead of gratitude.

Because every year, the world remembers Tony Stark as Iron Man, their hero, the man they have to thank for bringing back the ones they love. His family remembers him as more.

(Pepper remembers the man with the tired eyes and the unfaltering resilience; she remembers the man who fought so hard for a world of people who, before realizing he was responsible for reversing their nightmare, would have mercilessly judged him every chance they had.)

(Morgan remembers the warmth, the love, the selflessness. She remembers calloused hands running through her hair, holding her up, tucking her into bed.

She remembers the father who let her eat juice pops even after she already brushed her teeth, who told her bedtime stories and kissed her goodnight every night without fail, who whispered I love you 3000, kiddo to her from beyond the grave.)

(Peter remembers the constant check-ins, the hourly snacks to accommodate his enhanced metabolism, the upgrades to his suit that kept Spider-Man even more protected than Iron Man.

He remembers the genius who sat patiently with him as they worked through his pre-calc worksheets together, never once complaining even though they doubtlessly bored him to tears. He remembers the mentor who helped him grow into the superhero he is today.

He remembers the fighter who bore the weight of the world without protest, who gave everything for nothing, who cared too much but was too afraid to show it.)

(Rhodey remembers the witty kid with a thousand ingenious ideas who showed up in his dorm room, the all-nighters driven by cans of disgusting energy drinks and stacks of pizza boxes, the frat parties and drunk stories spilling through loose lips.

He remembers the kindness and selfless generosity his best friend hid beneath a veil of biting sarcasm and snide remarks. He remembers every dollar Tony threw around in an attempt to rid himself of his misplaced guilt, the list of charities he was knee-deep in growing by the week.)

(Happy remembers Tony’s patience, his compassionate hazelnut eyes, his supply of second chances. He remembers his boss and friend’s sense of humor, and all of the times Tony laughed at or with him.

He remembers Tony’s trusting side. He remembers what it feels like to be on the receiving end of that trust. He remembers thinking he never wanted to break it. He also remembers thinking, shoulder-to-shoulder with Rhodey at Tony Stark’s funeral, that he’d failed.)

And when everyone else smiles to think of the day Thanos was bested, they don’t.

Pepper enfolds Morgan in her arms, holding her little girl tightly as the sun rises on another day without their missing family member, and prays that they won’t have to lose each other, too.

Peter locks himself in his room and desperately clutches his mask to his chest as he listens to KAREN play recordings of Mr. Stark over and over again, pretending he can’t feel the tears spilling over onto his cheeks.

Rhodey stares blearily down at his certificate of graduation from MIT and imagines a world where Tony Stark wasn’t his roommate. When he can’t, coming up short, he drinks himself into oblivion.

Happy finds himself at his (and Tony’s) favorite gym and wears himself out in the ring, throwing himself at contender after contender, none of them Tony.

:::

Seven months after Tony Stark dies, Peter stumbles across the framed photograph of him and Tony grinning at each other, an upside-down certificate held between them. It’s sitting there on Tony’s desk for all to see.

Lying innocently next to the photo, so unaware of its own implications, is the blueprints for the time machine.

Peter’s heart stutters in his chest. Eyes transfixed on his mentor’s smile, he feels himself fall, fall, fall—

(“Why?” he remembers asking Pepper months ago, after Tony’s funeral. “Why did he do it? Why did he have to die for – for a world that never even truly appreciated him?”

Pepper freezes, her fierce stare fracturing for a brief moment, falling apart to reveal the tears that seem so natural to her now.

She smiles sadly at him, shakes her head, and tells him not to worry about it.)

It was for him, Peter realizes now. All for him.

He’s the reason Tony Stark is dead. He’s why Pepper cries herself to sleep these days; why Rhodey no longer has his best friend; why Happy often stares off into the distance like he’s remembering every “Forehead of Security” joke Tony teasingly made at his expense; why Morgan lost her father.

He did this. He killed Tony Stark.

For the first time in almost a month (a record, Peter, May pointed out earlier that morning, lips smiling but eyes sad, so sad, let’s aim for the small victories), Peter braces himself against reality and cries.

:::

It takes him weeks to muster the courage to confront Pepper about it. In the end, it doesn’t matter because she finds him first, sitting with Dum-E in her and Tony’s garage, looking down at the photo cradled in his hands with red, dry eyes.

“Oh, Peter,” she whispers. “Put the photo down, kid. Don’t do this to yourself.”

He looks up at her and sees a woman who’s lost everything. His eyes drag to the ring on her finger and flinches; she might still be wearing the ring, but she’s a widow now—because of him.

Pepper must realize where his thoughts are spiraling to because she shakes her head firmly, tears splattering onto the concrete floor of her garage. “Stop it, Peter,” she begs. “I had to watch Tony go down this road, too. Don’t make me do it again.”

“He did this for me,” Peter whispers before he can stop himself. “He – he had you and Morgan. He had the life he’s always dreamed of, but he risked all of that. For me. Why?”

Pepper’s face is painted in grief, and Tony’s death is the artist. (Peter is the artist, because this is his fault, he thinks. His.) “He wanted you to have the chance to fight for the life you deserve,” she whispers hoarsely. “This,”—she sweeps her arms around herself, a gesture to encompass everything he now has—“this is the life you deserve.”

The photograph clatters to the floor, falling out of Peter’s shaking hands.

He knows she means the fact that he is alive at all. He knows she‘s talking about all the extra time he and Aunt May have together, about Ned and MJ and him banding together as the inseparable Three Musketeers once again, about all the reasons he has to smile nowadays—

“Live it, Peter,” Pepper’s voice is soft, a broken plea. “Tony can’t anymore, but you still can. So fight, Peter. Live. Make him proud.”

—But when he looks at his life now, when he takes stock of everything that is a part of Pepper’s all-inclusive “this”, all he sees is Mr. Stark’s absence.

:::

When Peter gets home that night, he thinks of Pepper’s words and considers it. He even manages to imagine it—living the peaceful life Mr. Stark would have wanted for him, full of joy and laughter, full of eating Thai with Aunt May and watching Star Wars reruns with Ned and debating politics with MJ.

But at the same time, it seems impossible. He can’t truly see himself reclaiming that life anymore—a part of him knows it’s because the old him died with his hero.

Happiness is miles away from him, a faraway dream.

But for so many people in the world, it isn’t just a dream. Thanos has been defeated, and the people lost in the Snap have been returned. Millions of people have gained their loved ones back.

And he knows better than ever now how fickle life is.

Peter looks through his bedroom window, peering out at his neighborhood, and knows that the streets of Queens are as rife with crime as ever. There are girls and boys everywhere staring out the windows just as he is, wondering where their mothers are, wondering when their fathers will come home to them.

Mr. Stark is gone, but other kids still have their parents. (For now.)

Peter’s lost his mentor, but that doesn’t mean anyone else should have to lose their own families. That doesn’t mean he’s allowed to use that as an excuse and wither away, hiding from all of the screams for help.

:::

Eight months after Tony Stark dies, Peter Parker shakily lifts himself up to his feet, wipes away his tears and dusts off his pants, and finally lets his eyes fall onto his Spider-Man suit.

For the first time in eight months, he doesn’t recoil away from it.

And finally, finally, finally—Queens’ beloved hero returns.

:::

For a while, Peter loses himself in his crime-fighting. He takes down criminal after criminal and pretends he can’t hear the worry in Pepper’s voice when she calls to check in every few days, or the wistful longing in Happy’s voice when Peter admits he’s finally taking up the mantle of the mask again, or the sob caught in Aunt May’s throat when she asks after his injuries every night.

He pretends he doesn’t hear Mr. Stark all the time, a ghost chiding him for his recklessness, pointing out every gang fight, and cautioning him against all of the gun-wielding muggers.

And for a while, it works.

:::

Things get better. They get better—until they don’t.

:::

It goes like this.

Peter’s lost in his thoughts, walking absentmindedly down the sidewalk with his fists in his pockets and his head in the clouds, when all of a sudden a man crashes into him. Peter yelps, yanking his earbuds out of his ears, eyes wide as he stares at the dark pool of hot coffee spreading across his t-shirt. He doesn’t even register the pain until the stranger curses and apologizes profusely, his own hand red where the coffee spilled over his paper cup and scorched his skin.

Peter doesn’t hear him.

He can’t hear anyone but Tony, laughing hysterically at him when Peter trips over an errant wire and takes Tony’s coffee down with him. He can’t see anyone but Tony, rolling his eyes in fond exasperation and waving for Dum-E to “clean him up, buddy.”

It’s not real.

Peter knows it’s not real.

But that doesn’t stop him from wishing it is.

:::

It goes like this.

Peter’s sitting cross-legged on the floor of MJ’s hostel room, his Decathlon teammates gathered around him in a messy semi-circle. MJ’s flicking through her flashcards, calling on them one by one and helping them revise for their competition tomorrow as the murmur of the television hums in the background.

For the first time in a while, Peter feels grounded in the present in this cramped hostel room, with his friends surrounding him and the room’s one light cheaply flickering on and off above them.

But nothing good lasts forever. Peter should know that by now.

Because twenty minutes into their study session, Charles looks up at the TV in awe, whispering something about a new hero, about how “he’s like Iron Man and Thor rolled into one,” and—

Iron Man Iron Man Iron Man –

—Peter’s world comes crashing down around him for what must be the umpteenth time.

:::

It goes like this.

Peter’s at his first Thanksgiving dinner without Mr. Stark when it hits him.

They’ve been going around the table, giving each person a few moments to utter their gratitudes:

I’m thankful we can all be together again, like this.

I’m thankful I got to celebrate my son’s birthday last week. I’m thankful he’s alive to grow older.

I’m thankful for this team we can all count on to have each other’s backs.

I’m thankful for all of you.

He has no idea what to say.

A part of him knows, objectively, that there’s a lot to be thankful for—he’s alive. So is his aunt, his best friend, his classmates.

But looking beside him at little Morgan, knowing she will never get to have another Thanksgiving with her father, realizing she’ll hardly even remember his face come a few years’ time...

What is there to be thankful for?

The world thinks they’ve won. Peter sees Morgan, fatherless at four years old, and asks how victory can taste so much like defeat.

:::

It goes like this.

He’s building LEGOs with Ned, listening to his best friend ramble about how Betty agreed to go on a date with him when Ned accidentally knocks over one of the Millennium Falcon’s laser cannons. The section lands on the floor with a loud crash as it breaks apart into its individual components, black and grey and white LEGO pieces bouncing away and rolling under his bed.

Ned cuts off his endless chatter with a sheepish apology, but Peter just laughs and shakes his head, dropping to his knees and feeling blindly for the LEGO pieces. Eventually he gives up, tugs out his phone with a groan, and shines a flashlight into the darkness.

The light from his phone casts a bright glow over the scattered LEGO pieces.

It also lights up the plastic Iron Man mask he’d cherished as a little boy.

Peter’s heart stops. His phone falls out of his grip, crashing to the floor with a thud.

When Ned asks him what’s wrong, it takes every ounce of self-control he has to stop himself from saying: “Everything.”

:::

It goes like this.

Peter turns eighteen. Mr. Stark isn’t there to see it.

:::

It goes like this.

Peter walks into a bookstore with Ned at his heels, both keeping their eyes peeled for the type of book MJ might appreciate as a gift.

He scans title upon title upon title, but in the end it isn’t a novel that makes him stop in his tracks, his heart lurching into his throat. It’s a little girl in the comics and magazines section, making animated gestures to her big brother, who smiles and nods indulgently at her, reaching up and picking out the book she‘s been indicating.

It’s an Iron Man comic book.

For a second—just a second—as he watches the little girl hold the comic book close to her heart—as he sees the effect Iron Man still has on the people who hold him up as their hero—Peter lets himself imagine Mr. Stark is still here.

(Peter wishes he could call his mentor up right now; wishes he could let Mr. Stark know that it is Iron Man who managed to bring a smile that wide to her face.)

But Mr. Stark isn’t. He’s never going to be here again.

Peter stumbles away from Ned and his friend’s excited babble of “look, she’s going to love this one,” and locks himself in the nearest restroom, collapsing against the toilet bowl and throwing up.

:::

It goes like this.

Happy is the one who ends up teaching Peter to drive. When they both finally manage to convince themselves to go through with it, Happy pretends he can’t see the way Peter’s knuckles are white against the steering wheel.

Peter pretends he can’t see the way Happy shoves on a pair of sunglasses halfway through the lesson, his choked voice the only sign that betrays his anguish.

The whole time, Peter remembers a far-off past, Mr. Stark’s eyes twinkling at him as he swears he’ll let Peter test-drive all of his favorite cars as soon as it’s legal (and maybe even before then, as long as you’re with me the entire time, alright?).

:::

It goes like this.

It only takes Morgan three weeks to get attached to Peter and start calling him her “big brother.”

It takes her eleven more months after that to tell him, “I love you 3000, Petey.”

He doesn’t have to look around the room to know that Pepper and Rhodey and Happy are all freezing in place, staring at Morgan with the thought of Tony in their eyes.

He feels the same way. He swallows down a sob, cradles Morgan to his chest, and brushes a soft kiss to her forehead. His mind chants Mr. Stark, Mr. Stark, Mr. Stark like a prayer as he whispers, “I love you 3000, Maguna.”

Morgan smiles innocently up at him. Peter silences the sound of his heart breaking before Morgan can hear it.

:::

It goes like this.

He and May are in the middle of having a quiet dinner in—the first in months, with May getting busier and busier at work and with him avoiding everyone he cares about in his grief—when he finally hears back from MIT.

May ends up opening the sealed envelope for him when she sees how much his hands are shaking. She takes one look at the letter and screams in delight, wrapping him up in a hug so tight he can feel it in his bones.

She lets him go eventually, eyes bright and full of joy, and Peter snatches the letter off the table. He knows what it must be, given May’s sheer enthusiasm, but—

He stares at the acceptance letter in disbelief, barely hearing May’s giddy laughter.

He got in.

He should be happy. He should be thrilled. He should be jumping up and down out of sheer excitement.

MIT was his dream, after all. Still is, beneath all the misery.

For some reason, he isn’t. Instead of a smile, it’s tears that grace his face as Peter presses a trembling hand to his mouth, silent sobs rattling his body.

(If he’s honest with himself, he knows the reason.

MIT is Mr. Stark’s alma mater. For months before the end of the world, Mr. Stark sent Peter brochure after brochure advertising MIT. When Peter asked, Mr. Stark’s only response was to wink cheekily.

Mr. Stark isn’t here for him to ask anymore.)

(MIT wasn’t just his dream for himself. It was their dream, his and Mr. Stark’s. It feels wrong, somehow, to hold this letter that contains some of Mr. Stark’s greatest hopes and aspirations for him, in a world where Mr. Stark can’t see it. It feels like betrayal.)

:::

It goes like this.

Peter’s shaking his principal’s hand, looking at the certificate proving his graduation dazedly, when he makes the mistake of looking up at the audience. He catches a glimpse of Aunt May beaming at him proudly, of Pepper and Morgan grinning beside her, of the assortment of colorful heroes decorating the front row.

His eyes zero in on the empty chair beside Morgan, with only a tiny Iron Man toy figurine sitting atop it.

His heart plummets to his feet. Blood roars in his ears, deafening him to everything but Mr. Stark’s first words to him, a lifetime ago—“Nice work, kid.”

:::

It goes like this.

Father’s Day arrives. Peter wakes up with an itch in the back of his mind, picks up his phone, and then nearly drops it when his eyes immediately dart to the date.

Mr. Stark.

Peter swallows down the memory of the first Father’s Day he showed up at Mr. Stark’s lab, a sheepish grin on his face and a clumsily-wrapped present in hand.

Today… today, though, he has to remind himself firmly, It’s just another day.

But it isn’t, and he knows it.

Because ever since that first time, all of his following Father’s Days had turned into movie nights with Mr. Stark, the two of them armed with an abundance of popcorn and soda and ice cream.

This year, there’s no text reading ready for another movie marathon, kid? on his phone. There’s no one to pick up when he instinctively calls Mr. Stark, a cheerful Happy Father’s Day, Mr. Dad! burning on the tip of his tongue. There’s no friendly reminder from KAREN that Mr. Stark’s waiting for him in his home theater.

(There’s just an empty lock screen, his and Mr. Stark’s mischievous grins beaming up at him from his phone wallpaper.

There’s just his mentor’s haunting snarky voice and the familiar voicemail greeting of “You know who I am, and I’m assuming you know what to do, or you really shouldn’t be allowed to operate a phone in this day and age,” that leaves his ears ringing and lungs heaving and eyes stinging for almost an hour afterwards.

There’s just a quiet You have no new messages, Peter, when he finally manages to yank his suit on and pull the mask down his face, only to press frantically at the spider emblem on his chest and take it all off again, his stomach rolling with nausea.)

This year, Peter spends Father’s Day in bed, staring blankly up at the ceiling, eyes dry but still aching.

(This year, Peter spends Father’s Day alone.)

Except he doesn’t.

Hours later, the Starks (missing one member, always missing one member) show up at his and May’s apartment, a watery smile on Pepper’s face and a subdued hey, Petey coming from Morgan. They’re each holding a bouquet of hydrangeas.

As soon as she’s close enough, Pepper offers him her bouquet, her smile stretching an inch wider. “You were his kid, too, no matter what your DNA says,” she whispers, and her voice is hoarse, like she’s spent all morning crying into her pillow.

(At least, that’s what Peter’s been doing before they came.)

Peter opens his mouth to protest, but all it takes is one look at Morgan’s red-rimmed eyes and Peter knows he can’t say no.

“Okay,” he breathes, even as he thinks thank you, even as he tries not to break down.

(He fails.)

(That Father’s Day marks the beginning of a new tradition—one he dreads instead of looks forward to.

These days he spends every Father’s Day in a clearing in the forest that fringes the Starks’ lakehouse, holding Morgan’s tiny hand tightly in his own as she weeps into her father’s headstone.)

:::

It goes like this.

He’s sitting through a lecture at MIT when his professor quotes Mr. Stark.

He shouldn’t be surprised. He isn’t surprised. Anthony Edward Stark is a genius, after all, and this is a physics class.

Still, it takes him back to the lab, to Tony Stark standing across him and giving him advice. He hears himself huff in annoyance and remind Mr. Stark that he’s hardly in a position to caution Peter about lab safety given his own infamous recklessness.

He strains to hear Mr. Stark’s response—strains to listen to his mentor tell him that the rules only applied to smart-but-stupid Spider-Kids with a penchant for self-sacrifice.

But the words never come. In a flash, Peter’s back in Professor Johnson’s classroom, sitting in a cheap, uncomfortable chair that’s too stiff and nothing at all like the plush rolling chairs in Mr. Stark’s lab.

The rest of the world continues to spin on its axis, his professor continues to drone on and on about electromagnetism, and his classmates continue to whisper conspicuously amongst each other, but Peter’s world came to a standstill long ago.

The moment passes, but the breathless feeling never fades. Tony Stark’s perfected ‘Mentor Knows Best’ stare drilling into the back of his head, Peter struggles to inhale, exhale, in, out as despair strangles him, crushing his throat in a vice grip.

:::

It goes like this.

The first time he visits back home from MIT, Pepper asks him to take over as Head of R&D at Stark Industries.

He feels the color drain from his face.

She reassures him that he won’t have to drop out of MIT, that he’ll be able to dedicate most of his time to his education, that he’ll only have to put in a few hours and chip in a few ideas every so often.

She tells him she knows he’ll succeed.

Peter doesn’t bother correcting her. He doesn’t say that that isn’t what he’s worried about.

He doesn’t say that even though he knows it’s been ages, he still can’t fathom someone else taking up the mantle of his mentor’s job, even if it’s him. (Maybe especially if it’s him.)

He doesn’t say that he wishes no one would ever have to replace Tony Stark, in any and every capacity.

Instead, he forces himself to breathe and tells her he’ll do it.

:::

It goes like this.

Morgan grows up. She becomes a teenager, smart and gorgeous and full of life.

Eventually, she meets someone. Tony isn’t there to greet her date with a firm shake of the hand and a piercing, intimidating stare the first time she brings him home.

Peter is.

Pepper thanks him when the night is over. Peter lets her hug him, and realizes with sudden, startling clarity that Morgan won’t have her father to walk her down the aisle one day.

The thought drives him to his knees, trembling, gasping, convulsing—

—breaking.

:::

It goes like this.

Peter is older now. He’s not the snot-nosed little kid who just lost his mentor (father figure) anymore.

He goes to sleep smiling, heart full and content. He’s so sure he’s turning around, starting on a new path—beginning to well and truly heal.

Except—

Except.

He wakes up screaming, hands fisted in his sheets, tears already burning his eyes, and Mr. Stark’s dying, unseeing gaze is all he can see.

:::

So things get better, until they don’t.

Even years after Tony’s death, Peter finds his grief violently, all-consumingly unpredictable.

Some days, it no longer hurts to breathe in a world without his hero.

Other days, it does hurt.

Other days, it takes next to nothing—a stray word, a picture in the news, a laugh that sounds too much like long days in the lab—to send Peter careening back into the past, into a time when he could simply take out his phone and text Mr. Stark about anything and everything—science fairs, birthdays, Decathlon competitions, cute dogs he ran into at the park.

Other days, it seems like anything can drown Peter, thrusting him back into the midst of his grief, a maelstrom of horror and shock and anger and misery ripping him apart.

Other days, the littlest, most random thing can set him off, hitting him like a punch in the gut. (You’re terrible at this, Underoos. Who in the world taught you to fight—wait, no, don’t tell me. Was it Youtube? I bet you learned to fight from Youtube. Can’t even take a punch like you mean it, god. That’s it, I’m taking over—you and me, in the gym, 5:00 A.M. sharp. I’m just kidding, kid, stop looking at me like that. Of course I don’t actually mean 5:00. I mean, look who you’re talking to. God knows I can’t function before ten without at least two cups of coffee. Preferably three. I don’t even want to think about how many coffees I’d need to down if I wanted to be useful at the ass crack of dawn—Pepper would kill me, literally, and convince FRIDAY to help hide the body. Anyway, where was I? Oh, right. Training. Let’s sat a date for 11:00 A.M. and call it a day, yeah?)

Other days, Peter fears he will never recover.

:::

The rest of the world moves on.

Peter Parker can’t.

#iron dad #peter parker and tony stark #post-endgame #fanfiction #marvel #spiderman #ironman #irondad and spiderson #iron dad fanfiction #iron family #irondad angst #marvel fanfiction #faye writes

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conniemhogg · 5 years ago

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Thoughts on: Nadiya Hussein and anxiety in the Coronavirus lockdown

I recently listened to an episode of Bryony Gordon’s “Mad World” podcast, with Nadiya Hussein. The discussion focused on her ongoing battle with anxiety and the way our current situation of lockdown has brought her struggles to a head. She candidly speaks about her own battles and highlights the potential danger of self-isolation, when withdrawal is the very thing she would turn to in her worst moments with anxiety.

Overall, I felt three things stood out:

(i) the importance of checking in and reaching out,

(ii) the realisation that perhaps we all have messiness that we covered up with a busy schedule and

(iii) the reminder to be thankful for the gift of life.

“how are you, really?”

It’s nothing groundbreaking or novel, but I cannot stress enough the power of checking in. Making time to listen. Reaching out. It’s so important that we ask this question with sincerity, both to others and to ourselves. It’s more than a mundane greeting, it’s an invitation to delve into the things on people’s hearts. It’s an opportunity for vulnerable connection.

Anxiety is isolating and without a patient ear, a kind tongue and a loving heart, those suffering in this situation will not be practising social distancing, they will be trapped in anti-social isolation. I believe that Jesus listens, speaks and loves. There’s no distancing measure that can keep him away from his followers’ call. And I believe he set us an example to follow - to mirror this overflowing love and servitude to those who need it most. To those who are suffering, who are lonely or afraid, I’d love to offer my (virtual) company in any way I can.

Nadiya confesses that she ‘cannot control [her] anxiety and [her] mental health’. And I would be inclined to agree somewhat. Our emotions and thoughts rarely feel under our own control. But we can control where we look, who and what we allow to speak into our lives. And this in turn has the power to influence the way we think and feel. We have a responsibility to discern truth from lie, light from dark. Often the truth is not the most comfortable place to look, the answer is seldom a quick-fix solution, but we can persevere in this decision to believe the truth about our lives and our situations. That is, that He is in control, that He loves us and wants the best for us.

A word Nadiya used to describe her condition is Debilitating. She described the experience of anxiety as ‘like being locked in your own head’. A daily battle against the voice in her head telling her that everyone else is doing just fine, enjoying the moment and living life in a way that she ought to. Nadiya talks about how she observes others who seem to be enjoying their in-the-moment lives, creating a very acute sense of self-loathing and regret for her inability to be ‘like them’. A cycle of shame, like a perpetual hamster wheel.

But we are not condemned. We have been set free from guilt and shame. When we slip into the throws of sadness, worry, fear... we are not to be ashamed. In fact, I believe His heart breaks for ours when he sees us struggling against the lies that so easily entangle us. This shame we feel is often related to how we think we will be seen by other people. But what if the very creator of the world sees us as beautiful, chosen, loved? Shame really has no place in our God-given identity. In denying shame, we deny the power of hiding away, we allow ourselves to be raw and real. To cry out to God when we are hurting, to ask for prayer and confide in people who see us for who he made us to be.

“Whenever you feel unloved, unimportant, or insecure, remember to whom you belong.”— Ephesians 2:19-22

'Existential angst’

I love a to-do list. I equate productivity with meaning daily. When asked if I have had a ‘good’ day, I will first consider the length of ‘achievements’ or ‘completed tasks’ behind me and thus determine how well my day has been. And I don’t think this is such a novel approach. Productivity itself isn’t wrong. But the danger comes when productivity alone consumes our sense of self, replaces our patience and generosity, quashes our creativity and dulls our gratitude. We are all trying so hard to be productive, to justify our time, to be useful in every way we can. The more you do, the more you deserve, right?

But there’s absolutely nothing we can do to earn the grace of God. No amount of order, productivity, accomplishment. He died for us when we were still sinners who refused Him:

“But God demonstrates his own love for us in this: While we were still sinners, Christ died for us.” — Romans 5:8

“You are loved more than you will ever know by someone who died to know you.” — Romans 5:6

It’s got absolutely nothing to do with what we have done, but everything to do with who He is.

Podcast host, Bryony, talks of ‘existential angst’ today and I could not have coined a more befitting term. In fact, staying busy and ‘managing’ can easily default into a pattern of hiding or denying, a black hole of pretending everything is just fine.

Whilst coping mechanisms should not be written off, nor should they be something people feel ashamed of finding comfort it, they cannot take the place of healing. We cannot distract ourselves better. Yet for some time, we have been so easily able to seek refuge in distraction and control. We have been so keen to shout louder than the voices of worry. Work, partying, gym, shopping... can provide a convenient alternative to facing up to our own weakness.

So, when left with very little else but our own thoughts, we may find ourselves with an unwelcome realisation. That is, that we are utterly flawed. Our thoughts are not always wholesome and kind, our esteem is as volatile as the British weather and when left to our own devices, we very often fall short of where we’d like to be.

Nadiya speaks of how she used to remove her glasses before speaking in front of crowds, because if she does not see them then she can pretend they are not there. It highlighted a common refusal to come to terms with the reality in front of us. We so often don’t want to ‘face up to the facts’. Yet, to realise how utterly helpless we are is also to realise how much we need the helping hand that is outstretched to us. He came that we might have life to the full. He came to save us from our ego, our ceaseless striving to be ‘holy’, our obsession with status. He came to put an end to our fruitless quest for self-fulfilment.

‘you are alive, which is a great place to be right now’

Nadiya makes a beautiful point of stopping to appreciate the miracle that is our life. To stop and allow yourself to breathe is to express gratitude for the gift of life.

The lack of certainty brought about lately has created a call to stop ignoring the life in front of me. Yes, there is hurt and hardship. Yes, there is pain and panic. But there is so much more. There is meaning and truth, friendship and family.

We can be grateful for the miracle of life and still be real about the utter devastation that is around us today. A miraculous and meaningful life is not a life without hardship. But it is a beautiful thing.

Whilst we are messy and emotional, His spirit is steadfast and sound. Whilst the world cries out in pain, He listens and He weeps with us. We don’t have to downplay anxiety or fear today, but we cannot fall prey to the self-loathing shame of not having it all together. We must instead choose to look to Him with expectancy, with hurting hearts, with gratitude for life, with a desire to be held in the hands of the one who created us.

“Be strong and courageous. Do not be afraid; do not be discouraged for the Lord your God is with you wherever you go.” — Joshua 1:9

Link to article and podcast here

#anxiety #corona #nadiya #bakeoff #madworld #podcast

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bellatrixobsessed1 · 5 years ago

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Femslash February day 23

Prompt: Glass Fandom: Voltron Pair: Acxa/Allura Summary: Cinderella AU with Acxa as Cinderella and Allura as the prince.

Once upon a time in space a baby was born. A baby of half blood; one part human and one part Galran. The babe had delicate skin of a soft blue hue and a sweep of hair the color of sapphire. She peers at her parents with eyes as soft blue as her skin. Regardless of blood, the babe grew up loved and cherished. The child loved watching the stars twinkle and blink and would often sit under them with something to read. The child grew up kind and caring with a mother who was just as so.

It wasn’t until the child turned thirteen that her life seemed to shatter. For their house nestled in a hidden corner of Daibazaal had been found. For the crime of marrying a human and birthing a halfblood, the child’s mother was killed.

Only after serving ‘justice’ did the crowd leave. In their wake was left a grieving husband and a timid child. The man thought that he wouldn’t know happiness again. Desperate was he, enough to fall for a cruel, cold Galra woman who had no love for a lowly half-breed. In his anguish, the man was blind to the mistreatment of his daughter.

The man was a trader and as such he was prone to travel for extended periods of time. During his travels, his daughter grew lovelier still. She was small for a Galra but it suited her well. At thirteen years, her horns had grown in, elegant and cut like polished obsidian. Mostly they were buried under waist long locks of deep blue. Her eyes were as warm and kind as her complexion was cool. For it, her stepmother and sisters hated her twice over. When the girl’s father was gone, the last scraps of false kindness fell away. They dressed the girl in rags and exposed her to various cruelties and neglect.

Mostly, they made a slave of the girl. They shut her away from the stars that she loved so, confining her to the dark and dusty underbelly of their home where the life and hope in her eyes diminished. And where her health deteriorated.

It became a pass time for the eldest sister to fling one of her opulent rings or ornate necklaces into a particularly large pile of comet cinders and have the girl sift through them to find it. So she was nicknamed Cometcinder.

More often than not, her complexion was blotted out by splotches of comet dust. “You should thank her, Cometcinder, she helps you cover your halfbree’s skin.” Says her step mother.

But Cometcinder feels no such gratitude.

On a night where the cosmos were particularly spectacular, Cometcinder could bear no more. The constellations were enticing, beckoning her outside. So she answered their call. In the cool night air, her heart fluttered with the joy of finally having a serene night, free of demands and demeaning words.

The best night of her life was followed by the worst. For her misdeed of skipping chores could not go unpunished. Her step mother dragged her by the hair into the house where her step sisters waited, sneering. “Maybe we should make her sleep outside.” The youngest suggests. “Since she likes it out there so much.” That night, they took a pair of scissors to her long locks, chopping away at them until her hair was fashioned into a scraggly and uneven bob.

They kicked at her and spat on her and stole the compass from her pocket. She’d fought furiously to keep her cherished item--the one thing that truly belonged to her--but they had pried it from her fingers. They crushed it before her eyes, so taking from her, the last thing she had of her mother.

But they did not take without giving. That night they gave her the news that her father’s craft had been blasted by the ray of a weeblum.

Even still, the kindness didn’t flee her soul. Though terribly shrouded in sorrow and reduced to finding companionship with space mice, she maintained generosity and patience.

Days turned to weeks and weeks into months, before news came of a gala. A supposedly flashy ball to celebrate the auroras and the birthday of the young princess Allura.

Meek and quietly, the girl inquired if she could attend. “Looking like that?” her mother sneered.

“You can dress me nicely and…”

“You’ll embarrass us.” The younger daughter commented.

Cometcinder swallowed, her belly tingling with heartache and yearning. Just this one night, she only wants this one night. As her step family departed, their space pods the girl hugged her knees to her chest and fought back tears.

If only to occupy her mind, she took to polishing the houses metallic floors and upkeeping and managing the data on the house’s computer.

With most housetasks aside, the girl wandered out to view the night sky. It must have been an hour before a voice like an electrical hum sounded in her ear. “You’re going to be late.” It commented.

The girl tilted her head and tried to find the source.

“Over here.”

She turned to face the computer. It had taken to projecting a hologram. An image of a small, iridescent orb that flashed softly and occasionally shifted color. “I have run through various simulations of realities and have decided that it is most optimal that you meet the princess Allura.” The robotic voice declared. The orb drifted nearer and Cometcinder took a reflexive step back.

“I’m mean only to help. I will make sure that you will impress.” The orb made its staticy promise. It hovered over to a dressing pod. “Step in please.”

Reluctantly she does so. The machine whirred to life a soft green light scanned her up and down, taking in her measurements before producing an outfit for her. Replacing the rags was a slee one piece suit of midnight blue latex, outlined in vivid neon blue. She barely had time to appreciate it before the orb said, “now let's do something about this.” In a series of zippy motions, the orb singed off locks of her hair until it fell evenly. The orb halted before shedding small beads of electric blue light. It fixed them into her hair and accented her horns with them. At the ends of her hair they dangled like glow-worm threads. It completed her look by placing a glass helm over her head.

Satisfied and having completed its task it buzzed, “follow me.”

The girl nodded and allowed it to lead her down the hall to where her family stored their spare parts and discarded devices and machines. “Do you prefer a V-style craft or would you like a more classic spherical model?”

“Something simple.” Cometcinder answered.

The orb grew in size and flitted about, moving pieces and parts until an elegant black craft shaped like a jagged triangle sat before her. “I implore you to enjoy your ball. But my power has its limits.” The orb paused. “The system will glitch and shut down at precisely midnight. For an optimal ending, I advise that you leave before then.”

The Galra stroked the craft’s steering wheel, still skeptical of its reality. She smiled to herself; she will meet the Altaen princess after all.

.oOo.

The ballroom was nothing like she had ever seen. Vast and made of black titanium, UV veins of purple streaked the walls and ceiling. The floor glimmered and sparkled with chips of amethyst. She saw all manners of dress from simple one piece jumpsuits like her own to elaborate gowns with glowing hems and tall collars lined with LED lights. Hues popped and flashed from all ends of the color spectrum.

But most eye catching of all was the princess herself. She stood in a tiered white gown. Each layer had a ring of magenta light outlining it, creating glowing halos on the layers below. Her hair was fashioned in an updo adorned with various crystals in shades of violet and pink.

For as much as Cometcinder was compelled to strike up conversation, she couldn’t bring herself. It had been years since she’d spoken to anyone save for a space mouse and she feared for her social competence and mannerisms. All in all, the setting and its extravagance overwhelmed her.

She met the princess’ eyes and she flushed. The noise in the room seemed to swell as Allura broke away from Cometcinder’s eldest sister. She found herself shaky with nerves and her nerves whisk her abruptly away from the jubilant chaos of the ballroom.

Palms still shaking, she sat beneath the silently enchanting bursts of the auroras. She wished that she weren’t so terribly shy.

“Hey!” A voice greeted. “I was hoping to catch you!”

Cometcinder took to staring intensely at the back of her hands.

“I’ve never seen you at any of my balls before.”

“I don’t get out much.” She confessed. An understatement, considering that she hadn’t been beyond her yard in several years.

Allura laughed. “Well, welcome to the outside world! You picked a great time to see it.” She gestured to the sky and its drifting, dancing splendor.

“I’m more taken by you than the auroras.” Cometcinder admitted.

Allura smiled. “You have a name?”

She nodded. “I am Acxa.” It was weird on her lips, for it was the first time she had said her name since her mother died. Somehow, saying it made her feel less like an object.

:”That’s a pretty name.”

“Not as pretty as Allura.”

This time the princess blushes. “Hey, you’ve never gone to a ball before, does that mean that you’ve never danced?”

Acxa’s face grew hotter still. “I have not.” she confirmed.

“Can I teach you?”

“Yes please..” She paused. “Can we dance out here, away from everyone?” It would certainly make her feel less nervous.

“Dancing under the lights does sound nice.” Allura nodded. The princess walked her through the steps of The Weeblum’s Waltz and The Daibazaal Ditty.

As she did so she told Acxa of the bustling spacecraft travel center and of her favorite places to stray to when running a kingdom become too heavy a burden. In turn, Acxa spoke of her father’s ventures as a tradesman and of the cute space mice.

“Oh! You’ll have to show me one day.” The princess gushed. The way her eyes lit up almost caused Acdxa to forget the orb’s warning.

“I would love to show you them.” Acxa said as the half hour bell chimed.

“Can I?” Allura asked, her fingers traced over Acxa’s glass helm.

Acxa didn’t know what she was asking until she began lifting the helm. Acxxa curled her fingers around her slender wrists. The bell chimed again and that tiem Acxa jerked and sprung to her feet. Her sudden movement caused the glass helm to fall to the floor. She heard it crack but she had no time to be embarrassed, much less to mourn the semi-shatter of her beautiful helmet. She didn’t stop to pick it up.

“Wait!” Allura’s calls grew distant as she sought out her craft. “I’m sorry! I thought that you wouldn’t mind.”

Acxa’s mind spun, through her jumbled thoughts, she felt horrible for departing so hastily and without explanation. She couldn’t even say why she was so eager to get home when there had been a perfect chance to find freedom from it and from her tormentors. She took a moment of pause, considering letting the system shut down. But she couldn’t imagine that Allura would be captured by her scruffy and unkempt appearance. She wished that she hadn’t looked back. Allura stood in the vacant spot where Acxa’s craft had been, with her head hanging low.

By the time she made it home she was in rags again and her craft crumbled into trinkets and spare parts. There was no glamor in that house. It was empty and silent.

.oOo.

“She is smitten with you.” Acxa’s stepmother says to her eldest daughter. “You are going to be a royal”

It was all Acxa hard in the next several days.

“She’s smitten with a stranger.” The youngest scowled.

“Who abandoned her.” The stepmother reassured. “I can’t imagine she still has any love for the stranger.

Acxa’s eyes burned with tears for her lost opportunity and chance at love. Confined to her room for disopadiance and negligence of her duties, she was only able to get snippets of rumors regarding her rude departure. From them, she assumed that the princess must not think fondly of her anymore.

She thought it cruel that she had been given a taste of freedom, at what life could have been, only to have it so rudely yanked away from her.

“The princess is trying to find the stranger.” The youngest informed glumly.

“Then your sister shall try on the helm and insist that it is hers.

Acxa bunched her fists.

“She should be here soon, so get yourself ready, Ethnor.” Ethnor nodded. “Dress yourself well.” She turned to Acxa. “And you keep out of sight. We can’t have anything unsightly just prancing about.” Her demand came just shy of a knock at the door. The Galra woman cursed. “Stick to the kitchen she hissed. “And keep your ugly, half-breed mouth shut.”

Acxa sighed. “As you wish, mother. The word sat ill on her tongue.

The girl made her way to the kitchen as the door opened.

“Good evening princess!” Her stepmother greeted her with a false sweetness. It sickened and unsettled Acxa. She yearned to scowl and out the woman for the beast she was. And what was stopping her? Decidedly, she was a coward.

“Oh thank you, princess! I didn’t think that I’d find it again!” Ethnor exclaimed. She could practically see her fitting the helm over her bulbous head. A moment’s pause. Following it was a forced and gritted toothed, “I can’t get it on.”

“She is not my love.” Allura declared.

A warm tingle of hope swelled in Acxa’s chest.

“Give her a moment.” Her step mother hissed. And then, “are you sure that that’s not your sister’s? Give Ragna her helm back.”

Acxa couldn’t hold back a small snicker as she listened to the girl struggle. Her embarrassing predicament gave Acxa just enough courage to step forward. She lingered in the doorway fighting her brain for words. They didn’t come so she only stood there dumbly.

“Who is that?” Allura asks.

“Oh that’s just Cinder.” Ragna dismissed. “Our servant.”

Acxa bit her lip. “It’s a pleasure to see you again.” She said at last.

“Again?” Her step mother asked.

Acxa nodded and reached for the cracked helm. “May I?”

“Please.” Allura said as her stepmother cried, “absolutely not.”

Acxa closed her eyes and pulled the helm over her head.

Allura looked as cheery as her step family looked outraged. But that time they had no power to act on their simmering wrath. Acxa stepped forward and wrapped her arms around the small princess, taking comfort in her warmth. “I apologize for leaving so abruptly, I had to make it back home before they did.”

Allura nods. “It’s alright. But a goodbye would be nice next time.”

“If you will…” She stammered. “If you will have me back at the castle, you won't’ have to worry about a next time.”

#femslashfeb2020 #Voltron #Acxa #Allura #Acxa/Allura #Fanfiction

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xtyrantinax · 5 years ago

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[Souls] Overabundance | Forest Walker + Songbird

Breeding rites for my Souls Between dragon Songbird and another member’s dragon Forest Walker (Owned by GlacialFalls). Also including a brief cameo by my other dragon Fethil :3

Read on Deviantart

My Deviantart

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! Souls Between is an ARPG on Deviantart and is a closed species !

The summer season had been exceedingly kind to Forest Walker, providing him with more than enough food to last him a few weeks at the very least from the handful of hunts he had engaged in over the past few days. The forest he called home was teeming with life, untouched by any other dragon or human due to the ravager’s constant vigilance, protecting the land and ensuring that it would never be tainted by such ungrateful people.

It was unwise for a dragon to keep such large amounts of meat stored in a single place – lest it gain the attention of any lesser predators or scavengers – and so he had decided to share some of his hoard with a handful of the other dragons who inhabited the nearby territories. As much as the jade ravager despised having to deal with others of his kind, he had reluctantly had to admit that he preferred it to clearing out a cave full of rotting meat or chasing off a rogue dragon who thought it a good idea to try and steal from him.

Beside him stood a fellow ravager he’d come to know as Fethil. She was slightly smaller than him, but the massive spines that lined her spine seemed to make her appear much more impressive and ominous, especially as she slunk her way silently through the dim cave. Her body was marked in only Earthen colours and so she seemed to almost disappear into the surrounding stone walls; it did nothing to help soothe the male’s nerves.

Welcoming an unknown dragon into his home was as stressful as it got – it was bad enough when someone invaded his forest, let alone coming into his own personal safe place and poking around – he especially hated it when said dragons had little regard for his rather antisocial stance. He was able to handle Fethil’s quiet nature, but it was the chatterbox Songbird that was beginning to wear away at his patience.

Songbird, however, didn’t seem to understand just how badly she was affecting the other dragon, continuing to try and gain his attention. She was doing genuine work, going through all of Forest Walker’s large stacks of meat and sorting out what would last the longest from what would need to be eaten, but she was all too eager to converse whilst doing so. She was a young warden, only a few years mature, and most of the other dragons she’d been socialised with were also overly social creatures so she saw no problem with being so openly friendly with everyone she came across.

Fortunately for Forest Walker, Fethil was well versed in dealing with hatchlings and had a largely mothering nature, so she was able to keep the fluffy dragon relatively calm and on track. When Songbird began on one of her new spiels Fethil was easily able to steer the conversation in her direction, allowing the green ravager some brief respite. Although her extremely bubbly personality could be irritating at times, her positive attitude towards the rather large mountain of work set before them was at least endearing and far better than an aggressive dragon.

“What do you want to do with these ones?” Songbird asked, turning to him with a grin. It was almost comical the way the massive warden towered over Forest Walker yet was perhaps the gentlest dragon he had ever encountered (not that he went out of his way to meet any).

He tilted his head to the side in thought, looking over the meat that the other dragon had gestured towards, “I have no need of the elk meat,” he hummed, “Do you think it would be suitable for you and your companions?” The meat was several days old – the oldest he had in his collection – and it had already begun to attract far too many insects for his liking, despite the fact he’d made sure to bury it in the deepest, coolest section of his cave system.

Songbird’s feathers roused slightly as she mulled over the question, taking a moment to nudge the carcass with her snout. “I’d say it needs to be eaten by tonight at the very latest, but since you have all of this-” she openly gestured to the remainder of his food stash with a pointed claw, “I’d be happy to take it off your hands, my uncle will eat almost anything.”

It was far too much for the ravager to eat by himself and so he nodded in agreement, taking a step back so she could grasp a hold of the animal’s neck, easily lifting it up and into the air as though it weighed nothing. She quickly trotted back towards the entrance to his cave, placing it down once she’d exited before returning to grab the second carcass only a few minutes later.

While Songbird proceeded to remove the food she’d chosen, Forest Walker scanned over the small selection of older meat that Fethil too had gathered together, inspecting it to ensure she wasn’t taking anything too fresh – he might have been extending a rare show of generosity towards his guests, but he was no fool and didn’t trust either of them for a second – upon deciding that the other dragon had picked out a suitable range of meats he offered her too a nod.

“Would you mind giving me a hand moving this all?” Fethil asked to which he was quick to nod again. They both grasped a mouthful of meat, creeping their way back through the dark cave and towards where Songbird had placed her food. While the warden had selected several intact bodies to take, Fethil had several cuts of flesh and so it took several trips for them to finally clear it all out.

Forest Walker wandered back down to where he had been storing the food, checking the area once more to ensure he had only the freshest stock remaining and had got rid of anything that would soon be inedible. Once satisfied that his cave would not be smelling like rancid meat anytime soon, he snatched up some food for himself – a large leg from yet another of the elk he had taken down the previous day – he then journeyed back to where Fethil and Songbird were waiting.

Songbird had laid down, her teeth loudly snapping at the fur that covered one of the carcasses, tearing it away from the muscle below with quite the amount of effort. She had been helping Forest Walker to organise his hoard of food since early morning and it was now late afternoon judging by the way the sun shone low, managing to break through the thinner layers of foliage beyond the cave’s entrance, and she was yet to have neither breakfast nor lunch. Soon enough she would have to undertake quite the journey back to her own den deep within her uncle’s territory further to the north and she needed the extra strength and energy.

She was unused to traversing such densely wooded areas, finding it near impossible to drag her bulky form through the trees nearby without scratching herself or damaging the branches. It was unfortunate really, for she truly enjoyed the view from the cave where they were sat, watching the emerald leaves swaying gently in the warm breeze. A handful of small wrens added a cheerful chorus to the soft rustling of leaves and she found herself amazed that such a peaceful place had existed just under her snout all this time. It was no wonder Forest Walker was so protective of his prized forest.

Although neither of the other dragons were causing any trouble, Forest Walker couldn’t wait until they both finally set off back to their own respective territories and left him to enjoy the serenity of his forest once more. Not all dragons were quite so appreciative of the wonderous natural world that surrounded them and so he was always weary of anyone who was bold enough to seek passage through his woodland home.

Both Songbird and Fethil, however, seemed to understand well enough the importance of the forest to the ravager and showed only the greatest respect towards his home. It was for this reason he decided to sit with them, beginning to gnaw on his own food, pulling at the meat that clung fiercely to the leg’s bone. After spending a whole day hanging around with food he was absolutely starving and was glad they were finally done and could enjoy their spoils.

#dragon #literature #writing #mine #souls between #arpg #art roleplay game #story #fantasy #closed species

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marrowskies · 7 years ago

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janeturenne

replied to your post

“art/word requests?”

I mean. It probably goes without saying that I want to request all the Gallifrey things in the world, in both fic and art form. Leela/Narvin, maybe? How about: Leela sends something to Narv, a note or a gift of some kind, and he (or she, if you’re feeling fem!Narv-ish) has a moment of blushing and OH NO FEELINGS THIS IS CUTE MAKE IT STOP. Y/N/Maybe?

a/n: hey so like I haven’t listened past s5 and I made up that Narvin broke his stazer at one point. maybe he’s actually done this. maybe birthdays are things that have been mentioned. this is all possible and nothing i could account for being that I only listened up to s5 and broke up with mainline Doctor Who about five years ago and haven’t listened to s1-5 in quiteeeeeeeee a whillllllleeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee also i wrote this in a day and I haven’t written a fic in QQUIIIITEEEEE A WHIIII anyway i guess what i’m saying is i’m sorry jane ok

Of the list of ideals and morals that Narvin fell back on in times of crisis and doubt, that constituted a core of his being, he liked to think that Simplicity was at the top of it, perhaps in a reasonable orbit around Practicality. It was the way he liked to live his life, with simple and practical robes, simple and practical bodies, simple and practical weapons. It might have started during his time as a technician, where such habits were encouraged, but even after moving on into proper Celestial Intervening, excess had started to make him feel claustrophobic, constantly perceiving peas under mattresses he couldn’t smooth. The opulence of the Capitol often put him at odds with his duties. Worthless beauty. Design for the appearance of having design.

“Narvin.”

“Leela.”

“I will make you accept this gift. You are only making me have to decide whether I must use my words or my strength.”

Back when she was only a Savage, he didn’t think her very simple.

Well, there was simple and then there was simple. She was obviously the latter. The textures of her leathers were varied and cobbled together, and though the stitching was as even as humanly possible, it was no machine grade. (He’d hated seeing them, all minutely irregular, imitating perfection they couldn’t achieve. He still somewhat itched to redo them.) She spoke twice to three times as many words to capture her meanings, and though they were relatively simple words, they were flowery with little purpose. In fairness, most politicians overstuffed their speeches into inscrutability and this Narvin was used to, but at least they did it with the intention. And if she did not speak, she waved around a blade, an impractical weapon with excessive residue and a high probability of failure. Nothing like a clean couple of stazer shots through both hearts. And yet, despite the visual color and dichotomy of her being, it appeared only to coat an empty shell full of stupid instincts and guttural thoughts. So she was simple. But she was simple without elegance.

It felt bizarre to recall those opinions as old memories. There were still ghosts of them when he looked at her, echoes of how they’d burned his chest and churned his thoughts, gritting his teeth and crowding his skull with anger and betrayal at a human on this planet with him, a savage in the halls of the Citadel standing next to him, in the rooms of the President, upright at his side and as his equal…

Yet now, here he was, someone ready to defend against anyone who repeated his old arguments. To defend simplicity of make against simplicity of design. To defend a sharp edge and instincts against millennia of technological advancements and learned calculations. To defend the use of twenty small words to evoke a single, complicated emotion.

Yes, here he was, not in the mood to accept gifts for a pointless non-holiday that she was the only person insisting on this planet that he should get anything for.

“Leela, I have already told you this - repeatedly, and a few spans ago - that we don’t celebrate birthdays. And it’s not even my birthday.”

She pursed her lips at him. “At the core of such celebrations is to appreciate life as it was given to you. That that day is the reason you are here now. It does not matter if today is that specific day.” She thrust the box into his hands.

Impressed, “Eloquent argument. But I still don’t take gifts.” He pushed it back.

She was losing her patience, her jaw squaring as her teeth set themselves. “Narvin,” she snapped, “do not think that gift giving is merely about you! I am attempting to be kind. We have endured much together, and I consider you my friend. You said that you Gallifreyans do not celebrate your days of birth, and if you truly do not care for it, it is simply a day and shall be over soon. A day that I am trying to be grateful for, despite such foolish arguments. Take. My gift.“ The box re-entered his hands. “Or I shall regret this, and if I do, I will make you regret it too.”

Good old fashioned threats. How could he not accept?

He took the box.

He stood there, staring down at it.

“Are you not going to open it?”

He winced. “Do I have t-”

“Yes.”

With a long-enduring sigh, he put his hand on the lid. “It’s not a pig-rat corpse, is it? Not that I don’t appreciate the thought, but there’s better food to be had-”

“Narvin! Open the box!”

He opened the box.

When she had stopped being the Savage to him, he never told her.

He wasn’t exactly sure when it happened, after all. One day, he despised sharing clean, opulent, Gallifreyan existence with the Savage, and then, during a civil war that constantly pressed questions of loyalty, in the squalor of righteous revolution, she had become Leela. At some point he’d realized a kinship in their appreciation for the more simple things in life that allowed a comfort he never felt around most Gallifreyans with their layers of robes, a thousand gilded edges, and hours of traditional droning. Still, he was relatively sure it was something about her blade that had really done it. As stazers became rarer to come by, their limited military forces less trained in precision aiming, there was something simple and practical about a sharp edge held between two pieces of wood to protect the fingers, leather wrapped around for the grip, and two quick motions to render an enemy dead. Motions that everyone knew, and that any fool could learn. As the war began to stretch longer and longer, and the supplies began to get thinner, he found himself admiring it more and more.

“A savage weapon for a savage,” she’d said, once.

“No,” he’d replied suddenly, in a moment of revelation. The first, but not the last time he’d defend her. “A simple weapon with a thousand purposes. Never runs out of charges. What could be less savage than that?” He remembered staring at his broken stazer, its once smooth exterior cracked open to reveal its microchips and generators. A complicated weapon with a single purpose, broken to pieces in a battle. And with only a few charges left, anyway. Instead, a simple and practical weapon, held in the hand of a simple and practical woman, had saved his life.

Several times.

“Leela, I-…”

The blade, pristine and new, seemed to suck in light from its surroundings and reflect it back two-fold. He blinked, momentarily dazzled by the beam and by his chest. A plain double edged blade, a carefully carved but unadorned handle, a required slice of metal for the hilt.

Simplicity. Practicality. Defined in a single object.

He tried again. “Leela, I-…,” but he couldn’t speak.

“It is made from one of your old weapons. I asked one of the people in the Capitol to melt it down for me - they thought I was being foolish!”

One of his old stazers. Thrown into a pile to be recycled and remade. Thousands of years of design, engineering, and craft, melted down into hunk of sharp metal. Arguably a waste. Absolutely a waste, he would have once insisted.

“I know you do not like your items ornate, and I was not much of a carver when I was with my people. But look how I make a fine blade! See how it gleams! The light itself could pierce a mouse! I think it is some of my best work.”

He couldn’t speak.

Leela quieted for a short while. Then, disappointedly, (perhaps a little distraught?)

“You do not like it.”

He couldn’t speak.

A sigh. “It is alright, Narvin. Though you cannot appreciate it, as I thought you might not, it is still a magnificent blade. I will find a use-…”

He grabbed her arm before she could take the box back entirely. In her moment of confusion, he picked up the knife and slipped it in its sheath.

Gently, “Narvin, you do not have to take it just because-…”

He slid the sheath smoothly onto his belt, next to his stazer. A complicated weapon with a simple use, a simple weapon with a thousand uses. He shook his head and tried again. “No, Leela, I… You don’t know how much this… This is…” His face began to heat in frustration, a bizarre sensation when not accompanied by its usual undercurrent of anger.

A realization finally bloomed on Leela’s face and she laughed. “I have taken your words! I have won many victories in my life, but I shall treasure this one, Narvin! The savage steals the voice of a Time Lord with but a gift!”

At this he’s able to scoff and roll his eyes. “Hardly. As I’ve said, birthdays are not a tradition around here. You can’t blame me for not having a proper reaction to-…”

“And with the same generosity, she has restored him!”

She laughed for a time at this and at him, and he decided to let her; his simple gesture of gratitude.

#janeturenne #gallifrey audios #look i'm really sorry about how read mores don't work in the app everyone #alice does writing

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overheard-hufflepuff-common-room · 8 years ago

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Could you please tell me some differences between Gryffindors and Hufflepuffs? How to know if a character is a Hufflepuff or a Gryffindor? Because they have a lot in common.

That’s actually a really great question. The line can be pretty blurry but here are the distinctions as I see them*.

GryffindorTraits: Chivalry, Courage, and DaringElement: FireGryffindor House has been respected by the Wizarding Community for quite some time, and it is easy to see why. Gryffindor House focuses on fostering courage in it’s members to take action despite their fears. In general, more heroic acts of valor or mischievous and daring pranks get more attention than everyday acts of courage. This has caused many non-Gryffindors to claim they engage in “pointless heroics” or are reckless in their decisions. Gryffindors have also been known to have quick tempers and will jump before questioning whether or not it is safe to do so. This isn’t always a bad thing. Gryffindors help people be decisive and will push for action from those who may tend to over analyze the situation.

On the matter of chivalry is where many people seem to confuse Hufflepuff and Gryffindor. Many lump Hufflepuff traits (kindness mainly, but also hardworking) into Gryffindor as being chivalrous when in fact there is a difference. Chivalry is the term from medieval ages for the qualifications to be a Knight. These include courtesy, generosity, valor, and proficiency in combat. Generosity here can include being kind, but it’s definitions focus on being giving which does not have a requirement for kindness as it’s purpose. It is also important to note that with chivalry came an honor system (whether it intended to or not). Doing chivalrous acts gained you honor and reputation. To not follow the rules of chivalry brought dishonor and tarnished your reputation. Thus, one could engage in a chivalrous act for self gain (attention and reputation) rather than doing things because they were right. Depending on one’s philosophical leanings one could argue that being chivalrous and doing the right thing could in fact be mutually exclusive (with focus on the telos (the end purpose of an action) where it is moral/good only if it was done because it was right rather than for the intent of appearing chivalrous It may also happen to be chivalrous, but that isn’t the major factor).

Now, does that mean Gryffindors can’t be kind or hard working? Of course not! There are plenty of Gryffindors who were kind and dedicated. You can’t tell me Neville wasn’t kind and didn’t work hard to get to where he was at the end of the series. And I could go on and on about the kindness and love of the Weasley family. It does mean that there are occasions where a Gryffindor takes action, not because it is right, but because it gains them attention and reputation among their peers *cough Fred and George cough*. A Gryffindor very rarely is going to hide the extent of their abilities and is generally going to be blunt and up front with you.

HufflepuffTraits: Patience, Dedicated, Humble, Kind, LoyalElement: EarthWhile a Gryffindor may act on their fiery passion, a Hufflepuff is often more down to earth. Dependable, stable, patient, humble. These are traits expressed by Hufflepuffs. To a Hufflepuff, reputation isn’t a priority and neither is the goal to be chivalrous. A Hufflepuff values those who are willing to get their hands dirty and put in the work over a fancy title. That doesn’t mean they are disrespectful though! Hufflepuffs often go unnoticed simply because they don’t tend to draw attention to themselves. They do the work because it needs to be done, not for recognition. Where a Gryffindor may favor adventure and daring, a Hufflepuff is more likely to enjoy the comforts of home and can often be a creature of habit.

They can show great depths of patience not commonly found in the other houses, and are willing to work together as a team to pull everyone up together rather than compete against each other. Hufflepuffs don’t usually tend to show competitive behavior, but then they do, prefer fair play and hard work to win over luck. Hufflepuffs tend to stand on a firm foundation for their beliefs and are fiercely loyal to other. Don’t let their calm and patient demeanor fool you. When cornered, a Hufflepuff can fight just as fiercely, if not more so, than any other house. Just because they often chose not display their combat prowess, does not mean they have none.

As we know from the series, Hufflepuffs are not saints or quiet, helpless duffers. There were Hufflepuffs that were selfish, Hufflepuffs who were clumsy but sassy and brave, and many got very competitive and riled up when Harry was a co-champion for Hogwarts during the Tri-Wizard tournament**. At the end of the day though, a Hufflepuff will do what they need to do because they have thought it through and know it’s value.

All that being said, people are complicated and don’t fit into nice clean shapes or divisions. If a person/character has the personality traits described as Gryffindor they may be a Gryffindor, but if they value loyalty and hard work, they may also be a Hufflepuff. Possession of traits doesn’t guarantee house placement. That being said, you might look for certain traits like pride vs humility, passion vs patience, and recognition vs silently doing things that need to be done. They aren’t sure fire ways to identify houses, but it can help paint a broad picture of which House traits the person bets fits.

*As usual, these are the traits the houses have attached to them and that members typically represent. Just because it is the trait of one house does not mean a member of another house cannot have it or value it.

** Though this bitterness stems from the fact that Cedric was chosen fairly and everyone knew how hard he worked whereas Harry always seemed to get lucky (or unlucky depending on your perspective). It violated the rules, and the Hufflepuffs felt cheated out of what they felt was the one shot they had to have people recognize and appreciate them. Just because you don’t always actively seek out praise and appreciation doesn’t mean it isn’t wanted.

#hogwarts #hufflepuff #ask #Gryffindor #hufflepuff gryffindor differences #harry potter #hogwarts houses #Neville Longbottom #nymphadora tonks #tonks #hannah abbott #ernie macmillan #ron weasley #ginny weasley #fred and goerge weasley #molly weasley #lilly evans

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clouds-of-wings · 6 years ago

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I finallyyyy finished Bannlyst. I became slower and slower at reading it over time because the book, uh, starts out great but loses a lot of steam and gets progressively more unrealistic as it goes on.

The beginning is awesome, reading the first scene online was what convinced me to buy the book. The scene is about an old married couple, the parents of the protagonist, sitting outside one Sunday evening and talking. The way the scene is written, with all those little observations about the dynamics that develop between two people who have been together for decades, was a delight to read. He tells her what’s in the newspaper because that’s what he always does, and she lets him talk because he enjoys it so much but she doesn’t really care what he says and thinks about other things instead, but he knows full well that she doesn’t listen and intentionally gets her attention later and alludes to their son coming home which he’d been talking about but she doesn’t know and he relishes her confusion because if you had listened like you pretended... then she becomes angry and he drops the smugness and placates her because if she talks herself into a rage, then...

So I buy the book and no other scene in the rest of the novel is like that.

Which is not to say the book is bad, there’s plenty of good. Lotta was definitely the best part of the book, she should have been the main character... somehow. She is in contact with God and gets divine visions which are canonically real and truthful! The part where she talks of her youth was my favourite part of the book. There’s so much mystery and intensity in her tale. She’s way more interesting than Sven and Sigrun. I know that “being sidelined and not living up to her potential” is established as a big theme in in her life when she is first introduced but 1) that’s no reason for the author to treat her the same way and 2) that theme is somehow dropped completely after the initial conversation between her and Sven ends and is never mentioned again. For the rest of the book, Lotta is happy working for Sigrun and Edvard and helping Sigrun with her escape plan. I found Lotta’s situation very intriguing when she was first introduced - growing up having visions, convinced of her special status, of her grand fate, and then to have nothing come of it, to have her visions ignored by everyone, having to work in a factory, being sort-of-betrayed by her crush friend... that’s fascinating, tragic, relatable, and would have merited a much fuller exploration. But it’s never mentioned again and instead Sigrun and Edvard take center stage for the rest of the second and most of the third act.

And, yes, Sigrun and Edvard. I hated their relationship. When she and Sven first met, I thought they’d end up together. It would have been beautiful. The book would have spent much of its space on these two sensitive, wounded souls slowly getting to know each other in secret, each being appreciated for their kindness and generosity... after their boat ride I was totally on-board, no pun intended, to read a touching romance. And they do get together, but only at the very end after a lot of not being in contact at all, after unnecessary stuff that doesn’t add to their romance and when it does happen, it’s just weirdly, shortly mentioned, Sigrun is suddenly in love with him but also not and... then it isn’t mentioned again?

Sven was in love with her the whole time but his love for her is never really explored, apparently that one boat ride impressed him so much? Or it was just her beauty and kindness, the same thing that fascinates Lotta? I understand if he idealizes her because she’s the only one except for his parents who shows him any kindness when he’s made an outcast, but if so, then he spends years of his life longing for an idealized version of a woman he barely knows, which, again, relatable and touching, but then this should be explored as a function of his lack of real human connections and his emotional need for someone to rescue him from his messed-up life. Instead it’s just said and alluded to a lot that he’s in love with her and that’s that.

And Sigrun’s feelings for both Sven and Edvard are all over the place. I don’t even know what to make of them. Speaking of Edvard, I hated his redemption arc. I thought it was unrealistic and corny. He’s clearly abusive, which becomes especially clear when he enters the room to chase the old guy who was talking to Sigrun away (which in itself is fucked up of course) and Sigrun tells the old guy to run, which tells the reader clearly that stuff like that has happened before. He’s dismissive and possessive towards Sigrun from the beginning, even Sven knows right away (for some reason?) that he might kill her from jealousy. And then Edvard just... realizes he was wrong because he listens to Sigrun and Sven’s conversation at Rhånge, changes completely and becomes chill and not possessive at all? ...right. Not how abusers act, but good for Selma Lagerlöf that she didn’t know that!

Toward the end the story gets more and more unrealistic. Things just come together because they have to, against all odds. Maybe we’re supposed to think that God directs the whole thing because he wants it to happen - this is kind of a theme after all, though the end directly contradicts this idea - but everything that happens from the moment when Sven’s wife shows up at Sigrun’s door is just wayyy too convenient and I rolled my eyes a lot at everything that happened afterwards.

And then there’s the ending, which is just terrible. Every character who has ever said anything bad about Sven goes up to him and apologizes, then Edvard holds a several pages long sermon (not even a term I use dismissively, he’s an actual priest holding an actual sermon) about how awesome Sven is, everyone forgives one another, then Lotta has a vision about how war is wrong, then the whole class gets up and claps, Sven lives with Sigrun for another year until he dies from happiness. Oh, and the most absurdly unrealistic thing in the whole book happens when Edvard just so conveniently finds a letter on an English corpse that just so happens to be addressed to Sven’s foster parents and that just so happens to talk about how Sven is actually not guilty about cannibalism.

We are also told (much too clearly) the moral of the story which is completely absent for much of the book. I had skimmed the Wikipedia summary of the book before reading the book itself and it said that the major theme in the book is how crimes against the living are worse than crimes against the dead and therefore war is the worst crime, but most of the book just isn’t about that at all. Most of the book has nothing to do with that moral. At first, when Sven keeps getting shunned by everyone, I thought the book was going to show how these “respectable” people who think they’re better than Sven are actually way worse than him, but they for the most part remain a faceless collective and these stories seem to only be there to show us what a good person Sven is.

Sven is, by the way, a really good person and I liked that little detail about how he wears “that patient little smile” whenever things are going particularly badly and he just agrees with everything and tries to please everyone - and when he’s feeling better he doesn’t have that smile and he actually stands up for himself. That was a great idea by the author - the common view is that you get cranky when you’re feeling bad and are friendlier when you feel well, but if you’re a low status person (or are used to being treated like one), complying is a lower energy behaviour than insisting on your worth - and I wish she had fleshed out the character more like this. He seems more like a symbolic stand-in for the idea of altruism, which would have been fine if the anti-war message had been stronger and the whole book had been more like an analogy, but since it isn’t, he should have been a more distinctive character. Same with Sigrun, actually, who too is all goodness and patience.

In the end, it was the psychological simplicity and the contrived plot that made me slow to finish the book. But there were a lot of good things too and considering how slow I still am at reading in Swedish, I wouldn’t have finished the book at all if I hadn’t liked it. What will stick with me is more certain scenes of the books that are particularly vivid, especially from Lotta’s tale of her youth, which, as I said, was the part I liked the most (but probably also the part that has the least to do with the overall plot).

#selma lagerlöf #book review #swedish literature #swedish #long rant about moderately famous 100 year old book GO #crowingses

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bowlsister75-blog · 6 years ago

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PIX: Shooting <I>Manmarziyaan</I> with Abhishek

We turn the pages of Abhishek Bachchan's journal as he takes us inside the sets of Manmarziyaan.

Movie-making is certainly not as easy as it seems.

One look at Abhishek Bachchan's Instagram page will confirm it.

The actor beautifully documents the sweat and toil behind the cameras on the sets of his new film Manmarziyaan in 30 days.

Each day captures a moment on set, along with Abhishek's interesting commentary and anecdotes.

Here's looking at Abhishek's Manmarziyaan journey, in his words and pictures.

'This was my second day of shoot in Amritsar. A wonderful scene when Robbie meets Rumi for the 1st time. The location was this beautiful house in the centre of old Amritsar which was meant to be Rumi's home.'

'#RoadToManmarziyaan, over the next couple of weeks I'll share photos from the sets which in a way symbolise my journey during the making of this film. Some personal anecdotes, experiences or just visuals I liked. I want to thank the immensely talented @khamkhaphotoartist for all these beautiful photos and for being such a sport always. Let the countdown begin...'

'They say - After a long dark night... The sun will rise. Sunrise is a symbol of a new beginning. Manmarziyaan, for me, was that new beginning. I hope I can payback the faith that @anuragkashyap10, @aanandlrai and @kanika.d had and showed in me by giving me the opportunity to be a part of this film, Abhishek writes, tagging director Anurag Kashyap, producer Aanand L Rai and writer Kanika Dhillon.

'So here's to eternal hope and beautiful sunrises.'

'We were rehearsing a rather intense scene.... I know it doesn't show from our body language.

'But, this is how @anuragkashyap10 approaches such scenes. He makes the environment and atmosphere very relaxed and allows his actors time to just effortlessly slip into the mind space he wants.

'This was a very new approach for me but I really enjoyed it. He removes the stress and hustle-and-bustle of the set and just gives his actors space and time. A true luxury if you've ever been on a film set.

'And once everyone is at ease and ready he throws you a curve ball!!! "Let's shoot this entire scene in 1 shot #RoadToManmarziyaan."'

'Bonfire nights in Kashmir. #Manmarziyaan #RoadToManmarziyaan #TakeTwo.'

'Two hard working actors!! In between shots on the sets.

'Hope @anuragkashyap10 appreciates the hard work and concentration. Let's not tell him that @taapsee is actually playing Word Trek on her phone and I'm not studying my dialogues but reading the call sheet to check how early I would need to report the next day. #Manmarziyaan #RoadToManmarziyaan #TakeTwo.'

'The people of Amritsar showed us so much love. They made the entire process of filming so enjoyable. Can't wait to go back...Especially for the food which I had to stay away from during our shoot. But, must indulge soon. #RoadToManmarziyaan #Manmarziyaan.'

'The best way to keep warm in Kashmir... Kahva! We were shooting in Sonamarg for the film and my fuel for the entire shoot was Kahva (Kashmiri tea)

'A very nostalgic trip for me... The last time I was there, was as a kid accompanying my father for the shoot of his film Silsila in the early 80's. I have many wonderful memories of that time and of Kashmir.

'It was a big moment for me to be able to also say that I had shot there like my father before me. #RoadToManmarziyaan #manmarziyaan.'

'Wait... So should I flex, or should I pout?... Aha!! I'll do both.

'Result? Epic fail! #RoadToManmarziyaan #Manmarziyaan.'

'In between shots in Kashmir. We were shooting a song.

'Playing the unofficial game of the #Manmarziyaan team... Word Trek.

'All were trying to catch up to the champion @anuragkashyap10 We'll catch him soon. #RoadToManmarziyaan.'

'In between takes while shooting the beautiful track "chonch ladiyaan". Possibly one of the fastest song shoots I've ever done. @anuragkashyap10 finished shooting the day in about an hour! 2 shots and he was done.

'Hence, we had a lot of time to hang out on set as is evident in the above photo. #Manmarziyaan #RoadToManmarziyaan.'

'While making a film you're part of a larger family...

'We were lucky to be visited by the children of our wonderful steadycam operator Manoj. It was his birthday and his wife and kids came to spend time with him.

'I truly love this about our industry; one big family!!

'And as my brother @karanjohar said... It's all about loving your family. #Manmarziyaan #RoadToManmarziyaan #TakeTwo.'

'So @anuragkashyap10 is prone to give random hugs to his actors and even start dancing if he likes the shot they've given. Here's proof!!!

He could also be trying to get me to finish breakfast and get into hair and wardrobe. (If you're shooting in Amritsar you can only imagine what the breakfast must've been like!!)

'But the hug story looks and sounds better. #Manmarziyaan #RoadToManmarziyaan.'

'The mirror is a great tool for an actor.

'Many of us rehearse our scenes in a mirror while we do our make-up. Similar to how dancers rehearse in front of a mirror. 'Also, just before our shot we tend to do a last check to make sure everything is looking as it should be. For me, personally, it kind of acts like a switch. Once you take a look... It's all systems go!!!

'Also, it's great to make sure there's nothing stuck in your nose!! #Manmarziyaan #RoadToManmarziyaan.'

'This was my 1st day of shoot for #Manmarziyaan. We were shooting in a night club. @kanika.d our immensely talented writer and I were rehearsing my lines for the day.'

'From the 1st time I met and interacted with her, I tease her saying that the film is actually her biopic ( which it clearly is NOT).

'I loved her involvement in her work and even her dedication to @anuragkashyap10 's vision.

'To have the writer on set is such a boon and offers a very unique perspective to the material, especially to the actors.

'Kanika worked so selflessly on the film and was so generous with sharing her work with us and being so supportive and open to different interpretations to her written work. She made all of us better, and for that I will be eternally thankful. #RoadToManmarziyaan.'

'It takes a village!

'Our talented and hard working AD and costume teams worked tirelessly to make sure Robbie looked and acted the part. They were also a constant source of great music. #RoadToManmarziyaan #Manmarziyaan.'

'I always say that make-up is an actors armour. And make-up artistes one of the most important people of an actors team.

'Vinod Upadhyay has been doing my make-up on and off since Dostana. A bond of trust and belief. He was another integral part of me becoming Robbie. #TeamRobbie #RoadToManmarziyaan #Manmarziyaan.'

'Coffee, a good script and conversation! @anuragkashyap10 provides all three. #RoadToManmarziyaan #Manmarziyaan.'

'Sometimes expressions speak louder than words.

'This when, your director suddenly decides that it would be a great idea for @taapsee to put snow down your back in the shot when you're shooting in sub zero temperatures.

'Needless to say, there wasn't much love for @anuragkashyap10 that day. #Manmarziyaan #RoadToManmarziyaan.'

'My first visit to the sets of #Manmarziyaan. I wasn't shooting but @anuragkashyap10 had asked me to come on set just to get an understanding of the set and film. In film parlance we call it "feel"!

'I enjoyed the experience so much that often, even when I wasn't shooting I would come and hang on the sets and just observe this amazing group of actors perform. #RoadToManmarziyaan #TakeTwo.'

'With my favourite... @probirsabnis. Multi-talented, Actor, Assistant Director, singer, DJ, creative producer and all time favourite punching Bag!!!

'There's always one person in a unit that you bond with and connect with. They become the go-to person for everything you need to know and want. Probir or "Farjee bandook" as I lovingly call him, was that guy. A great sport and an all round great guy.

'Good luck with all your future endeavours and best wishes always FB. #RoadToManmarziyaan #Manmarziyaan.'

'No matter what the content, the aim is to put a smile on your directors and audiences face.'

'A very tough and intense scene in the film. But true to style of @anuragkashyap10 everyone was all smiles. This approach of his, sets a very relaxed tone and atmosphere.

'Makes the filming process a little less intimidating.'

'Just loved this moment captured by @Khamkhaphotoartist.

'Despite all the activity around an actor you have to find your own peace and concentrate on the task at hand. This task was trying not to get fumigated by hair spray!!!

'Raghu my hairstylist for the film works for the brilliant @aalimhakim and was a constant source of entertainment and stress equally for me. He took his revenge with his hair spray!'

'Hanging out at the video village (the video monitor area) where the Director calls the shots from,' Abhishek writes tagging Anurag Kashyap, Kanika Dhillon and actors Sachdeva Saurabh and Taapsee Pannu.

On Anurag's birthday on September 10, Abhishek writes, 'May you always smile. So much to say and thank you for. Will wait to do it in person.'

'Possibly the one time this tornado of an actor was calm and still....

'@taapsee you were an absolute pleasure to collaborate with. Your crazy energy has translated so beautifully into Rumi. I don't think anyone would disagree that you were born to play Rumi. The only irreplaceable cast member in the entire film. Thank you for your love, generosity and patience with me.

'Don't forget @vickykaushal99 and me during your exceptance speeches.'

Photographs: Kind courtesy Abhishek Bachchan/Instagram

Source: http://www.rediff.com/movies/special/pix-shooting-manmarziyaan-with-abhishek/20180912.htm

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writingwithadinosaur · 8 years ago

Text

“Fight Me”

“Fight Me” - One Shot

Bruce Wayne x Reader

My Full Masterlist - Here

Word Count: 1509

Key: Y/N = Your Name, L/N = Your Last Name, H/C = Your Hair Color, E/C = Your Eye Color

Warnings: Cursing

Summary: Reader lives with her long time friend, Bruce, and Alfred. After a particularly hard day, the reader has a bit of a meltdown and Bruce helps.

Author’s Note: Welcome to my first Bruce Wayne x Reader fic. I don’t usually read or write for this character, but this idea popped into my head and I ran with it. I am pleased with it and feel good writing it. Writing is therapeutic for me.

This is my interpretation of the characters and the reader is one of my own creation. I leave the names and such open so you can put your own name and features in or you can create your own. I know this may not please everyone, but I’m writing this for myself. I hope people will enjoy this fanfic, but I know that you can’t please everyone.

If you would like to be tagged in any future pieces, please let me know! And as always, feedback is greatly appreciated!

DreaSaurusREX

Tags (If you want to be removed, please let me know!): @luciebell-writes , @welcome-to-cobblepothell

You were in college to originally follow your family’s footsteps and become a doctor. After one semester of the required classes for you major, you couldn’t handle it. Deciding to follow your true passion, you changed your major to fashion and costume design. As soon as your parents heard about this, they cut you off. You already had a kind of strained relationship with your parents. They didn’t accept a lot of your choices or respect your opinions. Apparently this was the breaking point for them.

Thank god for your best friend. While you insisted that you were okay and didn’t want to be an inconvenience, Bruce Wayne assured you that you were not a problem and practically moved you in as soon as he heard the situation. Not only did Bruce want you to move in after what happened, Alfred insisted.

You were thankful for their generosity, and you never took them for granted. You tried to help out as much as possible. Cleaning and cooking even though Alfred and Bruce told you to not worry about it. Cooking was a pleasant pastime for you. You tried to cook for them as much as possible.

Being friends with Bruce was amazing and you were grateful for every day you spent with him. Knowing him for so long and being so close with him made your ever growing crush on him inevitable. But you knew better than to even bring up such an idea. Bruce had so much to deal with after his parent’s murder and he is still sorting things out. You couldn’t add to his long list of stresses or ruin what you had. He was all you had right now.

~~~~~~~~

It’s been a year or so since you’ve moved in with Bruce and Alfred. You’ve seen the best and worst times for each of them. You couldn’t imagine living anywhere else right now. You’re job at a local costume shop in the city was okay, your studies are still going, and your crush on Bruce was growing every day. You enjoyed your life here.

Tonight however was one of those nights where everything was hitting you at once and you had to really hold yourself together or else you would lose your mind. Assignments were getting difficult, your boss decided to be extra bitchy today, and you just felt like a pile of shit. You needed to get this anger out or else you were going to explode.

Living with Bruce and Alfred, you were able to join in on some training sessions and learn how to fight and protect yourself. In Gotham, those skills are a huge benefit. Through this training, you knew how great it felt to throw punches and kick the shit out of the punching bag. That seems like the best option for dealing with the effects of today.

~~~~~~~~

You had music blasting through your headphones as you practiced your fighting. You didn’t pay attention to your body screaming at you to break as you focused more on the music and just throwing punch after punch.

One punch landed weird against the bag and you felt a very sharp pain go from your wrist, travel up your arm, and stay at your wrist. Guess this was a sign for you to take a break.

You walked to the bench and grab your water bottle as you looked at your watch. Almost an hour straight. If Bruce or Alfred found that out, they’d give you hell for it. As you took a sip of water, you jumped when you heard Bruce clear his throat.

“You’re going to hurt yourself if you keep going like that. An hour and no break? Don’t think I didn’t notice, (Y/N).” He was leaning against the doorframe a bit. There was a hint of worry on his face, but it was barely noticeable. You listened to him most of the time when it came to training, and he usually never let you train alone. He was more skilled and you had a tendency to overwork yourself, today was an example. Bruce wanted to make sure you were safe.

Today was different for you though. You were pissed and felt like you were going to mentally break down any second. Doing things like this kept your mind off of the bullshit. You were not in the mood to deal with Bruce today.

“Dont. I really don’t want to be babysat.”

“You’re letting your emotions get in the way of your focus. It’s going to affect your fighting. It looks like it already has.” He motioned to your wrist that you hand cradled while you wrapped it a bit more. Your anger bubbled over and you lost your cool.

“Fight me.” You kicked at him and he knocked your foot back down to the ground.

“(Y/N), ple--” He tried to talk to you but you kicked again. He blocked it again.

“Fucking. Fight. Me.” You lunged at him again and again. You just wanted one successful hit on him, but Bruce was able to dodge all of your attacks. Bruce grabbed your wrist when you tried to throw one of your final punches.

“Just fucking fight back goddamnit!” You yelled at his face as you used your other hand to try to attack. He grabbed that wrist too.

The two of you made eye contact. He had a very serious facial expression. It looked like a complicated mix of anger, fear, worry, and sadness. You felt your mental wall splinter more and more. Then he spoke.

“No. I am not going to fight you. You’re unstable and going to end up getting hurt more. Now please, stop and rest.”

You lost it. You felt the tears well in your eyes as you were attempting to fight, but they were now free falling. Bruce still had a grip on your wrists as you crumpled a bit. He quickly went from holding your wrists to wrapping his arms around you and guiding you to the bench to sit down.

You let it all out, it was necessary after everything lately, and Bruce just held you. This wasn’t the first time he’s comforted you, so he knew what to do to help calm you down a bit quicker. Softly running his in random patterns on your back or arm, slightly rocking, and patience.

It took a couple of minutes for you to regain your composure. Once you did so, you both just sat there, your head on his shoulder and his arm still wrapped around you. You decided to speak up.

“I’m sorry about all of that, Bruce. It hasn’t been the best of days today and I guess everything got too much. I thought this would help, but I shouldn’t have been so stupid about it.”

“It wasn’t stupid, (Y/N). You’re stressed out and needed an outlet. It wasn’t the safest way of practicing, but it could have ended a lot worse. I’m worried about you though.”

Bruce moved his hand down and laced his fingers with yours. You didn’t want to read into it too much. It was probably just a kind and caring gesture to help you calm down. That being said, you couldn’t help the small glimmer of hope that sprouted in your thoughts and left a small smile on your face.

“Can I admit something to you?” He was a bit quieter, and there was a bit of waving in his voice. He was nervous about whatever he was going to tell you.

“Of course, Bruce.” You had an idea of where this could go, and you really hoped it was that and not something totally different.

“I hope this isn’t weird timing but I care about you. A lot. You are my best friend and one of the best things I have in my life. Through the craziness going on lately, you’ve been my rock. What I’m trying to say is… I love you, (Y/N). I enjoy having you in my life and I love you. I don’t know how you feel, but I hope this doesn’t ruin our friendship.”

Your smile grew bigger and you readjusted your hand to fit better in his. You let a breath out before responding.

“Bruce, you have no idea how long I’ve wanted you to say something like that.” You lifted your head and looked in his eyes. A smile formed on his face to match yours.

“Then can I ask you something?” His voice was a little louder this time, and there wasn’t too much nervousness shown.

“Yes?”

“Can we- I mean, can I- Is it okay if-” It was kind of adorable how nervous he was about this.

You couldn’t wait for him to find the right words. You giggled a little bit before wrapping your arms around his neck and pulling him into a kiss. His hands found their way around your waist pulling you closer to him.

Everything in this moment felt right. After this, you knew you’d be so much better.

#Bruce Wayne x Reader #gotham imagine #gotham fanfiction #gotham fic #bruce x reader

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loraleislysiren · 8 years ago

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Siren Song - 8

For the remainder of the Charms lesson, Draco and Y/N didn’t speak, make eye contact, or interact in any way. Instead, Y/N focused intently on repairing her lilac and gold filigree teapot. Using reparo, she managed to fix her porcelain second quickest in the class. Finishing only behind Hermione, who was indeed still in possession of her wand, Y/N was pleased with her own command of the spell.

The way she figured it, Draco could keep her wand until the end of class. She didn’t need it yet.

Not wanting to tarnish her reputation with her Charms professor, especially after Flitwick had already scolded her for using her magic against Draco, she swiftly formulated a plan to take her wand back after class. Y/N would simply wait until they were out of the classroom and she’d attempt to discretely accio it back. Easy, she hoped.

She wasn’t about to risk getting into further trouble in class, not because of him. He was simply not worth it she decided.

When Flitwick dismissed class, Y/N scanned the room for Blaise. They had Potions together next and he was going to show her how to get there.

Professor Flitwick, however, had no knowledge of, and thus no regard for Y/N’s intentions. He approached the Slytherin student as she was collecting her bag from the chair. “Ms. L/N.”

“Yes, Professor?”

“I’d like to continue working with you on developing your wandless magic. Perhaps pick up where your Ilvermorny instructor left off. Would this be something you’d be interested in?”

Y/N smiled, “Absolutely. I’m definitely interested in that.” A perfectionist through and through, she genuinely wanted to hone her craft. She took pride in the fact that her magical abilities were distinct from her peers, although she was careful not to intentionally brag about it.

“From what I have seen today, you have a particular gift with charms.”

“Thank you. I’ve always loved Charms class and just charms in general.” She spoke honestly.

“I can see that, and you have a real knack for it, it seems. I have a book you might find interesting, and you may borrow it if you like.”

An avid reader, Y/N replied, “I would, sir, thank you.”

“Give me just one moment, and I’ll grab it for you.” Flitwick turned his back on his student, walked to the front of the classroom, and began cycling through the titles of a stack of books taller than himself.

As she waited for Flitwick, Y/N noticed Blaise waiting next to the door with a tall brunette boy she guessed to be Theo. Not sure of how long Flitwick would take, she motioned for them to go ahead and head on without her.

She directed her attention back to her professor who was carefully pulling a dingy salmon colored book from the middle of the stack. Flitwick walked back to Y/N and handed her the book. The pages were gilded and its title read Charmed, Naturally: A Guide for Abandoning the Wand.

“It contains techniques and tips on learning to channel your magic without your wand. You might find some of the advice pertinent to you.”

“Thank you, Professor. I can’t wait to look through it.” She smiled, appreciating his generosity.

“Ms. L/N, just make sure you bring your wand to class next time, just in case. And I hope you have a great day.”

“You too, Professor Flitwick. Thank you.” She turned and exited the classroom.

As the door behind Y/N shut, a voice spoke up from her right, “That was pretty impressive, you know.” Hermione offered a small smile to the Slytherin girl. “Not just about the wandless magic, which if I might add, I’ve never seen anyone our age do, but also what you did with Malfoy. I didn’t want to say anything in there, but did you see his face? I don’t think he quite expected that.” The brunette’s smile broke into a large grin. She had been waiting for Y/N to exit the classroom so the pair could continue talking.

“I honestly wasn’t expecting it either. I lost it when I saw that he had my wand. Did you see that? He had my wand literally up his sleeve.” She shook her head in annoyance. “He must have taken it out of my bag or something. I knew I had it with me earlier!” She paused, briefly in thought. “But that’s not even what irritates me the most… he was just going to let me get in trouble with Flitwick for something he did, for something that was his fault. ” Y/N exhaled a frustrated sigh.

“That’s Draco Malfoy for you. A coward who cares about no one but himself.” The Gryffindor’s speech turned hard and unapologetic.

“Yeah, I seem to get that impression. Last night at dinner he told me I wasn’t aloud to sit near him because… “ Y/N hoped Hermione was more openminded than some of her Slytherin compatriots, “because I think the whole ‘blood status matters’ argument is ridiculous. And apparently he cares very deeply about blood purity.” She punctuated the sentence with a roll of her eyes.

Hermione’s eyes, however, momentarily flashed dark; she knew firsthand of Malfoy’s cruel treatment towards muggle borns. “I couldn’t agree with you more. It’s honestly barbaric to think that your blood purity determines your capability as a witch or wizard. It’s insulting. So, are you muggle born?”

“No, but I hope you won’t hold that against me.” Y/N smiled, wanting to change the conversation away from Draco Malfoy and blood purity.

“Not at all.”

“Perfect. Because I’ve got a favor to ask of you.”

“Alright, what would the favor be?” Hermione’s voice was now riddled with trepidation. “Could you possibly help me find my way to the Potions classroom? I was told that Slytherins have Potions with Gryffindors after Charms. I know I’m headed back down to the dungeon, but would you mind if I tagged along with you? If you’re headed that way… ”

Hermione chuckled lightly, “Why do you think I waited for you? Navigating this castle, especially as a new student, can be tricky.” “Yeah, I’m kind of surprised no one gave me a map of the castle. Ilvermorny passes out maps to first years so they don’t get lost. But maybe it’s Hogwarts way of encouraging new students to talk to people.” Y/N smiled at the brunette.

Truth be told, in spite of the warnings about Gryffindors, Y/N was happy to have Hermione’s company. From what little time she had spent with her in Charms and in the hallway, the intuitive Slytherin felt like Hermione was a decent person. At least she seemed more amiable and accepting than her Slytherin roommates. Hermione and Y/N twisted through the castle’s dungeon passages before arriving at the Potions classroom. Y/N pushed open the heavy door, and the girls entered the chilly room.

Stepping just over the room’s threshold and then stopping, Y/N was struck by how different this classroom felt from the rest of Hogwarts. The initial word her mind impressed upon the room was somber. The air was still, stagnant, and to Y/N, seemed almost sepulchral.

Whereas the Charms classroom was airy and inviting (with massive windows filtering in dusty sunlight onto warm wooden floors), the Potions room was dim and slightly oppressive. Light, an enemy to the room, fought through a singular, small window and Y/N couldn’t distinguish if its source was natural or magical. Pallid candles that dripped melting wax dotted the room in a feeble attempt to provide more illumination. Candlelight flickered against the stones walls and low, vaulted dome ceilings. Blackwood shelves, which lined three quarters of the room’s walls, contained hundreds of glass jars of varying sizes. The contents of the jars, marked by labels written in scrawling black ink, contained: dried plants of all designs and colors, pickled animal parts preserved in (yellow, green, and brown) brine, incandescent, iridescent, shimmery bug wings, dried and shriveled beans, herbs, coarse and fine powders, multi-colored liquids, and numerous other ingredients ready to be plucked for the cauldron at a moments notice.

Hermione interrupted Y/N’s cataloguing of the potion ingredients, “Professor Snape assigns us seats. I’d wait to find a seat until he gives you one. Or you could end up taking someone else’s seat, and I don’t think he’d be too happy with that.”

“Thanks for the tip.” She smiled at Hermione as the Gryffindor found her seat. Over the next few minutes, the Potions classroom began to fill with students locating their spots. Y/N wondered who she would sit next to and hoped she wouldn’t be forced to sit alone. At the back of the classroom she noticed an empty table where no one had chanced to sit yet.

“Ms. L/N,” Professor Snape — a monochromatic image of black hair, sallow skin, and black robes — appeared from the shadows of the room. Had he been standing there all along?

Snape continued and drew the attention of the rest of his students, “We are going to create a Girding Potion today. Are you familiar with it?” He spoke to everyone, yet he addressed the question directly to Y/N.

Y/N, who wasn’t expecting to be interrogated before even finding a seat, hesitated a moment, “A Girding Potion, Professor?”

“Yes, Ms. L/N, a Girding Potion. Are you familiar with it?” Snape leered at the girl, his patience waning by the second.

“I’ve heard of it, but I’ve never made it.”

“And could you enlighten me to its purpose?” Towards the front of the classroom, Hermione’s hand shot straight up in the air.

Y/N articulated, “A Girding Potion is for endurance. It’s like a boost for your stamina, I believe.”

Snape’s face partially softened towards the Slytherin at her correct answer. “Ms. L/N is correct. Five points to Slytherin.”

Snape paced the length of the room as he spoke. “We will be making the Girding Potion today. It is indeed known for bolstering endurance, and a single dosage can last up to two weeks. Known to provide its user with a considerable boost of fortitude, I caution any of you thinking about drinking this potion in large quantities. More than two vials at a time can have detrimental effects.

You will find the list of ingredients and directions on the board, as always. You will be creating this potion individually, but you may discuss the directions with your partner. I will be circling the room providing guidance so none of you burn down,” he stared at Neville Longbottom, “or blow up,” he moved his gaze to Seamus Finnegan, “my classroom.”

Snape looked over his students’ faces, anticipating questions. When none arose, he walked to the back of the room and spoke, “You may begin. You have until the end of class.”

“Ms. L/N,” Snape now stood ten paces in front of Y/N, “you will be working with Mr. Malfoy.” In creeping horror, she realized her professor was standing next to a table with Draco, Crabbe, and Goyle. Was this really happening? Of all the people Snape could have chosen, did it have to be him? Also shocked by Snape’s decision, Draco’s eyes widened and his mouth raced to catch up with his thoughts about his new Potions partner, “But Professor, don’t you think that—“

Snape cut him short, “You see, Ms. L/N, I’ve been generous and let these three,” he rapped on the Slytherin boys’ table, “work together. We had an odd number of students, and now we don’t. That is why Mr. Malfoy,” Snape now turned to Draco, “will sit with you and be your Potions partner.”

“Professor, are you sure?“ Draco, protesting, was desperate for Snape to change his mind. With a slew of reasons popping into his head, Draco knew sitting next to Y/N would be a complicated distraction. “I’m sure there is someone else who would —“

“Do not challenge me, Mr. Malfoy. Your grades are exceptional in my class, and with exception comes privilege. You will help Ms. L/N, is that clear?” Snape’s tone was dry and unyielding.

“Yes, Professor.” Those words were bitter in Draco’s mouth and he had to fight the urge to keep arguing with Snape. He knew he had lost this battle.

Y/N and Draco’s belongings (bags, cauldrons, quills, wands) appeared at the once empty table at the back of the room. The Slytherins took their spots in their new seats.

“Thank you, Professor.” Y/N managed to utter before Snape turned and walked away. The moment Snape was out of earshot, Y/N rounded on the blonde next to her and demanded, “Give me back my wand. Right now.” Her voice was firm, but calm.

Draco, not to be intimidated by a girl much smaller than he was, took a step towards Y/N and closed the distance between the pair considerably. He was still fuming that she had drenched him with water in front of everyone; Draco was use to embarrassing others, not the other way around. He didn’t handle humiliation well, especially from a blood traitor new girl. There was no way he was going to make this easy for her. “And why would I want to do that?” He taunted her.

“Because it’s not yours. Now give it back to me.”

“Demanding, aren’t we? You’re not even going to say pretty please? Now that’s rude.” Draco sneered at Y/N.

Y/N, not backing down, folded her arms across her chest and stared hard at the boy in front at her. “Give. Me. My. Wand. Or —”

“Or what? What are you going to do? Conjure some more water to drop over my head? Good luck, you’ll earn detention with Snape. He won’t be easy with you like Flitwick was.”

Unfortunately, Y/N believed he was probably telling the truth. She got the impression that her Potions professor wouldn’t tolerate such behavior without substantial punishment. “Maybe I’ll just tell Snape the truth… that you took my wand from me and won’t return it.”

Draco challenged her, “Go ahead, tattle. Do it. Snape won’t believe you. I’m his favorite student. He’ll listen to me any day over you.” Draco was confident in this fact. “Besides, he doesn’t allow wands out anyway. But go ahead, see what happens.”

Y/N was growing irritated. “Seriously? What is wrong with you? Do you think holding my wand hostage is a game? Is it fun for you?”

“Did you think it was fun dropping a ball of water over my head?”

“Yes,” Y/N replied cheekily without hesitation. “But you deserved it.”

Draco took another step closer to her, “Then I think this is great fun. And you deserve it.” The corners of his mouth turned up maliciously. His confidence swelled and he felt like he had regained control over her. Draco knew he had the upper hand against Y/N. “Let’s make a deal, shall we?”

“How about we skip the deal and you just give me my wand back.” She wanted none of his bullshit bargaining.

“No no no. Where’s the fun in that? You had your fun with me, now it’s my turn.” He paused for a moment, caught up in a thought. “How about this: if you make a better Girding Potion than me, you can have your wand back.”

She narrowed her eyes at Draco and weighed her odds. “Okay. Deal. But, if I win, if my potion is better, not only do I get my wand back, but you don’t ever again get to tell me where I can and can’t sit. Ever.”

Was she really taking this challenge? Draco hadn’t expected her to concede, let demand something else from him if she was victorious. His arrogance got the best of him, though, and Draco accepted, “Fine. But what do I get if I win?”

“What do you want from me?”

Draco could think of a good many things he wanted from Y/N, none of which he particularly wanted to make public to her. His mind raced, he pondered, “How about…” he stalled, then settled firmly on his answer. “A kiss.” His eyes darted to her lips for a half a second.

Y/N wasn’t sure what Draco was going to come up with, but she definitely didn’t think it would be that. He was handsome, but he had been an ass to her. Shocked and caught off guard, Y/N scoffed, “Absolutely not. I’m not kissing you. Choose something else.”

“Did I say that I wanted you to kiss me? Don’t flatter yourself, L/N.” His voice was a knife, sharp and cutting, and he stressed her last name as if just saying the syllables gave him displeasure. “I would never kiss you.” He knew this was a lie.

“You’ll kiss whoever I want you to kiss, whenever I want you to do it. No house is off limits. I can choose any student I want.” He reveled smugly in his cunningness; he had a plan.

Although Y/N’s better logic warned her to weigh her options more carefully, her pride betrayed her reluctance. She couldn’t attest to how dexterous Draco was at potion making, but she was sure of her own skill. Competitive by nature, Y/N badly wanted to beat him and wipe the smirk off his face. She was use to being underestimated and used this to her advantage, “Fine, Malfoy. It’s a deal.”

Y/N extended her hand to Draco to seal their pact. Draco took her hand in his. Their handshake, which was more like a gentle squeeze, lasted a few awkward seconds longer than either party had anticipated.

“Alright then,” Draco chided, “you’re on.”

#draco x reader #draco malfoy x reader #harry potter fanfiction #harry potter fandom #harry potter x reader #harry potter #slytherin #slytherin house #slytherin pride #blaise zabini #hermione granger #professor flitwick #professor snape #snape #severus snape #hogwarts #charms #potions #loraleisirensong

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katropalis · 7 years ago

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Out of Character // Mun information

Name/Nickname: Katherine Age: 21 Preferred pronouns: she/her Time Zone: UTC+8 Activity Level: 5/10; I’m on semester break and my timezone is probably still not very compatible with everyone else’s, but I’ll do my best to keep up!!! What is the thing that attracted you to this group and/or specific character? Honestly, I couldn’t stay away from this group for long especially with all these new and amazing bios! I felt drawn to Vince because I connect with his ambition and desire to make things better, and I think it’d be super fun to bring out the good and bad sides to such a forceful personality. Are you willing to have at least one ongoing para at all times after being a member for two weeks? Yes, I look forward to it!

In Character // Getting to know your muse

Name: Vincente Mateo Sinclair Valentin

Vincente (veen-SEHN-tay): the Spanish variant of Vincent, means ‘the conqueror’ or ‘to conquer’

Mateo (mat-EH-oh): means ‘of God’

Sinclair: light, clarity

Valentin (val-en-teen): strong, a name of emperors

Gender/Gender Identity: cis male, he/him

Age & Birthday: 22 March, 1958

Astrological sign: Aries

(Taken from The Only Astrology Book You’ll Ever Need by Joanna Martine Woolfolk)

“The Inner You: You like to be in charge – you want to control your own projects and plans and not be under anyone else’s thumb. You have an intense drive to succeed and put a lot of pressure on yourself. Inside, you’re filled with nervous energy and worry about how you’re going to handle everything. You hate to be bored; you’re always looking for something different – new people and places that promise excitement and adventure. You have very little patience; you need to practice sticking things out. You’re also impatient with people who can’t resolve a problem. You believe in taking action. What you do have are great generosity and enthusiasm. And although you suffer from occasional self-doubt, you know that if you really want to do something, you can!

How Others See You: Your upbeat, magnetic personality pulls people toward you – you bring excitement into their lives. They envy your aggressiveness in meeting a challenge. Whatever the problem, you give the impression that you have an answer ready. You’re also admired for your honesty; you don’t gloss over difficulties. What people don’t like is your tendency towards bossiness and your deserved reputation for being sharp-tongued. They’re afraid to cross you in an argument because they know you can cut them to the quick.”

House & Year: Ravenclaw Alumni

Sexuality: Vince is a man of no boundaries and that includes his sexuality. Everyone in his year knew that he had a rather embarrassing crush on The Grey Lady since his third year, but what he would never tell them is that he also had one on Sir Nicholas de Mimsy-Porpington since his first.

Where do they live when not at Hogwarts?

Vince grew up in London just outside of Vauxhall with his dad, Gabriel Emmanuel Sinclair Luna, and his grandmother. Their flat can be described as both comfortable and modest; whenever he thinks about it, the sight of textbooks, the smell of ensamadas, and the memory of a strict but loving family are what always pop into mind.

Despite this though, he moved out the summer of his sixth year. He had always known that he was going to, essentially, choose the magical world over the muggle one, and was the kind of person to ‘go big or go home’. Being an underappreciated and unpaid intern at the Daily Prophet obviously didn’t give him many options, but he managed to convince Tom in the Leaky Cauldron to allow a scrappy and desperate sixteen year old a room above the pub. It’s out of practicality and a genuine love for the Soup Leaky, Leaky that he still lives there now.

Sum your character up in three words: “He’s just non-stop!”

Are you requesting any changes to the bio? I’d like to please request a FC change to Santiago Cabrera. He’s, like, 39 now but his gifs are from when he’s a lot younger haha. But I also don’t think he can necessarily pass as a 19 year old, so if it’s also alright is it possible to bump his age up to 20? Just for gif-age-range this is the youngest he looks in most of them [x] and this [x][x] is the oldest I’ll use. Thank you!

History // On a journey to the past

What are the five most significant events in your characters life?

When Vince was five, he caught his dad staring at a picture that he always kept in his wallet before hastily stuffing it back inside and wiping his eyes. A couple hours after, he asked him what he’d been looking at. Even at that age it wasn’t hard for him to read other people, especially his dad. Sometimes he could’ve sworn that he was able to hear others’ thoughts – nothing clear, but words here and there, as if minds were radios and he’d somehow managed to tune his on the same frequency as someone else’s.

Anyways, he asked who it was and immediately knew that it wasn’t something the older Sinclair wanted to talk about. He expected to be brushed off, maybe even scolded, so it was an immense surprise when his father reached into his back pocket and simply answered ‘your mother’.

Natalia Rose Valentin Pena was diagnosed with Stage 3 breast cancer when her son was seven months old, and Vince knows this. She loved to sing, somehow managed to burn arroz caldo, and her favorite color was green. He also knows this. The point here being that his father never once withheld answers, never once lied about who she was and how she was once the center of their worlds. He always got the truth, and, admittedly it didn’t take the loss or pain or sorrow away – however, it didn’t allow them to fester either. It helped them all move on. He always got the truth, and Vince appreciated that. And he learned that he could always get it, if only he were to ask.

ii.

Growing up as an only child sucks. Growing up as an only child with a wild imagination and the ability (but not the permission) to use actual and literal magic was pure torture. At least, it always felt this way to Vince. A highly sociable person, he thrived on the atmosphere of Ravenclaw Tower; the constant flow of information, the calls for creativity, and admittedly poorly thought-out (but still awesome) fact that he had to live with people whose brains were just as starving as his was was right up his alley. Walking into all of this his first year of Hogwarts, Vince couldn’t imagine anything better.

Until his second year.

It’s merely a matter of perspective and that weird bit of egotism one always has at twelve years old, but he really couldn’t help but think that all the first years were so small. They were even smaller when he became a third year. It wasn’t until his fourth year that he really paid any attention to them though, and that only happened because little Eloise Templeton looked like she was about to burst into tears.

It wasn’t the first time the Eagle Knocker reduced a Ravenclaw to this, but Vince had noticed that the younger student hadn’t really even approached the door. When he asked what was stumping her about the riddle, all he got was a jerky shake of the head and a whispered “I’ve, um, never tried before”.

Now, Vince knew all about not wanting to get a question wrong. Hell, in those days he seriously wouldn’t have been surprised if his boggart was actually McGonagall pointing straight at him (and for some reason clutching a rat) declaring ‘wrong, Mr. Sinclair!’. He also knew that if he didn’t get started on his essay on The Effects of a Potion With No Physical Effects then he’d never get it finished, but for some reason watching the anxious way Eloise studied the knocker had compelled something inside him.

He’d stepped up to the doorway and asked its riddle. And then he turned back to Eloise and asked her what she thought the answer was. It was clear that she was surprised, but he smiled at her until she managed an answer. It didn’t satisfy the knocker, but they stayed out there for another six minutes until they finally came up with a solution that worked.

Honestly, Vince didn’t even think about it afterwards until he noticed that the younger Ravenclaw became more and more outspoken, less and less anxious to make noise in the common room. And it made him happy – he got this indescribable swell of pride hearing her talk nonstop and unabashedly share her opinions.

After that, he made it a point to let those younger than him try to solve the riddle first. It was really the only time he ever felt like he didn’t need to be the first one right all the time. And even more, he felt a protective of all those he had to give a little push to – because he understood their anxiety, and he understood that all one really needs is a chance to prove themselves. It was then on that he swore to always give those who needed that chance.

iii.

You know that one class that just creeps on and on and you can literally feel yourself aging closer to death as it does? And you know that one kid who always raises their hand in that class, engaged in the lesson for some reason, and making it seem a little longer? History of Magic was that one class. Vince was that one kid.

He always ignored the groans and filthy looks shot at him whenever he did raise his hand though. Because he was skeptical, goddammit.

Especially when it came to the Goblin Rebellions.

“Wait, what do you mean there are no accounts written about the Goblin Rebellions by goblins in the book?”

“Exactly what I said, Mr. Stewart.”

“Sinclair, sir – but, sir, that doesn’t make sense!”

And on the topic on the Werewolf Code of Conduct:

“Sir, with the advancements in legilimency and apparent legality of veritaserum, why couldn’t the Ministry interview and examine these wizards and see that their temperament only fluctuated towards violence when they were turning and not the days in-between?”

“Mr. Sanchez, please do not stand on your chair.”

“But, sir – the evidence, where is it?!”

It got to the point where Binns simply ignored Vince, steadfastly droning forward with his lectures despite attempted interruptions. That didn’t deter him though. When fifth year came around, he elected to take Ancient Runes as well as picking up Ghoul Studies and Ancient Studies. He was just appalled that the ‘history’ they were learning revolved around all the times wizards oppressed another sentient being and got away with it. He figured that there had to be other sources, other stories untold, and that they would be in places encrypted within foreign pasts.

All this aside though, Vince felt no resentment toward the professor. If anything, he felt bad for him – that even in the afterlife ignorance still plagued. Unlike most of his classmates, he did not drop History of Magic as time went on. In fact, he took it all the way to NEWTs, until it was just him and Binns and a smattering of other students. The curriculum and its censored ‘truths’ frustrated him, but Vince will not deny that he learned the most important lesson in that class. He learned that you couldn’t believe everything you were told – not even in school. He learned that if you want to change the world for the better, it’s not just the future but also the past that needs to be worked on. And he was ready for it.

iv.

Fresh out of Hogwarts, Vince imagined he’d be the next Michael Foot. Instead, he was little more than the doormat that the senior editors wiped their feet on. This didn’t deter him though, if he got anything from his father it was the uncontrollable ability to not stop, and he finally got his break after eavesdropping at the conference room door for weeks.

Barnabas Cuffe, the fairly newly-appointed editor-in-chief had been briefing the other reporters on a story nobody seemed to want, and Vince couldn’t help but barge in declaring “I’ll write it!” before he could finish. It probably should’ve been a bad sign that nobody even really challenged him on it, and that the senior wizard only raised an eyebrow before saying ‘go for it, kid’. As it was, Vince was just ecstatic.

It turns out nobody wanted the story because it required not using magic for a month. And living with goblins.

A goblin named Ragnok the Pigeon-Toed had apparently requested a joint article, wizard and goblin, to be written in order to bridge over animosities. He wanted understanding, open conversation, and to see whether or not the two species could survive together in a one-bedroom flat for 30 days. Vince couldn’t pack his bags fast enough.

It wasn’t easy, but it was rewarding. In the end, he and Ragnok wrote a small novel on the histories, differences, and similarities between wizards and goblins. The Daily Prophet only printed two and a half pages of it.

But from the article Vince was requested to do a piece for the next Politics section, and he still keeps a close correspondence with Ragnok until now. He’d found his niche, and from that day on he continued to carry that momentum with each story that came his way.

It seemed to be an unspoken rule within the Daily Prophet that muggleborns were not allowed to write about the raids. ‘It’ll be too biased’, they’d say – as if integrity was what was at stake. Obviously, Vince didn’t listen to this rule.

As soon as he’d gotten the tip, he apparated to the flat. Although long contained, the telltale signs of stark silence and a peculiar tint of green in the sky made it clear what had happened. The aurors were already there, and when Vince flashed his press pass to gain clearance, all he got was a look of resignation – a look of ‘it’s the same story to tell’.

The bodies were gone. There was no blood, no signs of struggle save for the shattered lamp that had probably been knocked down during an attempt to escape. But it still felt like he’d just walked over someone’s grave.

Vince wrote the article, spent a week interviewing neighbors and friends and tracking down every little bit of information he could find on the victims. He camped outside of his editor’s office for three nights, continuously pressing him to print his story and refusing to let anyone else take it (and threatening to curse anyone who tried). He almost got fired, until he declared that he’d go to Merge Publications and have them run his story instead.

(“And who knows, maybe people will start wanting to read that instead of the three-lined obituaries they usually see in this paper,” he’d snarled, waving the five pages of testimonies in his grasp).

He was given a warning and a 25% cut on his salary, but the story was run. Since then, he’s tried to get to the scene first if he could. He tries to find every little thing about the victims, tries to immortalize them as if they hadn’t died in less time that it took for him to dot his i’s and cross his t’s.

And when Dumbledore showed up outside his door talking about an organization and how he could help, there really wasn’t any other choice for him.

Tools for success // Their magical prowess, etc.

Wand: Chestnut, unicorn tail, 14′‘, reasonably supple

Amortentia:

i. waffles

ii. wet rocks

iii. warm milk

iv. matches that’ve just been struck

Boggart: There’s no tragic backstory to his biggest fear other than they’re just super gross and evil-looking. Rats. Rats are his boggart. More specifically, a hoard of rats or just one abnormally huge one. He hates the way they smell, the fact that they will literally eat through anything if so compelled, their beady little eyes. They’re petrifying.

Best and worst school subject, and why:

best: history of magic and ancient runes; really, it all boils down to what he was most interested in. And finding the truth was what he was most interested in. But more than that, he loved history – loved that what people thought was clear cut and engraved as fact was really a mystery and challenge waiting to be solved. As for Ancient Runes, it was a puzzle. Vince was born for puzzles.

worst: muggle studies and Defense Against the Dark Arts; he took Muggle Studies because he wanted to be sure that they were getting things right. Other than that, he honestly just never turned in his homework for either class. While DADA was fun and a challenge, he found the constant shifting of teachers hard to keep up with and he often shirked his responsibilities in this class to study for another (it’s not like they’d stay at the castle long enough to get a bad impression of him anyways).

Extracurricular activities:

i. ancient runes society

ii. charms club

iii. mock wizengamot debate team

Other:

i. Vince has two pets, a chubby Russian Blue and a weirdly loyal raven. The cat, whose been in his family for years, is named Gus and only responds when spoken to in Spanish. The raven started visiting his window sill after he’d fed it a sausage one day. Vince calls him Pollito (which literally translates to ‘little chicken’), because he’d once woken up and, still groggy, forgot the word ‘raven’ and called it that instead. Never having bothered buying an owl, he sometimes uses Pollito to deliver and pick up posts for him.

ii. Vince learned how to produce a corporeal patronus his seventh year. It takes the form of a buffalo, which was... honestly, it was terrifying the first time it came out. He’s never even seen a buffalo before. He’s grown fond of it by now, but the next big challenge is trying to incorporate Dumbledore’s speaking modification to it. So far, he’s only been able to do so with a non-corporeal form -- which, of course, he’s not entirely satisfied with.

iii. Vince has literally zero clue that anyone’s tampered with his memory. And it’s made him a little arrogant. He takes certain precautions in protecting himself and the information he comes by, but because he’s oblivious he almost scoffs at the idea that he could get caught. To him, the Death Eaters are playground bullies that know nothing but systematic lies. To him, they’re only dangerous as long as they stay hidden and feared. Honestly, he thinks he’s outsmarting the lot of them.

iv. The acerbic, impassioned, and, to some, radical nature of Vince’s writing has earned him more criticism than praise. Biting feedback and responses are not foreign, nor are they new to him. It doesn’t bother him, but it has taken a bit of a toll on his career -- as of right now, the only portion of the Prophet his articles are actually published in is the Evening Prophet (back section). He maintains that as long as the stories are getting out there, the fact that they’re trying to keep him from getting noticed just proves that he’s striking a nerve. Besides, it has also helped him keep his cover for the Order now that he doesn’t have to turn down every bit of ridiculous gossip that is put on his desk.

v. As all underpaid, going-for-an-aesthetic journalists have, Vince totes around a handy dandy messenger bag with him at all times. Inside, you’ll usually find notebooks, a handful of pens, cassettes, and chapstick (spewing knowledge and facts all the time makes your lips super dry). For a lot of interviews, Vince takes his tape recorder. It’s one of the times that he actually loves how clueless wizards can be about muggle technology, as he often keeps it recording when dealing with individuals who like to go back on their words. Plus, he figures that if any Death Eaters or their supporters get a hold of his things, that they wouldn’t know any muggleborns to ask how it works – let alone work it themselves.

vi. Defense Against the Dark Arts was never Vince’s forte. He did well enough in the theoretical lessons, but he soon gave up putting too much effort in the class due to the ever shifting professors and differing teaching styles. Because of this, he’s a little shabby when it comes to dueling. He’s got a few choice spells under his belt in case of emergencies (stupefy, bombarda, protego) but sincerely hopes that Dumbledore wasn’t expecting a warrior when he asked him to join the Order.

vii. Vince has tried to endure the process of becoming an animagus twice. The first in his seventh year, and the other just recently. Both times, he’s swallowed the mandrake leaf trying to refrain himself from commenting on something (wrong) someone was saying.

viii. Before he got a somewhat steady income, Vince was completely in that ‘just out of school and broke’ life. In fact, during his first year working at the Daily Prophet, he had to pick up another job as the Knight Bus conductor to pay the bills. That was fine with him though – he felt it built character – and it actually opened up a lot of connections for him. He met a lot of different, peculiar, and sometimes just downright strange individuals during that time and got to hear so many stories. Sometimes he checks up on a couple of them, and they tell him things he’d never would’ve heard just out on the streets of Diagon Alley.

ix. Even when things got a little more stable, Vince was definitely not living up the high life. Still occupying a room atop The Leaky Cauldron, he often helps Tom clean and close down the pub in exchange for an extension on the rent. It’s a hard knock life being a writer that only wants to write important stories, but the bright side is that the pub is practically the Rome in which all roads of wizarding news and gossip lead to.

x. A third-generation immigrant, Vince has tried his best to re-discover his roots and proudly claim it. It was hard though, given the fact that he also had to establish himself in an entirely different world as well. Despite this, he’s fluent in Spanish because his grandparents weren’t entirely comfortable with English, and he grew up on stories about what it was like in a truly impoverished, unprivileged country. After his grandfather passed a couple years ago, his grandma’s been living with his dad and every Sunday Vince makes an effort to visit home and help her around the garden. Sometimes they’d even come visit him at the Leaky Cauldron, but given the present climate and war (which he’s told them absolutely nothing about) that’s unfortunately something he’s had to skip out on lately.

In the hot seat // Questions to keep you on your toes

1. What is your character’s main motivation in life? What is it that drives everything they do?

As cliche as it is, Vince wants to make the world a better place, whether that be a micro scale or a macro scale. He grew up idolizing his father and his work, always proud that he represented those who couldn’t represent themselves. However, he is utterly uninterested in doing so with the rules currently set in place – to him, becoming a lawyer or auror or politician would just trap him in the web that he’s trying to cut down. Always having been good with words, that‘s why he chose to go into journalism instead.

He fights for stories that he thinks would either go untold or misconstrued if not up to him. Some might call it a hero complex (while others could make a good argument towards arrogance), but he truly believes that he can make a difference. And he won’t let anyone or anything make him think otherwise.

2. What are your characters political views and how do they see the upcoming war?

Find an instance of injustice, and Vince has probably wrote something about it. While he obviously ‘sides’ with the side that’s not killing muggles and muggleborns, he’s also very critical on the way wars between humans always overshadow the plights of other beings. He has a good relationship with them overall, but there are admittedly a good few disgruntled house elves in the Hogwarts kitchens that refuse to make eye-contact with him because he’s tried to get them to attend a couple classes (”to see that you deserve and could be more than this, Plinky!”). He learned gobbledegook and a super slight bit of mermish so that he could properly interview them and get their voices heard.

While he understands the dangers and intensity of the war, he refuses to be scared into doing nothing. After all, it’s much more terrifying to imagine what would happen if nobody was to do anything.

3. What is your character’s family and home life like?

Mr. Sinclair Luna’s parents immigrated from Chile when he was 15 years old. A determined child, he grew up to be a brilliant man that vowed never to forget the hardships his parents had to endure to ensure he didn’t have to experience the same. He married his high school sweetheart, became a defense attorney, and when they got a child he dedicated all his energy into raising him to be a person that was compassionate to discrimination but didn’t have to go through it himself. He would’ve succeeded too, except for the whole ‘so Vince is a wizard’ thing.

Magic did not cause a rift between them, but it did leave them with little to talk about. Despite that though, there was never a time where Vince felt nothing but loved by his dad. Maybe he didn’t quite show it in the whole ‘hey, son, let’s go play catch outside!’ kind of way, but he built a new shelf for all his Hogwarts textbooks, fed the owls carrying letters from his friends, and only sighed in resigned acceptance when his only son told him that he was going to go live on top of a bar so he can follow his dream and ‘fight for the little guys’.

4. Who is/was the most important person in your characters life?

5. What is your character’s best quality?

Vince cares. He cares about the house elves and the goblins and the educational system and the muggleborns. He cares so much that he would gladly let himself be consumed by a life dedicated to giving the silenced a voice. And although he’s not always the best at showing it, he always wants the best for those closest to him. He’s determined and knows how to talk to people, and he tries his best to use that in the most beneficial way possible. He knows how to listen and amplify a thought, all he needs now is way to get people to acknowledge it.

Of the typical Ravenclaw traits, Vince embodies wit and acceptance the most. He just genuinely wants to make hard lives easier.

6. What is your character’s worst quality?

Vince has a bad habit of assuming he’s the only one in the room that did as much research and preparation as himself. It’s gotten him in quite a few heated situations, where he swears he’s not trying to make it out like he’s smarter than everyone else, but, hey, if you’re constantly feeling that way then maybe–

Yeah. While he’s naturally amicable and actually wants to not come off as a jerk, sometimes he just can’t help pointing things out bluntly. The way he sees it, it’d be far worse if he just let someone continue to be wrong.

Also, admittedly, a good portion of his relationships have suffered because of this little trait. His first girlfriend called it ‘mansplaining’ – he really didn’t understand what she was getting at, to be completely honest.

7. What are your character’s bad habits?

Other than the traits above, Vince is very quick to do what he thinks is right. Which might not sound like a bad thing, but it kind of is when he does so without others’ opinions or acceptance involved. He’ll drop everything for a story – anniversaries, dinner plans, a baby (once, when a friend had asked him to hold it but then Pollito swooped in with a memo carrying a tip and he rushed to apparate away). When he’s in the zone, sometimes he doesn’t realize when the questions he’s asking are too far. In addition to that, he often accidentally grills his friends instead of just being there to listen; he doesn’t really know the difference between asking a question because he cares, and interrogating because he cares. They’re both the same thing to him.

8. Describe how your character sees themselves vs. how others see them.

Anything goes // Free section!

A List of ‘Most Popular’ Articles/Columns Written By Vince Sinclair:

- One Goblin, One Wizard, One Roof: What Could Go Wrong

- The Trace: Keeping Pureblood Children Safe and Muggleborns Inhibited

- A Mermaid’s Take on Lake Pollution

- Dementors: Why Are Criminals Watching Over Our Criminals?

- Outrageous Beauty Standards Are Harmful And Need To Be Addressed, Opinions from a Veela

- Not Everyone Can Do It: Slytherin Alumni On Why Being A Housewife Is Ambitious

- “Healing Others Is Ruining My Mental Health”, The Rigorous Life Of a Healer

- ‘There’s A Spell For That!’ – Are Wizards Becoming Too Dependent On Magic?

- Debunked: Contraception Spell A MYTH. Does Hogwarts Need Sex Ed?

Spoken Languages (from best to worst)

Spanish English Gobbledegook

Mermish

Mix #1 (songs on Vince’s most played cassette)

My Generation - The Who [x]

Come Together - The Beatles [x]

Where Did Our Love Go - Supremes [x]

Respect - Aretha Franklin [x]

Stand By Me - Ben E. King [x]

I Got You Babe - Sonny and Cher [x]

Shop Around - The Miracles [x]

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