#it feels me with a feeling i can only describe as “all consuming vitriol” (thanks to my friend describing it as such)

[tatonslice]

"i can fix him" not in the "i can make him a better person" way but in a "if i wrote the story i could have handled him better" way

[vvakarians]

Ch. 5 of Wolves Without Teeth is now up!

Beginning | Update | Rating: 18+  

Fic Summary:

Voices born of tragedy are always the loudest, and the blast that destroyed the Conclave at Haven birthed thousands. The only survivor --a seemingly insignificant Dalish elf-- proclaims innocence despite the blood staining their hands. They make a lofty promise to the world, an oaken branch planted for every lost life, and justice for all those affected by the newly created rift in the heavens. Nothing will stop them from leading all of Thedas back into the light, even on wings of death.

Chapter Summary: 

With Calliope mostly healed from the fight with the Pride demon, they think all will be well only to find out that their Mark has changed more than just their mindset, which comes at the worst possible time. But somehow they manage to meet with the advisors without too many ill effects.

V.  It’s still days before Calliope is able to slip from their bed and manage to dredge up enough energy to put their armor on. Artemaeus is on his earlier rounds, though it won’t be long before he walks in. Solas has already done his rounds, he mostly comes by at night when he thinks Calliope is asleep. Not one word is ever uttered between the two of them and he seems content for that to continue, confusing as that is to Calliope. The whispers pick at that concept -- perhaps he is avoiding them somehow. Did they upset him that badly on the trail to the Temple? His behavior is puzzling to say the least. Solas appears to be protective of them --as if he knows them but they can’t ever place him-- but when they try to catch his attention, his interest vanishes. 

They hum to themself as they slip on their tattered cloak, too deep in thought to notice the scurrying in the shadows of their quarters. Not until the sticky, wetness of something latching onto their wrist catches their attention. Pinpricks of terror make their hair stand on end and Calliope freezes, not daring to test the strength of whatever wrapped itself about them. Their heartbeat roars in their ears as they hazard a glance down, everything else forgotten but this. Though there is nothing to suggest anything ever touched them. Not a blemish, not even residue from what certainly was a slimy creature. When they push back the long sleeve of their tunic, there is nothing. Just their bare arm and--

What is that?

Ridges of their pale flesh seem to be jutting up slightly, creating a sort of ripple texture along the inside of their wrist. Welts the size of small coins dot along the back of their hand and palm, irritated and discolored. That terror turns into an icy panic as Calliope checks over the rest of their left hand, thrown from the need to stay frozen in place. A mirror was provided some time in the last several days so they could properly braid their hair back --something they had asked for to retain some form of control while regaining the use of their hand-- and they scramble over to it in a frenzy. There’s more than just the welts and ridges in their flesh; when they look into the glass their eyes are no longer a pale blue, they are a sickly, red rimmed green. Like the Breach. That damned thing that scars the sky and taunts them, speaks to them in their nightmares. 

That sticky sensation returns, creeping up the back of their neck while they raise their left arm up to the mirror. In  horror they watch as three of the innumerable welts slowly peel back the skin on heir hand, revealing demonic eyes that look back at them intelligently. Almost in a question. Throughout, the whispers have been silent; no buzz at the edges of their hearing. Now they rise to a scream that echoes and bounces off the inside of their skull. All nonsense, or perhaps every language on the material plane. Calliope does not know. Only that they feel the rush of being swallowed up by it, entirely consumed by whatever has trapped them here in this moment. Something that they can only later describe as other or eldrtich.

 Minutes or seconds tick by --even hours, for all they can tell-- before the door opens and startles Calliope back from the mirror. They don’t register who enters, glancing wildly at the figure and then back into the glass. Yet the eyes are no longer there. The sickly green of their own irises are however, as are the ridges and welts. Confusion replaces Calliope’s anxiety while they stare and try  hard to comprehend what the hell just happened. 

“Ser Lavellan?” 

Again, Calliope looks to the ill timed guest. There’s a face they recognize; chest length red hair that falls from beneath a deep purple hood, chainmail clinks on the outside of her robes. Leliana. It’s just Leliana. 

“I-- yes? Apologies, I think I must have spooked myself,” they murmur, still distracted but not enough to ignore her presence. 

“Do you need a healer? That arm doesn’t look good.” 

Self conscious, Calliope slips the thick woolen sleeve back over their arm and they shake their head numbly, “No. I--will speak to someone later about it. There’s no pain. It--seems that the Mark has made changes without my permission.” 

There’s a long, heavy silence between the two of them. It’s obvious Leliana is at a loss for words and Calliope is too in shock to say much, not even as they move towards the door. Stiff and unsure of themself. Perhaps Solas or Artemaeus will know more. For now they need  to not think of it and are grateful that the whispers fade to a soft white noise. 

“I came to see if you wanted to meet with the others in the Chantry. Do you think you can manage that?” Leliana asks, stepping to the side briefly for Calliope. 

“I will try. That is all I can do.” 

At least the cold is a welcome distraction this time around. Soothes rather than stabs them, though Calliope is sure that will change if they spend too long outside. The sun is high and bright in the pale blue green sky, the rift sealed but still puffed and raw --like an infected wound. They merely glance at it before narrowing their eyes back down at the muddy ground, careful not to sink too deep into the muck. Suddenly they are very thankful for the boots they were encouraged to take with them. Nice and soft on the inside, perfect to combat the freezing temperatures; wrapped with some cords that jingle with wooden and bone charms. A bit of home to carry with them. The sound comforts Calliope while they follow Leliana off to the large building just beyond the trail.

It’s a short walk, just a few minutes up a long dirt path that winds around a fire pit and various tents. Calliope prepares themself for another round of vitriol, unable to forget the guard who threw that rock. But nothing comes. In fact the people that do gather whisper amongst themselves in awe, or perhaps even reverence. Though that unsettles Calliope as much --if not more-- than the hate spewed days before. Why the change in tone? 

One of the group is another familiar face -- Varric. Laughter lines crease his cheeks as he watches Calliope approach; how he can be so jovial they’re not entirely sure. But it is a comfort to see, and even makes their mouth twitch into a small smile. Or a semblance of one. He doesn’t stop with the others and in fact begins walking in line with two of them; Leliana gives him a nod of recognition as he does so. It quickly crosses Calliope’s mind that he’s wearing a coat that seems much too large for him -- the puffs of dense wool obscures much of his face, and the blocky shape of the leather makes his movements stiff. A complete wonder how he can even walk in it. 

“Spin a story that convinced them?” he asks with a wink. 

“I think so. They found my tales of a nug tripping me and slaying a dragon in the process very compelling,” they respond tiredly, “I managed to slip in a bit about your gorgeous chest hair as well.” 

Varric laughter is a deep, resounding bellow that brightens Calliope’s smile by a fraction. Though they note a slight change when he fully looks them over, his unobscured eyes taking in the changes from when they last saw each other. 

“Kid, are you feeling alright?” 

“That seems to be the question of the day,” Calliope sighs. Their breath comes in clouds before them, “The Mark has made changes. I wish I could say I knew what was happening, but for now I think I’ll be fine.” 

“You should let Chuckles know, if he hasn’t found out already.” 

That gives them pause, it’s a good suggestion and begs the question--does he? Why has he not alerted anyone if he does? 

A frown spreads across Calliope’s face and they give a short nod, “I’ll let him know after the meeting. Though I’m not sure what can be done about it.” 

“Who knows, but for all his oddness he’s pretty good at keeping it in check.” 

Another comment that makes them think too hard. What does Solas know? If the Mark and the Voice are connected, he should know of that but has never said a word about them. Did he...know this would happen as well? Calliope swallows hard and pushes those thoughts out of their mind, thankful that the large doors of the Chantry have finally come into full view. It’s harder to worry about hypotheticals when something so big is looming over you. 

“I’ll keep you posted, how does that sound?” Calliope asks, glancing his way. 

“Yeah, sure. Long as you take care of yourself, kid, that’s all that matters.”

His voice is too soft when he responds, as if a great sadness has settled in his bones-- but Calliope doesn’t draw attention to it. Not yet. Instead they try on a bigger smile for him and gesture to his much too large coat. Throngs of people start to gather around them but Calliope is too busy with Varric, the others --and their growing anxiety-- can wait. He’s been nothing but kind to them. 

“If you promise to find a better coat then I promise to do as you ask. How about that?” 

Another bellowing laugh escapes Varric, so much so there’s a jingle from the golden ringed necklace that rests on his chest. Warmth floods Calliope when they hear that, their anxiety melts away for the moment. Though they can’t help but notice the large group around them in their periphery, ever whispering, looking. 

“Does it really look that bad?” 

“Oh yes, it makes you look like a walking box,” Leliana interjects with a smirk. Calliope startles when she speaks, having forgotten she was there. She’s always so quiet.  

Calliope’s smile widens at her response, however, “Someone had to have given it to him as a joke, right?” 

“I think it was a gift from Cassandra, so something like that.” 

“Ah, that would explain it.” 

“Alright, alright! I’m sure there’s a tailor around here somewhere. You two do your important meeting and I’ll fix this disaster of a coat,” Varric snorts, rolling his eyes with affection. A welcome sight as the throng stares and Calliope’s anxiety spikes to another unimaginable height. Both Leliana and Varric take notice quickly; the one ushering Calliope into the warmer, darker Chantry, while the other bustles through the crowd, breaking some of it up. 

Inside the old, creaking building there’s a sort of calm you only find among places of worship. Though it doesn’t feel nearly as ancient of a peace as Calliope is used to. It makes their chest ache, thinking back to the sprawling temple to Falon’Din that sat deep within the Graves. How much that single ruin felt like home. Here in the torchlight, hundreds of miles from their home, Calliope brushes their fingers along the stone walls of the Chantry and wishes to be back in that flooded sanctuary, surrounded by statues of their gods that have stood against the test of time. 

The once rich but faded golds and reds of Andrastian tapestries feel familiar but foreign at the same time.  Moldy furniture and dusty books surround them, old stained glass still shining brightly in the mid morning sun. Casting rays of colors all across the muddy floor. Their mother once spoke of these places, how they brought her comfort when the world was at its worst. Not because of the religion itself, but how gentle it was in those moments where no one noticed her and she could slip off without alerting anyone. There is a remnant of that here while Leliana and Calliope slowly walk across to another pair of large, ornate doors. Symbols of the religion embossed into the dark wood, a sunburst set into the seam where you would pull them open. Familiar but still foreign. They feel like they shouldn’t be here, even in the momentary peace.

That nasally voice from days before pierces right through the calm the moment the doors swing open and Calliope can’t help but make a face of disgust. This man again? Another shemlen who thinks he knows what is right and what is wrong, Creators forbid you tell him otherwise. Chancellor Roderick stands in his white, gold, and crimson red robes to the side of a large wooden table covered in maps, and what looks like small figurines. Curious, Calliope focuses on what that could possibly mean before looking around to the others flanking the Chantry man. All humans, it seems. Another man and two women, one of which is Cassandra. 

The other man has curly blonde hair, in a slicked back style that interests Calliope --they wonder briefly how he can keep it so neat and tidy in this weather. His armor bears the many sunbursts that can be found through the building, a mix of gold and cold steel. Rich red fabric and dark furs hang around his tall, muscular form. Though his complexion and under eye bags speak of illness, sunken cheeks and a listless gaze. Perhaps he has the Blight? 

“...Roderick, save your breath,” the man murmurs, catching Calliope staring as they enter the room. 

“Why is the prisoner continuously not restrained?” 

Roderick does not waste any time on saving his breath. 

“I’m afraid chains would not do you any good, Chancellor. Has Cassandra not told you I practice magic? I could simply look at you and you’d be a crispy husk,” Calliope rolls their eyes, eliciting a snort from both the new man and the aforementioned Seeker. Though the latter seems to think that much funnier than the ill human. 

“Andaran atish’an, Ser Lavellan,” another voice cuts through the Chancellors rebuttal. 

This time it’s the new woman, dressed in swatches of golden fabric lined with thick, lightly colored and patterned furs. Necklaces hang from her soft, tan neck and glint just as her brilliant smile does. Long, dark hair frames her face in perfectly set curls that are then braided to be kept out of her eyes. Honestly, she seems much too warm and gentle to be in this situation at all, but that is exactly why Calliope assumes she is. Never underestimate the sweet ones. 

They smile back at her when greeted in elven, and bow their head respectively, “Pleased to meet you, even under these circumstances.” 

There is a sound of derision from Roderick that has both Calliope and Cassandra looking his way with annoyance, the former feeling a coil of anger build in their chest. 

“What, do I offend you?” Calliope asks, raising a pale eyebrow at him. 

“These circumstances are of your own doing, of course you have offended me! The Divine is dead and here you stand, still alive.” 

“Shocking as it may seem, Chancellor, I did not kill your Divine. In fact I have been exonerated of all charges. Cassandra told me as much several days ago as I was recovering. While I don’t remember what made her change her mind, I’m inclined to think it was compelling evidence.” 

This time there’s another amused snort from the ill man and he looks up at Calliope, dark eyes sparkling a bit in the lamp light. 

“Careful, you keep prodding him and he might  explode.” 

Roderick once again opens his mouth, but quickly shuts it when Cassandra steps in with a scowl his way and a glance at Calliope. There is a brief moment where her expression turns from irritation to concern when she makes note of the change of Calliope’s eye color, which does make them wonder if they should wander about with their eyes shut from now on. 

“I believe we have some introductions to get out of the way,” the Seeker says, shaking the worry off expertly, “You know Sister Leliana, our Spymaster.” 

Leliana bows her head at the mention, smiling just a touch for Calliope who manages one in return. It’s the least they can do after her friendliness towards them. 

“Our Ambassador, Josephine Montilyet. She is an expert in keeping the peace,” Cassandra gestures to the woman full of warmth, and then finally at the ill seeming man, “This is Commander Cullen Rutherford, you would have met him at the Temple but we know how that went.” 

“I was nearly decapitated, apparently. Which I’m sure Roderick would have been pleased by,” they scoff, glancing away from Cassandra to watch the priest. He does nothing but stare right back, wrinkling his nose. 

“We are lucky you weren’t, otherwise we would not be able to do what we’re doing now,” Cassandra responds, cutting in before Roderick can get a word out. 

Something about that comment unsettles Calliope, makes them seriously consider the Seeker. She had said something about wanting them to stay, that there was danger following them possibly and they didn’t have anything on the Mark yet. Yet this doesn’t seem to be what she’s talking about. 

“I’m assuming we found something when we closed the Breach? What are we doing now?” 

A heavy silence descends upon the room like a thick blanket, extinguishing all sound so much so that the whispers come in loud bursts and Calliope’s pointed ears flutter uncomfortably. They wait for someone to say something, anything at all; nerves standing on end. 

“We saw a vision in the middle of a field of red lyrium that was at the center of the Temple,” Leliana finally speaks, looking from Cassandra to Calliope with a sharp gaze, “Someone or something was there doing a ritual, said that the Divine was meant as a sacrifice. Then you came out of the shadows to ask what was going on. That was when the Rift broke open.” 

A chill runs down Calliope’s spine, that familiar build up of anxious energy. Their eyes dart to the candles flickering just beyond the table, and one of them forms a tall pillar of fire before simmering back down again. No one seems to notice, not even Roderick who is barely paying attention to anything at all. 

“That’s good to know but that doesn’t answer my question. What are we doing now?” Calliope repeats, their gaze hardening. The whispers buzz in anticipation, shadows dancing in their peripheral vision. Once again there’s silence but it’s short lived. 

“The Divine created a writ in case her plan failed to restore peace between the mages and the templars,” Cassandra responds quietly, and taps a book on the table with a gloved hand. It is thick and old, filled with secrets Calliope assumes. 

“What does that mean?” they ask, shifting their weight nervously. 

“We are going to rebuild a group called the Inquisition, to find the Divine’s killer and end the conflict that led to her death. We could also use it to clean up after what happened with the Breach,” the Commander answers for her, and Calliope raises an eyebrow at those gathered around the table. 

“It must be invoked by both of the Divine’s Hands, and will be with or without Chantry approval,” Cassandra says, shooting a withering glance at Roderick who sighs. 

“You know how I feel about this Seeker-” 

“And I don’t care. This is the only way, you know that!” 

“We need to find a replacement for the Divine and quickly! None of this Inquisition nonsense will help us now.” The room descends into arguments and raised voices as everyone attempts to speak over the priest, who in turn raises his whine of a voice to disgustingly new levels. Anxiety and rage make the air thick, too hard to breathe, too hard to move in. From their spot at the other side of the space, Calliope watches that candle flicker once, twice, three times before it erupts into a roaring fire. All of their despair and nervousness centered on one singular wick that burns so brightly it lights up the entire room, banishing the shadows back to where they came. It’s certainly one way to get everyone’s attention. 

Their arguments dwindle into nothing as they scramble to get away from the fire just as it starts to fizzle out and become a smoking ember. Consumed, wax and all, by Calliope’s magical presence. Embarrassment washes over them at the sight but they manage to hold it together while each pair of eyes comes back to settle on them. Calliope finally breaks the silence, that slimy sensation threading through their skin as they say in almost a snarl, pointedly at Roderick --who had decided to argue.

“Create your Inquisition, we replace the Divine and find her Killer. Maybe get answers about what the fuck happened to my hand. Does that sound good?” 

There’s only a beat of silence before Roderick mumbles what could be a ‘yes’, easing Calliope’s volatile mood but not that horrific feeling of otherness wrapped around their wrist. 

“We--should get you in touch with a proper Enchanter, I think,” Cullen comments in shock. A blurting out of words, really. 

“There are mages here I can learn from, if it will soothe your fears, Commander Rutherford.”

“Perhaps we should take a recess? Cool down before we talk about our next steps.” 

It’s Josephine who speaks, light and airy. Unperturbed on the outside by what just happened but the tremble in her hands as she grips her important parchments says otherwise. Calliope doesn’t blame her. 

There’s a note of tiredness and defeat to their tone when they speak again, “I will get my magic under control, it’s been harder since the Mark. I’m sorry for scaring anyone. A recess would be good.” 

[heart-of-tempered-steel]

𝙞𝙩 𝙩𝙖𝙠𝙚𝙨 𝙖 𝙡𝙤𝙩 𝙩𝙤 𝙠𝙣𝙤𝙬 𝙨𝙤𝙢𝙚𝙤𝙣𝙚 // {fred weasley x ofc} preview

As soon as his gaze slid down from her slender shoulders to her neatly folded hands, he saw it.

Her hands, he mused, were small and delicate looking and usually when they were at rest when she sits, are folded neatly one atop of the other. Like bird wings.

Now, her hands were anything but resting. They were slightly fluttering.

As if something ruffled their feathers.

Summary: Fred starts to see through the cracks on the mask she wears and realizes that it wasn’t just a mask... but a full suit of armor as well.

Pairing: Fred Weasley x Seri Waldren (OFC)

**Additional Note**: Face claim for Seri is Lee Ji Eun as Jang Man Wol

Warnings: Almost none except for a bit of slightly one-sided angst with a hint of enemies to friends to lovers as well as an ofc (but PLEASE give this a chance before scrolling past!!! I really worked so hard to get everything in place here! 🥺)

His eyes are a deep hazel like his twin.

However, Seri thinks to herself, staring at his side profile as he faced the fireplace, the flames casting a warm glow over his features, that in this light at least, they held a hint of mahogany in them. With the way that the light was catching in his eyes, she can see that it brought out the dark red undertone in them. She gives him a once over—steady gaze tracing his features from his hair to his eyes.

Orange.

Red.

Brown.

Like the fallen leaves that drift with the autumn breeze.

And before she thinks better of it, she is pulled into a memory.

Like the forest floor at that time when the sun was setting and its dying rays peeked through the canopy to shade everything a warm copper and bronze—the earthy smell of dirt with a hint of petrichor from last week’s rainfall; laughter echoing through flying swirls of leaves, recently scattered from a pile.

Mug of hot cider, freshly made, warming you up inside and out. Its warmth spreading from your fingertips to your head as its heady aroma of apple and cinnamon wafts up to your nose and fills you.

Pairs of strong yet gentle arms holding you—comforting you. A melody, sweet and tender as the arms you’re held by, drifts into your ears and lulls you with its lullaby.

Soft wool tickling your cheek as you nestle yourself further into the warm embrace, letting the song carry you over into a peaceful slumber. Here, you are content.

You are safe.

You are not alone.

You are loved.

And just like that, she is consumed. The sudden onslaught of the memory hurtling towards her like a tornado of broken glass, pieces of what was once a precious and tender reminiscence, now in shatters. Jagged, sharp edges were simultaneously slashing, ripping, and embedding themselves into her heart; threatening to shred through every soft layer of tissue to raw and bloody scraps.

She nearly recoils from the emotions that was all at once churning and burning her from within, fighting to keep the tempest within her contained. If she does not get a hold of herself…  

She. Will. Fall. Apart.

Seri instantly turns away from Fred and lets her hair fall to the side of her face like a black curtain between them as she attempts to silently reign in her tumultuous emotions.

Her companion hears a barely suppressed, sharp intake of breath and turns his attention to her. He finds her face turned away, seemingly focusing on a spot just off to the side of the fireplace. Or at least he assumes she was staring at a spot. Her long black hair effectively blocking off his view of her face.

Her figure was stock still except for the slow and methodical breaths he can see her quietly forcing herself to take. She still held the same posture on the carpet as when he came by the fireplace to sit next to her. Back straight, legs tidily folded underneath to accommodate for the sleeping gown she was wearing underneath her silk robe, and hands resting on top of her lap.

That was where Fred found the slight difference in the way she was holding herself. As soon as his gaze slid down from her slender shoulders to her neatly folded hands, he saw it. 

Her hands, he mused, were small and delicate looking and usually when they were at rest when she sits, are folded neatly one atop of the other. Like bird wings.

Now, her hands were anything but resting. 

They were slightly fluttering.

As if something ruffled their feathers. 

One hand still lay on top of the other but the other hand beneath was tightly curled into a fist. Its tightened grip causing her hands to faintly tremble. He had an inkling that if the other hand on top was removed, he would see the white knuckles she was making as she dug her manicured nails into the palm of her hand.

It lasted for only a moment and it was gone as soon as he saw it. As if she could feel his gaze on her, she took in a last deep breath and slowly unfurled her hand back to how it was. But it only took that one passing moment for Fred to know... that something was wrong.

“You alright, princess?”, he let out in a soft voice, his tone laced with concern.

She felt it.

Yes, she could tell he was worried over her. And not just because she was a born empath. No. She didn’t need to rely on that part of her to know that. His voice was—so gentle and soothing. Yet, it held such an intriguing blend of both boldness and apprehension to it that it didn’t want to make her pin the person who was asking under a glare of disdain. Usually, with the kind of rumors and reputation that garnered around her, there were mostly only two types of people in her life who would ask about her well-being with feigned compassion: reporters and suitors from highborn pure-blood families like hers.

One wanted to use her to stamp their name on the cover page of every magazine and newspaper.

The other wanted her hand in marriage for her wealth and, out of their archaic and medieval beliefs, to secure the continuation of their family’s pure-blood lineage.             

But both were attracted to her by their uninhibited ambition.

Both wanted a piece of her to claim for themselves.

The empath part of her can sense an oily power-hungry leech like that from a mile away, eyes closed.

Although now, the empath in her was sensing something entirely different from the red head beside her.

There was concern, yes. But there was also sincerity… genuine sincerity for her and—

Oh.

There it was. Buried beneath a bundle of his nervousness and the abrupt need to reach out to her...

Kindness.

It was kindness…

 And no. It wasn’t the pitiful kind of kindness that would be offered to her with condolences every time her parents’ deaths were brought up in every one of her mandatory but rare social outings. This kindness that she was sensing from him was pure and so unrestrained that it took her aback. Maybe even perturbed her a bit.

She was sensing this from the young man. The very same young man, who, along with his twin, would set off pranks to soak up the chaos they ensued. Resulting disruptive inconvenience and bodily harm to others be damned. Unapologetic and destructive, the two laid waste with their antics on and off the school grounds. Fred Weasley, one of the loud, cocky, and rambunctious devil duo pranksters of Hogwarts…

Was sitting next to her worrying about her well-being.

And Morrigan knows, with the kind of tempestuous and vitriolic relationship that they started off with—almost a week after she transferred from Ilvermorny, she’d never thought that he’d show her, let alone be capable to have this side of him. Perhaps, it was a good thing that she was already sitting down because reconciling these two sides of him was leaving her a tad disoriented.

Despite that… she lets herself welcome the feeling. She lowers her defenses a bit, letting its tendrils wrap around her senses in a warm cocoon. His earnest need to ease her out of whatever unsettled her—so honest and guileless, centers her while it melts away and soothes any residual pain that the painful memory left in her heart.

So different.

A/N: *tenatively pokes her head into the fandom* hey there! 👋 I hoped you enjoyed this “little” preview of my upcoming fred weasley drabble! I’m a newly minted fan so I wasn’t sure how my fic would fare among you older and OG fans so I decided to just post a snippet of it and see how many of you would be interested in my little project. tbh I wasn’t that into the harry potter fandom for most of my life. I did ofc watched the films when I was younger and ended up with a Daniel Radcliffe crush tht lasted up until I became a Hiddlestoner.

But other than tht I didn’t really consider myself as a potterhead.... until one rerun marathon film series drew me back into its clutches and not only got me to start reading the books but also gave me a newfound appreciation and love for the Weasley twins (especially Fred 😉). the twins deserved a better ending than tht btw. heck. almost half of the characters were done dirty by the end of the series 👀

Anyway, I didn’t expect to fall so hard for the twins considering the massive crush my 9 year old self had w/ harry potter lol. those sneaky twins really have a way of worming themselves into your heart without you ever noticing it! Now, it’s been almost two months since watching the movies and I’m still overwhelmed with all the feels about those two 😩. so this fic/drabble was sort of a cathartic release of all my pent up emotions for them. tbh this just started off with me just wanting to describe the aesthetics Fred was giving me but well... all my feelings spilled out. oops 😬

the title is based on a great song that I stumbled on YouTube called “It Takes A Lot to Know a Man” by Damien Rice and I think it fits the dilemma of Fred and Seri finding out that there’s more than what the eye can see with each other. but that’s enough of my rambling for now 😅. If u made it all the way here, congratulations! And thank you for checking out my fic! I really do appreciate the time you spend reading this as well as any feedback you can give 🙏 (the more detailed the better!) Please reblog/like if you enjoyed this as well! I really appreciate it if you could share this with some of ur friends/mutuals it really makes all the sleepless nights working on this worth it!

Also let me know if there are any grammar errors too (bc I’m def sure there are some floating up there) I’m more of a fanfic reader than a writer so this was a BEAST to get out for me!

P.S. I’m also planning to have a self-insert/reader imagine version of this and any future drabbles of this series in the future since I know how some people feel about ocs 👀

Taglist: @firewhisky-kisses @yourssuccubus (who expressed great support in helping me write this! Thanks, u two ❤️ I hope it was worth the wait!

[anotherkindofmindpod]

I just read both interviews, Part 1 and 2 of Jann Wenner's Rolling Stone Interview of 1971. It sounds as though John and the other Beatles DID have a realistic gripe about Paul taking over, directly projects, handing out musical assignments, etc., etc. and I'm sure he had the ego by this point to match! I would probably have become irritated by Paul as well. And no hints or even reading between the lines of John being emotionally hurt by Paul with regard to loss of intimate relationship.

Hello and thanks for writing in, Listener!First, I’d like to point out that we haven’t reached the Lennon Remembers portion of our Break-up Series, and will dig into it much more thoroughly in a future episode (stay tuned!).  

Presumably this ask isn’t in response to anything we’ve actually discussed on the podcast, in which case I feel that I should explain that what we do on our show is reevaluate conventional wisdom and contextualize public statements within the realities of actual behaviors. In other words, not taking things like Lennon Remembers at face value is AKOM 101.

If what we were doing on this podcast was as easy as simply reading the most infamous interview John Lennon ever gave (the one upon which the conventional story of the Beatles break-up is founded), it wouldn’t be much of a podcast or a very groundbreaking analysis, would it?

Second, I’d like to mention that listeners/readers can hear the entire (3.5 hours!) interview on You Tube.  Very evocative with audio!  Wenner’s editing in the print versions often make John sound more coherent and less vitriolic towards everyone but Paul than the audio reveals (i.e. the shitty comments about Paul are always printed but the ones about George, Brian, etc often aren’t).

Next, we’d like to state the usual disclaimer (which everyone is probably already aware of but is a good reminder anyway!):  John later disavowed this interview.  In fact, he was so angry at Jann Wenner for publishing it as a book, it apparently created a permanent rift between the two.  You may choose to view/value this interview as John being super honest, but please consider that in this allegedly “truthful” book/interview, John:

claims George is musically/creatively inferior to John

declares the McCartney album “rubbish”

reveals his belief that he and Paul’s confidence levels are intrinsically, inversely related to one another

says George was so aggressively rude to Yoko that John wished he would’ve punched him over it

proudly admits that he “maneuvered” the other Beatles to get Klein in as manager

bemoans the fact that everyone says Brian Epstein was so great “just because he’s dead” and that Brian cheated and robbed the Beatles

makes derisive comments about “fags” at least five times in the printed version alone and calls Lee Eastman “a wasp Jew, man, that’s the worst kind of person on earth.”

admits to lying in interviews and deflects accountability on the basis of being “just a guy” who mouths off about stuff

As for Paul, John is admittedly all over the place, swinging fairly wildly from nostalgic (reminiscing about having “a good mind like Paul’s” on his side and co-writing with their “fingers in each others’ pies”) to bitter (”Paul thought he was the Beatles,” etc).

As for the accusations that Paul was tyrannical, we’ve addressed these before (particularly in Break-Up Episode 2).  Just as Geoff Emerick, Michael Lindsay Hogg and Doug Sulpy (and even John, when he was feeling more generous) have articulated, we too feel that Paul stepped up and led the band in a time of need and deserves unequivocal credit for that.  We believe much of the subsequent complaining from the other Beatles is akin to the kind of griping one directs at a colleague who gets promoted (“who died and made you king!?”) and while some of it was likely based in genuine irritation at Paul’s communication style, much of it was probably petty.  This is why we are looking at the situation from all angles, to get a better sense of what is reality v. spin.  In any case, we don’t dispute that there were power struggles within the band.Any reader is free to choose John’s side in any/all of these battles.  But our overall takeaway from this particular interview is that John was unloading a lot of pent-up rage; against teachers, fans, Aunt Mimi, his mum, critics, Paul and anyone else who didn’t properly recognize his genius and praise him for it.

“That’s what makes me what I am. It comes out, the people I meet have to say it themselves, because we get fuckin’ kicked. Nobody says it, so you scream it: look at me, a genius, for fuck’s sake! What do I have to do to prove to you son-of-a-bitches what I can do, and who I am? Don’t dare, don’t you dare fuckin’ dare criticize my work like that. You, who don’t know anything about it.”

Based solely on Lennon Remembers, one could reasonably believe John didn’t like anyone but Yoko and Allen Klein (of whom he also speaks with reverence).  Fortunately, John gave a million other interviews in his lifetime, so even though this one is given a disproportionate amount of weight (probably b/c it is the most inflammatory and “raw”) we can compare John’s comments, behavior and art over a broad spectrum of time.  We feel this gives us a better, more thorough and more authentic portrait of John’s POV.  This is a good idea with ANY public figure, but especially important in John’s case, since, by his own admission he has a tendency to say what he feels in the moment and doesn’t necessarily stand by his own statements afterwards.

John in 1976:  “I get a bit absolute in my statements. [laughs] Which sometimes get me into deep water, and sometimes into the shallow.”

To your other point, our overall impressions about John’s feelings regarding  “loss of an intimate relationship” with Paul certainly do not hinge on Lennon Remembers, nor have we ever suggested they do.  In fact, LR is commonly used as the primary proof-point by McCartney detractors and Lennon/McCartney deniers (those who willfully and sometimes passionately  ignore and/or deny the deep love between John and Paul, as described by John and Paul themselves and everyone in their lives) that Paul was a tyrant who destroyed the Beatles with his massive ego.  

We have never disputed the existence of Paul’s ego.  But consider this: John refers to himself as an egomaniac REPEATEDLY throughout this interview.  Why is there a loud faction of people who consider John being an avowed egomaniac perfectly reasonable (sexy even!), but find it unforgivable that Paul is the same way?  Consider these excerpts from Lennon Remembers:

Do you think you will record together again?

I record with Yoko, but I’m not going to record with another egomaniac. There is only room for one on an album nowadays.

How would you assess George’s talents?

[…] Maybe it was hard for him sometimes, because Paul and I are such egomaniacs, but that’s the game.

Who do you think is good today? In any arts…

The unfortunate thing about egomaniacs is that they don’t take much attention of other people’s work. I only assess people on whether they are a danger to me or my work or not.

[Tangential]

But the Beatles were artists, and all artists have fucking’ big egos, whether they like to admit it or not […]

Yes, John rants repeatedly about Paul’s ego during this interview- while he simultaneously declares his own genius and artistic superiority over others. We find it mind-boggling how this irony continues to evade some people, but there it is.  

George Harrison has repeatedly complained about BOTH John & Paul’s egos (and their shared ego IRT “Lennon/McCartney”), but again, this is often ignored in favor of singling out Paul as the villain.  

Furthermore, it’s helpful to bear in mind when consuming Lennon Remembers that John and Yoko had received training in media-messaging by this point and were very savvy at Public Relations.  We know from people close to them that they drafted their stories in advance before offering them to the public. This fact, combined with Lennon’s tendency to “mouth off” means we have the right and responsibility to question and examine John’s claims rather than simply  parrot them mindlessly.

If you are genuinely interested in our take, we recommend our Break-Up Series. We think you will find it well-researched and thoughtful, even if you disagree with some of our conclusions.

Or if you simply dislike McCartney and find him “irritating,” that’s fine too.  Not everyone has to like everyone!

For additional discussion/analysis of Lennon Remembers, I recommend any of several threads on Erin Torkelson Weber’s site, the Historian and the Beatles.

the flawed lens of Lennon v. McCartney

Jann Wenner’s bio

how Rolling Stone shaped the breakup

discussing a podcast appearance

Thank you so much for this ask!  It is always a pleasure to share information.  Have a wonderful day.-The AKOM crew

[20qs20somethings]

Calvin, 29

1. Would you describe yourself as a millennial? Why? Yeah, but I feel like it’s a slur. I feel like no one wants to be called a millennial. So yes, because I qualify as a millennial, but also no because I feel like it’s a slur. I feel like people use it as a way to say something nasty about someone like, “millennials are killing x y z.” It’s not really a moniker I adopt. 

2. What’s your relationship with social media like? This is tough. I think for me, I’m able to do the work I do because of social media. Social media provided a community for me when growing up in New England in a town of a couple hundred people, there were no gay people. So social media was great for finding like minded people with similar experiences who you could talk to. I think it’s been great to learn. You learn so much from listening to other people with lived experiences that you don’t have that wouldn’t have surfaced unless you were looking on social media to hear them tell their own stories so I think that’s great so I think that’s positive. 

But when my friends look at my mentions, there are so many death threats everyday, real vitriol. I’ve become kind of immune to it, but it’s always a reminder for me when someone from the outside isn’t engaged as thoroughly as I am, they see it and ask, “how do you put up with this everyday?” I’ve just built up an armor where this is just my normal day to day experience so I don’t think about it all that much. So I’m glad I’ve been able to build up that armor but it makes me very afraid when I see things like 13 Reasons Why and teenagers that don’t necessarily have that armor. Everyday I thank God that Twitter wasn’t a thing when I was in high school. 

So it’s definitely a double edged sword. I think it brings a lot of good but people can utilize it to do some really ugly things. When we were in school, if someone were to bully you, they could only do it when you were together. Now they can torment you 24/7 and I think that’s really scary and I still don’t think people have adjusted to figure out how to deal with that. Because i Think that’s a modern issue for schools and workplaces. 

3. Selfies: Thoughts? Go for it! I mean, when I was cuter, I took them all the time. I think there’s nothing wrong with a selfie. If you look and feel good, show it off.

4. Do you believe in love? Oh of course! Yeah, how can you not? If you didn’t, this world would be a pretty miserable place.

5. What’s something you think people assume of you based on your internet persona? The internet’s really odd because people feel like they know you inside and out, there’s not much room for nuance. I always say, you’ll meet a lot of people online that are lions and then you meet them in real life and they’re mice. They’re very loud online and very shy or demure in person. I say I’m just as annoying on the internet as I am in person, but I think it’s easy for people to get a black and white image of someone following them online versus assuming or understanding that every person just like them has layers and nuance and everything that makes you a human being. 

I think the second that you have a platform for better or worse on the internet, everything you do is highly scrutinized. People will pick apart your breathing technique, there’s nothing you can do that’s right. But that’s another thing where I’ve built up an armor to it and I find more often than not that when I do meet someone in real life that has been an agitator to me online that has said some not nice things, they’re always weirdly apologetic in person. To the point where I’ve had a few sob telling me that they were sorry that they were mean. And for me, everyone goes through the phases, and I was like, “Yeah I was a jerk once so it’s fine, don’t worry about it. Just please stop doing that to other people.” It’s odd. I think it boils down to people don’t allow for the nuance that they allow for themselves, their friends, or their family for the people they’re targeting because that person might have a couple followers which is stupid.

It’s such a weird thing, it’s one of those things like Uncle Ben said, “With great power comes great responsibility.” I‘ve had to learn to be more thoughtful about how I use my platform and what I say. You learn to be more judicious in what you say or do. You realize that whether it’s fair or not, the things you say or do have a lot more weight because you do have a larger audience listening so you have to be very careful about who you’re subjecting to public scrutiny. I’ve learned over the years that there’s a disproportionate power play there that I try to be conscious of.

6. What’s one thing you want people to know about you? That I’m really boring. I’m really really boring. I can tell you if you look at my YouTube history, I just watch hundreds of crafting videos, and I don’t even craft, I just find them very soothing. Everyone assumes because I’m very loud and very much an extrovert that I must be going out all the time and getting crazy. But I like sitting home and reading, I try to read 2-3 books a week, I watch a lot of those crafting videos, I’m like a little old lady.

7. How do you consume news? Mostly Twitter. I also watch Fox News every single night. I was raised by a politically very conservative family, identified as a conservative until I was a teenager, and I try to get ahead of what my family and friends back home are going to send me. But I torture myself by watching Sean Hannity and Tucker Carlson every night. I read Drudge Report and Breitbart everyday. Twitter already gives me a clear view of the stuff I already agree with which is great, but I always want to make sure I’m going outside the echo chamber, so when I do get some crazy forwarded email from my grandmother that’s this conspiracy theory that i know where she heard it from, I know the best way to counteract it. So mostly Twitter, but also I torment myself a lot with the conservative stuff so I’m not in the bubble too much

8. What are your thoughts on race? I’ll start with a disclaimer: I feel like white people have been giving their thoughts on race for so long and dominating that narrative. My thoughts are very much molded from my personal experience. I was born and raised in a place that has probably less than 1% of the population is anything other than white Irish Catholic. It wasn’t until I moved to New York City when I was a teen that I kind of got exposed to everything, other races, cultures, languages, foods. My friends think I’m joking that growing up, every night we would have the same meal. It was steak and potatoes and the potatoes couldn’t touch the steak. My parents didn’t use any seasoning, no gravy or anything, just salt, pepper, and butter, nothing on the steak either. I thought that was normal and I thought that anyone that didn’t do what I was doing was weird. 

So when I moved to New York, I was like, this is surreal, my world isn’t the world and kind of removing yourself from that, I’m not surprised that this country has so many issues with race, because this country was built on white supremacy but on top of that when you’re in school in history class, that’s not what you’re learning. You’re learning that slavery was bad, but it ended. After that, segregation was bad, but it ended. So everything’s great now, there’s nothing to worry about. I think we have generation after generation propagated this very dangerous notion that it’s good to be colorblind, which no one is. If you are, see a doctor. Clearly you’re not, but we’ve taught people to say that as some sort of egalitarian view, but I think that ignores generations and millennia of lived experiences of people that have been marginalized. 

I wasn’t too shocked by the election results, where I came from, Trump won my county by a significant amount, so I wasn't too shocked when it happened. I remember the day after seeing all my friends of color, none of them were surprised, the only people that were shocked were white liberals. I think there is a lot of introspection that particularly White Americans need to do. I was a part of the problem as a teenager, and that’s something that I’m still unlearning and also learning because you have to unlearn all the things you took in and assumed were universal truths and that’s where it’s so important to listen to people who have lived this life and they can tell you and it’s not an outlier. If everyone is saying the same thing, listen to them. 

I still feel like White Americans are living in this bubble, I know I still am, so it’s learning and taking in what’s going on and what the people experiencing this stuff are saying so that I can be better informed and then use that education to reach out to a white friend or family member that might not be too willing to listen to someone that’s different from them. Use your ability as an ally for good to make that change happen because we’ve tried to put all the work on people who have been marginalized when it’s time for us as white people to clean house and start taking on responsibility for ourselves with all the bullshit that’s going on. 

9. Do you think the American Dream is still alive? Growing up, I think we’re taught the American Dream is that you can come here with nothing and you can build a life for you, for your kids, and certainly, there are people who have done that. But I also think we’ve made it incredibly difficult, whether it be the immigration laws or the way we’ve frozen social mobility where it’s very rare for someone to not die in the class they were born into and that can be a great thing if you’re born rich or a horrible thing if you’re born poor.

So I think right now, I don’t have the exact stat, but social mobility has never been as bad as it has been now in this country. So if the American Dream is that anyone can start from nothing and become a millionaire, I don’t think that’s true. There are plenty of people that do it, but it’s not just hard work. If everyone that just worked hard was rich, there would be janitors that’d be millionaires all over the country right now. It’s not just hard work, I think you have to have some luck thrown in there. I think there’s a lot of circumstances that make it a lot harder. Certain political parties have made it harder for the American Dream to happen.

10.  Is college overrated? I think it’s contextual, I think it depends on what you want to do. I think a lot of people don’t need to go to college and I think as it becomes more assumed that everyone’s expected to have a college degree, I think the college degree will no longer set you apart. I think if you have the means, go. I think the most important thing is fighting so that everyone has the means to do so. There’s no reason that public colleges shouldn’t be free and accessible to everybody and that’s not the case right now. 

But I think we’re about to enter another bubble burst of the student loan bubble and that’s gonna do a lot of horrible things to the economy and people who have incurred a lot of debt. I also think there should be ownness on employers where this expectation that you’re hiring someone for an associate level position and you want them to have a 4-6 year degree and 5 years of experience, when this is an associate level position, this makes no sense. 

I also think it’s about reeducating employers to not demand degrees if degrees aren’t necessary. Because if you start saying to people “you don't need college” until employers catch up to that, then you’re screwing people out of work. So it’s a very thorny issue for me. In a perfect world, no. But it has a lot of bad side effects that we’re forcing everyone into college when that might not be right for them.

11. Would you rather have security or fulfillment in your work? Fulfillment. After 4 years at DoSomething, I took a year off and went to go work at a creative agency which was great. Incredible pay, really smart people working there, but I was using all my digital marketing expertise to sell things that weren’t making the world a better place and I miss doing work that was based in, “Okay, here’s an issue, how can we get people to do something about this issue?” So I quit after a year and took a pretty severe pay cut to go back because I miss the fulfillment work, which was another adult learning lesson that money really doesn’t make you happy. If you have enough that you have security that you’re not worried about paying rent or paying a medical cost, anything on top of that isn’t going to make you happier and I just assumed if I made more money, I’d be happier which wasn’t the case, so I went back to DoSomething.

12. What’s the title of the current chapter of your life? Golden Cal 

13. What do you want out of this life? To leave the planet in a better place. So hopefully the work I’m doing sparks a generation and movement of social change and people being involved so we have more people voting, we have more protections in place where people experience discrimination, and protection for the environment. 

14. What would you say is your biggest character flaw? That I don’t have a filter. I get myself in trouble all the time because I say what I think and it gets me in trouble at work, with people I date, with friends. So I’m always honest. 

15. What’s something that makes you angry? Apathy. If you can look around at all the stuff happening in the world, and this is nothing new, this is the same story before Trump. If you can look around and say “Eh, it doesn’t affect me so I don’t care.” It’s apathy attached with a lack of empathy. If everyone had the power to be empathetic, the world would be such a better place because you hear so often that someone didn’t care about something until it affected them personally. You hear this with people who are socially conservative all the time where they’re very much apathetic to immigration or queer rights and they have a gay son and all of a sudden they’re like, “oh my god I’m so sorry I wasn’t fighting on your behalf.” I just wish you could naturally be empathetic because then the world would be a much better place, we’d be farther along than we are now. 

16. How do you measure success? I try not to. I feel like the second you put a measuring stick on it, you’re always going to be doubting yourself and worse, you’re going to be comparing yourself to your friends. Your friends are the same age but they might make more money or have a cooler job title and I think that’s really toxic. 

It will hurt your relationship with your friends, your family, and make you incredibly neurotic and full of self doubt so I try not to. There will always be someone smarter, better looking, that has a better job, that makes more money and you will never win if you play that game. Stay in your lane, focus on what you want to do and you will be much happier if you do that. 

17. What are qualities that you value? Empathy, Kindness, Patience

18. What’s the most important lesson you’ve learned so far? To slow down and open yourself up to experiences outside of your own. Whether that be talking to people who have a different lived experience than you, listening to an argument that you might not agree with, trying a new food, going to a new country, and really being open to new ideas and experiences.

19. What’s the hardest lesson you’ve had to learn? That you, just like everyone else are imperfect. I think we spend so much time telling kids, “Don’t change who you are, people have to learn to love you, you’re perfect the way you are!” No one is perfect. I think there’s beauty in imperfection and having enough introspection to actually say, “Oh I’m always demanding my friends invite me to things but I don’t invite my friends to anything.” Maybe that's something to look at that I’m asking more than giving in these personal relationships. Everyone has character flaws, it’s okay, it’s what makes you human. It’s realizing that you’re not as great as you were always told you were. 

20. What is the best piece of advice you want to leave the world with? Practice empathy. Truly, the world would be a better place if everyone just practiced empathy.