#mafalda always looks for signs

[mafaldaknows]

Instagram: johnp.shanley

✨💙💚✨💪🤘❣️

[mafaldaknows]

Ahem 😏😉☺️

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[choicesficwriterscreations]

January MC of the Month: Nora Rose

Please welcome January 2024's MC of the Month! Each month, we highlight one MC or OC on our Meet My MC / OC List. They are selected randomly on the Wheel of Names, and eligibility requirements can be found here. We accept MC / OC profiles on an ongoing basis. Please feel free to send yours in!

This month’s MC of the month is…

@inlocusmads's Nora Rose

More below...

In your own words, tell us what you like most about your MC / OC.

The thing I like the best about Nora is how she has a killswitch alternative to any plan she comes up with. Even if it is something as simple as coming up with dinner options. She has this interesting perceptive ability that's akin to playing 4D chess, but at the same time, she has elevator music running in her head.

At the same time, she's sometimes terribly wrong and isn't afraid to acknowledge that. The things she's able to do today - from keeping a level head and a calm composure in the hardest of situations come from her childhood where things were hard, and she had to grow up quite quickly. A lot of times, she'd have to think on her feet, run through options, remember new stuff, and be able to work with her constraints, not just pertinent to her job but in her adulthood as a whole. Her capacity to be able to stand up on her own feet came from so many instances where she couldn't even get off the floor or look straight ahead. 

Nora's also a slow learner but an avid one nonetheless. She was kicked out of so many schools when she was young, mostly because of her not being able to focus properly or standing up to her bullies (something the school calls ‘stirring trouble up’), and it kind of stunted the faith she had in herself. She had to build up an open mind to be able to differentiate between what is good and bad for her. She had to learn how to carve out her own path, despite dealing with so much grief she could never move on from. All of these things stuck to her when she grew up, which made her more aware and sponge-like to gather the mental ammunition needed to face all kinds of problems. 

Nora's far from what she pictured herself to be as a kid, but she's kind of bittersweet about making it this far. Optimistic that if she just doesn't think too much about stuff, the space and time around her would heal even the bloodiest of wounds, but also disappointed she can't deal with things more openly and faster, like in a brawling match. But I'm happy for her, given the circumstances she was in. Nora's always had this ability to chew her way out of things - by hook or by crook. If she can't decode a lock, she'd just give it a slight nudge. If the nudge doesn't work, she'll just straight-up shoot at it and deal with the fallout later. Her main motto is to “just keep going”. 

Do you feel your MC / OC is like you at all? How are you alike or different?

I'd say I took a lot from my experiences growing up and gave them to Nora - dealing with people at school, understanding where she truly “belongs” (before she realized that was a load of bull and she should just stop tunnel-visioning a perfect outcome and instead think about laying down a different road to her path). Nora and I share this trait where we can't sit still, but if something's up, we'd spend hours at the same place, even if it involves doing absolutely nothing. Plus, it takes both of us ages to respond to a message. Nora more than me, for sure, and half the time, she's just bored of the routine email chore (not a good sign in her line of work, but she manages.)

That's where the similarities stop haha.

She's a tough person. She throws a good punch, having undergone a lot of physical training to qualify for her NYPD officer job and more recently, for her private eye job (Mafalda had some strict requirements). She's also a great problem-solver as aforementioned. Besides the usual differences in physicality and all, she doesn't get startled easily - as in, the world could possibly end tomorrow and she'd still be at her desk, responding to a two-year old email. Her self-assurance at that instant (not anytime or anywhere else) but at that very instant is so strong, it is honestly remarkable. 

Nora also enjoys doing things on her own. Whether it be making dinner from scratch, down to the bread-baking, deducing information (without relying on scraping the bowels of the internet) or stitching her clothes if they don't fit her. It was one of the only lessons her mother taught her before she passed. Which is also the reason why she doesn't like frozen food. More on that later. 

What is most important to your MC / OC? What is their motivation in life?

Vengeance. 

Just kidding. 

It is actually vengeance. I don't know how else to put it. 

Nora's been wronged by a lot of people in her life. From losing her mother because the hospital in charge neglected her to losing her father also because her co-workers neglected him, she went through pretty much the same neglect-arc in school and college. She was always dismissed as a “traumatized kid” half the time and the other half the time, people didn't listen to her when she'd say, for example, report a bully for what they did or critique a faculty member for showing their bias. It resulted in a lot of things that went wrong in her life - from not having a good support system to being an actual orphan when she was barely thirteen. 

This kind of manifested in horrible ways when she was a kid. She suffered from a lot of anger issues and would immediately resort to physical violence if she were confronted. It isn't fair to blame her either, because she was so helpless. She'd wanted someone, just anyone to listen to her - to be there for her. This desire to help her child-self developed well into adulthood. Nora began building back the stability she never had. She's still doing it. She allows herself optimism even when she doesn't believe in anything. She puts her faith in the arbitrary workings of the universe so there's less burden to carry on her shoulders. Even though the things she tells herself aren't all perfect, they would be something her younger self would have appreciated so much. 

Taking revenge for the child in her to rest easy, for the teenage girl in her to find joys in stupid things such as trashy television shows and emo music and for her to be at peace in her own skin without wanting to explode every five minutes has always been her plan ever since she grew up. That and simply because she uses it to feel more proud of what she does. When something isn't getting anywhere, she's like “Yeah well, f it, we'll get it done. A setback ain't shit.” It was always about the “we”. 

Nora is also driven by the motivation to finish something as fast as possible. Everything is like cross-country running to her because she relishes in the satisfaction of getting a chunk of time just to herself right after getting something done. Which means she's either very good at jumping through hoops or crashes and burns. If something takes longer than her intended expectations, she'll drop it in an instant or table it until she gets her motivation back to finish it. It resulted in a lot of half-completed, archived projects but a few she's proud of, including having made her own quilts and bedsheets for the winter. 

This mentality is something she can never get rid of. At school, she was either the best player on her soccer team or the absolute worst. (Hey, at least there's no in-between to her.)

What are their biggest pet peeves/dislikes?

She hates frozen food with a burning passion. Being from a Chinese household, her parents, in the few good years they had with her - taught her the importance of a home-cooked meal or just any cooked meal. Nora, being the impressionable naive child she was, caught onto it and developed this visceral hatred for frozen anything. While she digs the convenience, she isn't a fan of how it tastes either - apart from her family values. This seeps into how Nora sees everything. She's the weird survivalist aunt with a shotgun in her closet because her personal goal is to make everything she consumes. From food, down to the clothes she wears or the curtains in her window, everything has to have had her work and hours put into it. 

Nora is also not a fan of people who don't listen first and just yap, yap and yap. This is why she often got into “creative differences” with her co-workers in her precinct. This is also the reason why Mafalda gives Nora full control of the wheel when she isn't there at the Agency, because the fewer people yapping, the happier Nora is and the better she works. 

As for visceral dislikes, boy oh boy does she have a lot:

Starting strong with the NYPD because they suck, point blank, period. She also thinks there's a special place in hell for people who just assume a lot and can get away with baseless accusations. She can understand broken promises - after all, people move on sometimes, and it's hard to keep track of them, but she draws the line at a proper betrayal. Words don't matter much to her, but actions do. Nora also isn't a fan of people who jump to the easiest conclusion just because it's easy. She’s seen a lot in her life not to automatically red-flag them. It’s worse when it comes from authorities, y’know people you’re taught to trust.

Also, people who gate-keep their expertise. She’s come across so many pretentious people who’d rather let an important investigation hit a dead end than worry about spilling their “trade secrets.” Kind of a niche dislike, but if you’re running out of time and your only hope banks on a mystery novelist’s ability to describe what he saw and tell the truth like his characters would have done, you too would be frustrated if he’d rather drink his coffee when he knows he’s purposefully jeopardizing the investigation’s momentum. And that’s just one of her ‘good’ experiences. Nora loathes academia and wouldn’t touch it even with a six-foot pole.

If your MC / OC could change one thing - anything - what would it be?

Be blessed with a readable medical textbook so she could diagnose her mother earlier than her doctors ever can (and) get magical surgery skills to revive her dad after he got stabbed. 

She still regrets not being able to do anything because she was “just a kid”.Nora has learned to cope with it, knowing she can't do anything about it but she still has this itching feeling of what if things had turned out for the better. It's this heavy rock she's gonna have to deal with for sometime now. 

Nora has this tricky relationship with her heritage. She isn't a fan of how different she is compared to the rest of her family and how they'd ostracized her after her settling down far from home. She wants to be able to change that aspect but knows it is too late to repair the damage. If she could go back in time and “pick a side,” she wouldn't have to feel the FOMO.

This regret of hers, however, is attributed to her never feeling she belonged somewhere among her family. Someday, she'd have to find her own family, own circle of friends, and culture to build. Someday, she'll learn that she's as valid to celebrate her heritage as her Aunt Mei or Uncle Tommy. That there aren't true extremes to anything there's no “one way” to be something, but until then, she's going to angrily sew back some loose stitches and groan about not being able to speak Cantonese as fluently as her relatives or being a “true” New Yorker. 

Also maybe her hair. (Also it is so hard to draw her hair consistently.) Sometimes it gets in the way. And maybe fix her eyesight without needing contacts or glasses. Automatically give herself 20/20 vision whenever needed and blur her eyes out when she doesn't want to.

What is your MC / OC’s favorite quote or song?

It's hard to pick one song, because Nora listens to anything and doesn't really have a music ‘taste’ as long as the song she's listening to has some spunk to it. Something she relates to would be I Talk To The Wind by King Crimson. Combined with the slow pace and the lyrics that basically put her life as a picture, it's a bop.

Is there anything else you’d like to share about your MC / OC?  (It can be why you created them, how they’ve inspired you, or you could write a little blurb as if it is coming from your OC - an acceptance speech. :) )

I've struggled a lot with naming characters before but Nora's was the only time I knew her name wayyy before I could give her a personality. I was like “yep she's Nora, she's definitely one, yep.” and somehow I didn't anticipate how much she'd like, write herself and the story just writing itself. It literally popped into my head as outlandish as it may seem. And somehow that process worked because I don't ever run out of new headcanons to add.

Nora's also the first character I've created a 100k-worded introduction for (which will never see the light of day and is chucked into my files). I honestly expected her to just be fleeting. I'd make up something about her character, and I'd leave it at that, but nope. 

She's the most organized person in the universe. Her clothes never had a chance to get folded since 1999. She is so methodic and yet will pull off stupid shit like kickboxing a door because she doesn't want to open it. Nora is the character to every character but she stops charactering if she's in front of any screen with something playing on it. She can calculate the angle she needs to throw something so it can hit something, but she fails at basic math at the checkout line. She's masterful at cooking up a storm in the kitchen but enters her flop era when she forgets to take her stuff from the oven when the timer beeps.

Honestly, Nora was such a good lesson in writing as well because people are not always black-and-white. Sometimes, their strengths are their weaknesses. Sometimes the things they are chasing after work against their benefit. Maybe their opinions are skewed after all, even though the narrative conditions into believing that they're the Hero character. They should be allowed to be terribly piss-pathetic poor at something before learning to solve the problem, and sometimes it's okay if they're just bad at something if they can improv a way forward.

Plus, she's cool and stuff. Sometimes. 

[traumafactory28]

Imma talk about my cat 😌

When my cat was younger and still skittish, I had no idea how to get her to sleep or be comfortable laying on me. So, the brilliant 14 year old I was, decided to start playing "come little children" every time she got tired because I thought it was a soft lullaby and it'd encourage her to sleep comfortably. It worked. Now, every time I play it, she comes over to sleep on me. I love her so much. She's forever a kitten in my eyes.

The way that i got her used to me physically was to lay down with her in her kennel everyday while she was healing her broken paw.

The only "disadvantage" of this is that she is afraid of everyone except me and codependent. I'm working on fixing her social anxiety tho by carrying her out of my room and holding her while guests are there.

She's such a smart kitty. I've kind of taught her commands. Cats are smart, just like dogs, they just choose to ignore people most of the time. My kitty likes me, so she listens.

The commands she knows are:

(Edit: some of these aren't even commands, just different ways we communicate with each other)

*Prolonged whistle* : come here (urgency depending on pitch and volume of note)

*Two sharp kissy noises* ??( I don't know how else to describe it than that): get up/move

Show me your belly?/flop?/laydown? (The questioning tone is important. She just thinks I'm talking at her if in a commanding tone): she flops on the ground for belly rubs

Up up *tap twice on specified surface* : jumps up on surface.

*Claw hand with spread fingers* : playtime

*headtilt* : what's wrong/needed (i usually do this when she's hurt, out of food, water or something is agitating her, she usually immediately goes to/point out the problem)

*Two nail taps in quick succession on a hard surface* or sharp and short whistle: look at me.

I haven't taught her anything else than that because everything else can be conveyed and communicated via slight nudges and eyecontact. She knows I love her and won't do anything to hurt her. She has literally let me put one of her paws in my mouth, as if I was going to bite her, then slow blinked, calling my bluff. (This morning) she knows me too well.

We have an amazing bond. My parents split up 2 years ago and were debating on who got what pets. They originally planned on my step mom taking all the cats, but immediately backtracked for the sole reason that "Mafalda is Elias's cat". This split also left my dad's dog in my care as well. He's a pit named mitch. He's a dumbass, but I'm teaching him the same way as mafalda but with more words and repetitions.

Mitch and Mafalda don't get along and usually stalks each other when one isn't looking, but they put their differences aside when I'm in the room with them. They both like to sleep with me, so they have a truce while in bed. He likes to sleep by my side and she like to sleep on me, so they kinda have to be close. The only exception to the truce is if mitches mouth gets too close to her, then she quickly reminds him to not even try it with a bap and a hiss. A quick "guys" gets them to stop tho.

She used to hate being picked up due to her fear of heights since breaking her paw, but she let's me do it. She did it only for short period of time at first, but once she realized that I would put her down at first sign of discomfort, she slowly got used to it and let's me pick her up whenever.

Recently, I've been made aware of the fact from my dad that while I'm out, mafalda will sit in the kitchen on the table and wait for me to return home. She always greets me at the door and let's me pick her up to my room.

She might as well be called Baby at this point with how little I actually call her mafalda when talking to her.

God I love her. Thank you for listening to me rant about my codependent tuxedo kitty named Mafalda.

Here she is. She's laying on me in all the pictures.

[mafaldaknows]

Instagram: johnp.shanley

HMMMMM… 😏😉🥹😜

[mrspinntail]

Instagram: johnp.shanley

GOOD NIGHT ✨♥️✨

[dr1edflorals]

Still Woozy Live

[mafaldaknows]

Instagram: painfullessonspodcast

MAINTAIN COURSE, STEADY AS SHE GOES ✨⛵️✨💙💪❣️

[mafaldaknows]

Thank you, @zuzla33 ❤️🧿🤘💪❣️

This is for everyone who has made it through this past year with me, thank you all … 2022 … what a year … full of low screams

JANUARY

“Armie and I” … “we love you”

Where’s Waldo ? ↓

FEBRUARY

well Timo has been busy filming Wonka in London … and Armie has been completely MIA for a whole month … it makes you wonder where he’s been hiding while Timo has been living on the outskirts of London in this beautiful golf resort … wait …

MARCH

supportive mom Chalamet

March 27 … almost same place almost same time…

APRIL

my place … your place … our place

MAY

Oliver’s glasses   Oliver’s glasses   Oliver’s glasses

Timmy hanging out with Armie’s best friend in Armie friendly company …

JUNE

JULY

Armie in Pierluigi Roma

SEPTEMBER

coincidences …

everything about this photoshoot…

and this speaks for itself …

OCTOBER

NOVEMBER

DECEMBER

this is war …

Friends of my Friends are my Friends

their worlds are connected …

all those charmie accounts too …

… and no, our boy is not over it

See you in 2023 !

* you know there was more, but some things are better not aired … also I’m pretty sure that I stole some ss (I don’t remember the source of all of them) … but I carefully set aside the sensitive ones so I hope that’s ok and thanks  ♥

[mafaldaknows]

Instagram: johnp.shanley

AND AGAIN GOOD NIGHT

[sk1fanfiction]

Hello! I saw that you reblogged the "I wish you would write a fic where..." post, and I have two ideas for the Running From My Destiny verse that might make neat scenes. The first I can't really make a summary for since it's such a general idea, but I'd really like to see a Quirrellmort POV. For the second one:

Malfada Prewett meets the Weasleys. This... does not go as well as her parents thought it would, even if they didn't have particularly high hopes.

OR

Malfada absolutely does not get along with her cousins; she loves them anyways, though.

I hope the prompt(s) is(are?) fun! It's cool that you're doing this; it seems like it'd be an interesting experience. Have a nice night! :)

Thanks so much for the prompts! They were both very cool ideas! Hope you have a nice morning/afternoon/night as well!

ᑫᑌIᖇᖇEᒪᒪᗰOᖇT/TᑌᖇᑎIᑎG TO ᗩᔕᕼEᔕ

(spark)

Quirinus Quirrell surveyed his classroom, then glanced down at his attendance sheet, running a shaking finger down his list of names.

“P-Parkinson, P-Pansy?”

“Here, Professor.”

“P-Patil, P-P-Parvati?”

He’d always been ashamed of his stutter. There wasn’t a time he remembered not feeling afraid of his own voice. He expected peers, now students, to laugh at him and make him feel smaller and smaller, until he was annhilated.

“Here, sir.”

He pushed his reading glasses up his nose and focused on the next name.

His heartbeat stuttered in his ears. Something seemed to click. To focus. And when he spoke, his voice was as composed and steady as he’d always dreamed.

“Potter, Harry.”

“Present, sir.”

He could not help but look up at the speaker. But it wasn’t as if he was one looking. Rather, someone or something else had nudged their way to the front of his brain, gazing at the small first-year in the second row, scrawny, bespectacled and overall unremarkable, except for the round-rimmed glasses and bright green eyes that seemed to stir some distant memory, as if he had seen them both on another person.

Dead. And yet he felt more alive than ever.

He shuddered, and moved on, taking note of the remaining few Gryffindor and Slytherin students.

(ember)

It had been mere days since Quirinus had returned to the school; mere weeks since Voldemort’s disembodied spirit promised him everything he’d ever dreamed of.

No longer would he be the bullied, cowed Professor of Muggle Studies.

No longer would he be an afterthought.

There is no good and evil, only power, he reminded himself. Whether he vanquished Voldemort or brought him back to life, he would be great. And that was all that mattered.

And so, he had found himself standing in front of the Mirror of Erised, performing spells that he did not understand (but the other, strange new part of him did) and renewing the runes drawn around an ancient bloodstain.

But now, he was sitting in his office. And that green-eyed, unremarkable boy was sitting across from him (though the part of him that was Voldemort whispered, Quirinus, he is the one).

“Do you think I should be worried at all about the shadows?"

Harry Potter’s voice seemed to be coming through several miles of water. For his part, Quirinus felt frozen, and yet, more clever and powerful and strong than he ever had. His limbs had new life, every square centimetre of his being thrummed with magic, and he felt a strange, vast understanding of everything around him; even the boy’s mind.

"You were right to come to me, Harry Potter.” And there came the new, clear voice again, but it faded quickly. “If you are at all interested in learning to... control... to develop... your power, I may just be able to point you in the right d-d-direction."

(flame)

Halfway through the Quidditch match, something strange had come over Quirinus. That same terrible focus and perhaps not-so-mysterious power.

And every nerve in his body sang with the same fierce joy: Kill him, kill him, kill him! They’ll never trace it to you! Dumbledore is not here to see! KILL HIM!

Quirinus had not taken even a single year of Ancient Runes while he was at Hogwarts, and his affinity for the Dark Arts had always been weak. But now, he sat quite calmly in the professors’ box, muttering an Ogham chant and tainting the air with foul magic.

He saw what the others could not; Harry Potter was being consumed by his own shadows. The boy reached for his broom, hanging on with the last of his material form. His eyes were glassy and empty, and everything in Quirinus sung with the triumphant knowledge that his strange enemy was close to death. The Reaper was coming.

The two Weasley boys circled around him, trying to save him (foolish children, none can save him from Lord Death himself!).

It was the girl that snapped him out of his focus; she threw herself into the box like a wildcat let loose and despite the protests of the professors around him.

But it mattered not. Her precious brother was fast losing his grip, and soon the great Boy-Who-Lived would be nothing but a stain on the grass below; a tragic accident—

“INCENDIO!I”

The box crackled with flame, and the thing inside Quirinus howled in anger; yes, she should not know that, but fire would save the boy, sap the shadows.

Even as Snape shouted at her, it was her victory, not his, because Harry Potter had pulled himself back on the broom to safety.

How hard is it to kill an eleven-year-old child already cursed by a parasitic monster? You are just as much of a failure as they say you are!

And yet, thought Quirinus, he did not know if it was the thing, or himself howling in fury at his inability to kill the boy.

(ashes)

He did not like her. He did not like either of the Potter children at all.

Perhaps he liked Harry Potter sometimes, when he delved into his mind and forced the Obscurus to manifest, savoured his terror and the fear-filled memories of his Muggle relatives. When he entertained the idea of using him as a weapon against Dumbledore, now that he had shielded the boy from Legilimency from anyone but him and instilled within him a fear of his Headmaster.

Perhaps he liked Harry Potter when the Dark magic had burned out, and he lay helpless on the floor of Quirrell’s office.

Quirinus found that he liked to toy with the child; make him feel as helpless and utterly annihilated as he once had felt.

After all, he would one day kill Harry Potter. He would make the life bleed out of those green eyes and watch them go still and glassy (like his mother’s, he remembered now), someday soon.

Even as he Obliviated the second child who dared to intercept his search for the Stone, Quirinus knew the end was dawning.

With shaking hands, he lifted the cigarette to his mouth and inhaled death. The weak, prim Quirinus who would have balked at the very idea of polluting his body with such a thing was no longer important to him. After all, what was nicotine and tar and his disgust at the idea of a smoking habit when the spirit of the Dark Lord lived within him?

No. He had been chosen for greater things.

Tonight was the night the end begun.

Quirinus signed the bottom of his letter of resignation, put out the cigarette, and placed in it his brand-new ashtray.

And yet, he cried.

“I have given you my all, My Lord,” he said, and his voice, his own voice was steady. “And now I am nothing.”

𝙼𝚊𝚏𝚊𝚕𝚍𝚊 𝙿𝚛𝚎𝚠𝚎𝚝𝚝/𝚃𝚘 𝙰𝚕𝚕 𝚃𝚑𝚎 𝙲𝚘𝚞𝚜𝚒𝚗𝚜 𝚃𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝙳𝚛𝚒𝚟𝚎 𝙼𝚎 𝚄𝚙 𝚃𝚑𝚎 𝚆𝚊𝚕𝚕

August, 1986

“Just give it a chance, will you?” asked her dad, taking her luggage out the boot. “You won’t know you hate it until you try it.”

Everyone seemed to be giving her the same stupid advice today. When they stopped to get petrol during the drive from London, some weirdo in the petrol station had told her “Cheer up love, it might not happen!” She had responded by sticking her tongue out at them.

Mafalda frowned, crossed her arms, and leaned against the car.

“I don’t see why I can’t go to Roedean.”

“Well, you’re a witch, Mafalda.” He wiped his forehead and frowned. “Bloody hot, isn’t it?”

Witch. She hated the word already. Yeah, some of the girls at school were into Ouija boards and palm-reading and whatnot, but Mafalda didn’t go in for all of that nonsense.

The kind of nonsense that got Uncle Fabian and Uncle Gideon killed.

“And what do they call you and Mum again?”

Her dad sighed. “Squibs.”

“Yes, Dad! It’s not very nice, is it?”

She glared at the house as if it had personally offended her. It was tall, maybe four or five stories and so crooked that there was no way it hadn’t fallen down by now. A couple of brown chickens hobbled around the yard.

And in here lived the people who had sent her father off to Muggle boarding school, as far away from them as they could possibly manage, as soon as they could.

As her dad strode towards the door, Mafalda followed, kicking a rusty cauldron as she went by.

Before Mafalda could make her great escape, her dad knocked on the door and a plump, short, red-headed someone opened it almost immediately.

“Alfred?” she asked in a squeaky, shocked voice. Then, she glanced furtively behind her as if to check that no one was listening. “Alfred, what are you doing here?”

Her dad frowned, fanned himself with the collar of his shirt, and beckoned her closer so that the rude woman could look her up and down.

“Come on, Mals,” he whispered. “In for a penny, in for a pound, eh?”

Yeah, her hair probably looked a mess and the dress Mum had forced her to wear was all creased, but Mafalda didn’t think she would look particularly nice if she’d just spent three and a half hours in a stinky, sweaty car.

“Well,” said her dad, “this is your niece, Molly, and she’s a witch just like you. Got her Hogwarts letter last week and everything; Professor McGonagall said we should come over and see you. Of course, her mum and I know next to nothing about the wizarding world and Mals just barely remembers your brothers—“

Mafalda couldn’t help herself.

“You’re my aunt? Uncle Fabian and Uncle Gideon’s sister? Why’d you never come to see me?”

The woman — Aunt Molly — went red in the face.

“Come in, Mafalda,” she said tiredly. And at her father’s hard look, she added: “Come on then. Both of you. In.”

Once they were inside the cramped, cluttered kitchen, she was introduced to her cousins. Mafalda kind of tuned out for most of it because most of them were younger than her, bloody annoyingly loud, and she wasn’t the World’s Biggest Fan of small children, but she did pay attention to Charlie (thirteen and Gryffindor Seeker) and Bill (fifteen and a Prefect of Gryffindor House). The youngest boy was crying his eyes out because someone turned his teddy bear into a giant spider, but Aunt Molly didn’t seem to care. A ugly-looking sweater was knitting itself on the sofa.

While she obviously knew what a Prefect was, Mafalda had no idea what a Seeker was or why everyone was making such a big deal over Gryffindor or more to the point what Gryffindor even was!

“Who’s that, Mummy?” asked the youngest, a little girl with hair the same violent red as Mafalda’s.

“Your cousin, dear,” said Aunt Molly tiredly. “She’s just come to meet us, her father’s a Squib you see—“

The little girl screwed her face up.

“I don’t wanna Squib cousin!” she yelled.

Despite herself, Mafalda flinched, and her dad did, too.

“Don’t worry, dear. She’s a witch, just like you.”

As if that made it any better.

“I don’t wanna,” the girl repeated, glowering at Mafalda.

“Look,” said Mafalda harshly. “We’ll just leave, get our Squib selves out of your way and on the three-and-a-half-hour drive back to London. Thanks for nothing.”

“You didn’t call, Alfred,” said Aunt Molly.

Her dad pinched the bridge of his nose, looking frustrated.

“There’s no way to contact you, Molly. No phone, and you don’t get our kind of mail. Where am I going to get my hands on a trained owl?”

“She can sleep with Ginny,” said Aunt Molly, nodding towards the little girl.

Mafalda gave Bill, who seemed like the most sensible one of the bunch, a look that clearly said, I am not going to bloody sleep with that demon and that’s final.

“I can sleep with Charlie, Mum, and Mafalda can have my bed.”

Aunt Molly beamed. “What an angel,” she said. And to Mafalda. “Come, dear, let me take your trunk. We’ll all go shopping in Diagon Alley tomorrow, doesn’t that sound nice? Alfred, you wouldn’t mind—”

“—Not letting the world know you have a secret Squib cousin, you have nothing to fear, I’m well practiced, Molly.”

Charlie stood up. “Can I show her around the house, Mum?”

The youngest boy looked up, too.

“And can I have a piggy-back ride from her?”

“You’re too old, Ron!” said the snootiest-looking boy, who was sitting in the middle and had the least amount of dirt in his face.

“I’m not too old!” shrieked Ginny, waving her freckled arms. “I’m only five years old, Mum! I want a piggyback-ride!”

“When your dad gets home from work,” said Aunt Molly.

“You’ll get used to us,” Bill whispered.

I don’t have to like you, thought Mafalda.

“So are you coming?” asked Charlie. “We’ve got to de-gnome the garden. You should come too, Uncle Alfred.”

Dad said he’d come with them, but would rather watch. De-gnoming apparently seemed to involve spinning the tiny, screaming, spiteful little (animals? creatures?) until they shrieked with giddiness, then tossing them as far as you possibly could, which Mafalda was very good at, and Bill and Charlie were all too happy to cheer her on, even convincing her dad to join in, too.

"Don't mind Ginny," said Bill as he flung a particularly angry gnome over the hedge. "She doesn't know anything about anything. And it was wrong of Mum to push you away, but I hope we can be friends still, and that you'll come to Hogwarts with us."

Mafalda, despite herself, thought that was an entirely reasonable proposal.

Maybe she wasn’t going to hate the wizarding world.

It turned out that unfortunately for the sake of her sanity, Charlie loved to talk while he was working.

“Have you heard about Quidditch, Mafalda — oh, good one, Uncle Alfred! That must have gone like twenty yards! Did you know the Antipodean Opaleye has no pupils? What House are you going to be in?”

And yet, she found herself (ew) getting a bit fond of them already.

[petriichvrs]

𝐋𝐎𝐂𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍:   diagon alley   ! 𝐅𝐄𝐀𝐓𝐔𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆:   @hubriistic​   !

“coffee delivery for mafalfa-” was how ginny decided to announce her arrival, though she really didn’t have to. the bell above the apothecary door gave an off tune sort of ding as she pushed it open with her foot, and would’ve had any good shopkeep moving to front of store even without the unnecessary call. it was quieter inside than it was in most of the stores along the alley. ginny hadn’t seen any customer go in - or come out - while she’d exchanged a few sickles for the two drinks clutched in both hands at the place across the way, and... in spite of herself, she had been keeping a rather close eye. she was always going in, but she hadn’t exactly worked out whether she was or wasn’t hoping to see a see a certain bleach blond when she did, as the barista had worked on two splotchy shamrocks.

if she weren’t living it, then she would’ve found how weird things had gotten thanks to a singular event really funny.

“you’re welcome. it’s of the irish nationality, i think,” or at least, the closest wixen equivalent to an ‘irish coffee’, made with firewhiskey rather than the muggle sort. she hadn’t been paying all that much attention. sliding one of the cups across to mafalda and taking her first sip of her own, ginny’s nose scrunched up almost involuntarily at the taste bitter coffee & unexpected spice created... though she did go back for seconds as she leaned more comfortably against the counter, so that was a good sign. "sucks that you’re stuck inside while the rest of us get to have fun. are you on your own?” that was a perfectly innocent, perfectly polite thing to ask. ginny tries very hard to sound utterly disinterested in whatever answer might come... though she was looking a little too intently around the place. 

[peachesatmidnight83]

Mafalda always look for signs...

Charmies’s always look for signs...

@lenore1126 @onlyastoryteller @the-nonna-universe

[eliottdemauries]

some lines, things and details i adored in cmbyn, part two:

marzia in that floral dress

elio’s double denim

the way elio says “why are you laughing” in french 

“i am such a pussey” 

“way over the top”

oliver sleeping in this clothes as he fell asleep waiting for elio

*hand through hair* “they are all so incredibly sensual”

elio rolling his eyes at the note

“i’ll try it on for oliver, if he thinks i look like a scarecrow in it i’m not wearing it” 

oliver scaring mafalda 

oliver’s poor attempt at speaking italian

elio’s little dance while squatting as the song he likes comes on the radio

elio’s cartwheel onto the mattress 

elio discreetly trying to fix his boner situation as isaac and mounir arrives

“papa, it’ll look like a put-up job. PAPA, IT’LL LOOK LIKE PUT-UP JOB”

“you’re too old not to accept people for who they are” 

isaac hugging mounir from behind as elio plays the piano

“i’m glad you came” 

oliver’s facial expression as elio glances over to him as they are sneaking though the hallway

oliver teasing elio by not kissing him after asking if he could

elio climbing oliver like a tree

oliver laughing at elio’s reaction to the door slamming shut

oliver’s hands on elio’s back, i mean plz

the thing elio does with his tongue as oliver is taking his pants off

elio moaning “oliver”

elio leaning for a kiss as oliver pulls away from the embrace right before the cmbyn part

the way they keep on switching between looking at each other’s lips and into each other’s eyes

the way elio grabs oliver’s chin before he kisses him

"you know mafalda always looks for signs” “she’s not going to find any”

ok this is only like half an hour of the movie but it’s getting way too long.. so part three?

[mafaldaknows]

Honestly, agree with Armie calling yall a brood of vipers. How quick are yall to throw him away when another man you deem more worthy, be it Troye or Jason Momoa or Hugh Grant, interacts with your saintly timmy. Having fans that only care about you when they can vicuariously live through you ther kinky fantasy about fucking your costar, no wonder he exploded and told that to the bulgarian weirdo.

We are not the ones in the everyone but armie train, you "charmies" are. If you can call yourselves charmie and not timothee shippers, that's the more accurate term.

Hello, Anon:

Are you lost again, darling?

When did I ever say anything about throwing Armie away?

BTW, The plural form of “y’all” is “all y’all”. “Y’all” is singular. If you’re attempting to disguise your identity by using a ubiquitous American Southern colloquialism, at least use it correctly:

“… agree with Armie calling ALL Y’ALL a brood of pit vipers.”

Your preteen pretzel logic has apparently drawn the erroneous conclusion that we have abandoned Armie Hammer, which is wholly contradictory to this specific fandom (obviously), and that anyone standing next to Timothée Chalamet in a photo or video that’s blogged or reblogged in this fandom space on tumblr automatically MUST means we “ship” them instead, even when there’s nothing written or even implied in the photo to indicate anything of the sort in the blog or reblog. Not in any of mine, anyway.

Taking delight in the magical alchemy that comes from excellent casting in a production is not at all the same thing as your implication of wanting Tim and any and all of his current co-stars to live out your specific kinky fantasies. That’s where YOUR mind wants to go, Anon. Not mine.

Armie is quietly rebuilding his life in peace and privacy after the trauma of a calculated character assassination over the course of the last three years, beginning shortly after the announcement of his ugly divorce from the perpetrator of that specific crime. He thankfully still exists, despite her best efforts, even if we don’t see him with the same frequency as we once did. Understandably, he is staying out of the spotlight to focus on the things that truly matter to him.

Tim is working hard right now to promote various projects so he’s automatically just that much more visible. He happens to be featured in some of these projects with fellow actors so he will naturally be associated in some way with them in the media. These promotional events are noteworthy to Tim’s fans so photos and press regarding these events get blogged and reblogged, and he may indeed be seen in close proximity to one of his co-stars in these photos. If your brain equates any of that with “shipping” Tim with his other co-stars, that’s on you.

For me, there is only one co-star with whom Tim has a deep connection worthy of my attention in this space. One.

However they choose to define that connection is up to them and none of my business. I’m just happy for them that they found each other.

Love is what brings us together in the Charmiesphere.

Love is love is love.

That’s it. That’s all.

Thanks for your comment. ✨💚🚢💙✨

[filmtrash]

The midnight scene, when Oliver sits on the bed, wiping come off his chest with his shirt. Elio says "Mafalda always looks for signs". What signs, why? Like, Mafalda's going to check sheets for evidence that they've fucked? Really? Why would she do this? Does Elio imply that Mafalda suspects something between them, or that she is paranoic and, like, suspects everyone to fuck around and spoil sheets all the time?

You know what I’ve never really given it much thought. Maybe looking for signs of anything in order to know they need to be washed? To be honest, nothing surprises me in that home. Malfada is like a second mother to Elio and perhaps that’s her way of checking he’s being safe or something? I don’t know how that makes sense but I’m not really sure. I think I didn’t even flinch at that because Elio telling his father he almost had sex with Marzia shocked me enough lol