#the stew you grew up with is gone and i know experimenting with new recipes is hard but don't go back to eating rotten food

[littlebigmouse]

Noo don't make Mr. Burns the next german chancellor, you're so sexy haha...

[silver-tongued-bby]

You're Mine, Chapter 7

You’re the CEO of a groundbreaking drug company in Sweden with a work/life balance that’s more work than anything else. That is before you meet Loki, who turns your world on its head in the best of ways.

Set during the first Avengers movie. This work contains explicit content and BDSM.

Pairing: Dom!Loki x Sub!Reader

Warnings: NSFW, 18+!!!, BDSM, dirty talk, oral sex (M receiving), bondage, spanking, fingering, anal play

Word Count: 4,440

Chapter Summary: You cook Loki dinner and he stops going so easy on you.

Author's Note: Chapter 7 already???? I'm thinking of closing most of the fic out next chapter but keeping it around for a few more prologues (particular kinks lol). I'm sorry I was late with this one- but I hope it was worth the wait. As always, your feedback is valued and I hope you enjoy!!

...

By the time the two of you slipped out of the bath it was well after sunset. You felt fully relaxed and refreshed. You changed into a comfortable pair of shorts and sweater while Loki conjured himself an outfit.

You led him into the kitchen, sitting him down at one of the stools at your countertop.

“Do you like Thai food?” You asked, turning to open the fridge.

“Of course,” you could hear the apprehension in his voice.

You smiled at him then brought out some chicken thighs, scallions, an egg and some Chinese broccoli, placing them on the counter. Bringing your eyes back to his you found him curiously watching you. “Is something wrong?”

He chuckled. “No- it’s just I think I can count on one hand the number of times someone’s cooked for me who wasn’t being paid in some way. Thor once tried to make stew while we were hunting Bilgesnipes but it did not end with something edible.”

“Hm- not sure what a Bilgesnipe is but I can assure you this will be edible.” You smiled at him, grabbing the wok from the cupboard.

“Do you cook?” You asked, filling a pot of water on the stove for the rice noodles.

“I’ve dabbled since coming to Midgard. I do love a good plate of breakfast meats,” he sounded thoughtful.

You laughed. “Good to hear we have at least one leg up on Asgard. Here,” you pushed a cutting board with the vegetables in front of him. “Can you chop these? And slice the scallions? Here’s a knife,” you handed him your nakiri.

He moved the knife, testing the weight and balance of it with his fingers. He nodded, then gave it a flip and went to work, finishing in seconds.

“Oh,” your mouth was open as you looked at the finely prepared vegetables then back up to him. You were starting to rethink your first and only rule.

He smiled, chuckling. “Knives are kind of my thing.”

“I see that…” you trailed off, eyeing his dextrous fingers as he held the knife, picturing him in the armour he had on last night, knife in hand… You swallowed, bringing your eyes back to his you knew by his mischievous grin that he could tell exactly what you were thinking.

“Um- sorry, right okay.” You composed yourself then brought everything over to the stove and mixed the sauce. You quickly assembled the dish, tossing the ingredients together in the wok.

You dished out two servings and brought them to the counter and settled in the stool beside him. He had topped up your wine glass already.

“Ta-da! Pad See Ew,” you motioned to his dish, grinning.

He smiled at you, picking up the chopsticks to take a bite. His eyes grew wide, “this is delicious.”

“Thank you, thank you,” you bowed slightly towards him before turning to eat the noodles in front of you. Fuck- it was delicious.

“Where did you learn to cook like this?” He asked, most of his bowl gone.

“The internet. I’m not going to lie to you- I only know three recipes. This one kept me alive in college.”

You soon fell into an easy conversation as you finished your meal.

“Well, I promise next time I’ll do the cooking,” he said, helping you clear up the dishes. “Though I did bring desert,” he said and pulled a plate full of petit fours out of thin air, placing it on the counter before you with a little wink.

“Impressive,” you mused, bringing the wine to the couch in the other room. The two of you settled side-by-side on the couch, looking out at the dark, frosty lake beyond.

“Do you miss New York?” Loki asked, stretching out on the couch, bringing his hand to lightly brush circles over your shoulder.

“Hmm, sometimes. Though Tony, my old boss, is around a lot so at times it feels like I’m still in New York working in his lab.” You decided then to let him in on the only thing you’d kept from him- your work for Stark Industries. It was only fair. If he could tell you about being an alien-god you could tell him about your postdoctoral experience.

“Are you two close?” His hand stopped its movement.

“In a working-friendship kind of way. He’s the primary shareholder of the company so he’s around often. He took me under his wing at Stark Industries.” You let the words sink in.

“You worked for Tony Stark,” he turned to you. “From what I’ve seen of the man he seems like quite the handful.” He gave you a grin.

You laughed, relieved. “Yes I’d have to agree with you there. Though he’s the one who pushed me to go to Elv. I hadn’t been out in ages.”

“I’ll have to give him my thanks,” he picked a langue de chat off the plate, popping it in his mouth.

“It would be fun to visit New York again, with you, someday,” you said gently, looking into his eyes.

“I’d love to,” he smiled at you.

“Speaking of Elv, you’ve told me what you’re not willing to try. Tell me älskling, what do you desire to explore?”

You licked your lips, growing nervous. You felt trapped by his stare, his eyes were daring you to answer. “Bondage,” you swallowed, “and discipline.”

“You want me to be harder on you, little one?” His hand moved from your shoulder to gently push your hair behind your ear.

You nodded, looking down at your hands.

He brought his hand under your chin, guiding your gaze back to his. His eyes were warm though there was a hint of mischief simmering beneath. “I can do that, my älskling. Is there anything else?”

An answer immediately came to you but you couldn’t bring yourself to say it out loud. You lightly shook your head.

“It is not wise to lie to me,” his expression darkened with his tone.

You bit your lip. “Anal,” you whispered.

He tilted his head, surveying you. “We’ll have to train you for that, little one. Have you done it before?” He gently brushed your cheek with his thumb.

You shook your head. “Never, Sir.”

“I’ll take my time with you, älskling.” He stood. “Now, let’s have you change into something lovely so we can get started.”

He led you to your bedroom and into your closet. You brought out a few options, laying them delicately on the island of the walk-in. Your heart raced as he considered each option, his gaze flickering back up to you before motioning to the white Lise Charmel set. Without another glance he strode out of your closet, leaving you alone.

You shakily pulled your sweater off, marvelling at how quickly he changed from Loki to your Sir. He demanded complete submission with the way he carried himself and spoke to you, dressing you down with just a gaze. You took a deep breath and slid off the rest of your clothes before slipping on the soft white lace.

You slid the garter up your thigh and took a look in the mirror. Fixing your hair you took one last deep breath before stepping out of the closet.

You were surprised to find the room empty. You turned around, puzzled, before you felt his firm form behind you, his warm hands firmly grasping your waist.

“Such a lovely little thing,” his breath tickled the shell of your ear and you shivered. “My lovely little thing,” he was closer now and pressed his lips against your neck, just below your ear. You breathed in a shaky breath, the feeling of his tongue against the sensitive spot making your head spin. He snaked his hands away from your waist and pulled away from you to circle you slowly, his eyes tracing your heated skin.

“What should I do with you, hm?” His tone was lush, velvety, and dripping with sin as he continued to move around you with his hands behind his back. You felt like his prey, tangled up in his very essence, entranced before he consumed you entirely.

He stopped in front of you, an eyebrow raised. “I asked you a question, älskling.” His jaw was pronounced as he reprimanded you, the look of his aristocratic face set in a scowl sent waves of heat to your core and your heartbeat hammering in your chest.

“I’m- I’m not sure, Sir. I’m sorry,” you stammered, feeling very much exposed in front of his fully clothed form.

He stepped back, his knuckle against his chin as he studied you. “On your knees. Hands behind your back.”

Your thighs clenched together before you bent down on shaky knees, resting yourself on your heels, your hands gingerly placed behind your lower back.

He circled you once more, his eyes on the floor. He stopped suddenly and moved his hand in an upward motion, materialising emerald green ropes on the ground beside you. His eyes met yours, his expression momentarily gentle as he nodded your way, as if to confirm his actions.

You gave him the tiniest of nods and his jaw set once more. He snapped his fingers and motioned with his hands, each finger curling upwards as the ropes followed suit, coiling themselves around your limbs.

You sharply inhaled as they moved around you, the soft feel of the shibari rope gentle across your sensitive skin. The ropes fastened themselves around your arms, winding several times before tightening so that your upper arms were held firmly together. They wound themselves around your chest, the green bright against the white lace of your bra, then your shoulders, fastening together at your back. Your legs were bound similarly to your arms, the rope finding its way between your thighs, though your legs were kept separate.

Once the movement stopped you looked up at Loki with wide eyes, your mouth open to accommodate you accelerated breathing. Your chest heaved under you, the ropes tightening against your skin, constricting your breathing in the slightest. The rope pressed up against the lace delivered the most delicious burn.

He continued to circle you, his eyes darkening as they traced the curvature of your skin against the cords, accented by the white of your lingerie. “I’ll ask you again. What should I do with you?”

“I don’t know, Sir.” You said, both the fabric and the ropes between your legs dampening as you trembled.

“Wrong answer, älskling.” Suddenly he gripped your arm roughly to pull you up and threw you on the bed, face down. Your legs dangled off the edge and you lost track of his position within the room, disoriented by the movement. You stayed there for a few moments, listening to the sound of your breath, straining to hear something that’d give way to his position.

After a few moments of silence you felt the glide of his fingers against your bottom, gently caressing the skin. You let out a breath, feeling your muscles relax into his open palm as he laid it against you.

Suddenly he lifted his palm and struck it against you, a sharp slap ringing out in the silence of the room. Your muscles clenched at the sensation, naturally pulling away from the strike as a whimper left your lips. His hand was in your hair, gently tugging at your roots and you felt him over you.

“Two more,” he said against your ear, forcing a shudder through you. He bit the skin of your earlobe and you cried out, your hips pushing against him.

He ran his tongue over the spot before tugging more sharply on your hair. “And don’t you fucking move.”

Your slick was hot between your thighs and your arms flexed against the soft rope as you tried to focus on your breath, willing your body to stay still.

Pulling back he ran his hand gently over the skin of your other cheek before delivering a sharp slap. Your muscles clenched ever so slightly in response, your heart falling as you realised you’d failed to obey his simple command.

He was back against you, his strong hand gripping your bound wrist. He sharply bit on the skin by your pulse and you cried out loudly, the pleasure and pain overwhelming.

“Good girls listen, don’t they?” You could feel the depth of his voice vibrating against your back as he spoke the words.

“Yes- I’m sorry, Sir.” You got out, your voice sounding small.

He bit the spot again, this time sucking against it harshly between his lips. You cried out pitifully, the ache between your legs almost painful.

“You’re still at two more,” he licked the spot. “No moving this time, älskling. Be my good girl.”

You nodded. “Yes Sir.”

He moved back off of you and quickly brought his hand down. You held your breath, willing yourself to stay still. You let out the breath slowly and felt the slick between your legs dampening more and more of the lace and rope.

“There we go. So much easier when you listen, isn’t it?” His voice was sweet in your ear, making your heart swell with pride.

“Yes Sir.”

He ran his fingers between your legs, against your wet heat. You inhaled sharply, unsure if you were allowed to move. “Poor thing,” his velvety voice was above you still.

“So wet for me. One more, älskling.” He brought his hand back over your cheek, squeezing the flesh. “Then I’ll you’ll feel so much better.”

You shivered though just your teeth knocked together, the rest of your body holding still. His hand came down to give you the hardest spank yet, the skin aching in immediate protest. You swallowed the pain but welcomed the pleasure, coming in warm waves through your core.

“Now before I turn you around,” his hand gently ran along the ties binding your arms. “Take a deep breath älskling.”

You obeyed, filling your lungs with air before gently releasing the breath. He must have dematerialised your panties since you could feel his fingers tracing the skin of your backside. His touch left you momentarily, only to come back with some sort of cool slick covering them. He moved them along your tight hole and you relaxed into his touch.

“Good girl. This may feel cold,” he replaced his fingers with a small chilly object, running it against the sensitive skin of your anus. You whimpered at the sensation, both excited and nervous at the idea of what would happen next.

As he traced the object against your backside his lips came to press kisses against your shoulder, giving you a little nip with his teeth now and then. You were drunk with lust, your breaths slow and laboured.

“Breathe out and relax,” he commanded as his warm hand came to rest on your lower back. You did as you were told, your muscles releasing with his touch. He pushed the thing within you, and it stretched your hole momentarily before your muscles took it in, the top of it stopping on the outside of your body.

“There’s my älskling.” He tapped the end of the object and you whined, the sensation shooting waves of pleasure through you. You didn’t feel uncomfortably full yet you could feel something within you, warming up as it was exposed to the heat of your body.

He kissed the shell of your ear. “So tight yet you hold that so well. My lovely girl.” He gripped your hips and helped you up before spinning you around and throwing you down on the bed, facing him as he stood at the end of the bed. He moved to climb atop of you, his body caging you in as he brought himself over you.

His eyes searched yours for a moment before he bent his head, capturing your lips with his own. He licked along your bottom lip before dipping into your mouth. You moaned as you brought your lips around his tongue. He pulled back and bit your bottom lip between his teeth, marring the flesh slightly before letting you go. He smoothed his tongue over your lip then came away to study you once more.

He slipped his hand down towards your heat, taking his time to gently brush against your skin, the rope and the lace along the way. He ran the tips of his fingers along your slit and you gasped as your muscles clenched, the thing within you moving ever so slightly.

He dipped his fingers against your folds, the wetness of your skin allowing him to easily glide his digits against you. Your back arched against him on the bed, the ropes straining against your muscles with the movement. His eyes slid down from yours, watching the swell of your breast taut against the rope.

“Does my pretty thing want to cum? Poor älskling,” he dipped to kiss you, “I can feel how much your body craves me.”

“Y-yes please Sir. Please touch me,” you panted, his teasing almost too much.

He gave you a filthy grin and dipped a finger within you, then moved to bring in another. You could feel your walls clench around him, the toy in your backside pressing ever so slightly against his knuckles when he curved them to press the spot deep within you. The sensation caused you to cry out, and you pressed your nails into your palm to hold your orgasm at bay.

“Are you going to cum, älskling?” He spoke as his hungry eyes flickered from your face to your heaving chest, the white lace covering your flesh constricting against the ropes.

“Yes Sir- I’m about to,“ you were cut off when he slipped his fingers from you. Your eyes pleaded with his as you swallowed, your arms shaking as they propped you up against the bed.

“Only good girls get to cum,” he spoke firmly. “And you have not been a good girl today.” His jaw was pronounced as he hovered over you before moving off of you, leaving you to fall back against your bound arms on the bed.

You felt like crying, or screaming, or both but settled for a deep breath to compose yourself as you stared up at the ceiling.

He chuckled. “My pretty girl, so upset.”

You smiled pitifully, biting your lip hard as you shook your head. “I’m sorry Sir.”

He grabbed you by the ropes binding your chest, pulling you up to sit on the edge of the mattress. He brought his hand to your cheek, gently brushing his thumb against your heated skin. “What am I to do with you, hm?”

You looked up at him, your eyes wide. “May I show you how sorry I am Sir?” You licked your lips while your eyes traced the outline of his erection in his dark pants.

He kept brushing your cheek as he came closer, and you gently kissed his clothed thigh, your eyes never leaving his. His eyes were warm pools of blue-green, though once you kissed directly over his clothed member his expression darkened. You proceeded to give open-mouthed kisses over his hardened length, running your tongue against the fabric.

His eyes were heavy-lidded as he watched you before he gently brought you away from his thigh, unzipping his trousers and freeing himself. You marvelled at his member, the smooth skin of it making your mouth water. You bent to press a very delicate kiss against the tip of him, the skin ever so slightly red in its current state.

You kissed him again, this time swiping your tongue across the very tip of him and he inhaled sharply. You brought your eyes back up to his then opened and took him all in, his breath hitching as you did so. His skin felt divine against your tongue, salty with the smallest hint of juniper. You kept your lips pouted as you bobbed and ran your tongue along him, moaning ever so slightly when he was farther in.

You kept your throat relaxed and took even breaths through your nose as you moved over him with your mouth. Your eyes were wide, innocent, as you observed him, willing him to grab your head and use you as he pleased. His chest was heaving while he watched you, his hand coming around to the back of your head.

You moaned and pushed back against his hand. He took the hint and brought both hands to either side of your face and began moving you over his cock. You hummed, your core dripping wet over your thighs while he took his pleasure from you.

“Do you like being used, little one?” He rasped, his pace steady. You nodded, your head moving against his movements. He clenched his jaw as he looked down at you, a thick muscle in his neck visible from your angle. “Do you like it when I fuck your mouth, älskling?”

You moaned around him in response, your eyes watering as he continued to hit a particular spot in your throat. He pulled his length from your mouth, giving you a moment to collect yourself. You quickly dipped your head and bent forward, bringing one of his testicles in your mouth and gently sucking. You wished you had a recording of the surprised, strangled groan he made in response, you were pretty sure it was the first time you’d truly caught him off guard and it had you dripping with wet. You could feel it beginning to pool around the edge of the toy still within you.

You continued to lap and suck at his testicles, chancing a look up at him you were struck with his dark, hungry gaze. His hand came to your shoulder, swiftly pushing you away from him and pulling you up before turning you around and bringing you down onto the bed so your face was against the comforter. He brought a pillow under your hips so your backside was raised off of the bed.

You felt the bed dip between your legs then the hot heat of his length against your slit as he rubbed his tip against you, gathering wetness. He tsked, “not much of a punishment when you’re this wet, is it älskling?”

You whined in response but held yourself still, praying he’d realise you were being a good girl and would let you cum this time. Your thoughts were interrupted when he slowly pressed himself within you, the toy and his length hitting similar angles and spaces within you.

He bottomed out and pulled you up against him, the new angle of his cock within you pressing up against the toy in your backside. Now it was your turn to release a strangled moan at the sensation, the feeling of it all completely overwhelming you. With one arm across your ribs, under your breasts and the other against your throat he set a steady pace as he thrust into you. His hand roughly pushed the cup of the bra down and his finger moved to your nipple. He rolled it in-between his fingers, forcing a throaty moan from your lips.

“Please Sir,” you managed to get out between thrusts, “may I cum?”

His breath was hot against your neck as he kept moving within you. “Not yet, älskling. I can feel that you’re close, your cunt is gripping me so tightly. I can feel the toy I put in you against me, within your tight little hole. Does it feel good, älskling? Do you like being filled?”

You shuddered at the sound of his velvety voice in your ear. “Yes Sir, it feels so good- I feel so… So full,” your head was spinning with the combined sensations.

“Good. Do you want to cum on this cock for your Sir, little one?” His fingers were still playing with your nipple, while the others that remained wrapped around your neck were tightening slightly.

“Yes, Sir! Please- please let me cum for you,” you begged, your fingers growing numb behind you.

“Good girl. All right my älskling, you may cum,” he pinched your nipple hard, “now.” He sucked on the spot behind your ear and you came instantly, crying out as the combined feeling of it all overpowering you. You could feel yourself moving against him as wave after wave of pleasure came, intensified when he licked and bit the same spot on your neck.

“Good girl, ride it out. There’s my good girl,” he murmured against your skin, his pace unrelenting. You came down from your high and he pulled himself from you. The ties around your arms were suddenly gone and he turned you back around, laying you on the bed so you faced him, your back propped on the same pillow as before.

He settled himself on his knees between your legs and fisted his member, his eyes taking in your form. “Touch yourself for me, älskling.” He commanded, his eyes heavy lidded as he did the same.

You licked your lips, “yes Sir,” then moved your hand down to your folds, gently playing with your clit as you watched him. You moved your hand to your uncovered nipple and rolled it between your fingers as you continued to play with yourself, the sound of your breathing filling the room.

“Do you want me to cum on your chest?” He asked, his expression sinful.

“Yes Sir, please- please cum on me. Please cover me in your cum,” you squirmed at your words, you could feel another orgasm building quickly.

“Are you going to cum again, little one? Are you going to make yourself cum with me?” He rasped, you could tell he was close and that thought excited you even more.

“Yes Sir- fuck! I’m going to cum!” You whined, your pace even with his strokes.

“Good girl. Cum now- with me,” his voice was strained as he met his finish, thick ropes of cum shooting across your chest. Upon feeling the warmth of his release against your skin, marking you, you let go, your back arching off the bed slightly as your muscles constricted.

You both panted, fully spent, slowly coming back to yourselves. You smiled at him then looked down at your chest- the green rope still tied beautifully, with thick lines of cum across the green cords, white lace, and your skin. You lay back against the pillow and brought your eyes back to his. “I think this is the prettiest I’ve ever looked.”

He nodded. “Absolutely lovely,” he gently ran his fingers along your cheekbone. His eyes fell to your chest and darkened slightly. “And all mine.”

Chapter 8 here.

End Note: Happy Loki eve!!! When you rethink on your "first and only rule" it's the no knife play from Chapter 1. Stay tuned for Chapter 8- not sure if it'll be out Saturday as I'm hoping to update Summer Wine this week too and 3 chapters is a lot for me to get through. Love you all and thank you for reading!!

Taglist (open!):

@fuck-is-going-on

@thehornytitty

[compdismeso1978-blog]

Thanks for this fun post! You sorted exactly how I would have based on sun sign alone. Aquarius could go Slytherin based on other placements, and Pisces could do the same and go to Hufflepuff. Cancer could go Slytherin or Gryffindor depending on other placements because of strong protective instincts. There was an article in a shitty UK newspaper the other day about a social media twunt getting called out (far too aggressively, but whatever) for her "morning routine" crap on instagram, waffling on about having strawberry pancakes and whatever with super posed pictures with all the shit in the background. The pancakes were tortillas. I like how transparent she was in this video and that, despite being a smaller YouTuber, she has the courage to post a video about all this issues and explain her perspective. Maybe the bad guy could be one of the Looney Tunes gone rogue. Or maybe it an actual human so the climax features 태안출장마사지 LeBron having a showdown with someone more suitable and three dimensional. What are all the Golden State Warriors doing next offseason? However this new story goes, the Monstars don need to be part of it.. I brought Puggi SSR + Rookie Soldier + Izumi + Experiment Advisor + Lots of shovels and boomshroom kebabs. The battles took a lot of turns cause I just stalling + chipping away at enemies but I managed to survive with good levels of stamina and vitality. Rookie Soldier has taunt for all turns so keeping Izumi in open position is pretty easy, just have to make sure that Rookie Soldier doesn die.. But it may be asked how Individualism, which is now more or less dependent on the existence of private property for its development, will benefit by the abolition of such private property. The answer is very simple. It is true that, under existing conditions, a few men who have had private means of their own, such as Byron, Shelley, Browning, Victor Hugo, Baudelaire, and others, have been able to realise their personality more or less completely. It was. I thought he was messing around when he was like, "Who's Tom?" I was like, "You know." Reporter: But you don't really connect any dots. Nope. I not averse to eating noises like a lot of people on here and I don love them, they just noises. But when I do watch mukbang videos I prefer to watch them from food related content creators because you usually learning a recipe or learning about the food along with the mukbang. I watched one this morning from Cheap Lazy Vegan where she made a vegan version Korean army base stew and talked about drinking culture in Korea and about dieting and exercise tips, and that kind of stuff is interesting to me, and I not even vegan, I just like learning about food 태안출장마사지 and culture. Because the surface of each lash extension is so small, it's easier to dip them in glue than put drops of glue directly onto the lashes themselves. Start by pouring a small amount onto a smooth surface. This could be a piece of aluminum foil, or it could be a small plastic surface that comes with your eyelash kit. But in defense of the Ramseys, maybe that's just how they talked. Different people have different ways of talking. I grew up in an ultra Orthodox Jewish community in which Yiddish and English were constantly being mashed together and there are certain phrases in Yinglish that would sound incredibly weird to someone with no knowledge of Yiddish.

[crownandantler]

My first Fallout OC, Seven! Read her Bio below, and explore her companion comments in the link!

Name/Alias: Seven (codename Price in the Railroad)

Age: 26

Karma: Good

Strength 4

Perception 7

Endurance 3

Charisma 5

Intelligence 5

Agility 7

Luck 9

Tag Skills: Sneak, Lockpicking, Repair, (Guns)

Traits: Claustrophobia, Hoarder

Perks: Gun Slinger, Penetrator, Friend of the Night, Fight the Power

Aggression: Aggressive

Assistance: Helps friends and allies

Confidence: Brave

Weapons: .44 Revolver, Shocking-Serrated Sword, Modified Syringer Sniper Rifle (“Medicine”), Weathered Marksman Carbine (“Payback”)

Occupation: Scavenger, Trader, Railroad agent

Fallout 4 Companion Dialogue/Quests: https://docs.google.com/document/d/1v5nQYrejJF149LMJIFTjM3kuj5JBDfcdI88xEn7I2rA/edit?usp=sharing

Combat:

Seven has a sniper build but her aggression is determined by how much spite and hatred she feels for her opponent. She favors long-distance combat, and in most circumstances uses her sniper rifle to off enemies before they see her. Her revolver is for mid-range, but she tends to reserve it for ghouls and wildlife encounters. When faced with legionnaries, she prefers to use her Marksman Carbine for rapid-fire, but always closes the distance (she likes the idea of shooting them with one of their own guns, but likes looking them in the eye while she kills them even more). When she engages in close distnce, she uses her sword to hack and slash at enemies. She enjoys the carnage of it, despite not having the strength to deal one-hit kills with melee. Her endurance is abysmal, so she never comes out of close-combat unscathed, but her luck is so high she always manages to narrowly escape death.

Bio:

The simple story Seven gives to anyone who bothers to ask is that she’s a simple scavenger-trader all the way from Vault 11, just trying to make a living like anyone else. Anyone who knows about Vault 11 and questions and validity, however, or who earns her trust, will eventually learn the truth.

Seven was born Dinah Cooper in the East Central Commonwealth. Her family was part of a quaint farming community that was unfortunately attacked and seized by raiders before she was old enough to understand. She grew up under their tyranny, watching raiders enjoy the spoils of her community’s hard work, all while wearing an explosive slave collar implemented by the cruel leaders.

When she was fourteen, all of Seven’s anger exploded when a raider beat her neighbor. In response, the raider turned on Seven, slashing her throat with a knife. The resulting blood loss left Seven clinically dead for almost an entire minute. The placement of her collar, however, prevented her artery from being entirely severed, meaning the settlement’s doctor was able to save her. Ironically, it was her temporary death that also deactivated her collar. With the unusual (Lucky) circumstances, the doctor was able to fake Seven’s death, remove her collar, move her body outside of the settlement, and hide her. During the nights, he would sneak away to tend to her.

As soon as she was able, Seven ran without warning. After that, Seven slowly but steadily travelled farther from home.

But she had no experience providing for herself. Shortly after her first near-death encounter, she again came close to death from starvation and dehydration. A passing caravan found her before she could die and took pity on her, leading to Seven then bouncing from caravan to caravan under the rouse of being an abused runaway. Being unable to contribute, however, she always outstayed her welcome eventually.

At the age of fifteen, a hunting-trip-gone-wrong put her in the path of an angry yao guai. The beast gutted her, and Seven again embraced death before the doctor of a nearby settlement found and revived her. He was less generous than others had been to her thus far, and Seven spent a year working for the man to pay off her medical debt. During this time she learned to scavenge–what people liked and didn’t, what they wanted and how much they would pay to get it. The doctor taught her the basics of repairing equipment with junk as well as basic medical recipes.

Seven left at sixteen, and that year was stung by radscorpions. She barely survived the poisoning.

At seventeen, she was shot in the back, looted, and left for dead by other scavengers. After this incident, she began concealing her face.

At eighteen, she triggered a landmine while scavenging an abandoned fort. Both of her legs and her left arm were crippled, leaving Seven to drag herself for three days to the nearest settlement.

When she was nineteen, Seven finally made her way to the Mojave. During the first night of camping, the caravan she was travelling with suddenly came under fire by legionaries. Seven caught the spray of a shotgun blast in the side of her face and passed out before the fight really broke out. She was so covered in blood and gore from her companions that the legionaries mistook her for dead. She came to just as her left hand was being hammered to a crucifix, and managed to kill the two legionaries overseeing her body. Help came just before the remaining legionaries fell upon Seven, in the form of the Courier and their companions.

After this event, she officially took the name Seven (after her luck, or the number of times she’s almost died, no one is sure). She sensed something big brewing in the Mojave, and wanted revenge on the legion, so she stuck around as a companion to the Courier. Later, she fought in the second Battle for the Hoover Dam.

Shortly after turning 20, Seven went with the courier to Zion on a caravan job, where she met Joshua Graham. While helping fight the White Legs, Seven experienced her eighth near-death when a White Leg found and pushed her from her sniper nest at the top of a cliff. She landed on her feet, miraculously surviving, but breaking nearly every bone in her feet and legs, and shattering her pelvis. The pain caused her to pass out for a while, but eventually she managed to drag herself upstream to the Sorrows camp for medical attention. She remained in the area until well-after she was healed, then returned to New Vegas to spend three more years among her friends. Then, she and Gotcha packed up and headed East until they arrived in Boston.

Personality/Temperament

-While mature and quick-thinking, she suffers from anger issues. Even as a child she was often overwhelmed by resentment for other people. She carries a lot of grudges and isn't always very good at forgiving people, even for little things. Most of her Good karma comes from shooting raiders and legionaries on-sight. That said--unless you've put a bullet in her, you likely won't have to worry about her putting one in you: She's not petty, stews in her anger instead  of acting out most of the time. Outside of raiders, it's rare for Seven to genuinely hate someone.

-Seven has sticky fingers, but luckily she also has morals. She considers most settlements off-limits to her thievery, and only makes exceptions to this rule for very important retrieval jobs. That said, she has been known to steal weapons and ammo from the BOS whenever the opportunity arises.

-Seven is also very meticulously organized. She has caches of various sizes and contents set up across the Commonwealth, and even has some strewn across the rest of the continent from her travels. She also makes regular “investments” with her caps. In total, she’s basically rich, but her caps are so divided across caches, investments, and factions that you’d never know it. Her bartering skills are exceptional with all her years of practice.

-Out of principal, Seven hates nosiness. She's very straightforward with people--you always know where you stand with her, and if she says shes not ready to tell you some thing she expects that boundary to be respected. High charisma, however, goes a long way with her. By the time she reaches the Commonwealth, Seven is well-settled into her lies, and being able to sweet talk her will slowly chip away at the truth. (she will kinda hate you for it, though.)

-Dealing with raiders in any way, shape, or form, tends to send her into panic attacks. She’s gotten very good and hiding them over the years, so for the most part only her best friend Gotcha knows about them, but when something happens to remind her of the first time she almost died at the hands of a raider it triggers one of her bad panic attacks. During these, breathing feels so difficult that she even takes her helmet off. She’s most open about her insecurities during these.

-Seven is a romantic at heart, and actually very flirtatious if she's interested in someone, but her trust issues and prior injuries make romance difficult. She recovered from her fall in Zion with very little lasting effects, but penetrative sex is permanently painful for her, rendering her basically celibate. She’s capable of falling for anyone (In an AU where she is courier 6, she’s got a crush on Yes Man), but tends to prefer men.

-She has an amazing amount of determination. Once Seven sets her mind to something, she’ll get it done, even if that means sometimes compromising her morals to accomplish it. Eventually she regrets these decisions, but making them at all also makes it easier to make them in the future. Meeting Joshua Graham helps put her over-zealous drive and anger into perspective. After leaving Zion, Seven gets a better handle on her anger, starts to check herself more often, and harbors a great deal of respect for Joshua for making her realize the downward spiral she almost fell into.

In her Courier AU, she still has the encounter with the Legion--she she's shot in the head twice, once by a Legionnaire and once by Benny. She still breaks her legs and pelvis at Zion, but she went by herself. She stays in New Vegas to rule with YesMan's help following an independent ending.

Personality-defining decisions (not always limited by canon) made as the courier include:

Sneaking into the Great Khan's camp at night and assassinating them all instead of even trying to make peace with them

Blowing up the BOS bunker without even trying to complete any of their quests first

Regularly visiting the Boomers, bringing supplies and helping with repairs.

Killing the Van Graffs and encouraging Mick and Ralph to take over

Blackmailing Crimson Caravans into supporting the Followers

Working with Swank to off Benny

Killing all the Fiends

Helping Carlitos and Joanna escape Vegas

Going with Boone to kill Caesar

Helping the King, but never really cashing in that favor he owes--she stays on good terms with the King and Freeside

Routing Helios One power to Freeside

Gives caps to Rotface Everytime she sees him, partially for him to keep her in the loop, partially just because she likes him.

[illuminating-dragons]

Fading Scars (10/?): A Dragon’s Quest for Forgiveness

Summary:  Draco struggles through stages of forgiveness, but he isn't alone. For @harryjamesheadcanons

Harry

           Draco showed up on a day he knew that Weasley wouldn’t be there. “Is Harry home?” he asked Kreacher.

           “Master Harry is home,” Kreacher replied. “Do you wish me to give him a message?”

           “I was wondering if I could actually…talk to him,” Draco mumbled.

           Kreacher stepped aside. “Ask Master Harry yourself.”

           Draco went in and followed the noise of clattering dishes downstairs to the kitchen. Harry was preparing meat and vegetables. “Hello Draco,” he said. “How are you?”

           “Well enough.” Only three people had screamed at him that day, a new record. “What are you making?”

           “Stew. Ron’s away on a mission, but Hermione and Ginny are coming to stay tomorrow, so I wanted to have something ready. Do you mind if I keep working on it?”

           “Not at all.” Draco fidgeted, watching Harry chop carrots. “I’ve actually never done that.”

           “Cooked?”

           “No. First it was D-Dobby, then we hired a servant.”

           Harry said nothing about the reference to the dead house-elf, for which Draco was profoundly grateful. He pulled a board out of the cupboard, set it on the table, and then gave Draco a large knife. “Here,” Harry said. He put a stack of carrots on the table. “You can help. They’re already peeled, just cut them in slices about this big.”

           Bemused, Draco did as Harry said. There was something soothing about the motion.

           “Do you do all the cooking?”

           “Most of it. I like to cook, and Ron’s a disaster. He makes decent puddings though, and he’s learning.”

           “But you have a house-elf.”

           “Yes, but I enjoy this part. Besides, today’s his day off. Or it’s supposed to be. He’s still practicing that.” Harry’s mouth thinned, and Draco wondered if anyone had ever told him how many of Minerva McGonagall’s habits he’d picked up. Like the piercing look he turned on Draco now.

           “How do you get food now?”

           “I eat out, mostly. Or I eat at my parents’. They still have enough to live on.”

            Harry nodded. “I’ll give you some recipes for easy stuff. I learned them when I was five, I’m sure you’ll get the hand of them.” He smiled, like that wasn’t a horrible thing to say.

           “Your Muggle relatives made you cook at five?”

           Harry nodded, his smile faltering. “I got okay at it. I like it better now; no one’s shouting at me to hurry up, and I get to eat it.”

           Draco shook his head, chopping the carrots more fiercely. He reached over for a strange looking vegetable and began to peel it. “You should get the Muggle Aurors after them. That’s no way to treat a child.”

           Harry actually laughed. “That was hardly the worst thing they did to me, Draco.”

           Draco finally got all the skin off—or most of it, the damn thing had too much—and start slicing into it, trying to cut it in circles like the carrots. “So why aren’t you cruel?” He asked. “Or terrified of everyone? You’re kind, and you’re good, and every damn thing you never saw. I was happy once that you were sad at home. I wanted you to suffer.” The circles weren’t cooperating, but he was doing his best.

           “Draco,” Harry said, alarmed. “I…I didn’t want to be that way.”

           “And that’s just it,” Draco continued, still slicing. “You chose. And some people are telling me that ‘oh, it’s because of how you grew up.’ Nice people are saying that. But you grew up feeling worthless and you’re not—and—damn it!”

           His eyes were hot and blurry, and Draco put the knife down.

           “Draco, stop!” Harry took the board away from him.

           “I’m not crying,” Draco insisted.

           “I know,” Harry insisted. “It’s the onion. It makes you tear up when you cut it.”

           “How bizarre,” Draco said. Then he did burst into tears, burying his face in his arms.

           Harry sat next to him and put a hand on his back, but he didn’t say anything, he let Draco sob for ages.

           “I shouldn’t have done that,” Draco said at last.

           “I think you should have done that a while ago,” Harry contradicted him.

           “What do I do, Potter? That’s all you were once, you know. And I don’t know why you’re here, or why I’m here, why I’m in your house because I felt lonely. I have friends, people who are like me and don’t make me feel like utter shit about myself—”

           “I never meant to—”

           “It’s not you who’s doing it! It’s my heart, or my soul, or whatever thing I’ve silenced for years by convincing myself I was right, that my family was right!” 

           “Your conscience.”

           “Fine, it’s my conscience. And it never shuts up now! And I want it to, I know that I want to try to be good, but I have no idea if I even can. I grew up soaked in that evil, and I wanted it. What do I do now?”

           Harry was silent for a moment. “Well, you said it yourself already. I grew up being told I was worthless and freakish, that I should be ashamed of being alive.” He said it so calmly it frightened Draco. “I fought that, and I had people to help me. Maybe you can do the same.”    

           “You didn’t want to believe it.”

           “Do you want to believe what you were taught now?”

           Draco shook his head, biting his lip.

           “It’s not easy,” Harry told him. “I still have bad days. But I have people to call on. And you’ve got me. And I think you have your mother too.”

           “I might,” Draco admitted. “She wants to try too.”

           Harry nodded. “That’s good. So tonight we’re going to make stew and I’ll send some home with you, and you start working on it however you feel is right. Sound good?”

           Draco nodded.

           “Good. Now I’ll finish the onion. Do you want to get the water boiling?”

           Draco smiled. That he knew how to do. Perhaps the rest of it would come later.

Hermione

           Hermione Granger was never so terrifying as when she was right and the person who’d made her angry was wrong. Draco was thankful that day that it wasn’t him.

           “Do you mean to tell me,” Hermione said icily to the contractor that Draco had brought in, “that you refused to put in normal protection charms on these houses because the family is Muggleborn?”

           “They’re bringing in their Muggle relatives!” the woman protested. “We’re not supposed to have visible magic in front of Muggles, Madam Granger!”

           She was lying. Draco knew it. So did Hermione.

           “Miss Pence, are you pretending to be stupid? Because all of the house plans include the specifications, including how each spell has been tested to ensure that no Muggle would notice. Do you have any other arguments?”

           “We’re building houses for Wizards, Madam, not Muggles.”

           “Get out,” Hermione said, eyes narrowed. “And while you’re being arrested for anti-Muggleborn actions, you remember that I’m a Mudblood myself.” She rolled up her sleeve. The scar was fading[1], but you could still make out the word. “A guard will me you out there. Goodbye.”

           The witch made a move for her wand, but Draco stopped her. “Don’t.”

           Once Pence was gone, Hermione looked at him. “Thank you, Draco, for catching her.”

           “The idiot was being quite loud about her feelings. I just did something about it.”

           “I’m going to speak to the people who kept silent too,” Hermione said reflectively. “They’re not much better.”

           Draco went to leave, then stopped. “You know, I’m sure it wasn’t personal.”

           “What do you mean?”

           “I don’t think she hated that specific family. I think she just hates everyone like that. She might feel differently if she met them, but it’s not like she hates each and every Muggleborn for personal reasons.” He knew that from experience.

           Hermione put her head in her hands. “Maybe not, but the effects of her behaviour are personal. That family—the Shepards—they lost three children. The mother was in Azkaban for seven months. They’ve been waiting for a home for three months already, and this will delay it another few days. Every act of hate against a group will have consequences for the individual, and believe me, it is much harder to take when you know it’s not personal.”

           Draco bowed his head. He wanted to say something, wanted to acknowledge the depth of what she had just said, but nothing he could say could take away the scar on her arm. She knew exactly what she was talking about, and part of what she knew was from his hands. He was the first to ever call her Mudblood.

           He left the room without a word.

           When Hermione came in early the next morning she found a note on her desk.

           Dear Hermione Granger,

           The Shepard house is done, they can move in today if they want to. All the furniture is also set up.

           I am sorry I never gave you enough chance to know you personally before I hated you. I will never take that chance from someone again.

                                                                                                        Draco Malfoy

Ron

           His meeting with Hermione left Draco plummeting into despair. The more he thought over his past, every little deed, every step he’d taken with his head held high, the more he realized that there was nothing he could ever do to fix it. How could he? He could work the rest of his life and do good deeds every day and cry for shame until his eyes dried out but nothing would change what he did. There was no point.

           One night he found himself, almost as if by accident, standing in the bathroom with a knife at his wrists. There was no blood yet, and he threw the knife down, sickened with himself. What right did he have to end his life? How dare he try to escape? But he didn’t know what else to do…

           In desperation, he Apparated to Harry’s house. It was the middle of the night, but Harry had said anytime (why had he said that? That was what you said to friends). Too nervous to knock, he unlocked the door and swung it closed behind him.

           The hall light switched on, and Ron Weasley was looking down at him from the stairs.

           “I heard you Apparate. What the hell are you doing here?”

           “Is Harry here, Weasley?” Be polite, Draco. Don’t think about how awful you’ve been to him, you can’t handle that right now.

           “No. He’s sleeping over at Ginny’s.” Weasley didn’t look entirely happy about that, but Draco supposed that was because Harry was shagging his sister.

           “Very well. I’ll go then.”

           “You don’t look well, Malfoy.” Weasley came down the stairs. “Why are you here?”

           “None of your business, Weasley.”    

           “Why is it Harry’s business?”

           “Because he told me I could—” Draco cut himself off.

           Weasley, however, seemed to be cleverer than he looked. “It’s guilt, isn’t it?”

           Draco was honestly astonished. “How did you know?”

           “I recognize the look. And Hermione told me what happened last week. She said you did beautifully on the house, by the way. The family’s settled in.”

           “That’s…that’s good.” He didn’t want help from Ron Weasley. He did not.

           “Want a Firewhiskey?” Weasley asked abruptly.

           “What? Oh…yes. I suppose.”

           “C’mon then.”

           Draco sat across from him in the kitchen, nearly in the dark except for the small candle Weasley lit. Draco poured himself a full glass and swallowed most of it in one go.

           “Did you know I left them last year?” Weasley asked out of a dead silence.

           “What?!” Draco hadn’t known, would never have dreamed.

           “I got so angry, and the—well, there was an outside force. I’m not telling what, we haven’t discussed if we want to tell the whole damn world. Anyways, I got into a terrible fight with Harry and left them. And because of the charms they put out, I couldn’t find my way back. It took months to get back to them.”

           Draco stared into his whiskey.

           “I don’t know how to live with it,” Ron said hoarsely. “I’m just grateful they’re alive. If something had—had happened, and I wasn’t there, I would probably have killed myself. Which is why I don’t envy you at all right now, because most of your mistakes are dead, aren’t they?”

           Draco took another swallow. “Damn right they are.”

           “And the live ones make it worse.”

           “I’ve done too much to go back!” Draco burst out. He was always a light weight, and he could feel the alcohol running through his veins. “What could I ever do?”

           “You try.” Ron leaned forward. “You do everything you can, and eventually someone will believe you. My girlfriend believes I mean it. My best mate believes I mean it. You were a wanker, Draco. And I don’t trust you yet, and if you hurt Harry I will personally kill you. But he believes in you, and I trust him. So I’ll help what I can. And if that means forgiving you…then I’ll try. I sure as hell said nasty things about you, and it’ll be very uncomfortable for me if I was wrong about you.”

           Draco’s head was spinning. He felt Weasley help him up, and the two of them staggered to the front room. “Why’re you helping me?” he slurred as Weasley put a blanket over him.

           “Because I want to be a decent person and that’s what decent people do. Besides, I saved your life. Twice. I want to make sure you feel it’s worth living.”

           Draco woke the next morning with a raging hangover, but still made it out of the house before Ron woke. With the last of his weekly allowance (he couldn’t work but they had to give him enough to live on), Draco sent a dozen bottles of fine whiskey to Ron’s work address, and enough money for Ron to buy Hermione flowers.

           Tell your girlfriend she’s a good woman, and tell yourself you’re a good man. Thanks for stopping me from doing something stupid. You were right. I can’t give up.

                                                                                                      Draco Malfoy

Ginny

           When Draco received a wedding invitation in the mail, he was sure it had to be a mistake. There was no way he should be receiving an invitation to the upcoming wedding of Ginny Weasley and Harry Potter.

           The last two years had been difficult, but he’d slowly been spending more time with Harry, and even visited Ron and Hermione on occasion. But Ginny hadn’t been living with Harry long, and she was often away. Or made excuses to be away.

           Draco didn’t blame her. His father had nearly killed her for petty revenge, and he’d led some of the attacks at Hogwarts during his seventh year and her sixth. He’d never hurt her directly, but he’d hurt her friends. Of course she hated him.

           So why the hell was he coming to her wedding?

           Maybe Harry had addressed it and she didn’t know? Draco discarded that thought immediately. They told each other everything, and if either one was ‘in charge’ it was definitely Ginny.

           There was only one thing for it. Luckily his small office in the Ministry as ‘Head of Correctional Affairs’ was on the same floor as the Daily Prophet (or would be for another six months, until everyone agreed that it was high time the newspaper find other headquarters). Ginny Weasley had her head down writing at her desk, but she looked up when she saw him, invitation in hand.

           “Hello Draco. Are you going to come? I wasn’t sure whether to put Astoria on or not, but she’s welcome too.”

           Draco stared at her. “You want me to come to your wedding?”

           “We sent an invitation, didn’t we?” Ginny still looked confused. “If you don’t want to come, that’s fine. I imagine it might be a bit awkward for you…”

           Draco snapped. “Of course it will be awkward! Most of the people there have good reason to hate me.”

           “They’ll behave, or hear from me about it,” Ginny said calmly.

           “Why would you even want me there?”

           “Harry wanted to invite you, and I didn’t see anything wrong with that.”

           “But you…hate me?” Now Draco wasn’t so sure.

           “Don’t be daft.” Ginny signed her name with a flourish.

           “But you’re never there when I come over.”

           “Because I know you’re having difficult conversations with Harry, and I want to give you space.”

           “You should hate me!”

           “Why?” She was still calm, how was she calm?

           “My father almost killed you!”

           “I know.” Ginny folded up the letter she’d been writing and placed it in an envelope. “I hate his guts, but I don’t hate you.”

           “Why not?”

           “Because you’ve been trying, Draco.” Ginny’s voice was gentle. “You’re trying to be a good person, and you’ve been working really hard to make things better…I think that’s good.”

           “I don’t deserve any praise for that. It’s just the right thing to do.”

           Ginny laughed. “I don’t know if you’ve noticed, Draco, but a lot of people find it very hard indeed to do the right thing. Including you, once upon a time.”

           “I don’t think I’ve done enough to earn your forgiveness. Or anyone’s.”

           Ginny looked up at him, giving him her full attention. “You don’t get to decide that, honestly. That’s up to the people you’ve wronged. And yeah, some people won’t forgive you, or they haven’t yet, or they may have and you don’t know it, but forgiveness comes from the wronged person, not the one who’s done the wrong thing. That’s why it’s called giving forgiveness and earning forgiveness.”

           Draco was stunned.

           “In my view, you are earning forgiveness by doing what you are,” Ginny said. “You’re remorseful and you’re doing everything you can to make things right. It may not be enough yet, but you’re doing enough to have the chance to get it someday from whoever you may need it from. You’ve certainly earned mine and Harry’s, and we want you at our wedding. Think about it, at least?”

           And he did come the next month (“how on earth did they pull this off in a month!” Astoria said. “It’s amazing!”) He sat in the back and endured the few unfriendly looks. To his surprise, the majority were simply bemused and disinterested, all except the ring bearer, who climbed on his lap and touched his hair curiously. Perhaps he’d never seen hair quite so light. His grandmother came to pull him away, and she looked at him. “Draco Malfoy.”

           “Hullo, Mrs. Tonks.”

           “It’s Aunt Andromeda, weren't you taught any manners?” But the woman’s face was soft even as she scolded. “Tell your mother I’d…I wouldn’t mind coming around sometime. And I’d like to see you. Is this your girlfriend?”

           “Yes, Aunt Andromeda. This is Astoria.” Astoria smiled at her.

           “Bring her along. It’ll be interesting.”

           Draco and Astoria left shortly after, leaving their gift of a new stewpot, an onion cutter and a set of high end quills and inks on the table with the rest.

Neville

           There was one person who hadn’t forgiven Draco Malfoy, and that person received a sharp jolt when he received a reply from his son’s favourite teacher.

           Dear Draco,

           You’re right, it does feel odd to write to you. There were certainly times in my life when I prayed for the day that I would never see you again. Sorry for being so blunt, but I figured I would just start writing and keep going, since that’s the easiest way to tell how I feel.

           I will help your son to be a good man, Draco, I will promise that right away. But I don’t agree that you can’t help him. I think you’re a better man than you want to believe.

           I haven’t tried to be your friend the same way my friends have in the last ten years. I’m still not your biggest fan, and perhaps there’s too much bitterness there. But I have also grown to respect you. I know what it feels like to work on becoming something you’re not.

           I was shy and awkward, timid and I didn’t have the courage to fight. I thought I was going to be like that forever. Then through Professor Lupin and Harry’s efforts, I gained my confidence, I gained skill when I got a wand of my own, and I managed to carve my own path. I faced my parents’ tormentors, I protected those who couldn’t, and I fought for what I believed in. And I became happy.

           But I still saw myself in the mirror as that lonely little kid who couldn’t do anything right and had no hope of ever changing. I felt like a sham, terrified any moment that someone would see through the mask.

           Then I started teaching, and I met Amy Worth, who in many ways was very like me. Amy was nervous and not very good with wandwork at first (it turned out she had nerve damage in her hands and couldn’t channel her magic through a normal wand. Mr. Ollivander made some adjustments and now she’s working with him). But when I told her we were similar, she didn’t believe me. She told me I was too confident to be like that.

           I’d never realized that I had changed so drastically, and that I truly had become a different person. As I told your son, that boy is a part of my history, but I am not him anymore. I am not wearing a mask; I have simply shed a layer, and this is me now.

           And who you are now, the man who raised your son to be so kind and the man who changed our prison system, the man who has worked for nearly twenty years to make himself better…you are no longer the boy who tormented me. He will be part of you, but your new self is not false. This is the self you are choosing to be, and I’m quite proud of you. Your son is too, and he will be prouder still when he understands the trials you’ve gone through to change yourself.

           You’re not finished growing yet, and it still takes work to keep being good and strong. But I promise it gets easier. It’s time to let go of your guilt, Draco, and try to forgive that boy. That is the hardest step, but once you do the memories hold less power, and your new self can breathe easier. You might say it becomes natural, because you have changed your very nature.

           If you need any help, I am willing to try, though as I say I doubt we’ll ever be friends. I don’t think we have to be friends to help each other though; just two men who were once boys they aren’t anymore. We’ve outdone our own expectations, and you need to take some comfort in that, Draco. I forgive you. Forgive yourself. Do it for your son if no one else; he needs to believe that people can change.

                                                                                                Yours Sincerely,

                                                                                                Neville Longbottom

           When Draco got that letter, he fell to his knees and stayed there for hours, crying silently and rereading every word.

           “Am I allowed?” he whispered hoarsely. “Do I dare forgive myself?”

           He didn’t that day, but with permission given from his greatest regret, Draco worked towards that forgiveness.

[1] Don’t you judge me  

[todaybharatnews]

via Today Bharat Typically, the month of Ramzan would witness packed mosques, jam-packed roads, food stalls buzzing with activities, and such. Ramzaan, Ramzaan 2020, Ramzaan food, Ramzaan month, Ramzaan fasting, Ramzaan feasting, food, The holy month of Ramzan is drastically different this year, because of the lockdown. Somewhere in Chennai, as 27-year-old Neda Baig sits down after her evening prayer, there’s no haleem on the menu — not for the day, or the foreseeable future. She rues, as the delectable stew made of mutton was something she was looking forward to this Ramzan — just like she did every year. But this year has been different because of the pandemic. Around the world, as the Muslim community fasts and celebrates the holy month, there is also a lingering unease, because for the very first time, the iftaar — or the post-fast meal — is anything but a feast. When we think of Ramzan, the mind conjures up the image of lip-smacking delicacies that are enjoyed by Muslims and non-Muslims alike. While people fast, they also look forward to the post-roza meal, which is cooked, bought, and shared with the less-privileged, too. VDO.AI “We would always cook a little extra, so as to make offerings at the local mosque. But mosques are closed this time and, therefore, nothing elaborate is being prepared at my place,” says Baig, a fitness enthusiast and an NGO worker who is cooped up inside her house with her parents, her niece and her sister-in-law. This year, the Baig family is instead improvising with aloo tikki and chickpeas. “I also miss the iftaar daawat, for which we would dress up and visit relatives, share laughter, food, and have a good time,” she says. ALSO READ | Celebrate Ramadan with these delicious recipes Food, then and now Just like Baig, Delhi-based Zeeshan Ali, a communications consultant, too, is missing all the food. But, most importantly, it is the kiwi fruit that he is missing the most. “I could not find it in my area at least; it seems the fruit has gone off the shelves,” he says. Until last year, Ali would break his fast, and then head to the mosque to offer special prayers called taraweeh. But this year, no such congregation is taking place, for obvious reasons. “The quality of food has also been affected and the prices have skyrocketed, too. For those who are staying alone, they used to be, until last year, dependent on the eateries in the market. My friends would be eager to polish off a plate of haleem at the Jama Masjid or Chandni Chowk — all of these experiences are being missed this year,” he says, adding: “We all grew up with a certain understanding of what the month is all about. This year, however, it has changed drastically, and we are seeing it in a different light.” Ali says while he is lucky that he is at least getting to observe the month and celebrate it with his family, it would have been better if they had more food options — like better quality fruits, juices and fresh meat. “A balanced diet full of proteins and other nutrients,” he says. It is beyond belief for many people that there will be no haleem on the plate this year. Not just Baig and Ali, but across the country, many families are managing without it. In fact, the Haleem Makers’ Association — of haleem making hotels and food joints in Hyderabad — has decided to not prepare the dish at all, to contain the spread of the infection. According to a report published in The News Minute, the unanimous decision was taken by its 400 members. Ramzaan, Ramzaan 2020, Ramzaan food, Ramzaan month, Ramzaan fasting, Ramzaan feasting, food, indian express, indian express news Having friends and family over for iftaar get-togethers used to be commonplace, as were offering prayers together and distributing food packets to the needy. “We used to consume foods that are rich in protein, especially the older lot, because we would be fasting all day. There are some foods that are only eaten in Ramzan, which are not available this year. For example, my parents would have korma, or biryani, or any other heavy meal for dinner after breaking roza. This year, they are consuming more dal-sabzi instead . The younger lot, however, prefers pulses and vegetables, so there’s not much of a change there. But, the charm of the festival — the bustling markets, the meet and greets, etc. — is being missed. We cannot do anything about it, since we are in the middle of a pandemic, toh ek Ramzaan aisa bhi,” Abu Sufiyan, a marketing strategist and a resident of Old Delhi, says. The spirit is alive It’s a full house for Hasina Khatun, who is celebrating the festival with her father, mother, brother, nephews and niece in Delhi’s Karol Bagh. She says her family follows a schedule for the whole month. “I think it all differs from family to family. In our family, we eat rice because we are Bengali. In the evening, we have our qeema pakoras and egg pakoras. Until last year, my father would go to Chandni Chowk to get sheermaal or sweet bread. It cannot be made at home. He likes to eat food from outside, so he used to bring kebabs, too. This year, there is an unavailability of a lot of things, including mutton — so you cannot make a great many things at home,” she says. For Khatun, however, the spirit of the fasting month is very much alive. “The current challenges have not really diminished the cheeriness. I think the fact that we are home is making us feel more relaxed and we are not losing our temper, either. Most people have gotten into a pattern. Mostly, the period is about acceptance and patience. And we are keeping that in mind,” she says. Like never before Typically, the month of Ramzan would witness packed mosques, jam-packed roads, food stalls buzzing with activities, and such. Having friends and family over for iftaar get-togethers were commonplace, as were offering prayers together and distributing food packets to the needy. Naureen Khan misses all this, especially because she is stuck in the Netherlands amid the global lockdown, away from her family in India. The Communications Officer at the Coalition for the International Criminal Court, speaks to indianexpress.com from The Hague. “Usually I would be with my family this time, cooking, working, praying together. Family time is mostly what I crave for. Also the fact that I got married two months ago, and had planned to spend this time with my husband and my new family. It is heartbreaking,” she says. Khan says her iftaar is super simple this year. “When you are home alone in lockdown, you try to make the best of what is available and, therefore, don’t really try fancy food. Even something as simple as pakoras or samosas is not something you try to attempt,” she laughs, adding: “I break my fast with dates, fruits and water, and then dive into simple home-cooked meals. Getting halal non-veg is also easy, as it is available in stores and I am lucky. This Ramadan, I am able to stay at home, for which I am grateful, because I can use the time to focus on my relationship with God. We can look at the positive side so as to lift our spirits. I know everyone is only praying for one thing right now — for the world to heal”.