#why is the diary a snitch

[bonniethemutant]

[sparsilees]

Harry is a clever and competent wizard

A recurring theme in fandom I find endlessly tiresome and disappointing is the portrayal of Harry as an academically struggling student who’s lamentably hopeless at Potions and middling in all other subjects aside from DADA, and who, alongside Ron, is in constant need of Hermione’s guidance. It’s present almost everywhere. It’s reinvented canon. And it’s shoved down new readers and non-fans’ throats alike. Please, there’s an HP wiki available for your perusal. Don’t go about consulting popular fics and the Hermione-biased movie director’s visions to draw your ideas of Harry and Ron’s psyche!

It’s doubly aggravating when this depiction is used to highlight Hermione, Draco, or so-and-so classmate’s magical Einstein-levels of genius and reinforce the false narrative that Harry’s singular claim to brilliance lies in Quidditch, and that he’s got nothing more than fluff and snitches between his ears on top of being oblivious to the point of idiocy. That apart from excelling in Defence, he doesn’t have much upstairs... (And even then a minority of the fandom portray DADA as akin to gym class where it’s all honing muscles, muscle memory, and reflexes, with Harry framed as an archetypical gymbro on top being a himbo. What?!)

So we’re just going to overlook his devastatingly biting wit and clever asides? Or brush aside how he repeatedly demonstrates his ability to perform well under pressure? His keen intuition and how he carefully retains seemingly insignificant, misfit puzzle pieces until the eureka moment strikes and he seamlessly integrates them into the bigger picture?

Take these two examples from Philosopher’s Stone with an intrepid tiny Harry:

Harry was quite sure the unsettled feeling didn’t have anything to do with work, though. He watched an owl flutter toward the school across the bright blue sky, a note clamped in its mouth. Hagrid was the only one who ever sent him letters. Hagrid would never betray Dumbledore. Hagrid would never tell anyone how to get past Fluffy . . . never . . . but — Harry suddenly jumped to his feet. “Where’re you going?” said Ron sleepily. “I’ve just thought of something,” said Harry. He had turned white. “We’ve got to go and see Hagrid, now.” “Why?” panted Hermione, hurrying to keep up. “Don’t you think it’s a bit odd,” said Harry, scrambling up the grassy slope, “that what Hagrid wants more than anything else is a dragon, and a stranger turns up who just happens to have an egg in his pocket? How many people wander around with dragon eggs if it’s against wizard law? Lucky they found Hagrid, don’t you think? Why didn’t I see it before?”

Quirrell cursed under his breath. “I don’t understand . . . is the Stone inside the mirror? Should I break it?” Harry’s mind was racing. What I want more than anything else in the world at the moment, he thought, is to find the Stone before Quirrell does. So if I look in the mirror, I should see myself finding it — which means I’ll see where it’s hidden! But how can I look without Quirrell realizing what I’m up to? He tried to edge to the left, to get in front of the glass without Quirrell noticing, but the ropes around his ankles were too tight: he tripped and fell over. Quirrell ignored him. He was still talking to himself. “What does this mirror do? How does it work? Help me, Master!” And to Harry’s horror, a voice answered, and the voice seemed to come from Quirrell himself. “Use the boy . . . Use the boy . . .” Quirrell rounded on Harry. “Yes — Potter — come here.” He clapped his hands once, and the ropes binding Harry fell off. Harry got slowly to his feet. “Come here,” Quirrell repeated. “Look in the mirror and tell me what you see.” Harry walked toward him. I must lie, he thought desperately. I must look and lie about what I see, that’s all.

Bravery alone wasn’t enough to overcome his troubled upbringing with the Dursleys, or Quirrelmort, or Diary Tommy, or the final leg of the Horcrux hunt — it required a combination of mental agility, resourcefulness, and cunning to evaluate the situation, outsmart his opponents, and tip the odds in his favour. Harry needed to survive. To survive, he needed something other than mere guts. Harry’s ability to think on his feet and leverage his intelligence to gain the upper hand in challenging scenarios remains a testament to his brilliance and his remarkable presence of mind. He isn’t the foolhardy, impulsive Gryffindor who leaps into danger headlong without prior planning everytime.

(For that matter, Gryffindor are more than their “bravery” which has somehow been twisted into being synonymous with “reckless” — Sirius being a prime example of this, when in GOF he was urging Harry caution in their communications, despite the fandom conveniently only zeroing in on the depressed, cooped up version of him in OOTP, sigh. Bravery is fortitude, pluck, tenacity, strength of moral fibre, resilience, and heart as well.)

Some other less-mentioned examples of his quick mind: Harry wondering about Snape and Karkaroff being on a first-name basis; remembering Nicholas Flamel just from a long-ago glance, and again, Stan Shunpike despite their single encounter; Harry coaxing out Slughorn’s secret (no, it wasn’t all the Felix Felicis); Harry putting himself in Voldemort’s shoes, and Ron and Hermione deferring to his superior, albeit scary, knowledge; and Harry frightening Ollivander with his deductions about the wands. (It wasn’t solely Hermione’s brains that enabled their chances of survival in DH, let’s ditch that false narrative.)

The most laughably contrived bit in fanon is the unfounded notion that Hermione lets the boys cheat off her work to coast by in class. Fanon is wrong on both counts. Hermione would sooner report the boys for cheating than allow them to copy off her, and Harry isn’t anywhere close to scraping the bottom of the barrel in class, and neither is Ron. The handful of instances in canon where she looks over their assignments and helps correct mistakes isn’t cheating. Her input is akin to getting a second pair of eyes or a beta reader to ensure their work is up to snuff — heaven forbid a student help out a friend by suggesting some tips and tweaks. (Or attend tuition or retain a personal tutor or three.)

The ‘that’s why Harry isn’t a Ravenclaw’ jokes get pretty stale once you realise a large portion of the fandom genuinely think he isn’t a smart kid or has never read a book of his own volition/interest in his life. But Harry enjoyed reading his new books late into the night before starting Hogwarts (he found Hedwig’s name in A History of Magic, after all). Admittedly, studying is a feat in and of itself when you have zero access to books, but some cunning can turn around your luck!

Nevertheless, Sirius had been of some help to Harry, even if he couldn’t be with him. It was due to Sirius that Harry now had all his school things in his bedroom with him. The Dursleys had never allowed this before; their general wish of keeping Harry as miserable as possible, coupled with their fear of his powers, had led them to lock his school trunk in the cupboard under the stairs every summer prior to this. But their attitude had changed since they had found out that Harry had a dangerous murderer for a godfather — for Harry had conveniently forgotten to tell them that Sirius was innocent.

‘Oh, Potter can’t differentiate between a salamander and newt’s eyes.’

‘Asking him to skin shrivelfigs is a tall order since he can’t wield a dagger properly.’

‘He used shredded jobberknoll feathers when the recipe called for a fine powder. Poor Hermione will have to take over yet again to save his stupid arse.’

It’s these many variations and renditions of Harry’s alleged, often exaggerated, ineptitude in fandom content and making a monkey out of him, which I come across more often than not, that are an instant turn-off.

The widespread idea that Harry’s success in the subject can be attributed solely to the Prince’s book is misguided and further undermines his intelligence — and this jaundiced belief that’s crystallised itself as canon, of Harry and Ron putting on a double act as stupid slouches in class and therefore deserving of Snape’s derision and the Slytherin’s put-downs, is a far cry from the truth. Snape’s opinion of Harry’s intelligence or ability should be taken with a grain of salt, given that Harry has been described as a bright and talented child since his first year, by the Professors, Dumbledore, and the Sorting Hat. Even the resident megalomaniac described him as “not unintelligent”. You know what’s actually canon?

1) Snape’s biased approach towards Harry and Neville caused them to have an unwarranted fear of failure and reprimands. The Potions classroom was a hostile and unwelcoming learning environment for these two boys.

2) Harry is pretty confident when left to his own devices in class in OoTP before Snape flushed his effort down the gutter.

Exhibit 1:

Snape, meanwhile, seemed to have decided to act as though Harry were invisible. Harry was, of course, well used to this tactic, as it was one of Uncle Vernon’s favourites, and on the whole was grateful he had to suffer nothing worse. In fact, compared to what he usually had to endure from Snape in the way of taunts and snide remarks, he found the new approach something of an improvement and was pleased to find that when left well alone, he was able to concoct an Invigoration Draught quite easily. At the end of the lesson he scooped some of the potion into a flask, corked it, and took it up to Snape’s desk for marking, feeling that he might at last have scraped an E. He had just turned away when he heard a smashing noise; Malfoy gave a gleeful yell of laughter. Harry whipped around again. His potion sample lay in pieces on the floor, and Snape was watching him with a look of gloating pleasure. “Whoops,” he said softly. “Another zero, then, Potter . . .” Harry was too incensed to speak. He strode back to his cauldron, intending to fill another flask and force Snape to mark it, but saw to his horror that the rest of the contents had vanished. “I’m sorry!” said Hermione with her hands over her mouth. “I’m really sorry, Harry, I thought you’d finished, so I cleared up!”

Exhibit 2:

“After this year, of course, many of you will cease studying with me,” Snape went on. “I take only the very best into my N.E.W.T. Potions class, which means that some of us will certainly be saying good-bye.” His eyes rested on Harry and his lip curled. Harry glared back, feeling a grim pleasure at the idea that he would be able to give up Potions after fifth year.

Exhibit 3:

Ron found it quite easy to ignore as they spent most of Saturday and Sunday studying for Potions on Monday, the exam to which Harry was looking forward least and which he was sure would be the one that would be the downfall of his ambitions to become an Auror. Sure enough, he found the written exam difficult, though he thought he might have got full marks on the question about Polyjuice Potion: He could describe its effects extremely accurately, having taken it illegally in his second year. The afternoon practical was not as dreadful as he had expected it to be. With Snape absent from the proceedings he found that he was much more relaxed than he usually was while making potions. Neville, who was sitting very near Harry, also looked happier than Harry had ever seen him during a Potions class. When Professor Marchbanks said, “Step away from your cauldrons, please, the examination is over,” Harry corked his sample flask feeling that he might not have achieved a good grade but that he had, with luck, avoided a fail.

Whereas in Ch 15 of OoTP, Snape had marked Harry’s essay on moonstones as Dreadful and claimed it to be a realistic expectation of OWL grading:

“I have awarded you the grades you would have received if you presented this work in your O.W.L.,” said Snape with a smirk, as he swept among them, passing back their homework. “This should give you a realistic idea of what to expect in your examination.” Snape reached the front of the class and turned to face them. “The general standard of this homework was abysmal. Most of you would have failed had this been your examination. I expect to see a great deal more effort for this week’s essay on the various varieties of venom antidotes, or I shall have to start handing out detentions to those dunces who get D’s.” He smirked as Malfoy sniggered and said in a carrying whisper, “Some people got D’s? Ha!”

And yet, Harry did very well on his OWLs before he even got a whiff of the Prince’s book.

Astronomy A

Care of Magical Creatures EE

Charms EE

Defense Against the Dark Arts O

Divination P

Herbology EE

History of Magic D

Potions EE

Transfiguration EE

Harry and Ron studied (!) both days of the weekend before Potions OWLs (!) without Hermione (!), and still Harry wasn’t sure he’d secure a good grade yet ended up scoring an EE. Exceeds Expectations, which y’know translates to: Surpasses Expectations, So Much Better than Expected, Rather Brilliant.

Unless you believe that anything less than the top percentiles is rubbish, Harry is not a ‘certifiable dunce’. There’s no denying he’s a competent and clever wizard and easily punches above his weight when he’s properly motivated and applies himself. Intelligence is a genetic trait, and Harry comes from nerdstock.

If he could achieve those grades whilst serving 7-hour torture sessions with Umbridge, suffering from Voldemort and Snape tearing into his mind, and putting up with the government slandering him in his second most important school year, running on fumes and sheer will (constantly disruspted sleep routine? Ugh!), then yeah, remove all those crutches, and he’d be raking in straight Os for most of those subjects. (It sort of sounds like ‘excuse our mental health and and anxiety’ for us if we perform poorly in exams, but not for Harry ‘he’s an idiot throwing teen tantrums’. Someone give me a hammer.)

“You’d need top grades for that,” said Professor McGonagall, extracting a small, dark leaflet from under the mass on her desk and opening it. “They ask for a minimum of five N.E.W.T.s, and nothing under ‘Exceeds Expectations’ grade, I see. Then you would be required to undergo a stringent series of character and aptitude tests at the Auror office. It’s a difficult career path, Potter; they only take the best. In fact, I don’t think anybody has been taken on in the last three years.”

Did he earn the grades? Yes. The Auror program ran aptitude tests, too, and only took the best, yes? Not because he’s a hothead with a daredevil streak and impulse issues, yes? Not because his dream was to be an Auror since his third year, or that he was only exceptional at fighting, or some such nonsense. After all, Barty Crouch Jr, he of the impeccable OWLs record, saw something worthy of Auror material in Harry and planted the seed in his mind. (Reminder: Barty also said Hermione should consider joining the Aurors too because her “mind works the right way”.)

And Moody thought he, Harry, ought to be an Auror! Interesting idea . . . but somehow, Harry thought, as he got quietly into his four-poster ten minutes later, the egg and the Cloak now safely back in his trunk, he thought he’d like to check how scarred the rest of them were before he chose it as a career.

If Harry was incapable of telling up from down in Potions, the Prince’s annotations would have been like casting pearls before swine. Worse still, Harry’s supposed lack of know-how would have caused more harm than good. The book only helped to refine the skills and knowledge he had cultivated over five years of study. Having a comfortable learning environment, an encouraging teacher, and superior instructions allowed Harry to maximise his potential and excel in class. (This phenomenon of underachiever-to-star pupil can happen in real life and is not unique to Harry. It happens with neurodivergent students with slightly different needs, students who require a more personal teaching style, and students stunted by an unhealthy learning environment. When their needs are met and supported, they tend to thrive and reach their potential.)

To put it into perspective, imagine taking an average kid whose expertise in cooking extends to making beans on toast and putting them in a professional kitchen. Imagine asking this kid to fillet a salmon and very finely slice lemons for garnish, tasks that require careful hands, finesse, and patience. If the kid can’t distinguish between a paring knife and a boning knife, they don’t stand half a chance. They’re liable to mess up the fish from the get-go. They might use a petty knife for everything and present a terribly executed dish; or they might cleverly choose a smaller knife but misuse it, not knowing that the flexibility and sharpness of a blade vary depending on their purpose, and end up seriously hurting themselves. Either way, filleting a fish is best left to seasoned home cooks and the pros.

In contrast, Harry is identical to a proficient home cook who knows the ropes but lacks some finesse and the fancy carving and plating skills of a trained culinary student. He has a firm grasp of the necessary theory and techniques and knows how to prep ingredients correctly, but may fumble the ideal application of said techniques, lacks an inborn zeal for the craft that lends to creativity, and overlook the finer details, particularly when he’s weighed down by fear of censure and humiliation. His level of success hinges on variables such as his confidence, familiarity with a recipe or method, and the type of environment he’s in. Talent is like a little seed; when nurtured, it will flourish.

Slughorn’s NEWT class was small, admitting twelve students out of a fortyish-student batch. No Gryffindor apart from the Golden Trio made the cut, and they were joined by the lone Hufflepuff, four Ravenclaws, and four Slytherins. Essentially, only a dozen students achieved an EE or O to qualify for NEWT Potions. Fanon will tell you most of the Slytherins have been tinkering with cauldrons in their diapers, but canon shows that only two other Slytherins, besides Draco and Blaise, made the grade. So, how are we still perpetuating this incorrect interpretation that Ron and Harry were barely keeping up academically when they’re more adept than half their year?

Harry and Ron aren’t academically inclined or driven by an obsessive urge to pore over books most hours of the day for fun, so what? Let them joke around and play chess and cards and broom race in the rain without bringing their brains and academics into the equation. Let Harry be a proper child/teen when he’s not busy hunting clues and crushing evil plots. Stop making the sum of HJP be “Powerful Himbo” or “Saviour Complex and Running on Luck”, which is pretty disrespectful towards a character who has shown himself to be so, so competent and well-rounded.

It’s such a huge thorn in my side that both Harry and Sirius (of all people, when he’s twinning with James as the insultingly effortless mavens during their time at Hogwarts!) habitually have their intelligence questioned and maliciously devaluated, or blown off entirely. So I had to sit and get this chaotically demonstrative commentary off my chest. Thank you, if you’ve read till the end!

[pandj0ra]

© uvuyai 2024

ძᥲᥡ 2 ~ һᥙmіᥣіᥲ𝗍і᥆ᥒ + 𝗍ᥡіᥒg ᥙ⍴ [EVENT]

Yandere! Blade x FEM! Reader

–genre. Smut, nsfw

–tw. Blood, skin carving, humiliation, skin writing, non-con, creampie, sadist!blade, spanking, porn with plot(maybe), size difference, stomach bulge, choking, overstimulation, possessive behaviors, blade is called ren, mentions of the hard R in the beginning, neglect, degradation, reader is blades reincarnated lover, prone bone, MINORS DNI, non consensual touching, nipple play, SW and Kafka is helping blade, headlocking, dub-con, blood,

–synopsis. You've been kidnapped by the swordsman of the Stellaron Hunters and brought to their headquarters. It's Valentine's Day and he planned something special.

Mari/yai's message – just know i was very uncomfortable with writing this. I've been drawing lately so it's been a while.

You were tied up in the basement of the Stellaron Hunters headquarters. You were just walking down the streets of luofu till you were grabbed into an alleyway and a cloth covering your mouth and then you inhaled chloroform, passing out into the person's(or thing) arm. When your captor brought you back to where they lived, they introduced themselves as Blade but he told you to call him ren.

Blade. As in the wanted criminal and part of the Stellaron Hunters?

After a while he got tired of your useless attempts at escaping (mostly snitched on by Kafka or Silverwolf by telling blade you escaped.), and then forcefully forced himself onto you. After that he left you.

He would come back occasionally if Kafka told him so if he didn't want you to die. He would bring you clothes and food to keep you alive and helped you take care of your hygiene. You didn't eat in front of him and just pretend to be asleep most of the time in the corner of the mattress.

You tried talking to him but couldn't since your stuttering held you back and you couldn't make eye contact with him since he fiery red eyes would stare into your soul, stunning it immediately.

He brought you stuff like a note book to draw or use it as a diary. Since you barely could get your words out, you wrote ‘Why did you kidnap me?’ on a page. He only muttered the word “Lover” and left it at that.

Well today was Valentine's day as you'd know by the calendar beside your bed. You still didn't love him or let yourself develop Stockholm Syndrome. If you could tell, he hated it.

You behaved well for the days, months, or even years he captured you. He let you out of your ropes and lets you walk around the basement. Various furniture was added like a desk that faced a window(that was very hard to break), a bed set, and a built in shower.

Silver Wolf gave the glory to Blade that he can have one of her old games but he decided to give it to you so you wouldn't be as bored when he went.

Kafka came down and called out for you. You raised your head from your pillow and looked at her with sleepy doe eyes. “C'mon dearie, Blade will be home soon and he has something planned for you.” she grabbed your forearm and dragged you to the bathroom and ran you a bath as if you were her child. She helped you shave your legs(and everywhere else including pubic) and did your hair into something simple. She gave you pink Valentine's Day themed lingerie undergarments to put underneath the white lace night gown.

You wished you knew why Blade suggested Kafka to give you this. The clothes fit you nicely. Your mind was all over the place as you thought about how Blade got the correct measurements of your bra and panties.

Kafka led you out of the bathroom and back to your bed and went back up stairs and came back down with a low black gift box. She skied the top off the box to reveal red ribbons. The box was branded so it must've been from a sex store or somewhere that was expensive. You thought it was for your hair otherwise it's weird to come in a box like that.

Kafka placed her hands behind her back and closed her eyes and let out a pitiful sigh. “I'm sorry, dear.” Before you could turn around something rough and hard hit the back of your head. It put you to sleep on impact.

She dragged your body to your bed and threw you on your bed, grabbing the ribbon and tied it tightly around your legs and wrist. The extras went around your waist and torso. You were truly a beautiful doll. She wrapped soft cloth around your mouth and eyes. Just breathe through

She left the room and as if on cue, Blade stepped through the door. In his deep voice, he spoke. “Did you do what I asked?” Kafka nodded her head and gave off her signature smile. “I did but I had to neutralize her because she was struggling too much for my comfort.” she was obviously lying. He could obviously tell too.

He stepped his way to the basement where you were. He heard distant whimpering and sobs which were coming from you. He reached you and noticed your squirming. Your breath hitched as you heard boots stepping your way. The ribbons were hurting way too much to even ignore for a bit.

“Hey waterlily, It's really disappointing how you didn't behave for her.” he breathed. “You should be punished for that. I see she did most of the work.” you heard something slam on the nightstand next to your bed.

He hooked his finger underneath the blindfold to reveal your doe stricken eyes.

His lips lifted into a smirk while he trailed his bandaged fingers from your face to your collarbone. He noticed your squirming got more vapid. You shook your head as you didn't want him to continue.

His hand ripped the strap that was holding the gown, revealing your covered breast. Your face felt as if it was burning from embarrassment. He pushed you onto your back and got on top of you. Your muffled protests became unheard as he grabbed scissors and cut the straps from your bra, removing it, and revealing your tits.

“You look like a slut... Begging for someone's attention.” he laughed. “That someone's attention you want is me.” he dug into his pants pocket and pulled out a knife and a permanent marker.

He slid the knife down your torso, the force was enough for it to draw blood. He leaned down and lapped at the blood while maintaining eye contact with you. Tears ran down your face and dried ones were replaced.

He fully discarded your dress and panties and threw them somewhere on the bed or ground. He used his gloved hand to finger you. Your slick immediately gathering on his hand. “Has all this fear got to you? I would've mistaken you for being a masochist, y'know.”

He unbuckled his pants and slid down his boxers that revealed his large, thick throbbing dick. It was flushed red at the tip and a white bead of precum was drooling from the slit. He thrusted two fingers into your cunt. He wanted to prep you since it's been a while since he had done anything with you. The stimulation was overwhelming. You desperately tried to kick him away but he grabbed your waist and replaced his finger with his dick rubbing against your pussy. Your juices covered the downside of his dick.

He leaned back to position his dick between your pussy lips. He thrusted up into your pussy, hitting your spongy spot on impact. A little blood covered his dick as well. A bulge would pop up with each thrust of his hips. Your scream was muffled and you leaned your head back on the pillow. You were biting at the cloth that was covering your mouth. It was covered in your saliva as well.

Blade hooked a finger underneath the cloth and pulled it down. Your breathing was harsh in a way that if it was cold, air would come from your mouth. As his thrusts started to pick up and your juices webbed his whole dick, he picked the knife back up and started to engrave a letter below your tits. The letter was his initial, the letter ‘B’. The icy hot pain was all over your body(it wasn't but it felt like it but mainly between your thighs), Blade licked the blood up, enjoying the metallic iron taste from it. His dick landed painful hits to your cervix, making you grimace at the feeling.

During that, yelps, whines, and moans were heard through the basement. If you were loud enough, Kafka and Silver Wolf would hear.

His thrust got more erratic. His thrusts were sure that by the time he finished your pussy would be gapping open and molded into the shape of his cock. You tried to cover your moans by turning your head to the side and trying to muffle them as much as possible. Blade was quick to grab your face, squishing your cheeks together as he got up in your face while looking at your unfocused eyes filled with tears. He trailed his eyes down back to where he drew the letter below your tits.

He slowly itched a small cross(which was a plus sign,) and after a while, he carved your first name initials after. It looked like those cheesy trends where it shows what initials are meant to be for example; B + Y. He did all of this while keeping his thrusts while you squirted your juices onto his lower abdomen and cock. He grabbed the permanent marker and drew a small heart around the heart.

He grabbed you by the shoulders and squished you against his chest. He rocked his hips back and forth and wrapped his arm around your waist to keep you steady. “You are such a slut. Nothing but my cum dump.” The cold permanent marker touched your skin, sending shivers down your spine and to your core. He wrote a few words like “CUMDUMP”, ”SLUT”, and “Blades/ren's property” on your back. He placed a few humiliating words on your collarbone so anyone could see it and also remind him what you are to him.

You pussy clenched around his dick, signaling your. “You wanna cum, yeah? Then cum. Cum for me.” he said between grunts. Your string of moans and mewls of being overstimulated, he released his cum inside you. Your stomach was slightly bloated and thick, sticky cum leaked out of your cunt and onto the bedsheets(it had little bubbles in them and stuck together like a spider web).

Blade was quick to flip you onto your stomach with your ass in the air. He grabbed the knife and released your wrist from the ropes binding them together. Your wrists were finally able to breathe. His rough hands grab at your wrist, pulling them to make you arch your back further.

He angled his cock back at your entrance, pushing his hips forward and his cum and your juices acting together as a secondary lube. The movement of his hips grew faster as time passed.

He leaned down to where his chest was touching your back. He resumed his torcher and thrust into you so hard he could break into your cervix and split you apart. His hand snaked up to your neck, squeezing it slightly so it wasn't hard enough to stop your breath. He used it to angle your head so he could kiss you. You moaned into his mouth and drooled all over his tongue.

His thrust started to get sloppy and he felt your breath get harsher from you breathing through your mouth. He wrapped both of his thick bulging arms around your neck, placing you in a loose headlock. A hand slipped down and tugged at your nipple. You released the kiss as you tried to get your breath back by sticking your tongue out. He placed a loud smack on your ass which made you come on his dick, stunning you.

He came inside you for the second time. You don't know how long he'll be doing this for as you feel his dick hardened inside you.

;(

[missglaskin]

HOTD AU Concepts Masterlist part 1

Main series: HOTD AU Masterlist

Reader demanding Criston is punished Reference: Part 2 

Possible love interest?  Will Daemon be a love interest 

Connection between Aemond and Luke   Reference: Part 3

Why Aemond snitched Reference: Part 5 

How Alicent contributed to Aemond’s tendencies Reference: Part 5 

Reader’s title in court   Y/N’s Aliases

When reader has a breakdown 

Helaena’s nickname

If reader went with Rhaenys Reference: Part 5 

----> Reader crowning Rhaenyra

If reader has a child with someone else 

Naming after them some chs ;

Naming the child 'Y/n' Naming her Aemma  Carbon copy 

Fighting over the name If Aemond was the father

How reader is carried through history 

Paintings commissioned   Portraits inspirations for the reader 

Interpretations of ‘love triangle’ Aegon IV w/reader Other nicknames 

Old!reader like Olenna Reader dying before blackfyre rebellion

Criston react to Y/N being insulted

What if reader’s biological family wants her back

----> What if it is a powerful kingdom 

Reader being a Gremlin 

Liking shiny & cool things Bringing a snake Likes to take their things 

In a dragon onesie Getting sick from biting ankles Finding secret passages 

Does Aemond see Rhaenyra’s kids as competition 

Reader has diary 

---> If it’s found during Daenerys time  Aegon alters it 

If reader ends in GOT timeline 

Reader’s dress are mostly being stolen

----> Noticing Helaena’s embroideries 

Does Helaena know of Aegon’s feelings?

Bisexual reader falling for Helaena 

Reader getting Marie Antoinette syndrome

Y/N teaching the children to dance  children having nightmare

Reader likes singing Luke secretly being the favorite 

Reader losing an eye

Because of Luke and Jace

Reader requesting Aemond/Daemon a rare item (separate)

Young!reader bringing a pin to Otto

Does Viserys know of Aemond’s feelings 

Alys in the story? 

Reader telling them she's like Leanor 

Drunk!reader being affectionate 

Reader sprained her feet Reader suddenly falling ill 

[incognito-duo]

MUTANT MAYHEM HCs!!

Leonardo

The turtles and Splinter all call him Da Vinci, hated it at first but then grew to love it.

Loves watching Octonauts, and made a video essay about it.

Likes going to Walmart

Watches Vine compilations at 2 am when he can’t sleep

Color codes his candy, for example, only eats all of the red Skittles then the purple ones then green, etc.

Cried over Roblox VC once, and his brother verbally harassed a 5-year bc of it.

After Scumbug got with Splinter, Leo tried to encourage his family to learn the language she spoke. He is the most fluent, but as good as Splinter.

Even though he's a snitch, Leo has blackmail/secrets that are brothers only. (Some things are sibling code fr)

Favorite Dcom is Z-O-M-B-I-E-S, and looks up to Zed.

Loves cheesy Rom-cons, and has a Tubi account just for it.

Donatello

Head of movie nights, mostly watched anime movies but tried to find one the whole family would love.

Has his tent because he owns a bunch of merch, and needed a place to put it.

Simon, from Alvin and the Chipmunks, kinnie. Had a massive childhood crush on Jennet.

Def a Disney Kid, TOH, Molly McGee etc.

Got into Anime, and other fandoms, bc of AMV's.

Fandom wiki user, and a Tumblr user.

Studio Ghibli GEEK!! Made many video essays.

Chapped as hell lips, carries small Vaseline around (Forgets to use it)

Owns a diary

Info dumps and long study sessions a lot

Michelangelo

Only wants bubble tea for the pearls

Had a small wig era... failed, and never did it again. (He only wears wigs in secret)

Has the best handwriting

He could wing a test if he paid attention in class because IMPROV!!!

HAS to sleep near one of his brothers, hence why he has a bunk bed.

Has glow-in-dark stick stars on his wall!!

Number one hypeman when you wanna ask your crush out. Definitely helped Leo with April

Writes in orange glittery pen

Likes to style his mask in bows or fun edges

Over thinks with giving others gifts, decorating, and hosting parties

Raphael

He HATES the dentist

He is actually a big softie and dork (like we all know), so he yaps a lot with April, his brothers, and the people he's REALLY close with

Likes a few musicals because of Mikey, like CryBaby and Ride of the Cyclone

Loves to show off, mostly to impress people

Plays Valorant with Casey

Bullies little kids on Roblox voice chat

Childhood crushes were on Liv from Liv and Maddie, and Cat from Victorious

Likes to munch on waffle cones when bored

He's too loud or too quiet when speaking during certain times without knowing

Owns a journal, and has the most outrageous handwriting

April

Kids still bully her, but a lot have stopped after the events of the movie

She slowly learns how to get over her stage fright

the CUTEST handwriting when taking notes, the aesthetic school notes with the pastel highlighters

Doodles during class, and tends to doodle Leo when working on her newspapers (AprilNardo>>>)

Lowkey hated Casey before they became BFFs

Goes to her apartment roof when she needs to relax, or when bored

Listens to Lofi Girl when studying

Likes to make small, silly comics for the school newspaper

Loves tot bags, or duffel bags!

She is an only child, but loves to hang out with her parents and relatives. Every weekend, she goes to IHop with her family and invites the turtles and Irma sometimes

[yallthemwitches]

Chapter 3: Third Year

“I don’t think you’re a wanker.” It slips out before she can give it a second thought. They aren’t the words she really wants to say to him, but they are true nonetheless. James goes slightly pink. He holds up his pointer finger and thumb and pinches them close together. “Maybe a little though?” She grins. “Well, maybe for hexing those girls—though I understand it came from good intentions.” “Well meaning hexes are my specialty, you know.”

Read on AO3 or under the cut!

It was supposed to be a laugh really, an exacerbation of the truth told in the confidence of a stupid slumber party game. No one was supposed to believe that she really fancied James Potter—no one until everyone did. 

“Watch out Lily! Here comes your husband…” sneers Elodie McMillan over her shoulder as she passes in the Great Hall. Beside her, Laura Lynch sniggers. 

“Already picked out the names of your children? I heard you’ve been signing your name as Lily Potter in your diary.”

It does have a nice ring to it—-not that she is going to admit that.

Lily keeps her head down, counting the bits of orange rind in her marmalade. Behind her, the jeers only heighten as students come pouring into the hall, all eyes seemingly zeroed in on her. How does word pass around this school so bloody fast?

A fifth year Slytherin within earshot pipes up. “Poor thing. She probably thinks being with a pureblood will actually make her amount to something…”

Another roar of laughter. Marlene McKinnon, a fellow muggleborn, turns and gives the Slytherin girls the finger. Lily smiles in thanks which Marlene returns until it is abruptly scrubbed from the sight of something behind her. 

Lily whips around to find James standing there with his uniform so disheveled he could have slept in it. A sprout of vines starts to wrap around her heart, tugging it to burst.

“Er– Hi Evans, could we talk for a second?”

Incapable of speech, she nods, standing up from the bench and ignoring the murmur of “oooooooooh” that drifts up from around the hall. As they walk past the Slytherin table, James shoots the girl from earlier a look that Lily can’t see. The girl just cocks an eyebrow and bursts back into a fit of giggles. 

They make it to a secluded corner just outside the Great Hall when he rounds on her, coming in close until her back hits the stone wall. The fluttering of a thousand snitches erupts in her stomach–he smells like shampoo and fresh linen. 

“So–” he says, shifting his weight. He’s close, too close and his eyes blink in quick succession, jumping to all parts of her face then towards a fixed point behind her. 

“I heard during practice that you fancy me.”

Not vines, Devil’s Snare everywhere, strangling every point in her body until blood can do nothing but curdle in place. He stares at his feet then quickly to the wall again, his cheeks starting to burn. 

No one ever tells you the proper etiquette for things like this. Besides, she only started ‘like liking’ boys over the summer when a muggle boy from town asked to hold her hand. She wished her mum was alive to tell her why all of the sudden everyone was so bloody confusing and cruel. Meanwhile, Petunia’s council loomed in the back of her head. “No one is going to love a freak like you.”

But James Potter had her back against a wall, pulled away from the crowd so they could talk— and was so bloody close. That must mean something…right? The hard line of his lips and infuriatingly gorgeous blush on his cheeks only add to the ambiguity. 

“I just wanted to say, I told them to piss off.”

Wait, what?

He scratches his head, making his hair shoot up as though magnetized. 

“We all know Mildred likes to spew hurtful nonsense. Don’t worry, the lads know not to make a fuss of it either.”

She is sure her mouth is hanging open. 

He stands there expectantly, cheeks flushing further. She doesn’t know why he is blushing, he isn’t the one getting his name dragged through the gossip wheel—if anything he will probably benefit from being desired. As he waits for a response, his eyes keep flashing to her lips. Oh great, this is already mortifying and now I probably have food on my face. 

Giving her lips a not so subtle swipe of her sleeve, she tries to muster a response. 

“Uhm, thanks?”

It’s good enough. He smiles– it's not his usual blinding ray of happiness, but something more muted. Another round of snitches release into her stomach and her heart feels like it’s slowly migrating to her throat. 

“Yeah, no problem Evans.”

His mouth opens and a small stuttering noise comes out, forming only a few phonetic noises before closing again, opting instead for a curt nod. Even after he leaves, she remains against the wall, chest thrumming. 

By mid morning at least four girls are treated for head engorgement hexes. Lily spends the rest of the morning in the toilets, hoping no one hears her cry. 

The worst part is it’s not even the rumor that keeps her locked away in the stalls. By any account, she should be content with the outcome of her talk with Potter—he was all but siding with her to take down the ever insatiable Hogwarts rumor mill. So then why did it hurt so bad?

Hurtful nonsense— that’s what he had called her feelings towards him. Not to mention he was willing to get weeks worth of detention just to hex the mere thought of them being together out of existence. It was bad enough that he knew about her crush, but to know it was unrequited? Somewhere in dark recesses of her hippocampus, James and Petunia’s words intermingle until they make one giant drone of tortuous noise hammering at her skull. 

Puffy eyes notwithstanding, she makes herself presentable for potions. The subject has always been a haven for her, but today it feels like a downright sanctuary—Potter won’t be there. Upon entering, she beelines her way to Severus’ side, throwing her arms around him. His genuine smile does good for her otherwise aching heart. 

“It’s awful what they're saying about you,” he says when they are left to begin their assignment. He doesn’t look at her, taking a writhing slug from a jar and chopping off its head with a heavy clunk.

“You don’t have to tell me,” she sniffs, “I should have never trusted those girls in the first place.”

Severus’ body seizes up, any color in his already pallid complexion going cold. 

“Trusted?”

“Yeah, I mean, we were just having a laugh…talking about boys. Everyone else was saying who they fancied and having fun with it—I don’t know why I had to be singled out and–”

“So it’s true then?”

He snaps his head to the side to look at her, hair falling into his eyes. His mouth is barely visible its stretched so thin, trembling slightly.

“What?” Lily sputters, putting down her knife. “No Sev, don’t be thick. I’m not writing Lily Potter in my diary and—”

“But you do fancy him—Potter?” His voice forms the words with extreme effort, concentrating on every syllable. 

Her heart is no longer migrating to her throat, it’s lodged deep inside so that she can only choke out air. There’s a newfound stinging in her eyes, from tears brimming the edges. Of all people he was supposed to understand—to tell her to laugh it off…

“Forget it,” she bites out, tears starting to fall. If she had stayed a moment longer, she would have seen Severus’ face soften but she doesn’t give him the time, picking up her bag and running out of the classroom. From behind, she hears him call out to her, but she doesn’t go back, storming away from the one place—the one person—she thought she could find solace in. 

Unable to find the willpower to make it to the dorms, she finds a secluded area on the second floor and drops herself into a crumple on the floor, pulling her knees up to her chest in a sob. 

You’re bloody pathetic, you know that? Tuney is right—Potter is right. Who is going to fancy someone who just feels sorry for themself. Who can’t get through the day without—

“Evans?”

No no no no. 

She keeps her eyes closed, hoping that if she doesn’t respond he will just go away. But that’s the problem— been the problem since the moment she boarded the Hogwarts Express in first year. James Potter doesn’t just go away, if anything he finds a way to dig deeper.

She opens her eyes and a golden pair stares back, James’ face leaning sideways to look at her with his glasses falling lopsided on his nose. 

“I know you are crying and all so it’s probably not the best moment, but… you do know you have slug bits all over you, right?”

She hates that it actually makes her laugh; an ugly, tearful one that probably makes her look even more like a troll than she already does. A small grin appears on his face, not intending to be funny, but pleased to have gotten the response. 

“So, is that why you are crying then? The slug guts? Because—and I know I’m about to blow your mind here, Evans—there’s this cool thing called bathing…”

“Bugger off, Potter.” 

Despite herself she laughs again, the tears finally shoring up. He gives a full grin this time and it does something awful to her nervous system.

“Ah, There she is! My favorite, mildly annoyed Evans.”

My. 

If her heart migrates any further it will come popping out of her mouth. Her leg bounces and James places a hand on her knee to stop it, his touch zapping through her like an electric current in water.

“Not that I don’t love the mystery,” he says, hand lingering on her knee, “—but do you care to explain why you are on the ground crying and—again—covered in slugs out in the corridor?”

He removes his hand and she immediately misses it, wishing she could tug it back and hold it against her. His grin makes way for genuine concern—a look she doesn’t think she has ever seen etched on his face. It’s not what James Potter is made for; he’s supposed to be endlessly cocky, full of laughter and making quippy remarks that gain him adoration from his peers and detention from his superiors-–not frowning with pity at some girl who fancies him.

“Is it about the rumor? Look Evans, I’ve already hexed anyone who–”

“Yeah I know,” she cuts him off, wiping away tears, “I’m fine, really Potter. Besides, what’s one other thing—they already take the piss out of me anyways.”

James frowns and she wants nothing more than to lean in and press her lips against his.

“Another thing? Am I missing something?” 

She makes a self deprecating wave to herself and James’ eyes trail along, unconvinced. 

“Because…you have red hair?”

She scoffs. “C’mon, don’t be thick.”

“I’m not being thick. You are being delusional.”

She’s surprised she has to spell it out for him. He’d surely heard an earful of it all day— muggleborns like her aren’t allowed to fancy purebloods like him; aren’t allowed to do much of anything it seemed unless that meant going back to the muggle holes they crawled out from…

“Christ, Potter,” she says, borrowing a muggle swear for emphasis, “I’m a Muggleborn, remember? I might as well just transform myself into a literal punching bag.”

His brow scrunches into tiny lines. “Yeah, but, who cares anyways?”

And he called her delusional?

“Lots of people actually,” she bites out, harsher than intended, “Don’t you remember last year’s Slug club?”

 He pauses, deliberating his response.

“Yeah, well…those people were bellends.”

If it wasn’t so bloody ignorant, it would be cute. 

“So,” she says, eyes lowering to slits, “By your definition about half of the wizarding world—the most powerful side I should note— are bellends then?” 

There's silence. James looks off into the corridor, mouth tight in a frown. She gets the feeling he doesn’t think about these things often. Why would he? He’s beloved by the majority of the people he meets. No one would ever tell him that he was some freak…believe he is incapable of being loved…

“Well then,” he takes a breath, plotting his words with care.

“It’s just what I feared: fucking wankers, the whole lot of us.”

She doesn’t know what she had expected. He had looked so contemplative—even a half baked empathetic apology on behalf of humankind would have made more sense. A new, stronger fit of laughter tumbles out, keeling her over in her seat until it feels like the snitches in her stomach are close to breaking free. Taking her cue he laughs too, his head falling back and knocking his glasses loose. 

She hates how he has continued to be able to do this: surprise her even when she thinks she has gotten him all figured out. Maybe deep down that’s why she fancies him—she could be a master seer and never figure out what he is going to do next. 

“I don’t think you’re a wanker.”

It slips out before she can give it a second thought. They aren’t the words she really wants to say to him, but they are true nonetheless. 

James goes slightly pink. He holds up his pointer finger and thumb and pinches them close together.

“Maybe a little though?”

She grins. “Well, maybe for hexing those girls—though I understand it came from good intentions.”

“Well meaning hexes are my specialty, you know.”

He picks himself up, offering her a hand that is warm against hers despite its time propping him up against the cold floor. They shuffle awkwardly, both looking like they want to say something but not knowing how to say it. 

“Well—thanks again, I guess. Though I’m not really sure what for.”

He laughs, ruffling his hair. The act skews his glasses and she has the urge to recorrect them for him. 

“No thanks needed. I wasn’t really ready for marriage anyhow—”

His face takes on a new color, a rush of red painting his cheeks and his eyes becoming alight with something wild.

“--but if you want to go to Hogsmeade with me next weekend…”

Ice shoots down the back of her spine. The world sears white. The only thing that remains is James’ smile. Seconds ago she had read it as friendly, comforting, maybe even flirty—but now it is as cold and viscous as the words that still haunt her from over the summer. No one is going to love a freak like you.

“So you were taking the piss out of me then,” she seethes. Hands balling up into fists. Her eyes sting but she uses all her energy to keep the tears at bay. He doesn’t deserve a drop. 

“Real funny, Potter. I can’t believe you had me convinced,” a choke escapes her mouth but she barrels on anyways, the anger soaring.

 “—I see now this was just another one of your sick pranks...at the very least an excuse to hex people for fun...”

James rears back, taken aback by how quick the tone has shifted. His hands shoot upwards into a surrender. 

“What? No! I was just, I thought...”

It’s her turn to round on him, but the desire to kiss him is now long gone. 

“You thought what? No, actually you didn’t think. You never do—not unless it’s about yourself.”

“Evans—merlin, just listen—”

But she cuts him off, bile burning into the back of her throat. How stupid could she possibly be? James Potter treated everything like a joke, what would make this any different? That’s all this was: a big charade just to make her suffer.  

“Maybe you are a wanker, Potter just like everyone else. A big fat toeheaded one. And for the record I could never fancy someone like you. Not ever.”

She waits for a laugh, for a biting comeback—anything. But all he offers is a soft, almost sad smile.

“Yeah, reckon so,” he says, shoving his hands into his pockets.

“The biggest wanker of all actually.”

[mslanna]

Maybe something about Raphael reacting to Haarlep reading through his diary/journal (this is why you give your incubus enrichment, folks!) and the incubus pointing out the frequency a certain 'little mouse' seems to be appearing as the subject in his writings? Heck, maybe Haarlep even tries to convince Raphael to let them obtain Tav's form so that the cambion can indulge in his little mouse whenever he wants.

What is says on the bos sfw kinda Read it on AO3

Depleted

"How often did I tell you not to do this?" Raphael plucked his diary from Haarlep's hand.

"As often as you caught me," his personal incubus replied. "Which is way not as often as I did it."

They leant back lasciviously, presenting a world of possibilities their master. As usual, Raphael barely noticed. The cambion was more concerned with the content of his diaries. Well, at least this time Haarlep had refrained from drawing naughty sketches into it.

"You really shouldn't leave them lying about like that. It's clearly an invitation." Not that Raphael would notice an invitation if he saw one. Haarlep dialled back the preening and offering. Such a spoilsport and killjoy.

"It was locked away in my desk," Raphael admonished.

"Yes, exactly where I know it will be," Haarlep purred. "That is not even trying to keep me away."

"I also told you not to touch it." The cambion's voice turned hard.

"You tell me that about so many things." Haarlep rose. He stepped behind his master, laid his chin on Raphael's shoulders and wrapped his arms around his middle. Their tail settled around his ankle, it's tip slipping up the trouser leg. "And yet, I touch everything. A lot."

Raphael slapped their hands away when they moved towards his crotch. Stuck-up snitch. What was this if not the prefect set-up for a little powerplay? If he'd chose more enjoyable sex, Raphael would, well, enjoy it more. Haarlep was sure of that. They were among the best.

"You like it," they purred into the cambion's ear. "And I know what you like best. If only you'd relax enough for an orgasm that's actually worth my services."

"Away," Raphael huffed. He did learn that a 'get off' had a very different effect on his incubus.

Still, Haarlep did not let go. "Are you pent up for a somebody special maybe? My little brat looking at another little thing scurrying through his life?" He nibbled at Raphael's ear. "I have seen them come up often in your diary. So, so often. Are we pining?"

"They are an investment, nothing more," Raphael replied gruff.

But even in the sharp rejection, Haarlep saw that they had hit a nerve. "Invested in them, are we? How nice. Do they know about your intentions? Beyond a deal?"

"There are no-" Raphael broke off because Haarlep bit him into the neck. Gently, but determined. In the moment of distraction, they sent their hands below his waist, circling over the inside of his thighs.

"Are you thinking of them now?" Haarlep purred. "Of their little mortal hands on your hot infernal skin? The earthy smell of the material plane and its deaths. What sweet words do you want to hear? Or do you prefer sounds of devout supplication? You can have all of it. Right now."

"You are not Tav." Raphael jerked free of their embrace. "Nothing you offer is close-"

"Ha! I knew it. I always do." Haarlep clapped. "How delightful. The high and mighty cambion has fallen for a stinky, mortal mousling! Are they close to falling into your trap? Will you bring them here to play?"

Raphael stayed silent. He thumbed through the diary, frowning at the sketches of dancing imps and almost suggestive flora.

"I can help you, you know?" Haarlep wound back around their master. "They don't seem too eager to deal with you. But I? I can get close, close enough to strip them of anything in your way to their heart. I can even take their form. Wouldn't that please you?"

Haarlep slipped their arms back around Raphael. "I can get them for you. Soft hands and mewling mouth and all. For you. Whenever you want. However you want. With the greatest enthusiasm. Think about it, my little brat. All the fun with none of the vulnerability."

Raphael didn't move. A good sign. He was considering it. Still, in the end, he pried them off and left the boudoir with a huff. But it was a start. A morsel to tempt the eternally uptight cambion into actual fun times.

Maybe they'd finally get something to do in this horrible place. Haarlep was used to being somebody else and despite the public displays, Raphael harboured little self-love. Pleasure was to be had efficiently, quickly, like any other business. The bloody idiot kept his lust pent up just to release it before he exploded. When there was so much more fun to be had.

But that little mouse cropping up in every other diary entry – Raphael hadn't been that obsessed since Hope. And she, well, she was a hopeless case.

Haarlep returned to the bed and pulled another of Raphael's diaries out from under a pillow. The cambion should really stop hiding them in place they were certain to find them. They'd see to it that they'd get that little mouse's form for their collection – one way or another. If only to scrounge an ounce of emotion out of Raphael for once.

[orginllazyblog]

Headcanon #2

AFK Arena: Gavus, Eugene, liberta, lucilla

Add me for a friend: the_lazy_hero

Eugene was "born" before Annih, the God of death and brother of Dura, entered his villain arc. That would probably make sense in both ways as Eugene can't remember his earliest memories, and Annih first started creating Hypogeans. Which is why Eugene carries a diary to write down his adventures as he tends to forget sometimes.

In one of Eugene's travels, he learn about spices and other seasonings. So when he and Gavus were taking care of the twins when they were toddlers, he made sure to add seasoning whenever Gavus is not looking.

Gavus doesn't know that much of the mortals, only heard a few from other celestials. So Eugene was the one who told him about other faction's culture and history.

When it comes to food, Eugene loves spicy food as it has more kick into it. While Gavus could not handle spicy food at all. For the twins, they did try to eat a spicy dish made by Eugene himself, but it didn't last. At that point, Eugene questioned if the two-devils are his children. (That one scene in the Untamed)

"Kids! I'm making dinner."

"Oh no/Papa Gavus, save us."

After the mid-winter festival, the twins started to hang out with Pippa, Rowan, Raku, Mishka, and Daimon. They would often go to small adventures together or visit each other's place for sleepover. Though they would have to remind their dad's of their whereabouts unless they get grounded again.

Lucilla having long hair gets frustrating. Liberta learns how to do hairstyles so that his sister doesn't do a horrible haircut. She'll maybe ask either Eugene or gavus to shorten her hair for the summer. (people with long hair struggles)

If either the twins get into trouble, Eugene told Gavus to ground them both as it wouldn't be fair to ground one of them.

"Okay, you're both grounded."

"Lucilla, for causing the damages."

"And Liberta for being a snitch."

Eugene probably had horns like Lucilla's, but remove them as he tries to blend in with the mortals. Either he removed it with magic or cut it.

One time, Gavus and Eugene heard cries coming from the living room. When they entered, Lucilla was trying to calm down her brother while apologizing.

Gavus: Lucilla, can you explain why Liberta is crying?

Lucilla:... I may have told him he's adopted.

Eugene: Adopted? Lucilla, you're also adopted too. What makes you think like that?

Liberta: S-she s-said that I don't have pointy ears like you dads. (crying noise)

Oh my god 🤣I need to make a fic of this. I have more ideas put I'll put it together.

[1-queenofpotatoes-1]

RANDOM IDEA

Pairing: Prince X implied Fem! Thief reader

NO USE OF Y/N

Cw: swearing, slightly suggestive

AN: I’ve got like 0.5 of an idea right now and I just woke up. Please don’t hate it

Midnight. I know it’s a cliche for a thief to enter at midnight but it means that all of the very intimidating and definitely not little puppy’s in big boy clothes guards are asleep, or extremely close to it.

I scour the palace halls for the gem room, I know it’s got a formal name but I’ll be honest I don’t care. And bingo! I’m in. Stuffing everything I can into my threadbare bag before freezing. Fuck. Someone heard me? Why are they coming? Oh shit oh shit oh fuck me sideways shit. I’m so dead!

Hastily I try to escape but a figure is blocking my doorway, definitely male from what I can see, his hair is a mess and sobbing quietly.

A gasp. That’s all that gives me away, one motherfucking gasp and his head whips over to me. Fuck I’m dead. I lived a shitty life and will die a shitty death.

“Who’s there?” He calls. He sounds like he’s crying, what does he have to cry about?

“Nobody!” I say trying to sound intimidating. It does work for a second but he replies with a skeptical

“I am the crown prince I am eternally more powerful than a worthless thief like you”

Wow. Arrogant much? And I bet he’s not a good fuck.

“I am indigo Montoya, you killed my father prepare to die.”

“What? Oh my goodness I’m so sorry! Is that why you’re here? I really don’t want to die though, so how about I let you go with all of those lovely jewels?”

“Have you never watched the princess diaries?”

He shakes his head, still shrouded by shadows.

“Ok I actually cannot see you, so let’s step into the light ok princey?”

He obeys my command, holy shit he obeys my command! The crown prince an arrogant asshole obeys me!

“Wow. You’re actually kinda pretty.” I say momentarily awestruck by his perfectly messy curls, with a shade of blonde that reflect the light from the candles so beautifully.

“Thanks! I’d say the same but I can’t see you. Can I see you?” He asks a faint blush creeps up his cheeks

“Promise you won’t snitch on me?”

He nods his golden curls bouncing in a near pornographic way. It’s like a perfume ad, where the actual product is hardly there. Now I don’t realise that I’m staring or that it’s been a solid minute since I’ve spoken, until his adorable little ‘ahem’ brings me back. God it’s so cute!

“Oh shit right! Yeah” I step forward and he actually flushes red, like blood red.

For a solid minute no one dares to interrupt our taking in of eachothers features.

“You should go. It’s my duty to tell my fath-“

“No. It’s only your duty if you want to tell him.”

“But-“

“no buts princey. I’m not letting you snitch on me.”

He sighs and I see just how tear stained his face is.

“What’s wrong doll?” I ask stepping forward

“It’s just I don’t want to marry some stuck up noble! She doesn’t even like ME, she likes my money and status” his gorgeous face lets out a heartbreaking sob and tears fall rapidly.

Fuck what do I do? Can the gods above tell me? No of fucking course they can’t. And that’s why my arms rap around him holding him close

“Look at me darling. You’re ok, I know it’s bad. Ok?”

His gorgeous sea blue eyes well up and spill as he buries his head into the crook of neck

“You know you could leave, darling, with me. We could sail off into the sunset together”

He stares at my face trying to see any lie in my words “why are you so nice to me?”

“ Don’t worry about that my sweet, do you want to come with me?”

He hesitantly nods.

“We need to go, now”

I grab his slender wrist and run through the castle, out the gates and into the thick Forrest. I kiss him, softly, and he holding my hands, kisses back.

“Let’s go my love.”

Centuries later tales will be told of the disappearing crown prince, but we will know exactly what happened.

If you like it please like and/or repost! Thank you!!

🩵🩵🩵

[tinkerbelldetective]

Iconic and Amusing Victor Moments

Playing an Egyptian(?) board game with Mr. Sweet

His face and reaction and stepping back and "Wha-wha-what?" when Willow hugs him

Including Mick in his disciplinary "get to your rooms" before whipping around confused "Mick Campbell?"

Bursting through the door when Mick and Mara are having their date

Cuddling with Corbiere

He just really likes that raven. Petting it. Talking to it. Thinking about its safety.

Immediately rushing down the ladder when Amber feins fainting and asking if she'd been doing a fad diet

Awkwardly telling off Fabian and Nina when they're having 'a lover's tif' and backing out the door

Slinking back behind the corner during the senet game

Bringing a rose for Sarah.

His license plate

Knocking out Rufus and throwing him in a van

Pinning Rufus against the wall

Going on a tangent about the children (Alfie in particular) and leaving his office

"He's going to regret messing with me."

Having a surprisingly soft tone of voice when he asks Amber, Nina, and Fabian why they were in the cellar in s2

Mildly concerned when he sees the Mark on Nina's arm "For your sake I hope it does [come off]."

Warming up his voice ??? When Fabian covers up Sibuna shenanigans by asking if he would do a voice over

When he's in the tunnels being snarky about RFS like he has a rivalry against him (he literally let you eat at his table with his family, Victor. Chill)

The fact this man did hopscotch (should have made room to show that in the episode)

"Who, me?" Slamming the book shut and saying he was doing light reading when Vera enters his office to see if he was researching a task.

Kissing Vera's forehead all tenderly

His reaction to losing Alfie in the senet game. "Release them!"

Wearing an apron and making breakfast

Alfie pretending to choke and Victor, believing him, slapping him on the back and sending him out to get a glass of water.

Essentially calling Jerome a snitch in front of everyone at Mick and Amber's party: "I know I can count on you, Jerome."

"Alfie Lewis, would you like a slice of chocolate cake?" *whips around*

"I have your father on speed dial."

Reading Amber's diary and the passage about him, slamming the diary shut, and then checking himself in the mirror.

"If those miscreants can do it..." before crossing the crocodile bridge

"Yes, you listen to this old man."

"It is 10 O'clock. You have five minutes precisely, and then I want to hear.. a pin.. drop."

[keithisbae1]

AU: High school student Sakura wakes up and finds herself in the future married to the bad boy Sasuke Uchiha. It was almost like she was watching through someone else's eyes.

The way she kissed her husband's cheek lovingly before he went off to work and drove her -their- daughter Sarada to school.

What the hell was this? She was top of the class and had a reputation to uphold.

She couldn't marry him.

She wakes up and is certain that it was all just a dream, nothing more. Well, it's not like she had anything to worry about considering they’ve never spoken to each other before.

Except she finds it difficult to concentrate in school the next day and would find herself staring at him on occasion.

It's just a dream Sakura, your overthinking.

It doesn't help that she hears and sees things that link to the dream 

"I like the name Sarada."

Sakura stiffens not able to help herself overhearing. Why were they talking about names for their children when they were fourteen?

Sakura excuses herself from her friends going up to his table. She'll just have to take things into her own hands then. 

All the boys stopped talking as she approached confused as to why the goody girl she was would.

"I hate the name Sarada!"

And walked away.

There! Now she ruined all their chances and he probably found it weird that she randomly went to their table like this. 

If Sakura kept doing things like this, Sasuke Uchiha would never look her way.

It was perfect.

Sakura mentally patted herself on the back well done for the idea as she sat back at the lunch table her friends were at. 

They were looking at her weirdly but she was too pleased with herself to care.

"Uh, what was that about?" Naruto finally asked looking at Sasuke. He just shrugged and they continued on their discussion of their fictional future children's names. 

Except what Sakura didn't know was that every little action of trying to put Sasuke off her to change their future only made him interested in her more. 

Like just imagine how chaotic Sakura would be 😭 Going around doing anything to stop Sasuke from being interested in her.

She knows he smokes up on the school's rooftop so she goes up to purposely annoy him, giving lectures about how smoking is bad so that he would hate her. Only for him to be intrigued by her.

She read in the diary about a time Sasuke took her to the nurse's office because she got hit on the face by a football. So she stayed in the class far away from the school's football pitch on the day of a match. 

Only the boys were messing and playing with one in the halls and Suigetsu accidentally kicked in the class and which is how it landed smacked against her face tipping her off the chair.

Sasuke offered to take her to the nurse's office and didn't leave her side missing the match. 

She would purposely go out on her way to snitch on Sasuke, calling him out to the class and in front of the teachers. Because everyone hates snitches but he was completely chill and just found her amusing.

No matter what it always backfired. 

They graduated high school and Sakura thinks that she succeeded because they weren't together and he didn't try to approach her asking for a date.

When the reality was they didn't actually get together until their 20s where they bumped into each other once again in a coffee shop with Sasuke being the one to ask if she was interested in meeting up sometime.

[officialsporkintheroad]

Dear Diary

Fandom: Harry Potter

Pairing: one-sided Tom Riddle/Harry Potter | one-sided Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter | one-sided Ginny Weasley/Harry Potter | one-sided Myrtle Warren/Harry Potter

Warnings: Canon-typical Violence, Tom being a murderous psycho, strong language

Summary: Everything Tom Riddle knows about Harry Potter came to him second-hand from the morons in love with the boy.

---

Despite what one might think, Tom Riddle did not first hear of Harry Potter from Ginny Weasley’s fruitlessly pathetic ramblings on her crush.

No.

He learned the cursed name, Harry Potter, from Draco Malfoy’s fruitlessly pathetic ramblings on his crush.

But let’s back up a moment. It started like this:

It was three weeks to the start of his second year and Draco was in a mood.

(If any of his dormmates had been consulted, they would argue that Draco was almost always in a Mood, capital “m” intended, and that really you’d be better off saving your breath and counting the times he wasn’t having some sort of a fit.)

Three weeks left of summer hols and Draco was still struggling to fully master his new Nimbus 2001. Which was a necessity if he was going to make Slytherin seeker—and he would, he had to, he had to beat Potter. Potter, who had already been made Gryffindor seeker a whole year ahead. When first years weren’t even supposed to be on the house teams or have their own brooms!

All of which he was dead set on ranting about to his father, if only because Father would sneer and huff about Potter too while Mother would merely hum and say, “Draco dear, if the boy matters so much to you, why don’t you write him?”

Except his father wasn’t in his office when Draco went to check. And he knew his father’s study was supposed to be off limits when he wasn’t home, though the particular reasoning as to why had long been forgotten. But he was just so…so irritated.

And there, sitting on a pile of things father had set aside to take to Borgin & Burke’s in light of the more aggressive dark-artifact raids that had been happening lately, sat a perfectly blank diary. Completely unused.

Rubbish, Draco thought, admiring his father’s cleverness because the scheme was obvious: convince Borgin that the diary was some dark artifact and sell it for a decent sum when in truth it was nothing more than a bit of leatherbound parchment that had once belonged to some…Tom Riddle bloke.

Normally, Draco might’ve been put off in using something that was clearly second-hand, but if he only used it to write about Potter…and if he ripped those pages out afterward and burned them…well, what did it matter? He needed to get the words out somehow and this seemed as good an option as any.

So he took it, the diary that belonged to Tom Riddle. And for the first time in 50 years, magic began to stir within the pages.

“Stupid Potter with his stupid curly hair that’s all dark and soft. And his stupid green eyes, looking like emeralds. How ridiculous. And his stupid little smile, the one that’s all smug and his teeth are stupidly straight. And when he’s riding on his stupid broom doing flips in the air—who stands on a broom to catch a snitch? In his mouth?”

Tom could feel himself losing braincells.

Truly, the only thing stopping Tom from outright murdering the insipid child for using his diary for this drivel was the fact that the magical signature was so clearly a nice dark gray. It would be a shame to kill off a potential ally just because they were young and stupid. With any luck, they’d grow up to be powerful and at least slightly less stupid, and even if this trite crush on the thrice-damned Potter persisted, at least the Potters were a pureblood family who had been known to marry in with the Blacks before.

“That is quite ridiculous,” Tom wrote back, because it was always best to seem in agreement with people you were hoping to manipulate. “My name is Tom Riddle. May I ask how you came upon my diary?”

There was a flicker of surprise, hesitation, considering.

“It was on my father’s desk,” the child wrote eventually. “And I’m Draco Malfoy, heir of the Malfoy family.”

“Ah, a pleasure. I knew Abraxas Malfoy quite well when we were in school.”

“Really? He was my grandfather.”

That was quite a bit more time than Tom had been expecting. At his last true memory, Abraxas had only been 16 himself and it was hard to imagine him older, perhaps graying—not that you’d be able to tell, really, with the Malfoy platinum blond—not only married but with children. With grandchildren, Merlin’s beard. He did the math quickly and estimated it must have been at least 40-50 years since he’d made the diary then.

He wondered where his other self was, if he’d accomplished everything he set out to do. If he’d made more horcruxes, the seven they’d planned on.

“And who’s this boy you’re rambling about then?” Even if the nonsense about the Potter child was useless, it was always good to build rapport, let Draco think Tom was interested in what he had to say, that Tom could be trusted. Then he could ask what he really wanted to know.

“Harry Potter. He’s an arrogant snob who thinks he’s better than everyone just because he was supposed to have defeated the Dark Lord as a baby—”

If Tom had any sense of bodily functions trapped in the diary, he would have just choked. As it was, he felt frozen with dread and fury and confusion all blending together. The Potter boy had done what?

“—if you buy into that. Father says it’s just Dumbledore’s propaganda and that the Dark Lord isn’t really dead, so that means that Potter’s just full of shit I mean he’s not nearly as impressive as he thinks he is. Can you believe he refused to shake my hand? As if he, a half-blood, was better than me.”

Just what the hell had happened while Tom had been trapped away in the diary? Clearly his other self had fallen far if he’d been bested by a baby.

At least it seemed that Abraxas’s son was still loyal if he truly believed Voldemort wasn’t gone. And trusted with guarding a piece of Voldemort’s soul, no less.

Yes, Tom was confident the elder Malfoy would do what was needed to sort this mess out.

---

Tom was most definitely not confident in the elder Malfoy. The man was a moron.

Case in point: he’d given away the diary to miserable little mouse of a first-year named Ginny-not-Ginevra. If he was feeling generous, perhaps he would have allowed that this might be a plan to offer up a life-force for Tom to feed off of, maybe even give him the opportunity to open the Chamber of Secrets again. Tom was not feeling generous, however, and so the elder Malfoy was going to suffer immensely once Tom got out of this damned book.

Because what were the odds of the only two people writing in his diary in the past 50 years both having a crush on the same boy, who also happened to be the person allegedly responsible for killing Tom’s counterpart.

If he had to hear one more word about Harry Potter…

“He’s so nice and sweet and handsome. He said hello to me that morning at breakfast, his smile so warm. And his eyes…they’re so green. Like—”

Let me guess, emeralds, Tom thought to himself, eyes rolling.

“—like a fresh-pickled toad. Oh. That could be a good poem, don’t you think Tom?”

Poetry. Dear God. No.

Was this some sort of cosmic justice for making a horcrux? If so, Tom was almost tempted to wish he could take it back.

“Hm. His eyes are green as a fresh-pickled toad/His hair…hm…his hair is dark as…a blackboard. Yes. I like that. And of course he’s so heroic too, defeating You-Know-Who and ending the war. I wonder if he’s like all the heroes in the stories? You know, romantic and noble.”

“Perhaps if you talked to him, you might find out,” Tom offered, trying to keep the snippiness out of his writing. Regardless of whether it was the elder Malfoy’s intention or not, Tom was going to take advantage of this situation to make his great return. Starting with the terror of opening the Chamber, petrifiying as many mudbloods as possible. Then he’d suck the life out of Ginny-not-Ginevra so that she’d never have to burden another soul with her incessant, inane chatter.

And if he was very, very lucky, he’d get the chance to kill Harry Potter too, and he’d make it hurt.

“Oh no. I could never just talk to Harry. What would I even say? He’s too cool. He’d never even make time for someone like me.”

But in the meantime, perhaps Tom could still have some fun.

“Then you must make him see you. Perhaps once you finish your poem, you could send it to him.”

“That’s a great idea, Tom! You’re the best!”

---

Somehow, Ginny-not-Ginevra had cottoned onto the fact that Tom was controlling her. A pity, too, since she’d been so very easy to bend to his will. Her mind was weak, feeble, and it had taken next to nothing to possess her.

Perhaps he’d dragged it out too long. If he’d ended her sooner, she wouldn’t have had the chance to throw him into the women’s loo. The indignity of it was unparalleled, and for that, Ginny-not-Ginevra was going to die slowly, painfully, and screaming.

Especially since Myrtle Warren—who had been enough of a blight upon humanity in his own time—was still loitering around the bathroom where she’d died. On the plus side, she was intangible and therefore couldn’t write. That small measure of good news was massively outweighed by the fact that as a spirit with a very strong tie to the mortal realm, Myrtle Warren was capable of projecting her thoughts. Right. Into. Tom’s. Diary.

Not that she knew she was doing it, but still.

“It’s so miserably lonely here. If only Harry would come back. He’s so handsome and so nice. The nicest boy I’ve ever met. Maybe he’ll die and want to share the bathroom with me. Oh! Maybe he’ll drown in the tub—”

There was a lot to unpack there and Tom wasn’t going to touch any of it. Instead, he tried to project his own murderous intent as loudly as possible to get her to shut the hell up, but either it wasn’t a two-way radio or Myrtle’s own whining was too loud to let anything else through.

If I could kill her again, I would, he thought uncharitably when she started scream-sobbing loud enough to wake the dead.

---

If it had been anyone else—anyone else—Tom would have been relieved to have been picked up off the floor of the bathroom and laid out to dry on a nice desk somewhere warm. But…

“Hello. My name is Harry Potter.”

He’d fucking had it with Harry fucking Potter.

Yes, the boy was decent enough not to ramble and instead got straight to the point. Blunt, though not rude. Curious, if naïve and too trusting. And when Tom had pulled Harry into his diary, the boy’s magic was not the blinding brightness he’d expected from the light’s savior but dove gray. Balanced and soft and—

And Harry Potter was a disappointingly average, useless boy who Tom would not waste another moment on.

He would lure Ginny-not-Ginevra back to him, use her life force to regain a body of his own, and then…

Then, the world would be his.

---

“Ginny. Ginny, please wake up—”

“She won’t wake,” Tom said, stepping out of the shadows.

There, finally in front of him in the flesh, stood Harry Potter. Perhaps Tom should have expected it—didn’t everyone say Harry was heroic, self-sacrificing, a fearless savior? Still, he hadn’t really thought…Harry, able to find the Chamber, able to speak the parseltongue to open it, traverse the passageways only to arrive here, alone and woefully unprepared, and yet somehow still fierce.

Dark hair curling against pale skin, smudge with dirt and grime and looking all the more battle-ready for it. Spark-bright eyes; they really were an almost alarming shade of green. Like the killing curse itself. And yet the most compelling element—something which had to be seen in person to be understood, the very thing that had been missing from all of the disgustingly lovelorn descriptions of Harry—was the angry, sharp, vicious something hiding underneath that veneer of goodness.

Tom wanted to dig his fingers into it and bring it to the surface, rip away all the unnecessary heroism and pretense of goodness, carve until all the was left were the shimmering gems of potential buried not-so-deep in the boy. Tom could do it, too. Harry would not be easy to bend to his will, not like Ginny-not-Ginevra, not like his schoolfellows, not like the teachers he wrapped around his fingers.

No. Harry Potter would be a challenge, and—

Oh.

Oh.

Oh no.

[nottivaghes]

FULL NAME: Cassandra Rosalind Hawthorne SPECIES: Witch AGE: 39 BIRTHDAY: December 12th GENDER & PRONOUNS: Cis-woman she & her FACECLAIM: Janet Montgomery OCCUPATION: Head Librarian at the James Family Library (Coven Elder in training)

CHARACTER INSPIRATION: Morrigan (Dragon Age Origins), Prince Zuko (ATLA) Rosa Diaz (Brooklynn 99), Yennefer of Vengerberg (The Witcher), Tasha Ozera (The Vampire Diaries), Morgana (Merlin), Claudia (Dragon Prince)

Cassandra makes you think of... black lace laid with tiny pearls, lilac & gooseberry perfume lingering in a hallway, biting your tongue so hard it bleeds, elderberry wine, a frosted over window pane, the scent of old parchment and the leafing of pages, the long night of the winter solstice, eyes rolling back in your head, a silver pendant against a racing pulse, hatred sewn in every line of your brow, warm wild berry pie on samhain morning, chant-casting for so long you lose your voice, walking barefoot into a lake at midnight, feeling so hungry you could devour the world whole.

And it's my whole heart weighed and measured inside, and it's an old scar trying to bleach it out.

The old house up on Hawthorne hill has a folklore all its own. The elements-stained stone statues seem to be weeping in the sprawling garden, ravens sit vigil atop the lilting stone walls behind the vast metal gates. A historic house, fallen somewhat into disrepair, perches atop the hill like a gnarled beast daring human teenagers to wander up its winding path to touch the terrifying brass hobgoblin doorknocker, fangs and serpentine tongue included.

A witch lives there, they say, it's a witches house. Wryly to herself Casssandra thinks: The witch's house. The Hawthornes have been in town as long as anyone can remember, including the first rise and fall of Brant Hacke, they have several relics from the war that are in prized cases in dark woods giving the air of a museum, deep in the bowels of the house that eats you up in its labyrinthine corridors.

The matriarch resides in the West Wing, ground floor, as the stairs are a thing long past for her. Dianthe, a guardian, 96 years old and blind... in the scientific sense. Though Cassandra would swear her grandmother were lying The Hawthornes were said to be descended from the Brahan Seer, there sits a hagstone pendant around Cassandra's neck. Dianthe can see people as clear as day, or what she says are their auras, though she goes tight-lipped when Cassandra asks what hers looks like.

Dianthe never has a kind word to say about her granddaughter and orders her around like a servant.

Unbenkownst to those bar the most unfortunate of intruders upon the house Dianthe is quite paranoid and there are magical and non-magical traps all around. The portraits will snitch on you and doors will jam you inside of rooms, plus the literal pitfalls of the areas where the floorboards have rotted away in spots.

There is a large greenhouse vivarium at the very centre of the house where the family keeps poisonous and venomous animals whilst also growing exotic plants for spells.

The vampires have their version of events and the Hawthornes keep theirs. A huge tome, inset with an eye with a trap set to immolate any vampire it sees. She loathes and is drawn to vampires in equal measure, absolutely fascinated by them as she has been conditioned to respond with disgust. Almost the entire family was decimated during the war aside from two survivors, though local legend reports they made an equally devastating blow to the vampire ranks.

Three days ago in the family crypt, Cassandra discovered books of blood magic, hundreds of years old and kept by her family to this day. Every spell requiring a devastating cost on a sole caster... or a proxy. Then it clicked, that's why the family had been suffering so much in recent years, they'd been doing sacrifices to ensure prosperity and Dianthe was too ill to carry it on without involving other coven members. Or Cassandra. Is that what awaited her in a few short months when she became an elder?

To be burdened with such a curse, even by a guardian who had the secrets of the universe and as such, knew better and were always above reproach.

She couldn't... could she?

And it's my whole heart: deemed and delivered a crime. I'm on trial, waiting 'til the beat comes out.

Cassandra was an only child to a mother who left the Cove to teach History at Oxford, causing a bristling scandal amongst the coven ranks and besmirching the Hawthorne name forever. Cassandra is still paying for this of course. Her father was a very minor noble in England who never had a job or an interest in her but a bottomless wallet in exchange.

Cassandra herself taught History at Crestle Cove High for six years. Age 25-31. Known to be stern and sometimes cold, she had a reputation for being extremely fair.

Raised by her slightly unhinged grandmother in the middle of the woods, her grandfather lived until she was fifteen but all he ever did was read the newspaper and mind his own business or give her a slightly linty toffee candy now and then.

A bit of a revolutionary in the coven, caused some problems by having ideas 15 years ago when she was young and naïve about how things should be done and that tradition sometimes had to evolve. Cassandra has nary spoken up once since.

She isn't actively planning a coup but...

In recent months Cassandra has started dreamwalking. She can't control it at all and it feels akin to sleep paralysis yet as tiring as being awake, she feels as though she never sleeps. All she does is very slowly float on random paths around the town with no direction or pattern in the dark, confirmed when she saw a tourist's car had dented a lamppost during the night and it was damaged in the same way when she walked down there that morning. It's probably just vivid deja vu... deja vu that gives her nosebleeds every time she wakes up.

Who's a heretic, child? Can you make it stick, now?

[streamafterlaughter]

Bee’s Diary | Soundtrack to Disaster

VI: Mon. Oct. 7; Fri. Oct. 11

fic masterlist | diary masterlist

Mon, Oct. 7

3:54 AM

And here I thought I'd have nothing to write about tonight. Scotty decided to make an appearance tonight.Not only that, he was a huge fucking asshole about it. What really confused me though was Eddie's decision to do something about it. Got up and followed him to the parking lot. He'd already beat the shit outta him by the time I got there. I just... I don't see the point. Why risk getting arrested for someone like Scott? Especially for someone you hate... Ugh.

---

Fri, Oct. 11

Well, I think I found my answer. Chris told Eddie to snitch. According to Eddie, the cops were out for him anyway. Turning Chris over saved him from a likely unfair sentence. But I don't get why he had to hide it from me. Chris wanted me to know, asked Eddie to "take care" of me. What fucking bullshit. Instead, he ran away, like he always does.

Anyway! Chappell was PHENOMENAL! Truly an artist of our generation. Eddie's gir Macy's band was really great, too. They'll make it big in no time.

[virginmaruja]

The Beginning: The Virgin Maruja

Dear whoever this may find,

This is my first blog entry. I honestly don't know how blogs work, so I'm treating this like a diary.

Let's get a few things out of the way. I have bad opinions a lot of the time; so, this is a safe space for take-backs and apologies. This is a disclaimer for my sister if she finds this; hey girl, I will be cussing in this, so don't snitch. Also, I'm really horny (not to be freaky). So, trust, I will be on this app thirsting over everyone I meet. Me when I don't pass the Bechdel test.

If you want to know your wonderful hostess, I'm Maruja. I'm a 17 year old girl in her junior year of high school. I'm also brown (Mexican), so if I say I hate white people, don't take it to heart.

I would sit up here and lie to you and say I have hobbies and interests. But I don't. That's why I'm here, duh. Don't be stupid. The closest I got to a hobby was reading, but I can't read. And also crocheting, but I don't got the passion for it. Actually, I don't have passion for anything.

Anyways, quick facts. I don't watch shows or movies. I love listening to music. I have a FAB. I can't cuss at home. I love hot men. I love to troll online. I failed my drivers test and drive illegally. And I have catholic guilt and an impending sense of doom.

So this my blog. Enjoy it y'all.

Song of the post:

Sincerely, Bruja Maruja

[an-ecu-harrypotter-au]

TCS Part 7: Discrimination And Detention

I wake up early one morning and look at my cat.

"Tiger, today is my first Quidditch practice of the year. Time for breakfast."

He yawns as he gets out of his cage. I start to feed him and put on my Quidditch uniform.

"There you go. Tuck in."

I watch him eat for a while as I contemplate the upcoming day. This will be my first chance to use a real broom in our practice. Understanding how to handle a Nimbus 2001 after only having a training broom is essential.

"Meow."

I go to pet him. Then I stand up and grab my broom.

"Good boy. Now you behave, Tiger."

I immediately go down to the Quidditch pitch. Oliver is looking quite furious.

"Is there a problem captain?"

"Damned Slytherin got permission to use the field. Now we have to split it to practice."

"Why would they need to practice this early? Surely this has happened before."

Oliver groans and points at a Slytherin boy.

"Captain Marcus Flint managed to get a new Seeker. Some pikey named Jodie."

I'm not aware of that term but it must have been offensive since the older boy goes right over.

"Ya wanna say that again mate?!"

"You heard me. You can try all you want, but you're not gonna beat our Seeker. Jacklin here's got the best broom in the world."

I don't appreciate Oliver getting me involved. I had absolutely nothing to do with this and now I find myself looking right up at the tall boy.

"Well well well. Lil princess thinks she's tuff just cause she's got a fancy broom?"

"No actually, I don't think that way."

"Aww you scared of gettin yerself flattened by the big scary Slytherin boy? That you think I'm gonna knock you right outta the sky and fall right on yer bum."

"Of course not. I'm not scared at all. It doesn't matter what House you're in. Anyone who wants to catch the Golden Snitch just as much as I do is simply competition. I would much rather lose a fair match because you caught the Golden Snitch first, than win knowing another Seeker held back from being competitive due to me being smaller."

He leans in closer to me.

"Oh you better believe me princess that I ain't gonna be goin easy on ya just because yer a lil girl."

"And I wouldn't have it any other way. In fact, I wish you the best of luck with your practice."

Perhaps it was my Veela charm of being unable to say anything that would incite an aggressive response, but Jodie seems at least respect me as a competitor. He simply smirks and walks back to his team.

"Jacklin are you alright? What were you thinking trying to talk to him by yourself?"

I turn to Oliver.

"I was only holding my own while de-escalating the situation from your bickering. Jodie knows I have more up close and personal experience than him. He simply wanted to try to use his physical size as a way to intimidate me, but I'm not afraid. Seekers have to be small to have a greater velocity so his size will actually be a disadvantage. Besides, he knows that his captain will bench him if he gets too many costly penalties. He wouldn't be in any position to brag if those penalties caused Slytherin to lose games. So long as I just focus on myself and Gryffindor, that's all that needs to be done."

I believe that's all that needs to be said. I never really believed in a black and white mentality that Slytherin was bad while Gryffindor was good. I know a lot of it has to do with what our parents have been through, but why should we put that on each other?

"Alright, but be careful. You know the worst thing they're going to do is try to injure you and make it look like an accident."

"I understand that captain."

We all line up as we get ready to start our first practice for the year.

Toby's POV

Ah wake up and head downstairs to see Jacklin ain't there. Holly's sittin at the table with her diary.

"Holly where'd Jacklin go?"

"Oh, uh... Don't ya remember Toby? Jacklin has her practice today."

"But it ain't even breakfast."

Holly shakes her head.

"Jacklin tol me that its better ta fly on an empty stomach so ya don't get sick."

"Oh right she said that! Ah gotta get somethin real quick."

Ah go back to mah room and grab mah banner.

"Awright, let's go."

"Ok, Toby."

Ah make mah way down to watch the first practice a the year with Holly.

"Ya like mah banner Holly?"

"Yeah. Ya really made that yerself, Toby?"

"Yep. Jacklin made it as the Seeker last year so Ah made a banner ta cheer on the team."

We get to the field an Ah'm amazed to see Slytherin there too.

"Oh no not Slytherin."

"Huh? Wha happened, Holly?"

"Some of the boys were mean ta mah friend, Tim. They called him a mud-blood."

Ah stop for a second before sittin down in the stands.

"What'd Tim do?"

"Nothin. We didn't know what it meant but the boys were laughin so that tells me it's somethin mean."

Ah watch the practice an Ah wonder if Ah should ask Jacklin what it means. Cause if it's as bad as some a what Ah remember momma used to be called this'll be real bad.

"Toby can ya tell me how this sport works?"

"Well Ah can try. Jacklin'd do a better job though."

Ah do mah best ta teach Holly what Quidditch's all bout. Ah think Ah did a good enough job cause Holly don't look all that confused.

Time Skip

Practice is over and Jacklin comes over to us once we get down from the stands.

"Good morning Toby and Holly. Why do you look concerned?"

"Uh Jacklin. Is it bad if somebody calls ya a mud-blood?"

Jacklin looks horrified and Ah jus know it's gonna be bad.

"Who said that word?"

"Some a the Slytherin boys called mah friend that."

"My goodness!"

Ah look at Jacklin and Ah gotta ask why.

"Just how bad's it ta use that word?"

"There's a reason why I prefer to use the term humans. That's the nicest way to describe people who can't use magic at all. Most older wizards use the term muggle though."

"Why?"

"Because it sounds like muddle as in to mix up or confuse which refers to humans being confused about how the magic world operates. My father considers it to be demeaning but not necessarily a bad word. Mud-blood however... it's a very foul name to use. Pure-blooded wizards would use it to refer to human born wizards because they saw human born wizards as beneath them. That's because humans are not as protected from illness and injury. In their opinion, a wizard having a child with a human only takes away their pure blood or muddies up their genetics."

Ah can't help but let mah jaw drop. Suddenly all a what Pacer's said about the caste system's makin all too much sense.

"So yer sayin that it's a really really bad word?"

"Yes. In fact I feel wrong just for even quoting it as a definition."

Some Slytherin boys about Holly's age comes up.

"All right Kwimper. We dealt with your mate Tim."

"Please, Vince just leave us alone!"

"I don't think so. You're next you filthy mud-blood!"

Ah don't even know what happened. All Ah know's one minute we're goin inside then next minute, Ah'm in McGonagall's office. She looks real shocked to see me but still wants to seem professional.

"Mr. Kwimper. I was not expecting to see you here because of an emotional outburst."

"Huh? Whoa. Professor Ah don't really know wha happened. Ah jus remember hearin that one a the Slytherin boys, Ah think his name was Vince, called mah sister Holly... Ah dunno if Ah'd get in trouble fer sayin it."

She takes a good look at me then takes a breath.

"Perhaps you can write it down."

"Ok."

Ah take a quill and start writin out the word.

"Ah know it'd probly be somethin ya wouldn't believe but Jacklin was there too. She heard 'em say it since this was all as we were goin back inside. Ah dunno if she tried stoppin me but Ah just remember bein so... angry."

"Are you done writing the word you say Mr. Everett said?"

"Yes Ah am."

Ah turn it around and McGonagall sees the paper. Ah think she wants to be outraged while still bein fair.

"Thank you, Mr. Kwimper. I will ensure that Professor Snape as well as the Headmaster is aware of this situation. Be that as it may, you still attacked a student. I'm afraid that will be 50 points from Gryffindor. I will have to send an owl to your father and give you detention."

Ah dunno how to feel and can't control mahself anymore. Ah just know Pop's gonna yell at me. Dumbledore might kick me outta Hogwarts and. and.

"Mr. Kwimper."

Ah try mah best to look at McGonagall but it's hard when mah eyes burn from cryin.

"Have a biscuit."

She points at the lil tin on her desk and all Ah can do's hold out mah hand. Ah just can't get mah arm to go an take one mahself. She puts one in mah hand and it takes all Ah can to put it in mah mouth.

"Are you feeling a little better?"

Ah just start rockin back and forth while Ah eat. Biscuit's got cream in it which kinda helps me calm down a bit. Ah'm able to say somethin once Ah finish.

"Thank you. Ah think Ah'm so off from not havin breakfast, ma'am."

"Now that you are able to focus again, as Head of House I have decided on what your detention will be."

Ah gulp thinkin it's gonna be somethin scary.

"Yes ma'am."

"You will be assisting Professor Lockhart with his fan mail this upcoming Friday after your lunch period. You will be able to leave once the task is finished or it is time for dinner."

Ah let out a big sigh.

"Ah understand Professor."

"Good. You may go now, Mr. Kwimper."

Ah stand up an leave ta go ta breakfast. Ah dunno if Ah'm even gonna be able ta eat. Ah feel so sick Ah awmost fall over at the table.

"Toby what happened?"

"Ah got detention."

Holly looks so upset.

"Ah'm sorry ya got in trouble, Toby."

"Holly he called ya a bad word. It ain't like Ah knew Ah was gonna hit 'em. It jus sorta happened."

Probably why Ah'm shakin all over. Ah don't even remember what Ah even did to Vince.

"I don't think Professor McGonagall is truly mad at you, Toby. She has to show that she isn't biased by taking away points and punishing you. You did break a rule by fighting another student after all."

Ah sigh and rub mah eyes.

"Ah didn't hurt Vince too bad did Ah? Ah really don't remember much a anythin after Vince said that word."

"Vince is in the Hospital Wing and will have a black eye, but I don't think he's that injured. If anything I think he was more caught off guard by that outburst. I was able to pull you back before you could do anymore. You sort of went limp from there and it was all I could do to take you to Professor McGonagall's office."

"Oh. Ok."

Ah try to start eatin. Then Ah realize Ah got a lotta stuff eatin at me on the inside. Ah gotta get it out before Ah get sick.

"Who was the blond Slytherin Jacklin? He kept makin mean looks at ya."

"Oh that was my new competition, Jodie Tatum. Since Terrence Higgins graduated last year, Slytherin needed to find a new Seeker. Therefore, they decided to practice today as well. Jodie is a Fifth year and won the Seeker position, but he's never practiced with the team until today. In November, this will be his first game as well."

"So he's older but yer kinda more experienced."

"Yes although there's more tension between him and Captain Oliver. Not even Slytherin's Captain Marcus Flint bickered as much with him last year."

Ah squint at her. Tension ain't ever good and after what just happened Ah don't wanna get involved in any more of it.

"Why? What'd who say ta who?"

"Jodie seemed to take offense to being called a pikey by the captain."

"Wha's that mean?"

"I'm afraid I don't know. I'll send a letter to my father to ask him about it. It certainly isn't a magic related term."

Ah shake mah head and push mah plate way. Ah'm jus too shaken like a rattler to eat right now.

"Ah gotta take a nap."

"Alright then, Toby. That should settle your stomach."

Ah go up to mah room and go to sleep. It's quiet in the dorm so Ah'm feelin better already.

Time Skip

It's Tuesday and Ah'm really dreadin Pop's letter. Ah just know he's gonna send me a real long letter yellin at me. Ah've been sick to mah stomach since Ah got the punishment and Ah jus want all this to be over with.

"Toby I think the mail's here."

Ah gulp as Ah see Buckbeak land on the table.

"Buck do ya think it's gonna be bad?"

Ah go to stroke his feathers and he lets me as if to say it ain't gonna be too bad.

"Thanks Buck. Ya would've bit me if Pop was real mad right?"

He hoots and Ah nod.

"Ok. You can go back ta yer house now."

He hoots and takes off. Ah got mah eyes closed so Ah can't see the letter.

"Are you alright Toby?"

"Ah don't even wanna look at this Jacklin. What color did ya say it's gotta be ta know if Ah'm in real trouble?"

"It would have to be red and get increasingly hotter if your Pop sent you a Howler."

Ah feel around it.

"It ain't gettin hotter. Jus feels like paper."

"It isn't red either so I don't believe you have a Howler in your hands."

Ah open one eye and see it's just a normal letter.

"Pop probly knows Ah'd cover mah ears if ya said they're real loud. It could still be real mean. Holly you open it since yer a Kwimper."

"Oh awright."

She takes the letter outta mah hands. Ah guess she's readin it before tellin me if it's bad.

"Well what'd he say Holly?"

"Pop said at first he was disappointed in ya for hittin Vince. Then he saw that... word and wrote a letter to Jacklin's dad. When he got a reply sayin that it was a very foul name, he became proud a you."

Ah open mah eyes.

"He did?"

"Yeah. Even though he still don't want ya hittin other kids, he's proud that ya stood up for me. That it's a good thin yer learnin about what's ok to say and what isn't."

Ah take the letter and read it before droppin it on the table.

"Ah've been feelin sick only for Pop ta be basically ok wit all this?!"

Ah feel two hands on mah back.

"Isn't that a good thing? You can finally stop worrying about the unknown."

"Yeah Toby, Pop won't send ya a letter like that only to punish ya once we get home. He ain't like that right?"

Ah drink some water to clear the head fuzzies.

"Well no. Probly cause he knows Ah don't..."

Ah wave mah hands around to think on how to finish the sentence.

"Handle stress real well. And that he knows what it's like ta have someone he loves have rude things said ta them."

"I didn't know this Toby. What was said to you?"

Ah look at Jacklin.

"Kids callin me different ways a sayin dumb weren't nearly as bad ta Pop as when adults used ta say rude things bout mah momma bein Cherokee."

Holly covers her mouth like she gets it and now it's Jacklin's turn ta feel confused.

"You mean people would say rude things because she was a Native American?"

"Yeah. Um... Ah don't know what type a bad words Ah'd be able ta say. Only that Ah know Pacer's Indian an momma wasn't. Didn't seem ta stop people from sayin she was. Even called 'er Pocahontas cause she was a Native woman who married Pop who's white."

Ah'm squeezin mah hands together because Ah think Ah figured out why Ah just blacked out when Vince called Holly that bad word.

"Ya don't need to say anythin else Toby. Ah understand what ya mean."

"Yes I think you've explained yourself enough for now."

Ah take a breath.

"Well. Least Ah don't gotta worry bout what Pop's gonna say. Now Ah jus gotta get through mah detention an it'll all be over."

"And that's all you need to think about, Toby."

Now that Ah feel better Ah start eatin breakfast. After all it's gonna be a long way to Friday.

Time Skip

It's Friday afternoon and Ah just finished lunch. Ah start makin mah way to detention.

"You do know where Professor Lockhart's office is right Toby?"

"Yeah Ah do cause Holly told me she'd go ta the 2nd floor corridor for extra credit or whatever."

"I see. Well good luck with your detention. I'll see you at dinner."

Ah sigh and start headin up the stairs.

"Ah jus hope nothin's gonna be too loud or bright for me. Ah ain't gonna be able ta handle it."

Ah show up at Lockhart's office an knock on the door.

"Ah, Mr. Kwimper. I'm sure this must be an honor for you to help me with my fan mail."

Ah dunno what to say outside a the truth. His office don't look bright at all. Kinda cozy actually.

"Ah'd definitely rather do this than somethin like cleanin up the dungeons."

"Yes I understand. Of course helping me with my fan mail is no easy task. I do after all get hundreds of letters a day ever since I arrived at Hogwarts."

Ah sit down at a desk.

"How's this gonna work, Professor?"

"Well dear boy, all you need to do is write my thank you note on every letter. Then you hand it to me to sign."

"Oh. Ah can do that, sir."

"Yes. I'm sure you can. Here's the first letter."

Ah grab a quill and start writin. At some point Ah start havin a vision a me writin in a journal. Then Ah jump when Ah hear "Blood. I want blood."

"Did ya hear that, Professor?"

He looks up at me.

"Pardon me?"

"Those voices."

He chuckles.

"Headmaster warned me about you. I heard no such thing. Now let's get back to work. Don't want you leaving for dinner late."

Not wantin to argue Ah just get back to work. This' somethin Ah gotta ask Jacklin about anyway.

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