totomoowrites

[totomoowrites]

Crossover prompt: in which Garreth Weasley finds and meets Willy Wonka (and learns under his care and expertise)

OR

Garreth Weasley was not one to be easily deterred. When Professor Aesop Sharpe declined Garreth’s request to come under his tutelage, Garreth had all but visited the castle on many occasions (under the guise of seeing his aunt) bearing all his bottles and chocolates to curry favor with the man.

But upon running beside a prone and vomiting Professor Sharpe toward the Hospital Wing, receiving a thorough scolding from his aunt, and summons to his former Headmaster’s office, Garreth could only find himself in thought.

If not Professor Sharpe, then whom? J Pippin’s retired and Garreth found most potions peddlers running tail from him.

“…Wonka— Honestly Weasley! He’s just like him!”

“For Merlin’s sake! He’s not that mad!”

Wonka? Who was that?

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Why Ominis Gaunt had thought it reasonable to enter into a quarrel with Sacharissa Tugwood was beyond him. Certainly it was very unreasonable but more so when said quarrel centered on the topic of beauty.

He could not see— she said and therefore he had no authority to see what was beautiful and what was not.

At that, Ominis’ hackles rose and despite the tug of Sebastian on his arm to pull him away, Ominis shouted and declared Sacharissa a cow— for what creature was sensible to think that bubotuber pus would make them glow and be the envy of their peers.

Words were exchanged and if Sebastian had not likely stepped between to take the blows of Sacharissa’s slaps, Ominis would have been mildly tempted to place a hex on her.

He did not, however, expect to receive an owl from the brat demanding to settle their argument in the form of a bet: a candidate issued by the other to turn into the most stunning creature the castle had ever seen by year’s end.

He should have burned the note and walked away.

But his mind roiled and his quill moved before reason could wake from the corners of his mind and sent a simple response: Fine. Duncan Hobhouse.

Ten minutes later, a letter dropped itself into his lap with a similar response: Fine. Cressida Blume.

Merlin help him… he was going to need Garreth Weasley for this.

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Writing Description Notes:

Updated 9th September 2024 More writing tips, review tips & writing description notes

Facial Expressions

Masking Emotions

Smiles/Smirks/Grins

Eye Contact/Eye Movements

Blushing

Voice/Tone

Body Language/Idle Movement

Thoughts/Thinking/Focusing/Distracted

Silence

Memories

Happy/Content/Comforted

Love/Romance

Sadness/Crying/Hurt

Confidence/Determination/Hopeful

Surprised/Shocked

Guilt/Regret

Disgusted/Jealous

Uncertain/Doubtful/Worried

Anger/Rage

Laughter

Confused

Speechless/Tongue Tied

Fear/Terrified

Mental Pain

Physical Pain

Tired/Drowsy/Exhausted

Eating

Drinking

Warm/Hot

[totomoowrites]

Thank you for the tag cuffmeinblack!

coffee or tea | early bird or night owl | chocolate or vanilla | spring or fall | silver or gold | pop or alternative | freckles or dimples | snakes or sharks | mountains or fields | thunder or lightning | egyptian mythology or greek mythology | ivory or scarlet | flute or lyre | opal or diamond | butterflies or honeybees | macarons or eclairs | typewritten or handwritten | secret garden or secret library impossible | rooftop or balcony | spicy or mild | opera or ballet | london or paris | vincent van gogh or claude monet | denim or leather | potions or spells | ocean or desert | mermaids or sirens | masquerade ball or cocktail party

No pressure tags:

@deadeyedoodles @toonedupfiction @bookie-bookdust @argentdeer @azrielya @ladyofshalottt @galaxiasgreen @pheexblack and anyone else wanting to join!

Sorry if you’ve already been tagged!!

Tagged by @wioletwitch :) thank you for the tag!!! Finally got a moment to do this

coffee or tea | early bird or night owl | chocolate or vanilla | spring or fall | silver or gold | pop or alternative | freckles or dimples | snakes or sharks | mountains or fields | thunder or lightning | egyptian mythology or greek mythology | ivory or scarlet | flute or lyre | opal or diamond | butterflies or honeybees | macarons or eclairs have | typewritten or handwritten | secret garden or secret library | rooftop or balcony | spicy or mild | opera or ballet | london or paris | vincent van gogh or claude monet (I'm not familiar enough with either of these lol dont hate me | denim or leather | potions or spells | ocean or desert | mermaids or sirens | masquerade ball or cocktail party.

Tagging @localravenclaw @bbbbbbvf @queenfinehair @choccy-milky @myfavouritelunatic @gretagerwigsbarbiedoll @sekkitsu @sebastianswallows but no pressure x

[totomoowrites]

Prompt: identity and language as an obstacle to finding one’s place in the world.

OR

He was just different his mother would say. But different and estranged were two matters entirely.

He knew he was not the first of his kind and he knew he would not be the last. To some he was called a bastard. To his mother he was a happy accident. But despite all the names he might acquire in this lifetime, he was more than aware that he was a mistake— happy or not.

It did not help that he was far different in stature than any counterparts— he was not tall like any witch or wizard nor was he of average and acceptable height as other goblins. It mattered little if he wore the most unassuming clothes he could find— he could never fully disappear into the background. While such methods benefitted his comfort, he could not deafen himself to the comments and whispers as he walked past.

Being of two worlds, he knew and understood the guttural inflections of his mother’s tongue and the cuts that lay beneath a witch and wizard’s words. Understanding however did not make him part of their world. He was, as both society’s deemed him, a traitor to any kind.

Further notes:

The use of language in any society, be it fiction or the real world, can emphasize the socio political relationships between countries or simply one’s identity.

In politics—

Knowing two (or more) languages requires parties to rely on the interpreter for translations. But such translations (especially if there is a measure of personal interest) cannot fully be trusted.

In personal situations (example)—

This can likely strain relationships between parental units and children or friends. In an attempt to fit in, perhaps the new generation seeks to hide connection of their family’s origins (perhaps masking an accent).

[totomoowrites]

New Year’s prompt Hogwarts Legacy version aka the Sebastian Sallow show:

Sebastian’s Resolution: don’t use the dark arts

….

….

3 days later… aVaDa—

Darker version:

“I will cure Anne.”

Other characters (that I can currently think of)

Ominis Gaunt: make sure his best friend does not get himself in Azkaban or worse… expelled.

Imelda Reyes: reinstate Quidditch

Drop down what your resolutions, your favorite character’s, or what your MC’s/ OC’s resolutions will be for this upcoming year (and how well they stick to it)!

[totomoowrites]

AU Prompt:

Duncan Hobhouse (or Leander Prewett and the chomping cabbages) starring in Little Shop of Horrors.

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M/M Prompt: forbidden love with fleeting touches on a voyage across the world.

OR

They had resorted to fleeting touches as they passed by each other in the narrow corridor of the rumbling train before their gazes would lock for a scant few seconds.

The first had been mere accident but the second sparked more than just recognition.

He found himself drawn to each new day, dressing his best with a press of his tie and coat down while his fingers tousled through his hair. He should not feel this way and yet his heart pattered and his neck flushed with every moment he turned to walk to his compartment.

It was a fleeting feeling just as their touches, nothing more.

But when the third week passed and he saw him aboard a different train, he began to wonder if they were meant to find each other under every sky and moon.

“Hello,” he breathed, standing awkwardly at the compartment door.

“Hello,” he echoed, the flutter of his lashes inviting him to close the door behind him.

It clicked and the sound of the world around them dimmed to a whisper.

He should not have thought it nor should he have clung to the soft creases of this man’s blouse. But the kiss had been a warm and welcoming surprise. Full lips, a teasing tongue, and hands that moved and coaxed sounds he never thought possible from his throat.

“They will see,” he whispered.

“Let them,” the man replied, “Let the world see. Let them see us beneath the star studded skies of Marseilles. Let them see us in twilight across Red Sea. And let them see us walk hand in hand along the sandy dunes of Egypt.”

Let them. Let them, he chanted— each kiss on his bare skin shattering any doubt left in his heart.

[totomoowrites]

In which Victor Rookwood is subjected to hearing the various failures of his surviving men and women at the hands of a child.

OR

If you want to do something right, you must do it yourself.

It had been a meaningless quote in his youth. But upon reaching his majority and assuming head of his family’s house and business (rightfully in his mind and most mysteriously in other’s), Victor Rookwood was apt to remind himself of such a fact at least fifteen times a day. At least. He sighed, biting back a shout as his hands curled into fists at his side.

Good men were hard to find and good workers? Well, they were even rarer. As was the case of the group cowering before him.

“Tell me, again. How old was this man?”

“Fif—fifteen, sir.”

There was silence in the room for a long few seconds before Victor let out a bark of laughter, the echoing laughs of his men sounding hollow with each passing second.

“Fifteen?!” He gasped, letting out a raucous laugh before he threw a goblet at the man before him and growled, “A child?! You were thwarted by a child?!”

“Mighty powerful child, sir—“

“Shut up! Useless, idiotic imbeciles!”

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The most horrifying thing you could subject a librarian or book lover to.

OR

If there was anything more horrifying to a librarian (or aspiring librarian), it was the Ministry of Magic’s audacity to introduce the most vile of all books to any student’s hands— “The Field Guide”.

Agnes Scribner’s nails were tempted to break and claw down the table before her as she stared at the enchanted pages slowly emerging from the enchanted tome in Matilda Weasley’s hands.

“You mean to send students… outside?” Aesop Sharpe asked with a quirk of his brow, “Dangerous idea don’t you think, Matilda?”

“Why— I think it breeds character!” Mirabel Garlick exclaimed with a clap of her hands, “Think of all the memories and experiences!”

“More like pain and devastation,” Satyavati Shah murmured beside her.

Agnes Scribner could not agree more. Such pain, such horrifying devastation awaited that book with its pages torn from its home!

“Agnes? Are you alright?” Matilda asked.

No— wicked witch, she thought. “Fine. Everything is fine.”

[totomoowrites]

In which a woman makes a deal with Death personified to rid herself of her unfaithful husband and fall in love in the process.

OR

Lightning never struck the same place twice. Much like a woman could not love a man the same. Especially when her halls stunk and seeped of the proof of his betrayal.

Had it been her who broke her vows, the world would not have welcomed her with open arms nor indulged her in sharing the tale of such a conquest.

And so, she lay— night after night in the farthest room of their house, listening to the moans and groans beneath her roof until she could take it no more and wept.

This night however, she did not weep. She stood, tall as she walked past her doors and into her garden— her fingers trailing along the sleeping buds as the sounds of her husband and his mistress’ coupling grew quieter in the distance.

“Lady— my… how far you are from home,” called the shadows.

“You’re mistaken, sir. This is my home.”

[totomoowrites]

Merry Christmas!! 🌟🎄🎁

Merry Christmas!

(I haven't been able to go through all your work, so please excuse the extreme creative liberty I made assumptions from Val's introduction and character sheet and have this treat).

~~~***~~~

What Val already deemed the longest day and longest night was shaping to become even longer (if that were possible) at the sound of clatter and screams at her door. Well... not just 'her' door-- but rather the large wooden door she shared with her two other flatmates in a dungeon, beneath the lake of a large stone castle.

She bit down a groan, pulling the side of her pillows to muffle the shouts when the heavy curtains were drawn and tugged away from her bed.

"Val!"

She heard him before she saw the mop of long, dark hair and pale face she had often seen at home.

"Phin?!" She wheezed, curling into herself at his weight. For someone younger than she, Phineas Black, II had grown much taller and quicker in the past summer than he had in all the years she'd known him.

"How? You?! You aren't supposed to be here!" Came a cry across the room.

"Pinch, was it?" Val blinked to see another mop of dark hair stalking toward her bed, the amiable smile on Sirius' face slipping into annoyance as he addressed her flatmate.

"It's Pinch-Smedley."

"Ah, nobody then," Sirius yawned and waved his hand absently.

"Don't be like that, Sirius!" Phineas frowned, sitting up to offer his apologies, "We've only come to say hello to our cousin."

"You couldn't wait till tomorrow?" Val sighed, tucking her legs in as she sat up.

"He couldn't," Sirius smirked over at Phineas.

"Don't listen to him, Val! He's just as excited you're here as I am!"

Indeed, Val turned to catch the light flush of Sirius' ears beneath his long hair, hummed, and raised a brow.

"He's lying."

"Hmm," Val nodded, "So... you don't want to hear about the dragon?"

Quick as lightning and a sack of Honeydukes sweets thrown between the three of them, Sirius settled himself at the end of the bed gesturing for her to continue. What was a long day and long night, now seemed shorter in the span of a few seconds. And though the questions about the dragon seemed endless, Val was beginning to feel at home.

[totomoowrites]

Starting Hogwarts at the age of fifteen and being half the height of his classmates had not been the primary reason he was deemed most unusual. It was, in fact, the very nature of who he was or rather what he was—a goblin. Or rather a half goblin.

Note:

Professor Filius Flitwick had to come from somewhere. 🤔 Conflict possibilities can be explored in identity crises (deemed a traitor or rather untrustworthy by both sides), broader sociopolitical issues (world building), etc.

[totomoowrites]

He that walks with death, walks a lonely path.

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Complacency breeds ignorance and Fate sows dissent.

For a hundred years and likely hundreds more, women had been matched by the gods to the men whom they thought they would most favor.

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Idea: “A Muggles Guide To Proper Wear for Witches and Wizards”

Pansy Parkinson could count herself bloody well damned if she was going to watch these… these Muggles laugh at her every single day she was at this bloody office.

As part of the rehabilitation for pureblood witches and wizards, she had been required to secure employment at a Muggle place of business. And of course, Pansy wanted the best of the best and thought to display the best of her talents— fashion.

And so, after an abnormal sum of a donation to a prestigious office, she secured the most coveted position imaginable to a young woman (per the hiring person’s notes)— *intern*.

It was unpaid, sure. But she had no need for money. She simply wanted to be done with the bloody program and display a bit of pureblood superiority to these buffoons.

And what better way to do than to show the latest fashionable style a witch could wear?

But as Pansy’s first week came to a close, she realized amid the whispers that it was she who looked dowdy, old, and just not with the times.

So she stood stone faced before a large wooden door after speaking with Theo Nott, who spoke with stupid Draco Malfoy, who spoke with his new stupid friend, Ron Weasley, who spoke to his best friend Harry Potter that the one single witch that had all the answer to her problems sat behind these closed doors.

Hermione Granger

With a sigh and striking a nerve to knock upon the door, Pansy waited impatiently as the footsteps approached and the hinges swung open.

“Get your bag, Granger,” she ordered not waiting for the pleasantries of ‘hello’, “I’m taking you shopping.”

[totomoowrites]

The moment before silence.

Aka: did an argument precede it? A confession? Death?