#i don't remember where i heard about this headcanon years ago but i've wanted to draw it ever since :') jkr can suck it | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

darkpoisonouslove · 1 year

Note

I heard Infinity by Jaymes Young the other day and Idk why but at the line "And we could wear the same crown ... We are the gods now" I've got Griffin and Valtor vibes and then a thought occurred to me. We know Valtor saw himself as THE wizard of the dimension and always wanted more power. I see him like that in the past too. I also have that headcanon that the circle consisted of several wizards and witches and it was regulated hierarchically, so Valtor was obviously somewhere in the top because he was the strongest member. And while Griffin was still an circle member she has also an high position.

Do you think Valtor ever compared himself and Griffin to gods in general? Because with his ego I can see him doing that with himself. But do you think he also sees Griffin as his "Queen" and wanted the people around them and who are under them to respect her like that? And what would happened to the people who don't ? (He knows she can handle herself but I can also see how he's doing what ge wants to)

First off, I had assigned Infinity to my The Heart Wants What It Was Promised by the Stars fanfic. I hate to link it here because both the writing and characterization are very outdated and I cringe when I remember it BUT I have to give context to what I'm talking about. I did also have an AU of that AU which I now think should have been the main story. Valtor gets executed, Griffin somewhat moves on to where she's happy enough with her husband and they have a child, then Valtor comes back and can't stand the fact that she's married to someone else and isn't completely disgusted by that fact. Worst of all, Codatorta knows Valtor is there and yet, he hasn't given him up to the authorities which would force Griffin to choose Valtor. So Valtor starts trying to convince her that Codatorta doesn't really love her (because he's not possessed by murderous jealousy like Valtor is) and to piss off Codatorta enough to break up their fragile bond so that Griffin can be only his again. Don't know where I would take that but I am liking it more and more. Brain, no! Brain, yes!

As for Valtor feeling like they're gods and she's his queen? Long Live the Queen. It's a fanfic I wrote 3 and a half years ago inspired by Halsey's Young God which is THE GxV coven-times song.

Also, I have more thoughts on how the Coven works. These are all about my rewrite and I was planning on keeping my mouth shut but since that's probably just going to end up as me doing bullet points of my ideas for each episode, I figured I might as well talk about them now.

In my headcanons the Ancestral Witches are incorporeal because otherwise they would have wrecked shit all over the universe, not just on Domino and not just that one time. Plus, they are pure evil and their purpose is to destroy the whole universe. For that they have to snuff out the Dragon Fire first, though. But they are incorporeal. So they are trying to acquire bodies and this is where their descendants come in. Anyone can become a descendant of the Ancestral Witches but I am not going to explain that now (I think I might have done it already somewhere but I have too many posts to know for sure). The Coven is formed by the descendants so that they can get everything done to help the Ancestral Witches get bodies. Plus, they can possess their descendants but they don't like to do that because it confines them to the power level of the people they're possessing aka it leaves them too weak (and the possessed person dies once they are done possessing the body).

The Coven is ineffective because there's a lot of competitiveness between different groups of descendants as they're all trying to prove themselves by being the ones to actually achieve the goals of making the Ancestral Witches corporeal and destroying the Dragon Fire. The Coven almost gets wiped out but because the Ancestral Witches can only be killed if their essence in the Whisperian Crystals is destroyed, new descendants keep appearing and the Coven reforms again. The Ancestral Witches create Valtor, though, with the idea that him being under their direct control makes him perfect to act as a leader of the Coven to avoid such uncoordinated disaster again.

Everyone in the Coven is kind of fawning over him or at least trying to impress him to further their own ambition and as much as Valtor likes being the center of attention, he really hates this situation because he knows that they only care about him as an extension of the Ancestral WItches. Plus, he thinks most of them incompetent and dislikes working with them (because like I said, anyone could become a descendant of the Ancestral WItches without consideration of power levels or abilities or anything else). But then he meets Griffin. Her particle manipulation magic is very rare and intriguing. He thinks it might have something to do with the Dragon Fire because it created everything and her magic is based on the similarity between all matter. It does not have anything to do with the Dragon Fire as magic is more self-actualization and Griffin has always considered change (of the system) her primary goal so she manifested that magic for herself.

Still, that makes her very impressive in a whole another way. And Valtor likes that she can keep up with him (but without surpassing him) even though she doesn't have as much experience as he does. Plus, she's a challenge in a way because she's not that impressed with him and is giving him the cold shoulder which just makes it that much more important to him to seduce her. And he knows she's with the Coven because of him. She's not a descendant of the Ancestral Witches and everyone was pissed off when Valtor brought her into the fold but she's been giving more than amazing results so the Ancestral Witches deemed her useful. From then on, Valtor makes it clear that anyone that dares look at her the wrong way is dead because all the other Coven members are expendable and Griffin is his.

#winx club #winx griffin #winx valtor #griffin x valtor #covenshipping #winx headcanons #wc rewrite #my fanfic #music #au #ask #anon

6 notes · View notes

aresmarked · 9 months

Note

I wanna preface this by saying I just read an answer to a polyneed ask and am emotionally There now, but I will try to focus. I never tried any of the games you mentioned, tho I've heard of them. Is prsk writing really that different? Yes to everything you said! True. It's fun to pick your brain with headcanons tho haha. Ooh mizuan! I wonder if they'll be in the same class again next year. In 1 of the card stories you recommended, I noticed An looking their way to gauge whether anyone else (1/)

gauge whether anyone knew their secret, and I thought that was a nice detail. I'd love to see an event when they first met or Mizuki turning to An once their secret is back to the forefront. I think Shiho could help Mafuyu understand how being with those she loves (thoughts from earlier consume me-) helps her just. Survive. Something about dreams and surrounding yourself with Good People. :shy: Uh so have you ever thought about l/n very first meeting? What drew them to each other? Why? (2/2)

i would say psekai is more similar than not but it's like. hm. how to put this. It's not to say they didn't have interesting things going on, or there weren't characters I didn't come to like (as you may see if you look on my blog, I do have tags for love live, bandori, etc. and there are some things that still Affect me) I had interest is the point. But I'd say the big thing for me in PSekai is the ratio 'story i'm invested in' to total amount of story.

for example I had like, a handful of fave characters in Bandori? still do really. But in PSekai I genuinely enjoy reading Everyone's story. I eat that stuff up the moment it's available. Plus it's a bit more readily available, I didn't know of any places back then that were archiving cards and their stories. And the event stories were... there were less stakes in some of them? less development of some of the characters which was like. it's boring to me, when characters are just a Bit.

honestly it was Years ago so i'm having trouble remembering details, but it also felt very difficult getting Good Teams together for events. I've cycled through a lot of mobile games over the years, so between time and new things to try and phone capacity (and studies, then)... yea, basically it was a point where i recognised, the number of factors in, 'i'm not enjoying this anymore', and i stopped playing. But writing (unsurprisingly) is a huge factor in any enjoyment of a game for me.

Anyway! Mizuan friendship very important to me, arguably The story relationship to get interested in PSekai, and I want more :V And the similarities between L/N and the Niigo kids have been remarked on, so I won't stress them longer, but it'd be good to see their friendships grow.

A L/N flashback event is one of my dream events. we deserve the itty bitties. I can't see Tsukasa and Shizuku not being involved based on what we've seen (Shiho pretty attached to Shizuku and a little *hand wiggles* to doing things without her/and the difficulty with people who don't get her doing things her way) but honestly I haven't thought of too many details beyond that because I'm happy seeing what Colopale will/could do with it, if that makes sense? I trust them with it, at least. but it's very clear how much their early years together Meant to them. given the general personalities i imagine there was some just True appreciation of each other's particulars and interests, that laid the groundwork for that deep loyalty.

#project sekai #war replies #prsk!anon

0 notes

upthehillart · 2 years

Photo

“Is there a name you’d like me to call you?” “Um, yes, it’s… Harry.” “Well, Harry, I think I ought to be honest and tell you that… I’m just like you. I’m transgender too.” “…You are?” “Indeed. And I’m telling you this because I wanted you to know that you are not alone. Never alone. And your parents, Harry, they… they would’ve loved you and supported you unconditionally. Just like they supported me. Never forget that there will always be people that accept us in our most truest.”

#i don't remember where i heard about this headcanon years ago but i've wanted to draw it ever since :') jkr can suck it #i just love love love that connection between harry and lupin in PoA and them sharing trans identity just adds another beautiful layer.. :')#harry potter #remus lupin #transgender #hogwarts #harry james potter #trans!harry #trans!remus #transgender harry #transgender remus #prisoner of azkaban #poa #harry potter art #upthehillfanart

6K notes · View notes

nevermindirah · 3 years

Note

Do you have any thoughts on the use of AAVE for Nile (or lack thereof) in TOG fanfiction? I've been reading some Book of Nile fic and some writers seem to write her as a Millennial™ (using words like "fave" and "woke") but never acknowledge her Blackness in her patterns of speech. I know we don't see her use as much AAVE in the films, but I would argue she's in situations where code-switching would be valued (first in a "professional" environment in the army, then around a group of non-Black strangers).

Hi anon! I have many thoughts on this and I'm honored you asked me! But I should start by saying I'm white and any thoughts Black fans and especially Black American fans have on this that they want to share would be beyond lovely. (I'm not gonna tag anybody bc that feels rude but please add onto this post if any of y'all see this and want to!)

The main reason I personally avoid AAVE for Nile in my own fics is because I'm not Black. But Nile-centric fics by Black writers tend to avoid using much of it too, at least from what I've noticed/understood, and my guess is it's largely for the reason you mention, that she's in situations that encourage code-switching.

In movie canon Nile is highly competent at tailoring her language to each situation she finds herself in. This fantastic linguistics analysis meta shows how skillfully Nile chooses her vocabulary and grammar to meet her goals with different conversation partners in different contexts. In comics canon Nile had a bunch of different civilian jobs before joining the Marines, so she would've had experience code-switching in the ways that made sense for all those different contexts as well as the Marines and her family and high school and wherever else she spent her time before we met her. And now she's spending her time with a handful of immortals none of whom are native English speakers and a fellow Black American but one with a Queen's English UK accent whose professional experience is in the CIA where high-status code-switching is often an absolute must for success or even survival.

Fics featuring Nile are charged with extrapolating from that to how it might show up in her use of language that she's coping with a traumatic separation from her family and her career and pretty much everything she's ever known and now she needs to be able to make herself understood to people who seem to care about her and each other but are super duper in crisis, three (soon to be four) of whom predate Modern English entirely and the only one who's anywhere near her contemporary she's not supposed to talk to for a century. All of these people are telling her that pretty much any contact with any mortals poses an existential threat to her and the rest of the group. How the FUCK is she supposed to cope with that, like, generally? And would it be a more effective way for her to cope if she talked to Andy Joe and Nicky using the speech patterns that she used to use with her mom and brother, to at least retain that part of her identity even if it means having to do a lot of explaining, or would it meet her needs better to prioritize Andy Joe and Nicky understanding what she means with her words over using the particular words and grammar forms she used with her family?

I've seen several fics, both Nile-centric / BoN and otherwise, explore this a little bit in how/whether Nile uses Millennial™ speak. It's often a theme in Nile texting Booker despite the exile because of the popular headcanon that he as The Tech Guy is the only other immortal who understands memes. But Nile's much-younger-than-Booker mom probably uses Boomer and/or Gen X memes and Andy has been adapting to new communication styles for forever as evidenced by her canon high level of fluency with standard-American-accented English.

Which brings us back to people avoiding AAVE because they're not Black and they don't want to make mistakes (or they're not Black and they don't want to get yelled at for making mistakes, though I think many people overestimate how much they'll get yelled at while underestimating how much these mistakes can hurt). I can imagine some Black fans hold back from using much AAVE in fic because they don't want to share in-group stuff with white people who are likely to then adopt and ruin it, as white people so often do with Black cultural stuff. Some links about this including a great Khadija Mbowe video. I'm saying this gently, anon, because you might not know: woke, an example you cited as Millennial™ speak, is AAVE, and that's gotten erased by so many white people appropriating it and using it incorrectly online.

And also there's the part where fandom is a hobby and you never know when you're reading a fic that's the very first thing someone's ever written outside of a school assignment. This cultural considerations of language shit takes a level of effort and skill that not everybody puts into every fic, or even could if they wanted to because they haven't had time to build their skills yet. It's definitely easier for non-Black fans to project our millennial feels onto Nile than to do the layers of research and self-reflection it requires to depict what Blackness might mean to Nile, and it's not surprising that often people sharing their hobby creations on the internet have gone the easier route. There's not even necessarily shame in doing what's easier. It's just frustrating and often hurtful when structural white supremacy means that 3-dimensional Black characters are rare in media and thoughtful explorations of them in fandom are seen by the majority of fans as not-easy to make and therefore Nile Freeman, the main character in The Old Guard (2020) dir. Gina Prince-Bythewood, has the least fic and meta and art made about her of our 5 main immortals.

I've been active in different fandoms off and on for twenty years and I barely managed to write 5,000 words about Sam Wilson across multiple different fics in the 7 years since I fell in love with him. There's an alchemy to which characters we connect with, and on top of that which characters we connect with in a way that causes us to create stuff about them. Something about Nile Freeman finally tipped me over the edge from a voracious reader to a voracious writer. It's not for me to judge which characters speak to other individuals to the level of creating content about them, but I do think it's important for us to notice, and then work to fight, the pattern where across this fandom as a whole Nile gets way less content, and way less depth in so much of the content that's in theory about her, than any of these other characters.

Anyway, back to language. My two long fics feature Nile with several Black friends — Copley and OCs and cameos from other media — but all of those characters except Alec Hardison from Leverage aren't American. It's very possible I'm guilty of stereotyping Black British speech patterns in I See Your Eyes Seek a Distant Shore. I watched hours and hours of Black haircare YouTube videos in the research for that fic and I modeled my OCs' speech patterns on what I heard from some of those YouTubers as well as what I've heard people like John Boyega and Idris Elba saying in interviews, but the thing about doing your best is you still might fuck up.

I'm slowly making progress on my WIP where Nile and Sam Wilson are cousins, and what ways of talking with a family member might be authentic for Nile is a major question I need to figure out. For that, I'm largely modeling my writing choices on how I hear my Black friends and colleagues talking to each other. I haven't overheard colleagues talking in an office in a long-ass time, but back when that was a thing, I remember seeing a ton of nuance in the different ways many of my Black colleagues would talk to each other. Different people have different personalities! And backgrounds! And priorities! A few jobs ago my department was about 1/3 Black and we worked closely with Obama administration staff many of whom were Black and there was SO MUCH VARIETY in how Black people talked to each other, about work and workplace-appropriate personal stuff, where I and other white coworkers could hear. There are a few work friends in particular who I have in my head when I'm trying to imagine how Sam and Nile might talk to each other. From the outside looking in, God DAMN is shit complicated, intellectually and interpersonally and spiritually, for Black people who are devoting their professional lives to public service in the United States.

One more aspect of this that I have big thoughts on but I need to take extra care in talking about is the idea of acknowledging Nile's Blackness in her patterns of speech. There's no one right way to be Black, and Nile's a fictional character created by a white dude but there are plenty of real-life Black Americans who don't use much or even any AAVE, for reasons that are complicated because of white supremacy. (Highly highly recommend this video by Shanspeare on the harms of the Oreo stereotype.)

Something that's not the same but has enough similarity that I think it's worth talking about is my personal experience with authenticity and American Jewish speech patterns. My Jewish family members don't talk like they're in The Marvelous Mrs. Maisel, and I've known lots of people who do talk that way (or the millennial version of it), some of whom have questioned my Jewishness because I don't talk that way. That hurts me. Sometimes when another Jew tells me some shit like "I've never heard a Jew say y'all'd've," I can respond with "well now you have asshole, bless your Yankee-ass heart," because the myth of Dixie is a racist lie but I will totally call white Northerners Yankees when they're being shitty to me for being Southern, and this particular Jew fucking revels in using "bless your heart" with maximum polite aggression, especially with said Yankees. But sometimes I don't have it in me to say anything and it just quietly hurts having an important part of me disbelieved by someone who shares that important part of me. The sting isn't quite the same when non-Jews disbelieve or discount my Jewishness, but that hurts too.

Who counts as authentically Jewish is a messy in-group conversation and it doesn't really make sense to explain it all here. Who counts as authentically Jewish is a matter of legal status for immigration, citizenship, and civil rights in Israel, and it's my number 2 reason after horrific treatment of Palestinians that I'm antizionist. But outside that extremely high-stakes legal situation, it can just feel really shitty to not be recognized as One Of Us, especially by your own people.

It can also feel really shitty to be The Only One of Your Kind in a group, even if that group is an immortal chosen family who all loves each other dearly. Sometimes especially in a situation like that where you know those people love you but there are certain things they don't get about you and will never quite be able to. I'm definitely projecting at least a little bit of my "lonely Jew who will be alone again for yet another Jewish holiday" stuff onto Nile when at the end of I See Your Eyes Seek a Distant Shore she's thinking about being the only Black immortal and moving away from the community she'd built with a mostly-Black group of mortals in that fic. Maybe that tracks, or maybe that's fucked up of me.

Basically, this got very long but it's complicated, writing about experiences that aren't your own takes skill which in turn takes time and practice to build, writing about experiences not your own that our society maligns can cause a lot of harm if done badly, it can also cause a lot of harm when a large enough portion of a fandom just decides to nope out of something that's difficult and risky because then there's just not much content about a character who deserves just a shit ton of loving and nuanced content, people are individuals and two people who come from the exact same cultural context might show that influence in all kinds of different ways, identity is complicated, language is complicated, writing is hard, and empathy and humility and doing our best aren't a guarantee of avoiding harm but they do go a long way in helping people create thoughtful content about a character as awesome and powerful and kind and messy and scared and curious and WORTHY as Nile Freeman.

#nile freeman #linguistics #TOG POC Love Fest #nileweek2021 #tog meta #tog #long post #mine #antiblackness #jewish things #hi i'm an antizionist jew no i don't really want to talk about it

229 notes · View notes

herstarburststories · 3 years

Text

You Have A Home

Pairing: Sam Winchester x Reader

Summary: After a call from Y/N, Sam comes back town to help -- and brings Dean with him.

Requests: N°1 heyhey, could you do a Sam x reader where they went to college togehter and later meet again and they realise their feelings for eachother...xx + N°2: can you do a college sam headcanon with medicine student reader

A/N: This was fun! The monster here is mentioned in season 6, when the boys ask Bobby for advice on how to kill it. This is my first Samgirl long imagine, with Dean being the flirty he is. I wrote this almost one year ago, so it's more crude and I'm nervous to be posting it! And my piece for @cajunquandary 's 600 challenge, my prompt was monster of the week. Dividers by @talesmaniac89!

Dean's eyes remained on the road when the bitter statement left his body, tangled with a wry chuckle, “I can't believe you are still in touch with those people.”

“Those people?” Sam arched elbows, slightly skeptical by his brother's tone, “They were my friends, Dean.”

“Sammy, all our friends? Dead. They all die. Or worse.” He glanced at him for a moment, pursing his lips together. It might not be an easy assignment, but was part of the job. Sammy had tried to run away plenty times and always came back, when would he understand? “We don't get to have friends. You should've learned that.”

“They are not our friends, they are my friends. Also, they don't know about the hunting life, they aren't in harm.” Sammy hissed once the other locked his green eyes on the road again. Dean sighed, moving one hand away and up from the steering wheel in a rendition gesture.

“Whatever you say, man. I'm just warning you, this doesn't usually end up good for them.”

Sam scoffed, Dean could get on his nerves sometimes, “We saved many people that got to have a good life.”

“Yeah, but those people didn't know us before that. I told you when you left Stanford--”

“I didn't keep contact, okay!? I just... I just still have a phone that they have the number of. No social media, no calls on birthdays.” Nervously gesticulating, he added, “I know how to keep them safe, Dean.”

“So, old friend?” The eldest Winchester asked after the few minutes of silence that followed Sam's outburst, “Female old friend?”

“Yes. (Y/N) (Y/L/N).” Dean smirked, and Sam to rolled his eyes at his behavior, “Keep it in your pants.”

He'd let out a malicious laughter before turning on the radio, the first guitar sounds of AC/DC playing in the background.

“I think you'll be the one not keeping it, Sammy.”

“Hello?” The woman in nothing but a towel who had opened the door greeted them with a question, her brown eyes glaring at the two men with clear confusion.

Dean had no shame to check her out, innerly celebrating that she was still wet from her shower. Perhaps visiting Sam's friends wasn't that big mistake. “Hey, you.”

She grimaced at Dean for two seconds before turning her attention to Sam again, sudden recognition written on her face.

“Sam? Sam Winchester?” He nodded, smiling that light-hearted boyish grin at her. Not caring about her dressings, she just threw herself at Sammy, hugging him tightly. “I missed you!” She pulled away only to hit his shoulder. Her short stature didn't match Sam's, but he'd still make a grimace at her attempt of slap. “Why didn't you call? God, your hair grew a lot. Listen, I have some scissors.”

“Tried that, didn't work.” Dean interrupted their reencounter, trying to get in the conversation. An usual lopsided grin on his face, “Dean Winchester, Sam's brother.”

“Layla, Sam's friend.” She gave him a friendly smile in return, opening space for them to pass through the door before closing it, “Come in, I need to change in clothes.”

“I wouldn't even dream of that. Seriously.”

Layla would just wiggle one of her brows at Dean's comments, not impressed by it, “Ele é sempre assim? (Is he always like this?)”

Thankfully, Sam still remembered a bit of his friend's native language. He just chuckled, managing to apologize for Dean's typical Dean behavior, “Unfortunately. Sinto muito. (I'm sorry)”

“(Y/N) is in the kitchen. I'll be right back.” Her accent was thicking stronger duo the comfortability around Sam. Excusing herself, the caramel skinned girl leaded upstairs.

“What did she say?” Dean asked, side glancing at the path Layla had just gone on, not even sure of which language she'd just spoken, much less what was said. Sammy didn't bother replying, satisfied to grin at his obvxion brother. “Dude, come on!”

“Sam!” A well-known voice filled the room as the image of (Y/N) appeared in front of them, dressing your loyal cook's avental. You didn't think twice before jumping on Sam. “I missed you, giant!”

He, like always, caught you with a light-hearted laughter, “I missed you too, cupcake.” You two spent a few moments like this, enjoying each other's warm and long lost touch, until Dean cleared his throat. You finally went back to the ground, embarrassed by having a stranger to see that level of intimacy between you and Sam, “This is Dean, my--”

“Handsome brother. Hello, cupcake.” Dean was so going to tease Sam for the rest of his life for it.

“You really live up for Sam's description.” You giggled, heading towards the kitchen “Come in, I'm baking.”

“So, you and Layla still live together?”

“Most of the time, yes. You know how she is, comes and goes. Never wanted to stay in a place for too long and got a job that supported that.” The boys followed you, Dean examining the kitchen and trying to discover what you were cooking through the smell, while Sam couldn't take his eyes on you, “Apparently, just like you.”

Even though your back was facing them as you checked the food, the bite didn't pass unnoticed, “I had to leave, (Y/N)”

“I understand that, Sam. But you never called or texted. It was like I--” You quickly corrected yourself, “We never existed for you.”

“It's not like that.” Sam sighed, how could he justify? He knew you wouldn't buy a simple excuse. You were smart, and knew him too well to swallow a 'I went on a trip with my brother and just decided that college wasn't my deal' and leave it for that.

“I'm here!” Layla declared, arriving into the room with an excited smile, it was good to have the gang back together. Although, the tangible tension almost made her go back to the shower, “Am I interrupting something?”

“A sitcom DR.” Dean answered with sarcasm, spreading his figure on the chair when you turned around with an apple pie in your hands “What about we talk about the ca-- Is this pie?”

“We heard a scream followed by a loud roar and (Y/N) stayed near the camping part because there was still a signal and I went looking for who it was. When I got there, the thing ran away. Jorge's body... No human did that. His chest was cracked open irregularly, as if it was done by an animal and his heart looked weird. Like it was squeezed and drawn on up somehow?”

“We got a Samia.” Dean stated, relaxing on his spot. Some sault, rosemary and fire would do the job just fine, “Let me guess, it left a clawn near the body or inside it?”

Layla nodded, “Right in the chest or what lasted of it.”

“Are you okay? Finding the body in that state.” A comprehensive manner englobed Sam's question, whom noticed the normality with his friend described finding a shattered body.

“Just some guts.” She shrugged, a grimace was all the reaction they'd get. Crying wouldn't help, neither being terrorized as they expected her too. “I've seen Grey's Anatomy enough not to care about it.”

“Well, I'm literally a medicine student and I am still not okay with that. Especially after you made me go and check the body.” You argued, glaring at your best friend who'd only roll her eyes in response.

“I needed a professional to say if he was dead or not!”

“You need a therapist.”

Dean got up, looking straight at Layla. Time to play the hero in shining armor, “Don't worry with that, we will take care of it.”

Frowning, you were the one to respond, “Do you work for the police now or?”

“Are implying that we investigate it by ourselves?” Your best friend added.

Dean couldn't believe his brother. How the fuck did he let them get inside without saying they didn't know about the hunting business? It was a luck shot that they didn't think much when he said Samia.

“Nope. Not you two. We will do it.” The blonde one said, pointing at them with a smirk.

“I agree, we will do it.” Layla replied, matching his taunt smile.

“Sam, I'm not letting you and your brother do it by yourself. Jorge was my professor, I knew him. Besides, we found the body.” You got on your feet and crossed your arms, waiting for a response. Sam always had a sort of hero complex, ready to help no matter what, but there was no way you'd be letting him go into danger with his brother. Getting in your dormitory to kill a cockroach back then or facing an idiot during a bar fight to protect one of your friends was something, but this? They were talking about looking for an assassin. What if something happened to him? You were the one who called. All on you. The thought of Sam getting hurt for any reason was unbearable, but because of you? You weren't willing to do that.

“You would be in danger, (Y/N). You both.” He tried to explain, internally hoping you'd accept his reasoning and let it go. Sam didn't want you to become one of the friends who knew about this life, you deserve more. He already lost one woman he loved in this city, he couldn't lose another.

You huffed in frustration, “Just like you will!”

“It's different.” As he was terrified of, you insisted. Arms crossed still and eyes locked with his, determined to get something from him. Sam was smart enough to know that you would keep it going. Perhaps he could give you a short explanation, “Me and my brother, we are used to this. We hunt things like that.”

Layla tilted her head to the side. The way Sam talked remembered her of animal hunting, although she highly doubted that was the case, “Little more explanation?'”

“Monsters are real. Vampires, werewolves, spirits. The list goes on. Call us crazy. Roll the credits.” Sarcasm saltered every word of Dean's as he gestured up and down with a cocky smile. Everyone glared at him, a special furious look from his brother, “What? I thought they knew what we did and that's why she called.”

“Sam?” Your voice was fragile when you said his name, a demonstration that you would believe him through the fear of the truth, but that he had to say it.

Sam laid his hazel eyes on you. God, how he wished he didn't have to confirm anything, to break your vision of world so abruptly, “Dean is right. Supernatural things are real. I know it sounds--”

“Unbelievable? Problematic? Scary?”

“Yeah, all of them.” Sam offered you a humorless smile, then holding your hand the way he used to when you were nervous about an exam, “But I wouldn't lie to you, cupcake.”

The silence was broken by Layla opening a bottle of Whiskey, pouring them for the three people in the room besides herself. You rolled your eyes at your best friend, while Sam wore a tiny smile and Dean was astonished.

Noticing the eyes glued, the latina just shrugged “What? If you are gonna tell me that Dracula is real and you are a sort of Buffy's apprentice, then we will need some alcohol.”

“Why did you call?” Sammy asked, his brows knotted together, mouth slight open as he waited for your response. “You didn't know what I did. And he wasn't my professor at Stanford. Then why did you call, (Y/N)?”

You could make up a hundred excuses. Lie and say he was the one friend besides Layla that you had somehow a way to get to. Appeal to the excuse of 'I felt something weird about the death and you said I should call if I ever had a problem of any kind'. But for as much as you felt horrible for using a death as a pretext for calling him, that was partially the truth. You already had put yourself into a mess of monsters and a drained heart, it couldn't be scarier than being honest to Sam and to yourself.

At least, you hoped so. But your heart was rushing like when you saw Jorge's body. Jesus, when did love become so morbid?

You took a deep breath, oxygen barely achieving your lungs, and then started to talk.

“I wanted to call you the minute that you left, Sam. I almost did a million times.” You answered, looking down at the bottle of a sort of plant that he was putting in a dark green bag. “I thought about what you could be doing, what was so important that you couldn't send me a message. But you just didn't want to call, I guess.”

“I wanted to call, of course I did.” You scoffed at his statement, looking up to match his eyes, “(Y/N), I'm serious.”

“You didn't even come to Jess' funeral, Sam. Layla said that maybe you needed to leave to clear your mind, that was too much to deal with. But I was so worried, and sad and confused and I wanted to talk to you because you would understand, you always did. About anything. And I wanted to give you some sort of comfort, but--” You lifted your hands and shrugged your shoulder, a broken chuckle leaving your body. “But you weren't here.”

“You stopped leaving messages after two weeks. Calling was gone when it made a moth.” You sniffed. Sam's lips curved into a pure, cautelous grin. God, he was always so sweet. “The emails took two months.”

“You were never good with dates. I gave you a calendar in your freshman week.” Your teeth met your lower lip. He didn't answer, only nodding at your affirmation, omitting the fact that he still had the calendar between latin books and pieces of newspapers, “Yet, you remember all of it.”

Sam leaned forward, holding your hand with all the delicacy you would expect from a sculptor. It had been too long since he hugged you, and his touch made all your skin tickle with warmth. “I missed you too, (Y/N). I thought about you all those years.”

“So, Cupcake?”

"Let's focus on the case, Dean."

“Then you can go back and eat your cupcake?” He remarked with a grin. His brother just huffed, pointing the flashlight through the trees, “So, Layla…”

Sam rolled his eyes, like he usually did when Dean started being too Dean for his liking, “Dean. The case.”

Before he could make another teaseful comment, a roar invaded their audition. The hunters gave each other a quick glance before heading towards the direction of the noise.

Shaking the salt and rosemary mixture in his hands, Dean smirked, “That's it. Time to shine, cupcake.”

“I have to admit. Being patched up by a doctor is better than by Dean.”

A surprised, half relieved laughter came out your body as you finished another stitch on Sam's arm. That boy was unbelievable; openly talking and making jokes about his brother, who was also being patched up by your best friend in company of a bottle of whiskey, while he spoke about Layla's name being a rock song. You were working on a large wound on his shoulder-- which you were sure that was full of dirt from the forest.

Medicine student, but I'll take that complement.” You winked at him, gaining a soft grin from Sammy, “I was expecting more blo-- Why are you smiling? I'm touching a recent wound. It doesn't look dangerous, but I'm sure it is supposed to hurt. A lot.”

Sam's answer came out easily, the bare, vulnerable truth: “I'm happy you are here.”

You looked at him, his hair longer than before, but the soft simper remained on his face. You bit your lip to hold a giggle; her heart dared to hope. What he expected when he said things like this? A quiet contentment spread through his expression while he watched your reaction.

“You should have come home sooner.”

His mouth formed a line, “I don't have a home, (Y/N). It's just Dean, me and the road now.”

“No, Sam.” Shaking your head lightly, you intertwined your fingers with his. His life was dangerous, you couldn't afford the luxury of waiting even more to share what you had finally admitted to yourself in the moment he walked through the door. It didn't seem like the easiest, simpler situation. But the only hard thing you couldn’t go through was to be away from Sam Winchester. He lingered on you for years, you were done letting him run away. It was time to hold his hand and walk together. “You should've come home sooner. To me.”

Comment & reblog. Feedback is magic! Check my masterlist ♡ Tags in reblog!

166 notes · View notes

beautifulterriblequeen · 3 years

Text

Trickster: an Ethari theory

I've had yea many Ethari headcanons, and I hope I live to have yea many more. Most of them are probably wrong, or incomplete at best. But boy are they fun.

I love to wonder what Ethari will really be like in canon when we get to know him for more than 3 minutes, but whoever he really is on his own, he will have an effect on Runaan , Rayla, and everyone who loves him, because they love him.

The first headcanon I can remember having for "Tinker" was that he could be like Leonardo da Vinci: a genius, creative, surrounded by beautiful ideas given shape by his hands, but also capable of creating deadly weapons, enchantments, and devices with equal beauty, and perhaps not really seeing where the line between them was. It was fun, but Ethari has ended up far softer than my headcanon, and I love and support him in his softness!

After a nice string of Ethari headcanons, this year I've started poking at the Trickster archetype and seeing if it applies to him. And I think it absolutely does!

Tricksters often seem like Chaos. But they're not. They're just Difference. "Chaos" is subjective. Like the "divergent" in "neurodivergent." Who says? Divergent from what, exactly? Perspective matters, and Tricksters have a very broad take on things which allows them to think outside any box people might try to invite them into.

My enjoyment of Loki has brought all kinds of ideas to my dash with the arrival of the Loki show. I've got a copy of the Edda, and I highlighted the hell out of it a couple of years ago as I searched for the roots of Loki's origin story. (It's truly fascinating reading and the symbolic language hidden inside their poetry is dazzlingly amazing and I'm super using it sometime just so you know)

Loki is a Trickster, and he's far from alone in myth and legend. Anansi, Coyote, and Sun Wukong are some you may have heard of. Aaravos is another, of course. Tricksters can be called upon to lend aid and wisdom when the rules don't have an answer for some extraordinary circumstance which the Trickster's people find themselves in. But that's not because they are truly outside the rule of order. They are actually a part of it. They are the catch-all for when the everyday ordinary rules fail people, and something "unthinkable"--in the literal sense--might just hold the answer.

This post crossed my dash today, and something finally clicked in my head, and all of this coalesced from what felt like separate places. But they're not separate, not anymore! Serotonin, baby. It's basically upped my headcanon to a full-blown theory.

What caught my eye was an answer to why Ethari's clothing is so determinedly asymmetrical, compared to Runaan's specifically, but Moonshadows in general. It's because of this:

Long protective sleeves below patterns on shoulders. A high collar paired with a bright and noticeable swoop around the neck. Fine detailing and graceful taste. Asymmetrical tunic point on the left, below broad strappy leather. Knee high boots with stylish protective gaiters.

And let's not forget the curling horns! In some comics, Loki has a broken horn. So does Ethari.

Yes, there is a lot of similarity here, but I'm not focused so much on the visuals as the reason they were chosen. Feel free to consider other aspects of Ethari's personality and how they might be similar to certain parts of Loki's. I did! But I wouldn't be me if I didn't go deeper than that.

My favorite book in the universe (so far) is Lois McMaster Bujold's The Curse of Chalion, and one of the many reasons why is because of her pantheon. It holds five gods, represented by a hand: Father, Mother, Son, Daughter, and Bastard. The first four all have their roles and places. The Bastard--the thumb--inherits everything else. He is the god of all things that do not belong to any other gods, and that includes self-sacrificing vengeance and queerness. He is a Trickster, and his influence on Cazaril's life is far deeper than at first glance. Chaos has its place. It belongs, and so do the Tricksters who engender it. God, I love this book. Please read it if you haven't. Bujold's work is amazing.

If you've seen or read any version of MDZS/Untamed, you know that Wei WuXian is a trickster. Competent and badass in battle, but playful and teasing to the point where sometimes even he isn't sure what he truly wants, he can bring a massive amount of power and focus when he wants to. It's always a matter of "but is it important to me?"

I love WWX so much. The Trickster vibe is very apparent in his character, and in a way you just don't get in Western media. We see him on his own, and we see him with family and loved ones. And he's always feeling something so intensely! He's driven by his emotions, for good or ill. He vibes with chaos, and he will create it if it doesn't exist yet. But he will also create family from nothing, and that's something you don't see enough of! WWX is a Trickster with an emotional preference for joy.

In TDP, Ethari doesn't have a lot of lore yet. It's being Moonshadowed because spoilers for future seasons, and I respect that. The longer the wait for S4, the more ideas I will just amuse myself with in the meantime--and yeah, this is one of them, so what? :))) But we do know a little about him.

He loves music. He loves to read. He leaves his mark on things in swirly form. He works very hard, even through headaches, because what he's doing is that important to him, even though he would much rather be making jewelry. He loves taking the time to polish rough stones into brilliant jewels, and he adores big pretty flowers and had them at his wedding.

Ethari has a temper, but he also loves puns. The weapons he crafts are exquisite: "light, elegant, strong, and clever." And he knew darn well that Runaan was trying to flirt with him, but why return a sentiment he may or may not feel yet when he can play with the overly earnest assassin just a little bit first?

Okay, just... A "simple craftsman" deciding that it's going to be fun to toy for a bit with a broody assassin's feelings? Would you risk that? Ethari got balls the size of the moon, and a brain to match. When he has to make weaponry, he does not half-ass it. Ethari's stabby creations nearly have a life of their own. His creations are literally called "trick weapons." This elf is a lot, okay. And it's possible that he doesn't even know how "a lot" he is. Yet.

We're meeting Ethari after he's found something that is, in fact, genuinely important to him: Runaan, and Rayla, and Laindrin too. Ethari has found a relatively stable place to settle and find a role to adopt. I say adopt, though, because making weaponry for his loved ones is not what he grew up wanting to do. It's what he had to do to keep them safe, once he found a place to bestow his heart.

But in the show, Ethari has lost his family, one by one. First Lain and Tiadrin, ghosted. Then Runaan, supposedly fallen on his mission. Then Rayla, ghosted for abandoning Runaan. He and Rayla have reconnected now, but the rest of his family is still out of his reach. If Rayla has indeed told him, by S4, what she learned at the Moonhenge in TTM, then Ethari may parallel Rayla's journey to seek answers. But even if he doesn't know yet, and gets pulled into some other story arc first, we will be seeing Ethari without his family.

Remember the ATLA episode "Zuko Alone"? Consider: "Ethari Alone."

Ethari has chosen, for love, to fit himself into a box that wasn't of his own making. And now that box has broken. His family doesn't need him to be their craftsman anymore. Perhaps others will need him to be other things to them. Or perhaps he will know that his family does need him, but to be far more than just a maker of pretty swords. A rescuer, perhaps. A healer, a guide? An avenger?

A trickster. Capable of taking many shapes, because he understands them all. Ethari works with form and function. If he needs to transform himself, he will.

That's what Tricksters do. It's delightfully queer and delightfully neurodivergent. Ancient peoples accepted and revered the different among them and actively sought their help with things they themselves struggled with.

Tricksters are Difference. Sometimes that manifests as chaos, sometimes as genius. But if you do not love and appreciate your chaos, it will absolutely turn on you. Wei Wuxian did. Loki certainly has, many times. Perhaps Aaravos is doing so as well.

I cannot wait to see what Ethari does with his difference. I have something very specific that I hope he goes and breaks.

All this from a picture of Tom Hiddleston in his Avengers 1 Loki costume? Yeah. Because Ethari was designed to wear asymmetrical clothing, in a Moonshadow culture that prides itself on balance. Sure, there are some other Moonshadows who wear this or that asymmetrical item, and I do love to see it. But Ethari has the most asymmetrical lines of them all. The meta glee I feel knowing that Moonshadow elves are designed to hold many layers of meaning in their appearances--that the writers, creators, and character designers just flexed with them--is truly a delight.

Ethari is asymmetrical. The full and practical application of that is a glass casket, and I hope it becomes a gift that keeps on giving, because boy do I want to keep receiving it. But right now, I'm genuinely seeing evidence of the Trickster archetype in him. And I really hope it gets to come out and play.

#tdp #tdp theory #ethari #trickster #tdp speculation #yes this means a whole new category for ruthari opposites #order and chaos #ethari and order are both on runaan's list of likes #but ethari is higher so #loki #wwx #wei wuxian

41 notes · View notes

brightlotusmoon · 4 years

Text

"It is a truism that there are people, particularly on social media, with whom one simply cannot reason. Hell, some of them aren’t even actual people, but rather bots whose very existence makes every other interaction suspect. And so we could certainly take worse counsel than to avoid wasting our precious little energies on those who make it clear that they do not share our core values, particularly online, and particularly when the values in question are equality, inclusion, respect, and the most basic, fundamental rights of every human being on the planet.

But I worry. I worry that our wholly understandable refusal to engage with one another will ensure that the bifurcation of us as a people, both as a purposeful political strategy by those in power domestically and as a means for external forces to "sow societal chaos and discord*” becomes permanent. And I worry about what it will do to our ability to evolve, both as individuals and as a society.

I look back on my life and I remember a lot of moments that I’d prefer to forget, and that I hesitate to share. I remember when I was fresh out of college and just starting out in business and one of the senior-most guys on my desk, a man I admired greatly, would make fun of the support staff by saying, “We hire the handicapped; they’re fun to watch.” I remember that I laughed. Not because I thought that I had to to keep my job, not because I felt pressured to do so, but because I thought it was funny.

I remember when the girls were tiny and we bought Katie a doll house, and it came with a family of dolls. I remember that I hadn’t noticed that I’d bought the one with the Black family until I’d brought it home and decided it was a happy mistake. But I also remember that when a guest saw it one day, they laughed and said, “Oh, look, the house came with help,” I chuckled, rolled my eyes, and carried on.

I remember when I screwed something up and thought it was funny to mockingly say, “I”m special. I ride the little bus and wear hockey equipment every day.”

I remember raising inordinate amounts of money, making speeches, pleading for pity, all in the name of finding a “cure” for autism, with no idea that the vast majority of the people for whom I was supposedly fighting desperately needed help and support, but had no desire to fundamentally change who they were.

That was ME. The me that you know, the one who fights like hell for equality and dignity and respect, started out as a person who mocked disability and allowed racial jokes to stand unchallenged in her own home. Who effectively silenced her daughter’s autistic peers. And who desperately needed interaction with people who were light years ahead of me to get me to where I am now. And it scares me, on so many levels, to think of how different my behavior might be had I not had those interactions.

Now I want to be as clear as humanly possible that I don’t mean to imply that we owe our time and energy to anyone, particularly those who deny others’ lived experience or excuse brutality or withhold justice or actively fight against equality. And I want to be even clearer that it is absolutely, positively not the job of the oppressed and marginalized to educate their oppressors and marginalizers. A thousand times no, no, and, just for good measure, hell no. No one is entitled to your labor.

But I do want to take a pause to consider what happens when the vast majority of us, particularly those of us with relative privilege who claim to be allies in the fight, simply stop talking to anyone who isn’t already standing shoulder to shoulder with us. What happens to the folks who might just have taken up the mantle of advocacy had they been exposed to a wider variety of people and perspectives? What happens to the ones who are never challenged to examine their own role in perpetuating the systems that keep us separated in the first place? My behavior changed because I had the opportunity to interact with people outside of the bubble in which casual bigotry and degradation and punching down for a laugh were perfectly acceptable. But what if I hadn’t?

Years ago, I became facebook friends with a particularly radical disabled activist who had taken me to task here on diary a number of times. At the time, a close friend asked what the hell I was thinking bringing them into my inner circle. They said something I’ll never forget: “Aren’t you going to be, like, so uncomfortable knowing that they’re seeing all your personal posts? You’re going to have to watch *everything* you say from now on.”

It wasn’t until I’d heard the thought that had been rattling around in my own head out loud that I’d realized just how important it was to be made uncomfortable. How vital it was to be "aware of everything I was saying.” How desperately so many of us needed - and still need - to widen our circles to let in precisely those about whose lives and opinions and reactions we should deeply care.

We can’t take up every fight, particularly not on social media. But I do hope that at least in our brick and mortar lives, we will keep finding avenues to connect, to talk, to learn, and to grow. Because the absence of connection has proven to be fertile ground for nothing but fear, hate, and further division — and we’ve had enough of those to last a lifetime.

* Full quote: "One of the ICA’s most important conclusions was that Russia’s aggressive interference efforts should be considered ‘the new normal.’ That warning has been borne out, as Russia and its imitators increasingly use information warfare to sow societal chaos and discord.” - Republican Senator Richard Burr of North Carolina, Chairman, Senate Intelligence Committee"

And now, me:

FYI, one of my mentors is the activist mentioned, Radical Neurodivergent K, who coined the term neurodivergence many years ago, who will indeed take you to task regardless of what your brain is. And it's only been since 2013 that I discovered I was autistic, but in that time I have experienced and listened to so many ways of thinking, I've put them all in a crucible, and I keep trying to explain that just because you know a thing it doesn't mean you have all the knowledge. You always have more to learn. Information changes, expands, updates, increases. It's really easy to be a hypocrite. You need to keep listening to yourself, and you can't just burst in to gatekeep no matter how you feel.

A good example might be: an "Aspie Supremacist" insisting I or other autistic fans can't make an autistic headcanon about a fictional character who displays autistic traits because, according to that gatekeeper, the character doesn't have all the "right" traits, meaning their own traits, because they still retain their Aspergers diagnosis. By itself this is deep internalized ableism, and now it's with the added insult of an outdated diagnosis connected to a eugenics program that makes me extremely uncomfortable. Because Aspergers Syndrome is autism full stop, and functioning labels don't work and are arbitrary. Nobody needs to be that haughty or condescending to another neurotribe member, especially when it comes to expressing very personalized imaginings. That's kind of what Headcanons are about.

Anyway.

5 notes · View notes

oneawkwardcookie · 4 years

Text

911 Fox 3x18

It took me almost two hours to watch this episode because I had to keep stopping:

I'm so excited and scared at the same time

There's Rumer Willis' character in the carriage Abby was originally in...

Where's her fiance in the first scene?

He stopped waiting for me a long time ago (not that long ago!)

Bobby... Don't make those sounds ever again

How did Eddie mark it so quickly?!?

Aww Chim: first Bobby is rolling his eyes at you in the kitchen, then everyone's looking at you when you don't big up Hen

Lol the fireplace

Awww Josh researching

Find new words (go Maddie)

How many carriages does this train have?

All the good things that are coming: Aaah I can hear the train

After seeing Brooke Shields in Jane the Virgin, I can't take her seriously

Holy shit I never realised that the car was full on Titanic

Eddie just hovering in the background

Eddie going to tap buck on the back as he leaves but he doesn't??

Why'd Buck look over to Eddie when Sam asks about Abby?

Bobby, why are you going in?!?

They're a shish kabob! (I mean they’re not but it reminded me of that fic)

I don't think it's fair to compare traumas: oof

2 months to the wedding. He's got two kids eek. You can see Buck’s wheels turning

A lot heavier than a firetruck : my poor baby has been through so much 😭

I don't know if I've ever heard so much emotion (fear? concern?) as when Eddie says "Buck stop"

Also, what is that look on Eddie's face when he says Abby (realisation, but also frustration, disgust, etc.)

It's not yours to take :Bobby is so scared and worried for his son

I am not Athena: ooh boy that was not the right thing to say

Athena needs a hug

Your dad is in the best hands: yeah they are

Buck you nutter, but at least you’re initially not on the side that would fall down?

Bobby has had enough stress for a lifetime

Proud Bobby is my favourite Bobby

Hen and Chim working together

Cos she's brilliant: you know it Chim (and so are you!)

"You're Buck" dude can't catch a break lolz

Buck you're not okay, don't walk away from Eddie asking you about how you feel!

I've always been able to trust my gut: Athena, you've just got lucky with how many times you walk into places without backup (that guy she found stabbed on the floor, valentines day incident - I'm sure there's more I can't remember)

Josh went full on savage

Proud friend Maddie

The tumour has shrunk: Michael you scared us!

I was just waiting for elevator doctor and here he is!

Seeing how Buck is around Abby: his initial facial expression just gives away how he turns into a version of himself that is nervous, unsure, almost more childish. Not a good luck Evan :/

Buck no, don't look so confused and distrustful when Abby says that Sam said he seemed like a great guy

That's what you're sorry for : go OFF Buck, GO OFF

Buck is gonna make me cry

Abby, what you're saying about your identity, that's Buck AND he was helping you (oh shit oh shit don't make Buck leave his job... unless he goes to South America and we get a Buck Begins... No actually, not even then)

Say sorry, say sorry, say sorry

That's a sucky excuse and you know it

Ugh no, Abby, tell him he deserves happiness too

“So do you dad” - May really is Athena's daughter

Seeing Bobby with a glass of water - thank you!

Eddie's dancing with Chris is the background - my heart exploded

That pink wig

Eddie in those sunglasses

Buck has the hand writing (and the message) of a eight year old

Scratch that, Christopher's message being better than Buck's - I'm crying

That high kick into the photo booth

I think May wants to be a nurse - all y'alls headcanons will come true

Have we - have we ever got a Karen and Eddie scene before? Season 4 needs more Eddie and the Wilson family.

Buck just wanted all the necklaces (reminding me of that lonely island song)

You don't see the greatness? No - Karen is an underused comic genius

What even is that face when Buck hits Eddie with the bells???

Bobby dad dancing

Chim will be the best dad

#television #911 fox #911 season 3 #3x18 #cookie reviews #this was a rollercoaster #i'm off work today hence the double posting spree before I give myself a breather from tumblr #op

4 notes · View notes

codevassie · 5 years

Note

hi! a'ight first off i just wanna say your ASFoS fic is quite possibly the dopest shit i've ever read. like. i saved some of the songs from that playlist and i stiLL get emotional when they come up on shuffle so yeaH amazing work!!!

CV: Omg thank you SO MUCH!!! I can’t tell you enough how happy it made me to see this! ASFoS is my baby. That playlist too! I’m curious which songs you liked.Alright, on to the one-shot. I hope you like it! I didn’t know how much I wanted to write this au until I got this request?? Now I have sooo many headcanons. So thank you and enjoy!

Note: Sorry if I got anything to the PJO universe incorrect. I can’t remember every single detail of the books and, I must say, that is one of my greatest downfalls as a human being. I will be working on my other request shortly, but requests are still open, so stop by!Btw, this takes place during Sea of Monsters.

“One,” Keith murmured to himself as he plucked at a strawberry, dropping it into the basket at his feet. “Two, three, four,” he continued counting.

The wind swept past, rustling his bangs across his sweaty forehead. The sun beat down, the weather adjusted for camper comfort, but not the physical labor of hours in the strawberry fields.

“Five… six…” Two more thumps into the basket, filling fuller with the ruby red fruit, delicious where they shined in the bright sunlight. “Seven…”

Keith paused, hand carefully extended to number eight. His fingertips brushed its smooth surface, but he retracted it before it plucked.

He righted himself from his bent posture, directing his line of sight across the field where numerous others were hard at work. The satyrs played their music. The Demeter and Dionysus kids wiggled their fingers, making the vines dance. There were some other kids who had gotten roped into the task too, but mostly it was just them. Satyrs. Demeter and Dionysus kids. And that one kid who hadn’t been claimed yet.

For eight years.

It really had been that long now, hadn’t it? Keith had stumbled his way into camp eight years ago, dirty, scared, orphaned, and only seven years old. Somehow, he had found his way there, in a place he was supposed to belong. Finally.

Except, not even at Camp Half Blood had Keith really belonged. He’d been stuck in the cabin of rejects, of extras, of forgottens. And, whoever his godly parent out there was, they hadn’t cared to get him out.

Hadn’t bothered to send just the tiniest sign. For eight years.

Suddenly, Keith didn’t feel like working in the field anymore. That eighth strawberry could pluck itself.

So he gathered his basket and walked to one of the others, handing it over before making his way out of the fields. He was tired from his work, and nothing sounded better than a bed right now - a bed which had taken years to earn since he wasn’t even an official part of the Hermes cabin and all - but he wouldn’t be going back to the cabin just yet. If there was anything guaranteed about the chaos of the Hermes cabin, it was that there would always be people in it, always a crowd, and Keith didn’t feel like dealing with a crowd right now.

Instead, he went to the arena where only a couple of people had decided to spend their afternoon. Since the border had been poisoned, the weather had become increasingly hotter and its magic was unable to regulate it. Most people were inside, with the air conditioning.

So Keith found himself a corner of the arena and started to hack away at one of the dummies. He was already sweating from his work in the fields and the scorching weather, but he decided he didn’t care much as long as he got to swing his sword, stretch his muscles, and ignore the world.

He didn’t want to think of it all. The border. The monster attacks. That Percy kid off on another quest to save them all. Luke…

“Aren’t you sick of it? How many years has it been now and your mom won’t claim you?”

Eight years…

He swallowed down the sick feeling that rose in his throat, putting extra effort into slashing the dummy. It split, half of it falling to the ground. Shit, now he’d have to replace that.

Keith threw his sword into the dirt, leaving it to stick up like Excalibur in the stone, while he went to drag away the useless dummy. He tried to forget Luke’s voice. He tried to forget how tempting it had been to follow. He’d trusted Luke. He’d looked up to the guy - was even kind of close to him, considering no one survived in the Hermes cabin without having known its cabin leader. He had been a great cabin leader.

But it hadn’t been a shock, really. Keith regretted that - that he had almost seen it coming. Luke had always been so bitter towards their parents. There had always been something off about the way he brushed it off, like he had to force himself to calm down.

It was something achingly familiar, this grudge that Luke held onto. Like a life raft. This resentment towards their parents Keith understood completely. He didn’t think a war was necessary for it, but he understood.

Despite this, a lot of people were wary of him now. More and more unclaimed were disappearing from camp to join Luke. Why would Keith not? Eight years was a long time to wait, after all…

And maybe Keith might have. If not for Shiro.

Shiro was the closest thing Keith had to a brother. Once upon a time, it had made him consider the chances of being a child of Hebe. He’d gotten rid of that idea almost immediately. Children of Hebe were way too good to be anything like him. Not that he had much to go off of. Shiro was the only claimed child of Hebe at camp at the moment, and, even though he was stuck in with all the unclaimed and Hermes kids, he never seemed resentful. He always paid attention too. He helped kids get settled in when they arrived, made sure they had plenty of people they could go to, even kept an eye on them after they’d been claimed and moved cabins. It was just in his nature to care - something Keith couldn’t understand how he did for all the brain cells he put into the notion.

But it had really helped him throughout the years. Shiro had always been there for him, since he’d first arrived three years ago. After so long of being alone, it was nice to have someone like Shiro.

Dragging the dummy out of the way, Keith thought about going to find Shiro. Maybe they could spar together. Or go to the dining pavilion - it was close to lunch anyway. Just then, though, a voice interrupted his thoughts.

“Oh, hi, Keith,” Lotor said, walking up to him with purpose, tailed by the two girls who were always following him around. “Here all alone? I suppose it makes sense an unclaimed doesn’t have any friends.”

“Piss off, Lotor,” Keith spat, pulling out a dummy and carrying it over to one of the empty mounts.

“I guess it makes sense that you have no friends at camp. I heard they’re all with Luke. Only a matter of time until you follow, I suppose,” Lotor said, sighing like he really believed in that inevitable. Keith felt his blood boil.

“I’m not turning on camp,” he said, turning to Lotor suddenly. “And, for your information, I have friends here too.”

“Oh, yes, whatever,” Lotor said, waving his words away like particularly annoying flies. “Anyway, we were going to spar, but we seem to be uneven here. Care to join?”

Keith knew that was a bad idea. Everyone knew that was a bad idea. You see, Lotor was a kid of Tyche, the goddess of luck, and a pretty powerful one at that. Going against Lotor was stupid, dumb; he’d lose for sure.

Which is exactly why he couldn’t back down each time. Lotor had won too many times, and Keith was determined to bring him down. It wasn’t fair, especially when Lotor won on nothing but his own unnatural luck. Keith was brought down time after time from a misplaced foot or the awkward angle of his sword. The fights were never on skill, and that frustrated Keith to Hades.

When he accepted Lotor’s offer this time, he ended up on the ground not two seconds into the spar. But, hot-blooded as Keith was, he kept going back. And back. And back. Any time Lotor challenged him, Keith was there to take up the offer, as many times as he continued to lose.

Keith was good, but luck, luck was better. Luck had never been on Keith’s side.

“Again, Kogane?” Lotor asked from above, but Keith was already exhausted. The adrenaline from Lotor’s initial challenge was already wearing off, especially after he had already been sparring all day, even long before Lance had arrived.

But Keith had never been known to do things for his own good. He rose to his feet, readied his sword. “Again.”

He was taken down time and time again, none of it by skill, all by happenstance. Stupid things. A foot in the wrong place. A wrong sword angle.

It wasn’t long until Ezor and Zethrid were laughing their butts off. Lotor chuckled too as he watched Keith rise once again, wiping sweat from his forehead. “If this is what Luke is looking to recruit, camp should win without problem.”

Keith was exhausted. He knew, logically, he wouldn’t win anything like this, but he couldn’t leave it at this. Lotor would get what was coming to him and Keith would be the one to deliver it. Eventually, his luck had to run out.

“I bet you’re staying at camp to do the recruiting for him,” Lotor laughed. “How pathetic that he would choose someone who has gone years without being claimed.”

Keith brandished his sword before him. Lotor rolled his eyes, but he put his sword up again too.

“I’m not working for Luke,” Keith gritted out through clenched teeth. His voice shook. He knew he was letting Lotor get to him.

Shaking the emotions away, Keith readied himself to lunge again when a voice interrupted them. A familiar voice. A voice Keith did not want to hear right now.

“What’s going on here?” Lance asked, stalking up to them, flanked by two other kids. Keith recognized them. It would have been strange not to, as long as he’d lived at camp. It was Hunk and Pidge, a child of Hephaestus and a wood nymph. Keith wondered what they were doing there.

“Keith, why are you always doing this?” Pidge asked, stalking forward to look up at him with this look in their eyes. He knew exactly what they were referring to. What they all saw, and what they all knew of his record with Lotor.

“Sparring,” he grunted simply, trying to stand tall despite the exhaustion dragging down his limbs. He crossed his arms, trying to appear put together. Pidge, of course, saw straight through him. And so did everyone around.

“Don’t spar with him,” Pidge said, practically growling on the last word as they glared at Lotor. Lotor just looked on, amused and innocent. At this, though, he spoke up.

“Keith here seems just fine sparring with me,” he said, shrugging a shoulder and smirking. “And I’d really like to continue, if you three don’t mind.”

They both turned toward Keith, Lotor with a challenge in his eye that set a fire in him that wanted to lash out, Pidge with a disapproving look. “Keith,” they said in warning.

Keith had never really listened to them when it came to stuff like this. He didn’t even listen to Shiro half the time when it came to Lotor. He turned back toward Lotor, lifting his sword. “Pidge, give us space.”

“Nope! Nope nope, nuh-uh,” Lance suddenly cut in, making Keith look his way. He was walking forward, coming to stand next to Pidge. “You, my friend, are exhausted. Don’t be an idiot.”

“Seriously? You’re calling me an idiot and expecting me to listen to you?” Keith asked, putting down his sword yet again to turn toward him.

“Yep,” Lance said, self-assured. “And you’re going to.”

“And why is that?” Keith couldn’t help but ask.

Suddenly, Lance seemed to get serious. He leaned forward, talking in a low voice and holding Keith’s eyes to his like glue. “Because, if you keep sparring Lotor like this, you’re never going to win. You’re probably the only one at this camp who can do it, but if you go in blindly like this, he’s never going to get what he deserves. And that’s to eat dirt at the tip of your sword.”

Keith paused, letting the words going through his mind, felt them tug on him, felt them tug him toward Lance, to put down the sword. Lance was right. Keith wanted Lotor to get what he deserved so bad, but Lance was right. That wouldn’t happen today. That wouldn’t happen when he didn’t have the strength to do it, or the level head to execute it.

So he clutched at his sword, then sheathed it. He turned toward Lotor. “Another day.”

And, with that, he followed the three out of the arena.

-/-

Lance, Pidge, and Hunk invited him to the mess hall for lunch, but Keith turned them down. Instead, he went to the showers, then back to the Hermes cabin, deciding to call it a day.

“Long day?” another camper asked as she walked by. Keith merely grunted in affirmation and Romelle giggled. She was a new comer there, yet she had already been claimed. Daughter of Iris. Apparently, since Iris was a messenger goddess, Romelle had inherited some strange ability to project thoughts into others’ minds.

Feel better, she whispered into his mind, and he pushed back a Thank you that he hoped she got.

“I’m heading to Athena cabin,” she called as she left, and Keith could hear the excitement in her voice. That was another thing. As the daughter of the goddess of rainbows, she also claimed to it was her god(dess) given right to be as hopelessly gay for cabin six resident Allura as possible.

“Good luck,” Keith called, but she was already gone. He chuckled, then dropped his head back into his pillow. He stayed like that for a while, listening as voices carried in and out of the cabin. No one paid him any mind and no one disturbed him. Eventually, he was able to drift off, sleeping away much of the hot and sticky day as he could in the tolerably okay temperatures of the busiest cabin.

When he awoke, it was with regret. Mid-day naps were never a good idea. He felt groggy, somehow more tired than when he’d gone to sleep, but, as he tried to roll over and drift again, his body kick-started, letting him know that he would not be getting any more sleep any time soon. Great, he pissed his body off.

So, with a groan, he sat up, rubbing at his eyes. When he looked around, he noticed that the cabin was darker, but still relatively empty. Beams of orange sunlight streamed in at odd angles, signalling a sunset over the Big House and time for dinner. Keith wasn’t sure if he was really hungry, but, then again, he’d only had breakfast that day and Shiro would surely come looking for him if he skipped two meals.

He huffed before swinging his legs over the bed, getting ready to stand before he saw another inhabitant of the cabin. Lance, laying in is bunk across the room, book propper up on his pillow where he had been reading on his stomach, was staring over at him. Keith’s wasn’t sure if it was the sunset or what, but his cheeks looked particularly dark.

“Lance?” he asked, causing the boy in question to jump.

“Keith!” he exclaimed, cheeks going even darker. “You’re up!”

“Yeah…” he replied, then stretched a bit, arms overhead. Lance made an odd sound. “Are you not going to dinner?”

Sounding rather strangled, Lance replied, “No, no. I am.”

“Okay…” Keith said, finally catching up to the awkwardness of the situation. He paused. “Well, we should get there?”

“What?” Lance squeaked. “Like, together?”

Keith frowned. “Um, I guess?” Why was Lance being so weird. “Why are you being so weird?” he decided to ask. Lance blinked, then shook his head, sitting up from his position. He cleared his throat.

“Weird? No, not weird. You’re weird,” he accused, jumping down from the bed. “Let’s go get food.”

Keith, confused but amused, chuckled and shook his head. “Alright,” he said as he followed after.

Much of the walk there was spent in silence, and Keith watched the sunset, watched the blue of the Big House and the lonely porch swing out front. He looked up into the pavilion, seeing the commotion of kids getting food, scraping into the offering, talking and laughing and crowding into the Hermes table. But Keith’s thoughts wandered back down to the arena, looking at the desolate area and thinking about earlier in the day.

“Thanks for earlier,” Keith said, startling Lance.

“Huh?” Lance asked, brows furrowing in a cute way. Keith shook the thought from his head, refusing to get stuck on that bullshit again.

“When I was sparring Lotor. I shouldn’t have taken it so far.”

“Oh,” Lance said, then shrugged. “No problem. I know how you get.”

“Do you?” Keith asked, genuinely curious. He hadn’t been aware that anyone paid attention to him. Shiro kept tabs on him. Pidge would beat up anyone who messed with him. Lotor did so only to the extent that he could piss him off. But Lance?

“Well, you’re always fighting Lotor, even though no one has beat him. He’s just got way too much luck for it to be worth it. But you think it’s worth it.”

“It’ll be worth it when he understands he can’t always win,” Keith huffed, frustrated and tired all at once. It was always an uphill battle when it came to Lotor. Or, maybe not even uphill. He was on a cliff and Keith couldn’t scale it. There was never any progress.

“But you always go at it when you’re not ready,” Lance pointed out, and Keith’s attention snapped to him. He frowned, ready to protest, but Lance continued. “Your emotions get everywhere, then you tire yourself out, then you won’t think straight. You’re way too impulsive.”

“That doesn’t matter. One of these days, I’ll beat him.”

“Not like that, you won’t,” Lance shook his head. “Hermes kids are like a Jack of All Trades, you know? So I know what it’s like to spread myself between different things. I’m not great at anything, but I can be alright at a couple.”

“You’re selling yourself short,” Keith said without thinking of it, then went red at the compliment. Lance looked at him a bit incredulously and Keith cleared his throat, determined now that he had said it, to explain. “I mean, you’re good at a lot of things, and it’s not just ‘alright’. Being a Hermes kid means you have the capacity to understand a whole lot, and you do.”

“Oh,” Lance said, and Keith turned towards him. His eyes were wide and staring at him, the tips of his ears red in the setting sun. He averted his gaze almost immediately, but Keith’s heart was already thumping wildly in his chest. There was the smallest of smiles on Lance’s lips as he determinedly stared down at his scuffed up tennis shoes, and it made a smile of his own appear on Keith’s face. “Thanks,” Lance said.

“It’s the truth,” Keith replied simply, turning to look back ahead of them again. They were quickly approaching the mess hall.

“Yeah, well, so, it’s like that,” Lance said, clearing his throat and tapping his fingers to his thigh, looking all around, probably to avoid Keith’s gaze. “Beating Lotor isn’t going to rely on just one of your skills. You have to pay attention to a lot more than that. You have to use your head as well as your instincts to figure it out.”

For a moment, Keith was silent. He watched the pavilion where he could see Shiro at the offering fire talking to Pidge’s brother, eyes soft as Shiro laughed at something Matt said. Lotor’s words filled his head again, the accusations he knows everyone must be thinking.

Shiro was the only one who had known just how close Keith had come at one point to actually following Luke out of there. One night, he had exploded with the frustration of it all and Shiro had been the one to calm him down. He’d told Keith not to cling to resentment, to use his head instead of running head first in with anger. It made sense then and it made sense now.

And, surprisingly, coming from Lance, it calmed him down easier than Shiro’s own go at it had. When Lance said it, it sounded like a plan, it sounded like something, not only logical, but attainable.

“I’ll think about that,” Keith said with a nod. Then, they stepped into the pavilion and were swept up in the hassle of kids all around and the delicious smells of dinner.

“And, Keith?” Lance asked. Keith turned to look at him, surrounded by excited kids and sloshing drinks and the smell of sweet burning. Lance scratched his head, looking sheepish, when he said, “About what Lotor was saying to you…”

“About what?” Keith asked, but he had a bad feeling that he knew what. He swallowed, unable to tear his gaze from Lance’s. His worry must have shown on his face because Lance’s gaze softened.

“I know that you aren’t with Luke, and so do a lot of people here. You’ve been at camp for too long to actually think that we could believe that. Too many here have your back for that. You know that, right?”

Keith felt frozen on the outside, but his insides were alive and a squirming hot mess. Suddenly, there was a lump in his throat and he had to look away in order to swallow it down, nodding his head.

“Yeah,” he said as evenly as he could. “Thanks, Lance.”

“No problem, man.”

-/-

“Keith,” Lotor greeted, walking into the arena and making an immediate detour his way. Keith, who had just been sharpening his sword before practice, turned to him with a scowl, clutching the whetstone tighter. He rubbed the pommel of his sword with a thumb, back and forth.

“What do you want, Lotor?” he asked, already on guard. Lotor didn’t have his lackies today, though, and the arena was considerably full of campers, all training for the day. Lotor wouldn’t try to pull anything.

“Our fight was interrupted the other day. Since we both seem to be in for practice, why don’t we give it another go?” Lotor smiled cruelly down at him, flicking a tiny lock of white hair that had fallen into his face away.

“So, you want someone to beat down for the day?” Keith translated, unable to really care about his pride at the moment, especially when a shocked look crossed Lotor’s face. This guy really needed someone who could counteract his powers if he ever wanted to become a better swordsman. Keith would prove that luck couldn’t always win one day, and then Lotor won’t have a single way to get better for those instances.

“I suppose I will have to go easy on you, then?” Lotor asked, rolling his eyes, but Keith shook his head.

“I won’t need it,” he huffed, feeling frustration bubble up inside him. Then, he remembered Lance’s words.

“You’re way too impulsive.”

Impulsive indeed. Keith paused, collecting his thoughts, letting his emotions settle down. He took the time to consider… was fighting Lotor right now a good idea?

He wasn’t tired from practice. And he had sorted out his emotions. His frustration was a dull murmur in his head, but, overall, he could think clearly. If there was ever a time, Keith decided it was now.

So he walked out into the open space, turning to face Lotor, who had done the same. People around the arena seemed to have taken notice and were hushing and gathering, interested to see how another Keith vs Lotor match would go. There were no exchanges of hands in the audience. They all obviously thought they knew how it would go.

And it probably would. Keith had lost to Lotor enough times to realize that, and could think clearly enough to know that he still wanted to try. He would never give up on trying to teach Lotor this lesson: that he couldn’t always win. Since he wouldn’t give up, he might as well learn from the fight.

So he raised his sword, defensive before him and stance low. Lotor tied back his hair, then mirrored the stance. Keith could hear murmurs in the crowd. He breathed one more deep in and out. He was ready as he’d ever be.

Then, he lunged.

Their swords clanged in a metallic ring, screeched as they broke apart, and repeated its reverberations over and over as they each attempted to disarm the other, and put each other in check-mate. He let his body carry him through on instinct, but maintained a clear head, watching to make sure his feet landed correctly, and his blade didn’t skid horribly. He was on the look-out for blatant uses of Tyche’s luck, but it was hard to divide his attention between his opponent and everything else.

One moment, his foot stepped to the side, far from where he’d meant, and he knew what was at play. Lotor’s sword came down to trip him, but Keith moved at the very last second, breathing heavily as the toll of the fight dragged on his limbs. Lotor was fluid and natural, but even he looked to be feeling the effects.

It showed most especially in the increasing number of Keith’s simple screw-ups, things that would have rarely happened had he not been against such strong luck. Somehow, though, he barely dodged each one.

“You have to use your head as well as your instincts to figure it out,” Lance’s voice in his head reminded him.

Balance. It was something Lotor lacked. There was no balance between his wins and losses. There was no balance between his goods and bads. Luck spun everything around Lotor, and he avoided the natural order of the world with it. Keith had lacked balance too, relying on his instinct and frustration to carry him through his battles. Not anymore.

Keith’s sword skidded at an odd angle along Lotor’s blade, heading straight for the dirt below them, and, after that, Keith would be unforgivably open for take-down. He could feel the power behind the move, the golden luck winding its way around Lotor’s blade, blessing it, and its repercussions, its own way of balancing the world, pushing all the bad luck onto Keith’s blade. Every action has an equal and opposite reaction.

But this action and reaction were twisting the natural order, pushing things around that weren’t meant to happen. And Keith felt his need to right it.

Then, he pushed that need into the power he felt around him, burning away the luck and bad luck and leaving only the way of the world. He felt it all cancel out, his blade swinging with his weight so that, instead of falling into the dirt, it spun around with his body and fell back on the other side of Lotor’s blade. Lotor, for a moment, looked shell-shocked, before he snarled and bat away the blade.

They were back into the throng of it, metal clangs, the audience’s cheers, sweat in their eyes. Keith could feel the luck working around him, working against him, but he could also feel something else. He could feel it canceling with each of his moves. He could feel the luck withering away.

And Lotor could too. His swings became harder, his spurts of luck more and more desperate. They were both tiring, but, somehow, in some way, Lotor’s luck was running out.

Then, in a display of great irony, Lotor’s foot misstepped. Keith reached forward with his own, hooking around the ankle and pulling. Lotor fell right to the ground, wincing as his head hit the dirt. Keith kicked the sword from his hand, then hovered over his pliant body, surprise on his usually impassive face. He pointed his sword at Lotor’s jugular and called for his concession.

Swallowing, Lotor looked around, then down at the blade at his throat. He must have known Keith wouldn’t hurt him, but the sight seemed to scare him all the same. He’d rarely been in this position in his life, now had he? And the sudden appearance of it must have opened up some sort of crisis in his brain.

“I concede,” Lotor said, his voice shaking, then Keith lowered his sword and offered a hand up.

Surprisingly enough, Lotor accepted, though, once standing on his feet, he fled immediately, not looking back. Keith didn’t have time to dwell on that, though, because, almost immediately afterward, he felt someone tackle into his side.

“Oh my gods, Keith! You did it!” Lance practically shouted in his ear. Keith was stunned, momentarily, by the sudden closeness, and it must have shown on his face because, when Lance looked at him, their faces mere centimeters apart, he stopped short, eyes widening and sucking in a breath. Lance backed away very quickly. “Sorry.”

But Keith just laughed. “That’s alright.”

That was when he heard the crowd around him, all cheering and rushing in with congratulations. Pidge and Hunk were there too, whooping and hollering, and Keith felt a smile grow on his face.

Then, everything stopped. The crowd shushed around him, and they all ceased approaching, suddenly looking wide-eyed. Some were excited, some looked confused others pointed somewhere overhead.

Keith glanced toward Lance, but he was frozen too, looking somewhere above.

Keith looked too.

“Oh,” he breathed, the glowing sigil a dull pulsing glow in the midafternoon sun. Around him, campers started to kneel, as was custom. He watched as they all lowered themselves, like a great wave. Hunk and Pidge knelt, the nymph, sending him a thumbs up when they saw his gaze. He saw, towards the back of the crowd, Shiro approach and kneel, holding a fist to his chest as he watched on in pride. Keith saw so many of his friends from the Hermes’ cabin there, including Romelle, and Allura next to her too.

And he saw Lance, at the front and still closest to him, kneel with a reassuring smile and a nod of his head. Chiron wasn’t present, so Lance seemed to take it upon himself to do the honors.

“All Hail,” he said, voice strong and carrying over the throngs of people, “Keith Kogane, son of Nemesis.”

#requests #klance #vld #voltron #chb au

10 notes · View notes

randomminer · 5 years

Text

Some More Hogwarts Mystery Asks: MC & Jacob

1) How did you come up with you MC’s name?

-Heard the first name in the background of a video game some years ago. I thought it sounded cool and remembered it when I had to name my MC.

-Then I tried to decide what muggle last name Svari would be drawn to. Sally Ride kept popping into my head, probably because it sounded so similar to Svari. After doing some research, I found out that Sally Ride did actually go into space the year before our MC went to Hogwarts. So naturally, Svari would have recently heard of her and maybe even started to idolize her. To the point she chose Ride as her last name.

-Svari's middle name was the first name of her paternal grandmother, Isobel McGonagall.

2) How did you come up with your MC and Jacob’s backstory (family, where they’re from, their relationship with each other, etc.)?

-I'd been playing around with Potter head cannon for as long as I've read the books. But when JK Rowling started giving very detailed backgrounds of her characters, I really liked McGonagall's story. Her mother leaving the wizarding world for love, her father loving his wife and accepting her background even though he was some sort of priest, excelling in Hogwarts, sadly breaking a muggle man's heart so she could stay in the wizarding world, getting a career in law enforcement and then teaching, eventually marrying but keeping her maiden name, loosing her husband, and just being an icon.

Anyway, I knew I wanted my MC to be connected to McGonagall somehow. And while McGonagall's story was very detailed, there wasn't much on her two brothers' lives other than they both had at least one child and the youngest of the two was killed by Death Eaters. I adjusted Svari's story to fit into all that.

Jacob was just a surprise 😂. I didn't know we'd be having an older sibling thrown into this. I had already thought up Svari's twin cousins, Mary and Garrett, and didn't want to get rid of them, so Malcolm McGonagall got an unexpected third child.

3) How did you come up with your version of Jacob?

-I've had to build Jacob's story off of what I'm learning about him in the game. He would be older than Svari, they were close, and she was obviously hurt when he disappeared. For the most part, I've just built Jacob based on the kind of cousin Svari would love to be around.

4) How does your MC cope with everything they’ve endured with Jacob, R, and the Vaults?

-Svari has had to deal with a lot of stuff in her short life. Her father is dead, her mother and cousin have disappeared, she's been sent away from her original family (the peri flock), she is constantly bullied for her non-human features, she has to be mindful of herself so she doesn't accidentally transform, and to top it all off, the freaking vaults!

It's enough stress to make anyone develop anxiety and want to live in solitude. But I think Svari takes her weaknesses and uses them for strength.

For example, a person may be to anxious to make a face to face order from a McDonald's cashier for themselves. But if a friend of theirs admitted they were also too scared to order, you can bet your ass that person will suddenly have the courage to step up and order McDonald's for themselves AND their friend.

Something about not wanting your loved ones to experience the same bad feelings you do makes people brave enough to do what needs to be done.

In Svari's case, she meets and befriends other magical outcasts like her. People who are half human, who have been turned, who are seen as lowly because of their differences. Wanting to spare them from the same feelings of inadequatacy, hopelessness, and shame gives Svari the will to get up and endure another day.

In turn, her human friends at Hogwarts, who see Svari for who she is and love her anyway, help her to see humanity isn't a heartless race. But rather is made up of individuals, some for good, some for I'll, and some who don't fit a category.

6) How does your Jacob cope with Duncan’s death?

-I haven't really developed Jacob's character much. I worry about making it match with the future plans of the game. But I imagine Jacob changed after Duncan's death. Probably started to withdraw from others, including Svari. He may have had a guilty outburst at some of them just before disappearing. I've tried to think of the possible outcomes JamCity could have in mind for Jacob. If he is in hiding or being held prisoner, I imagine he feels on some level he deserves the misery. Or if he is in a state of suspended animation, he probably doesn't feel anything. I don't know.

7) Describe your MC in 5 words or less &/or using 5 or less gifs

8) Does your MC have any sentimental items?

-Svari has three items she would hate to loose:

- the woven leather bracelet her mother gave her before she left for Hogsmead

- the fang necklace her Uncle made for fun and gave to her before his death

- her leather jacket, the first item she bought for herself

9) Describe your Jacob in 5 words or less &/or 5 or less gifs

10) Does your Jacob have any sentimental items?

-Jacob's mom, Teresa McGonagall, is a muggle born originally from a ranch in Texas, USA. Every Christmas and birthday, Garrett, Mary, and Jacob could always expect Texas themed gifts from Pop Pop and Nana (by muggle mail). Nana would go all out and send belt buckles, pecan candy, crosses made out of horse shoes, the Texas state flag printed on coffee mugs, spicy and BBQ flavored everything. But Pop Pop preferred to make the grandkids gifts, usually a little somethingthing made out of carved wood or knotted rope. The year after the twins would start Hogwarts, Pop Pop passed away from a sudden heart attack. While everyone was devastated, Jacob had been closest to his grandfather. That Christmas, Nana sent her usual gifts, but for Jacob, she also sent his grandfather's old bolo tie. Jacob never wore it himself, but it always had a place of honor hanging on the living room wall under Pop Pop's smiling portrait (the unmoving muggle kind). From the day he got it until the day he disappeared, Jacob would always give the bolo a quick touch as he was heading out the door.

11) What is your MC’s favourite store to shop at?

-Svari isn't one for retail therapy, but she loves window shopping in old book stores and antique shops. I think she may have also enjoyed visits to Honeydukes, Zonkos, and Weasleys with her friends.

12) What is your Jacob’s favourite store to shop at?

-I think of Jacob as interested in the secrets of the magical world. So he probably would have liked book stores or connections like Jae and Dung.

13) What is your MC’s favourite thing from Honeydukes?

-Svari likes the prank and sour candies

14) What is your Jacob’s favourite thing from Honeydukes?

-Jacob loves Chocolate Frogs and has quite the card collection.

15) Which Marauder is your MC most like?

-Svari would probably be most like James post Hogwarts. She looks out for the weak, is brave, smart, willing to give her life for others, and keeps her emotions in check. Something Sirius wouldn't do.

16) Which Marauder is your Jacob most like?

-Jacob is most like Remus, but not as sickly or submissive. He is very intelligent, has seen some shit, keeps to himself, but is kind.

17) Something your MC and Jacob like to tease each other about and use to embarrass each other?

-Svari and Jacob each have one parent from outside of the UK. Teresa McGonagall is from Texas and Roxanna is from the Middle East. The cousins both some times accidentally slip into that parent's accent. When they catch each other doing so, it causes roars of laughter between them.

18) A headcanon about your MC?

- loves muggle sci-fi tv (very much a Trekie)

- doesn't like wearing dresses or the color white (makes her afraid to move because she's worried she'll get it dirty)

- can brew potions in Acceptable to Outstanding grade levels, but can't cook to save her life

19) A headcanon about your Jacob?

- his patronus is an armadillo

- can play guitar, banjo, piano, and harmonica

- allergic to bee stings

20) A song for your MC and Jacob?

- probably something by Journey

#svari ride #hphm #mc #hogwarts mystery

1 note · View note