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#maybe he thought it was part of his general curse of horrible luck; his punishment for failure
shadeswift99 · 2 years
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This took a while to sink in for me, so there's a good chance someone else has already said it, but...I don't think Joel was ever cured of the Boogeyman curse?
He got his kill, yes, but he died so soon after that I don't think the actual cure was ever administered to him. And he had eleven confirmed kills by the end, the most on the entire server, by a long shot. He was absolutely devoted to taking as many people down as he could, just so zoned in on that goal... The life of a red name has been described by many as an unnatural bloodlust. And the Boogeymen of Last Life have described their condition as an itch, a red mist, something that impairs your judgement and pushes you down a murderous path....
It is entirely possible that by some glitch or neglect, Joel spent the majority of Last Life running around with twice the amount of bloodlust as a red name is supposed to have. And honestly, yeah, that tracks.
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clinioelerrante · 4 years
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To be fainthearted…
That a student of Hogwarts was prowling the corridors of the castle in the wee hours of the morning was not uncommon.
The fact that this student belonged to Gryffindor House was even less so.
That such a student had hair that was red as hellfire could almost be considered normal.
The fact that this particular student was mumbling curses and oaths about a certain frizzy-haired which, it had been part of the regular school scene for more than 4 years.
But for such a student, at the height of Dolores Umbridge's reign of terror, to wander aimlessly, alone, under a disillusioning spell, with the marauder's map in hand and risking exemplary punishment or even expulsion from school, was decidedly atypical.
“A fucking wart? Mmm-hmm. A fucking wart and a fucking teaspoon?...” He mumbled as he took long strides through the corridors, almost oblivious to everything else. “My arse!”
Everything had started after the DA meeting. Cho Chang had accosted Harry in room of requirement while the rest of the group had dispersed. Hermione and he had gone to Gryffindor common room at and were having a relaxed conversation until she insisted that he complete his task while she wrote a letter. Hermione's parchment was already over the edge of the table and hanging dangerously close to the floor, when Harry came through the hole behind the portrait.
It had been perfectly obvious that something had happened. While one could not say that Harry had arrived with a completely dumb face, it was no less true that he was the closest thing to the face of someone who had been struck by a stunning spell.
With Harry’s apparent inability to explain what had happened, Hermione had taken the initiative in the conversation until he blew up the cauldron:
“Have you kissed?”
Wait... What? Harry would have kissed Cho or maybe it was Cho who kissed Harry? After the initial surprise, he was enthusiastic about his friend and wished he did it.
Of course! He'd been aware of Hurry’s crush on Cho since last year. One would have to be blind not to see him with that deer's eyes accompanied by a slight drooling every time Cho entered the scene! But following the usual pattern of shitty luck in Harry Potter's life that was the time when the bird was dating Cedric Diggory.
The memory of the partner killed by Peter Pettigrew overshadowed Ron's memories. Cedric was a good guy and his end had been unexpected, unjust and one more to add to the long list of Wormtail's coward crimes. Top of them, the betrayal of Harry's parents: Lily and James Potter.
“You filthy rat!" he swore. “If I had known, I personally would have left you alone with Crookshanks in a nice little room without a single hole in its walls and an undisturbed spell on the door.
The point was that Harry was still attached to Cho, if not more so, and it seemed that she had begun to notice Harry. There was no doubt that he had turned out to be a brilliant teacher in the DA meetings, added to his perpetual challenge to the pink toad and the legendary fight at the quidditch pitch had contributed enormously, to increase his sex appeal according to some whispered comments that he had heard between the women of the DA and some boys.
Ron wished with all his heart that, “For once!”, Harry's bad luck changed and like any normal teenager, he could live a normal life enjoying the intimate affection of a hot girl who she like him, although in his opinion ...a Tornado fan was not good enough for Harry. . . One flash of a long red hair burst into his mind making him shake his head to free himself from such disturbing vision.
But as usual, Harry hadn't had any luck with it either.
Instead of the first-time nervous or inexperienced teenager's kiss, it had resulted in little more than a disaster that had trapped Harry in the pit of insecurity in his ability to kiss properly a girl and later, with Hermione's invaluable assistance and her detailed talk about Cho Chang's state of emotional turmoil, he guessed in Harry, the doubt about the appropriateness of attempting any kind of relationship with such an emotionally damaged girl and, knowing Harry's legendary hero complex, he would be able to give up the girl if he thought it was sparing him any further pain. A massive Dragon’s dung in Ron's opinion, so he had used his best weapon to pull Harry out of his stupefaction and keep him from falling into his usual melancholy self-isolation; a joke:
“No one can feel so many things at once. It would explode!”
Ron doubted that anyone could explode because of it. If himself hadn't exploded with everything that's happened in the last year, it would be strange if someone else did. “Okay. Maybe Neville would go into a coma or pass out, but I don't think so. Dealing with Mrs. Longbottom for so many years had given him much more courage than many would give him credit for.”
In any case, Hermione's words had unleashed an emotional storm inside Ron, and the problem was that he saw no way to refute the logical sequence of events that had been linked together and seemed to form the links of a chain that wrapped around his neck.
Harry was diligent, brilliant, and handsome, he was not. Harry would have deserved to be prefect of Gryffindor, he didn't. Harry was extraordinary in Quidditch, he wasn't. . . “But Victor fucking pumpkin head Krum  is too. So rich. Could be richer as Harry even and. . . . and I'm sure he's experienced enough to know how to kiss a woman properly and. . . Oh God! How does Hermione know Harry is a good kisser and who has she been able to compare him to. . . ?”
He couldn't help it. His mind was filled with the slow motion image of Hermione kissing Krum torridly, trapping his ridiculously short hair between her thin fingers and taking his lips as if from them she extracted the air she needed to breathe, while one of his hands remained on her delicate waist and the other slowly ascended from her hip to caress her entire chest, provoking a lustful moan in her.
Ron felt the periphery of his vision turn red and his fists instinctively clenched so tightly that he felt his own nails sink into his flesh. He felt the need to rip the bastard's head off and when he looked up to face him, his mind was filled with Harry's gaze as he kissed Hermione passionately.
A familiar black claw wrapped around Ron's heart and squeezed it empty until it was breathless. He had never felt such pain or such overwhelming despair. Without being able to avoid it, from the depths of his being, a cry of impotence burst out, which ascended through his throat and escaped from him like the roar of the mortally wounded lion that intends to take his killer away with his last breath. . .
“Who's there? Don't try to escape. Inquisitorial Squad, with me!”
Ron cursed himself. He was so overwhelmed by the pain his own mind had generated that he had forgotten about bloody Umbridge and its band of mangy snakes patrolling the school corridors. Without thinking too much, he rushed to the double-leafed doors in front of him and entered.
“Professor Umbridge. Here!”
Blood seemed to be boiling in Ronald Weasley's veins. He'd recognize that voice anywhere. It was like the Malfoy and Weasley families had some sort of bond in destiny that would inevitably lead them to confront each other. The bloody bouncing ferret was on the other side of the door blocking the exit and calling for the great inquisitor to fall on him. Ron could hardly have imagined the satisfaction it would cause the flathead to discover that the student who violated the curfew was a Weasley and, among them, Harry Potter's best friend, no less! Nothing would make him happier than to witness another humiliation by Ronald Weasley. He was in these thoughts when another, much more disturbing, one made its way into his mind.
Umbridge! This would be like an early Christmas present for her. She would take advantage of the fact that it was him to provoke Harry and that would give her the perfect excuse to expel him.
Shit! You bloody fool couldn't have held back yourself, he thought to himself. No wonder Hermione can't see you as anything but a good-for-nothing. . . Hermione! Oh my God! If neither Harry or I are here, the ferret and the fucking toad are going to torment her to death. They're going to beat her and provoke her mercilessly until she quits or explodes and they can finally expel her. This would kill her. Shit, shit, shit, I'm the biggest asshole on the face of the earth. . .
“Grand Inquisitor Dolores Umbridge here". The voice of the disgusting toad was heard on the other side of the door. “I order you to leave that room.”
Ron, not breathing, stood three feet from the door waiting for the fatal decay.
“There's nothing to be afraid of"; he said with false sweetness. “All of us here are friends and we care about the safety of the students at the school. The Ministry only wants the best for all the magical children in the UK...” Ron thought that sounded suspiciously similar to a certain muggle story Hermione had once told him about a witch, one stupid girl and a poisoned apple...
“I'm absolutely sure is not your fault"; and this time there seemed to be some poison in her voice. “No doubt you'd be following the horrible example of Mr. Potter and his friends about how much fun it is to walk around the castle at this hour, but they don't have the good breeding of those born into completely magical families". She said scornfully, “And they can't understand how dangerous it can be to prowl around the castle at these hours, without the supervision of someone fully versed in the ins and outs of true magic society”. Ron swore he heard a chuckle from the silver ferret. “I'm begging you to come out. I promise that you will only receive one warning and we will accompany you to your common room so that you can rest until tomorrow's class”.
That's not what you've been saying publicly so far, you bloody cow. Always promising magic world perfectly safe thanks to the ministry and your “beloved” Fudge, old hag, he thought, trembling with anger. SHE knows more about the magic world, its traditions and its miseries than you will ever know in your entire fucking life. In an ideal world, you wouldn't even be worthy of breathing the same air that she breathes.  Instinctively, his magic channelled all his anger into his own hand that seemed to sizzle, longing to meet the wand that waited expectantly in his back pocket.
“Very well”, this time Umbridge's voice was definitely loaded with contempt. “I understand that if you are unable to understand the delicate complexities of the magical world and my desire to ensure your safety is because you have not had the proper education in your born-home. Nothing that a proper punishment can't solve, so, you´ll understand your place”.
This did it. Ron took three steps behind leaving its good fifteen feet with the door.
This sadist thinks it's not pureblood who is here and she's going to take advantage of it to make an example of it. His hand finally met his wand that seemed to emit a buzz of satisfaction to his contact. She will be stunned when she sees that the marauder is one of the “twenty-eight sacred". He thought this one with really loathe, like if bitter gall touched his lips at the memory. If I were anyone else I might be able to escape from this by sounding sorry, but being who I am, she's going to take advantage of it to go against both of them and if she doesn't go against Hermione, Draco will. For a moment a smile escaped his lips as he thought of what Hermione would do to Draco if he openly fought against her while remembering the superb punch the ferret had received in third year. But Malfoy will never attack her openly. He would seek a moment of solitude and would be accompanied by his two gorillas and possibly some Slytherin Deatheater apprentice and, God knows! What they would be capable of doing to her.
As his last smile died on his face, his wand was raised in his arm in a duelling position. Ron knew his fate was already decided. He knew that with him expelled, he would no longer be able to protect Harry and Hermione within the walls of Hogwarts, but nothing would stop him from defending them outside or making a last stand inside. When he confronted Umbridge and her henchmen, he would make his argument clear by giving them a hell of a wand, to make them understand that, just in the moment any of them tried to harm any of their friends, there would be no place under the sun where they could hide from him. So that miserable crew on the other side of the door would get the message and refrain from really drastic actions against his two friends.
Being Ron under age, he would not end up in Azkaban, and the fact that this stinking band knew that he would be free to show up at Hogsmeade from time to time would help reinforce the message. That would give Dumbledore and McGonagall time to regain control of the school and protect both of them. The image of a knight being taken by the queen on a gigantic chessboard gave him a crooked smile meanwhile he faced, wand in hand, his fate. Checkmate, pal.
“Alohomora!”
Alohowhat? What in  the h. . .; Ron didn't have time to complete the question that popped into his mind while his frown frowned in shock when he heard the spell on the other side of the door. But, if the door's not locked, why are they. . . ? For the second time, the idea died in his mind as he watched as the doorknob seemed to turn repeatedly in the attempt of someone trying to open the door, apparently in vain.
“ALOHOMORA!” It was heard again from the other side.” What's wrong with the damn door?” Again the voice of Umbridge was heard, this time in an unmistakable tone of irritation, as the doorknob was shaken more and more violently without the door giving way by a single millimetre.
-Get out of the way! This time there was real rage in the voice of the great inquisitor. On the other side of the door, Ron heard her to perform, one after the other, no less than 10 different spells trying to unlock the door and the paroxysmal movement of the doorknob had also given way to the incensed knocking of the door, as if in a primary resource and having failed magic, brute force was being used to force entry. It was then that he realized that his wand seemed to be emitting a dull buzzing sound that made her hand tremble.
“That's enough! I'm sure this is a joke of that brazen poltergeist”. Ron smiled. The toad's voice sounded more like a big walrus's breathing down from too much exercise. “Sure. He must have let out the scream and bewitched the door so that it could not be opened"; she continued, between gasping and panting.
“But professor”, Ron shuddered again at the sound of Malfoy's voice and to realize that his wand was shaking more intensely. “We've known Peeves since the first year, and that's certainly not his voice, nor is this the style of his jokes. He tends to be cruder and coarser by throwing stink bombs or buckets of ice water on the backs of the students. . .” The ferret's peroration was interrupted by the unmistakable sound of a slap on the back of his neck particularly hard.
 “Stupid”. Umbridge's voice sounded particularly annoying. “Do you dare to discuss a teacher's judgment? I tell you that all this is the work of that nasty spirit and, if all of you had been properly versed in the magical arts, you would have realized it right away as well”. Ron could not help but have a panting laugh. The toad had just beaten the insufferable presumptuous, frustrated by her inability to open the door and, trying to avoid looking bad in front of her acolytes, she had diverted attention and blame onto the asshole. My word. He would have gladly paid two months' pay for being able to see the ferret's face.
“This only proves the ministry right. The quality of teaching in this place has tragically declined and it is imperative that the ministry take control of it in order to instruct the young wizards and witches in the mastery of their skills. “With me!” It was heard like a whimper and then, the unmistakable tapping of a few steps away.
Ron stood waiting for an invisible trap to fall on him; meanwhile, his wand continued vibrating in his hand, though ever more faintly, until it stopped completely. He remained motionless and almost breathless for a few more minutes, hoping to believe in his good fortune and that he really had escaped from a more than complicated situation. Finally, he decided it was time to take a chance and averted his eyes from the door and consulted the marauder's map. He couldn't believe it! On the map it could clearly read “Ronald Weasley”, but on the other side of the door the map did not reflect the presence of anyone. Even in his surroundings there doesn't seem to be a soul.
Now or never, pal; he said to himself in encouragement and then, he set about turning the doorknob which. As before, it pivoted on its axis smoothly and pulled it, the door to stay locked.
“Shit”, he mumbled, but refrained from further attempts. In a sad irony, it seemed that the same mystery that had saved his freckled arse was keeping him prisoner of the room. “Well", he closed his eyes and as he concentrated he muttered. “Whatever it is, I really appreciate you helping me out, but I'd really like to get out, get to my room and forget about tonight. I swear I've learned the fucking lesson not to wander around the castle after curfew, or at least, not to be such an asshole as to scream in the hallway after curfew”. He looked at the door again and tried to open it, and again this one remained unmoved.
“Bloody hell!” This time the tone of his voice was noticeably louder.  He turned in frustration on himself and looking up at the ceiling dropped himself over the door and, leaned on the back of his head as it tapped repeatedly against the wood in an attempt to alleviate his disappointment.
“Okay! It's all right. If the price I have to pay for escaping the damn pink toad is to spend the night in this room, I'll gladly take it. Tomorrow someone will come, open the door, cast the disillusioning spell on me, sneak out and I'll manage to find a way to justify my. . .
He jumped upright as he opened his eyes wide, realizing that he had no idea where he was! It had all happened so quickly and unexpectedly that all he could remember was walking through the door that was closest to him at the time. Once the surprise was over, he began to inspect the room, hoping to recognize it.
“I should've known better”. The sad whisper escaped his lips as if it were the sigh of a condemned man whose last chance for freedom is slipping away.
The shelves followed one another in countless rows . . . “Well, surely not countless. I'll bet Hermione knows “exactly"; the number of them, as well as the number of every damn book inside each and every one of them"; he moaned.
Still, he had to admit. Empty of students, under the twilight of the moonlight filtering through the large windows, the Hogwarts Library was magnificent. Magnificent and intimidating.
“As always, she is able to see things at first sight, which takes the rest of us years"; he sighed. “No wonder I am not even able to keep up with her thoughts when that adorable head of her gets going”. And that was precisely what was bothering him most at this time and had led him to wander aimlessly through the school corridors. That with all her brilliance, all her knowledge, all her fucking logic, she wouldn't have been able to see everything that was bubbling up inside him. . .
Ron had not been aware at first, but gradually he became aware of the presence of candlelight behind some library shelves. Initially he feared that it might be because of the presence of another person in the library, whether it was a student, a teacher or, at worst, Filch and his mangy cat. So he remained quiet, but since the light seemed to be steady, no noise was heard, and the memory that the marauder's map had shown no one in the vicinity, he ventured quietly behind the bookshelf to find out what it was.
It didn't take him long to discover that it was one of the candlesticks that supplied light to the library users, but what was really curious was that it was the only candlestick that seemed to burn in the whole library. He approached it with the aim of extinguishing the candles when they went out by themselves while at the other end of the shelf the candles of another candleholder began to burn expontaneously.
Having grown up in the magic world, these kinds of situations were no surprise to him. They were fascinating, no doubt, but not at all a complete surprise.
He had long known that in one way or another, every wizard, every witch, had left the magical sight of his existence on the world. He knew many examples of them:
The essences of the four founders who died long ago, in the sorting hat. Those of his twin uncles Gideon and Fabian also killed in the first war against Voldemort, in the house clock. The Marauder’s Map, with the essence of James Potter, and his friends. Even, according to Harry's story, who-you-know-who left part of him in the diary that possessed Ginny in her first year.
With more than a thousand years of existence, it was practically impossible to know how many wizards and witches walked, studied and lived among these old stones, and each one of them left his own mark. Some would leave a barely perceptible trace, but others performed such intense episodes of magic that the traces they left behind, seemed to have a will of their own.
The hat was left with the mission of continuing to sort the students by the time the founders were gone.
The house clock, to know the status of each family member and to be able to come to their aid if necessary.
The map conspired so that the big troublemakers could keep up their mischief at school and, the diary, somehow, tried to bring Voldemort back.
This last thought plunged her spirit back into sadness and melancholy bringing back the thoughts that had made her leaves the safety of the tower of Gryffindor:
Is that really all she thinks of me? Does she really think I don't know what Cho Chang is feeling?
Like answering that question, another group of candles went out to be immediately replaced.
I can't really blame her, can I? I've never been good at expressing myself, let alone how I feel, but then again, how could I? How do you tell the most wonderful woman in the world that you're crazy for her? That you regret terribly to be a clumsy, mindless, worthless lout. Which you know you don't deserve her. That you know that you shouldn't even notice me but that you can't help but love her more than my own family, more than Harry, more than the blood that runs through my veins, more than my life itself and that knowing and feeling all that is eating me up inside. How do you tell her you feel all this and more, ‘only’, because you love her?
Ron feels that dull pain in his chest again. A veil of tears struggles to leave his eyes as he rolls his shirt sleeve over them to prevent his vision from becoming blurred, and it is when he refocuses them that he sees it. The candlestick he approaches is no longer extinguished, but seems to beat as if prompting him to approach it, and as he does so, the booklet seems to slowly separate from the rest of his companions on the shelf, prompting him to pick it up.
When Ron takes it, he feels comforting warmth in his fingers, like if the worn book is meant to convey a feeling of friendship and comfort, like if it is telling him in a mute way that everything will be all right after all. A feeling that brings back memories of the day he got his wand. Not his brother's, but his real wand.
“What do you got for me, buddy?”
There's tenderness in Ron's whisper. Any of those familiar with Hogwarts' worst-kept secret would think that the redhead is pouring out in that act and onto an object so intrinsically linked to the image of his beloved, all the love and all the delicacy that he seems unable to show her as a victim of his own inferiority complex, while unwittingly moving towards Hermione's favourite place in the library.
It's magic.
It's part of the magic that resides in every corner of Hogwarts. It is the magic trace that perhaps a long time ago, someone left to help a heart desperate to find an answer to its silent prayer and, just like it should have been long ago, when the mortified Ronald Weasley opens the book, a magic wind stirs the pages of the book showing him one of them in particular, like the old friend who gives you good advice. That's why Ron reads. He reads with such intensity that his eyes devour the words written centuries ago and as he does so his gaze gets wet. Each line is like a balm on the wounds of his tormented heart while a bright smile appears on his face. Now, Ron knows.
And when he looks up, his heart is not only filled with love for the frizzy-haired know-it-all witch, but with infinite gratitude.
Gratitude for whoever put the book on the shelf at Muggle Studies. Gratitude for the wizard or witch whose essence left such a deep mark on the old magic of the school, that it reacted to his agony and gratitude to the one who wrote the words he has just read. Words that today give him the knowledge of knowing that he is not alone, that he has never been alone. That before him, millions of men and women, wizards and witches, magicians and muggles have experienced the same feelings, confusion and agony as him, with the fortune that some of them have been so daring, so privileged in their intelligence and endowed with the gift as to be able to express them in words, and guided simply by their instinct, Ron look for parchment and quill as he begins to copy furiously. . .
Hermione Granger seemed to be sleepwalking after leaving Professor McGonagall's office. The accumulation of events that had occurred in the last few hours that she had referred, to still seemed to be getting through to her.
Mr. Weasley had been attacked in the Ministry by Voldemort's snake! And he had only escaped death because of the early warning that Harry had given.
When she woke up this morning, she was surprised not to find Harry or any of the Weasleys in the dining room, which had led to an unpleasant feeling on her chest, but what had set off all her alarms was the story from Ron and Harry's roommates. She had immediately rushed to the teachers' table, when a simple gesture from McGonagall had instructed her that this was neither the place nor the time. Something that was confirmed moments later, with the appearance of Professor Umbridge demanding to know the whereabouts of the Weasley brothers.
In her mind, she could recreate the scene as if she had been there. She was about to bet that at this moment, Harry would be oblivious to the fact that he was the one who allowed Mr. Weasley with his warning. What's more, she would bet one of her O.W.L.s marks that at this same moment Harry would be blaming himself for what happened, convinced that Arthur had been attacked simply because he was the father of his best friend and so, he would be ruminating that feeling inside himself without letting anyone penetrate the shell of isolation he would have built around him, preventing anyone from making him see the absurdity of his reasoning.
Along with this feeling, her other concern was to imagine the state of Mr. Weasley and how the rest of the family would be passing the hours.
She could imagine their reactions and the visceral fear they must have felt in their hearts, when they were woken up in the middle of the night to inform them that, their father, was struggling between life and death, the victim of a Voldemort attack.
She imagined Mrs. Weasley tried to appear strong and confident so his family wouldn't break up. To the twins, whose jokes for once could not insulate them from the merciless reality of war. To Ginny in whose mind she'd be spending her ordeal in the Chamber of Secrets, to. . .
“Ron!” The moan escaped from between her lips and her whole mind was focused on him.
Hermione knew of the particular connection between Mr. Weasley and his youngest son. That one that not only covered the physical aspects that he also shared with his brother Bill, but also on other much deeper levels.
She knew that his father, in an effort to raise a progeny that seemed to have been gifted with a stomach that was as voracious as a black hole, had been forced not to devote as much time to it as he would have liked, and so, Ron had been raised basically by his mother, Percy and the twins. . .
"If the way they are used to behaving with him could be called raising," she snorted under her breath as she thought, how much of Ron's insecure and explosive personality was the responsibility of that pair of troublemakers. The point was, when Mr. Weasley was partially relieved of that burden after the emancipation of the two older sons, he had tried to make up for that loss of attention by devoting more of his scarce free time, and had taken him to watch his first quidditch match with the Cannons, from which the redhead's eternal love for the lousy team, emerged.
But Hermione had found many other similarities. Both were brave, though they tried to avoid direct confrontation, noting in common  to evil or any temptation to try to abuse any situation of privilege, nevertheless they were fierce when it came to defending what they understood to be right.
Immersed in her thoughts, her legs led her to her sanctuary, that corner of the library that took her away from the usual hustle and bustle and allowed her to concentrate on her readings and the writing of her complex essays. The same corner whose window overlooked the quidditch pitch, from which, she furtively observed the training sessions of Gryffindor's team or, perhaps it would be better to say, the developments of one of the team's newest members.
As the smile insinuated itself on her face, Hermione could not help but reflect on how extraordinarily complex it was to understand Ronald Weasley.
Ron, sighed to herself.  She really couldn't understand him! There seemed to be two of them and they alternated with each other in an unpredictable way.
Ron was loyal to a fault, but sometimes he seemed a little jealous of Harry's reputation. Most of the time he behaved like an insensitive fool and yet sometimes he surprised her with gestures of infinite tenderness. She could have the funniest talk with him and tell him all the places she planned to travel when she finished school, but it was mentioning Bulgaria and Ron seemed to turn into a manticore.
When he flew over the grounds of The Burrow, he seemed to be in perfect communion with his broom. She had been surprised to discover that sometimes the twins had suddenly thrown some quaffles at him and he would alter his flight to intercept them with an almost feline grace, but it was flying over the school pitch and he becoming into a nervous mess of hands and feet struggling to hold onto his broom, with an unsettling shade of green on his face.
For the most of the people, Ron was what could be defined like a lazy who was always behind in his schoolwork and unable to perform a spell correctly during class, but, the day after she helped him complete his homework or gave him a practical demonstration on it, he seemed to be able to perform it almost perfectly and, not even then!  He seems to have a consistent line of behaviour at this point. Ron didn't seem to have the slightest interest in learning basic glamour spells, how transfiguring a rat into a chalice or making a potion to cure warts, and yet, he was perfectly capable during DA’s training, of transfiguring a cushion of The Room of Requirement into a solid block of solid stone to ward off a spell cast by Harry, while he counter-attacking him by throwing impedimenta spell that caused Harry to retreat ten yards.
And in spite of all that crazy, absurd, unrealistic and incomprehensible double personality she loved him. Oh my God, how she loved him! She couldn't understand it, but it was the truth and she knew it wasn't a young girl's crush, it was something else. She could see his faults and the weaknesses of his personality that he should try to correct, such as insecurity in himself and eternal self-comparison with his brothers and in spite of everything. . . there it was. The blurred sketch of the formidable man he was destined to become just by trying it from the bottom of her heart. A man who would make any woman's heart tremble like, he already did her own.
She was deep in thought about the irritating redhead when she discovered a parchment note carelessly folded in front of the seat she used to occupy in the library.
She opened it out of curiosity, recognizing the sloppy handwriting of the object of her tribulations as she began to read it. . .
"So, what's a teaspoon?"
As they moved along the lines of the writing, her eyes widened meanwhile one of her hands went over her chest in an unconscious attempt to calm the rampant galloping of her heart that seemed to have gone mad with the careless lines of writing.
“...To seem happy, sad, haughty, understated,
emboldened, fugitive, exasperated...”
It seemed that the world had been turned upside down and where once there was a mindless lout with the same sensitivity as a teaspoon, now there was someone who had been able to correctly interpret the verses her mind was slipping on. But that was inconceivable to Ron.
He... he really can't have been able to show me this, she thought as she began to reread thinking that she was being part of some kind of joke or enchantment the twins had left behind. A joke or a spell that should perhaps be called cruel because of all it was doing to feel  to her.
  To be fainthearted, to be bold, possessed, abrasive, tender, open, isolated, spirited, dying, dead, invigorated, loyal, treacherous, venturesome, repressed.
Not to find, without your lover, rest. To seem happy, sad, haughty, understated, emboldened, fugitive, exasperated, satisfied, offended, doubt-obsessed.
To face away from disillusionment, to swallow venom like liqueur, and quell all thoughts of gain, embracing discontent;
to believe a heaven lies within a hell, to give your soul to disillusionment; that’s love, as all who’ve tasted know too well.
 “Ro... Ron!” The exclamation escaped like a whisper from her lips while her legs seemed to waver when she completed the last line. . .
“I do”
Hermione dropped into the chair at the impending failure of her legs to hold her as the crying made its way through her chest to replace her breath with an incoherent set of hiccups and sobs meanwhile  she pressed the parchment  to her chest.
No. Ron Weasley was not the callous wart she had said, nor was the imbecile with the emotional range of a teaspoon. No, Ron was just a normal teenager in constant confusion because of the tide of hormones circulating in his blood, the emotional overload of facing feelings whose intensity she herself knew very well, the recognition of the darkness that was approaching, and right now, the boy who feared for his father's life and who would put under a thick shell all the pain and all the terror that his heart harboured for, with  an apparent indifference to avoid further anguish to his family during these times of tribulation, just as he did in the second year, when he went into the forbidden forest with Harry.
But, above all, Ron was her friend. The friend who needed her now more than ever, and as she began to write a letter to her parents explaining why she couldn't stay with them for the Christmas break, she couldn't help but notice the tremor in her hand and how her knuckles went white clutching her quill when one simple question seeped into her head:
Who- the hell- had taught Ronald Bilius Weasley what love was?
 Notes: My infinite and sincere thanks and affection to @headcanonsandmore. Without their help, it would have been impossible for me to write this text in understandable English.
https://archiveofourown.org/works/25219924/chapters/61129561
I would like to say, the inspiration for this work came after having a delicious chat with the author of the fic "Books" by @fightfortherightsofhouseelves ( You can find her work here in AO3).
https://archiveofourown.org/works/14771213
Obviously, the reference poem is not mine. I wish! The author is the Spanish poet Lope de Vega. Possibly the quill who has best expressed the feelings of love through its verses in universal poetry. The English translation was done by David Rosenthal.
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Judgement of the Tempest- Sanders Sides AU (bulletpoint fic)
So I came up with this randomly earlier this week (guess what sat in my drafts for months whoops) and I ended up telling it in short form on discord because I knew I’d never properly write it, but my friends liked it so I thought I’d post it in the short form! Extended and cleaned up from what it was on discord mainly.
Summary: Patton is a mortal who suffers a lot. Virgil is a god. Roman and Logan are too. They’re all very gay- and in the case of the gods, furious. Part Whumpfic, part Hurt/Comfort, romantic LAMP happy ending (with a focus on Moxiety).
Words: 2,476. No, I don’t know how either. Warnings: Abusive parenting, returning to an unhealthy situation, violence, self deprecation, implied death, skeleton mention, panic attacks, mentions of illness, lots of horror/fear imagery (darkness, shadow creatures, thunderstorms, body horror, etc.). Let me know if I missed anything please!
Roman is the god of romance/sexuality, artistry, and creativity in all forms. Rainbows are said to embody his blessings, and his signature animal is a shapeshifting bird- phoenix, dove, anything he wants. He’s in a polyamorous relationship with Logan and Virgil.
Logan is a god of science and the mysteries of natural world. He’s commonly associated with space in particular and is a guardian of teachers and students. His signature animal is a stag with stars at the tips of its horns and constellations across its coat like the spots on a fawn.
Virgil is the god of fear, darkness and storms. His name in particular is one people generally avoid saying, as some believe it’s bad luck. He has a lot of epithets people use instead, but the most common is ‘The Tempest’. 
His signature animal is a cat- no wait that’s a panther- wait, no, no real feline has teeth and claws like that. They’re not fully corporeal and are completely silent except that they can scream like a cougar.
There’s a way to invoke a curse in Virgil’s name: if it's storming outside, you can shove someone out into the storm (assuming you're not already outside) and shout 'May the Tempest take you!'. It's not used lightly, because this curse works. People will straight-up disappear in almost all cases, with no trace and no way of getting them back.
(The exception is that if a kid's involved, especially if they’re the one being cursed, it normally won’t work. Nobody is quite sure why. Virgil does a good job of keeping his reputation as a terrifying force of nature.)
Patton is the only child of a widow and his mom has never been good to him. She tells him that everything is his fault, that’s he’s a horrible child, that he’s useless and unlovable. And it breaks Patton’s heart, because his mom is all he’s got, so he keeps trying to do everything to make her happy.
She’s tried throwing him out into storms with the curse before, but he's always been too young to be taken away. He’s spent quite a few storms curled up on the porch, though.
She eventually stops doing that; Patton thinks that maybe she’s too annoyed with him always getting sick afterwards.
And then one day, when he’s in his late teens, she’s angry, so angry, and it’s storming outside, and she grabs him by the collar and starts dragging him towards the door.
Patton is terrified, he thought he was okay, she hasn’t tried this since he was 12. He’s clutching at her shirt as she pushes him towards the door, begging her- “Please, no, I’m sorry! I’m sorry Mom, I won’t- Please-!”
The last thing he sees before she throws him out the door is her face screwed up in anger as she bellows “May the Tempest take you!”
The wind howls around him and he has to shut his eyes, he can feel his grip on the door frame slipping, and then there’s nothing but the sensation of falling, falling, falling-
Paton finds himself in a forest. He doesn’t know how he got here. Did he black out?
He’s scared.
The forest is dark; very, very dark. The only light comes from the flashes of lightning that come every few seconds. The wind and rain are driving even through the canopy. There’s no path or markers of civilization. He picks a direction and starts walking.
He walks, and walks, stumbling over roots and getting smacked by branches and buffeted by the wind and rain until he’s soaking wet. In the flashes of lightning, he sometimes swears he can see things- dark shapes streaking across his path, flitting between the trees, or poised amongst the trees, watching.
He shivers. How can they be watching him? They’re just shadows.
Except this next flash of lightning definitely shows eyes peering back at him from one of the shadows slinking past. No, maybe he’s imagining it. But then they appear again, and again, and then he starts seeing the glint of something else- teeth bared in a snarl, claws flashing.
He starts moving faster. He’s just imagining things, right? The darkness and the fear are playing tricks on his mind. That’s all. He still doesn’t feel like he’s getting anywhere.
Until he trips over something and then he’s going down.
He’s laying there, panting, in the mud and dead leaves, trying to get his breath back, trying to get his racing heart under control. As Patton’s pushing himself up, there’s another flash of lightning and he sees what he tripped over.
It’s not a tree root. It’s a skeleton. Definitely, definitely a human skeleton.
He scrambles up and pushes through the trees, just wanting to get away.
There’s no escape. There’s no escape, and he knows that now, and he’s hyperventilating and he can’t stop. Because he’s in the Forest of Shadows, he’s been cursed by the power of the god of fear and storms, and he’s never heard of anyone escaping. This is- it’s where the gods put their enemies, it’s where they punish people.
He thinks about his mother, and how she was always saying he was a horrible son and that he deserved to be punished. He sniffles, cold and soaked to the bone, and stumbles to a stop. There’s no point to running anymore, not now that he knows where he is and that he obviously deserves to be here.
He sinks to the ground and huddles against a tree (he’s already learned that it didn’t matter what side of a tree you were on, the wind would still cut into you just the same). He cries and then he’s full-on sobbing, and then he can’t breathe-
He sits there for what feels like forever, curled into the fetal position, shaking and gasping for breath, rain dripping off his glasses onto his nose. He keeps his eyes shut, because it’s better than seeing the forest and the shadows all around him.
Virgil, meanwhile, is a very busy god. And by busy he maybe means playing a prank on Roman and then kissing him senseless on this particular occasion, but that’s besides the point.
The point is that Virgil’s long since become powerful enough that his Forest of Shadows requires very little oversight, especially thanks to his felines. So when one of them comes to him, emanating a vague sense of confusion and alarm and tugs him towards the Forest, he’s pretty quick to go investigate, even if it means Roman whines about being left alone.
What he was expecting to find: another madman had managed to get thrown into the forest still holding a weapon, maybe a mutated shadow-feline that would need coaxing back into a functioning shape, maybe an injury or deformity to the forest itself.
What he was not expecting to find: a young man curled into a shaking ball, soaked and scratched by branches and terrified half out of his mind, but untouched by his shadow creatures. Which if they won’t attack him, then he’s not supposed to be here...
Which isn’t the first time this has happened over the centuries, but normally Virgil is vigilant enough that he can just toss the human back out and be done with it. But looking at this sorry-looking young adult, Virgil knows he must have been here for most of the evening and night, which complicates things a fair bit.
Patton is too weak to stand by now, let alone walk or run, so there’s no fight left in him to struggle when Virgil scoops him up and takes him away to the home of the gods.
It takes very little time to explain to Logan and Roman what’s happening, mostly because they both try and figure out Virgil’s reasoning. Roman think he’s being soft because the boy is awfully cute; Logan thinks it’s because Virgil feels guilty for making a mistake. (Spoilers: Logan’s right).
Now, when Patton wakes up, he thinks he may have died and gone to heaven, because he basically has three handsome deities waiting on him hand and foot while he’s nursed back to health
Roman as the god of romance is quick to point out every time one of them blushes when tending to Patton. He personally flirts shamelessly with Patton as soon as he’s coherent enough to tell them his name. Virgil adamantly denies it when Roman teases him but is super soft with Patton, sitting with him for hours and actually laughing at his jokes. Logan, meanwhile, admits that Patton ‘Is certainly attractive and has potential’ which is basically means ‘I’m crushing but not as hopeless as my two boyfriends already are.’
(Logan does eventually end up head-over-heels for Patton, he’s just a little slower to accept it.)
Being gods and all, it only takes a few days for Patton to get better. But even though the gods (namely Roman) make it clear he's welcome to ‘stay forever’, he's still a mortal, and too nice for his own good, and eventually he begs them to let him go back home to his mother who's alone without him. 
And he does have to beg, because the gods have pretty much figured out exactly what went on in Patton's early life, but even Virgil eventually caves and they take him home.
Before he lets him go, Virgil pulls Patton aside and tells him that if he ever needs him or his protection or anything, all he has to do is invoke Virgil's name- his real name, not any epithet.
So Patton is home for a few days, which turn into a few weeks. His mother is not any better; in fact, she’s worse, and to boot Patton's psyche still isn't all better from the Forest of Shadows, even if physically he healed perfectly.
But he toughs it out. He tells himself that he can handle it, after all he asked to come home. He loves his mom. He really doesn’t want to leave her alone again, and just because Virgil insisted Patton didn’t deserve the Forest of Shadows doesn’t mean Patton doesn’t deserve to be reminded how horrible of a son he is or punished when he does something wrong.
One day it's finally too much. His mother is berating him, screaming at the top of her lungs. Patton is curled in a ball on the ground, shaking and sobbing, as his mother advances on him and why is she grabbing the broomstick-
And he cracks, he told himself he wouldn't ask for anything, but Patton sobs out Virgil's name, a plea, a prayer, practically begging for help in just two syllables-
There's a brilliant flash of lightning and a CRACK of thunder, and Virgil appears before him in all his godly power and fury
how DARE she hurt Patton again 
He advances on Patton's mom, deathly serious and furious, his voice sounds like thunder and sparks jump off his skin with a crackle, eyes literally flashing with lightning and when did it start storming outside 
He stalks towards her like one of his panthers, swift and precise and deadly, warning her where exactly she's gone wrong:
"I let Patton go back to you because he insisted. He has too much kindness in his heart. But I will tell you this: I am the god of fear and storms, and I am not nearly as kind." 
She tries to start towards him, maybe to stand up to him, maybe to try and get to Patton because Virgil's standing between them- she doesn't get half that far 
Virgil reaches out, lightning fast, grabs her by the collar, and throws her halfway across the house. She doesn’t even have a chance to scream before he grabs her, and the wall cracks when she hits it.
Virgil doesn’t miss a beat. He snaps his fingers and the door bursts open; two of his shadow-panthers appear and drag her into the storm. She’s crying, maybe trying to beg, to plead, maybe just out of fear and pain
Virgil is still radiating anger and power, and he grows at her in a voice that reverberates like thunder: 'If you misuse the storm god's curse, you'll pay the price.'
She doesn't get seen ever again.
Patton's been watching the whole time, frozen in fear and awe. When Virgil turns to face him, Patton kind of instinctively scrambles backwards because holy shit that's the god of fear himself and he's still royally pissed
 But then there's two pairs of hands at his back, catching him, soothing him. It's Logan, rubbing circles onto his back and speaking to him in a low, calm voice, and Roman holding his hand, the other running through his hair.
Once Patton has calmed down a bit, they ask him if he wants to come home with them. When he agrees, Roman carefully picks him up bridal style and they take him back to their godly home.
(Patton will later joke about the fact that Logan is the only one who hasn’t rescued him and carried him home, and maybe one day Logan does, but that’s neither here nor now).
Virgil doesn't approach Patton again until he's calmed down completely, which takes him a day or two.
"I'm sorry for scaring you." "You rescued me." "I promised, didn't I? Anything, for you."
“GAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAY!” -Roman, in the background “You, or them?” -Logan “Yes.” -Everyone else, simultaneously
Logan just sighs but he's blushing when Patton sits next to him
They all end up dating, and they end up making Patton immortal. He becomes the god of familial love, a guardian of children, and god of justice and morality. Virgil takes those cursed in his name to Patton for judgement, but the worst ones still end up in his forest as punishment.
Patton finally gets to pet Virgil's “cats”
At some point early on in their relationship, there's a spat over the fact that Virgil didn't take Patton's wishes into account when punishing his mother. 
Virgil points out that A: she abused his power and he was within his rights to punish her for that alone, and B: Roman and Logan were also furious and their tempers are much, much worse
But Virgil apologizes anyways and everything’s okay
Also! Patton’s symbolic animal is a pack of wolves, which he loves because PUPPIES!!! but it suits him so well because Pack = Family
anyways that’s it!!!
Shout-out to my lovely friends @slytherskye and @logicallycrofters, who were my original audience for this on discord!! Love you kiddos <3
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sobasically · 6 years
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Hey guys! Muse here! And it’s time for your daily dose of Greek mythology.
So everyone has at least a basic understanding of the Greek pantheons. They all live on mount Olympus and are lead by lightning god Zeus and wreak havoc on the earth with their antics. But there’s a shit ton more to the Olympians than meets the eyes.
So what exactly are the olympians? The answer isn’t as straight as you’d think it is. For one thing, the olympians can get hurt and die like any other human. They are victim to the same vices as any other person. The difference is they don’t have to face the consequences. They ‘die’, they reform. They get hurt, they heal. They do something shitty, meh. Olympians will be olympians. In essence, they are humans minus the limits. 
Frustrating right? The Greeks knew this. But they couldn’t say anything about it unless they wanted to have their life royally fucked over. Kinda like politicians :D
Anyways, there were 12 main olympians. Technically there’s 13, but more on that later.
First you have the original siblings:
Zeus: the youngest and most powerful. He is the god of the sky and weather. Zeus is the most hyper masculine asshole you will ever meet. He could be fair and stuff but usually this was just because his antics caught up with him. Most of the time he was a horny, competitive, burn your eyes glowing hypocrite. This dude saw someone hot and thought “damn I’ll tap that.” And he did. Against their will. And it always resulted in suffering for everyone else. You can’t stop him. Believe me, the gods /tried/. 
Then there’s Poseidon, god of the ocean, fertility, and horses (in his pre-Hellenistic incarnations). Poseidon is similar to Zeus in that he is also horny as shit. But he was 8 times more violent and petty. You do not want to piss him or his many many many many many many many children off. Just look at what happened to Odysseus. Of all the gods you don’t want to piss off- and dammit you do NOT want to piss off the gods- Poseidon is number 2 on the don’t list. (Hera is #1 on this list for reasons to be discussed later)
Hades is the king of the dead and the eldest son, therefore the rightful king of Olympus. Yeah, according to Greek law this dude should be ruling. But, because Zeus sorta saved their asses from their dad and Hades drew the smallest straw he has to rule the realm of dead people. No he isn’t the ‘god of the dead’ and does not judge them or kills people. He just rules them. Nothing else. He keeps order in the land of the dead and that’s it. Apparently he’s really good at it. The Greeks were terrified of him. (If only he ruled Olympus. Maybe stuff wouldn’t be shitty)
Then you’ve got the sisters
Hera, wife of Zeus, goddess of women and marriage, queen of Olympus, Craziest bitch alive. Does that sound harsh? No, it isn’t. She’s fucking insane. Hera has a serious jealousy problem. Her husband is always cheating on her and she can’t punish him (believe me, she’s tried.). So she does the next best thing to calling out her husband. She makes his victims lives literal hell. His lovers are smited, cursed, driven mad, and his children face the same (though often unsuccessfully). Don’t even think of looking at her temple the wrong way otherwise you will SUFFER.
(If I die suddenly after this. You’ll know who did it.)
Demeter is one of the more chill olympians. She’s goddess of the harvest. When she’s happy, people prosper. When she’s not happy... everyone starves. It’s not so terrible though. When she lost her daughter she traveled the earth performing miracles and stuff. She’s one of the gods that have an entire cult to her, the Elysian mysteries. She was one of the ones who inspired the idea that death is a drab thing, that one can be reborn. Long story short, Demeter/Hades for Olympus rulers 2019.
Finally, you have the lesser known, oldest sibling, Hestia. She’s the goddess of the Hearth and is an eternal virgin (by choice). Not much is known about her. But from what is, she’s a kind hearted and fair person. 
Then you have the sorta related but not Goddess:
Aphrodite, Goddess Of Beauty, love, lust, and being petty bitch #2. Born from Nut-SeaFoam (her name means that, fyi), Aphrodite is a sexy boobed (seriously this is constantly mentioned), Golden/flower dyed haired bitch. She gets jealous easily and flirts with everyone. Like, she’s done a shit ton of horrible things. And everyone has the hots for her. The olympians tried to contain her with marriage. The problem is they married her to the least attractive god and  assumed she’d be ok with that. She wasn’t. She cheated with Ares. On a side note: she’s also a war goddess. Like, she can fight and win. Don’t piss her off.
On to the children.
Ares is the only child of Zeus and Hera. You can really tell by his sexual appetite and uncontrolled rage. He is the god of offensive war. As in running into battle covered in blood half naked because you are so pumped up for war that you are also horny. He is notorious for not thinking things through and being a bit of a coward when someone displays even slight superiority. His sorta sister Athena has to drag him in by the ear and remind him that to win a battle you have to think things through. Which is why people like her more.
Athena is the goddess of wisdom, crafts, and defensive war. She was born in armor screaming a war cry... from Zeus’s Head. (She could technically be the daughter of Metis, Titaness of Logic and first wife of Zeus, since he ate her.) She is a daddy’s girl and brilliant strategist. She’s chaste and organized. Many generals trust her as their patron. Athena is actually described as being a bit androgynous. She does happen to have a bit of a superiority complex, like most olympians. But as long as you take her counsel seriously and don’t try to rape her you’re good. 
Hephaestus is son of Hera, born from her thigh, and disabled god of metalworking and the forge. Like, he has a limp. Now he isn’t ‘ugly’ per say. He isn’t Olympian attractive by far, but I like to think he’s average man attractive. Of course, Hera was disgusted by his affliction and flung him from Olympus (“this bitch ugly. YEET”-Hera). Interestingly enough, the olympians still rely on him to make their weapons and stuff. Hes clever, he figured out how to catch his wife cheating on him. So the dude gets more shit than from the Olympians than he deserves. 
Apollo and Artemis are the twin archer gods of the sun and moon. 
Apollo is god of the sun, music, poetry, divination, and rational thought. He’s incredibly attractive and yet does not have a lover. In fact, his luck with lovers is.. non existent. Either they die, reject him, or turn into trees (not that that bugs him too much). When he isn’t consumed by loneliness, he is busy writing songs on his lyre and reciting poetry for the muses. He’s also incredibly athletic, and was known to play discus a lot (not as much after the incident). 
Artemis is the goddess of the hunt, childbirth, and wilderness. She is incredibly chaste and demands the same from her followers. She loves animals and children and hanging out with her ladies. Artemis is described as this tall, muscular lady. Amazon’s probably looked up to her as the ideal body. For the most part, she was pretty decent, a bit of a stickler for her rules but still.
Then you have Hermes, messenger of the gods and trickster. This dude is the definition of a little shit. He’s constantly pulling pranks on heroes and the gods. He’s even the patron of thieves. Don’t shoot the messenger though, just cause the dude is snarky doesn’t mean what he says isn’t true. Hermes is the direct voice of the gods. So you have to begrudgingly listen to him. Fun fact: he was able to talk as a baby. 
Last but not least is Dionysus. Dionysus is god of wine, (ceremonial) madness, and Death (in early incarnations). He also has a cult of his own. But they are less friendly and more horny. Dionysus is this chill dude who casually emits this maddening vibe. His hobbies include drinking, partying, and making women eat their sons. He’s a youthful looking man who occasionally has horns. He was basically the Greek version of Charles Manson. Hestia gracefully stepped down to let him become the final and most recent addition to the olympians. 
Naturally, there are many many more gods and many many more stories about why and how these gods became the way they are and stuff. But this wouldn’t be a summary blog if I droned on about all of it would it? So I stop her, stay tuned for more on the gods and their adventures, from Greece and beyond. 
Ciao! -The Muse
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diveronarpg · 6 years
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Congratulations, TYRA! You’ve been accepted for the role of HPPOLYTA. Admin Rosey: "... she simply refuses to let fate play with her, to devour her and turn her into nothing but a pretty doll on someone’s old shelf.” Tyra, you captured her so absolutely perfectly. For the longest time I was worried that my favorite Phoenix, Halcyon, would not see the light of day. But here you are, not only blessing me with her, but absolutely flooring me with your interpretation and your voice for her. She is someone who is rising from the ashes, someone who can have the whole city at her feet -- if only she wanted it so. Bring us Hippolyta or bring us damnation!  Please read over the checklist and send in your blog within 24 hours.
WELCOME TO THE MOB.
Out of Character
Alias | Tyra
Age | 20
Preferred Pronouns | she/her
Activity Level | I’m a college student and things can sometimes get super hectic for me, especially when I try to avoid studying and then I end up with so much work to do. But all in all, I think I’m a pretty active person and when I love a muse, there’s nothing that can stop me from playing them.
Timezone | gmt+2
Current/Past RP Accounts | A few months ago, I took a small break from the rp world, so most of my ( good ) old rp accounts no longer exist.
In Character
Character | Hippolyta
What drew you to this character? | I stumbled upon this rp before the opening and of course a lot of characters were open. But even then I solely had my eyes set on Halcyon - it’s almost like when you have a crush on someone and you really can’t stop thinking about them no matter what. I fell in love with Halcyon because I adore women, strong women who struggle with their own beauty - they’re both blessed and cursed by it. It reminded me of that quote from The Secret History ‘’Beauty is terror’’ and for Halcyon it really does bring terror. Even in history, most beautiful women had pretty tragic lives - it just shows that world actually hates beautiful things and wants to see them destroyed and punished. Why must all the princesses in fairy tales suffer tremendously? Well, it’s because they’re beautiful and hold great power and because of their parents. I love the fact that she simply refuses to let fate play with her, to devour her and turn her into nothing but a pretty doll on someone’s old shelf. She’s a woman that definitely wants to fight for herself, I can see that she’s deeply passionate - in more ways than one. In spite of her parents wishes and in spite of the love she possessed for them, she still had a lover and wanted to marry him. Sure, she never got that happy ending with him, but at least she was brave enough to listen to her own heart. I don’t think every woman would do that - especially not in her position. I believe she’s also fed up with men being in charge - she’s read about them, had to learn about them in history classes, men have played with her and bossed her around her whole life - from her father to her fiance and husband.  Lastly, I think it’s astonishingly beautiful and amazing how she went from being a trophy wife to a Captain for the Capulets. I don’t think gods had a lot to do with that - she was the one that asked for a meeting with Cosimo - there’s no way Aphrodite had helped her in this situation. So, she is resourceful and intelligent, and God she brings me to my knees. She’s all that most women probably wish to be.  
What is a future plot idea you have in mind for the character? |
ー This idea came to me upon reading her first connection and I honestly don’t see her as a  truly religious person - but I think she simply enjoys in the process of sharing her own personal thoughts and spilling the secrets because it’s really hard to carry them around all the time. But I reckon it would be interesting to see her tell something possibly dangerous - something that she wasn’t supposed to tell to Hugo or well anyone. Now, it’s quite clear that she fears Cosimo more than anyone else, so I’d like to see how she’d deal with the priest after that. I guess she’d start getting a bit paranoid, maybe even try to make him forget with generous donations to his church, but I want her to feel in danger ( if only a little ). Question yourself, question god and question the priest.
ー Her friendship with Everett simply warms my heart and I believe she truly values the fact that she has him in her life. I think what they have is just something that cannot be bought with money and their closeness is really sweet. But Halcyon would definitely be worried about him because of his brother. It pains her that he doesn’t want to provide her any sort of explanations, so it would be interesting to see her take matters into her own hands and even try to befriend Easton. I know this would most likely put her in a sticky situation, but making her life complicated is simply interesting.  
ー Her ‘‘partnership’‘ with Theodora and Orpheus is a rather intriguing one, but a part of me feels like she doesn’t fully trust them, especially not lately. She is a smart woman and it’s quite clear that any truly intelligent person really cannot trust anyone ( fully ) but themselves. I want her to have certain doubts and never reveal her true cards to them. I want her cunning side to win this time. Keep your friends close, but your masters of secrets even closer.
ー She wasn’t blessed by Aphrodite herself to be fooled and treated wrongly all of her life. I’d like to see the roles reversed in this case. I want to see her play with the hearts of others. With such an alluring face and eyes, I think she has every right to be a queen of hearts. For a woman who was stuck in a loveless marriage, she surely has a lot more freedom now. So, why not seize it? I’d be nice to see her use her own charm and beauty as an advantage - this time it’s in her hands and not of her parents.  
Are you comfortable with killing off your character? | I can’t say that I would be too happy about it, but maybe if a good reason presents itself!
In Depth
In-Character Para Sample:
Invigorating morning sun shone brilliantly, making the small church look whiter than ever and for a moment everything seemed so peaceful. it was almost time for her grand wedding, the end of an era and her wonderful life. Most brides were exhilarated and beyond happy on their wedding days, but Halcyon sadly did not belong in that club of women. Unlike the rest of them, she didn’t have a chance to marry the love of her life - no he was somewhere in Europe, lost and probably far more happier than her in this moment, with pockets filled with the money of her parents. Perhaps he wasn’t such a fool after all, in fact it truly seemed like he was once the smartest man in the whole Verona.
She stood in front a massive mirror decorated with golden roses and small silver crystals - her husband had a taste for the luxurious things in life and even the smallest details were important, but no amount of money or crystals could ever make his personality beautiful. She wore a voluminous antique wedding dress that represented her chastity, mesmerizing enough to even make virgin Mary blush. However, it was just a facade, old traditions meant nothing now and no amount of waiting could ever be compared to a feeling of a lover’s kiss on her lips or a hand between her legs. Goddess Aphrodite had blessed her with beauty but also a ferocious appetite for passion. She kept staring at herself in the mirror, warm chocolate eyes trying to find tiny pores and even the slightest imperfections - there were none. Perhaps that was the thing that had made her so desirable and that gave the right to her parents to sell her like some cow. Truth be told, it was once a tradition among the common folk  - bring the most beautiful cow to the market, put pretty chains around her neck and sell her to the highest bidder. So, what was the difference between her and an ordinary animal? Both eventually had to end up in the slaughterhouse. Macabre thoughts plagued her mind, not allowing Halcyon to take a break for even one second but she had every right to be nervous.  
He fathered entered the room without any greetings, waltzing around like a ghost. ‘‘It’s time, Halcyon.’‘ It’s time, she repeated the words in her head, biting her bottom lip so hard that it almost started to bleed. It was something red - for good luck. He gently approached her, keeping a slight smile upon his lips and offering her his hand. In one moment, she got a sudden urge to turn around and start running, but such tricks only worked in films and sadly Halcyon wasn’t living in some old noir Italian movie.
‘Is this how Marie Antoinette felt when they were taking her to the scaffolds?’ Another questioned formed in her little head, but only static noise kept whispering strange things to her. In the end, she got no answer.
‘‘Do you, Halcyon Santos take…’‘The priest spoke slowly and almost in a loving manner, but she didn’t bother listening to him. She didn’t dare to look at her husband, it was too painful and underneath her gorgeous lace veil she didn’t even have to try. But through the small holes, she could see the rest of the crowd, all of them looking so content with themselves, especially her parents. Look at them, look at those horrible monsters. They only came to see a spectacular show and what was  more spectacular than a wedding?  She felt like a circus beast, chained to a pedestal.  ( Dance, you little fool, for us. Dance!  )
She loathed them all for simply sitting there like idiots, for doing nothing to help her. Where were all the mighty heroes, why didn’t anyone want to rescue the beautiful princess in the ivory tower? Perhaps they were blinded by her pretty golden shackles. ‘’I do.’’Her white-knuckled hands clenched her bouquet of white lilies and suddenly she felt the weight of the veil upon her shoulders.
Then it was time for the gorgeous rings. More chains and shackles.
‘‘Your hand is so warm, my dear. ‘‘ Her executioner slipped a gorgeous ring onto her finger, a diamond ring that was only suitable for such a pretty woman, but he did not know that her warmth was just her hatred burning through.
“If anyone has any objections speak now or forever hold your peace ‘’ Silence reigned in the spacious church, but everyone kept their long and sharp tongues behind their pearly white teeth. It was almost funny to think that so many different things took place in churches - christenings, weddings, funerals, but were they all actually that different? After all, this was Halcyon’s funereal, the rest just weren’t aware of that.
‘Come on you fools. say something.’ But no one did.
‘‘I pronounce you husband and wife. You may now kiss the bride.’‘
There’s more than one way for a husband to kill his wife. Henry The Eight did it by chopping off Anne Boleyn’s head. Halcyon’s husband did it by kissing her. When their lips met she became his property.‘Until death do us part. ‘ But for Halcyon, that wasn’t a sweet promise of fidelity. No, no. It was actually a prophecy.
Clad in the dark habiliments of mourning, Halcyon slowly steeped into the same church where she had once stood in a beautiful wedding dress. Thunders roared outside and it seemed like even the heavens came to mourn her foolish husband. She approached the closed casket of her husband, concealing her face from the rest of the crowd with a large black hat. In her hands, she held a single white rose, her favorite, not his. They came for him. Not the gods, but men made of flesh and blood. They were coming for her, too. But unlike him, she was ready for the storms.
Free, she was once again free. But it just didn’t seem appropriate to smile during a funereal. ‘‘They were right. The priest was right. I was right.’‘She whispered, hoping that maybe, just maybe he was somewhere listening - she didn’t believe in ghost but for him she was willing to try.
‘‘Until death do us part. And it did. Your hands must be so cold now, my dear.’’
Extras:I’m working on a Pinterest board and some edits, but I wanted to submit this before Sunday!
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