I'm back talking about Harry Potter and Snape's worst memory because while I hate the author y'all bug me.
Snape worst memory isn't James bulling him or string him up in front of the school, (that was bad I'm not saying it wasn't) it was Lily ending her friendship with him because he called her a Mudblood. With evidence.
To prove my point we have to go read the Deathly Hallows when Snape gave Harry his memories! We get to see the scene again but this time the thing that sticks out the most is Snape calling Lily a Mudblood. Now if that's not enough proof the next memory goes like this.
*Outside Gryffindor Tower*
Snape: I'm sorry
Lily: I'm not interested
S: I'm sorry!
L: save your breath... I only came out here because Mary told me you were threatening to sleep here.
S: I was. I would have done. I never ment to call you a Mudblood it just-
L: Slipped out? It's too late. I've made excuses for you for years. None of my friends can understand why I even talk to you. You and your precious little Death Eater friends- you see, you don't even deny it! You don't even deny that's what you're all aiming to be! You can't wait to join You-Know-Who, can you? I can't pretend anymore. You've chosen your way, I've chosen mine.
S: No-listen, I didn't mean-
L:-to call me a Mudblood? But you call everyone of my birth Mudblood, Severus. Why should I be any different?
*Lily leaves. Memory ends*
The next memory is Snape becoming a turn coat for Dumbledore so he could keep Lily safe because Voldemort wouldn't spare her.
Snape has had worse experiences then a teenage James Potter being a bully (even if it was shitty). so we look at the rest of the memory and lo and behold what do we see? The actual worst moment of Snape life, the moment he lost Lily forever.
11 notes
·
View notes
@asteritm / continued from here
party pooper. oh hey clarice, it's nice to hear from you! how are you? how's life? i'm doing really well, thanks for asking! crunch anything tasty lately?
party pooper. drop the first t in texting, throw in an s actually. and he's still getting the hang of it but he can't get better without practice you know. what better time to do it when he's supposed to be paying attention?
party pooper. — on a scale of one to five, how bad is it? one being distracted but functioning and five being cannot carry a conversation to save his life? i have to know, for record keeping purposes, and then yes — i might give him some breathing room. do you know how fun it is to drive a man a little insane with a picture or two? i bet you do, one way or the other.
party pooper. whatcha talking about? anything fun?
[sms] handle with caution. gods, you even text the same. no wonder you two fuck like rabbits, it must be like screwing a mirror for him. not to impugn your good looks by comparison, darling — and of course, i'm delighted that you're well. how goes your training in ... whatever it is he claims to be teaching you? CS.
[sms] handle with caution. yes, yes, i'm well aware of the context. and the contents. and his password, much to his dismay. artfully posed, by the way; what i wouldn't give to have your body. CS.
[sms] handle with caution. oh please, child. it's the easiest game in the world. with men, you'll reach the madhouse long before you could ever hope to reach the truth, every time. and no, i cannot think of anything i would rather do less than rate the depths of john constantine's lust, thank you ever so much for asking. CS.
[sms] handle with caution. business of course, what else? although that particular discussion seems to have effectively stalled, at present, thank you again. as much delightful nostalgia and secondhand embarrassment as i'm finding in the ... sordid details of your extracurricular activities, need i point out, to you of all people, that it would be far more professional to get it on on your own time? rather than, for example, mine? CS.
[sms] handle with caution. [IMG ATTACHMENT] besides, your man here is already averaging a 3.5 over little more than a tasteful glimpse of cleavage and a quarter-body shot — i'm sure you can do better than that. than him, for that matter. CS.
[sms] handle with caution. i know, i know, dreadful of me. and i did say i wouldn't pry. the heart wants what it wants, i suppose, regardless of such ... trivial hurdles as simple rational thought. i can relate to that, at least, but i do wish you'd let me set you up with at least one of the more ... lucrative matches on hand. after all, even if it didn't pan out, it couldn't hurt to keep up at least an appearance of availability, in your position, hm? CS.
3 notes
·
View notes
nothing will melt my heart more than imagining kiba being a mean fucking cunt towards literally everyone because he just hates dealing with people in general, but as soon as it's a dog, he's all coos and fanged smiles and gentle headpats and, "who's a good boy? you are, yes you are! such a good puppy, mhmm!"
16 notes
·
View notes
#23 - No, you misunderstood, this is a PuppyBowl party, we don’t do sports in this house & Carrie/Reggie (or Carrie-Reggie), for the Autumn Prompts, please and thanks
When Carrie told him her Dad had invited him to their annual SuperBowl party, he kind of worried. Not just because he hadn't actually met Carrie's dad yet. And because Carrie's dad was the Trevor Wilson, who had platinum records up the wazoo and a helicopter with his face on it. Or because Trevor Wilson's parties were legendary.
Mostly because he was dating Carrie and he desperately wanted to make a good impression on her dad but he knew nothing about sport.
"Don't worry, you'll love it," Carrie had reassured him, which worried him even more. When had he ever been the kind of guy who liked sports? Sure, he went to Carlos' games, but that was to support his little brother in spirit and because the Baseball Moms shared their amazing snacks with him.
So he'd gone to Ray for help. Except Ray admitted he was a baseball and hockey kind of guy. Alex and Luke's dads were out of the question. And Flynn's parents were sci-fi geeks. He'd even tried Tía Victoria, who gave him an amazing recipe for a dip for a SuperBowl Party but zero tips on what the actual rules of the game were.
He tried his best googling, and hoped it would be okay if he just showed up wearing his red flannel (not a team colour either way this year, so he was probably safe) and cheered when everyone else cheered.
He felt even worse when he got to the gate biked past several really fancy-looking cars. There was a valet at the front entrance. They both kind of did an awkward dance before Reggie pointed at the little nook where he usually stashed his bicycle. The valet took his bike off him, and he shouted a 'thank you sorry!' before hightailing it inside, because he had no idea if he was supposed to tip the guy or not.
The place was busy, jam packed with rich and famous people. Reggie tried not to gawk, or lose his mind when he was pretty sure he saw Lizzo at the snack table, and Hozier hanging out on one of the couches. Thankfully, Carrie was in full bright pink, a cute little sporty jacket and beanie, and he hurried over to her before someone tried to kick him out.
"Hey!" she said, granting him a kiss on his cheek. "You made it."
"I think I just saw Gerard Way shove a dog biscuit in his mouth," Reggie whispered in her ear frantically.
Carrie snorted and rolled her eyes. "Yeah, Dad really went all out on the themed snacks this year."
"Dog biscuits are a SuperBowl thing?" Reggie asked, confused. Was one of the teams Dog Themed? Had he messed up his research?
"No, you misunderstood," a voice behind him said. Reggie turned around to come face to face with Trevor Freaking Wilson. "This is a Puppy Bowl party, we don’t do sports in this house."
"Oh my god I love the Puppy Bowl!" Reggie said excitedly, instantly forgetting how anxious he'd been about meeting Carrie's dad. Mr Wilson grinned, clapping him on the shoulder jovially.
"I told you you'd like it," Carrie said smugly.
13 notes
·
View notes