blackribbonersally - Tumblr blog

[blackribbonersally]

Severus Snape Forever (I’m tired of always).

[blackribbonersally]

Stay alive, please.

“I could keep you safe,” he rasped. “They’re all afraid of me. No one would hurt you again, or I’d kill them.”  - A Clash of Kings - Sansa VII

[blackribbonersally]

And, after all is said and done, hardcore fans need something to read because we’re tired of waiting for The Winds of Winter. I’m sorry, but if GRRM believes fanfic writers are assassinating his book!characters, well, then someone explain why he allowed Stannis’ character to be utterly destroyed in the show, and Ellaria’s, and Jaime’s, and Sandor’s... They are hardly recognisable.

Hey there, recently finished your fan piece "Long Live the King", and was wondering, as a fan of GRRM, how you juggle your enthusiasm and creativity for fleshing out the threadbare elements of the world, with the author's stance on fanfiction?

On the one hand, I would be lying if I said I didn’t understand where the author is coming from on this stance. He’s publicly stated that these characters are his children, and that’s no small statement from him: he’s poured over two decades into this work, created an entire universe of well-developed characters and set them in this world that has its own rich history and cultures and societies. I can understand where someone who has worked so hard on that would feel justifiably defensive of his creation. I would also be lying if I said I had not seen some really terrible fanfic in my time - stuff where the characters share nothing in common with the source material save a name and maybe fleeting physical resemblance. I can only imagine how frustrating that is for any author, but especially one so invested as he’s been, to see this really terrible stuff and think to himself “That’s not what my characters would do” or “That’s not how that exchange would go”. To that end, I understand. (And let’s not ignore the fact that not all fanfics are created equal; there are some very disturbing ones out there.)

I also am strongly against making money off fanfiction. As much as I enjoy reading or writing pieces (and I do), I acknowledge first and foremost that this is not my sandbox. I did not invent these characters (well, most of them; I might invent some minor characters, but you understand the difference), and I certainly did not invent this world. This is GRRM’s world, that I’m lucky enough to read and experience, and his profits should go to him.

But.

Especially when talking about "fleshing out the threadbare elements of the world", I feel that fanfiction is by and large a good thing. I don’t know if I can say all, but I think a significant, dare I say, majority chunk of fanfic comes from a place of very dear, very true love and respect for the source material. Most authors I see aren’t writing fanfic because “Look how much better of a job I could do than GRRM”, they’re doing it because they love the stuff GRRM has created and want to keep it going, to delve even further into this world he’s made. They want to share their thoughts, they want to add to the conversation, they want to flesh out the world of ASOIAF.

And … well, there are plenty of segments of GRRM’s world that could use expanding. To give only one example: how many great Elia fics has anyone reading this ever read? Probably at least a few; I know I’ve read a bunch. In these stories, Elia comes alive, as a daughter, sister, wife, mother, hell as a woman. Now comparatively, think about what GRRM gave us in terms of Elia. Look, I love GRRM and ASOIAF, but it’s no comparison. Elia’s only one example, too; think of all the fanfic that involves historical characters, or now-adult characters in their youths. Are we ever going to get those stories from GRRM? Extremely doubtful. But now we have interpretations of them, made by people who genuinely love this narrative.   

That’s where fanfic really shines for me. When I write fanfic, I get to write what Elia and Oberyn were talking about at Harrenhal, or what Alys Arryn might have said to Bloodraven on the eve of the Great Council of 233 AC. When I write fanfic, I get to imagine what Westeros’ version of a Shakespearean history play might be. GRRM is never going to do this stuff, and that’s ok! No one author can write everything. This is just my interpretation of those scenarios, based on what the author has given me and what I can logic out from this universe. Far from being derivative or unoriginal, these are the ideas I’ve come up with that the author has (and probably will) not.

After all, fanfic can be just as creative, in-depth, and well-written as its source material. I treat the source material as my baseline, but I build from there where the author’s given nothing. This is the evolution of the literary conversation that has been happening since people started telling stories. GRRM is no more free of the tendency to pluck from his own library of materials he’s read than any author that ever came before him (heck, it’s not like Shakespeare didn’t take from popularly known stories of his day to make his plays). That’s the beauty of fanfic, to evolve the stories of others with our own ideas and experiences.

So, if GRRM hates me for writing ASOIAF fanfic, well, that’s unfortunate, but I’m not apologizing for my writing. I’m adding to the conversation, giving my take on the stuff that GRRM hasn’t shown, and as far as I can tell will never show. That doesn’t mean some stuff shouldn’t be criticized, or that there’s not always a danger of some authors writing some really terrible stuff. But I find most of it harmless, and some of it truly extraordinary.

[blackribbonersally]

Sev Snape - Some that die deserve life. Can you give it to them?

In fiction? Always.

Madam Rosmerta has been looking out of her window. She has not joined the people of Hogsmeade, who have all run to Hogwarts to fight in the battle. She suddenly sees strange lights flashing from the now broken windows of the Shrieking Shack. Strangely, there are no shouts or indeed shrieks coming from it. There is, instead, an eerie silence.

She doesn’t know what is going on, whether the battle is lost or won. But she fears the worst. She decides that, after all, she does not want to live under Voldemort’s tyranny. If she has to die, the sooner the better, and better still to die fighting than cornered in her own house. There is no one shrieking in the Shack, so she knows Bellatrix and the Carrows aren’t there, but she cannot be sure who else might be. Whoever they are, she’d better be prepared. Wand, and of course, some healing remedies. What witch does not carry some magical herbs and potions about her?

There is no one left in the village, friend or foe. She walks to the Shack, unnoticed. The door is open, broken, and there is no sound at all. Just silence. She inspects the ruined rooms, treading carefully on the debris. There, lying on the floor, lies the body of a man. He is not moving at all, head fallen to one side.

“Lumos”.

She can see clearly now. The fallen man is the Headmaster of Hogwarts, the hated Death Eater, the man who killed Dumbledore. He’s dead now. Or maybe just half dead? Carefully, she approaches him, wand ready just in case he happens to be half dead - which would mean, of course, that he’s half alive. The man does not move.

Rosmerta checks carefully. The wound on his neck looks awful, there is still a trickle of blood gushing from it. She checks for a heartbeat. Nothing... wait, there is something. Faint, feeble, but unmistakable a heartbeat. The man is, after all, almost dead, but not quite. But he deserves to die, doesn’t he?

No. No one deserves to die like this, not even him. Dumbledore wouldn’t have left anyone to die like this, he wouldn’t.

Kneeling by his side, she examines his wounds. First thing first: the wound on his neck looks like a bite. Poisonous? Maybe. Poison... Dittany of Crete works with some poisonous bites and seals wounds. Yes, she’s got it. Star grass salve will also help. Every witch worth her wand knows about herbs and healing potions, or she isn't a witch. She empties the small vial of Dittany on his neck, and applies the salve for good measure. She can’t leave him there, though, but Levitation charms aren’t that difficult. She takes him home as fast as she can. She picks up his wand as well. The streets are still deserted, the silence overwhelming.

She carries him to her room and lays him on her bed. Now she can remove his bloody clothes, and check for more injuries. There are none. His heart is still beating feebly. Rosmerta washes the dried blood from his face, his hands, his body. She looks at him. Too thin, too pale, mauve shadows under his long black lashes, white hands with long fingers immobile on her flowered bedspread. He doesn’t look dangerous at all. He looks as if no one has cared for him for a long, long time.

She can do no more. The silence has been broken. The battle has started again. She had not wished to join the battle before, and she has no wish to join it now. She focuses on the wounded man instead. She pulls off the now dirty, wet bedspread. She dresses him up in one of her husband’s old shirts, wraps a quilt around him, lights the fire. She must keep him warm, his skin had felt far too cold and clammy. She decides to stay and check that he is as comfortable a she can manage. The man sighs now and then, but does not regain consciousness.

The dawn brings her neighbours back, singing and exultant: You Know Who has been defeated, the Death Eaters are either dead or captured. She comes down, opens her door, and listens to the stories about the great victory. The prisoners will be sent to Azkaban, and the Ministry has decreed that Voldemort’s hardcore Death Eaters will receive the Dementor’s kiss. She has one of them upstairs in her room. She should turn him in and let him face Azkaban, with the rest of the rabble.

She goes up to her room and looks at the man. He is so pale that he seems to have no blood left in him. Yet he is still breathing, slowly, painfully, weakly. She decides to keep quiet, no one is looking for him. She shudders at the thought of a Dementor sucking up his soul. There is no way she is going to allow anyone, not even him, to receive a Dementor’s kiss.

But the wounded man still hasn’t moved, and his face is still deadly white. She needs… she needs healing magic, not homemade remedies, if she wants to help him. She realises, with a start, that she does want to help him. The easiest way to get what she wants is volunteering to help Madam Pomfrey take care of the wounded.

She makes sure her room is quite warm, double locks her door and goes to Madam Pomfrey, who is glad to get some help, and explains to Rosmerta what is needed for which wounds, side effects of curses, poisonous bites.

“That snake bit several of our students, Rosmerta. We are quite fortunate Dumbledore left with us a goblet filled with Phoenix’ tears. We have, of course, antidote for common poisons, but we wanted to make sure. Just two drops on every bite will be enough.

There are some who have lost a lot of blood, they have to take Blood Replenishing Potion. Two spoonfuls three times a day.

The ones on the left have suffered personal losses, they should rest. A measure of Dreamless Sleep Potion will suffice.

The ones on the far left have already been unconscious for too long; it’s better to give them a spoonful of Revive Potion”.

The rest of the injured and wounded, I will take care of them myself”.

Rosmerta soon proves to be quite an asset, and she also proves to be quite deft at taking small quantities of what she thinks she needs without Madam Pomfrey’s noticing. A vial of Blood Replenishing Potion. A vial of Dreamless Sleep Potion. A small bottle of Revive Potion. And she also manages to get some drops of the very powerful, very rare and extremely valuable Phoenix tears.

Back home, everything is the same. The man is somewhat warmer, but his breathing seems worse than when she left. She quickly drops the Phoenix tears on the still not quite sealed wound. When she sees that the unhealthy look is vanishing, leaving only a very faint scar, she is overjoyed. Now she has to decide what to do next. The Revive Potion to awaken the unconscious man and then the Blood Replenishing Potion seem a good choice.

She holds him up and manages to pour some drops of Revive Potion into his mouth, praying that he is able to swallow it. Soon his fingers begin to twitch, and he opens his eyes. He looks around without curiosity or wonder. His black eyes have a weary, tired look. His back is resting against a woman’s warm body, a woman who is holding him tight, but he is too weak to move.

- Here, Professor Snape, you have to take this. Two spoonfuls. You have lost too much blood”.

Hs recognises the voice.

- “Ros..?” he says, hoarsely. Every word is an effort. “How?”

- “I brought you home. Now take this. It’s Blood Replenishing Potion, I’m not trying to poison you, truly. You will feel better soon, and we’ll talk then. Later. I promise”.

The man swallows his two spoonfuls, and Rosmerta lays him back on the pillows. He soon falls asleep, but it’s a troubled sleep; Rosmerta is worried, she’s not sure how potions work together, and she can’t risk anything else; he doesn’t seem worse, though; he’s just thrashing and talking in his sleep. Rosmerta tries to restrain him, holding his hands, and then she realises what he’s saying. She listens with surprise first, then horror and repugnance. Not at what the man has done, but at what was done to him.

She dares not use the Awake Potion again, but there is something she can do. The remedy has worked for centuries. She takes off her clothes and slips into the bed. She holds him tightly, and speaks softly, trying to calm him down, brushing his hair off his face, tracing the lines of his eyebrows with her fingers. After a while, the man seems to relax, though he still mutters softly now and then. She, finally, falls asleep as well.

She opens her eyes when a wandering ray of sun touches her face. The man is still asleep, his breathing easier, his face still pale but his colour slightly better, the mauve shadows under his eyes are not as dark as they were. He is lying on his side, his face next to hers, one arm thrown carelessly over her waist, the other trapped between the pillow and her neck. She doesn’t want to wake him up. Instead, she lets her eyes wander over his white face, white chest, white shoulders. Black hair, black eyebrows, black lashes. Snow and midnight. A faint, zig-zagging scar can still be seen on the side of his neck.

The man finally wakes up. His eyes meet her gaze, and hold it. There is no hatred in Rosmerta's warm, vibrant, brilliant blue eyes. He has seen nothing but hatred and derision for a long time, everywhere he looked. Then he realises that he is actually holding her body.

-“I’m... sorry”.

-“Don’t, Professor Snape. Everything’s all right. You’ve been very sick; I’ll bring you something to eat, and you’ll feel better. Oh, and you will need two more spoonfuls of the Blood Replenishing Potion, I think”.

She disentangles herself, throws a shawl over her body and returns with a bowl of the traditional remedy for people recovering from an illness, magical or not: chicken broth. She puts the tray on the bed, and makes sure he finishes it, then gives him two more spoonfuls of the Potion. He really has lost far too much blood, but he looks slightly better. At least he doesn’t look like death. Just very, very pale and very, very tired.

-“Ros....? “

-“Yes?”

- “I need to know. Is the battle lost?”

-“We’ve won. He who must not be named is dead. Truly dead. The Death Eaters are being sent to Azkaban”.

-“Why am I here, then?”

-“I found you in the Shrieking Shack. I brought you home, and I’ve been taking care of you. You were badly hurt.”

-“But why? Why did you do it? I’m a Death Eater.”

-“At first, because I couldn’t let you die there, alone. I wouldn’t have let a dog die like that. Now, because I know all about you. You worked for Dumbledore. Yet he let them hate you, hit you, hurt you, kill you, they wanted to kill you. It was your nightmare, wasn’t it? A long nightmare”.

-“What do you mean?”

-“You talk in your dreams, didn’t you know? And I can listen. I know what you did, and I know who you really are.”

The man looks at the now empty tray and does not know what to say. He is so used to hide behind a mask that this is disconcerting. He looks up again. Pity is the last thing he wants. But there’s no trace of pity in her eyes; there is warmth, kindness, understanding. The whole universe is a brilliant, glowing blue.

Then he looks at himself.

-“What the hell am I wearing, Ros?”

-“It’s one of my husband’s old shirts. I had to burn your clothes. White suits you better than black, anyway.”

Rosmerta takes away the tray and returns to the room. She sits on the bed, and takes his hand in both of hers. Her touch is warm. Warmth. When has anyone shown him any warmth?  When has anyone given him everything, and demanded nothing in return?. Someone who has not criticised him, has not judged him, has not doubted him. No one.

-“Would you prefer to be alone?”

-“No, not really. Stay”.

They look at each other, and Rosmerta is slowly drawn towards the man who is reclining against the pillows, till there is no distance between them, their eyes still locked. Then she kisses his mouth, lightly, sweetly, almost expecting to be rejected. But there is no rejection. His free hand touches her hair and draws her nearer.

It takes several days more for the man to recover; physical wounds heal fast, but stress, anguish and trauma are not so easily healed. He has time to think when Rosmerta isn’t keeping him company, and he can see clearly he can’t stay, well, he does want to stay just a little bit longer, but he must go away, and soon. Damn. The Wizardly World is quite busy mourning their dead, judging and condemning, celebrating the victory of the Boy Who Lived Twice. No one has remembered him yet; no one but Potter knows what happened, and he knows very well the depth of the hatred Potter has always felt for him.

Anyway, it’s good to talk with someone. For once in his life he has nothing to hide, nothing to be ashamed of; there is no point, as Ros has seen both his naked body and his naked soul. She’s seen him as he is, and she accepts him as he is. And he truly enjoys her company, her stories about her life, the antics of her clients, a life he’s never been part of. It feels wonderful.

But nothing lasts forever, and he must go.

-“Ros, I can’t stay here, it’s dangerous for you. I won’t let you risk your life for me. I am a wanted man. I am tired of lying and I will always be surrounded by suspicion and hatred if I stay. It always tasted like poison. I don’t want to taste this poison ever again. I have to go”.

-“You don’t have to...”.

-“I do, Ros, can’t you see?”

-“I meant you don’t have to go alone. I will go with you.”

-“Ros... I can’t offer you anything, Ros.”

-“But I don’t want anything. Just you. If you want me.”

-“Want you? Want you? I do, don’t you know I do? But we can't get married. No wizard can marry us, and no Muggle can marry us. Would you accept to live with me, as husband and wife, with no marriage vows?”

-“I would. We can write our own vows, and that will be enough.”

Soon after, in the middle of the night, a man silently Disapparates and Apparates again near Spinner’s End. The house is empty, the Ministry has been through it, and all his books and magical implements have been taken away. But the Ministry officers aren't smart enough to find Muggle hidden places. His passport, his mother’s passport, his Muggle money, documents and clothes are still where he left them. Rosmerta, meanwhile, advertises that The Three Broomsticks is for sale.

Now he only needs a little magic to change his passport, and a little more magic to change his mother’s passport for Ros to use. They are leaving as Muggles. They need new names, because the old ones could be traced by the Ministry officers, damn that Big Brother is watching you thing.

They have to decide the names that will appear on their passports.

-“I quite like Ros, you know. But it’s not really a name. And Rosmerta is not a Muggle name, is it?”

-“What do you say to Rosemary? It means “remembrance”. Or Roxana, if you like to keep a witch’s name.”

-“Rosemary. I’d rather be remembered. Now you. You can’t keep Severus either. Are there Muggle names beginning with Sev? Rus?”

-“Not Sev. It was a name used by somebody that I used to know. Besides I can only think of Sebastian, which I don’t like much. Russell, though... Russ and Ros?

The both laugh at the idea, but it’s not really that bad. They’re Muggle enough, and similar enough to their original ones. Rosemary and Russell, and a new surname. It doesn’t take long. Prince is a Muggle surname as well as a magical surname. Ros finds quite funny the fact that the photo on her passport does not move. But there's still one other thing.

-"Your hair."

-"What's wrong with my hair? It's always been like this."

-"Your hair, my dear, is as telling as your nose. You need an haircut. Don't look so horrified, it's only your hair I'm cutting. All right, just a little bit."

The Three Broomsticks is sold; Ros has a week to pack her things and leave the premises. She has to say goodbye to her neighbours, and tells them that she’s going to live with some Irish cousins. Her neighbours and clients will miss her, or rather they will miss her mead, but understand her desire to go away.

And now... they only have to leave. Russell Prince has his few belongings packed in a backpack, including his wand, his Muggle money and both passports. He is leaving at midnight; he is catching  a bus from Dufftown to Aberdeen, and then a flight to London-Gatwick. Aurors know he can fly, but they lack imagination. A  wizard wouldn’t choose leaving on a jet plane. Unconceivable. He looks like the average tourist. Jeans, white shirt, jacket.

Rosemary Prince will leave on the Knight Bus; she has to go to Diagon Alley to change all her galleons into Muggle money. Her bags are packed, but she’s not taking much, either.

-“Remember, Ros. I can’t be seen near the Leaky Cauldron. Muggle world is not that difficult; once you leave, just follow Charing Cross road till you find a taxi, and tell the driver to take you to Saint Paul’s Cathedral. I’ll be there, waiting for you.”

-“And I’ll be there, looking for you.”

Goblins don’t ask questions, so Ros has no trouble at all getting her money changed; she has no trouble either finding a taxi, they are clearly marked with a “TAXI” sign. At the entrance of Saint Paul’s Cathedral, Russ is waiting for her. They leave their bags at the small Bed & Breakfast where Russ has already reserved a room, and they go back to the cathedral.

There, in the Chapel of St. Dunstan, quite deserted this early in the morning, holding hands, they make their quite unusual vows.

-“I, Severus, want to be in the warm hold of your loving mind. To feel you all around me, and to take your hand along my path. I want to hide behind your smile, and, anywhere I’ll look, your eyes find. I want you near me to kill my fears, to help me to leave all my blues behind. For standing in your heart is where I want to be, and long to be, forever.”

-“I, Rosmerta, will never leave you or turn back from following you; for wherever you go, I will go, and wherever you live, I will live. Your people shall be my people and your God, my God. Wherever you die, I will die, and there I will be buried, by your side, so not even Death can do us part.”

They return to the Bed & Breakfast, where there is indeed breakfast and a bed. They can rest for a while, even if some hanky-panky does take place. Mostly panky, to be frank. Their flight from Heathrow to Charles de Gaulle isn’t scheduled till early morning. Next day, they fly from Orly to Venice. Changing airports, changing airlines, and no magic. Ros is thrilled to discover a world she has never seen.

Honeymooning in Venice, they have to decide where to go, and where to live. It’s a hard decision, but they finally settle for a city filled with magic, and whose Ministry of Magic has had a quite strained relationship with the British Ministry of Magic over a matter of Flying Carpets.

They have, quite successfully, disappeared from the British Wizardly world. When the Aurors  decide to recover the Headmaster's corpse from the Shrieking Shack, they find nothing except dried blood and rags. But no clues. He is nowhere to be found, and no one sees him again.

NINETEEN YEARS AFTER

Ginny and Ron convince their spouses to travel to Egypt, the land that had so impressed them so many years before, but that Harry and Hermione haven’t still visited. The children are in school, little Hugo is left with the Grangers, little Lily with the Weasleys, and September is a good time to visit Egypt.

They agree that Saqqara, the wizard Imhotep’s most celebrated work, is a must. They have just entered the site when they see a small boy jump from one of the columns, launch himself skywards, laughing, and instead of crumpling on the dusty road, soar like a trapeze artist through the air, quite literally flying, staying up far too long, and landing far too lightly just in front of them, still laughing.

Harry has the uncanny feeling that he has seen this before, somewhere. He looks carefully at the obviously magical little boy, who looks back with a smile so full of mischief and confidence that he has to smile back.

- “Hello”, he says, tentatively, not sure if the child can understand English or not.

- “Oh, hullo. Did you come to see the hero.. the hieroglyphs too?”

He has long black hair parted in curtains around a face that would have been white if it wasn’t covered in red dust, and startlingly brilliant blue eyes. His black Whitesnake tee shirt, jeans and trainers are as covered in dust as his face. Whatever he’s been doing, he seems to have been thoroughly enjoying himself.

- “Yes, we have. Did you see them all?”

- “Some. But I really want to see the mummies. Aydin said there are lots and lots of mummies at Tuna el-Gebel. I want to see them all. Mummies are cool”.

Ron joins in the conversation, highly amused, if slightly confused. The child is obviously British, but he can’t figure out who he is. He can’t recall anyone with a child like this, though he’s sure he’s seen him somewhere.

-“Hello, I’m Ron, this is Harry here, Hermione and Ginny. So, what’s your name?”

-“Julian. Mum wanted to name me after a Roman warl.. warrior, but dad said that one old warl... warrior name was more than enough in the family. She does call me Jules, though”.

The four tourists exchange a look.

-“How old are you, Julian?”

-“Nine”

-“Shouldn’t you be at school?”

The boy looks horrified at the thought.

- “School? Who wants to be locked up in a filthy school?”

-“So, no school for you, then?”

- “Nah, my dad teaches us at home. Me and Nuriye and Aydin. History and herbs and mag... Maths. Yeah, Maths.” He looks quite satisfied, and brushes a black strand of hair off his eyes. “He knows loads of stuff, my dad”.

Hermione and Ginny exchange another look. Hermione is quite concerned because this boy has obviously been told about the International Statute of Secrecy, but the importance of “secrecy” has not been quite reinforced. Ginny is concerned that the child appears to be alone, and no one seems to have told him not to talk to strangers.

-“Is your father a teacher, then?”

-“He was, before we came home. It was a very old school, but he didn’t like it much. He says it was always cold there. I don’t like the cold, either. Do you?”.

-“Not much. So, do you live here now?”

-“Uh, no, we’re touristing a bit”. He points, quite accurately, to the North-East. “Our home’s up there. My dad says we live in the most magical city in the world”.

And there it is, clear as crystal. Magical. Hermione is getting really angry. This is against all rules and regulations. This child can be seen by Muggles, and is unafraid to speak freely with people. The Statute of Secrecy is International, for Merlin's sake, no matter where he lives, his parents have to make sure he is not seen or heard. She steps in.

-“Why have your parents left you alone, Julian?”

The child, surprised, turns his brilliant blue eyes on her.

-“They haven’t. They’re over there”.

Hermione and the rest look past the columns. In the shade, not far away, there is a couple holding hands. The woman is wearing a deep red silk kaftan embroidered in gold, so beautiful that both Ginny and Hermione make a mental note to buy one of those as soon as they can. Her long, curly blond hair is tied with a gold and red scarf, and she has lost none of the beauty that had so bewitched Ron so many years before. The child has his mother’s eyes, and she is looking at them with defiance. Her tall, thin husband isn’t looking at them at all, he seems not to have noticed they’re there, or, if he has, he does not care. He has long black hair, a streak of silver on one side, parted in curtains around a slightly tanned face, and his black eyes never leave his son. He’s wearing a cotton white shirt over his jeans; only his trainers are the same black colour as his son’s.

Harry has trouble recognising the man he had hated for so long. He has the same black hair, same hooked nose, the same... but... the eyes he remembers did not shine with love, pride and joy, and the grimace he remembers is actually a smile, and the smile is tender. He realises that he had always looked at him through a veil of hatred, like Sirius, like James. Now he’s seeing him objectively for the first time.

-“Jules”, calls the mother. “We’re leaving. You need a really good bath before dinner:”

-“A bath? But I already had a bath yesterday! I’m clean!”

He looks at his clothes, at his hands, at Ginny.

-“Do I need a bath?”

-“You do, you don’t want to go to bed covered in dust, do you?”

-“I s’ppose not. I’d better go. Bye.”

The child waves and runs to his parents, his feet hardly touching the ground. He takes his father’s hand and begins to talk excitedly as they walk towards the exit.

The woman looks at them with her bright blue eyes. She has obviously recognised them. She stares at each one for an instant, pride and defiance in her gaze, nods and walks on. The man doesn’t look at them at all; He’s telling his son that he does have to take a bath because, if he doesn’t, the caretaker will take him for a mummy and lock him up in the cave with the rest of the mummies, and that he is sorely tempted to leave him there. They hear the child’s delighted laugh as they walk away.

They never look back.

[blackribbonersally]

I learned from the White Bull and Barristan the Bold. I learned from Ser Arthur Dayne, the Sword of the Morning, who could have slain all five of you with his left hand while he was taking a piss with the right. I learned from Prince Lewyn of Dorne and Ser Oswell Whent and Ser Jonothor Darry, good men every one.

[blackribbonersally]

On this Yom Kippur eve, I hope that all who are fasting should have an easy fast.

Note that prayers and fasting on Yom Kippur absolve sins between a person and G-d; but those offenses between a person and another person can only be forgiven by those offended upon.

Therefore, for everyone, in the past year, if I have done anything to hurt or offend you, whether intentionally or unintentionally, I beg your forgiveness. I hope that in the coming year I may do better. In return, I will do my best to forgive and forget all slights, grudges, and hard feelings I have stored up throughout the year, so that I may begin the year with a clean slate and a clear mind. May the coming year bring joy and happiness to everyone, and may your names be inscribed in the book of life.

[blackribbonersally]

Much more satisfying ending than the infuriatingly predictable My Queen. Seven Hells, have we been waiting all these years just for another Targaryen incest?

I would need to steal her if I wanted her love, but she might give me children. I might someday hold a son of my own blood in my arms. A son was something Jon Snow had never dared dream of, since he decided to live his life on the Wall. I could name him Robb. Val would want to keep her sister’s son, but we could foster him at Winterfell, and Gilly’s boy as well. Sam would never need to tell his lie. We’d find a place for Gilly too, and Sam could come visit her once a year or so. Mance’s son and Craster’s would grow up brothers, as I once did with Robb. He wanted it, Jon knew then. He wanted it as much as he had ever wanted anything. I have always wanted it, he thought, guiltily. May the gods forgive me.

[blackribbonersally]

Crossfiction - HP ASOIAF

Was Severus Snape castrated? Is that why he's so grumpy?

This question/answer game is getting actually funny, once you get over the first holyshit moment. 

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Severus and Sirius were kidnapped when they were little boys in the North, and sold as slaves in Astapor. They were chosen by the Good Masters for their speed and strength.

Their training started when they were five and lasted from dawn to dusk. It was brutal, designed to teach them how to fight, and to deprive them of self-worth. The boys who were not hard enough were killed, so very few of them survived to become Unsullied.

Both Sirius and Severus were fully castrated, with their penis and testicles cut. When they were freed by the Mother of Dragons, both of them chose their names from the “S” bucket, and decided to travel for a while and see the world.

It was in the famed pillow-houses of Lys where they learned the way of the Seven and a Half Sighs (also known as the Way of Mrs. Cosmopilite or how to use my tongue to please My Lady).

When they learned that there was a place up North where wizards could regrow body parts, as long as aforesaid body parts hadn’t been removed with the help of the Dark Arts, they decided it was worth a try. Their body parts hadn’t been removed with any Dark Arts, whatever the fuck they were, but with a very sharp knife. They returned to the North and joined the Order of the Phoenix, where Dumbledore welcomed them as the exceptional fighters they were.

After the war, they spent several long months at Hogwarts, where Madam Pomfrey fed them assorted potions to make their missing organs grow again. It was a very painful time, but they were Unsullied, they could handle worse pain (and this time it really was for the Greater Good). They stayed a little bit longer than necessary, because, well, Madam Pomfrey couldn’t have known exactly what they had lost; and both guys had spent enough time in Lys to know exactly what they wanted for the Greater Good.

As soon as they were fully recovered, they realised that, with their black hair and dark looks, they might as well travel to Dorne and see what the country was like. The North remembers, but the South is warmer, and Winter is coming.

Severus, who had been pondering over many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten lore while he lied in bed, had become quite interested in the Dark Arts thing and Potion Making. Sirius, who had always been more of a reckless fighter, learned the One Thousand and One ways of producing a knife out of thin air, and practised the art of knife-throwing on Peeves.The pair made quite an impression in Sunspear,

It did not take long for Tyene Sand to notice the two foreign guys. Dorne was scarcely populated, and there weren’t too many attractive guys around. She wasn’t her cousin Arianne, doomed to fall easily for handsome men. Instead, she found the dark-haired guy who was so deftly brewing new potions with snake venom quite interesting. Very interesting indeed. He could actually brew better poisons than she did. Tyene valued intelligence and wit.

It did not take long for Nymeria Sand to notice them either, but she preferred the other dark-haired guy, the one who could throw a knife apparently out of nowhere with deadly accuracy, and she valued a daredevil - who rode a horse as he would ride a Hippogriff.

Severus, who had been in love with a girl who had been killed in the war but never said anything because, well, he was an Unsullied, fell for the beautiful, intelligent, sweet but dangerous Tyene. Sirius, who had never been in love because a fight was always better than a woman, fell for the beautiful, intelligent, voluptuous but dangerous Nymeria. 

The Sand Snakes did as they liked; both couples settled in the Water Gardens. Severus Snow with his Tyene and Sirius Snow with his Nymeria. They had brand new surnames (they came from the North, and, what’s in a name?), and  brand new wives. They finally had a life and a home. However, they never agreed on who got the most beautiful, clever and wonderful wife. Severus thought that Nothing compared to his Tyene. Sirius thought that Nothing compared to his Lady Nym.

Life’s not fair... but sometimes, fandom can be. And Arbor Gold is sweet.. come, my lady. I’m waiting.

[blackribbonersally]

Gorgeous

Scanned this today from a book I bought …. never seen this pic of him before so thought I’d share

[blackribbonersally]

Harry Potter mixed fanfic

How different would the Harry Potter series be if it was written by GRRM?

It was an interesting question, really.  

- Dudleyerys Dursley would be gay, and he would definitely rape Harry, making his sorry childhood sorrier still. Maybe Uncle Vernon acts as voyeur in chief.  

- Harry would definitely be a vengeful guy . The first thing he does when he finds out he is a wizard is kill the Dursleys. Dudleyerys suffers an awful death.

- The ministry sentences Harry to death when he says that Voldemort is back. Harry opts for trial by combat. Dumbledore represents him. No one wants to fight Dumbledore, so they rope in Gellert Grindelwald, who’s still a prisoner in the Black Cells. Dumbledore wins the duel. But he didn’t know that Fudge had given Grindelwald an extra wand - just in case. While Dumbledore walks towards Harry, his eyes twinkling, Grindelwald kills him with an Avada Kedavra from behind. He is pardoned and walks free. Harry manages to escape because of plot protection.

- Ron gets awfully jealous of Viktor Krum at the wedding feast. So Bill and Fleur’s wedding becomes the Red Wedding, and it ends with Ron chopping off Viktor’s head. The Hound, I mean the Grim, accidentally kills Harry. Hermione escapes and crosses the sea, swearing revenge.

- Sirius languishes in the dungeons of Riverrun, while Voldemort practises his skinchanger abilities at Harrenhal.

- Rivalry sparks off between House Malfoy and House Weasley over who is closer to Voldemort. Ginny, who enjoyed a sexual relation with Harry, in her anger, betrays the Weasleys. They are all killed. She marries Draco, and poisons him a week later with the Tears of Lys Love Potion. She declares that she’s pregnant with Draco’s son and names him Neville . Actually, he’s Harry’s bastard. Harry had managed to impregnate Ginny before dying. Neville doesn’t know this.

- Across the sea, Hermione marries Grindelwald (who is expanding his empire). Grindelwald dies in a mysterious accident, leaving Hermione a huge army, an Elder wand, and dragons. Hermione invades, seeking revenge.

- In the forbidden forest, centaurs, creatures who haven’t been sighted in a thousand years, are spotted. Winter is coming.

- Voldemort buckles under the two sided threat, and starts ordering random executions. The Malfoys are killed. Snape, who always loved Cissy, finds out Voldemort had raped her before killing her. The Half Blood Prince slays the Dark Lord while he is emptying his bowels and the wand is on the basin.

- Snape escapes, but chaos ensues. Through sheer wile, Ginny puts Neville on the throne. However, The Order of the Phoenix, Faith Militant, charges her with adultery. Ginny walks the walk of atonement. In revenge, she explodes 12, Grimmauld Place. Lupin, Sirius, Mad-Eye, Shacklebolt, McGonagall, Tonks, Hagrid die. Neville was away on war errands during this. He exiles his mother, but the damage is done. Without the order, he is very vulnerable indeed.

- Nymphadora Tonks releases Sirius from his cell after he promises her that he will find Remus, who is suspected to have joined a pack of wolves led by a very special she-wolf. She wants him back.

- Now we have Neville on one side, and Hermione’s deadly army on the other side. Hermione thinks she is the righteous queen, and she has dragons. But the people love Neville .

- In the Forbidden Forest, Harry attacks with Dementors from the North, after being resurrected by Professor Trelawney.

 What happens next?

Bit tired of waiting for the last two books.

Thanks to Niladri Banerjee and Mrigank Shekhar  for the best laugh I’ve had for weeks!

[blackribbonersally]

And, three. Smashing.

[blackribbonersally]

Who would have guessed? Too many clothes and too much makeup.

[blackribbonersally]

I’m probably angrier at the way The little mermaid was changed.

What we really need is an adaptation of the original 1740 The Beauty and the Beast

So were you aware that the The Beauty and the Beast story we all know is a heavily abridged and rewritten version of a much longer novella by Gabrielle-Suzanne Barbot de Villeneuve?  And that a lot of the plot holes existing in the current versions exist because the 1756 rewrite cut out the second half of the novella, which consisted entirely of the elaborate backstory that explains all the weird shit that happened before?  And that the elaborate backstory is presented in a way that’s kind of boring because the novel had only just been invented in 1740 and no one knew how they worked yet, but contains a bazillion awesome ideas that beg for a modern retelling?  And that you are probably not aware that the modern world needs this story like air but the modern world absolutely needs this story like air?  Allow me to explain:

The totally awesome elaborate backstory that explains Beauty and the Beast

Once upon a time there was a king, a queen, and their only son

But while the prince was still in his infancy, in a neat reversal of how these fairy tales usually go, the king tragically died, leaving his wife to act as Regent until their son reaches maturity

Unfortunately, the rulers of all the lands surrounding them go, “Hmm, the kingdom is ruled by a woman now, it must be weak, time for an invasion!”

And the Queen goes, “Well, if I let some general fight all these battles for me, he’ll totally amass enough fame and power to make a bid for the throne; if I want to protect my son’s crown, I have no choice but to take up arms and lead the troops myself!”

(Btw, I want to stress that this woman is not Eowyn or Boudica and nothing in the way her story is presented suggests that she had any interest martial exploits before or in any way came to enjoy them during these battles.  This is a perfectly ordinary court lady who would much rather be embroidering altar covers for the royal chapel and playing with her child until necessity made her go, “Oh no, this sucks, I guess I have to become a Warrior Queen now” and she just happened to kick ass at it anyway.)

And the Queen totally kicked ass, but the whole “twice as good for half the credit” thing meant that no matter how many battles she won, potential enemies refused to take her and her army seriously until she had defeated them so no sooner would she fend off one invasion than another one would pop up on a different border.

So she spent the majority of her young son’s life away from the castle leading armies, but it was OK because she left him in the care of her two best friends, who just happen to be fairies!  This was an awesome idea because a) fairies have magic, and therefore are like the best people to protect the prince from any threats and b) fairies consider themselves to be so above humanity that the lowest fairy outranks the highest mortal, so they’d have no interest in taking a human throne.  Good thing they were both good fairies instead of one good and one evil one!

(Spoiler:  they were not both good fairies.)

So the two fairies basically take turns raising the prince until he’s old enough to rule.  And on the eve of his twenty-first birthday, the evil older one comes into the prince’s bedroom.

“So listen, kid.  You’re about to become king, your mother’s on her way home from the war to see you crowned, and I have a third piece of good news for you!  You see, I’ve actually been spending so much time here lately because Fairyland’s become a bit too hot to hold me for reasons totally not related to me being secretly evil.  And if I have to hang in the human world, I might as well reside in the upper echelons of it, so even though as a powerful fairy I completely eclipse your puny human status in a staggeringly unimaginable way, since you’re about to be king and since my premonition that I should stick this whole guardianship thing out because you would be hot one day has totally proved accurate (go me), I will graciously lower myself to allowing you to marry me.  Please feel free to grovel at my feet in gratitude.  (Btw, we can totally start the wedding night now, we’ll tell your mother about it when she arrives tomorrow.)”

Keep reading

[blackribbonersally]

Reaper man, The colour of magic, Maskerade. Amazing art by Marc Simonetti. 

[blackribbonersally]

Pyramids, Sourcery, Jingo, Going postal, Soul music (the day the music died). Amazing artist is Marc Simonetti.

[blackribbonersally]

Awesome fanart.

Game of Thrones fan art by Kay Huang

for more at

http://zippo514.deviantart.com/gallery/42230374/A-Song-Of-Ice-and-Fire