#first chapter challenge

[sofiadragon]

I've been digging in my WIPs again

Look, I stepped away from the Harry Potter fandom online for a long time before coming back after the MCU phase 4 sent me back to re-read my old books but I kept writing for myself. I've got backlogged fic that, because I never intended to publish it, is all kinds of messy unedited snips of things that I had to pour out of my brain in order to make room for other stuff.

I have a bit of a time travel story. Mix of the Master of Death do-overs and an amnesia plot with a LOT of 'authoritarian governments are evil, actually' hovering over the whole thing. Harry Potter gets blasted back in time and is picked up by the Department of Mysteries.

This is the beginning:

“Someone wanted you gone quite badly,” a rough male voice said. He blinked himself awake from a light doze at the sound, taking stock of where he was and how he felt as quickly as he could with a potential threat so close. He was sore all over, and his head had a feeling like being stuffed with cotton that sometimes happened when he slept in too late. Everything was blurry, but he had the impression both that this was wrong and that it made sense. The man sitting at his bedside wore a hooded cloak, but was otherwise an unremarkable man of indeterminate age with brown enough hair and a rather boring and forgettable face. The room was small and through the blur of poor vision it was all rather mauve and brown, but clearly intended for medical care given the bed had railings and there was a sharp antiseptic scent over everything. The stiff white sheets fit the overall impression of a medical facility.

“This is the third time you’ve woken up enough for me to try talking to you, so stop me if any of this sounds familiar. You may call me Master Elmwood, as I am a Master of Charms in the employ of the Department of Mysteries as an unspeakable. You appeared quite suddenly during a storm of magic on August the thirty-first that caused quite a lot of temporal flux. Everything about it is now classified, and when you are stable enough you will be taking an oath to protect any and all knowledge of what happened to you.” The man paused, his nose scrunching in distaste as he said the next bit in a hurry.

“There was some consideration for putting you out of your misery, but it was determined that getting you well enough to talk to would likely provide us a lot of answers about how you came to be blasted through the weave of the world as you were. Morally, it would be repugnant to end your life now that you are no longer suffering so severely, especially since we have determined you are an actual child, the effects of the temporal magic aside. The muttering in your sleep that you’ve been doing as well as the divination we have done over your person has made it clear you are no friend of the forces currently attacking the Ministry of Magic. Because of this, my department had decided to provide you with the means to continue your life as best that you can once we have sorted all of this out.” The man stopped there, looking expectantly at him.

“I… I’m not sure,” the boy on the bed tried to say, but it came out in a painful croak. Master Elmwood offered him a cup of water, and instinctively the boy sniffed it twice and let some dribble on his hand and the sheet before he took a drink. Hospital sheets were charmed to react to most potions, or was that just to non-neutral acidity? He couldn’t quite remember, but he didn’t feel any magic in the water and the sheets stayed white so it was probably safe. “Everything’s a bit jumbled. I remember I was fighting, not just once but over and over again for so long, and I… I think I gave up. Just, I remember I walked to where he was and just let him… I let him.” “There was a lot of blood on you that wasn’t yours,” Master Elmwood said, very matter of fact.

“I watched him die. I… I can’t remember his name, and it was all so complicated and I can’t… I don’t understand, but he kept me safe and then he died in so much pain. He bled on me, and he begged me with his last breath, and there wasn’t anything I could do, and then I gave up and let… let Tom kill me,” the boy said, feeling a bit frantic at not being able to remember his own name let alone untangle the mess that were hsi most recent memories. Had there been some kind of contest, or a night at a bar? None of the pieces fit together easily. The person he watched die shifted from an older man with a severe face to a pretty blond boy as he thought about it.

“Unspeakables are sworn not to reveal anything about our work outside the department, so you can tell me anything and it will remain secret,” Master Elmwood soothed. “Take your time, you’ve been through a lot and temporal magic is especially confusing.”

“The names, I, I just can’t, I don’t know my own name, but I know Tom. Tom Marvelo Riddle wanted me dead, and then I went to let him do it after… I think Hogwarts fell. He always wanted me dead, from when I was first born,” the boy said.

“You’ve spoken quite a lot in parseltongue while you were delirious, and we believe you thought you were talking to Tom. By that we mean Tom Riddle, the self-proclaimed Dark Lord that is currently threatening all of Albion.” The boy on the bed nodded. “He has gone to great lengths to destroy all of his family members in one way or another, not that we know his motivations for doing so. It makes sense that a, and forgive me if this isn’t correct, but that a bastard child of his would soon find death or destruction at his wand.” The older man waited for any reaction, but the boy on the bed merely turned the words around in his head silently, trying to fit them into the fragmented shards of who he used to be that flashed and twirled in his mind.

“I suppose I’ll need to jog your memory. We’ve done a number of tests to try and piece together who you are and where you are from. You are of the Peverell line of pure-blood wizards and inherited parseltongue through your mother’s genetics, but we can’t be more specific than that. Perhaps your mother’s blood is not yet registered in a way we can cross-reference, meaning she is a muggle or muggle-born squib descendant, as it would take a couple generations to muddle our scrying. New blood is most commonly registered when marriages are submitted to the ministry, so that may or may not say a great deal about who you are and where you came from. Else, you have been altered somehow through blood magic so we can’t determine which branch of that family tree you hail from. Tom is from one branch of the Peverell tree, but there are others who may have sired you and we are sure it is your mother’s magic that is intertwined with parseltongue.” Master Elmwood refilled the water cup from a pitcher nearby, and the boy tested it again before drinking.

“Blood is a constantly changing potion that tells us much, but mostly about your current condition and not your history. Your scars and bones, however, tell many tales of your past. Additionally, when we found you your body was stuck in a loop aging to about twenty years and then reverting back to infancy in what must have been a traumatic and painful twist of magic. We observed the wounds you experienced through your life in this way, and the… the emaciated state you were in prior to age five. There were fluctuations in weight and health that indicate periodic bouts of child neglect and abuse. You have settled down at age fourteen now that you are free of that curse. Your birthday is July the thirty-first, the current year is nineteen-seventy-four, and it is the seventh of October. You will have a lot of healing to do before you can return to anything resembling a normal life.”

“I was… I was a student at Hogwarts. I had friends,” the boy said. “Are my friends alright? I… a red head boy and… and a girl with curly brown hair, I think?”

“If they are alive, and given the hostility of the attack on you that is unlikely if they were with you at the time you were cursed, then they will not remember you,” the man said, his voice gentle and low. He leaned forward, as if weighed down by the bad news he had to deliver. “The curse you suffered was meant to rip you out of reality itself, to undo your existence as if you had never been born in a destruction so total none would know it even happened. Whoever you were before, we can find no trace. There is no missing person report that matches your case in the last hundred years. There was no attack that had a similar surge of energy to match your appearance, nor was there any trace in the place we found you to indicate you lived nearby as far back as we can tell. We very carefully interviewed and collected the memories of the muggles who saw you in the temporal loop, and none had any idea who you could be.” Master Elmwood shifted in his chair, taking a breath before continuing.

“As far as anyone can tell, the dark magic curse aimed at you was partially successful. You were unmade enough that you were forgotten by all, but the caster was likely also effected and either waited too long to strike a killing blow or lost control of the spell somehow before you could be fully clipped out of the flow of real time. Once your enemy forgot you and stopped casting, the spell started to unravel and left you in that deplorable unstable state. There is a chance you are from the future, but we find it unlikely that you would go back further than your own birth for a spell of that kind. No magical child was born at or around the time you appeared.”

“So, I’m just, from nowhere?”

“Essentially, yes, as far as we can tell. You are fully detached from the flow of causality. That is good for you. If you have come back in time, you won’t cause a dangerous paradox that would necessitate the Department of Mysteries to list you as a threat to life and magic. Since you are a child, we hope we can re-insert you into society without too much trouble.” Master Elmwood smiled, but his words were chilling. The boy in the bed could have been executed twice by these people. First just to end his miserable suffering, and then again in case he was a time-traveler that would cause problems. “Well, I suppose that’s a good thing. I… I really can’t remember much clearly. I’m trying, but I just get little bits of stuff. A face or some words, but nothing that makes sense,” the boy said. “I know I walked to greet my own death, but beyond that it’s just ideas not memories. I like to fly, treacle tart, and owls. I had a snowy owl, and a few friends who helped me with… things. Bullies, maybe, I hate bullies.”

“Don’t force it, not yet. You have a long road of recovery, and the Masters of Thought will certainly want to examine you. Now, for the rules. There is no point in trying to lie to any of us, these rooms have spells to detect lies and we can’t help you unless you cooperate. You are, essentially, an experiment for most of my colleagues. We aren’t without morals, but you are in a secure part of the ministry reserved for the great mysteries of the world. You will be examined, healed, and eventually re-integrated into the outside world. We can’t help you without accurate information, and the possibility of such dark magic as what has been cast on you ever existing must never spread to more devious minds. The very idea of what was done to you is dangerous, and when you leave here we will take that knowledge from you so you will believe whatever life story is devised for you. Do you understand?”

“I think so,” the boy said. “I… I don’t think I could do anything about it.”

“No, you can’t. Compliance is, unfortunately, not a choice we can offer you in this case. You will have plenty of input in the story we’ll give you when you are well enough to be released. It has to be believable and fit well with what you can remember of your old life before it was erased, so your mind never rebells against it as false. You do understand why even the thought that what has been done to you could be possible is a dangerous thing to let out into the world, don’t you?”

“Yes. I… I can’t remember, but there was something. A quest to destroy some magic thing. Not this spell, but another evil magic we were keeping secret. We couldn’t tell anyone what we were doing because nobody could know they existed. For the greater good.” “For the Greater Good,” Master Elmwood parroted, leaning forward, a hint of alarm quickly hidden behind curiosity. “Tell me more about that.”

“The greater good is�� it is… death for the sake of others. Sacrifice. So many died, while we were hunting for the way to stop Tom, but we didn’t know what we were doing. Lost in the woods, struggling to survive. The ministry fell, I think. I wasn’t supposed to live through it at the end, but I did,” the boy took a deep breath. “It’s easier to think of the broad strokes rather than the details.”

“That’s expected. Take your time. Anything you can tell us, so long as it is honest, will count in your favor.” Master Elmwood leaned back, looking pleased. After an hour some food was brought for the boy, some simple broth and bread to not tax his system. They spoke of many topics, testing the boy’s knowledge and feeling out what kind of person he was until exhaustion drug him back into sleep.

I would like feedback on if this is an interesting idea or not.

Later on in this draft Snape and Harry are singing along to Queen on the radio, and it has a lot of very old headcanon about Snape from right after HBP was published, some of which was deeply Jossed when the 7th book came out (I said they were old WIPs didn't I?) It's a bit of 'adults are competent' and 'best possible timeline' in that the Department of Mysteries gets to know that Voldemort is making Horcruxes in the 70's and do the responsible adult thing of working to take care of that instead of asking kids to do it. Our hero does fight Death Eaters, but mostly it's him putting together a life without unearned notoriety and fame. If Harry is back in time from the accident that broke all the time turners in the DoM battle, if he came back from the train station near-death experience, or if someone tried to erase him from time intentionally at some point after the year 1999 is all... well, it's all in these notes as alternate ideas. I typed up the above from paper journals and it was more a collection of free-writing than a constructed narrative.

Getting this to the point of being able to post it will require a full rewrite. Not just because most of it was written before book seven (this first scene was obviously written later than most of the rest of it) but also because it's a bit shit and was more about processing the trauma of watching the twin towers fall right after I signed up to join the National Guard (I was medically rejected due to a heart condition I didn't know I had, the path of my life would have been so different otherwise.) So, there are whole sections that are just... teenaged crap that needs fixing very badly.

[kittynugg]

guess who wrote another fanfiction!!?!?!?? THIS GUY

this one's going on tumblr first since it's a first draft, i'll throw it on my ao3 after i've refined it some (because as far as i know thats what talented writers on here do)

so make some noise if you like it because i might have ideas for more chapters who knows (im gonna write them regardless)

Just Say No

words: 1,947 not counting the little intro i wrote out rq

this is based right when ford's telling stan to fuck off in atots!!

also dont fucking tag this as ship.

"There's only one journal left," Stanford said as he walked up to Stan, the first journal–the first record of his eight-year folly–clutched in both hands. He handed it to him. "And you are the only person I can trust to take it."

He looked Stan in the face, his twin's eyes reflecting a fraction of the tiredness in his. His brows furrowed and he spoke. "I have something to ask of you. Remember our plans to sail around the world on a boat?"

And Stan's eyes widened slightly, and he smiled. This was a good sign.

"Take this book," he gestured behind him with his thumb. "Get on a boat," his arms flew upward emphatically. "And sail as far away as you can! To the edge of the Earth!"

Stan's expression faltered. This was a bad sign. Ford turned around and paced toward the portal.

"Bury it where no one can find it!" He swiped a hand downward, then folded his arms behind his back.

“..Uh, no.”

A word and a vocable. The last ones he expected to leave Stan’s mouth in that moment as padded over to hand the journal back to him. In his shock, Ford took it, running his thumb over the textured, tattered binding. 

The room felt colder. And it wasn’t the harsh winter. 

“..No?” He quoted, and his reflection in the gold six-fingered hand on the cover glared angrily back at him. Then he looked back up at Stan. His twin’s lips were pursed and his shoulders were relaxed. “What do you mean, ‘no’?”

Stanley, just as Ford remembered, was not taking this seriously. It was clear he heard the anger in Ford’s tone but either didn’t care whatsoever about the fate of the universe or (the more likely answer) was being an insufferable mule for no reason. His eyes narrowed, and he said, “I mean fuck that shit.”

Ford’s jaw dropped a little. Instead of lashing out like his dear old abusive Pa had taught him, and like he so desperately wanted to, he handed the journal back to Stan. He did not take it and pushed it back toward him with a single calloused finger. “You can’t just say no, this is– this is the fate of the universe. Take the journal.”

“I can say it, and I’m sayin’ it again. No.” Now Stan was grinning. Like he always used to when they were kids when he knew he was getting to him. Unfortunately for Stanford this got to him even more than just the petulant refusal. “I’d do anything for you, Sixer, except for this one thing.” He folded his arms as Ford’s jaw clenched.

Fascinating. His brother was just as much of a miserable prick as he thought. Even after being allowed years to pull himself together. It was truly astounding. 

Those observations came out verbally, just in a more crass way than Ford expected. “Stop being an asshole and take the book.” He was not one to swear– he just.. Wasn’t quite prepared for this. Stan was supposed to say “okay, Ford! I’ll leave and never come back!” and take the journal and leave. Such a simple directive!

“Name calling, really?” Stan placed his hands on his hips, his smile widening and the fire behind his eyes burning just a little brighter. “You’re gonna just do name calling?” He was having fun with this! Ford knew it!

He turned around to avoid looking at that smug face. “I’m not calling names, alright? I’m just stating facts. And the fact is–you’re an asshole.” Because he was! This was supposed to be a no-brainer. Take journal. Leave. Sail ocean. Bury journal. Dimension is safe.

What was so difficult about that?

“You’re the one who called me all the way up to this cold-ass state just to say ‘hey, fuck off!’” Stanley uttered that completely incorrect quote in a slightly higher voice, doing air-quotes with his fingers and rolling his eyes. His words had this.. Melancholy edge. Almost like the whole sentence hurt to say. “Maybe I’d’a done it if you acted like you wanted to see me at least..”

“..maybe sat down for coffee..”

“..talked..”

“It’s been a while, yanno?”

Well, now Ford made sure he wasn’t facing Stan for a different reason, because he was sure his expression had pinched into one of guilt and “ooh. I’m the asshole” and he refused to let Stan feel as if he was in the right for flippantly denying his one chance to be good. To make up for the years he could have spent studying in a liveable dorm room without insects crawling over his books that Stan ruined when he made the decision to– he should be saying this out loud. That would make a good argument.

“Maybe I’d be more willing to have coffee with you if you didn’t ruin my li-” he was cut off by a shrieked mockery of his own voice.

“WAAAAAAAAAAH!! MY SCIENCE FAIR EXPEWIMENT!!” Stan stomped a foot forward and balled his hands into fists. “IT WAS AN ACCIDENT, FORD. CRY ABOUT IT.”

His shout echoed against the concrete walls of the spacious basement for a few moments, and when it died down they were left staring at each other in shock. Ford’s shoulders were hunched all the way up to his ears. Stan stepped back and tapped his fingertips together.

The silence stretched on.

And on.

Until Ford spoke up.

“..But Dad said–”

This time Stan interrupted him in a small, almost broken voice, staring down at his feet. “Dad’s a fucking liar.” Ford hated Stan because of an accident.

No, Dad made him hate Stan because of an accident. Of course, all this time.. He was just– that was the only reason he kept them in the first place. Because maybe one day one of them would be useful. And when the prospect of “use” faded, well..

His right eye twinged. He was taught how disposable human beings were. He was taught very well.

And yet, a feeling in his gut, or his heart or wherever told him that this was it. His deus ex machina.

Absolutely not. This wasn’t how it was supposed to go. He chose to fight the narrative.

“That doesn’t change the fact that you did it. And.. brushed it off like it was nothing.” He ran a hand through his hair and started to pace. “You could have told me and I could have fixed it, then I’d have been accepted and I wouldn’t be here right now.”

The narrative, of course, didn’t like that one bit and fought back. Stan tightly folded his arms over his chest. “I didn’t want to be alone, it’s not– come on! You- you were seventeen too, you know what it’s like! “Bein’ scared, thinkin’ about the future.. Wondering if you’ll ever get a break– You’ve gotta know what I’m talking about.” He looked at his twin. 

Ford saw the eyes of a puppy looking up at the bottom of his master’s boot. The eyes he remembered from the night Pa kicked him out. The eyes he avoided for a very long time, and yet the ones he saw in the mirror every night.

“I don’t,” he said, and Stan’s shoulders slumped. “My future was planned out for me. I didn’t have a choice, the first thing Dad did after I stopped–” He paused mid-step, then his foot slowly fell to the ground back into rhythm. “..after I got a good night’s rest, the first thing he did was pressure me to find a new college to go to.”

Stan huffed a sigh. “Yeah.. that’s rough. I remember my first night after that, heh, cried my damn eyes out.” There was no humor in his chuckle, and no joy in his smile. Only a hollow, empty feeling that was definitely another blow from the narrative.

“I, um.. Also.. cried,” Ford admitted with his hands clenching and unclenching at his sides. Tally that up– narrative, one. Ford, zilch. 

“You did?” For some reason or other, his twin’s eyes widened. Like his own twin wouldn’t miss him.

Ford is crying. Ma holds him, and he can feel the way her shoulders hitch every now and then. It makes him feel worse, like her crying is his fault. He heaves his sobs into her chest anyway. It’s all he can do.

He can’t go back to that empty room.

It takes a while, but he can eventually breathe again. Just enough to pull away and look up at her, eyes wide and glasses pushed up to his forehead, and ask, “Ma.. Is- Is Stanley gonna be okay? Please tell me he’s going to be okay!” His voice comes out louder, more desperate than he’d hoped, but Ma manages a smile through her own tears.

“You don’t need a psychic to tell you that, hun..” she says. “He’s gonna be just fine, he’s not as useless as your Pa always tells the two a’you.”

Summoned like the demon he must be, Pa walks into the room. “Your brother? He’s probably already out selling drugs. Don’t bullshit him, Caryn.” He sits down and picks up his newspaper as if he didn’t just say that, and Ma’s hold on him loosens.

He cries harder.

Back in the real world and not Sad Flashback World, Ford made a point to keep his eyes wide open to prevent the tears stinging in them from falling. “..A little, yes,” he muttered casually with a shrug. “But I got over it.” He folded his arms behind his back.

“You’re still a shit liar, wow,” snickered his twin. “So you.. you’re sayin’ you missed me, right?” There was that puppy look again, except even more hopeful.

Ford looked up, cursed the narrative under his breath, and nodded.

You win this round.

“Silly question, but yes. I missed you.” Oh, ew, he actually felt lighter after saying that. “..and I still do.” To stop his lip from quivering he bit it, his eyes darting aside, and he slapped a hand to his face. “Fine! Fine, I’ll say it!” He opened up his coat and whipped the journal out. “Perhaps part of me wishes this wasn’t the only way, okay!? But- But it is!” His arm jutted out toward Stan, pushing the journal into his chest. “Stop making me feel unwanted emotions and take it! We can be pen pals if you must–”

Stan took the journal and hurled it across the room, the book landing with a thud and a burst of dust. Ford gave him a bewildered look. Instead of acknowledging it whatsoever, he tightly wrapped his arms around his twin.

Who.. did not reciprocate and just stiffly stood there like a scarecrow.

“..What– what are you–”

He was shushed. Shushed! Like an animal! But then Stan went all tense again. In a slow tone, like someone, again, confronting a wild animal, he spoke. “Ford, when’s the last time you ate?” Hm, he may have been a little on the skinny side. When was the last time he..

It took him a moment of hard thinking, but he pulled an answer from the recesses of his memory. “Tuesday, why?” Today was Wednesday. That wasn’t too bad.

“Last Tuesday?”

“Yes.”

“..No wonder you can’t fucking think clearly!” Stan pulled away with the same expression Mom would get when they’d skip lunch because they were too busy doing something stupid outside. “Bet you haven’t slept since then, either!”

Ford’s eyes narrowed. “Yes I ha– wait, could you hug me again?”

“Oh, yeah, sure,” Stan mumbled, complying, and then Ford continued.

“Anyway– Yes I have! I slept for an hour yesterday and I’ve got the wounds to prove it!” He pointed to his arm with a disgruntled huff, and Stan’s expression became that of a fish out of water. His eyes practically popping out of his face, his mouth agape.

“..what,” whispered his twin after a second of opening and closing his mouth like an idiot. “Wounds? Ford, have you been–”

Realizing his mistake, he threw his arms around Stan and squeezed as tightly as he could. Until Stan started to wheeze. “It isn’t important!” A shrill chuckle escaped him. “Brotherly love is, though! Come here!”

“Are you just tryna change the subject or do you mean that?” A chin rested on Ford’s shoulder.

Ford whispered, “..a little bit of both,” and couldn’t fight the smile off his face when Stan’s hold on him tightened. To Hell with the narrative, this was his choice. His deus ex machina. 

And.. maybe he needed it more than he thought.

“We’re talking about the wounds later, though.”

“Shut up and hold me.”

[catacropolis]

Vil outfit design inspired by high fashion and chapter 5 Overblot design

Vil’s Overblot design reminds me a lot of a nuns habit so I wanted to bring in some recognizable themes such as candles, rosaries , gold detailing and such . For the face droplet mascara and tears meant to mirror crying Mary statues and such .

All this to say I wanted to design something based on these elements and while also being distinctly connected to vil.

I think it’s really interesting that Vil’s Overblot design is so reminiscent of nuns . The juxtaposition of vil who in the spotlight who is well known for his beauty , believing himself to be ugly , is dressed in what is considered to be “modest “ clothing covering himself from view .

Vil is an extremely interesting character coupled with his ob design being my favorite i love this part of his design .

It’s been a while since I’ve drawn vil and I missed it

[mel-loly]

–I am back!!!✨

ANDDD since the majority voted “yes” in the last poll I did, I’m going to do a dtiys! Which will be this one:

Oh, and the rules and explanation of tdiys are in the text below (click for 'more' ↓)! Good luck to the participants, I love you all so much!!❤️

Explanation:

DTIYS stands for “Draw This In Your Style”. It's a popular art challenge where artists redraw a piece of art in their own style. DTIYS challenges are often used by artists on Instagram to celebrate milestones or to support other artists [which, in this case, I am celebrating my “return”].

How it works:

An artist chooses a piece of art to redraw.

The artist sets instructions for the challenge, such as the medium to use or the overall aesthetic.

Other artists create their own version of the piece and post it with the specified hashtag.

The artist selects the winners and announces them.

Now that you guys know a little about how it works, I will tell you some simple and “already expected” rules:

You can't steal or do it the same way as me, you have to do it YOUR style (because that's the challenge).

The redraw must have the same characteristics as the original drawing. For example, the colors must be similar or the same.

You can add and change things, but don’t “stray” too far from the original design and features.

Don't forget to tag me AND use the hashtag '#melloly dtiys'! Or if you don't want to post, just send me a private chat or ask! (and if you don't want me to say your name if you "win", please let me know and I'll make the drawing's artist anonymous!)

About the winners and the end date of the competition:

The competition will end on 03/23/25. There will be 3 winners, however, I will only draw (their own) OCs!

An art of your OC in my normal and detailed style (example (↓).

An art of your OC in my normal but simple style (example (↓).

A art of your OC in my chibi style (example (↓).

Thank you very much for reading and, again, good luck to the participants!!! (and if you still have any questions, just call dm and ask!!)💛

-Melissa, Designer.

[myokk]

before it felt like a sin, ch. 1

pairing: Sebastian Sallow x f!MC

word count: 3000

summary: Eloise never wanted to be different.

And yet, her differences are what have defined her life up until this point: growing up as a squib in one of the most prominent wizarding families, being exiled to muggle society, and then attending Hogwarts at the age of sixteen.

She finds herself thrust into the life she should have been prepared for from birth but was denied. As she navigates this new life and her new precarious position in her family, she must come to terms with the fact that maybe what she dreamed of her whole life isn't turning out how she ever expected it would.

a/n: Hi everyone!! I decided to post this here too...I'm slowly going through everything I've written so far, and I want to post each chapter here as I edit them. I'm hoping that this can be a way to a) get back in to writing more, and b) get better at my art as I make full illustrations for each chapter. Let me know what you think!! :)

There is nothing quite as horrible as being a muggle, Eloise thought savagely as she ripped out yet another stitch in the landscape she was embroidering. At least, it was supposed to be a landscape. Maybe with her head tilted to the left and with her eyes almost closed so everything blurred together, it might resemble one. She did just that, trying her hardest to make out some recognizable shape and blast the stupid practice of manually pushing colored thread through a fabric in some sort of -

“And what is this, Miss Babbit?”

Eloise jumped at the sound and looked up at the scowling face of her teacher, and then quickly back down at the tangled thread in her lap. Behind her, she could hear the hushed giggles of the other girls in her class.

“Oh! Er…it’s -”

“How long have you been here?” the woman interrupted.

“One hour…I just -”

“Don’t be smart with me. I mean, at this institute.”

“Five years.” Eloise glared down at her embroidery as if it had personally offended her. It wasn’t like she was actively trying to be bad at everything, but she had the distinct disadvantage - how had it ever come to be that she would be at a disadvantage to muggles? - of not having spent a lifetime being prepared for muggle society and all that it entailed. The last five years had been a monotonous, endless cycle of lessons designed to turn her into the perfect lady: French (a waste of time as Eloise was already fluent), embroidery (a waste of time as the things she embroidered weren’t actually useful), dancing (a waste of time as she was already engaged to be married - why would she bother trying to woo another silly man?), and her most dreaded class of all: etiquette. No matter how many years had been spent trying to assimilate into muggle culture, her thoughts still got muddled when she tried to remember the steps to a dance, or how to properly address the son of a duke.

Did it really matter, anyways, what the other girls thought? She had pretended her whole life to be the daughter she thought her parents had wanted - now she was simply pretending that she hadn’t been thrown into the muggle world without a second thought. What was a bit more pretending - that she didn’t care? That she hadn’t been tossed aside without a second thought?

“Exactly. Five years. And yet, you have shown no progress whatsoever. This -” a finger jabbed accusingly at the embroidery - “is absolutely horrendous. If your parents hadn’t continued to make such a sizeable donation every year, I would have deemed you a lost cause and sent you packing when you first arrived. How your family ever managed your betrothal to the son of an earl is beyond me.”

Eloise grimaced at the mention of her fiance as her teacher clapped her hands together to get the attention of the class - a wholly unnecessary action due to the fact that it was already being given. “Class is dismissed. Please collect your belongings and put them in the correct place. Remember, as future wives and mothers, you must be organized in all aspects of your life. Many of you will be managing important households and the slightest misstep -“ a slight glance to Eloise out of the corner of her eye - “can cause the biggest of scandals.”

Eloise raced to gather her things and leave the classroom before everyone else. No matter how many years had been spent at the school, she couldn’t help but hate sitting through the classes amongst the judgmental stares and snide remarks. Although things had started out shaky at the finishing school - to be expected, really, when you’ve grown up in wizarding society and then are then forced to live as a muggle - it still stung that after all these years, she still hadn’t found a friendly face. She was treated as if she were a pariah: it was as if the other girls just knew that something was different about her. But…wasn’t that the great irony of it all? She wasn’t different than them. She was a filthy squib.

When she first arrived at the school, she was an anomaly. A twelve-year-old girl who didn’t know how to play the piano or who the queen was. It was clear to everyone that Eloise wasn’t the charity case of the school - her parents were obviously quite wealthy - and yet they seemingly wanted nothing to do with her. Whereas the others got regular letters and visits from their family, it was as if Eloise were an orphan. Nothing new to her of course, but to her peers this otherness aided them in her ostracization.

Upon entering her room, she was abruptly pulled out of her thoughts. Something wasn’t right. Everything seemed the same: a twin bed perfectly made opposite a small wardrobe, a plain wooden desk placed between them. The weak afternoon sunlight shone through the window, illuminating her desk. But…there.

That…

Placed on her bed, resting on the pillow, was a letter.

She never received letters.

Eloise shoved her embroidery under her bed and hungrily grabbed at it, pausing when she saw the address. Miss E. Babbit. The Third Bedroom on the Left… It seemed vaguely familiar to her in a way she couldn’t quite put her finger on.

As she read the letter, though, it became apparent to her exactly why this was. Although not exactly the same as the one her brother had received six years earlier, it quickly became apparent that this was a Hogwarts letter. For her. For Miss E. Babbit.

Hands shaking, she set the letter down on her desk and sat on the edge of her bed. She smoothed her hands over her skirt over and over, taking comfort in the familiar softness as she tried to even her breathing.

How was this possible? She had all but accepted the fact that she was a squib. The shame of her family, a dirty secret to be hidden away and never talked about or mentioned again. Her parents had suspected as much by the time she had turned seven without any signs of magic whatsoever manifesting around her - not even a basic transformation of brussel sprouts to sweets during dinner. It was ultimately confirmed, however, when her own Hogwarts acceptance letter never arrived. She had spent the whole year before her banishment daydreaming about her life at Hogwarts, still optimistic that there could be something magical inside of her. Her brother, Leo, came home every holiday with wonderful stories of his new friends and teachers, and the subjects he was learning at school. Even back then, at twelve years old, Eloise hadn’t been sure if he was actually hopeful she wasn’t a squib, or if he had been trying to prolong the fantasy for her before it all came crashing down.

Although she had had five years to come to terms with her new life, there was still a small part of her that hoped. A small “what if…”. She had tried time and time again to squash that tiny ray of optimism that would escape every so often, tried so very hard to cultivate a hard exterior that wouldn’t let any sort of vulnerability shine through. And that optimism was a vulnerability, after all. It was that vulnerability that had made it absolutely impossible for her to fit in the muggle world, and made it so that she didn’t really want to try.

Five years to come to terms with the fact that she needed a new purpose for her life and…

…not anymore?

Eloise grabbed the letter and greedily read through it again, drinking in all of the words. She paused at the end, thinking. Was this a forgery? Some sort of awful joke orchestrated by her brother? Leo had never been cruel to her in the past; in fact, he was the one who always encouraged her and was the most probable source of the small optimism that remained within her. However, she had no way of knowing how he had changed since she had last seen him. It had been, after all, five very long years. And not once had she heard from him, even though he had promised her through huge sobbing gulps that he would never abandon her. Maybe their parents had slowly poisoned him against her. It would be right on the nose for them, after all.

Looking at the envelope again, however…Third Bedroom on the Left…no. It was too specific. Nobody in her previous life had any reason to even want to contact her again, and nobody in her current life even knew what Hogwarts was, let alone have the ability to convincingly forge a letter just to have some fun at her expense.

A light, bubbly feeling began to spread throughout her body as it sunk in that this was real. She was going to Hogwarts. Soon, a - squinting at the letter again - a Professor Fig would be contacting her and giving her things to study. A huge grin slowly spread across her face and she hugged the letter to her chest as she fell back on her bed. She read through it again. Was it the fifth time already? It felt as though no amount of times rereading the letter would ever be enough.

Eloise got up and walked over to look at the calendar on her desk. She was surprised to see that September 1st was in only two days. The days at the finishing school moved in such a strange, sluggish way. They all felt the same. Monotonous. French and Latin and embroidery and household management and Merlin even knows what else all blending into each other in an endless parade of dusty classrooms and gossip and boredom.

The light feeling left her in an instant as, after years of practice, the optimism was squashed back down. But how will you even get to London? And, her brain added sneakily, you haven’t even shown any signs of magic. Maybe you’ll just be returned back here after they realize their mistake.

No, she thought fiercely, gripping the letter. Until -

A tapping came from the window. A tentative smile returned at the sight of a tawny brown owl with another envelope in its beak. She ripped it open as soon as it was in her hands (again addressed to Miss E. Babbit) and along with the letter a small, purple pouch fell out of the envelope and onto her bed.

Miss Eloise Babbit,

I am pleased to be the wizard charged with such an important task as escorting you to Hogwarts in two days’ time. It is something extraordinary to be accepted in your fifth-year, and as such, I expect extraordinary things from you. I have enclosed a small pouch along with this envelope, and in it are some items that will be vital to you in the upcoming days. I have included books for you to study at your leisure, and a small gobstone that will bring you to our rendezvous point in London. All you have to do is touch it at noon on the 1st and you will be transported instantly.

Your family has not been informed of your acceptance. I am sure you understand why - at this, Eloise scoffed quietly to herself - which is why I will personally be your escort.

I am looking forward to meeting you and bringing you to the sorting ceremony in two days’ time.

Yours,

Eleazar Fig

The handwriting was tiny and spidery and cramped, but it didn’t stop Eloise from reading it with the same vigor as the previous letter and as many times. Finally, she turned to the small pouch that had fallen onto her bed when she opened the second envelope. It must have had an invisible extension charm, because it was filled to the brim with books on basic spellwork and general wizarding history. Professor Fig had no way of knowing, but Eloise had already read many of these books and many more during the year her brother had started Hogwarts, as she had needed to know absolutely everything about what would be awaiting her. A few years may have passed since she had stepped foot in her family’s library, but she couldn’t get the books or their contents out of her brain even if she had wanted to. She had really wanted to forget everything she knew about the magical world when it was confirmed she was a squib but it was a futile effort. As she zoned out during her piano lessons, she would find herself mentally going through the movements to cast different charms.

It was painful to be thinking about things from the life that had been ripped away from her, to know that what she was thinking about would never come to pass, that she would never be able to wield magic - and yet she couldn’t find herself able to stop.

As Eloise picked out one of the books and settled into her armchair, a steely resolve overcame her.

She would prove that she deserved to be there, and was just as capable as any of they were. She would make her parents regret ever discarding her like she was nothing.

She was worthy. She was capable. And she would prove it.

The morning of September 1st dawned cold and rainy. Absolutely perfect.

Eloise had pretended to be sick the night before, and no one had suspected a thing when she stayed in bed long after all of the other girls had gotten ready and headed to breakfast. As the last of the chattering faded away down the hallway, Eloise finally got out of bed and prepared herself for the day. It was difficult to sit still long enough to braid her hair. Her fingers wouldn’t stop trembling and she had to restart countless times. Finally, she tied the black ribbon at the end into a neat bow and turned to the drawer of her desk to retrieve the small purple pouch she had hidden away.

Everything she deemed important enough to come along with her had already been placed inside: the books from Professor Fig, the hair ribbons gifted to her by her brother many years ago, and some clothing. Nothing else was coming with. She needed the fresh start. Besides, anything else she might need would be supplied, as her acceptance letter had specifically stated that any school supplies would be provided to her.

Waiting the hours before noon came along proved to be more difficult than Eloise had imagined. Time seemed to be moving slower than the molasses that had come with the breakfast sent up to her, the steady patter of the rain becoming a sort of metronome keeping time as she paced back and forth. Wasn’t there anything that could distract her, even for a bit? She glanced at the clock. Only five minutes had passed since the last time. 10.35.

The second hand ticking away in tandem with the sound of rain splashing against her window.

What if this was all a trick? What if she arrived at Hogwarts, and they turned her away because they realized they had made a mistake? After all, why would they admit a sixteen-year-old? Surely she was too old; every other student had started Hogwarts at the age of twelve and had shown signs of magic much earlier than that. She still hadn’t shown any signs of magical capability whatsoever, and didn’t feel any different than she had before receiving the letter. It had to be a fluke.

As her thoughts started veering into the melancholy she was prone to, she shook her head. No. Today was a happy, exciting day. She wasn’t going to squash the optimism down today, not when she needed it most. All of these thoughts she was having were simply that: thoughts. Not reality. Hogwarts never made a mistake, and in all of the history books she had read, she couldn’t recall an instance of someone being turned away at the door. Granted, she had also never heard of someone being admitted so late. But, better to focus on what she did know, which was that she had gotten the letter. It must be right in its assumption that she had magic.

Trying to pass the time was easier said than done. She ended up quizzing herself on all of the charms she had memorized in the books sent by Professor Fig, moving an imaginary wand in the precise movements needed to successfully cast and focusing on her pronunciation. She had studied all of these forms late into both nights she had had the books, and when she would eventually close her eyes to sleep, the wand movements were all she saw.

Eloise was determined that she would receive pity from nobody. Nobody was going to look at her like she was lacking. She had gotten enough of that to last a lifetime, and now that she was given this opportunity she wasn’t about to waste it.

When noon finally struck, Eloise was ready and waiting. She eagerly grabbed the gobstone that was sitting on her desk and felt the familiar tugging sensation in her navel as she was whisked away to London and the beginning of her new life.

next chapter

[fishfission-dc]

if you’ve read it you know i’m right

[violentdelightshavevioletends]

- For implying there’s any other future besides the one where you and I are endgame.

[neodiekido]

people give maki shit for chapter 5 but if i was in her situation during the class trial i woulda started eating my own organs

[haledamage]

Bag of Tricks Books is one of Port Townsend's best kept secrets. It's located on the ground floor of a two-story red brick building, on one corner of a crossroads at the southern edge of town. It shares a wall with a newly-opened tattoo parlor--both shops also share the underutilized second floor, as well as a door directly leading from one shop to the other--and shares its intersection with a florist, a bed and breakfast, a new age store, and a butcher shop that gets steady business regardless of the sign claiming that it's been closed for renovations for nearly nine months now. Despite advertising itself solely as a used bookstore, Bag of Tricks is equal parts bookshop, coffee shop, and flea market. A constant rotation of items are available for sale or barter, if one has the diligence to find them, scattered about the counter or in the labyrinth of mismatched shelves. Anything from priceless antiques and rare first-edition books to obscure records by forgotten musicians to kitschy knickknacks and out-of-season decorations. All you have to do is name a price that the proprietor agrees to or bring an item of your own that you can convince him is of equal value. It is Edwin's favorite place he's ever been to.

for Day 14 - AU of @deadboyween ❤💙

took a bookstore/coffeeshop au and a florist/tattoo artist au and scrambled it all around. Charles owns a bookshop, Edwin is a tattoo artist, Crystal runs a B&B, and Niko is a florist 😁 Mick, Jenny, the Night Nurse, and the Sprites will also make appearances

[lizardkingeliot]

i can't decide if i want to share another lil snippet of my rockstar lestat/photographer louis wip today or save it for wednesday again 🤔

[the-bensolos]

No I’m SO sorry but it’s truly so funny to me that a lot of dudes going to see challengers for the idea that they’ll see a hot naked Zendaya and what they actually get treated to is tasteful and delicate aspects of the male form from the visionary that is Luca Guadagnino (and of course very very explicitly homoerotic imagery.) And there is a healthy amount of sexualization for both forms. But the fact that there is full frontal male nudity in this movie, the only true nudity in this movie is of the male form, marketed the way it is is just so good. Like I work in a theater and the amount of dudes coming out lambasting that this movie sucks is so fucking delicious. The way straight guys have to sit and accept the queerness of this movie that it EXISTS, that it’s beautiful and tender and gentle, and intimate, but also loud, and brash, and seeped into every conceivable corner adds another 10 on top of this already 10/10 movie.

[plusultraetc]

Have you published this yet? 😭 i NEED IT

I have not, I'm so sorry 😭 I am a very slow writer and fake dating real feelings turned into a longer fic than I anticipated!! I do have a tag for it now where I post snippets, and here's some more of The Phone Call as an apology for how long this dang fic is taking (little language warning for anyone who needs it!):

[compress1repress]

https://www.tumblr.com/compress1repress/782808489621897216/it-really-does-feel-like-this-after-posting-fic-i ESPECIALLY ON AO3 the hits to kudos ratio always humbles me

YES!!!! almost a thousand hits and then like 70 kudos or something it stresses me out 😭 or especially if it's a chaptered work so the kudos doesn't really go up bc everybody who would be interested in reading already gave it kudos </3 have to remember that's just how it works and not get insecure about it

[lynzishell]

By the time Winter came, each day was starting to bleed into the next. As they got closer to the holidays, Dawn was putting together multiple events and working late into the night.

Often, she’d crawl into bed long after Phoenix had fallen asleep.

Due to her late nights, she’d start her mornings later, and Phoenix would be up early, doing his best to get ready quietly so as not to wake her.

For him, work had become so busy that he rarely got a day off.

However, they both finally got a break over Winterfest. It felt like it had been months since getting to spend a day together.

And with no obligations aside from their annual dinner at Julian’s, they spent every possible minute in bed, knowing they'd be back to their busy schedules the next day.

Prev // Next

[ywpd-translations]

Ride 751: Hakogaku's preliminary inspection

Pag 1

1: Plunging into a new chapter!!

Pag 2

1: The rivals standing in their way in the Inter High!!

Pag 3

1: Kanagawa Prefecture, Hakone city

3: Huh, a preliminary inspection

4: for the Inter High!?

5: Yeah... well... it's a usual thing

Now, really? Really?

Pag 4

1: Gwaaa hoii!!

2: I'll go, I'll go, I'll go!!

Yeeah!!

4: Huh, preliminary inspection? I might be a little interested

He's suddenly acting cool!?

5: Ah

Pag 5

1: Coough

Waaaa

He's suddenly vomiting blood!?

2: He definitely bit his tongue while jumping around in excitement earlier....

3: 'm ohey

It's obvious that your tongue hurts....

Yeah...

This guy is always injured....

4: If nohing!!

I get it, I get it!!

5: 'en u we 'eave? (When do we leave?)

In thirty minutes, before the clubroom... you'll take a car to the train station

'aight!!

6: It's so obvious he's happy about it

7: Was that right? They didn't give us details

I guess, it's what Manami-san told us

First year Tobirama

Pag 6

1: Last month, in the club's tournament he won the F-group climber race

Pag 7

1: Yeah, I see, and he's gonna run in this year's Inter High as the sixth regular member of Hakogaku!!

2: Seriously, I

3: I want to be considered cool by everyone!!

4: What's up with him, he looks so cheerful

Cool, cool, Kyuushu~

That Tobirama is so festive

Pag 8

5: Huh!? It's just me and Manami-san!?

Isn't- like, Doubashi-san coming!?

6: Hn.... I told Jou-kun and Yuuto, too, but they had their practice menu, so they said “no”

8: They said no!?

Huh!? But it's a preliminary inspection!?

9: For the Inter High!! A preliminary inspection, right!?

Yeah

Pag 9

1: A preliminary inspection for summer's great battle, right!?

2: That's right... the place we're going to now it's the biggest “mountain”.....

3: A mountain we absolutely have to overcome

4: And yet the other members didn't come!!

Ah... Manami... I'm seeing now that apparently the train stopped because of an accident

Ah

Should we just go there directly?

Is that okay? Thank you

5: Directly!? By car!?

Huh!?

6: To Kyuushu!?

7: The Inter High is in Kyuushu, right? How long will it take from here....

Hm? Around

Pag 10

1: Two hours and a half

Pag 11

4: Yeah... we arrived in two and a half hours, but- this is Chiba, isn't it!?

5: Where is Kyuushu!? Ah!? Is there a theme park like the park in Kyuushu here too?

And what abaout the splendid nature!? The big volcano...!!

6: Ah

7: Where will he have the preliminary inspection?

Cool

If you hurry up and get ready...?

Pag 12

1: We'll do our practice menu here, today

Pag 13

2: Our menu.... did you want to practice here just for a change of mood?

3: It's here, right? Where they do tournaments and stuff

It's Chiba's

4: Minegayama, right?

Yeah!!

5: Hakone is better though

6: I wanted to go to Kyuushu

7: Ah, by the way, speaking of Chiba, an acquaintance of mine lives here

Pag 14

1: You know, I was in the basketball club when I was in middle school

Ehh... I didn't know...

2: A good senpai of mine meddled with their basket club....

3: And apparently he was a good friend with my club's teacher advisor, and so they often organized practice matches with Chiba's middle school

4: I got injured a lot back then, too

So I often got injured and that guy from that middle school took care of me

5: He was so good at treating injuries that in my school they called him the “super manager”

6: I guess he's still in the basket club?

Pag 15

2: Ah, by the way, what's today's practice menu?

Fifteen minutes at a fixed output... three or something?

Nahh

3: Since they'll probably come, it's “do your best to win against that guy”!!

3: Huh!?

Who's gonna come!? You organized this with someone?

4: Any time now... probably

But we didn't

5: Organize it

6: Huh!?

The sound of wheels.... from behind us!? A bike!? …. no, more than one

Pag 16

2: They're here

Pag 17

1: Last year's champion, Sohoku High School!!

Pag 18

5: Teh!?

7: Yo

Pag 19

1: It's been a while, Sakamichi-kun

2: Hakogaku's captain, Manami Sangaku- why is he here!!

Pag 20

1: Wearing their jerseys and riding their bikes, there's no way they came here to sightsee!!

2: Manami-kun!!

3: The Inter High is next week already, isn't it? Bu before that.... I thought we should cross that “mountain*” once

(*NdT.: here, the kanji say “mountain king”, but the reading says “mountain”)

Pag 21

1: “Mountain”.....!! “That we absolutely have to overcome”- so this is the “preliminary inspection”!!

2: How about... that summit over there?

Your team... we're at an overwhelmind disadvantage, but

3: We don't plan on losing

It's a “preliminary battle”!?

5: Manami-san's concentration.....

Pag 22

1: it sprang up!!

Sounds interesting, doesn't it!?

Pag 23

1: A preliminary battle!?

He wants' to challenge us!?

2: Now!?

Here!?

3: You came here... on purpose... for this?

4: Yeah

5: I came here for this only?

7: Uh!! Sohoku's captain's.....

Pag 24

1: Onoda-san's concentration sprang up too!!

Got it!!

Pag 25

1: Onoda!!

2: Onoda-kun!!

3: Seriously!?

4: Waaa

5: We're starting a race against those two!? Teh!?

6: Oh, oh oh?

Pag 26

1: Really?

Those jerseys

2: It's Hakone Academy and Sohoku!!