#i don't know if or when i'll write again

[cerise-on-top]

hi<3 if you can, can you do valeria and laswell with a gothic s/o? like someone who likes darker/morbid things and things like that! love your blog by the way! it’s definitely my favorite blog to come look at after a long ass day <333

Hey there! Sorry, but I couldn't really find too much on what counts as dark and morbid in the goth scene, so I wrote more general HCs, I hope that's alright still ^^;

Valeria and Laswell with a Gothic!S/O

Valeria: She’d most definitely be intrigued, but not too much. In all honesty, she doesn’t know too much about the subculture, she’s never really met a goth who was clearly one. However, if it makes you happy, that’s all that matters to her. While she won’t really know too many bands, or any at all, she’d be more than happy to listen to a few if you want her to. Yes, she won’t always have the time, but when she isn’t too busy she could put on some songs by Joy Division or The Cure, she really doesn’t mind. She can vibe to that sort of music, even if it isn’t her favorite. You’re more than welcome to discuss the literature with her, though. She’s probably never read a single gothic literature book, but she can buy you some. Anything from poetry to a regular novel, it’s quite alright. While she won’t be the best person to go to when it comes to discussing those, she’ll support you either way. However, something she could definitely enjoy would be going clothes shopping with you. The fashion is kind of nice, she has to admit, so she’d be more than happy to buy you whatever garments you desire. Will go out of her way to find something you might like as well. I can’t see her being too much into the history of goth culture, though. It’s nice that you are a goth, if you want to tell her about it, then you can and she’ll listen to you, but she likely doesn’t have the time to research everything by herself. Tell her about its roots and she can definitely appreciate you going against what’s mainstream and how it all came to be. She’s a very defiant and rebellious woman herself, so she definitely gets it.

Laswell: She knows so many people, I wouldn’t be surprised if she has worked with goths before. And even if she hasn’t directly, she’s likely seen quite a few walking around the city. She usually grows worried for them in summer since their attire is black, which makes it quite hot. However, she’d be very intrigued by you and your subculture. It’s something very near and dear to you, so she would put in the effort to learn about your history. Will give some classic bands a listen as well. She just really wants to have something to talk about with you. Besides, she gets to learn more about you. While she may not be the biggest fan of your interest in death, considering she’s surrounded by it more often than not, she’d be more than happy to indulge anything else it has to offer. Laswell spent a good chunk of life left alone with her thoughts, so she definitely knows a thing or two about melancholy, the state of the world and introspection. Maybe not in the same way you do, but she can definitely keep up in a conversation. She’s likely also unintentionally read some of the more popular gothic novels out there and liked them, so she’d make for a good discussion partner as well. While she doesn’t particularly understand the need to make your face completely white, she doesn’t mind. In fact, she thinks it looks quite cool, even if it’s not for her. However, the fashion in and of itself looks really good to her. Again, she wouldn’t want to wear it, but something about Victorian and Edwardian fashion has a certain something to it that she can’t quite place. Like Valeria, she’ll definitely buy you things she thinks you might like. Anything from a suit or a corset to a book about poetry. Beware, though, she will read the books before you can.

[artemx746]

Honestly hate how Annabeth doesn't get to keep majority of her items (ie. Daedalus' laptop)

[pineapplefulfillseveryneed]

I'm so grateful For the love that we share I'll never take it for granted That you're always there And when I think about the world And what is going on It makes me even more thankful That you're still around And I've been waiting all my life For someone I could stand And you're the only one so far Who could understand And what I'm feelin' in my heart Feelin' in my soul I couldn't ever hope to tell you I'm sure you must know

- Sparks // Let's Make Love

[emloafs]

and what's everyone gonna do when they find out i've got a hawkmetri to all the boys i've loved before au half written in my drafts

what would happen if i said that

[misericorsalvator]

An Epitaph

Henry didn't know where he was. It was cold, freezing, but that was all he could tell, from the sharp chill that tore through his damp clothes, to the frigid air that felt like icicles in his lungs when he breathed. Even if he was someplace familiar, it would have been impossible to tell through the veil of rime in the air, the thick hoar that coated the ground. But wherever he was, he had to find shelter. soon, before his limbs grew any number that they already were and he lost the three fingers he had left on his right hand to frostbite. It took a good deal of walking, trudging through the snow, before he found something resembling sanctuary. A rocky hovel dug deep into a mountainside he hadn't even noticed was there. The crooked mountaintop loomed far overhead like a wind-swept pine tree, towering over the barren expanse and shielding the small patch of land near the cave's entrance from the worst of the snowfall. It was a narrow fit, the opening more narrow than a coffin, but it opened up into a wide chamber beyond, dark, lit only by the little light reflecting on the snow outside.

Panic stabbed at him suddenly. That chamber felt familiar, though he couldn't recall from where. The rockface of the walls was smooth, man-made, and the stalactites hanging from the domed ceiling above were unnatural, all the same length, jagged and sharpened to fine points. But he had no time to waste on the unnerving interior. The weather outside was getting worse, the wind howling like wolves on a hunt, and soon his shelter would be just as cold and dangerous as the outside. He had to think, find a way to keep the warmth in. Henry returned to the entrance. He twisted around in the narrow space as best he could and began piling up snow with his numb hands, stacking it, pressing it into shape, mouthing breathless curses to himself, until he had built a solid wall halfway up to his neck. It should last. He didn't know for how long, but at least for now, until he could catch his breath. It had to last.

Henry slumped against the wall of the cave. The barrier he had built offered some protection, but he could still feel the cold creeping in, seeping through the gaps and cracks in the snow. A damp chill gnawed at his bones, freezing the air in his lungs. He knew he had to keep moving, to do something, anything, to stay warm and awake. He couldn’t afford to fall asleep. Not here. Not now. But his limbs were leaden and his body creaked in protest with every movement. His teeth chattered as he tried to think, tried to remember where he was and how he had gotten there. The harder he tried, however, the more his thoughts seemed to slip away, like sand through his fingers. Panic clawed at his chest once more as he looked around the cavern. The walls seemed to close in, the smooth stone shimmering with a thin layer of rime frost. The ceiling above with the unnaturally sharp stalactites, loomed over him like a mouth full of fangs. He had to get out.

Henry pushed himself off the wall, his legs shaking beneath him. The snow was piling up faster now, further in through the entrance than the wall he had built, and he frantically began to shovel it away with his hands, trying to clear a path through the narrow gap. He shovelled harder, floundered, grappled til his fingers were too numb to move, but for every tiny hopeful opening he made, more snow took its place, as if the storm outside was determined to bury him alive. The cold was unbearable now, seeping into his very soul. Outside, the wind roared, a feral sound that echoed through the cavern and made the air thick with cold. Each breath now was a knife to the chest, each inhale burning his lungs. The snow crawled closer, blocking the entrance fully, and began to cover the cave floor inch by painful inch, forcing the hunter back step by painful step.

Henry's mind was reeling. He stumbled further into the cave, away from the encroaching cold, the bones of his legs creaking in protest. The deeper he went, the more the walls seemed to close in on him, the smooth rock pressing down, suffocating. The quiet there was unnerving, an oppressive stillness that made him painfully aware of his own laboured breathing and the pounding of his heart. The silence of the grave. For what felt like an hour, he pushed himself forward against the stone walls, cowering under the stalactites which were now low enough to graze the top of his head. No matter how far he went, the snow followed close behind, blocking the way back. Henry's movements grew slower, more sluggish, until he could no longer outrun it, and that white frost began piling up around his boots. He felt the fight leave him, his breathing weakened, his heartbeat slowed.

Then, from the corner of his eye, he saw it—a single snowflake, delicate and perfect, drifting down from the ceiling above. His breath caught in his throat as he watched it fall, impossibly slow, through solid rock. It glowed faintly in the dim light and Henry’s eyes followed its descent, almost hypnotized, until it landed softly on the ground. On something dark, something that wasn’t stone. He crouched down, his stiff knees cracking in protest, and wiped away the snow, his fingers brushing against a cold, unyielding surface.

A hand.

His hand.

His breath caught in his throat. He was looking at himself, at his own lifeless body, crumpled and broken, half-buried in the snow. The wounds were horrific—deep gashes and punctures that were draining the life out of him-- and the realization hit him like a sledgehammer.

This wasn't real.

The snow, the cold, it was all in his head, growing blurry as his brain ran out of oxygen. And the cavern wasn’t just familiar—it was the place he was dying, right now, in the real world. The place where his body was lying, bleeding out into the cold ground, his blood darkening the stone ground.

For a third time, panic surged through him, but it was laced with a deep, bone-weary exhaustion. The wind howled louder, and now Henry could make out voices, battle cries, screeching and yowling in twisted satisfaction. The snow now poured into the cave through the solid ceiling above, burying everything in its path. He wanted to claw his way out, to escape this nightmare, but his limbs wouldn’t respond. The snow was too thick, too heavy, pressing down on him from all sides. As his vision began to blur, the walls of the cave pulsed, breathing with a life of their own, in tandem with his own slowed breaths. The snow continued to fall, endlessly, burying him, until all he could see was white. And then, from the heart of the storm, he saw a figure—a tall, imposing silhouette that moved with unnatural grace, cutting through the blizzard as if it were nothing. Henry tried to focus, but his mind was slipping, the edges of his consciousness fraying like old cloth.

His final thoughts drifted to Bran. A deep guilt welled up inside him. He wouldn’t make it home for Christmas this year. He wouldn’t see his boy’s face light up when he opened his presents, wouldn’t hear his laughter echoing through the house. Regret gnawed at him, leaving a bitter taste in his mouth. In his last moments, as the darkness closed in, Henry barely registered the sharp pain in his chest—a bite, cold and searing, as if winter itself had latched onto his heart, and his eyes froze over with unshed tears until the world faded and he breathed his last.

In a long-forgotten catacomb in Wales, as the last drop of Henry's blood soaked into the humid ground, something ancient stirred. Beneath the layers of earth and stone, within the crypt that had long been forgotten, a pair of eyes snapped open. After centuries of entombment, something awoke. The blood of the dying hunter seeped into its consciousness, filling it with the remnants of Henry's life, his memories, his regrets. And once the blood had ran dry, the ancient knight rose from his tomb, his eyes burning with a cold, unholy fire.

He tore through the killers, the blood-thirsty beasts who had chased their prey to the ancient tomb, splattering the walls with their undead blood that burnt to ash, until none were left. Then, he looked down at the broken body of the hunter who had unwittingly become his saviour. With a grim sense of purpose, the knight knelt beside Henry’s lifeless form. He whispered words in a dialect long dead, a prayer, perhaps, or a vow. Then, with a reverence reserved for fallen comrades, the knight lifted the hunter’s body and carried him deeper into the crypt, where heroes were once laid to rest, where the knight's own tomb stood, broken apart from within. The hunter was gone, his spirit entwined with the ancient knight’s own, but his legacy would live on, honoured by one of the very creatures he had once sought to destroy.

The knight sealed the tomb with a final, solemn gesture, then left the catacombs behind and stepped out into the warm summer night, into a world which had long outlived him.

[raytm]

i think that when the time comes i might actually move this blog.

[spoiledleaff]

there's a monster circling the borders of the cult. the lamb knows what it is—who it is. they're not terribly bothered.

the fox.

as a creature who values both brutality and strategy, the fox admires shamura deeply, to the point of love obsession. they've met before, though shamura could not remember that now. as a bishop, the fox loved watching them work. they would meet on occasion, standing at the crossroads between war and darkness. the fox has always had a bit of a stalking problem, not that shamura would feel threatened by him. they never stopped him before. the company was nice, soothing. they both smelled of blood—it was like finding another half of yourself, drenched in the afterbirth of your crimes and murders.

they'd chat. sometimes. ironically enough, shamura liked taking time to talk about nothing. so much of their life and work is spent strategizing and wondering and learning and doing things with a purpose, it was nice to take a moment to revel in the nonsense. the fox didn't mind, he would be too infatuated with the way they'd fidget with the bones of their followers. they would remember so much.

he was so curious, so obsessed that when shamura offhandedly let slip of that damned prophecy, of their siblings, of their brother, of the lambs—he didn't hesitate.

"i will handle it." he said. "i will devour every lamb to ever walk this earth if that is what you wish of me."

they paused, calculating. always so careful.

"leave one for me." they said, their smile filled to the grim with too many teeth and murderous intentions, and the fox thought he felt something stir in his long dead chest.

(there was a sadness there too, he realizes. maybe they knew of the consequences all along. even back then.

maybe especially then.)

it's hard to think that the shamura from before and the one he'd grown so used to watching from the shadows were the same creature. they still smell of blood, still ramble nonsense that only makes sense to them.

the fox wants to kill them, this mockery of the great bishop he once knew. this thing does not demand respect, does not stir that feeling in the fox's chest; it cannot be them.

they never seem to sleep, always roaming the cult's grounds while the rest of the herd scatter off for their bedtimes. they drift near the cemeteries, reading aloud names of followers they've never known. they do this every night—pay their respects.

"i know you are out there, little shadow." they say one night, "may i help you?"

"no." the fox is quick to answer, his maw is open and dripping with his resolutions. this thing will die tonight.

the false one turns towards the shadows, though the fox knows they will never find him if he doesn't wish it.

"do i know you?" they ask. "you feel familiar to me, though i'm afraid i cannot place it."

"...no." the fox lies — it is the truth — his teeth lay ready, though he does not bite.

"ah. my apologies then." the false one turns back to the graves, turns away from the fox. "your voice soothes me in a way i cannot describe. though i am unsure as to why, as to me you sound like blood, like cattle willingly led to slaughter, like betrayal."

the fox is ready to strike, he drools.

"you remind me of someone who i think i once felt safe with." he stops. "i apologize. i know we've never met before, but i cannot shake the feeling that i know your teeth."

the fox hesitates, closes his maw, backs away.

"your teeth are beautiful, by the way." the thing turns around, and the fox feels as though they see him—they see him. "i feel as though i've known your ivory all my life."

he leaves.

it doesn't matter, the night will always come—there will always be tomorrow.

it doesn't matter that this false one replicates shamura's desire to babble about nothing.

it doesn't matter that there is a beating in his chest that will not go away.

(he misses the chatter.)

there is always tomorrow night.

[decarbry]

Playing around a little with my Nomu!Aizawa... scars based on when he gets snatched, hair down to his middle-back, extra extra scruff because of an even more diminished ability to care for himself, a faded mark on his ring finger...

If you thought Aizawa couldn’t get more tired surprise! As a Nomu in my AU his main purpose is Shiggy’s alarm system (I love the head canon that Shigaraki is an Aizawa fan because he’s the kind of selfless hero he wished saved him as a child, so in this AU he gets that wish aaa). It means that even when he does get to sleep his quirk will open an eye automatically anytime something makes a noise near Shigaraki. I also kind of wanted to go with Kurogiri’s naming mechanic and give him a Nomu name that translates, so Yabureme is how he’s known!

[elvenbeard]

Just you and me and the city of dreams - part two!

A few more shots from this set ~

I loved these three as well, but I also wanted to keep the original post a bit smaller and more intimate, hence splitting this up in two!

Also using the opportunity to gush a little bit about the little things here ;__;

First of all, I love that CDPR gave all their male characters such nice, defined, long eyelashes, 'cause, hell yeah <3 I feel like, in some games I played in the past, eyelashes seemed to be for women only, and I know many find the CC lacking in comparison to what was teased and promised, but in this (and a few other regards) I like it a lot. Plus male NPCs with pretty eyelashes <3

Secondly, this was my first shoot I did with Kerry's updated 2.0 model and man ;__; This is super weird and random, but I'm so happy he has proper fingernails now XD Like, actual 3D nails that can be colored etc etc (and I know I couldve just added them manually in the past, but y'know....). With how huge PL turned out to be, with how much they improved and changed and added, it's the small things like this that really really do it for me cause... yeah. Dogtown is epic and amazing, the story is so good, but also, they didn't forget about lil old Kerry and gave him (and in return the people that love him) a lil love and care, too. That is so, so nice and makes me love the people behind all this even more.

[articularreview]

⚠️Spoilers for Shinrei tantei Yakumo - the lamenting doll file 03 and the epilogue⚠️

Here in case you missed it

I just read it and spontaneously wrote this.

Be careful if you haven't read it yet.

The file starts with where it left off the last time with them deciding to locate Mahiro's mother.

I kinda forgot about it since we haven't seen Isshin for a while, but this volume reminded me of how much Yakumo is influenced by Isshin. Be it the way they talk or sometimes even their mannerisms.

It's pretty much a given that they'll have to stay another night at the hotel but that would mean Haruka will have to stay in that creepy ass room again. Isshin really told Yakumo “accept the situation or sleep with her”😭😭😭

But sadly It's just like Gotou said, Their relationship label won't allow it smh

Gotou's snores and Isshin's bad posture are KILLING ME. My mom entered the room while I was having a fit of laughter I just looked crazy to her 😭

Isshin is so chill he doesn't care if you try to make him look bad. Rather his hilarious responses made Gotou look silly for complaining. Poor Gotou-san. Maybe I should learn from him... Unbotherement sure is powerful~

Anyways I guess that means Yakumo is the only one who sleeps normally hahaha

Just like I expected, Mahiro's death is weighing Hiromi down. kinda knew it from file 02, but hearing the details from Masae made me want to cry. No parent should ever go through this.

And so they split into two teams: team Gotou and Yakumo. and team Haruka and Isshin. All I'll say is that the latter team sure is a good match.

And then we have Gotou-san who not only has to put up with Yakumo's comments but also got a Salary cut too!! He suffered too much this trip. Imagine wanting to skip work only to get dragged all the way to a whole different prefecture. Still kinda his fault for ignoring Ishii smh.

Speaking of Ishii I'm happy he and Makoto were mentioned even though they didn't make an appearance. Isshin's mere presence made up for any other character's disappearance. Kaminaga-sensei is a genius for mentioning Eishin too. I think references like that will increase in the complete version. Knowing the future and the direction of your work sure makes a big difference. It was really interesting knowing that Eishin was the one taking care of Nao when Isshin's not around. Nao must really miss Isshin even if she doesn't show it on her face. I head canon afterwards Nao being overjoyed to see not only Isshin but Yakumo and Haruka too after his two-day disappearance.

The scene when that madman dragged Haruka gave me the chills. Kaminaga-sensei using TTCM as a reference sure was brutal I ended up imagining it. Haruka did her best till the very end but the situation was hopeless. She can't even resist. her mouth, legs and wrists were taped. And on top of that he had the audacity to slap her! How dare him! If that man wasn't charged with attempted murder after all this I'm throwing hands!

In the end the case was solved and we find out that Takahiro-kun was the one talking to Hiromi all along. It really broke my heart knowing that all this time he didn't even know he was dead and yet played along to try to comfort Hiromi who was mourning for her child. What a strong kid. He and Mahiro are.

The lamenting doll huh... makes sense.

In the epilogue we learn that Yakumo can't handle hot food which I thought was really cute.

Tbh his whole food preference was quite unexpected. First we learn that he has a sweet tooth (Which Haruka thought doesn't suit him at all lol) and then a similar situation to the one in the epilogue happened in vol. 7 iirc when Yakumo was (again) staring at the sake and when Haruka asked if he can't drink he stubbornally tries to only to spit it out. This man just can't be honest😂 I actually really respect men who don't drink or smoke so that's a flex~

Now some of my favorite Yakumo lines which for some reason all happen to be verbally abusing Gotou (Can't blame Haruka for laughing because c'mon how could you not?)

• “You can say that because you've never heard it yourself. Compared to Gotou-san's snores, even a train would be quieter.”

• “A member of the police stating that he'll be driving under the influence? Japan is finished.”

• “I'm saying bears can't understand the taste of wine. What if someone made up a new proverb: bears and wine.”

• "I don't want to waste any more calories than this."

• "Well, that's not surprising. A bear with damaged taste buds such as Gotou-san will never understand."

Bye I'm using these irl.

I'll also add these two because I keep remembering these two exchanges and laughing:

1)

"I see. If you don't want to, it's fine. But please stop bringing cases to me from now on."

"This and that are a different story."

"No, it's the same thing. Ah, that's right. So that Gotou-san will stop bringing me cases, I'll be reporting to the police that you've been leaking investigation details to a civilian."

"What!? Don't joke with me! I'll get fired if you do that!" Gotou shouted in panic.

"Good then. That way I won't have to involve myself in cases that have nothing to do with me, and taxpayer money won't have to go into paying the incompetent Gotou-san; just like killing two birds with one stone."

"What did you say!?"

"Isn't that great? This way, Gotou-san can also play around to your heart's content. So it'll be more like killing three birds with one stone," said Yakumo, grinning as he looked at Gotou.

He really stabbed where it hurt. Having been commented like that, Gotou wouldn't have a way to refuse. "Fine. I'll help. Happy?"

Gotou lifted his heavy bottom up from the sofa reluctantly as he sighed. Yet Yakumo wasn't done with his counterattacks.

"Not really, it's fine even without Gotou-san helping."

"That wasn't what you said earlier!"

2)

"Sorry about that. Could you please tell me what I should do?" Gotou asked formally while swallowing his displeasure.

"You should know if you listened to the story,"

"I'm asking because I don't know."

"You should have if you paid close attention to the whole story."

"Well I don't know!"

"Is that something to be proud about? Good grief.”

Too much Yakumo😂

Volume 11 is up next. I'm really really excited for this one because Unkai and Miyuki are one of the best antagonists I've ever read. I'll never forgive them for what they did to Yakumo but their back stories are very very well written and explains how they ended up that way. That last arc will wrap everything up. I remember reading the book description a while back but Laute's translations stopped at the time so I thought I'll never read it.

The day has finally come!!!

[cerise-on-top]

Celebrating König's Birthday

I was actually going to post this on my birthday so König and I could be twinsies, but no one needs to know when my birthday is, so I'm posting it early!

First off, congratulations on finding out when his birthday is. He refuses to tell anyone the date. As a kid, he was always ridiculed even more than usual, so he stopped celebrating it. The only people who know his birthday at this point are his parents, his higher ups and you, apparently. You probably pestered his parents about it since you wanted to get him something nice. However, he’ll be grumpy if you as much as acknowledge it’s his birthday on the correct date. While he tries to be nice towards you, he will be a little bit colder towards you for the duration of the day. Doesn’t matter how much he loves you, he doesn’t want to celebrate his birthday. You’d need to be especially persistent with him if you want him to sit down with a party hat and have him blow out the candles.

He knows he shouldn’t be like that with you since you only mean well and want him to have a nice day. If you “celebrate” his birthday enough years in a row, he might tolerate you bringing him some cake. But don’t you ever celebrate that godforsaken day outside of the comfort of your home or else you will lose that privilege. At some point, if you keep respecting his boundaries, he might look forward to it. Just some Schwarzwälder Kirschtorte with you, and maybe a new knife. However, he wouldn’t say no to some new boots every once in a while either. He wears his way too often, so it wouldn’t be surprising if they were worn. Year after year, he’ll grow less grumpy. But be prepared that he’ll wanna celebrate your birthday as well, especially if you don’t like your own birthday either. It’s his form of revenge. He’ll find you the biggest, most ridiculous gift he can find and give it to you on that day.

Though, as much as he looks forward to receiving a gift from you, he actually just prefers to spend time with you. Will indulge in a few Gösser and encourage you to drink some alcohol yourself. And yes, he will pressure you into at least taking a few sips. If you’re close enough, he’ll pull the “I’m the birthday boy, do as I say or you won’t be invited to my birthday party next year” card. Yes, he entirely ignores the fact that you’re the one celebrating his birthday. He has a sense of humor, he only celebrates his birthday when it’s convenient to him.

In the end, he’s actually kinda glad that he got to spend time with you like that. You put the effort into forcefully getting to know him better, he can appreciate that after a few years. When he can, he’d much prefer to just spend all day with you in bed, though. As nice as it is to get drunk until you can’t stand anymore, sometimes he just wants to take a nap after a grueling mission, holding you close as if you were a cat, ready to scratch him so he’d wake up.

[greenerteacups]

What do you think as Hermione's career would be post battle of Hogwarts? To me her being minister for magic really doesn't make sense. She does not have patience or tact to wade through murky waters of politics 😭😭

So hard to say! The Trio are so, so young when we leave them, I find it almost impossible to project their futures farther than a few years out. The job that suited me at 17 would be radically unsuited to me now. That's why of all the Trio, Ron's ending strikes me as the most realistic — he jumps straight into the save-the-world business again, burns out, realizes he's actually Done The Fuck Enough, Thanks, and pivots into a low-stress career where he gets to see his family a lot. Feels accurate! The others are weirder to me because they do seem to just... pick a lane and stay there.

With Hermione, you could spin her a couple ways. You could say that she leans into her bookish side and does research or teaching, which is not my preference for a couple reasons (namely, I don't think Hermione would like academia as a profession; she finds her classwork interesting and enjoys intellectual validation, but she'd be stifled and wasted in a DPhil program, and she'd be infuriated by the administrative politicking of your average higher-ed faculty). You could say that she gets disaffected with politics and ends up as a barrister or a lobbyist of some kind, but if anything that requires more political finesse, because you don't actually have institutional power, you're just handling the people who make decisions and trying to persuade them of your goals. This is not Hermione's preferred method of influence. She's not even particularly good at persuasion, she just happens to be smart enough (and right often enough) that people take her ideas seriously.

Or you could say her brashness fades with the years into a softened flavor of tell-you-like-it-is honesty, which some politicians actually do successfully trade on; as we see in British politics today, you don't have to be all that charming or clever to get ahead, you just need to be really driven and well-connected (which Hermione completely is; she fought shoulder-to-shoulder with the first postwar Minister and her bestie, the Literal Messiah, runs the Auror Office.) But I don't know if Hermione especially wants to be Minister, after the war. She's just watched years of horrendous bureaucratic incompetence plunge the country into a violent civil conflict. She's had not one, but two Ministers of Magic try to bully or shame her friends into complicity with fascism. Her view of government is... likely extremely dark.

But Hermione also isn't the kind of person who sees her life as a quest for happiness. Babygirl has a savior complex that makes Harry look selfish. (She basically kills her parents — yeah, obliviating is a form of murder, #changemymind — "for their own good," and justifies every batshit, vindictive, mean-spirited move she ever pulls on the grounds that it "helps" one of her friends.) She is a mean, lean, dragon-slaying machine, and she needs a dragon. After Voldemort, the Ministry is the no. 1 threat to muggle-borns and non-wizarding Beings. As a war heroine with basically infinite political capital, I'd be surprised if she didn't try to do something there. That said, Hermione is so vivacious and dynamic that she could potentially grow in a hundred different directions; it's possible that all of this, while true of her at 18, becomes completely inaccurate by 22. That's why I'm not too fussed about any particular fanon interpretation.

[ceiling-karasu]

A scene from Chapter 9 of Lily Bell in the Thorn Thicket

(Marker)

(Colored Pencils)

(Draft)

Excerpt Below the Read More

Mulmangcho obliviously walked past them both, carrying a large box of farming hand tools and booklets. “Mulsajo, Oegwipali, radishes grow in the summer months as well. Cabbage only grows in spring and fall, so I suggest we grow more of those now. Also, it turns out that we may be able to grow potatoes during the winter, but I’ll have to…figure out.... that is not our car…”

I guess that mouse was not officially declared dead. Murori survived the same type of explosion. But where is he hiding? Geumsaegi thought, bitterly. Still, the missing mouse suggested that there might be hidden compartments somewhere in the farmhouse that he could search for information.

Shaking, Oegwipali pointed in the direction of the Special Aide. Mulmangcho’s confused expression changed to one of surprised apprehension, then anger.

Suddenly, the farmhouse was approached by the roaring of more jeeps, cars, and small trucks. Within a minute, the Regimental Commander and several large members of the Wolf Unit were inside the house. They stretched, speaking loudly, “So, we’ve finally arrived. Kinda small though, eh?”

Geumsaegi, needing to keep his cover, pointed at Oegwipali, the wolves leering over everyone, “Go and assist in bringing their luggage inside. You, Mulmangcho, you stay here.” The one eared mouse, understanding the situation, saluted properly and left to do as he was told.

“And what exactly are you doing all the way out here, Special Aide?” Mulmangcho saluted sarcastically. Best to at least pretend to be polite. He could be dead in the next minute, after all, and it would look bad if Special Aide shot someone giving a greeting. He wondered what the Special Aide had told the Wolf Unit about him, if maybe they would be fine if he was shot dead giving a greeting.

“You are on house arrest. You do not get to question why an army unit should pay a remote area a visit,” Geumsaegi played his role.

Before either of them could continue, shouts were heard as another vehicle roared wildly around the house, wolves yelping, jumping out of the way, some colliding with the walls with a thump, laughing at their close calls.

Something green and tattered flew past the window, thrown up by spinning tires.

“MY CABBAGES!” Oegwipali wailed in alarm from outside.  

Commander Seungnyangi burst into the farmhouse, eyes flashing blue, followed by the slightly shaken Officer Yeou.

[kyokutsu-sama]

I have come to the conclusion that I want to become a "personal writer"🤔

[stillcominback]

really underestimated how much i missed rick grimes let me tell you

[amethystina]

So I just found a document in the "Yo Han's POV" folder of Who Holds the Devil that I don't remember making

And when I open it, it's just two sentences in an otherwise empty document. Which are:

"Ga On loved Yoon Soo Hyun too much, and Yo Han not enough. If at all."

... and now I kind of want to sue myself for emotional damages.

What the hell, me? Why did you leave that there? For me to stumble over? RUDE.