#lads faceless characters

[love-and-deepspace-wiki]

Faceless Characters: Solana

Age: Unknown

Occupation: Unknown

Workplace: Unknown

Residence: Unknown

Family:

Husband: Thomas

Daughter: (Infant, name unknown)

Appearances List:

World Underneath: High & Low Culture

Moments Username: GarlicShrimpSupremacy

Details:

In the "High & Low Culture" World Underneath story, Solana is introduced as Thomas' wife. They have one child together, an infant daughter. One of her favorite dishes is garlic shrimp

[ozzgin]

A nice character with a yandere split persona. The Yandere persona was born out of the abandonment of the character by a loved one, maybe mom. Did he kill her just so she could stay? Maybe. Only the Yandere persona knows, the character is oblivious, he just knows his mom left him. But he oddly feels ok about it as though the situation has been reconciled... which is weird to him.

Now he meets and falls in love with yn. She must not leave. It's f around and find out

Btw I love you ❤️❤️❤️ The Yokai series is my fave

Yandere! Serial Killer x Reader

You're temporarily staying with a kind, quiet man renting out a room in the house he inherited. It's just the two of you, and a locked bedroom he claims to be vacant. Yet as night falls, you hear the whispered arguing of a voice you don't recognize. Is anyone else there? Content/TW: female reader, mentions of murder, obsessive behavior, horror [Part 2] | [Yandere Masterlist]

You must break the pattern today, or the loop with repeat tomorrow

He stares at the locked drawer of the bureau. The clock ticking in the background fades into an irritating buzz, drumming against his ears at irregular intervals like a swarm of insects. Once again, he cannot remember where the key is. Yet he does not feel compelled to search for it. It cannot be anything of significance, he tells himself. Forgotten knick-knacks, perhaps. Despite the apparent lack of curiosity, he is drawn here every morning. He wakes up, carefully folds the sheets, and goes to sit in the office. Tick-tock. Tick-tock. Until, at last, the noon hour strikes, and the hallways are flooded with ghastly chimes.

Lately, however, other sounds have taken over the usual silence that envelops the house. The main door rattles faintly before opening with a creak.

“They were out of our bread rolls. I got a baguette instead.”

It’s you.

He stands up, as if startled from deep slumber, and hurries downstairs to greet you. He takes the grocery bags from your hands, flashing a smile of gratitude. Somehow, the idea of another person living here is still foreign to him. He’s gotten so used to the solitude, the quietness of the house. Time stands still when there’s no one else to remind you of it.

You glance up at the tall man, noticing his slight frown.

“Another brain fog?” You ask, worried.

“Don’t mind me. It’s a morning routine at this point”, he jokes. “More importantly, what would you like for breakfast?”

He always cooks for both of you. Initially, you were rather hesitant to go for his offer. You’d been looking for temporary accommodation and stumbled upon his advertisement. A cozy, vintage house the man had inherited from his lamentably departed mother, with one too many spare rooms. He had no need for all the space, he said in his description. You paid him a visit and were taken aback by his appearance. A massive, muscular frame that did not fit the rest of his mannerisms and features. He was soft-spoken, polite, and terribly shy. His eyes reflected the kind of gloom to be expected from anyone in his situation.

A sweet, gentle soul looking for company. On top of that, if you are to be technical, he’s a housemate difficult to compete against. Well-kept, mannered, organized, and thoughtful. He keeps to himself. You’d learned, soon after moving in, that he suffers from the occasional brain fog and memory loss. He goes for walks at odd hours to clear his mind. Enjoys reading in his office, although you’ve caught him just staring into space many times. Terribly inconvenient for the poor lad, you imagine.

The house itself is also not a bad deal by any means. Old fashioned, littered with trinkets and paintings. “My mother liked to collect many things”, he’d told you. It certainly has personality, to put it mildly. Some belongings are more bizarre than others: portraits of faceless people, with features smudged or distorted, doll heads in pompous, feathered collars hanging in clusters across the musty walls. Peculiar, but manageable.

Only at night does it become unsettling.

“Going for a walk?”

You’re curled in one of the armchairs, flipping through a magazine you found. It’s been hours since your little breakfast together and now the sun is beginning to set. The man is buttoning up his coat, standing in the doorframe and gazing at you with a smile.

“Yeah. I’m starting to detach a little. Maybe some fresh air will help.”

It’s nice, he thinks, having you here. He didn’t expect much when he ventured to rent out a room. He just wanted to hear the murmur of life again. Ever since his mother has passed…when did it happen, again? Better yet, how did it happen? Christ, he can’t remember. The last memory he has of her is not something to cherish. She was angrily shoving him out of the way, visibly annoyed by his cries and pleading. “Please don’t leave me”, he kept croaking in a pathetic tone, dragging his knees like a beggar. Then it’s all black. Black, like the cover they kept over her body at the morgue, to hide the mutilated remains. Black, like the tie he struggled to knot before her funeral. At that time, the sheets of her bed were still scattered, as if she never left. He could almost see her there, reflected onto the mirror’s surface – rather dirty as a matter of fact, he should wipe it soon – sitting melancholically on the edge of the mattress.

To think he’d be hearing footsteps again. A soothing voice. Even if it’s temporary, your presence in the house has been a blessing. Even if you must leave eventually. His lips purse involuntarily.

You hear the door close, followed by the key twisting inside the lock. You’re alone now.

With haste, you get up and sprint upstairs. You pull out a hairpin from your pocket and discreetly insert it in the cylinder. Today you find out if the spare bedroom truly is as vacant as your housemate claims.

When you first viewed the house, he mentioned that only this room will remain locked. It was his mother’s and he’d rather not look at it, he said. Let it gather dust, for all he cares.

Only at night, you’ve been hearing someone else’s voice. It didn’t happen immediately. Weeks after you’d moved in, you woke up thirsty and tiptoed on your way to the kitchen for a glass of water. On your return, you were surprised to see dim light coming from underneath the door of the forbidden bedroom. Visitors of your housemate? You hurried back into your bed, not wanting to intrude. But the following night you jolted up from the same mumbled voice. Strange that he’d invite someone over this late - twice in a row! - without saying a word to you. Even more, they were arguing like this. Curiosity got the better of you, so you snuck out and placed your cupped ear against the wall.

“No, no, no, no. I’m telling you, it’s different. She’s different from the others.” A deep, ragged voice retorted angrily.

Suddenly, there was a loud thud, a fist smashing against something, then glass shattering over exasperated, shouted curses. You ran back to your room, baffled. Who on Earth was there? You could feel your heart throbbing inside your chest.

Morning couldn’t come quick enough. You marched over to your housemate, demanding to know who this stranger was. He stared at you, wide eyed and incredulous. “There’s no one else here, dear. Just you and me.” Nonsense. You knew what you heard. You’d been wide awake! He gently placed the back of his hand against your forehead. “Could it be that you’re sick? Weather has been dreadful lately.” You scanned his face with hitched breath. Was he mocking you? Yet his features betrayed no such intent. The man seemed genuinely worried; face twisted in a caring frown.

Then what? A ghost? An intruder that fancied having a chat in a dead woman’s bedroom?

You fiddle with the pin until you hear the click. Finally. Surely whoever has been frequenting the place must’ve left some clues behind. You carefully open the door and peek inside. A broken mirror and some furniture covered in webs. There’s a lingering rusty smell that tickles your nostrils, and soon enough you find the source. Next to the old bed lays a cloth splattered red. On top of it, a leather folder from which scalpels and other surgical tools fell out haphazardly. Blood? Your mouth curls in disgust. You crouch to the floor to inspect the odd items and notice a jar glistening from underneath the bed. You pull it towards you and give it a rattle. Nothing heavy. You lift the jar into the light for a better look and gasp.

Fingernails.

“Oh, I forgot to put those away.”

It’s the same deep voice you’ve been hearing at night. Your stomach drops and you turn, slowly, towards the entrance. Horror is swiftly replaced by confusion once you realize it’s none other than your housemate.

“Y-you’re back from your walk?” You blurt out.

“Walk?” He inquires. “Ah, that’s what he told you.” He steps towards you and lowers himself to your level with a grin.

“Have you come to say hello?” He points towards the tall, shattered mirror. “This is (Y/N), mother. See, I told you she’s stunning. You didn’t believe me.”

He ruffles your hair with a boldness completely unfamiliar.

Nausea overwhelms you and your ears ring in panic. Whatever is happening right now is beyond your understanding.

“I’d like to go to my room now.”

“I recognize that speech all too well. You want to run away.”

Within seconds, he grabs one of the scalpels and points it towards your throat, poking your skin with its cold tip.

“Now, don’t embarrass me in front of her like that. Do you know how hard it is to convince this bitch of anything? I told her you’re not like them, (Y/N). Don’t prove me wrong.”

“Them?” You whisper, lungs devoid of air.

“Come, let’s put this with the others first.” He pockets the scalpel and lifts you up by the hand, tenderly kissing your fingers in the process. “Then we can talk.”

You follow him into the office, and he unlocks one of the desk drawers. Against your better judgment, you stretch over his shoulder and glance inside. ID cards of various women, jewelry, lipsticks. Teeth. Fingernails.

You want to cry.

He nonchalantly dumps the contents of the jar into the drawer and slams it back shut, then throws himself in the chair and pats his thigh, eyeing you. With a sob, you clumsily climb onto his lap.

“Back to our matters. What were you planning on doing?”

“I just wanted to lay in bed.”

He takes out the scalpel and draws a line across your cheek. It stings.

“Don’t lie, (Y/N). You have nothing to gain from being naughty with me.” He coos, placing a kiss over the fresh wound.

“I wanted to run away.” You confess, petrified.

“Good. Do you now understand what happens if you try to run away?”

You briefly look at the drawer and nod.

“I knew you would. You’re so smart.” He strokes your hair fondly. “Not an easy decision to make, mind you. I love you more than anything in this world. Who’d enjoy killing their one and only?”

The man ponders his next words with a hum.

“Don’t count on getting away while he’s awake, either.” He taps his temple and chuckles. “He has no idea and won’t stop you, but I can easily find you again.”

The eggs sizzle in the pan as you stare at your plate, background sounds melting into shapeless static. After a couple more minutes, the man turns off the stove and places the food on the table with a cheerful whistle.

“Eat up!” He encourages you.

You hold onto your fork with faintly trembling hands.

“This might be the last breakfast I cook for you, after all. You’re leaving tomorrow, aren’t you?” His last sentence trails off and he smiles, dejected.

“Actually, I was wondering if I could…stay here instead.”

He gazes at you in disbelief.

“Truly? I-…That’d be fantastic.” He laughs awkwardly and scratches the back of his head, a deep red blush spreading over his cheeks. “Do excuse my rudeness. To be honest with you, I’ve grown quite fond of our arrangement. I really do like having you here.”

You return the smile without responding.

“Most exciting news. I’ll get the documents from the office after we eat, so we can draft a new lease.”

“That’d be lovely”, you answer curtly.

“Say, have you by any chance stumbled upon a small key around the house? I wanted to finally unlock the drawer upstairs, but I can’t remember where I could’ve left it.”

The knot in your stomach tightens.

“Not at all.”

“Don’t sweat it. I’m sure it’s nothing important, anyways. Old memorabilia, most likely.”

[makemeactup]

Ted!George Harrison x Reader - Cigarettes

Summary: George hasn't found the courage to approach you, up until a bully takes your cigarettes and he steps in to help.

A/N: My first time writing for George, please be nice!

---

George had spotted you almost immediately, the first day you arrived at his usual Ted hangout spot. He saw you chatting away with a guy in his class, your shoulders draped in leather and cigarette loose between your lips. He'd realised, then, that you were the first proper Judie he'd actually seen.

He didn't go up to you at first, opting to watch you from the crumbling wall he'd taken as his perch; your eyes would meet his some days between the small gathering of bodies. A nameless, faceless ocean when he would spot you. Your smile was bright and warm, and yet your words, or what he'd overheard, were brash and strong.

Over the weeks, George had tried to muster the courage to talk to you. Really, he did. But each time he'd be collared by his mate or you'd disappear. Or he'd see, and hear, your classmate Daniel pick on you and he'd grow cold feet. You seemed to be able to hold your own anyway, you didn't need him to save you.

Or, rather, that was his rationale for chickening out.

But one day, it was just the two of you at that spot. Everyone else was gone, something about a fight or a new hangout location to loiter about in. He didn't know, nor did he care. He'd taken to his usual spot at the wall, watching you as you checked your watch and glanced his way every so often.

He watched intently as you took your cigarette pack out of your jacket pocket, and before you could so much as pop the lid open, it was snatched by a quick hand. Stood in front of you was Daniel, and George couldn't help but stare with slanted brows and to eavesdrop.

"Give 'em back!" You ordered, but your voice held no power. You jumped for the cigarettes, damn near in a panic.

It was your last pack, and you couldn't afford a new one yet. Not for a little while. So you were saving them, smoking sparingly to string them along. And now Daniel, in his infinite wisdom and desire to crush the weird girl down, had taken them with the threat of tossing them into the river Mersey.

"Nah," Daniel replied, dangling them over your head. "I don't think I will."

"Daniel, I swear to God!" You were yelling now, frustration thick in your voice and red on your face.

It broke George's heart to hear you like that. But, more importantly, it made his brows furrow and lips even into a straight line.

"I'll-!" You tried again, cut off by Daniel's laughter.

"—you'll what?"

"Give her the fags back," George's voice abruptly spoke from directly behind you. In the commotion, you hadn't heard him approach.

For a moment, Daniel's façade faltered. He hadn't been quite as threatened by a Teddy Girl as he was with George. In his own right, that stern look on his face and collar popped, George did look like the exact dictionary article of a Ted.

You didn't know George personally, but you certainly had watched him enough to know that this wasn't him. It was an out of character moment that excited you to witness.

"What?" Was all Daniel offered, confused and caught off guard.

"Stop bein' a dick. Give her her fags back."

"Fuck off, lad."

"Fuck right off, lad!" George seemed surprised by his own outburst, the volume making you spin on your heels and Daniel to lean away. George leered, oozing a sort of vibe that someone like Daniel didn't want to mix with. "I'm not tellin' you twice."

After a long, tense set of eye contact and hesitation, Daniel shoved the pack of cigarettes into your chest. Clearly, the Teddy Boy reputation preceded George far more than his own personal one. And for that, he was very happy.

Watching Daniel walk away and throw one last glance over his shoulder, George released a breath he didn't know he was holding. His eyes cast down to yours, and suddenly the courage and brave face he'd had moments ago was gone.

"Thank you," You finally spoke after allowing yourself a chance to admire his features. When he seemed a tad dumbstruck, you continued with an urging smile: "You're George, aren't you?"

You knew his name?

His brows furrowed, but this time in confusion as opposed to anger. He looked at your hand as you offered it his way, as if he'd never seen the gesture before.

"Uh, yeah. That's me," He mentally facepalmed when the words left his mouth. His larger hand found your smaller onel, your firm grip prompting him to tighten around your palm.

"(Y/N)," You introduced, finding the way that his lips etched into a smile that crinkled the edges of his eyes endearing. "I was wondering when we'd meet."

"You were?" George's cheeks grew hot, but he acted as nonchalant as he could muster.

When you nodded, George swore his stomach flipped. Then he watched as you noticed that your hands were still clasped together; your cheeks flushed, eyes widened, and your lips parted as you both quickly drew your arms back to your sides.

A silence settled, one both uncomfortable and soothing all at the same time. Your gaze was dancing everywhere but at him, on occasion connecting with his own falsely occupied observations, until he cleared his throat and threw a thumb over his shoulder.

George dared a smile, genuine and more him than the earlier anger was. He was bright now, welcoming. "Do you want t' get a drink with me?"

[followerofmercy]

Idk if I already screamed about this but I'll do it again. The way Childe realizes there was a disconnect between his opinion (or what he'd been told) about Arlecchino and the reality her kids live in, and then IMMEDIATELY jumps on the opportunity for more information.

He's a smart lad! He's sitting around getting juiced up by a child without adult supervision like "this isn't how kids act when their father is insane and evil. What gives?"

(also that these kids are alarmingly similar to his own siblings and that he can't keep his head in the sand about how much he cares. They're not faceless Hearth soldiers anymore. He's invested)

So he goes up to Alrecchino later and the Traveler is conveniently there to give him extra leverage, so he just starts asking Arlecchino questions! And he threatens her!! Because while he is willing to change his mind, he's just gotta let her know that he cares about those kids and Will fight her about them.

Which in turn, massively improves Arlecchino's opinion of him! I feel very strongly that she wants people to see her as an antagonistic force against her own children so they're more likely to support the kids. The whole "omg your dad sucks. I'm here for you whatever you need." So, when Childe threatens her, she's like "Ah. You're doing exactly what I had hoped you would."

I forget if he threatens her before or after she actually starts answering questions. I think the theory stands either way, but there's more evidence if she gets much more forthcoming AFTER he threatens her

Idk. It's a huge mark for a character's intelligence that they can piece together THEMSELVES that their ideas are wrong and then go out and correct them.

[training4theapocalypse]

Finders Keepers Ch 20. (Cormac McLaggen x fem!reader)

Rating: Explicit 18+ (no smut)

Word Count: 7.5k

Warnings: Minor character deaths, violence

Summary: The final battle of Hogwarts

A/N: The last chapter 😢 an epilogue is on the way. This has been a blast. Thank you for reading. ❤️

Masterlist

Chapter 20: Avada Kedavra

The courtyard is eerily quiet when you and McLaggen skid to an abrupt halt on the rubble. A long streak of blood is painted across the cobblestone. And even though the thought of what caused it turns your stomach, instantly your mind begins playing it out. A faceless Death Eater blasted across the cloister. Or maybe it was a student dragging themselves away from the fighting. Or perhaps it’s the evidence of someone being tenderly carried off to somewhere safer. Assuming there’s anywhere safe left.

“Where is everyone?” The question, more to yourself than McLaggen, hangs in the chilled night air, icy on your skin after the pitch's fiery chaos. He holds one of the now-dilapidated oak front doors open and crumbling mortar silently dusts your heads and shoulders as you pass through the threshold. From a distance, you spot a familiar figure, carrying someone over one shoulder as they walk across the Entrance Hall. 

“Wood?” calls McLaggen.

At least one of your group is still alive. 

Oliver Wood stops in his tracks and turns, his face solemn. The realisation that the body he carries is dead and not simply injured hits you with sickening force. A young boy, blonde and no older than sixteen, hangs limp in his grasp.

“Colin Creevey,” says Wood sadly, in answer to the unasked question on the tip of your tongue. “He must have snuck back in through the Hog’s Head passageway to fight. He was only a kid.”

“Here, let me help,” says McLaggen. 

“It’s alright, mate - he’s -” Wood swallows with difficulty, the sentiment choking in his throat. “He’s only a wee thing.”

“Where - where are the others?” You’re surprised when your voice too is hoarse, barely a whisper. “Did you all get back to the castle alright?”

“We did,” says Wood as you and McLaggen fall into step with him, walking back towards the Great Hall. “But once we got back it was pandemonium. We were split up. I think the girls are in the Great Hall but some of the lads and I have been busy out here - helping carry bodies back and hoping that we don’t see anyone we know.”

The lads. You breathe a sigh of relief because it means Carmichael, Davies and Krum are all right too.

“We’ll be fine,” says McLaggen determinedly. “We’re all good fighters. Not kids like Colin -”

Wood shakes his head. “It’s not just kids like Colin - members of the Order of the Phoenix are dead. You remember Professor Lupin? He’s dead. And Fred Weasley.”

“Fred Weasley?” McLaggen halts. “Back when we were in the D.A. he was one of the best.” He says it matter-of-factly like Wood must be mistaken. 

“Gone,” says Wood with a sniff. “There were at least twenty bodies when I last left the Great Hall. And we keep finding more.”��

A heavy silence accompanies you into the Great Hall, where the reality of war is laid bare. The sky above the enchanted ceiling is pitch black. There’s not a single star in the sky visible. Dark clouds loom so claustrophobically close it’s a wonder there’s any air in the hall at all. Dozens of the fallen are lined up along the centre of the room. Some with crying families at their side, and some, you realise with a sinking feeling, are completely alone. 

Your eyes scour the room searching for your own loved ones. At this side of the row of bodies nearest you, there’s a crowd that can only be Fred Weasley’s family. Relief washes over you as you spot Angelina, at the edge of the group, sobbing on Alicia’s shoulder.

Another two who are still alive.

But your relief is short-lived when you see only Leanne and Katie at the far end of the hall, crowded around someone on the floor. 

Panic makes the hair on your arm rise. 

You break into a run, heart pounding, as you pass by too many bodies to count, each step fuelled by a mix of hope and dread. Leanne and Katie look up at your arrival, still holding each other, tears streaking down their faces. 

Cho is kneeling on the floor, holding the lifeless hand of a girl. She has the same long, wavy, auburn hair as Marietta. But it can’t be Marietta. Eddie isn’t here. And besides, she’s covered in dust, with pieces of rubble strewn in her hair. Marietta was always fussy about her appearance. She wouldn’t be caught dead looking like this.

McLaggen catches up with you and stops dead, momentarily stunned by the scene before him. “Fuck… Marietta.” His whisper hits you like a slowing charm.

“That’s not - it’s not -” Your legs feel like lead as you take a step closer. “I don’t think it’s Marietta - I mean, her face is…” That’s not Marietta’s face. Where are her scars? You sink to your knees across from Cho to get a closer look at the girl’s face. If you look hard enough, maybe it won’t be true. You’ll find some difference. A freckle or a piercing that proves this isn’t Marietta. 

“The curse must have died with her,” Cho murmurs, her voice quiet with grief as a tear drips onto Marietta’s serene, unblemished face. 

“She’s so beautiful,” sobs Leanne. “I mean - not that she wasn’t before -“

Fuck.

The truth hits hard. Undeniable. Raw.

It is her. 

“She was beautiful,” you agree, your voice breaking as a surge of memories overwhelms you, letting the tears flow unguarded. “Before the curse, when she had the curse and - and after.”

After. You never thought there would be a time after Marietta. Ever since your first day at Hogwarts, Marietta Edgecombe was there. After the sorting ceremony, you found yourself sitting across from her at the Ravenclaw table. You still remember the way she covered her mouth with the back of her hand and whispered something that made Cho giggle when Professor Dumbledore stood up to give his beginning-of-term speech. And it was at that point she had first seemed so different to you then. She loved gossip and fashion and makeup and boys - the two of you never really saw eye to eye. Mostly because you insisted you ‘weren’t like other girls’. 

But Marietta eventually showed you that you weren’t so different to other girls after all. And that other girls had their own interests just like you. It took longer than you’d like to admit to figure out that liking flying instead of Transfiguration didn’t make you superior. And so, Marietta transfigured your dress for Slughorn’s party. And you taught her how to fly a broom well enough to go on a dangerous mission to Azkaban. 

You suppose, if you let yourself think about the sad truth of it, her scars were probably the reason why she was so good at Transfiguration. She had spent a long time when you were still at Hogwarts, in the dormitory mirror with her wand pointed at her face, trying to rid herself of the scars that spelt ‘SNEAK’ across her cheeks and nose.

“How did she…?” The question dies in your throat as you look at Cho, not sure if you're ready to hear the answer. But she shakes her head. She doesn’t know. “I mean, where did you find her? And where’s Carmichael? Wasn’t he with her?” Eddie would know what had happened. “Does he even know she’s…?”

“We don’t have any answers,” says Katie not unkindly but it’s clear that your incessant questioning isn’t helping when they’re just as lost as you.

“Wood said that the guys were helping with the bodies,” McLaggen reminds you. “Maybe they’ll know more. They’ll be back in a… oh, fuck.”

McLaggen’s voice trails off and you look up to see why. 

Krum and Davies walk along the length of the hall, carrying a body. Krum holding under the arms and Davies carrying the legs. As they move, Krum clenches his jaw and Davies stares straight ahead solemnly.

“Nonononono…” you whimper, getting to your feet to get out of the way so that they can set the body down next to Marietta. Your hands reach for McLaggen’s and his find you, neither of you daring to take your eyes off of the body being carried towards you as you grasp at each other’s forearms for something - anything - to cling onto. 

Krum and Davies set the lifeless figure down and step out of the way. Nobody says anything for a long time as you stare down at them.

The echo of a mischievous smile is still etched on Eddie Carmichael’s face, even in death. You half expect his eyes to fly open. “Only winding you up, mucker,” he’d say, sitting upright and dusting himself off. And you’d roll your eyes and slap his arm for worrying you so. For letting the practical joke play out too long.

It’s not a joke. No matter how much you want it to be.

Carmichael. 

Your last shred of hope turns to dust. Even in Azkaban, Carmichael was a vial of Awakening Potion - the jolt of energy you needed to turn the tide in the depths of your despair. He almost made Azkaban feel like a game. Reminded you that being locked up was just a temporary situation - something that would pass. But this? This is permanent. 

“Where - where did you find him?” asks McLaggen. His voice is thick, barely recognisable.

Davies clears his throat. “Near the staircase behind the tapestry on the sixth floor. Longbottom said it was where he found Marietta.”

They were together.

McLaggen winces at Davies’ words and shuts his eyes momentarily, unable to bring himself to look at the lifeless figures of Marietta Edgecombe and Eddie Carmichael. You, on the other hand, can’t look away. 

The dust coating their faces makes them look almost blue-tinged. The remnants of an explosion, perhaps? The broken bits of rubble are still stuck in Marietta’s hair. Trembling slightly, you crouch down to try to disentangle them with your fingers, careful not to pull at her scalp. 

It’s no good. 

While you’ve never had an eye for Transfiguration like Marietta, you extract McLaggen’s dad’s wand from your pocket and press it gently at the pieces of rubble and one by one, transfigure them into tiny, blue forget-me-nots. 

To an onlooker, she might seem merely asleep, her hair adorned with forget-me-nots as if chosen by her own hand on a sunny day at Seafarer's Beacon. This small touch of beauty, reminiscent of the way her paper snowflakes once danced around the lighthouse stairwell or the summer wreath she hung on the front door just yesterday, captures the essence of Marietta's spirit. 

She always had an eye for making this world a little more beautiful.

Cho waves her wand in a complicated figure of eight and a wreath of the same forget-me-nots flourishes into existence. She places it silently at Eddie’s head before the two of you stand up and join the rest in quiet mourning. 

“You okay?” you whisper to McLaggen, noticing his ashen face. His brow furrows as if silently debating something internally. 

“How long have we got before the fighting starts again?” he asks the group, breaking the silence, his words piercing the heavy air.

“Not long I reckon,” says Davies.

McLaggen’s demeanour shifts, a firm look of determination on his face. “Potter needs to hand himself in… Where is he?” He looks around the room with an intense, measured sort of calm that you’ve only witnessed once before. When he stood up in the Black Dragon and asked Marcus Flint to step outside. “I’ll hand him over myself if I have to.” 

“Vot is this?” asks Krum as McLaggen makes to leave.

“Not gonna happen,” Davies tells McLaggen firmly, stepping in front of him.

“If he’d just handed himself over right at the start then Ed and Marietta would still be alive.” McLaggen tries to push past but Davies moves again.

“Handing over Potter isn’t going to bring them back -” says Davies.

For the first time, McLaggen raises his voice, drawing the attention of mourners in the hall. “How many more of us are going to have to die for him?!”

“Cormac -” you start and reach for his hand. “Marietta and Carmichael wouldn’t have wanted us to turn him in.”

“We don’t know what they’d have wanted,” he says bitterly and your own face screws up in anguish, fighting tears and unable to find the words to argue with him. 

But before anyone else can argue with him an amplified voice causes the noise in the Great Hall to halt into momentary silence.

“Harry Potter is dead!” 

The last word bounces around the stone walls. Dead. Dead. Dead.

There’s murmuring and hushing as You-Know-Who’s disembodied voice calls every survivor to attention. Everyone looks skywards as if it’ll make the words clearer. Make them make sense.

“He was killed as he ran away, trying to save himself while you lay down your lives for him,” the voice continues. 

You’d be the first to admit you’re not Potter’s biggest fan but from everything you’ve heard about it, you know he has the same selfless, noble streak that McLaggen and the rest of your Gryffindor friends have - and you can’t imagine any of them running away to save themselves. You furrow your eyebrows together and look at Katie - she knows Potter best. As expected, she mirrors your thoughts with a firm shake of her head.

“He wouldn’t -” Katie starts, but the voice cuts her off.

“We bring you his body as proof that your hero is gone. The battle is won. You have lost half of your fighters. My Death Eaters outnumber you and The Boy Who Lived is finished. There must be no more war. Anyone who continues to resist, man, woman or child, will be slaughtered. As will every member of their family.” 

The seven of you gather close as you hold your breath waiting to hear what will happen to you.

“Come out of the castle now. Kneel before me and you shall be spared. Your parents and children, your brother and sisters will live and be forgiven and you will join me in the new world we shall build together.”

McLaggen shakes his head. “It - it can’t all have been for nothing. Breaking them all out of Azkaban - it - it’s just can’t.”

“He’s lying. Harry’s not - he’s not dead,” says Cho with an air of trying to convince herself that it’s the truth. 

You look over to where Fred Weasley’s body lies and see that Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger are looking around frantically for the missing member of their trio. The pair stumble into a run, leaving the Great Hall and the rest of the survivors begin following them. 

If Harry Potter isn’t dead then why are his two best friends panicking?

You stay rooted to the spot. “Look, we can’t go out there. No matter what You-Know-Who said about sparing us - Cerys told me that Muggleborns and traitors will be killed.”

“Well, we’re not going out there to surrender,” says McLaggen. “We’re going out there to fight.”

Everyone breaks into squabbling.

“They’re going to kill us,” you insist, feeling helpless as you point out the impending death sentence.

“We can’t just stay in here,” says Katie.

“Angelina and Alicia are going,” points out Leanne.

You feel like you’re going mad. Desperation grips you as you beg them to understand. “A Death Eater told me herself that they’re going to execute the Muggleborns and force purebloods into Death Eater families.”

Davies finally chimes in, siding with caution. “I agree with Keeps. They’ll slaughter us all.”

“Not if I kill him first,” says McLaggen, straightening up but his change in demeanour makes your blood run cold.

“Kill who?” asks Cho. “You’re not talking about killing You-Know-Who, are you?”

McLaggen pauses, his gaze fixed on the distant double doors. When he speaks, his voice is clear, and full of resolve. “Not You-Know-Who. Voldemort.” 

The use of the taboo name is heavy in the air for a split second as a silent shock ripples through the group. McLaggen begins to march forward, his steps deliberate, pulling the rest of you from your stupor as you scramble to keep pace, murmurs of disbelief echoing behind him.

Wait - what?

He follows the direction of the crowd leaving the Great Hall.

“Cormac - wait - no,” you panic, pulling on his arm but he keeps walking as you practically jog to keep up with his long strides. “Cormac?” 

“McLaggen, what are you playing at, mate?” Davies too tries to get Cormac’s attention while you march.

McLaggen’s eyes darken, a flash of the recent pain  “No, we end this. I kill Voldemort. If I finish him off, Marietta and Eddie won’t have died for nothing…” 

“No, Cormac -” 

“I think ve need a plan,” Krum says looking slightly wary.

“There’s no time for a plan. All I need is one shot. One clear shot,” he says, staring ahead defiantly as you join the back of the moving crowd. 

“Cormac McLaggen, will you listen to me?!” Your voice is unusually shrill, half-choked with fear and desperation, as you plant yourself firmly in his path, forcing him to confront you. “You can’t just ‘take a shot’ at him. There’ll be protective enchantments. And even if by some miracle you breach those, it’ll be as good as suicide.”

Cormac halts and looks down into your eyes sadly. “You said it yourself - we’re all dead anyway. To them, we’re nothing but a bunch of traitors and Muggleborns.”

“I should be the one to do it, then,” you plead. “You’re from a pureblood family. You might still have a chance.” He shakes his head, dismissing the idea and you flare up. “And why not? I’m just as capable as you.”

“You are capable,” he insists. “But I should be the one to do it.”

“Why?” demands Cho, her voice sharp.

“I’m done for when they find out I killed the Minister for Magic’s daughter.” 

“And they’ll let the rest of us walk free?” asks Cho rhetorically. “Umbridge has been looking for us since all this started. If she’s anything to do with the new regime - she’ll make sure that we’re first to go. She’ll probably - she’ll probably frame us for Marietta’s death.” The idea leaves a bitter scowl on her face. Of course, Umbridge would. What a sympathetic story it’d make too. Marietta Edgecombe - Umbridge’s secretary. Kidnapped by the D.A. and killed in battle. 

“As much as I don’t like the idea of going out there without a plan, we’re running out of time and there’s nowhere else left to go,” says Davies resignedly as the seven of you look beyond the double doors at the courtyard. “So if any of us get the chance we should take it.”

“Exactly,” says Krum. “Ve train together, ve fight together.”

“I say if anyone gets close enough to You-Know - I mean - Voldemort, we do it. The Killing Curse,” says Katie.

Leanne nods. “I agree.”

You and McLaggen exchange a determined look. One last mission. Together.

“Alright,” McLaggen says, addressing everyone with a confidence reminiscent of the sort you usually have when rousing your Quidditch team. “Alright. Let’s do this. Let’s kill Voldemort.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~`

The remnants of Dumbledore’s Army huddle together in the devastated courtyard. 

Harry Potter is dead.

The grim truth of it is laid bare for everyone to see in the slowly lightening darkness that precedes the dawn as you gaze at his body lying limp in Hagrid’s arms as he sobs.

The lump in your throat isn’t so much for Potter as for what he represented, what his death means for you and your friends. Marietta is dead. Carmichael is dead. You and the rest of the D.A. will probably join them soon. If McLaggen isn’t executed he’ll be married off to some other Death Eater. You hold onto McLaggen’s hand tight, barely listening to Voldemort addressing the crowd as you instead silently count each second your hand is in his before you’re inevitably separated. 

You watch as Hagrid is instructed to place Potter on the ground at his feet.

Voldemort paces in front of the crowd, his giant snake wrapped around his shoulders as he points to Potter’s dead body. “He was nothing - ever - but a boy who relied on others to sacrifice themselves for him.”

“He beat you!” yells Ron Wealsey, a few places down to your left. You try to shrink back, away from the attention he’s bringing to your group but McLaggen holds fast - the same look of defiance painted on his face as is on Weasley’s. 

To your horror, McLaggen shouts, “Your Death Eaters were losing!” Members of the D.A. and several others in the crowd cry out in dissent too. 

“Cormac,” you plead. The idea of any of you breaking through the void between the survivors and Death Eaters to aim a Killing Curse at Voldemort seems like a childish fantasy now that you’re out here, facing him. You just want to slip away. The last thing you want is for any of the D.A. to be made a humiliating example of. You look at the army facing you. They outnumber you by at least five to one. You’re starting to realise that the best you can hope for is a quick death. “Please don’t draw attention to yourself.”

There’s a bang and a flash of light and you flinch when Voldemort silences the crowd.

“He was killed while trying to sneak out of the castle grounds. Killed while trying to save himself -”

But Voldemort’s voice breaks off when you’re jostled to the side as Neville Longbottom breaks through the clutch of D.A. members and charges at him. Clearly, your group weren’t the only ones who planned to take a shot at Voldemort to end this once and for all. There are more bangs and flashes when Neville is disarmed and knocked to the ground and another silencing charm is cast over the crowd.

“And who is this? Who has volunteered to demonstrate what happens to those who continue to fight when the battle is lost?”

Just as you were afraid of. The first dissenter to be made an example of. You clutch onto McLaggen as Bellatrix Lestrange catches Neville’s wand and taunts him. Neville eventually gets to his feet, unarmed and unprotected, standing in the no-man's-land between the Hogwarts survivors and the Death Eaters. 

“Neville Longbottom… But you are a pureblood aren’t you, my brave boy?”

“So what if I am?” he spits back.

“You show spirit and bravery. And you come of noble stock. You will make a valuable Death Eater. We need your kind, Neville Longbottom.”

“I’ll join you when hell freezes over!” shouts Neville before turning and raising his fist in the direction of the survivors. “Dumbledore’s Army!”

The silencing charm breaks and your friends jeer at Voldemort in response. 

Your own voice is lost in your throat.

“Very well. Are there any more purebloods who, like Neville, will refuse to join my Death Eaters?”

“You’re damn right!” calls McLaggen. “Like hell, we’ll join you!”

You want to clap your hand over his big fat mouth but before you can other survivors join in the yelling.

“Yeah!” echoes Ron Weasley. “We’d rather die!”

“Ah, but you misunderstand me,” replies You-Know-Who in his snakelike whisper. “Too much magical blood has been spilt already and you are valuable. Pureblood families are dying out. Extinguished by those who choose to mate with Mudbloods and muggles.”

McLaggen lets go of your hand and slips his hand into his pocket, finding his wand.

“Don’t!” You hiss through your teeth, pulling at his arm.

McLaggen ignores you and stares straight ahead, looking at Voldemort defiantly. “And so what if we are? Being pureblooded doesn’t mean anything!”

“Another like Neville Longbottom who refuses to join my Death Eaters?” asks Voldemort, looking directly at McLaggen amongst the collection of D.A. members and the remaining Gryffindor students. “Come forward, unless you are afraid that your Mudblood sympathies have made you weak.”

McLaggen moves his arm so that his wand is hidden behind his back and takes a step forward.

“No! No, stop! Cormac!” You don’t bother hushing your voice this time as you realise he’s actually about to stand beside Neville. You cling onto him frantically with all your might, begging him not to step forward. But you’re not the only one shrieking. 

“Ron!” You look over to see Granger, attempting to pull Ron Weasley back too.

“Come now! Come!” laughs Voldemort. “Don’t be shy. Come forward and I’ll show you just how useful those from noble bloodlines will be in the new world.”

“Cormac!” you sob, pulling his arm so tightly that you think you might rip his arm from his socket. He takes another two steps and your feet slide on the uneven rubble underfoot. With a solemn look, he places his hand over yours and eases them off his arm. You look desperately over at Granger and she too has had her grip wrenched free from Weasley. For just a second, the two of you lock eyes in helpless, shared understanding.

You let go of Cormac and almost fall to your knees when he and Weasley join Longbottom but before you collapse, Cho and Krum catch under your arms, stopping you from crumbling as you try to remember how to breathe again.

Voldemort's voice cuts through the tense air. "Those of you who stand before me refuse to acknowledge the way things are now," he declares, his gaze sweeping over the brave three standing in defiance. “You may not become Death Eaters… but your children will.”

A murmur ripples through the crowd, a mix of fear and outrage simmering among the gathered survivors. Voldemort turns to face his supporters. “Now, where is the Minister for Magic? Thicknesse?” Pius Thicknesse steps forward, his long, dark hair danker than you remember it from when you first met him last summer. "Have your daughter bring forth the girls," he commands, his voice echoing ominously across the courtyard. "Let these ancient and noble pureblood families be joined as one."

Thicknesse’s bloodshot eyes dart around edgily. “My Lord - I - I cannot find her.”

“You won’t,” says McLaggen and you exhale a weak groan. The last shred of hope you had that McLaggen might make it through this act of defiance disapparates in an instant. “She’s dead. I made sure of it.”

Thicknesse, fueled by a mix of grief and rage, attempts to barrel through Voldemort’s supporters, his eyes set on McLaggen with a vengeance. But before Thicknesse can reach him, Voldemort, with a flick of his wand, halts Thicknesse's charge.

Voldemort's gaze lands on McLaggen, his curiosity piqued. "And who is this?" he inquires, his voice cold yet amused, as he looks from the distraught Thicknesse to the defiant McLaggen.

"That's the boy she wanted. The one she - my Cerys - asked to be promised to, my lord," Thicknesse says, raising a quivering finger at McLaggen.

Voldemort laughs. A high-pitched, chilling laugh. "I can see why - he's a handsome one," he remarks as he steps towards McLaggen who remains steadfast. Unflinching. "No matter," Voldemort continues, turning away from McLaggen and dismissing the matter with a wave of his hand as if Cerys’s death were nothing more than a trivial inconvenience. "There are plenty of suitable matches from other families willing to produce heirs -"

"I'll kill the next one too,” says McLaggen and Neville and Weasley look at him in agreement. “We all will. If you force any of us into pure-blood marriages against our will, we'll make sure that the bloodlines end with us."

Voldemort pauses and turns around slowly as if hardly daring to believe that McLaggen has spoken out so openly. “Too much magical blood has been wasted already tonight... although perhaps I can make an exception," he muses, his gaze still fixed on McLaggen. "Your bloodline, at least, will end with you."

"And so will yours," says McLaggen. And even though you can’t see his face, you can tell he’s wearing that confident, intense look that so often precedes him doing the impossible. 

And just for a second, you think it’s happening. Against the odds, McLaggen, who has saved your skin countless times now, is about to save everyone for good. McLaggen. The Keeper. About to make the save that defines the wizarding world as you know it.

But before McLaggen can even extend his wand, Voldemort, with a flicker of dark amusement in his eyes, utters, "Avada Kedavra!" 

McLaggen’s body falls to the ground, lifeless, just as quickly and easily as the falling Quidditch stands on the pitch.

Your stomach lurches. You open your mouth not sure whether you’re about to scream or vomit. The sound that escapes your lips is torn from the depths of your soul, as you witness the love of your life crumple in a heap on the rubble. 

Your heart shatters beyond repair. 

Each cracked piece is a kiss, a memory, a dream for your future, now lost forever.

“No!” come the shocked cries of Katie and Leanne. 

“Cormac…” sobs Cho, still holding you up, though her tight grip falters in shock.

“I’ll kill him myself,” says Krum, letting you go and attempting to push past to get to Voldemort.

But it’s Neville who is closest. The jinx holding him breaks and he charges forward unarmed and wandless toward Voldemort who reacts quicker once more and halts him with a body-bind curse.

As one, the Death Eaters raise their wands, holding the fighters of Hogwarts at bay.

“Gryffindor arrogance!” screams Voldemort. “But no more.” Voldemort points his wand to the sky and everyone except you looks up. Your eyes are still fixed on McLaggen’s body on the stone floor as Voldemort’s snake slithers between McLaggen and Potter menacingly. “There will be no more sorting at Hogwarts school. There will be no more houses. The emblem, shield and colours of my noble ancestor, Salazar Slytherin, will suffice for everyone. Won’t they, Neville Longbottom?”

McLaggen is only metres away but your heart thuds in your chest watching the snake slither along the courtyard. Feeling faint again, you remember how you huddled around the kitchen table in the lighthouse listening to reports on Potterwatch about how the snake carries out Voldemort’s bidding. The rumours that Voldemort feeds people he’s killed to the snake. 

The thought is so horrifying, so all-consuming, that you barely notice Voldemort catching the Sorting Hat from mid-air and forcing it onto Neville’s head. 

It’s only when Neville’s scream splits the dawn that you look up and watch in horror as Neville rooted in place, writhes on the spot wearing the burning hat on his head.

And then, so many things happen simultaneously that you feel your head spinning.

There’s uproar from the distant boundary of the school as what sounds like hundreds of people swarm over the out-of-sight walls, yelling at the top of their lungs as they charge towards the courtyard. Residents of Hogsmeade. Parents of students. Joining the fray.

Then come hooves and the twangs of bows. And arrows suddenly land amongst the Death Eaters on Voldemort’s side who break rank and scramble, shouting in surprise as the centaurs continue to attack.

Cormac McLaggen’s death has given everyone a second wind. The fact that it’s what he’d have wanted is of no comfort to you.

In one swift, fluid motion Neville breaks free of the body-bind curse upon him, the hat falls off of him and he draws from its depths something long and silver with a glittering rubied hand. The slash of the silver blade is silent amongst the pandemonium of the crowd and stampeding centaurs yet it draws every eye, including your own. 

With a single stroke, Neville slices off the head of the great snake’s head which spins high into the air. And Voldemort’s mouth is open in a scream of fury that nobody can hear. The snake’s body thuds to the ground.

You panic, as fighting resumes and people run in all directions. You can’t let them trample McLaggen’s. Or Potter’s if you can help it.

“Harry? Where’s Harry?!” bellows Hagrid, above the almighty chaotic racket.

A jet of light whizzes over your heads and you duck. You keep low as you sprint over to McLaggen’s body, determined to move his body away from the fighting. 

McLaggen lies alone. Potter is gone.

You panic some more. This time panicking that Potter’s body has been taken by the Death Eaters to be paraded like some kind of trophy. You won’t let that happen to McLaggen. 

You scramble over to him and hook your arms under his, pulling his dead weight towards a corner of the courtyard. Even though a wand is in your pocket, you don’t even think about pulling it out and joining the fight. You don’t even think about casting a shied charm. All you think about is getting McLaggen’s body out of the way. 

But you needn’t worry. Perhaps everyone is too busy fighting to pay attention to the girl with the burned clothes and the tear-streaked face heaving a corpse into a corner. From your peripheral senses, you can tell even as you drag him away, that the fighting in the courtyard is thinning out as the fighters run into the caste. 

Your resolve hardens. You’ll rejoin them soon, now Cormac’s body is shielded behind what’s left of this wall. You just need a second. 

A second to say goodbye.

You collapse in a pile beside him in the empty courtyard and press the heels of your palms into your eyes, stemming the tears. You can’t bring yourself to look at his face, knowing that the green eyes under his closed lids will never see yours again.

“What a stupid plan,” you choke, wondering aloud as you wipe your eyes. “Thinking we could take on Voldemort. And then you actually tried it…”

You try to steady your breathing, feeling your hot breath stick to your grimy palms as you cover your face. The humidity of your own air makes your stomach twist. It brings back memories of laughing under the duvet cover in Seafarer’s Beacon, face to face with McLaggen, intensely close as your eyes roamed over that trademark arrogant smirk on his face,

“You bloody arrogant git,” you sniff, the words a mix of endearment and despair, a tribute to the man who dared to challenge the darkness with his unyielding self-assurance.

Then, the faintest movement - a murmur so soft it might be mistaken for the wind.

“I’m dead and you’re still calling me a git?” 

Your eyes snap open, heart caught between hope and disbelief. The world tilts, reality warping at the edges as you stare at McLaggen. Solid, unmistakably alive, his presence defies every certainty that death had claimed him. "McLaggen?" Your voice is a tremble, a prayer whispered against the tide of despair that had nearly consumed you.

“So it’s McLaggen again, is it?” he asks blearily, slowly opening his eyes and looking up at you. “I must have done something to annoy you again.”

He’s alive?

Or… maybe you died too? You pinch yourself to see if you can feel pain. Hard. 

You can.

You blink dumbfounded at the cautiously expectant look on McLaggen’s face. He can’t be alive. He just can’t be. You’d never be that lucky. Out of instinct, you pinch him too to check if he’s real.

“Ow!” he winces.

He is alive.

You blink in disbelief as the tiniest smirk crosses his face. “I - how?” 

“Lucky charm,” says Cormac as with difficulty he brings his hand up to the chest pocket of his t-shirt and tries to extract something.

“What the-” You're breathless, caught in the sway between joy and the lingering shadow of sorrow.

“Just - look.” 

Once you’ve helped him take the Polaroid out of his shirt pocket you recognise it immediately. A selfie of you and Cormac in the Quidditch stands at Hogwarts. The one you used to use as a bookmark. A snapshot from what seems like a lifetime ago. Except there’s a burned scar on it now. Right through the middle.

“I think that this -" he touches the photo in your hand, "- took the brunt of the Killing Curse. And somehow, it spared me.”

“Cormac,” you say gently, given that he’s just woken up after being an inch away from death. “That’s not how the Killing Curse works. You can’t be saved by - by love.” 

But even as you say the word love, something prickles on the back of your neck. And to give him credit, he has a point.

“I’m here, aren’t I?” asks McLaggen. His stern look, so assuringly familiar, grounds you, reminding you of the countless times his stubbornness had been a beacon in darker days.

“Maybe it was the picture,” you concede softly, brushing his curly hair, feeling something warm and wet. Blood. “Your head is bleeding -”

Yells of shock and cheers erupt from the Great Hall, interrupting your reasoning.

“Harry?”

“He’s alive!”

The mix of distant exclamations makes you both freeze. 

“It sounds like Potter wasn’t killed by Voldemort’s Killing Curse either…” you say, looking in the direction of the castle doors. When you turn back to face McLaggen he’s frowning. “What’s wrong?”

“It’s fine,” he says, touching the back of his head.

“Cormac, are you annoyed because you’re not the only one who survived the Killing Curse tonight?”

“Let’s go back - the others might need our help,” says McLaggen, ignoring the question. You get to your feet and offer him a hand to get up which he accepts, straining with effort as he does.

“It’s alright if you are,” you offer, helping him onto his feet. "Annoyed, I mean."

“Well, nobody’s going to remember I survived it if Potter is alive too.” McLaggen puts an arm around your shoulder and you brace yourself to support him but he doesn’t need it. He just pulls you close as you walk through the courtyard - if it wasn’t for the devastation it would feel exactly like how the two of you used to walk around Hogwarts. McLaggen with his arm around you, your body slotting into the crux of his arm like you were always meant to be there.

“I don’t want anyone else to try to help,” Harry’s voice rings loudly from the hall as you slowly ascend the castle steps. “It’s got to be like this. It’s got to be me.”

Of course, it’s got to be Potter. 

“Cormac, when they write the history books nobody’s gonna remember anything we did. It’s Potter’s story. We’re just the background characters,” you say.

“Well, I can think of a few people who’ll remember,” says McLaggen, nodding to the rest of the D.A. just visible through the doors of the Great Hall as the crowd of onlookers watch Potter and Voldemort circling each other.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You and your friends sit at what used to be the Gryffindor table in the Great Hall. Neville Longbottom is talking to Michael Corner and Terry Boot while Terry admires the great, ruby-handled sword lying across the middle of the table.

Harry Potter is moving among the groups of survivors, his presence a quiet pillar of strength as he shakes hands and listens to their stories. The hero of the day.

Harry won. You and McLaggen made it back into the Great Hall just to see the final killing blow. You watched Voldemort hit the floor with your own two eyes. And now, you’re at a loose end. Elation feels distant, almost inappropriate, as the absence of Marietta and Eddie haunts the space around you, their unoccupied places at the table a gaping wound. The cost of victory.

“Explain it again,” says McLaggen, pinching the bridge of his nose in exasperation. “Slower this time.”

“Cormac, keep still,” you chide, wrapping a bandage around his head.

“Harry sacrificed himself which meant he gave everyone in the castle sacrificial protection,” says Cho, with the appropriate air of speaking to someone with a head injury. “So none of the curses that Voldemort or the Death Eaters cast after that stuck properly. Which is why the Killing Curse didn’t kill you.”

“So how come Harry didn’t die?”

Cho pauses and purses her lips. “I don’t actually know.”

“And how do we know it wasn’t my sacrifice that was protecting everyone in the castle?” says McLaggen who then winces as you tie the bandage.

“Because, darling, you didn’t sacrifice yourself. You just tried to attack Voldemort and got knocked out trying,” you say soothingly.

“That makes it sound much less cool than it was,” grumbles McLaggen, half-joking, half-serious. “And I didn’t even get a sword,” he adds, glancing at Terry who is now miming Neville cutting the head off of a snake with the sword of Gryffindor.

A silence falls as you sit down beside McLaggen, resting your head on his shoulder, seeking comfort in the familiar warmth of his presence, your stomach jolts every time you think about Voldemort cutting him down so casually.

“I noticed none of you were at my deathbed when I came round, by the way,” he says, as if he can’t help himself from breaking the silence.

“Ve vere busy covering the two of you with a shield charm,” says Krum. “Then the Death Eaters turned their attention to us and ve had to retreat.”

“It’s a shame Potter didn’t sacrifice himself just a little bit earlier,” you say, sadly, thinking about Marietta and Carmichael.

“You’re always so harsh on him,” says Katie, looking over your shoulder. “Harry’s actually not bad once you get to know him.”

As you turn to respond, Potter approaches the Gryffindor table and greets the D.A. McLaggen stands to meet him.

“Good work out there, Potter,” he says bracingly. “You make putting your life on the line look easy, mate.”

“Er, thanks,” says Potter uncertainly. He looks even more tired than you feel. There are dark circles under his eyes and even though he’s not covered in as much soot, blood and debris as you and McLaggen, he looks pale and drawn. “You too, McLaggen. I saw what you did. It was really decent of you, standing up for Muggleborns like that when you could have kept quiet.”

“Well,” says McLaggen casually, taking your hand and bringing you to your feet. “There was a lot at stake.” You slip your arm around his waist and give him a little squeeze.

“And you - you were the one causing the Ministry so much grief back in October, right? You broke the Muggleborns out of Azkaban?”

You nod and gesture to the area of the table where Cho, Krum, Katie, Leanne, Davies, Wood, Angelina and Alicia are all engrossed in conversation. “We all did. Everyone who was half-decent on a broom.” You pull a tight-lipped smile thinking about what Katie said about you being harsh on Potter. “Except you, of course. Could have used your skills if you weren’t the Ministry’s most wanted.”

Potter smiles weakly. “Thanks, I appreciate that coming from you… Captain.”

McLaggen brings you tighter into a one-armed hug around your shoulders as Potter walks away.

“Do you think he called me ‘Captain’ because he can’t remember my name?” you ask as you both watch Potter continuing the rounds..

“Oh, one hundred per cent,” says McLaggen.

“Unbelievable. I’ve only played Quidditch against him every single year since he started school.”

“Maybe you need a better name.”

“Oh, really?” You roll your eyes and turn to face him, waiting for the punchline. “Go on, then. You got a nickname for me or something?”

McLaggen smirks and his self-satisfied smile meets his green eyes. “I meant a new surname.”

Oh.

“McLaggen, I -“

“You might have to start calling me Cormac all the time now, though. It’s gonna get pretty confusing otherwise.”

You take a deep breath and McLaggen falters slightly when you reach up and hold the sides of his face with both hands. His prickly stubble tickles your palms.

“McLaggen, I really think we need to find Madam Pomfrey.”

“What?” 

“Have you or have you not sustained a head injury?”

McLaggen looks at you intently, his green eyes focusing on yours. “I’m serious.”

“I am too,” you say. “You sure you haven’t been confunded again?”

“I’m pretty confident that’s not the case,” he says. 

“Ask me again once you’ve had your head checked out,” you murmur before pressing your lips against his. Even under the smoke and sweat, you can still smell the heady amber and jasmine scent of him that so reminds you of your first Potions lesson together.

“Alright, I will,” says Cormac McLaggen when you eventually break apart. “If it’d make you happy.”

Like moonstone being dropped into a cauldron, the idea of it - the sheer hope - glints and sparkles amidst the worst sorrow you've ever experienced.

"It would," you say.

It would make you deliriously happy.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Tag list: @countlambula, @ratsys, @aweidlich, @navs-bhat, @stainedpomegranatelips, @chiaraanatra, @xxvelvetxxxx, @ohnoitsrosie, @dracosisteer, @daisydark, @intense-sneezing, @lipstickandloveletters, @ichorai, @marmie-noir, @lolitstiana, @evabellasworld, @ivebeentrashsince2001, @xyzstar (let me know if you want removed at any point btw!)

[twisted-teapot]

. ✦ Welcome ✦ .

Hello!! And welcome to @kindhearted-mouse's lil side blog for TWST things! Don't be afraid and step on in! Ask me questions, or just look around. I promise I don't bite (much). Also don't... Mind my growing collection of OCs...

A fair warning to non-sharers - I'm a GIANT multishipper and will ship my OCs with just about anyone, Canon or OC. If that makes you uncomfy then please take care of yourself first and go ahead n leave. Because I will not stop posting my ships just for you ^ ^;;

. ✦────•⋅⊰༻♥༺⊱⋅•────✦ .

OC Tags (#KH_Mouse OCs) ;

Mouse/Ori Babaska - #Mouse TWST OC / #Ori Babaska - My Yuu and Self Insert for TWST, primarily shipped with both Azul and Idia but ships with Mouse jump around constantly. Somewhat this blog's mascot as well, along with Teagan

Melrose Ashenhearts - #Melrose Ashenhearts - Melrose is my kinsona and fusion of Riddle and Azul! I don't really talk about em much but I definitely adore my genderfluid child. They aren't exactly shipped with anyone yet.

Porfirio Appleton - #Porfirio Appleton - My faceless horror model who can't stand up for himself. He's an RSA student <3 Not shipped with anyone yet, but he does have a sort of younger brother relationship with Neige and Vil.

Ayumu "Nova" Mochizuki - #Ayumu Mochizuki - Ayumu is my TWST OC twisted off of Astro from Dandy's World and used in a private campaign ran by a good friend of mine. Sleepy lad <3

Thales Bond - #Thales Bond - Sweet lil cry baby who's the exact opposite of Epel, and that's kinda the point. He's shipped with Rook from time to time and is the sweetest thing is the school

Sho Fukuzawa - #Sho Fukuzawa - My TWSTed Yokai OC based off of Bakenekos and Nekomatas. Sweet lil niave boy who can't tell when his tail's on fire or not - AND LOADED WITH TRAUMA

Yelis Howell - #Yelis Howell - My FIRST TWST OC, a coyote beastman with a huge hate for Jack. Constantly gets mistaken for Jack (they look nothing alike) or mistaken for Jack's sibling/cousin.

Wisteria Fujiryu - #Wisteria Fujiryu - WIP

Violet Racer - #Violet Racer - WIP (Shipped with Jamil)

Timothy Snell - #Timothy Snell - WIP

Ricardo Snell - #Ricardo Snell - WIP

Teagan Muyskens - #Teagan Muyskens - WIP / Mascot of Twisted Teapot, along with Mouse

Nu Gujic - #Nu Gujic - WIP

Madhue Hatter - #Madhue Hatter - WIP

Madalyn Hatter - #Madalyn Hatter - WIP

Maypop Marraine - #Maypop Marraine - WIP

Kazim Griffin - #Kazim Griffin - WIP

Kamayani Fitzroy - #Kamayani Fitzroy - WIP

Ike Deckers - #Ike Deckers - WIP

Hyacinth Shiatori - #Hyacinth Shiatori - WIP

Horus Zigvolt - #Horus Zigvolt - WIP (Cousins with Sebek)

Ernest Fenwick - #Ernest Fenwick - WIP

Dylan Trafford - #Dylan Trafford - WIP

Dolly Madadh - #Dolly Madadh - WIP

Conan Ward - #Conan Ward - WIP

Anwar Khatib - #Anwar Khatib - WIP (Shipped with Rook)

Aiday Hickey - #Aiday Hickey - WIP

Aeron Nicchi - #Aeron Nicchi - WIP

Abraham Crane - #Abraham Crane/#TWIL Abraham - WIP

"Caly" - #Caly/#Blot Eater - WIP

Dawn Al Asim - #Dawn Al Asim - WIP

Wren - #Wren/#Wren Vanrouge - WIP

Dion Diamandis - #Dion Diamandis - WIP

Dande Hiena - #Dande Hiena - WIP

Persephone Shroud - #Persephone Shroud - WIP (Mouse x Idia fankid)

Scylla Ashenshroud - #Scylla Ashenshroud - WIP (Azul x Idia fankid)

Ship Tags (#KH_Mouse Ships)

WIP

. ✦────•⋅⊰༻♥༺⊱⋅•────✦ .

AUs/Stories (#TWSTpot AUs/#TWSTpot Stories)

TWSTed Yokai - #TWSTed Yokai - A side story to TWST about Yokai themed TWST characters, anyone is allowed to join and make characters for it but no promises that I will include them in anything I write

Future AU - #TWST Future AU/#Altered Feathers - My AU and story taking place four/five years in the future that primarily features my OCs Wren and Dion. I don't mind if people make OCs for it, but I will not include them in the main story... Sorry ^ ^;;

. ✦────•⋅⊰༻♥༺⊱⋅•────✦ .

Events (#KH_Mouse Events/#TWSTpot Events)

Nothing yet - sorry!!

. ✦────•⋅⊰༻♥༺⊱⋅•────✦ .

ECT.

Asks - #Teacup Asks Art - #Teacup Arts Writing - #Teacup Writings WIPs - #Tea Brewings

. ✦────•⋅⊰༻♥༺⊱⋅•────✦ .

Moots!! (#Teapot Residents)

@sunnysidesevenup - #Egg Drop Tea @ranacr0ak / @ranas-twisted-wonderland - #Froggy Tea @w1ndigo0 - #Wind Cooled Tea @istoleurmeme - #Tea Thief @twsted-void / @the-void-via - #Tea Void @kumikokane - #Banana Tea @prefectrose - #Rose Tea @miriaocs / @miriablythe - #Fisg

[bootleg-sara]

Hello hello! All of my wonderful Miitopia: Angels and Inns lads are here and ready! Gonna post them all out slowly to avoid spamming.

Starting with the main hero and villain, the MC Emi and the Dark Lord Magi.

Much like your main character in game, Emi has gone through two other jobs. His first one was a Mage, his second one was a Cat, and his third one is the one he stays with the most, a Popstar. Emi is a big, friendly dude who just wants to hang out with his buddies. But sometimes his stubborn attitude can make it harder, as trying to get him listen to other ideas once he’s set on something isn’t so easy. He’ll take the brunt of anything if it means protecting those he cares for. Which has lead to frustrations from teammates getting denied when simply trying to help him. But no one can deny he has an incredibly infectious personality that draws all sorts of people to him. Emi came to miitopia from far off lands to both find himself a new life as well as visit his dad. He was interested in how his dad wrote a lot about the long lasting peace miitopia has seen. Of course he happened to show up at just the wrong time to get wrapped up in the face stealing. Good thing he also just happened to be the perfect guy to solve all this. Emi will never admit it, but all the fighting and rescuing is very stressful for him. This isn’t exactly his perfect calling, but he also can’t let the world fall to suffering.

The Dark Lord Magi, or later to be the ex-dark lord Magi, is quite the opposite in that regard. Living a life without many friends due to social anxieties. His life seemed to be going nowhere as he worked his life away at a HP banana factory to make ends meet. The Dark Lord/Face stealing charm may have a curse within it, there’s no separating Magi from what he did as a Dark Lord. He embraced the misery he caused, viewing it as karmic justice for how he didn’t have the chance to live a better life. After his final defeat as the darkest lord (he was still trapped in the charm along with the great sage oblation), he was forced to take a look at his life past wanting revenge on the world for not making it easier for him. Magi would spend some time as the guardsmen for New Lumos before after trying to reclaim his former glory and failing. Emi would eventually welcome Magi to their team to help with his efforts on reforming. He’s not quite there yet, but he’s making better progress than before. Maybe even in due time, he can help the faceless boy still stuck within the charm.

[restlesscrow]

random thought dump bc new hyperfixation alert

TW for death and frightening/distressing elements below!

Since I'm fixated on the idea of Pokepasta (pokemon creepypastas) and just video game horror in general, we need to expand on some of the ones that exist already outside of their source material.

Let's take the 'Faceless' glitch in Genshin. Sure it's a graphical glitch or a weird occurance of Ayato/Itto/etc found in a 'pirated' copy from a sketchy site, but what if it could be a virus that could infect the REAL copy of Genshin?

Imagine. You're playing and you come across a random, t-posing character you don't have, but when you go near the entity the game crashes or all background ambience/music just...stops.

There could also be a story a la Strangled Red with Ayato and Itto. Some sort of betrayal leads the oni (rather than Ayato) to strangle his best friend to death and occasionally break the 4th wall.

My other thoughts involved a weird screenshot of Kaeya I found that I drew, along with a glitch my lovely friend Foxy found with Aether. I'll be making art/writing of that soon (note: MY WRITING IS NOT THE BEST, but it fits the cliche creepypasta format. lol)

As someone who has loved internet horror since they were a wee lad on the internet, I adore finding other ways to make things horrifying moreso than they already are.

---

Cutting that ramble off, I have a few ideas for these! Since I have the time lol

The Faceless is a virus group that eventually hacked into Genshin's master copy and infected thousands of new users and old users via 'update' that fixed certain things with Ayato. However, it gave Ayato self awareness, and they also released a fake patch involving Itto. These copies of the two characters often cannot render with their head model in the game. The story follows an unsuspecting Genshin user downloading this patches and experiencing the horrors that ensue.

Disintegrated Kaeya is based on that weird screenshot I found. This follows a user discovering an odd document in the game files and using it to their advantage, causing (again) Kaeya to notice he's just a game character and eventually killing off the main cast in frustration that only he came to this realization.

Alternate Aether (YES THAT KIND OF ALTERNATE) is a glitch within one of the quests (I think it was Albedo's first one? I don't remember) where you see an Aether without the glowy elements of his outfit. Slowly, this Aether impersonates the player and eventually makes the game no longer playable for the player.

If anyone would like to contribute ideas PLEASE tell me. Be it via message or askbox! Especially for Honkai Star rail good god.

[telepillar]

Documentation of character and animation importing for Unreal! I selected this faceless alien lad as my model and successfully put together idle, walking and running animations for him to blend through based on motion. The process is surprisingly simple, all things considered, although the fine details of how to polish the transitions between animations eluded me.

[love-and-deepspace-wiki]

Surrounding Characters: Gideon

Age: Unknown

Occupation: Unknown

Workplace: DAA

Residence: Unknown, but inferred to be somewhere other than Linkon City

Update: Thanks to the lovely @ladyevoly , I was made aware that Gideon in fact does have an in-game depiction! Therefore, this post has been updated accordingly 😊

Details:

Gideon was one of Caleb's dormmates at the Aerospace Academy and was introduced in Caleb's "Pathless Realm" Anecdotes story. At the conclusion of this story, Gideon had successfully passed his flight assessment and graduated from the Aerospace Academy. When the DAA had published their selection list, his name had been included.

After the Bloomshore District explosion, Gideon also believed that Caleb had died. But when he visited Caleb's grave in Caleb's "Painful Signal" memory and saw him there, he learned that Caleb was actually alive. Since their mutual connections had already grieved, Gideon agreed to keep Caleb's survival a secret.

Interesting Facts:

When the students depart for their break, it is inferred that both Gideon and Patrick (another dormmate) aren't from Linkon City. The story notes that Gideon and Patrick had boarded a train and waved goodbye to Caleb, who then boarded "the train to Linkon City" near the opposite platform.

At the graduation ceremony, the protagonist speaks with Caleb and references Gideon by name. So, it seems she is at least familiar with him.

The story mentions that Gideon slept on one of the dorm's top bunks.

[signalwatch]

Dog Watch: Lassie (1994)

Watched:  07/13/2023

Format:  BluRay

Viewing:  Second

Director:  Daniel Petrie

Like all good Gen-X'ers, I grew up in the aftershocks of the baby boomers, and Lassie - the very clever collie - was certainly a character and concept we knew of, if not through direct experience, then by osmosis.  I guess there was a book, originally (1940).  Our canine hero starred in wildly popular movies beginning in the 1940's (it's where Roddy McDowall got his start as a lad) and television - running for a cool 20 years, from 1954-1974.  Plus several more movies and TV shows over the years people who are not huge Lassie fans probably are unaware of.

I know!  That's a lot of Lassies.  

The artificial monoculture created via mass media and limited outlets did, at least, give us a chance to have some familiar talking points, and you never knew where they'd coalesce.  Personally, I didn't watch Lassie in reruns.  Or the movies.*  For most of us, Lassie was one or two jokes about kids falling down wells and dogs alerting us to calamity.  Maybe we whistled the theme song at our dogs.  

This 1994 film is more or less an original story, but if you know anything at all about Lassie from the TV show, etc... this movie carries on quite a bit of the world's bravest, smartest, wisest dog *and* best friend to a boy who needs one.  This dog seems like it's ready to pick locks and drive cars.  Three cheers for Lassie.

Our story:  

A family is moving from Baltimore (I suppose they heard Omar's coming) and to the - get this - home of the now deceased mom, a farmhouse in rural Virginia (it was shot in West Virginia, more on that in a bit). Dad has made the very, very wise choice to remarry in the form of Helen Slater, who is game for this move that - upon introspection - seems kinda weird and sad. The daughter/ sister is relentlessly cheerful in the way of movie characters who need to exist for color but who will not be impacting the plot.  

The son is, of course, roughly 12 or 13 and 90's-furious about being taken from the big city, complaining relentlessly while listening to Alice in Chains while skateboarding.  He's that "cool" 90's kid you'd seen in commercials and catalogs from which visions of Poochie sprang.  And allowed to mouth off to his parents in a way that would have gotten most kids in that era shot out of a canon.

Curiously, the 1950's Lassie show is diegetic to this show - something the younger sister watches - and lends its name to the Lassie of the film.  

Ok, so, Lassie in this movie is the beloved pet and working dog of a faceless sheep rancher who dies tragically at the start of the film and the family gawks as authorities haul off the body.  They then make off with the dog.  It is... weird.  But that's how they set up that this family has to do zero training with their thoroughbred dog no one noticed lurking around the accident scene (I guess fuck that guy's family, giving them something else to worry about).  But it also seems like *someone* would have come around saying "my uncle died and we can't find his dog".  

Here's the thing - this movie is *gorgeous*.  That's my primary memory of the movie from 30 years ago.  I couldn't really remember anything but "family moves to farm, there is a dog" and then sweeping scenery with rolling hills and beautiful trees and meadows.  The DP is Kenneth MacMillan, who was a veteran of the film industry, and recently shot Henry V.  By 1994, film stock itself was able to do an amazing job of capturing detail and color, and there's not much in the way of processed shots.  They're just letting the background do the heavy lifting.  I don't want to oversell it, but it's money well-spent in a movie that was probably imagined to be filmed on one of two ranches we've all seen a 1000 times before outside of LA.

Director Daniel Petrie was no slouch, either.  He wasn't a prestige director, but he did work on high-end TV movies and some feature films.

I sold Jamie on the film, describing it as "the gentlest movie you'll ever see". But, because that was because I didn't really remember the movie. The film includes genuine attempts at telling an actual all-ages story about a family living in the shadow of death that winds up pulling together and a boy who works through his grief. I won't say it's *because* of the dog - but Lassie certainly helps move the story along. Also, we borrow heavily from Shane and ranchers wanting their grazing land at any cost. Admittedly, this makes way less sense in 1990's Virginia than in remote spots in the 19th Century west. But there's also stuff like... wolf attacks.

It's also a reminder that pre-2000 family movies were pretty open about dysfunctional or complicated families, taking trauma at face value and the fact that bad shit happens is part of life, but not something to drown in.  It's something to overcome.  Maybe with your dog.  While fighting off wolves.

One thing Jamie pointed out was that these kids aren't... special.  They aren't the best at anything or a star or popular.  They're allowed to be "everyman" kids in a way that used to be SOP for kids stuff.  They have friction with their folks and their greatest concern is *not* disappointing the parents and their expectations of them (which I feel is the go-to these days).  Their parents are there and a focus, but they act as much as antagonist as ally.  Also:  Teens smoke.  Mom's die and kids grieve them with no therapy.  Dads move on and make huge life decisions for the family with minimal consulting of kids.  Kids are dumb about guns.   

That's not a call out of "we were right then, it's wrong now".  I just find it an interesting pivot.

I'm not going to sell this as anything but a movie that is better than you probably expect and better than it had to be.  The kid actors are not bad - this is the first film appearance of Michelle Williams!  The adults include Richard Farnsworth as the dead-Mom's dad and Frederic Forrest as the rancher next door.  I'm less familiar with John Tenney who played the dad.  But, of course, Helen Slater is lovely.

The dog itself is very well trained, and almost always nails what it's asked to do except maybe the one key thing dog trainers rarely figure out:  how to make the dog look like it cares at all about the actor who is supposed to be their best friend.  

Like, look, I live with dogs.  I know what it means to have a dog deeply focused on you, and the dog looking off camera stone-faced awaiting their next command ain't it.  Of course, I watched ten minutes of the recent Call of the Wild on cable, and a CGI dog acting like a cartoon ain't it, either.  But, man, if dogs acted crazy the way they do when they want to tell you they love you?  That would sell it.  Here, it makes the final scene a little...  underwhelming.

There remains a constant trickle of Lassie material, including a cartoon and live action movie out of Germany, I believe.  I guess American kids don't give a shit about dogs these days.  But - as you may have picked up on - I'm fascinated with how stuff that was popular for decades will quietly get consigned to the pop-culture dust bin.  From cowboy stuff to heroic dogs to Dick Tracy.

A quick Google search will tell you that the breeding of Lassies and who owns the idea and whatnot of Lassie and the pedigree is almost as messy as Rin-Tin-Tin, with a lot of dead URLs.  I can't quite figure out who owns the bloodline, but it looks like it's now an offshoot of the Rough Collie and registered with AKC?  But much like Rin-Tin-Tin, it's very confusing and I figure there's maybe a few hundred to a few thousand who know what the full story is at this point, and that ain't me.

I once saw a Lassie at the mall I worked at in Austin (Highland Mall, circa 1997) and had planned to stand in line to meet Lassie myself til I figured out it was at least an hour wait with moms and their young daughters.  I chose to not look like a psycho to the moms in line and just head on out.  And I regret it.  A nice, signed 8x10 from Lassie would have been nice.

All in all, I'd rather meet Helen Slater.  And now I'd ask her to sign my Lassie disc.

Also, did not have this on my "Lassie Research Bingo Card".

Apparently, according to what I read:  a strong maybe?

*I did watch a Rin-Tin-Tin show, briefly, on The Family Channel, but not the original movies or TV show

https://ift.tt/47OQBa8

from The Signal Watch https://ift.tt/bnuDdw1

[starkydr]

few sketches of my own characters, except N- I don't own N.

Got Chester as the simplified gurl in the first, then my own lad Starke in the second and last one (psst, its the dude on the left.)

My comfy ones, Telly and Wedds (temporary name, I still don't have a name for them) on the third.

And Fauxel, the Faceless Janitor in the fourth.

N - from Glitch Productions and Liam Vickers Animation.

[bookhousestark]

ARYA STARK: The “Masked Vigilante” Trope

This is something that dawned on me during Arya Month, but I didn’t get around to put it into words: the fact that I don’t remember this specific association being made when trying to dissect and categorise Arya’s current arc, and how it may be defined, even though the bits and pieces are ever touched upon - the acting under different identities, the justice, the actions of retribution outside of official/governmental law, etc, it all points to me to an arc of a masked vigilante/justiciar.

The “(masked) vigilante” trope has been popular for these past couple hundred years at least, from the more traditional/historical one like Zorro or Robin Hood, to the more modern characters like Spiderman or Batman.

The loose defition of a (masked) vigilante is as

a member of a self-appointed group of citizens who undertake law enforcement in their community without legal authority, typically because the legal agencies are thought to be inadequate

In popular culture, (masked) vigilantes act outside the bounds of official law, often depicted as ineffectual, incompetent, corrupt, powerless, or even as the "villains" (Robin Hood is set particularly against the privileged, and Zorro fights the unfairness of a cruel government). They are depicted to have as a motivator the defense or justice of the powerless.

There is often a "catalyst" that puts the hero on this path, often being represented by witnessing injustices that marks their views of the world, either against themselves or loved ones, or other vulnerable people. Batman is marked by the death of his parents during a violent crime, Spiderman by his uncle's. Zorro is a privileged landowner who cares about those bellow him and sees them as people worth of being treated with humanity. He goes on to create a different identity with the purpose of bypassing (and fighting against) corrupt and tyrannical officials in power on behalf of the commoners and indigenous people of California.

"It began ten years ago, when I was but a lad of fifteen," he said. "I heard tales of persecution. I saw my friends, the frailes, annoyed and robbed. I saw soldiers beat an old native who was my friend. And then I determined to play this game. (The Curse of Capistrano)

Arya Stark fits the trope to a point. The defining catalyst moments she goes through are both one of a personal kind, and another (or rather several) of injustice against vulnerable, lowborn innocents. One is the death of her father, the other (first) is the death of Mycha. The circumstances of both (or all) share the typical catalyst of the making of a vigilante: the fault lies in a corrupt, unjust body of government, and the general lawlessness of the entitled, vain Westerosi nobility.

Arya has in fact travelled with a company of outlaws loosely inspired by Robin Hood and his men - one of men not masking their identities, but rather 'hiding in the open', claiming to operate against the privileged on behalf of the poor (The Brotherhood without banners). Arya on her own would rather fall under the same category as Zorro (heavily used as inspiration for the more modern Batman and the likes), a character born into privilege but unable to close her eyes to (or least of of be complicit in) the injustices against the least fortunate. Like Diego de la Vega (Zorro), Arya considers those like Mycah or Lommy friends worth caring and seeking justice for (though crimes against the faceless victims like the innkeeper's daughter are seen as equally worthy of such, but the point made is this is no condescending, detached - or even egocentric - of a highborn person overseeing the extension of their divine rights, but genuine, human empathy).

Vigilantes depend upon their acrobatic skills and intelligence to succeed in their work.

In addition to having exceptional tactical skills, (Zorro) specializes in infiltrating heavily guarded enemy structures or territories, espionage and improvised explosive devices. His calculating and precise ability as a tactician allowed him to also use weapons as an extension of his skillful hand. He is also a weapons expert and a master of escape and camouflage. He is also good at deciphering numerous languages, both spoken and written. Zorro also masters body language, gestures and symbols, facilitating communication with locals regardless of ethnicity or language.

Arya is well versed in the trope of "masked identities". Halfway through her Harrenhal arc, the initiative of the "justice seeker" joins it to create the idea of the "vigilante", facilitating the deaths of rapists and abusers indirectly, and removing the branch of the Lannister corrupt government presiding over Harrenhal. It is not “Arya” who is known to have done any of this, though, the identity of the vigilante in the shadows shifting between the mysterious deaths of the Ghost of Harrenhal and Weasel and her soup. In these situations Arya uses her intelligence, but she is otherwise inexperienced (even naive, in thinking that, by default, a Northener leadership - as opposed to the Southern Lannisters - is of a nobler, more honorably acting nature).

In the House of the Undying, she develops her life experience and knowledge of the world, and expertise in all of the above, however: camouflage, espionage, languages, the intricacies of understanding the meaning behind facial expressions and body languages, and controlling her own. Although the institution she serves has different ideals, she continues to follow her own, applying justice as per her judgement in her actions: the deserter, the fraudalent insurance man implied to take advantage of desperate widows and children, the murderer and rapist.

All things considered, the difference we may assume for the future is the "cool rich man" choice men like Diego (Zorro) or Bruce (Batman) would make in how they present themselves. Arya is definitely set to return to her station in life as a noble woman of a prominent family. But her circumstances are not theirs. She cannot afford to fake a typical (powerless) role in her society as a woman without discarding her freedom to act; not to be seen acting as a woman perpetuates a whole gender’s helplessness. Arya is altogether a very outspoken and instinctually acting person, on top of that, though we may still be able to see her as concealing her bigger talents.

That side of the romantic cliche vigilante doesn’t fit in the more gritty ASOIAF world, letting you forget that men in power like Diego de la Vega and Bruce Banner have the power for outspoken, structural change, for example. These stories, unlike Arya’s, also often sanitise the concept of the ‘hand at justice’: the hero can never kill villains, no matter how abhorent, else they ‘become as bad as them’ (laughably ‘romantic’ a notion for anyone who has heard ‘what about all the henchmen of the big villain who appear to die?)

[violet-emi]

Could I get hyperfixation with Childe or Kazuha please? Thanks! 🙂

You can(not without having me go on about anything that’s bothering me first. It’s a mutual exchange where I beg for attention and you get whatever words I can tap out on my phone.)

Anyways because you said Childe first perhaps we shall go with that. Now this one is gonna have a touch more stupid juice because I am simply having a bad day.

TLDR at bottom lads

Hyperfixation: Tartaglia/Childe/Ajax

To him, you were just another diety. Another faceless god, nobody he had to be worried about, never sparing a single thought about you, only focusing on his goals of world domination and the Tsaritsa, only softening his heart for his family.

To the Harbinger Tartaglia, he is completely indifferent to the beloved creator of this world- the Tsaritsa is the one he serves. However, he shall at least treat you with hospitality, as even his god begrudgingly accepts your existence. He’d put on an act, if only to endure what it truly meant to journey with a diety beside him.

But you couldn’t help but love him more over his roguish charm and smile that made your heart throb- even if it was fake. Even if he wasn’t truly putting his heart into adventuring by your side, you poured all your strength into him- and suddenly, he felt the power that you granted him. Being in your party granted him immeasurable strength somehow and that was the one thing he truly responded to.

Suddenly, Tartaglia became your new main, you spent every last drop of resin farming to make him stronger-

And he was loving every single moment of it, the bloodshed in domains and the unparalleled power he felt at your side. So long as he kept your favor, you would help him accomplish his goals at a greatly accelerated pace. So he’d respond to you.

“Good job Tartaglia!” You’d say upon clearing a domain, beaming. He’d put up with your cheesy behavior for more strength, making up a new idle of him cheering his own success. You were too stupid to question the new animation and continued farming.

He’d indulge you more and more, insulting other characters and hinting at things you wanted, anything to get you to focus on him. You gladly complied with his wishes.

“That lady Ningguang? An absolute stick in the mud.” He scowled. Ningguang, immediately had artifacts unequipped and instantly benched.

“I’ve actually got my own bow, you see. I’ve infused it with hydro and I call it the polar star- truly, a beautiful work between smithing and my vision.” He mused. There went your wishes, all for the shiny new bow.

You spent so much time investing into him, rolling for his weapons, his constellations, friendship, artifacts, talents and more- you dolled him up and placed him in your sereniteapot. What a mistake you made, because Childe only tolerated you for the power you gave, not to sit inside of a teapot and play house.

His sweet smiles and gentle suggestions of things to give him began turning more hostile.

“It’s so cramped in this teapot- I’d love to get out sometime.”

“Why am I stuck here again? It’s far too quiet here.”

“Let me out.”

He couldn’t have seen your obsession for him going so far that you would keep him under lock and key, perhaps he was a fool to underestimate your powers. He had planned for you to be at his beck and call and have you aid his growth, and he instead severely underestimated how much you had planted yourself into his life. He considered leaving you… until he realized.

Should you leave, so would his power. Should you leave, even her majesty the Tsaritsa would turn him away for disrespecting you. Should you leave…

You’d never leave. You loved him so, so much, and nobody was going to stop you- not when the only thing keeping the world alive is you. Should you desire the Tsaritsa’s 11th, that is what you shall have. To him, you were no longer the diety he tolerated for the sake of the Tsaritsa, but you were now more dear than her majesty herself.

You couldn’t be happier to spend each and every day doting on him when you knew he loved you back.

TLDR: Childe gets addicted to your love and attention that using him as a character gives him and he ends up loving you in a morally kinda iffy way

BRO HOW DO I WRITE RHIS SHITS CONFUSING AND WEIIIRDDDD

[snowinks]

[ID: an edited graphic of waves of a body of water. two lined hands are shown edited onto it, like they're grabbing for something. in between those, the words, "fractured twilight" are shown. end ID]

FRACTURED TWILIGHT | A WIP Introduction

Genre | Adult Fantasy Horror

POV | Third person limited

Status | Outlining, Drafting

Themes | Pollution, Environmental Care, Grief, Healing, Good vs Evil but Reversed, Found Family but Wrong, Sun/Moon Symbolism, Unwanted Powers

Synopsis:

After confronting a faceless being next to their polluted river, Orion wakes up with ink trailing from their fingertips and the bones of dead fish swimming like they were once alive. Now horrified that they can no longer bring life to their river, Orion leaves to make this faceless person take the gift they gave them back. Meeting several other people with their own conflicts, but all caused by the same person, they set out as a group.

The only issue being: the more they travel together, and the more they use these gifts, and the more they grow used to them. The more they become a part of them. And now, they aren’t sure if they really want to give these powers up any longer.

Characters:

Orion | they/she/he, necromancer, early 30's, definitely not human, only cared about her own gains and then finds a family and isn't happy about it, and has a endless want for power

Vesper | he/him, vampire that worships a sun goddess, 30, was human, snake man, neutral in gains, only wants to feel the sun again

Darcy | she/her, ghost that was unfortunately risen from the dead and hasn't been able to go back since, ~200, evil, evil lad.

Azra | he/they, faerie prince of thorns, age unknown but he's Old... looks like he's 30 though. hasn't been able to go back to his court since running into styx. the only one who doesn't have a noticeable change in power or demeanor.

Styx | they/them, faceless being that changed the four people they met. gains unknown, but a very neutral character. ~1000 years old. not much is known.

Taglist (ask to be +/-) |

@stormharbors @loveletterer @suhaylahs @loverofallthingssmart @mournfulpursuit @flowerwebs @catautism @spinecorset

[kursed-curtain]

Ramble time because I can't resist talking about @captmickey's Brotherhood fic and the more recent chapter.

Cuz these lads live rent free in my brain.

-

I've realized about myself that I'm a guy who's very easily in awe with stuff that should seem really easy or really menial to most people? Character backstory being one of these! Honestly I don't think most people think too hard about it when they're making it, it just fits together like trying to make puzzle pieces.

But to me? I'll see this stuff while reading and go "holy cow, a backstory? That makes sense? And has connections to a character's morals and their personality? And then affects their current actions as well because that's developed them as characters?"

And on top of all of that it's for two faceless, nameless side characters!!!! And I've already fallen in love with em!

I say this sounds menial to other people cuz those things I mentioned above are just... normal backstory things? Like stuff you're supposed to have. But it just, it awes me, being able to feel this process while I read. I love it with my heart and soul.

Ok mick,

Matt being a pescatarian being a headcanon 'because you thought it was funny' but it makes so much sense is so like, amazing to me, I'm amazed. I love when one-off small headcanons actually make sense when flowing with the rest of the character lol.

Additionally I have a small soft spot for him (see my pfp lmaoo) cuz of these fics and your interpretation and your headcanons for them. He's so sweet I love! (I'm redrawing how I do younger Matt actually lol he needs a lil polishing up)

Also I just love that their knight mentorship experiences being specifically catered (by u Mickey) based on their morals and their past experiences is so?? clever?? It's amazing.

The knight Matt worked under being selfish and uncaring for others' feelings, while Matt is so prone to caring and emotion, is so clever, so fun. He doesn't wanna hurt, he wants to help!!

And Ken's experience with a knight who was lazy and didn't care about doing his job (something very prominently is one of Ken's pet peeves) then leading to him realizing what he truly wanted in life is sooooo gosh diddly darn good!!!!

That's as much as I can ramble off the top of my head :3 thx for coming to my TEDTalk