#oliver wood critical

[fanfic-lover-girl]

Oliver Wood is NOT a Good Captain

“Bad news, Harry. I’ve just been to see Professor McGonagall about the Firebolt. She — er — got a bit shirty with me. Told me I’d got my priorities wrong. Seemed to think I cared more about winning the Cup than I do about you staying alive. Just because I told her I didn’t care if it threw you off, as long as you caught the Snitch on it first.”

But even Quidditch had lost its fun. The rest of the team wouldn’t speak to Harry during practice, and if they had to speak about him, they called him ‘the Seeker’.

The Gryffindor team visited again on Sunday morning, this time accompanied by Wood, who told Harry, in a hollow, dead sort of voice, that he didn’t blame him in the slightest.

I get the impression that fandom thinks Wood is a loving, good captain but he really is not. In isolation, the third snippet could be read as a joke (they did lose the match after all and Wood is quidditch obsessed). However, when you look at Oliver in totality, he shows time after time that he cares more about winning than Harry's safety and is perfectly ok with throwing Harry under the bus.

Overall, contrary to popular opinion, the Gryffindor team sucks. I am not talking about the individual players, but the whole team. Hermione disses Draco by saying that the lions got on their team by talent (screw Hermione btw, what does this annoying girl know about talent?)...but without Harry, they seem to be a bunch of losers.

Remember Minerva broke the rules for Harry to join the team as a first-year. Do you think she would have done so if the team was truly competent? The Quidditch World Cup in book 4 proved that a team can have a crap seeker and still dominate/win. The lions literally needed favouritism/nepotism to have a chance at winning. Let that sink in. But Snape is totally the biased teacher around here (sarcasm)

In either book 1 or book 2 (I think book 2), Harry missed the match and the team had the worst defeat in over 300 years! Further proof that these people suck without "chosen-one in more ways than one" Harry. By the way, Slytherin has reserve players. Does the Gryfinfor team have reserve players? Because I never see any. In book 6, when Draco and other Slytherins are conveniently out sick (to give Ron a chance at winning because the golden trio never seems to have to earn anything), they have backup players ready (eg that Harper guy who played Seeker in Draco's place). However, in book 5 when Harry and the twins are suspended, the team needs to hold tryouts to get new players. No backups in sight.

In book 3 when Harry gets his firebolt, the team (the entire school minus Slytherin house) gets all horny for the broomstick. "We have a firebolt!" basically reduced Harry's skill and importance to the team to his broomstick. These people don't care about Harry. Yet, it's such a crime when Draco and his team got new broomsticks in book 2! Gryffindors == Hypocrites.

I don't see much of Marcus Flint but from what I have read, I like him more as a captain. When the Gryffindor team tried to group assault a 12 yr old Draco after calling Hermione a mudblood (should have just called her a "bitch" or "hag" instead and saved everyone the need to virtue signal), Flint immediately threw himself in front of Draco to protect him. Remember these are older students trying to beat up a tiny 12 yr old because of something he said. The Weasley twins are BEATERS - just the 2 of them alone could have really hurt Draco. Compare this to Oliver who doesn't give a damn about Harry being hurt as long as he wins.

Also, when Draco is an idiot and loses to Harry in book 2 (of course, the only time someone has a better broom than Harry, Harry wins because that person decided to fool around despite wanting to play on a quidditch team before Harry even knew what the sport was), the Slytherins don't ostracize Draco the way the Gryfindors ostracized Harry when he lost house points.

In a nutshell: Marcus Flint >>> Oliver Wood & Gryffindor team sucks.

PS. If you are a Draco anti or Hermione stan or any other kind of Gryffindor stan that thinks Draco deserved to be group assaulted by bigger, older, stronger students because of calling Hermione a slur in response to her insulting him first, just ignore this post and move on. Unlike you and a good chunk of the HP fandom, I don't get sadistic pleasure from seeing Draco constantly (group) assaulted for saying mean words to characters who had contempt for him first.

[mirrorofliterature]

oliver wood thinking 'I'd fight molly and arthur if I ever saw them' in my fanfiction

because I can

falling from dusk into dawn

My Oliver Wood masterpiece. Drained from the war but ready to fight anyone for Percy's honor. Actually verbally smacks down Fred and George.

But what about Percy's subpar parents?

Well, he also wants to fight them.

.

It takes a few seconds for Oliver’s brain to catch up, to realise that it is Percy speaking, before blinding rage floods him and he is on the verge of apparating to the Burrow to give Molly and Arthur a gift. But he stays, because Percy needs him...

Percy: “I have so many nightmares about Fred dying - he was so close to dying, my brother almost died, and so everyone was focused on Fred recovering. Fine, whatever, I get it. I’ve never been the priority in my family. But it’s nearing months now since Fred recovered, and still they treat me like an outsider. Maybe I will always be an outsider in my own family. But for fuck’s sake, Ollie, I’m sick of my parents acting like they never did anything wrong.”

“I know,” Oliver says, because what else can he say? Molly and Arthur are shitty parents, none of this new information, but it is still painful.

...

Oliver has a vendetta against Molly and Arthur Weasley, which he would fight them over but unfortunately, it would be uncouth. Oliver cannot simply invite himself to their home and start berating them. But he does fantasise about it, on occasion, ever since he was young and Percy first cried himself to sleep, unable to keep up with his mother’s crushing expectations.

.

Percy has always been a bit - well. Resistant to being spoiled, even when Oliver yearns to. A combination of growing up being poor and having his parents not properly tend to his needs because he was the ‘easy’ child.

[elisedonut]

i just think Molly would be against polyamory at least for awhile maybe she could come around if pushed but she just feels like a 'you can't love more then one person' person to me.

she's like accepting to the point where she's not going to like kick someone out of her house for it but I could totally see her deciding one of her kids partners is their "true partner" and constantly questioning her kid on why they keep the other around and not quite like snubbing the other partners (main or not) but like little things. like not specifically inviting the other partner to Weasley things not making them a sweater at Christmas ect ect

like ideally like with Fleur she realizes she's being an idiot but I feel like it might take a bit

though now all I can think of is Percy being very hurt by this but doing as much as he can to circumvent it. making the sweater for Marcus himself. making sure to correct her every time she calls Marcus his friend. Bringing him to the burrow with him invited or not maybe even occasionally without Oliver all together. Making sure to reassure Marcus when it starts getting to him. Trying to explain to her over and over again that she's being terrible.

ending up in a fight that actually works when Percy doesn't come back at all for a week

[itsphoenix0724]

Promises (Rhysand x Reader)

Summary: You don't argue with your husband often, and never anything as serious as this. However, some things may be too hard to come back from.

Warnings: ANGST, mentions of Rhys' trauma from under the mountain

Word Count: 1.7k

Part 2

A/N: Hey everyone! This is my first time writing for Rhys, but I apologize; this isn't the happiest thing! This takes place during ACOMAF, and I tried to keep it canon accurate. I may have diverged a little though! I really just needed to get some angst out from first week of school stress lol. If you ever want to interact with me my requests are open! As always constructive criticism is very welcome! I tried to makes this a realistic portrayl of real feelings and emotions. I hope you all enjoy even if it stamps on your heart a bit <3

You’re sitting at the dinner table in the Townhouse, nursing a glass of wine, when you feel your Husband’s power rumble into your bones. It normally feels comforting to you, but now all it does is further the knot of anxiety growing in your stomach.

It’s been a long week. 

It was the first time that Rhys had called in his bargain with Feyre. You’ll always be eternally grateful for what Feyre did for your family, for your court, and the entirety of Prythian. It still didn’t stop the ugly jealousy that clawed at your insides at Rhys spending the week away from you with her. Especially after you learned about the dancing. You knew why it had to happen, you really did. He had explained everything to you in the tearful reunion after he returned from under the mountain. 

You hope Amarantha burned in whatever hell she crawled out from. 

“How was your first week,” you take another gulp of wine, trying to drown the spiders crawling up your throat. 

“I think she’s making some progress. Tamlin isn’t even teaching her how to read! Can you believe that? Even after he saw it almost kill her and his supposedly beloved emissary.” He rubbed out the crease forming between his eyebrows, maneuvering around the kitchen as he poured himself a glass of whiskey. “She was paper thin and so so pale.” he shook his head as he knocked back the liquor. 

“You didn’t come home the whole time.” You tried your best to keep the venom tamped down in your voice, you weren’t even really angry just confused. Judging by the way the muscles in his back tensed your endeavor had not been successful. 

You knew he would have to call in this bargain eventually you just didn’t expect him to ignore you the entire time she was here. He could’ve taken you with him, you had even expressed interest in meeting Feyre. You had wanted to thank her personally for everything she did to you and extend an olive branch for her time in your court. Rhys had shut down the idea immediately because he thought she might have been overwhelmed. 

“What is that supposed to mean?” he turned around and looked at you from his spot leaning against the counter. You didn’t look at him, staring straight at the grooves on the table. You sensed the defensive tone immediately. Rhys almost looks like a cat with all the hair raised on its back. Feline eyes sizing you up like he’s about to pounce on you.

“I just don’t understand why you couldn’t have come home to even sleep. When I tried to reach you mind to mind your shields were up.” Your nails dig into the wood, leaving crescent marks in the pine. Rhys doesn’t have an answer for that when you meet his eyes. It almost looks like he’s looking through you instead of at you. 

“I didn’t want to leave her alone in case she tried to jump out a window.” He says the answer matter-of-factly. It’s the same tone you heard him use during the conferences he held with the citizens. He wasn’t exactly brushing you off, but it didn’t feel like he was listening to you either. 

“Why couldn’t you have just told me that?” Your voice cracked. You have been married to Rhys for almost one hundred years. You could tell when he was being shifty, and you couldn’t shake the feeling that he was hiding something from you. Judging from that regretful look in his eye you were correct. 

“I thought you would react poorly. Clearly, I was correct.” The clipped tone is enough to send a white-hot bolt of anger through your body. 

“Do not blame your poor communication skills on me Rhysand.” The glare you fixed him with could have brought the monster that lurks in the bottom of the library to its knees, but Rhys just met your eyes with a steeled look of his own. 

“She needed help. She was begging somebody to come rescue her. She was withering away in the Spring Court! You know how many times I’ve been pulled from bed because she’s vomiting during the night-” Rhys sounded exasperated. But you were tired, so tired. 

“You’ve barely come to bed since you’ve been back.” Your voice was hardly more than a whisper, but the deafening silence that followed your words made it sound like an explosion. You knew it was a low blow. Rhys sometimes couldn’t stomach sleeping in your bed after what Amarantha did to him. After he was startled awake one night a bolt of his power shot your sleeping form out of the bed because, in his nightmare-filled haze, he had mistaken you for her. He had felt awful, and now mostly slept in one of the guest rooms in fear that he would cause serious damage to you. You had tried to convince him, but he knew how powerful he could be, so you relented. 

“You don’t get to throw that in my face right now.” The growl that came from your husband sounded like cold black death. “She needs to be trained. She needs help-” all the pent-up emotion started to boil over inside you. Your airway got smaller, white noise was sounding through your head, and your eyes couldn’t focus on a spot infront of you. 

“I DO NOT CARE WHAT FEYRE NEEDS!” the boom in your voice surprised even you. Rhys took a step back, you rarely even raised your voice, let alone yelled at him. His eyes widened, but his flood of emotions quickly matched yours. 

“SHE SAVED ME! I PROMISED TO KEEP HER SAFE!” The way Rhy’s voice ricocheted off the walls made you flinch. The pure night-kissed power had stolen the warmth from the room and all the air from your lungs. 

“You made promises to me too. Do you remember that?” your voice echoed out with calm fury as you slipped your ring off your finger and held it up to the light. “Do you remember the promises you made to me when you put this ring on my finger?” You didn’t even know where the rage was coming from, You weren’t angry, but it grabbed ahold like cold unforgiving ocean waves and kept pulling you farther into the eye of the hurricane. “You pledged to me your undying loyalty, your faithfulness, your honesty.” That last word coated your tongue in acid. 

It burned you and Rhys as it left your mouth. 

“Do you truly believe I have been unfaithful to you?” his voice grated out like shards of glass. However, in your current state, it seemed more condescending than questioning. 

“I believe you are not being honest with me. I have been married to you for practically 100 years, and have known you even longer. Do you think I don’t know when you’re not telling me something?”  You shot up from your seat and slammed your wedding ring on the table. His violet shield slipped for just a moment to see the hurt flash in his eyes. You haven’t taken that ring off since he gave it to you. 

“You are being irrational.” Rhys tried to step towards you, but you only backed away from him, shaking your head as tears welled up in your eyes. 

“Why are you being so secretive about Feyre? She is engaged Rhys-you took her from her wedding. If she truly needed help why not bring her to Velaris? Why not let her meet me? Why not let her be happy with Tamlin?” The questions kept pouring out but the protective growl Rhysand made at your last statement had you recoiling. He had given himself away. He obviously knew it too, as he tried to step towards you. The tears kept pouring out as you shook your head. “You need to tell me what’s going on. Right now.” Rhys finally hung his head in defeat as he slumped into one of the chairs. He rubbed his eyes with the heels of his hands as he stared at your trembling figure from the other side of the table. 

“She is my mate.” Your eyes widened in horror. It felt like the dinner you made earlier tonight was going to make another appearance on your kitchen floor. “She is my mate and I don’t know what to do.” 

“What do you mean you don’t know what to do?” Your voice was shaking with scarcely contained fury as you stormed up to the table. “I am your wife. I am your people’s queen. What more is there to think about? I thought you loved me.” A new wave of tears washed over you, and you swear you could hear your heart breaking. It was so loud. You wonder if Rhys could hear it too. 

“Of course I love you!” he looked at you with desperation and pleading in his eyes. “It’s just more complicated.” You shook your head at him as your sobs finally flowed out of your body. 

“It shouldn’t be complicated,” you heaved out through the tears “You promised to choose me every day. If you can’t do that I can’t be here.” You turn from the table and march up the stairs. You distantly hear Rhys get up and follow you to your room as you shove clothes inside a bag. 

“What are you doing? You’re not leaving, are you?” His eyes widened in horror as he tried to grab the items out of your hands. “Darling-”

“Do not call me that right now.” You manage to sniff out the words behind the tears. “I just can’t be here if you cannot choose me. There shouldn’t even be a question.” 

“Where will you go?” He at least had it in him to sound concerned about your well-being. 

“I don’t know, anywhere but here.” You shoved the last thing in your suitcase and winnowed away without another word. You left Rhysand in your house, with your ring sitting on the table. He found himself sitting at the kitchen table for the rest of the night, nursing a bottle of whisky and running over the cool sapphire with the pad of his thumb. He didn’t know if you were ever coming back. He didn’t know where you went. 

What the fuck had he done?

[redheadspark]

Fifth Floor Prt. 1

A/N - I wrote this out and it ended up being SO long! Part two will come soon enough, and that HAS the SMUT in it!

Summary - You and Oliver reunited after the Battle of Hogwarts, and old flames are rekindled again

Warnings - Just some fluff and angst in this part, Part Two is found here

"Alright, make a perch right here,"

Madam Promfrey helped place you on one of the old Great Hall benches, at least the one that wasn't destroyed and still standing.  You groaned a bit, your head throbbing from a wound that was inflicted on the top of your forehead, your energy dropping by the minute and your adrenaline was no longer evident.  The rest of the students and teachers around you were in no better shape either, trying to mend their wounds and unwind from all the chaos that happened within the last several hours.  Not to mention the bodies that were being moved and placed in a secluded area on the other side of the Great Hall.   It was heartbreaking to see, both Death Eater and those in the Order.  They were all the same: lifeless.  But it was worse since some of those bodies were of the students.

You both felt lucky and cursed to be alive.

Coming back to your old school Ala Mater, you wanted it to be more of a blissful reunion and not a bitter one.  But you were called back too, thanks to the enchanted Galleon you were given. The world was already turned upside down when You-Know-Who took over the Ministry of Magic, his followers running around all over Europe to capture half-blooded and muggle-borns, the safety of the medical world was now critical.  You even had to go into hiding since you were a half-born witch, your mother being a witch and your father a muggle.  Luckily, they both were out of the country on Holiday over in America visiting family when the Ministry Fell, and you can get in contact with them to stay across the Pacific until further notice.  

With your parents safe and out of harm's way, you were not focusing on yourself and going into hiding at your cramped little flat.  It was a bit hard, thinking that when you would go to sleep you would be awakened by a Death Eater leering over your little bed with a wand at your throat. Plenty of people were disappearing in the night.  You were glad to have escaped a few close calls, seeing Death Eaters going among the streets in packs and causing chaos for no random reason.  

Thankfully, you learned a thing or two when it came to blending in and staying under the radar.  You kept your eyes on your neighbors, especially the older couple that had no one else to turn to.  Thankfully, they were not a target to any Death Eaters or even the Ministry of Magic.  They would go for anyone, and to make sure you were not a min target, you made sure any communication with anyone was going to be minimal.

Yet the one person who you were still talking to since you graduated together, was Oliver Wood. 

Being from the same House and in the same year, you both were thick as thieves throughout your years at Hogwarts and in Gryffindor House.  Ever since you were first years, you and Oliver were sticking together when it came to classes and studying.  It was nice to have another friend in your year since you were on the shy side, though Oliver was a bit cockier and a sports enthusiast.  Especially with Quidditch, which was his obsession and life. 

Speaking of which, you saw him helping bring in some of the bodies of the fallen to the corner of the Great Hall, placing them gently on the ground and covering their bodies with some of the blankets from the Hospital Wing.  He too looked worn from the Battle: his clothes were disheveled and covered in dust, and blood was evident along his jaw and a bit in his hair.  But you were glad he was walking around and alive, in a much better state than others.  It made you smile, seeing him alive and alert.

The older you two got while at school, the deeper your friendship was going, and with the deep friendship, you developed feelings for him came along too.  You had no clue when it happened, whether it was your 4th or 5th year when it shifted, but you started to look at him in a different light.  How he would fly as the Keeper on the quidditch team, you watched him a pinch longer during practice or a heated match against Slytherin.  You two were still friends, going to Hogsmeade on certain weekends to get butterbeer and catch up together, or go out on the ground studying together for Potions or Herbology.  

You were catching feelings, whether you liked it or not.

"Hey!"  You saw him make his way over to you, weaving his way around the other survivors who were walking around and trying to catch their breath.  His eyes were right on you, and you gave him a small smile as he finally sat down next to you.  Before you could say anything, he engulfed you in his arms, you clinging onto him while you both were sighing in relief and happiness that you both were alive.  

You were beyond glad to see him there with all his limbs and functioning, the last time you saw him was still in the wee hours of the morning and he was making his way over to the courtyard with some of the other Quidditch players,  You were taking one at least two Death Eaters that were trying to kill a group of 1st years that were caught in the middle of battle and couldn't hide out in time. Of course, the rest of the night you were thinking about Oliver and if he was okay, if he was going to make it to the morning and survive that whole ordeal.

He did, and you two were reuniting again.

"You okay?" He asked as he pulled away abruptly and scanned your appearance frantically, "Nothin' broken?!"

"I'm okay.  I promise I'm okay," You reassured him as he gave you another hug, this one felt gentler and a pinch intimate.  Just being hugged by Oliver alone made you feel at peace for the first time since you arrived at the school on the threshold of chaos and death.  His hugs always made you feel calm through a storm, peacefulness in a chaotic world, and most of all love in a lonely time.  No matter how many times you two hugged, whether it was a simple hug or something more intense, you felt love. 

You both again pulled away and you took in a long breath, looking away from Oliver for a moment, seeing the Great Hall still trying to heal and digest all that happened.  People were weeping, others were clinging onto each other in hopes of feeling consoled, and the rest were simply sitting, saying nothing with longing gazes on their faces.

"I can't believe that happened," You said in a long exhale, tapping your fingers rapidly on your leg as Oliver was watching you carefully and with a hint of concern, "He almost killed all of us, didn't he?"

You-Know-Who, filled with rage and power that it seemed that you were losing hope in winning this war.  All of the horror stories you knew about him and his followers were in effect that night. You knew it would take some time for you to heal, you didn't know if it'd take months or years, but you weren't the only one.  Everyone in that room would need to heal.

"Aye, but I'm glad we're all alive," Oliver murmured next to you, sitting back a bit on the bench, "Thanks to Harry,"

You gave a small smile at the mention of the Boy Who Lived, remembering him as merely a fellow Gryffindor and someone who flew with Oliver on the Quidditch Team.  You've ran into him a few times, being one of the plenty who knew of his story before he even did.  But he was kind, a bit brash at times but kind and willing to stand up to the bullies.  Harry Potter was a true Gryffindor, and for him to lead the battle against the very Dark Lord who tried to kill him as a baby, he was beyond brave.

"Thanks to Harry," You repeated as Oliver shifted in his spot.  He gave you a serious look.

"Where are your folks?" He asked, you rolling your shoulders.

"In America, visiting my Aunt and Grandfather," You replied, "They left two weeks before the Ministry fell, and I told them not to come back,"

"Good," He replied in relief.  Oliver met your parents a few times, the first time was at Platform 9 and 3/4 when you were going back to Hogwarts for your second year.  Your mum and dad thought of Oliver as a great fiend inviting him to come to your home over the summer once or two to both use your backyard to train for quidditch together and to simply talk quidditch with your dad.  

"Your folks?" You asked him with a raised brow.

"Fine.  They…um.. they went into hiding as I did, but they're safe with some old colleagues of theirs," Oliver explained to you, you smiling in return.

"I've always liked your mum and dad," You stated, "They've always been so kind to me, especially your mum.  And your dad is just like you,"

"Or I'm just like my da?" Oliver asked as you smiled and shrugged.

"Don't know, but I'm not complaining," You joked half-heartedly, hearing him laugh in return.  Such an odd thing to do at a time like this, almost dying from Voldemort, almost seeing the school that you grew up and loved become dust.  Yet you two were laughing as if you'd never parted after graduation.  Some people were looking over at you in confusion, wondering why two young adults covered in dust and blood were laughing like teenagers all over again.  

But it felt good to laugh, it felt good to let that emotion come through like a wave that was crashing on the shore.  You remembered laughing like this with him when you two would study together in the Common Room, or chat side by side during dinner in the very Great Hall you two were at.  You missed this, being with your old best friend and not having a care or worry in the world.

For the briefest of moments, you forgot about the war and how you almost died.  

After the laughing died down and you two were quiet again, Oliver looked down at his attire and grimaced a bit, "I don't know how much dust I have on my blazer,"

"Me neither," You agreed, looking at your coat and noticing all that it took on with the battles.  Some wear and tear along your sleeves, your shirt ripped at the bottom from a Dead Eater nearly ripping it off of you while you were trying to escape, blood splattered along your pants and boots that you threw on, and even your hair was a bit matted and barely staying together from the braid it was in over your shoulder.

The last thing you wanted to do was move from the bench you were on since it felt like you could fall over in exhaustion, but you also wanted to scrub down all the filth from your skin.  Your mind didn't know what you wanted to do, and thinking of traveling back to your small cramped apartment seemed too stressful.  

"I need to wash this off," You grumbled, flicking off some dry blood that was stuck on your thumb.

"And I doubt there's anything here in the castle to rinse off in," Oliver added in agreement, then pausing with a tense look on his face.  You looked back at him with a questioning gaze.  You knew that look on his face, plenty of times in the past when he had a bright idea, whether it was during Quidditch practice or knowing what to do in his homework.

"What?" You asked him, seeing him then gaze at you while pointing to the Great Hall doors that were barely propped open and showing the battered hallway.

"You think the fifth floor is still intact?"  He asked you, having you cock your head at him.

"The fifth floor?" 

Oliver got the door open, with a gentle nudge of his shoulder as he had to give it a shove.  After you followed him through the small opening of the door, your eyes went wide from the site in front of you.  Of course, with some debris everywhere and a few cracks in the wall and windows, most of the room itself was mildly damaged from the battle.  Perhaps there was some enchantment in this room, with all the minor damages that were evident all around the room.  You had no clue, you've only heard of this place through some gossip with some friends.

The Prefect Bathroom. 

A massive tub that took up half of the room itself was built into the ground, aligned with cool step stones and marble that wrapped around and melted into the stone walls.  Stain glass windows that were floor to ceiling were on the other side of the tub, different shades of greens and blues illuminating the room from the sun that was already rising over the Scotland mountains and countryside near Hogwarts.  

Along another wall, there were facets, dozens upon dozens of bronzed facets perched over the tub ready for use.  A shelf that was splintered had some white towels that were tossed to the floor, along with some vials that looked to have stored oils and perhaps scented substances for use in baths.

Shocked was not a word you would use in your everyday vocabulary, but this time you were going to have to use it.

"Merlin's Beard," You gasped as Oliver walked over to where the facets were, you were scanning the whole room as Oliver was checking the damage of the tub.  The surprise and shock of this massive room were still reeling in your mind, you've never seen any kind of bathroom like this in your life.  The ones in your old dorm back in Gryffindor Tower had no tubs, simply shower stalls that were decent enough.  But this tub was the size of your entire bathroom at your home.  

"How do you know about this bathroom?" You asked him as he was kneeling next to the facets and scanning the tub.

"Quidditch Captains get access along with the Prefects and Head Boys and Girls," He explained, "You don't know how many times I would hide out here and soak in this tub after a match,"

"No wonder you fled after the games rather quickly," You hummed as you were staring at the gorgeous stained glass over the tub, the image of a Mermaid from the Black Lake was along the glass and looked hauntingly beautiful.  

"Let's test it out, shall we?" Oliver asked, you looking over at him with a hint of shock as he was turning a few of the facets.  Some gurgles were heard, and you thought that the facets were going to be broken and water wouldn't come out. Sure enough, a huge flow of water was coming through at least 5 facets.  Oliver chuckled turning a few more facets with ease.

"What if someone sees us in here?" You questioned in worry, looking at the door that led out of the room thinking someone was going to walk in on you and Oliver in the Prefect's Bathroom.  Of course, you two were grown adults, not longer students at Hogwarts, but it would still be a bit of a shocker if a passerby happened to stumble on the pair of you alone together.  You were no prude, but you would hate to be caught in an awkward situation.  

Oliver gave you a raised brow and a glare, "You think anyone's gonna wander up here after what just happened here at school?  To the Prefect Bathroom of all places?!" 

You glared, "You know what I mean,"

"Aye I do, and you're a bit paranoid," He replied, you huffing and pointing to the running water from the enchanted faucets.

"How is it still working?" You asked in shock as you watched the water flow into the massive tub.  Each facet was giving out a different color in the water but once it was in the tub, it was all clear again.  

"Don't know, but I'm not goin' to complain," Oliver huffed as he sighed and stood back up.  Walking over to you, Oliver cleared his throat and gestured to the tub that was being filled up with hot water, "I'll just…umm…let you go first."

You blushed and fiddled with your fingers.  Now hitting another wall In this situation, taking turns in a bath with your old best friend.  It was already risky enough for you to be venturing amongst the school grinds, right after a massive battle that almost took out the entire castle.  

But another risk was being there with Oliver, the very Quidditch Captain that you both adored as a friend and secretly had a crush on.  No matter if you two were adults, covered in blood and dirt, still running on adrenaline and stress from nearly a handful of times within a few hours, exhausted in both fatigue and mental pain, you were getting those butterflies in your stomach again.  Just like you were teenagers, sitting together during a meal or in a study session, those fleeting emotions seemed to be coming back on overdrive.

Perhaps you were thankful he was alive and with you, finding you in a massive crowd of survivors and making sure you were okay and safe.  Or maybe it was the fact he reached out to you hours before everything happened, telling you Harry was calling all of the ex-Quidditch players to help defend Hogwarts.  You were both barely in contact with each other since you graduated, and seeing him at your doorstep with that glint in his eye and the look of panic and pain on his face.

But you would follow him anywhere, even if it meant into battle.  Placing your life on the line for the sake of helping your old friends defend the school you grew to love. Oliver had a way about him, the way of being able to give you a sense of security and vulnerability that no one else could ever do.  He knew your deepest secrets but held them to his heart with no sign of exposing them to others, his own unique joy and humor made you laugh more than anyone else ever could.  

There was no denial for you, you did love Oliver.

"Thank you," You replied, seeing him give you a small smile.  He was about to walk past you, leaving you in the Prefect Bathroom when you suddenly grabbed his arm.  Oliver stopped, looking at you as if something was wrong.  But you were giving him a kind smile, still holding his arm gently within your fingers and remaining close enough to almost feel the heat radiating off his skin.  It made you wonder if he could hear your heartbeat going up a bit faster.

"You okay?" He asked, his voice was low and subtle, almost sounding gravely, and yet warmth was mixed in his tone.  

"I'm just….I'm glad we're both okay and alive," You said in a stammer, Oliver saying nothing but staring down at you, "Mostly, I'm glad you're okay,"

Oliver gulped, giving you a short nod, "I'm glad you're here too,"

"And I know we haven't talked in a long time since we left Hogwarts, but you were my best friend.  All of the best memories I have ever had within these walls were because of you.  I never had a chance to tell you, and I wanted to tell you now," You explained with no hesitation in your voice.  It was selling out of you before you could stop yourself or dial it down. 

"I'm just glad we're both alive and that I told you how I felt.  It would have killed me if I didn't," You said calmly, then being a bit bold by leaning up a bit on your tiptoes and giving him a gentle kiss on his cheek.  It was brief, the fog that would roll over the Black Lake outside of the castle on an early Autumn morning.  But the feeling alone made you feel experience sparks under your skin, that teenage sensation was back tenfold as you were about to turn back around and grab one of the towels that seemed decent to use.  

Oliver turned you back around with a gentle grab on your arm, kissing you soundly on the lips.

You've been kissed before, yet not like this.  This felt like a new level of a kiss, his chapped lips along your own that almost shuttered from the sensation.  Other kisses felt clumsy or out of place, maybe failed attempts to make you feel swooned.  You hated those kisses, they seemed uneasy and stumbled.  But not this.

This felt like the sensation of flying on your broom for the first time, drinking a butterbeer on a cold winter day in Hogsmeade, and the feeling of snow touching your cheeks during the first snowfall.  Kissing your best friend, the one friend who was your true north and compass in the bad times, the one friend who knew how to make you laugh and feel overjoyed, and the one friend who was your number one fan and supporter in any choice you made.  

He pulled away slightly, you still in a daze from that simple touch of the lips as you slowly opened your eyes and watched him gaze at you.  With him being slightly taller than you, his brown orbs were pouring into yours as he was almost wishing to read your mind.  

But you knew that the same broke inside of you.

"Merlin," You whispered, leaning back up and kissing him back.

You both melted into one another, hands grasping each other's clothes as Oliver kissed you over and over as if he was both starving and yet taking his time with you.  You were letting him, his fingers brushing along your neck as he cradled your face close to kiss you soundly, his body pressing against you with the right amount of pressure that your head was spinning.  Everything about Oliver was consuming you, your fingers were clinging onto his blazer in fear that he was going to drift away from you. He wouldn't, you knew that deep down that he wouldn't leave you like this.  

One of his arms moved from your neck to lower your body, wrapping his arm around your waist to pull you in tightly as his kisses evolved into deeper and more sensual kisses.  It felt like a drug was kicking in with no sign of slowing down, maybe the knowledge of almost losing each other hours before when the castle was in flames and people were dying around you was still igniting in you.  

Before you both knew it, hands were roaming as you were leaning into him more and more. His hands moved to strip off your jacket letting it fall to the ground in a heap as your tongue moved out to trace his lower lip.  A small sharp inhale was heard from him, his fingers were dancing along your worn down shirt and his other set of fingers were digging into your hair while your hands attempting to push off his blazer.  Oliver grinned against our lips, moving his hands away for his blue blazer stained in blood and grime was now on the ground. 

"What are we doin'?" He asked against your lips as you kissed his hotly and smiled. 

"What we should have been doing for some time," You murmured back as his arms were around you again.  

"Aye, we should have done this a long time ago," He confessed as he pulled away again to look down at you again. You saw how plump his lips were, his dilated his brown eyes looked, and even the flush on his skin and cheeks.  This was a unique look on Oliver, who always seemed to have his cool and calm demeanor even the most stressful of times.  But now he looked undone, stripped open and bare, and it was all from kissing you.

"I think this is crazy," you admitted with a soft smile, though the smile on Oliver's face never left as he shook his head.  

"We just survived a war at the hands of Voldemort, and you think snoggin' in the prefect's bathroom is crazy?" He asked you in a breath, you staring deep into his eyes and seeing him reach into his back pocket where his wand was snug in.  With a twist of his wrist, you heard the door snapping shut and locking automatically.

"What's crazy, is that I never said a word about how I felt about you all those years we were friends," He explained with a gulp, his eyes never leaving yours as he went on, "I was afraid to say anythin', but not anymore.  I wanna be with ya, only ya, and after what we went through last night, I'm not lettin' ya go,"

You would have melted to the floor from hearing those words from Oliver, and you knew then and there you would never be able to let him go either.

Reaching down to retrieve your wand that was on the floor with your blazer, not losing your gaze on Oliver who was still giving you an alluring gaze, you licked your lips and gripped your wand tightly.  Finally, you turned around and aimed at the door.  With a flick of the wrist, magic shot out of your wand and landed against the door and the wall, giving a shimmering light.

“What did ya do?” Oliver asked in a tentative tone, thought you grinned and looked back at him with a soft grin.

“Imperturbable Charm” You answered, seeing him  grin widely as you dropped your wand onto your jacket that was on the floor.

“Bloody Hell,”

To Be Continued....

Tagged - @a-lumos-in-the-nox

[is-the-thing-actually-jewish]

Okay i saw your answer on etrogs so it made me wonder: etrog vs rimon, which is more Jewish?? (I’m not actually invested in a definite answer, but I’m VERY invested in the debate)

Rating: HERE’S THE DEBATE YOU WANTED 

Answering this question necessarily requires a working definition of what makes something “more” or “less” Jewish, and what that definition is results in several different answers with their corresponding justifications. Does “more Jewish” mean “more important to Judaism religiously”? Or “more important to Jewish culture?” Or “belonging uniquely to Jews as opposed to any other enthno-religious group?” So, here goes: 

More religiously important: ETROG. The etrog, also known as the citron, is one of the four species critical to the celebration of the Festival of Sukkot. Leviticus 23:40 commands that “on the first day [of Sukkot] you shall take the product of hadar trees, branches of palm trees, boughs of leafy trees, and willows of the brook, and you shall rejoice before your God seven days.” “Hadar” translates to “splendor” or “beauty” and is traditionally read to refer to the etrog tree. Interestingly, the Jerusalem Talmud suggests the possibility that “hadar tree” could refer to pomegranates before dismissing it, as the pomegranate has a “beautiful fruit but not beautiful wood,” (or possibly vice versa, scribal texts disagree), whereas the etrog has both beautiful fruit and beautiful wood, along a beautiful scent. (Jerusalem Talmud Sukkah 3:5:2). All that aside, there is mitzvah d’orieta (a religious obligation directly from the Torah, as opposed to an obligation established by the rabbis, a mitzvah d’rabbanan) that requires the use of the etrog, whereas all religious use of the pomegranate, such as at a Tu B’shvat Seder or as a siman on Rosh HaShanah, have merely the force of minhag (religious custom, not law). 

More important to Jewish culture: RIMON. Pomegranates feature in a huge amount of Jewish art, especially as decoration on pretty much any Jewish ritual item. You can find them on everything from ketubot (marriage contracts) to hanukkiot (hanukkah menorahs). I’ve seen pomegranate tallitot, pomegranate mezuzot, pomegranate tzedakah boxes, etc. Personally, in my house, we have four different pomegranate mezuzot, a pomegranate hand-washing cup for ritual handwashing, pomegranate candlesticks, a pomegranate kiddush cup, and, ironically enough, an etrog box decorated with— you guessed it— pomegranates. (I also have pomegranate earrings and pomegranate socks, thank you fiance) (At the time of this writing, this blog is also a Jewish thing decorated with pomegranates). A search for “pomegranate” on Judaica.com offers 197 results, whereas a search for “etrog” turns up 4 actual lulav and etrog sets, plus 13 decorative boxes designed to safely hold one’s etrog during sukkot and not as decoration at all. 

Pomegranates are one of the seven species biblically associated with the land of Israel, along with wheat, barley, grapes, fig, olives, and dates (Deuteronomy 8:8)-- a list that does not include etrogim. They are also an important motif throughout Shir haShirim (Song of Songs), in which the lovers frequently compare each other’s beauty to that of a pomegranate. Pomegranates symbolize beauty, fertility, fecundity, mitzvot, and merit, as in the annual Rosh HaShanah wish that “our merits be as plentiful as the seeds of the pomegranate.” A common (though inaccurate) bit of folk wisdom gives the number of seeds in a pomegranate as 613, one for each of the commandments given in the Torah. 

In a particularly entertaining digression in the Talmud (Bava Metzia 8a) in which the rabbis are comparing their physical attributes (yes, this means exactly what you think it does), the narrative voice pauses to explain that if you want to understand just how unbelievably gorgeous Rabbi Yochanan was, you should take a “silver goblet from the smithy and fill it with red pomegranate seeds and place a diadem of red roses upon the lip of the goblet, and position it between the sunlight and shade. That luster is a semblance of Rabbi Yoḥanan’s beauty.” Does this really support my thesis? As minor evidence at most, but I will seize any opportunity to share that description. 

Meanwhile, the etrog does not appear as a symbol or decoration in and of itself, only in the context of Sukkot and the other three Sukkot species. You may indeed see an etrog on the Torah curtain in Tishrei or in a panel of stained glass in the synagogue… but you’ll only know it’s an etrog because it has the lulav right next to it, generally as part of an array of holiday-related symbols. (I do, in fact, also own an etrog earring, but just the one— the other one is a lulav, thank you sibling.) There are a plethora of midrashim on what exactly the etrog symbolizes, but always as part of a set. For example, it’s often associated with the heart, to go along with the palm frond’s spine, the myrtle’s mouth, and the willow’s eye. As my fiance put it, “If you see a pomegranate on something, there’s a decent chance it’s Jewish. But without the lulav, an etrog just looks like a lemon, and there’s nothing particularly Jewish about lemons.” 

Belonging Uniquely to Jews: ETROG. The citron is widely agreed to be one of three “true” members of the citrus family, along with the mandarin and pomelo, with all others the results of hybridization. Archeological and primary-document research confirms that the citron originated in eastern India and southern China, and was found in Sumerian ruins dating from more than six thousand years ago. It is referenced in the Vajasaneiy Samhita, a compilation of Vedic religion texts, called Yajur-Veda (ca. 1200-1000 B.C.E), and early Greek and Latin writers describe the citron clearly, mentioning its use as an antidote to poisons and a way to ward off moths from one’s clothes.* However, a 2015 study found evidence that the diffusion of the citron throughout southern Italy and the surrounding region dated to the destruction of the Second Temple and subsequent Jewish diaspora. The study concludes that their results “evidence the special role played by Jews in the spread of the citron as the authentic sacred fruit used in their Tabernacles ritual.”* It is worth noting that there is a variety of citron known as “Buddha’s Hand” that may be used as offerings in Buddhist temples, but it looks so dramatically different from what we know as an etrog as to be a different item entirely (and, indeed, multiple rabbis have ruled that it should not be used for fulfilling the mitzvah). Thus, the etrog is inextricably and uniquely linked to Jews. 

On the other side of the debate, pomegranates appear frequently in art, stories, and cultural artifacts throughout the world, particularly in the Middle and Near East. These stories range from the Ancient Greek myth of Hades and Persophone, whose consumption of pomegranate seeds kept her in the underworld for the winter each year, to a Buddhist legend of a child-eating/stealing demoness whom the Buddha convinced to only eat pomegranates and become a patron goddess of children.  Greece, Armenia, and Azerbaijan, among others, consider the pomegranate to be one of their important symbols. Traditions regarding pomegranates abound, including a Greek custom of smashing a pomegranate on the new year for good luck. They are widely considered a symbol of fertility, abundance, and good luck, similarly to their symbolism in Judaism. In short, while Jews are very into pomegranates, so are a lot of other cultures. 

*Gina Maruca, et al. “Religious and cultural significance of the citron (citrus medica L. ‘diamante’) from Calabria (South Italy): A biblical fruit of the mediterranean land.” Journal of Environmental Science and Engineering A, vol. 4, no. 4, 28 Apr. 2015, https://doi.org/10.17265/2162-5298/2015.04.006.

[myimaginedcorner]

SCALES OF JUSTICE - BETA TESTERS NEEDED

Hi dear readers,

Thank you for your overwhelming trust and support. The opinions that I've collected over the past few days have finally motivated me to put aside my self-criticism and doubt, and to make the next step towards SoJ's release.

Yes, Scales of Justice is now officially in its BETA-test phase!!

If you would like to help me by being a BETA-tester for my book, please, comment under this post, send me a direct message, or message me on CoG's forum. I aim to take around 20 to 30 people, so we can have a big and productive group that nonetheless remains constructive in its feedback.

If you don't have the time or you don't want to be a tester, consider sharing this post, so it can get to as many of you as possible.

I will be working alongside the testers on improving style, grammar, and other minor details that require polishing as the month progresses. Hopefully, by the end of it we'll have an even better version of this book that will be submitted for approval to Hosted Games!

See you all very soon,

Julia xx

BOOK DETAILS:

DEMO DESCRIPTION:

Scales of Justice is a fantasy game situated in another world, far away from Earth. There are plenty of species living together in harmony, but the human race is currently split in two civilisations: the one known as Hero kingdom, which is ruled by ‘heroes’, and the one named Vannais kingdom, controled by ‘villains’. Both nations hate each other and the fight between ‘heroes’ and ‘villains’ here is something that happens on a national level. The game is focused on lore, on character development and your own perception of reality: perhaps, your MC just wants to live a peaceful life... or maybe wants to save the world.

Or even rule it, if you’re into such things.

THINGS TO DO IN THIS DEMO:

Set off on a new adventure towards Neutral Lands, to meet a mythic creature of all answers - The Visionary.

Gather up to 3 companions to help you in your quest - befriend, romance or rival them, the choice is yours.

Buy a horse - we know you want one.

Fight, conjure, support, speak or think - choose your way of handling a tricky situation.

Explore the kingdom of Hero up to Menai's shore, in search for someone - or something - to aid you in your journey.

The DEMO version of the book runs up to Chapter 5 and contains 276K words overall. I will be putting up updated versions of the first chapters as I work my way through them, so expect the DEMO version to become a polished reflection of what the final book will look like!

USEFUL LINKS:

If you want to know a little more about this project and read chapters 1-5, I'll leave the link to the game here -> https://dashingdon.com/play/myimaginedcorner/scales-of-justice/mygame/

If you want to discuss anything on CoG's forum, I'll leave the link for SoJ here -> https://forum.choiceofgames.com/t/wip-scales-of-justice-new-project-announcement-and-demo-release/101088/16

If you want to send me a more extensive feedback, here's my email -> feedbackscalesofjustice@gmail.com

Any mistakes, concerns or questions you have, feel free to contact me through Tumblr! I am very excited to share this story with all of you, and I want to make it as good as possible with your help!

RO DESCRIPTIONS:

Shoren/Seile -> Heir to the Hero kingdom's throne, right where your journey starts. Also, your old friend who's very attached to you. Likes to read and practices magic, enjoys adventure and heroic deeds. A recognised “hero”, with blonde curly hair, pale skin and a pair of beautiful blue eyes.

Robert/Reina -> Order's Paladin, defender of Hero and Knight of Fate. Brave and honourable, determined to protect the people of the kingdom. Very loyal to friends and very dangerous as an enemy. Has short brown hair, tanned skin and an athletic build.

Valerius/Venis -> An Outworlder, who was caught by cultists from the Wicked Woods. Gracious, elegant and charismatic. Has long dark brown hair with a silver streak, olive skin and golden eyes.

Arion/Aria -> Leader of Vannais, a recognised “villain” who escaped from Hero and now rules the enemy kingdom. Serious, reserved but temperamental. Prefers action over words and so is always present on battlefields and amidst negotiations, even though never in official manner. Has short blonde hair, pale skin and emerald eyes.

Be careful! These characters have their thoughts and opinions on the world and your actions: if you want them to support you, convince them or take their side… or neither. That is your choice after all!

[life-winners-liveblog]

Well this will be fun to watch.

Good luck..? I guess?

- ???

Grian: Ok, Scar, you'll go first.

Scar: Really!?! Oh yeah!

Grian: Yes, what is your character doing right now?

~~~~~

Grian: You make your way to the clearing. What do you do?

Scar: Oh, so I need to search for the med- meci-

Grian: Medicinal herbs, yes.

Scar: I'm going to look around for them.

Grian: Give me a perception roll.

Scar: Oh sure! 14! That's good right?

Grian: You make your way to the clearing, the cover of the tre leaves fading into a clear blue sky, you see bushes of various shades and heights growing on the grass floor, you quickly find the herbs you were looking for surrounded by bushes of other plants.

Scar: Do I recognize these other plants?

Grian: ... Give me a nature roll.

Scar: Oh right uh...1?

Martyn: A nat 1? We have our first nat 1 of the campaing people.

Scott: Is...that bad?

Grian: It's called a critical fail...you look at the plants and they look so alien to you that you start to worry they aren't even plants.

Scar: What!?!

~~~~

Grian: You come across a wooden hut and...

Scar: And?

Grian: We leave you here while we move to a different part of the woods, Pearl?

Pearl: Yeah?

Grian: What is your character doing right now?

~~~~~

Grian: You want to...tame...the werewolf.

Pearl: Yes.

Grian: Olive?

[I agree with mom!]

Grian: Of course you do ...uh...Would that count as charisma or animal handling?

Pearl: I don't know, you are the uh...

Martyn: DM?

Pearl: That.

Grian: Roll animal handling then-

Pearl: Nat 20.

Grian: I- ok then, you manage to somehow calm the werewolf down so now you can make your way foward.

~~~~~

Grian: As you make your way back to your hut you see...a fae?

Scar: That's me!

Grian: uh...yes.

Scar: Our characters are meeting Pearl.

Pearl: Sure thing mate.

Grian: I'm going to leave you here Pearl as we move to the town, to a traveling elf and his body guard.

Scott: My turn!!! Ok, this is exciting.

Martyn: And mine... I'm the bodyguard.

Scott: Well make sure to protect me.

Martyn: Of course.

~~~~

Grian: The guard stops you-

Martyn: Why!? We litterally didn't do anything!

Scott: You tried to punch a merchant.

Martyn: Well he shouldn't have scammed us! I'm going to tear the guard a new one.

Scott: Martyn-

Grian: Roll for intimidation.

Martyn: 18 baby! Listen here, guard, if you don't want to catch these hands like that con man you better not even try anything, we are in a hurry and we have no time to waste, If we arrive late to our meeting with the high bishop it will be your fault and you will be punished for it.

Grian: ...The Guard quickly scurries off.

~~~~~

Grian: You finally reach the town church just in time for your meeting with the bishop.

Scott: We aren't late? Good.

Grian: And I'll leave you here while we switch to Cleo, what are you doing?

~~~~~

Grian: You make your way trough the tunnels of the city when you come to a circular room, light filtering from above-

Cleo: Is there anything I should know about in the room?

Grian: Roll for perception.

Cleo: 11.

Grian: Ok, you see this room is covered by a mess of debris but you think you can recognize metal stairs leading upstairs.

Cleo: Hmpf, Good enough for me.

Grian: So do you make your way upstairs?

Cleo: Not yet, what would I need to roll to move the debris?

Grian: I'd say athletics.

Cleo: Hmmm, 13, is that enough?

Grian: It is. You start moving the debris when the ground starts to move, roll a dexterity save.

Cleo: Ah! Finally some action, 6.

Grian: You try to keep your balance but fail and fall.

[diangelofan]

Life-changing

Put some prompts (Day 6: Facade - Captivate / Day 7: Change - Perceive) of @change-is-perceivable to make a pretty perciver one-shot!

---------

Percy Weasley was known as a lot of things, both at home and at school. Every possible combination of adjectives, he had heard it all before:

“pompous git”, “stuck up arse”, “stick in the mud”, “boring bloke”, “lady repeller”

These were all phrases he had heard when speaking about him, either in whispers or directly to his face (specially in mouth of unpleasant individuals, description that sometimes included some of his family, to his dismayed resignation).

At the beginning, it had angered him (a lot) the way he was perceived (no pun intended) by the people in his vicinity for things he couldn’t help. Yeah, so what if he preferred academic topics to Quidditch and thought spending weeks with his head buried in a book or perfecting his essays was an enjoyable activity?

That didn’t necessarily make him “bland” or “boring” or whatever name people decide on that day.

It just made him Percy Weasley.

What was so wrong with that? Why punish him for being different?

Thus, instead of retracting and caving to his peers’ criticisms, he just focused harder on said activities, constructing a perfect facade that repelled all comments (or at least it did so to the best of its abilities). And his hard work paid off: he was chosen a prefect in his fifth year and Head Boy in his last, and earned 12 OWLS (the highest amount among his classmates). Those achievements comforted him by showing Percy his efforts were valuable and recognized (he was worthy of praise) and helped ease the pain that those little comments inflicted in him (a life-saving shield from the death by those thousand paper cuts). When his mother praised him for being such a wonderful son and said how proud he was of him, insisting that his younger siblings take him as a role model (someone they should aspire to be), he felt almost happy (he made sure to always ignore his siblings’ replies).

That happiness, however, was just momentary. It didn’t compared to the everlasting joy he felt in Oliver Wood’s arms. Oliver had met him at the young age of eleven and was his best friend since all those years ago. Oliver, however, didn’t like him despite his “odd behaviour”, but instead was captivated by his peculiarities.

“Those are the reasons I love you, you know. I would never even think to change you.”, whispered his boyfriend in his ear when they cuddle in one of their beds (the constant reassuring really help Percy, whose head was sometimes invaded with dark, pessimistic doubts).

Their relationship was, sometimes, Percy’s only anchor, the only thing keeping him afloat in the mess of stress and anxiety he came close to drowning in a couple of times (or at least that’s how he felt):

After a day full of non-stop studying for hours or Prefect (worse later on as Head Boy)’s endless responsibilities (or at least they seemed like it).

After trying to keep his facade of being a perfect straight-O student who follows the rules to a T (or at least makes sure not to get caught breaking them) and tries to get other students to follow them as well.

Or after dealing with particularly nasty comments from his classmates or some teasing from family members (most of the time, the twins) about his weird and boring personality.

When he felt tired of carrying his whole world (on top of other’s expectations) on his shoulders and felt closed to crashing down, to giving up. That’s were Oliver became his sort of saviour (who needed a Harry Potter when you could have an Oliver Wood).

His boyfriend didn’t criticised him for his overachieving attitude; well, at least not in the same way other people did.

Oliver respected his passion for learning and his search to expand his knowledge. The two would spend hours in their dormitory, just talking about each other’s major topics of interest that week.

Oliver would rant about the disastrous decision that changing their Seeker had been for Puddlemere United. Percy would compared in great detail the value of Arithmancy and Divination in regards of which subject allowed for a more precise and accurate prediction of the future, citing different books as evidence.

Topics that their partner might have normally considered to be extremely boring were shown in a new and brighter light when they came out of the mouth of the person they loved. When it was explained in their passionate voice, it suddenly became the most important knowledge one could obtain at the present time (even if it did go into one ear and out of the other most times, let’s not kid ourselves).

It was just so fascinating.

While Oliver was used to having people with whom to discuss Quidditch with (sadly, not in as great detail and care as he did, but most wizards were big fans of the sport), Percy had spent most of his life experiencing either people attempting to understand what he was saying and getting bored and distracted soon after, or just telling him to his face to shut up (in nicer or meaner words, depending on the person). Now, whereas it be his boyfriend listening to him rant with the softest expression possible in his face and love-filled eyes (as if he were the best thing that had ever happen to Oliver’s life) or, in the most wonderful occasions, processing the points Percy made and arguing back or asking questions (the couple could have the best long and passionate debates one could imagine when their interests intersected, as was the case sometimes with chess techniques or quidditch theory/history)…

Having someone that would paid attention to him, and only him, treating his words as if they were made out of the finest gold…

Someone who cared about him enough to do his best and listen to him, valuing his every word.

Someone who loved him, not in spite of the characteristics others perceived as flaws but because of them (because it made him who he was).

Someone that sincerely considered him to be “the most captivating and charming human to ever exist” and “the most beautiful and sexiest Weasley” (all his boyfriend’s words, not Percy’s).

Someone who Percy could be his true self with, dropping every bit of his facade without fear because he knew he would always be adored unconditionally and never be asked to change.

Someone he knew would always be there for him to give him an encouraging word or a comforting cuddle when needed and who kept him grounded (as did Percy when their positions were inverted and his boyfriend was the one who needed it, which was specially the case after a match lost).

Someone who he could love and be loved by, heartily and completely.

Yeah, let’s just say (to put it lightly) that having someone like Oliver Wood in Percy Weasley’s life had been truly life-changing.

[liketwoswansinbalance]

Rafal headcanons (not all have a basis in canon):

He doesn't and will never get hype culture much to Rhian's chagrin.

He probably has some item, like an article of clothing, such as socks, that he buys duplicates of, so he doesn't have to waste thought and energy on them everyday.

He likes olives, especially the sour ones, in some of his sandwiches.

He suffers from "irony poisoning" by a certain stage in life.

One of the worst things in the world to him is writing Thank You cards, usually to people like alumni who send generous donations. He always foists the task off on Rhian because he can’t bring himself to sound sincere or fawn over anything. Also, it irrationally humiliates him to have to thank someone for something in person, even if it's something small. He doesn't know why he feels that way, and doesn’t care enough to find out. It’s an unplaceable, inexplicable feeling, and it’s just there.

On the converse, Rhian lets him respond to the letters of complaint and petitions for reform. He vetoes almost everything.

He likes to manipulate the sky and weather patterns, particularly lightning, to look more foreboding, as if nature were his personal backdrop. He secretly lives for drama as long as it stays a spectator sport for him. (This one might be canon going by the Snow Ball edict scene in Rise, but it's sort of unconfirmed.)

If he ever appreciated sentimental elements in the tales (unlikely), he’d never tell anyone. And he would only play those things out in his head where there would be no record of them.

In his own thoughts, or if he were a writer, of course he’d write about taboo subjects, but the one obvious thing he intentionally wouldn’t write about would be love (or specifically romantic love). He’d probably write around love. He’d write the negative space that makes love’s presence known, but somehow not engage with it directly, eye to eye, and instead define it by what’s not present in his work.

He’d avoid thinking or writing about the human condition, even if all writers, by default, end up writing about human condition in some shape or form, by hazard of being a human. He’s immortal and he’d view himself as above human and above humanity as a sympathetic trait. Simple as that. (He’d be in denial, essentially.)

And yet, he’d write about it. Incidentally. The same way he’d write around love—somehow managing to snare everything he’d circumvent into his works while he circumvents it.

His critics and fans would have a field day, trying to parse out what might have been intentional or not on his part.

For his part, he’d never give interviews, and would let his works stand for themselves, alone, as art, as they’re meant to be read: gone into blind. He hates it when educators flatten his works, so they can be consumed by a broader, apathetic (in his eyes) audience. He hates abridged versions.

He even hates abridged versions of the tales the Storian writes, and he unconsciously spurns the laymen of the Woods.

Even if he wouldn't write about love, a subtle, recurring theme of his would be sacrifice. Sacrifice for personal gain and ambition, or whatever else there is that he’d value, that wasn’t always in his hands, that didn’t always drop into his hands immediately, if he couldn’t orchestrate it.

He wouldn’t admit to valuing Rhian, but well… that’s one other “thing” he keeps like an object to be owned. It’s a form of "love." And to him, sacrifice is a form of "love" or devotion, because you let go of everything else for the one gain, in pursuit of it.

He often thinks along the lines of “all-or-nothing," "the thought doesn't count," and “actions, not thought, not words.”

If he wrote, lectured, or thought around love, he'd also leave a gap for his students or readers to fill in for themselves.

And it's just as well that he probably would only ever write the povs of hard-boiled figures like detectives, or the solvers and perpetrators of crime that would never fall prey to emotional appeals. He can’t stand putting himself in the shoes of the “fool” or the duped, even in an imaginary world, even in the safety of his head—because what if it bled into his real life? He's not superstitious, but what if, one day, he were played for a fool? Never. He would never allow that.

And it makes sense really, as, ironically, writing these figures, the least emotionally vulnerable characters for an audience or outlining them on the blackboard for his students when discussing a tale is probably at once the most impersonal route and also the most revealing. To his students, those behind-the-scenes decisions are themselves telling in some way.

It’s all just up for interpretation—because, what would he be if he didn’t leave gaps and holes in his character? The chinks in his armor are left there for others to do the work for him because he’s impressively lazy and apathetic about "introducing” himself, and has the good fortune of having a job that doesn’t require introductions to new faces, aside from the students he doesn’t truly need to know by heart in order to teach. They can just fill in the gaps however much they want, ideally or relationally and so on.

And he’s content to leave them with a false image of himself because even that’s less unnerving and disconcerting as people being too close for comfort, and knowing too much of what he can no longer moderate in the privacy of their own minds. You can’t unknow something or someone after all.

He’s afraid of the "mortifying ordeal of being known" in a less conventional way. To an extent, humanity is fear-driven deep down. Thus, he doesn’t want to give anyone a window into his psyche—lest he be taken advantage of, so he contents himself with not being known at all, feeding into his paranoia that the world is out to get him.

Why give it more ammo? He should deprive the world of anything it could use against him. Maybe he has a fear of being mocked for however he really is? Though, if there is a facade (I mean, he is a public figure), it's not actually that far removed from whatever he doesn't reveal anyway.

Perhaps, he would respond to mockery internally the way he did at his own Nevers expressing their hatred of him with a brief, sharp, jabbing twinge of hurt, at the disapproval he largely never cares about, but that under the right conditions, he may indeed care about.

Now, he's no longer in a position to be mocked, but perhaps, before becoming School Master, he used to tell others harshly: "Do. Not. MOCK. Me." whenever they would mirror him because he did not think as far as to realize that emotional reciprocation was two-sided, especially with Evers and their behaviors. Yet, he mocks Rhian, Evers, pirates, and everything else in sight. Nothing is immune from being subject to his irreverence, and he is both hypocritical and hyper-critical.

[laylawatermelon]

Buddie: it's The Way It's Played

Aka don't hate the player hate the game or whatever.

(i promise the is Buddie at the halfway point if you just want meta)

I woke up pondering about edy's comments and found it a bit funny and ironic because she probably doesn't know just like we don't know.

Oliver recently talked about how he wasn't heavily involved in this upcoming episode 2 so he'll be getting to watch it for the first time with us.

It's the same case with her. In her eyes she does her few scenes and goes home.

In her head she is the chosen love interest and she is indeed being asked to come back.

The second half of the season hasn't publicly been announced (or fully filmed I assume) so she's just as oblivious as we are.

What I will say is that celebrities should know to not be in the spaces of fandom and don't get heavily involved.

Especially with shippers.

As a fangirl I have always been protective, I would say, over my stuff but I made like a rule that I don't reply or have online arguments.

(mostly because i get riled up easily in real life and it's dangerous imagine doing it with a complete stranger or a mob of them if we're being fr because there's never just one person arguing with you.)

It's likely millions or billions 🙃

Also as a fangirl, I don't mind shipping or not shipping.

Do what you want, I don't care.

I grew up in the good ole don't like scroll away time.

What I'm getting at is that some people are more comfortable on online spaces. Some are more quiet (like me) but they're there.

I've recently become disillusioned slowly over the years of Hollywood ( all the woods honestly) glamour so when they are shown or said to be bad people I treat them as such.

Cause they're that.

People.

Who do good and bad stuff all the time.

Granted we don't a camera or constant surveillance or record (or funds) all the time, but I'd bet we said/did bad stuff.

Now in Hollywood's case their stuff is mainly criminal/jail/wtf is going on over there?!??!

In her case, I'm not surprised.

There's people who are homophobic/transphobic and everyphobic (and -ist!!) in the world so of course they would be in show business.

Cause they're people. We got people (like millions of them, a concerning number in worldwide leadership positions but that's a story for another day...) like that all over.

Celebrities are not and never will be role models. They are public images projected onto a pretty body.

That's also the reason why I'm saying that she should shut her computer and cut her losses.

(a lot of celebrities should do that honestly)

But, it does let you know who to support and who not to.

And I'd rather know my enemy rather than worship a perfect image honestly.

I also think it's unwise to fight the people who are literally indirectly paying your bills.

There are 93k people (just on Tumblr) who ship the guys.

Even I know better and I'm a fan.

(i think it's because I'm a fan and ik how it can get I'm just an observer cause whew 😥😮‍💨)

That's not counting the ones not active here or casuals who agree with the pairing.

If they pay your bills walk on eggshells ma'am. You're job quite literally hinges on people liking you.

So be likable.

(once again I will reiterate as a fan/human with a heart let me know how bad you are so I don't give you my love if you're a bad person with shady morals.)

But as an observer it's like just shhhhhh. Please. The Internet is forever. There is no timeline for it. What are you doing??

If I'd say it it's like watching you drive a burning car driving down the street and you're sitting in it proudly waving and hitting people but insist you're right or a good person.

I'm just shocked at some people's let's say narrow thinking aka limited timeline thinking.

Fans and the Internet didn't forget. They will find you.👹

But I wanna talk about Buddie now!

Okay.

Now that we've criticized celebrity culture and the response of ms. Edy and her bad mindset (aka lack of critical reading and decision making with fandoms and responses in general also queerphobia?!) that honestly I appreciate.

Be a bad apple in public.

Imma stand on business.

Expeditiously 😤.

Bye bye support and hello uproar.

But back to Buddie 😘😚🤗😝, I wanna be clear I am a fan but I am also very critical of media.

It's the way they act.

Literally.

The reason Buddie even exists and is accepted is it's literally there. (Their fault)

There is no subtext.

The actors play it as such, the directors direct it as such and the marketing play it as such.

I'm a bit upset seeing y'all called clowns (although i hope it's said affectionately cause tone indicators or the lack of) because you're not crazy.

They quite literally put the battery in y'all backs so it shouldn't be surprising if the battery is more high powered than expected.

You are not misreading anything.

Most people just choose to ignore the signs because

(the church! Homophobia! All rhe -ias and ists!)

Truly our downfall as a modern society.

Anyways, as a writer and heavy media consumer there's no mistakes.

Every wprd is carefully chosen, every shot has a purpose and every cut is done. These things are practiced a thousand times, edited, retaked a thousand times if they have to.

There's no mistakes in media. It's literally made to influence, persuade and educate.

Nothing is a coincidence!

But after reading a few interviews and listening to the fandom I think we can also say with confidence they've been playing it as a romance.

There's nothing platonic.

They have platonic couples on the show.

That

is not it.

Even if you see it as pure writing without the context of their acting choices.

Let's say kitchen scene.

You wanna work it out in the ring (throws playful punches)

I'd take you.

I wouldn't do that. You're on blood thinners.

Buck steps closer to playfully intimidate him.

You wanna go for the title?

Now pause.

Ik we all know that scene religiously and can only see it as insane (because they are. It is.) but I read it in my mind as a blank sheet of paper and couldn't help but wonder.

Why would you say it like that?!??!!?

Mr. Oliver Stark and Mr. Ryan Guzman I sentence you will eternal jail cause wtfff?

I imagined it more platonically. You can quite literally put, let's say, Hen and Chim in that same scenario. Damn even Eddie and Chim.

Their acting choices would reflect that. Hell, read the lines without looking (or hearing their insane intonation) and imagine your best friend. Any friend for that matter.

It wasn't playful, it was well, sexually tense. 🤷🏾‍♀️

Ps i love buck 1.0 and was shooketh to see his return because i watched the show backwards. i did season 2-6 in like a week then begrudgingly did season 1. Me nah like abby ...

They are choosing to act it out as a romance.

Now that could lend itself to male partnership in movies (and real life) where they went to war together that were usually where gay/queer men had partnerships/relationships in every sense of the word.

The shows ain't got it from nothing. 🤷🏾‍♀️

There's always truth in fiction.

I also find out a bit hilarious to imagine the director tried to get them to stop but the takes were either too good or they kept pushing the envelope and the editors were like yes. 🤗

I will put this shot of them longingly staying at each other instead of the slightly less neutral one.

Or cut when they say we're the only ones who don't have kids (+buck) then cut to Buck being a good dad! 🤗

On a bit of a more serious note let's say it is a bit of manipulation of the masses marketing wise.

The show is very queer friendly with a (black!) lesbian couple, a gay man, an engaged (black!) gay couple and many queer stories of different races in their cases that are told wonderfully.

I acknowledge and comment them for it but ..

The big problem is how Buddie is treated. (Or rather the very rational people who ship them)

(which their name is kind of funny because I link it to buddy cop movies that can be homoerotic when they feel like it and buddie is technically that trope)

Homosexual media (in the case of film) has always been subtext, hidden, stereotyped, twisted or been outright secret messages for the girls to uncode (cause religion 🤷🏾‍♀️).

It has only been like very recent that queer people have been gaining respect in media so it's not surprising.

What life was like in 2019 to now in terms of queer media is like night and day. The same would be for the 2000s. Gay was used as an insult. The world is quite literally changing before our eyes.

In their case, the elf scene is said to be a wink at the audience.

But the actors took it seriously. So we do as well.

Aka the battery put in they back.

They respect the same vision. 😤goated

The chemistry is undeniable, and the tropes they have parallel a lot of romantic things used historically in media. (And in the show *bathena* but🤷🏾‍♀️)

It's not an accident to say that if one of them had been female (aka the "acceptable" pairing) they'd have been together.

You could argue that if he'd been with Maddie like intended they'd be together. And little jiyun would be a sister.

She might be a Jane actually??

Back on topic.

I found it interesting when watching like a compilation (cause i did nawt watch the show before become a buddie fan) and found it hilarious because it was like their normal behavior and i felt the romantic tension shift. It was like whoooaaa holup. The air shifted.

It's very easy to spot it because at the first few episodes it was very platonic then it became very side eye....

What do you mean he's cute? What do you mean wanna go for the title?

(That scene is eternally insane)

What do you mean with other couples they're paired as a family? Consistently?

What do you mean the kid and you go on solo family outings to the zoo? Constantly? For years?

You take care of him like all the time?

What do you mean he's your kid's legal guardian and partly the reason you lived after being trapped in a well?

The actors play it romantically. Ryan does cause I remember step up.

After like a year together? Over his family? Who are not firefighters??

Ik how he is when he's flirting.

The show also (unfortunately) writes their love interests as tools of self growth for them (which can be a bit problematic cause the women aren't being treated three dimensionally characters men get to be. the two who were closest were abby, and Taylor. Shannon was so so for me personally. Which is odd because they have complex main females it's just unfortunate that the women they have for them are rarely people outside of the relationship and that's why it falls apart in the case of their relationship/people getting invested).

Nobody is quite literally written as important to each other like them. They are in a relationship no doubt. We can say queer platonic now (as they are raising a kid together?!??!! Like come on. Chim and Hen aren't like Buck and Ed. Also the good cop bad cop scene?)

It's just not sexual I'd say.

Cause emotionally, mentally all that is there.

And they could absolutely play it "straighter" 🥴 cause I've seen a plethora of male friendships (slight side eye ry we got buddy cop movies galore don't play with me!!!) where they support each other.

They don't act like that!!!! Look at this and tell me I'm wrong!

(i feel insane but I'm not i swear)

the lighting, the cut, the conversation im melting~~~!!!!

It's not inaccurate to say that the way they're written (and acted!!) is more romantic than platonic.

I'd assume they couldn't let the two hot men who represent "manliness" be together because they didn't fit into a (gay) stereotype.

But they will gladly let you advertise their show to the high heavens and bring in millions of dollars in revenue, which does upset me ngl but 🤷🏾‍♀️ hey, can't hate the player hate the game right?

[paldean-sandwich-rater]

A sandwich.

It contains ice cream, whipped cream, sponge cake, meat balls, broccoli, pineapple, strawberries, tomatoes, lettuce, rice, noodles, mac and cheese, bacon, beef jerky, dried fish, seaweed, one of every Pokemon berry, jam, olive oil, lotus, dragon fruit, ravioli, ramen, tempura, teriyaki chicken, macaroons, escargots, mint, pepper, salt, sugar, croquettes, pickles, apples, avocados, sausages, bell peppers, grapes, pizza, a donut, cheese, more cheese, even more cheese, mushrooms, mustard, olives, a fried egg, a scrambled egg, blueberries, a poached egg, chawanmushi, a red bean bun, mochi, bbq sauce, chicken nuggets, french fries, takoyaki, pancakes, mackerel, salmon, coffee beans, spinach, a tiny bit of corn cream soup, ramensanga, fettucine alfredo, a plain bagel, pretzels, chocolate chip cookies, sweet potato, yam, potato, scallions, scallops, squid, crab stick, fish balls, fish cakes, oyster sauce, silken tofu, barley, cereal, paprika, oysters, red snapper, sea bass, plums, bean sprouts, garlic, string cheese, camembert, swiss cheese, mozzarella, parmesan cheese, yogurt, brinjal, a macdonald’s happy meal (without the toy and the packaging of course), truffles, caviar, tapioca balls, fried chicken, century eggs, cake sprinkles, dark chocolate, milk chocolate, white chocolate, milk tea (just a tinge), coffee (also a tinge), pudding, pumpkin, honey, mutton, mashed potatoes, bananas, icelandic fermented shark that they bury in the ground for months, raisins, dried mangoes, a drop of water, jelly, nata de coco, prunes, roasted pork, rosemary, bee pollen, peas, deer meat, rabbit meat, fish maw, ham, turkey, m&ms, chub, fufu, watermelon, winter melon, rock melon, coffee jelly, cacao, carrots, blueberries, black tea, dumplings, carrot cake, beetroot, purple cabbage, corn, celery, edamame, red beans, black beans, green beans, kidney beans, cashews, peanuts, pecans, sunflower seeds, walnuts, chickpeas, almonds, daikon, MSG, tamales, anchovies, tabbouleh, lions mane mushroom, chicken of the woods, kelp, octopus, durian, kimchi, crème fraîche, popcorn, cotton candy, everything bagel seasoning, capers, pears, marinara sauce, bittercress, butter cream, every single iteration of galarian curry, sushi, sashimi, kale and a very very specific ramen bowl (without the actual bowl) from a very particular shop located in Iwatodai.

And the top and bottom buns are somehow made from 50 different kinds of bread in a checker box pattern.

It comes with a picture.

Ingredients: I am not typing all of that out again. What the fuck.

Smell: You’ve taken an entire food court’s worth of food and made it into a sandwich. This isn’t even possible. Why am I considering this. 3/5

Taste: How do you eat this. 2/5

Texture: You get like 5 different foods every bite. This is not balanced. There is no harmony. This sandwich is the embodiment of disorder and chaos. 1/5

Presentation: The fact that this even looks sandwich adjacent is a fucking miracle. You don’t get full points though. Because I don’t like you. 3/5

Would Chunk Eat It?: He would eat maybe 1/50th of it. So no. 1/5

Final Score: 2/5

Critic’s Notes: Why would you waste this much food. Just host a party. Donate it. Something fucking anything I am begging at this point.

[beguines]

The steel industry was distinguished from other industries by a number of factors. The first, of course, was the large size of its plants and the sizable amount of capital invested in each location, something by which virtually every commentator has been struck. As Horace Davis notes, "American steel makers have astonished the world not only by the size of their furnaces and mills but by the way they scrapped an old plant before it was worn out, in order to build a bigger one". In addition, the industry, especially compared with wood, coal, and textiles, was distinguished by the concentration of ownership, which can be seen from Table 4.3. The top ten producers accounted for 84% of the steel capacity in the United States. While U.S. Steel was clearly the dominant firm in the industry, its sway was most important in western Pennsylvania and the Midwest. On the East Coast, it was Bethlehem that had the largest share of production. This horizontal combination was not based exclusively on the technical requirements of the industry. As Davis notes, even relatively smaller producers were sufficiently large and well capitalized to be at the vanguard of technical innovation and productivity in their plants. Rather, it was the need to control the market, prices, and ultimately profits that led to the increased concentration of ownership. The push for this concentration came from the banks and financiers who quite literally controlled the industry. Because of the need for large amounts of investment capital, Morgan financial interests not only controlled U.S. Steel, but had important interests in Bethlehem and other companies. Mellon interests had a major influence on many independents, while Mark Hanna's banking empire had important control over Republic Steel; also in evidence were the fingerprints of financier Cyrus Eaton, who by 1927 had become the major shareholder in the newly reorganized Republic Steel.

There was also little worry that the federal government would find any of these relations a violation of federal anti-trust laws. Some have suggested that capitalist influence on governments in capitalist societies is indirect, a result of societal "logic," not direct or, as they would say pejoratively, "instrumental." Such criticisms are mostly unfounded when one looks at the influence of the steel bourgeoisie: much of the federal government does indeed appear to be, in Marx's words, their "executive committee." Davis examines these ties in detail and they are indeed rather lurid. Philander C. Knox, the U.S. attorney general when U.S. Steel was formed in 1901, was the former chief council for Carnegie Steel Corporation and an intimate of Henry Clay Frick, a prominent USS director. When Knox was replaced (to become secretary of state), it was by George W. Wickersham, previously USS's attorney. Another former attorney for USS, Elihu Root, had preceded Knox as secretary of state. Secretary of the Navy was a position also filled by several former USS officials. When U.S. Steel received a tax rebate of 96 million dollars, it was Pittsburgh steel financier Andrew Mellon who was secretary of the treasury, who okayed the deal, supposedly guarding Americans' taxpayer dollars. These connections are just a titillating sampler. Of course, it is perhaps arguable that these connections were really secondary, and the welfare of USS was just part of the accepted ethos of ruling class America. Such is a legitimate conclusion that one might have drawn when the Supreme Court, in what Davis calls a "coat of judicial whitewash," exonerated USS for anti-​trust violations, the imprimatur being given by the highly liberal judge Oliver Wendell Holmes, whose bleeding heart went out to USS.

The bigger employers controlled a large percentage of the raw material and related product industries. U.S. Steel, for example, dominated most of the Great Lakes ore in the 1930s and more than 10% of the coal resources in the entire country. Certain major companies had their own steel mills, including International Harvester, which owned Wisconsin Steel in Chicago, and Ford in Dearborn, Michigan, which even recycled old automobile parts as scrap in making steel. Thus, the fate of literally millions of workers was controlled by decisions made by banking officials and top managers in steel and steel-​related industries. These companies and officials had the ability to mobilize enormous resources against any challenges to the absolute control of their labor forces.

Michael Goldfield, The Southern Key: Class, Race, and Radicalism in the 1930s and 1940s

[scientistservant]

The Grottan and Scroll-Keeper headed down one of the many hallways of the Castle of the Crystal. Ethra lifted her head, trying to keep up with the Skeksis’ strides as they walked passed two Castle Guards.

The Grottan’s large ears twitched, hearing whispers and snickering from the Stone-Wood and Vapran that guarded their post. She picked up her pace, and skekOk noticed that she was now no longer behind him, having moved to his left - allowing his robes to shield her from the stinging words and disgusted stares. He had heard them too, for while the Skeksis’ eyes weren’t as sharp, his hearing never failed him.

The Scroll-Keeper raised his head in a proud air, silently telling his lowly assistant to follow him around the next corner.

Once hidden from view, skekOk bent down to whisper in Ethra’s ear, ancient bones creaking as his body seemed to envelope her.

“Continue on your way to the library,” he said, claws gentle on her shoulders. “I will meet you there shortly.”

Ethra answered with a nod, and wandered down the hall alone. SkekOk turned once he knew the Grottan was safely out of earshot.

“Is it proper to torment a Lord’s assistant with callous words?” asked the Scroll-Keeper. His head was raised in superiority, claws hidden in his sleeves. Despite being the shortest Skeksis, skekOk still towered over the Gelfling.

“But — my Lord, she is a Grottan,” said the Stone-Wood. “The lowest clan. Would it not be more suitable to have an apprentice that is Vapran?”

Olive eyes pierced down at the two Gelfling as he listened, watching the Vapran nod in agreement.

“The Grottan merely has a surprising appetite for curiosity and knowledge that charms me. That is all.”

“But she’s so dirty,” the Vapran guard pipped up, “I’m surprised she isn’t hanging around with Podlings!”

SkekOk leaned in close to the two guards, his old body creaking again, suppressing a wicked glare.

His voice was venomous,

“If you are so critical in regards to the cleanliness of my little assistant… Vapran… then perhaps you would care to take on that responsibility next unum?”

The Vapran’s eyes widened, ears up in surprise at the mere thought of having to personally bathe another. She didn’t even do that to her own pet Fizzgig! The Gelfling lowered her gaze, staring at the floor.

“… No, my Lord.”

“Good.” The Scroll-Keeper stood up straight, adjusting a pair of glasses. He turned to take his leave,

“Continue your patrol. But if I hear any more cruel words from either of you, at my little Grottan’s expense…

“You will be dealt with.”

As skekOk strolled away, the guards swore they heard the subtlest cackle.

[adamwatchesmovies]

Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs (1937)

There are many factors to consider when judging a film’s merit. An important but often overlooked factor is the film’s ambition. How many chances does it take and how far does it push the envelope? Under that criteria, Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs couldn’t possibly score higher. If there was a full-length animated film released in American cinemas before this one, it's been forgotten to time and it certainly didn't leave the same mark as this one. Now approaching 100 years old, there's no other movie quite like Snow White. You watch it as a child and enjoy the familiar story. You appreciate it for wholly different reasons as an adult.

In a faraway land lives the beautiful and kind Princess Snow White (voiced by Adriana Caselotti), the envy of her wicked and vain stepmother (Lucille La Verne). When the Queen’s magic mirror reveals that Snow White has become more beautiful than she, the Queen sends the young princess to the woods to be murdered. Following her escape, Snow White stumbles upon a small cottage and is taken in by the seven little men who live there.

Traditionally animated films age incredibly gracefully. Whereas you can see the limitations Toy Story and its early descendants had to struggle with, Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs looks as sharp as the day it was released. Snow White is not like the rubber-limbed Olive Oil from Popeye’s cartoons or any character from the many Disney animated shorts that preceded her. The fact that she can move alongside the decidedly anthropomorphized woodland creatures she befriends and the seven dwarves - all of which have cartoonish faces to match their outlandish personalities - is impressive.

Also helping the film remain timeless are the story and writing. There are no pop culture references, no fourth wall breaks, no ironic twists or subversions of the source material. There doesn’t need to be. Snow White simply is. Similarly, the songs are not the kind you’d hear playing on the top charts. They weren't made to sell records. They were made for the story. They’re used to develop the characters and move the plot forward. That doesn't mean they're not catchy. I think anyone who’s seen the film will be tempted to play Whistle While You Work whenever they begin cleaning and once you hear the dwarves’ Heigh Ho!, it becomes a part of your vocabulary. Nothing in Snow White feels like it was made to be more than part of the movie. There are no characters made to be turned into toys, for example. In that way, it feels more earnest than any other Disney film.

That's nice, but what really matters is how entertaining the film is. While this is a straightforward telling of a well-known, story (assuming you don't call the musical numbers "twists"), “Snow White” finds plenty of ways to make you care about its animated characters. There are many laughs throughout, courtesy of the seven dwarves. Her animal friends also provide memorable chuckles as they figure out inventive ways to help despite their limited sizes or limbs. My favorite has to be the deer who uses his antlers as a way to transport dirty laundry.

There's also drama and romance, courtesy of Snow White herself. Our heroine is so sweet and innocent your heart just can’t resist. When she talks about the handsome prince she dreams of meeting once again, it’s hard not to get as swept up in the emotions of the scene. There’s also a little bit of horror thrown in too - though only small children would be actually frightened. It makes the scenes when Snow White makes her escape in the dark woods and later, when the wicked Queen comes looking for her particularly memorable. On top of the emotions are the outstanding visuals. Even if you don't "know", I think a part of you knows or can tell everything you see was hand-painted and painstakingly put together. If there’s one criticism I can throw towards the movie, it’s that the ending feels abrupt. It still fits within the fairytale motif, but I wouldn’t mind if it was even 30 seconds longer.

There is so much to say about Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs. The visuals, the characters, the direction, the story, the songs… every aspect of the filmmaking could be the subject of a thesis. It's a film that was destined for immortality and I think people knew it as soon as it was released. Even today, it still stands triumphant as one of the greatest films - animated or otherwise- ever made for its place in history, but also for the way it brings a particular kind of story to life. (November 12, 2022)

[aff1uence]

𓏲   *   (  oliver  jackson-cohen,  cis  man,  he/him  )   ⸺   pictures  of  DYLAN  CHRISTOPHER  KHOURI  have  been  showing  up  all  over  my  feed,  and  considering  the  last  time  they  were  #trending,  it  was  due  to  a  photograph  of  him  looking  attractively  photogenic  being  rescued  from  a  hostage  situation  going  viral  —  i'm  not  likely  to  unfollow  anytime  soon.  with  their  precisely  coiffed  hair,  mixture  of  military  clothing  in  the  field  and  suits  in  the  studio,  i'm  not  surprised  to  hear  that  they  are  considered  part  of  the  NOUVEAU  RICHES.  after  35  years,  they've  managed  to  garner  a  reputation  for  being  more  brave  than  coarse,  but  their  critics  say  that  they're  more  haunted  than  gallant  when  they  aren't  too  busy  capitalising  on  the  events  that  cause  him  to  lose  sleep  every  night  ;  cooking  elaborate  meals  for  himself  alone  ;  photographing  animals  in  the  park.  when  they  aren't  occupied  with  their  work  as  a  journalist  /  former  war  correspondent,  they've  been  sighted  taking  pottery  classes.  reputation.com  has  taken  to  calling  them  HERCULES  in  order  to  avoid  a  lawsuit  (  again  ).   ──

GENERAL DETAILS.

full  name:   dylan  christopher isaac  khouri .  nickname(s):   d .  dyl .  age:  thirty5 .  date  of  birth:   4th  of  april ,  1988 .  place  of  birth:   lismore ,  australia .  current  location:   soho ,  new  york  city .  ethnicity:   jewish  australian  egyptian .  gender:   cis  man .  pronouns:   he / him .  sexual  orientation:   heterosexual .   romantic orientation:   heteroromantic .  relationship  status:  single .  religion:   not  religious .  occupation:   journalist / podcaster ,  former  war  correspondent .  education:   master  of  arts  in  journalism  from  murdoch university .  accent:   mild  australian .  spoken  languages:   english  ( native ) ,  italian  ( fluent ) ,  arabic  ( fluent ) .

PHYSICAL APPEARANCE, ETC.

faceclaim:   oliver  jackson - cohen .  hair  colour  and  style:   straight  dirty  blonde ,  a  textured  crew  cut  with  low  fade .  eye  colour:   blueish  green .  height:   6  ft  3 .  tattoos:   none  currently .  none:   none .  clothing  style:   street  style ,  jeans ,  neutral - toned  tops ,  leather  jackets .  distinguishing  features:   various  small  scars  across  his  body .  including  a  recently  healed  gash  from  his  hairline  to  just  above  his  left  eyebrow .  signature  scent:   tom  ford ,  oud  wood .

HEALTH.

mental  disorder(s):   ptsd ,  anger  management  issues .  physical  disorder(s):   a  busted  shoulder ,  permanent  hearing  damage  ( 30%  loss  in  left  ear ,  10%  loss  in  right  ear ) .  allergies:   none .  sleeping  habits:   night  owl ,  sleeps  approx.  4 - 5  hours  each  night ,  has  night  terrors .  eating  habits:   omnivore .  sociability:   extrovert .  addictions:   alcohol  dependency .  drug  use:   weed ,  party  drugs  such  as  mdma occasionally .  alcohol  use:   daily ,  gets  drunk  twice  a  week  minimum  when  not  working .

PERSONALITY.

label(s):   hercules .  positive  traits:   brave ,  gallant ,  generous ,  sociable ,  protective .  negative  traits:   haunted ,  selfish ,  coarse ,  noncommittal ,  stubborn .  likes:   working  out ,  clubbing ,  photography ,  writing ,  hanging  with  the  boys ,  flirting .  dislikes:   conferences ,  being  fussed  over ,  confronting  his  feelings ,  country  music .  fears:   small  spaces .  goals  and  ambitions:   to  shed  a  light  on  the  cruelties  of  war .  astrology:   aries  ( sun ) ,  scorpio  ( moon ) ,  leo  ( rising ) .  moral  alignment:   lawful  neutral . element:   fire .  primary  vice:   pride .  primary  virtue:   charity .

BIOGRAPHY.

dylan  grew  up  in  australia ,  with  his  mother  grace  and  his  father  rowland  isaac .  most  of  their  life  revolved  around  rowland's  job  –  a  military  man .  they  moved  around  often  when  dylan  was  young .  his  father  was  the  person  he  admired  most  and  he  planned  to  follow  in  his  footsteps .  the  signs  of  the  horrors  of  war  were  there ,  but  a  young  impressionable  mind  convinced  itself  that  it  was  to  be  expected  and  that  it  was  a  badge  of  honour .  when  his  little  sister  was  born ,  things  settled  a  bit  more .  they  stopped  moving  as  often ,  allowing  dylan  to  make  friends  while  the  family  was  slowly  starting  to  crumble .  rowland  was  struggling  more  and  more  with  what  he  had  seen  in  active  duty ,  often  having  periods  where  he  did  not  understand  where  he  was  or  who  was  around  him .  more  often ,  grace  would  leave  the  house  for  the  night  and  leave  dylan  and  gwyn  alone  with  rowland .  although  dylan  always  empathised  with  his  father  for  what  he  had  gone  through ,  his  post  traumatic  stress  was  escalating  into  more  than  just  night  terrors .  the  violent  outbursts  became  a  regular  occurrence  and  dylan  often  felt  responsible  for  ensuring  the  safety  of  his  little  sister  and  himself . 

approaching  his  high  school  graduation ,  dylan  initially  did  not  want  to  go  to  university .  he  considered  finding  a  job  locally ,  perhaps  working  for  a  gym ,  so  he  could  stay  home  and  keep  an  eye  on  the  family .  after  much  convincing  from  his  both  his  parents ,  he  ended  up  enrolling  at  the  university  of  queensland  for  a  bachelor  in  political  science  in  brisbane .

the  day  before  he  left  for  university ,  his  mother  pulled  him  aside  and  dropped  a  bombshell  on  him .  rowland  was  not  his  father .  his  father  was  a  man  by  the  name  of  haim  khouri  –  an  egyptian  businessman  she  had  met  in  italy  in  a  whirlwind  romance ,  when  she  and  rowland  had  already  been  together  for  a  while .  grace  made  him  swear  he  would  not  tell  rowland ,  fearing  for  his  mental  state .  so ,  dylan  kept  the  secret  from  rowland  and  from  his  sister . 

while  at  university  he  contacted  with  his  biological  father .  he  even  flew  out  to  tunisia ,  his  current  home ,  to  meet  him .  dylan  learnt  arabic ,  craving  to  have  a  closer  connection  to  his  paternal  side  as  he  heard  the  struggles  rowland  continued  to  endure .  after  his  bachelor  in  political  science ,  he  followed  it  up  with  a  masters'  in  journalism  at  murdoch  university  in  perth ,  unsure  what  he  wanted  in  life .  following  graduation ,  he  started  work  as  a  political  journalist  in  brisbane ,  first  written  correspondence ,  then  as  a  field  reporter  for  a  local  news  programme .  he  travelled  all  around  australia  and  didn't  get  to  visit  home  as  often  anymore .  however ,  just  after  gwyn's  16th  birthday ,  he  travelled  home  only  to  find  it  in  chaos  and  his  little  sister  covered  in  blood  and  rowland  dead  on  the  floor .

a  lot  changed  after  that .  the  case  was  dropped  and  him ,  gwyn  –  now  florence  –  and  grace  moved  to  the  us .  he  continued  his  journalism  career ,  actively  pursuing  a  path  towards  war  correspondence .  he  had  seen  how  much  war  impacted  those  around  him ,  and  studying  politics  and  international  relations ,  he  knew  that  he  needed  to  report  on  it .  not  long  after  the  move ,  he  was  off  again ,  running  around  active  warzones  and  photographing  and  reporting  on  them  for  cnn . 

late  march  2023 ,  dylan  did  not  make  his  scheduled  call .  it  took  48  more  hours  before  he  was  reported  as  missing .  the  envoy  he  had  been  travelling  in  was  stopped  for  what  was  initially  thought  to  be  a  routine  check .  instead ,  he  had  found  the  barrel  of  a  gun  pressed  to  the  back  of  his  head  and  he  was  escorted  away  by  a  terror  organisation .  he  was  not  alone .  two  fellow  correspondents ,  one  from  the  bb c,  one  independent  reporter  from  germany ,  were  also  captured .  the  first  few  months ,  they  were  used  as  a  pawn  in  negotiations  with  the  reporters'  respective  home  countries  and  countries  of  employment .  he  was  kept  in  relatively  comfortable  conditions .  his  captors  demanded  supplies ,  then  money ,  then  weapons .  the  list  never  ended  and  demands  became  too  outrageous .  by  the  time  august  rolled  around ,  it  had  been  claimed  that  all  three  of  them  had  been  assassinated .  the  governments  were  only  able  to  confirm  the  deaths  of  the  english  and  german  reporter  due  to  footage  appearing  on  the  dark  web .  in  reality ,  they  kept  him  around  and  alive  just  for  the  fun  of  torturing  him .

early  october ,  months  after  the  outcries  for  dylan's  release  had  died  down  and  the  news  had  moved  on ,  though  contact  had  remained  between  the  australian  government ,  united  states  government  and  the  terrorists  under  the  radar ,  the  home  he'd  been  kept  in  was  raided  and  he  was  released .  on  his  way  out ,  looking  rather  worse  for  wear ,  one  of  his  colleagues  from  the  cnn  captured  a  photo  of  him .  it  went  viral ,  not  because  he  had  been  presumed  dead ,  but  because  despite  his  injuries ,  despite  his  worsened  physical  and  mental  state ,  he  looked  attractive  in  the  candid  photo  and  the  internet  went  wild . 

since  his  reappearance ,  he  has  been  involved  in  talk  shows ,  podcasts &  radio  shows .  he  has  yet  to  see  a  therapist ,  despite  the  horrors  he  now  continues  to  relive  nightly .