Moons, Relaaaax. I Know You're In Love With Me. It's Okay. *whispers* Just Feeeel It. --James

Fleur is Online!

Rita: Fleur, is it true that you were romantically involved with Clarisse Martin in school? And that you dated a few other girls throughout your time as a Beauxbatons student?

Rita: ...

Rita: My, my, isn’t this a riveting revelation, dear readers?

Rita: Why, haven’t you loved girls?

Rita: Then isn’t it self-explanatory, dear? My readers are going to be stunned and starving for all the nitty-gritty details. Does your husband know?

Rita: Well, you are married to a man...

Rita: Don’t get defensive! The people just get what they want, and what they want, I give. You’re bisexual and married to a man; some may find it curious.

tonks, what happened? you can tell me.

She's a badass

Hamlet but during all of his soliloquies he rolls around like Draco Malfoy in A Very Potter Musical

This Is How They Die

Marlene dies fighting.

It’s in her blood, after all, all the curses and bolts of light, people collapsing all around her. She’s always been a fighter, ever since she was young, always started wars when there was too much peace, always finished fights before they ended.

She knows she’s doomed even before they come through the door, knows that there are too many of them, too many of them, blocking the doors, the windows, pressing forward until she’s trapped in the kitchen with the wall to her back. She can hear them, the footsteps, the exited murmurs as they realize that we’ve caught McKinnon, we’ve caught the Ghost, and she knows she’s about to die.

She’s always promised herself that she would go out with no regrets, that she would live life like the world was ending, and no, no it didn’t feel long enough and her time was running out. She was on the last seconds of it now; the door creaking open, the footsteps on the floor, the wild tolling of her heart, counting the seconds down until her death.

And she does have a regret, just one, one mistake in her 20 years of life. One thing she wishes she could change, one thing she wishes she could alter.

Dorcas, she thinks, and then she blows the house apart.

~

Benjy dies laughing.

All the cracked stones settling around him, bloodied bits of broken people lying around him. He’s always been good with his hands - traps and magic combined together and he knows it isn’t enough.

He’s always thought about dying, in that morbid, curious way. What it would feel like; slowly sinking into darkness, bright lights at the end of a tunnel. Angel wings and darkened talons, clawing and gnawing and biting and he’s not ready to die.

He doesn’t want to die.

All the dyed hair, shades of flashing green and blue and pink. All the piercings in his ears, all the denim jackets and leather boots and shorts that were far too high up his ass. All the nights he spent in the clubs, hundreds of strangers, the taste of vodka in his mouth and it all rushes past in an instant.

And he won’t run anymore, run from his past, his parents, run from the Death Eaters that were now advancing up the alleyway. He doesn’t even bother to lift his wand, just looks over his shoulder, eyebrows raised, a beatific smirk pasted onto his face.

He’s still laughing when the Death Eaters drop dead, the hidden tripwire slicing across their necks, the curses looking like fireworks, and Benjy is still laughing when the jets hit his body.

~

Mary dies quietly.

She was the angel in a field of death, lives passing through her fingers like water. Countless wounds bandaged, bones set, shrapnel dug out of bleeding skin with bleeding fingers, pyres burning like boats on a river.

She never wanted to fight, in a war far older then her. She’s never lived in a world without it.

But she’s seen too many dead bodies now, too many rigid hands, too many haunted eyes. She’s sat with people - people who knew they were dying and people who thought that they weren’t, people who struggled to live and people who were already dead.

And if she has the chance, the breath of a possibility to save someone then she would. Because how many of those people would change, would grow, would heal the already damaged world? She’s never known a world without war, but she hopes she someday will.

So she doesn’t see the jets, flying above her head like lances. She doesn’t see the one that careens towards her turned back. She doesn’t hear the shouting, the shouting, the yelling.

All she sees are Emmeline’s eyes, widening in shock, her hand still grabbing onto the bandage at her wrist before Mary topples over.

~

Fabian and Gideon die together.

They’re always together, after all. 11 years old, learning all their spells. 12 years old, copying off each other’s homework - Gideon did Potions and Fabian did charms. 13 years old, learning how to fly.

They’ve always known each other so well - could cast spells twice as strong using the other’s wands, could fly in sync, eyes closed, could finish each other’s sentences even when they weren’t in the same room.

When Fabian fell off his broom in 4th year, snapping his wrist and breaking his bones, Gideon felt the cracking. When Gideon was in the hospital wing, vomiting his guts out after getting splashed with a potion, Fabian was right by his side. When Fabian started cutting, lines and gashes and scars, Gideon held onto his shoulders, begged him to stop because he couldn’t live in a world without his brother. When Gideon passed out, lying on the ground drunk out of his mind Fabian clutched his arm, please wake up, don’t leave me.

Gideon was there when Fabian kissed Kingsley, and Fabian was there when Gideon whispered that maybe he didn’t need anyone, that maybe he didn’t like anyone like that.

So they clutch each other’s hands, fight back-to-back like they always did, but in the end there are too many of them.

The last thing that they both think as they sag to the ground is that at least I don’t have to live in a world without him.

~

Dorcas dies sobbing.

Time. That’s all she wanted, all she needed and it was the one thing she couldn’t have.

She’s always been careful, meticulous, always counted the seconds and the minutes and the hours. Days upon days, weeks upon weeks, always treated her future like it was the present. Always logical, always calm, always planning 3 steps ahead because she was so afraid she’d trip and fall.

And suddenly it didn’t matter anymore. All the studying, all the planning, everything that had secured her future and she didn’t need it anymore because she’d never reach it, would she? She’d never grow up, dye her hair pink like she always wanted to, buy a house like she always wanted to, marry Marlene like she always wanted to. Wishes, hundreds of them, swirling around her like ghosts. 

And she can see it, fading away, like sand slipping through her hands, blowing away in the wind. She can see it, her life, gone in an instant.

And she’s not brave, not like Marlene. She’s terrified, of death and the unknown, of leaving this Earth and all she can do is pray that she’ll find another world, something bigger, something better.

Dorcas kneels on the ground, head bowed, tears streaming from her eyes, and she doesn’t try to run when the blast starts.

I hope Avengers sometimes go to Strange like “I need your help” and he’s like “What’s wrong? Skrulls? Hydra?” and they’re like “I’m congested and it hurts when I swallow.”

Meirl

Bored and Lovesick

(OOC: First time ever cosplaying everyone’s favorite lovesick idiot❤️)