Charlie had shown her the dragons for the first time with a flourish of his hands and an expansive grin. He had been proud and she hadn’t had the heart to tell how dark and threatening she found them. He had snuck her into the Triwizard arena and she had felt small and insignificant, wrapped in a fraying invisibility cloak and clutching his arm.

They had scared her… terrified her. Paralyzed, stock still, rooted to the spot, just staring at something so large and destructive that there was nothing she could possibly do, alone, to stop it. The burns and scratches on his skin - even the deep, dark welts of a bite mark - did nothing to calm her, and only served to exacerbate her nerves.

But he had looked around so ravenously - eager to drink in every detail. She had been fascinated by the sight of him looking so excited, embarking upon something so intimidating, and so she encouraged him and supported him. Her smile threatened to split her cheeks, and she wanted desperately to change into someone else.

Their relationship had always been full of laughter and jokes, arguing about Quidditch or planning pranks. He had always existed within certain limits - never had she come to him with her problems: she had other friends for that, ones that would know exactly what to say in response to her crying. But those friends were long gone, the years proving themselves too lasting for their feeble friendship to survive. Charlie was one of the few left.

But there, standing in front of the dragons, he saw him as she were standing at the end of a long tunnel, somewhere out of reach. She had taken a leap behind his eyes and saw flames.

Tonks finally had some sense of the scale of his mind.

recommendations from event 5

clementine, by aphoride
- such a beautiful bill/fleur story that really humanises fleur, showing a more sensitive and insecure side to her using wonderful description and lovely imagery

reminders, by faerieall
- a moving little one-shot about seamus/lavender post-war, with beautiful description and concise writing that still conveys emotion and backstory and everything

all black and full of bones, by evil little devil
- luna is perfectly characterised in this short little fic about her and a thestral. the writing and execution is spot on, and it offers an interesting take on thestrals

your enemy is sleeping, by gubraithianfire
- black sisters! greek mythology! gubby writing! everything you would want from a story tbh, just go and check it out

aftermath, by maraudertimes
- i’m not even sure i should be letting other people read this totally heartbreaking fic, but i think the tears are worth it. seriously, i would go ahead and read it. everything, from the emotions and the action to the backstory, is handled and written in such a beautiful, realistic way

Your voice sounds completely different in different languages. It alters your personality somehow. I don’t think people get the same feeling from you. The rhythm changes. Because the rhythm of the language is different, it changes your inner rhythm and that changes how you process everything.

When I hear myself speak French, I look at myself differently. Certain aspects will feel closer to the way I feel or the way I am and others won’t. I like that—to tour different sides of yourself. I often find when looking at people who are comfortable in many languages, they’re more comfortable talking about emotional stuff in a certain language or political stuff in another and that’s really interesting, how people relate to those languages.
— François Arnaud, for Interview Magazine (via gilbertnorrell)

It’s so difficult to describe depression to someone who’s never been there, because it’s not sadness. I know sadness. Sadness is to cry and to feel. But it’s that cold absence of feeling— that really hollowed-out feeling.
— J.K. Rowling (via wordsnquotes)

the unwashed jar

this remains my favourite fanfic eva

at night's end: house cup entry 2014

soooo as part of the house cup over on hpff forums, one of the challenges was to write a short one-shot with inspiration from one of three prompts. i chose ‘write about a friendship to remember that fraternal bonds can last an eternity’ and decided to resurrect an old plunny i had about ollivander and luna (originally it was going to be told from luna’s pov and it would have taken place at ollivander’s funeral). it fits into the canon somewhere at some point - after ollivander leaves shell cottage and stays at muriel’s to recuperate.

so here it is - a very haphazard and flowery one-shot about ollivander making a new wand for luna as a sign of his friendship. ignore the rather pretentious descriptions of dawn light and the number of commas, i haven’t written anything in a very long time.


The magic is tangible, sentient. Ollivander could harness it, steal it from the air and shoot sparks with it, but instead he marvels at it. Obscure and unfathomable, even he does not dare boast of knowing all its secrets; however, he can control it, exploit it, force it into a discernible shape, some usable force, through skill and scholarship.



Quick 50 Writing Tools - Roy Peter Clark 

Some good info on here.

She professes her faith, with her husband standing close and holding their baby tight in his arms. The long white skirt of the child’s robe dares to touch the surface of the water in the stone basin, and Isobel admires the ripples as the prayer and proclamations continue on.

She stares out at the congregation, at their expectant faces. They dared to judge and jeer at her daughter, at her daughter’s name. Minerva. Far too interesting and far too powerful for their small and vapid minds. The minister finishes speaking, and she sees their faces turn from grins, from smiles of delight, into masks of shock, of confusion, as her daughter is touched by the water that now runs red.

He that believeth and is baptized shall be saved; but he that believeth not shall be damned.”

And the choir begins to sing, but it cannot hide the chatter and whispers of the villagers, of her friends and enemies. The murmurs are infused with rumours and suspicion, of the mysterious lights from the manse, of the child that can turn water into wine.

Dystopian worlds have become very popular lately. Whether it is Revolution, Falling Skies, The Walking Dead or Defiance, the one thing they all have in common is straight, cisgender, able bodied White male leadership. This suggests that at the end of the day, no matter the circumstance White masculinity represents authority, logic, safety, and intelligence. People of colour and women are often relegated to side characters who week after week submit to this authority and often times appear to be grateful for it. It is no accident that the White male is so revered in dystopians. It plays upon the idea that White straight masculinity is a declining power because of resistance by women, people of colour and of course GLBT people. It suggests that there will come a time when nature will correct itself and once again White men will rule the world, as though that is not the current situation and further; the world will be grateful for it.

Dystopians: The Leadership of Cis, Straight, White, Able-Bodied Men

(via avioletmind)


WEAK give me dystopias where marginalized people thrive because they have more experience living with fear and the threat of violence give me dystopias where double conciousness becomes even more of a valuable survival skill give me dystopias where cis white able bodied men die sooner and in greater numbers survival in nightmarsish societies where you are the bottom of the food chain is not something that has or ever will belong to straight cis …able bodied white men straight white abled cis masculinity is not psychologically geared for survival

ho shiiiiiiiit gimme gimme gimme post-apocalyptic worlds in which zombies only hunt humans demonstrating certain behavioral cues and releasing pheromones that convey aggression (like how horses can “sense” untrained riders). so that the survivors are the code-switchers, the disenfranchised who’ve learned from an early age how to modify their behavior to suit a hostile social space.

{the zombies are preferable to the cisgender able-bodied straight white men, bc the zombies actually leave you alone}

(via squintyoureyes)

One of the handiest screenwriting tips I’ve ever encountered is a quote from Russell T Davies in a book about the making of Doctor Who.

“Dialogue is just two monologues clashing,” he said. “That’s my Big Theory. It’s true in life – never mind drama. Everyone is always, always thinking about themselves. It’s kind of impossible to do otherwise.”

It’s good advice because it feels right: the reason a lot of soap opera dialogue is unrealistic is that, unlike real people, the characters actually listen to each other. You’d think this would make Albert Square more harmonious, but of course it has the opposite effect, thanks to their other glaringly implausible habit of expressing their innermost emotions out loud, instead of anxiously suppressing them like any self-respecting human wreck.


writing sMUT LIKE




when you write a sentence and it rhymes


why does the picture make perfect sense


fanfiction should be taken a lot more seriously as literature. True, some of it isn’t really excellent writing and some is just smut but let me tell you i have read some fics that are beautifully well done and turned my life upside down and legitimately gave me feelings for days and if that’s not real literature then what is