[hachinana87]

Baahubali: The Epic (2025)

[puppyloveblog24]

[hachinana87]

[carminavulcana]

“I brought you dinner.” - Amresh and Devika, maybe?

Hi! This should have come a lot sooner… but here it is anyway. I hope you like it. 

*****

The train zoomed past vast stretches of mango groves and potato fields. Its steady rocking motion, accompanied by the roar of the track’s friction, made Devika feel rather queasy.  But on the upper berth, Amresh slept rather soundly. His legs and feet were folded rather awkwardly, and his knees jutted out of the bed’s edge. It had to be uncomfortable but for a man as large as him, there was no other way to lie down on that tiny berth. On the lower berth, a young mother sang softly to her infant son, presumably to put him to sleep.

“Moh Batuk Loguum Deg…” the woman’s voice cooed. “Shwas Khich Khich Wang-mayam… Hokus Bokus Teli Wan su Kus…”

“What language is that?” Devika whispered to the woman.

“Koshur,” the woman replied. “Kashmiri. Sorry if I was too loud.”

“No, no, it is very beautiful.”

The woman chuckled. “Thank you.”

Devika did not say anything more. A moment later, the singing continued, punctuated by Amresh’s gentle snores. But sleep did not come to her. Tired as she was, her eyes refused to close. As the view outside the window changed color, she forced herself to be hopeful. Delhi, she wanted to believe, would be good for them. A few minutes later, the singing stopped.

“Are you going to visit relatives in Delhi?” the Kashmiri mother asked Devika.

“No, we are moving to Delhi for my new job.” She answered with a smile in her voice.

“Oh, what is your job?”

“I am a chef.”

“Cook, you mean? You cook food in a hotel?”

“Yes, something like that.

“Wow, maybe you can teach me something nice to make for my son. He is always asking me to make pizza and burger and junk food at home. But his stupid mother has no such skills.”

“Devika took out a piece of paper from her purse and scribbled her number on it. “You can call me and I will tell you when I host a workshop. You can attend that.”

“Thank you,” the woman said. “By the way, my name is Tarang. My husband’s family owns a spice and dry fruit shop in INA market. Maybe you can come and buy your cooking supplies from there.”

Intrigued, Devika asked, “INA market? The market that sells imported goods?”

“Yes, the very same. Our shop is called Shakti Spice Store. Please come. If you say I referred you and that you are a cook, you will also get a 30% discount.”

“Thank you so much,” Devika said, and meant it. She didn’t know anything about Delhi, and she had only heard of the famous INA market. But now she knew a shop there where she would also get a discount. A familiar tingle filled her fingers. Perhaps her craving for pumpkin spice profiteroles would be satisfied sooner than she had expected.

*****

The car ride from the station to their new apartment took 45 minutes. The dusty, polluted Delhi air didn’t help matters.

But as expected, Amresh handled it a lot better than Devika.

“Atishoo…” Devika sneezed for the tenth time in as many minutes. “We need to go back to Nainital. I can’t take this…. This… is… Atishoo… too much for me.”

Amresh laughed.

“Get used to it… Delhi can be worse. Just wait for May-June. This is nothing.”

Their taxi driver navigated the bumps rather expertly but despite his best efforts, the jostling and jumping made Devika’s back hurt. The cacophony of honking cars at every turn and signal was murder on her ears.

“How do people live here?” she held her knees tightly as they crossed a particularly rough, broken patch of road covered in mud and trash.

“Oh, come on, Hyderabad isn’t much better,” Amresh grinned. “Delhi has its problems, but you are being mean right now.”

“Hyderabad is loads better than this.”

“I am not going to get into an argument with you now.”

Amresh leaned back and crossed his arms behind his head. Devika huffed her disagreement one final time and waited for their ride to end.

At long last, they reached their new locality, Giriraj Housing Society in Lodi Colony.

Their landlord, a portly old Sikh in his late 60s greeted them at the gate.

“Welcome, ji, welcome,” he said jovially. “Myself Balwinder Singh. We have your apartment ready for you.”

The apartment, if one could call it that, was a cramped two-room space with a kitchen so tiny that two people couldn’t stand in it at the same time. Amresh, with his 6-foot-3 frame could not stand straight in the kitchen unless he stooped his shoulders a little. The bathroom was of a similar size and the hot water tap on the sink was broken. The one on the shower did not work. A somewhat rusty heating rod hung on the back of the bathroom door but even its wire looked old, brittle, and worn out. The lighting in the entire apartment was dim. Devika flicked the switches on the switchboards only to realize that half of them were loose and didn’t work.

“What is the rent again?” she asked, visibly disappointed by what she was seeing.

“Only 12,000 a month, utilities extra,” the landlord said nonchalantly. “Best price in this area. Only ten minutes from Khan Market, Habitat Center, and Sai Temple. Heart of Delhi, ji, heart of Delhi.”

“Fine, we will take it,” she sighed. “Amresh, do you have any questions?”

“Er… how much do the utilities come to each month?” he asked.

“About 2,000… usually less if you don’t get internet.”

“Okay, well, thank you.”

“Welcome, ji. Let me know if you need anything. My number is taped to the kitchen door.” Balwinder Singh saw himself out and soon, Amresh and Devika were left alone in the apartment.

“Don’t talk to me,” she said and began unpacking the mattress. “I am taking the room on the left. You can have the one on the right.”

“Devika, I… I am sorry,” Amresh’s voice was rough. “I didn’t know it would be this bad.”

“This bad? Oh really, what did you think we would get for fucking 12,000 bucks. Heart of Delhi, my foot!”

“Look, I will get everything repaired. By this week’s end, the taps and switches will work. And we can repaint the place, liven it up a bit.”

“You liven up this rathole. I want nothing to do with it. By next month, I am moving out.”

“But I’ve already paid the rent for the first three months.”

“Then you can slum it here. I can’t.”

Amresh watched helplessly as she dumped her belongings on her bare mattress and grabbed her purse.

“I am going to my hotel. Don’t know when I will be back.”

“But… you don’t even the know the city… we… at least let me drop you there.”

“No, I can get an auto. I saw a couple waiting outside the gate. Please don’t follow me. I need some space.”

Her cheeks were flushed with anger, and her eyes moist with unshed tears. Amresh knew she meant what she said. He didn’t stop her. As the door slammed behind her, the dinginess of their new home seemed to bite away at him too. The stale mustiness that hung in the air, the cobwebs on the ceiling, and the sense of impoverishment that engulfed each nook and cranny made him want to run away too.

But he was a fighter—quite literally, even if he didn’t know it. His princess would not live in austerity again.

Despite his own tiredness after the uncomfortable train journey, the lingering stiffness in his limbs after the accident, and the emotional weight of Devika’s anger, he filled up a bucket with soapy water and got to work. 

*****

Devika entered the lobby of the Lalit with butterflies in her stomach. She wasn’t expected to join until the following Wednesday. But it couldn’t hurt to get a feel of the place. The small coffee shop towards the far end of the lobby boasted of a large selection of baked goods. Croissants, muffins, tea cakes, Danish pastries, eclairs, and a wide selection of sandwiches graced the menu. A part of her was tempted to try the caprese salad on everything bagel, but an image of Amresh’s crestfallen face floated into her mind.

She decided on a cup of black coffee and settled down to watch the going-on of the lobby.

As she sipped on her coffee, she saw tourists and guests arrive and check in. She saw groups of well-dressed Delhi elites make their way to one of the many expensive restaurants of the hotel. A pianist played classical melodies on an ivory piano stationed just next to the elevator. No one paid any mind to him except for a little girl who wanted to touch the keys for herself.

The pianist, a kind-looking Korean man, taught the child to play ‘Twinkle Twinkle,’ which she then practiced for the next five minutes.

As the day dragged on and she finished two more cups of coffee, —the last one, a latte—her mind wandered back to Amresh.

She asked herself why she was so mad at him. What had he done to earn her ire?

Well, he shouldn’t have offered to take care of the rent if this was all he could afford. Hadn’t she offered to get them a decent apartment? Why hadn’t he said anything? Was this about his bruised male ego?

Oh, she was sick of men and their pseudo-macho ways.

For his fucking pride, he expected her to tough it out in a dingy pigeonhole with no proper lighting and no hot water.

Was it right that he always expected her to suffer for his damn ego?

Where did that come from?

Unbidden, she saw flashes of herself sleeping on a rough stone floor, of her skin itching red after being bitten by ants, of her belly growling.

She shook her head to clear it.

Now was not the time for those weird, uncomfortable dreams that she hated.

She needed to go back and fix this. She checked the time on her watch. Her eyes widened as she realized that she’d been sitting in the coffee shop for over 6 hours.

A wave of remorse came over her. Her poor Amresh! He didn’t deserve her anger. Of course, he had mismanaged things. And he sucked at communicating. But he hadn’t meant to hurt her on purpose.

She called for the bill. It was almost physically painful to pay 1,200 rupees for her three coffees.

“That’s ten percent of our monthly rent,” she thought. Maybe even Amresh had a point. Delhi was an expensive city. Maybe she needed to learn a thing or two about living on little.

If he, the son of extremely wealthy parents could do it, so could she.

She hailed an auto for Lodi Colony, her new home.

This time, the cool March air gently caressed her cheeks. In the dark, Delhi came alive with the hustle and bustle of brightly lit markets, pubs, bars, and roadside eateries.

“Bhaiya, is there a place nearby where I could get some dinner packed?” she asked her autowala.

“There is a dosa place in Lodi Colony itself, madam,” he said. “Cheap and clean food. Very famous. Always full of people.”

“Perfect. Please stop there for a few minutes.”

As expected, the dosa stall was indeed crowded. It took Devika several minutes to get her order of masala idlis and Mysore dosas packed. The sweaty, hot atmosphere coupled with the thick sambhar smell reminded her a little bit of her Hyderabad days. Maybe, it would help her ease the tension with Amresh too. Also, to her utter delight, the entire meal cost her less than 300 bucks.

Ten minutes later, the auto dropped her outside the Giriraj Housing Society.

Instinct yelled at her to wrinkle her nose at the smell of rotting garbage that greeted her the moment she entered through the main gate. But steeling herself, she marched on to Building C, where her apartment was.

A ball of dread sat heavy in her belly as she stood outside the door. She didn’t knock. She gently pushed the door to see if it was open. Chances were that it would be. Amresh would never lock the door in her face.

She was right. Slowly, she opened the door and stepped in.

She sucked in a breath at what she saw.

The tiny house was bathed in the soft golden glow of fairy lights. The walls no longer had the pale distemper finish from the morning. Plain off-white paint and elegant flower motifs in pastel shades covered the walls. She noticed the brand new switch boards and three new, discreetly placed plug points. A single glance towards the kitchen and the bedrooms showed her that the entire apartment had been given a makeover in the six short hours that she’d been gone. She was sure that if she went into the bathroom, she would find it fitted with new taps and an instant geyser.

Her eyes teared over at what that meant.

Her loveable, sweet idiot!

She hated herself for ever doubting him, for ever doubting his love for her, for ever thinking that he had a male ego problem.

Careful to not make a noise, she crept into the right bedroom. Sure enough, he was sprawled on the naked mattress, surrounded by paint cans, used paint brushes, and a partially open toolkit whose contents had been stuffed in so haphazardly that it couldn’t close properly.

She knelt to see his face. His lips were slightly parted and his hair smelled faintly of sweat and varnish.

Holding back her tears, she softly tapped him on the shoulder. “Wake up, sweetheart. I brought you dinner. Let’s eat.”

“Five more minutes, please,” he mumbled and turned the other way.

Devika let out a watery little chuckle. She couldn’t deny him the five minutes, not when he looked like a 5-year-old sleeping with his mouth open.

“Okay, I will go lay the table.”

Over the next few minutes, Devika opened the containers of food and served it in the china bowls and plates they had brought back from Nainital. She was touched to see that each utensil had been washed, dried, and put in its proper place. Not a speck of dirt was to be found on any surface. The drawers and cupboards too were lined with newspaper. The spice box was filled with turmeric, red chili powder, garam masala, mustard seeds, coriander powder, salt, and sugar—all the spices his mother kept in her kitchen. The spice rack, on the other hand, was filled with bottles of dried herbs and gourmet spice blends– Sage, marjoram, tarragon, chervil, za’atar, ras el hanout, advieh, dukkah, baharat, herbes de provence, and fines herbes.  She smiled when familiar names like basil, thyme, parsley, and rosemary were not be seen anywhere. Obviously, fresh bunches of those would be in the refrigerator.

Yet again, she felt terrible about her outburst earlier. She was still a little miffed about the size of their apartment. But she couldn’t complain about its condition anymore. In almost no time, he had changed its very DNA.

Despite a strong smell of thinner and varnish, the aroma of jasmines placed in various little corners, was unmistakable.

She carried the food out to the table. She peeped into the room. He wasn’t asleep on the mattress anymore.

While she waited for him to freshen up in the bathroom, she thought of the best way to apologize to him. He would have some sweet, post-dinner TLC for dessert. She, for the first time in her life, would eat humble pie… and even more strangely, by her own free will!

@bleedinknight @heyifinallyhaveablog  @ruminationsofaraven @ratnas-musings Hope you guys like it. Tagged you here because y’all are into the modern AU.

[wolfythewitch]

Study

[sevsnapes]

Not me having 100% sure Sev cried at least the 10 first times you touch him 🥰❤️

I adore this. Tears borne of so many emotions he tries to keep buried. So I made a little list 🖤

You touch his arm during a conversation in the staff room. There are other people around, and although none of them see you do it, the atmosphere in the room changes instantly, like an electric charge. He freezes. His face turns grey and his eyes widen. He clears his throat. 'Excuse me,' he mumbles, and spins away from you, cloak billowing behind him as he flees. When he returns to his chambers, he is so overwhelmed at being touched so casually yet so tenderly, he has to bite back tears. No one ever touches him. He doesn't like being touched. But that was... pleasant? One tear slips down his cheek as he tries with all his might to focus on the pieces of his current project scattered around his desk instead.

You slip your hand into his at the end of your first date. His fingers wrap tightly around yours in an instant and he thinks your hand feels as though it was made to fit his. His jaw clenches. He manages to get back to the castle without showing you how overcome with relief he is that the time you spent with him was enjoyable enough for you to want to hold his hand. When you depart one another's company with the promise of another date, a sob erupts from his chest as he holds out his hand in front of him. He can still feel your touch there even now, tingling pleasantly over his flesh. He clothes it to his chest and let's the tears fall. You want to see him again. You want to see him again.

You embrace him as a greeting at the start of your next date, and his eyes well up. You very definitely still want to see him - and touch him! - after your last date. He wipes at his eyes before pulling away from you, hoping you don't notice how a simple hug overwhelmed him so much.

When you arrive back at the castle, he escorts you to your chambers. He isn't expecting an invitation inside, but he can tell you have something on your mind. You step a little closer to him and he doesn't step back. You feel his hot breath against your cheeks, and you bring a hand up, running a finger down the first few buttons of his frock coat as your eyes travel to his lips. The feeling of your touch at his throat and down his chest makes him gasp. His lip trembles. He manages to keep it in, but he is feeling... a lot.

As your lips touch his, his whole world comes to a sudden, jarring standstill. That is, except for the single tear sliding over his cheek, because he may finally know the feeling of closeness. You step back, positively beaming, and open you door with a playful, 'See you tomorrow, Sev,' and h estates after you in awe. He strides back to his chambers so briskly that any students around this part of the castle wouldn't dare interrupt him. He bursts into his rooms and breaks down in a heap on the floor, smiling almost maniacally as joyous tears stream down his face.

When you return to the castle after your third date, you actually do invite him into your chambers and his breath hitches in his throat. He's nervous, not sure what you'll expect of him but hungry for more of your touch. Anxiety that he will mess everything up somehow is coursing through his veins. When you lead him to your sofa and tentatively initiate another kiss, you gently push him to laying and crawl on top of him, your hands travelling to tangle in his soft hair. As you press your body to his, moaning into his mouth, your fingers scrape so sensually over his scalp that his eyes begin to water without him even realising. Your touch, the weight of you on him, your scent - you're intoxicating.

NSFW

7. As making out becomes a regular occurrence, it isn't long before you begin exploring a little further. The first time your hand snakes beneath the layers of his frock coat and undershirt to unfasten his trousers and slip inside, he cums in one minute flat. The guttural groan that forces itself from his lungs is followed by a trembling sob of bliss and relief and an odd sense of satisfaction mingles with embarrassment.

8. When you guide him to touch you, your soft hand teaching his long fingers to pleasure you, he memorises every sound, every flicker of bliss on your face. When you cum, he's awed by your beauty in that moment, but also by how he managed to cause you that much pleasure. The next morning in the shower, his hand slips down to ease the pressure of his achingly hard cock; he's dreamt of you all night, waking with an erection pressed into the mattress due to the memory of your hand on his as he stimulated you to orgasm, and so easily too, like he already somehow knew your body before you shared it with him. A strange mixture of guilt and gratification wash over him as he cums hard, his seed dripping down the tiles as he cries in disbelief, tears dropping down the drain with the rest of the water.

9. He slips his cock into you with a hiss. It feels so good, so tight, so warm to be buried inside you. He fucks you slowly to begin with, then hard and fast and desperate as the bed rocks and creaks beneath you. When he cums inside you for the first time, his orgasm arrives with a side of tears. He's overwhelmed in the best way possible; safe and loved and cared for. He's shared himself with you. He can be vulnerable with you. It's bliss.

10. The first time you give him a blow job, he writhes in his chair, the feeling like no other he's ever experienced. He grips onto the seat so tightly that his knuckles turn white and his moans are loud and sinful the second your lips part and you slide your tongue over his length. Tears of desperation prickle at his eyes as he tries not to cum too soon, like the first time you touched him here; he's built up stamina since then but it's so hard when he is so hard and needy and buried in your warm, sucking, lapping mouth.

[alwayssevvy]

Why am I crying too?! 😭

Ma’am this is top-tier content. Amazing as always. 🥹😭🖤

[gojomegumi]

Snape: this is fine

[ygreczed-hp]

Harry and Hedwig ❤️

[textrovert-01]

❤

[lilbeanz]

*ugly sobbing* it's beautiful 😭❤🤍💛

[fuwaprince]

US Helplines:

Depression Hotline: [phone]

Suicide Hotline: [phone]

LifeLine: 1-800-273-8255

Trevor Project: 1-866-488-7386

Sexuality Support: 1-800-246-7743

Eating Disorders Hotline: [phone]

Rape and Sexual Assault: 1-800-656-4673

Grief Support: 1-650-321-5272

Runaway: 1-800-843-5200, 1-800-843-5678, 1-800-621-4000

Exhale: After Abortion Hotline/Pro-Voice: 1-866-4394253

Child Abuse: 1-800-422-4453

UK Helplines:

Samaritans (for any problem): 08457909090 e-mail [email protected]

Childline (for anyone under 18 with any problem): 08001111

Mind infoline (mental health information): 0300 123 3393 e-mail: [email protected]

Mind legal advice (for people who need mental-health related legal advice): 0300 466 6463 [email protected]

b-eat eating disorder support: 0845 634 14 14 (only open Mon-Fri 10.30am-8.30pm and Saturday 1pm-4.30pm) e-mail: [email protected]

b-eat youthline (for under 25’s with eating disorders): 08456347650 (open Mon-Fri 4.30pm - 8.30pm, Saturday 1pm-4.30pm)

Cruse Bereavement Care: 08444779400 e-mail: [email protected]

Frank (information and advice on drugs): 0800776600

Drinkline: 0800 9178282

Rape Crisis England & Wales: 0808 802 9999 1(open 2 - 2.30pm 7 - 9.30pm) e-mail [email protected]

Rape Crisis Scotland: 08088 01 03 02 every day, 6pm to midnight

India Self Harm Hotline: [phone]

India Suicide Helpline: 022-27546669

Kids Help Phone (Canada): 1-800-668-6868

FREE 24/7 suicide hotlines:

Argentina: 54-0223-493-0430

Australia: 13-11-14

Austria: 01-713-3374

Barbados: 429-9999

Belgium: 106

Botswana: 391-1270

Brazil: 21-233-9191

China: 852-2382-0000

(Hong Kong: 2389-2222)

Costa Rica: 606-253-5439

Croatia: 01-4833-888

Cyprus: 357-77-77-72-67

Czech Republic: 222-580-697, 476-701-908

Denmark: 70-201-201

Egypt: 762-1602

Estonia: 6-558-088

Finland: 040-5032199

France: 01-45-39-4000

Germany: 0800-181-0721

Greece: 1018

Guatemala: 502-234-1239

Holland: 0900-0767

Honduras: 504-237-3623

Hungary: 06-80-820-111

Iceland: 44-0-8457-90-90-90

Israel: 09-8892333

Italy: 06-705-4444

Japan: 3-5286-9090

Latvia: 6722-2922, 2772-2292

Malaysia: 03-756-8144

(Singapore: 1-800-221-4444)

Mexico: 525-510-2550

Netherlands: 0900-0767

New Zealand: 4-473-9739

New Guinea: 675-326-0011

Nicaragua: 505-268-6171

Norway: 47-815-33-300

Philippines: 02-896-9191

Poland: 52-70-000

Portugal: 239-72-10-10

Russia: 8-20-222-82-10

Spain: 91-459-00-50

South Africa: 0861-322-322

South Korea: 2-715-8600

Sweden: 031-711-2400

Switzerland: 143

Taiwan: 0800-788-995

Thailand: 02-249-9977

Trinidad and Tobago: 868-645-2800

Ukraine: 0487-327715

(Source)

[uie-deactivated20230402]

ALWAYS REBLOG WHEN YOU SEE SOMETHING LIKE THIS PLEASE; ITS SO MUCH MORE THAN IMPORTANT TO PEOPLE. IT MEANS EVERYTHING TO SOMEBODY AND EVEN THOUGH YOU MIGHT NOT SEE THIS IN THE SAME LIGHT, SOMEONE MIGHT. INFACT YOU REBLOGGING THIS COULD STOP SOMEONE TAKING THEIR LIFE TONIGHT.

[kitten--aesthetics-blog]

I noticed there isn’t one here for Ireland, so

Irish free suicide helpline: 01-116 123

[thescientificviolist]

last time i reblogged this, i got this ask:

so please, please reblog. this could actually save a life.

[void-of-erebos]

@everyone

[dean-winchester-is-a-warrior]

So incredibly important! I noticed there are no Canadian numbers, so here is for my fellow Canadians:

Always Keep Fighting. And please, never hesitate to message me or send me an ask anonymously or not, if you’re ever struggling. I’m not a professional, but I can point you in the right direction and I’m ALWAYS happy to listen. ❤️

[basically-deactivated55-deactiv]

I looked through the notes and reblogs to find a couple more numbers for anyone who might not have their country listed, knowing some of these might get buried in the notes.

I may not know you, but if you are suffering my heart goes out to you. Know you are loved ❤️

[anonymouse-the-asian-deactivate]

1*) 18001567 for vietnam

1) https://ibpf.org/resource/list-international-suicide-hotlines

2) https://www.iasp.info/resources/Crisis_Centres/

3) https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/List_of_suicide_crisis_lines

I can only find this much rn, but know that you are loved, buddy - the last thing to remain in Pandora’s box is hope.

[these-conquered-woodlands]

circa 2022:

minerva: severus is a liar.

albus: i mean he's a spy, it's literally his job-

minerva: not what i meant, dingbat.

minerva: i texted him a meme and he replied, "lmfao" from the other room.

minerva: i hear no laughing.

minerva: i hear no arse hitting the floor.

[sneverussape]

snapetober 2022 - hidden injury

—

“is he dead?”

“for merlin’s sake…draco! you mustn’t touch him! he might be cursed!”

“professor!”

“first diggory, then potter, and now professor snape—!”

“parkinson, stop crying this instant, you’ll bring the bloody baron round!”

“he’s breathing, isn’t he? oh circe, oh merlin, mordred, and morgana…”

“it must be some sort of hidden injury…i saw him stumbling on the way back from the forest.…”

“you don’t think it’s—mummy wrote me yesterday that…you know…it was tonight.”

“you mean…”

“but why would the Dark Lord want to hurt him? he’s one of us! it doesn’t make sense!”

“pansy, you great bloody cow, keep your voice down!”

“but he…if the Dark Lord came back like potter said…and i know my parents had written about…well. something hinting at it. why would he…why would he hurt professor snape? what about…what about our parents?”

“…”

“…you lot, shut it. i’m trying to listen to professor snape’s breathing.”

“it’s the cruciatus, i’m sure of it. see how he’s shaking?”

“there’s no cure for the cruciatus!”

“i know, nott, shut up. listen, we’ll bring him to his office to lie down properly, and wexler and i will keep an eye on him until the breakfast bell. if it gets worse, i’ll send for pomfrey.”

“leggy, you couldn’t!”

“she’s a slytherin! of all people she’d be the most help, and she can keep our secrets far better than the old coot of a headmaster…here, malfoy, give the professor some room, will you? wipe his face…good man.”

“i could have sent for the elves at the manor…to help…but…”

“no, if the Dark Lord did this…it’s not safe. just make sure the professor’s warm. we’ll move him in a bit.”

“leggy, you really think…do you think…”

“shut it. never breathe a word of it outside of this room, any of you, you hear? for now, we will watch and listen. if the Dark Lord is back, and is responsible for this…one thing’s for sure…we take care of our own, understand? within hogwarts.”

“including professor snape.”

“especially professor snape.”

“enough now, leggy. zabini, shuffle over here and give us a hand. steady the professor while i levitate him. malfoy, scoot over. who was the swot that keeps breaking the wards on the professor’s office?”

“i did. just yesterday. it was pretty difficult that time. the professor was pleased, i think.”

“walk ahead of us and get it ready. mind your wand movements, hear?”

“i’m not a bloody first year, wexler. i heard you spent a month in the infirmary when you first tried to break the wards.”

“better you than me. now get a move on. i don’t want to use too much magic on the professor while he’s still…unwell.”

“malf—you aren’t coming to stay up with us. you’re a bloody fourth year. the professor will have our heads!”

“i don’t care, i’m coming. he’s my godfather. he wouldn’t dare fail me in potions for this.”

“no but he’ll give you detention for skipping curfew intentionally. you lot should have been in bed hours ago.”

“just walk, leggy, so we can set the professor down and let him rest. he can yell at me when he wakes…and i hope it’ll be soon.”

“on your own head be it— oh, merlin. greengrass you did not just melt his office door.”

“we’ll you did tell me to get it open.”

“the rest of you lot get back to bed before i assign you all detention with trelawney and hagrid. we’ll let you know how the professor is later. and none of you better be late for breakfast because of this or i’m assigning you all additional latin translations.”

[aprofoundrickmaniac]

@turtlewexlerapologist a wexler in here!

[chiribomb-deactivated20220820]

Done! At last!

[i-will-steal-your-intestines]

It looks amazing! Very Snape-y.

(love your phone cover btw, so cool)

[snaddy-issues]

😍😍😍

[these-conquered-woodlands]

snape temporarily kidnapping mcgonagall:

[gothicprep]

why is your cat green?

She’s built different 😌

[gothicprep]

Look i tried to laugh it off, but I haven’t stopped thinking about this message because… my cat literally isn’t green

like where is the green

[gothicprep]

Oh Christ

[sapropel]

This is the color your cat is

[lazygravez]

colors i eyedropped directly from op’s cat

[cheeseanonioncrisps]

I drew a tree using only colours eyedropped from OP’s cat.

[karakats]

every time i see this post all i see is some green alien kitty with antennae so i had to draw it

[bogleech]

I originally thought those were supposed to be mushrooms, implying that this cat is moldy

[tanuki-pyon]

Moldy forest cat

[gothicprep]

i’m happy y'all made fan art of my cat. i tried to show her and she just rubbed her face on my phone

[somesnapefan-deactivated2022090]

“Oh I HATE children, just not my own”

-Severus snape

[acrowingotham]

i like the hc that severus is actually very nice to the slytherins, and since most of them have strict and not very loving parents they all see severus as their father figure and defend him when someone from another house insults him.

I mean, all slytherins are a bunch of kids with daddy issues, just like we the snapedom.

[galbalmuhet]

Yes, my love ❤

[juanasunfall-blog]

This is the motivation I need.

[echoofawind]

For @aprofoundrickmaniac as they start more school!! Proud of you ❤️❤️❤️❤️

[aprofoundrickmaniac]

Oh my @echoofawind thank you love!!

[smilingformoney]

Harry Potter characters and their reactions to covid

James

Doesn’t believe in covid. Continues going around maskless, doesn’t stay at home, pretends to have asthma when someone asks about his mask.

Sirius

Believes it’s real but doesn’t think it’s that serious. Says “it’s just a bad flu.” Isn’t opposed to wearing a mask but frequently forgets.

Remus

Caught covid early on. Suffers from long covid.

Peter

Gave Remus covid.

Snape

Wears a mask even just to take the bins out. Hasn’t been seen without plastic gloves on since 2019. Carries around a two-metre-long stick and pokes people who don’t socially distance.

Hermione

The same as Snape, minus the stick. Frequently yells at people for not wearing their mask. Makes passive aggressive posts on the neighbourhood Facebook page about people not following the guidelines.

Harry

Tries to follow the guidelines, but finds it all very confusing. Wears his mask backwards and upside down.

Ron

Wears his mask under his nose.

Neville

Hasn’t left the house since March 2020 because his grandmother is vulnerable.

Dumbledore

Reluctantly put his staff on furlough and took them off it as soon as he could. Will not adapt to home working.

Draco

Got his vaccine early because Father has connections. Thought he was invincible after he got the first jab. Caught covid one week before his second jab was scheduled.

[zephahhhh]

Snape saw the way Harry wears his mask and sighs heavily before giving him an hours long lecture about it