beauty found within

[hookumiisms-blog]

scorpio: what's your most kept secret?

“If I said it, then it wouldn’t really be much of a secret, would it?”

[hookumiisms-blog]

midheaven: what do you want to be when you grow up?

“A writer. Always a writer. Though I suppose happy might be a good answer these days, too.”

[hookumiisms-blog]

pisces: how frequently do you remember your dream?

“More often than I would care admitting to.”

[hookumiisms-blog]

placement asks

sun: what makes you feel like you?

moon: do you have problem with trust?

rising: how/what do people say you come off as?

midheaven: what do you want to be when you grow up?

venus: do you flirt more knowingly or unknowingly?

mars: when was the last time you got mad and why?

mercury: who's your go-to person when you need to talk?

jupiter: when was the last time you got lucky?

saturn: what are you the weakest and strongest at?

uranus: are you rebellious and do you act upon it frequently?

neptune: what was your best dream and why?

pluto: what is your biggest aspiration and why?

lilith: what's your biggest turn on in someone?

aries: what's your favorite sport to play?

taurus: are you a dog or cat person?

gemini: are you introverted or extroverted?

cancer: when was the last time you cried and why?

leo: what makes you the most confident?

virgo: what's your strongest subject in school?

libra: what's your favorite make up brand?

scorpio: what's your most kept secret?

sagittarius: do you like to party?

capricorn: what's the last book you've read?

aquarius: do you believe in aliens?

pisces: how frequently do you remember your dream?

[hookumiisms-blog]

starter call;

I was going to ramble on for a bit, but decided against it. despite my better judgment not to post another one of these for awhile, I could probably use a few more threads for Daisy, so if you’re interested just like this post and I’ll see what I can come up with.

[msjessicaday]

[meanwhilepoetry]

First admit that you are unhappy. Then admit why. Then understand you need to let go. Allow yourself a moment. Breathe in the moment deeply. Then the healing will begin.

Nikita Gill, How to Start Healing (via meanwhilepoetry)

[hookumiisms-blog]

greta:

The smile on the other girl’s face was enough to soothe any worries she might have had about simply dropping by rather than calling ahead but then Daisy always had that effect on her. Despite being so incredibly warm and kind, there was something so very calming about the redhead’s company that allowed Greta to mellow and take things ever so slightly slower when she usually bubbled over with excitement and enthusiasm. It wasn’t so much that she felt the need to be quiet around her or that Daisy wouldn’t appreciate her exuberance, more that she didn’t feel as though she needed to be so full of energy to spend time with her and still enjoy it and that in itself was perhaps one of the most relaxing ways she could choose to pass a day when time on her own was spent throwing herself into whatever distraction made itself most readily available.

Grief was something she knew all too well and while she didn’t know what it must be like having to deal with the loss of parents, she did know what it felt like to lose someone who was a huge part of you and not feel quite whole without them. So after giving Daisy some space, she had decided that it was time to start being there for the younger girl - letting her know that she had a shoulder to cry on if needed or that she was well versed in being a distraction if that was what worked better. Even just someone to be around her so she didn’t have to deal with her own thoughts alone. Greta had been lucky enough to be surrounded by amazing friends when Max had died but even then it had been easy to retreat into herself and it was something she wanted the redhead to know that she didn’t have to do.

Another warm smile is sent Daisy’s way after they release each other from their embrace. “Well that was my aim so I’m glad it’s not too much trouble.” Surprises were something she loved and when she rarely planned and often acted solely on impulse or spontaneity, it meant that she found herself giving people them more than intended. Wiggling the box in her hands slightly, Greta holds it out to her, rather proud of the little creations that lay within when she’d finally perfected her spell to make them look just like the flowers that had inspired them. “I did bring you a few cakes, freshly baked today.”  Walking into the house, the brunette pauses after a few steps to wait and see which room she’ll be shown to, finding some topic to ask about before silence grew too loud. “Did you do any writing while you were away?”

Her mother always liked to claim that Daisy very much mirrored the sun. Her presence could often bring warmth and light into a space, beauty incarnate. Not that, of course, she could admit that. The sun was a bright, steady ball that created warmth and did so much to help create life. And here was Daisy; small, fragile, timid Daisy. In comparison to something so powerful, it felt impossible to believe that she was anything to look for. Because where the sky was full of beauty and power, she was but a spec; something that loved with everything inside of her. But in the grand scheme of things, she wasn’t anything truly special. Just a girl, who didn’t seem to do much but get in the way. If she were to ever vanish, it would surely have vastly less impact than if the sun were to vanquish into another continum. Daisy was certain, of course, that Benjy and Gladys, and the like - even Ted and Dora - would surely be fine. Sad, for a spell, perhaps. But otherwise, it was difficult to see them being moved by her absence.

Until, of course, she was in the presence of people like Greta. Those who were genuine warmth and kindness personified for all the world to see. When people of pure goodness such as the woman before her now managed to exist, the light Daisy was often said to had seemed less. Maybe not in the ways people may measure money, but in other ways. It was comforting to know people like Greta existed, especially in the current state of things, with life hanging on such a precarious edge, encapsulated by a cloud of tainted magic. Living in Hogwarts for so many years, being the person that she was, magic had always been good. A bright, beautiful sort of buzzing air that could only be tarnished when people took it too seriously. Maybe that was being too naive of her, it surely wouldn’t be the first time. But she could hope. Even if not, that beautiful, calming cloak of magic was tainted grey, a stain that would very likely never be removed. 

An already kind smile spread further onto Daisy’s face at Greta’s words. “It’s no trouble at all. Really, I could use the company.” She admitted, stepping further into her flat, the small grey kitten - not so small these days - winding between her ankles in his usual fashion. “Oh, they’re beautiful and surely delicious, but you didn’t have to do that for me. Thank you though, very much. I’m sure they’ll be wonderful.” Light eyes shone warmly with the words, heading aimlessly toward the kitchen, without much thought. Her kettle was already warming as it was, if there was any chance Greta might want tea, she wanted to be ready. “I’ve done a bit.” She admitted, her smile growing sheepish now, “none that’s any good, probably, but it’s--- it’s been cathartic, all things considered.”

[hookumiisms-blog]

Daisy Hookum: a Character Study

[thegardenof-eden-deactivated201]

If they had a kid meme

[cassandraisgone]

andrealebonair:

vikingxtatia:

vvildwolf:

send me a pair name and I’ll tell you what I think it would be like if they had a child.

Name:

Gender:

General Appearance:

Personality:

Special Talents:

Who they like better:

Who they take after more:

Personal Head canon:

Face Claim:

[hookumiisms-blog]

3, 6, 9!

3. When did they lose their virginity?

She hasn’t. 

6. What is a deal-breaker when it comes to dating someone?

Considering she’s never dated, Daisy doesn’t know much of what she could take, but arrogance. Or cruelty. She definitely couldn’t handle that. 

9. What chronic illnesses does your muse have, if any?

Already answered!

[hookumiisms-blog]

9, 50, 37, 22

9. What chronic illnesses does your muse have, if any? 

None! She’s fortunate enough to be perfectly healthy.

22. What is your muse most thankful for?

The fact she managed to build herself a family again, with Ted and Dora, and that Benjy and Gladys, and her other friends haven’t let her lose herself yet.

37. Did your muse ever own a Tamagatchi?

She did not. 

50. If your muse could rid the world of one thing, what would it be?

Hate -- a loaded wish, I know. She can’t help it, she’s almost fatally optimistic and thinks everything would be better if nobody could hate anyone.

[rpmemestbh]

50 oddly specific headcanon asks.

Send me a number! (some slightly nsfw) || specify muse if needed

How does your muse feel about seafood?

What is their favorite piece of technology?

When did they lose their virginity?

Was their anything their parents pushed them to do? (e.g. sports, theatre, band)

Describe your muse’s worst nightmare.

What is a deal-breaker when it comes to dating someone?

What was the most embarrassing moment in your muse’s life?

What keeps your muse up at night?

What chronic illnesses does your muse have, if any?

Does your muse get carsick?

Does your muse wear glasses/contacts?

What are some warning signs that your muse is getting depressed? 

What is your muse’s favorite candy?

Does your muse have a “victory song” and if so, what is it?

Who do they tend to bicker with the most?

Has your muse ever been hospitalized or institutionalized? 

Does your muse pray, whether it be to a god or some other force?

Has your muse ever lived in poverty?

Do they have any distinct voice mannerisms? (e.g. saying ‘like’ or ‘um’ a lot, stutters) 

Where are your muse’s ancestors from? Do they keep any of their traditions?

When did your muse learn about sex?

What is your muse most thankful for?

What shoe size is your muse?

Does your muse hate their middle name? \ What is it?

How many hours a day do they spend on the internet/watching TV?

Does your muse have any trophies?

If your muse was given the opportunity to go sky diving, would they?

What is the most common lie your muse tells themselves?

Has your muse ever had a pet? If so, what type?

Who was your muse’s first kiss?

What is your muse’s first memory?

How does your muse feel about crocs?

What are your muse’s biggest pet peeves?

What was your muse’s happiest birthday?

Does your muse cross their legs/ankles when they sit?

What simple task is your muse surprisingly bad at?

Did your muse ever own a Tamagatchi?

What was your muses’s first job?

Does your muse usually go for truth or dare?

Has your muse ever been to a concert?

What is your muse’s favorite holiday?

Does your muse reply to scary chain emails/messages?

Describe the first person your muse remembers losing.

Would your muse ever roleplay?

What is your muse’s Hogwarts house?

What is your muse’s first thought upon waking up?

Name a song your muse can sing every word to. 

Who would your muse sacrifice themselves for, if anybody?

How long is your muse’s penis? || What bra size is your muse?

If your muse could rid the world of one thing, what would it be?

[letheane-deactivated20200121]

I create entire romances in my dreams.

Fyodor Dostoevsky, from ‘White Nights’ (via aegeane)

[hookumiisms-blog]

arthur:

“Omelettes it is then!” Arthur said with a flip of his spatula, setting to work on cracking eggs and chopping ingredients while he continued to talk to Daisy. “Your father is a smart man. I’ve heard people say that cooking with magic takes away nutrients and taste.” He looked back at her with a raised eyebrow. “That’s why baking shops and wizards that use muggle techniques are usually so successful in the restaurant business. Sure, enchanting a spoon to stir doesn’t really do much to the food, but that’s about as much magic as you can use for good food.” With a little flourish he added some peppers and onions to the mixture of eggs and set his knife to the mushrooms at hand. Almost as an afterthought, he went over to the icebox and grabbed a slab of bacon and set that to the side before adding another pan onto the stove. “I don’t know if they can finish their rooms today, a right mess they are, but I want them to try. It’d be a nice surprise for Molly,” he smiled at the mention of his wife before circling back to the conversation. “They’ll obviously need some play breaks. Get some of that energy out. I mean, I’m not a monster!” Arthur chuckled adding the rest of his ingredients to the eggs.

Daisy had positive feelings about muggles. That was the first good sign in their whole conversation. He really never had any doubt about it considering she was a halfblood, but it was a good baseline to start at. “I don’t much understand it myself.” Arthur started carefully, focusing on the bacon now instead of Daisy. “It’s very important, in my opinion, that we protect muggles at all costs during this war. You know, I don’t think Aversio really takes that into consideration when acting. Sure, they have the same goal, but in the end if they’re just blowing up places for the sake of it and muggles get hurt… Well, that’s not really fair is it?” Arthur posed the question casually, glancing at the other red head out of the corner of his eye. He was looking for some reaction. Any reaction good or bad, he just needed to know.

“Yes, he was.” She agreed, voice almost inaudible. Not for the first time since it had happened, Daisy was struck by an inexplicably painful wave of missing her father. She had been fighting herself so hard, trying not to be angry with him. Surely there were holes in the images she had managed to get, the memories of their final living moments. And there had to be a reason Richard was so against just casting the Fidelius charm, protecting her mother. Daisy had to believe that, have faith in the man she thought she had known. Otherwise, she could very likely fall apart and crumble to a point of no return. And here was Arthur, a father who so clearly loved his family. A good man in every degree of the word. He meant well, she was certain of it, but grief came in waves now. Shaking her head, she fought such things back. Better not to dwell in her depressive moods when people, and children, could see it. “No, I’d never think you are! I’m sure we can handle picking up their rooms for you and Molly today.” Mentally, she made a list, of the chores to get done, of ways to keep the boys happy, make things just a bit easier if only for a moment.

Silently, she put her focus onto the twins, making faces at them before they ended up distracted in each other, leaving her nothing to do but watch them.  At the mention of war, a lump formed in her throat. It wasn’t an uncommon discussion by any means, but something she didn’t enjoy thinking about. So much violence and cruelty, seeming to come from all sides, for a belief system she couldn’t understand. “Aversio and their methods are. . .awful. It actually makes me a bit sick anytime I think of it.” The admittance was quiet, but truthful; Daisy had never been capable of lying, her true feelings always written on her face, bleeding into her words. For an organization that had promised to protect Jocelyn, and then sat back to do nothing, they weren’t much better than the rest. It made her sick and anxious, imagining what they could force her to do, and Daisy wanted no part in it. “There was a time. . .before all the killing, all the cruelty. . .when I could almost understand. But with everything that’s happened, they’re not really doing anything but hurting people. How anyone can do that like it’s nothing, it’s -- it actually has made me sick, before. I wish it would stop.”  

[flawlessbeautyqueens]

[hookumiisms-blog]

the longest night | daisy & ophelia

[hookumiisms-blog]

ophelia:

        Fear hung deep in her throat, it’s icy grip seeming to catch every breath Ophelia had wanted to take and cut it in half. Even the bright warmth of Xeno’s caravan not enough to pull her out of the vivid gore that infected wild eyes. She’d seen death, witnessed destruction – but never had she experienced a slaughter. No other word could do the deaths of countless innocents, people who had sought healing and refugee, justice, and their lives hung in a bitter reminder of all they had lost. Not just one or two – but dozens, people who Ophelia had promised to care for, and had failed utterly. It wasn’t a burden she bore well, nerves frantic with unreleased energy, and her heart seemingly lying in shattered pieces in her chest. Part of Ophelia wondered if it might feel better for it not to be beating any longer, if Xeno hadn’t found her and pulled her out of the wreckage and convinced her not to go after those whose lives had already been lost. At least then she wouldn’t be torn at the edges and so completely alone.

       The sound of her name being called out felt almost like a dream – or rather, a nightmare, and the shudder of fear that ran through her was uncontrollable before she realized that she knew the voice; that it didn’t belong to someone who might’ve been sent to her place to finish the deed they’d started at St. Mungo’s nor was it the deep timbre of a man she didn’t want to confront. But the knowledge that someone was here besides her didn’t come with relief, only mounting the terror that had yet to fade, and hurried footsteps carried her to her door. “Daisy – Merlin –” Her fingers snaked around the other’s arm, perhaps slightly too tight for comfort, but terror still came in shaking waves, desperately afraid that she’d lose another soul she’d come to care for. “It’s not safe here. You need to leave.” It was a frantic warning, one that applied as much to herself as to her friend. The half-packed suitcase and mess that lay of what had once been a tidy apartment was reason enough to believe that she had every intention of fleeing – leaving London far behind for the safety of somewhere that wasn’t infested with those who might slaughter her too if they found out her true affiliation. But if things were bad for her, there was no denying that they were a million times worse for Daisy, and with no protection that Ophelia had to offer her, the thought of what might happen to the redhead made her blood run cold. “You’re alright? You’re not hurt are you?” Even in the midst of her agony, the questions came – almost like a mantra. A small piece of her that hadn’t been lost as worried eyes raked over Daisy’s frame.

       It’d been pure foolishness, harboring a man who more than likely bore the mark of the very cause that’d burned St. Mungo’s to the ground under her roof, all with the expectation that it wouldn’t come back to haunt her. That she wouldn’t be betrayed and feel the tug of different alliances straining against her chest. But it was too late for that, and guilt hung heavy in her chest at how easily she’d been manipulated. Perhaps she ought to have cut off ties months ago, dedicated herself to fighting instead of hiding in St. Mungo’s behind a healer’s duties. But even now conflict waged a bitter war inside her, all too reminded of the worries she held for her parents when she knew what had happened to Daisy’s. But her resolve was strong, and she’d be damned if she let Daisy meet the same fate, especially given how touched she was that her friend would’ve risked coming here just to see if she was alright. 

     It was nothing short of relief, the initial response Daisy felt, once Ophelia entered her line of vision. But if she felt peace at the knowledge that she was alive, it was short-lived, crushed out by the almost crazed look in her eyes. That alone seemed to flood more concern and something else, darker - something Daisy Hookum was wildly unfamiliar with - into an already small and nearly overwhelmed frame. So consumed in her own worries, the near paralyzing fear that she had lost more, that in her manic frenzy to locate Ophelia, she hadn’t stopped to consider what she might find. What she wanted to find, that was simple --- but there was no room for that now. Any and all blind, optimistic hope that maybe once she arrived, everything would be fine. . .that was all so blatantly childish. Even if hope was the one thing that got Daisy out of bed anymore, it didn’t quench the utter helplessness that plagued her now. She couldn’t help but wonder if maybe, in some stretch, this was how Dirk had felt after the agony that had kept her hidden for weeks. That thought, too, placed a heavy weight into her chest.

     But this wasn’t about her, and nothing would possibly change it so that would become true. Truthfully, Daisy didn’t want this to be about her. Not when the look on Ophelia’s face, and the whispered rumors that had reached her ears about the hospital, the look that Ted had when he’d finally returned, hours after Daisy had finally gotten Dora to sleep. . .war was indeed coming for them all. Yet it wasn’t herself she worried for. It was the genuinely good, whole people that never seemed to do anything but give that continued to get hurt. Perhaps she could be included in that, but the treachery, the agony that seemed to cling onto Ophelia Pomfrey like a plague was something she was fortunate enough not to know personally. Her heart broke at the thought, stuck somewhere between desperation to know, and the knowledge that she would never be able to stomach it. Knowing such cruelty existed was one thing; it was something entirely different to feel that she could do nothing about it. And here was Ophelia - good, gentle, beautifully kind Ophelia, who had always been so much like the sister that Daisy never had. So undeniably hurt, fearful. It struck a cord inside Daisy’s heart, bringing once again the feelings she was unfamiliar with, but an identifier rang quietly in her mind. Anger. Yes, she was very angry, furious that anyone felt the need to do this, to hurt Ophelia of all people.

     “What? No, I -- I’m not hurt, I’m fine.” Daisy promised, hearing an almost manic ring in her voice. If it was there, it wouldn’t be helped. The fear, the worry, the rush of blood pounding in her ears, all piled onto the vicious sort of relief that the blonde before her now was even alive at all, it was almost too overwhelming. But still, somehow, she didn’t feel it. “And I’m going to be quite honest, right now,I don’t care if I’m not safe here! I -- I thought you -- I thought you were dead, Ophelia.” Her voice finally cracked, hands resting themselves over the other’s, trying to provide some sort of comfort without being too overwhelming. But whoever she was trying to comfort, herself, or Ophelia, she wasn’t entirely sure anymore. “I had to hope. Hope that maybe you weren’t, that if you were here, I could do something. Maybe I wasn’t thinking, coming and just showing up ,but I -- I can’t lose you.”