bitter rebellion.

Twenty. Nepalese Irishwoman. Gryffindor. World's worst Wizard's Chess player. Junior War Correspondent. Mary Maharjan MacDonald.

[macdonthavealamb-blog]

( amita suman | cisfemale | she/her ) — was that MARY MAHARJAN MACDONALD passing through diagon alley? yes, i think so… people around them say they remind them of coffee stained mugs stacked on the kitchen side, a homesickness that clings to your skin, a quill always at hand, the ticking alarm clock that never quite stops, standing on the shore and watching the tide wash in, sunlight finally filtering in through an opened window, which i suppose seems to fit that GRYFFINDOR alumni. they’re actually pretty NURTURING, REBELLIOUS, and RESTLESS for a TWENTY year old, but i wonder if it serves them well when working as a JUNIOR WAR CORRESPONDENT at THE DAILY PROPHET. have you heard that rumor has it that MUGGLEBORN is with THE ORDER OF THE PHOENIX now? i wouldn’t have guessed… but this is a conversation we should be having somewhere else. ( ellie | 22 | gmt | she/her )

check out mary’s plot hooks, wanted connections, biography, statistics and tag directory here.

[macdonthavealamb-blog]

@jamespartha • outside mary’s flat, diagon alley, london

“You know, if this were Muggle London, you could get in trouble for loitering.” Mary called over her shoulder as she unlocked her front door, jimmying the handle. She stepped inside, before finally turning around fully to survey her fellow Gryffindor and friend, leaning against her doorframe and grinning just a little, the door still open for him to follow her inside. “What’d’ya want, Jams?” 

[macdonthavealamb-blog]

@mckmarl • mary’s flat, london

"Marls. Hey. You think it’s too early for breakfast?” Mary stifled a yawn as she spoke, hand half muffling her words before she let her head drop over the back of the armrest, legs dangling off the other end as she looked at Marlene, brows raising. “Or should I just say, fuck it? Though, drunk cooking is probably not the best idea.” It was increasingly tempting, laying there with her feet dangling and wand held limply in her left hand, to raid her kitchen. 

[macdonthavealamb-blog]

@g-parkinson • the three broomsticks, hogsmeade

Mary hadn’t been to Hogsmeade in a little over a year, but it didn’t come as much of a surprise when she was sent to stay in the village overnight for an ‘information gathering’ assignment. Also known as, in Mary’s mind, keeping the rookie journalist far from any sort of trouble. She heaved a sigh, pushing open the door to the Three Broomsticks, bustling as ever, ignoring the twinge in her back at an exiting patron almost running into her. Her hand curled around her wand, the wood digging into her palm as she gritted her teeth and bit out an apology. It was with no small measure of relief that she dropped into the first empty chair she saw, swallowing down her irritation as she let her shoulders drop and spoke, sheepishly, not for the first or last time. “Merlin, I’m sorry, I didn’t see you -- you want me to move?” 

[macdonthavealamb-blog]

@peterparlak • marauders flat, london

mary, in all honesty, had never felt so glad to see a week ending. of course, it hadn’t been all bad - sirius was finally back home, and that was something to celebrate, but it hadn’t lessened the amount of work mary would have to do before she was able to go home and before she had known it, she’d spent the next three nights staying late at the office, catching up on her other work. the sight of her flat, quiet and waiting for her to crash for the whole weekend, should have been comforting, but the longer mary had waited for pepper to appear, the more anxiety she felt, even though she knew exactly where pepper had managed to flee to. 

which is how, and more importantly why, she ended up here, feet aching and eyes tired, on peter’s doorstep. raising her knuckles to knock, she thought, not for the first time, that this was all a little ridiculous, and waited for her friend to open the door, her tone tired when she spoke. “hey, acushla. i think you have my escape artist?” 

[macdonthavealamb-blog]

@lycxnthropes • magical managerie, diagon alley

          mary hummed under her breath, bag tucked under her arm as she nudged the door open with her hip. glancing around the familiar storefront, she wandered down the cages filled with familiar owls, fingers brushing the metal of one containing a tawny owl absently before she craned her neck around to see the counter, letting the owl nip at her finger for a second before pulling back.  ❝  remus ? you back there ?  ❞  she raised her voice to be heard over the usual racket, careful to avoid knocking into any of the cages accidentally as she shuffled to the front desk. 

[kurtweller]

[macdonthavealamb-blog]

where’s home, mary mac?

is it carrownaboll, dromard, knocknahur with your mammy and your dead papa and da and jen, with your sheep and goats and pigs, the gate that never quite closes properly and the barn door you have to kick hard to shut it enough to lock it? or is it ghandruk, with the people who share your papa’s face, high up in the clouds, the place your parents ran from the first chance they got, the first in their family, and the last in their family? or is it your little flat, on wing street off diagon alley, with your flatmate and your cat, with your moving posters and battered books and too-many-teacups and your ink stained dining table? where’s home, mary mac?

one. carrownaboll, dromard, knocknahur. 

jenny’s bedroom and her old dresses. mammy’s kitchen, her sturdy wooden table. da’s favorite spot in the whole house, in front of the fire. mammy and da’s room. the front of the house, the shabby front door and further down, the shopfront. the bathroom, with the mirror nobody can move. mary’s bedroom, her striped pillows and the beams and flower pot art. hambone, in the alley between the outbuildings. pickles and onion, in the new brick barn.

two. ghandruk, nepal. 

ghandruk from above.

three. wing street, diagon alley, london.

the shared bathroom, their a blue bath and a bronze mirror. mary’s wall of books. the green sofa in the living room with the potted plants. half of mary’s closet and a surprise appearance by her cat, pepper. the kitchen and the rag tag, thrifted kitchen appliance collection. the light green velvet armchair. mary’s bed, her sun blanket over her flower duvet set and her wall of photos and reminders and posters. the ink-stained kitchen table. her flatmate’s room.

[macdonthavealamb-blog]

tag dump.

[dailyalinej]

AMITA SUMAN for YSL