#cedricdiggiory

[pdmapatil]

character posters: hermione granger

“I mean, you could claim that anything's real if the only basis for believing in it is that nobody's proved it doesn't exist!”

[pekkarolling]

Prompt for @hpwritersnet: Minerva Mcgonagall

Minerva Mcgonagall was nervous.

She didn’t show it, of course, keeping her spine straight and her expression neutral. Her father, a pastor, had taught her at least that much: when you’re a flurry of emotions, keep the storm inside until later, and let your best face show. Minerva didn’t know how well this had worked for her father, seeing as she hadn’t attended church for some odd ten years out of her eleven.  But it seemed sound advice. So she kept the nervousness inside her as she listened to the giggles and whispers of her Hogwarts class. More than a few had made quite a few friends on the train and were eager to share their thoughts and fears for the sorting ahead with their peers.

But Minerva, or Minnie, as she liked to be called, had only made a single friend on the train ride–if he could even be called that. He had already gone up at the sound of his name (which was rather whimsical, Minerva thought, though her own name had caused quite the stir up in Scotland). A tattered hat had been perched atop his head for five long minutes before it roared a hearty “Ravenclaw!” and sent him to his appropriate table. She was happy for him; Filius Flitwick hadn’t wanted much, but he had wanted blue and bronze for house colors.

Minnie didn’t have her heart set on anything. She was too sensible for that. Although Ravenclaw was looking far friendlier now that the boy who had the same thoughts on Quidditch as her was seated at their table….

“McGonagall, Minerva.”

She stepped forwards, heart thrumming. This was it. 

The hat was warm–possibly because it was sentient, possibly because it had been atop quite a few heads before hers. All of which were turned towards her, like she was on a funeral pyre, or in a casket, or–

She decided to close her eyes. It helped.

“Hmmmm,” whispered the Sorting Hat, as though it was like a cat curled right next to her brain. Minnie shivered involuntarily. “I see you are quite the responsible girl, Minerva.”

Her lips tugged downwards. She was sick of being the responsible girl, the girl who cleaned up everyone’s messes. It would be much better to be valiant, and brave–like her mother, when she stood up to the pastor’s wishes–or intelligent and wise, like the one girl in the village who found a way to get all her chores done in twice the time so she could study to become a nurse to better the world. 

Minnie was sick of being the older sister.

“Ah, so you tend towards Ravenclaw and Gryffindor, then?” the hat mused. 

Minnie pressed her lips together. “Yes,” she thought back. “I’d rather be a hero or a scholar than a stand in for Ma.”

“Why can’t you be both?”

Minnie thought about it, and sighed. The hat had a point, as strange as it sounded. “I can’t be both. How can knowledge be heroic? How can being a hero be smart?”

The hat chuckled, which screamed condescension. “You will find out.”

“Can you not be confusing?”

Another laugh. Minnie crossed her arms, putting on the expression that she used when her brothers were acting up and she was having none of it.

“You’re plenty wise enough to make this choice, and plenty brave enough to pick the right one for you.”

There it was: the truth. She thought about it long and hard, exchanging more words with the Sorting Hat before whispering what she wanted. 

Minerva McGonagall wasn’t always a legend, or a strong witch, or the best in her year. Once upon a time she had been a small little girl who was forced to grow up too soon with a penchant for magic and following her father’s advice. Once upon a time, she had just been “Minnie”. 

Once upon a time, she had a choice, and that choice would shape her life forever.

[lilyevane]

drunkenness of love

okay so i have never posted my writing on this hellsite before, and yesterday i was suffering without wifi so i produced this piece of shit... and it’s actually zero percent grammatically correct (literally) and i am very nervous to post it, though i’ve decided to do it anyway!

this is for all you lovely souls who replied to that post, all my followers and my mutuals (and my irl best friend who actually cried when she read it) and everyone from the @hpwritersnet cause you’re so lovely and motivating + i love you all ♥ 

 he’s dressed in that suit that always makes her go oh when she sees him, and it’s like he’s deliberately lathered himself in that perfume she says suits him. his hair is as it always is; a hurricane, an unamendable yet intriguing whirlwind of hair – something she loves to run her hands through, it’s like she can almost feel the soft texture slipping through her fingers oh god

she’s wearing that cute sundress which he remembers he first kissed her in; that cute sundress which he told her she looked beautiful in; that cute sundress which also happens to be yellow, his favourite colour. like the sun, he thinks, as he looks into the green pools of her eyes and falls in love all over again. her hair’s done in that really casual style; the little ponytail with a matching yellow hair tie – she’s done it deliberately, and he knows it, he wants to pull the tie out of her hair so badly and feel the softness of it on his fingertips, he wants to touch her face and feel her freckles and kiss her on the neck, kiss her, just kiss her forever and let her sober him up

she sees him again and he’s holding someone else in his arms, and he’s laughing with her. she can feel that feeling in her stomach, that dizzy feeling, the feeling that wants to make her do weird things. she feels like she’s drunk, but she’s not, she hasn’t had anything at all, she’s just tipsy in love, too far in to ever come back out. she’s staring at him from the other end of the room, wanting so badly to be the girl he’s holding in his arms, wanting so badly to be the girl he kisses tonight, but she can’t, she can’t she can’t. she’s not good enough. her yellow sundress is not good enough. her hair is not good enough. the shoes she’s worn are not good enough. she’s not good enough. but the girl in his arms is. and that’s what kills her. every. single. time.

he sees her and his heart breaks cause she’s talking to someone else, a someone with curly hair and brown eyes, and she seems so infatuated with him, so oblivious to everything else. he wants to shout that she’s his, claim to everyone in the room that the girl in the yellow sundress is his, but he can’t, cause that courage he had was gone long ago. he can see the sadness in her green eyes all the way from across the room and he wants to scream, cause he knows the boy with curly hair doesn’t see it; he knows that the boy with curly hair doesn’t really know what she feels, and it makes him happy, cause he’s the only one who does.

she’s sitting on the footpath of some rundown street, some street she doesn’t know the name of, and she’s telling herself that she’s waiting for a taxi, but she knows she isn’t. she’s waiting for something else. for love, the voice yells in the back of her mind, she’s waiting for him to come and take her away, somewhere far, far away. but he’s not going to come, and the dizzy feeling in her stomach is growing now, attacking her fingers and her arms and her feet and her face and her thoughts – all she can think of is him, oh how stupid she was, thinking she’d be the girl he’d kiss tonight–

he’s walking aimlessly, letting his feet lead him, wherever they can go. he wants to see her again, talk to her, hold her in his arms and tell her that she’s his again. but he doesn’t know where she’s gone – she’s probably driven off with the curly-haired boy somewhere, not knowing who the hell that messy-haired tuxedo guy was, not knowing who was deeply in love with her all this time. he wants to kick a rock, anything to prove how much he wants her right now, when he sees it.

it’s the sun, alight on a dark street, and it’s sitting with its head in its hands quietly, silently, unaware of its surroundings. he feels like a hole has opened beneath his feet and he’s going to fall through it cause he’s so happy, an indescribable sort of happy, a relief washing through him, seeping through his bones and soaking into his veins. but then he feels empty, something tugging at his strings, something wrong, when he sees the sad frown on her face, the sadness illuminating her features. had the curly-haired boy broken her heart? he’d fight her, he thought, he’d fight the bastard, he’d make him regret it, he surely would. he hears a heart-wrenching sob from across the street and something within him breaks – his composure is gone, his knees are broken and he almost collapses to the floor cause he feels a physical stab of pain as she cries into the darkness. he wants to shout her name, soothe her by telling her that don’t worry, you’re mine, but he doesn’t know if that would calm her or make her worse.

she’s wiping her tears away slowly, even though more are falling out of her eyes as she does, and her throat is tingling in that horrible way, her face is ruined and she is ruined. but when was she not ruined? he had not noticed her. she was not good enough. she was ruined right from the start. she was, she was

you’re beautiful, a voice calls from the end of the street, and she starts, wanting to know who had heard her, who had been able to read her thoughts. she can see a silhouette forming at the end of the street, but she can’t see who it is, not even if she squints. who are you, she calls helplessly down the street, but the silhouette is still there, only it’s becoming clear. she can see the suit that makes her go oh, she can smell the perfume that she says suits him so strongly, oh god. and the hair. she can see the messy mop of hair from miles away, a hurricane, an unamendable yet intriguing whirlwind of hair.

he can see her better now, and she truly is beautiful. he can see the cute sundress that reminds him of when he first kissed her, her fluorescent green eyes, her hair held back by a yellow hair tie – barely held back. he can almost envision himself running his fingertips through her soft hair and admiring the constellation of freckles smattered all over her nose. you’re beautiful you’re beautiful you’re beautiful, he repeats into the darkness, enough for her to understand that it’s true.

i’m beautiful, she whispers to herself, like it’s a mantra. i’m beautiful i’m beautiful i’m beautiful. she’s waiting for him to come and take her away, somewhere far, far away. and he’s going to come and the dizzy feeling in her stomach is growing now, attacking her fingers and her arms and her feet and her face and her thoughts – all she can think of is him, oh how happy she is, knowing she’d be the girl he’d kiss tonight –

he’s walking quickly, letting his feet lead him, wherever they can go. he’s going to see her again, talk to her, hold her in his arms and tell her that she’s his again. and he knows where she’s gone – she’s here, right in front of him, in love with him, in love with the messy-haired tuxedo guy.

and then he’s kissing her. she’s kissing him forever, sobering him up, and pushing herself further into the drunkenness of love.

fin.

[derrickperegrine]

tagged by the amazing @meropegaunt like eons ago (sorry)✨✨ thank so much elle for tagging me!!

rules: tag people you want to know better

tagging: @prongsfooot, @remushlupin, @emelinevances, @gjnsy, @billywealsey, @alrightevains, and @silancio but ofc you don’t have to do this if you don’t want to or have already done this

answers below the cut

nickname: reb zodiac: aquarius height: 5′4″ last thing i googled: backup files from onedrive turns out i gotta download everything to my computer and then move it into a hard drive, rip favourite music artist: placebo, glass animals, keaton henson, the last shadow puppets, the antlers, einstürzende neubauten, the white stripes, kasabian song stuck in my head: bad boy by dan croll (i’m the bad boy in this song rip) last movie i saw: the mummy returns (dir. stephen sommers, 2001) because i hate that the new mummy movie is stomping its filthy tom cruise action movie boots over my favourite camp archeological thriller/my fucking childhood what am i wearing right now: dark owl records shirt from the welcome to night vale store, gold ear necklace, black ripped & cropped jeans, maroon and grey socks, doc martens shoes. why did i choose my url: well, i wanted to have a slytherin url and i was like, salad + tsar sounds like ‘salazar’ ... and also since tsar is caesar in russian it’s also caesar salad and that’s so funny i’m so lame ignore me but like no one gets this so i’ve been thinking for a few months if i should change my url ... even though salad is, like, my brand do i have any other blogs: yup, my main blog @perfectchekov (star trek and memes), and my raven cycle side blog @grejwaren (which is really new and i haven’t cleaned it up yet) and my new oc blog for the @triwizardtournamentoc, which is @horacyantonczyk ✨✨ he’s a terrible boy but i love him what did your last relationship teach you: never had a relationship! not interested religious or spiritual: probably more religious, but i reject organised religion and practice a form of nondenominational christianity by myself (mainly because i think this gives a more personal and direct relationship between you and like the big guns upstairs idk) favourite colour: forest green average hours of sleep: either less than 3 or more than 8, no in-betweens lucky number: 4 favourite characters: the black family (i love them all idc), fox mulder & dana scully, everyone in star trek, the entire gangsey,,, ok i’m really bad at choosing fave characters i usually just love everybody dream job: something to do with writing ... creatively or academically, or maybe as a journalist! always thought that looked fun. or doing restorative work in museums, that sounds super lit. or teaching, i’ve been told that i’m a good professor rip

[elevhens-archive-blog]

thanks!

I reached my latest hundred! Thanks for all who signal boosted my post. I appreciate it so much!!! I’m shook that all of you are following me. I can’t believe it!! Right now things are a little hectic with personal matters but I plan on doing something special when things slow down. Thanks you all for following me!

[crvdence]

a little of a psa

hey everyone! i made a ko-fi page because the next months are going to be hard on me, i am due to pay my university fee and the money i was supposed to receive from my scholarship in sweden turned to be... nothing.

buying me a coffee or two would mean the world to me, and please if you do, message me and i will write whatever you want!!

thank you so much (if my mutuals could boost this i would highly appreciate it)

[derrickperegrine]

hey reb!! it's mari @cedricdiggiory! my patronus is a badger and 🏳️‍🌈 here's a good emoji (:

mari!!! how’s it going friend ✨✨

@cedricdiggiory

ancestry: human | demigod | god | mythic creature | force of naturevices: pride | greed | lust | envy | gluttony | wrath | slothvirtues: prudence | justice | temperance | courage | faith | hope | charitystone: rhodochrositeplant: lamb’s earcharacter sketch: you are the guardian of sleep’s hourglass. you watch as the grains of sleep sand drift towards the bottom of the glass, and falling over all the dreamers of the world. you lean against your spear, watching the sand, the time, and trying not to let your eyelids droop and your mind wander off. sometimes you wish that you could go to sleep, wander off into the dream scape, and just take a break, but you were made to walk the line between sleeping and waking, for eternity, to best protect the sleeping. often there are prideful heroes and villains who seek the hourglass to control others’ dreams, to engineer dreams, or to exchange dream with reality; but none is meant to wield that power except you, so you must fend off all challengers. your spear is forged with a nightmare’s blood and sharp as a night terror; it is as heavy as a sleepy mind but as responsive as a lucid dream. none can resist the power of sleep, and you are the reigning champion of dreams. however, there is a side effect - you’re always exhausted after a fight …favours: sphinx, morpheusmisfortune: melinoësong: glory by bastille

reb celebrates 300