@hillnerd Okay so my review for "Waking up: chapter 7" got erased twice by Tumblr and I have to start everything all over again (I'm not desperate what are you talking about).
But as I don't know how long it'll take, in the meantime I absolutely want to talk about one sentence in this chapter that made me do a quadruple take. In the video that I took of myself reading that part of the chapter, you can see my eyes widen in shock as if I was a cartoon character.
He’d rather talk about the locket than the Snatchers, and he’d rather rip off his other fingernails than talk about the locket in any detail.
OH. MY. FREAKING. GOD.
I DO NOT HAVE WORDS.
Ron'd rather -
*I put my hands on my head*
Ron'd rather talk about the locket than the Snatchers.
*I lean back in my armchair and speak with a higher-pitched voice*
RON'D RATHER TALK ABOUT THE LOCKET THAN THE SNATCHERS !!!
Like, how bad was his encounter with the Snatchers for him to say that ?? I know I've been hypothesizing from the start that Ron had had it worse in "Waking up" than in "Ron and the Snatchers" because of an accumulation of small details, but this...
To me the locket was the single worst thing that happened to Ron apart from Hermione's torture in "Malfoy Manor" and Fred's death, what with Ron being tortured mentally, having suicidal ideations, being nearly possessed, being told over and over again he's nothing and that his loved ones don't care about him and despise him... And Ron's reaction to the locket when he sees it again always brings tears to my eyes (backing away from it, shaking, telling Harry that he "can't handle it"...).
AND YOU'RE TELLING ME HIS ENCOUNTER WITH THE SNATCHERS WAS EVEN WORSE ???
MERLIN'S SAGGY PANTS ! BORDEL DE MERDE !
Aha, sorry I just -
RON'D RATHER TALK ABOUT THE LOCKET THAN THE SNATCHERS !!
The following hot takes from the book club, this week discussing ‘Emma’ by Jane Austen;
Paul Rudd should play Lord Havelock Vetinari in the next Discworld adaptation
Emma is bisexual and in love with Harriet
Said-bisexuality is why she dislikes Mr Martin
Harriet is a introvert who was adopted by an extrovert who everyone seems to like (not too dissimilar to another introvert with a similar name, who was adopted by a certain extroverted redheaded wizard)
Alan Cummings is hilarious in everything he does
The meaning of the phrase ‘he made passionate love to her’ has changed immensely since Jane Austen originally wrote it to mean a love confession
Fancying both Emma and Mr Knightly is bi culture
Any other thoughts @hillnerd @lytefoot @warriorlid14 @nagemeikenu and @fivenamereveals?
Well, here’s my embarrassingly late birthday present for @hillnerd. Happy birthday, b! Thank you for all you do!
Here’s a small Romione scene at Bill and Fleur’s wedding:
It was completely maddening, really, how it was that the person she was the closest to in the whole world, who she could talk about for hours about anything (well, except that), was also the only person who could completely wipe every thought she had from her mind and turn her into a shy, blushing mess the instant that their arms so much as brushed. And he didn’t even seem to notice! Which was a good thing, she supposed, considering that there was a war on their doorstep and they had the weight of the wizarding world (and the muggle world) on their shoulders. And she would certainly be of no use to anyone if she had permission to snog him any time she pleased.
But it didn’t help that she could catch the way his blue eyes shined in the moonlight from the corner of her eye. Or that his hair was mussed just the right way from all their dancing. Or that the dress robes he was wearing fit him perfectly. Or that he was definitely wearing new cologne. Or that she could still feel the way his body had pressed against hers as he had laughed and pulled them both away from other dancing couples stumbling into them. Other couples.
Because there was definitely something there between them. She knew that now. Well, she always knew, if she was being honest, that her feelings were not exactly one-sided. But there was always something, or someone, in the way. And now… Well… Now there was an entire army. And he really was her biggest distraction. And neither of them could afford it. Yet. So she tore her eyes away from the way the moonlight shone on his hair and said, “I didn’t know you knew how to dance like that.”
He turned to her and smiled. “Always the tone of surprise.” But his tone was teasing, so she rolled her eyes. “It’s not that hard,” he said. At her incredulous look, he amended, “Well, not if you’ve been doing it your entire life. I reckon I couldn’t dance any muggle dances.”
“Is that what those last two songs were, then? Traditional wizarding songs?”
“Oh, yeah. Wouldn’t be a wedding without it.” He stopped then, to take a sip of his drink. Hermione glanced back towards the tent, where she could still hear the same upbeat tune that she had been unable to dance earlier.
“So, you learned when you were very little, then?” She could just imagine a small, red-headed boy, jumping around and laughing hysterically every time he twirled. She smiled at the thought.
“Well, you had to, you know. All your aunts and cousins pulling you out to dance. It’s rather inevitable, really.” He paused then, and then quickly said. “I could teach you, if you want.” She looked up at him, and suddenly he was blushing. “Only if you want. You don’t have to-”
“No, I do,” she said quickly, still thinking about the way his arms had wrapped around her more confidently the minute the tune changed, and the sound of his laughter as he twirled her around. “I wouldn’t want to look foolish in front of your family.”
He laughed, then, but grabbed the drink from her hand and bent down to place both their drinks on the ground. “Hermione, I don’t think you could look foolish if you tried.”
She felt a flutter in her stomach, and it was a good thing he wasn’t looking at her or he would have seen her blush. He stood up, then, and stood next to her.
“Okay,” he said. “It’s not as complicated as it looks. You just kind of…” His voice trailed off and he took two steps to the right, each time crossing his left foot in front of his right. “And then you do the same thing the other way,” he said, as he took two steps to the left.
“It looked more complicated when everybody else did it,” she said dubiously.
“Well, yes,” he admitted. “But those are the basic steps.”
“Okay,” she said hesitantly, but mimicked his moves. “Like that?”
“Yes, exactly like that! But every third step, you do this.” He took both her hands then, and took two steps to the right, then immediately let go of her left hand and spun to his right.
“See?” he said, turning back to her and letting go of her right hand. “Simple.”
“Right,” she said flatly. “Simple.”
“Oh, c’mon,” he said, his tone teasing and a grin on his face. “It’s not that bad. Want to try?” He held out his hands to her then, and how could she say no to that?
She rolled her eyes, though there was no malice to it, and reached for his hands. His smile immediately grew, and he said. “Okay, so we go the right… your right, and then… yeah, cross your leg in front of the other. And then to the left…”
“We look ridiculous,” she said, looking down at their feet, but she was laughing as she said it.
“Well, I’m used to it.” She heard the smile in his voice. “And then we turn to the left- Wait! You go right.”
But it was too late. She swiftly spun towards him, and immediately smacked her forehead against his chin.
He rocked back and instinctively put a hand over his chin. “Ow!”
“I’m sorry!” she exclaimed, horrified, “Are you okay? Let me see!”
She immediately pulled his hand back only to see that he was laughing. “It’s fine,” he said, still giggling. “That looked like it hurt you more than me, though. Are you okay?”
It did hurt, but mostly her ego. That thought immediately vanished, though, as he leaned in close to her, reached out and cupped her face with one hand and brushed her hair out of her forehead from the other. Her heartbeat quickened, as he was suddenly so close that she could feel his breath on her face.
“Well, I don’t see a bruise.”
“I’m fine,” she managed to say. And she hoped he couldn’t hear her heart hammering in her chest. “You?”
“I’m good, see?” He looked up so that she could see his chin. “Just as handsome as ever.” His hands were still on her face. And he was still smiling, dimples and all. And his eyes were truly the most beautiful shade of blue she had ever seen.
“Yeah,” she agreed, practically a whisper.
He must have seen something on her face, then, because his expression turned thoughtful. “Hermione?” he said, in the same low voice she had used.
“Yes?” She had no idea how she hadn’t gone into cardiac arrest then, at the rate her heart was going.
Suddenly Ron was leaning closer towards her, and his eyes were closed. And it would have been perfect, really. Better than what she could have (and had) imagined. Except… Except.
She closed her eyes and forced herself to say, “Stop.”
Immediately Ron pulled back, looking horrified, and blurted out, “Shit. Shit. I’m sorry. I just thought- I thought you felt…” He stepped backwards, away from her, and it was all she could do to pull him back in. “Never mind. It was stupid.”
He looked away from her, but not fast enough that she missed the look of confusion and hurt that crossed his features. Her heart clenched, and she immediately reached out to grab his hand.
“Hey, I do.” She pulled his hand and forced him to face her. “I do.”
He looked up at her then, eyes hopeful and- her heart skipped a bit- was that love that she saw? It was just like them to wait until it was too late to start anything. “Really?” And he looked so goddamn adorable that it broke her heart to say what she knew she had to say next. It really did.
“Yes. But we can’t. Not now.”
He looked at the floor then, and for a second, she thought (hoped?) he’d protest, but then he sighed and said, “Yeah, you’re right.” He looked up at her, a forced smile on his face. “Just have to defeat the most evil wizard to ever live first, right?”
Her face fell, and she said, “I’m sorry. I-”
“Don’t,” he said, reaching out and taking her hand in his, “You’re right. We have to win first. And then…” His voice trailed off, and the hopeful gaze was back. She was sure it was on her face, too.
She laced their fingers together and smiled at him. “So… Pause?”
He squeezed her hand and returned the smile. “Pause.”
We all want to say thank you for everything you have done to bring us all together during this difficult time in the world. You have been amazing. Some of us have put a few things together for you as a way to say thank you. This is my contribution.
I have made a slide show of some of our favourite works of art you have created! It is set to Hedwig’s Theme by John Williams.
You are so amazing and talented. I’m so lucky to have a friend like you.
A gift for @hillnerd / @hillyminne for all the amazing Harry Potter quarantine activities and for being just a kind, wonderful person!
Summary: The image of his own reflection caused a burst of desperate desire in his heart. The shiny badges and trophies. Proof that he was as cool as Bill, as brave as Charlie, as funny as the twins, as smart as Percy, as beloved as Ginny. He fell asleep fitfully as resentment burned in his gut as he remembered Harry’s flippant dismissal. What’s interesting about that?
Ron Weasley, the sixth son, in six scenes.
FF.net | AO3
Note: Lyrics from "Three" by Sleeping at Last. It screamed "Ron" to me from the very first listen. This is my first Ron-centric story. I hope it does him justice.
*
i. Maybe I've done enough, / And your golden child grew up. / Maybe this trophy isn't real love, / And with or without it I'm good enough.
"Look at me!" Ron said, his voice filled with awe. He only saw himself in the mirror — but instead of his skinny, gangly self, his reflection was taller, fitter than Charlie, and handsomer than Bill! There was an air of confidence to his reflection, whose Head Boy badge and Quidditch Captain badge glinted cheerfully, almost as brilliantly as the House and Quidditch Cups he carried with ease. Older, cooler, happier Ron gave him a wink.
"Can you see your family standing around you?" Harry answered with excitement.
"No — I'm alone — but I'm different —" Ron explained what he saw, glee bubbling up inside him. He desperately drank in the sight of himself, of everything he had ever wanted. But he tore his eyes away from the mirror to look at Harry, wanting to gauge his reaction. "Do you think this mirror shows the future?"
"How can it? All my family are dead." The hurt and pain that shined in Harry's eyes made Ron falter. "Let me have another look —"
"You had it to yourself all last night," he protested. "Give me a bit more time."
"You're only holding the Quidditch Cup, what's interesting about that?"
Only? Pressure built up in Ron's chest.
"I want to see my parents."
"Don't push me —" Ron was surprised by Harry's hard shove, but was even more taken aback by his burning look.
The noise in the hall immediately disrupted the conversation. Ron quickly dragged away Harry, who seemed reluctant to leave. Even after they returned to Gryffindor tower, Harry seemed angry, which confused Ron and fueled his frustration. He burrowed deeper into his bed and drew his blankets closer, holding tight to the image of what he hoped would be his future.
The image of his own reflection caused a burst of desperate desire in his heart. The shiny badges and trophies. Proof that he was as cool as Bill, as brave as Charlie, as funny as the twins, as smart as Percy, as beloved as Ginny. He fell asleep fitfully as resentment burned in his gut as he remembered Harry's flippant dismissal.
What's interesting about that?
But when the morning light crept in and woke Ron from his deep slumber, the resentment had faded away, leaving only a resounding hunger. After a hearty breakfast, he was ready to enjoy the rest of his holiday with Harry.
Harry, on the other hand, seemed distant and detached. For the second day in a row, he pushed his food around on his plate as he stared unseeing at the eggs, the burning hunger in his eyes not matching his appetite.
"You're not eating anything," Ron said, but Harry shook his head at Ron's attempt to add food to his plate. He couldn't help but glance at the empty spot beside him, wondering what Hermione would have said to get Harry to eat.
Back in the common room, Ron tried to coax Harry out of his mood, offering to play chess or Exploding Snap. But Harry simply stared listlessly at the fire, his knees drawn toward him, looking cold and alone. Ron thought back to why he was here rather than back at the Burrow. He thought of the curt, unfeeling letter from Harry's relatives. He thought of the mixture of shock and painful hope on Harry's face at the embarrassing jumper his mum sent.
"I know what you're thinking about, Harry — that mirror. Don't go back tonight."
"Why not?"
"I dunno, I've just got a bad feeling about it — "
Harry shook his head, reckless determination radiating from his body.
Ron fiddled his new jumper, poking a finger through the yarn to make a small hole. Maybe Ron couldn't be what the mirror showed him to be. Maybe Ron couldn't replace the things that Harry saw. But at least he could try to be there for Harry.
ii. Maybe I've done enough, / Finally catching up. / For the first time I see an image of my brokenness, / Utterly worthy of love.
This was going to be the worst Christmas ever. He pressed his face further into his pillow, trying to will away the holiday. Bill and Fleur had been trying to engage him in some pre-Christmas cheer, but all Ron could think about was what today was like for Harry and Hermione. Were they shivering by a small fire and a tin of beans, looking ragged and worn? Or were they looking far better than when he left, determined, happier, complete without him?
He flopped over in the bed onto his side and wrapped his arm around himself.
It was still early if he was right about the amount of light parting the darkness through the window, and no one else in the cottage was stirring. He considered trying to sleep but knew it was useless. When he closed his eyes, it was like he could see her, running towards him, large tears streaming down her pale face, her hands reaching up to hold onto him. Him wrenching his arm away, wanting nothing more than to see the hurt and rejection shine in her eyes — for her to feel just a modicum of the pain he had felt those weeks — years, watching her put Harry first. Just like everyone else.
Ron! Hermione had cried, begging him to stay.
He felt sick to his stomach now, remembering the fury, the wicked satisfaction of being able to hurt her. He never wanted to hurt her, but he always seemed to. He had left, abandoning her and Harry and everything he had stood for in one fell swoop. The moment he had flung off the locket and Disapparated, all of those awful feelings had lifted, and in their stead, horror, dread, and guilt took hold.
Immediately, he tried to go back. The campsite was deserted, and he had felt ridiculously left behind.
Maybe they're better off without you, he thought morosely. Hermione would cry, and Harry would be there for her. They would comfort each other over what a prat he was, the weakest link, unable to handle the hunger, the hopelessness, the Horcrux.
Ron curled his hand into a fist. He had to go back, he had to make amends, he had to do what he had set out to do, perhaps had always prepared to do, the moment he pushed open that compartment door on the Hogwarts Express where the boy with untidy hair sat alone in second-hand clothes like him.
He closed his eyes.
He missed her.
"...Ron?"
He started at the sound of her voice, scared it had been his imagination, but he knew it was her. Hermione. Her voice was coming from the direction of…his pocket? Then he heard her again.
"…broke his wand…"
Ron fumbled out of bed, pulling out the Deluminator, which he carried everywhere. It looked exactly the same, but he heard her. He was sure of it. Hope bloomed in his chest for the first time since he left. He clicked the Deluminator, and the light went out from his room, only for a ball of bluish light to appear outside the window. It pulsed, beckoning him.
This was it.
He changed as quickly as he could, shoving his maroon pajamas and other things into his rucksack. Anticipation buzzed under his skin as he hurried out to the garden where he knew the little ball of light would be waiting for him. The light snow flurried around him as the hovering ball led him behind the shed. When they were hidden from view, it floated toward him and went straight to his chest, into his heart. It pulsed, achingly hot inside him, flooding him with memories of Hermione fussing over his homework, dancing with him at the wedding, lying Petrified on the hospital bed, brushing her lips against his cheek before tryouts, holding his hand at Grimmauld Place.
And Ron just knew what he was supposed to do; he knew the ball would take him where he needed to go.
He disappeared with a loud crack.
iii. Maybe I've done enough / And I finally see myself / Through the eyes of no one else. / It's so exhausting on this silver screen / Where I play the role of anyone but me.
His forehead stung from where the stupid badge hit him, but he barely noticed over the swell of emotion in his chest. Harry swept past him, up the stairs.
Ron stood motionless until there was no other sound in the empty common room aside from the occasional crack or hiss from the fire before he leaned over and picked up the lime green monstrosity. His fingers curled over the blaring words, POTTER REALLY STINKS.
He was feeling more and more like he had made a mistake. But why didn't Harry get it? If he had put his name in the Goblet, why hadn't he done it with him? The Goblet probably would have chosen Harry over him anyway — everyone always did. But they would have done it together. It would have given Ron just a sliver of hope, to have had just the chance of some of the endless glory of his best friend.
You might even have a scar now, if you're lucky… That's what you want, isn't it?
He sunk into the couch, staring at the fire. Unbidden, he remembered watching Harry all those years ago, when he had found the Mirror of Erised.
The guilt that had been lurking settled at the pit of his stomach, which had felt hollow for days. Hadn't he promised himself that he would be there for Harry? Didn't Ron know best of all everything that Harry didn't have? The way Harry had pressed his hand against the mirror.
You're only holding the Quidditch Cup, what's interesting about that?
Bitterness surged up, pressing against the guilt.
Ron had pushed aside his feelings then, hadn't he? He had put being Harry's friend first. He has always done that because — because Harry was his best friend.
He just wished that Harry would try to do the same for him.
iv. And I finally see myself / Unabridged and overwhelmed, / A mess of a story I'm ashamed to tell. / But I'm slowly learning how to break this spell, / And I finally see myself.
The bark was rough against his palm as he leaned against a tree for a moment. His muscles ached from the damp, miserable cold. He had been wandering around for hours, staring hard into the darkness, waiting, willing for Hermione or Harry to appear. What he would give to hear her say his name again.
He told time by how long it took for his hands to go numb, and he would have to remember to recast a warming charm. Maybe he should rest at the base of the tree and try again in the morning.
Just as he was about to lie down, silvery light caught his eye. When the corporal doe materialized, Ron nearly yelped out in surprise. But the cry died in his throat at the sight of Harry emerging out of thin air, with a look of wonder and hunger. What was Harry doing casting his Patronus? Instinctually, he followed Harry, who followed the doe deeper and deeper into the thick forest.
Without prompt, Harry broke out into a run. He was so quick, Ron worried he would lose him to the shadows. He stopped when the forest opened up to a clearing. But the silvery light of the doe had vanished, leaving only darkness. He strained his eyes, trying to find Harry.
Suddenly, a blue light appeared, revealing Harry and a small lake before him. Ron's breath caught in his throat, but somehow he felt compelled to stay quiet. Harry raised his wand, and Ron pressed himself against a tree, his heart clamoring loudly against his ribs. Harry spun around and knelt to the ground, the light from his wand reflecting on the black ice before him. He leaned forward, nearly pressing his face against the pool. After a few moments, he rose and began to pace.
All this time, with the Deluminator light inside him, Ron's primary concern had been to find Harry and Hermione again. It had taken his entire focus. But now, with Harry just a few feet away from him, suddenly all the fears and doubts began to fester again. The apology looming in the recesses of his mind sounded trite. What would they say? Would they even want to see him again? The cruel words he had said to them before he left rang in his head like a bell.
What if it was too late?
A sharp cracking sound jolted Ron from his reverie. He looked up, wide-eyed, to see that Harry had stripped down to his pants and was placing his wand on the ground. He couldn't…
Ron leapt up from his spot just as Harry jumped into the lake. Harry sputtered for a moment, his breath coming out in broken gusts of white. A chill ran down Ron's spine when he spotted an ominous glint around Harry's neck. Harry took one deep breath and vanished beneath the black depths.
Harry didn't reappear.
The locket, Ron realized with swelling panic. The locket must have made him do it.
He scrambled from his hiding spot to where his friend had just disappeared — movement catching his eye, but all thoughts scattering from his mind.
The dark waters reflected his pale, drawn face back at him, his blue eyes gleaming with rising fear as the seconds ticked away without Harry resurfacing. Not the face of a hero, not his brothers' or his sister's, not the glowing one in the Mirror. But the only one that could save Harry now.
The reflection's expression changed, becoming brazen and determined. Ron bit back a swear and dove into the icy waters.
v. Now I only want what's real, / To let my heart feel what it feels. / Gold, silver, or bronze hold no value here, / Where work and rest are equally revered.
The weight of the gold felt heavy and yet was lighter than he had imagined. Not that he had ever imagined this, he thought as his finger traced over the green ribbon. He looked up from the medal, out into the lake, the waves shimmering back at him. The breeze brushed against his neatly trimmed hair.
Ron wasn't sure what he was supposed to be feeling. The way people looked at him now was different, but he didn't feel any different. Was this how Harry had always felt?
"Hey." The wind carried Hermione's soft voice to him, and he turned. She was looking up at him, smiling despite the line of worry between her brows. An identical First Order of Merlin glinted from her chest. "What are you doing here?"
He shrugged, watching as she joined him on the rock. The smell of whatever potion she'd put in her hair made his lips curl up. "Wanted a moment away," he said, stretching his arms behind his head. He casually let one rest behind her, giving her something to lean on if she wanted. "I'm too famous for my own good."
She huffed in amusement before they lapsed into a comfortable silence. There was the sound of the lake, the leaves rustling in the breeze, and the murmur of everyone closer to the castle behind them.
"What are you going to do now?" she asked finally.
"I don't know," Ron admitted, watching her face drop. He swallowed nervously and fiddled with the tie Hermione had knotted too tightly. "I was thinking…of going to Australia with you. If you want."
Her eyes shined brightly, even as her face screwed up. She looked beautiful with the sunlight streaming through her hair.
"Yeah?" she asked in a small voice.
"Yeah," he said, pushing some of her soft, fuzzy hair from her face. "I'd even fly in an aero - thingy whatsit that Harry was talking about the other day."
"Aero-plane," she enunciated, swatting his hand away, sighed — not in disdain, as he had imagined months ago — but with amused affection. "And I already told you that it doesn't make sense to go that way."
She then launched into a long-winded explanation of the challenges of Apparation across long distances, bodies of water, and the complications of international Apparation customs.
Sometimes he still couldn't believe it.
Least loved, always…
He shook the words away and smiled gently at Hermione.
"Come on," he said, interrupting her as she began discussing the pros and cons of Portkeys by taking her hand in his, lacing their fingers the way he had dreamt of since his fourth year. He looked over his shoulder at his family, where he saw Ginny practically shielding Harry from nosy strangers trying to get a closer look. His heart ached at the obvious absence there, and he squeezed her hand. "Let's join the others. I'm starved."
"Honestly, Ron!" she huffed predictably. "We ate just before the ceremony."
"Carrying this thing around my neck takes a lot of energy." He laughed.
vi. I only want what's real. / I set aside the highlight reel, / And leave my greatest failures on display with an asterisk, / Worthy of love anyway.
He stared hard at the mirror, his tongue caught between his teeth as he carefully adjusted his ginger hair with a comb. The damn butterflies in his stomach wouldn't stop fluttering.
"You look good, dearie," the mirror said in a cheery voice.
Ron eyed his reflection skeptically, but it only gave him a wink.
"You do," Harry confirmed from the door.
"Yeah?" Ron asked, pulling at his new and fitted robes.
"At least this time it doesn't have lace."
"Har har," Ron said, but he smiled now at his reflection. Midnight blue was Hermione's favorite color. "Do you think I should have a smudge of dirt on my face, for old time's sake?"
"If you want her to kill you."
They were laughing when Ginny popped her head in, arching an eyebrow at her brother and boyfriend. "Time to take your places." She gave Harry a long look of appreciation. "You clean up nice, Potter."
"I'm the one getting married today," Ron grumbled, lightly elbowing Harry, who had flushed a deep red. Harry flashed him a sheepish grin, but Ginny stepped closer. Ron bristled under her critical gaze, but she suddenly pulled him into a hard embrace, forcing him to bend downward awkwardly. All that Quidditch training was making her way too strong.
"Oi! Watch the hair!"
"You look great," she said fiercely, hiding her face in his shoulder in a way that reminded him of when she was twelve. And just like that she was pulling away with a bright smirk on her face. "Though I still think the puce looked better on you."
He scowled as she skittered out the door.
"Better be quick before Mum comes to get you!"
"Come on," Harry said, patting him on the back. "Big day."
"Yeah," Ron said, his face already starting to ache from smiling.
After word of a fight between Severa and Liam gets out, the Marauders decide to enact a little revenge on Severa. But nothing ever quite goes according to plan, does it?
Any all of these! :) Bookworm3741. The-ginger-magician. Dementorsareshook. Hillnerd.
@bookworm3741 your make some really funny content, I love when you make the vine recreation for HP characters!! Also your Heathers characters are all really good!!! Oh, and your Dipper Pines!!
@the-ginger-magician your Weasley characters!!! Your Ron, Charlie, and Percy are definitely favorites of mine!! Especially your Charlie, the way you design the character is exactly how I picture the aesthetic I have for them!!
@dementorsareshook Annka oh my goodness I always love when we talk, you’re so nice!! I love how passionate you are about Merlin (as you should be, such a great show!!) you’re the reason I got into the series! All your characters are really great, and whenever you release new character designs you have me screaming I’m always really impressed!!
@hillnerd your makeup skills!!! Oh wow, you’re like a metamorphmagus!! Every character you do looks completely different and I love it, the talent!!! Also I love the way you design your wigs and the outfits you pick out for each character!!
