#plantsandpotions

[vermiculus-incipiens]

VI Quote of the Week:

“What do you mean ‘what’s this then’?” She lowered her voice into a somewhat mocking tone, rolling her eyes. “You know what it’s about. I told you not to send those bloody name suggestions anymore. It’s hard enough picking a name without that.” It was a bit silly maybe, but she stood by that. Names were important - she had a personal theory that part of her sister’s problems stemmed from being named Petunia. It wasn’t the prettiest name. Not that she’d say that to Petunia. But with her baby, she wanted to make sure they got it right, and it just irked when people tried to turn it into a game.                                                                           -- thelionheartedxlily, Temper

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No doubt a physician would approve of his decrease in whiskey consumption, but just because he’d have to be completely sober for the next while didn’t mean that he wasn’t going to resume his normal habits once he could. He figured that short of death, there was nothing stopping a Scotsman from his drink for long. His missing leg was a temporary setback. Wonder if I could get someone to smuggle something in. He briefly considered the people that might do it; the list was short, but he only needed one person.                                                                    -- head-auror-moody, For Granted

Marlene wasn’t there anymore, her mind had long fled to that Nowhere it ran whenever she went catatonic. It had only happened to her twice before; the first time she had seen her own mother fall into a similar stupor had triggered her to follow, the second time was when she had been attacked by a Dementor. It took extremely harsh emotional situation to knock her out of her mind, and having her own willpower controlled into injuring, possibly killing someone she knew and admired, what just the kind of situation to do the trick.                                                                       -- cherrybomb-witch, Misplaced

Tilden had never heard the cry of a banshee before, but he couldn’t imagine it could be any worse than the scream that filled the room now. He turned away from Moody and Remus, staring at Marlene where she lay. Was she in pain? Yet she didn’t seem to be hurt. Not physically at least. Tilden couldn’t imagine what was going through her mind now. Was she still fighting off the effects of the curse? Or was the realization of what had happened causing this heartrending grief?                                                                         -- plantsandpotions, Misplaced

[edgarbonesknows]

In Control || Tilden & Rommie || March 22nd, 1980

Date: March 22nd, 1980 Time: 10:00pm Location: Sparring Gym

One punch. A kick. Another punch. A hit. Rommie felt a thrill flow through her as she landed the blow, her knuckles sore despite the gloves she was wearing. They had been at it for an hour now and she hadn’t let up, not once.

It felt so good to punch something.

Someone, she supposed, as Tilden was opposite her, tending to his newest bruise. It’s good, he’s learning. He blocked more that time. He’s getting much better. The harder he’s pushed the faster he’ll learn. It’s good.

Taking a swig of water, she turned back towards the young man. “Ready to go again?” she asked before jumping into another fight, not giving him much more of a warning. He has to be ready for surprises. Ready for anything.

Another punch.

It felt so fucking good to punch something. She was in control here, she was winning this fight. She held the power, she knew what to do and what not to do. After the past few days of feeling hopeless lost and scared, it felt good to finally be the one in control once more, even if it was at her friend’s expense. A good kick, this brought Tilden to his knees where Rommie grabbed his arm, twisted, and slammed him to the ground.

[atwistedoldfriend]

Oh What a Tangled Web || Tilden & Evan || March 5th, 1980

“Master Evan?”

He glanced up from the potion he’d working ceaselessly on for the better part of three hours and frowned. “Yes?”

“Tolmi has fixed the required snack for Master’s visit to Mr. Toots.” The house elf held out a small basket.

Evan eyed it for a moment and then focused on the potion again. “Set it by the door.” He added another spider eye to the potion and sat back watching the churning liquid intently. He’d been so busy lately that his potion experiments had almost been waylaid entirely. He’d decided that it was time to get some new potential potions ready for his next little foray. “This needs to boil for precisely forty-nine minutes, and then I want you to adjust the temperature to soft simmer just as I’ve shown you for other potions.”

“Tolmi won’t let Master Evan down.” The house elf assured him eagerly. Evan didn’t give him tasks involving his potions very often.

Nodding he turned and moved to wash his hands, scrubbing them thoroughly not once but twice before he said over his shoulder, “What did you make?”

“Master told Tolmi something light and healthy so Tolmi made tuna fish salad with hard boiled egg and assorted crackers and cheese.”

Evan nodded, his stomach giving a healthy gurgle of appreciation. He did like tuna fish after all. Confident the elf would see to his potion, he disappeared up to his room to change out of his potion-scented clothing (any time a potion boiled over or came into contact with his clothing it was either cleaned or the item was discarded. Evan didn’t do spots and stains. Before heading out he paused in the guest room to visit his stash of memories. He needed something to satisfy the bloodlust he now had to ignore thanks to Walden’s demand that he leave the gardener alone.

He chose one of his more gruesome torture memories, losing himself in the agony and blood. When his watch started clanging in reality he withdrew and carefully packed away the little stash of horrors. By the time he left his house there was almost a spring in his step. He had originally asked for this meeting to work on some rare seed pods but now he had a secondary objective—he was going to find out who that girl had been because he had every intention of using her to torture the man he was going to see.  

Twenty Minutes to 2:00 PM - Toot’s Home

Finding Toots home had been easy enough, and Evan sauntered up to the door with the kind of languid ease of a man completely at ease. There was no guilt in his manner, and any anger he had he’d stowed away, shoving it deep so that it couldn’t spoil the façade he worked constantly to present. Knocking lightly he fell back a step and waited, a small brown bag with the seeds in one hand and the basket with the afternoon’s snack in the other.

When the door opened he offered a vague smile and said, “Good afternoon Mr. Toots. I’m afraid we neither of us gave a specific time so I just came over when my potions were ready to be abandoned for a bit. I hope that’s alright.” He asked with just enough hesitation in his tone that he actually sounded concerned.

As if.  Come into my parlor said the spider to the fly… Only I’m the spider Mr. Toots, and if I play my cards just right, you’ll give me everything I need to make you suffer.  And he wouldn’t even have to worry about breaking his promise to Walden.

Win-win in his book.

[perennialgrace]

Sun and Sand || Daisy & Tilden || March 7th, 1980

London had been cloudy, and it was actually raining a bit here in Hogsmeade. But the forecast was happily sunny for the south-east coast of Kent. Not warm exactly— it was March— but the sun would be shining, and that was good enough for Daisy.

Smoothing her hair down a bit as she headed up Tilden’s garden path, she knocked quickly on his front door. Even though they’d been dating for over six months, now, Daisy still tended to spent quite a bit of time getting ready for her dates with Tilden, and today hadn’t really been any exception. Today, most of that time had been spent fixing her hair into French plaits, with a couple of charms woven through to hold them in place. The wind tended to be strong on the cliffs and she was not going to have it making a mess of her hair.

She leaned against the wall as she waited for Tilden, squinting up at the clouds above her. Stupid weather. Stupid rain. She drew her wand and cast a quick impervious charm on her hair. Of course it didn’t matter what the weather was like here, she reminded herself. It was more important that it be nice in Kent. She was taking Tilden to the cliffs around Dover, half an hour from where she’d grown up. The cliffs, and the beaches below, were among Daisy’s favourite places and she hoped Tilden would like them too. So the weather had to cooperate, because who liked beaches when it was miserable out?

She could hear Tilden moving around inside and grinned as she heard the door open. “I’m here before you!” she announced by way of greeting. More often than not Tilden was sitting here waiting for her— unsurprising given her habit of always running ever-so-slightly late— but today she’d been on time and she was rather proud of herself for that.

@plantsandpotions

[the-wolf-within-blog]

Remus Lupin & Tilden Toots Aesthetics:

“...boy I want to warn you It'll turn into a ballroom blitz”.

   — The Sweet.

@plantsandpotions

[perennialgrace]

@plantsandpotions replied to your post“on a scale from 1 to 10, how hard is it for someone to get under your skin?”

The toughest! Tough and sweet! Like, um, like hard candy!

Aww! Thanks for acknowledging my toughness.

... And for not laughing.

[vermiculus-incipiens]

VI Quote of the Week:

Amycus snorted.  His father’s dark eyes speared him and he quickly straightened his features but he decided that it was time to stop listening.  Apparently this idiot didn’t know her at all.  If being a ‘good mother’ meant staying in your wing of the Manor and drinking all day and night while your children were tortured then yes, she’d been fantastic.                                    -- the-hotter-carrow, Funeral of Amelie Yaxley-Carrow

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He was well on his way to growling in annoyance when a diminutive form finally slanted across the alley. Furgok was fairly impressive as far as goblins went. Oh sure, he was as ugly as a three day old technicolor yawn, but there was something about him that said he got things done. Evan could only hope that aura of potential paid off in their favor.                                                               -- atwistedoldfriend, Honeyed Words

She considered their destination options. Marlene was quite versatile when it came to shopping. She did not dress by brand, but rather by look. In a single outfit she could combine a brand dress, a cloak from Diagon Alley and a pair of unique vintage boots from Camden Town. To her, every outfit, and fashion in general, was not at all frivolous, but rather, a form of art. Just like in traditional art, there were colors and textures to be combined in order to express something through them. The witch liked to think of it of more than just creating an original and aesthetically pleasing look…it was about creating an image, a picture or a painting, a work of art.                                                          -- cherrybomb-witch, Take On the World

He glanced sideways at the witch walking alongside him. Marlene McKinnon looked tired, too, but still somehow immaculately put together. He never knew if that was a witch thing or a Marlene thing, but either way, he had to admire it. Hours on their feet, eyes peeled for trouble, and she still looked ready to kick the arse of anyone who crossed them.                                                                         -- plantsandpotions, The Truth

[cherrybomb-witch]

could you possibly draw Andromeda going Mother Hen on anyone (your choice) ??

“If she had it her way…”

Andromeda Tonks going full protective Mother Hen for the Order’s cinnamon rolls. Death Eaters don’t stand a chance.

@anotherblack-sheep  ft. @plantsandpotions , @perennialgrace , @fairasalily, @edgarbonesknows and Remus xD.