#wreggetrules

[half-blood-master-of-potions]

Headcanon: Rumour has it that Professor Snape has moved in with a certain curate, one Mr Obadiah Slope. Many arguments about who is wearing whose black garments have ensued.

“Mine are easily identifiable as they have superior button quantity quality.” 

[half-blood-master-of-potions]

'Happy Christmas, Sev! Where's my present?' She grinned and hugged him.

The man was far more used to hearing the door to his office open with timid footsteps, which gave him ample time to turn and sneer in a sinister fashion. Thus, he was mildly caught off-guard by the contact and nearly topped sideways from alarm. When he’d taken a brief moment to regain his composure, stiff-armed and awkward in the embrace, he jerked his head in the direction of a small collection of gifts meant for colleagues and acquaintances which sat on a side table in the corner.

“…Bah humbug.”

The one addressed to Jilomena was wrapped in a deep violet paper with black pinstripes and a modest pewter ribbon. Inside were tickets to an independent underground theater performance in January for her and her buffoon of a husband, various sweets from Honeydukes for her numerous spawn, and a small assortment of rare potion ingredients on the off chance that she’d not abandoned her talents.

[ask-flip-frost]

"I think you're pretty great."

Usually in the weeks that followed a Super Moon, Flip was prone to small bouts of depression. Exuding so much power at once left her feeling exhausted and vulnerable to darker thoughts.

“No. No, I’m really not. Everything I do for people can’t scrub away the bad things I’ve caused, and if I live long enough, I will become something worse than what the other Nightmare Hunters can handle. Do you know I’ve killed children, Jilomena? Small innocent things who were only in the wrong place at the wrong time?”

[ask-flip-frost]

(≧∇≦)

(≧∇≦)A funny dream your Muse has had 

–

Jilomena sat calmly on a park bench, paging through a fresh copy of Potions Weekly. The crisp air did her good when she was feeling a bit shut-in at home, and giving her children a break from their electronics was a must.

“Mum, I’m twenty-two years old, and I don’t want to play in the sand box.” a young man grumbled.

“You’ll play in that sand box if you don’t want to wind up like your father.” Jilomena responded coolly from behind her pages.

A short distance away, Prickman could be seen running full tilt away from at least 300 angry ducks.

“I FECKING HATE SAND!” he shrieked as he ran.

–

Flip decided to keep this dream for her collection upon viewing.

[ask-flip-frost]

(ღ˘⌣˘ღ)

(ღ˘⌣˘ღ)A sweet/loving dream your Muse has had 

–

The room was dimly lit, the only illumination flickering in spilled from a low fire in a cobbled fireplace lined against a very modern looking wall. It seemed terribly out of place, and there was no chimney to speak of. Still, no smoke dared billow into the room.

“Well, they said there’s no way we’re getting power back tonight.” a low voice grumbled.

Jilomena propped her chin on her forearms and looked up at her husband from her nest of blankets by the fire. Her multiple children were sprawled out on sofas or mattresses dragged into the living room, fast asleep.

“It’s not so bad. I made a fire. And a fireplace. We’ll stay toasty, love.” the witch murmured softly. “At least I’m good for something.”

“You’re good for at least four things.” Prickman scoffed, settling down to lay his head against her side.

She turned so that she might run her fingers through the man’s snowy hair as he purred appreciatively.

“And what might those four things be?” she prompted.

“Mmmmmwell…” he sighed. “Making fires… firing out babies like a rabbit… squirming like a flaming eel; you’re good at that… and, uh… making toast.”

“You’re joking.” she scoffed. “You can’t think of one other thing I’m… quite good at?”

“You’re right. I was joking. You’re shite at making toast. You burn it just by thinking on it.” Prickman teased.

Jilomena gasped and accio’d a pillow to beat him mightily with.

“Abuse! Aaah! I… mean…?! Lov-ing… m-me???”

[half-blood-master-of-potions]

▽

Munday questions

▽  Any RP pet peeves?

((Not too many. 

1) I have a huge problem with god-modding. If it’s not your character, you may not dictate how they think, feel, or react. Even if I have a spell in effect aimed at someone’s character, I will ALWAYS contact the Mun to see whether it’s a hit or miss, and if they are comfortable with it. I expect the same.

2) I don’t do drug related prompts or threads. It’s one of my very few triggers and I just completely side-step it when it comes up. I am willing to work around things when people find certain things uncomfortable as well. RPing should be fun, and if anything comes up in a thread that directly hurts my RP partner, I will absolutely change and rework things without question. Hurt feelings for my Muse is fine every once in a while, but drama between Muns is sad and terrible and I don’t want that to happen on either end.

3) I work overtime every week and have a family, so my RPing revolves around those two things. Sometimes it takes me a while to get to things. I don’t mind reminders, but it’s causes pause when people are forceful about trying to get me to reply to things. I have to do things at a pace that is comfortable.

I think that’s pretty much it?))

[half-blood-master-of-potions]

((Congrats to @missfesterworth and @llilyrevans who figured out that I have been tagging everything so far tonight with lyrics to All the Way [Schmoyoho/Jacksepticeye] XD I’m sure that it’s caused some raised eyebrows. As such, they both win a drabble, which I will be posting this weekend! Woo!))

[half-blood-master-of-potions]

▲

5. Hugging them from behind when they weren’t expecting it

When he felt the arms enclosing his torso, instinct kicked in and he immediately dropped his weight into a crouch on the floor. In one swift movement, his arms shot up around the waist of his assailant and they were flipped over his head onto his desk. His wand was flicked out to aim at her throat.

It took a brief second to come to the realization that it was a person he knew, but habit had forced the man to react as he would have in times of war. Immediately, once the recognition kicked in, his wand was stowed away and he held out a hand to help the woman up.

“I… forgive me. I thought you were… most other people.” he frowned meekly, seeming to have genuine regret for the action. “Are you hurt?”

@missfesterworth