after dooms day

anonymous asked:

I started reading your fic "believe it when i say" and I can't believe you made Otabek so lame...It's 2017, how come he still uses e-mail. I'm intrigued on wether he's a hipster or just an old 18 year old.

…All right, calling how I wrote him “lame” is kinda harsh if you ask me, but assuming it’s an honest question, here are my reasons:

1) At one point not many months ago, all we knew about Otabek’s use of social media was that he “hated SNS.” That’s it, that’s all we had. So it’s an extremely common trope in fics written/begun pre-DJ!Otabek for him to use social media only rarely or not at all. My story got jossed, but I’m going with it for continuity. That’s open-canon life, man.

2) I can write whatever I want to write, and I’m not offended if you don’t want to to read it. *shrug* I think “old 18-year-olds” are funny as fuck because I was one. You are welcome to disagree; there are plenty of other lovely fics out there. Try “A Stiller Doom” if ABO doesn’t bother you, because it’s badass and absolutely crammed with social media. (But you gotta go to @tessacrowley‘s tumblr to read it, because she’s currently suspended from Ao3 for dumb reasons.)

[edit: in case anyone else reblogs this, anon and i are cool now, so nobody get feisty in here]

A scorose thingy

Hey, I just wanted to write a little Scorose thing. Nothing special. I was just bored. A falling back in love maybe??? I don’t know. I don’t even know if I should keep writing this. This is what happens when Cara is angsty and bored. Loove yas!


She was so many rules. “Don’t eat with your mouth full,” or; “Don’t forget to make sure he wears socks, it’s not the middle of summer out there!”

Sometimes it was more serious things that only idiots would do like; “Don’t swear in front of him – he hangs on to everything you say,” or; “Don’t let him touch your wand when you’re not around!”

“I don’t let him do that because it remind me too much of you.”

Sometimes it was spark-like backfires like; “I don’t want him to end up like you.”

Rose was all logical thought processes and painful truths. Everything she said was for a reason. Everything she did had a good reason behind it. That’s why she left me that hot, summers day. She had thought about it, analysed it and to her, it was the most logical thing to do.

I had drunk myself stupid at James’ apartment, I don’t know how many nights I had cried myself to sleep in James’ sheets and soaked Al’s shoulder. I don’t know how many times I lost my wand in a drunk mess – somewhere on the streets of Muggle London that made my dad’s temple pulse and literal steam come out of his ears. He would yell at me; “Why so reckless, Scorpius!”

I would reply with something about the amount of money he had and what use was it if not used on cleaning up my depressive mess. He hated me. I think a lot of people did.

She would come over to James’ flat and everytime I heard the sharp snap of her apparating, I would assume she was back to come and apologise and she was here to tell me I wasn’t a disgusting ferret and she was going to forgive me for my fuck ups and she just wanted to be a family again. I almost leapt out of the couch everytime she showed. But she never did forgive me, and she didn’t want to be a family again and she was probably even more disgusted than ever because how could I be a father when I was neck-deep in so many bottles of booze and I smelled worse than an ash tray? Sometimes she did promise to come back, only to give me my wand that she confiscated because I could kill someone while under the influence.

At one point, I didn’t see our son for a week.

Our son, our light. He was the true Chosen One. Even Harry Potter himself said that how could one kid brighten so many lives? He was supposed to be the one who broke us  - tore the great Malfoy name and cursed the great Weasley one. But he didn’t. He was the intertwining of the two Great Families. They talk of the Sacred Twenty-Eight as if it were some myth, but our son was so real. So, so real.

They all say that if you have a kid so young, sixteen and in short, we were in love, you’ve signed yourself up for a life doomed. Dooms day. After all, how can kids have kids? You’re supposed to do more, see more, become more. But I can’t have become any more than I was as a sixteen year old Scorpius. I was invincible, indestructible, impenetrable; all because of a squashed up kid wrapped up in muslin. He was blue eyes and blonde hair. He was loud screams and soft touches. He was my everything. He is my everything. I think sometimes I breathe because he’s around and at points, I don’t think I would be breathing if he was not here. Paths seemed clearer and shit, I loved Rose more for it. I loved her so much, I would have taken every hex, every curse, every Unforgivable Curse for that girl with the wild hair and the wilder eyes. And that in itself was the start of the end.

My mum told me once that it was hard to love a Malfoy. My dad told me once it was like loving a brick, loving a Malfoy. We ran, we skipped it, we ran from the darkness that followed us but as much as we had ditched it, it’s true. There’s always a little dark in us. Sometimes I pray to Merlin that my son has just the right amount of Weasley in him to dispel any darkness from him. Maybe he’d grow up and be all sharp words and sarcastic remarks. Just like his mum.

One of Rose’s many rules is a universal one: Don’t lie.

My mind thought over the lies so much, I find some sort of sickening comfort within when I think that the reason why I lied to her in the first place was not to hurt her.

I know that it hurt her more when she found out that I thought that might have worked.

I’ve now had eight months of thinking over my lies.

I did have my own flat. I lived on top of the Leaky Cauldron. Rose came and inspected it once. She told me she’d kill me if our son set foot in there, but I liked it. It had a bed – sleep was one of my saving graces and it took me away from the realisation that I had fucked up, even if just for a few hours. Caelum wasn’t allowed there, it was just as well because I was kicked out after eight weeks. Kicked out and shoved to the comforting embrace of James.

James didn’t mind. He was away most of the time and when he was home, he had a drinking buddy. Not just your usual one, oh no, I was far too dramatic for that. It was all loud singing and falling asleep on the toilet type of drinking. A cry yourself to sleep on your best mate’s brother’s shoulder sort of affair.

I’ve been on James’ couch ever since.

Today was different. I could feel it was different. She called me first thing this morning and didn’t question where I was. She said I could have our son for the entire weekend without asking if I had proper linen or knew how to work James’ TV. She didn’t tell me that her dad was going to come and pick him up at eight AM on Sunday morning so I was robbed of a whole day with him; “bring him home when you’re ready,” was her exact words. And I snatched them up.

I cleaned James’ house, I got rid of the empty beer bottles and threw out the fish n chip wrappers.  I shaved, I wore deodorant. I smoked a pack of cigarettes.

It’s weird how you lose yourself a little when someone leaves. You don’t realise how much you relied on a single person until they tell you that they don’t want you anymore.

They don’t want you to do this to them anymore.

That is the curse of falling in love when you don’t even know what love is. I mean, I think I know. I think I knew. Because even when we were young I had that dull throbbing in my chest every time she walked in and every word she spoke just astounded me. Maybe it wasn’t love at all. Maybe it was an obsession. I admit, I lost myself a little when she left. I was cold and everything was pitch black but I remember, I would never forget. It was two o'clock on a Summer’s afternoon when she found it appropriate to not forgive me.

It wasn’t the Summer anymore. Today was cold, dark and bleak. Typical of Britain’s forecast. It was announced through Diagon Alley when I went to visit Fred that we were in for a weeks worth of rain. But today, I don’t feel it. I only feel that my son is coming to me for an entire weekend and I had things I needed to buy from WWW’s even though he gets a lot of it’s shit for free.

I had chucked a large sum of cash on the counter, Fred gathered me up the best of the best.

This weekend was going to be the best of the best even if I did follow Rose’s rules.

I’m pacing the lounge room of James’ flat. There are pictures everywhere. Even a picture of Rose, Caelum and I when he’s hours old, nothing but fresh faces and smiles are in this picture. We move, barely. He moves a lot. He was just born, he wanted to experience the world. The one his young parents gave him. Maybe it was true; maybe we’re just another statistic.

I hear a truck pull up into the drive way. It was so  Muggle of her but our son goes to a Muggle school. She wanted to fit in. She chucked the cash I had given her as a way to say sorry at the dealer and drove away in a Ford Escape. There was no escaping that it was paid with Malfoy money or that it was a huge statement on Rose’s behalf.

I hear doors slamming. Hurried scurries up the steps. “Come on, mum!” he shouts and I rush to the door, just as quickly as he does because I can’t help it.

I open the door and grin, my arms out, waiting for my son. “Cae!” I say, “Hey mate!” I scoop him up into my arms, bury my face in his hair, kiss him a thousand times all over his face which he hates and I absolutely, positively love.

He groans and makes a choking sound; “Don’t dad!” he whines, shaking his face free from me. “You’re so gross!”

Rose saunters over, hair flying behind her but she’s still wearing her medi-witch robes. Her wand stuck into the messy bun and she’s frowning. “There’s a case of Witches Flu going around,” she states.

“I know,” I mutter, putting my son down. “I work at the same place as you.”

She doesn’t like being told anything. Rose Weasley was a know it all but the worst part was she actually knew it all. Every thing.

We had smoothly transitioned into the new life. Rose insisted that we make this as seamless as possible. We have a six year old son who doesn’t take well to glitches in the system, we had to work hard to make things easy for him. She had a reason for everything, just like she had a reason for making me move out.

We were twenty three years old and so old. I had aged two decades easily in the last eight months. It made me feel sick, it made my voice hitch, it made my hands shake when I drop our son off to his ‘mum’s’ place. It shouldn’t be like that – the great divide.

Often when I would drop him back off to her she would be leaned over a piece of parchment and scratching with a quill. She would still had her medi-witch gear on but her hair was always loose and falling like it was now. I always knocked awkwardly on the door as if I shouldn’t be there but I shared that home with her for three years, in the corner of her own lounge room was still a photo of us, seventeen and glowing, son bouncing in our arms, fresh faced and young just like the one here. And scared. Shit scared.

We made so many mistakes in the short time span, it was a wonder we didn’t combust earlier, a disaster of sparks and stars. We had our son when every odd was against us, our families were against us, shit, even we were against ourselves.

“So, how are you?,” I mutter to her, seeing our son sprawled out on the couch with his blonde hair everywhere and wearing a fake Harry Potter scar on his head. “Uh, did you buy that tattoo for him?”

Rose looks up briefly at me, her glasses slipping down the bridge of her nose but she slides them up and sniggers when she looks over at our son. “No, that would be your best friend, Albus.”

She walks in and dumps her hand bag on the floor before taking a seat at James’ table which is only there to make this place feel somewhat like a home.

“Your cousin,” I mumble but I take the seat across from her. “How was your day?” I ask.

“We work at the same place.”

“I wasn’t there today,” I reply.

“Hmmm,” she says.

She looks down and starts reading a copy of Witch Weekly that has James’ face plastered to the front, not meeting my eyes. I want to yell, scream at her, I want to pull the magazine out from under her hands, screw it up, chuck it in the fire. I want her to look at me because she never looks at me anymore. I need her to see me, see I’m bleeding from the inside because the light has gone out and she just doesn’t notice me anymore. “So we just don’t talk anymore?” I ask her.

“Hmmm,” she said quietly. “We need to organise which weekend is yours and which is mine,” she states matter-of-factly.

I didn’t want to discuss things like whose weekend is whose. I didn’t need it solidified that we didn’t make it and we needed to organise such things that tore our son and made him into another statistic. “Does it need organising? Can it wait?”

“Do you want a cuppa?” she asks, getting up quickly and putting the quill behind her ear. She flicks her wand in the direction of the cup cupboard and two cups come flying out. “I think I do.”

She drunk tea when she was happy. She drunk a hell of a lot when she was stressed. Her choice of pot was huge, a gift from Luna Lovegood to James for his housewarming, apparently. “Sure, if it will make you ease up…”

She hated that. I was wondering if I would see sparks flying at my head. “I’m over fighting.”

“Do you think I enjoy it?” I ask her. “Because I don’t. I’m sick of this, the tension we used to always -” I’m cut off.

“We used to always talk? Yeah, I know, Scorpius,” she says exhaling loudly. “We used to stay up all night and talk about everything.”

“Then why can’t we?” I hiss but she shushes me, eyes flicking around.

“I don’t want to fight with Cae around,” she says through her teeth.

I look back into the lounge room but it looks like our son has figured out the TV which is just as well, because I didn’t want to lie to Rose again and tell her I knew how to work it. “He’s occupied,” I tell her. “And we’re not fighting.”

She rolls her eyes as she flicks her wand at the kettle on the stove. “Yeah, sure,” she says.

“You know, for a person who states she doesn’t want to fight anymore, you keep going on…”

She laughs a little before shoving my shoulder as I lean against the bench. It had been five months since she’s actually touched me. I wonder if it’s stupid to think that maybe she’s burnt through my shirt and straight onto my skin but I shouldn’t think about those things. How her hands feel on me. “I’m sorry -” this time I cut her off.

“Call Rita Skeeter, Rose Weasley is sorry!” I say, grinning at her.

She smiles weakly back. “Stop smiling at me,” she mumbles. “We have no reason to smile.”

“I do,” I tell her honestly. “Because you’re talking to me and that’s always something to smile about.”

“Stop it with your words, Scorp, we need to be serious,” she says, meeting my eyes. I can see they’re still deep blue and worrying. Her eyebrows are knitting together, she was definitely worrying.

“I cleaned up,” I tell her, moving my arms through the kitchen. “Can you tell?”

“Well done,” she says in the same voice that she uses when Caelum brushes his teeth.

“Thank you,” I say anyways.

She sighs and starts searching the cupboards for the tea leaves that James doesn’t own. “You busy tomorrow?” she asks me.

She turns to look at me and now I’m confused. “You’re not going to take him tomorrow, are you? I thought you said I could have him until Sunday…”

She shakes her head and her eyes widen. “Shit. No. I just meant, if you guys were going to do something, then maybe I’d tag along…”

I raise an eyebrow and put my hands on my hips, I try not to smirk, it will just piss her off more. “We could do something if you wanted to?” I challenge.

She inhales deeply and nods. “Yeah, that would be good.”

“Why the change in attitude?” I ask her. I didn’t get where this was going or why it was even going at all but I didn’t want to lose this – the moving forward.

“If this is how our life is going to be, then I want to move on, for the sake of our son.”

I sigh and nod. Accepting this. “Ok, let’s move forward.”

“Or maybe,” she says, looking down at the floor. “We should just start all over again.”

I don’t say anything, I just smile to myself. Maybe I had a shot at things, maybe. Maybe I just need to stop taking my chances and see where this was going to take us.

anonymous asked:

Your thoughts oo the rest of Fëanor's brood beside the two eldest?

Tbh I haven’t given much thought to the other brothers so much. Perhaps it is because they either appear to be complete assholes or non-existent.

But I love these kind of asks, cause it gives me an opportunity to go into each character, and really think about them. 

So hear I go:


To start with, I believe that all of the sons of Feanor were not wicked to begin with; flawed, yes, but not wicked. However the oath crushed their morals and turned them into the worst versions of themselves in the end.

These are purely how i see them, and the thoughts I have gathered when I have read about them.


Celegorm:

I imagine Celegorm to be the most impulsive, impatient and energetic of the brothers. He doesn’t always think before he acts, and only after the deed is done, would he realise that perhaps it was not the smartest thing to do. But he is not very good at apologising for his mistakes, and is very efficient in finding a way to avoid giving one. 

He is fond of animals cause they match his energy and desire to simply have fun and be carefree. When he hunts, that is the only time he is calm, still and reflects over his next moves. He likes to be challenged and enjoys testing his physical abilities. He often runs next to Huan instead of riding him, cause he is certain that he can outrun him, and sometimes, Huan lets him win the race, just to see him jump up and down in victory (yeah he is also a poor winner).

The oath corrupted his character into a greedy, cold-hearted, and self-righteous man, who only sought his own merriment and happiness over others. If he wanted something he would take it, damn the consequences. He grew easily bored by the company of others and saw himself as better than most. He always sought out the next thing that would amuse him. He did many stupid things, almost mad things, just to escape the tediousness of his life. He was especially bored in Nagothrond, and his brother, Curufin, had to stay close in order to make sure he would not do something catastrophically idiotic.

Caranthir:

Caranthir was the odd one of the brothers. Right in the middle of the bunch. He was big brother to three, but also little brother to three, so he had little influence at all among his brothers. Curufin especially never listened to him, and he was kinda pushed down in the age hierarchy to stand beside the twins. Curufin and Celegorm would pick on him to get him to explode into one of his famous red-faced anger tantrums. On such occasions Maedhros and Maglor would break them up and install order.

Despite being very easy to anger, he was very clever and patient in affairs of great importance. But he did not work well with others if they did not agree with him, or if he did not like them. 

Because of his awkwardness as a child, and the bullying of his brothers and sometimes his cousins, he grew very defensive. His anger issues were a result of proving himself strong. He had a great respect and pride in his family’s heritage, and would often use it in a discussion when he felt vulnerable. He had not much confidence in himself, but tried to fake it.

He kept mostly to himself. He wasn’t the social type. He enjoyed his own company, but felt awkward among others.

Loyalty was perhaps the most important thing to Caranthir. Loyalty to him, people he could trust, and he often sought out loyal subjects and would reward them greatly. That was why he was so impressed by Haleth and her people. He saw the great loyalty in her people, and if he could somehow recruit them to his service and win their admiration, he would have a great advantage. 

The oath destroyed Caranthir through his fear of failure and betrayal. He grew paranoid and very suspicious. He isolated himself more and more, only caring for things that did not include the company of others. In the end he had pushed the people that cared for him away, and his subjects felt uneasy under his controlling rule. 

Curufin: 

Curufin enjoyed his father favouring him above his brothers. It only made him think very highly of himself, but it also made him fear failing his father more so than the rest of his brothers did.

He was not very caring in his nature, but when he loved someone, he really loved them. He either gave 100% of himself or nothing at all. If he did not care passionately about something, it was not worth his time and effort.

When his son Celebrimbor was born, he was so proud. Proud, because he was the first of his brothers to give his father an heir. The importance of Celebrimbor was undeniable in his mind, and though his brothers loved their nephew, he never saw the same enthusiasm in them. 

Celebrimbor was still a babe when Morgoth killed the trees, and he took the oath. His wife refused to follow him to Valinor (which to him was a sign of her not committing to their marriage) and would not allow their son to go as well. Curufin saw no other alternative than to take Celebrimbor without his wife’s knowledge. He could not leave his son and father’s heir behind. He cradled him close to his chest as they sailed to Beleriand, keeping him safe and warm.

When Feanor died, he grieved the most, and when Maedhros gave away the crown, he saw it as a betrayal and an indisputable proof that Maedhros’ judgement was clouded and untrustworthy after his time in Angband. He even suspected for a time, that he might be a slave to Morgoth, sent to undo them from within. After a few decades, he came to forgive his brother, but he never recognised the new high kings as his rulers. The only person he would bow his head to was Maedhros, which would forever be the true high king in his eyes, much to the annoyance of his brother.

He enjoyed being with his older brother, Celegorm, because they agreed on many things. But if one of Celegorm’s ideas were too foolish, he would stop him, if he could. Sometimes he used Celegorm’s impulsiveness and energy to his own advantage. They complimented each other well in the beginning, making them a powerful team, but in the end they brought out the worst in each other and plotted only to their own advantage. 

When Celebrimbor refused him, he felt betrayed. A betrayal to him and his family. Celebrimbor had more of his mother in him than his father, and he saw the same weakness in him. He was more angry than hurt when he left Nargothrond. He never doubted his own decisions, and always believed them to be right, even if they didn’t always work out.

The oath destroyed Curufin through his vanity, pride and love for his family. Blinded by his own grandeur, and admiration for his father, he walked right into his doom, never seeing his own failings in the process.

Ambarussa:

The youngest of the bunch, and therefore not bound by the same expectations as their older brothers. Their accomplishments and failures were met with lesser  importance, and therefore had more freedom but also felt as though they were unappreciated at times.

They enjoyed each others company more than their brothers, due to the two oldest being too distant, and the other three a pain in the ass. But they did love their brothers greatly, and they were closest to Maedhros out of them all.

They did not grow very close to their father, even though he loved them dearly, he felt it more importantly to focus on his older sons. Their mother became their closest friend, and she gave them the same amount of attention as their brothers. She praised and punished them equally, and perhaps that was why they grew to cherish her so. 

They too swore the oath, along with their father and brother, though they perhaps feared the consequences the most. Not feeling the burden of family as heavily as their older brothers, they had the ability to view the oath more critically. Amras doubted the most, but his brother Amrod persuaded him to follow their family out of love and loyalty.

After the first kinslaying Amras found comfort with his brother, but the heaviness of his soul was stronger than Amrod’s, but Amrod still kept him going for their family’s sake.

When the ships burned, and Amras perished in the flames, Amrod was the first to truly taste the bitterness of the merciless oath, and he was the first to foresee his and his brothers’ doom. After that day, Amrod grew silent and isolated himself. His carefree nature had left with his brother, and he was no longer the same. 

Every time one of his brothers died, he wept the least; not because he did not feel grief, but because he was not surprised. He was perhaps the brother who understood the nature of the oath the most.

The oath destroyed Ambarussa through their eagerness to please and be included. It claimed Amras first because he doubted the most, and later it slowly destroyed Amrod from the inside out, because of his clear vision.